The Fall (The Last Druid Trilogy Book 1)

by Glen L. Hall

  Sam picked himself up and started running through the tall grass of the meadow. He was big and strong, but he could feel his lungs burning, his ankle searing with pain and a ghastly sickness surging through him. Behind him an icy threat was rising, a frightful horror gaining speed, hurtling through the meadow, ready to sweep down and engulf him.

  Still he kept running. Breathless, stumbling, beyond crying for help, he was suddenly across the meadow and scrambling and clawing his way up the short bank by the oak tree he had sat beneath only hours earlier. This time it offered no shelter.

  The small wooden bridge that spanned the Cherwell appeared like a beacon of hope. Staggering across it, Sam fell exhausted against the huge iron gates of Magdalen. They were locked.

  * * * * * *

  The sky was a giant black canvas hanging over the spires of Oxford. Sam lay looking up at it. Numb, cold and hurt, all he could do was wait for his pursuer to strike. Tears slid down his cheeks. On the opposite side of the arched bridge, a dark cloud was gathering and he could feel it reaching out to strip him of his senses. Even at this distance, it was smothering him with hatred. He was sure the moment it touched him he would be dead. And he didn’t even know why.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Already it was moving, rising up, black and shapeless, a ghostly Shadow that filled the night with dread. Shrinking back with fear, Sam closed his eyes.

  He expected darkness, but light was dancing on the inside of his eyelids just as it had in the professor’s study. At first it was white, then one by one the colours of the rainbow emerged, swirling together as if caught in clear water. Voices were rising from a faraway place and the colours were coming together, and for an instant Sam thought they were dancing in the form of a single silhouette.

  The sweeping voices were swelling and rising through his mind. ‘The choir of Magdalen,’ he thought dimly, ‘singing evensong.’

  The sea of voices washed over him, seeming to lift him and take him higher. Then he heard a commanding voice.

  ‘It cannot hurt you here.’

  He had heard this before, a long time ago, in a half-forgotten dream. As he heard it now, he noticed a strange mellifluous haze moving through his mind’s eye. It seemed to envelop him in a warmth that drove the fear from his body. He saw a light flowing, drawn by a hidden current, gently pushing the long strands of darkness from his mind. Whether a form took shape in the light he couldn’t tell, but when he opened his eyes there was a figure standing beside him, a woman of sublime beauty, with colours radiating from her like a newly formed rainbow after a storm.

  ‘My dear Sam, I am here for you, but you need to listen.’

  He felt a tender hand touch his face.

  ‘Even in this place, time cannot be denied. I cannot keep the Shadow at bay, for it hunts you even here. When I take you back, it will be waiting, so run and do not look back. I have called those who will give you time.’

  ‘Who are you?’ he whispered.

  ‘I am the Fall.’

  In the distance, thunder rumbled and the light began to fade. Then Sam was back by the gates, with tears on his face and terror all around him and the sound of a distant wail in his ears.

  The gates of Magdalen were opening and the nightmare was fading into a soft glow of college lights and familiar voices. He was being hauled to his feet.

  ‘Close the gates,’ growled someone off to his right.

  Sam was half carried through the ancient walls whilst all around him voices were calling to each other. He was ushered quickly towards an open door and lifted up a number of steps, his arm now wrapped around the unmistakable shoulders of Professor Lawrence, with his thick beard, dark ponytail and fierce brown eyes.

  With their feet echoing loudly on the stone floor, they made their way through the cloisters and away from the turmoil.

  Professor Lawrence eventually slowed down as they came to a large door. Sam recognised it as the entrance to the Founder’s tower.

  The professor withdrew a large key-ring with keys of different lengths hanging from it. Finding the one he needed, he put it in the keyhole, then looked back over his shoulder at Sam.

  ‘Are you injured in any way?’

  ‘Just my ankle – what’s happening?’

  ‘We’re going out through St John’s Quad to the front gate. If I have to leave you or we’re separated, make your way to the Eagle and Child. Once we’re outside the college, you’ll have no protection against the thing you saw tonight. Do you understand?’

  Sam could hear and almost feel the professor’s nervousness. This made him more anxious than ever.

  ‘Do you understand?’

  Sam wasn’t sure he did. His mind was still numb from the last hour. He couldn’t comprehend what he’d witnessed.

  ‘What happened? Are the professors safe?’

  Professor Lawrence seemed not to have heard. He was looking back down the long and beautiful archways of the cloisters. Then he was stepping back from the door and turning. Though his face was expressionless, his eyes betrayed fear and determination.

  ‘I’m pleased you’re okay. Listen, Sam, if you get to see Angus on your travels, tell him I send my regards. You must go on alone now, but we will give you the time you need. I hope to see you again soon.’

  Then the professor was running back the way they had come. He passed through the archway and was gone.

  Sam stood alone once more, his ankle reminding him that he could barely run, his clothes damp and exhaustion making his head swim. He reached for the key in the door and began to turn it.

  Then something in the back of his befuddled mind made him stop. Hadn’t the professor told him to go out into St John’s Quad and through the front gate…? But if the Shadow could find him in the Fellows’ House, then surely it was intelligent enough to know this was the way he would try to escape?

  He let go of the key and staggered backwards. What if there was more than one of them? What if the one at the gate had been flushing him out?

  The key was still in the door and footsteps were now approaching from the other side. Sam watched in mute horror as something moved the handle from the opposite side. He reached for the key with a leaden hand, turned it and heard the lock snap into place. Then the door shuddered as someone pushed on it. The handle rattled.

  ‘Sam!’ came a voice, but Sam didn’t answer, for although it had sounded familiar, a chill had come over him.

  Taking the key-ring from the door, he turned and fled. He would make for the deer park and then the Eagle and Child, and hope Professor Stuckley would meet him there.

  * * * * * *

  Approaching the doorway that led out onto the lawns of the New Buildings, Sam knew he would be vulnerable to attack. He could be seen from Addison’s Walk and there was no knowing who or what had called his name and where it was now.

  The door was locked and he had to try several different keys before the lock clicked back. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. Just two steps and he was out from the cover of Magdalen’s age-worn stones, shivering in his soaking clothes, his teeth chattering and his senses alert.

  The best he could do was head diagonally across the open space, with the cloisters behind him and the New Buildings to his right. There was a chance he could be seen from St John’s Quad through the gap between the President’s lodgings and the Grammar Hall, but he knew that he couldn’t wait to be caught.

  Back towards Addison’s Walk, vague cries were echoing around the lawns of the New Buildings. Ahead were the trees of the Grove, the beautiful green expanse of the deer park.

  With one desperate burst of speed, Sam was through its borders and coming to rest against a tall elm tree. In the darkness he could no longer see the gap between the President’s lodgings and the Grammar Hall and he knew an attack could come from there at any moment, but even with such a threat at hand, he felt his l
egs buckling beneath him. It was foolish not to push on, but his breathing was shallow, his eyes were heavy and his head felt as though it was made of iron. Then he felt the creeping fear begin again in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t wait until he was caught helpless beneath the tree.

  Stumbling further into the Grove, Sam tried to run, but it was taking all his strength to stay upright. Exhausted, cold, almost tearful, he promised himself he would make one final effort.

  As he dragged himself forward, he became aware of startled movements in the night and eyes pricking the blackness with their reflected light. Now and then a noise would break the air and something would leap from his path. The deer were skittish, but then it seemed their fear was replaced by curiosity and they started coming right up to Sam before turning and fading into the darkness. It almost felt as if they were shepherding him.

  There must have been a hundred milling around, he thought. Thankfully, whatever was pursuing him would find it difficult to follow him now, for the deer were jumping around in front of him and behind him before leaping off to his left and right.

  He could no longer feel the chill of his stalker, only that of his damp clothes. Was he really going to evade his pursuer? What of Professor Stuckley and Professor Whitehart. Had they escaped?

  Then suddenly there was a stone wall in front of him. He was across!

  He turned to thank the deer for their safe passage. He could feel their energy willing him on, their calls now almost words, telling him not to linger, that his pursuer was merely lost, not defeated.

  He turned and clambered up the wall with nothing more than their encouragement for strength.

  Sitting on the top, he turned to thank them again, but there was only empty space where they had been. They had vanished so quickly, he wondered whether they had been real.

  Then it hit him. ‘There are no deer here in summer, Sam,’ he said as he half-fell over the wall and collapsed onto the pavement of Longwall Street.

  Sitting against the long wall that had given the street its name, he laughed and then found himself crying, all in one breath.

  THE EAGLE AND CHILD

  The hard stone wall dug into his back, keeping him from drifting off. He was tired beyond anything he’d ever known, but he knew that he had to move on. He dragged himself to his feet.

  Just for a second, the street swam and he had to steady himself against the unforgiving wall. It took several deep breaths before he finally got his bearings. If he went down Holywell Street, the Eagle and Child would be about a two-mile walk away. That seemed a very long way. He felt dizzy and just a little sick, his ankle hurt and his clothes were still damp, but there was nothing for it. He set off again, stumbling through the darkness.

  It was now the early hours of the morning and there was just the faintest trace of dawn in the eastern sky. The streets were quiet, but behind him the high walls of Magdalen reminded him that whatever had come for him in the Fellows’ House could still be searching for him. The thought sent a shudder through his weary body, but the feeling of dread did not return. Though his legs were shaking with the effort to walk, he could feel his fear seeping out of him. Whatever had been stalking him was fading away. Still, as he reached the red-bricked building that bridged Longwall Street and Holywell Street, he found himself turning to make sure nothing was following him.

  Holywell Street was a favourite street of his, full of exquisite architecture. He was now passing New College, its grand Headington stone giving the darkness a yellowish hue. As he walked, he remembered that Tolkien had lived at number 99 Holywell Street back in the early 1950s.

  He passed the famous Tuck Shop and eventually arrived at the end of the street. Standing between the old Indian Institute and the King’s Arms, he paused for a moment to consider his options. What he would give to be inside the pub now with a warm fire at his back! Thinking of it reminded him just how cold he was. He had to keep moving.

  Broad Street was the most direct way to the Eagle and Child, but Sam decided to turn left up Parks Road and cut through St John’s College instead. If his stalker did realise where he was heading, he hoped that wouldn’t be the way it was expecting him to go.

  But, as the high walls of St John’s rose up on his left, he realised the folly of his plan. It was futile to try and climb them when he could barely put one foot in front of the other. He would have to keep on going until he could turn left down Museum Road and work his way through the Lamb and Flag Passage to St Giles, where the Eagle and Child stood.

  With his head almost dipping onto his chest, he trudged on. He didn’t see the crow fly out of the grounds of St John’s and sweep above him, wheeling sharply before flying swiftly off into the night.

  He came to Museum Road without stopping, ignoring the fork in the road and taking the Lamb and Flag Passage, the hope of seeing the Eagle and Child driving him on.

  As he emerged from the passage into dawn’s first light, he felt as if he was waking from a bad dream. Across the road, warm and welcoming like the arms of a favourite aunt, was the Eagle and Child.

  Sam stood for a long moment remembering his excitement at entering the pub for the first time. That seemed so long ago now. Then he crossed the wide roads of St Giles and headed for the Eagle’s black front door.

  The realisation that he had reached safety was making him feel sick and his remaining strength was draining away. The last few steps to the Eagle’s door seemed to take a lifetime. A blue haze was spreading across the dark sky as he finally reached it.

  He slumped against it and starting thumping on the thick wood, closing his eyes as the ground fell out from under him and he fell into untroubled darkness.

  * * * * * *

  When he finally woke he found himself in a large bed covered with an equally large quilt. A thick curtain across a dormer window was keeping the room in a hazy light. The only furniture was a bedside table and an ornate wardrobe next to an equally ornate door. He could hear talking and realised there was a little radio perched beside him to keep him company, tuned to Radio 4. He was warm and dry and dressed in pyjamas that he did not recognise.

  The night before already seemed like a dream. How long had he been asleep? He stretched and at once felt an ache arch through his body. When he swung his legs out of bed, he was met with the sight of an ugly bruise spreading across his right ankle and foot.

  He sat there for a moment. It hadn’t been a dream. It had all been real.

  He didn’t know what to think. He lay back and let the voices on the radio soothe his mind.

  Then there was a knock at the door and a very cheery voice asked for admission. The door opened, revealing a smiling Professor Stuckley with a tray of soup and a hot drink.

  ‘Sam, you’re awake at last! I brought this just in case. Have it now – you must be hungry. Then I’m sure we both have a story to tell.’

  As the professor crossed the room and turned to face him, Sam saw that his eye was swollen and half closed and there was a small cut on the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Yes, a trophy from the night before last, Sam, but it could have been much worse. Now come, please have your soup and then we shall go and eat properly downstairs and you can tell me your tale.’

  ‘I’m guessing I’m still at the Eagle and Child?’

  ‘Yes, you were found slumped against the door. You were exhausted and I don’t wonder at it. You’ve slept for a whole day and night, so I’m sure you’re feeling better now. I’m glad you came here. In fact I am very pleased you did. Now, I’ve had your clothes washed and ironed and they are in the wardrobe, so when you’re ready, get dressed and I’ll see you downstairs.’

  With that, walking perhaps a little more stiffly than usual, the professor disappeared through the door as quickly as he had entered it.

  Sam took a sip from the cup, then stood gingerly and drew back the curtain. He realised he was at the very top of
the building, looking down on an avenue full of cyclists and students going about their business.

  Sunlight washed through the small room and he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the warm rays still his whirling thoughts.

  The Shadow had been here, in Oxford. The sudden chill and the creeping fear in the pit of his stomach, the cold reach of something quite unknown that he’d felt in the passageway beneath the Fellows’ House had been the same as on that winter’s night by the Coquet. Why had it followed him from Warkworth? Why was it hunting him down? And how did Oscar and his enigmatic message fit into it all?

  It was time to meet the professor and get some answers.

  Leaving his soup untouched, he dressed quickly and opened the door. He’d never been on the top floor of the Eagle and Child before, and walking out into a narrow corridor felt just a little peculiar. But when he finally reached the ground floor, he was back in the friendly heart of one of his favourite places.

  * * * * * *

  The Eagle and Child was a welcoming pub. Long ago it had been the meeting-place of the Inklings. Now it was animated by some of the most enthusiastic bar staff Sam had ever met. It had a single corridor that ran the full length of the building and the smell of wholesome food would drift through the whole pub. Sam suddenly felt hungry as he moved quickly through the throng of drinkers.

  He found Professor Stuckley in one of the porches at the front of the building, sitting directly in front of a large window that looked out towards St John’s.

  The professor was already halfway down a pint of Broughton Elderpower. ‘I’ve ordered you sausage and mash,’ he said with a benevolent smile.

  Even though the early afternoon sun wasn’t coming directly through the window, the professor’s injuries were now in full view. His left eye was almost closed, the bruise was spreading to his cheek and his cut nose looked slightly more crooked than before. Despite this, he seemed in surprisingly high spirits. He stopped a staff member and asked whether he would be kind enough to bring him two more pints of Elderpower.