by TJ Green
“I can. Arthur’s doing, of course,” Woodsmoke said. “And there’s a smell of decay coming from those caves too, of something long buried and forgotten. There are torches inside the entrance, marking the route.”
“Are there many Cervini?” Brenna asked.
“The two you saw at the entrance, and another dozen grazing on the moor. I made sure to pass upwind of them, so they couldn’t smell me. We did well to circle so far around them,” he added in consolation.
Beansprout pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders as if to fend off bad news, and asked the question she already knew the answer to. “What do we do now?”
“We try to find them,” Woodsmoke said grimly.
8 Nimue
Tom and Arthur followed the passageway upwards and inwards. The floor was uneven, and only a small amount of light was provided by the intermittent torches, so they stumbled along in near darkness, seeing only a faint orange glow up ahead.
Tom followed close on Arthur’s heels, until eventually Arthur came to a sudden stop, and Tom thudded into him. Arthur gestured for silence, and Tom peered round him to see a large cave just ahead. A cluster of torches smoked and flickered in the centre, illuminating a small group of people. They were all male, except for a small woman Tom presumed was Nimue. Arthur and Tom stepped as close to the cave entrance as they dared, careful to remain in the shadows.
Nimue’s voice rang out loudly. “How do I know I can trust you? If I release him, what will you do to me?”
“If you don’t release him we shall leave you powerless, trapped within the binding spell. And then we will seal you in here. Forever.” The man who spoke leaned over her aggressively.
“You should mind your threats, Orlas. In order for me to release Merlin, you must release me from the binding spell. I will have my powers restored.”
“Temporarily. Until you prove yourself safe.”
“You will have to do better than that. If I release him, you will allow me to leave, no repercussions, and no binding spell. You will have Merlin, and that is what you want, isn’t it?”
“Will he be alive?”
She paused as she thought. “I don’t know. I sealed him in here out of place and time. He should be alive, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Where is he?” Orlas turned slowly, looking at the walls and up into the impenetrable blackness of the roof.
Nimue smiled. “You’ll see. You’d better release me, Nerian,” she said to a tall lean man with a beard and long matted hair.
He turned to Orlas, who shook his head. “Not yet. You will get everything ready first.”
Orlas then spoke to the other Cervini: “Set out the torches, and move back to the entrance.”
Tom whispered to Arthur, “Should we leave?”
“Not a chance.”
“But we’ll be caught!”
Tom looked at the cave, wondering where in such a bare place they might be able to hide. As well as Orlas and Nerian, there were another three Cervini, who were now placing five torches in a rough circle around Nimue, who was rummaging in a bag.
Tom and Arthur were so transfixed by the activities in the cave that they failed to hear another Cervini creep up behind them. They were alerted by the hiss of a sword as he pulled it free from his scabbard to hover under Arthur’s chin, the point nudging his neck.
Arthur’s hand shot to Excalibur, but the Cervini’s sword pushed more firmly into his neck and he dropped his hands. The gruff voice sounded unexpectedly loud. “I think not. One more twitch and I shall remove your head from your shoulders. Orlas!” he shouted. “You should pay better attention to your surroundings. You have visitors.”
The others turned to watch as the Cervini, an older man of medium height with short grey hair, pushed Tom and Arthur into the cave, keeping his sword firmly pushed into Arthur’s back. Tom edged his hand towards his own sword, but the Cervini just looked at him and tutted. “Now is not the time for heroics,” he said softly.
At a nod from Orlas, two more Cervini withdrew their swords and flanked Tom and Arthur.
Orlas stood in front of them, a tall, imposing figure with broad shoulders and powerful arms. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, and in the torchlight they saw strange markings across his skin, and on the skin of the other Cervini – mottled browns, cream and tan, like camouflage. In fact, Tom thought, just like deer.
Orlas looked at Arthur. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Arthur answered, “but I know Nimue.”
She stepped closer to look at him. Orlas put a restraining hand on her arm, and she shook it off impatiently.
Tom watched, fascinated, as he saw her properly for the first time. She was so small and slender; she barely came up to his shoulders. Her dark hair tumbled across her shoulders and her skin was pale and creamy, but it was her eyes that held him. They were dark green, and utterly captivating.
But she wasn’t looking at Tom; in fact, she barely glanced at him.
“Arthur,” she said. “After all these years! How did you find me?”
“Vivian sent me. And as you should remember, Nimue, I am very persistent.” His voice hardened as he added, “Especially when it comes to Merlin.”
“Yes, I remember. Who’d have thought the old man would be so missed?”
Orlas interrupted. “Arthur? Merlin’s Arthur? You look remarkably well preserved for a dead man.”
“Don’t I just?” Arthur answered dryly. “Preservation in a tomb of ice has beneficial consequences. Merlin’s last gift.”
Orlas nodded at Tom. “Who’s this?”
“My rescuer, and also my descendant, Tom.”
“I see.” Orlas briefly appraised him, leaving Tom feeling uncomfortable, before turning back to Arthur. “And you are here because?”
“Because Nimue disappeared and Vivian – our mutual friend – became worried about her safety. She asked me to find her. Eventually I suspected that Nimue had imprisoned Merlin and was making her way here to ensure he remained in the spell. However, Merlin was like a father to me, and I came here to rescue him and stop Nimue.”
“An ally?” Orlas persisted. “You are not here to rescue the witch, then?”
“Definitely not,” Arthur said, glaring at Nimue.
“And you’re alone?” He looked beyond them to the entrance, as if others would suddenly emerge from the shadows.
“Absolutely,” Arthur lied smoothly. Although in reality, Tom thought, he was telling the truth – they had no idea where Woodsmoke and the others were. “We have been tracking Nimue from Holloways Meet.”
Orlas looked to the Cervini who had caught them. “Rek?”
“I’ve seen no one else,” he confirmed.
Orlas nodded briefly at the others and they re-sheathed their swords. Tom relaxed; he hadn’t realised he’d been standing so stiffly.
“May I ask how you come to be here with Nimue?” Arthur said.
“I found her,” Rek answered. “She was cutting across our land, heading towards Scar Face Fell. Ever since Merlin disappeared, we have wondered what happened to him. Nimue was the last person we saw him with, so our laws say that if we ever saw Nimue again, she was to be escorted to the Great Hall for questioning. Fortunately, I have a good memory and I recognised her immediately.” He must have seen Tom’s startled expression. “I was a very young fawn in those days,” he explained.
“You confessed?” Arthur asked, looking at Nimue.
She remained stubbornly silent, leaving Orlas to explain. “No, she did not. In fact she tried to put a spell on those escorting her, but one of them spotted what she was up to and stopped her. Nerian, our shaman, has restricted her powers by using a binding spell. And due to her lack of co-operation ...” he smiled and gave a short bow to Nimue, “we have kept her locked in a cell as our guest for a week or so. Eventually our investigations led us here.”
Arthur looked around the bare cave. “Are you sure this is the place? It could be a trick.”
“It’s
no trick,” Nerian said. “I used a spell tracer and it led us here. Merlin and Nimue entered, but only Nimue left.”
“Well, this is all very entertaining,” Nimue said, “but are we going to get on with it?” A small smiled played across her lips and Tom couldn’t help but feel she had something planned.
“Yes we are. I have no idea how long you have been watching, Arthur, but Nimue is about to lift the spell.” Orlas turned back to her. “Continue, Nimue, we are all waiting.”
Nimue moved back into the circle of torchlight and took a bundle of herbs from her bag. “This is all I need. You may wish to move back before I begin.”
“No.” Orlas shook his head. “Nerian and I will wait here. Everyone else should wait in the entrance. Arthur?”
“We remain here too.”
Tom stood nervously beside Arthur, wondering what to expect, and not for the first time wished Arthur was a little less headstrong.
“All right then,” Orlas said to the shaman. “Remove the binding spell.”
Nerian’s long matted hair seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight as he pulled one of many necklaces free from his leather shirt. At the end was tied a small bound doll. Tom suppressed a gasp – it was an uncanny likeness of Nimue. Twisting the doll carefully in his hands, he unwound its leather binding, chanting slowly. He placed the leather strip carefully in his pocket, then snapped his fingers over the doll. A bright blue flame flashed along it and then disappeared.
Nimue took a long deep breath in and out, as if waking from a deep sleep. A ripple passed through her and she seemed to become more alert, more alive.
Orlas nodded at Nerian. “You too, back to the entrance. In case anything goes wrong.”
“Wait. The doll.” Nimue held out her hand expectantly. At Nerian’s hesitation, she said, “Now.”
Nerian reluctantly handed it over and retreated to the entrance.
Pocketing the doll, she turned away and started to separate the bundle of herbs. She stepped to the furthest of the torches and, muttering too quietly for anyone to hear, threw some of the herbs into the wavering flame. They burned instantly, and as she continued to mutter her incantations, the flame changed colour from a warm orange to a deep blood red. She thrust the rest of the bundle of herbs into the flames until it caught, and then withdrew it again. The herb bundle burnt steadily without being consumed, and she stepped beyond the circle of torchlight, carrying it around the outskirts of the cave, starting to the left of the entrance.
Tom stood watching her, holding his breath, wondering what would happen. Her movements were sure and steady, and she paced around the room until she had completed a full circle, coming to a stop at the entrance to the cave where she placed the still-burning bundle of herbs on the floor.
Those standing in the entrance looked uncertain. No one said a word. Glancing at Arthur, Tom saw that his eyes were bright with anticipation, but Tom started to have a very bad feeling; it seemed to him that Nimue was blocking the entrance. Was she lifting the spell, or casting another?
She moved past them back into the circle of torchlight, and clapped her hands in a rapid staccato. The cave was suddenly plunged into almost complete darkness, as the torches burnt a deep blood red, painting everything with the colour of death. Then, as if a veil had been lifted from their eyes, the cave transformed into something else entirely.
9 The Silver Tower
The cave had vanished. They were standing in ancient woodland, the ground thick with moss. Ahead, on a rocky mound, stood a silver tower that shone in the sunlight, its door and windows flung open. The whole place had an air of desolation and decay.
Tom’s skin prickled with unease, which soon turned to alarm as he realised he was standing next to a huge brown bear and a magnificent stag. The bear roared, and Tom backed off quickly, tripping and landing on the ground. But the bear ignored him and padded into the undergrowth. The stag gazed at Tom with liquid brown eyes and then moved off to graze in a patch of sunlight filtering down through the canopy. Tom realised the stag was Orlas, so the bear must be Arthur.
They were enchanted; he was alone.
Tom spun around, trying to orientate himself, but found it was impossible. He felt as if he’d been transported back hundreds of years; something in the air felt old and mysterious. And where were they? Had she transported them out of the cave, or were they still in it? And if he wasn’t enchanted, how could he see the grove?
Panicking, Tom looked round for Nimue, and saw her entering the silver tower. He raced to catch up with her, clambering over the rocks to the entrance. Nimue didn’t turn round. Ever since the binding spell had been lifted, she’d completely ignored them, as if they were irrelevant.
Tom paused on the threshold, looking up at the tower. He stroked the burnished wall; it really did look like silver. Close up, he could see curious engravings all around the doorway. The door itself was also silver, thick and solid, and beyond it was a sitting room in which a large chair sat next to a fireplace. Despite the sunshine outside, a small fire burned in the grate. Rugs were scattered across the floor, and the room was filled with sunlight reflecting off the silver walls. As the light danced around the room, he was reminded of being underwater in the Emperor’s palace when he had visited the Eye.
Opposite him was a staircase, and before he had a chance to change his mind he crossed the room and started climbing the steps.
On the next level was a bedroom, luxuriously furnished with tapestries and rugs, and a bed piled high with pillows. This room was also empty, so he continued up the stairs. At the top was a small landing with a door that was partly closed. He could hear movement behind it, so he eased it open a little further, peering into the room beyond.
It was a workshop, filled with wooden benches, its walls crowded with shelves, and everything stacked high with books and papers, and hundreds of pots and jars of all sizes. Again a fire burned in the fireplace, and a large cauldron was suspended over it.
But this room wasn’t empty. On the floor in front of the fire was the inert body of a man. He had long white hair and a thick white beard, and was wearing a long, grey, hooded robe. Crouched by his side was Nimue. Her back was to Tom, but he could see her hand stroking his face. Then her shoulders dropped and she sat back on the floor, her hands cradled in her lap.
Tom wondered what to do. He didn’t want to disturb her, but equally he had to know what was happening. And Merlin – because that must be him lying on the floor – appeared to be dead.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Immediately, Nimue leapt to her feet and turned, her hands raised.
“No!” Tom shouted, stepping back a pace. “I just want to talk to you.”
She laughed and looked relieved. “Oh, it’s you.” Then her expression turned confused as she asked, “Why aren’t you enchanted, like the others?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Curious,” she said, suddenly interested in him. “You look normal enough. Ah!” she exclaimed. “You must possess a talisman.”
Tom wondered what she was talking about. “I don’t care. Why have you enchanted the others? Why is Arthur a bear?”
“A bear?” she said, laughing. “That’s unexpected. That was his old name, Arturus, because of his bear-like qualities. In magic, we call it his animal spirit. This place, the spell, must have released it. Anyway, they are enchanted because I don’t like being threatened.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have imprisoned Merlin,” Tom answered swiftly. “You’ve killed him, haven’t you?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Watch your tongue, boy, or it will soon be mine, talisman or not.”
“Is he dead?” he persisted.
“No. That is why the spell still exists. He is unconscious. Unrousable.”
Despite the fact he’d never known Merlin, Tom was relieved to know he was still alive. “Where are we?” he asked, slightly mollified.
“Still in the cave, of course,” she said, smirking
.
“But how can that be? Where is all this coming from?” He gestured around him.
“My magic. Or should I say, Merlin’s magic. I asked him to teach me the spell for how to imprison a man, and this is it.” She leaned back against the bench, watching him.
“But why is it so ... non-prison-like?” he asked, for want of a better word.
“Foolish boy. People are willing to imprison themselves in all sorts of things as long as it’s comfortable enough.”
“So, how long has he been lying there?”
“I have no idea. I used to visit him at first, but then I just got bored, and he never seemed to miss me, so ...” Her voice trailed off.
Overcome with curiosity, Tom asked, “Can I see him?”
She shrugged. “If you wish,” and she moved aside to let him pass.
He crossed the room and knelt next to Merlin, turning him over to see him properly. He looked as if he was sleeping; an old man who’d dozed off in front of the fire, creases lining his face, his mouth carrying the remnants of a smile. He certainly didn’t look like a powerful wizard – not that he knew what one should look like. He felt inexplicably sad, and found himself worried about Arthur, who would be so upset.
Nimue interrupted his thoughts. “There’s nothing else I can do, so I’m leaving.”
He stood and faced her. “You can’t leave us here; we’ve done nothing to you!” And then he realised that if he was to figure a way out of here, he needed to understand what had happened. “Why are we in the spell if you were releasing it?”
“You are so naïve. Because I didn’t release it. I thought releasing it would definitely kill him, which would have been bad news for me, with Arthur and Orlas breathing down my neck. So I just decided to re-enter it, as I have done before, and you all came too. If I had decided to recast the spell you would all be in your own prisons.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The spell imprisons a person in his own idea of pleasure. For Merlin that is nature. He is – was – a Druid, so nature is everything to him. Here he has trees, herbs, his workshop, everything he needs to make himself happy. I even gave him his sacred grove.”
