by J A Cummings
They were on the outskirts of the Forest of Arroy, which stood between the Rivers Avon and Tame. It was an intimidating place, dense with trees and magic, and even the mighty Roman army had purposely built its roads to avoid it. The traveling was difficult and slow, and it had taken Ector longer to reach the outskirts of the forest from Viroconium that he had expected. His errand was an important one, and he was determined not to tarry further.
He helped himself to a ration of hard cheese and crusty bread that he had packed from Bedivere’s stores, and he washed it down with water from a nearby nameless stream. It took him longer to pack up camp than it had when he’d been a young soldier in the service of Uther Pendragon, but the lack of two good hands was only a minor inconvenience. He was back in the saddle and on the trail again within an hour of waking.
Arroy’s trees grew close together, almost as if they were a phalanx forming a shield wall. It took time to find a path around the thickets, but though the ground was rocky and choked with vegetation, the horse was sure-footed. Even when strange and unidentified creatures scurried in the underbrush, and when a flash of a colorful bird shot from the canopy overhead, the old charger continued on his course, steadfast and solid. Ector reminded himself to thank Bedivere for the loan of such a reliable mount.
He rode for hours, and despite his time in the saddle, it seemed that he had come no nearer to his goal than when he’d started in the morning. The forest twisted and turned around him, and once when he looked back, the path he had just traveled had disappeared. The wood seemed alive with mystery, and the feeling of being watched followed him, as if unfriendly eyes were staring around every tree trunk. His skin prickled with the sensation of a hundred arrows trained at his back, although he could see nothing that could be a threat. The woods were perilous. Strange magic ran through the Arroy like water, and it chilled him.
Ector stopped near another small stream to slake his thirst and to allow his mount to rest. He crouched and broke the thin layer of ice, then brought the water to his mouth with his cupped hand. It tasted sweet, almost as if it were not water at all, and he wondered if there was harm in drinking it.
“There’s no harm.”
He whirled in the direction of the voice. Standing a few feet away from him stood a young man clad in a chainmail shirt, a Roman-style breastplate of boiled leather fastened over it. The chain and plate were both painted black and seemed to gleam like jet in the dim light shining down through the tree limbs. His face was young and beardless, fine-featured and almost elfin, and his blue eyes were calm and deep. He wore the strangeness of the Arroy as if it were his birthright.
Ector relaxed when he saw him. “Merlin.”
“The very same. You’ve come looking for me.”
The old knight nodded. “Yes. Pendragon has died.”
“I know. I was there.”
“What now?”
Merlin tilted his head quizzically and, as was his wont, answered a question with a question. “Where is the boy?”
“I left him with Bedivere.”
A whiff of alarm showed on the druid’s face. “With Bedivere?”
“He’s a good man.”
“He was a good man. But times change, and people change with them. He’s a toady who’ll do anything to ingratiate himself to those he believes are powerful. He’ll stop at nothing.”
Ector frowned. “He would do no harm to Arthur. I trust him. I left my boy Kay there, as well.”
“Kay is of no concern.” The casual dismissal of his son annoyed Ector, who rankled but held his silence. Merlin held out his hand, and the horse walked to him. He scratched the animal’s mane and said, “You were to keep Arthur safe and protected.”
“He’s going to be a page in Bedivere’s house.”
“He most certainly is not!” The druid turned to face him, his eyes flashing and fierce. “You will retrieve that boy and take him back to Caer Gai at your first opportunity.”
“And Kay?”
“I care not. Take him home, too.”
The knight hesitated, then said slowly, “You never told me who Arthur’s parents are.”
“No, I did not. And I will not tell you now. Suffice to say that his lineage will be important in days to come, but it is not yet time.”
He had said enough for Ector to make a guess, and it frightened him. “And when it is time?”
“Then I’ll come to you, and we will reveal him for the world to see and do with as it will. He does not belong to you, but in time he will belong to us all.”
Ector was stabbed by a surge of protectiveness, and he said, “Is there any reason why Arthur needs to be revealed at all?”
“Any reason?” Merlin scoffed. “Only that his destiny demands it.”
“Destiny.” Ector shook his head. “I don’t believe in destiny. I believe in the life we make with our own hands.”
“Believe what you like. Just do as I tell you where Arthur is concerned.” His expression changed abruptly, and he looked suddenly pensive. “Tell me about him.”
“He’s a good boy. He has a good heart, and he always wants to do what’s right. He’s ambitious, too - he’s already started training himself to fight.”
“Why aren’t you training him?”
“Because he’s too young. If I’m going to train anyone, it will be Kay.”
Merlin snorted. “That’s a waste of time.”
It was one comment too many. “You have no right to disparage my son this way. He’s a good boy and will be a fine man. You don’t even know him. How can you say such things about him?”
“I know what he will be, and what he will do. You are fortunate that you won’t survive to see it.”
Ector frowned. “Are you saying that I will die soon?”
“Not for several years. You have time to still be of service.” He dropped his hand and took a step away from the horse. “Stay in Caer Gai until I come for you. There will be dangers in the wider world, and he needs to be protected until he’s ready to face them.”
“If armies come to Caer Gai, I will not have the wherewithal to repel them.”
“Leave that to me.”
He frowned. “I am not one to offer blind trust.”
“Then offer it with your eyes open. When have I ever been wrong? When have I ever had any but Arthur’s best interests at heart?”
“You know I cannot answer that.”
“I know. It was rhetorical.” He took another step back. “Go back to Bedivere and retrieve your sons. Take Amren with you, too. His father will be ready to let him go. He’s done as much damage as he can bear to do.”
A shimmer surrounded Merlin, starting at his feet and working up to his head, covering him like a cloak of heat distortion. He nodded to Ector, then vanished as if he had never been.
Prince Catigern and his entourage left with the coming of the dawn, and though Sir Bedivere might have been disappointed by his failure to secure his patronage, no one was sorry to see him go. The master of the hall busied himself with the ongoing fortification of his keep, but instead of running them ragged as he had done the day before, he left the three boys to their own devices. They ate together in the kitchen, and then Amren left the keep and walked out into the woods. Kay and Arthur followed him, their speed somewhat hampered by the wounds that Arthur struggled not to acknowledge but could not ignore. From time to time, Kay would offer him a hand of support, and he cast a worried look or two at his foster brother, but nothing was said.
The forest near Viroconium was not especially dense or dark, but it was thronged with thick old trees and hushed with the silence of winter. There was no birdsong, but here and there the sound of rustling in the foliage told the boys that the animals had not deserted this place.
They walked in silence until the forest parted for the passage of the River Severn. Amren sat on the river bank and drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs and staring out at the flowing water. Painfully, Arthur sat beside him, while Kay
paced along the water’s edge.
When the oldest boy was out of earshot, Amren said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry I waited so long.”
“It was good for you that you did. If you’d have interrupted him any earlier, he really would have killed you.” He sniffed and turned his face away.
Arthur hesitated, then asked, “Are you all right?”
Amren snorted.
The ridiculousness of his question made Arthur flush in shame. “I mean, are you hurting? Is there anything I can do?”
“You’ve done everything you could.”
He began crying, but tried not to show it. Out of respect, Arthur pretended not to see. Kay skipped a rock into the water, and the sudden splash startled them both.
“Three!” the oldest boy shouted. “Did you see? Three skips! That’s good luck!”
Bedivere’s son shook his head. “He’s an idiot.”
“Yes, but he means well.”
“If you say so.” They were silent for a moment more, watching as Kay poked into the water, looking for fish. Amren spoke again, and his voice was thick. “You must think badly of me.”
“Of you? No! Of course not.” He sighed. “But your father…”
“Don’t speak ill of him. He’s a great man,” he said flatly. Amren’s words sounded like a rote recital, without conviction.
Arthur didn’t want to ask, but felt that he needed to know the answer. Haltingly, he asked, “This isn’t the first time he’s… that wasn’t the first time, was it?”
Amren looked away in shame. “No.”
“I don’t understand it. It’s...wrong.”
“It’s politics. Someday you’ll understand. You’re very young.”
“You’re hardly older than me.”
“It depends on how you count it.”
Kay scrambled back up the bank to where his companions were sitting. “There’s something in the water. It’s the biggest fish I ever saw!”
Amren rose and scowled. “What do I care about fish? You’re such a child.”
The oldest boy’s face darkened with anger at being rebuffed. “I’m not a child! And even if I am, at least I’m not some old man’s comfort slave.”
Arthur was aghast. “Kay!”
Kay’s rash words were answered with a punch in the mouth, and Amren leaped on him with murder in his eyes. Arthur struggled to his feet and tried to intervene. The oldest boy curled up on the ground, wrapping his head in his arms and hunching on his knees like a turtle. Amren flailed at him with fists and feet, and Kay cried out with every blow. Arthur was finally able to pull Amren away.
“Stop, please!” he begged. “He’s sorry. Kay, say you’re sorry!”
His voice was muffled. “I’m sorry!”
“I don’t believe you!” Their host’s son strained forward, but Arthur managed to hold him back.
“I shouldn’t have said it,” Kay whined. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s sorry,” Arthur repeated. “See? He’s sorry. He always talks before he thinks. He didn’t mean it. Please, stop.”
Amren fell still, but his eyes still flashed with rage. He pulled free of Arthur’s grip. With a stony voice, he growled at the boy on the ground, “I hate you.”
He turned and stalked away back into the trees. They let him go.
Kay struggled to his feet and wiped at his split and bloody lip. Arthur shook his head. “Why did you say that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You hurt him.”
Kay held out his reddened fingertips. “He hurt me!”
“And you deserved it.”
“Shut up, you little bastard.”
Arthur pulled himself up as straight and tall as his aching body would allow. “I may be a bastard, but at least I’m not cruel.”
“No, you’re a weak and namby-pamby milquetoast.”
“Better than a mean-spirited bully.”
His foster brother glared at him and marched off toward the keep. Sighing, the remaining boy sat down again at the river’s edge, his legs crossed, his shoulders slumped. The pain in his body was a throbbing cloud that smothered him. He felt confused and wished fervently that his father would return. He wanted to leave this place and its awful happenings.
He didn’t understand why Sir Bedivere had forced his son to do the things he’d required him to do. It was something that had been allowed only because Catigern was rich and powerful, and because Sir Bedivere was trying to woo some of that power for himself. It disgusted Arthur, and he vowed that he would spend the rest of his days preventing such things from happening again.
He looked in the direction that Amren had gone, and he wished that Kay hadn’t said the things he had. The last thing that his new friend needed was to have his pain mocked and used against him. His brother could be mean spirited, saying or doing thoughtless things just to be hurtful. Usually Arthur himself was the target of his pointless vitriol; he was fine with that, because he’d learned how to withstand it and to accept it as the nonsense that it was. It was wrong of Kay to turn that withering tongue onto someone else, though, especially someone who had been hurt so badly just the night before.
He understood people, and he didn’t. He still had so much to learn.
A voice spoke quietly from the river. “Why are you sad?”
Arthur was startled, and he turned wide eyes on the form of a beautiful dark-haired woman rising from the water. She was totally nude, and the sight of her exposed flesh shocked him and caused his body to flush with emotions he could not name.
Brilliantly, he stammered, “I… you… sad?”
“Yes.” Her voice was musical and soft, and her eyes were kind. Her face was like an angel’s, and he could not look away. He thought he had never seen anything or anyone more beautiful. She drifted closer, almost gliding over the grass. Water beaded on her golden skin like jewels, sparkling in the midday sun until she looked like she was wearing a net of pearls. “You’re sad.”
The strange woman reached him and put a gentle finger on his face. The warmth of her touch radiated through him, heating him to his very soul, and his mouth fell open in amazement. Her eyes met his.
“And you’ve been hurt,” she whispered.
He tried to say that it was nothing, but the sound died in his throat. He could not have even said his name if she’d asked it. He was utterly tongue-tied.
She leaned closer. “Your eyes are very blue.”
She kissed his mouth, her lips soft, her skin smelling like flowers and springtime. He kept his eyes wide open, unable to move a muscle in his confoundment. She made a sound in her throat like humming, and then, ever so gently, she touched the tip of her tongue to his.
His body was a riot of sensation, his mind a whirling wreck. His heart pounded as if he’d been running up and down stairways for an hour. Her touch was a lightning strike straight down his spine. When she pulled away, he was sorry to see her go, and he wanted to reach out to her, but he was still in such a state that he couldn’t lift his hands.
The faery woman smiled at him, and he realized that his pain was gone. Now he had even more reason to gape at her.
“You’ll be a fine man,” she said as she drifted back toward the water. “Don’t be sad. You will be loved so much one day.”
She descended backward into the water from whence she’d come, gliding like a ghost until only the ebony gloss of her hair was visible, floating on the ripples. He finally found his voice.
“Who are you?”
Her voice rose like music.
“Niniane.”
When he had finally come to his senses, Arthur decided to follow Amren into the forest. Finding the other boy’s trail was difficult. Amren walked lightly, leaving few broken twigs as guideposts, and it seemed that he understood the wood like a deer. In fact, stalking him was not too unlike hunting a stag, and for a moment, the feeling of hunting another human being gave Arthur an unpleasant chill.
Finally, he found
him, crouching on the edge of a clearing, his eyes intently staring into the open space beyond. Arthur crept up to stand behind him. He could see nothing in the glade that could hold Amren’s attention so firmly. The other boy grabbed his wrist and pulled him down beside him, never tearing his gaze away from whatever held him so riveted.
“Am-”
“Wst!” he shushed him. Obediently, he fell silent.
They stayed that way for a long time, immobile, Amren’s eyes rooted to the clearing. Finally, the younger boy blurted, “What are you looking at?”
A gray and brown speckled bird burst out of its hiding spot and into the sky, spreading its rusty-colored tail feathers as it fled. Too late, Arthur realized that Amren had been watching a grey partridge, its natural camouflage rendering it invisible to his own amateur eyes.
“Sorry.”
Amren rose from his hunter’s pose with a sigh. “It’s all right. Just next time, when I tell you to be quiet, be quiet.”
“I will.” He was chastened only for a moment, and then he remembered why he had been following his friend in the first place. “You have to come back to the river with me.”
The other boy scowled. “Why?”
“There’s something I have to show you. It’s incredible.”
“Is Kay still there?”
“No. I think he’s gone back to the keep.”
Amren went into the clearing and picked up a fallen feather, which he tucked into a pouch at his belt. “For the fletchers,” he said. “What do you want to show me?”
In answer, Arthur tugged his tunic up over his shoulders, revealing his naked back, now completely healed of the lashes it had received the night before. “She healed me.”
Amren touched his skin, his fingers so light that Arthur could hardly feel them. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “Who did?”
“A woman who came out of the water. She was beautiful.” He dropped his tunic back into place and turned to face him. “I’ve never seen - she was - and she - I mean -”
“Stop.”
The other boy looked around for a moment, gauging their location, and Arthur suddenly felt a hundred years younger than him, and rather like an idiot. He held his silence while Amren took stock of things.
