The shadows around them lengthened and the air grew cool as the day drew to a close. A chill wind carried the smell of rain and wet earth across the tufts of springy grass and purple and yellow heathers that covered the moor. Huge rocks, blunt and misshapen, rose from the ground, some big enough to offer shelter. Ahead of them was the massive granite formation of Fell Tor.
They had all been travelling for well over a week, steadily climbing to higher ground. Vanishing Wood was far behind them and the summer weather had disappeared. Tom was aching, cold and saddle-sore. No matter how many layers he wore, the wind seemed to find its way through them, and it wasn’t until they sheltered at night he could even begin to get warm.
The night brought its own problems. The wind carried howls, whispers, and threats. The fire they huddled around gave off only a meagre amount of light, as if the surrounding darkness was sucking it up. With nightfall, the ground mist rose and ghostly figures appeared, standing just beyond the edge of the firelight, watching and listening. When they emerged, Tom felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and goose bumps rise along his skin. Woodsmoke, Brenna, and Fahey took little notice of the watchers, but Tom, Beansprout, and Jack were nervous and slept badly, even though they maintained a night watch.
One night, Beansprout had asked if the watchers were real.
“Of course they are,” Fahey had said, “although they can’t touch you—they’re not real in the sense that we are. They are—” he’d leaned forward for emphasis, raising his feathered eyebrows, “your guilty thoughts, brought to life by the dark night.”
“They’re what?” she had asked, alarmed and confused.
“Every little lie, harsh word, or unfair judgement. They’re out there, watching.”
For a moment, they had all looked beyond the light of the fire, wondering what they had done that caused a figure to be standing there, before quickly dropping their eyes to the fire again.
However, now Tom was so tired that he knew he’d sleep well tonight, regardless of who or what the figures were. The party were aiming for the foot of the Tor where Woodsmoke had assured them there was a cave offering proper shelter. From there it was another half a day’s ride to the lake.
Tom adjusted his position. A horse had to be the most uncomfortable method of transport. As Woodsmoke had promised, Tom was riding behind Brenna, and Beansprout was behind Woodsmoke. His grandfather and Fahey, however, rode well, looking comfortable on their own mounts. He tried to adjust his movements to the horse’s gait, but failed miserably. He gave up and bumped along painfully. By late afternoon they had reached the base of Fell Tor, and Tom dismounted with a groan.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
Brenna laughed, as she started taking their packs off the horse. “You will. It just takes time.”
Woodsmoke helped Beansprout down, and then pulled free a couple of long torches that were strapped to his saddle bags. He sheltered in the entrance of the cave and used his flint to light them with well-practised ease, as Tom watched enviously. He’d been practising, but wasn’t as deft as Woodsmoke.
“Here you go.” He passed Tom a torch, and together they inspected the interior while the others unpacked their supplies.
The cave was large and dry with plenty of room for them to spread out, and satisfied that there were no hidden exits, Woodsmoke helped Tom build the fire.
“We’re taking a walk up the Tor,” Jack told Tom as he brought in their saddlebags. “I want to see the lake, and it will be good to stretch my legs.”
Tom nodded. “I’ll join you soon.”
When they were alone, Woodsmoke asked, “How are you feeling, Tom? You’ve been quiet for the last few days.”
Tom blew on the embers, watching with satisfaction as the kindling caught ablaze. “I’m okay, I suppose. Just feeling more nervous the closer we get.”
“That’s not surprising. You have no idea what’s going to happen when you get there. I confess, I’m a bit worried myself.”
Tom snorted. “Not as much as me!” He lifted his gaze from the flames and looked into Woodsmoke’s steady brown eyes. “What if I fail?”
“Then the King stays asleep and life carries on. But you won’t fail.”
“You don’t know that. You’re being kind.”
“No, I’m not. I’ve watched you. You’re resourceful, stubborn, and you want to learn. You can do this.”
Tom summoned his courage and said, “It’s more than just nerves. I think I’m scared.”
“You should be. That’s a good thing. If anything, it will keep you safe. Whatever you do, think first, act later.” He laughed dryly. “Sometimes, they both happen really quickly. And have a little faith in yourself. You got this far already.”
Tom nodded. “Thanks. I suppose I did.”
“Have you had any more dreams lately?”
“Not since we left Vanishing Hall.”
“She must know we’re coming, which means we won’t have to wait long when we reach the lakeside.”
“And then what?”
“Your adventure really begins!” He smiled. “Go and join the others. I’ll start some food.”
Tom grimaced. “I’m not sure I want to! It’s cold out there.”
“But the view will be worth it.”
The wind blew fiercely as Tom rounded the rough path that circled the Tor, and he pulled his heavy woollen cloak around him. About halfway up he found the others sheltering in a hollow, and he huddled next to them. They were looking at the silver shine of the lake in the distance, a shine that stopped abruptly as it met a wall of mist.
“I’ve just been explaining about that mist,” Fahey said to him. “It never goes away. No matter how hot the day, it’s always impossible to see the island in the centre.”
Tom frowned. “Are you sure it has an island?”
“So the old tales say.”
“Has anyone tried to land on it?”
“’Course they have, but it’s impossible to sail anywhere on that lake. You think you’re making headway, and then the shore is suddenly back in front of you again. I tried for hours, only to end up back where I started. Until of course… Boom! I suddenly found myself trapped in a tree, in your realm.” He didn’t look at them, his attention wrapped up in the lake and the past.
“Are you sure it was the Lady of the Lake who did that?” Beansprout asked.
“Of course I am. She’s its guardian. King Arthur’s guardian. No one goes there without her bidding.”
“Why did you even try?” Beansprout asked, confused.
Fahey looked shifty. “I wanted to help a friend. King Arthur has a reputation as a defender of the weak, and a fair man, as well as a strong one. And well, it’s said that he will return when he’s needed most.”
“You paid a high price, though,” Brenna said softly.
He patted her arm. “It was worth trying, and I’m back now.” And then he winked at Tom. “But Tom’s going to wake him, anyway!”
Tom grunted and looked at the moor below them. It was desolate, its wide expanses of wind-flattened greenery relieved only by blunt-headed rocks rising like whales from the earth. At the lake’s edge was a circle of standing stones. They must be huge, because even from here they were an impressive sight.
“Have you seen those, Beansprout?” he asked, pointing at them. “They remind me of Stonehenge.”
She nodded. “Amazing aren’t they? I can’t wait to get down there and see them close up.”
“What’s Stonehenge?” Brenna asked.
“A very ancient stone circle. Everyone is fascinated by it, even now, and it’s been there for thousands of years,” Beansprout explained. “There are hundreds of stone circles where we come from.”
Fahey stirred. “Come on, let’s go before we freeze to death. We’ll be there soon enough.”
They came upon the circle at midday. The stones looked as if they had stood there for centuries, solid and unyielding to the weather and the passage of time. Carvings jostled for space on every stone, reminding Tom of the carvings under Mishap Folly at home. In the centre of the ring was a smooth area made only of white stone.
They set the horses free to graze, and then walked to the lake’s edge, forming a straggling line along the narrow beach. As they gazed across the water, Tom asked his friends, “What now?”
Fahey pointed to the wall of mist. “Someone’s coming.”
The curved bronze peak of a prow emerged first, topped by a roaring dragon figurehead, its fierce eyes glaring across the water, and Tom’s heart skipped a beat. The boat glided through the water without a ripple. A huge square sail stretched across the middle of the boat, filled with wind, even though—for a change—there wasn’t so much as a breeze blowing, and it eventually stopped a short distance from the shore.
The Lady of the Lake stepped into view, her long, silver hair flowing around her shoulders and across her vivid green dress. She looked regal and imposing, and she raised her arm and pointed at them.
Tom stumbled and fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head, which felt as if a tight band had been wrapped around it. She spoke directly to his mind, saying, “Tom, you need to come with me.” The pain was so intense, Tom thought he might throw up.
The others were unnaturally silent and motionless, gazing towards the boat, but Beansprout rushed to his side. “Tom, are you all right?”
“I can hear her, right in here. Can’t you? Damn! It didn’t hurt like this the other day.”
“No, I can’t hear anything. What’s she saying?” Beansprout turned to glare at the Lady of the Lake and yelled, “Stop it! You’re hurting him!”
Immediately, the pain receded, and he straightened up. “Thanks. I don’t think she meant to hurt me. It’s okay now. She wants me to go with her.”
“Go where?”
“Where do you think? The island on the lake!”
“On your own? What about me? Ow!” Beansprout clutched her head, too.
“What did she say?” Tom asked, guessing what had caused the pain.
“She told me to wait.”
He smiled nervously at Beansprout, and his nausea returned. “I’m on my own, then.” He stood up, uncertain of his future, and hesitant to go anywhere, but he knew he must. He patted his backpack and checked that he still carried the Silver Bough, and then glanced to his friends and Granddad. “I’m not sure what’s happened to them, but say goodbye for me. Wish me luck.”
Beansprout threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Good luck, and see you soon!”
Tom tugged his boots off and walked across the narrow beach and into the water, every step taking him deeper, until the water lapped his thighs. When he reached the boat, a rope ladder was waiting for him, and he climbed it, hauling himself over the side. As soon as Tom’s feet touched the deck, the boat started to move as the sail flapped and turned. He waved forlornly at Beansprout and saw her wave back, and then the shoreline disappeared as he became enveloped by the mist.
Every time Tom breathed in, moisture rushed into his mouth and lungs, until he felt saturated. The mist pressed into his skin, eyes, and hair, and beads of water formed on the hairs on the back of his hands. His jeans were already soaked through, and he shivered in the cold. The ends of the ship were invisible, and he couldn’t even see the water below. He couldn’t even detect movement. There was no wind, no sign of rippling water, and no noise of any kind that might indicate where land was. For all he knew he was motionless, stranded in the middle of the lake, freezing to death.
He looked for the Lady of the Lake, but she had gone, and he stood alone. It was a very un-boat-like vessel. There were no stores or ropes, no helm or anchor. Seeking shelter, he looked for a hatch in the deck, but saw nothing except wet planks of wood. He decided it was pointless to keep standing. No matter how hard he looked, the mist was impenetrable, so he sat with his back against the mast, his pack in the small of his back, and wrapped his cloak around him, grateful for its warmth. At least his head felt better now that her voice was out of it. He tried to remember her exact words, but struggled, as if he had heard them a long time ago. Now he knew what he had to do, just not how, but there was nothing else he could do at the moment, so he closed his eyes and tried to rest.
Tom was awoken by the boat scraping across the ground. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep. He was cold and stiff, and it was only with difficulty that he pushed himself up off the deck to see where he was.
The mist had cleared to reveal a pale blue sky, although tendrils still ribboned through the air and wrapped themselves about the rocks on the shore in front of him. Gnarled trees lined the beach, and beyond them were steep hills thickly clad in tangled trees and bushes. To his right, a narrow crevasse punctured the smooth line of the hills.
Tom was utterly alone. The only sound was of an unseen bird calling high above, its cry eerie and forlorn, emphasising his solitude. The waves hushed insistently against the shingle, and Tom realised he was going to have to get wet again. He slid over the side of the boat and waded to the shore, then tried to squeeze the water out of his trousers before pulling his boots back on.
After surveying his surroundings, Tom realised there was only one place he could go, so he headed to the rocky gap between the hills. The shingle slid beneath his feet, making his movements awkward, but once he entered the crevasse, the ground flattened and hardened and he picked up his pace, anxious to get to his destination—wherever that was. After a while, the path climbed and curled around the hill, until he finally emerged into a clearing and saw a broad vale below, filled with fertile fields, green meadows, and trees. It was the scene from the dream he’d had on the flat rock, and although it was beautiful, his stomach tightened with dread. On the far side of the vale he made out a long, low building of golden stone, glowing in the sunlight, while in the centre stood a rocky hill and the dark mouth of a cave. Tom was hot and thirsty, so he drank from a bottle of water he carried, and started on the path into the valley.
The light was already falling, the sun sinking rapidly, when he reached the valley. The Lady of the Lake appeared ahead of him, and she made sure he had seen her before she turned and walked towards the cave.
“Okay, so you want me to follow you? I get it,” Tom muttered, picking up his pace.
The woman flitted like a ghost through the silent landscape, always just ahead of him. No matter how he hurried, he couldn’t seem to get closer. Arriving at the cave, she stepped in and disappeared.
Tom was only minutes behind her, and he stopped at the threshold and peered into the murky gloom. She was waiting in the shadows beyond a small fire burning in the centre. To the left was a cavernous hole in the ground, and Tom could see the start of a narrow staircase descending into the blackness.
Now that he was actually face to face with her, Tom could see that she was of average height and slim build. Her silver hair flowed over her shoulders, framing her petite, oval face that was neither young nor old. Once again, Tom had the impression of great age, but it was hard to tell physically.
He took a few steps inside. “What is this place?”
For the first time she actually spoke out loud, and her voice was as commanding as it had been in his dreams. “This is Avalon, the Isle that bridges worlds. It is the place where things begin, end, rest, wait, and watch.”
“Well, that sounds suitably weird. And I suppose I’m going down that?” He pointed to the hole in the ground.
“Yes, it leads to the tombs of many creatures, from many races.”
“Oh, fab,” he said dryly, feeling his stomach churn. “And what happens when I find King Arthur?”
“You will lead him back to the surface. He has to stop the Queen. She is destroying everything. Once you wake him, he must go to the Old Forest.”
“Will he even know where that is? I don’t!”
“Your friends will know. They can lead him.” She was frustratingly calm, as if he were asking ridiculous questions.
“But why me?” he persisted, feeling a dreamlike quality steal over him, despite the realness of his surroundings. “Why blood? And how do you know I’m related? You might be making it up!”
She lifted her chin. “I never joke about matters as important as this. You bear the mark, do you not? A dark, sword-shaped birthmark across your arm.”
Again, Tom had a feeling of being out of his depth; a pawn in someone else’s game. His hand moved subconsciously over his deltoid and the long birthmark. “How do you know that?”
“I put it there. Merlin insisted that whoever woke King Arthur must be related by blood. It was one of his conditions during our negotiations, and so it was woven into the spell.”
Merlin! Spell… Tom could barely believe what he was hearing.
Before he could speak, images appeared in Tom’s mind of an old man and a young woman, sitting around a fire at the edge of the lake, under a star-filled sky. Between them was a long, silver sword, flashing with firelight and shadow.
The old man shouts, “Vivian! I insist. If he must awake here, he must not be alone. One of his kin must wake him.”
“You are a sentimental old fool. He will not be alone!”
“If you deny this request, I deny you him!”
“And I keep the sword.”
He pleads, “Please, he is like my son.”
She hesitates, and eventually nods. “Then his descendants will be marked, and I shall follow them all.” She reaches into a bag at her side and pulls out herbs and a small cauldron, and together they start to chant.
Tom shook his head and blinked. “Was that you? You’re Vivian?”
“A very young me, yes.”
“But you aren’t one of them. The fey. What are you?”
She smiled, making her look younger. “I am human, like you. I dedicated my life to magic and the great Goddess, and decided to stay here, a very long time ago. I helped negotiate the sword.”
“But why me?” he insisted.
“I followed all of you through the years, not sure when the time would be right. Any circumstance could have eventuated the need for his return, but current events have deemed that now is the time. And so I watched … With difficulty, I must add. Some of you were too old, some too young, most too weak. I took a chance with your family, and when Fahey tried to get here, I sent him to your world, to wait until I was ready. I thought he could he show one of you the way.”
“You put him in a tree!” Tom said, incredulous.
“I could have done worse,” she replied ominously.
“But he didn’t bring me, did he? I was left behind, and my granddad came instead.”
Her demeanour suddenly changed and she shouted, “Have you any idea how complicated that spell was? What Merlin demanded? It was ridiculous, and I knew it was, but I gave in to him anyway, as I always did! The boundaries between worlds were like gossamer then, but not anymore. I no longer have the power to influence events beyond these borders. And now it has taken too long and you must hurry!” Her voice rose with annoyance.
“Wait! I have more questions!” Tom had no idea if he would ever see this woman again, and he needed to understand. “Do you mean my granddad and my dad are also descendants, and Beansprout, too?”
She nodded. “Yes, all of you.”
“Why didn’t you use my granddad then? He was already here.”
“He’s too old. What I ask you to do requires youth and strength. And your father is too set in his ways.”
“What about Beansprout?”
“She too has merits, but I see a different future for her. I chose you.”
Tom felt a sudden rush of dizziness at the implications of her words, and feeling a little sick, he glanced at the dark opening and said, “So, I suppose it’s time?”
She smiled. “Have faith, Tom. I chose you for a reason. Follow the steps to the bottom, and then go along the passageway. His is the final tomb, and the first. Remember to use the bough I gave you. It will help you speak to Arthur, too.”
He noticed that she dropped his title, a sign of her friendship with him perhaps. “How do I find my way in the dark?” He had visions of his torch battery failing and leaving him alone in the blackness.
She leaned forward and pulled a flaming branch from the fire, muttered a few words over it, and then handed it to Tom wordlessly. He took it and headed towards the steps, wondering why he’d allowed himself to become involved in such madness.
As he started down the steps, she shouted, “Do not turn off the main path!”
Great, he groaned to himself, as he descended into darkness. He was going to get lost and die down here. So much for destiny.