Ganieda sat up, confused. Next to her lay a bowl of fresh water, and a pot of porridge smelling of honey.
Grandpa leaned over. “Tell me … tell me what dreams you have walked within. For you have slept upon the Sacred Hide of Visions.”
Scooping some porridge into her fingers, she slipped it into her mouth, twirled it across her tongue, and found the mixure was still warm. “I have seen Mammu.”
“And what does she require?”
“She’s in pain, and she suffers. She will always suffer.”
“The gangrene of this Christus has taken her …” Grandfather scoffed.
“She wants us to hurt them. She told me.” Indeed, her mother had told her. But there was another voice, besides her mother’s, which rumbled in her deepest sleep. It spoke to her too, but she did not fully understand it. If her mother had told her what to do, then the other voice told her how to do it.
“Hurt your brother, yes, yes … but how, dear one? Using the druid magic of your orb, I have beheld him — but how can we hurt him?”
“We must see them first.” And she pulled out the orb and held it up.
Grandfather fell to his knees next to her and looked within.
The purple fire leapt up inside, and Ganieda almost dropped it for fear of being burned, but it felt almost cold to the touch. Shifting, the image cleared and showed her brother sitting next to a girl. Ganieda recognized her from the village but could not remember her name. A small pool of water lay before them and a wall of rock behind them. The girl’s hands held out the child Arthur and placed him in the arms of Ganieda’s brother. He looked awkward holding the child, and said as much, his words strangely emanating from the orb.
“Disease for disease,” Mórganthu said. “Can you do this? Can you take vengeance upon Merlin for the stolen life of my daughter — thy mother?”
Ganieda reached into her bag and touched the fang. A ripple of power swept up her arm, a thrill, a tingle of sweet strength. Pulling the fang from the bag, she held it out before Grandfather, and green fire curled around its surface. Ganieda called out loudly in the tongue of the druidow, but the words she heard were not her own. “A curse on the one bearing the child, a sickness of suffering, a scourge upon the flesh!”
The sickly flames soared up from the fang. Ganieda held her breath as they spiraled toward the orb. But before they touched it, Ganieda’s brother hastily handed the child back to the girl. The flames struck the orb. For a moment, the orb blinked like an eye and the image narrowed, sucking in the green fire.
The girl within the orb shrieked as if injured — the sound echoing through Mórganthu’s tent. Her image faded. The orb and fang became hot, and smoke rose from Ganieda’s hands. A burning wormed through her arms and met in her chest as a white-hot pain. From there, it spread to her entire body.
Ganieda tried to scream, but couldn’t breathe in or out. She fell to her side and wanted to throw the orb and fang away — but then Grandfather might take them. She held on tightly, and soon the pain subsided to a dull ache in her bones.
“You failed,” her grandfather hissed. “You hurt the girl instead!”
“I didn’t mean to …”
“Do it again. Do it again to Merlin!” he said. “He must bleed for his crimes.” Grandfather waved the stump of his right forearm, and its bloody cloth almost fell off.
Ganieda sat up, shaken. “Hurting her hurt me. I won’t do it …” she said, quickly putting the orb and fang into her bag so she could wipe the tears from her eyes.
Her grandfather stepped back and studied her as if something was wrong.
Ganieda pulled herself to her feet and stared, confused, at her grandfather. She felt different — strange.
“What, what has happened to you, my daughter’s daughter?”
“G’andpa, you’ve shrunk.” In the past her eyes had barely reached his belt, but now she looked clearly at the tunic buttons below his chest.
“No, no,” he said. “You have grown!”
Ganieda looked down, and it was true. She had always been small and thin, but now she had grown taller and her arms and legs felt stronger.
CHAPTER 5
THE STROKE FALLS SHORT
Merlin held on to Natalenya’s hand and then arm while she screamed in pain.
Her face contorted, and her back arched, but then it quickly passed and she breathed again. Her tears streamed down her cheeks, and Arthur cried too. She tried to comfort him as best as she could, but her eyes were closed and her teeth clenched.
Merlin did not understand what had happened. One moment she was fine — receiving Arthur from his hands — and the next it was as if a hundred hornets had burst from some crack in the stones and stung her. He looked behind her but saw nothing.
“What happened?” he asked.
She shook her head and slumped against him. “The pain’s gone … but … I don’t know what happened.”
“We’re all exhausted. I’m exhausted,” he said. “Just rest.” But even as he was about to put his arm around her, his heart curled up and he pulled his hand away. It felt like death to not hug her, but he had to protect himself for when … for the time when she would reject him. He wanted to lean forward again and look at his ugly visage in the water, but he felt awkward in front of her.
Above him, beyond the hollow, Garth’s bagpipe began skirling. It was loud, it went on and on, and it irritated Merlin. How could Garth think of playing a song while Gorlas brought Vortigern onto the island? What? Should Colvarth get out his harp, Merlin his, and they all play together while death slithered through the gate?
Merlin rose, startling Natalenya. He climbed out of the hollow and stood upon the rocks again where he could be seen. Garth piped on the summit of the island, with his single drone resting on his shoulder and sticking into the air. His fingers played upon the double drones, and he looked like a red-faced chicken with his left arm wiggling to press upon the bag. The boy was truly playing beyond the ability of his lungs. Caygek stood next to him.
Merlin tramped over. “Stop!” he shouted, but Garth ignored him. Merlin was about to plug the hole in the intricately carved drone when someone called behind him.
It was Natalenya, who had also climbed out of the hollow with Arthur. She pointed to a high window in the wall of Dintaga, maybe thirty feet up, where a banner of some kind fluttered in the wind.
Ewenna, Gorlas’s mistress, stood in the window, silently holding some cloth, and then let go of it. The wind took it, raised it up for a brief moment, and then whisked it out, away from the wall, and it fell upon the rocks.
When Merlin looked back at the window, Ewenna was gone.
Colvarth was there first, and Merlin and Natalenya joined him. Garth kept piping. Colvarth turned the cloth over — and revealed the tapestry of Vitalinus, High King of the Britons. “This depicts Vortigern’s grandfather,” Colvarth said. “She has now given us warning. Vortigern will soon cross the causeway.”
“But the tide …” Natalenya protested.
Colvarth rolled up the tapestry. “The tide was shallow, and departed half an hour ago. Gorlas went and met with Vortigern while you two were absent. Our time is at an end.”
Merlin drew his sword. “Then we should find a defensible position. Maybe the hollow Natalenya and I found.”
“Fighting is useless now,” Colvarth said. “Better to parley and hope for life. Maybe we can convince the warriors that Vortigern killed Uther —”
“No,” Natalenya said, pulling Arthur close. “Vortigern will deny it and will kill us.”
Garth stopped playing and began to holler from the summit. “Come! Everyone!”
Caygek stood beside him and waved his arms to beckon them as well.
Merlin shook his head. “Now what do they want?”
But the two were insistent, and finally Colvarth said, “Let us go to them,” and walked off with the tapestry under his arm. Natalenya followed.
Merlin was about to go as well, until he heard a noi
se toward the coast. A host of men crossed the causeway, at their front marched Gorlas next to a bearded man Merlin assumed was Vortigern.
Merlin ran after the others to find Garth piping again while Caygek pointed out to sea.
Merlin followed his gaze.
“A boat is coming,” he said. “Garth called it using his bagpipe!”
And sure — it was true. The lone sailboat Merlin had thought too far away to shout to was heading straight for Dintaga and getting close.
“What? How did you —?”
Garth no longer appeared comical to Merlin. With his red hair blowing in the wind over his handsome brow, he was dignified and reliable. His noble bagpipe’s polished wood shone in the light, and the music seemed to float on the wings of angels. Garth stopped playing, caught his breath, and smiled. “Us fishermen use bagpipes to talk to each other. That’s why me father piped. I used the song for distress.”
“You’re a saint,” Merlin said and banged him on the shoulder, sqwonking the bagpipe.
Behind them, the sound of men’s feet echoed over the rocks.
They all scrambled toward the edge of the island where the boat approached.
And Merlin gulped. The shore lay thirty feet down a cliff. Colvarth and Natalenya would have trouble getting down beyond halfway, where the rocks became steep.
Behind them, the footsteps of the men grew louder, and there was shouting.
“Down on the rocks, everyone!”
Merlin assisted Natalenya with Arthur, even as Caygek and Garth assisted Colvarth. Together they made it to the midway point while the boat sailed within a stone’s throw of the island.
Garth hailed the fishermen as the boat drew nearer. “Dynargha! Hello! Caught much fish today?”
There were three fishermen, and a tall one nearest them stood up near the mast. “Not caught much!”
Merlin rapped Garth in the head. “Don’t talk about fish. Tell them —”
Garth glared back, but called out, “We need help!”
“What?” the tall fisherman said. “You’re on land. You think we loiter? We’ve bellies to fill … we fish!” He turned back to the other men.
Colvarth nudged Merlin. “Tell him we have silver …”
“We have coins,” Merlin yelled. “We need passage to Kembry.”
The fisherman started at them. “How much? It would take five screpallow.”
Merlin told them they had the coins, and the men conferred together.
“As long as you don’t care where we drop you off, I agree,” the fisherman called.
Colvarth cupped his hands to project his voice. “Not to the Demetae?”
“Too far. I’d rather fish, but Crothak’s uncle is sick, and we’ll go and visit him in Baegower.”
The big fisherman at the rudder steered the boat closer as Garth and Caygek lowered themselves down to the waterline.
“Throw a line to us,” Merlin called.
Caygek leapt on board and passed a rope to Garth.
Garth tossed it up to Colvarth, who asked, “What is this for, my Merlin?”
Merlin slipped his tunic off and joined the long sleeves in a knot to make a loop. Next he tied the waist off. Taking Arthur from Natalenya, he placed the child inside the shirt through the neck hole. Then Merlin slipped the rope through the hole created by the joined sleeves.
“Pull it tight!” he called.
Once the rope was taut, he slid Arthur down to the boat, and the fishermen grabbed the squirming bundle.
While this was happening, Natalenya climbed down with Garth’s help. Pulling on the rope, he brought the boat close enough for her to leap in.
Colvarth tried to follow, but his foot slipped, and he tumbled upon the rocks, scraping his chin and gouging his right eyebrow. Garth helped him up, but the old man was dazed and held his shoulder.
Behind Merlin, someone shouted, “A ship … They’re getting away!”
Garth urged Colvarth to climb into the boat, but he shook his head in pain.
Six men appeared at the top of the cliff, ten feet above Merlin. Three of them sheathed their swords and pulled bows from their backs. The others began to climb down the cliff.
They were caught.
Gorlas stood near Vortigern, and his wide jaw flapped with his words. “You see, Prince of Vitalinus, we have them cornered on the far end of the island.”
Vortigern grogged down wine from a silver cup, and burped. “Your welcome has always been gracious,” he said. “Handing over my foes is your greatest kindness yet.”
“Look,” Gorlas said, “your men shout. The bastard shall die, and your sister, my new wife, shall be cleansed of Uther’s filth.”
Vortigern spied Gorlas out of the corner of his eye. “We will kill them all … all, of course, but Arthur. You must know that these men are loyal to Uther.”
Gorlas pulled a short blade and pointed it at Vortigern. “But you promised me!”
“He will die, yes,” Vortigern whispered, grabbing Gorlas’s beard and pulling his fluttering eyes close. “But not here, you fool, unless by accident. You must be patient. The High Kingship isn’t won through haste.”
Gorlas ground his teeth. “You must promise me —”
“You think I am a fool to let him live?” Vortigern said, letting go and draining the cup.
“And will the girl live?” Gorlas said. “Did not your son say that he plans to marry her?”
“Ehh. If it is her, yes, I have to let her live for a time — but I cannot trust her. She won’t live long, that I swear. I have my own way.”
“If you will not hurt him again … then hold out the orb!” Mórganthu commanded. “I want to see what is happening.”
Ganieda refused, keeping a tight hold on her bag.
“If you decline me this, then you are a traitor to druid craft, and party to those who murdered your mother and uncle … yes, murdered my son …” The corners of Grandfather’s mouth curved downward in a snarl.
Ganieda froze. Every fiber of her body wanted to obey and please her grandfather. And she did hate her brother — but she would not willingly suffer again in order to harm someone. It had hurt too badly to use the green fire of the fang. And since wielding the fang and growing in physical stature, she felt stronger, able to speak her mind and desires as well.
“Just the orb,” she said.
“We will begin with that, yes,” Mórganthu said, smiling now and stroking her hair.
She reached in, drew it forth, and held it up before him. The cold light flickered, enflamed, and finally showed an image of two men.
The first was a tall warrior who had a thin, yellowish beard. Upon his back lay a dark red cloak with a pin of pure gold at the shoulder bearing the likeness of a boar. In his hand he lazily held a silver cup, as if it were empty.
The other man wore a finely embroidered tartan of blue, white, and teal along with a silver torc and many rings on his fingers. His face was dark, his beard darker, and he grinned widely, showing his teeth.
He reminded Ganieda of Tellyk, her wolf, only this one would have black fur if he were a wolf, she decided. His eyes completed the picture — alight as of a hunter with his prey in sight.
Grandfather breathed heavily. “The warrior is Vortigern, who is already under the power of the Stone. Though he has gone his own way, he has been useful, yes, very useful for us.”
“Maybe he can hurt Merlin … so I don’t have to.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Or maybe you can command him. Would that … would that be easier?”
“Who is the other?” Ganieda asked.
“You think he may serve us too? He is Gorlas, king of the people of Kernow.”
The air felt suddenly thin for Ganieda, and the ground beneath her tilted and swirled. She saw Gorlas as through a long tunnel — and he was older, with gray hair. He called to her from the top of a small cairn of stones, a grave. “Help me … help me find my love … my Igerna. She is dead, and I cannot find her.”
J
ust like Ganieda had imagined, his face changed into that of a ravenous wolf, and yet he still spoke, his teeth gnashing. “I will make a pact with you,” he pled, “only help me find her.”
The vision faded, and the purple flames of the orb winked out.
Ganieda felt weak. “Yes, he will serve us,” she said, “but not for many years.” These images swirled through her head. Too much, too soon, too fast, and she was scared. Scared of what was happening to her. Scared of the orb and the fang, but not wanting to give them up.
“Why will he not serve us now?” Grandfather asked. “What have you seen?”
She fell to the fur, hid her face, and wept until Grandfather pulled her hand away so that she saw his curled lips. “What have you seen?”
“Many years from now, when he’s a gray-hair,” she said, “I will make his grief full and then he will beg for my help. Only then will he serve. Leave me alone!” She tried scratching Grandfather’s hand, and he pulled it away.
CHAPTER 6
AT THE CLIFF’S EDGE
As Vortigern’s warriors notched arrows in their bows, Merlin panicked, grabbed the rim of the cliff, and dropped. He skinned his shins and left knee, but landed in one piece. Together with Garth, he helped Colvarth stumble into the boat.
An arrow whizzed by right where Colvarth had stood a moment before.
Merlin jumped in as two arrows struck the boat, and then helped Garth clamber in.
“The last one in,” Garth said. “I can’t believe it.”
The fishermen turned the sail to catch the wind. But as they pulled away from Dintaga, two of the warriors jumped into the water and grabbed on to the edge of the boat.
Caygek hit one over the head with his pommel, and the man fell into the water.
Merlin had more trouble with the second warrior, who was able to pull himself into the boat.
Merlin pointed his blade at the man, but hesitated. Besides fighting the Eirish warrior and Mórganthu to save his father’s life, Merlin had never killed a man.
Seizing the advantage of Merlin’s delay, the warrior hammered him across the ribs with his forearm. Merlin fell to the deck, hit his head, and dropped his sword.
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