The burnt skin on Merlin’s hands mended. He opened his eyes, and colors swirled and danced before him. Bright red and blue. Orange. Even green. The tints blended and separated, coursing past him until finally coming into focus. Clear and bright the world seemed at first, and even as his vision of the angel faded, his new eyesight remained.
For the first time in seven years, he could truly see in the waking world. There was neither blur nor haze nor confusing shadow. He touched his eyelids and cheeks and felt his same old scars, but the wounds upon the eyes themselves had been healed.
His joy and wonder faded as the dark scene before him appeared. The broken smithy. The fire consuming the timbers and thatch of the ceiling. Natalenya pulling herself up from the ground with shaking resilience. The Stone, dark and silent, with the High King’s sword thrust through.
Dybris lay near, groaning and gripping his head. And Merlin’s father! Four feet from Merlin, he lay deathly still in a green druid robe, with blood draining from a deep cleft at his neck.
The angry tongues of fire spread upward through the thatch, and while smoke began to fill the room, the heat threatened to burn Merlin’s newly healed skin.
“Natalenya!”
She looked at him in shock, her dress charred and soot-stained from their ordeal.
“Go to Dybris,” he said. “We need to get out!”
Merlin grabbed his father’s wrists and dragged him out the broken doors of the smithy. Natalenya was close behind as she tugged at the monk’s legs.
All around them lay the druidow and villagers, thrown down where they had stood, their torches snuffed but smoldering. For a moment Merlin feared that the destruction of the Stone had slain them, that he and his companions alone survived. But no, they were moaning, barely stirring. Lord, let them finally be free of the Stone’s enchantment.
The thunder-driven wind fed the roof’s crackling flames. His father coughed weakly, and Merlin pulled him into the garden just far enough from the smithy to be safe from the fire. Natalenya followed with Dybris.
Merlin ran his hand through his father’s red-slicked hair and pressed his ear to his father’s chest. “Stay with me, Tas.”
His father opened an eye. “Merlin … failed you again.”
“No, you saved me! And we destroyed the Stone —”
“We did … good.”
“We’ll have time now —”
“No.”
Tears streamed down Merlin’s face. “Tas!”
“Garth’s bagpipe … in the house … traded for it with the merchant … Needed his horse … reshod … It’s in a basket near the grain … Unfair Tregeagle forced it … to be sold. You —”
“No! You give it to Garth. You’ll get better!”
But Owain wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes viewed the stormy sky, and the deep lines of his face relaxed. “I see family … friends … kin … my clan … beckon from a feasting hall … high in the mountains.”
“Who? Who do you see?”
“My younger brother … he’s there. My mother, she stands so straight now. But” — his bloody brow furrowed — “Gwev’s not there.”
Merlin choked on a sob. “Mother’s not there?”
“No, but I go … my father so tall … strong … He holds for me the welcome cup.”
“Tas!”
“Love you … son.” With those last words, his eyes dulled, and Merlin felt his father’s heart flutter to a stop.
“Tas!” Merlin pounded the ground with his fists, and his whole body shook in great sobs. He lifted his father, now limp, and tried to sit him up. He listened at his father’s chest and raised his head only to have it fall back down into his cradling, shaking embrace.
Natalenya put her arms around Merlin, but her consolation was interrupted by the screaming of a woman who ran toward them. “O-wain!”
Mônda. Her hair was unkempt, and her sunken eyes were gripped with fear. Her left arm puffed out of her sleeve with a scabrous infection.
Merlin’s sister, Ganieda, wasn’t far behind. She stared in disbelief at the bloody scene of their father’s death.
Mônda kissed her dead husband’s cheek until her lips were covered in blood. “No, you are mine!” she cried. “You can’t die.” She clawed her broken fingernails through her hair, then standing, she shrieked and ran off into the darkness.
Ganieda grabbed Merlin’s sleeve and shook him. Her face contorted and her lips trembled. “You destroyed our family. I hate you. I will hate you forever!”
And she dashed away after her mother.
CHAPTER 37
THE SURRENDERED LIFE
The flames from the smithy roared upward, and cinders had landed on the thatch of his family’s crennig, lighting it on fire. Merlin wiped the tears from his eyes and squeezed Natalenya’s hand. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
He ran toward the house.
Natalenya picked up his walking stick. “Merlin! You forgot your staff —”
“I don’t need it.” He hurled himself through the doorway. For the first time in seven years, he saw his family’s home, but there was no time to tarry. He hurried to the back of the house where his family kept baskets for keeping grain and other things, throwing lids to the side. But he couldn’t find the bagpipe.
In the corner lay an uncovered basket with a chicken nestled on top, and Merlin ran toward it in desperation. The bird squawked as he shooed it away, and underneath lay Garth’s bagpipe in an open woolen sack. It seemed like years since Merlin and his father had spoken of the bagpipe as Garth’s only memory of his dead father.
Now Merlin was an orphan as well, and what memory would he treasure? Smoke leaked into the house, and flames shot through the thatch.
He had to choose, and fast.
Sprinting to the wall by the table, he selected his father’s personal long sword, one of better quality that his father prized. The cross-guard was of braided iron in the shape of ox horns, and its tapered blade made singing arcs when slashed through the air. With Uther’s blade now embedded in the Stone, Merlin would need a serious weapon to protect himself. And his dirk could be put to better use.
Next he grabbed his harp from its peg near the table and slung it over his shoulder. From there he spied one of his father’s rings sitting near a pot of stale goat milk and took it. He had felt it many times on his father’s left hand, though it was but a simple thing of cast pewter with a small white stone.
The room was now half filled with smoke. Ducking over to the hearth, Merlin pried a stone from the floor and snatched a bag of coins from his father’s hiding spot. He rushed out the door and into the fresh air just as the roof timbers caught fire. Before looping the longsword’s scabbard onto his belt, he slid off his dirk and held it out to Natalenya. She stood, and Merlin looked into her eyes for the first time.
Hazel-green they were, her lashes long and dark, and her soft eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she looked up at him.
“I never knew,” he said.
“What?”
“How beautiful you are.”
“Can you … can you see me?”
“I think God healed us both after we drove the sword into the Stone.”
She looked at the hale skin of her hands and back to his eyes. “You can see!”
“And I’m so glad.”
She hugged him, and he kissed her on the forehead.
“None of that now,” said a voice. And from the darkness stepped three men. Two were monks, and the third was Troslam, holding a spear. He had aged in the years of Merlin’s blindness, but his golden beard and ready smile were the same.
“Colvarth sent us,” he whispered as he looked at the villagers and druidow lying insensible all around. “And he’ll be glad you’re alive. But … what of the Stone?”
“It’s destroyed.”
Both monks dropped to their knees and bowed their heads, prayers of thanks escaping their lips. Troslam’s eyes shone as he embraced Merlin.
&nbs
p; “Did Colvarth find Arthur?” Natalenya asked.
“Shah,” Troslam said, and his voice turned even quieter. “They’re hiding in the woods by the lake. Colvarth asked us to lead you to him.”
“Dybris is hurt, and I need to” — Merlin’s voice broke — “bury my father.”
The two monks, whom Merlin didn’t recognize, rushed to Dybris. Troslam bent down and examined Owain.
“I’m sorry, Merlin, so sorry. But Colvarth urgently needs you.”
“I’m not leaving till a cairn is raised. Help me.”
Troslam nodded, and together with Natalenya and the monks, they brought pieces of stone from the wall and stacked them over Owain’s body.
With each rock Merlin laid upon the pile, the tears poured until he could cry no more and his voice turned hoarse. Natalenya rested her hand on his shoulder, and he found comfort in her soulful gaze.
Troslam lifted a large rock and laid it on top. “We need to leave now.”
Merlin looked at the cairn and the progress they had made. Sure, his father had been covered, but it wasn’t enough! Did Colvarth not expect him to honor his father? A burial and mourning usually lasted a week. With Uther dead, wasn’t Merlin released from his vow?
But did Merlin’s vow extend to Uther’s son? What had he vowed? And then he remembered his words:
For all my days will I serve thee and defend thee,
along with thine heir, and all that is right under Christ,
on the Isle of the Mighty.
The roof of the smithy collapsed, and flaming thatch wisped all around Merlin. Everything he knew had ended, and yet he was afraid to step forward into his new duty. The future of the people of Britain. Merlin’s future. Natalenya’s future. And the future of Arthur, so young and vulnerable.
But with the Stone’s destruction, wasn’t the danger gone?
If Vortigern’s craving for the High Kingship led to Uther’s murder, then Arthur was in peril. Merlin felt the whole of Britain’s future press upon his shoulders like a millstone. Did Colvarth also feel this weight? The old man shouldn’t bear it alone.
“I’m ready to go.”
Natalenya looked from one to the other and finally rested her eyes on Merlin.
“You’re not —?”
“Coming back? No, I don’t think so.” He had lost everything, and his heart felt so empty. Yet she looked at him with such tenderness. He took a step toward her and held out his hand. “But though I don’t know where I’m going, I can provide for you. Will you come?”
She took his hand. “Where you go, I will go, and your people will be my people.”
“We need permission.”
Troslam coughed. “Natalenya, your parents are at the lake too, for a different reason. Come, and you can speak to your mother.”
“And my father?” Natalenya asked, her lips quivering.
“I’m not so sure. But we have to go, and carefully. Vortigern could be anywhere.”
Horses’ hoofs sounded upon the road.
Merlin knelt and kissed a rock on his father’s cairn.
“Good-bye. I love you, Tas.”
The monks stayed behind to tend Dybris while Merlin and the others fled to the woods. Troslam guided them, and they dodged from shadow to copse, skirting the mountain. Soon they arrived at the eastern end of the lake, as far as they could get from Uther’s camp and the few sentries guarding the tents.
Troslam urged them into a deep thicket, where some horses were tied to the trees. Colvarth stepped forward to greet them. The bard held young Arthur, who slept upon his chest. “My … Merlin, you have come! What news … of the Stone?”
“It’s destroyed, and God has graciously restored my sight.”
Colvarth stepped closer and peered up into Merlin’s eyes. “May He be praised, and … may He deliver us from our present danger as well.”
“Vortigern?”
“Yes. We must flee north … to Kembry, you and I and this … little one.”
“An’ don’t forget me” piped up someone from the dark. Stepping forward and pulling the hood of his cloak back, Garth poked his beaming face out.
Merlin grabbed him in a hug and lifted him off his feet. “Garth! I heard you saved Arthur. You’ll have to tell me about it.”
“Nothin’ to be proud of,” Garth said, his voice squeaking.
Merlin set him down, and Colvarth patted Garth on the shoulder. “He has done a … noble deed, but now we must make good our … escape.”
Natalenya stepped out from behind Merlin and approached the bard. “I would ask, Chief Bard, for the privilege of accompanying you.”
“Ah! But this is a … dangerous journey. Why would you ask such of me?”
Merlin smiled. “Because where I go, she goes.”
Colvarth’s eyes twinkled. “It is agreed, then, and I could use a … ah … woman’s delicate help with my young … charge.”
“But there is one problem,” Merlin said. “We need permission from Natalenya’s parents. We were told they would be near, but I don’t see them.”
Troslam cleared his throat and turned to Natalenya. “Your father is at the lake, and your mother with him.”
“Is something wrong?” Natalenya asked, and her smooth brow wrinkled with worry.
“Come and see.”
Natalenya held tight to Merlin’s hand as Troslam led them through the trees until they arrived at the northern shore of the lake, where Trevenna sat on a rock. About twenty feet beyond her, Tregeagle knelt at the water’s edge.
“Go,” Troslam whispered. “I’ll meet you back at the horses.”
Natalenya ran forward to her mother, and the two embraced. Trevenna’s eyes were dry, but the salt of tears had left trails upon her face.
Tregeagle, seeing his daughter, limped over and hissed at Merlin. “A mock upon my fortune has come! A scourge to my treasure and a darkness to my lamp.”
“Father?”
“What did you and your sick smith of a father do to the Stone? It doesn’t … it doesn’t call me anymore. The power is gone, and I am ruined. Ruined!”
He turned back to the lakeshore and began examining a large rock. Then he threw an iron coin onto it and wailed when it didn’t turn to gold. Natalenya bit back a tear as she realized what her father had become.
Trevenna pulled Natalenya closer, and they whispered together. “He thinks to find another stone. Mórganthu had told him it came from the lake. Now he won’t rest until he finds another.”
“Mother … Merlin is leaving with Colvarth.”
“Vortigern. Yes. The bard told me.”
“May I go with him?”
Trevenna’s eyes grew wide.
Merlin dropped to his knees before her. “My sight has been restored, and I want to marry your daughter … with your blessing.”
“And take her into danger?”
“There is danger here,” Natalenya said. “Vortipor expects to be trothed to me tomorrow.”
Trevenna looked down at her shoes, torn and gray with mud. “Yes, you’re right.”
Merlin held out his hands. “I love your daughter.”
She stared into Merlin’s eyes and burst into a weeping smile. She reached out to them both. “Your father has no blessing to give, and so go with the consecration of God and my own.”
Natalenya kissed her mother. “And what will you do?”
“My place is with your father, for good or ill. Tell of my fate to our kinsmen in Oswistor, especially my uncle Brinnoc. Have them send aid in my time of need.”
“And my brothers?”
Trevenna’s face grew sad. “Rondroc’s joined with Vortigern, and Dyslan ran off when he was told he was too young. Pray for us all.”
Merlin led Natalenya eastward along the shoreline.
“Shouldn’t we go through the trees?” she asked.
“I need to say good-bye. It’ll only take a moment.”
“I don’t understand.”
Merlin tugged her hand. “Follow m
e?”
The clouds were clearing, and the stars danced in the sky. They stopped at a place between two water-lapped boulders. Merlin knelt down and pulled scrub grass away to reveal a smooth white stone.
Natalenya crouched down next to him. “What is it?”
“My father placed this here in memory of my mother, Gwevian. She drowned many years before your family moved here.”
“I’m sorry.”
Merlin prayed for his mother’s soul, then, standing with Natalenya, he spoke aloud. “Good-bye, Mother.”
The waves of the lake rose and splashed the boulders.
Merlin lifted his hand but didn’t detect any change in the wind. Natalenya moved closer.
Soon the water boiled just beyond the rocks.
He stepped in front of her and yanked his father’s sword from its sheath, falling into a defensive half crouch.
The water bubbled, and a dark shape broke the surface, rising before them.
Natalenya pulled at Merlin’s arm even as his heart beat swiftly. Though much evil had come to his family at this site, yet he wasn’t afraid. “No. Wait.”
The creature glided through the water toward them and stopped at the shore.
It was a woman.
Her skin glimmered with a silver hue, and her long red hair hung down to the water. Her emerald wrap glittered, and upon her neck rested a torc of gold inlaid with pure, bright stones. Her slightly webbed hands were held out in greeting, and she smiled at Merlin and Natalenya.
He fell to his knees as though struck, dropped his sword, and reached out to her. The woman took his hand and raised him back to his feet.
“Merlin,” she said, and the sound of her voice jumped through the air like a spring of water in a full and happy rush from its dark confine.
“I … I …” was all he could say.
“Ya need speak nothing. It is I, yer mother, freed from my long years of slavery. Ya have broken the power of those who took, changed, and held me in service. It was I in the vision, the woman in chains. I was to die after a new servant had been chosen.” At this she nodded to Natalenya. “Until ya freed us both.”
“Mother …” He shook his head. “But … that wasn’t real. I know it felt real to me, but that was a vision. It didn’t happen, right?”
Merlin's Blade Page 37
