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As they reached the House of the Beloved, the wind grew stronger, buffeting their cloaks around them. They headed up the stairs until they reached the spell room that looked out onto the roof through a wall of glass windows and doors. This was Nimue’s doing. Raghnall’s spell room had been in the centre of the house, but Nimue had brought all his spell books, and her own, into this room that reminded Tom of a conservatory.
Lining the back wall were shelves loaded with books and the usual jars and bottles of potions, herbs, bones, feathers, skins, gems and metals. Both outside and in were pots and troughs filled with herbs and other plants, and a long table ran down the middle of the room. In a fireplace, a small cauldron hung over a brightly blazing fire. Merlin sat next to it on a stool, patiently stirring whatever was in it. An unpleasant sickly-sweet smell filled the room.
Nimue, Rahal, Beansprout and Brenna were clustered around the table, chopping and preparing various ingredients. In the centre was the scroll, pinned at each corner.
“Well?” Nimue asked as they entered, her face etched with worry.
“My dear ladies, did you ever doubt me?” Bloodmoon said, producing the skull from his cloak with a flourish.
They grinned, and then whooped with relief. “Bloodmoon, you are quite amazing,” Nimue said. “Where in the Realm did you get that?”
“We stole it,” he said bluntly.
“You did what?” Beansprout said, eyes wide. She looked at Tom. “Did you help?”
“We all did. I was a lookout,” he said, realising he had actually quite enjoyed it.
“And I had to go into the damn place after him!” Woodsmoke said indignantly.
“Another few minutes and we’d have all been on trial again,” Arthur added. “You cut it fine, Bloodmoon.”
“You should have seen what he had! That place was full of relics and all sorts of precious objects. I admit, I was distracted,” he said sheepishly.
Brenna grinned. “You manage to sneak anything else out?”
“Of course not,” Bloodmoon said slyly.
“Well, put it on the table,” Nimue said.
Bloodmoon ceremoniously placed the skull under the lamplight where they could see it clearly. It was about the size of an adult human’s, but with a long snout and jaw full of sharp teeth. The bone was old and dark brown in colour, but it still looked menacing. The thing that caught the eye was the green jewel in the centre of its forehead.
“So that’s what all this fuss is about? It’s actually quite cool,” Tom said admiringly.
“Take a good long look, because we’re about to smash it to pieces,” Beansprout said, a small hammer in her hands.
“All of it?” Arthur asked, admiring it from all angles.
“It does seem a shame, doesn’t it?” Rahal said, looking at it sadly. “I doubt any of us will ever see one of these again.”
“That explains why I’ve spent a small fortune on it,” Arthur muttered.
“We’ve been doing some reading about it while you’ve been gone,” Beansprout said. “As we know, the dragon transforms after death into all sorts of metals and gems. But for a short time, a young dragon has a stone in the centre of the forehead – the Dragon Blood Jasper. This is only present for a few months, then it changes and becomes a regular skull. To have a baby dragon’s skull is a great rarity; to have it with one of these in is even rarer. The stone is one of the greatest symbols of transformation. Youth to adulthood, naivety to wisdom, weakness to strength.”
Nimue deftly leaned forward and prised the stone free with a small knife. “I’ll take this.”
“And the other ingredients of the spell?” Tom asked, curious.
“They all have properties necessary to aid transformation. Or in this case, banish it,” Nimue said. “There are two spells on this scroll. One to cast the curse, one to end it. They’re almost identical, apart from the incantation. And this skull.”
Brenna picked up the skull, idly examining it. “The thing I really can’t work out is, why have a spell to reverse it? Why not just curse Filtiarn forever?”
Merlin looked across from the fire. “I told you before. Power. It’s a taunt. To know it exists and to constantly search for it, is psychological torture.”
Brenna looked unconvinced.
“Where’s Filtiarn?” Tom asked, realising he wasn’t in the room.
“In bed. He’s too tired for these late nights. And I think it’s too depressing,” Beansprout said. She reached across to Brenna, taking the skull from her and placing it on a sheet of paper. She raised the hammer.
Bloodmoon turned away. “I can’t watch. It’s like burning money.”
“My money at that,” Arthur added with a glare.
Beansprout brought the hammer down on the skull with a sickening thud, and it cracked down the middle. At the same time an enormous rumble of thunder erupted overhead, shaking the room, and a flash of lightning illuminated the sky and the roof beyond the window. Within seconds heavy raindrops started to fall.
“I hope that’s not a sign,” Tom said, peering through the windows.
Nimue grinned at him. “Superstitious, Tom?”
“We’re about to break a curse, this makes it very creepy,” he reasoned. “And I happen to be carrying a cursed sword.”
“The sword is not cursed, Tom,” Arthur said. “It was magical aid, or something like that.”
“Yes, something like that,” Nimue said, with a note of impatience. “Please leave the magic to us.”
Beansprout continued to smash the skull until it was in tiny pieces, and then she poured the pieces into a mortar and ground them with the pestle.
Merlin looked at his pocket watch. “Nearly time to add the skull. Measure it carefully, Nimue – we only need a thimbleful.”
Bloodmoon was horrified. “Is that all? You’ve crushed that priceless artefact for a thimbleful?”
“All for a good cause,” Beansprout said. “And besides, we’ll keep it safe for other spells.”
“Best it’s gone, anyway,” Rahal said. “The less evidence of your night-time activities the better, surely?” She looked at Bloodmoon mischievously, and Tom was suddenly aware how pretty she was. Her dark red hair, snaking down her back and across her shoulders, seemed to glow in the firelight.
Bloodmoon seemed to think so too. He winked, and said, “Well thank you, milady, for thinking of me.”
Merlin interrupted. “Come on, bring me the crushed bone, the boar’s tusk and a dawnstar sapphire.”
Nimue placed them carefully on the small table at his side, and the room stilled as everyone watched, Tom wondering if the dawnstar sapphire would cause a magical explosion. One by one Merlin added the ingredients, swirling the potion all the time. The smell of burnt hair filled the room and everyone coughed.
“Is it supposed to smell like that?” Tom asked, in between coughing. He opened the door onto the roof, and warm, muggy air flooded in, adding to the general soupiness of the atmosphere.
Merlin tutted, rubbing his hands across his face and down his long beard. “How do I know? I’ve never made this before. I am following the instructions to the letter, and now the liquid needs to reduce. The final addition will be the stone.”
“Don’t you grind the stone?” Arthur asked, watching the preparations with interest.
Nimue answered. “Apparently not. According to the spell it will just dissolve.”
Merlin looked up, the lines on his face accentuated in the firelight, adding years to his already great age. “This will go on all night. I suggest you all go to bed. By the morning it will be done, and then it needs to rest all day. We must hope I have done it correctly.”
