Veneficus: Stones of the Chosen (26 page)

As soon as the last soldier had disappeared over the hill, Merlin’s eyes glowed and the burial mound of Godwinson’s mother and father reappeared in the corner of the courtyard under the small oak tree.

“I have placed the body of the young Godwinson in a casket beside those of his mother and father,” said the long magus softly.

They paused for a moment in memory of the tall, flaxen-haired young knight with the broad shoulders and clear blue eyes with whom they had enjoyed an all too brief period of comradeship.

“What of his men who are hiding out in the Cheddar Catacombs?”

“We will send them a message that they can return here soon. However, they may not wish to continue as before with their young leader gone.”

“Seems a shame not to. It’s such a beautiful and strongly built castle,” said the boy.

The long magus looked at him for a moment before speaking.

“I fear that will not be the case for long. There is one great battle left to fight, that of the wolf-woman and myself. Although she doesn’t know it yet I have chosen this castle as the battlefield. I will need all the help I can get, and this place offers me some advantages, not the least being the fact that I know every nook and cranny. I wouldn’t expect to find much of this great edifice left - as strong as it is - when we have finished hurling thunderbolts at each other.”

The boy was silent for a while. “Is there no other way?” he said eventually. “I am frightened that you might be hurt.”

The long magus chuckled. “Fear not, my little tyro skirmisher. I have lasted ninety-three years and plan to see out the remaining seven preparing you for the future. History is always recorded by the victorious. It is my intention to inscribe the record. When the wolf-woman and I meet to settle our differences, my advantage will be coolness and experience. She will come out blazing away with her thunderbolts and everything else in her arsenal. Smoke, noise, and fire will be her tactics, for she has a great deal more power than I and will seek to use it at the earliest opportunity. For my part I will allow her all the early advantages whilst remaining unscathed. At some point every such conflict descends into chaos. This will not be an exception. Indeed, I am counting on it. The longer I can keep her chasing me, the more her power will diminish. Then it will be my turn to become the aggressor, and it is at this point that I will require some assistance from you. Until that time I want you to keep out of the way. When I have drawn her sting we will work in concert to finish it. You should be close to me anyway just in case she gets the upper hand and I have to pass the great secret to you in the final moments. I do not expect that to happen.”

He paused to let that sink in.

“Although the very thought of the conflict frightens me, I am glad I will be able to play a part in her downfall. We will inscribe the record together,” replied the boy.

“Good. Now, we have nine days before our presence is required at the Equinoctial Festival at Stonehenge. The repellent one will want the fight with me to take place before then so she can be there, with or without me. By my reckoning that leaves us a few days to spare. What say you to a little break from all this, eh?”

“Where?”

“Somewhere you have not been yet. The remote island where your mother, brothers, and sisters and the charmingly feisty little Princess Rawnie and the ever beautiful Guinevere live. And there is something else that I want to show you there, another one of my special secrets.”

Twilight felt his pulse beginning to quicken. He ached to see his mother and brothers and sisters, and the idea of seeing the princess again excited him.

“Not forgetting the one hundred or so resident lepers as well,” the boy added with a grin.

“Splendid company all of them,” replied the old sorcerer as his eyes began to glow.

The small island of Lundy, or Silura as it was known to the Romans, was situated in the muddy brown waters of the Severn Estuary some two hours by rowing boat off the coast of North Kernow. Windswept and barren, it had one large, odd-shaped, and much modified building known as the
leprosaria -
leper house - in which everyone lived, and a small stone jetty. Solidly constructed in stone by the Romans over two hundred years ago for the very purpose it served today - a remote charnel house for incurables - the building had one large door at the front and thin slits for windows. The roof, constantly attended and renewed by the inhabitants, was made of local turf woven into oak cross pieces and weighted down against the fierce winds by heavy rocks. Around the sides and back of the
leprosaria,
rising into the steep hill behind, stretched row upon row of carefully cultivated vegetables and fruit trees. A mature row of thick, silver-barked poplar trees protected the front from the savage gales that blew into the front of the building off the estuary.

The transformation saw Merlin and the boy appear on the small stone jetty, which startled two men who were busily shoring it up with fresh rocks where the constant battering of the brown waters of the estuary had swept away some of the base stones.

The long magus gave them one of his special beams, which seemed to put them at ease, and began walking up the path toward the leprosaria. Adding his own face-splitting beam in the men’s direction, Twilight tagged along behind, trying hard not to stare at the red and white ulcerated blotches that populated the uncovered skin of their legs, hands, and faces. Although Merlin had told him in some detail about the visual implications of leprosy, the actuality was still a bit of a shock. Others were dotted around the neat rows of vegetables and fruit trees busily cultivating, picking, and pruning. Even from this distance their ulcerated and misshapen faces could be distinguished.

The long magus waved his arm to encompass the activity. “They are completely self-sufficient here, have to be, nothing comes over from the mainland. Normal folk are too afraid to come here under any circumstances. Which is why it’s such an ideal hiding place.”

“How long has this been a leper colony, and how do the lepers get here?”

“The Romans established this place two hundred years ago. They had a policy of isolating incurables on remote islands. Did it throughout the empire. Shipped a lot of them here from various leper colonies around the land and left them to it. Most of the early sufferers died quickly, usually of starvation, but gradually, as they learned to fish and get edible crops out of the ground, the colony got going. Before Guinevere came, new arrivals had to swim over or beg, steal, or make a boat. You can imagine the reception they get on the mainland from ordinary folk who generally scream and run away when approached by a leper. Throughout our known history lepers have always been ostracized and hounded out of their communities due to their affliction. Some of those early inhabitants walked for months to get to the mainland setting-off point over there,” he pointed to the blue-gray landmass that was North Kernow, “then sat there for many more months before dying, probably again of starvation, before they could find a way to get over the water. They could see this island plainly on a clear day, but getting here was another matter. Guinevere soon put that right by sending a rowing boat to the mainland manned by a couple of lepers every few days - or when the weather and tides allowed - to a pick-up point where there is a large sign telling new arrivals to wait and that help is on the way.”

“Is there a cure or anything that can ease their torment and suffering?”

“No, and their life expectancy is severely curtailed, ten to fifteen years from the time of the appearance of the first sores, Guinevere tells me, which, if you are a baby or youngster, does not give much of a life.”

“Can we use the power of the enchantments to make them better?”

“We cannot prevent death or prolong life. This prohibits us from interfering with diseases, illnesses, wounds, or problems inside people’s heads. As you know, we can manipulate huge amounts of phenomena, transform whole humans and animals from one place to another, and, as I did with Penda, render them immovable, stop them speaking, read their minds, and plant thoughts and messages in their heads, but their state of health is inviolate. That is Presidium territory. Only the deathless immortals on Mount Olympus are allowed to meddle there.”

He pointed to the hill rising behind the house.

“When one of these inhabitants die - an all too familiar happening, I’m afraid - there are burial barrows on the other side. Guinevere ensures every one of them gets a decent resting place.”

“Elysium or sarcophagal mists?” the boy asked impishly.

“It depends upon the life each individual led before they came here. This disease doesn’t distinguish between saints or sinners, lords or serfs. Once here, of course, they soon learn to join in for the common good.”

“Where does leprosy come from?”

“From the Greek word
lepra.
In ancient Greek texts it is referred to as the ‘Phoenician Disease.’ Phoenicians are sailors from the coastal regions of Egypt, an ancient desert country in the east. The disease is first thought to have originated with them and spread to other lands through their sea trading exploits. Apart from transmitting diseases, the Phoenicians were also the first race to develop an alphabet, allowing the recording and understanding of the written word, so they were

not all bad.”

The boy thought for a moment. “Is leprosy contagious?”

“Guinevere says it is, but she has been living amongst lepers here for fifty years and hasn’t caught it. She does take simple precautions such as planting and preparing her own food and water and not sharing any clothing or linen with them, but they all live together in the same building, talk together, and breathe the same air. She will, of course, take all necessary precautions with your mother, brothers and sisters, and the princess.”

“She must be a very special person,” said Twilight.

“She certainly is,” replied the long magus looking up. “Aren’t you, my dear?”

Twilight looked up to see a tall, regal-looking silver-haired lady bearing down on them with a wide smile of genuine welcome on her face. Dressed in a rough woolen black floor-length tunic, with nothing on her head and hair tied loosely at the back into a long ponytail, the living legend that was Guinevere, one-time lover and consort of King Arthur and sometime dabbler with his cousin and mortal enemy, Mordred, wound her long, thin arms around the long magus in a hug of pure joy.

“Aren’t I what, old friend?” she said into his chest, her head just about reaching his breastbone.

“A very special person.” Merlin held her at arm’s length with a look of affection that spoke of the bond forged between them over many years of turmoil, conflict, and survival.

“Mmmm …” She frowned, breaking away and stepping toward Twilight.

“And you,” she said, getting down on her knees and bringing her face very close to his, “must be the young man I have been hearing so much about.”

Her own clear, dark brown eyes sought the boy’s. He returned her searching gaze quietly.

“Your mother was certainly right about your eyes. ‘Captivating’ was the word she used. Cimmerian depths of luminous promise, I’d say. The eyes of a champion if ever I saw them. There is hope within those bottomless black pools, hope for the Wessex nation,” she murmured, stroking his long, unruly hair.

Dry-mouthed the boy couldn’t find any suitable words. He glanced at the long magus, who merely smiled and nodded with a sort of benign pride. Guinevere stood up and grasped Twilight’s hand firmly.

“Come, you will be anxious to see your mother and brothers and sisters,” she said, leading them toward the house.

“And the princess,” said Merlin from behind them.

“Oh?” said Guinevere, giving the long magus a knowing look over her shoulder and receiving back an exaggerated wink from beneath the bushy eyebrows.

Suddenly his mother came flying out of the large front door of the leprosaria shouting at the top of her voice.

“Will! Oh Will! Is it really you? Will … Oh Will!”

Letting go of Guinevere’s hand he ran toward her, and they embraced for a long time. With tears running down her cheeks his mother kissed his face, his head, and, raising them to her face, his hands one by one. Then she hugged him tightly again, murmuring his name over and over into his hair. Her smell was the same as he remembered it, her strong dark hair now streaked with gray, glowing cheeks and careworn hands. All the same. His mother again, here, at last.

It was strange to hear his given name. So complete had been his transformation since he’d been with the long magus, he’d almost forgotten that he was born a settlement boy called Will Timms, son of the now deceased Sam Timms and his wife, Leah, and elder brother of John, Joseph, Jack, Annie, and little Meg. Merlin, the pica, and hawks had become his new family. He felt the presence of others and in response to a touch on his back released his mother to embrace his brothers and sisters. There was a little hesitancy and awkwardness, especially with his younger brothers. None of them, even John, who was eleven years of age and the next one down after Will, could remember him speaking. His last six years of silence had been interpreted as an illness. Will, the deep, darkly troubled older brother, had simply lost his voice. They had been buttressed against his silent, brooding presence by the fact that he was rarely there. When he was, he was aloof from the rest of them and seemed to live in his mind. As they played childish games around the settlement with the other children, Will would be off to a quiet glade on his own to try and make some sense of the inexplicable clarion calls and fleeting demons that dominated his being. When they were made to help their father scratch a living from the small piece of land they tithed, Will would suddenly drop whatever implement he’d been given and run into the forest. The only one who came anywhere near to understanding that he was different was his mother. She defended and nurtured him whenever she could, sometimes at the expense of his siblings and to the wrath of his father. Perhaps they understood his aloofness a little more now? His sisters were easier, especially the baby of the family, four-year-old little Meg. She only saw her hero big brother in all his new glory.