The Towers
My latest travel brought me to a strange place of fairy tales and magic. This time, without a guide, I set off at random, my destination completely unknown to me. Without a care in the universe, I wandered about alone, for a long time. Passing through many forests, dells, and valleys, I finally came across a small inn made of wood near the edge of a large, dark, forest. It was late, and having seen no other people for a few weeks, I decided to rest there for a while.
Inside, it was dark and empty, save for a handful of customers in the darkest corners of the small low-beamed room. I asked for a room, and I was pleasantly surprised at it's cleanliness, if it was somewhat rustic and cozy demeanor. After unpacking, I decided to go downstairs to get a warm supper and a touch of mulled wine after being so long on the road.
The people were friendly enough, the kind sort that one meets in the vast expanse of farms where tales are spread and kept warm and new for centuries. For a glass of wine and some cheese, I told them of some of my adventures and travels, pleasing them with my many stories and experiences. I offered to pay, of course, but they wouldn't have it. "Oo'ere!" one older farmer said to me, "ain't no goin' about offerin' money where money's not needed, lad. After all, yer on the road, an' I'm sure old Farnsworth won't mind spreadin' a little good cheer in return for yours. Right?", they all nodded their heads in agreement as if some timeless truth had just been revealed to a newcomer. So, there I was, pipe in hand, far into the night, telling stories and singing songs I had learned from faraway places, enriching their own storytelling nights for many years to come. Everyone was happy and they all agreed that I was a capital fellow, to which I toasted to them and we all had another good round.
It was then that I asked them to tell me of some of their stories, when the fire grew lower in the hearth and the shadows seemed deeper. Well, of course they obliged, recounting long-lost wars and battles won of kings and queens long since gone; and even, might I add, about the doings of their livestock. Then, as they say, one thing led to another and, with a hushed silence, the old farmer started to tell me about the hill of the Towers.
A long story, he said it was, and none would interject above a whisper, and then only to mutter in agreement or to ward off evil with a sign and a word. The story was another fairy-tale, or so I thought, about a castle of towers built by an old, yet not forgotten, wizard of long ago. And once every month, at the darkest point of night, deep in the forest, at the hill where the towers stand, the magic can be seen and terrible forces come to play. Of course, they all agreed that there is a great treasure buried deep within the walls, but none has ever dared to go and seek it out. "Farmer's ain't fer fightin'!" they all nodded. And anyway, what more could they want but their wives, their sons and daughters, their land and livestock? And, of course, their stories.
The next day, I decided to see these towers for myself. I had gathered, from the legend, where it would lay. So, after departing the inn, I turned into the forest and made my way to this place. I was certain that I would find only some broken stone circle with, at most, a family of rabbits nesting in the terrible 'lair'.
Darkness fell fast, and there was a chill to the air, like little crystal droplets that froze against my skin. But I didn't think much of it at the time for that is a usual phenomenon in forest traveling. Yet, there was something strange. I couldn't quite put my finger on it for a while, and I also felt as if I was being watched. I assure you, the entire enterprise started to seem rather foolish to me. After all, I was quite sure that nothing was there and I was scaring myself into a fright for no reason at all! But the idea of the warm and secure room at the inn started to feel quite appealing to me the more I thought about it. Yet, lantern in hand, I traveled through the thickest of darkness, camera at the ready, steadfast on my newest adventure. Nothing would turn me back.
Nothing.
It was a few hours later when I arrived at the end of the dirt path and met with the broken stone steps that wound their way up the large hill. The area was thick with trees, and I could not see the night sky. No stars above me, only leaves. No sound. I tried whistling a tune to cheer myself up, but it fell only dead on my lips, as if I was afraid to disturb the spirits that lay here. Upwards I walked, the steps so weather-worn and overgrown with moss and vines that, at times, it was almost hard to tell they were there at all. And then, I arrived at the top of the hill.
At first, I could see nothing. There was a ring at the top, yes, but nothing else. Even my lantern could not penetrate the darkness that far. Yet even when I saw nothing, I did not venture forth. I waited. Something inside me told me to stay where I was, and so I did.
Time, for a while, stood still. Especially in the quiet dark. Only the faint outline of the great trees next to me could be seen. Nothing else. The ground before me was barren and rugged. And then...then I felt the wind. A chill breath of air that seemed to stir the leaves softly. It was the first sound that I had heard beyond those of my footsteps and movements. And a slow dim light that started to brighten before me in a variance of gold and blue.
I stood amazed. Enchanted and quite besides myself with fright. Yet I was resolved to see this out in full. And as I stood there, the light grew brighter and more intense in a swirling pattern that seemed to illuminate the circle at the center, to reveal a tall structure of towers that jutted up into the night sky. Three of them, connected by a strange archway. It was then that I noticed that the chill grew stronger and stronger, and the leaves around the circle were covered with ice! And yet, under those three arches was a tree as green as spring itself. The swirling grew more and more, brightening everything around those patterns that coalesced into that swirling mass of blue and gold light. And then, lights began to turn on within the windows. I did not know if those towers were there before the swirling magic around me, but I knew that this was the moment that I had come for. With trembling hands, I took a picture. One picture to prove my story. Then, turning about quite fast, I made down the steps as quickly as I could. I did not know if staying would be safe beyond that point. I had seen enough. The chill around me was enough to make me leave at a hurried pace and I did not stop until the morning when I came to the edge of the forest, exhausted. A few hours later, I was back at the inn, sleeping in a bed of soft down. Safe, safe once more.
Of course, they all came round for the telling of the tale, and the showing of the picture. Some called me mad, but most were amused and had another great local story to add to their repertoires. I made a copy of the photo for them, of course. A kind repayment for hosting me another night. None of them could remember any story where an adventurer returned to tell the tale of the Towers on the hill. And I am not sure if, after my story, any would dare return. But they were glad enough that somebody was "showed up on the truth of the matter", and proved them all right.