by R. A Humphry
“You can’t open the door Henry, remember the last time. We need to think.”
Henry stood for a moment in the pouring rain then dipped his hand into his pocket and removed Arap Milgo’s casting bones. “The foretold key,” he said. “I finally figured it out tonight, when I knew that I could read the bones. The foretold key and fang and bone, do you see? I have to do a divination. By the door. It is the last test of my skill. Once I do this it will open, I know it. It must.”
#
As they passed through the threshold of the gatehouse Killynghall unleashed his spell. There was a piercing groan, as if a vast steel door had been wrenched shut, and a faint green glimmer domed the inner keep. The path beneath Manu’s feet began to glow and he could see that the other lines of the protective hexagram were flaring up across the courtyard in different hues. Henry ignored it all and plunged on and into Lingua. Before, when they had travelled this path, Henry charmed the lock but this time he just blew the door off its hinges from five feet away. Manu winced and followed into the unlit arcade, stepping over the shattered remains of the door.
Henry did not even break stride when he arrived into the chamber that contained the brass door. He flicked one wrist to conjure fire, then another to bring forth frost. He cast the bones at the door and then struck it shouting: “they show battle and despair!”
The door reverberated with a dull thrum but nothing happened. Henry roared and thumped the door again. Manu moved up to try and calm him when Henry struck at the door with a blast of lightening from the end of his staff. The bolt rebounded off the door and ricocheted around the room, forcing the boys to dive flat on their bellies.
As the bolt petered out Henry flipped himself over on the ground and spoke to the ceiling in a tired, old voice. “My mother told me that I’d end up killing myself with that spell. I learnt it when I was nine. Can you imagine? One of the most powerful, dangerous spells you can do and I was busy casting it at the midges that used to buzz around my face. It’s a miracle I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Yet,” Manu replied, dusting himself off and picking himself up.
“She always did have a gift for the future, you know… hang on. I can’t believe it!”
“What?” Manu asked, wary.
Henry had that look on his face that was either brilliant or life threatening. “The key! The key! It’s all so simple. It is all so preposterously straight forward. Magic! Ha! Ha!”
“Henry?”
“Magical prophecy, you see. It is a crazy business. Even for magicians. It is bonkers. They glimpse fragments of how things might be. Of possibilities made manifest. How could anyone know how things are going to turn out, eh? How could anyone believe in destiny when there are so many variables. So many choices and mishaps that can change any event? The ultimate paradox, eh Manu? Are we the sum of our choices or are our choices already made?”
“We direct our own destiny, Henry. We decide who we want to be. What does this have to do with anything?”
“Oh, everything! Everything Manu. You see I am not quite with you on this. I understand the allure of thinking that a man makes himself. Maybe for some men that is true. Maybe some combination of genes and birth and circumstance means that you are free to make yourself as you can. Maybe. But not for me. Not for a Grenville. Who else can I be but what I am?”
“Henry, I’ve heard…”
“But you Manu. You could do anything. You are completely new in this world. A unique combination, unburdened by past and unsaddled by destiny. You occupy the centre point. You are smart enough to be above socio-economic pressure, you are gifted enough to gain all the advantages of a Darkwells education but none of the trappings. Yours should be the ultimate vortex of choices, of possibilities.”
“Henry, listen to me, I had a dream…”
“And yet,” Henry said cutting across him and raising his index finger. “And yet you are not. My mother foretold of your coming, didn’t she? Despite all of your freedom you could not help but be as she saw you were. The key to my future. Do you see? The key. How could she have known? How could Gerald bloody Fitzgerald have known that we would be here and that we would need to get in so badly?”
Manu stared at his friend, who had been ranting. Manu had been trying to tell him something a moment ago but now couldn’t remember what. The implications of what Henry was saying were just sinking in. “Are you saying that someone six hundred years ago set a lock to open only for me?”
“Yes! Isn’t that mind-blowing? But it gets better. They not only saw you, but they saw my mother’s prediction of you. The foretold key holds fang and bone. He foretold her foretelling!”
Manu’s hand went up to the leopard tooth that hung about his neck. “That is impossible.”
“Of course it is. That’s why it’s magic.”
“So this is the locked door to hard work and a life of meaning?” Manu asked. “Did we miss the open one?”
“Looks like it. Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Henry collected the scattered bones and handed them to Manu. “I think I have the other parts right. I think you just need to knock.”
Manu walked up to the door, Arap Milgo’s gift in one hand. He reached up and tapped the door. The brass felt cool and smooth against his skin. He noticed that there was no dust on the surface; what dust had collected over the years was piled up in little walls on the floor, as if it had slid down a super-slick surface. After a long moment during which Manu convinced himself that nothing was going to happen there was a loud clunking sound and the door creaked open, swinging inward with a draft. Henry was past him in a flash.
Henry lit the chamber in clean, pure light. It was not cavernously large. A stone slab lay in the centre with a statue of an armoured man standing guard over it. On the slab lay the hilt and pieces of a broken sword. As Manu moved deeper into the chamber he noticed that the slab had another stone guardian: It was a dragon. The dragon’s tail coiled around the slab protectively and it reared up opposite the knight, its wings spread. Strewn around the floor of the chamber were small figurines. They were all in the shapes and likeness of mythical creatures. Manu could see wyverns and griffins and centaurs. Henry tapped Manu on the shoulder and pointed up. Manu’s gaze followed and his breath caught. Above them was shimmering water floating on an unseen barrier and beyond that distant moonlight. They were beneath the well.
“It must be here somewhere,” Henry muttered as he swivelled. “It must be.”
Manu glanced around the bare room. In one corner was a suite of mail and a beat up helmet. In another corner was a round shield on which was painted a faded raven in flight against a crescent moon.
Henry noticed his gaze. “The face of the evening,” he commented.
Manu nodded. He turned and behind him was a spear. He walked up to it in a daze. Henry watched him in confusion.
“Are you alright, Manu?” he asked.
Manu ignored him and reached out to touch the spear. “What is this called?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Oh, that? I think it is his spear. Rhongomyniad, I think they call it.”
“It’s not a spear,” Manu said picking up the ancient weapon.
“It looks like a spear.”
“It’s a taiaha,” he said with reverence. It was perfect. The tinana was wide and sharp and the wood was dark and strong as any steel. The upoko was carved in the likeness of a dragon, which was correct. It was the taniwha of this place. The arero was deadly. It was a tongue as sharp and long as any spear-head and made of greenstone, which was also right.
“That is a Maori weapon?” Henry asked, incredulous.
Manu ran his fingers over the arero, feeling the keen cutting edge. “This is greenstone. It is Kahurangi. It is sky stone, god stone,” he tested the weight and whipped the taiaha through the air. “This weapon was made by my… by my mother’s ancestors.”
“Take it,” Henry said. “We must find the Seal.”
“There are markings on the floor,” Manu o
bserved.
Henry looked down and started shuffling around the room tracing out the runes. “It says…the heart of the King Conceals the Seal.” Henry swore creatively, “Just what we need, another bloody riddle. Bloody magicians. Do they think people have hours to sit about pondering their stupid crosswords? Why couldn’t I have been a scientist?”
“The heart of the King,” Manu said, moving towards the stone tomb. He put his hand on the heavy lid.
“Stop! It’s not what it seems. Arthur Pendragon. It’s not in the tomb, it’s in the dragon.” Henry reached into the stone maw of the dragon’s mouth.
#
They were in a forest in a small open clearing. Watery light filtered down in slow moving bars through the broad leafy canopy, over the ferns and across the mossy ground which was covered with purple flowers and bluebells in full bloom. A still lake spread out in front of them, surrounded by drooping willows. A white owl broke out from the trees and glided effortlessly across the water. Dragonflies danced around the two boys in thick, curious clusters, hovering just out of reach.
Two figures emerged from the shore of the lake in quiet conversation. One was tall with a warrior’s powerful physique. At a distance Manu thought it could have been his father in the easy way that he walked and how he held his shoulders. The warrior had a shock of white hair and was wearing golden robes. He had a silver crown on his brow. His companion was Killynghall, who stopped and stared when he saw the two boys.
“Wardgrave! Grenville! What are you doing here? How did you get here?”
Henry shrugged, setting his hands on his staff. “We used the door.”
“That door is impregnable. It hasn’t been opened for six hundred years. Don’t lie to me boy.” Killynghall’s shock was turning to anger.
Henry was getting dangerously close to casting. Manu felt a golden tingle take over.
“I need that Seal, Keeper,” Henry said, spitting out the title. “That is the truth.”
The white haired warrior laughed and the birds answered from their roost. The dragon-flies danced in unison. “Easy now, Aaron. I won’t have the peace of this grove disturbed. They have spirit; you have to grant them that.”
“Your grace, they are just children. They have no idea what it is that they are doing, what they risk. They do not belong here.”
“Don’t they?” the King asked, looking at Manu speculatively. “I think maybe they do. You carry my spear well, boy.”
“It’s not a spear,” Manu found himself saying to his great surprise. “It’s a taiaha.”
The King laughed again. “Yes! That is what Myrddin’s shark-friend called it. A Warden should have two weapons you know. I used blade and dagger. Carnwennan and Caledvwlch, although I was a little rough with my blades.”
“I saw you,” Manu said, “in a dream. You talked to a man who was a dragon.”
“Ah yes,” the old man said, his face now serious. “So it is you then. A curse on Myrddin’s clumsiness. He should be here now. He was always better at handling these things.” The King looked at Killynghall. “Is this the son of your old Warden, Keeper? Is this the one you have talked about?” Killynghall nodded, the merest tilt of his head, and Manu stared in incomprehension. Son of his Warden? “Well then, Aaron. I see no purpose to your feud. James has done well by the boy and can you not feel his mother’s strength in him? Oh Myrddin would have loved to get hold of this one. He would have swooped down on you in a moment, boy. Be sure of it.” the King said then turned his gaze to Henry, “And he would have come for you too, but for different reasons. I know your line, of course. I know your past. You seek the Seal?”
Henry shrunk under the ancient eyes. “We need it,” he said, “to prevent the undoing of everything you accomplished.”
“You would use it,” the King asked, standing tall, “to seal Gwyn in once more. To safeguard the innocent?”
“Yes.”
“And no more? You wouldn’t be tempted to do more? You know what the seal can do. You know what you might accomplish.” Henry didn’t answer. He didn’t look up from his shoes. “You know why I ask you, don’t you Henry? I have to know, after what you tried. Who is to say you won’t try again? If I let you leave with the Seal now, if you accomplish what you desire. Will you let it go?”
“Yes,” Henry said in a whisper. “That is done with.”
“And the girl? Will you try to undo that?”
Henry jerked his head up with a glare, his eyes on fire. The old man, who had been leaning intently forward, stood upright again. “As I thought,” he said sadly.
“I will make him give it up.” Manu said, his voice hard and calm and loud. “We are an Aegis. He is my genius, I am his conscience. I will prevent him.”
Henry opened his mouth to protest but the King turned to Killynghall. “You see, Aaron? Are you now convinced? The time is now.”
“Your grace. The risk…”
“Life is risk.”
“I cannot aid them, your grace. I cannot abandon the tomb. My orders are clear. If she should get to the…”
“Oh, she shall try. I warned Myrddin about teaching her. I warned him. But you are right. They must throw her back. It is the way of it. This age must relearn that the path to freedom lies in self reliance. Too long have they relied on others. These two will not. They will be the example.” Killynghall looked agitated and uncertain. The King took a long stride to stand before the boys. He reached up and placed his thumbs on their foreheads. “I mark you as mine,” he said applying gentle pressure. “I claim your allegiance in this task. Now. Know this, this Seal of Solomon is not in this grove. It is not in the chamber either or anywhere in the inner courtyard. The spell of warding would not work with such a disruption, as I am sure you have already guessed, Master Grenville.”
Henry couldn’t keep the anguish off his face. “Where is it?” he croaked.
“It is hidden,” the King replied with a mischievous smile. “In the Darkwells coat of arms.”
Chapter Thirty One: Duty
As he woke, the crick in his neck and the controller in his hand let Sean know that he had fallen asleep on the couch again. The TV was frozen where he had been killed by the virtual enemy. The SA80 Machine Gun which had failed him was pointed up at the pixel sky and the battle raged on without him.
He arched his back and stretched, knocking off a couple of crushed lager cans. The stink of the kebab and pizza hung around him and he decided that he would take a shower. He would clean all this up in the morning, before his mum started nagging at him again, he decided. His shit was not in order. He knew it, everyone knew it. The talk from Heather had helped him, had given him at least a tiny ray of hope in the darkness. Maybe it was enough for him to work up the courage to open the letter that still sat unopened on the kitchen counter. Just the sight of it made him queasy. Cambridge. Scary stuff. He would open it in the morning. Then he would deal with the disappointment like a man and give Henry a call and let him open a path to Bristol.
Sean pulled the coffee table closer to him and started to roll himself a joint. Once he was done he it and hit standby on the remote, leaving the room in darkness except for the glowing cherry that flared as he inhaled in a satisfying drag. He would finish this joint, have a shower and move back in with Kim tomorrow. He had felt sorry for himself for long enough.
He took another drag and the rested his head back. He hoped his mum wouldn’t smell it. His Dad only drew the line at needles but his mum worried. He strained his ears for any tell tale creaks but relaxed as the flat was dead quiet. He could hear the rain lashing against the window panes and the bass of the house music that the dead-head in number twelve played all day and all night, but otherwise there was nothing to witness his vice but himself. I’ll stop smoking this shit tomorrow as well.
“You shouldn’t smoke that shit, Sean. It’ll rot your brain.”
Sean scrambled to stub out the joint and coughed in panic at the disembodied, startling voice. He got hold of himself and peered
into the dark room. “Heather?” he asked, wondering how she had got in. “What are you doing here?” He couldn’t see her at all and he couldn’t pin down where her voice was coming from.
“Do you remember what we talked about, Sean? The last time we met?”
“About Henry?”
“No. About tearing it all down. About starting again.”
“I was just talking shit. Listen, it’s pretty late…”
“You were right, you know Sean. You were so right. Destruction is the mother of creation, I see that now.”
“Are you alright Heather? Can you switch that light on, I can’t see shit.”
“You’ve not got long, Sean. You better get your folks clear. Get them to Darkwells, inside the inner courtyard. She says that is what the fools will defend. Always they think only of themselves. Hang the rest of us.”
“Heather, what are you talking about? Are you high?”
“It’ll get bad here, Sean. Bad. People will die. It’s necessary, but I can help you and your family. I can help Kim.”
“Heather, you are scaring me.”
“It’s happening tonight, Sean. In about half an hour. I have to go; she is ready for us to start. I know you don’t understand but I can’t explain. You can trust me or you can perish. Get your folks and take them to Darkwells and stay there. Don’t come out of that courtyard. I’m sorry you won’t get the life you wanted, but we were always at the whim of others, weren’t we?”
Sean stood and reached for the light switch but was then battered back stumbling into his TV as he was buffeted by what felt like huge, powerful wings taking off. Glass shattered and a car alarm sounded in the night and he was alone. “Oh, shit.”
#
His parents did not understand why they were being hurried down the empty streets in their thrown on clothes. It didn’t help that he was still stinking of the weed he had started smoking before Heather appeared. They must have thought he was having a psychotic episode and, really, he couldn’t blame them. Maybe he was.