by J A Cummings
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 tangled 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 t
hat 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 sorceress 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?
He didn’t know. He only knew that being confronted by so much power in the hands of people he didn’t entirely trust made him feel small and vulnerable. He could train in feats of arms until he was the mightiest warrior in the world, but in the face of magic, there would be nothing he could do. There was no weapon he could possibly wield that would protect him or the people that he loved.
He thought of the things that Father Marcus always talked about at the chapel in Caer Gai, about how the Lord would be their shelter and their refuge against the schemes of the Devil and the evil of men. He wondered if the Lord would be strong enough to stand between him and the sorcery he’d seen. He had heard a story about a prophet of God fighting against a magician in Egypt, and how that prophet and the magician had gone toe-to-toe with no clear winner. It was not a ringing endorsement for the ability of the Christian God to counteract pagan magic.
The sound of laughter rose behind him, and he looked back to see the druids building an altar with little effigies of those who had died over the year. They heaped food and drink onto the altar between those effigies and the looming central figure of the wicker man, preparing for the sacrifice and celebration to come. There was an effigy missing from the collection, and he damned himself for a fool before going to retrieve it.
In his hut, wrapped in one of his shirts, was a wooden figure of Amren. He had carved it himself, working on it every night after his lessons were through. He was no sculptor, but he thought the likeness was good enough that Amren’s spirit would recognize himself. Surely if anyone should have known his face and how to replicate it, it was Arthur. He held the tiny figure and kissed it tenderly, his heart aching once again for his lost love. He blinked away a tear and took the effigy out of the hut and placed it on the altar.
Merlin was standing near the altar when he arrived, and he watched Arthur as added his figure to the collection. The druid had a strange and pensive expression on his face.
“For Amren,” he said softly. “I had not thought you would be seeking him tonight.”
Arthur nodded. “Of course I am. How… how did you turn yourself into an owl?”
“Magic.” He smiled. “It’s just an enchantment. Fairly simple once you know how to do it. With enchantments, you can change yourself into just about anything, or anyone.”
“Can you change others, too?”
“Yes.” Merlin stepped closer and reached for the figure Arthur had placed on the altar. He hesitated before he touched it, asking politely, “May I?”
Arthur nodded wordlessly.
The druid picked up the little wooden carving and studied it in silence for a moment. Arthur watched Merlin’s face, trying to read his thoughts in the flickering emotions in his eyes. The druid remained as inscrutable as ever, and Arthur sighed. He would never understand this man, he was certain of it.
“It’s a good likeness,” Merlin said finally. “Perhaps his spirit will find his way back to you before his final journey to Annwn.”
“That’s my hope,” Arthur admitted. “That’s what the Samhain ritual is meant to do, isn’t it? Call the spirits of the dead back to us one more time so that we can see them and speak to them?”
“Among other things, yes.” He put the figure back in its place. “Do you hope to speak to Amren tonight?”
“I want to see him.” He looked away, feeling his eyes stinging again. “I want to know that he’s all right, and I want him to know that his killer has been dealt with.”
Merlin nodded. “I’m sure he knows that Pryderi is dead. And I’m certain that he’s happy now in the land beyond the veil.”
