10 Hidden Histories

Jack and Fahey were sitting up, sipping soup and the golden restorative drink. Both smiled weakly as their visitors arrived.

“Fahey awoke first, a few hours ago, then Jack, but we thought we’d let them have a few hours of peace,” Merlin said softly, his blue eyes solemn.

Beansprout sat next to him, kissing him gently on the cheek. “You had us worried. That was quite a thump you had.”

“You don’t have to tell me!” Jack said. “This drink’s working wonders, though.”

“Your injury’s still bad enough,” Brenna said, settling in the chair next to him. “Can you remember anything?”

“Nothing at all. The last thing I remember is heading down the corridor with Jack to see the games.”

“I doubt you’ll recall anything more,” Nerian said, looking exhausted as he sat by the embers of the fire, the shadows making his eyes enormous.

The windows were wide open and warm summer air drifted gently through the room. From outside they could hear muted shouts, laughter and music drifting across the grounds. A feeling of peace washed over the infirmary as relief at Jack’s and Fahey’s recovery sank in.

The kitchen staff brought platters of food and drink, and they sat and chatted about the events of the day. Despite their ordeal, Jack and Fahey were keen to know what they had missed.

About an hour later, Finnlugh swept into the room, his bright white hair shining in the candlelight. He looked none the worse for his long journey.

“I do indeed, very enlightening news! My cousin has an excellent library,” Finnlugh said, as he sat on the edge of an empty bed.

From a pocket deep in his cloak, Finnlugh pulled out a small leather book. “I have found the diaries of the ancestor I mentioned, who we called the Gatherer – he was forever searching for scraps of knowledge about this and that. He wrote books, some good, some bad. There are a few very interesting entries I would like to read you. Unless ...” He looked to Fahey. “Would you like to do the honours?”

“Great Herne, no,” Fahey protested from the depths of his pillows. “You go ahead.”

Finnlugh opened the book, pulled a candle close, coughed gently to clear his throat and began.

“I arrived in Dragon’s Hollow over a week ago, travelling the blackened land over Dragon Skin Mountain. Despite the protection cast by Raghnall, the dragon tamer, I found it a perilous journey, and hardly slept. I have been staying in Raghnall’s house, which he has called, quite precociously, the House of the Beloved. It is a small affair of black marble at the moment, but he assures me it will get bigger. If he wasn’t a relative I would have nothing to do with him. I find him insufferable, even more so now he has ensorcelled the dragons. The Hollow is becoming quite the place to be, houses are springing up everywhere, and Raghnall has become a bit of a dandy.

“I am in Dragon’s Hollow to meet Giolladhe and Filtiarn, the two brothers who have great powers – two more additions to my book. A couple of days ago Raghnall finally introduced me to Giolladhe, or the Forger of Light, as everyone calls him. He is a peculiar man. Very skilled, generous with his powers – although he charges exorbitant fees – and full of knowledge of things dark and light, and things that should remain hidden. Giolladhe’s abilities have called him far and wide across the Realm of Earth, making objects of skill and power. He has made rings of beauty, lockets of wisdom, chains of servitude, shields of strength, lances of purity and swords of power. He supplies the djinns of the desert and fire, the sylphs in their airy palaces, the water sprites in their cities far beneath the rolling waves, and the fey who roam across meadows and forests.

“He arrived here during the Dragon Wars. The mountains are rich with dragon gold and seamed with thick deposits of metals and gems. The Hollow speaks of him reverently. But, like Raghnall, he is full of pomp. I told him I was documenting great works for my book on skilled fey and he was only too pleased to show me his forge. I went there today.

“It is a large place – a cave, in fact – underneath the right shoulder of the mountain. There is a small winding passage cut into the rock that leads to it, sealed by a heavy copper door, covered in filigree and runes. The way it is constructed you would think it is meant to be a secret, but everyone knows its whereabouts, although anyone infirm would have trouble reaching it along the narrow path up the craggy mountain side. Fortunately I am relatively fit.

“The passageway winds to and fro, eventually reaching the main room, from which several doors lead off. The forge itself is huge. The fire glowing within makes the place stiflingly hot, but along the workbenches and wall are articles of great beauty. He showed me the objects he had been commissioned to make, as well as those he designed for general sale.

“He was at that stage working on a sword called Galatine, quite beautiful, with two fire opals set one on either side of the hilt. He said he was making adjustments for his brother, Filtiarn, the person I am planning to interview for my book, whose skills lie not with metals, but with the power to speak and understand any creature. He arrived in Dragon’s Hollow just before Giolladhe. His skills have also brought him fame and wealth, as he is used by the many realms to help them communicate with creatures and resolve disputes. He had endeavoured to communicate with the dragons in their harsh guttural language, trying to broker peace, which brought him great respect amongst the sylphs – who of course have battled with the dragons for years. However the language barrier proved too difficult, and common ground could not be established, the dragons unwilling to relinquish their gains. In truth, I believe Filtiarn’s sympathies lay more with the dragons, they had been there first. But their destructive powers were such that he stood aside when Raghnall cast his spells.

“According to Giolladhe, Filtiarn has decided that in order to avoid future miscommunications he wants his sword enhanced to improve his power of communication – I believe he wishes to re-open negotiations with the dragons, so there is no need for Raghnall’s spell. In addition, such is his affinity with wolves (the reason he is called the Wolf Mage), he also wants to run with them, especially the white wolves who howl his name and follow him across the forests of the realm. He has asked Giolladhe to give his sword the power to turn him into a wolf at will – I find that astonishing.

“All afternoon I have listened to Giolladhe boast that it will be one of his greatest achievements. He has drawn down the power of the moon, specifically the Wolf Moon, and I wondered why he chose the Wolf Moon when it only came every thousand years. He assured me, however, that it could be used on any full moon, although the Wolf Moon will be the most potent. He says there are limitations on the transformation. It will only last one month, and to reactivate the spell, the ceremony of transformation must be performed again. This of course makes sense, for a wolf can hardly carry a sword! The enhancements are nearly finished, and the additional engravings are quite exceptional. He has also manufactured a receptacle for Galatine, a magnificent moonstone, into which the sword fits, and which will be embellished with some precious metals. He is to show his brother soon, and he says I may come too. It will be an excellent chance to meet him.

“This afternoon I again went to the forge. Filtiarn was already there. Unlike Giolladhe, who is blond and green eyed, Filtiarn is dark – his hair almost black – and he has dark blue eyes. He was accompanied by a young wolf, which followed him around the room. It was quite unnerving. I found I liked Filtiarn better. He had a warm gentle smile, and a patient understanding. He was very solicitous to my health.

“Giolladhe performed a spell which bound the sword to Filtiarn, explaining that he could not perform the rest of the actions until the full moon. I confess, I do not know why the sword is bound to Filtiarn, I have never heard of that before, and neither had Filtiarn, but Giolladhe explained it was necessary for the rest of the spell to work effectively. Filtiarn was very cross and wondered why Giolladhe had bound the power of transformation to such a slow and restrictive cycle. Giolladhe explained – quite patronisingly – that transformation was difficult, and required a lot of power. The most effective way to do this was to draw on the moon, and the full moon was the most potent. At this point the arguing became angry and Giolladhe said he was lucky to be able to transform at all. I think they had forgotten I was there. In fact I tried to make it that way – I hid at the back, pretending to admire Giolladhe’s other work, whilst making notes for my book.

“Finally Filtiarn stormed off, without Galatine as Giolladhe was still perfecting it, and they made arrangements to meet in the glade in the forests of the shoulders of the mountain, to perform the ceremony under the Wolf Moon. I asked if I could attend, but Giolladhe was now in a foul mood and refused, and after that I left. However I have no intention of being denied the ceremony, and so I intend to find the grove.

“I am in quite a state and I know not what to do. Last night I witnessed Filtiarn’s transformation. I had spent several days trotting around the forest, becoming covered in twigs, dirt and dust, until I found a grove, not far from Giolladhe’s, with a large flattened rock, which I deemed to be the outside area designated for magical happenings. Obviously I could not ask anybody, it would have given away my intent, but I was right.

“Last night I lay hidden for hours until they both arrived. Neither, it seemed, had quite forgiven the other, but they pressed on with the ceremony. I am obviously familiar with magic, but do not practise it myself. My own natural talents are eloquence, written and verbal, and other abilities do not interest me. However, this was fascinating. The moon fell full upon the clearing, the yellow light bathing the spot in luminescent beauty. As Giolladhe performed the spell, the light seemed to grow brighter, stronger, until the grove dazzled. It seemed as if the moon had lowered herself directly over us. The sword was placed in the moonstone, and as the light hit, it glowed as if it were on fire. Filtiarn was kneeling in front of it, and it struck him clearly in the chest. I almost cried out at this point, because his whole body was consumed with light, and he screamed and fell to the floor writhing. And then the most monstrous thing happened. He turned into a great black boar. Not a wolf. And Giolladhe laughed and laughed until tears ran down his cheeks, and I could do nothing. Nothing. The young wolf howled and ran round and round the boar whimpering, and the boar seemed to lie as if dead. Giolladhe grabbed Galatine and ran, leaving the moonstone in the clearing.

“For what seemed like an age, I sat and wondered what to do, but because the boar lay still, I crept to his side and sat there, stroking him, and saying soothing things, which of course I’m sure he couldn’t understand. Or maybe he could. Could Filtiarn understand human speech? The wolf, sensing I was no danger, lay close to me, and I comforted it too. I realised there was nothing I could do. To tell anyone what had happened would mean admitting that I was there. I fear what Giolladhe would do. As time passed the boar seemed to recover and staggered to its feet, and at this point I fled the forest. Boar can be killers.

“And all today I have debated my actions, and have again decided there is nothing I can do. Clearly Giolladhe has betrayed his brother. I can only hope that in a month Filtiarn will return to his human form. In a few days I will visit Giolladhe and ask his progress. I confess I cannot bring myself to go before. It will be interesting to see his response.

I saw Giolladhe today. He said the ceremony went well, and his brother bounded into the forest with his wolf. I asked him if he will return to human form in a month and he said, of course, just as agreed. But his smile did not reach his eyes, and I fear what will become of Filtiarn. I have decided to stay in the Hollow for another month, and continue to write my book, whilst waiting for Filtiarn to return.”

Finnlugh looked up to a spellbound room, all eyes fixed on him. Even Jack and Fahey had roused slightly. “I shall flick forward a few pages to a later entry.” He skimmed through some pages and then read again.

“Last night I did something quite rash. I went to the clearing where Giolladhe performed the spell and waited to see if Filtiarn would return. I again hid in deep shadows, squashed beneath some bushes. It was a good job I did, as Giolladhe also returned, sitting on the flat rock which served as the altar, his feet propped on the moonstone which was still there. I confess I was quite surprised, I would have thought he’d remove it.

“After waiting for some hours Filtiarn returned, in his guise as a great black boar. His eyes glowed a dangerous yellow, and this time he was alone; the young wolf was nowhere to be seen. He walked right up to the altar stone and sat in front of Giolladhe, waiting. And Giolladhe just sat and looked at him as the bright white light from the Hare Moon fell upon them. I feared nothing would be said at all, but eventually Giolladhe laughed. ‘You can wait here all night, dear brother, there will be no transformation.’ The boar grunted and snuffled and pawed the ground. Giolladhe laughed and said, ‘What was that? I can’t understand you. I locked you into the thousand-year Wolf Moon cycle, dear brother. Isn’t that funny? You must wait a full thousand years until you transform back into fey. But you will only remain in that form for one month, unless you have the sword and the moonstone, and the knowledge to perform the ritual and break the spell. At the end of that month you shall again become a boar, and thus shall the cycle continue for another thousand years.’ The boar howled and howled; I thought my heart would break. And Giolladhe just laughed. ‘Good luck with that, because I won’t help you, you ungrateful cur.’ And then he stood and shouted, ‘This is what you get for questioning my skills!’ And he turned and left, and Filtiarn just collapsed. It was obvious to me that he had understand everything and had retained his human intellect.

“I waited sometime, and when it was safe I crept out from hiding place and fled the forest. And I am now leaving the Hollow. I cannot bear to be here any more, and I fear to see Giolladhe again as I may say something I regret and find myself in great harm.”

Finnlugh took a deep breath as he looked up, and held his hand up to still any questions. “One more passage,” he said, as he pulled another leather-bound book from his cloak and rifled through the pages. “This features Giolladhe’s great deeds. One of many stories about fey heroes.

“The Forger of Light’s reputation had spread far and wide. He was asked to create a sword for the Earth beyond the bright realms, in the shadows of the Otherworld; a sword to unite and lead, to deflect loss, to add glamour. The price was high, but willingly paid, and the sword Excalibur passed to the Lady of the Lake and then beyond the shores of Avalon. She returned to him seeking a second sword to give to a knight of this great king, but specified no attributes other than that it should be of fine workmanship, and be possessed of fey engravings and glamour, so that all who should see it would never question the righteousness of the owner. Giolladhe declared that his brother must be dead, and that it would be a shame for such a fine sword to languish unused and underappreciated, and so he gave Galatine to the Lady and it passed beyond the Realms.”

“I know many tales,” Fahey said, “but I have never heard of Filtiarn and Galatine and the transformation. Is your relative the only one to have known?” He looked puzzled, and a little annoyed.

“I think he must be, or him and maybe only a few others. He was obviously far too terrified to tell anyone,” Finnlugh reasoned.

Bloodmoon spoke from where he sat by the fire, listening intently. “But Filtiarn transformed for one month every thousand years. If he had retained his wits he would have gone searching for the sword and his brother. He would have told someone. Family members. Friends.”

“Well clearly the satyrs knew something at some point,” Nerian said, “although they have forgotten how.”

Tom nodded. “Maybe this is why Giolladhe eventually left Dragon’s Hollow. He had to hide from Filtiarn.”

“I would imagine he’d disappear for just that month, and when the danger had passed he could return again, to continue his business,” Merlin said thoughtfully.

“Until he upset the sylphs,” Tom reminded them, thinking of their time at the Palace of Reckoning. “They didn’t want to talk about him at all.”

“By Herne! Is that great beast, the black boar in Inglewood, the one from the tale? Is it Filtiarn?” Arthur spluttered.

“There’s an enormous bloody great boar trampling around Inglewood, and I can’t catch it,” Arthur explained. “And it’s always surrounded by wolves.”

“But that’s not the point!” Beansprout erupted from her chair next to Jack, who despite all the excitement was now dozing again, his head lolling on the pillow. “If that is Filtiarn, he’s been trapped in that form for over a thousand years!”

“Closer to five thousand – the dragon wars were a long time ago,” Nerian said. “The sword has been in your Earth for fifteen-hundred of your Earth years.”

A collective gasp echoed across the room as the enormity of the spell and the injustice registered.

“Of course not, but how desperate would you be if you found the sword to set you free was within your reach?” Brenna said, looking at all of them.

“And a Wolf Moon was about to occur,” Nerian said softly, from his place next to the fire.

“Yes, the full moon will be in about two weeks. I would imagine that wherever he is, he’ll be turning any day now.”

“So someone is helping him,” Bloodmoon said. “A boar could not have knocked out these two and put them under a spell.”

“No!” Arthur said indignantly. “I will loan them Galatine to release the spell, and then I wish it to be returned. It was Gawain’s, and it’s now Tom’s. It has value to me.” He looked a little sad. “I’ve lost too much and don’t want to lose any more. However, I want to know what’s going on before I give the sword to anybody.”

Arthur interrupted. “For all we know it could be used as a weapon against us. I won’t let that happen.”

Silence fell for a few seconds as they considered Arthur’s words and realised he was right. They had no idea what the sword might be used to do.

“Elan.” Woodsmoke sat deep in thought. “He fled to the wood. He must be a grandson, or great grandson, or something. And he’s clearly been watching you, Tom.” Woodsmoke looked at him, and a smile started to spread. “I think you need to carry Galatine again.”

“You want me to be bait!” Tom was indignant and a little resentful. “What if he puts a spell on me, whacks me over the head and steals Galatine?”

Arthur was equally indignant. “Woodsmoke, that is underhand, dangerous, and ...” a note of admiration crept into his voice, “quite brilliant!”

Merlin held up a hand for peace. “May I suggest an alternative. I will glamour your old sword, so it looks like Galatine, and add a little extra protection to your bough. You still carry your talisman, Tom?”

“Yes, but ...” Tom couldn’t believe his ears. No-one seemed to be saying this was a bad idea. And then he realised he could get even with Elan. He grinned. “Oh, all right then.”