Silverstone Part One: Through Dark Waters

by J.J. Moody

Ben took a few more deep breaths, wondering if he was in shock.

  A thick mist surrounded him on the water. Above, the sky was an angry grey, and there were flashes of lightning and loud thundercracks as the rain fell.

  Had the roof of the gymnasium just blown off in some kind of a freak storm?

  The water swelled, lifting Ben just high enough to see above the mists. He thought he saw a light, and perhaps a shore in the distance.

  How on earth had he got here? The water had pulled him down; he remembered that much, and then had suddenly released him and he’d swum back up to the surface. But this was definitely not the same surface where he’d been swimming laps in Mr Taylor’s class a few minutes ago. Was this a dream? Had he drowned?

  Before he had long to contemplate his predicament, he heard a shout nearby. He twisted in the direction it had come from, and listened above the thunder. It came again. It sounded angry, and Ben wondered whether Mr Taylor had somehow followed him and he was now in serious trouble.

  The shout came again, this time with other cries beside it.

  Ben waited patiently for another wave to crest on the rough waters, and looked for the source of the shouts.

  There, two swimming pool lengths away, was a boat. It was wooden, he could tell that much, and appeared to be simply but solidly crafted. It carried around twenty men, all clad in what looked like old-fashioned leather and metal armour. They rowed hard right towards him, shouting angrily as they came.

  Ben wondered if he had found his way into a re-enactment of a historic sea battle. He raised his hands tentatively, and waved at the boat. Thoughts of all the trouble he would be in danced in his mind, but he was getting colder by the minute, and just wanted to get out of the water and go home. An image of Paddy shivering in sympathy flashed into his head.

  “Help!” he cried.

  The boat kept coming, and the shouts became louder, angrier.

  Were they going to run him over? Ben swam off to one side of the boat. “Hey! Hey! Help me!” He waved frantically as the boat neared.

  At last, one of the oarsmen at the front of the vessel turned towards him, and slowed his row strokes. “Woah!” he shouted above the storm.

  The other oarsmen slowly stopped, and the man stood up. He wore a large and crudely made metal helmet, which covered his face down to his nose, and which had a single spike on the head plate that seemed to have been positioned more by chance than craftsmanship. Long dark hair trailed out from underneath the helmet, and a beard glistened in the rain. He stared at Ben.

  “I’m not part of this re-enactment. Please can you help me get to the shore?” Ben shouted.

  The man stared. He looked to his side at another man almost as big, and then back to Ben. “What kind of fish are you then, lad?”

  The other men laughed loudly.

  Ben waited.

  “If you ain’t a fish, you’re braver than most to swim on the lake, and on a day like this.” The man waved up at the storm.

  Ben expected the man very soon to realise he was not a part of the game, and to feel pretty stupid about leaving him in the cold water for so long.

  “Answer me quickly then boy: are you a friend of King Elmer?”

  Ben considered. That might be a password of some kind for the game. He decided to try playing along in the hope of speeding things up. “Yes. I am a friend of King Elmer.”

  The man watched him carefully. He didn’t seem to be convinced, and Ben was tiring. He had almost drowned after all, and was now treading water in a freezing lake, in the middle of a storm.

  “Look please I just need to get out of the water and get home. I don’t know how I got here, but there’s been a mistake of some kind and I need to get home. My parents and school teachers will be worrying about me.”

  This seemed to stir the men up. But as they began to discuss, a great shout went up from the bank where Ben had seen the light a moment ago. He heard the clash of metal on metal, and people screaming.

  There must be another part of the re-enactment on the shore, Ben thought.

  The men hurriedly began to set their oars.

  Ben shouted again. “Oh come on please, I need to get out here!”

  The man looked around at his fellow actors. Then he lunged over the side towards Ben, and in a swift motion, grabbed him under his armpits and dragged him over the side and into the boat, throwing him onto the boards between the two rowers’ benches.

  Ben felt a bit ridiculous lying there in his Hulstead College swimming shorts, with his goggles around his neck, so he quickly tried to sit up and look like he was in control, but banged his head on an oar handle.

  The men all stared at him, but quickly turned their attention back to the lake bank. They began to row hard.

  Ben looked around for something to keep warm or dry off. As soon as they arrived at the shore he would find someone with some sense to help him. Then he’d get a hot chocolate, and have a hot bath back at home as soon as he could, and work out an explanation for all this madness.

  Under one of the benches he noticed a blanket of some kind, and reached for it. He dried himself as best he could, hugging his chest and rubbing his arms to warm up. Then he realised the blanket was in fact a sort of long woolly shirt. He quickly put it on and continued rubbing.

  The men continued to ignore Ben as they rowed through the choppy water, shouting angrily towards the bank. Other shouts met theirs. He wondered what would happen when they landed. The battle re-enactment would get into full swing, he supposed, and he would have to try to avoid being pretend-hit by anyone silly enough to think he was involved.

  A moment later Ben heard a loud whooshing sound from the direction of the shore. An oarsman at the front of the boat screamed out, “arrows, take cover!” and stopped rowing. He clutched his right forearm, and Ben saw what looked very much like a wooden arrow sticking out of it.

  This was very realistic, Ben thought. The man continued to scream loudly. He was a very good actor.

  The other oarsmen began shouting at each other wildly as they rowed, and scrambling to raise shields over the sides of the boat as more arrows whistled past overhead. The man who had pulled Ben into the boat, who Ben thought must be the leader yelled some commands.

  “Get the shields up men, that’s it. Ivor pull up your oar quickly, you can’t row no longer. Help draw up shields for the others now!”

  Ivor pulled his oar out of the water with the help of the man behind him, and lowered it beside Ben. He edged sideways out of his bench, still holding the arrow tightly, and slumped down on the deck just in front of Ben. Ben looked keenly at his arm, and saw thick streams of blood dripping down his leather wrist guard and hand.

  He felt very sick.

  This was not a re-enactment. Something very bad was happening, and he didn’t understand any of it. He just wanted that hot chocolate and to warm up and go home.

  The storm raged violently above him, and the men screamed ever louder as they drew closer to the bank.

  Ben could see people fighting on the land now, with swords, spears and shields. People lay motionless on the ground in awkward positions. He began to shiver violently again, and ached all over.

  Some of the men drew their swords, letting the boat cruise in. They were only a few metres from the clashes of the battle. On the bank other men, their faces covered in hooded capes, stood waiting for them, swords drawn.

  Ben knew in a moment he would either have to hide in the boat, or jump ashore and fight. He could try to swim away in the lake, but they were too close to shore now and he might easily be struck by an arrow.

  He looked around. There was nothing for him to fight with. Suddenly he felt something on his head. A helmet. He turned, and an oarsman nodded at him. Another to his left lifted a small sword from his belt, and passed it to him. It felt heavy, but at least it was sure to be lighter than the long sword the man lifted in his other hand. Ben gripped it tightly. Finally Ivor thrust a small shield at him wo
rdlessly, and helped set it on his left wrist. He was armed.

  That was it then. He was going to fight.

  But he had never been in a fight in his life. Not unless you counted a bit of pushing and shoving on the football pitch over a tough tackle. And now he was going into a battle with swords. He felt very ill, but suddenly stronger. He didn’t want to die, not here, not anywhere right now if he could help it. He wanted to get home to see his parents again, and Toby and Paddy. He didn’t have the slightest idea what was going on, but he was sure of that, and that was enough for him to fight.

  The boat shuddered aground, and Ben and his comrades sheltered behind their shields from the latest barrage of arrows. The thunder crackled, and lightning illuminated the darkened sky. Their leader yelled and they all leapt from the boat, and trampled ashore into the fray.

  Ben kept his head down, and his shield and sword up, as he trailed behind the other men as best he could and tried to make sense of the scene beside the lake.

  To his left, further along the lake bank, Ben saw fighting near a cluster of tent-like buildings beside the shore. The fires there must have been the lights he had seen from the water. To his right not far away a thick forest rolled down a hillside and met the lake. In front of him, in a clearing of the forest, they clashed with the hooded men.

  Their enemies fought using long bows, which they had now swung onto their backs or cast aside, and long, thin swords much like those Ben had seen used in the sport of fencing. They were light-footed and graceful, and were proving difficult for the heavier boatmen to pin down and overpower.

  The boatmen ahead of Ben peeled off to the left to engage with a group of the attackers trying to break towards the camp, and suddenly Ben was standing alone. He looked around, not knowing what to do next.

  Suddenly a loud shout came from towards the forest. It was their leader. He had been hurt, and his attackers had already dispatched two of the other boatmen, and now outnumbered their leader three to one.

  He had to do something quickly.

  He ran towards them, trying to decide whether he should shout something.

  “Die!” he screamed as loud as he could, as he launched toward the nearest attacker.

  The man reeled back. For a moment he simply looked Ben up and down. He was obviously bemused.

  Ben decided to push his advantage, and screamed again, lifting his sword and shield.

  This time the man countered, pushing Ben aside skilfully and slicing at his left arm.

  Ben felt a sharp pain in the arm, but tried to hide it. He felt a trickle of blood on sleeve, and knew it would be difficult for him to hold up his shield with the injury. He fixed his gaze at his enemy, trying to keep his concentration.

  The sky thundered above them.

  Ben edged to one side, but the man mirrored his moves. Ben could not see his face beneath the hood, but he knew the attacker was watching for an opening.

  The hooded man launched at Ben again with his long blade, and it was all Ben could do to parry it with his weakened shield arm, and stumble back. He rebalanced again and tried to focus quickly.

  Ben’s mind raced. This is a sport, he thought. Like football, tennis, and the other sports he was pretty good at. That’s all this is. Just with some serious consequences for second place. Balance, coordination, speed, fitness. He had all of those things.

  He sharpened his senses, taking a breath. The storm seemed to subside for a moment.

  The man came at Ben again, but this time Ben adjusted. Just as he had done so many times before playing football with his friends, he dummied to his right, and then spun back to his left and around, out of the man’s attack. The attacker was left exposed as he lunged forward to Ben’s right side, and Ben brought his sword around and down onto the man’s back, slicing through the hooded cape and into the man’s flesh.

  The man screamed and fell, dropping his sword.

  This was very strange, Ben thought, to see another person at his feet like this, beaten, bloodied, maybe even fatally injured. He felt a pang of worry. What had he just done? What would his parents think of him?

  The man stumbled to his feet, and ran towards the forest, shouting something Ben couldn’t understand.

  Ben looked back towards their leader. He was still outnumbered two to one. His movements were tired and awkward, and soon the attackers would overcome him.

  He took a breath, and ran back towards the fight, screaming again.

  One of the hooded men glanced at the screaming boy in Hulstead College swimming shorts coming to attack him, and then looked towards the wounded attacker running towards the woods. He shouted something to his friend, and the two men darted off back to the forest.

  Ben looked around. The other attackers had fallen, or were retreating back to the trees. He drew a deep breath of relief. He seemed to have just survived his first, and hopefully last battle. He examined his bloodied left arm carefully. It hurt, and would probably need some stitches, but he would survive.

  “I’m Liam,” the leader of the boatmen said, removing his helmet as he approached. There was a scar across his forehead, reaching almost to his left eye.

  Ben noticed he had sustained a serious wound to his left shoulder, and seemed to be limping slightly.

  “Thank you greatly for your help, friend of King Elmer, and now a friend of the ploughmen and herdsmen of Peregrine too.” He patted Ben on the left arm softly where he had been injured, and smiled, catching his breath.

  The other men slowly rallied around them, removing their helmets. They stared at Ben, and he became anxious.

  He wondered whether to tell them everything that had happened to him. He was obviously way out of his depth. But it would probably be safer to find out where he was and who these people were first, before revealing too much. Besides, his swimming pool incident was probably not worth troubling them with yet, considering they had just been in a battle and were busy tending to their wounded and putting out fires.

  “So young warrior, what do we call you?” Liam asked.

  “I’m Ben. Ben Silverstone,” Ben answered.

  Ivor appeared beside Liam. “Benbensilverstone is a hefty chew of a name lad!” He laughed. “With a name like that you belong in the court of The King gossiping, not here with us lowly clodhoppers!”

  The men roared their approval, and then looked expectantly back to Ben for a reply.

  “Call me Ben then.”

  “No no. You’re no Ben,” one of the other men chimed in. “You don’t look nearly as wisecrinkled as ol’ Ben did last time I saw him just a few months back over at the Penny Orchard market. So unless one of those nasty mages has cast some spell of forgetting on you, you just can’t be Ben.”

  “You’re right there Frummer. That’s surely no Ben,” another joined in.

  Ben didn’t know quite what to say. It seemed the name Ben was taken, and so he would just have to choose another one. He decided just to play along rather than persist with the strange discussion. “Well what about Silverstone then? Has anyone taken that one?” He looked around at the group.

  “No one I know by that name,” Liam answered. “Silverstone it is then.” He turned to gather up his things, and the men began to move in the direction of the camp along the shore.

  Ben sighed in relief.

  “Come on young Silverstone.” Ivor walked beside him. “We’ll find you some food and plenty of good warming vol to drink and soften those injuries! And fetch you some trousers and shoes to wear as well!”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Ben hoped that vol was the same as hot chocolate.

  “So my strange friend, how did you come to be in the lake? And what people do you belong to?”

  “Wait till the old man Alder speaks with him first, Ivor!” Liam shouted, “Before you drown him worse than Lake Kaidesh with your inquiries!”

  “Very well,” Ivor said with a chuckle. “I’m sure Alder will like you, Silverstone.”

  The camp had been
relatively undamaged in the attack. As they approached, Ben saw a collection of rugged looking tents forming a haphazard circle around a large, partly covered shelter. Underneath it a large fire burned, and there stood a few stools built from chopped tree trunks. At the far side of the camp Ben spotted a row of fences, and thought he saw a few animals milling around, seemingly un-alarmed by the recent fighting.

  As the fighters approached the camp, women, children and older men came and greeted them. Some seemed to be injured. They must have defended the settlement when it had been attacked while the warriors were away.

  Everyone stared intently at the newcomer.

  As they walked through toward the centre of the camp, Ivor told Ben more of their tribe. Ben tried to listen, but found all the attention rather offputting.

  “Welcome to our present home then, Silverstone. We are peaceful farmers, loyal to King Elmer of Norchand up in the north, and look to his laws. But we abandoned his lands long ago, during the time of his great grandfather, in search of better pastures and to escape the nasty plague that swept across the realm then, and struck hardest at those in the cities.

  “Since then we have been wandering, seeking a new home.

  “’Course in recent times the pastures just about everywhere have worsened and that’s the likely reason for the attacking by these roaming packs of bandits.” He waved back toward the forest. “I’ve got no doubt they were forced towards the pastures just here for the same reason as we.

  “More and more attacks we face these days – that’s why we’ve taken to arming ourselves with weaponry bartered from Beniford – and more cunning the attacks as well. The decoy over the far side of the lake this time, drawing us over there but all the while they waited like sneaking squirlers in the forest.

  “It seems the lands themselves are hostile to their peoples, forcing us against one another. ‘Course some say it is a great spell by a powerful mage to show off his power and perhaps unbalance the odds in his favour. Then again perhaps it’s a kind of message from our lands, rejecting those damned… outsiders.”

  Ben listened quietly. He didn’t know what to make of it all, but the mention of outsiders was of particular interest. He remembered the other children thought drowned in the Hulstead College swimming pool. Perhaps they had somehow ended up here as ‘outsiders’ as well. And if so, maybe they could help him find a way home.

  He thought of his parents. Tim would have sounded the alarm already, and he imagined the hell breaking loose at the school as Mr Taylor and the others tried desperately to find him. Maybe they’d send rescue divers down after him, or try to drain the pool. His mother would be worried sick. He wanted desperately to let his family know he was safe. He would definitely leave out some of the details about the blood, swords and battle he had just survived though, or he might never be let out of their sight again.

  By the time Ben reached the central sheltered area, fifty or more people had assembled. They stared at Ben and muttered quietly to each other. He tried to judge the mood, but suspected they were whispering distrust of the latest outsider. For the most part though, he was concerned he might be told to explain himself at a great assembly and judgement of the people, and would be shouted at. His chest began to ache.

  At the rear of the great shelter, Ben noted a tent that had been mostly hidden by the large assembly area, and which was slightly smaller than the others around the camp. There was a small flag atop it, showing a yellow plough and sickle on a green background.

  Ivor ushered Ben towards the little tent. “Let’s see what Alder makes of you then, young Silverstone! In you go!”

  The crowd massed behind them, and began to take up seats in the shelter. The whole camp had come to see just what this Alder made of Ben, and that made Ben exceedingly nervous.

  Ben walked cautiously towards the tent and looked for the way in. He felt at the fabric, noticing how smooth and oily it felt. There was no door though. What was he supposed to do?

  There was a chuckle behind him. “Around the other side my friend!” Ivor grinned.

  Ben tracked around, and finally found a break in the oily cloth wall. He carefully pulled it aside and immediately caught the aroma of stewing meat. He was starving, he realised, as he stepped inside.

  For a moment, Ben crouched still. He let his eyes adjust and took in his surroundings.

  The floor of the tent was covered with a similar fabric to the walls, but was coloured almost black so that it looked as if the vibrant rugs and cushions adorning it floated like oddly shaped planets in the night sky. In the centre of the space, on a lopsided little table, a metal lamp threw out some light. Alongside the table a bed of red-hot coals stood in a metal basket, and over it a rusted tin saucepan hung, from which the stewy smells wafted. Ben stared at the bubbling pan, his mouth watering.

  “Are you hungry?” A voice came from the shadows beyond the stew, and Ben looked up to find it.

  On the far side of the little tent, sitting on a cushion, sat an old man. He looked at Ben calmly from the shadow. He wore a loosely fitting garment similar to the shirt Ben had taken from the boat, over trousers of the same material. A leathery book was in his hand, and he put it to one side. His hair was white and short.

  “You should know that my stew is the very best in the village. Even better than Yelena, and she has quite a following!” He chuckled. “Of course, some say her stew contains only the rats she finds around the camp. I myself once found a rat tail in one of her servings last Harvest Fair, and since that day I have always avoided it, though there are those who find it tasty, rat or not.

  “Do you think they simply are unaware that Yelena’s stew contains rats, and would never eat it if they knew the awful truth, or that they are secretly well aware of the rats and enjoy them, but would always guiltily deny that is their preference, or perhaps even that they simply like the rats, and do not mind who knows that is their taste?”

  Ben smiled. “Well if it was me, I would definitely not eat it knowing it contained rats. But if someone actually really likes rat stew, then I suppose that’s ok. At least it takes care of any rats about the camp!”

  The man laughed loudly. He was larger than Ben had first realised, and the loose shirt did not conceal the roll of his big belly as he laughed. He reminded Ben of a happy Buddha statue.

  “Come then my young friend, have some of my stew, which I assure you contains no rats whatsoever.”

  He pulled a bowl from beside the coals, and spooned several large servings into it. He held out his hand, and Ben took the stew, and sat down on the floor near him.

  Ben waited for a moment, unsure whether it was customary or polite to say something before eating in this camp, but when his host motioned to Ben’s bowl, he dived in.

  Almost drowning, and sword fighting created an appetite, and the stew was warming and delicious after the cold. He would have to ask his mother to make some for the wintry days when he got back home.

  When he had finished, Ben looked up and found the man studying him keenly. He had obviously already eaten. “So my hungry friend. What is your name?”

  “Silverstone,” Ben answered quickly, eyeing the tin saucepan for the chance of seconds.

  “Hmm. That is a well-chosen name. My name is Alder.” He smiled.

  “Liam, who is our captain and defender, has told me of your great courage during the attack on our camp. He also says you were found swimming in the lake.”

  He studied Ben for a few moments more before going on. “I am considered the sage of our people. They look to me for guidance and knowledge in most things with which they are unfamiliar. Of late that is more regular I must say.”

  He paused again, and looked directly at Ben, who shifted uncomfortably. “You, young Silverstone, are unfamiliar to us. And so today I must judge whether you are true friend or foe; whether you are to be welcomed and aided or...” His smile had disappeared.

  Ben gulped. This was a trial and judgement. He wasn’t sure wh
at to say. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s start with your origins. What people do you belong to?”

  “Erm. Well I am from Hulstead, in London. So I suppose I belong to those peoples.”

  “Hulstead is not a land I am familiar with, and I am familiar with all the lands from here to Chasisi at the foot of the Amyntas. Most lands in all the Western Realms even.” Alder’s face darkened further. “And I do not believe you are from beyond the Amyntas Mountains, are you?”

  Ben considered how to respond. It didn’t sound like being from beyond the Amyntas Mountains was a very good thing, and if he wasn’t careful he was going to find himself in even more trouble than he was already in.

  “Look,” he started, “I’ll be completely honest with you, but I need to know I can trust you to” - he looked Alder in the eyes - “to not hurt me.”

  Alder’s eyes softened a little. “The laws of Norchand state that a man who fights alongside us in battle is to be given all the rights of a citizen. I see no crime to judge you guilty of under the laws of Norchand as yet Silverstone, so unless you are about to tell me you are a murderer seeking refuge from good King Elmer’s judgement, I see no reason you will be harmed in our camp.”

  Ben wasn’t sure about this.

  Alder continued. “Besides, you have shared my stew, and so I give you my word, no harm will come to you from anything you speak here now, if it be the truth.”

  Ben smiled weakly. There wasn’t much of a choice.

  “Ok, so I am just a schoolkid…” he began.

  “I’m sorry?” Alder frowned.

  “A student, at a school, where children learn”

  “Ah, like a city academy, go on.”

  “Well my academy is in the land of Hulstead. Hulstead is not beyond any mountains. Well maybe it is, I don’t really know where it is from here. But I am beginning to think it is a very long way somewhere else. I’m not sure how I got here from there exactly, but I do remember swimming in a pool at the academy, and there was something very odd about this particular pool, and during a lesson it sort of sucked me down under the water and then spat me out again here. On that lake.” He pointed in the direction of the lake.

  Alder listened intently.

  Ben went on. “When I came out on top of the water again, I found myself right in front of Liam and his row boat.

  “I really have to get home. My parents will be having a heart attack!”

  “A heart….?”

  “They’ll be very, very worried,” Ben quickly clarified.

  “I see.” Alder rubbed his chin quietly for a moment, and Ben began to worry he was about to be sent out to the mob to be hung.

  “Please. I’m just an academy student, and I just want to get home,” Ben pleaded, almost in tears. “Can you help me?”

  Alder squinted at Ben. He looked him up and down, and then side to side, examining him like a piece of meat for his stew. “I think you are a friend, Silverstone. At least for now.”

  Ben kept quiet.

  “And I believe your story.

  “Let me tell you something of these lands you have found yourself in.” He adjusted his seat, as if about to recount a long tale.

  Ben waited patiently.

  When Alder was comfortable, he began. “We are a wandering farmspeople, called the Peregrine after our first leader. Long ago we landtended happily in the lands of King Elmer, a few weeks’ journey to the north from here. But after the great plague we journeyed from there in search of fresh lands.

  “Elmer rules from the beautiful city of Norchand. He is a good king. He does not curry favour with the mages like the rulers of Chasisi, Murdimore and the other cities; he seeks only what is right for his people, and rules them fairly. Once in a while his taxmen come to us, but they ask for a fair tribute, and in return we have refuge behind his city walls if we should need it.” He stopped to stir the stew.

  “But the mages are becoming more and more powerful, and a great war between them will soon come, spilling over into the lands and forcing all people to choose their sides. The storms come more and more now, and the lands become more barren as they cast their spells and experiment. It is an omen of the doom to come I think.” He looked at the ground.

  “The mages are outsiders; magicians; devil charmers. They came into this land from another, through great gateways between their worlds and ours. I do not know why they come. I do not know whether they come from the lands beyond the Amyntas, or from somewhere else. I do not know how many there are, trespassing unseen in our lands. But there are five who have risen to power above all the others. These five exist outside our laws, outside our societies. They do as they please because they have the power to crush armies with a single spell.” His face was fixed in deep creases.

  “It is only the balance of power between the five that prevents one from dominance, as none will allow another to assert his power over the lands. But all the while they secretly study, building up their might until one can overcome the others and rule this world completely.” He had become more animated as he spoke, and slightly breathless now.

  “But all of them once came to us, as you have just done, Silverstone, through a gateway. All are foreign in our lands, as you are.” He looked hard at Ben. “I do not know how they learned their spells, if they did not bring them. Perhaps each was taught by another. But I expect in time, that you will find that outsider magic also. And when that time comes, you may become a friend no longer.”

  “I am not a mage,” Ben protested. “There’s no such thing as magic anyway. And I told you; I just want to get home to my family. As soon as I find another one of those gateways that is open I will go back through it and you’ll never see me again.

  “Not that I didn’t really enjoy the stew. It was delicious.”

  “Hmph,” Alder chortled. “The gateways are a greater mystery than even the magicians who came through them. Unless you have a spell to open them, I don’t know how they are used. It seems there is one within the lake, but I would not swim around in it trying to find it if I were you. There are strange creatures within the water there, and people tell of old ruins and ghosts beneath the surface. No, I think you are stuck with us for now, my young friend.”

  Ben became angry. “I am not stuck here. I can’t just forget everything back home!”

  “I understand. But I cannot help you. I am just a farmer. Wisest, some say, of the Peregrine people, but wise enough to know that we are not such a greatly wise people. There are many in the realm that are a great deal wiser than I.

  “But do not lose hope. The good King Elmer has great knowledge, and would no doubt help you. I have heard tales of some folk disappearing from our lands also, perhaps to journey to others. And perhaps some of the mages themselves have come and returned to your world. Who is to say what is possible with their spells after all. Perhaps one can open the gateway in the lake for you even.”

  “Yes, yes that’s it. I need to find the mages, and ask for their help getting home.”

  Alder paused, rubbing his chin again. Ben began to eye the stew.

  At last he spoke. “I will help you of course, if that is your choice. We cannot stand in the way of the great tide.

  “But I advise you to first seek the counsel of King Elmer, before revealing yourself to a mage. The magicians always search for superiority over one another and I fear whichever you reach first may try to use you for his own ends.”

  “I will be careful then. But I have to go. I must find a way home to my family and if that is my best chance, then I’ll take it.” Ben felt suddenly strong again, as he had before in the midst of the battle.

  Alder rose, and gripped Ben’s shoulder. “Very well young warrior Silverstone, your path is set, and I will send you on your way with ample provisions from the grateful Peregrine. But first and foremost you must rest with us here a few days, and allow your injury to heal.” He pointed to Ben’s arm. “Besides, the people will want to greet you as a new friend is alwa
ys greeted; with good Peregrine stew and vol, and plenty of dancing with the young girls if you are lucky!” He laughed heartily.

  Ben stood up eagerly at the mention of more food and drink, and followed Alder as he walked out of the little tent. They moved back around to the central shelter, and Ben’s stomach jumped again at the sight of so many people massed in front of him.

  The crowd fell silent as they approached. The tension was as thick in the air as the smell of stew cooking.

  Sensing Ben’s hesitation, Alder slowed and walked beside him.

  They entered the shelter and stood beside the central fire. The skies had darkened as night fell, and the light of the flames illuminated them for the crowd like a golden spotlight.

  Ben didn’t know where to look.

  “Welcome croppers of Peregrine!” Alder began. “Beside me stands our newest friend; Silverstone!”

  A cheer went up from the warriors, loudest of all from Ivor.

  “He is a citizen of Norchand; a travelling wanderer seeking knowledge.”

  Ben decided not to protest the lie.

  “He has fought bravely today alongside our warriors in the defence of our home, and must be given our warmest welcome. He will stay with us for just a few weeks while his war wounds heal.”

  Ben blushed. He didn’t feel very brave. After all, all he’d wanted to do was escape. And what was this about staying for a few weeks?

  Alder smiled widely at him. “He will put down with Appleby, helping tend the farms and learning our simple ways.” With that pronouncement, he took a short bow, and moved to one side, leaving Ben standing alone in the spotlight.

  Ben flushed brightly, and looked back to Alder for help.

  “Say something,” Alder said cheerfully. “They don’t bite.”

  Ben frantically racked his brain. What could he say to this group of strangers amassed in his honour, no doubt expecting him to deliver something funny yet bold and inspiring. He felt like Tim Wisecroft during the English lesson when Mrs Greenleaf had asked him a question. He glanced around at the faces of the crowd. He certainly didn’t feel brave now.

  The crowd stared at him curiously. A young boy near the front of the group shouted out, “do you have trousers?”

  The crowd roared with laughter. Ben stood paralysed, wondering whether he could run away.

  “Quiet!” Liam suddenly stood and joined Ben. The crowd quickly silenced.

  “This lad swam through that cursed lake, and saved my life today, through his bravery in battle. So I for one will welcome him with the respect he deserves.” He slapped Ben on the back.

  The crowd bustled into life, and a group of the men came up to welcome Ben. One of them handed him some trousers, which he gratefully received and put on. Ivor hustled him back to the seats as music began to play. He handed Ben a heavy mug of something that smelt like the alcohol Ben’s parents had drunk the night they’d finally bought the house, but was a horrid purple colour.

  Ben tested it timidly. It felt as if he had swallowed one of the red-hot coals from the great fire, and that it was slowly winding its way down his throat into his belly, setting everything alight as it went. He coughed hard, which seemed to only encourage Ivor, who whacked him on the back encouragingly.

  “I don’t drink alcohol,” Ben stuttered, at least happy to have finally warmed up.

  “You must drink vol Silverstone! We’ve brewed this here batch from the plants at the edge of the lake and I think it contains the strange secrets of the weird water in it! It is delicious, ain’t it? And besides it will help you sleep well and ease your bruises!”

  Ben tried to avoid the purple vol as best he could that evening, carefully dribbling it from his mug onto the ground beside him when nobody was watching. He listened to the tales the fighters told of their travels with the camp from place to place, of their skirmishes with bandits and other strange peoples, and of their simple lives tending the farms with their families.

  One by one the men moved away to their families, slumped off to their tents, or simply closed their eyes and snored where they sat, so that Ben marvelled at how they balanced on their tree trunk stools. Ivor energetically entertained the rest with his stories, which Ben suspected had drifted from recollections to fantasy as the night wore on. He wondered just how much of Ivor’s latest tale about the tall-necks of the Edustus desert was fanciful. It didn’t matter. He enjoyed it anyway, and felt the calmest and warmest he had done since he had left for school that morning, a whole world away.

  Suddenly Ben felt something touching lightly on his back, and he turned to find a young girl around his own age smiling at him. She was very beautiful, with long, dark curly hair, and bright, wide eyes. He began to feel uncomfortable.

  “Hello. I’m Eva,” she said.

  “Erm. Hi I’m B… I mean Silverstone.”

  She giggled a little.

  An older man appeared behind her, also smiling at Ben. “My name is Appleby. You are to be my guest for the time of your stay with us. It’s my honour to welcome you.”

  Ben felt ashamed at imposing on this man he hardly knew, when all he’d done was try to survive a battle. Everyone was treating him like he’d won the battle of Waterloo. He stood and introduced himself.

  Appleby explained that the family was now turning in, and Ben was very happy to follow him. He patted Ivor on the shoulder as he left, but the man was not distracted from the climax of his story. Ben felt sure he’d hear it another time.

  The Appleby tent stood towards the outer edge of the circle, near the animal fences, and was one of the largest in the camp.

  As they entered, Ben saw soft rugs scattered on the floor. To one end of the tent were colourful cushions and a coal basket very similar to the one in Alder’s tent. At the other edge was a row of thick woolly rugs that looked like a cross between a mattress and a sleeping bag. They were covered in patchwork blankets. Ben felt sleepy just looking at them. It had been a big day.

  Eva’s aunt Lea was also in the tent, rocking her sleeping baby. She smiled at Ben and he nodded back to her.

  Appleby silently waved a hand toward one of the sleeping mats at the far side of the row, and Ben understood it was to be his. Before he could jump in to it, Appleby insisted on tending to Ben’s wound. He extracted a pot of a kind of herbal ointment from a bag, and dabbed it gently on the bloody scar on Ben’s left arm. It stung, but Ben was too tired to protest.

  Finally when Appleby had finished, Ben thanked his host again quietly, stumbled towards his bed, and fell into the blankets. His mind quickly turned to his parents, and to Toby, Paddy and their crumbling old house, and he missed them terribly. That morning he had shouted goodbye from the doorstep before he made his way to Hulstead College, and now here he was, going to sleep on a woolly mat in a farm camp, next to Lake Kaidesh. He silently whispered goodnight to his family, hoping somehow that his words would find the way back to them, far away in his own world. Then he fell asleep.

  Chapter Three

  The Birthday Party