The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  Chapter 2: The Hollow Bole

  Tom and the others rode into Holloways Meet on a hot, dusty afternoon.

  The road broadened and dipped until they reached a large archway formed by thick, interlaced branches. Beyond that, a few small buildings began to appear, built into the high banks of the road. Within a short distance they could hear a steady hum of voices, shouts, laughter, and music, and the banks fell back to form a large, irregular town square dominated by a central group of trees with other Holloways leading into it. It was filled with an assorted collection of beings, young and old, colourful and drab, and the smell of business.

  Wooden buildings threaded through the meeting place, some of them perched precariously in branches, others jostling for position on the fields above them, casting deep shadows onto the activities in the centre.

  “This place looks busier than ever,” Brenna murmured.

  “What do people do here?” Tom asked, looking around curiously.

  “Many things. I have been told you can buy almost anything here. Consequently, a lot of people pass through, so it’s particularly useful for finding out information.”

  “I love it!” Beansprout declared, her eyes darting everywhere.

  “We’d better find Woodsmoke and Arthur. Woodsmoke said he would try to check into the Quarter Way House,” Brenna told them, and pointed to a big building with balconies on the far side of the square, built against the bank and onto the field at the top. “It’s more expensive than most inns, but it guarantees a clean bed and good food.”

  They found Woodsmoke and Arthur sitting in a bar to the side of the main entrance. It was an oasis of calm after the bustle of the square, filled with an assortment of tables and chairs, and screened from the square by thick-limbed climbing plants covered with flowers and a coating of wind-blown dust.

  “Well, don’t you two look relaxed!” Brenna said, hands on hips.

  “The rest of the deserving after a hard day’s work!” Woodsmoke smirked as he and Arthur stood to greet them. “Tom—you’ve grown.” He walked around the table and grabbed him in a bear hug, before hugging Beansprout and Brenna. “I’ve missed you two, too. Look at you, Brenna!” He held her at arm’s length, taking in her hair.

  “Woodsmoke, it’s been only been a few weeks since I last saw you,” Brenna said, protesting weakly.

  “I don’t care. It’s good to see you looking like a bird-shifter again!”

  Tom had forgotten it had been a while since Woodsmoke had seen Brenna, but he was distracted by Arthur, who crushed him in a hug, too. “You look well, Tom. It’s good to have my great-great-great-something relatives join me on Vivian’s mad quest.” He hugged Beansprout too, lifting her off her feet.

  “Are you two drunk?” Beansprout asked, suspicious. “You’re very merry!”

  “Can’t I just be pleased to see my friends?” Arthur asked, sitting down at the table and picking up his beer again, and gesturing them to sit, too.

  Now that he was reunited with all four of his closest friends in the Otherworld—or anywhere else, really—Tom felt truly at home. Although Tom had grown in the short time they’d been apart, Woodsmoke and Arthur were both still taller than him—Woodsmoke lean and rangy, his longbow propped next to him at the table, and Arthur muscular, Excalibur in its scabbard at his side.

  “Let’s get more drinks to celebrate,” Arthur suggested, and called to the barman. “Five pints of Red Earth Thunder Ale, please!”

  As they sat, Beansprout asked, “So, how long have you been here?”

  “It took us longer to get here than we thought,” Woodsmoke answered. “We wanted to make sure none of the other villages had seen Nimue, so we only arrived here this morning, and decided we needed to recover after our long days on the road.” He paused as their ale arrived, and took a long drink as if to emphasise his need to recuperate.

  Arthur nodded. “Yes, I wasn’t entirely sure Vivian had given us accurate information, but it seems for once, she has. And she’s suggested that Nimue stayed at The Hollow Bole—apparently, it’s where she’s stayed before. That’s where I’ll be going soon, to ask a few questions.” He looked at Tom. “Do you want to come?”

  “Yes,” Tom said, spluttering his drink in an effort to answer. “But first, tell me what happened with Vivian.”

  “Ah!” Arthur said, gazing into his pint, “Vivian. It was very strange to meet her again, after so many years. I felt quite sick seeing that big, bronze, dragon-headed prow gliding out of the mist.” He sighed, trying to organise his story. “I met her by the lake, at her request. I’d wanted to contact her, but didn’t know how. I thought that standing at the lakeside, yelling into the mist probably wouldn’t work. But then I had these images enter my dreams, about the standing stones and the lakeside.”

  “Oh, yes,” Tom interrupted. “I’ve experienced those!”

  “So I headed to the lake, and within an hour the boat was there, and then almost instantly she was at my side. She looked so old, and yet so young.” He looked up at the others, as if trying to make them see what he had. “I couldn’t believe her hair was white! It used to be a rich dark brown that glinted with red when it caught the sunlight. She had freckles then, all over her nose and cheeks.” He shook himself out of his reverie as his friends watched him, fascinated by what he must be remembering. “She asked me if I remembered her sisters, the other priestesses, particularly Nimue, which I did. Nimue helped me rule when Merlin disappeared. Vivian explained that she had vanished on her way to Dragon’s Hollow to see Raghnall, the dragon enchanter—whoever he is. She was taking her time, visiting various people along the way. The last time Vivian heard from her was when she was here. It’s another week’s travel to Dragon’s Hollow, but she never arrived there.”

  “And how does Vivian know she hasn’t arrived?” Beansprout asked.

  “Because Raghnall contacted Vivian, by scrying, to find out where Nimue was. Apparently, Vivian has been trying to contact her ever since, also by scrying, which is apparently how they communicate long distance. Now, Vivian thinks she’s being blocked, either by Nimue or someone else.”

  “What’s Nimue like?” Tom asked.

  “Oh, she’s very different to Vivian. She’s small and dark-haired, like a pixie, very pretty. Merlin was infatuated with her,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “Vivian is worried that something is wrong, so we’ve spent the last few days trying to track her route, but we’ve found nothing of interest. It all seems a wild goose chase,” he said, finishing his pint. “So, Tom, shall we go? Woodsmoke looks too comfortable to move.” He frowned at Woodsmoke, who had his feet up on a chair looking very relaxed.

  “It’s been a busy few weeks,” Woodsmoke said, indignant. “And I’m much older than you are, so I deserve to relax. Besides, I also have news to catch up on,” he added, gesturing to Brenna and Beansprout. He waved them off. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

  Tom and Arthur set off on a slow, circuitous route.

  “I know I’ve been here a few months now, Tom, but I still can’t get used to the place.”

  Tom nodded. “I know what you mean. Everything is so odd!”

  Strange creatures bustled across the square, some tall, others small, male and female, some part human, part animal. They passed a group of satyrs and felt small by comparison. The satyrs were over seven feet tall, with muscular bodies, their upper half bare-chested, the lower half with the hairy legs of goats. Their hair was thick and coarse, large curling rams’ horns protruded from their heads, and their eyes were a disconcerting yellow that made them look belligerent. Tom and Arthur skirted past them, making their way to a row of buildings at the side of the square. These were a mixture of shops, semi-permanent markets, eating places, and inns, ranging from the small and shabby to the large and less shabby. Smoke from braziers drifted through the still air. They looked at the wooden signs that hung from the entrances, trying to find The Hollow Bole.

  The pair had been looking for nearly an hour, taking their time drift
ing through the warren of buildings, before they had any joy. Walking down the start of one of the Holloways, they saw a vast tree to their left, pressing against the bank at its back. There was a narrow cleft in its trunk, above which a small sign announced The Hollow Bole. Peering upwards through the leaves, they saw small windows scattered along thick and misshapen branches. Ducking to avoid hitting their head on the low entrance, they stepped into a small hall hollowed out of the trunk and followed the narrow, spiralling stairs upwards into the gloom. They emerged into a larger hall built into a broad branch overlooking the Holloway and the edge of the square. There were no straight lines anywhere. Instead, the chairs, tables, and balcony were an organic swirl of living wood.

  A dryad, green-skinned and willowy, stepped out of the shadows and asked, “Can I help you?”

  Thinking they were alone, Tom jumped. Arthur remained a little more composed and said, “I’m looking for an old friend who passed through here, probably a few weeks ago now. Can you confirm if she stayed here?”

  “And what do you want with this friend?” the dryad snapped.

  “She hasn’t arrived where she should have, and I want to find out if anything has happened to her,” Arthur replied, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.

  The dryad went silent for a moment. “It depends who it is. Her name?”

  “Nimue. Our mutual friend, Vivian, asked me to find her. She’s worried.”

  The dryad was startled. “Nimue? The witch?” She spat out witch viciously.

  Now Arthur was startled. “Yes, Nimue, one of the priestesses of Avalon. Or witch, as you choose to call her.”

  “They are all witches on Avalon,” the dryad replied disdainfully. “Yes, she stayed here for a few days. And then she left. I don’t know where she went,” she added, to avoid further questions.

  Arthur groaned. “She gave no indication at all of where she might be going?”

  “She stays here because we are discreet. We ask no questions of our clients.”

  “But you know her well? She stays here often, I believe.”

  “Not often. She travels less frequently now. But yes, I think she usually stays here. However, I do not know her well. I do not ask questions.”

  Tom was curious about the word now, and clearly Arthur was, too.

  “But she used to travel here more frequently? In the past?” Arthur persisted.

  The dryad was visibly annoyed at the constant questions. “Yes, many years ago. But, I do not see what that has to do with now—and I was not here then.”

  “So if you weren’t here then, how do know she came here?” Arthur asked.

  “Her name appears in our past registers. We are an old establishment. And her reputation precedes her.”

  Now Arthur was clearly very curious, and he leaned in. “What reputation?”

  “As a witch from another world. A meddler in the affairs of others.”

  “What affairs?”

  “Witches meddle with the natural order of nature!” the dryad snapped, now furious. “As a dryad, I am a natural being, born of the earth and all her darkest mysteries. Witches plunder that knowledge! They have no respect for natural laws. How do you know her?”

  Arthur looked uncomfortable, and decided not to answer that. “I am just an old friend who cares for her safety. I am sorry to have taken so much of your time. Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Just one more question. Did she ever stay here with anyone else?”

  “Yes. The greatest meddler of them all—Merlin.” With that, she stepped back into the shadows and melted into the tree trunk, becoming invisible and unreachable.

  “With Merlin?” Arthur turned to Tom dumbfounded, his face pale at this unexpected news.

  Tom felt a thrill run through him at the mention of Merlin, but why was Arthur so upset? Before he could ask, Arthur turned and raced down the stairs. Tom raced after him. Maybe it was because Merlin had travelled here, to the Meet, Tom reflected. It was probably quite unexpected.

  Arthur was halfway back to the Quarter Way House before Tom caught up with him. “Arthur, what’s the matter?”

  “Everything!”

  “What do you mean, everything?” Tom asked, even more confused.

  Arthur didn’t answer, and instead headed to their inn, ran up the stairs, and banged on what Tom presumed was their shared room door.

  “Yes? I’m here and I’m not deaf! Come in, the door’s open.”

  But Arthur was already in, throwing the door wide open and striding across the room.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Woodsmoke asked, alarmed. He was sitting on a chair on the small balcony overlooking the square.

  Tom followed Arthur, closing the door behind him, while Arthur sat agitatedly beside Woodsmoke. “Nimue used to come here with Merlin.”

  Looking confused, Woodsmoke asked, “Is that good or bad?”

  “I don’t know,” Arthur said, confused. “Both? Neither? It’s just odd. It’s a shock, that’s all.”

  “But this was a long time ago? She wasn’t here with him recently?” Woodsmoke asked.

  “No, no, of course not. He disappeared years ago. Well, not so long ago for me, merely a few years. But even so, it’s a surprise.”

  “Why? You said they knew each other.”

  “Yes, but to know that they were here! Together! I didn’t think she liked him. She actively avoided him at first, I think.” Arthur looked troubled as he tried to recall the nature of their relationship.

  “So, you’re shocked because you didn’t think they knew each other well?” Woodsmoke asked, trying to get to the root of Arthur’s problem, and looking further confused in the process.

  “Yes,” Arthur said. “And now it seems they knew each other better than I realised. Merlin had a sort of obsession with Nimue, but she used to keep him at a distance. Of course, he was much older than her at the time, an old man. A very grumpy, unkempt old man. Still powerful, of course. And she was young and very beautiful. I saw her more often than Vivian—she represented Vivian and Avalon at Camelot. It was there that Merlin first met her.” Arthur gazed into the middle distance as he tried to remember the details. “But he could be charming. And he never stopped trying to impress her.”

  “So, maybe he finally managed to charm her into friendship.”

  “Maybe. I think she was impressed with his powers, if nothing else. Perhaps that’s what swayed her? Maybe they did become good friends?” he mused.

  “What powers did Merlin have?” Tom asked. He sat on the floor of the balcony, leaning back against the railing, watching the exchange.

  “He was a shape-shifter. He favoured fish and stags, but he could turn into anything he chose. And he had the power of prophecy. But he could perform other magic and spells. I gather he learnt much from travelling here. Obviously, the dryad at The Hollow Bole did not approve of either Merlin or Nimue.”

  Woodsmoke looked puzzled. “Why not?”

  “She said they meddled in the natural order. She seemed to prize her own natural magical abilities far more highly.”

  “Maybe because their magic is acquired. And of course, they are human.”

  “Perhaps. Although, I believe Merlin was born with his powers of prophecy and shape-shifting. The rumours were that nobody knew who his father was.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t know. Merlin always guarded his secrets closely. He didn’t like to share where he was going or what he was doing.”

  “Perhaps he bewitched Nimue?” Woodsmoke asked.

  Arthur looked up sharply. “No, I find that hard to believe. Although,” he said thoughtfully, “he was not averse to doing things that would benefit him.” He shot off his chair and paced up and down. “You cannot understand how odd this is for me! I have been dead—or asleep, whatever you choose to call it—for hundreds and hundreds of years, but for me that time was only months ago. And yet all of my friends are dead and buried, my kingdom has disappeared, my ho
me is gone, and I am a myth! It’s as if I never existed, as Beansprout and Tom told me.” He gestured vaguely in Tom’s direction. “No evidence that I ever existed at all! As if I am a mere shadow. But then I find that Vivian is still alive, that Morgan was alive, albeit in some other form, and now Nimue! Such unnatural lifespans! And Merlin disappeared hundreds of years ago, but the dryad spoke as if he had just left the room.” Deflated, he sat down again. “I don’t think I will ever get used to this.”

  Woodsmoke seemed to take this outburst in his stride, as if he expected it. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I can only imagine how confusing this must be for you. But I thought you liked your chance at another life?”

  “I did, and I suppose I still do, most of the time. But today has made me reconsider. However, there isn’t much I can do about it. This is my fate, and I must live with it.”

  3 Nimue’s Secret

  In the end, Tom had left Arthur with Woodsmoke, heading to the bathroom where he had a long cool bath, glad to wash off the dust from the road. Tom couldn’t help but feel a little left out. Arthur and Woodsmoke had obviously become good friends in the time they had spent together, and Arthur trusted Woodsmoke’s judgement.

  They met Brenna and Beansprout back in the bar for their evening meal, Arthur still shaken by the news he had heard. “Did you find out anything on your way here?” he asked Brenna.

  “Nothing,” she answered. “Many of the people we asked had no idea who Nimue was, and no one had seen a woman travelling alone. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Woodsmoke said, distributing the drinks the barman brought over. “We always knew this would be tricky.”

  “So what now?” Beansprout asked.

  Arthur huffed. “Well, seeing as that dryad wouldn’t tell me anything, we still have plenty to find out. I can’t believe how unhelpful she was!”

  “I think she was annoyed by your constant questions, Arthur,” said Tom.

  “How can I find out anything if I don’t ask questions?” said Arthur. “Anyway, we haven’t spoken to everyone here yet. Lots of people pass through, so it’s worth us staying for another day or two.”