The Castle of Seven Seals

By Alla Melenteva

Four teenagers with legendary names have to stand a siege by an army of werewolves in a strategically important castle of king Uther Pendragon. Book 1.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alla Melenteva
• Release date: Jun 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223005605

Alla Melenteva

Alla Melenteva is an independent writer who lives in Kyiv, Ukraine, and writes both in Russian and Ukrainian. She is one of few contemporary writers who follow the realistic tradition. She creates her plots avoiding stereotypes and simplification of popular culture. Her first book, "The Dostoevsky girls", was published by Limbus press (Saint-Petersburg, Russia) in 2005.

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The Castle of Seven Seals

BOOK 1

Alla Melenteva

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

A young wayfarer, about sixteen years of age, was walking along a forest road heading towards the king’s castle. He might, at a casual glance, be taken for a peasant or a wandering apprentice, but a short sword and a bow he carried as well as the colors of his clothes indicated that he possibly belonged to one of the numerous war clans of the Valley.

The road zigzagged its way, with many turnings, sometimes climbing a steep slope, sometimes dodging clusters of rock, but most often winding unevenly under shady trees through low woody hills. Once, at a turn, Arthur – that was the name of the lonely traveler – thought he saw the Castle’s white towers out of focus up ahead in the distance, but a sudden gust of wind whipped leaves from the trees, and they, whirling in the air, overshadowed the vision for a second, and when they scattered the Castle was gone.

It has to be a mirage, a distraction. Arthur decided. They say the Castle is stuffed with magic that produces distractions of all sorts. There is no way it could be the real Castle: it’s still two days’ walking.

The area through which the road wound was called the Closed Forest. Anyone could freely pass through it to White Deer Hollow and, beyond, the royal castle; but the terrain grew impassable if a traveler ventured to retrace his steps midway - the road would lead him deeper into the forest, and there it would turn into a narrow path and would eventually disappear underfoot so that there would be no chance of returning. Getting back to the Valley was only possible if you started for it from the Castle on condition that you had already reached the Castle after travelling the final, dangerous, portion of the route in the wilderness bordering White Deer Hollow. This was why the road looked abandoned – no one wandered into these parts without extreme necessity.

Ahead on the right, around another turn, Arthur saw a small hill of fairly regular shape. A few wide and high stone steps, overgrown with moss, gave access to a big grey rock at the top. A young tree, broken and fallen, lay across it. The hill bore resemblance to burial mounds Arthur had seen in the Valley.

It’s strange to find a burial mound in the forest instead of in an open area, he thought. But the forest is magical and who knows what was in this place.

He climbed the steps to the tombstone and swept withered leaves aside. It was, indeed, a grave. Carved into the stone, there was an inscription that said Here lies –

The writing ended abruptly as though it had been written on sand and wiped with a hand. But whose hand was able to wipe off inscriptions on stone?

Whoever lies here, I think he or she wouldn’t mind me cleaning up the grave now that I’m here, Arthur said to himself and set to work. He moved the dead tree aside and cleared away the leaves and a few dry branches.

From somewhere close came a faint tinkling sound, as if small bells were ringing, stirred by the wind. Arthur turned round.

A young man around his age or a little older stood before him. He was looking at Arthur as though waiting for him to speak first.

Arthur was surprised. How do you manage to sneak up like that, good man? Usually, it’s no easy matter for a stranger to approach me unnoticed.

I happened to be nearby, the young man said shortly and calmly and asked in his turn, What are you doing here?

His voice was mild and, by his manner of speaking, he was not an uneducated person.

Cleaning up this forlorn grave, Arthur explained. I thought it wasn’t an appropriate place for a tree toppled by a storm.

A storm? the stranger echoed thoughtfully, But was it really a storm? Are you sure that the tree was blown down by a storm rather than being cut down by a sword?

He stooped and ran a finger over the broken section of the tree.

Arthur saw that it had definitely been cut, not broken by nature: the cut was clean. He was a little uneasy.

Have I disturbed somebody’s magic by my unwanted actions? he thought.

Do you know whose grave it is? asked the stranger with his former calmness.

The inscription was almost indiscernible. I could only make out the words ‘Here lies –’"

– Queen Helewidis, Gunfrid’s daughter, the first wife of King Uther Pendragon, the stranger said slowly, like he was reading further into the erased part of the inscription.

Peace to her ashes, though I’ve never heard of her, Arthur said.

The stranger said nothing. Arthur watched him warily out of the corner of his eye. There was something odd about him. He had long silver grey hair, yet it was not dull and lackluster, like the hair of an old man; it was the shiny and lustrous hair of a young person. His eyes, bland and keen simultaneously, were limpid like water; nothing could be said of their color except that they were extremely light-colored. He was dressed in simple clothes which were nevertheless much more exquisitely tailored than the clothes of a vendor or an artisan. His only weapon was a dagger hanging at his belt.

His face reminds me of somebody. Have I met him before?’ Arthur thought. No, it’s impossible; I will swear that I’ve never met him. I can’t guess neither his occupation, nor what sort of person he is. Is he a vagrant physician or an actor? Maybe, he is a worshipper of some deity and disseminates its teaching all over the world? Or, what if he’s a visitor from Ihnaar and I recklessly spoke first?"

"Never ever talk first if you meet folks from Ihnaar, old Oda had warned him when preparing Arthur for the journey. They often look like people, but their power and capability are far greater than humans’, and their intents and purposes aren’t like ours. You can recognize them by a peculiar feature or a special trait of their behavior or physical appearance. They won’t get close to the Valley, but one can occasionally run into them when they go about their business in the Closed Forest or near Uther Pendragon’s castle. The protective spells allow such of them as aren’t hostile to pass the frontiers. But how do you know what’s in their mind? They are often quarrelsome and unbalanced; they can do a lot of damage to one who dares to hurt their feelings. There was an incident when a man from the Valley blurted something out carelessly without considering the implications in conversation with an Ihnaarian. ‘You despicable wretch, how dared you to say that!’ the Ihnaarian cried in great wrath, ‘Let your tongue fall out of your stupid mouth to the ground for your nasty words!’ And all at once the poor fellow’s tongue grew heavy, swelled, lengthened and unrolled to the ground in one go like a carpet runner. From then on he had to live his life with that stuck out tongue; he carried it around in a special leather pouch, he didn’t have the heart to have it cut off - it was his own tongue, after all. True enough, he made a fortune out of it, joining a travelling troupe and exhibiting his extraordinary tongue at fairs and tournaments. But, really, he’d been better off poor but with the tongue of a normal size and shape than wealthy and crippled. I know you have a good heart and you’ll never do someone a willful insult, but you should really steer clear of those creatures."

Why are you here? the stranger asked.

I’m just a traveler on my way from the Valley to the Castle.

Your face looks familiar. Do you think we’ve met before?

Not that I can recall, Arthur said, surprised to find that the stranger was having the exact same thought.

A Valley dweller is rarely seen on this road, the stranger said reflectively. "It’s too dangerous a place to walk around alone. The nobles from the Castle don’t come here either; they travel to the Valley by enchanted paths. This road is left just to prevent a complete disruption of communication between the Castle and common people. They generally cross this area in squads. You should have waited until there were enough fellow travelers to form a squad.

I couldn’t wait, Arthur said.

It evidently was a matter of some urgency or, most possibly, you’ve done something that caused you to flee or go into exile. But I’m not going to demand from you the secrets of your life; you’re definitely in no mood to talk about them.

"I’m in no mood to talk about them, but I can tell you, if you’re interested, that I’ve done no evil and I’m not running away from anything. But, on account of certain circumstances, I was compelled to leave the Valley. As you may know, there are only two ways out of it: to the northern foothills or to king Uther’s Castle. I reflected that if I went over to the foothills and beyond, farther from the border, I might never, perhaps, come back especially to visit the Castle out here in the wilderness between this world and the other. So I chose to go to the Castle while I’m still here. If I am not able to achieve there what I set my mind to, I’ll return and pass through the Valley to the northern foothills. And now that I’ve satisfied, in part, your curiosity, may I ask you if you’re from Ihnaar?

Am I from Ihnaar? the stranger repeated, and again he paused for some seconds as if pondering upon Arthur’s words. Not quite.

"That’s how they all respond, old Oda had warned Arthur. When someone addresses magical creatures or asks them a question, they shall be obliged to answer. But when they don’t want to answer, they may start saying a bunch of irrelevant stuff and some of it doesn’t even make any sense; and you think of it all the time afterwards, you try to figure out the meaning of their words again and again, you worry about it, you have headaches, you start waking up in the night with a shout ‘What on earth did they mean to say?!’ and eventually you end up mentally insane."

Well, either way, it was nice talking with someone in this remote place, Arthur said politely. I wish you an agreeable continuation of your journey wherever you may go. I’ll be on my way too, as I’ve done all I wanted to do.

He was about to pass by the stranger and go down the hill.

Wait a bit, the stranger said, Let me advise you how to act in this dangerous area. There is one main rule: never wander from the road. Whatever happens, stay on the road without turning left of right more than three steps, five steps, at most. If you hear something moving through the forest in your direction – run for your life, because somewhere out there is the Steel Boar, the country's most fearsome beast. He has already killed many. Possibly, you may save your life if you’re lucky. There’re rocks there – you may have time to scramble one of them, the biggest and the steepest you can find. Don’t try climbing a tree for protection; the boar’s fangs can uproot any tree. You’ll be stuck on the rock for the next day or two until riders from the Valley or merchants, carrying supplies to the Castle, pick you up after dark. The beast’s still afraid of fire, so people have to travel at night with lighted torches.

Thanks for the warning. I’ll heed your advice and do as you said, Arthur promised, with an uneasy frown on his brow at the thought of the unforeseen danger.

Goodbye then. I hope you’ll get to the Castle without getting in trouble, the stranger walked down the hill with surprising lightness and vanished from sight as suddenly as he had appeared.

Chapter 2

Puzzled, Arthur stared for a while at the spot where the stranger had just been.

"That’s a funny thing; I don’t recall ever