Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral)

by Robert Treskillard

  Merlin pulled him close. “Not this time, but someday you’ll join me. Though not as a warrior . . . as a bard. Have you practiced your harp today?”

  Taliesin frowned. “But, Tas! I’ve even strapped my knife inside my breeches in case I’m caught.”

  “Practiced harp?”

  The boy’s body sagged. “Yes.”

  “And your Latin?”

  “Um . . .”

  “Your rhyming?”

  “Yes!” he said, nodding.

  Natalenya put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And he’s been learning a new song we made named ‘Tingada’s Cloak’ — haven’t you?”

  Taliesin nodded.

  “Well,” Merlin said. “I’ll have to hear it before I go.”

  Merlin helped Natalenya clean up from the meal, but her silence made him feel awkward.

  Finally, after he had buried the coals in the ashes for the night, she spoke.

  “Merlin . . .”

  He looked at her, and a tear hung in the lash of her right eye.

  “Are you sure Artorius is ready?”

  “Yes, as sure as I can be. Caygek’s drilled him expertly in the sword. Bedwir in the spear and shield. Peredur taught him horsemanship. Ector taught him battle tactics and how to lead. And I’ve passed on all the reasoning skills and knowledge that he might need from what Colvarth imparted to me.”

  “But is he ready?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Natalenya wiped the tear away and gave a light smirk. “Did he show you his latest trick?”

  “Just before I came . . . He’s so reckless.”

  “I know.”

  Natalenya fell asleep that night with a hand draped down, resting on Tinga’s curly head where she slept on a woolen mat beside her parents’ bed — listening to the wonderfully soothing sound of Merlin’s gentle breathing beside her, and beyond him on the floor, Taliesin’s.

  She dreamt then, of Merlin and her in a boat on Lake Derwentlin while the summer sun shone down. As she reached out to him the dream shifted to her hand and his bound together with crimson ribbon. Colvarth stood before them, blessing their marriage in the name of Jesu Christus. The sweet, earthy smell of eglantine and musk roses filled the air, and Merlin smiled at her nervously, but with a light in his eyes that warmed her soul.

  And Arthur celebrated with them, only two winters old then, but standing proudly with his little cloak thrown over his shoulder.

  The images shifted. Darkness covered the world, and a child’s scream split the night air. Arthur!

  Natalenya ran from her bedroom and through the dark great room, where the sound of her feet echoed upward to be muffled by the thatch roof. The crying drew her forward, pulling desperately at the deepest part of her. She heard a clicking sound, as though some taloned beast scuffled through the crennig.

  She ran through the doorway of the stone wall to Arthur’s room and rounded the corner to face his bedside, her arms already held out to pick up the sobbing boy. But he wasn’t there.

  Behind her, she perceived a scraping noise, and more clicking. She spun. Her bare foot hit some moisture, and in the pale moonlight she saw a trail of liquid drops making a path to the window. The iron bars Merlin had fitted had been cut and bent down. She knelt and touched the moisture with her finger. It was dark.

  Blood. Arthur!

  She screamed, startling herself awake, her chest thump-thump-thumping.

  Merlin lay sleeping next to her, his handsome, scarred face barely visible in the darkness. She sat up and listened. The house was quiet. She reached down and felt Tinga’s warm cheek, and the little girl muttered in her sleep.

  Biting her lip, Natalenya studied the room carefully as her heart calmed down. But nothing was there. It had just been a horrible dream. Arthur was eighteen now, and sleeping in the stables tonight before the muster. There was nothing to worry about, so she lay back down and rolled over, resting her hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

  She dozed briefly while the dry wind blew outside and rustled the thatch. She awoke again with a start. She had heard something. A deeper noise had tickled her ear. On the other side of the house. Shuffling. Maybe Arthur had come back to get something. But she distinctly remembered Merlin barring the door.

  She slipped from the bed, quietly stepping over Tinga. The stone floor felt cold to her feet, and her nightgown caressed her toes like ghostly fingers, sending shivers up her legs. Stepping into the great room, she listened, but there was nothing. Walking silently over to the shadowed door, she felt for the bar . . . and found it’d been slid to the side, out of place. The door creaked loosely in its frame.

  With trembling fingers, Natalenya pushed the bar into place. Listening again, she heard . . . a slight noise coming from Arthur’s bedroom. He must have come after all. Maybe Merlin knew he’d be back. She walked into his room.

  “Artorius . . . can I help — ”

  She froze. Someone stood next to Arthur’s bed wearing a dark cloak and hood. Arthur didn’t wear anything like that. But Merlin did. Had he and Arthur planned to leave early? Though that made little sense.

  She took another step forward. “Merlin, this is no time — ”

  The man turned, and she saw a thin fringe of tartan on the edge of his hood — blue, green, and white. Merlin’s cloak was entirely black.

  She filled her lungs to scream for help, but fear strangled her throat and froze her limbs.

  The man stepped closer to Natalenya and pulled a dark mask from his face. The moonlight illuminated his bearded chin and cracked, bleeding lips. But something was wrong with his face. Misshapen, but somehow familiar at the same time.

  He opened his mouth wide and tried to speak.

  She fell back a step. His teeth were sharp like that of a beast, and the tip of his tongue had been bitten off — its horrible, bloody stump writhing around in his mouth.

  “Atha-Artha-AAATHA!” he kept calling, and with each sound his lips contorted until his mouth frothed in rage.

  Natalenya sucked at the air until she found enough breath to scream.

  The man looked down and began to reach inside his cloak.

  He must be grabbing a knife! She screamed again, louder, and the man leapt at her with incredible speed, slammed his hand over her mouth, and pulled her tight to his chest.

  Natalenya awoke. Someone held her head, and she screamed again, flailing her fists.

  “Natalenya!” a voice called.

  She reached at the sound, grabbed the man’s hair, and pulled hard.

  “Ow! Natalenya!” the man said. It was Merlin’s voice.

  Letting go, she began to cry. Merlin was holding her. She was safe.

  “Are you well?”

  “No . . . no . . . there was a man.”

  Sudden tension filled Merlin’s voice. “A what?”

  “A man. I thought he was you, I . . .”

  Merlin rose quickly and looked around. “There’s no one here.”

  She sat up and saw she was on the floor in Arthur’s bedroom. “He left, then. He got away.”

  “No one was here. I came right away.”

  “The door, check the door. I had to bar it. He must have fled through the door.”

  “Stay here while I — ”

  The wind blew hard outside, and the thatch shivered above her.

  “No. Take me with you. Don’t leave me.”

  “Fine.”

  Together they walked toward the door, with her holding Merlin’s hand tightly.

  “See . . . it’s still barred. Just as I left it before bed.”

  “Then he’s still here!”

  “Natalenya.” Merlin reached out and stroked her cheek. She pulled away.

  A cry came from their bedroom.

  “Tinga!” Her heart began racing again. All the windows had bars in them. If the door was still locked, then the man was still here.

  Merlin and Natalenya ran, arm in arm, only to find Tingada sitting up, pushing the brown hair from her eyes. Noth
ing else unusual. Taliesin rolled over.

  Natalenya fell to her knees and grabbed Tinga up in a hug, breathing in the piney smell of her clothes.

  “I’s dreamed ov a big wolf. He tried ta bite me, but I didn’ leth ’im.”

  Merlin furrowed Taliesin’s hair. “Mommy had a bad dream too.”

  She glared at him. “I’ve heard your stories. What if it’s your sister?”

  “You said it was a man.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “We’ve lived in peace for sixteen years.”

  Despite his words, Natalenya saw a slight worry etched in the lines around his eyes.

  “What if she’s come back?” Natalenya grabbed the lamp next to their bed and frantically lit it with a live cinder from the coal box. Turning to Merlin, she handed it to him. “Search the house, please.”

  Merlin nodded, but she could tell he was humoring her.

  As Natalenya waited with Tinga in the dark, a thought came to her, and she looked up. Taliesin often climbed amongst the network of timbers supporting the roof. Once he even climbed out the smoke-hole. Could the man be hiding up there?

  When Merlin returned, having found nothing, she asked him to scale their bedroom wall and shine the light upward.

  He squinted at her.

  “Please.”

  So he climbed the rock wall separating their bedroom from the rest of the crennig and stood upon the top amongst the timbers. She passed up the lamp, and he wrapped his arm around one of the cross timbers so he could hold up the light until it illuminated the entire ceiling.

  “Nothing,” he called down.

  She blinked.

  Outside, and from far away, a wolf howled.

  Natalenya looked at him then, and saw dread pass across his face, but then it was gone.

  “Maybe you just heard something outside,” he said.

  “No.”

  “Once the battle with the Picti is over, we’ll have to call for a wolf hunt. We can’t allow them to come unchallenged to the valley, or else we’ll end up with horses injured, maybe foals dead.”

  “The man was standing over Artorius’s bed — ”

  Merlin sighed. “Even if you didn’t dream it, Artorius is not in any danger. The main stables are better guarded than Ector’s hall.”

  Natalenya shook her head. The dreams, the wolves. It was no coincidence. Something was wrong.

  Merlin awoke to the luscious smell of steamed einkorn biscuits, fried cabbage and kale, along with the pop-plop sound of oatmeal boiling over the fire.

  He rolled to face the center of the bed and found Taliesin sleeping next to him in Natalenya’s place. His hair had been smashed against his sweaty head, and he was snoring lightly. Peeking over his son, he saw Tinga still curled up on her pallet, her wet thumb lying next to her half-open mouth. Merlin drank in the moment, a simple yet bounteous gift after many hard days on the trail to and from Urien’s hall. What were titles and kings compared to his family? Nothing, nothing at all, and he thanked God for the miracle of life.

  Rising from the straw mattress, he splashed water on his face from a basin, stretched, and pulled on his tunic. Walking into the living area, he found Natalenya stirring the oatmeal.

  “Morning,” he said, giving her a hug from behind and a tickle. This produced a giggle, a jab in the ribs, and a spoon-holding hug in return.

  Merlin held her chin gently and looked into her eyes. “How are you?”

  “Scared.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you last night.”

  “It’s not that. Not exactly.” She turned away from him to take the pot off the fire. “You’re leaving.”

  “You could stay with Aunt Eira.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Taliesin stepped out of the bedroom, looked around blankly until he saw Merlin, and then ran to him. After a brief hug, the boy picked up a steaming biscuit from the pan and shifted from foot to foot while he blew on it.

  “Go outside,” Natalenya said.

  “I don’t have to.”

  “Leave the biscuit here and go to the outhouse.”

  Taliesin popped it between his teeth and ran outside.

  Natalenya shook her head. “That boy.”

  “I think he’s taller.”

  “He eats enough to be twice his height.”

  While Natalenya finished frying the cabbage, Merlin opened the large secret compartment hidden in the back of their pantry shelf and brought out his harp. At least the children would have fun hiding in there while he was gone. One time they even got Natalenya to hide with them, and then they’d all banged the slim door open and jumped out to surprise him.

  He settled beside the hearth to tune the harp, and as he touched its aged wood — accented with painted knotwork, spirals, and ancient designs — he remembered Colvarth, the former chief bard of Britain. The man had given the harp to Merlin and had taught him everything he knew about being a bard. The instrument was, in fact, the Harp of Britain, a precious gift, and there was no other of its antiquity or beauty anywhere on the isle. One day, the Lord willing, when Arthur took his rightful place as High King — Merlin would stand by his side as the next chief bard.

  He needed to visit Colvarth’s grave again, soon. It was just that he rarely made it to the southern end of the valley and beyond to the mountain pass where the old bard was buried in a secret cave.

  Tinga, in a just-woken daze, wandered from the bedroom into Natalenya’s arms even as Taliesin came back in and sat next to Merlin.

  “Are you going to bring the harp to battle?”

  “Yes.”

  Tinga came and hugged Merlin, “But how can ya fight wid tha harp in yar handth?”

  “A bard doesn’t fight,” Taliesin said as he spread some butter on his biscuit.

  “But you like fightin’, Tal.”

  “Sure I do, but a bard’s gotta do what a bard’s gotta do, even if it’s not fun.”

  “Fighting isn’t for fun,” Merlin said. “We fight to save mothers, sons, sisters, and babies. To keep our homes from being burned down. To not be made — ”

  Natalenya cleared her throat, and Merlin caught her eye.

  “Anyway, it’s my job to compose a song that commemorates the battle and praises the valor of the men.”

  “So it won’t be forgotten,” Taliesin said, his mouth half full.

  Merlin tweaked his nose. “You remembered!”

  Tinga stuck her thumb into the oatmeal and tasted it. “But what if they ’tack ya? Can ya bonk ’em with tha harp?”

  Merlin shook his head and smiled at her.

  When the meal was ready, Merlin found his place at the hearth between Natalenya and Tingada, across from Taliesin, and once again celebrated his short time with them. When the dish of cabbage and kale was finished off, the biscuits buttered, dipped in honey, and eaten with the savory oatmeal, Merlin sat back and sighed.

  Natalenya took his hand and kissed it. “Don’t leave. Please.”

  “Artorius is going. I need to be there.”

  “I know. I just wish — ”

  He leaned over and hugged her. “No more words. I wish it too.”

  Merlin swung up onto his horse and had a stable hand pass him the leather-wrapped harp. Slinging it onto his back, he nodded to Peredur and they rode off to join the muster. Arthur, Culann, and Dwin had preceded them; their horses were missing from their stalls.

  “It’s a big day, this,” Peredur said. “Sixteen years o’ training, and soon we’ll get to see ’im fight.”

  “If we can keep up with him,” Merlin said, urging his horse northward across the valley to the large gathering of mounted men. Spotting his uncle’s pennant waving in the wind, he weaved through the groups of warriors spread out over the green.

  As Merlin approached, he admired Ector’s highly polished scale armor. It covered him from chest to mid-thigh and was topped with a light-blue cloak thrown over his shoulder and a broad leather belt from which hung his
great sword.

  “Don’t tell me you changed your mind,” Ector said, adjusting his helm.

  “About what?”

  “Artorius. Who do you think?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Haven’t seen him, and the scouts haven’t either.”

  “He’s here. His horse isn’t in the stable.”

  “Check for yourself. There’s still time while we wait for the tenders to bring the extra mounts from the far valley.” Ector turned away to address one of his men.

  Merlin looked to Peredur, who raised an eyebrow. They parted, going in opposite directions. As Merlin trotted amongst the men, he saw villagers he knew, hardy men who lived off the land and helped raise the horses — valiant men who were now sallying forth to danger and battle in support of their chieftain and king.

  But no Arthur.

  Merlin rode his horse into the center, where the men were pressed tightest.

  “Has anyone seen Artorius?” he asked, but was met with thoughtful stares and shaking heads.

  Peredur met him on the other side and shook his head as well.

  Merlin began to truly worry.

  “Where could they have gone?”

  Peredur bit his lip. “Let’s talk wi’ the stable hands.”

  And so back they went to the massive stone-and-thatch structure that was the main stable for the valley, situated next to his uncle’s feasting hall. The place was almost deserted, with only a few broodmares eating hay at the far end.

  “Anyone here?” Merlin called.

  A tired-looking boy popped out from a stall with an oaken shovel. “Me’s here, Lord Ambrosius.”

  “Have you seen Artorius anywhere? He — ”

  “Not seen ’im here at all, an’ I been gettin’ the horses saddled since ’afore sunup.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Nah, nah, but tha’ knows his horse, Casva? He was gone early, along with twa others. I remember because it made less work fer mah. That horse is a bit too high-spirited, I say, and makes the work o’ a mucker that muckle harder.”

  “But when did they leave?”

  “A lang time ago, as tha’ already knows.”

  Peredur backed his horse out the door. “Could they have decided to get a head start?”