Modern Magick

The Heart of Hyndorin: 8

I stared in disbelief at the stupendous tower looming out of the misty remnants of what had appeared to be an impregnable mountain. Absolutely had been, in fact; had I not stood upon it myself, not long ago? Had there not been a door set into its side? My mind reeled at the power and complexity of such an illusion. What had Torvaston wrought, out in the wilds of this wondrously magickal Britain?

And damn me if the entire thing wasn't built out of starstone, to boot. Like Melmidoc's spire. I couldn't be sure until twilight, of course, when it would most probably develop that distinctive blue glimmer. But the way the white stone shone pearly in the sun looked awfully familiar.

'Go,' Miranda said, shoving the compass into my hands.

I hesitated, looking at Pup, who was questing in circles around my feet. 'Will you look after—'

'Take her with you,' Miranda said. 'Never know what she'll find.'

How true that had repeatedly proved. 'Right,' I said. 'Follow when you can.'

I took off running, Jay pounding along at my heels. The tower was built upon a rocky promontory of considerable height; as we drew nearer, I saw that the stone "lift" was still there, still poised to ferry visitors up to the door some sixty feet above ground level. The structure was of an architectural style I had never before seen, and it's hard to coherently describe. The doors and windows were narrow and tall, with pointed arches; a little gothic, but bigger, archier, airier, and curlicued. The conical roof crowning the tower spread unusually wide, and ought to have been top heavy, but the effect was somehow graceful. As for the body of the tower, it had the look of a building that had once had straight walls — until someone impossibly large had taken hold of the top, and twisted it into an elegant spiral.

'I'd have thought it would resemble Farringale,' I said to Jay as we approached the lift, both our necks craning to keep the impossible tower in view.

'It resembles nothing I've ever seen,' he said, awed.

I gazed up and up as the lift carried us skywards. Far above, the griffins wheeled and turned around the pinnacle of the tower, just as though it were a mountain still. I braced myself as we neared the door, in case any of them should object to our approach. But they drifted on, serene and oblivious.

The Wyr-tree still stood at the top. I felt a moment's dismay upon beholding it, for though Wyr's continued disablement was mighty convenient, I began to wonder how long he would remain in the shape of a tree. The past day or so, it was like I'd been handed the keys to a formula one Ferrari when I was used to a twenty-miles-per-hour moped. I had no idea what I was doing with these deep, strange magicks, and it was quite possible I had condemned Wyr to eternity as a tree.

Annoying he might be, but he didn't deserve what was effectively death.

'Leave it,' said Jay, noticing the direction of my gaze. 'If it's a problem, we can work on it later.'

'Right. Fair.' We faced the tall, slender doors of the impossible tower. My heart hammered in my chest, and for a moment I could barely breathe. We'd made it. Torvaston's greatest work stood before us, and somewhere inside was the artefact that might save Farringale. And the rest of British magick into the bargain.

'Ready?' said Jay.

'No, and neither are you. But we're going anyway.'

When we advanced upon the doors, they opened themselves and swung slowly inwards upon noiseless hinges.

Magick pulsed through the floor in waves, making me shiver. I wrapped my arms around myself and strode onwards, undaunted. 'Strong stuff here,' I said to Jay. 'You're going to have some trouble.'