The Tower of Time

By Rosey Collins

          There seemed no end to the thick forest of trees surrounding them on all sides, and Curran couldn’t get used to the baying of the invisible wolves.

          “Laurel,” he ventured, after a while.  “We’re getting nowhere!”

          “Ssh!” Laurel hissed suddenly, grabbing Curran’s arm.  “I think we’re being followed.”

          “This is a wild goose chase if you ask me.  There’s no way anybody can bring back the dead.”

          “Shut up!”

          Curran obediently shut up, and listened.  A shiver ran down his spine as he became aware of footsteps crunching quietly in the leaves behind them.  He turned round, and cried out in surprise and anguish when he saw a dark cloaked figure bearing down upon him with a shimmering blade.

          “Be gone, you Heathen piece of scum!” a strange voice suddenly bellowed from the trees, which astonishingly seemed to scare the attacker away.

          “Th-thank you,” stammered Laurel, as a portly man dressed in the habit of a monk wandered leisurely out of the forest.

          “What was that?” added Curran.

          “An assassin,” the monk fairly spat.  “They’re quite human, young man.  They just follow an extremely unholy order.  Honestly, you fight them for a scrap of land in one little crusade…”

          “They follow the Islam faith?” queried Laurel.

          “Indeed,” the monk nodded grimly.  “Heathen scum, as I say.  But never mind him,” and his expression suddenly brightened into a broad smile.  “He’s gone now, and no harm done.  My name is Brother Mace.”

          “It’s very nice to meet you,” Curran muttered sarcastically.

          “I’m Laurel,” offered Laurel.  “This is my friend Curran.  We’re on a quest.”

          “A quest?” echoed Mace.  “Marvellous, marvellous.  Well then.  Where is it you’re trying to get to?”

          “Dungarth,” replied Laurel, remembering the information that the barmaid Mellie had given her.  “Can you tell us if we’re on the right path?”

          “You are indeed, my dear,” Mace smiled encouragingly.  “The ruins of Dungarth are just through those trees,” and he pointed.  “It’s a terrible state in which to find a magnificent old place like that, but what can we do?  I suppose you’re going there in search of the entrance to level two.”

          “That’s right,” confirmed Laurel.

          “Well, you can get there via the wellway hidden within the ruins.  Obviously a place like that is never left unguarded – there are forces within this dungeon that would try to stop you from reaching level three.”

          Curran began, “We don’t want to - ”

          “However,” Mace went on, oblivious, “I see that you took the dryad’s advice.  The object you carry contains magic, and will serve you well” – he gestured towards the egg timer in Curran’s hand – “but make sure you use it wisely.  Farewell.”

          “Free help,” remarked Laurel, as Mace wandered off into the woods, smiling enigmatically.  She began walking in the direction the monk had indicated, and Curran followed.  “It’s a relief to know we made the right choice in taking that egg timer.  I did wonder if there might be more to Oakley’s clue than meets the eye, as we’re going to try and manipulate time.  It sounds like a really bad idea when you say it out loud, doesn’t it?”

          “Well, I’m not convinced it’ll work,” remarked Curran, as they finally stepped out of the woods and into some daylight.  “At last!  Mellie was right: you can’t exactly miss it.”

          Suddenly feeling a renewed sense of hope, Curran took the lead and strode towards the tall arch looming over them in the distance.  As promised, the place was in ruins, though a small building to the right of the arch looked to be intact.

          “Stop!” hissed Laurel, when she caught sight of three small, bronze-coloured creatures hobbling aimlessly around underneath the arch.  “Well, Mace said it would be guarded.”

          “What are they?” asked Curran.

          “They look like goblins.”

          “Stupid is what they look.”

          “But not harmless.”

Laurel gasped as one of the goblins caught sight of them.  The creature immediately stood to attention and whipped out a horn, which filled the air with a deafening wail as the goblin blew into it.  Its two companions looked up sharply, and then all three of them started lumbering towards Curran and Laurel, each swinging a heavy looking club at its side.

          “Curran, use the egg timer!” Laurel exclaimed urgently.

          “They’re not eggs!” objected Curran.

          “Oh, Mary mother of God – give it to me!”

          She grabbed the egg timer, flipped it over and set it down on the floor.  Thankfully the goblins stopped in their tracks; they seemed to be frozen.

          “Thank God,” sighed Laurel, grabbing Curran’s arm and dragging him up the pathway towards the arch.  “There wasn’t a lot of sand in that thing – we need to hurry.”

          “How did that happen?” Curran wondered out loud.

          “The monk said the timer contained magic.  He was right – we’ve frozen time.  Or something.  Do you still think this Tower of Time won’t be of any use to you?  If one little egg timer can stop three goblins, imagine what an entire fortress can do.”

          She stopped short as the goblin horns started wailing again.  Laurel looked desperately around her, seeing nothing but useless stony stumps, but then she felt a hand on her arm and Curran dragged her towards a doorway, hidden in darkness.

          “It smells like pigeon poo in here,” complained Curran, as they wandered blindly through a dark passage.  “I hope there are no more goblins on the other side.”

          “There shouldn’t be,” Laurel decided.  “They only guard the entrance, and our job is to try and get past them.  We’ve done that.  The Dungeon wouldn’t give us any more obstacles without any defence – it’s not fair.”

          However, when they finally blundered into a dimly lit stone room, they saw that there was a guardian – or someone – standing in front of the wellway.

          “Well?” murmured Curran.

          “We’ll obviously have to deal with him,” replied Laurel.  “I guess we’d better approach.”

          Curran took a deep breath, and stepped towards the figure.  He wore what looked like a monk’s habit, which was faintly reassuring, especially after their friendly encounter with Mace.  However the hood obscuring all of his face but an ashen chin, and the powerful looking staff he wielded, gave the man a sinister air about him.

          “You say you are not trying to reach level three,” a low, monotonous voice emanated from the hood.  “Where, then?”

          “The Tower of Time,” Curran replied warily.

          “Therein lies the entrance to level three.”

          “It’s as far as we want to go.  We hope to find something else.”

          “Curran!” hissed Laurel.  She didn’t trust this stranger, and therefore didn’t want to give him any information.

          “There is much to find,” the man remarked.  “Know that it is an extremely magical place, and you may find more than you bargained for.  However, it holds the key to a great power.”

          “Which is…?” Curran asked carefully, oblivious to Laurel’s frantic tugging on his sleeve.

          “What you want, boy,” the stranger rumbled slowly.  “Very well.  You may pass.  But if you have doubts, young lady, I would leave now.”

          “I go where he goes,” Laurel replied evenly.

          “Very well.  Continue on this path.  I grant you the gift of a spell: it is called ‘TWIST’.  You will only need to use it once.”

          He didn’t wish them luck, or farewell, but simply vanished into thin air.

          “Whoa!” exclaimed Laurel.  “Curran, not any old Tom, Dick or Harry can do that.  He must be a powerful magician.  What are you doing?”

          “I’m getting into the wellway,” Curran stated the obvious.  “You said you’d come with me, but you can turn back if you want to.”

          “I didn’t think that was allowed.”

          “You have the gracious approval of your powerful magician.  And his could be just the kind of help I need.  Didn’t you hear what he said?”

          “Yes,” Laurel replied grimly, “and I don’t trust it.”

          “We’ve had free help before,” Curran reminded her.  “And it was from a monk that time, as well as this.  You didn’t question it then.”

          “That was different.  He saved our lives, at no cost to himself, and then he just offered some advice.  We’ve just been given a spell, free of charge, and a nasty sounding one at that.  The Dungeon doesn’t work like that, Curran.”

          “He said I could find the power I wanted in the Tower of Time.  He practically told me I could bring my father back!”

          “That’s not all he said!” argued Laurel.  “He also said that we may find more than we bargained for, remember?  It’s too risky, and he can’t be trusted.”

          “So my father’s not worth it?”

          “I didn’t say that.”

          “I’m going,” Curran said decisively.  “Go back if you want to, but I finally have some guarantee that this is going to work.  I’m not giving up now.”

Laurel watched, disheartened, as Curran flung his legs over the side of the well and disappeared into the darkness below.  Sighing, she remembered her words to the mysterious stranger, which she had meant wholeheartedly.  Curran would never get through this without her, besides which the journey wasn’t over yet: she might still be able to persuade him to change his mind.  Her heart heavy, Laurel climbed into the well and followed her foolish, headstrong friend down into the unknown.

This mysterious magic monk seems very suspicious to me, readers. What is his significance to Curran’s quest, and what will be waiting for him and Laurel at the Tower Of Time? Find out in the next issue.