by TJ Green
“I’ll fly over the surrounding area,” Brenna said. “See if I can spot anyone who looks like Nimue.”
“Thanks, I was hoping you’d offer,” Arthur said. “In the meantime, we’ll split up and cover the rest of the Meet, and hopefully we’ll find out something. Woodsmoke and Beansprout, if you two can cover from the Hollow Bole to the Merry Satyr, Tom and I will do the rest.”
“Sure,” Woodsmoke said, “whatever you need.”
“I’m looking forward to exploring this place,” Beansprout said, studying the menu. “And maybe we should try to get some more clothes while we’re here, Tom? It would help us both blend in more.”
“Good idea, Beansprout,” Arthur said. “It will be my treat, Tom. I am no longer a pauper; Vivian is paying me.”
“I have a suggestion, Beansprout,” Woodsmoke said quietly as Arthur was ordering some food. “Arthur managed to upset the dryad in The Hollow Bole, but I think we should try again. Perhaps a subtler approach by a pleading female friend would have more success.”
“Sneaky!” exclaimed Beansprout, “Yes, let’s. Nimue must have said something.”
The next morning after breakfast they split up. Arthur decided they were going to visit every inn and drinking place – the darker and more secretive-looking, the better.
“Do you think Nimue was up to something?” Tom asked, after they’d just left a particularly seedy bar.
“Not originally, but I think she found out something that has spooked her. She’s either gone into hiding, or she’s gone to deal with whatever it is.” He headed inside another dubious place and Tom realised he’d never get a better education than this. At least his mother would never know.
They had no luck in any of the dark dank inns. They were treated with suspicion and received nothing but grunting shakes of the head. It was only when they stopped at a stall in the village square that they began to get somewhere. Drawn by the smell of meat roasting over a smoky fire, they gazed at the char-grilled chunks of beef and lamb.
“Feeling hungry?” asked the stall owner, a small dwarf-like creature with the ears and muzzle of a dog. He stood on a large box behind his counter, beneath a flapping striped awning.
“Yes, I am!” Arthur declared. “Asking questions is hungry work. Lots of that, that and that,” he said, pointing, “for two.”
“So what you been asking that’s worn you out so much?” said the owner as he sorted out their food.
“My good friend Nimue was meant to meet me here, but I’m very late and she has already gone, without leaving me a note or anything.” Arthur shrugged dramatically. “I’m trying to find out where she could have gone so that I can catch up with her.” Then for good measure he added, “Women!”
“I know Nimue,” the stall owner answered, passing over plates of steaming meats and crusty bread. “She likes my food. She says it’s the best in the Meet.”
“Does she now!” Arthur said, his mouth full of food.
Tom stood next to him, also cramming in food as if they hadn’t had a huge breakfast only a short time before.
“Oh yes, comes here most days when she’s in the village. She likes the Bole for a bed, but always grabs snacks from here. Especially for the road. I bag it all up for her, special like, to keep. She’d got a long journey ahead of her last time.”
Arthur almost choked in his excitement and Tom intervened, slapping him hard between his shoulder blades.
“It’s good to know you’re looking out for her,” said Arthur. “We worry when she has so far to travel on her own. Did she mention where she was heading? We might still be able to catch up with her.”
“Beyond Cervini land, I know that much. You know the Cervini?”
“Not really, we’re new here.”
“They’re shifters. Part deer, part man, sort of. They change between the two.”
“Like the Aerikeen?” Tom asked, confused.
“You know them? Yes, just like that! I was here when she met that man.”
“What man’s that?” Tom asked, trying to be calm.
“Just a traveller passing through. They were both here, getting food and having an idle chat. He was the scruffiest-looking man. Must have been on the road for weeks.” He broke off, deep in thought.
Arthur was anxious to keep the story going. “So what were they chatting about?”
“Nimue noticed he had this big dirty dressing on his arm. She asked him about it, and he said he’d been caught in a rock fall up on Scar Face Fell, on the moors beyond White Woods. It’s wild land up there, forever in the mists. There’d been a landslip after days of rain – he’d been trying to find shelter in one of the caves, when all of a sudden the rocks fell and he was nearly crushed. Then, lucky for him, this new cave opens up in the hillside behind him.”
He paused to serve another customer, and Tom and Arthur bit back their impatience. Once he’d gone, Arthur asked, “So what then?”
“Nimue went dead white when he told his tale. I had to sit her down, looked like she might faint. Strange, she never struck me as the sensitive type before. She asked him if he went in the new cave, and he said yes, but it proved to be many caves and he was afraid of getting lost so he gave up, staying in the main one instead. As soon as the weather got better, he left.”
“So is that where she went? Scar Face Fell?”
“I reckon so. She said his story reminded her of something from when she was younger, and it might be nice to go and see the place again. Long way to go if you ask me!”
“Are you sure she didn’t mention anything else? Anywhere else?”
“No. Just said she’d need some more supplies, and asked me to prepare some food for her to take. She came to pick it up, and that was the last I saw of her.”
Tom and Arthur arrived back at the inn an hour or two later. True to his word, Arthur had helped Tom buy more clothing, and they now carried an assortment of packages. They found Woodsmoke and Beansprout sitting at a quiet corner table in the bar, well away from others, their heads together as they examined a map spread out in front of them. Their hands were cupped around half-empty glasses and the menus were pushed to the side of the table. Arthur and Tom bought drinks and joined them, Tom piling the chair next to him with his packages.
“Looks like you’ve been successful. Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Arthur asked.
“Don’t get too excited,” Woodsmoke said. “All we know is that Nimue confirmed to the dryad at the Bole that she was changing her plans. She said she’d received news of an old friend and wanted to see if she could find him, and that she wanted to get there before the weather worsened.” He gestured at the map. “We were trying to work out where she may have gone.”
“An old friend? Interesting, considering what we have heard. And what do you mean, the dryad. She was damn unhelpful to me!”
“As suspected, you obviously didn’t know how to ask properly,” Beansprout said. “She was extremely lovely to me. And what have you found out?”
“Nimue heard about a rock fall up beyond the White Woods of the Cervini, and it seemed to shock her. Frighten her, even.” Arthur related the story they’d heard from the stall owner.
“Why would that frighten her?” Woodsmoke asked.
“We don’t know.” Tom shrugged. “Maybe she knew something about those caves? She seemed keen to know if the traveller had explored them or found anything there.”
“Or anyone there? News of an old friend ...” Arthur looked thoughtful and then worried. “I wonder if this is to do with Merlin.”
Woodsmoke looked at Arthur with a suspicious frown. “Merlin! I think you’re becoming obsessed with him, Arthur.”
“No, no. Hear me out. Merlin disappeared years ago. According to Nimue he walked into the Caledonian woods – in our world, not yours – and never came out. She said at the time that he’d needed some time to himself. But later, now I think about it, her story changed. She said he became threatening – that they’d argued and she had fle
d. But he never reappeared. Now that in itself is odd; he knew those woods well. He couldn’t have got lost, so what happened to him?”
“Didn’t you look for him?”
“I couldn’t. For a while I didn’t even think about it; Merlin was always disappearing for months at a time. Nimue stepped in as my advisor, and I was busy with court affairs, as usual. Not long after, I found out that my best friend had betrayed me, and so I had other things to worry about.” He paused and stared at the table, as if to summon his courage. “He’d been having an affair with my wife. When he knew I’d found out, he fled the court, and in a mad rage I raced after him. When I came back, Mordred, my nephew, had seized control of the country and we went to war. And then I died, and you know the rest ...”
They fell into an awkward silence, Tom wondering what on earth to say after that. Then, a thought banished everything else from his mind. Slapping the table, he shouted, “I’ve been so stupid!”
The others jumped, and people sitting close by turned to stare. “Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice again, “but I’ve just remembered. In some of the stories I read about Arthur, it says that Nimue imprisoned Merlin!”
“What? And you’ve only just remembered?” Beansprout said, looking incredulous.
“There are hundreds, if not thousands, of stories about Arthur and his knights! And some of the names and characters double up just to add to confusion. And I read them years ago!”
Arthur leaned across the table. “What do mean, hundreds of stories about me? You said I was a myth. That no one knew if I ever really existed at all.”
“That didn’t stop the stories, or the fact that you’re a national hero.”
“I am?” Arthur asked, looking mollified and a little smug.
“Yes,” Tom said, grinning. “But to go back to Nimue, there are several versions. Merlin was besotted with her. Completely obsessed. Finally, she had enough of his attentions, but before leaving she decided to learn as much magic as she could from him first. When he was no longer of use, she either imprisoned him in a tomb in the middle of the forest, or in a cave, or in a crystal tower that she made, which then became invisible. Most stories say he was imprisoned alive, but then died. But obviously, who would ever know? None of the stories suggest he reappeared after you died, Arthur. I think.” He shrugged. “When you died, that was the end of everyone’s story.”
The others looked dumbfounded. Woodsmoke stirred first. “So this could be about Merlin. What better way to ensure he was never found than by imprisoning him here?”
“... in the Scar Face Fell caves,” Beansprout said. “And now they are exposed, she’s worried he’ll be found!”
“But surely he’d be dead?” Tom said.
“Nimue is not convinced, obviously. She’s gone to find him.”
Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Brenna, and she slid into a chair next to them. “Oh good, I’ve found you. I thought you’d be here,” she said, smiling wryly.
“How did you get on?” Arthur asked.
“Badly. No sign of Nimue. There were no women travelling alone. But I flew close to every group I passed, to check who was travelling with them. No one matched Nimue’s description. What about you?”
“We found out a lot,” Arthur answered. “I’m sorry you had a useless trip, though.”
“No, it’s fine. It was good to be able to fly.” She starting laughing, “You look like you’re going to burst, Arthur! What have you found out?”
“She’s gone to find Merlin! In Scar Face Fells.”
Brenna looked at the others, then back at Arthur. “Merlin. Your Merlin?”
“Yes. She’s been the one responsible for his disappearance all along.” Arthur was flushed and excited, glad to share his news.
“We think,” cautioned Woodsmoke.
“Did you like Nimue, Arthur?” Brenna asked.
He looked surprised by the question. “Yes, of course. I had no reason to suspect her of anything until now. She was always very helpful.”
She seemed reassured. “Good. I’m glad we’ve made progress.” She pulled the map towards her and ran her finger across the map. “Scar Face Fell. That’s quite a way. I presume that’s where we’re going next, then?
“Absolutely; we have to follow her,” Arthur said, a determined look settling across his face. “But we’ll need supplies.”
Woodsmoke nodded. “Let’s make a list. We can get everything this afternoon, and leave first thing tomorrow.”
“You’re with me then?” Arthur asked, looking at them one by one.
“Of course,” Tom answered, barely able to contain his excitement. “We’re talking about finding Merlin and Nimue!”
“Good,” Arthur said, clearly pleased. “Let’s order some food and plan our route. If there’s a chance he’s alive, I have to save him.”
5 The Chase
They left the Meet on the north-west Holloway that led out of the meadowlands and into the hills. This path continued on to the White Woods of the Cervini and then the fells. Woodsmoke had warned them the land would get rougher and the weather colder as they travelled higher. They had bought thick travelling cloaks and extra blankets, and for shelter, a large circular sheet of sewn-together tanned hides, and a thick wooden pole.
“Is that a tent?” Tom had asked when they bought it.
“Of a fashion,” Woodsmoke said. “At least it will provide us with some protection when the weather worsens.”
“I thought you always had good weather here. Isn’t it called the summer country?”
“It is by some. But places still vary, and the higher we go, the colder it gets.”
Woodsmoke had strapped the pole awkwardly behind him on his horse, along with the bulky mass of the tent. They were all similarly heavily laden, their saddlebags bulging with supplies of dried meats, cheese, fruits, and extra clothing.
None of them were familiar with the places they were travelling to, but for Tom and Beansprout this was an exciting chance to learn more of the Other. They had pored over the map, reading the strange names as they traced their route.
“Who are the Cervini?” Beansprout asked as they trekked along.
“They are shapeshifters, like me,” Brenna said, “but they turn into deer rather than birds. They live in the White Woods.”
“Merlin was fond of turning into a stag,” Arthur said. “It was his favourite animal form. That might explain why he would travel here with Nimue – they would have seemed like family.”
“So some of them may know him?” Tom asked.
Woodsmoke grimaced. “I suppose so. But it was a long time ago since anyone last saw Merlin.”
“I wonder how they would feel if they knew he might still be alive?” Tom said thoughtfully. “And I wonder if some of them would know Nimue?” he added as an afterthought.
Tom woke up with a crick in his neck. Light was beginning to seep through the thick tanned hide, illuminating the flap that served as the tent entrance. He sat up slowly and quietly, unwilling to wake the others. He glanced round at the various-sized humps covered in blankets that snuffled and snored gently, cramped in the confined space, and wrinkled his nose at the musty smell that filled the air. Easing his legs from beneath his blankets, he made his way out of the tent.
The sky was low and heavy with thick grey clouds, and a brisk wind blew across the hills. Their surroundings were springing into shape as the light increased, revealing the flat sheltered area in the curve of a hillside where they had set up camp. The grass was shaggy and tufted, broken by small stones, and had been uncomfortable to sleep on. The meadowlands and Holloways were a lush green in the distance.
They had been travelling for over a week, making good time, and were now not far from the Cervini lands. Yesterday, after they had set up camp, Brenna had flown over the White Woods, and on towards Scar Face Fell. She returned with interesting news. Although she hadn’t seen Nimue, a herd of stags had gathered at a point midway along the long stretch
of pitted and pock-marked rock that rose out of the moor, exposed by centuries of wind and rain. Some of the cliff faces were tall and imposing, towering menacingly over the landscape, while others were low, barely twice the height of a man. They ran in a continuous ragged chain, scarring the lowlands for miles.
“I hadn’t realised how big they are,” she said on her return. “We would have been searching for weeks!”
“You think the stags have found something? Merlin?” Arthur asked eagerly.
“They’ve found something. Some were in human form; they were heading in and out of a cave entrance. And there did look to have been a rock fall. I have no idea how recently, though.”
“It must be Merlin. What else could they have found?”
Woodsmoke had been stirring the stew which was bubbling over the fire, but he looked up. “Who knows what they do there, Arthur. It could be where they bury their dead.”
“No, I don’t believe in coincidences.” Arthur pulled the map out of his pack. “Are the Cervini aggressive?”
“Not that I’m aware. Not needlessly, anyway,” Woodsmoke answered.
Arthur ran his finger over the map, tracing routes and muttering to himself. After a few minutes he looked up. “I think we should split up, but I’m going to think on it, and we’ll discuss it in the morning.”
Woodsmoke had looked as if he were going to say more, but instead he returned to the food, an uneasy look on his face.
Not long after that they had rolled into bed, and now, as Tom prodded the smouldering fire in the dawn stillness, he wondered what their strategy would be. He pulled his heavy cloak round his shoulders and smiled as he thought over the past few days. Arthur had assumed a fatherly role that Tom found disconcerting, but also reassuring. He had continued teaching him how to sword fight, lessons that had begun weeks before, but had been interrupted by his to trip to see Brenna. He maintained it was a skill Tom should learn. He’d bought Tom a sword from one of the stalls in the Meet – slightly smaller and lighter than Excalibur, and easier for him to handle – and they practised every evening.