Veneficus: Stones of the Chosen (31 page)

The old wizard thought for a while. “That is understandable in someone your age and with your inexperience, but evil must be confronted and extinguished or it will continue and multiply. The time will come when you will be faced with a similar situation. Don’t hesitate. Strike immediately.”

Twilight shuddered. He wasn’t looking forward to that at all.

Balancing carefully on a single splintered plank they crossed what had been the moat over the drawbridge and, walking around the many craters in the track, began to head into a small, thunderbolt-shattered wood. Dead and dying wolves were everywhere, and as they moved further into the trees the howling grew louder. In a small clearing they found what they were looking for: Pad and the small white wolf.

As they approached, the proud old wolf king fixed them with pale, unafraid eyes. Letting out a high-pitched snarl the small Lupa rushed at them, only to freeze on the spot as the long magus fixed him with an iridescent stare. He held his hand up in a sign of peace to the old wolf.

“It’s over. You are free to go back to your proper way of life.”

The old wolf looked at the carnage around him, then turned back to Merlin.

“There are only a few of us left. We are almost wiped out.”

“All it takes is one female and one male. Before you know it you’ll have a pack. You must lead your species back to their original strength.”

The old wolf considered this for a while. “I have very little time left. Building the species back to pack strength is a young cub’s game,” he said quietly.

“Not that young cub,” Twilight found himself saying, pointing to the frozen white Lupa. “You know what must be done with him, don’t you?”

Pad’s pale eyes looked at him for a long moment before the old head bobbed.

“It shall be done. Release him.” He held up a scarred paw toward Twilight with something draped over it.

“Here, this is for you. She gave it to me after we netted and killed forty pairs of your birds.”

The boy took the beak necklace from the paw, looked at it for a long time, then placed it around his own neck.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

As the long magus and his tyro walked out of the clearing the howling stopped. There was a short, choked-off squeal from behind them, then silence.

The old astounder looked down at Twilight with one bushy eyebrow raised and with something approaching a smile on his face.

“The meek,
placidus
boy has suddenly turned executioner,” he said.

The boy held both hands up.

“I know, I know.” He grinned back at him. “I just needed a little more time to grow into the role.”

“Moonlight, nightlight, half-light, daylight, warm light, after light -
lux mundi -
the light of the world and now …
crepusculam
!”

The long magus was mumbling away to himself as he and the boy walked toward Avebury, where they were going to pay homage to the mighty ringed stones of the venefici. In honor of the occasion Merlin had removed his long gray-and-blackstreaked beard and tied his hair in a ponytail. Their next stop would be Stonehenge for the Equinoctial Festival, which was due the following day. The old wizard had been mumbling away incoherently to himself ever since they had left the ruined castle.

“What does
crepusculam
mean?” asked the tyro, skipping ahead on the path along the top of the Ridgeway that they trod for the second time.

“Twilight. It’s Latin for twilight.”

The boy stopped, turned back with a grin, and shouted, “So I am Crepusculam. Crepusculam the Tyro, liege-lord of the pica, defender of the Celtic runes, and scourge of Wessex invaders from kings with great armies to odious wolf-women and, I do believe, about to become the holder of the great secret.”

The old astounder looked along the path at him for a long moment.

I am beginning to think that you are more than that,
replied the long magus in mind-speak, accompanying it with a serious look.
Far more than that.
The boy skipped back to him, sensing that something was not as it should be.

What is the matter?
he asked in kind, looking up at his mentor.

The long magus indicated a grass-covered bank where they could sit. Below them the solidly set symmetrical stone ring of Avebury, talisman site and final resting place of all resident Wessex venefici, awaited their reverential presence.

Staying in mind-speak, a precaution that showed he was worried about the conversation being overheard or interpreted by others, whoever and wherever they might be, the long magus looked deep into the boy’s dark eyes.

I am beginning to think that the wolf-woman was not the main focus of Tiresias’s plan to obtain the great secret from me and then use it to release the cowering dead on an unsuspecting world. She was a clever feint, a false trail to lead Mael and me away from the real perpetrator.

Do you know who the real perpetrator is?

Yes, I believe I do, but he doesn’t know it himself. He is being unknowingly manipulated, as indeed, I suppose, we all are.

Who is it?

The long magus held the boy’s gaze for a long moment.

You!

“Me!” The boy forgot the discipline of mind-speak and shouted out in surprise. “That cannot be true. I am with you in everything, your tyro. I wouldn’t ever do anything against your word, your teaching. I know nothing about …”

Twilight’s voice petered out in perplexed confusion as tears welled up in his dark eyes. The long magus smiled encouragingly and patted him reassuringly on the arm.

Don’t worry; it’s not your fault. The manipulation was cleverly planned and executed a long time ago, probably before you were born. Remember, the time span that we work to is infinitely more short-term than that adhered to by the immortals.

Composing himself the boy reverted back to mind-speak.

That means that my birth - your meeting with my mother - was pre-planned by Tiresias in order to play a part in this scheme. Not, as you thought, a natural meeting in order to produce me as the next in line as holder of the Wessex enchantments?

Merlin nodded.

As I said, we’re all being manipulated. Tiresias would have known that I could not be persuaded to ever use my powers as holder of the secret to release the cowerers, his ultimate aim in all this. He also knew the odds were that I would defeat Elelendise, and then I would reveal the secret to you. Getting you to release the cowerers would then be an easy matter. From his perspective, that is still the case.

How did you know it was me he’d picked?

Your persistence in asking me for the rest of the secret. Hardly a day has gone by when you have not asked for it. It occurred to me some time ago that your constant requests were beyond your normal behavior. I just didn’t make the necessary connection until recently.

I know half of the great secrets, though … don’t I?

This time the long magus couldn’t resist a loud chuckle.

You know half of something!

The boy considered this for a moment.

D’you mean that when we visited Stonehenge and you told me to engrave these words in my mind forever:

Always give your soul what it needs for peace.

Always give your heart what it needs for happiness.

Always give your conscience what it needs for justice.

That this carefully remembered couplet was
not
the first half of the great secret? It was all lies?

Merlin’s face became serious.

The very last thing on this turning earth that I want to do is lie to you. However, as you now know, matters are not always as they seem. Knowing such a great secret made you vulnerable. A few harmless lines reduced your vulnerability and kept your never ending curiosity at least half satisfied. It was an old man’s caution, not an attempt to deceive.

The couplet was so good; it sounded just like one half of a great secret should.

Illusion, manipulation, and sorcery are always entwined. Now perhaps, you understand better why I gave you a few days’ view of the world in black and white. If you always remember that nothing is as it seems, you won’t get any surprises.

I hate being used like this. It makes me feel as if everything I do or say is driven by the will of another.

That,
said the long magus with a twinkle in his eye,
is only true if we obey the rules.

The boy suddenly perked up and grinned back impishly.

D’you mean we are going to break a few?

The long magus looked down at him.

Let’s just say we are going to sprinkle a little venefical stardust over a few of them, eh.

Twilight stood on the top of Silbury Mound alone. The manmade mound in a small valley alongside the Avebury Stones of Destiny had been a Celtic shrine and pagan calling place for many hundreds of years. Raising both arms in the air he turned around in a full circle, looked upward, and shouted at the top of his voice.

“Now I am complete. The great secret is mine. Nothing can stand in my way. Now I am complete.”

Snatched away on the breeze the words tumbled and soared into the air. The hope was that his words would be heard in strange, faraway places that were denied ordinary mortals and venefici. Twenty-four times he repeated this, then climbed slowly down the great mound to the bottom and then set off again along the Ridgeway path for the mighty stones of Stonehenge. Some way ahead of him the long magus plodded with the aid of a long stick for support. When the boy eventually caught up with his mentor, nothing was said between them and they continued their journey in a conspiratorial silence.

They spent that night sitting just outside the Stonehenge circle. Merlin talked quietly about what was expected of them at the annual Equinoctial Festival of the Cowering Dead, which would start at first light the following day with the formation of the thick mists.

“You never know who will come at you in this,” said the long magus. “One thing is for certain, there will be surprises. Remember this, in the presence of a nominated cowerer,
di mortius nil nisi bonum,
say nothing but good of the dead.”

As the dawn began to creep over the rolling green hills they moved to the center of the great circle. Prepared by the long magus for the rolling murk that suddenly engulfed them, Twilight gripped the hand of the old astounder tightly, took a deep breath, and set himself for an ordeal of extreme disorder and pietism. If their plan worked, this sarcophagal murk would be his to control each year for most of the rest of his life. If it didn’t work, the Celtic world and its glorious Wessex past would be obliterated by the onslaught of the freed cowerers as they wreaked vengeance on an unsuspecting people.

Along with much else that kept the human and immortal worlds turning.

With the suddenness of a snake strike, the raging mists of the Cowering Dead were upon them. At first the intensity and volume of the screaming voice took him by surprise. Pitched at a high, penetrating level with a multitude of others in screaming accompaniment in the background, the voice screeched directly into his ear with a pent-up violence that defied anything he had ever heard before. Keeping his eyes firmly closed and bracing his legs as advised by Merlin, he tried to understand what the screaming ranter was saying. Then he heard the voice of the long magus talking back. Soothing, placatory, the words dripped like cool water onto molten embers.

“We both know why you are here. We both also know that your release is impossible, and there is no escape from the place you are in. You performed glorious deeds. Your name is mentioned wherever villagers gather around the communal evening fires. Be satisfied with the great accolades that these people pay your actions and memory. These deeds will continue to shine and live on in their hearts for a great many more years …”

Gradually the screaming voice lost some of its intensity as Merlin talked through its tirade, systematically applying the balm of soft-spoken flattery. With a sudden start the boy realized that the ranting soul was none other than King Arthur.
Dux Bellorum
himself was the first tortured cowerer chosen to scream into the attack.

With no mention of the faces he burned, Guinevere, or Mordred - events or people from the past evoking longing or bad memories would only prolong the rant - and often repeating himself, the long magus kept up the soft flattery. There were no explanations, no logic, just placatory blandishments. As Merlin had said to the boy during the night, if you batter them with fine chatter they’ll eventually scatter.

With something resembling a cross between a soft scream and a sigh, the assuaged, tortured rant that had been the mighty
Dux Bellorum
flitted away as suddenly as it had arrived. To be instantly replaced by another, slightly differently pitched but still piercing screech.

That turned out to be Old Bovey, the snake man first encountered by Twilight when he and Sam Timms were journeying to Merlin’s compound. In much the same way, the long magus placated the rant, which, as far as Twilight could make out, was to do with the loss of Anguis, his snake. Still clinging to Merlin’s hand with his eyes tightly shut he received a short message in mind-speak from his mentor.