Oak And Mist (The Ambeth Chronicles Book 1)

by Helen Jones

  ‘I think it was me.’

  All eyes turned to her. ‘What do you mean?’ Thorion asked, a curious expression on his face.

  ‘I-I can’t explain it, really. I just remember feeling, somehow, drawn to what was happening under the trees. It was as though everything stopped when I stood here. I’m sorry, I can’t explain it any more than that.’

  ‘I can,’ said Artos unexpectedly. ‘It was your presence that stopped the creature.’

  ‘Artos,’ said Thorion sharply, a warning tone in his voice.

  ‘But, how is that possible?’ said Alma. She was still unsure of Lord Artos, though she liked the Elder and he was always kind to her.

  Lord Artos looked at the High King. ‘Thorion, it must be told!’

  ‘Artos, you know my wishes here. Our wishes, if you remember. It is what the Council decided.’

  Alma turned to Caleb, her eyebrows raised in query. Nonplussed, he shook his head. ‘I have no idea,’ he whispered, for the two Lords had now stepped to one side and were having what looked like a heated discussion. Adara, her face still stained with tears, saw Alma’s confusion and came over to her.

  ‘It is nothing,’ she said, taking Alma’s arm and rubbing it gently, as though to warm her. ‘Lord Artos is Gwion and Galen’s father, you see. Being here is hard for him, it is hard for us all.’ Her eyes were red and her voice caught as she spoke. ‘I think all he means is that you disturbed what was happening here, caused the creature to take fright. It is what gave Gwion time to hide the sword, so for that we are grateful.’

  Alma nodded, putting her hand over Adara’s where it rested on her arm. She was sure there was no way she could possibly have frightened off a creature like the one that had just attacked them but, seeing the sorrow still on Adara’s face, she decided not to push the issue. She wished with all her heart that she had some comfort to offer her, here in this place of anguish and death. ‘I’m so sorry’ she whispered. ‘for... for everything. It must be so hard for you to be here.’

  Adara half-smiled in response then, to Alma’s surprise, gave her a hug. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘That means more to me than you could ever know.’ Then, standing back, she touched Alma’s cheek gently. ‘Do not worry about Lord Artos. He has had much sorrow, losing both of his sons. He means well and is a powerful member of the Light. Plus, I think he might like you.’ Alma frowned in disbelief, but looking at Adara’s mischievous elfin face marked by grief, she did not have the heart to disagree. ‘Come now,’ the Elder went on. ‘Let us watch as Meredan breaks the concealment spell.’

  ‘What’s a concealment spell?’ Alma asked. But it was Artos who answered, breaking off from his discussion with Thorion to come nearer, his normally rich voice rough with emotion as he spoke.

  ‘It is a simple thing, but also one of our most effective workings,’ he said, resting his hand on Alma’s shoulder for a moment. She turned to look at him, surprised to see affection in his ice blue eyes. She nodded, and he went on. ‘It takes only a few moments to set, but once done, no one not of the Light can detect or break it, no matter how they try. My son was… skilled in such things,’ he said, turning his attention to Meredan. He was murmuring words of power as he moved his hands across the patch of earth where the Sword lay, his eyes closed and concentration complete.

  ‘And he knew the Dark well enough, that they would have come through to find it,’ said Thorion. He paused, his face dark with sorrow as he contemplated the hollow in the soil. ‘Rest well, my friend.’

  Alma said nothing, taken aback, her heart twisting with sadness. A shimmering began to emanate from the ground, a golden light that gave all of them pause. Thorion stepped back and Caleb moved closer to Alma, all of them watching as the glow increased in intensity, then dissipated. Slowly, a beautiful sword came into view, wrought of gleaming silver metal that shone with a pearly sheen like moonlight. Alma recognised it immediately – it was the one from the Seer’s document. The hilt was fashioned like twisting vines, amethyst stones gleaming amongst the silver leaves. It was a thing of beauty, yet the story it told was one of pain. Frozen in time since Gwion laid it down, blood was still fresh on the blade and spattered on the hand guard, while more pooled around the weapon itself. Adara made a choking sound, turning away, and Alma went to stand with her, part in sympathy, partly because she couldn’t look at the sight for long herself. Lord Artos stepped forward and gently lifted the sword, cleaning it on his cloak. The thick dark fabric soaked up the blood and restored the weapon to its former shimmering beauty. A sombre Caleb stepped forward to scatter a handful of pine needles and earth onto the remaining blood, covering the last traces. Lord Artos turned to face them all, blood on his cloak and his face a mask of pain as he held the sword that had led his son to his death. He handed it to Thorion who took it from him, bowing his head. Then Artos moved to Adara, who was weeping again, and placed his arm around her shoulders. ‘Come, my dear,’ they all heard him say. ‘Let us leave this place of sorrow.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Thorion, his voice quiet. ‘Let us go.’

  He and the rest of the little group fell in behind Adara and Artos as they moved out to the path that would lead them to the Gate, Caleb and Alma bringing up the rear, arms linked and walking close. Alma, shaken by what she had seen, fought back tears. Caleb put his arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him. Looking at him, wiping her eyes, she nodded in thanks, unable to speak.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he murmured, his own eyes suspiciously bright.

  As a group they reached the Gate, and, without any further words, started to cross back through to Ambeth. Artos went first, his blood-stained cloak swirling around him in the mists, followed by Adara, who paused a moment before crossing to look back at the desolate valley, her lovely face pale and drawn. Then Meredan, a crimson shape in the increasing mist and gloom, stepped through strong and tall. Thorion, Alma and Caleb stood together for a moment in the mists.

  ‘It has not been easy for any of us,’ Thorion said, his voice gentle and deep, ‘to see this and to learn of poor Gwion’s fate. Do you realise now, Alma, what it was that you saw that day under the pines?’

  ‘The scream, it… it was Gwion, wasn’t it?’ said Alma, her voice choked with unshed tears, pain in her chest. ‘And the dark shape was the creature. But, what about the silver light?’

  ‘It was Gwion’s passing, dear one,’ Thorion said in his deep voice, his eyes shifting to stormy grey. ‘When he died, his spirit passed to the Realms of Light and his body, no longer needed, turned to light and disappeared. So it is for us all, Light and Dark, when we pass.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Alma, no longer able to hold back her tears. ‘Oh, that is so sad.’ Her voice trailed to a whisper and she wept as she thought of Gwion, dying alone in the dark woods and Adara grieving his loss these many years.

  Caleb nodded in agreement, dashing away a tear of his own as Alma wiped her eyes. Seeing their distress, Thorion laid a strong hand on Alma’s shoulder. ‘But Alma,’ he said, his glorious face close to hers. ‘You did it.’

  Alma just looked at him, not knowing for a moment what he meant.

  ‘The Sword, Alma,’ said Thorion, his face lighting up. ‘It is as was foretold. You have found the Sword and made the first strike against the Dark.’

  Alma’s eyes widened at this and she shrank into Caleb’s side.

  ‘Do not fear, dear heart,’ said Thorion. ‘None can harm you, not with us around you. Your name will be feted in our realms and beyond for what you have achieved this day.’

  Alma gulped and nodded, the enormity of what had happened sinking in. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be feted, but it seemed there was no help for it. She shivered again, the cold starting to seep through her clothes.

  ‘Yes, let us go from here,’ said Thorion, noticing her discomfort. ‘Take my hands, both of you, and do not let go.’ Holding out his hands, he waited until he had both Alma and Caleb secure in his grasp before breathing deep and closing his eyes. Alma felt the power move thr
ough her, heat travelling up her arm from where her hand touched Thorion’s, warming her through. Opening his eyes, the High King looked at them both. ‘Now,’ he said, and they stepped through the Gate together.

  ***

  Deryck nodded to the guards as they opened the double doors for him to enter the Great Hall. It was almost empty, just a few members of the court moving through on their own business. Deryck made his way to one of the alcoves and took a seat on the bench, his hands loosely clasped in front of him as he watched the passing traffic. But his mind was elsewhere. If Alma succeeded, if the Light retrieved the Sword, it would be a blow against his father and make him more determined than ever to have control of the girl. Nodding to a passing acquaintance, Deryck pushed the thought away, tired of worrying about it. Let him get through today, and hopefully talk to Alma. Whatever was going to happen tomorrow could wait until then.

  The Sword

  As Thorion, Alma and Caleb came through the Gate, the forest seemed greener and more beautiful than ever, especially after the wintry gloom of the pine valley. While Alma and Caleb both paused to recover, Thorion turned to close the Gate. The light faded out of the carved symbols as the way was sealed once more. Her head still spinning a little, Alma saw Meredan, Artos and Adara standing together in the shade of a large tree. They looked so much brighter than they had in the valley, the colours of their robes and armour no longer muted by the mists. Adara came over, looking concerned.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked both Caleb and Alma. ‘We forget how hard it is for you to cross.’ She placed a gentle hand on Alma’s arm and Alma looked at her, surprised to see that she was restored almost to her old self.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she replied, ‘but… are you?’

  Adara smiled, though sorrow still shadowed her eyes. ‘I am better,’ she said quietly, ‘though I will always miss Gwion.’ She looked distant for a moment then returned to Alma. ‘The hardest thing was not knowing,’ she went on. ‘Not knowing if he was out there, somewhere, unable to get back. At least now I can grieve for him.’

  ‘I am so sorry,’ whispered Alma, stricken. Adara stopped her before she could continue.

  ‘No, there is nothing to be sorry for. You gave me this gift, Alma, and I will forever be grateful.’

  ‘As will we all,’ interjected Lord Artos in his rich voice. He came over to Alma and placed his hands on her arms, looking at her as though inexpressibly proud. ‘For you have also given us back the Sword, which means that not all is lost.’ Alma was surprised to see a twinkle in the older man’s eye as he leaned in closer, saying, ‘I knew you could do this.’ Then, giving her a wink, he stepped back, leaving her astounded.

  Thorion had mounted his horse and now sat waiting, the Sword gleaming bright in his hand. ‘Let us go now,’ he said, excitement thrumming in his voice. ‘It is time to move. Let us ride!’

  Adara and Artos went to their horses, while Caleb wheeled his mount around and Meredan, smiling broadly, offered his strong arm to boost Alma as she scrambled onto the patient horse’s back. Once she was steady, holding tightly to Caleb, he smiled up at her. ‘You did well today,’ he said, his face full of admiration.

  ‘Th-thank you,’ said Alma. ‘For the boost, as well,’ she called after him, hearing him laugh as he swung himself easily onto his own horse’s back. His broad crimson back disappeared down the path with Thorion following behind, calling to the rest of the group.

  ‘Come on!’ he cried. ‘We must hurry now! Let the word go out, that the Sword has been found!’ He sped forward, forcing the others to keep up as they raced through the woods, a much different ride than that of earlier in the day. Even Adara, who had been so sorrowful earlier, laughed as she rode through the glowing green of the wood and Alma felt joy within her, an easing of the worry she carried inside.

  ‘Is it the Sword?’ she asked, clinging to Caleb as they galloped through the trees.

  ‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘It is starting, the return of joy to the world!’ He put his head down, riding so quickly that Alma closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him, scared they would smash into a tree at any moment. Still, with that irrepressible bubble of joy growing inside her it was hard to care, so she opened them again, laughing along with the rest of them. It was a thrilling, madcap, exhilarating ride – any one of them could have been knocked off by a passing branch at any time, yet it didn’t seem to matter, as though a greater force guided them through the woods. They burst from the trees in a blaze of light and colour, Thorion holding the Sword high as he rode across the field to the nearby village, bringing people running to their gates.

  ‘The Sword!’ they cried. The word travelled through the small community, bringing more and more people outside as the group rode through. ‘It is the High King and he has the Sword!’

  Thorion laughed out loud as he rode, his dark hair blowing back from his face, the Sword gleaming in the sun. ‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘It is the Sword! To the Great Hall! Let us celebrate!’

  Shouts of jubilation went up as they rode through the village, hooves clattering on the cobbled street. Circling around, they cantered back through the green field to the gardens, drawing a crowd that grew as the news spread. As they hurtled up the Long Walk, scattering people to left and right, Thorion kept up the cry. ‘Spread the word, the Sword has returned to us!’ Alma could see the news spread through the gardens, with people who had heard running to tell others. Most reacted with joy at the news. But not all. She had seen Lord Denoris, standing like a living statue at the junction of one of the paths, watching the group as they raced by. His eyes met hers and there was no warmth in his emerald gaze. In spite of the joy that filled her, she felt cold for a moment. It seemed she had succeeded in completing the first part of her quest without even trying. And, despite all of Thorion’s assurances, she knew now that she was well and truly marked by the Dark.

  Magnificent in his triumph, the High King reined in his horse at the entrance to the Palace, still holding the Sword high, his dark hair flowing back from his brow and his blue eyes ablaze.

  ‘Let the word be spread!’ he cried, his voice ringing out over the excited chatter of the growing crowd. ‘The Sacred Sword has returned to us!’ To the sound of cheers he dismounted. The others followed suit and the guards took their horses. Thorion led them through the Foyer into the Great Hall, which glowed with colour, the sun streaming in through the stained glass.

  Caleb grabbed Alma’s hand before she got swallowed up in the crowd. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘you need to stand next to Thorion.’

  ‘Wait, what?’ began Alma, pulling back a little. She did not want to be singled out.

  ‘No, come on,’ insisted Caleb, his expression amused as he took in her reticence. Adara, a little ahead of them, turned and beckoned to Alma with a smile.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ sighed Alma, giving in to the inevitable. She hated standing up in front of crowds and could feel her blush starting already. The Hall filled with noise as the mass of people followed them inside, the members of the Court and villagers all craning their necks and jostling for position as they sought to see the Sword. Stepping onto the dais at the end of the room, Thorion gestured for calm. Once the crowd was mostly silent he spoke, his handsome face more glorious than ever.

  ‘This is a momentous day for all who live in Ambeth and the world beyond,’ he said, his voice ringing in all corners of the room. ‘Thanks to Alma-’ he gestured to her where she stood nearby, flanked by Caleb and Adara, blushing furiously ‘-we have been able to retrieve the Sacred Sword of the Regalia from where it has lain hidden these many years. May it mark the return of Balance to all our worlds.’ His face radiant with joy, Thorion turned and with great reverence went and placed the sword into the empty recess. A faint glow began to emanate from the rocky alcove, serene and golden, and a sigh of rapture came from the crowd. Thorion stepped back, slowly, and turned once more to face them, gesturing for silence. His face had grown solemn.

  ‘On a more difficult note, we h
ave learned of the fate of Lord Gwion. As he passed through the Gate from Ambeth he was ambushed and most foully murdered by a Galardin. We, too, were attacked, and one of our group injured.’ At this he paused, fixing several Lords of the Dark with a hard glance. A gasp of horror ran round the room. ‘Let us all take a moment to remember him, that his spirit hear us and feel joy that there is still love for him in this world.’

  With these words, the majority of those assembled bowed their heads, silent in grief for one gone too soon. Alma was one of the only to notice when Adara, overcome with sorrow, touched Thorion lightly on the arm and slipped out through a side door, the public outpouring for Gwion too much for her. Finally with ritual words Thorion signalled an end to the moment of reflection, although many still looked sorrowful as they turned, quietly, to talk with their neighbour.

  Along one side of the Hall, Alma spied an efficient team of servants setting up a long table full of refreshments. She had been so caught up in the events of the day, she hadn’t realised how tired, hungry and thirsty she was. Caleb seemed to be thinking the same thing. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, jerking his head towards the buffet. ‘I’m starving!’

  But Thorion stepped in, stopping him with a gentle hand on his arm. ‘First we need to fix that shoulder of yours,’ he said, gesturing to a nearby Elder. Tall and bearded, dressed in dark green, he came over and drew Caleb to one side, examining the boy’s injured arm. Thorion turned to Alma.

  ‘Shall we eat? You can bring something for Caleb, if you like.’ He smiled at her and Alma nodded back before following Thorion across the Hall, pausing only to look back one more time at the Sword glowing in its sheltered space.

  ***

  The Great Hall was filled with members of the Court, both Light and Dark, in a splendid display, many of them coming up to congratulate Alma and shake her hand. Still in her regular clothes, and somewhat the worse for wear after the wild ride through the woods, she felt quite drab and wanted to slip away to her room and get changed. She was also still embarrassed at being singled out by Thorion in front of the assembly; she hadn’t done much, only been in the right place at the right time and still wasn’t sure this meant she was the one from the Prophecy, no matter how much Caleb went on about it. Dear Caleb. Right now he was surrounded by a group of his friends, all listening as he told the story of finding the Sword and his part in it. He smiled at Alma before returning to his tale, flushed and animated with excitement.