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Tom daydreamed as the unbelievable reality of his situation nagged at his brain. He lay on his back and gazed up at the thick tendrils of mist obscuring his view. Again he had the feeling of not moving, of being suspended in time and place, caught forever in a pocket of air between two lakes.
King Arthur was motionless beside him. Tom couldn’t understand how a man who had slept for hundreds of years could want to sleep again so soon. Feeling charitable, he put it down to physical exhaustion. It had been an abrupt awakening, after all. Finding yourself on the floor of an underground cavern after being asleep, in ice, for hundreds of years, would be very odd. He wondered if Arthur could remember dying? He would ask him when he woke up.
Tom wanted to sit up and look around, but the mist continued to hide the low roof and he didn’t want to hit his head. He remained where he was, bored, and feeling as if he had been in the dark forever. He lost track of time, drifting in and out of a light sleep until he heard a distant shout. He thought his ears were playing tricks, but then he heard it again, getting closer. His skin prickled with goose bumps and he froze as he became fully alert. Something was coming towards them. Again he heard a loud moan, and then a splash. He rolled onto his stomach and peered over the edge of the boat, dreading that he might see something there, but all was dark except for the small sphere of his torchlight on mist and water. He hurriedly lay down again and the sound stopped. With a sudden rush of emotion, he wanted to see the sky again and feel a warm breeze. When he got out of here, maybe it was time to go home.
Eventually, a soft light banished the darkness and the mist disappeared, revealing a high, domed rocky roof. Tom sat up and peered into the gloom. They were again on a river, but to their right was a large antechamber made from golden stone. Huge columns reached up to a vaulted roof, and at the rear were enormous double doors.
Tom nudged Arthur. “Wake up, look at this.”
Arthur barely stirred, but Tom kept prodding him with his foot, unable to take his eyes from what looked like the entrance to a palace. The boat changed course, headed to the riverbank, and stopped.
Arthur sat up, bleary-eyed. He looked as amazed as Tom. “Where are we?”
“I’ve no idea, but I think this is how we find a way out.”
They clambered out onto shallow stone steps and walked to the ornate doors, decorated with rose gold. Arthur cocked a raised eyebrow at Tom. “After me.”
He pushed open one of the doors and it swung silently back, revealing a hallway that glowed with pale light. There was no obvious source of the light, except perhaps from the stone itself, but it was clearly the entrance to a large building. They stepped inside, and their footsteps echoed around them.
“Wow!” Tom said, staring with amazement.
“Indeed.” Arthur nodded, his eyes alive with curiosity. “Well Tom, I have no idea where we’re going, but we better get on with it.”
Arthur carried his sword in readiness, even though there was no sign of life around them, and set off at a quick pace. Tom carried the torch—just in case darkness fell once more—and followed Arthur ever deeper into a labyrinth of rooms and corridors. He thought this was possibly the weirdest place he’d been so far. It was creepy, because it was so obviously deserted. But someone had lived here; someone had built all of this. But who?
A long, wailing cry echoed in the air, and Arthur halted in alarm, looking around with his sword raised. “What was that?”
“I heard that earlier, on the lake,” Tom said, turning slowly and seeing nothing but a deserted passageway. “But I couldn’t see anything then, either. Let’s get out of here, quickly! We must still be deep beneath the earth, so we need stairs.”
Another wail punctuated the silence, and it spurred them on, frantically trying to find some way of getting to the surface.
They had just entered another large room with dusty rugs and ornate furniture, when Arthur said, “Tom.”
“Yes,” he answered impatiently, already heading for the door on the far side.
“Look behind us.”
Tom saw water lapping gently across the floor through the door they just entered. “Crap! The cave’s roof must have collapsed. The cavern is flooding!”
“Vivian doesn’t like to make life too easy, does she?” Arthur muttered angrily.
They ran along corridors and sloshed through rooms while the water continued to rise, until eventually they came to a broad set of stone stairs ascending to another level.
“Yes!” Tom exclaimed. “This will buy us some time.”
On the next level, they saw rooms stretching away on either side, but no other stairs, and they raced down more corridors, doubling back on themselves several times when they came to dead ends, until they came to a large room with stairs running both up and down in the centre. Without even stopping to discuss it, they both raced upwards and came to a sealed, circular space.
Arthur turned quickly. “There are no doors here.”
“There has to be some way out,” Tom reasoned, “or else what was the point of stairs leading up here? Start looking.”
They examined the walls closely, feeling along the cracks in the stonework and wood panelling, hoping to find a hidden opening or some sort of mechanism, but with no success.
“Let’s try the floor, Tom,” Arthur finally said. “Look, there’s an interesting pattern right in the middle.”
He was right. The floor had an intricate tiled surface, and at its centre was a swirling design. Arthur dropped to his knees and pressed on the central stone. With a rumble and a grating sound that set Tom’s teeth on edge, stones started to rise around them.
Arthur looked at him and grinned. “Exactly as I thought.”
The floor formed itself into a series of steps that joined up with steps descending from above. Blue sky winked through an opening in the roof, and Tom sighed with relief. Neither of them could get up the stairs fast enough.
They emerged in the centre of the standing stones, as the sun was dropping towards the horizon and the stones’ shadows fell long and dark across the moor. Brenna stood at the edge of the circle, grinning broadly, while Woodsmoke, Beansprout, Fahey, and Jack raced over, almost colliding with her. Woodsmoke paused, looking relieved, while Beansprout and Jack rushed to Tom’s side. Fahey, although pleased, looked far more interested in the gaping hole beneath them.
“Tom, you’re back! You did it!” Jack whooped, grabbing Tom in a bear hug.
Tom grinned broadly. “I guess I did. Let me introduce you to King Arthur.”
Arthur had been waiting quietly, but now he stepped forward, greeting them each in turn, and repeating what he’d said to Tom. “Please, do not address me as King, Arthur will do just fine!” Beansprout blushed as Arthur took her hand and kissed it, and Tom watched as Arthur and Woodsmoke assessed one another carefully.
The myth had become a man, but what kind of man was he?
As they shook hands, Tom glanced across the moor, puzzled. “Who’s that?”
They all turned as the setting sun fell on the approaching Prince and his group; their silver armour flashed, the horses’ black coats gleamed, and their pennants fluttered in the wind as they raced towards them.
“Prince Finnlugh, and a few friends...” Brenna explained, her eyebrows raised and a smile playing across her lips.
“He came?” Tom wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or appalled.
“So much for trying to hide,” Woodsmoke groaned.
Fahey looked at the hole, then at Tom. “So where did you come from, Tom?”
“You won’t believe what’s down there!”
Fahey smirked. “I bet I will.”
Woodsmoke ignored them all and walked to the edge of the standing stones, Brenna at his side, watching the approaching riders. The Prince and his party arrived in a swirl of wind and thundering hooves, and in one swift movement, the Prince pulled his horse to a stop, jumped down, and strode towards Tom and Arthur. Before he could get close, however, Woodsmoke stopped him, stepping directly into his path.
“What do you want here, Prince Finnlugh?”
“I was invited,” he replied, looking past Woodsmoke towards Brenna and Tom, his eyes finally coming to rest on Arthur and the glinting steel of Excalibur, which was still in his hand. “I wanted to know if it was true.” He met Woodsmoke’s steady gaze. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”
Woodsmoke glanced at Brenna, who nodded, and then moving aside, said, “Then you are welcome.”
Prince Finnlugh advanced on Arthur, and then swept to the floor with a regal bow. “King Arthur, I am Prince Finnlugh, Bringer of Starfall and Chaos, Head of the House of Evernight. These are auspicious times.”
Arthur bowed his head, wariness behind his eyes. “Arthur Pendragon, King of Britain, Boar of Kernow, the overlord of Wales, Cornwall, and the North. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Tom smiled to himself. It seemed there were occasions when Arthur liked his title.
Prince Finnlugh gave him a tight smile. “I believe we have much to discuss, but let us sit first and celebrate your return.” He gestured behind him, where his men were already setting up camp.
Tom looked at Woodsmoke’s wry smile and returned it with his own.
So that’s how you introduce yourself to a King.
It was a strange company that gathered that night on the edge of the moor, the brooding wall of mist on the lake marking the edge of the visible world. Several campfires had been lit, and the Prince and the Duchess had magically erected enormous pavilions for shelter, grown from the heathers and small bushes that lay thickly around them.
Before darkness had fallen, Fahey and several of the Prince’s party had been unable to resist descending the great stone steps leading to the underground palace. Not that they could explore far—the water continued to rise, and the lower floor was now completely submerged.
Tom lounged on a couch in one of Prince Finnlugh’s pavilions, revelling in his moment of glory. He tried to work out how deep he had been and how far he’d travelled, but time and distance had lost all meaning. He was amazed to find that only two days had passed—it felt more like a week. He looked across to where Arthur sat by the fire, surrounded by people pressing him with questions. Fahey was gazing at him gleefully, unable to get enough of this unexpected figure from the past. Tom felt he should be more awed than he actually was, but he was so exhausted from the pace of the previous days that he couldn’t properly take anything in. It was all too unreal.
Tom was more curious about the oddities of the Prince’s party. The Duchess of Cloy had a towering mass of hair like an enormous wedding cake piled on her head. At least, he thought it was hair, but up close it actually looked like petals. She wore a pendant around her neck, on which hung a large, green stone mounted in gold—but the stone rested at the back of her neck, rather than at her throat. He was unnerved when it blinked like an eye, and even more unnerved when the Duchess turned around and gazed at him for long seconds. He could smell lilies, sweet and overpowering, and then as she turned away the smell vanished, leaving him feeling giddy and sick.
They were all odder than Woodsmoke, Brenna, and Fahey. He hadn’t realised how much he’d grown used to his friends’ otherness. But the people, or rather the fey, from the Royal Houses were very strange. Some had peach-like skin, soft and fuzzy, others had skin as smooth as silk, and a few were covered in whiskers. Their hair was soft, like balls of cotton candy, coloured like rainbows, or as white as snow. They were draped in magic; it crackled over them like static electricity.
Beansprout sat next to him. “You all right? You’re very quiet.”
“I’m exhausted. The rescuing business is hard work.”
Tom had related earlier how he’d woken Arthur, and their mad dash through the tunnel and onto the underground lake. She laughed and looked to where Woodsmoke and the Prince sat next to the fire, speaking earnestly. “I think Woodsmoke is feeling happier about the Prince. I wonder what happens now?”
“Time to go back home, I guess,” Tom said.
Beansprout took a deep breath. “I don’t want to go back, Tom.”
He sat up in shock. “What? Are you kidding me?”
“No. I love it here. I have room to think. I’m not going back, and you can’t make me.”
“You can’t not go home! What would your mum say? She’d freak out.”
Beansprout shrugged. “It’s just the way I feel.”
“You might feel it now, but you won’t forever. What will you do here? You’re being crazy. This isn’t real,” he said, gesturing at everything around them.
She looked at him as if he’d grown two heads. “Of course it’s real. It’s just a different reality.”
“But you don’t belong here.”
“But I could,” she said stubbornly. Getting up, she left him and walked towards Arthur. Sighing, and getting to his feet with difficulty because his leg muscles burned, Tom followed.
The Prince was gazing at Arthur’s sword. It glinted in the firelight, which illuminated the rich and fantastical engravings along its polished blade and hilt. “Merlin was a powerful man to negotiate that for you, Arthur,” he said admiringly.
Arthur laughed. “Merlin liked to get his own way, and generally did. Until his luck ran out.” He sighed deeply, his laughter gone, and he gazed back to the fire. “It’s because of that sword that I’m here, honouring his bargain, when I should be dust by now.”
“You have a purpose, Arthur.”
“It seems so. The Lady has decided that I must stop the Queen.”
“And I must stop my brother. We can help each other.”
“How?”
“Travel together, into Aeriken. I think they are working together... Why shouldn’t we?”
Arthur looked at him, perplexed. “You don’t need me. I don’t have powerful magic.”
“Neither do I, at the moment. I am weakened by the loss of my Jewel. But you have Excalibur. It is a talisman, forged by a powerful fey and full of protection. And besides, Vivian seems to think differently. She woke you especially for this reason. And I can help you!” Finnlugh’s dark blue eyes fixed on Arthur with a persuasive intensity.
Woodsmoke and Brenna were watching this exchange with interest. And no wonder, thought Tom. A Prince who had isolated himself and his retinue in his Under-Palace for years, and an ancient King of Britain, far from home, brought back from the dead.
The Prince turned to them. “I’d like your help, too.”
“How could I possibly help you?” asked Woodsmoke. “I have less magic than you, and I don’t have an all-powerful sword.”
“But you are a hunter and a tracker. If anyone can help find my brother, it should be you! And I bet you know Aeriken better than anyone here, except for perhaps...you, my dear.” Finnlugh turned to Brenna. “You can fly, and therefore must be of the Aerikeen, ruled by our beloved, murderous Queen Gavina. You must want to stop her. She’s hurting your people! Here’s your chance,” Finnlugh said in silky tones.
Brenna’s face drained of colour at this revelation, and she looked at Woodsmoke, who nodded.
“All right,” she said softly. “Let’s make a plan.”
