Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  It took such subtle work, this weaving of reality to push and prod human beings to take the positions they were meant to take. Every person’s path intersected with a thousand others, and every person they encountered would have an effect on the path the first person took. Influences had to be managed, and the power of foresight that she had swallowed along with Omiyoshi’s soul had shown her who the best and worst influences would be. The sea nymph had come into his life too soon, which was a problem, and the Breton prince, the one descended from the Judean tin merchant, needed to be found. If he, too, came to Arthur too soon, then all of the ripples from that collision would be wrong, and her machinations would fail.

  Someone had stirred her pot. Guinevere should not have been with Leodegrance for another year, at least, and someone had inspired the Fey King to send his ward to the human world before he should have. She touched the bones on the mirror before her and read the tale they told. There had been interference with the Breton, too.

  She tapped the surface of her mirror, and the image roiled like boiling water. The image of her tower and her own face were chased away by the magical bubbling, and then she saw the scene in Benoic. Vivienne’s face darkened in rage as she watched her sister Annowre cursing the child, making him ten times the liability to Arthur he was meant to be. She saw the ninth Lady of the Lake, gentle Evienne, casting her intercession, and it was all Vivienne could do to keep from smashing her mirror in rage.

  That child, Galahad, was meant to be the perfect knight, the one who would help Arthur achieve the twin relics that would make him the power he needed to be. Now, with these meddling spells, they had turned him into something both much more and much less than she had foreseen. He should have been an ally; now he would be either enemy or lover, and possibly both, and his influence would now be ten times greater than it would have been before.

  She telepathically called her son, and Merlin came to her immediately. He sensed her anger as soon as he arrived, and he wisely hovered just outside of reach. Vivienne would never hurt her boy, but sometimes...well, sometimes accidents happened.

  “Find Annowre,” she said. “Bring her to me.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said immediately. The children of succubi were obedient.

  She felt him vanish once again, and she watched her sister in her mirror until she disappeared from sight. There would be a way to contain this damage.

  Vivienne simply had to find it.

  On the morning of All Hallow’s Eve, Sir Ector stood at the window of his bedroom, looking out at the tiltyard where Sir Kay was working with Griflet and Sir Brastias. He found himself keeping an eye on the southbound road coming down from northern Gwynedd, eager for his foster son’s return, even though he knew that if Merlin was bringing him, they would likely be using no road that he could see.

  The keep had felt lonely without Arthur in it. There were more people than usual, which should have helped to fill the void, but with Kay now in his own quarters in the guest house and Arthur somewhere under Merlin’s care, his heart and his home felt empty. He was losing his children.

  He wondered, not for the first time, if he had been wrong to allow Arthur to go with Merlin. He knew that the druid was mostly trustworthy, and since he had been the one to bring Arthur to him in the first place, he wanted to believe that Merlin had the boy’s best interests at heart. He still wished he knew what the druid had decided Arthur needed to learn, and what sort of changes he would see when they returned. They were supposed to return tomorrow, and every hour of waiting was painfully long.

  He smiled as he watched Brastias giving Kay a devil of a time with his sword, teaching his son how to defend and deflect with his shield. Kay was learning quickly and would be a mighty warrior in due time. It was good that Brastias was here to help him. With his useless arm, Ector himself would never have been able to train his son appropriately. He was grateful to his old friend for staying.

  Kay’s training was not the only thing keeping Brastias at Caer Gai, though, and Ector was well aware that Garwen was at the heart of his old friend’s decision. The knight was clearly smitten with Ector’s pretty young ward, and he tarried at the keep to stay at her side. Bedivere, Garwen’s uncle, had left her at Caer Gai in the hopes that Ector would find her pleasing and take her as his bride. She was far too young for him, though, and his heart would never belong to anyone but Aelwen, his much-missed wife. Besides, he would make no good husband for the young woman with a withered arm and all of his best days behind him. She was too young for Brastias, too, but at least his old friend had two good arms he could use to hold her.

  He looked toward the road again. It was just as empty as before.

  Merlin stepped into Arthur’s hut as the young man was gathering his possessions into his borrowed saddle bags. Outside, Avona was saddled and waiting, patient as only an old horse could be. The druid watched quietly.

  “I had thought that you’d stay through tonight’s bonfire,” he told him.

  Arthur shook his head. He had known this objection was likely to come. “It’s a long way to Caer Gai, and you said I would be there in time for the All Souls’ celebration. That’s a morning Mass. If I’m to be on time, I need to leave now. I probably should have left yesterday.”

  Merlin stepped forward and put a hand on Arthur’s wrist. “I can take you magically. There’s no need to hurry off. Besides...you should not be on the road in the wood at midnight.”

  He straightened and looked into his companion’s eyes. He was taller than Merlin now, and broader as well. “Why not? Midnight or noon, it makes no difference. The same beasts are in the wood no matter what time of day it is.”

  “That’s not necessarily so, especially not on Samhain.” He tilted his head in the sort of birdlike quizzical expression that Arthur had come to know and mistrust. “Are you eager to return to your church-going ways?”

  The youth turned back to his saddlebag and lashed it closed. “I find comfort in it.”

  “And there’s no comfort in the wildwood?”

  He hesitated. Any denial would be a lie, and they both knew it. Arthur loved the forest; being silent among the trees and animals was soothing to him, and he had come to enjoy trips into the greenwood to search for medicinal herbs and sweet berries. He smiled and steered the path of truth. “Of course there is. You know how I love it.”

  “Yes.” Merlin sat upon his bed. “Tell me, Arthur, where is your soul the most at ease? Is it when you’re in the forest, communing with the elemental forces of the world, or is it when you’re in the chapel at Caer Gai among the stones and crosses?”

  Arthur moved the bag and sat beside him with a sigh. “Am I to be completely honest?”

  “In this moment? Yes.”

  “The feeling is the same. I feel the breath of God inside the chapel, and the scent of the tallow candles and the incense speaks of heaven to me. But when the wind is in the trees, that speaks of heaven, too. Can I be both Christian and pagan at the same time, Merlin? Is such a thing even possible?”

  The druid smiled. “Where you are going, my friend, it’s not just possible, it is advisable.”

  “And where is that I’m going?”

  “To places I cannot tell you yet,” he answered. Arthur frowned in frustration, and Merlin said almost apologetically, “I know you want to know the answer, but it’s not time yet for you to be told. More needs to happen, and it must happen naturally, without any foreknowledge on your part. Can you accept that?”

  He tried not to sound surly and failed. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Honestly, no.”

  Arthur snorted softly. “So that’s that. I hope I end up where you want me to be.”

  “You will. It is your destiny.”

  Your destiny has come. The words the Goddess had spoken to him rang in his mind. Merlin tilted his head again, but he said nothing, and Arthur did not volunteer.

  There was a tap at the doorway, and they looked up to see Enfys standing there, her dark hair tangle
d with tiny twigs and pieces of leaves. “Arthur, would you help us to build the wicker man?”

  He rose. “I would be happy to do so.”

  Her smile brightened, and she said to Merlin, “You don’t mind, do you, Master?”

  “Not at all.” He stood as well. “I should see to preparations of my own.”

  Enfys held out her hand to Arthur, and he took it in his own. It was tiny compared to his, vanishing into his grip. She led him into the center of the grove, where a huge pile of dry sticks and fallen wood was assembled. He joined the rest of the grove’s denizens in lashing the kindling together until a man-shaped creation finally lay on the ground, its arms outstretched, its legs spread wide. With the rest of the men, he helped to haul the heavy figure up onto its feet, a chore that they accomplished with ropes and a great deal of effort. Once it was upright, they tied it to an upright post that had been driven into the ground for this express purpose. Enfys and some of the ladies piled more kindling around the base of the effigy, and others followed behind them to pour buckets of pitch onto the wood intended for the pyre.

  The construction and positioning of the wicker man was thirsty work, and Enfys brought Arthur a skin filled with cool water, which he gratefully accepted. He drank, then handed the water skin back to her. She took it from him, her eyes searching his face. He smiled self-consciously.

  “What?”

  “I am trying to remember your face,” she said softly. “I will not see it again after tonight.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said, trying to reassure her.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes moistening. “I do.”

  He was surprised and dismayed by her tears. He put his hands on her shoulders and said in a gentle voice, “We may see one another again, Enfys. Nothing is certain.”

  She turned her face up toward him, and without thinking, he leaned toward her, and their mouths met in a gentle kiss. He had never kissed a woman before, except for Niniane, who had kissed him; the softness of the touch took him by surprise. Amren’s lips had been soft, but there had always been a fierceness behind his kisses, something strong and sturdy that was nothing like the yielding sweetness that Enfys showed. He lingered for a moment, and then she pulled away, blushing.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I should not...”

  “No,” said another druidess who was walking closer, her eyes full of disapproval. “You should not.”

  Enfys broke free of his hands and hurried away, her breath catching in her throat as she went. Arthur looked up at the new arrival. He did not know her face, but her eyes were a startling shade of yellow. Merlin’s tales of half-human, half-animal creatures rose in his mind, and he took a suspicious step back.

  The woman pushed back her black hood and looked up at the wicker man, which towered high above both of their heads. “It will burn brightly,” she said.

  “As it is meant to do.”

  He knew he had sounded stiff and unfriendly, and while he thought perhaps he should have been less churlish, he couldn’t regret displaying his displeasure at her interruption. The woman looked at him, and her eyes flashed. “You are a bold cub, aren’t you? You may grow up to be a full bear yet.”

  Merlin appeared on the green, forming the third corner of their triangle, his arms folded over his chest. “Annowre,” he greeted. “I have been looking for you. Haven’t you caused enough mischief?”

  “No, indeed,” she said. She turned to face him. “Take a message to your mother. I know what her prizes are, and I am taking every step I can to ensure that she doesn’t obtain them.”

  “I heard about your little performance in Benoic,” he said. “Not very sporting to curse a newborn babe.”

  “It is, when we both know what that babe will grow up to be.”

  “An ally when the time comes.”

  “No longer. I have seen to that.”

  Arthur looked from one to the other in confusion. As always, these druids spoke in half-statements and riddles that seemed to touch on him. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  They ignored him. Annowre walked closer to Merlin, and the druid stood his ground. The air between them crackled with power, and Arthur felt the small hairs on his body stand in response.

  “You are such a doting child,” Annowre told Merlin, sneering the words. “Such an obedient servant to the whore who bore you.”

  Merlin raised his right hand, and his fingertips had been transformed into claws like a raptor’s talons. “Mind your manners, bitch,” he warned. “I will not tolerate another such word out of your unworthy mouth.”

  The sorceress growled and dropped to all fours, her body shifting. Her hands became massive paws, long nails digging into the ground, and her cloak and dress vanished as black fur began to sprout all over her skin. Her face elongated, forming a snout with white, gnashing fangs, and her ears stood tall and pointed above her head. A thick tail sprouted at the base of her spine, and soon where the woman had been a huge wolf now stood. She threw her head back and howled.

  Arthur pulled his dagger from its sheath at his waist and advanced upon her. Merlin shouted, “Hold!”

  He stopped short. The wolf turned and looked at him, her golden eyes flashing, and then she leaped away into wood surrounding the grove, passing from view. Merlin grumbled to himself and completed a transformation of his own, becoming a great white owl that flew after the fleeing wolf.

  Arthur stood in the grove, the dagger still clutched in his hand, dumbfounded.

  The wolf raced through the underbrush, passing with druidic silence despite the thickness of the bushes. The owl raced through the branches overhead, keeping pace. Merlin spread his talons and hurtled after the fleeing Annowre, but she dodged his strike and snapped at him with her powerful jaws. He flinched back just in time to avoid the bite.

  Annowre leaped over a fallen tree trunk and skidded through a clearing, dirt clumps flying up behind her with every powerful stride. Merlin careened around another tree and got ahead of her, where he shifted back into his humanoid form. The wolf stopped short, snarling.

  “Bark all you like, dog,” Merlin taunted. “My mother would have a word with you.”

  Annowre resumed her womanly appearance and said, “I will not speak to Vivienne. I have nothing to say to her.”

  “You had a message for her. Deliver it yourself.”

  He cast a silent spell, and suddenly they were standing on the edge of his mother’s tower overlooking the sea below. The curtains of her sanctuary billowed on the wind, and in the center of the colonnaded room, Vivienne sat in her chair like a queen upon her throne. Her power rolled from her in waves, and Merlin shoved Annowre down onto her knees before his mother.

  Vivienne spoke first. “You have caused me a great deal of trouble, sister.” She spat the last word as if it was acid that was burning her tongue. “I do not appreciate your interference. Do you really think that you are clever and powerful enough to prevent me?”

  Annowre rose with a glare. “I do, and I am. You already have power enough. It’s time that the rest of us were able to enjoy this realm, too.”

  “This is my realm,” Vivienne bit. “Nobody enjoys its power but me.”

  Her sister tossed her head. “Until now.”

  Vivienne raised her hand, and a column of fire flashed out of her palm. It arched toward Annowre’s chest, where it was deflected by a shield of opaque white energy that appeared in front of her. The fire bounced off and struck one of the columns, setting its curtain alight. Annowre laughed at the flicker of surprise on her older sister’s face.

  “I have learned more than you think I have.” She turned to face Merlin and spat, “Cnêowlian foran me!”

  The druid’s face contorted as he struggled against the command to kneel. He whispered, “Rwy'n gwrthod…” His magic rose and countered hers, and he cast off her enchantment.

  Annowre laughed again, and Vivienne whispered words of magic and clenched her hand. The laughter stopped as the younger sorcer
ess gasped, writhing in the grip of an invisible fist. Vivienne’s knuckles whitened as she squeezed, and the sound of breaking bones filled the room.

  Annowre screamed.

  Vivienne shook her hand once, and her prisoner was rattled like a doll in a child’s hand. She cast her hand forward and opened her fist, and Annowre flew backward, falling over the edge of the tower toward the rocks below.

  Merlin went to the edge and looked down. There was no sign of Annowre on the rocks, but he hadn’t really expected to find one. Sorceresses, especially sorceresses who were also demons, were hard to kill. He turned back toward his mother.

  “Hopefully she has learned some respect,” he said.

  “I doubt that she has.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “She will require watching.”

  He looked up at the sky, judging the time of day. “I must go back to the grove. This is my last night with Arthur before Londinium.”

  “Yes.” She beckoned him to her, and he came to kiss her. She patted his arm. “You’ve done well, my son.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” He stood a little straighter. “Tonight will be an interesting night.”

  Vivienne nodded to herself as Merlin vanished from sight. “Indeed it will.”

  Arthur paced near the edge of the wood into which Merlin had flown, his mind agitated by what he had seen. He had never, not even in dreams, believed that such power was possible, and it frightened him. If a man could become an owl, or a woman become a wolf, then what else might a magic user do? Would there be any way to stand against them, or would it be like trying to fight the gods?