The Tower of Time

By Rosey Collins

          “I think it’s the anniversary of his death tomorrow,” Curran said, in a thick West Country accent.  “I’ll ask Mam – she’ll know.”

          “I’d hope she would,” replied his friend Laurel.

It was early evening, the sun was beginning to set and they were out sowing seeds in one of Laurel’s father’s fields.  Part of Curran was telling him that he should go home and do some work for his own family.  But another part – the larger part, it seemed – was telling him to wake up and realise he was a grown man now, and that he should damn well spend as much time with his friends as he wanted to.

“It’s getting dark,” observed Laurel.  “You ought to go home.  Your dad’ll half kill you.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“Why do you have to go upsetting him all the time?  So he’s not your dad, but he does look after your mam and put food on the table.”

“No he don’t.  Mam does all the work, Laurel.  And he treats me bad.”

“Oh yes?  What – does he beat you?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re having me on.”

“I’m not.”

“Do you even remember your real dad?”

“I do actually,” Curran said defiantly.  “I remember that he was good to me and that he loved me.  I don’t know why mam married that oaf after being with a good man like my dad.”

“He can’t have been that good,” argued Laurel.  “He was in Vestan’s army, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.  So what?”

“Don’t you know what they did?  When they attacked that castle – the people who lived in it, they didn’t do no harm.  Vestan an’ his lot, they just went and took it, just for no reason.  Well, no reason ’cept that there was Saxons in it.”

“My dad wouldn’t do that.  Not for no reason.”

“You never even knew him.”

“I did know him!  He must have thought he was doing the right thing.”

“Maybe.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“Wish I could bring him back,” said Curran.

“Who says you can’t?” challenged Laurel.  “Anything’s possible.”

“No it’s not.  You and your superstitious twaddle.”

“My mam told me about a place where you can bring back the dead.  The Tower of Time, she reckons it’s called.  You can go back in time or something… or you can bring them out of the past… I dunno.”

“Where does your mam get all this stuff?”

“Market place, I think.”

“But it’s nonsense though, isn’t it?  There’s no Tower of Time.”

“There is a Tower of Time.”  She sounded quite certain about that.  “It’s a big castle with a bloody great lake all around it.  The Dunswater, I think Mam called it.  It’s a real place – honest.  It’s near where your dad got killed, Mam reckons.”

“How does she know all this?”

“I dunno, people tell her.”

“She’s an old gossip, your mam.  But it’s a real place then, is it?  That I could go to?”

“Why would you want to go there?” asked Laurel.  “Even if it’s a real place don’t guarantee you can stop anybody being dead.  And besides, you don’t believe in that kind of thing anyway.”

“It’d get me away from here, though.”

“And from me.  You don’t want to leave your oldest friend, do you?”

“Well, why don’t you come with me?”

“Shut up!”

“You’re a beautiful intelligent young woman,” Curran told her matter-of-factly.  “You’re not going to be happy chucking seeds around this place all your life, are you?”

“Maybe not,” shrugged Laurel.  “But it’s Dunshelm!  I’m not going to Dunshelm with anyone!”

“Why not?”

“I’m just not, all right?  Weird stuff happens there.”

“Who says?  Your mam?”

“Yeah, an’ everyone else.  Don’t you know the story?  When Vestan’s army an’ your dad attacked the castle, they slaughtered the whole family.  Not many of ’em ended up like your dad, you know.  He was unlucky – he was one of them ones the Dunshelm sons managed to get before they got done in themselves.  Only they missed one: Treguard.  He went off and did something else for a few years, an’ then he slayed a dragon an’ got himself this magic sword and fought a whole load of monsters an’ stuff to get his family’s castle back.”

“Rubbish!” Curran laughed derisively.

“It’s not rubbish,” snapped Laurel.  “He lives there now, that Treguard.”

“I’m not saying he don’t, but there was no dragons or anything.”

“There was.  How else could he get his castle back single-handed?”

“He probably had an army an’ stuff.  These stories get changed over the years to sound really silly.”

“It only happened five years ago.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah.  Think about it, Curran.  He had to be a grown man to do all that, so it had to be at least a few years, and it was only fifteen years ago that the castle got nicked and your dad got killed.  He couldn’t have done it that long ago – he was only a lad when the castle was taken in the first place.”

“If I go to Dunshelm, I’ll find that this Treguard of yours is a bald old git with a whole army to his name.  And I’ll find that this Tower of Time is just a crumbly old castle with no magic in it whatsoever.”

“Then why go?”

“To get away from me step-dad.  And it’s a quest, isn’t it – like a right of passage or something.  I’m eighteen now, aren’t I?  I can’t hang around farms forever.”

“You can.  And it’d be safer.”

“I don’t care.  I’m going tonight.”

“You’re not!”

“I am.  There’s nothing keeping me here, is there?”

“Oh yeah?  What about me?”

“I’d come back for you, Laurel.  If you don’t come with me.”

“I’m not going with you, you bloody nutter.”

“All right then.  You stay here.  I’ll bring you something.  An’ if I can bring my dad back, I’ll do it.  I remember him better than you think, you know, an’ I still miss him.”

“I think you can bring him back,” said Laurel.

“Yeah, you believe in magic, you daft cow,” Curran smiled fondly.  “I’d best go home now – get ready to go.”

“You’re mad.”

“So what?”

“So don’t get yourself killed, okay?  Good luck.”

When Curran got home, his stepfather beat him for staying away so long and then locked him in his room.  Curran listened carefully and waited until he had heard his mother and stepfather go to bed.  Then he went to the window, climbed clumsily down the convenient growth of ivy on the wall outside, and made for the stable.  He took the horse that he got on best with: a placid young stallion that he called Storm.

He and Storm had got no further than the stable door when Curran felt a strong hand on his arm.  “Let go of me!” he yelled, as his stepfather wrestled him outside.

“What do you think you’re doing, you horrible little worm!” the man roared.

“I’m leaving,” Curran answered defiantly.  “Let me go.”

“You’re going nowhere, you little - ”

“Curran!”

Curran turned his head at once, and saw that it was Laurel who had called out to him.  She ran towards the grappling pair, took hold of Curran’s free arm and shouted, “Let go of him, you great brute!”

“Stay out of this,” the man snarled.

Laurel was no mouse.  She kicked out at Curran’s stepfather and got him in the perfect spot between the legs.  While he was doubled over with pain, Curran and Laurel clambered onto the horse and set off in any direction just as long as it took them away from there.

“What are you doing?” Curran asked incredulously, shouting over his shoulder.

“I’m going with you,” Laurel told him, tightening her arms around his waist affectionately.  “I realised that you won’t last five minutes without me, because you don’t know nothing about goblins an’ that.”

“There ain’t gonna be no goblins an’ that!”

“That’s why you’d never survive on your own!  You wouldn’t even bother to look out for them!”

“You got any money?”

“A bit.”

“Me too.”

“We have to save some coins for if one of us dies.”

“You what?” Curran asked scathingly.

“For the ferryman,” explained Laurel.

“Laurie, if you die, the last thing I’m gonna be worried about is putting money all over your face.”

“Oh Curran, please!  You must!”

“Why do you believe that old yarn anyway?  You ain’t Greek.”

“Lots of people believe in him.”

“And you ain’t gonna die neither.  I won’t let you.”

What will Curran and Laurel get up to at the Tower of Time? Be sure to catch the second gripping chapter of this story next issue.