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Night was falling as Tom and Elan left the cave. Someone had started a fire in the centre of the clearing, and branches were stacked in a pile next to it. In the shadows at the far edges, the wolves sat and watched them, their yellow eyes glinting in the firelight.
A few logs had been pulled around the fire, and Beansprout and Brenna were sitting warming their hands, their cloaks pulled close. Lying next to them, where they could easily watch her for signs of movement, was the prostrate form of Rahal, wrapped in a blanket. After a warm day, the air was now chilly, and a few stars had started to spark in the night sky.
Tom and Elan joined Arthur where he stood talking to Merlin, no longer in boar form.
“How is he?” Arthur asked, looking in concern at Filtiarn snuffling in the edges of the fire.
“Confused,” said Merlin. “There were flashes of comprehension, but mostly all he could say was that he was hungry and tired.”
“Hungry?”
“It’s a primal urge in animals as well as humans. I’m not sure if we’ll get any more sense out of him once he changes.”
“So his mind might have gone forever?” said Tom.
A sad smile flickered across Merlin’s face. “Maybe. But perhaps not being able to reason with a human mind is a way of preserving his sanity, Tom.”
“But you can think clearly as an animal?” Elan asked.
“Yes, but I only turn for a short period, and shapeshifters such as Brenna are meant to change. Filtiarn has lived as a boar for a thousand years, and more.”
Arthur shivered. “I only turned for a short time in Nimue’s spell, and all I can remember is trees and more trees. I don’t think I had one logical human thought in my head.”
Merlin nodded thoughtfully. “All being well, he will change form later and his human reasoning will return. Until then, we wait.”
Bloodmoon and Woodsmoke had returned with news that they could find nothing else of danger in the surrounding area. They had shot rabbits and a pheasant for supper, and sat side by side, expertly skinning, de-feathering and gutting the carcasses, before chopping them into chunks and placing them in a large pot over the fire, along with water and herbs. The smell of cooking reminded Tom how hungry he was.
He left Elan talking with Arthur and Merlin, and sat next to Beansprout, nibbling on a piece of cheese. It was strange seeing her out of her long dresses. She was now wearing dark leather trousers, a shirt, and a leather tunic that doubled as some kind of body armour. “How’re you, Beansprout?” he mumbled.
“OK, Tom. Just realising this is going to be harder than we thought.” She turned her gaze from the fire to look at him. “I mean – we don’t know anything! Just a few old stories. It would seem like a story if we didn’t actually have proof in front of us.” She glanced at Filtiarn.
Brenna leaned across. “Didn’t you say you’d found some old maps?”
“Ooh yes!” Beansprout said, brightening. “Let’s have a look, Tom.”
He pulled the book out of his pack, carefully extracting the maps at the back. “This is the one that looked like Dragon’s Hollow.”
They stared at the map in the firelight, following the lines and contours. “Looks like it to me, but it’s smaller,” Beansprout said. “Look, he’s marked a few places. That could be Raghnall’s place, and there’s the mines, and there’s a mark on the hill behind Raghnall’s.”
Woodsmoke joined them, leaning over Beansprout. “I knew that path led somewhere!”
Tom looked up at him, confused. “You mean the one that leads up the mountain? We know where it goes. To the top.”
Woodsmoke shook his head. “Tom, Tom, Tom. Subterfuge only! Convenient, yes. But I bet that’s Giolladhe’s place. The route to it must be off that main path.”
Now Brenna looked confused. “But why would he hide it? What does it matter?”
“If Raghnall hid it, it’s because there’s something valuable there he didn’t want anyone to know about,” Woodsmoke reasoned. “He was a sneaky rat, remember?”
“Maybe,” Beansprout said.
Tom had pulled some of the other drawings out and was examining them too. “He’s drawn some people. Must be some of his famous fey.” Underneath the drawings were names of fey he didn’t recognise, but then he gasped. “Look! Giolladhe and Filtiarn.”
On one page, tattered and worn like all the others, were pen and ink drawings of two men, one with light hair (or so Tom presumed – it had less ink than the other), and one dark. The blond one had short hair, thick and wavy, and a sharp chin and narrowed eyes, and underneath was written Giolladhe. The dark-haired one had longer hair, and a slight beard, and under him it said Filtiarn. Next to both was written, The famous brothers.
“How amazing,” Beansprout said. “To see a picture of the Forger of Light! And Filtiarn, who’s right here! He looks so young and handsome,” she said with a wistful sigh.
By now Elan had joined them. Beansprout looked at him, comparing him to the picture. “He looks a bit like you, Elan.”
Tom thought he detected a snort from Woodsmoke, who didn’t seem too pleased at Beansprout comparing handsome men.
“I bet he doesn’t look like that any more,” Tom said, wondering what was going on with Woodsmoke. “And look, a drawing of Galatine.” He pulled his sword free. “It’s incredibly detailed. The Gatherer was a very skilled artist as well.”
“Where did you get those from?” Elan asked, looking at the drawings with interest.
“A friend of ours found them, they were in a diary. Someone watched Filtiarn get cursed.”
Elan looked shocked. “And they didn’t help him?”
“He couldn’t help him,” Tom explained. “He was scared.”
“What else is in there, Tom?” Brenna said.
Tom passed her some more papers, and she opened one and looked puzzled. “Galatine’s moonstone.” She looked up, startled. “What’s this?”
Before anyone could answer, Rahal stirred and her eyes flickered open. Brenna pulled her dagger free and placed it under Rahal’s chin, calling sharply, “Arthur, Rahal’s awake.”
“Don’t hurt her!” Elan shouted. “She was only doing what she thought was best.”
“So am I,” Brenna warned with a sidelong glance.
Elan ran to Rahal’s side. “Rahal, it’s all right. You’re safe.”
Arthur stood over her, putting her in shadow, and she recoiled nervously. “Rahal, if you promise not to try anything stupid, Brenna will put away the dagger.”
She glanced nervously at Elan, who nodded and said, “Honestly, we’re fine. They want to help.”
“All right, no magic, no tricks.” She rested back against the log and put a hand to her head. “What did he do to me?”
“Only a little spell,” Merlin called over from where he sat next to Filtiarn.
Tom reminded himself never to underestimate Merlin’s hearing.
Arthur smiled before continuing. “As I said earlier, Rahal, we are here to help you break the spell. In a few hours Filtiarn will change form. We need you to tell us what you know of the spell, if we are to break it forever.”
“It’s our family secret,” she said quietly. “It is not for others to know.”
“That time has gone,” Elan said. “They’re right. In all these years no-one has come close to breaking the spell. In another month we may not have another chance.” He grabbed her hand. “I’ve told them what I know, but it’s not much. Do you know any more?”
For a few seconds she sat in silence and then came to a decision. Looking at Arthur she said, “I know where we’ve searched, and I know we found nothing in years. The old guardians had given up hope. They were old and I know they stopped looking, and if I’m honest we didn’t know where to start.
“All the guardians keep records and I’ve read them all. When Filtiarn originally went missing no-one knew what had happened, and all Giolladhe said was that he had set off with his wolves to explore his new abilities.”
“Who did he tell that to?” Arthur asked.
“Their family, and his wife and children, when they wondered where Filtiarn was. They knew Giolladhe was helping him to shape-shift, so that wasn’t a surprise. What was puzzling was the fact that he never returned. Giolladhe denied having any knowledge of what he was doing.”
“Fancy lying to everyone. About your own brother!” Beansprout said.
“Not everyone has your scruples,” Woodsmoke said, squashing in next to her on the log. “Go on,” he said, to Rahal.
“Many years later, after endless searches and speculation, the boar arrived on our land and wouldn’t leave. He brought with him a pack of wolves, and his wife had a flash of insight or something. Everyone thought it was a fancy at first. But she was convinced from the start that it was Filtiarn. She forbade anyone to hunt the boar, on pain of death. And eventually, after a thousand years, he turned back to his human form and revealed the story. His father was furious.”
“So when he first turned he was himself again?”
“That’s what I understand,” she said. “Well, after a few hours of confusion at most. I think a burning anger kept him sane. From what I can gather, his father really didn’t understand the deliberateness of the betrayal at first, and he joined Filtiarn on his search. Insisted in fact.”
“When did he find out?” Arthur asked.
“When they found Giolladhe had fled, and no-one knew where to. Of course Filtiarn had to explain their argument – he’d kept quiet about it up to that point, probably hoping he was wrong, or that Giolladhe was exaggerating. His family was devastated. And then Filtiarn changed form. For years they kept searching for Giolladhe, but he kept a low profile, and then his father died, and his mother, and then his wife, and the hunt was forgotten, and then, finally, Giolladhe returned to Dragon’s Hollow.”
“Why didn’t Filtiarn’s children find him there?” Arthur sounded incredulous, and Tom knew that if it had been Arthur, he would never have stopped looking.
“Because no-one told the family he was back, and no-one knew about the curse. And by then I think the guardian who had been appointed was probably terrified of Giolladhe.” Rahal dropped her eyes to her hands, which fidgeted nervously in her lap. “If I’m honest, I’m scared of him too.”
Tom saw Arthur deflate a little, as he considered her words.
“Anyway,” she continued, “we knew we needed Galatine. Filtiarn had told us that much, but we never found it. The next time he turned, the Guardians searched with him, but found nothing. And so it went on, until eventually Galatine passed to you, Arthur.”
“I had no idea–”
“I know,” she interrupted. “It’s not your fault. But we have it now, and I still don’t know what to do other than perform a spell we don’t know on the night of the full moon.”
“And you’ve never found the spell?”
“Never,” she said, her face filled with regret. “Not one scrap of paper, whisper of a spell, a hint or a clue. Nothing. However, we have gathered a large store of knowledge about spells during the Wolf Moon, not specifically shape-shifting, but it’s something.”
“We need something else too,” Brenna said, holding a piece of paper in her hands.
“Like what?” Arthur said, a hint of impatience in his voice.
“The moonstone. Don’t you remember the story Finnlugh told? The moonstone the sword sat in, that was in the clearing on the night of the spell?”
Tom groaned. “Yes, I remember. It was at Giolladhe’s feet during the spell.”
“He’s drawn it, right here. It must play a part in the ritual.” She passed the drawing to Tom.
Arthur rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath before looking at Elan and Rahal. “Have you any idea what this could be? Or where it is?”
They looked at each other, and then at Arthur, shaking their heads. “I’ve never heard of it before,” Elan admitted.
Arthur jumped to his feet and began pacing up and down. “This just keeps getting worse.”
Bloodmoon interrupted from where he sat tending the food and watching the events unfold. “Come on everyone, eat. It fuels the brain.”
They were glad of the interruption, and for a few minutes sat eating and thinking about their dilemma, until one by one they wrapped themselves in blankets to get some sleep. As Merlin said, they would all be awake soon enough if Filtiarn changed.
