The Tower of Time

By Rosey Collins

Welcome to the bumper final chapter of Rosey’s story. What end result will Curran and Laurel’s quest into the Knightmare Dungeon produce? You’re about to find out.

          “So, this is level two,” Laurel remarked dryly, gazing at her surroundings.  “Another bloody forest.”

          “Come on.”  Curran grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her through the mass of trees in front of them.

          “Curran, please listen to me,” Laurel begged.  “I know I was the one who brought you here, but I just don’t trust this quest anymore.  The way we got past the monk was just too easy.  There’s more to this than meets the eye – I know it!”

          “You told me the Tower of Time could bring my father back,” snapped Curran.  “Can’t it?”

          “Perhaps.  I don’t know.”

          “That monk said I could get what I wanted there.”  Curran continued to walk, heading in the direction of what looked like a hollow tree, with a large spider’s web hanging from one of its branches.  “You don’t have to come with me.”

          “Wait!” cried Laurel, hurrying after him.  “That spell he gave you – TWIST – it sounds nasty.  You should abandon it.”

          “It’ll help me.”

          “But Curran…  TWIST.  Nothing good ever came of anything twisted.”

          Curran looked at her for a moment, and then said evenly, “I’m going into this tree.”

          He went, and Laurel, sighing deeply, followed.  She found herself transported into a reasonably large chamber.  In the centre of it was a tree stump, on which sat two fresh looking apples.  Sighing with relief, Curran hurried over to the apples and picked one up in each hand, giving one to Laurel as she approached.

          “Don’t trust this either?” he asked, biting into his own apple as Laurel turned hers over suspiciously in her hand.

          “There are no other objects here, Curran,” she pointed out.  “Why might that be?”

          “Won’t need them, I guess,” shrugged Curran, garbling through a mouthful of apple, and spraying pieces of it everywhere as he talked.

          “Exactly.  It’s all becoming too easy.”

          Curran didn’t reply.  Laurel sighed deeply, wondering how to persuade him, subconsciously taking a look at her surroundings.  Her stomach was growling, so she lifted the apple to her mouth.  She froze, her mouth open and the hand that held the apple hovering in front of it; a  giant spider’s web was stretched out above their heads.

          “Curran,” she whispered.

          “What?” Curran returned irritably.

          “I think we should get out of here.”

          He followed her gaze up to the spider’s web, stared at it for a moment and finally nodded his agreement.  He could well imagine the spider that had spun that thing.

          “All right,” he returned quietly.  “Come on.”

          “That spider’s web,” Laurel persisted, as they strolled leisurely through a quaint little stone chamber with a trickling waterfall in one corner.  “Something must have spun it, and I’d be willing to bet that whatever it was is normally on guard down here.  But we were just allowed to pass through.  Why do you think that was?  Blimey – this looks steep!”

          “Don’t be such a wimp,” scolded Curran, as he jumped agilely down the precarious crumbling steps that led the way back into the forest.  “It’ll be fine, Laurel.  Stop worrying.”

          Stop worrying?  Laurel bit her lip, deciding to stay quiet for the moment.  What worried her most was that Curran seemed to have lost all of the qualms and the fears he had set out with.  When they’d started this quest, she had been the one in control – the one with all the confidence.  But now he was just pressing on without even considering what danger might lie ahead.

          “We’re close,” he whispered.  “I can feel it.”

          “We haven’t met a single obstacle on this level,” Laurel pointed out.  “The Dungeon’s not supposed to work like that.  If you’re on the side of truth and justice, nothing is free.”

          Curran sighed.  “I just want my father back.  Oh, look – a little man with pointy ears.  Maybe he’ll present some kind of problem.”

          “It’s an elf,” muttered Laurel, following Curran’s gaze to the small man dressed in green, who was sitting in the centre of the chamber.  The room was large, bare and made of blue stone, and ended abruptly in what looked like a deep chasm.  A drawbridge on the far wall presented the only means of exit, if only they could discover some way of opening it.

          The elf saw them, and jumped nimbly to his feet.  “I don’t see many humans around here,” he remarked, approaching them guardedly, his knees bent as though in preparation to run if he had to.  “You’ve done well to make it this far through the Dungeon. Those are dangerous woods from which you have just emerged.  I was about to enter them myself, before I realised I was too weak.  You need wits in that place, and speed, and no human could survive it without help, or magic of some kind.”

          “You do look a bit peaky,” Laurel remarked, evidently still thinking of the elf’s comment about being weak.  “Would you like this?”

          The elf looked down at Laurel’s proffered hand, and his eyes widened at the sight of the juicy apple.  Eagerly he said, “I would, young lady – if you’re quite sure you don’t need it yourself.”

          “I’ll be fine,” Laurel assured him.  “I, er, had a big breakfast.”

          “I’m afraid I have nothing to give you in return,” the elf lamented.  But then, quite suddenly, his freckled face broke into a smile.  “Ah, but of course – you’ll want to exit this chamber.”

          “We need to get to the Tower of Time,” Curran said quickly.

          “It lies on the other side of that drawbridge,” the elf told him.  “It has been locked with lies, but you can open it with the truth.  However, before you can attempt it, it is necessary to perform a little summoning spell.  I’ll do it for you, shall I?”

          Curran looked on suspiciously as the elf turned to face the drawbridge, proclaiming grandly, “True and false, false and true; open up and let us through!”

Laurel was faintly, though not very, surprised when an unhappy face appeared on the drawbridge and began to cry great tears, which rolled into the chasm below it.  It unnerved Laurel slightly when she realised that she didn’t hear a single one of those tears hit the bottom of the pit.

          “Young human,” murmured the elf, as Curran approached the drawbridge, staring up at it with deep suspicion.  “I sense that your friend will soon choose the wrong path, if he hasn’t already done so.  You met no threats in the wood?  No sword maidens, or giant spiders?”

          “That’s right,” Laurel confirmed.

          “Then you are already in danger; why, you are probably receiving help from Mogdred himself, to have come so far without incident.”

          “Is it too late?”

          “Certainly not for you,” the elf replied gravely.  “Once I’ve eaten this apple and rested a little, I’m going back through the forest.  I want to try and find my way out of this accursed place – I hope I might make a better living in Knightmare Castle.”

Laurel looked surprised.  “An elf working in a castle?”

          “You can’t imagine the dangers down here, human.  My people have all left this place – there’s nothing here for me.  Now I want to help young adventurers, like you.  And not just when they happen to meet me. I want to be where I can watch over them, and give them guidance.”

          “That Treguard won’t like you helping them out,” warned Laurel.

          “Something tells me your friend could have done with a guide like me,” retorted the elf.  “Listen, human – you can come with me.  I know Dunkley Wood well enough – I can protect us both.”

          “I’m tempted,” Laurel confessed.  “But I must try to help Curran.”

          The elf winced.  “Why must humans hand out their names so freely?  Well, my dear, if you must go with him, please be careful.”

          “Of course I will.  Hey…”

          The elf had been about to scamper away, but when Laurel called to him he stopped, and looked at her expectantly.

          “What are Curran and that door talking about?”

          “The door’s name is Doorkis,” the elf told her.  “He’s asking your friend some simple true or false questions.  Pray he gets them wrong.  If he does, your quest will have to end here.”

          No sooner had he spoken than the drawbridge started crashing forwards with a metallic grating sound.

          “Laurel!” called Curran, as he began to walk over the bridge before him.  “Are you coming?”

          “Thank you,” Laurel said to the elf, as she made to follow.

          “I wish I could have done more,” the elf replied enigmatically.

          It was a beautiful place.  They stared across a vast body of calm water, surrounded by trees, at an imposing fortress with a tall tower that dominated the landscape.

          “That must be the Tower of Time,” Curran decided, pointing at the great tower.  “The elf said it was on the other side of that drawbridge.  I suppose I have to get up there, then.”

          “I’d worry about getting up there,” retorted Laurel, “after you’ve found a way to get across that.”

          She pointed at the vast lake that surrounded the castle, and Curran frowned at it, thinking.  There was no visible means to get across.  He glanced vaguely from left to right, hoping that he might put together some kind of raft, but he quickly grew impatient.

          “Curran!” wailed Laurel, as her friend marched towards the water and waded a few feet into it.  “You’ll drown!”

          “It’s just a bit of water!” Curran called back.  “Christ, but it’s cold!  Whoa!” he spluttered, as the ground beneath him suddenly disappeared and he fell beneath the surface.

          “CURRAN!” screamed Laurel.  She stood there a moment, her heart pounding, but she breathed out when Curran’s head finally surfaced.

          “AND DEEP!” he shouted out to her.  “LAUREL – STAY THERE!  I’D NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF IF YOU DROWNED IN THIS STUFF!”

          “WHAT ABOUT YOU?” Laurel wailed desperately, but he had already swum out of earshot.

          The further Curran swam, the further away from him the great fortress seemed to be.  Very soon he felt his muscles weakening.  He lost control of his limbs, and everything seemed to go black as he desperately tried to breathe.  Instead of air, he found himself inhaling icy water.

          Curran was barely conscious when he felt a cold, skeletal hand on his wrist.  He was dragged out of the water, and found himself lying on a wooden floor.  He was still aware of the feeling of movement, as though the water was still beneath him.

          “Foolish boy,” a hollow voice scolded him.  “How do you expect to retrieve your father like that?”

          “There was no other way to cross,” gasped Curran.

          “Hmm, yes… I conjured this boat to save you – I may leave it here,” the voice mused.  “I am required to give young adventurers a chance, after all – and the Dunswater could be fatal to anyone who attempts that swim.  They shan’t cross for free, of course.”

          “Ferrymen always charge a fare anyway,” remarked Curran.  “Silver or gold, I guess – that seems to be the currency around here.”

          “Shut up!” snarled the voice.  “You haven’t the strength. You’ll freeze to death if you are not careful.  Oh – here!”

          Curran was vaguely aware of being wrapped in a great cloak and a large hood, which fell down over his eyes.  He was grateful to feel a little warmer.  He pulled himself up onto the wooden seat behind him and rested there, still thinking of ferrymen and silver and gold, until his rescuer rowed them to a little jetty.

          “Wait there,” he ordered.  “Get your strength.  Now, listen to me.  Your friend gave her apple to an elf in exchange for his help, but other than that you have been allowed through this level for free.  This is because I wished you to reach the Tower of Time.  Do you understand?”

          Curran looked up, and saw that the man opposite him had a sinister white face and a malevolent glow in his eyes.

          “Do you understand?” the man repeated.

          “You wished it?” asked Curran, confused.  “Who are you?”

          “I am a very powerful sorcerer,” the sinister man told him.  “The Tower of Time holds secrets which even I do not understand.  I wish to see how my magic works in that place, for I believe it has the power to freeze time, change it, or even bring back the dead.  When you are in the Tower, you must use my magic.  Do you still have the spell TWIST?”

          “Yes,” Curran replied meekly.  Was this man, then, the monk he had met at the wellway?

          “If you attempt to go to level three and conquer the Dungeon, your quest will meet a very sticky end,” the sorcerer portended.  “Now, you have rested enough – you have the strength to proceed.”

          “But I don’t understand,” Curran objected.  “You brought me here to test your magic.  Why can’t you do that yourself?”

          The man smiled sinisterly.  Curran guessed that this ominous sorcerer was a little afraid of the fortress’s temporal powers, but, of course, that was not the answer the man gave.

“Can’t you see that I am helping you?” asked the sorcerer.  “The Tower cannot help you without magic.”

          “So, if I use your spell, will my father return to me?”

          “Perhaps.”

          Curran began to wish he had listened to Laurel.  He didn’t like this at all.  However, he realised that if he argued with this man, it would undoubtedly mean his death.

          “All right,” he said.  “I’ll go.  But if this doesn’t work the way you seem to expect, can your magic protect me?”

          “I make no promises.”

          “Laurel!”

Laurel had been wondering whether she could paddle across the lake on a large fallen branch she had just spotted, and was astonished to hear her name shouted so urgently.  She practically jumped out of her skin, and then turned to see an elderly bearded man in green robes hurrying towards her.

          “Merlin?” she asked incredulously.

          “Young lady, thank goodness I’ve found you!” exclaimed Merlin, skidding to a breathless halt.  “News of your quest failed to reach me when you came to the end of level one!  I sensed that Mogdred must be interfering with your progress, and then I met an elf whilst trying to locate you in Dunkley Wood.  I think he said his name was Tickle.”

          “Er, it might have been,” said Laurel.  “We met an elf, and he seemed very worried about what Curran was blundering into.”

          “Where is Curran now?” Merlin asked urgently.

          “He’s been swimming through that lake.”

          “Oh, the foolish boy!  No human could possibly survive the Dunswater!  Oh, Laurel – Mogdred is near this place.  I can sense it.”

          “Who is this Mogdred?” asked Laurel.

          “He is the dark side of my nature, and of my magic,” Merlin replied gravely.  “That fortress is of great interest to him, I’m afraid.  In it lies the entrance to level three, and also a very dangerous magic that neither of us understands.  If Mogdred can learn how to use the magic of the Tower of Time, he’ll be able to stop anyone from reaching level three.”

          “That lake’s obstacle enough,” Laurel remarked dryly.  “And anyway, that’s not fair – isn’t he supposed to give adventurers a chance?”

          “Yes,” said Merlin, “and perhaps he will.  But he must learn the secrets of that place before he can learn how to give adventurers a chance against it.  Tickle told me he fears that Curran has accepted help from Mogdred, and is therefore in his debt.  He may be in great danger, Laurel – but perhaps I can bend the rules just this once to save him…”

          “Hurry!” exclaimed Laurel, when she saw that Merlin seemed to be struggling to remember something.

          “Laurel, please – don’t rush me!  My memory isn’t what it once was, you know.  Ah yes, I remember.  Spellcasting: W-I-N-D!”

Laurel barely had time to think that this didn’t seem exactly a complicated spell to remember before she felt herself whipped into the air by a powerful whirlwind.  She panicked slightly, but was reassured to feel Merlin’s hand on her arm, his voice calling through the noise of the wind, “Don’t worry!”

          They soon landed just outside the entrance to the castle.

          “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry,” sighed Laurel, once she was over her dizziness.  “Curran never would have known this place existed if it hadn’t been for me, and he certainly wouldn’t have come here.”

          “What you wanted to do was always a danger,” Merlin told her gravely.  “Surely you know that it is foolish to play around with such things, Laurel.  Life and death are not to be meddled with.  But you know that now, don’t you?”

          Shamefaced, Laurel nodded slowly.

          “We all make mistakes, my dear,” Merlin said kindly.  “Now we must try not to make any whilst we rescue your impetuous young friend.”

          Unsurprisingly, Curran was faced with a long and strenuous climb to the topmost tower.  Once at the top of the spiral staircase, he just stood for a moment, trying to catch his breath.  He had noticed that the place was poorly guarded.  Did the secret, whatever it was, want to be discovered?  Perhaps it was simply impossible to discover it, or else so deadly that the magic itself was guardian enough.

Steeling himself, Curran reached for the great oak door in front of him, terrified to find out the truth.  He was perspiring heavily, in spite of having shed the heavy garments given to him by the sorcerer in the boat.

The grey stone room was bare, save for a giant hourglass in its centre, taller than Curran himself.  He approached it cautiously, staring at the golden sands within as they descended endlessly to the bottom half of the glass, magically disappearing and reappearing in the top half to fall once again.  Curran stared at it.  Whatever the secret, this glass must be the key.  He dared not touch it, and so decided to try speaking to it.

“Show me my father,” he requested.

“Good,” the sorcerer’s voice suddenly came to his ears.  “Touch the glass.”

Curran, though terrified, knew he had no choice but to obey.  He took a step closer to the hourglass and placed a palm on its smooth, shiny surface.  It was warm to the touch, and evoked a slight tingling sensation in his hand.

He asked it again, “Show me my father – please!”

This time, something happened.  The golden sands in the lower half of the glass gave way to reveal Curran’s own reflection, while the sands in the top half began to spiral as though a wind had been created inside.  Within seconds, they had come together to form an image.  Curran stared up at it, aghast, as he realised that he was seeing his own father outside Knightmare Castle, when it was being attacked and taken from the Dunshelm family.  He was unarmed, a Saxon guard bearing down upon him with a heavy broadsword.

“NO!” exclaimed Curran.  Then, instinctively, he did the only thing he could think of: “Spellcasting: T-W-I-S-T!”

As the last letter escaped his lips, the door burst open behind him and Laurel tumbled into the room.  “NO!” she screamed, as Curran finished the spell.  He turned to look at her, desperation in his eyes, but it was too late.

The image of the battle, in the top half of the glass, separated back out into tiny grains of sand.  These fell through to the bottom of the glass, where the image reformed just as the Saxon guard brought his broadsword down upon his victim.  However, this was no longer Curran’s father.  It was Curran himself.  Laurel realised it at once, and ran to the hourglass.  She pressed her hands against it, beating furiously as though hoping to break the glass and free her friend.

In the top half of the glass stood Curran’s father, his face the picture of terror as he suddenly seemed to fall through the glass and onto the floor beside Laurel.  She didn’t seem interested in him, however.  She watched Curran dying before her very eyes, the Saxon beating him brutally with his heavy weapon.  Tears welled in her eyes.  He couldn’t be dead!

“He’s dead,” Merlin’s voice said gently.

Laurel turned to look at him.  “What?”

“Curran’s father.  He was whisked out of the past, on the point of death – the shock must have killed him.”

Laurel shook her head despairingly, wiping the tears from her eyes.  “What about Curran?” she demanded, crouching down by the dead man’s body.  She reached into her pocket and pulled out two coins, which she placed carefully on the corpse’s eyes.  “Is he dead too?”

“It seems he died some years ago, attacking Knightmare Castle.  I am so sorry, Laurel.  I should have found you sooner.”

Laurel stared at the corpse a few moments more, and then rose to her full height, examining the hourglass thoughtfully.  Merlin, meanwhile, was distracted with thoughts of Mogdred.  Sensing something, he went over to the nearby window.  Looking down, he saw Mogdred standing on the jetty below beside a wooden rowboat, though he paid no attention to this.

“Mogdred, you despicable creature!” the wizard roared angrily.  “He’s dead!”

“He was foolish!” retorted Mogdred.  “As are you, old man!  Just see what you do next!”

With that the evil sorcerer broke into a cackle of laughter, and began to disappear.  Merlin scowled down at the spot where he had stood, wondering what Mogdred had meant by his last remark.  How could he know what Merlin would do next?

“Show me Curran!”

Alarmed, Merlin turned when he heard this command from Laurel.  She was staring into the hourglass, watching an image of Curran coughing and spluttering on the floor of a wooden rowboat while none other than Mogdred wrapped him roughly in warm garments.  A large brown hood obscured Curran’s face, and his body was engulfed in a baggy cloak.

“Funny,” remarked Merlin.  “This glass only seems to show people on the brink of death.”

“Can’t you save him?” begged Laurel.  “Wouldn’t Curran’s father have survived, if not for the shock?”

“Laurel, I can’t,” Merlin protested.  “I can’t fool around with life and death.”

“He was so young!” exclaimed Laurel.  “And he was a bloody idiot, but he didn’t deserve that.  Please – can’t you get him out of there?  There must be something you can do!”

Merlin shook his head.  “My dear, I told you – I do not know the secrets of this place.”

“Can’t you try?”

The tears were flowing freely, and she gazed up at Merlin with lovelorn eyes.  Merlin immediately forgot Mogdred’s ominous parting remark, seeing only a young woman who had lost a loved one to an untimely death.

“I don’t know how to use my magic together with the magic of this place,” he told her gently.  “But with Curran dead, I suppose I have nothing to lose.  I shall try.”

“Thank you,” sniffed Laurel.

Merlin produced a slender wand from the sleeve of his robe, and pointed it at the hourglass.  “Spellcasting!” he proclaimed.  “F-R-E-E-Z-E!”

The image immediately disappeared.

“Strange,” remarked Merlin.  “I had hoped to freeze the moment before attempting to bring Curran back.  Safer that way,” he added, by way of explanation.

“Where is he?” Laurel asked anxiously.

Before Merlin could even begin to think of a reply, Mogdred’s sinister laughter filled the room.  His image appeared in the hourglass, smiling mockingly at his alter ego.

“Do not worry, young lady – the old fool has saved your friend’s life,” he said tauntingly.  “But what a life it is now.  Go down to that jetty beneath the window.  He’s waiting for you.”

Merlin peered into the glass, and saw that Mogdred was himself standing on that jetty.  The evil sorcerer then did a curious thing.  He turned away from Merlin and looked up, crowing gleefully, “He was foolish!  As are you, old man!  Just see what you do next!”

“Oh dear,” lamented Merlin, as light suddenly dawned.  “Oh dear, dear, dear.”

“What?” Laurel cried desperately.  “What’s wrong?”

“Perhaps we had better go down to that jetty and see.”

Laurel scurried hastily down the stairs.  When she was outside the castle, she found Merlin already there waiting for her, staring in horror at a rowboat by the jetty.  As she approached, she saw a hooded figure sitting in the boat, oars at the ready.

“Deep is the Dunswater, and cold,” the hooded man proclaimed.  “The fare for the crossing is silver or gold.”

“Er, thank you, no,” said Merlin, a little awkwardly.  “Not today.”

The man grunted, and then began rowing away towards the forest, where he would wait until someone arrived; someone who was in need of passage across the water.

“Merlin!” exclaimed Laurel.  “I recognised that voice!  It was Curran!  He isn’t dead!”

“No,” Merlin agreed, his voice strangely sad.  “But I’m afraid he can’t leave that boat, Laurel.  While I did manage to save his life, I also left him stranded in a single moment of time – the moment he crossed the water in Mogdred’s boat, about ready to freeze to death.”

“So where’s Mogdred?” demanded Laurel.

“He had the power to escape,” Merlin explained.  “Curran, as you know, did not.  Mogdred left him with the boat, the oars, that rather sinister looking getup and whatever thought was with him when I cast my spell.  Oh dear – I knew I shouldn’t have tried anything rash.”

“It’s okay,” said Laurel, fighting back tears.  “He’s alive.  There must be a way to free him.”

“Oh, Laurel, I don’t know about that.”

“There must be!  Anything is possible with magic!”

Merlin cocked an eyebrow.  “Is that what you believe?  Well, my dear, there may be a way to free him.  I shall look into it.  But first, I have to send you home.”

He raised his wand, but Laurel held up a hand to stop him.

“How can I go home after this?” she asked, her voice quiet and shaking.  “If there’s a way to free him, I have to try and find it.”

“Another quest?”  Merlin looked dubious.  “Well, I suppose you were fairly sensible throughout this one.  Very well then, Laurel.  I shall accompany you to Witch Haven, where I shall tell Queen Greystagg that you wish to learn magic, and find a way to free your friend.  But then I must leave you, and return here.  Do you agree?”

“Yes,” Laurel replied shakily.  “If that’s what I have to do to save Curran, then yes.  Please,” she added hastily.

Merlin nodded, and raised his wand.  In a moment, they had both vanished and the jetty lay empty.  Some distance away, a lonely figure rowed to shore.  When his boat was aground, he put down his oars and sat there, silent, motionless, waiting.

THE END

And there you have it; the origin of the ferryman. But does Laurel ever find a way to release Curran? Only Rosey knows, for now…