The Fall (The Last Druid Trilogy Book 1)

by Glen L. Hall

‘But what if the man you met wasn’t Oscar? What if the letter is a lie? What if Eagan is the traitor?’

  ‘I don’t—’

  Sam got no further before Emily grabbed hold of him and slapped her hand over his mouth. A moment later the distinct sound of crows calling to each other came to them from the far side of the river.

  Sam daren’t move. The calls were loud and excited and he could tell the crows were flying in numbers.

  It seemed to take an age for them to pass by. Even when the last of them had gone, Sam and Emily remained standing there. Then she dropped her hand and he put his arms round her. She raised her face to his and he saw tears in her eyes

  ‘I’m so scared, Sam,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think I can do this anymore. I just want to go home.’

  Sam felt a mix of emotions swirling through his body. Fear was there, along with anger and defiance. He was going to find the answers that would bring an end to this.

  ‘Everything’s going to be all right, Emily. I’m frightened, but I’m no longer overcome by it. I really don’t blame you if you decide to go home. But I’ll sort this out somehow, I promise you.’

  Taking cover behind a long line of trees, they made their way slowly back to the old school house.

  CROW-MEN

  Twilight fell and Eagan still hadn’t returned. Emily retired to bed early, looking exhausted by the day’s events. Sam sat in the garden for a while, but tiredness rolled over him without warning and even the chill breeze couldn’t keep his eyes open. It wasn’t long before he made his way back to the house.

  He ended up in the silence of the library. It spanned the full width of the old school house and its bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling. At the far end was a round desk made from a light wood in front of a large arched window looking directly onto the sloping lawn and river. On the far bank the heron was back, its harsh call ringing out.

  Sam’s tiredness was forgotten as he found himself walking the length of the room, stopping every now and again to reach for a book. The library was a treasure trove of first editions – Where the Wild Things Are, Swallows and Amazons, the Famous Five stories, The Railway Children, The Wind in the Willows, Goodnight, Mister Tom. Sam took each from its place, feeling its weight, spellbound by its colours and catching its dusty smell as he opened its pages. Some were perfect, others less, so but they were all here, the great and the good.

  Taking a copy of The Secret Garden, he seated himself at the desk, looking out over another sort of secret garden. Every now and then swans would glide by, apparently without a care in the world, but he knew they would be paddling beneath the surface. He managed a smile as he lit the lamp and turned the book over in his hand.

  Life wasn’t like fiction, he thought. In fact, it was all a bit of mess. First Oxford, then Gosforth – all the places that had provided him with solace had become unsafe. Perhaps this one would too.

  His thoughts turned to the professors, out in the wilds of Northumberland somewhere. He hoped they would find a resolution to what was going on. How could he find out?

  Of course! He found himself reaching for the letter Oscar had given him. Then suddenly he was nervous. This time he wanted it to have changed, but what if it told him that Eagan couldn’t be trusted? Or that the Shadow had found him? What would he do then? He shivered, despite the warmth of the library.

  He turned the letter over in his hands, almost irritated with it. The envelope looked old and battered in the light of the lamp. He opened it and half withdrew the letter, then stopped. Then he withdrew it completely, but laid it face down on the desk.

  It reminded him of a lecture Professor Stuckley had given during his first week at Cherwell. The professor had spoken about a famous thought experiment called Schrödinger’s cat. The imaginary cat is locked in a box and its life is determined by the state of a radioactive atom. Quantum mechanics suggests that before you open the box the atom can be in many states – a ‘quantum superstition’ as the professor had so eloquently described it. So the cat can be both dead and alive at the same time. It is only on opening the box that the atom is in one state only and you can be certain the cat is either dead or alive.

  What if the letter from Oscar was acting in the same way? At the moment it was face down and Sam couldn’t make out any letters. What if its meaning were entangled, a wave of probabilities that would collapse into one certainty as soon as Sam turned it over and began to observe it? And what if he had a part to play in that meaning?

  He sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the desktop. His eye was caught by the circular pattern in the wood’s grain. When he sat forward he could no longer see it, so he began to gently rock back and forwards, making the circle disappear and reappear at will. It was only when he was at a 45-degree angle that he could see it completely.

  That was another thing, thought Sam. All the doors in the Old School House were solid round wooden doors when he thought about it a moment longer, the whole of the Reign’s family home had the same architectural coloration, the same feel and look as the seventh floor of the bookshop. Though this wasn’t odd considering it was owned by the same family he had seen this arrangement before and it was the sudden and jarring comprehension that stopped him in his tracks. The design of the doors, the bookcases, the windows and even the furniture recalled the Fellow’s house at Magdalen, the Eagle and Child and one other place. It had been prodding him from the deep places on the far edge of his sub-conscious, it had evaded him only because the past week had been moving at such a pace, but no he had seen these doors at his home. The circular design had been the elephant in the room, an elephant made of the same wood he had touched in the Fellow’s garden the night Oscar appeared.

  This was ridiculous, he thought. He was just wasting time.

  He took a deep breath and turned the letter over.

  He didn’t have to read it to know it had changed. He could see at once it had been written by a different hand. There was a new message waiting to be read. Whatever it was, if he read it, it would change the course he took. What if he chose not to read it?

  What if he chose to ignore the Shadow altogether? Would it stop existing or would it creep up on him without warning? Could he afford to ignore such messages from the past – or were they from the future? Hadn’t the night in the Eagle and Child created a paradox – one that was almost impossible to overcome?

  Impatiently, he leaned forward again and picked the letter up.

  Dearest Sam,

  We can only guess your bewilderment at the turn of events. The moving parts are now in free fall and it is difficult to offer counsel at this time. We are only too aware of the paradox that grows in the telling.

  Though we regret the hurt our words will cause you, know that we have long deliberated and found we must tell you that Brennus and Drust are journeying to the Dead Water and are pursued relentlessly by our enemy. You cannot expect them to return to you.

  We ask that you prepare to leave at short notice, but only when the Forest Reivers come down from the hills.

  Know that the Dagda seeks you. We do not know what part he has to play, but he will find you.

  We are sorry.

  Jack

  ‘You cannot expect them to return to you.’ Sam let the letter fall back onto the desk, not wanting to touch it a second longer.

  The professors were drawing the Shadow to themselves, sacrificing themselves so he could escape. How could this have happened? Who could he tell? What could he do? Was it too late to change their fate? He thought about the terror he’d faced in Magdalen. The professors would be facing that same terror in the dark hills of Northumberland. No, he couldn’t bear it!

  He jumped to his feet and started pacing across the wooden floor. The light from the lamp seemed to intensify, but he didn’t notice it. The professors were walking into a trap!

  Sizzling with adrenaline, he cross
ed from the west wing into the main hall and ran up the stairs.

  ‘Emily! Emily!’

  ‘Sam?’ Emily appeared from the back bedroom, bleary-eyed and clearly not happy at being woken up. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along the corridor.

  ‘The letter’s changed again! The professors are walking into a trap and they won’t return!’

  ‘Slow down – what’s happening?’

  Emily swung Sam around and took his hand off her arm. ‘Show me the letter!’

  He led her back to the library and handed it to her.

  Emily’s face went pale as she read it. Then she looked up at Sam. ‘What about my uncle? He was with them. It doesn’t mention him.’

  ‘No. What does that mean?’

  They stared at each other.

  Then Sam said firmly, ‘Look, I think we have to tell Eagan about this.’

  ‘No, Sam!’ Emily howled. ‘I’ve already told you he can’t be trusted. He’s already upset half the village, he’s hand in glove with the Forest Reivers and what about that business with Morcant?’

  ‘Jarl’s his father – surely he has the right to know?’

  Exasperated, Emily waved the letter in the air. ‘This warns you to leave when the Forest Reivers come down from the hills. It warns you to have nothing to do with them, Sam! Indirectly, that means Eagan too.’

  ‘It doesn’t say that, Emily. It could equally mean that they will bring us news that will help us.’

  ‘The Forest Reivers help no one but themselves.’

  Emily laid the letter back down on the desk with an air of finality.

  ‘Well, I’m still going to try and find Oscar in this Garden of Druids,’ said Sam. ‘What else can I do?’ He sank into a chair. ‘I can’t send any help to the professors – I don’t even know where they are.’

  Emily frowned. ‘If Brennus and Drust can’t take care of themselves, then no one can do it for them. I think we have to use the time they have given you to get those answers from Oscar. Then we can decide from there.’

  * * * * * *

  It was late evening before the Celtic Flow came into view. Then the peerless figure of Eagan was lifting his oars and grabbing hold of the wooden jetty.

  Sam and Emily met him at the door, but to their surprise, instead of greeting them he walked right past them and into the library.

  ‘What’s he up to now?’ Emily asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ Sam answered. He felt just a little perturbed by Eagan’s grim expression.

  There was nothing for it but to follow him into the library. They found him standing by the desk.

  ‘When were you going to tell me that you talk with the dead, Sam?’ His voice was loud and had lost all of its good humour.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Sam replied, feeling the blood rush to his face. ‘Are you telling me something about Oscar? Whatever it is, I don’t much like your tone. What’s happened?’

  Eagan placed both hands on the desk and leaned over it, looking back at them with eyes that suddenly blazed with anger.

  ‘You don’t like my tone. Well, let me tell you, there’s a lot I don’t like! Look at you – you turn up at my home uninvited, you eat my food and you do nothing but criticise me. I’m kept in the dark by my own parents about who you really are and I’m even thrown in jail because of the wretched Morcant Pauperhaugh’s treachery. Do I deserve that?’

  Sam and Emily exchanged quick glances.

  ‘I tend the orchard and rebuild relations with the Forest Reivers,’ Eagan went on, slamming his hand down on the table, ‘and even my own father refuses to tell me the truth. In fact, no one has the decency, let alone the courtesy, to tell me anything! Why didn’t you tell me about the letter?’

  Sam froze and his hand instinctively went to his back pocket, but there was nothing there. Of course, they’d left it on the desk. There was no sign of it now.

  Eagan let out an odd laugh.

  ‘And why won’t you tell me anything about my father? Is that my thanks for my hospitality to you?’

  Sam shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘I know who wrote this letter.’ Eagan held up the now ragged piece of paper. ‘I would just like to know why the Keepers of the Ruin are guiding you.’

  Sam was taken aback. Was that who they were? But what did that mean?

  ‘And Emily,’ Eagan continued, ‘I didn’t cause your mother and father’s break-up. You need to stop being so insolent or I swear…’

  ‘Swear what, Eagan? That you’ll rip my throat out too?’

  In one swift move, Eagan had leaped over the table and before Sam could think what to do he was standing over Emily with a menacing snarl, fist raised.

  Then he took a step back, breathing heavily.

  ‘I want you to leave, Sam. I know who you are and they’ll never leave you alone. Already you have put my family in great danger and it’s only just begun for you.’

  Sam went pale.

  Eagan turned back to Emily. She was looking petrified.

  ‘Your mother and father are splitting up because a Reign and a Pauperhaugh should never have got married in the first place. You keep believing it’s down to me and you’ll be as big a fool as your father is. Now go and don’t come back.’

  Sam moved between him and Emily and took her hand. Her grip was tight and tense. Making sure to pick up the letter, he led her out of the room. As they walked into the hall, they could hear Eagan calling after them, telling them to leave Warkworth for good.

  Sam closed Emily’s bedroom door and rested his head against the thick wood. He was shocked. Emily had clearly been right. They couldn’t rely on Eagan at all.

  ‘What actually happened back there?’ he asked.

  ‘He’s always had a temper. It used to get him in trouble at school and with the neighbours. But I’ve never seen him like that, Sam. I thought he was going to hit me – perhaps worse. I know you’ll still want to go to Birling Wood and find the orchard, but if he finds you in there, who knows what he’ll be capable of?’

  The thought had already crossed Sam’s mind.

  ‘I don’t think I have an option.’

  ‘Of course you do. That’s what he wants. He’d like nothing more than to find you in the wood. And me too.’

  She rubbed her hands over her face.

  ‘I don’t think I can do it, Sam. I’m sorry, but I’m going back to Newcastle. You can come and stay with my mum in Jesmond.’

  ‘No.’ Sam shook his head. ‘Eagan’s going to have his hands full this evening. Those crows will bring trouble with them tonight. I can’t wait any longer. Can you get me to the orchard?’

  ‘I can get you there, but we’ll need to avoid the Forest Reivers, otherwise they’ll alert Eagan.’

  She looked at Sam and he could see fear in her eyes.

  ‘Listen,’ she said quietly, almost pleading with him, ‘are you sure you don’t want to catch the train back and forget about all this?’

  ‘I don’t think I can go back. You go if you want. I think Oscar is my only hope.’

  * * * * * *

  Eagan sat in the garden with only his guilt for company. What he had done to Emily and Sam was almost unforgivable, but it was the only way. He owed Sam an apology and hoped that when they realised what was about to happen, they would forgive him. Still, he hadn’t enjoyed his final performance. He sat there heavy with guilt and resignation.

  Reading the letter had simply reinforced his suspicions. He’d known his father, Brennus and Drust were prepared to lay their lives down for a cause they didn’t fully understand. He took a deep breath and slumped back in his chair.

  As daylight seeped out of Warkworth, the edges of Birling Wood became into black walls. Eagan hoped that Emily and Sam were already clear of its edges and making their way to the orchard. Would Sam really find
Oscar? Surely not.

  He felt the strain of the last few weeks in his neck and shoulders as he rested his hands on his lap and waited. The air was cool. The garden was still and silent. He could hear the gentle roll of the river and make out its twisting shape against the now shadowy banks. He took another breath, taking little comfort from the cold touch of the chair against his back.

  He stood and stretched and walked the short distance to the wooden jetty. The Celtic Flow was pulling against the knotted rope, creaking and groaning. The odd car was trundling across Warkworth Bridge on its way south and a blackbird was skittering across the lawn, signalling to Eagan that he was still alone and the enemy had not yet arrived.

  He knew he had been kept in the dark about Sam’s true nature, but he accepted that. It wasn’t his place to know. Brennus had tried to protect everyone as well as keep together the old alliance. He had even tried single-handedly to recreate the Keepers, for the Keepers had been the faithful partners of the Druids, studying their lore and the magic they had brought to the Mid-land. But the enemy had grown in numbers and confidence. And the new alliance had been built on sand, on the flawed relationships between the old families of Northumberland.

  Eagan sighed. His father had suspected there was a traitor amongst them. Morcant was the main suspect, but there might be more than one.

  He wished he could have been more open with Sam, but the school house had been watched for a number of weeks. The old man he had met in the Blindburn had warned him that a Grim-were had appeared from the Underland with its own questions about the emergence of the Shadow. It would take the form of a grey heron in the daylight and its true shape at nightfall.

  Eagan found himself shivering at the thought. The heron had indeed appeared across the river. It was never far from the garden now, walking up and down the riverbank in what appeared an endless search for food, yet finding nothing. But Eagan had used that to his advantage, purposefully bringing Sam to the water’s edge so he could tell him and the listening enemy that only he could take them to the orchard. He had put on quite a performance, he thought, for the watchful heron.