The Fall (The Last Druid Trilogy Book 1)

by Glen L. Hall

  It saddened him to think about the friction with Emily, but he also knew that her dislike of him would mean she would take Sam straight to the orchard. The only problem with his master plan was that, like the Hoods and his father, he had become the bait.

  The old man had told him far more than he had admitted to Sam. The enemy would attack on the first night. They would come in great numbers, both crow-men and the Grim-were, who could take any shape, including that of those it had slaughtered. He would need the strength of the Forest Reivers, whom he had summoned from their secret places in the forest borders. Uncertain times called for the certainty of great allies, and there were none more powerful than the Forest Reivers.

  As evening turned to night, however, he found himself wondering if they would come to his aid and whether it would be enough to turn back the tide that was creeping silently through the lands. As the time continued to flow, a horrible thought occurred to him: what if the enemy hadn’t been fooled and whilst he was standing there Sam and Emily were being hunted like animals?

  Then hair on the back of his neck rose and he found himself crouching down, almost sightless in the darkness. There had been just the tiniest of splashes in the river.

  Alarm surging through his body, he started walking slowly backwards from the wooden jetty whilst reaching behind him and sliding two long knives from the sheaths fastened tightly to his body. There were white ripples in the darkness of the river and he could make out movement on the far bank. Something was dropping from the edge of the wood where the tree roots drank from the river.

  When the first bent and twisted shapes, feathered and black, hauled themselves out of the water and lurched onto the bank, Eagan was hit with the bitter realisation that he was out of his depth. In the darkness their wicked beaks and eyes were glittering. How many were they? How had Emily and Sam faced such a threat and survived?

  Less than a hundred feet away, they stood and mocked him with a hideous noise. He could smell their poison even from this distance, a foul and fetid reek that spoke of evil to come. Then the lines of misshapen forms went quiet and a figure stepped out, bloodied and torn.

  Eagan knew this was not his father but an apparition sent to ridicule and torment him. Still his long knives were suddenly limp in his nerveless fingers.

  ‘Where is the girl?’

  That wasn’t what Eagan had expected.

  ‘First tell me who you are.’ His voice sounded weak and jittery.

  ‘She was here,’ the voice grated.

  He was silent, waiting for a sign from the dark wood, but nothing came. The Forest Reivers were not coming to his aid.

  Then the crow-men’s unnatural clamour broke out again, freezing Eagan’s blood. They attacked without warning, quick and hungry.

  Eagan was swift and powerful. The force of his blows took them by surprise. He rolled and span, but as he swung his knives down upon them, opening up their bodies, he knew they meant to capture him alive, for several let themselves fall. He danced amongst them, their blood stinging his arms. They were herding him away from the house, down towards the river.

  For all his strength and speed, a deep gash to his back sent sparks of pain gushing through his body and his breath exploding out of his lungs. Still he danced on, parrying and cutting, and still they fell, but soon they had encircled him in a tormenting wall of misery. They began to hold back, allowing him to feel the venom surging through him. His throat was beginning to burn with the poisonous flow.

  The thought of being captured by them turned his stomach. He couldn’t let it happen. As his vision begin to slip and slide, he turned his knives towards his own chest. Gathering all his strength, he thrust them inwards.

  There was an explosion in his mind, a pain that blinded him, and then he was falling forward into a cold anguish.

  * * * * * *

  Sam and Emily had been walking along the river for nearly an hour. They had reached a part where the waters were clear and the trees on either side were alive with birds preparing to roost for the night. A slight breeze was rustling the leaves and joining the river’s song.

  Emily knew what she had to do. Over the years she’d spent several summer holidays helping Jarl and Eagan pick the fruit for Alnwick market. But this would be the first time she’d gone to the orchard without either of them.

  She stopped beside a boat. It was a small rowing boat not dissimilar to the Celtic Flow.

  ‘Whose is this? Why have they left it moored so far from Warkworth?’ Sam was looking over his shoulder anxiously.

  Ignoring him, Emily said, ‘We need to cross the river.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we have just crossed the bridge?’

  That was a good question, thought Emily. She ignored that one too.

  She held the wooden mooring post and put first one leg and then the other into the boat, then fished around for the oars.

  ‘Do you actually know whose boat this is?’ Sam asked.

  Emily gave him a little wink and proceeded to grab the oars and place her feet into the single set of riggers.

  ‘If you want me to take you to the orchard and make sure no one can follow us, just get in.’

  Sam felt a little uneasy about taking someone’s boat, but Emily had made a good point – no one could follow your scent across a river. He gingerly climbed in and took the opposite seat, looking back the way they had come. He watched as Emily raised the oars and pushed off, gaining the centre of the river with great finesse.

  ‘I didn’t know you could row like that.’

  ‘You don’t know everything about me.’

  She was settling into a rhythm, making sure she was rowing down the very middle of the river, away from the banks.

  Birling Wood was now thick and dark on either side of them. The first autumn leaves were beginning to fall, gently twirling down all around them. The further Emily rowed under the broad canopy, the stronger the wind seemed to become. The banks drew closer together and the trees leaned in around them.

  Emily had been rowing no more than thirty minutes when she started making for the far bank. Sam looked on in admiration as she manoeuvred the boat into a small culvert where a wooden stake and thick rope were lying waiting.

  It took them only a few moments to moor the boat and make sure it was secure against the current, which had strengthened as the river had narrowed. Emily’s cheeks were flushed and her hair damp against her forehead. Sam felt just a touch guilty for not offering to help, although he guessed he would have been more of a hindrance.

  ‘Right.’

  Standing on the bank, Emily faced the river and took a small compass from her pocket.

  ‘We need to bear northwest and head over towards the Cauldron.’

  ‘Cauldron?’

  Emily ignored him yet again. ‘It shouldn’t take us too long to get to the orchard. I’m guessing it’s less than five miles from here. Let’s leave our rucksacks in the boat.’

  They set off. Emily carried a bottle of water, but before long she was wishing she’d brought a torch and a coat as well. The day had been warm, but with night approaching it had turned altogether colder.

  They walked together but spoke little, concentrating on following a path that might once have existed but had been swallowed by the slow march of tree and undergrowth. The further they walked, the more the wood seemed to close in, and they felt stifled by the smells of damp earth and rotting bark.

  Trudging through the gloom, Emily could barely make out the compass readings and started stopping every couple of minutes, spinning around and looking up into the dark night, trying to ascertain their whereabouts.

  Sam was beginning to feel claustrophobic and a little disorientated. He could feel the strain in his legs as he walked, but Emily kept on pressing ahead. The alder and willow by the river’s edge had given way to oak and ash, and they were now passing beneath the dark
foliage of giant yews, trees that had been around for hundreds of years, perhaps thousands.

  In the first clearing since leaving the river, they came to a stop.

  Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘Are we lost?’

  ‘Yes and no.’ Emily was pressing her face against the compass.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  The last thing Sam wanted was to be lost in Birling Wood at night with only a bottle of water as provisions, not forgetting what could be following them.

  ‘It looks familiar, but there’s a rope bridge that takes us across the Cauldron and we should have been there by now. I think we may have come a little too far west, but we can correct it.’

  Emily tapped the compass whilst Sam frowned. He still didn’t understand why Emily had brought them this way when surely they could have crossed the bridge at Warkworth and come into the orchard by an easier route.

  Outside the clearing it was pitch black and eerily quiet. Sam could barely see beyond his hand.

  ‘How do we know the Shadow isn’t out there?’

  ‘I think it would be impossible for it to track us once we crossed the river.’

  ‘Not if it was moving through the Otherland,’ Sam thought. If it was doing that, it could be very close indeed. In fact, wasn’t he heading towards the very place where it could find him?

  They set off again, with Emily taking them north. The way seemed to be blocked by bushes thick with thorns that snagged their clothing and grazed their exposed arms, but finally they arrived in a part of the wood where the trees were more widely spaced.

  The air was thick with a musky scent that made their noses run and the back of their throats tingle. Sam was breathing heavily after another sharp climb, whilst just ahead Emily was muttering to herself about the elusive rope bridge.

  The further they went, more it was becoming clear to Sam that they really were lost.

  ‘Perhaps we should find a place to shelter and start up again in the morning,’ he suggested. ‘Then you’ll be able to see the compass more easily. Or we could always try to go back.’

  ‘We can’t go back, Sam. I just don’t understand how we’ve missed the bridge.’

  ‘Well then, let’s go on.’

  They set off again and, after clambering up a short ridge, stumbled upon on a path of finely cut logs.

  ‘At last!’

  Sam could hear the relief in Emily’s voice.

  ‘Who made this path?’

  ‘Eagan.’

  ‘It would have taken ages. Surely he had help.’

  ‘No, he cut each log and brought them all here himself. Now whatever you do, don’t step off the path. There are traps running all through this place.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Eagan put them there,’ came the answer.

  The path seemed to start in the middle of nowhere and lead through a group of shadowy elms. Sam couldn’t guess how far they reached skyward, but their trunks were like titans standing guard over some lost world. It was unnerving moving through them on a path of logs that couldn’t have been more than two feet wide, knowing there were traps to either side. He could see no more than a couple of steps ahead and to his left and right was a sea of blackness.

  The river had been full of birdsong and life, but this part of the wood was quiet and imposing. To Sam, it was as if they were trespassing through a place that should have been left in peace. He shivered. The breeze had turned chill.

  Ahead, Emily had come to a stop between two giant elders. It was as if they had been planted to create a natural gateway.

  ‘What is it?’ Sam carefully squeezed himself alongside her.

  ‘The bridge is just ahead.’

  Sam had expected the gloom to lift, but he was still blinking back the darkness from his eyes, whilst all around him a fuzzy blackness swarmed around his head.

  Emily led the way to a rope bridge and set off across it, walking slowly and placing her feet firmly one after the other.

  As Sam stepped onto the bridge, both the air and the smell changed in an instant. He still could not see, but knew that somewhere below a cavernous space had opened up. It seemed as though they were crossing a gorge.

  ‘What is this place?’ he asked, his hands gripping the rope handrail.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never crossed this bridge before.’

  ‘What? I thought you’d visited the orchard with Eagan many times!’

  ‘I have, Sam, it’s just that,’ Emily wiped cold sweat from her eyes, ‘the way to the orchard is never quite the same. The bridge doesn’t even feel like this in the daylight. I don’t think this is the same one at all – it’s changed somehow.’

  ‘You really aren’t helping matters, Emily.’

  Feeling the bridge bouncing with every step, Sam increased his grip on the rope.

  ‘Stop moaning, Sam. I don’t like this any more than you, but it’s the only way to get to the orchard.’

  ‘This orchard is pretty hard to find. Whoever planted it obviously didn’t want anyone to find it.’

  The truth of Sam’s words struck them both in the darkness.

  Emily came to a stop.

  ‘Go on. We should keep going,’ Sam urged. He could no longer hide his discomfort. They were swinging on a rope bridge in absolute darkness.

  ‘It all feels different.’

  ‘So you keep saying, but we have to either go forward or go back. And this bridge feels as though it hasn’t been used for decades, so we ought to make a decision now.’

  Sam’s voice had risen and there was a touch of desperation to it.

  Emily edged forward again, then gave a cry of relief. She was across.

  Sam followed her and found himself hugging her in the darkness. To his amazement, she burst into tears. Then she loosened her grip just enough to speak.

  ‘I just want you to know I thought you were very courageous back there.’

  Sam looked at her, amazed. She must have been scared – it was the first compliment she’d ever given him.

  * * * * * *

  It was still pitch black in this part of the wood. Looking back to try and see something of the way they had come, all they could see was the end of the rope bridge.

  The darkness seemed to be moving with them, Sam thought. When he tried to peer up through the trees’ canopy, any possibility of seeing the twinkle of stars was quickly extinguished. And the place felt haunted somehow.

  Emily was again looking at her compass, but it was first pointing one way then another, and no matter what she did it wouldn’t settle.

  Fortunately, there was a clearly a path of sorts. It led them through some tangled bushes and up and over a hill. Down the other side they went, stumbling through the darkness, and found themselves in an open space. For the first time in hours they could see more of their surroundings.

  They had arrived at a short waterfall which tumbled over a sheer rock face into a small pool. From it, a fast-flowing stream wound its way back into the dark wood.

  Sam had almost reached the water’s edge before he noticed the old man. How long he’d been waiting for them, he never would find out.

  ‘Come and sit with me.’

  He was hanging his legs over the side of the rock and letting his feet dangle into the pool’s clear waters. His face was furrowed and lined, his hair was white and his eyes were ringed like ancient oaks. He wore a simple brown habit like that of a monk and his sandals were placed beside him. Sam knew instantly he was the self-same man that Eagan had met in the Blindburn.

  ‘I last saw you eighteen years ago, Samuel,’ he said with a warm smile.

  Somehow Sam wasn’t surprised he knew his name. The surprise was that they had met at all.

  ‘You won’t remember. Your father brought you to see me and I was glad that he did. I didn’
t think we would meet again so soon. It’s a shame we couldn’t have met for a stroll in the high woods or swam together in the source of all these rivers, but alas, the shadows grow long and it must wait for the beginning.

  ‘Now, Emily, come here, child, and let me wash those tears from your face.’

  Emily found herself sitting next to the old man whilst he gently scooped up clear water from the pool and washed her face with it. It was cold, but the moment it touched her skin, she felt as though she had drunk an invigorating elixir bursting with light and life.

  The old man smiled and said, ‘Both of you, bathe your feet in the pool.’

  The moment his feet touched the water, Sam felt his weariness rise from his feet to the top of his head and disappear.

  ‘I can spend only a little time with you,’ the old man said, ‘for there are others who need my help and I must go to them before the night ends.’

  Sam and Emily did not question his words, for it seemed as though he was only saying what they both already knew.

  ‘There is now much in darkness,’ he continued. ‘The world turns and there is no longer certainty that morning will follow night. The Fall is dying and a Shadow has passed through. We do not know its name or where it has come from, other than it is a servant of the Ruin.’

  They understood his words. They had always known he would speak them.

  ‘One other has awoken in the deep places. Her hatred of the Druidae runs deeper than seams of gold under the hills and great treachery will be in the heart of those who fall under her spell. Men will listen to grand words with only hollow deeds behind them.

  ‘I asked Eagan to bring you here and I am grateful that you came. The way ahead is unclear to me, but there are others who walk the Earth and they will help you along the way. I have sent my daughters into the world and they may aid you.

  ‘Go seek your answers in the Garden of the Druids and remember that chance must play its part, as must faith. You are not alone in this world. The road ahead will twist and turn, and in the dark hours help will be there if you ask for it.’

  The old man smiled again, then raised his arm and a giant kingfisher swooped down and landed on it. It had the deepest orange and blue colouring and its beak was silver and long. It spoke to the old man through melodious whistles, then launched itself into the air and turned in midflight before vanishing in a blur of colour.