by T J Green
“I’ll stay too,” Woodsmoke said. “I’ll help however I can.”
“No. It’s our job, not yours. But thank you.” Brenna gave him the ghost of a smile.
“So,” Finnlugh said, “you are the heir?”
“I suppose I am. The Queen was my grandmother. And I hated her.”
The last sentence fell awkwardly, and it was Beansprout who broke the silence. “I’m so sorry, Brenna. This is awful. We will all leave tomorrow to let you grieve.” She rose and hugged a surprised Brenna. Tom marvelled at Beansprout – she always said the right thing.
The next morning they packed up the camp and said their goodbyes.
“You know you’re welcome at any time,” Fahey said to Brenna. “It’s your home and I’ll miss you.”
“And you’re the sweetest man and I’ll miss you too,” she said, tears in her eyes.
Brenna hugged Tom, Beansprout and Jack, and even Finnlugh. The Duchess merely nodded. “I wish you luck, my dear,” was her only comment.
Woodsmoke was less sweet. “You’d better not stay here! This place smells of death. And the wood sprites, they’ll be back!”
“We’ll be fine! Now stop moaning and go. I’ll see you in a few months.”
Woodsmoke hesitated, but Brenna persisted. “Go! Please Woodsmoke!” He finally relented and got on his horse.
They nudged their horses and moved off into the forest, leaving Brenna and her friends in the clearing.
“So, what are we going to do?” Tom asked Beansprout.
“I’ve told you, I’m staying.”
“To do what?”
“I don’t know, Tom! Do I have to have a plan?”
This was an extension of a long argument that had started on their way back to Woodsmoke’s home. They were now only days away, and it seemed as if they had been travelling forever. Aeriken was enormous and ancient, and they had only recently passed the huge stone hawk statues that marked the boundary between Aeriken and Vanishing Wood. Tom couldn’t work out how long it had been since they first arrived.
Jack interrupted. “You should both go. You have your whole lives ahead of you. You belong in your own world.”
“You have no right to deliver that speech!” said Tom, rounding on him angrily.
“I have every right – I’m your grandfather!”
“Don’t you want us here?”
“I didn’t think you wanted to be here. Do you know how contrary you are, Tom?” Jack stared angrily back at him. “And of course I want you to stay. It’s nice to have my family here. But I’m not going home,” he added, preventing any further questions on that. “I’m an old man there, and here – well, I’m less old.”
“Don’t you care that Mum and Dad have split up?”
“Of course I care, Tom! But my going back wouldn’t change anything. They’d still be split up, it’s been inevitable for years. And you shouldn’t let it affect you. It has nothing to do with you; what you have or haven’t done. It’s life, and you should get on with yours. Finish school, travel, enjoy yourself.”
Jack paused, looking at Tom’s mutinous expression. “Just think about the things you’ve done here. The things you’ve seen! You’re not a child any more.”
Arthur joined in. “If life is unsatisfactory, stay here. It sounds like you’d have as much family here as you did there – including me, in case you’d forgotten.”
Finnlugh interrupted them all. “You speak as if there was only one choice. You could stay for as long as you wanted, and then go when you were ready.”
Tom fell silent. What if he left and then realised he’d made a mistake, and found he could never come back. What then?
A peculiar mood had settled over them all. Although they’d known each other for only a short time, they were reluctant to part. Fahey had been badgering them for information, cheerful in the knowledge he had great tales to create and tell. He and Jack had already arranged to visit Finnlugh’s under-palace. Arthur had accepted an invitation to stay at Vanishing Hall, but was planning to travel onwards after a short stay. Beansprout and Tom had also been invited, and Beansprout had accepted immediately.
Tom still wanted to leave. He couldn’t explain this need to himself, other than that he somehow felt he should stick to his original intent, which had been to find his grandfather and return home. His questions had been answered, and he felt reassured, if annoyed. He and Jack had made their peace, and he understood Jack’s reasons for staying. But he still felt abandoned, and therefore couldn’t bring himself to stay too. Now he’d made up his mind, he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
It was dawn on the outskirts of the wood around Vanishing Hall, and Finnlugh, the Duchess, and the remaining Royal Guard were leaving. Finnlugh shook Tom’s hand. “Any time you need anything, just ask.”
“That would be a bit difficult from so far away. But thanks. I may see you again.”
“And you, dear lady, gentlemen, I shall see you soon.” He kissed Beansprout on the cheek, shook hands with the others and then, with a flash of silver and a thudding of hooves, they were gone.
Jack’s and Fahey’s goodbyes were muted and sad. “I may never see you again, Tom,” said Jack, smiling, “but I know you’ll be OK.” He was unable to hide the small tear that loitered in the corner of his eye. “I can’t come to the tower, it will be too much,” he said, his voice starting to thicken.
Tom nodded, feeling a little choked and squashing a slight sense of regret. As he shook hands with Fahey, he discovered that his resentment towards his grandfather’s friend also seemed to have vanished.
Woodsmoke, Arthur and Beansprout accompanied Tom as they set off back to the doorways.
“I have never heard of these doorways, or seen them,” Arthur said. “In my time we crossed by magic through mists and shadows, at dawn or dusk.”
“It’s only a few hours’ ride,” Woodsmoke said, “and you’ll probably recognise the place.”
“What do you mean?” asked Beansprout.
“You’ll see.”
Slowly emerging through the trees, they saw a large round tower. It was considerably more intact than Mishap Folly. The walls were solid, not crumbling, and it had a door, but the main difference was the long, low, stone building attached to it, with windows and a chimney.
Tom and Beansprout walked towards the tower, mystified.
“The man who built it somehow managed to cross here, and the tower he built on your side appeared here too.”
“And where is he?” Tom asked. “Dead, I presume?”
“Oh no. He’s around, somewhere. Probably hunting. Sometimes he goes to the village. Anyway, the doorways remain the same, but the entrance here isn’t blocked.”
Moving to the side of the tower they saw an entrance leading underground. They followed it downwards into a large cave, where four large, stone, arched doorways stood in the centre of the space. The entrances were identical to those they had crossed through, the spaces filled with darkness. They stood before them, and Tom recognised Earth’s portal immediately. There were no strange creatures etched in the stone, only images of men and women, a stag’s head, and forests.
“Are you sure you want to go, Tom?” Beansprout searched his face carefully, as if he was hiding something.
Now he was here, he really wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t think of a good reason to stay.
“I must admit, Tom, as anxious as I was to get rid of you, I will miss you,” Woodsmoke said.
“Well I’m tempted to come with you,” said Arthur, “just to see what the place is like after all these years. But there are things I must see here first. And I’ve decided to visit Vivian. I think we have lots to talk about.”
“Will you ever come back, Beansprout?” Tom asked.
“I’m not sure. Probably. What if we say we’ll cross in a year from now?”
“Yes, we’ll come, see how you are. See if you want to return,” Woodsmoke said.
“See if I want to stay!” Beansprout add
ed.
“Yes, OK.” Tom nodded. “The time may be different there, but I’ll be at the cottage or thereabouts.”
“What will you tell my mother?”
“What do you want me to tell her?”
“Tell her I’m fine, and I’m safe, and I’m staying with Granddad. The rest is up to you.”
“OK.” Tom looked around for the last time, at his friends, at the cave, at the doorways, and took a deep breath. He gave them a brief hug. “No goodbyes!” Turning, he stood in front of Earth’s doorway then stepped through.
He felt the weightlessness, the sensation of falling, and the now-familiar jolt, as the ground appeared beneath him. He felt warm earth and sunshine. Looking up he found himself on the bank opposite his grandfather’s house. It was summer. The trees were thick with dark green leaves and the garden was choked with flowers.
He was home.
Thanks for reading Tom’s Inheritance. I’d love you to leave a review; they make all the difference in reaching new readers.
Keep reading for an excerpt from book 2 in the series - Twice Born. It’s about Merlin!
A vengeful witch is Merlin’s nemesis.
After a year of exile, Tom is back in the Other with King Arthur. He joins his friends in the search for Nimue, a powerful witch who has disappeared. But has she been taken by force, or is she deliberately hiding? And is her disappearance linked to something, or someone, in the past? Arthur is convinced it's about Merlin.
Tom is eager to strengthen his friendships and prove his worth, and against his better judgement, he follows Arthur on a dangerous trip that could end his new life before it’s even begun. Merlin is Arthur’s oldest friend and he’s desperate to find him. But is the risk too great? Tom’s latest adventure tests his growing skills, and he must discover deep reserves of strength if he’s to survive.
1 Exile
Tom sat cross-legged on top of Glastonbury Tor wrapped in a blanket, gazing into the middle distance. The soft grey light of dawn revealed the mists that lay across the plains below, blurring the landscape.
According to the myths and legends he’d been avidly reading, Glastonbury Tor was Avalon. This was the third morning in a row he’d waited, holding the silver bough that Vivian had given to him when he first arrived in the Other; the bough that had allowed him to wake King Arthur. He held it tightly, hoping its magical properties would reveal Avalon to him.
He had also sat here at noon, dusk and midnight, the times when the walls between the worlds were at their most fragile, willing himself into a trance-like state as if that would help. But it was in vain. Glastonbury Tor and the surrounding plain remained unchanged. A couple of times he’d imagined he’d seen water lying across the green fields, but then the light shifted and the illusion vanished, along with any hope that he could make his own way to the Other. He might as well pack up his tent and return home.
His visits to the Tor had been born from frustration and boredom. It had been more than twelve months since his return from the Realm of Earth, and he’d heard nothing from Beansprout, Arthur, Woodsmoke or Brenna. And now he wondered with regret if he ever would.
A few days later he was back in the woods near home, and had returned to his old routine. The folly, which sat above the hidden entrance to the Otherworld portals, loomed out of the trees, jagged and black against the early evening sky. It was now cleared of debris. The ivy had been chopped back, the fallen rocks stacked into a pile, and the floor swept clean, revealing old cracked flagstones. In the centre of the half-collapsed building was Tom’s tent, his occasional home of the last few months, ever since the weather had started to get warmer.
He poked his head through the tent flap and grabbed a towel, rubbing himself dry after his evening jog. He really needed a shower, but that could wait until tomorrow when he returned to the cottage to freshen up. Instead he splashed his face with cold water from a bucket next to the tent.
The evening was chill, and the light was fading quickly. Autumn was well advanced and he wouldn’t be able to camp out for much longer. He lit a couple of lanterns he had secured to the wall and then lit a fire, putting a saucepan of sausages and beans on to heat.
He’d been so sure at the time that he didn’t want to stay in the Otherworld, but within days of returning he knew he’d made a mistake. He and his cousin Beansprout had been there for six months, and their families had been panic-stricken. And to turn up without Beansprout had been insane.
He’d been about to tell them all about the Other, but they’d looked at him with such suspicion, and his aunt with such open hostility, that he’d known he couldn’t. So he’d lied, saying they’d travelled around looking for his granddad. This excuse seemed lame, but his family were more prepared to believe that than anything else. His aunt had accused him of “doing something” to Beansprout, and he’d been genuinely terrified that he’d be arrested and charged. The police had interviewed him for hours, but a lack of evidence that he’d done anything wrong meant he’d had to be released. His father had calmed his aunt down, and he had told them all a half-truth – that they had found his granddad, who was living a new life with new friends and didn’t want to come home. He’d told them Beansprout was staying with him.
It had been a nightmarish time. Even now he could see the doubt in their eyes, their lack of faith in him.
His entire family seemed to have aged. His dad looked cross with the inconvenience of it all, and although he seemed pleased that Tom had returned, he quickly returned to his own preoccupations and his new girlfriend, who now lived with them at the cottage.
Tom’s mother looked drawn and anxious. She pleaded with him to live with her in Downtree village, but he refused, wanting to stay close to the folly, where he could be found by whoever came looking for him. The only thing he wanted from his mother was information about family birthmarks.
“Yes Tom, I have got one actually, very similar to yours and your sister’s,” she’d replied when he finally asked, and she showed him the long slim mark at the top of her arm.
“Must be genetics,” he’d murmured, brooding on his strange legacy and family bloodlines.
If anybody did come for him, he had every intention of going back with them. He couldn’t really understand why he’d left such an amazing place. The most frustrating part about the whole thing was that he had no one to talk to. He’d tried to get back into normal life; he’d sat exams, played football, and enrolled to go to college, but it all seemed pointless. His old friends looked at him with a sort of respect for his absence and curiosity about where he had been. Just when he thought he could tell one of his friends, he realised he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep his secrets close.
Over the past few months he’d realised they might never come for him. He’d taken to visiting the folly once a week, examining it for signs of life and checking where the passageway opened, and then when it was warm enough he moved there for days at a time. He classed it as training. He went jogging, and used an old stick as a sword to practise with. He still wasn’t very good, but he was improving.
It was now fully dark, and the moon was hidden behind thick, low clouds. He finished eating and scrubbed out his pans with water and leaves, and then threw some more logs on the fire and pulled a blanket round his shoulders. He tried to ignore what was worrying him most; that perhaps they hadn’t come for him because something was wrong. The alternative, that it was because they had forgotten him, was too unbearable to think about.
He was woken in the middle of the night by howling winds and lashing rain. The tent flapped and snapped, but was sheltered from the worst of it by the tower, so he rolled over, plumped his pillow and tried to go back to sleep. As he closed his eyes a flash of bright white light illuminated the tent – lightning. He snuggled down further into his sleeping bag, trying to block out the noise and light. Then he heard a thud, low voices, and the clanking sound of a pan rolling across the ground. All of a sudden he was wide awake and sitting up, staring wildly into th
e dark. More talking, coming closer, into the tower. And then the sound of someone tripping.
“What the hell is all this stuff doing here?” someone muttered. “And what about this damn rain? Seriously, of all the times! I’m soaked.”
“Sshhh.” And then there was silence.
But he knew that voice. Leaping up, half tangled in his bag, he opened the zip and stuck his head out. And there in the entrance of the tower he saw two slight figures, barely visible in the dark. His heart leapt with huge relief. “Beansprout! It’s me!”
“Tom? Oh thank God! I was not going to walk to the cottage in this weather!”
He grinned. “You’d better come in,” he said, and he scooted back to make room.
Tom couldn’t stop grinning. It was fixed on to his face like a mask. Now and again he tried to straighten his features into a normal expression, but then the grin just slid back into place and stayed there. It had been a long time since he’d been so happy.
He lit his lamp and the shadows sidled up their faces, making them look ghoulish. They sat cross legged – Tom, Beansprout and Brenna – knee to knee in a small tight circle.
“What are you doing in a tent, Tom?” Beansprout was almost breathless in her enthusiasm, and was grinning as much as Tom.
“Waiting for you! It took you long enough. Where have you been?”
“What do you mean? How long has it been?”
“Longer than a year!”
“I’m sorry, Tom, but you know it’s impossible to judge time accurately in our world,” Brenna apologised. “We have been delayed too, by certain events.” She shrugged.
“What events? Is everyone all right?” He squinted at her and held up the lamp. “And what have you done to your hair?” There were feathers braided through her hair and along her hair line, adding to her otherworldly appearance.
She waved her hand as if to brush him off. “It’s how it’s supposed to look, now I don’t have to hide.”
“Oh, OK. So the others, they’re all right?” he persisted.