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With a swooping, falling motion, Tom felt the blackness slide by and heard fluttering, just for a moment, until they landed with a thump. This time he felt soft earth beneath his hands. He stood on shaking legs, and looking around saw they were on slope surrounded by a dense pine forest, mist curling across the ground.
Brenna stood too, her sword already drawn, and she turned slowly. “I think we’re on the hills beyond the river. I recognise the woods.”
Woodsmoke nodded. “It’s dawn, too. That was a long night, and it’s going to be a long day. Let’s go.”
He led them downhill, the thick carpet of pine needles swallowing their footsteps. The mist thickened and swirled around their legs in whispery tendrils, rising almost unnoticed, until the others disappeared from Tom’s view. Distracted by his new surroundings, he wandered down a tunnel that hollowed out in the mist before him, finally emerging into a clearing filled with the sweet, pungent scent of honeysuckle.
A woman sat cross-legged in the centre. She was beautiful, with long white hair framing her pale face, and she seemed at once both very young and very old. Her eyes were light blue, and she wore a long grey dress edged with embroidery. With a shock, Tom realised she was the woman he had seen in his dreams.
She gazed at him, and speaking softly, said, “Tom, at last you have arrived. Come and sit so we can talk.”
Trapped within the circle of mist, he warily moved closer, reluctantly sitting a short distance away.
She smiled. “I have called you here because there is something you must do.”
“I think you’re confusing me with someone else,” he said. “I came here to find my grandfather and take him home. Who are you? How do you know my name, and how did you get into my dreams?”
“But Tom,” she said, ignoring his questions. “What if he does not wish to return home?”
“Of course he does, why wouldn’t he?” Tom felt a slight panic as he answered; a sense of unease as other possibilities suggested themselves.
Ignoring his question again, she said, “There is something I want you to do while you are here.”
The woman was as exasperating in person as she was in his dreams. “What could you possibly want me to do?”
“I need you to wake the King who lies sleeping on the Isle of Avalon. Your friend’s grandfather, Fahey, once tried to wake the King, many years ago, but it wasn’t time and I sent him far from here. However, Queen Gavina has become dangerous. She hunts her own people, the Aerikeen. This is the time to wake the King, and you are the one who must wake him.”
Tom sat there, dumbfounded. “What king? On where? How can I wake him if this Fahey, or whatever his name is, couldn’t?”
“Because you have something Fahey didn’t.”
The woman held out a supple, fresh, living twig, ripe with spring growth.
“This will enable you to wake the King. Only with the bough can you do it.”
Tom felt panic building in him again. “But how? I don’t know where this place is. What king? Why me? And who are you?”
There was a hint of impatience in her tone. “Ask Woodsmoke. He can show you the way. It is important, Tom. The Queen’s people need your help. You are linked to the King by your blood, and only someone of his own blood can wake him. And you must hurry. You have taken far too long to get here.”
Too long? What was she talking about? Tom felt a weight in his lap and, looking down, saw that the twig had magically appeared there, and had turned from a living branch to solid silver. He picked it up, wondering how she had managed such a clever trick. Before he could ask anything else, the woman seemed to fill with light, until she was so bright that Tom had to close his eyes and cover them with his hands. When the light faded, she had gone, and he was sitting alone in bright sunshine.
The distant shouts of his friends shocked him out of his dazed state, and he called, “I’m over here!”
A large, black, glossy-plumed bird burst into the clearing and spotting him, swooped off again. It was Brenna, gone to guide the others, and within minutes they crowded around him. Beansprout appeared exasperated. “Tom, where have you been? We’ve been calling for hours!”
“I’ve been right here!” he answered crossly.
Brenna turned to Woodsmoke. “I swear I flew over here earlier, but I couldn’t see him!”
Woodsmoke asked, “Are you okay? You look odd.”
“I’ve had a weird encounter.”
“What do you mean? With whom?”
“A really old woman with long white hair, dressed in grey. Except, she didn’t seem old. Not really. And she had magical powers.”
Brenna and Woodsmoke stood gaping at Tom, but Brenna gathered herself first. “You met the Lady of the Lake?”
Tom was bewildered. “I don’t know. Did I?”
Brenna narrowed her eyes. “What did she want?”
“She said I have to wake the King.”
Woodsmoke groaned and flopped backwards onto the earth, staring up at the sky. Brenna sat slowly, looking shocked, and Tom looked at Beansprout. “I have no idea what’s happening!”
“Or me!” Beansprout answered, looking perplexed. She put her hands on her hips in a gesture that reminded Tom of his aunt, and he supressed a grin. “Will you two please tell us what’s going on? Who’s the King that Tom has to wake? Why is he asleep?”
Tom and Beansprout were still standing and Brenna squinted up at them. “Sit down. This will take a while.” She waited until they were settled and then said, “Years ago, there was a famous King. He was much loved, and saved the ancient Britons from attack many times. He was given a magical sword, and he had the help of a powerful wizard. Does this ring any bells for you?”
“It sounds like King Arthur,” Tom said, thinking Brenna had gone mad.
“That’s exactly who it is.” Woodsmoke sat up again, staring at Tom intently. “He’s been asleep for centuries, and now it seems you must wake him.”
Tom stared back at Woodsmoke. “But he died. At least fifteen hundred years ago—if he ever existed at all. And what the hell’s he doing here?”
“Oh, he was real, Tom. It is said he will reappear when he’s most needed. Our stories say he will awaken here. This is where he was laid to rest, in a tomb on the ancient Isle of Avalon.”
Tom felt as if his head was filled with wool, and he repeated, “But he’s dead.”
“No, he’s asleep—a deep, enchanted sleep. In exchange for the sword, Excalibur, Merlin made a deal with the fey, and therefore so did King Arthur, and close to death he was brought here to rest until he was needed again. The island bridges our worlds, or used to. It can only be reached by summoning the Lady of the Lake, who will take you across on a boat. It’s old magic, Tom.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Because my grandfather is a bard, a teller of stories, and that was his favourite. Arthur was the King my grandfather tried to wake, and it was the reason he was banished.”
Tom felt increasingly out of his depth. “The woman told me that, but she said it was the wrong time and he was the wrong person. So why did he try to wake him?”
“He was trying to help a friend. And it seemed like fun.”
Tom looked at him suspiciously. “Really?”
“You’ll see when you meet him.” He rolled his eyes. “But I don’t understand why we need the King now.”
“She said something about Queen Gavina ‘hunting her own.’ What does that mean?”
Woodsmoke looked with alarm at Brenna, who went pale and stuttered, “I suppose that means she’s killing her own people. But why would she do that?” She stared at Tom. “How are you to wake him? She must have said.”
“She told me to use this.” Tom produced the silver twig with a flourish. “And she said you would show me the way, Woodsmoke. And that we should hurry.”
Woodsmoke took the silver twig off him, examining it closely, before passing it back. “Did she now? I have no idea what this is, but Fahey might. We need to get back home as soon as possible. Come on, let’s go.” He stood up and gestured down through the forest and to the west. “We know where we are, and that’s where we need to go.”
Tom stood, put the silver twig in his pack, and extended a hand to Beansprout, pulling her to her feet. She frowned. “I don’t understand. Why do you have to do this?”
Tom laughed. “Something about me being his blood.”
“What?” she exclaimed. “So you’re related to King Arthur?”
“Mmm, I suppose so.”
“So I am, too?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
With a shrug, he strolled off after the others, leaving Beansprout open-mouthed behind him.
The pines thinned out, and became mixed with oak, birch, and beech trees. Spring flowers grew underfoot, and the scent of blossoms filled the air. The powerful feeling of magic had gone, but Tom could still feel a tingle, like static in the air. Woodsmoke strode next to them, setting a quick pace, but Brenna flew. He explained that when they left the wood, they would enter the orchard terraces that ran above the river, adding that he’d heard rumours about attacks from the wood sprites that had left Aeriken Forest to hunt further afield.
Tom laughed. “What? Tiny little wood sprites with bells on their hats? How can they be dangerous?”
“Because they are not small. They have vicious sharp teeth. In fact, they are deadly hunters.”
“Oh,” was all Tom could think of to reply.
Beansprout smirked. “Idiot.”
They walked for hours, and by the end of the day, Tom was exhausted. They’d had no sleep the previous night, and it was only adrenalin that was keeping him going. In fact, they were all tired, and their pace was slowing when they finally reached the broad sprawling terraces, filled with unruly trees covered in blossom. Between the trees the grass grew tall, and they stumbled over fallen branches and abandoned tools.
“What happened here?” Beansprout asked.
“The wood sprites have been busy,” said Woodsmoke. “Everyone’s abandoned this place. Be careful—we don’t know if the sprites are still close.”
They progressed steadily, until about halfway down they heard the river roaring in the distance, and saw a collection of stone buildings that looked abandoned.
Woodsmoke looked pleased. “Perfect. We can stay here for the night.”
Brenna landed next to them, turning back into human form, and they cautiously entered the closest hut. Inside, baskets were strewn across the floor, and wooden tables had been overturned, suggesting a fight. In the corner was a ladder leading to the upper floor. Brenna pulled her sword free and climbed up, peering slowly over the edge. “It’s empty,” she called down.
Woodsmoke gestured to Tom. “Come with me, we’ll check the other buildings.”
Tom was glad to help. He’d felt useless in the cavern when the dectopus attacked, and now that he’d been told he had to wake the King, he felt he should prove his worth. They searched the place thoroughly, and once satisfied there was no one else there, they strolled to the far edge of the terraces. Woodsmoke pulled out his longbow, saying, “I’ll see if I can get us some dinner.”
Tom watched him for a few moments and then asked, “Is waking the King dangerous?”
Woodsmoke kept his gaze ahead. “I have no idea, Tom. I’m sure it won’t be easy. Did you say you have been having dreams about the Lady of the Lake?”
“Yes, for months. Ever since Granddad disappeared. She told me she’s been waiting for me, and that I’ve taken too long.”
Woodsmoke sighed. “Sounds like she’s been planning this for some time. I suspect sending my grandfather to your world was part of her plan.”
Tom nodded as he realised Woodsmoke was probably right. “But you’ll help me get there?”
“Of course. We’ll take you to the lakeshore, but I don’t know what to expect any more than you do. I wonder what the Queen is up to?” He quickly released three arrows, which disappeared in the long grass. “Dinner,” he said, strolling over to pick up the limp rabbits.
––––––––
The next morning, they carried on towards the river, a ribbon of light in the distance. Tom was distracted by thoughts of the silver twig and waking the King. He didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he felt excited at the prospect. He’d read so many stories about King Arthur and his knights, and he tried to imagine what he would be like. Beansprout was lagging behind, because she’d stopped often to gaze across the landscape. Exasperated, he shouted, “Beansprout, keep up!”
She ignored him, giving an occasional wave to keep him happy, and eventually he gave up, figuring she’d catch up when they stopped.
The sun burned hot and the day was still, without a breath of wind. Tom was sweaty and uncomfortable by the time they reached the river, which meandered across the base of the terraces, separating them from the broad flower-filled meadows beyond. Out of the meadows rose a large mound that glowed a vigorous green, and Tom couldn’t help but stare at it. It looked uncanny rising out of the long grass.
The river was too wide and deep to wade across, so they headed for a bridge they could see nearby. It was a made from huge stone blocks, and as they drew closer, they saw that big chunks of stone had fallen, tumbling into the river below. Woodsmoke went across first, saying, “Tread carefully, and let’s keep some distance between us.”
Brenna flew ahead while Woodsmoke kept to the edge by the low stone wall, avoiding gaping holes beneath which the water passed lazily, and Tom and Beansprout followed his lead. At the other side they followed the road through the meadows, and Tom paused, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, and squinted at the mound to his left, which he could see more clearly now. It was a perfect half-sphere covered with smooth cropped grass, and was oddly unnatural, but Woodsmoke kept walking, and Tom quickly followed him. As they drew level with it, Tom heard a deep rumbling sound, which travelled through his feet and into his chest, and he stopped and looked around with alarm.
A large dark opening appeared in the side of the hill, and a crowd of strange creatures poured out, heading across the meadows towards them. They were tall, their limbs sinewy with muscle, and there was a faint greenish tinge to their skin. Their blood-curdling cries made it all too clear they weren’t there to chat.
Woodsmoke yelled, “Wood sprites! Tom, Beansprout, get behind me!” Ahead of them, Brenna swooped down to the earth, turned back into her human form, and pulled her sword from its scabbard.
Turning, Tom saw that Beansprout was still some way behind them. He couldn’t tell if she’d seen what was happening, but hoped she would stay where she was, for her own safety.
Woodsmoke raced across the meadows to Brenna’s side and Tom followed, determined to help. He had no weapons, but he didn’t care. There must be something he could do.
Even from a distance, it was clear Brenna was ruthlessly attacking the sprites, ploughing through the middle of them, her sword flashing in the sunlight. As Woodsmoke ran, he fired a volley of arrows with unnerving accuracy. The sprites stumbled and fell, trampled underfoot by others.
As Tom grew closer, he could see their lips pulled back as they whooped, their sharp teeth gleaming, but it seemed they were only after Brenna. She edged backwards, towards Tom and Woodsmoke, but there were too many sprites to outrun. A large net was thrown over her, knocking her to the ground, and she disappeared from view.
Tom and Woodsmoke were trapped. Some of the sprites had separated from the pack, blocking them from reaching Brenna. While Woodsmoke fought them with his sword, Tom rolled to the ground, trying to scramble through legs and spears, and he finally fought his way clear, staggering to his feet, bloodied and bruised, only to see the main pack dragging Brenna behind them through the dark doorway. He raced towards them and then, hearing thundering footsteps behind him, dived into the long grass. In seconds the last few sprites passed him, and he heard the groan of the doorway starting to close. With one final effort, Tom threw himself into the narrowing entrance before it clanged shut behind him.
