The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  By the time they had made their way back to the archway, a fine drizzle had started to fall and the grey light of the afternoon was darkening to twilight. Orlas was debating with Rek whether to camp outside the walls when Nerian shouted, “Yes!”

  They turned in alarm to see a white light rolling up from the ground to encompass the archway. The light then flashed away and across the walls, rippling around the entire castle. In seconds it was over and the archway stood in front of them, clear of debris. Beyond was a short tunnel through which they caught a glimpse of a courtyard.

  Nerian didn’t hesitate. He hurried up the tunnel and into the courtyard, where there was an unexpected sight – the castle blazed before them, every window glowing with candlelight.

  Tom felt a prickle run up his spine. The spell that had sealed the entrance had also preserved it in time. The castle was not the ruin they had been expecting. He expected to see Ceridwen step out to greet them.

  The courtyard was surrounded by stables, tack rooms, and other long low buildings. Ahead, the main doorway stood open, light falling on the stone steps, beckoning them forward.

  “Is this real?” Beansprout asked.

  “Of course, although enhanced with an enchantment I suspect,” Nerian answered.

  “Did you know this would happen?” Orlas asked.

  “Of course not. Herne reveals little or nothing.”

  “So where’s the cauldron?” Orlas asked, still fixated on the castle.

  “He did tell me that. It’s in a courtyard, somewhere in the middle of that.” Nerian gestured to the castle ahead. “Shall we?”

  But they all seemed strangely reluctant to cross the courtyard.

  “It feels like a trap,” Woodsmoke said suspiciously.

  Rek grunted his agreement. “I don’t trust magic after the last time.”

  “Magic is a tool, nothing else,” Nerian told him, scathingly. “Besides, Herne would not send us to our deaths.”

  “Trying to convince yourself, are you?” Rek retorted. “Because you don’t sound that sure!”

  “Well, we’re here now,” Orlas said. He turned to the Cervini waiting in the shadows behind him. “Bring Merlin in to the courtyard and secure the entrance.”

  Arthur pulled Excalibur free of its scabbard, and glanced up at the rain laden clouds. “Let’s check the main hall before we all get soaked.”

  Woodsmoke nodded. “You go ahead. I’ll stable the horses.”

  “I think I’d rather camp outside,” Beansprout muttered to Tom. But Arthur was already crossing to the light-filled entrance and they hurried after him.

  Crossing the threshold, they found themselves in a huge reception hall filled with a soft yellow glow from the hundreds of candles tucked into alcoves and corners. Rich tapestries lined the walls, and plump cushions filled the chairs. In the centre of the room was a table set for a meal, the plates and dishes filled with hot steaming food. There were several doors leading off it. Many stood open, revealing glimpses of rooms and corridors beyond. Directly ahead was an enormous fireplace, filled with a roaring fire.

  Arthur immediately set off on a circuit of the room, Rek echoing his movements on the other side.

  “I don’t like this,” Rek muttered. “I agree with Woodsmoke. It’s a trap. Has to be.”

  Orlas nodded, his hand running across surfaces and picking up cushions. “Everything is perfectly preserved. This is so odd. It’s as if we’re expected.”

  Brenna stood next to Tom and Beansprout. “Do we really want to stay in here?”

  “At least it’s dryer than outside,” Tom said, putting his pack down on a chair.

  “Better wet than dead,” Brenna said with a grimace. “I’m going to take a look around.” In a split second she changed form and flew across the room and up a staircase.

  “Good idea,” Rek agreed, standing by a door on the right of the hall. “I’m going to check out the rooms on this side.”

  “Wait,” called Orlas, crossing the room to join him. “I’ll come too.”

  They left, leaving Arthur to prowl round the main hall, poking into its nooks and crannies. Tom’s stomach reminded him that it was time to eat, and he headed to the table and picked up a hot chicken leg. He was about to take a bite when Nerian yelled, “No!”

  Tom dropped it in shock. “What’s wrong?”

  Nerian rushed to his side, followed by Beansprout. “Sorry, but I don’t think we should eat or drink anything.”

  “I thought this place was safe?”

  “I’d rather take precautions.”

  Nerian examined the food with the aid of a small stick he produced from his pocket.

  “Do you think it’s poisoned?” Beansprout asked.

  “I think it’s enchanted, like everything else here. We could end up asleep, or forgetful, or dead.”

  “But why would Herne send us here if it was so dangerous?”

  “Because of Merlin.” Clearly troubled, he said, “I felt something when Herne took over my body.” He paused as he remembered the moment. “He was relieved, overjoyed even at finding him, and then grief stricken when he knew he was dead. It was like the emotion of a parent, or a sibling. It was so powerful.”

  Tom looked shocked. “Are you saying that Herne is related to Merlin?”

  “It felt that way. That would explain why he’s lifted a centuries-old spell on this place.”

  “It would also explain Merlin’s natural magic,” Beansprout said, thinking of Merlin’s powers. “Particularly that he’s a shapeshifter; that he could become a stag, like you. Did you know him?”

  “No, I’m too young. He was gone by the time I was born. But everyone remembers him. He’s like a father of the tribe.”

  “Arthur describes him as being like a father.” She dropped her voice so Arthur wouldn’t hear, “And he’s behaved very rashly to find him too.”

  Tom laughed dryly. “And yet Nimue was desperate to keep him hidden. Strange isn’t it, what some people are prepared to do for others.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by Woodsmoke coming in from the stables. He looked round and whistled. “It looks like we were expected. The stables are stocked with fresh hay and water too. Is that why you look so worried?”

  “I think we’re in over our heads, Woodsmoke,” Beansprout said.

  “I know that. Every single star out there has disappeared. The sky is black and the night is still. You could hear a pin drop. It’s like everything is waiting for something to happen.”

  “Are the others all right?” Nerian asked, referring to the Cervini.

  “They’re fine, for now.”

  “By Herne’s breath!” Nerian said, “I don’t know whether it’s safer for them to stay out or come in.”

  Woodsmoke looked around, thinking. “Bring them in, with Merlin of course. Better we should stick together, especially if a storm’s coming. Shall I call them?”

  Nerian nodded and Woodsmoke headed back out.

  Beansprout looked pale. “I have a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, just like when you disappeared, Tom. Is the Cauldron the only reason this place was sealed?” she asked Nerian.

  “Ceridwen was an enchantress whose Cauldron had the power of rebirth, inspiration and knowledge. Isn’t that enough? Many would kill for just one of those things.”

  Arthur had completed his examination of the main hall, and stood by an open doorway to the left of the room. “Do you want to join me, Tom? If Rek’s checking that side, we should check this one.”

  “Yes, I’m coming.” Tom hurried across the room, his sword drawn too, leaving Nerian and Beansprout deep in conversation.

  Beyond the door was a shadowy corridor. Immediately the sound of voices from the hall disappeared, and they stood in the silence waiting to see if anything moved in the shadows.

  “This is too weird,” Tom whispered.

  Arthur turned, the pale light glinting in his eyes. “I think anything might happen tonight, Tom.”

  His w
ords hung between them, and then he pressed on, Tom hard on his heels. They entered room after room, every single one lit with candles, a fire burning in the grate. And all was silent; waiting and watching.

  18 Ceridwen’s Cauldron

  Tom and Arthur returned to the main hall and found everyone there. Merlin’s body was laid in the corner of the room on a stretcher, still wrapped in fine-scented linens designed to preserve him until the ritual.

  “I suppose you found nothing either?” Rek asked, lounging in a chair in front of the fire.

  “No.” Arthur turned to Brenna. “You?”

  “Nothing and no one.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s all too easy.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s what we’re here for. Now you’re back,” Orlas said, “we may as well get on with it. Any objections?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “I’d rather do this thing and get out of here,” Rek said, rising.

  Orlas turned to the other Cervini. “You two, stay here and secure the door. And you,” he said, indicating the other four, “bring Merlin.”

  He turned to Nerian. “Lead on.”

  Nerian led them along the ground floor corridors towards the centre of the castle.

  “Are you sure you know where you’re going, Nerian?” Rek asked. “We’ve been this way and found nothing.”

  They were walking down a long corridor, whole areas of which were in virtual darkness. Nerian paused next to a section of wood-panelled wall. “Patience, Rek.” He quickly explored the panel with his fingers, then said, “Found it.”

  With a sigh the panel slid back, revealing a dark tunnel sloping downwards. Groping inside, Nerian found a lantern hooked on the wall. Lighting it, he set off.

  For Tom, the light from Nerian’s lantern seemed a long way ahead; a small bobbing glow showing glimpses of stone walls and a low roof. The tunnel led downwards for a short way and then levelled off, running mostly straight. They stumbled along behind until Nerian came to a sudden stop when the tunnel split into two. He hesitated briefly and then turned right. After only a short distance they came to a flight of steps leading steeply upwards. They followed them up and round several sharp bends, the Cervini behind struggling with Merlin’s body, until Nerian stopped again.

  For a few seconds nothing happened, and Tom had a horrible feeling they would be stuck in the tunnels forever. Beansprout jostled against him in the dark and he could hear her shallow breaths. Then he heard a grating sound, and fresh air flooded the passage.

  They tumbled out one after another into an open air courtyard. The walls were high, and in the centre of the octagonal space was a large round pool filled with water. Pale blue lights eddied lazily beneath its surface, colouring the surroundings with an unearthly pallor. They provided the only light; the courtyard was otherwise in darkness.

  For a second their shuffling stilled as they gazed at the pool.

  “So that’s the cauldron?” Orlas asked.

  Nerian nodded and crouched next to it, peering into its depths.

  As Tom looked at it more closely, he saw the metal curve of the pool edge glinting in the light.

  “So what now?” Rek asked, as the Cervini carrying Merlin placed him at the edge of the pool. “Do we just drop him in?”

  “He’s not a fish,” Nerian said as he extinguished his lantern. “The pool needs to be prepared, its energies activated.”

  “So why seal the palace if it doesn’t work?” Tom asked.

  “Because many here have magic, Tom, and therefore many are capable of activating the pool with the right knowledge. And those who lack knowledge will steal and kill and maim to get it. And then use it unscrupulously.”

  “OK,” Tom said, finally getting why the cauldron had been sealed for years.

  “I need three of you to help me.”

  “I will,” Beansprout said immediately. “What should I do?”

  “Sit opposite me; you are earth. Tom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sit to my left; you are water. And Brenna,” he turned to find her scanning the top of the walls.

  “Yes?” she said distractedly.

  He gestured to his right, “If you would be so kind as to be air.”

  “So you are ...?” Beansprout asked, as Brenna settled herself into position.

  “Fire. We sit at the four points of the compass, and as such you will help me harness fire. I want you to touch the metal edges of the cauldron, like this,” and he rested his hands on the lip of the pool. “We need to warm the pool and ignite its energies, and then,” he looked at the others, “two of you need to carry Merlin’s body into the water.”

  “I’ll do it.” Arthur’s response was immediate.

  “And I will,” Orlas said.

  “No. I will,” Rek said. “You should watch. You’ve risked your life once already. I presume it’s safe for us to enter the pool?” he asked Nerian.

  “Relatively.” Ignoring Rek’s unfavourable response he pulled his small drum out of his pack and cradled it in his lap.

  Tom watched these preparations with interest, especially as he hadn’t been part of the last summoning. The four Cervini who had carried Merlin’s body had positioned themselves around the courtyard and appeared relaxed, their hands resting on their sword hilts. Orlas stood next to one of them, and Woodsmoke stood leaning against the wall next to the only entrance and the stairs beyond, his keen eyes and ears missing nothing. Rek and Arthur stood behind Merlin. Tom looked uneasily at Merlin’s covered body. He found it unnerving to travel with a dead man, no matter that he was wrapped in sweet-smelling linens.

  The night remained still. Tom looked up at the inky blackness, where not a spark of starlight was visible. The sky seemed very low, as if it was only just above the castle ramparts. He shuddered and wondered if it was from the cold night air, or a premonition of something to come. His gaze followed the top of the high wall around the courtyard, but nothing moved.

  His train of thought was broken by a noise to his right. Nerian’s head had sagged downward, his chin against his chest, but his lips moved furiously; strange unintelligible mumblings that sounded guttural and threatening. A flash of light pulsed across his chest and then down to his fingers, where it turned into a flame. For a few seconds it flickered erratically and looked as if it was going out, and then it grew stronger and steadier.

  Tom edged forward to make sure his hands remained touching the cauldron, and as he did the flame ran around the cauldron’s rim. Tom was so shocked he almost pulled his fingers away. He gritted his teeth and prepared for the pain of the fire, but it passed over and through his fingers harmlessly, leaving a strange warm sensation.

  He looked across at the others, wondering if that was it, but they continued to grip the cauldron and Nerian continued to chant, his voice growing in strength. Although the flame had gone, Tom could feel the metal growing warmer beneath him, and deep within the pool he saw an orange glow.

  The chanting stopped and Nerian looked up, and again Tom started, this time shocked to see that Nerian’s eyes were white, his expression vacant. The water in front of him began to swirl and the pale blue lights glowed brighter, sparking and flashing until the pool was full of incandescent light which banished the dark from the far corners of the courtyard.

  Tom started to feel the strangest sensation, as if water was running through him like he was a conduit. Looking down he saw water trickling from his fingers and into the pool. Opposite him he saw Brenna’s hair begin to lift in an imperceptible breeze, while Beansprout’s lap filled with flowers until they tumbled around her on to the floor.

  Small waves began to form, passing across the surface until they rebounded off the side, chasing each other round and round to form a frothing mass.

  The silence was shattered when Nerian shouted, “Now!”

  Arthur and Rek stepped into the pool. Reaching over they picked up Merlin, and in one swift movement lifted him over the rim and dipped him in the wa
ter.

  The water was now warm; Tom could see steam rising off the surface, steadily getting thicker. The swirling current lifted Merlin and the linens peeled away from his body, revealing his pale face, his long white hair and beard, and the grey cloak eddying around him. Rek and Arthur no longer needed to support his body and he floated free of their grip. In unspoken agreement they swiftly left the pool and crouched dripping at the edge.

  For a few seconds Merlin drifted with the current, and then he was swiftly pulled under. His body lay unmoving at the bottom of the pool, the blue lights sparking around him, nudging and prodding as if trying to wake him. The intensity of the light increased until it was almost blinding, and Merlin rose from the depths in an explosion of water, his arms flailing as he gasped for breath.

  “Merlin!” Arthur cried as Tom jerked backwards in shock.

  Merlin’s eyes opened for the first time, his eyes as blue as the light that surrounded him. But they were wild and frightened, and he looked around at the gathered faces and uttered a string of unintelligible words. He stared beyond Arthur, looking up towards the top of the wall, and Tom heard someone laugh.

  They all whirled around, but Tom knew who it was before he saw her. Nimue. She stood on the high stone wall, almost invisible against the night sky, laughing at the scene below her. How had she found them?

  Before anyone could do anything, Merlin struggled upright and shouted again, his voice hoarse and rasping. It sounded as if he was calling someone, or something.

  They all retreated now from the edges of the pool, scuttling back like crabs. Only Arthur remained close. Ignoring Nimue, he called, “Merlin, it’s me, Arthur.” Desperation was etched across his face.

  Then several things happened at once.

  Nimue raised her arm, pointing down to them as if she was about to cast a spell. Woodsmoke swiftly raised his bow and released an arrow, which thudded into her outstretched arm, and Nimue screamed and turned, outraged, towards him.

  Thunder rumbled loudly from above. Deep and resonant, it echoed through the castle and out across the moors. Lightning flashed down, jagged and hot, into the courtyard, bringing shooting white lights and a whirr of wings. Statuesque figures landed around the pool and turned their backs to Merlin; bright silver daggers flashed in their hands, and they lowered long sharp spears to form a protective wall around him.