Merlin's Shadow (10 page)

Teeth? It was a human skull. And that meant her other hand held a … a bone. Her lips contorted for a scream, but she held it in and flung the bones away. She wiped her hands on her shift, sat back, and cried. Where was Grandpa?

“He is not here …” came a voice.

It echoed around her.

“But I am …” it said.

Ganieda pulled her feet under her skirt and felt for her bag. Her fingers wrapped around the fang. “Who're you?”

“What you possess cannot protect you from me, for they are my gift to you —”

In that instant, a face appeared in the air, and a man stepped forth. He held no torch, but his dark robe shimmered a pale blue like the most beautiful sky she'd ever seen. His face was handsome, and somehow it reminded her of her father's, with the cheeks angled just so, the nose shaped thus, and with a brown and curly beard. But his eyes. Covered by heavy eyebrows, they were dark, and she couldn't see their color. She looked and looked, but only a shadow lay there, so deep that she felt she could tumble in and be lost.

He smiled. “Beautiful one, do not be afraid. I have a quest for you … and I will send you forth from here to do my bidding.”

She wanted to run both to him and away from him at the same time, and this perplexed her. “What do you want?” she said, combing her hair with her hands.

He studied her and considered a moment. “I want you: your service and your heart. Your soul and your love … only for me, pretty one.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Why?” She stood now and glared at him, still hoping to catch a glimpse of the color of his eyes.

“I will give you many things. Love in your lack. Comfort in your suffering. Power in your anger. Beauty in your flesh. All things that the world can give … and yet more.”

“Give me back my mammu …”

He paused and studied her tears. “Take forth your orb. Do not be confused, dear child — yes, you tried to douse it in the water, but I have put it back for you.”

She opened her bag, looked inside, and found he told the truth. She held the orb forth, the man said a strange word, and it came to roaring, glowing life, pulsing in her palm. There, within the orb, she saw her mother. Mammu lay sleeping by the spring where she'd died, only her flesh was hale. Her lips smiled and her raven hair had the glorious luster of life. Her dress was new and pretty.

“You see, my very own child, that your mother is there, and you may see her. Only bind yourself to me and it will always be so.”

Ganieda's heart beat faster. “May I go to her?” Above all things she wanted to lay there with her beautiful mother. To be hugged and loved. To play and dance among the flowers that grew by her side. To sing with her again. To —

“Only at the end of many delightful years of service will I grant this to you. At that time, if you have been faithful, you will receive your mother's reward — and be with her forever.”

Ganieda peeled her gaze from the orb and looked at the strange man, hope nearly bursting her pattering heart. “Tell me … tell me what to do.”

“Nothing but what you already want to do. You must be my and your grandfather's messenger this night.”

“What message shall I carry?”

“Only this: go to Ealtain and Scafta, the leaders of my Pictish warriors. I have led them to this valley. You must tell them to destroy our sworn enemies.”

I
n disbelief Merlin looked at the line of campfires in the distance. It had not been more than an hour since they had made their own fire and set up camp near the burial mound when Garth came rushing to them from his lookout.

“Someone's lightin' a fire. Down the valley!” He was breathless and his cheeks were flushed. And then he marched over and stirred the pot of soup Colvarth had made. “Is the bracken broth ready?”

Merlin grabbed Garth's arm and pulled him away. “What do you mean there's a fire?”

Garth pointed, and then he, Merlin, and Caygek set off to see what was happening. By the time they stepped beyond the edge of the mound, there were five burning. Soon it doubled. The light from the flames cast an eerie glow through the fog, and the shadows of many men walked among them.

Garth tugged Merlin's sleeve. “Who are they?”

“We've got to get out of here.”

“Back to the sea?” The last word was spoken a little too happily.

“No. Just out of the valley.”

Back at the camp, Merlin hastily explained to Colvarth what they'd seen. The old man's eyes went wide and he almost jumped up, but instead held his place by the fire so as not to disturb Arthur, who lay asleep in his arms.

Merlin threw their bags back onto their horses.

Garth started kicking dirt on the fire, but Merlin stopped him. “Leave it. If we keep it burning, it'll hide our departure.” Garth nodded, and threw an armful of cut gorse branches onto the fire, which crackled to life.

The horses were ready, and Merlin was just about to pick up Natalenya when Colvarth stood, astonishment on his face. Arthur awoke and looked around, blinking his eyes.

“Look, my Merlin. We are trapped!”

He wasn't pointing north toward the ten fires — where Merlin expected — but south. Just a moment before there had been an open, fog-cloaked path of escape for them, but now about three hundred feet away a lone fire had been lit. A torch was taken from it to another, and that fire sprang to life. Within a short while there were fifteen fires to the south, and the way out of the ravine was completely blocked in both directions.

Colvarth's hands shook as he held Arthur close. “Oh, God,” he prayed. “Let us know where safety lies.”

Little Arthur reached out and pointed to the fires, his small eyes squinting. Merlin himself was in shock. There was a force of men at both ends of the valley.

Caygek joined them and drew his blade.

Garth was practically hopping.

The sides of the valley were steep, and their dark edge jabbed upward against the night sky. Merlin took the bags down again from the horses and handed his to Garth. Kneeling, he picked up Natalenya, her arms limp over his shoulders. Her face was still pale, but the fire had given her some warmth. She weighed enough
that the task ahead wouldn't be easy. And what of Colvarth? “We'll climb. We have to try.”

“The horses?” Garth asked.

“Leave them picketed.”

After gathering most of their belongings, Merlin led them westward to the nearest cliff, only a stone's throw from their fire. The sheer limestone crumbled off in Merlin's hand. “There has to be a path up,” he said, and searched northward.

Pines and oaks grew on the sides, and using their branches Merlin could scale up a few feet, but it was too dangerous with Natalenya and he had to drop back down.

He continued along the bottom of the cliff, searching for a path up, a ledge, anything, but it was all the same. After the search proved fruitless, he rushed them across the stream, avoiding the gorse bushes, and sought a way up the opposite cliff.

But there was no way up. “We only have one choice,” he said finally. “We can't get out of the valley, and there is only one place we can defend.”

Garth looked at him, his eyes reflecting the white of the fog. “Where?”

“The mound. With an entrance that narrow, only two men could squeeze through at a time, giving us a chance. It's even possible they won't dare search for us inside.”

Colvarth started to stutter. “B-but, you propose entering the pagan burial mound?”

Merlin answered by carrying Natalenya back to the stream and crossing back. The fog swirled around him as he forced his way through the grumbling water.

“I will not do it.” Colvarth ran after, grabbed him by his cloak, and pulled him around. “A grave should not be disturbed, much less the graves of the ancient pagans who have been buried in the name of their gods. Once I spoke in praise of these gods — but I will not seek protection from them.”

Merlin pulled away and slogged up the opposite bank. “Then stay outside and tell Vortigern where to find us.”

“You think it is Vortigern? Hah!”

“Who else would it be?”

“But … but he could not have followed us.” With one hand Colvarth wrung out his cloak, which had slunk into the water in his rush.

Merlin turned and looked him eye to eye. “Stranger things have happened in the last week. If it's not Vortigern, maybe we'll wish it was.”

Their horses nickered as Merlin approached. He drew his dagger, cut their reins, and sent them off into the pallid gloom. If they planned to hide in the mound, they needed to make it look like they had left. He took a torch from one of the packs, lit it using the fire, and gave it to Garth. He then kicked the moist dirt over their campfire.

Merlin finally approached the burial mound, its distended belly pressing down and threatening to strangle the throat of the low stone doorway.

A muffled scream echoed from inside.

Quickly, he closed his eyes and turned his right ear toward the sound to verify that it had come from the mound. His hearing, once his sharpest sense, had dulled somewhat since his eyesight had been restored, and he didn't know if he could trust it anymore.

The scream warped around the standing stones and faded away.

Merlin looked at the dark maw of the mound. Had the sound come from there? Surely not. There was nothing in there but the bones of the dead. They had worshiped pagan gods, yes, but the one true God still reigned.

Even in a place like that?

Was he making the right decision? The others gathered behind him, Colvarth's cheeks puffing in and out under his wrinkled brow. A cloud covered the frown of the moon, and the valley grew dark.

Caygek strode forward, ducked, and entered the mound. “Ah,
the bravery of Christians,” he said, his mocking voice echoing from the darkness.

Galloping horses could be heard approaching from the south. It was now or never. Merlin followed reluctantly, and he had to crawl on his knees to get through the small doorway without hurting Natalenya. She moaned and shifted her head on his shoulder. The air was cold and smelled of dead worms, lifeless mushrooms, and bat droppings.

Thankfully, Garth was right at his heels carrying the torch. The stacked limestone walls lit up, revealing to Merlin's left a grotesque, ancient painting of wolves that stood on two legs. They were clawed with needle-like teeth protruding from curling lips. Severed limbs of warriors lay hacked at their feet. One of their victims had red ochre scratched across his face.

Merlin's own facial scars suddenly hurt as flashes of memory came back to him: The wolves circling around Ganieda. He had run to her, kicking and yelling. The wolves backed away. But a dark one pounced, ripping into his arm. He was pinned to the ground, and then the long, broken nails of the wolves scratched him. Their teeth ripped his flesh — until his father had finally come and scattered the pack. Merlin's eyesight had been ruined, and his face scarred.

And Ganieda had never been touched. Had the wolves been her friends even at that young age? Was
she
somehow responsible?

He shook his head and tried not to think about his sister. He focused on the rocky floor before him, and the roof of the tunnel finally raised high and broad enough for him to stand.

Behind him, Colvarth rushed inside. “Quick, farther back … before they see the torch!” He held wide his black cloak to block the light.

They ran — and after about twenty feet farther, a four-way intersection appeared with sloped tunnels. Caygek beckoned them to the right. They turned, and soon the tunnel ended in an arched chamber: a tomb, low and foul smelling.

Colvarth gathered them into a circle — Caygek a pace away — and prayed:

Merlin breathed deeply of Colvarth's prayer, but the air was still unclean, and the torch smoked. He suddenly felt weak. Natalenya had grown heavy, and he fell to his knees and set her down. It was then Merlin noticed that Garth had brought the pot of soup along. The boy sat down and poured some of the bracken broth into his bowl and began sipping it with his eyes closed.

“How can you be thinking of soup right now?” Merlin asked.

“No sense leaving it behind. Smell it.” Garth held out his bowl until it lay just under Merlin's nose.

The salty smell of the broth surprised him in its richness and notes of garlic, leeks, and fiddle head ferns. And this dredged up memories of the simple things of life: the winter nights with his family sitting around their hearth sharing bread and stew, the days with his father chopping wood for their fire, chatting with villagers as they waited for something to be forged.

He reached for his pack to find his bowl. He wanted to get it out and fill it with hot soup from the pot and remember these things. But then he spied above his pack — painted in red ochre on the tunnel wall — a dragon. His hand fumbled at his bag, and he forgot
the bowl. Forgot the soup. The beast's mouth spewed forth noxious breath, and its claws held a dark stone.
A stone?

Merlin's head filled with memories of the last time he'd seen the Stone. It had been in the smithy, and the blade — the blade he and Uther had shared — jutted from its craggy surface where he'd hammered it in. He last glimpsed the accursed rock while pulling his father out, with the flames devouring the roof of the smithy. Merlin's simple things would never come back; they had all turned to ashes. All that remained for him was the face of his father. He had known it while young and had never imagined that one day his own vision would be gone. After that, he knew his father's face only in shadow and by the touch of his hands. Then, as Merlin grew older, and their relationship became more distant, not even that connection remained.

After God had restored Merlin's vision, he had only moments with his dying father — and the image of that man's face now burned in Merlin's mind. The dark beard that hid the strong jaw. The slightly curved-up nose. His bushy eyebrows. The burn across his right cheek. The eyes that had seen too much sorrow. The eyes that had seen his own love — Merlin's mother — drown, or so it he had thought.

Natalenya stirred a little, and in her sleep spoke some words inaudibly. Merlin felt her forehead and was distressed that the warmth imparted by the fire had faded so quickly. The clamminess of the tunnel was creeping into her flesh, and Merlin knew they shouldn't stay long.

Caygek glopped down his share of the soup, braided his long blond hair, and then hefted his sword again. “I'm going for a look out.”

A deep tiredness in Merlin's bones kept him rooted to the floor, his hand on Natalenya's forehead. He knew he should follow, but he wanted to sleep and forget about their danger.

“Are you coming?” Caygek asked. “It will take two to guard the door. Or should Garth take your place? I've been training him, you know.”

Merlin forced himself up and drew his own blade. “I'm ready.”

They walked back to the junction of tunnels, and just as they were turning left into the passage that opened to the valley, voices came from the other direction — from deeper in the mound. The sound echoed from the dark — from farther in.

The blood in Merlin's face drained, his spine tingled, and his feet felt suddenly numb.

Caygek halted, and they both looked at each other in the distant torchlight.

Merlin motioned toward the entrance. “You guard the door … I-I'll investigate … farther in.”

Caygek's brow was knotted. “We should go … together.”

“Someone has to guard the door. It was my choice to enter the mound — I'll handle it.” The truth was that he didn't want to go alone, but the danger of leaving the tunnel entrance unguarded was too great. He wished, above anything else, to get the others and run like a rabbit from a badger's nest. But with Vortigern possibly outside, there was nowhere to go.

Nowhere but deeper into the burial mound to make sure they were safe here.

Caygek nodded and slipped off to guard the entrance.

Merlin turned to the utter darkness, blade drawn and heart racing.

Vortigern pointed to the line of fires in the distance and cursed until even Bedwir blushed. “Who in the name of Taranis is that?” was the only repeatable thing he said, and even
that
called on the name of a pagan god.

Vortipor, his horse next to his father, said, “What are we up against?”

Vortigern turned in his saddle. “Fire for fire. Everyone, gather branches and wood. I want fires all across the valley.”

Raising his hand, Vortipor backed his mount up. “Father, isn't secrecy best … considering our goal?”

“We have less warriors than we did in Kernow,” Vortigern said, “but we're not weaklings who skulk in the dark. This may be just a trick by Colvarth.”