The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  Arthur looked at him sharply and if anything, turned paler. “Tom, I should–”

  The door opened, interrupting their conversation, and Beansprout entered. She smiled, relief evident on her face. “You’re both awake! Nerian said you were OK.”

  “Just about,” Arthur grumbled.

  She plonked herself on the end of Tom’s bed. “Tell me everything!”

  “Only if you tell us what we’re doing here,” Tom said.

  “You’re recovering! We’re preparing to go to Ceridwen’s Cauldron to resurrect Merlin.”

  Arthur sat bolt upright. “Where? To that old hag? To do what?”

  “Steady on, Arthur,” Beansprout joked. “What old hag?”

  “Ceridwen. How can she even still be alive?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Beansprout said, looking at Arthur curiously. “I think you’re still delirious. Ceridwen’s Cauldron is a place, not a person. It’s a hidden and forbidden place where someone can be resurrected from the dead.”

  “Well she was a hag when I was alive!” Arthur railed. “But – you said we’re resurrecting Merlin?”

  Tom, also confused, stared at Beansprout.

  Beansprout looked surprised. “You didn’t know? Nerian didn’t tell you?”

  “I can’t believe it!” Arthur looked awestruck. “I’ll see Merlin again, and you’ll get to meet him.” His excitement quickly vanished, and he gazed into space. “I can’t believe that Nimue trapped him for all those years ...”

  Arthur fell into a brooding silence, and Beansprout looked worriedly at him before turning to Tom. She curled up at the end of the bed, making herself comfortable. “Spill then, Tom. What happened to you?”

  Later that day, when Nerian was satisfied that Tom and Arthur were recovered, Beansprout showed them to their rooms.

  Tom still felt tired and his limbs were weak, but after a long talk with everyone he was finally able to piece together the events of the past few days. His memories of their time inside the spell had now returned, but he found it difficult to believe how real it had all felt.

  The one memory he couldn’t shake was that of Nimue’s green eyes. No matter how hard he tried to banish them from his mind, they kept returning, taunting him.

  “You all right, Tom?” Woodsmoke asked. “You look miles away.”

  With a jerk Tom turned. “Yes, fine.”

  They were seated on thick cushions around a small low table, while Brenna updated them on the latest plans.

  “Ceridwen’s Cauldron is higher on the moors than Scar Face Fell. It’s a lonely place, apparently, deserted now, and a few days’ travel from here in a place called Enisled. Ceridwen was a real person, and her cauldron had the power of rebirth, inspiration and knowledge. When she died, the place was sealed. Access to the cauldron has been blocked for centuries.”

  Arthur interrupted. “There you go. I knew I recognised the name!”

  “Why was it sealed?” Beansprout asked.

  Woodsmoke answered. “It wouldn’t do, would it, to keep resurrecting anyone who died?”

  “No, I suppose not,” she said. “It sort of makes a mockery of death.”

  Arthur squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Like me you mean?”

  “No, of course not!” Beansprout said aghast. “Your rebirth was a deal, arranged by Merlin for Vivian. Neither he nor you had any choice.”

  “And yet you seem to treat it so lightly, Arthur,” Woodsmoke said with a grim look, “and the lives of those around you.”

  A silence fell around the table as Arthur looked stonily back at him. “I do not treat it lightly. Or the lives of others. But I am sorry about what happened at the Fell. I said I’d wait and I didn’t. I got carried away.”

  Woodsmoke glared at him. “Yes you did. You nearly killed both of you.”

  “Sometimes decisions have to be made in very little time,” Arthur spat. “I was worried that if we didn’t act quickly, we’d never know what had happened to Merlin. However, the consequences were greater than I thought.” He turned to Tom. “I’m sorry, Tom. I put you in a difficult position.”

  Tom looked uncomfortable and stuttered, “It’s OK Arthur.”

  Woodsmoke persisted. “No, it’s not OK. Does Vivian know about any of this? She said she’d be in touch after the Meet.”

  “No, I haven’t heard from her since before then.”

  “So Vivian doesn’t know about Merlin and the spell, or Nimue’s part in it?”

  “Not from me.” Arthur looked thoughtfully at Woodsmoke. “Unless she saw it all by scrying?”

  “It seems strange she hasn’t been in touch when she was so anxious to keep track of our progress.”

  They fell into an uneasy silence as they realised Woodsmoke was right. They had been so caught up in the chase they had almost forgotten about Vivian.

  “Have we heard how Orlas is?” Woodsmoke asked Brenna.

  “He’s fine. He woke at the same time as Arthur and Tom. He’ll be travelling with us. We’re going to wait another day or two for him to fully recover, and then we leave.”

  “So we’re all going?” Tom asked.

  “Yes. Herne’s instructions. It’s thanks to our involvement – particularly your efforts, Tom – that the spell was broken, so we are to join the resurrection.”

  “It was mainly self-preservation. I didn’t want to be stuck in that spell forever. And frankly, Arthur,” Tom joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere, “you weren’t much help. You were a bear.”

  “A bear? And you’ve only just thought to tell me? No wonder all I can remember is trees!” he exclaimed.

  “Sorry, I’ve had a lot on my mind. Nimue said it was your animal spirit.”

  Brenna laughed, “You’ll be shapeshifting with me soon.”

  “You still have the silver branch, Tom?” Beansprout asked.

  He patted his pocket. “It never leaves me.”

  “And what are we doing about Nimue?” Arthur asked.

  “I don’t give a damn about Nimue,” Woodsmoke said. “We should leave her be.”

  Brenna and Beansprout agreed, Brenna adding, “She’s dangerous, and the spell’s broken. What’s the point? She’s lived quietly since she first put Merlin in the spell, and she’s probably returned to Vivian, or carried on to Raghnall. Perhaps that’s why Vivian hasn’t been in touch.”

  Arthur didn’t answer, nodding slowly and staring at the table again.

  Brenna exchanged a glance with Woodsmoke and then added gently, almost persuasively, “We have Merlin. There is nothing else to gain, Arthur. And Vivian was worried about Nimue’s welfare. Now that we know she was, and is, deliberately hiding, your obligation is over.”

  He gave a brief nod. “Well, I need to stretch my legs.” And without further comment he left the room, leaving the others looking worriedly at each other.

  “I don’t think Arthur can leave this,” Tom said. “He might feel guilty about almost getting us killed, but I think his need to find Nimue is greater.”

  Woodsmoke looked grim. “Revenge is not our problem, Tom. And it is most definitely not your problem.”

  And while Tom knew this, he also knew that it wasn’t that simple.

  16 Risky Business

  The following morning, Tom stayed inside the Great Hall, which meant doing a lot of eating as well as sleeping. The others decided to explore the White Woods, apart from Arthur, who sat alone in the cellars with Merlin’s body. He seemed mired in indecision and guilt, and Tom wasn’t sure how to get him out of his strange mood.

  Later, they were summoned to Orlas’s private rooms, following a servant down the long corridors into the rear of the building. Arthur trailed behind, silent and morose.

  The servant knocked on a door and ushered them through. Orlas stood in the middle of the room, leaning on a large wooden table. In front of him was a map, which he was studying with great concentration. Tom had almost forgotten what Orlas looked like, their first meeting had been so brie
f. His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, and his arms were bare, his stag markings looking like tattoos against his skin. Thick gold torcs were wrapped around the tops of both arms and his neck. A young woman stood next to him. She had long red hair, and her skin glowed with pale red Cervini markings. She too had a gold torc wrapped around each arm.

  It took the pair a few seconds to register their arrival, then they strode across the room to greet them. Orlas shook their hands, his grip firm and reassuring.

  “Arthur, Tom. It’s good to see you again and a pleasure to meet the rest of you. Let me introduce you to Aislin, my wife.”

  She stepped forward. “Welcome to the Great Hall. I’m sorry I haven’t met you sooner.” She glanced at Orlas. “I’ve been pre-occupied.”

  “Understandably,” Brenna said, reassuring her.

  Aislin smiled at her warmly. “It’s been a worrying few days, hasn’t it? Come, have a seat and we can talk properly.”

  She led them to chairs grouped around the fire, and when they were settled, Orlas turned to Tom and Arthur. “I trust you have recovered?”

  Arthur nodded. “More or less. How are you?”

  “The same, although I gather we’re lucky to be alive.”

  “You helped break the spell,” Aislin said to Tom.

  “So everyone keeps saying,” Tom said, still bewildered by the whole event. “But I’m not sure I really helped. I wasn’t sure anything in there was real enough to work.”

  “Nerian disagrees. Anyway, you’re here – despite Nimue’s best intentions.” A flush of anger coloured Aislin’s pale face.

  It seemed Beansprout was also confused by Tom’s time in the spell. “So even though the spell was a powerful illusion, the things in it were real? I mean, they could be used?”

  “You are asking things that are beyond my knowledge,” Orlas answered. “I reverted to my stag form, and was so completely in the spell I saw only endless woods. But Tom,” Orlas leaned forward, staring at Tom with his dark brown eyes, “you spent time with Nimue. Where did she go?”

  “I have no idea. She said she was going to cast another spell to escape, and made me unconscious so that I wouldn’t interfere.”

  “She gave no clue? Think carefully.”

  Tom shook his head. He’d been racking his brains about it since waking. “Nothing.”

  “Do you think she has returned to Vivian, or Raghnall?”

  “I doubt either of them. When I said Vivian would still be worried about her, she didn’t care. She said she could look after herself.”

  Orlas looked frustrated and Arthur asked, “Do you want to find her?”

  “Not really. But I want to know what she’s up to. You knew her well, Arthur. What do you think she’ll do?”

  “No idea. But I know she’s determined and confident. She stepped into Merlin’s place in court as if she’d been there for years.”

  Woodsmoke intervened. “I really don’t think finding her would achieve anything, Orlas,” he said, repeating his earlier argument. Tom saw Arthur bristle, but he remained silent, looking only at Orlas.

  Orlas sighed. “I agree. In fact I hope she’s a long way from here. We should concentrate on the things we can fix. Like Merlin.”

  Arthur’s shoulders drooped in disappointment and he stared into the fire.

  Aislin spoke, her gaze falling on them one by one, weighing their response. “I disagree with Orlas about resurrecting Merlin. He was a friend to us, a great friend, but nevertheless I think we are interfering with things that should be left well alone.” Orlas went to interrupt, but she stilled him with her hand. “I know it is Herne’s will. It doesn’t mean I like it. You have risked your life once for Merlin. I don’t think you should risk it again.” She looked towards the door at the rear of the room, from where they could hear children laughing.

  Orlas rested his hand gently on hers. “We will be fine.” To the others, “Are you well enough to travel?”

  They nodded.

  “Good. We’ll leave tomorrow for Enisled.”

  That night the Cervini held a banquet for those travelling with Merlin. The main meeting hall was decorated with cut branches, the green and red leaves bright against the pale wooden walls. Fresh rushes were strewn across the floor releasing their sweet scent into the air, and lanterns lined the walls and hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the room. The tables were crowded with steaming bowls of food, and beer and wine were flowing. The Cervini were packed into the hall, and jostled together, elbow to elbow, good natured and excited at the prospect of Merlin’s return.

  Tom found himself seated next to an old frail Cervini who creaked when he moved. He looked as if once he sat down, he’d never be able to stand again. He proved, however, to have the most enormous appetite, and took the opportunity to fill his bowl and his cup many times. He introduced himself as Wulfsige, and he cocked a sly eye at Tom over his beer.

  “So you got trapped by the beautiful Nimue, did you?”

  Tom was about to protest, then laughed. “Yes. Unfortunately I did.”

  “Devious, isn’t she?” he smirked, ripping bread with his fingers and mopping up his stew.

  Tom turned, suddenly attentive. “You know her?”

  “Knew her. I haven’t seen her for a very long time. I thought the witch was going to kill me.”

  Tom looked at him and wondered if he was joking. “Why would she do that?”

  Wulfsige smiled, his face dissolving into a thousand wrinkles. “I was a young man then. A hunter. One of the best. I tracked wolves. And I was tracking wolves that day ...” He looked across the room as if he could still see them. “I caught her in the woods with Merlin. She was hypnotising him, or something like that. Beneath a withered tree.” He became serious. “She turned on me with such fury I thought that was the end of me. Those eyes. They were glowing.”

  Immediately Nimue’s green eyes were back again, filling Tom’s vision. Wulfsige watched him. “They grab you, don’t they, Tom? Fill your brain until you can see only them.”

  Tom blinked and nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He took a slug of beer.

  “That might have been it for me, but for my hunting hound, Nyra. She’d been ranging ahead, but she suddenly burst in from the undergrowth, howling as if a great demon from the Fire Realm was chasing her. She completely distracted Nimue, and then Merlin stirred, and I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and ran. I don’t think we stopped running ’til we reached the moors.” Wulfsige refilled his bowl and started eating again.

  “What happened then? Did she ever find you?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t think she got a good look at me. And I extended my hunt for a few days, just to make sure I avoided her.”

  “So what do you think she was doing?”

  “Nothing good.” He looked up from his bowl. “You take care. She’s had a quiet few years, but don’t let that fool you.”

  “Surely it’s only Merlin she had a problem with. She helped Arthur for ages after Merlin disappeared.”

  “It didn’t stop her the other day though, did it?” he said wryly.

  Tom took another long drink and wondered why Nimue hadn’t taken his talisman when she had the chance. Was it because she couldn’t, because Vivian had given it to him? Or was it something else? Did she want them to have a chance? He shook his head. Woodsmoke was right. They should keep well away from Nimue.

  17 Enisled

  Enisled appeared ahead of them, swathed in mist; a collection of eroded rock faces rising out of the wind-blown heather. Rek led their group along an old disused track that led across a land of windswept grass, small pools and tumbled rocks. He was followed by Orlas and Nerian, two Cervini pulling Merlin’s body along in a covered cart, and another four Cervini who had come for support – huge beasts with broad shoulders and many tined antlers. All the Cervini travelled in stag form. Tom and the others were behind, travelling on horseback.

  As they drew closer, it became clear that the eroded rocks
were in fact a castle, ravaged by time and the elements. The track led them to a choked archway of stones and earth, on either side of which was a surprisingly solid perimeter wall.

  The Cervini changed form, securing the cart containing Merlin’s body, while Nerian examined the archway.

  “What are you looking for?” Tom asked, puzzled.

  “The key to the spell protecting the cauldron,” Rek explained, as Nerian was too distracted to reply.

  “Didn’t Herne remove it?”

  “No. But he told Nerian how to.”

  “Ha!” Nerian scoffed. “In theory.”

  Seeing them watching him, Nerian waved them away. “Give me space. This could take a while.”

  Arthur’s mood seemed to have improved now they were on the move again, and he urged his horse to the left. “Come on. Let’s check the perimeter while we wait.”

  “So you knew Ceridwen, Arthur?” Beansprout asked, as she rode alongside him, Tom close behind.

  “Not really. I met her once. But she had quite the reputation.”

  “Why?”

  “She was powerful and independent, and refused to be allied to anyone. But that was fine. As long as you didn’t mess with her, she didn’t mess with you.”

  “But she lived in England, not here?” Tom asked, confused.

  “Like many people with magic powers, she straddled two worlds. Perhaps her castle still exists in Britain now.”

  “I don’t think so,” Tom said, wondering if it could be buried under something, or was tangled in a wood, or had been dismantled over the years.

  Long grasses and scrubby bushes ran right up to the castle walls, where the stones were packed in tight, offering no chink of an entrance. Every now and again they caught a glimpse of towers screened by trees, and then the view would be obscured again. Brenna found she couldn’t fly over the castle grounds, blocked by whatever sealed the entrance.