by T J Green
“Gone. With her. And you’ve been bewitched. All of you.” She nodded at the others. “I couldn’t wake Granddad.”
“And what are we supposed to do?” He moved in front of Jack, Fahey and Brenna, looking at their patient faces.
“We have to wait. Shall we try and wake them? And then we can set up camp.”
Brenna and Jack roused more quickly than Fahey, who seemed to be in the deepest sleep. Smiles played across his dreaming face, and it was with the greatest reluctance that he finally woke up, annoyed to leave a perfectly good dream.
It seemed wrong to set up camp within the standing stones, so they found a spot to the side of them, behind the narrow beach. They rigged up a waterproof shelter and built a fire of dry brushwood collected from along the shore. It was mid-afternoon by the time they had finished, and they sat around the fire, warming their hands and drinking a strange herbal tea that Beansprout didn’t really like, but had managed to get used to.
They talked about what they had seen while they were bewitched. Each had had a different kind of dream. Brenna’s seemed to be the worst; she had dreamt her wings had been clipped and her powers of flight taken. On waking she’d been pale and panic-stricken, and had turned into a bird, flying in wide arcs across the moor. Now she sat shrugging her shoulders, as if she could feel her wings, even though they weren’t there. Beansprout wondered if she was always aware of them, as if they had a presence on her human form.
Fahey described visions of the old tales that he told, rolling like a film before his closed eyes, while Jack had floated over the Realm of Earth, which was full of sights he now wanted to see. Woodsmoke had hunted deep within the old forest, chasing spectres and wolves in rich green twilight.
Retelling their magical visions made them uneasy, and they shivered, drawing closer to the fire.
“So how long do you think this will take?” Beansprout asked.
Fahey still seemed caught in the tendrils of his dreamlike trance, gazing out at the mist as if hoping to penetrate its secrets. He murmured, “It could take weeks. We have no idea of what he has to do or where he must go. I wish I was with him.”
Woodsmoke frowned. “Or it could take just hours. He might be back here before nightfall.”
Brenna shrugged. “I’m sure it will take longer than one night, Woodsmoke. We may as well make ourselves comfortable.” She stood up and rolled her shoulders. “I’m going to see what else is happening out there.” She nodded across the moor. “I’ll see you later.” In a blink she had gone, soaring upwards until she was only a black speck.
Beansprout was fascinated by the standing stones. She walked around them, her fingers tracing the carvings, feeling the warmth of the stone against her palm. How long had they stood here, unchanged by the wind, rain and burning sun? Who had made them? It must have taken a long time to carve these beautiful shapes and figures, with their detailed expressions of fear, wonder and horror. She recognised some of the creatures from the carvings they had seen on the gateways, and in the great cavern in the Realm of Water, but others were strange and unnerving – creatures with tentacles, multiple limbs, large eyes, pointed teeth, snarling expressions and sharp claws. She should have felt frightened, but instead felt wonder at being in such a place; that such a place could exist. Beansprout felt suspended at the edge of the world, hovering between the known of her past and the unknown of her future. She had moved from one set of expectations to another, and should have been scared at this uncertainty, but felt only excitement.
She looked over to where her grandfather stood talking to Fahey, gestures filling the space between them, and understood why he would want to stay here. The limits of his life had shifted dramatically. His best friend was a bard, a dreamer and spinner of magic. His words conjured worlds and images, desires and hopes; they chased away the old normal, replacing it with breath-taking strangeness and wonder. In fact, this whole place was a breath-taking wonder.
Beansprout realised she didn’t care how long they had to wait. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. The important thing was being here, to witness whatever happened. She wondered if this was the spell the Lady of the Lake had cast upon her, but then admitted to herself that this feeling had been growing for some time, it had just taken until now to recognise it.
She had been here only a matter of days, but already it felt like a lifetime. She had no idea what was happening at home, and wasn’t sure that she really cared. Hopefully no one was frantic with worry – perhaps their absence hadn’t been noticed; maybe some mysterious magic had taken care of that. She nodded to herself. Yes, that would be for the best.
Brenna loved flying. The currents were like silk against her skin, and she felt her feathers ruffling and settling as she adjusted her flight. She angled herself so that she coasted comfortably on cushions of air, and for a while just enjoyed being. She watched the others far below, curious as to the turn of events that had brought them here, with two humans she barely knew. She hoped Tom and Beansprout could help, but wondered how that was possible – they knew nothing of this place, and had no powers.
A sudden faraway movement on the edge of her vision caught her attention, and she stopped her musing and turned. She could see a patch of darkness on the land. She dropped, searching for other currents and headed towards it.
Woodsmoke lay on his back and gazed at Brenna flying high above him, a small speck against the blue. He felt lazy, glad to rest after days of travel. The sun was setting and the horizon was edged with an orange glow. The silence here was deep and endless, and it lulled his senses.
Just as he was drifting to sleep, his attention snapped to Brenna, plunging quickly earthwards. Catching another air current she soared away to his left, heading to where the edge of the moor hit the woods. He rolled on his side and, propped on his arms, gazed after her, wondering what had caught her attention. Feeling uneasy, he jumped to his feet and checked the saddlebags for his weapons. If there was an attack, they were horribly exposed. There was nowhere to shelter, and nowhere to run.
Brenna wheeled on the air currents, landing softly next to the beach where the others were gathered around the fire. The dusk was thickening, the grass turning inky blue in the hollows across the moor. The flames flickered and the wood spat, the only sound on the otherwise silent moor.
“Others are coming.” She looked at Woodsmoke with concern.
“What others?”
“The Royal Houses seem to have left their under-palaces. Prince Finnlugh leads them, and I saw the Duchess of Cloy. There were about twenty guards with them.”
“Damn! What does he want? This can only mean trouble.”
“Not necessarily,” said Fahey, “they may be here to help. Historically they’re not fans of the Queen.”
“I don’t trust them, but there’s really not much we can do against so many of them, is there?” He turned to Brenna. “How long until they’re here?”
“They are far away, on the edge of the moor, but even so they travel much quicker than we do. Maybe two days?”
“That gives us a little time. Well, I don’t think Tom will be back tonight. Let’s get some sleep. We need to be ready for whatever happens. I’ll take first watch, and I’ll wake you in a few hours.” Brenna nodded in agreement.
Prince Finnlugh, Bringer of Starfall and Chaos, sat on his horse and waited impatiently for the rest of the group to catch up. His horse fretted beneath him, as anxious as he was to continue. He had reached the edge of the woodlands, and the moor stretched out in front of him. He was annoyed. It had taken too long to persuade the others to act.
After Tom and Beansprout had freed him, he had strode about his palace unleashing his fury on the unsuspecting wood sprites who lounged around, drunk on his wine and beer, fattened by his food and lazy with arrogance. He had blasted them into various parts of the known and unknown universe. The lucky ones were dead; the others would be left to an uncertain fate in whatever place they ended up in.
The fight with his bro
ther had been unsatisfactory. He had tried to shrivel him to the size of a walnut, sending a spell that would suck every inch of moisture out of him. But his brother was wily and clever, and the Prince narrowly avoided being splintered into a million pieces by a well-aimed curse. The Duke had managed to escape, leaving behind him a trail of destruction and a large hole in the rounded walls of his palace. The Prince had no doubt he had fled to Aeriken Forest, to recover. But the worst news was that he had escaped with the Starlight Jewel. The Prince had to get it back before the Duke learnt to master it.
He had sealed the palace, creating new spells to protect it, and then went to work waking the members of the Royal Houses strewn across his ballroom floor. His brother’s attack had been perfectly timed. The other members of the under-palaces had been visiting for a ball, so not only was his own household there, but all of the others too.
His brother had put a strong sleeping spell on them that took some time to break, and when they did wake they were groggy and confused. Old Prince Featherfoot would probably never be the same again. As outraged as they were by the attack, they hadn’t wanted to retaliate, preferring to hole up in their palaces as they had done for centuries, trying to avoid trouble. It was the Duchess of Cloy who finally saw sense.
“My dear Cloy,” the Prince had sneered. “If it has happened here, it could happen to you! Do you think this will just go away? That they will not attack again? This is not over.”
“I shall seal my Palace of Scents so that no one will ever get in again,” she had raged. “Do you think I’m weak?”
“I am the strongest of all of us, and I was still attacked.”
“You were betrayed by your greedy infantile brother. No one will betray me.”
“We are weaker if we remain isolated and alone, my dear stupid Madame!” he had said, raising an arched eyebrow. “Don’t you think he covets your treacherous scents that beguile and bewitch? He may already have raided your palace. He might well be selling your secrets right now! Now we know he is not to be trusted, he is free to act openly. And he won’t stop there. We don’t know what he will do! I have no idea what he will do! No one will be safe unless we capture him.”
He knew she couldn’t bear to think of her secrets escaping. Her creamy skin was flushed with rose, and her ruby red hair, which looked like flower petals, quivered in a mound high on her head. Rich earthy scents with a hint of sulphur rose from her skin as her rage increased. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“There is no one to stop him, apart from us. Unless we count the Queen; she is the only one as powerful as me. However, it seems she has made some sort of alliance with him, and is on his side. I fear she wants the Starlight Jewel.”
Now he had her attention.
“And how do you suggest we stop them?” she asked icily.
“With help. And I think I know where we can get it.”
Eventually she agreed to accompany him, along with a small company of the Royal Guard. The rest returned to the under-palaces to protect them, and Prince Ironroot was placed in charge. And now they were heading to the lake. If Tom was waking the King, he wanted to be there.
13 Arthur’s Icy Tomb
Tom awoke with a start. The torch was still burning strongly and he had no idea what time it was. He stretched, drank some water and ate some dry biscuits. He was so hungry his stomach growled. Other than the flickering torchlight, he was surrounded by a musty blackness. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, and his pool of light billowed from small draughts. Heaviness settled on him; the weighty expectation of his strange inheritance. He pulled his sleeve up to look at his birthmark.
It seemed to move in the torchlight, and he ran his fingers over it as if he might feel its edges raised and different from his normal skin. But it felt the same as usual. He hadn’t really taken notice of it before, and to him its darker tone didn’t even look like a sword.
Suddenly fearful of remaining where he was a second longer, he gathered his things and started down the path.
He could hear voices – whisperings and murmurs. He came across a tiny warm yellow light in a passage off to his right, the entrance marked by a metal gate on rusty hinges. As he paused before it, the gate swung wide in welcome. The yellow light flared brightly at the end of the passage, and scented air raced out to envelop him. It looked so welcoming and warm, and he was so cold that he decided to investigate. He stepped closer and the light flared even brighter, but as he laid his hand on the gate his own torch flickered and nearly went out, causing him to halt sharply. He stepped back warily as Vivian’s warning came to him – stay on the path. A shriek pierced the silence and the light at the end of the passage flared white and then disappeared. As the breeze carried the smell of rotten flesh towards him, and the shriek faded away, Tom fled. He felt sick with fear. Taking some deep breaths he noticed the torchlight was once again burning strong and bright. He wouldn’t forget Vivian’s instructions a second time.
As Tom plunged deeper underground it became colder and colder, until by the time he reached the bottom of the steps his breath appeared as icy clouds. There was now only one route to follow – a passageway thick with frost that disappeared into intense darkness. Feeling he was nearing his goal, he set off quickly, his torchlight reflecting on the walls as a dull spark of orange. He began to imagine he could see things emerging out of the blackness, and then thought he heard something pattering behind him. Instead of slowing to listen, he started to walk even quicker until he was almost jogging. Then he had a horrible thought, that he might plunge into a hole in the floor or miss a turning, so he slowed down again. His hands and nose were freezing and he started to shiver.
Finally he saw dim light ahead, and emerged into a long cavern. Murky green light was filtering through a low transparent roof, and a flash of movement overhead made him realise he was under the lake. There were fish and … other things. Things that seemed very big.
It was like being in an aquarium. But he couldn’t work out what the roof was made of. Maybe crystal or thickened glass. Or ice. The floor was made of huge flat slabs of stone, and in the centre was a rectangular tomb made of thick ice. Deep within it he could see the shadowy shape of a man.
Tom sighed with relief. He’d made it. Now he just needed to work out what to do. If Arthur wasn’t dead, why was he in a tomb?
He tried to push the lid off, but it was heavy and sealed shut.
The cavern walls were covered in thick frozen vines. Some had spread across the roof, and a small tangle of vines had grown across the tomb. He remembered the silver branch. Did he need to use it here?
He pulled it from his backpack, his cold fingers fumbling. Its silvery brightness glowed in the dim green light. He walked around the cavern peering at the vines, hoping the branch in his hand would fit somewhere. Nothing.
He plonked his backpack on the ground and sat beside the tomb, staring at the sleeping man below the ice. Something glinted in the figure’s hands, something which ran the length of his body. Excalibur. Made by faeries as a gift for Merlin. How weird was this? He put the silver branch down on the tomb and pulled the water from his pack. There was hardly any left, and he might need to share it, assuming he could somehow wake the King. They would have to climb all the way out again. What if the King was old and decrepit? Or weak from sleeping for hundreds of years?
Contact with the tomb seemed to be doing something to the silver branch. Its brightness was decreasing – it was turning back into wood, as it had been when Vivian gave it to him. Now shoots were sprouting rapidly, and tendrils spread across the tomb. As they touched the old frozen vines, these started thawing and growing too.
Tom leapt backwards, away from the tomb as the vines spread and the walls started moving with green wriggling growth. The tomb was soon invisible under a mass of vines, and the bough returned to silver, glinting under the fresh growth. How on earth was he supposed to get into the tomb now?
He glanced back towards the entrance and saw with a shock that it was com
pletely smothered in vines, and with a rumble the weight of them pulled the earth down. He was trapped.
Thick shoots were now punching their way through the tomb’s weakening ice. The cavern walls began to drip with moisture as the temperature warmed. Chunks of the icy tomb fell to the floor, and puddles formed beneath his feet. Tom pocketed the silver bough, put his backpack on, and began to pull chunks of ice away in an effort to speed things up.
A movement in the wall opposite stopped him momentarily. He felt a breeze and heard a dull roar. What now? He stood looking warily at the wall and felt a splash of cold water on his head. Then he saw drops hitting the floor across the cavern. He looked up with horror. The roof was melting. He would drown if he didn’t get out of here quickly.
Tom grabbed the torch, ran to the wall and pushed aside the vines. Thrusting the torch forward he saw another long passageway, and he could hear running water.
Something slid and crashed behind him, and he heard a groan. His heart in his mouth, he span round and saw Arthur roll free of the ice. The King rose onto his hands and knees, breathing deeply, and then stood slowly, as if it were a great effort. Excalibur lay at his feet.
He was younger than Tom had expected, and tall with a powerful build. For a few seconds he looked dazed, then he focused on Tom, saying something that Tom couldn’t understand.
Tom shook his head. “What? I’m sorry, I can’t understand you. Look, we’re under the lake and we have to go. Now!” Tom grabbed Arthur by the arm and pulled him towards the vines.
Arthur resisted, again saying something Tom couldn’t understand.
Tom pointed upwards at the dripping roof, trying to show the urgency of their situation. “We have to go – now!” He pulled on Arthur’s arm again.
Arthur looked up and around the cavern, and then understanding dawned. He sheathed his sword and staggered after Tom, who pushed through the vines and set off quickly along the tunnel.
