Merlin's Shadow (27 page)

And then, over the hill appeared an oxen, and upon it, a rider — a woman. Lissom she was, and her fair skin was wrapped in a thick fox skin fur of rusty orange. No sooner had she appeared than two more women followed behind. The first rode a black boar, and her tresses matched it for color, laying softly upon her leathern wrap. The third journeyed upon a massive ram, horned and fierce. Her dress was a magnificent white fleece, richly woven, well-waulked, brushed, and shorn. And the three were a marvel, for their faces were all alike, and a light shone from them, bright and warm as his hearth at home during the darkest days of winter.

“Who are you?” Merlin asked, but felt they would surely shame him for such an impertinent question.

“Are you worthy of me?” all of them said in unison, “Are you ready now to see?”

The three reached out their hands, and a thorny hedge grew up around the perimeter of the glade, enclosing them, the table, and Merlin within — thick and impassable. He could not leave, but neither could anyone else invade and take him away.

“For you know who we are,” they said in a soothing voice, “for we perceive you see far.”

They dismounted and approached the table, each one claiming a seat on three of the open benches. Merlin felt tired, and found himself resting upon his own bench, looking in wonder at the bowls and trenchers that had magically appeared. They were filled with fluffy creams, delicate cakes, honey crystal confections, and the most succulent fruits he had ever imagined.

“Take, gentle son, and eat,” they said, “for these shall surely taste sweet.”

A great desire to devour the luxuries washed over him. All his life he had been denied such things: the opulence of the rich; the
extravagance of those who ruled all, owned all, and yet worked not. All day long they sat on their couches of gold being fed such things and growing fat off the hard work of others.

And Merlin's six months of deprivation made his desires all the stronger. It was maddening to wait even a moment more, so he lifted up his hand and stole a cake, dipped it in the cream, and brought it to his lips. He sighed as its creamy sweetness and crunchy essence coated his tongue, filled his cheeks, and sunk softly down his throat.

Somewhere in the heavens, thunder rolled. Merlin did not even glance up as he pilfered one of the fruits by its stem and brought it to his lips. Plump it was, and its syrupy bouquet filled his nostrils even as its scarlet juice ran down his shaven chin and stained his tunic.

The three women all looked at him approvingly, and each of them took one of the fruits and bit, their actions of one mind.

The thunder rolled closer above him, but he ignored it again, for now his appetite could not be sated — the more he ate, the hungrier he became. He stuffed his cheeks with the cream, ate as many cakes as he could, and all the time the three joined him, nodding their approval and feasting upon the never-ending supply of the sumptuous fare.

And just as Merlin reached for one more cake, the middle of the table flashed so brightly that it blinded him for a moment. Fingers of lightning curled outward and singed the table and food. Merlin's hands were burned, the thunder exploding around him, enveloping him, shaking his bones, and rattling his teeth.

When he opened his eyes again, the scene before him had changed. The three women — those whose smooth faces had been filled with such merriment — had become ugly, ugly beyond imagining. Scabs covered their skin. Patches of infections leaked out filthy, green liquids. Their hair was disheveled, torn from their scalps and matted. Their noses had warts upon warts, and their shaking, bony fingers ended in nails long and sharp.

And their teeth, broken and hideously soiled, crunched upon worms, which they devoured with delight. Merlin looked at the food in his own hand and found the sumptuious foods before him were now transformed into maggoty, revolting dishes beyond his worst nightmares.

He retched.

“O mortal, what have you done?” the witches said with their forked, green-scaled tongues. “You've broke the web Brigit spun!”

A fierce wind blew in, scattering the hideous remains of the feast, and blowing the three witches backward. They cried out as the sharp thorns of the bushes pierced their flesh.

Merlin's legs flew backward as well and he seized the edge of the table. Rain pelted his face, then ice, and finally hail. The branches of the table began to crack, and just when the last one broke, the wind died. He fell to the snow, and a glorious light filled the grove, shining from above. A man, an angel, descended within the radiance, and stood upon the remains of the table. His palms burned with a luminous fire, more pure than the sun, and the heat melted the snow and set the table and benches ablaze.

Merlin fell to his knees.

“Arise, O wayward son — for the Lord, whom you have failed to trust in, is the Holy One who has been with you in your sufferings, and is with you now. Open your eyes and see!”

Merlin looked up and saw played out before him all the scenes of their slavery, but now angels aided them. They had been invisible to his mortal eyes before, yet now he saw them revealed in their glory: sustaining, protecting, and guiding.

But then an image of Atle flashed in front of him, and he saw him for what he was … a man dry as a husk and ready to blow away in the wind. But there was malevolence in his eyes as he looked down upon the old, bent woman who cowered at the base of his throne.

Her gaudy purple hat lay twisted in her hands, and she moaned, “But he … he ess de son … of Theneva … Theneva Gweviana! He ess nott to be left out o' de ninth year!”

The king kicked her. “Down to de dungeon vit ye, Kensa! Away from me sight! Dis pompous grandson o' mine shall neither hear yerr prattling nor partake o' me undying strength. I vil nott let him judge de truth o' yerr tales.”

Nearby warriors took a key from the king and dragged her toward an iron plate in the floor — one that Merlin had not noticed before. One of them lit a torch while another inserted the key into the center of the plate, slid it to the side, and raised it up. They dragged her, whimpering, down the steep stairs and into the darkness.

The scene vanished. The angel bent over and rested his hand upon Merlin's head.

A burning, painful lightness filled him — a searing away that bit deeply into his soul.

“The snake has snuck into your nest and you have let him escape. The time has now come to perform the task that has been set before you.”

Merlin shook his head. He'd been given a task? Had he forgotten? His mother had said something to him, long ago, it seemed. “What am I to do?” he said, feeling foolish to even ask.

“Leave behind those who cannot. Bring all those who dare. Freedom for those in darkness is hidden in the throne. Judge by neither skin nor bones. Follow the light that you have been given — but you must AWAKE!”

The flames and the grove faded. Deep sleep fell upon Merlin, and he closed his eyes.

But someone kept shoving his shoulder. A voice called to him, distantly. He wanted to sleep, but the words strengthened until it became a scream. “Merlin!”

It was Natalenya's voice. What was she doing here? He mumbled that he needed more sleep. That she should go away. Leave him alone.

She called again, more insistently.

This time someone slapped him in the face.

He opened his eyes, and his bleary vision cleared. A pewter mug
lay on its side right in front of him, and its contents lay spilled upon the table.

Natalenya came into view. Her mouth was drawn tight, tears covered her cheeks, and her lips trembled as she spoke.

“They've taken Arthur! Atle's taken Arthur and they're gone!”

D
ARK AS THE DIRGE, THE SHARKS SWIMMING;
S
WIFT AS THE SWAN, THE CIRCLE SHINING;
L
OUD AS THE LASH, THE PAGANS PRAYING;
G
ALL AS THE GRAVE, THE SLAYER SLAYING;
F
OR ANCIENT YOUTH, AND INNOCENT'S DEMISE.

M
erlin sat up, and Natalenya wept on his shoulder. He wanted to say something, but his tongue felt like wood and his head like ten fish swam in it. What had happened? Where was he?

“Arthur — they've taken Arthur!”

“I need water …” he croaked. Reaching out carefully, he wrapped his fingers around the spilled mug and peeked inside. It still had a little ale in it — good. The room spun for a moment, and then righted itself. Just as he brought it to his lips, Natalenya knocked it out of his hand, and it crashed to the floor. The echo felt like a hammer blow to his head, and he covered his ears.

“It's poisoned,” she said. I've been trying to wake you —
all of you
— since I found they had left.”

“Huh?” He looked around. Colvarth lay sleeping on the table with his beard bent sideways. Curled on the floor next to Merlin rested Garth with a loaf of bread for a pillow. Caygek's face lay in his arms, but his hand still cradled his mug of ale. Bedwir snored,
a slight smile on his lips. Peredur … well, Peredur lay with his forehead in a tipped pot of stew. And everyone else in the hall had left; only their own group remained.

In front of Merlin sat a trencher full of vomit. His clothes were stained as well.

“You heaved right before you woke up,” she explained. “I tried to clean it up.”

Every word she said echoed in his head like it was hollow. “I wish I hadn't woken.”

“But Arthur …”

“He can sleep too.” Merlin covered his eyes. The light still filled the upper reaches of the hall and was just too bright.

“Atle's taken him!”

The little dog pranced next to her and began barking.

“That's fine. We'll see him in the morning. Help me get to my bed.” He tried to stand, but the floor wobbled underneath and he fell back to his seat.

“You're not listening. They're
gone!
” Natalenya slapped him in the face again.

His left cheek was already numb, and now his jaw hurt. “Gone?”

“Everyone's gone — except for guards outside. They wouldn't let me pass, and they won't tell me where Arthur's been taken.”

Merlin shook his head. Why did it hurt so bad? But Natalenya's words finally began to sink in. Arthur was missing. Stolen from them while Merlin sat here sleeping … and retching. Taken while he sat stuffing his face. Taken while he tried to forget his misery. Taken while he drank too much. While he drank ale mixed with some foul concoction. All his prayers, all his hopes, all his work, all his awful, god-forsaken choices had been intended to protect Arthur. And then, on the very edge of their freedom, Merlin had lost him.

Anger filled his chest, thumping with a burning fury, and from it a measure of strength flowed to his arms. He stood, shaky at first, and took a deep breath, steadying himself on Natalenya. Faithful
Natalenya who had never given up on him, despite all his failures. His sins. His self-pity. His doubts.

“You can find him, Merlin. I know you can. Let's wake the others.”

They dashed the faces of their companions with water from a cistern in the deserted kitchens — slowly waking them. Garth took the most splashes before he woke up, and even then he ignored their words until the dog started licking the slops of food on his chin. He told them he dreamed he'd been sailing. Bedwir groaned louder than any of the others, but also rose to action the fastest.

When all the company was up, Merlin explained to them all that Arthur had been taken.

“Taken by Atle?” Caygek asked. “We all know what that might mean …”

Colvarth looked darkly at the druid. “Let us hope, to the Almighty God, that your conjecture is false.”

Merlin sent them out to survey what could be discovered of their situation. Garth and Peredur went to investigate the upper floors, Bedwir to verify Natalenya's reports about the guards, and Caygek to check on the state of provisions in the larder.

Merlin and Colvarth helped the breathless Natalenya create a place to rest on the main floor by pulling off some husk-stuffed cushions from the benches. In her condition, it was amazing she had found the strength to rouse Merlin and to help rouse the others.

Bedwir reported back first. “It seems we are still considered guests here, but guests that cannot leave, or so Digon, the guard, says. Atle instructed him to post thirty warriors around the building day and night, and that we had better not try to escape — upon penalty of death. I asked him how long this was for, and he said we were free to enjoy the hospitality of the hall until at least ten days have passed.”

Next, Caygek detailed the state of their provisions. “We've got enough to get through for a bit, including water, smoked meat, and grain — but little else. It seems they've taken the best with them.”

Garth jumped down the steps three at a time, and gave his and Peredur's report. “Atle's quarters are locked, and the rest's been abandoned,” he said. “We looked out in all directions, and the outer wall is all manned by warriors, includin' the two gates. Even if we broke out o' here, Peredur doesn't think we could escape the fortress.”

“Certainly not all of us,” Colvarth said, shaking his head. “So what shall we do?”

Merlin weighed their options. “Whatever Atle is up to, it can't be good or he wouldn't have snuck off after putting us all to sleep.”

Bedwir suggested they try a weak point of the wall and scale down, but Merlin made it clear that Natalenya could not attempt such a thing.

Peredur suggested they bribe the guards, but Colvarth scoffed at the idea. “We have nothing to give except what Atle already owns, and when he returns he'll punish them for it. No, I do not think they will take a bribe from us.”

A great debate ensued until Caygek raised his hands to silence everyone. “I have an idea that will get us out of here. But we all have to be willing to risk it.”

Merlin urged him on.

“I say we break up the tables and light them on fire right by the eastern door, then sneak out the west doors and escape through the gate while the warriors are trying to put it out.”

Everyone looked to Merlin to see what he thought. What
did
he think, besides the fact that his head still hurt from the tainted ale? He rummaged his brain for a better idea, but none came to him, and he had to admit that Caygek's idea made sense. Atle had honored the age-old custom of not ill-treating guests under one's roof — yet had still betrayed them, and deeply.

If their escape meant some charred wood or worse, then so be it. But just as Merlin verbally agreed to the plan, he heard a moan. Quiet it was, yet it echoed through the hall as if a ghost had passed through their midst.

Mórganthu jerked as two of Vortigern's brutes made moves to follow and catch Ganieda.

“Let her go,” Vortigern shouted, calling them back. “I'm not here for
her
.”

To make sure she remained safe, Mórganthu made his grand appearance. He pulled his stump of an arm out from the cords, popping off the sand and stick-filled glove. With his good hand free, he tugged the gag off and sat up. “It is I, yes, it is I — Mórganthu, whom you know. The weaver has fled only moments ago — and he has taken the daughters of Uther with him.” He pointed toward the back door of the house. “They've escaped under the wall through the kiln.”

Vortigern flung Safrowana backward, and she fell roughly against the loom. “Fest and Enison, tie ‘em all up, then follow our trail … we may need your help.”

The one with the spear grabbed some cords. “What's about the druid? Haha, should I's tie him back up too?”

“Yes … if the girls get away, I want him to suffer,” Vortigern tapped the other two, one being the archer, and they ran out the back door of the house.

The two brutes left behind began tying up the monk and Safrowana.

While they were distracted, Mórganthu discreetly untied his legs. Then he kept a watchful eye while slowly sliding toward the back door. They didn't turn until he was out of their reach. Mórganthu jumped up and ran into the back bedroom, where the fang lay.

“Hey, stop'n, you!” the toothless brute shouted, tromping after him.

Mórganthu crossed the floor, rounded a table, and made for the window.

The man was right behind.

He reached behind the loom shuttle. It was still there! He grabbed the fang just as the attacker laid hands upon him. Mórganthu held it tightly, and a thrill surged up his arm as he thrust backward, jabbing
the fang into the man's gut. He called on Belornos for the man's death.

The brute yelped, dropped his sword, and let go of Mórganthu's tunic. Staggering back, he grabbed on to the doorframe as smoke and blood poured from the hole where he'd been struck.

At the same time, a shock of pain ripped through Mórganthu, dizzying him. The room tilted, and he grabbed the sill.

The brute scratched at his wound, yelling.

Mórganthu's own pain eased enough for him to take his chance. He snapped open the shutters and climbed through the window as the room behind him filled with a fretful scream. The gate — and his freedom — lay only steps away.

Why hadn't she taken her cloak, Ganieda wondered? Gone back and grabbed the fang? Did her grandfather have the orb? But these things didn't matter, anymore, did they? She had lost something far more valuable than such things — she had lost love.

All these months she'd believed that these people really loved her. Cared for her. But it was a lie. A black, infected lie. Infected by her brother. Infected by his coins. The weavers hadn't loved her at all. They had loved the money that Merlin had given them. They had conspired against her. To keep her there. To trick her. To fill her head with their deceits.

But she would have it no more. No more false love from a brother who had killed their father. Who had burned her home and set her adrift in the world. Who had killed her mother.

Her mother.

Had Ganieda forgotten? She tried to remember her mother's face, but the visage of Safrowana, that liar, kept coming to mind instead. False love. False tenderness. False hugs. False instruction. False kisses. False games. False food. False everything. She yelled her curses to the wind, snowflakes flying into her hair and eyelashes. She ran.

Where
was
her mother? Did she still rest in the vale where Ganieda had left her? Was she lonely for Ganieda? A powerful longing overcame her — to be held once more by her mother. Her
real
mother. To gaze up into her mother's tender eyes. To feel the strength in her mother's hard-working arms. To have her mother comb her hair again. To talk in their secret tongue, which Safrowana and all the others in the village did not, could not, understand. It had been so long.

She ran down the village track and off into the woods. It wasn't impossibly far. Just beyond the Keskinpry marsh, past a little-used road, and in a vale where a stream ran.

Her mother would be waiting for her.

Ganieda was sure of it.