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After an early breakfast, Woodsmoke, Tom and Bloodmoon saddled their horses and headed up the path behind the house. The last time Tom had been here was when he’d returned from the Realm of Air, after their imprisonment and near death by the sylphs.
For a while they were sheltered by the trees on either side, and then they left the woods behind and were dazzled by the sun, already warm despite the early hour. The mountainside was covered in a mix of trees, scrub and bare earth, huge stones littering the ground. Small animal tracks snaked along the slopes, and insects chirped in the undergrowth.
Woodsmoke and Bloodmoon looked very otherworldly today. Woodsmoke always became more intense when hunting; his eyes were dark with concentration as he followed the path up and across the mountain, his focus absolute. His hair was tied back, and he wore a sleeveless leather jacket rather than a cloak.
Bloodmoon sat beside him, as blond as Woodsmoke was dark. Bloodmoon had inherited the family colouring that Fahey once described in his tale about Vanishing Hall. His skin was a creamy white, and his eyes dark green. His long hair was streaked with plaits, and it snaked down his back. The huge hilt of his dragonium sword glinted as it caught the sun. Tom felt that Woodsmoke and Bloodmoon had become his brothers, and the feeling gave him strength.
Woodsmoke pulled Farlight to a halt. “Let’s push up to where the path levels out,” he said. “We’ll tie up the horses beneath those trees and continue on foot.”
Tom groaned and Bloodmoon laughed. “All the best hunting is done by stealth, Tom.”
“And remember,” Woodsmoke said. “The doorway faces west.”
The horses secure, they split up and left the main path, with instructions to shout if they found anything.
Hours later, Tom had found nothing. He was hot, dusty and sweaty. The paths he had followed led only to animal burrows and dead ends, some petering out to nothing. He poked under trees, around streams, and brushed overhanging branches back from near vertical stretches of mountain, feeling as if at any moment he would plunge down the side to his death.
Eventually he came across a small overhang, and shouted to the others that he was taking a break. He sat in the shade beneath it, swigging water which had become unpleasantly warm in his animal-skin bottle, and looked out over Dragon’s Hollow glittering in the valley below.
A few minutes later Bloodmoon skittered to a halt beside him. His face was streaked with dirt, and he started to complain. “I could easily die of boredom doing this, Tom.”
“But think of the rewards,” Tom said, knowing exactly what would motivate Bloodmoon. “Who knows what Giolladhe may have left in his workshop.”
They were disturbed by a shout, and a summons, coming from somewhere high above them. They scooted out of the shade and looked up to see Woodsmoke gesturing, and scrambled up to join him.
Woodsmoke was standing on a barely-there path, grinning. “I think I’ve found it. I heard a stream, and thought I’d find it and fill up my water bottle. There was an overgrown path, but I realised it was edged with stones, so I started to clear it.” He pointed. “Look, it’s paved, although covered in dirt now. Come on, there’s more.”
He led the way down the path, and they forced their way through bushes, getting scratched and smacked by protruding branches, until they came to a small shallow curve in the hillside. An overhang of rock cast some shade, and a stream ran over it into a small pool. Next to it was a door.
“By Herne’s knobbly horns – you’ve found it!” Bloodmoon exclaimed. He ran his hands over the copper door, its shine dulled by the weather. In the centre was an engraving of a large flame below a sun.
“I had to clear it,” Woodsmoke said, pointing to branches lying to one side.
“Well done,” Tom said. He was grateful to be out of the sun, and put his head beneath the waterfall, gasping at its coldness. He shook his head like a dog. “Who’s going in first?”
“I am!” Woodsmoke said, indignant. “I found it. But it’s locked.”
They lined up next to each other and pushed, trying to force the lock or hinges, but the door remained stubbornly shut.
“Hold on,” Bloodmoon said, rummaging in his pack. “I have some tools.” He pulled out a selection of skeleton keys and sharp-edged files.
“You’ve brought your thieving pack?” Woodsmoke said, affronted.
“I am not a thief! Sometimes I am recruited by thieves.”
“Same thing,” Woodsmoke said.
“Bloodmoon, you never cease to surprise me,” Tom said, not sure whether to be impressed or worried.
Bloodmoon was on his knees, his eye to the keyhole. He sat upright with shock. “There’s a key in it.”
“How can there be?” Tom said, doubting him. Bloodmoon moved aside, allowing Tom to see a small blockage in the lock, caused by a key on the other side. “So someone’s still in there?” he said, alarmed.
“No, someone’s bones are in there,” Woodsmoke corrected.
“Out of the way,” Bloodmoon said. “I have work to do.”
They stood silent for a few minutes as he wiggled his tools in the lock, and then tried a few keys, until they finally heard a click. He smiled with satisfaction. “Now, after three.”
With an enormous effort they pushed the door open. Rusty hinges groaned, and there was an ear-shattering grating noise as the door caught on debris and the key that had fallen from the lock. Bloodmoon flattened himself against the floor and managed to hook the key out of the way, so they could push it open further.
Dust billowed out, followed by a musty smell. Dirt and small stones were strewn down a passageway which stretched away into darkness.
Bloodmoon stepped aside, saying, “After you,” to Woodsmoke.
They each pulled a torch from their packs, and after lighting them, started down the hall. It was eerie; the air was stale, and their footsteps sounded loud in the confined space of the hill. The passageway was long, eventually leading to a door that opened into a large room, in the centre of which was a fireplace and chimney heading into the roof. Around the walls were broad work benches, shelves, and a scattering of tools, all covered in thick dust. Three doors led out of the room.
For a few seconds they were quiet, taking in their surroundings, as the dust of hundreds of years swirled around them. Tom grinned in the gloom. “We’ve actually found Giolladhe’s workshop! Well done, Woodsmoke!”
“It was nothing,” Woodsmoke said casually. “Just my skill and hunter abilities.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now to find the moonstone,” Bloodmoon said, lighting the lanterns that hung overhead.
Tom paused in front of one of the benches, examining the tools spread over it. He scraped his finger across the surface, clearing a thick covering of dust. “Wow, just think, we’re the first people in here for hundreds of years.”
“We won’t find the moonstone,” Woodsmoke said.
“Why not?” Tom asked.
“He’s cleared the place out, or someone has,” Woodsmoke pointed out. “Nothing except tools and dust.”
“Maybe he was on the run from someone,” Bloodmoon said, raking through the fire before moving on to the cupboards beneath the benches.
“Filtiarn?” Tom said.
“Or the sylphs,” Woodsmoke reminded them. “Remember, something happened with them.”
Tom drifted around the room, absently picking up tools and putting them down again. “Maybe he didn’t hide the moonstone,” Tom said thoughtfully. “Maybe he just lost it.” He pushed open the other doors. “There’s a set of stairs, and another room, so I’ll start on this one.”
Woodsmoke nodded. “We’ll head up the stairs and search the upper floor.”
The next room was smaller, lined on one side with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with an assortment of boxes. On the other side, at the far end, was a large cupboard. Tom started on the shelves, moving methodically along, but the boxes contained only paper and packing material. Feeling despondent, he moved to the cupboard. It was large – much bigger than he was – with double doors. The door he tried was stiff, but he pulled it open and found another door in front of him, set back into the wall. Shelves had been dismantled and were stacked to the side, looking as if they had previously been in front of the door. A hidden room? Suddenly excited, he pulled the door open. There was nothing but blackness beyond. Without wondering whether to call Woodsmoke, he stepped through. Immediately he experienced a familiar sensation of floating, weightlessness and a pulling deep in his gut. He’d stepped through a portal.