Veneficus: Stones of the Chosen

by Chris Page

  And the only restraint left is that of the sarcophagal mists.

  Chapter Six

  Twilight sat with his two accompanying pica on the soft peat floor just outside Merlin’s stockaded compound. Horn, a male with unusual pale blue wing-feather streaking, was showing him how they constructed their fifteen-hundred-twig nest, while Leela, his lifelong female companion, busied herself by collecting suitable twigs. Using a small bush, Horn showed Twilight how to cement the outer framework of the spherical, domed-roofed nest with its side entrance hole by using soft layers of mud, before weaving in the rest of the twigs required. As he wove the twigs patiently into the structure, he explained how, in normal circumstances, they would build the nest high in the dense part of a thorn bush in order to make it, and the valuable eggs and chicks it would hold, as inaccessible as possible to predators. With the outer shell complete, the two birds changed places, and Horn began to bring in small pieces of soft moss and discarded feathers for Leela to arrange inside as soft bedding.

  All day they busied themselves as Twilight watched, until finally the nest was complete. Both of them sat snugly inside as the boy gazed through the entrance into the dark interior. All he could see were the pale blue streaks of Horn’s wing feathers and the sparkle from their four bright brown eyes.

  “Having constructed a snug home for the season,” cackled Leela joyfully from inside the nest, “we would begin the next phase of our annual ritual.”

  “What is that?” asked Twilight innocently.

  There was a slight pause from within before Horn’s slightly embarrassed reply.

  “The … er … process for the formation of the eggs.”

  “How many eggs do you lay?” asked the boy, his young mind not quite up to the nuance of pica copulation.

  “Let me see now,” said Leela coquettishly. “Last season it was four, the season before five, and the one before that four again …”

  “How long have you been together?” interrupted the boy.

  “Fifteen years, liege-lord.” There was undoubted pride in the low-register timbre of Horn’s voice. “Fifteen years and sixty-three fledglings reared.” He puffed out his neck feathers and shook his unique, pale blue streaked wings in a show of paternal self-satisfaction.

  “Have any of your young been born with the same pale blue wing feathers that you have, Horn?” asked Twilight.

  “No, nor have we ever seen another pica with the same markings,” replied Horn somewhat proudly. “Perhaps my ancestors mated with a kingfisher or a blue jay.”

  “Or a tiny blue-tit,” cackled Leela mischievously.

  “Hush now,” chided Horn.

  “Tell me about this fascination pica have for bright, shiny objects,” said Twilight as the two birds stepped out of the nest.

  “It’s our birthright,” said Leela, stretching her wings and long tail feathers. “The nimbus that surrounds and defines us. Bright objects are our magnetic stars. They throw multifaceted shards of brilliance across our sight lines until we are powerless and cannot resist them. Then, having been drawn like moths to a flame, we cannot bear to be parted from it. We will try to take it back to our nest or hide it so we can gaze upon it daily. One of the greatest trials of my life was finding a large jewel on a forest path some years ago and being unable to lift it. I sat with it for days, locked in its thrall, until Horn, who had joined me and was, to a lesser extent, also in its grip, had the great strength finally to drag me away before I succumbed to hunger, thirst, or the unwelcome attentions of another animal. I did not go to that part of the forest for a long time for fear that it was still there and would paralyze me again. Then one day Horn told me it was gone and I could go there again.”

  “It is something we must always guard against, for the enemies of the pica know this is our weakness and could seek to use it against us,” cackled Horn somberly.

  “I will seek out some especially bright, harmless objects and place them here in this nest for safekeeping,” said Twilight cheerfully. “Then you or any of the other pica can gaze upon them whenever you please in safety. It will be our secret place.”

  “Thank you, liege-lord,” said Leela, and raising their claws in a farewell salute, the pair flew to a nearby branch to maintain their vigil.

  “Thank you for showing me how to build a nest,” Twilight shouted after them. “It will soon hold something special!”

  He walked back inside the compound, and there found Merlin sitting on his favorite log muttering furiously to himself.

  “Three Perpetual Harmonies, Three Saintly Lineages, Three Tribal Thrones, Three Unfortunate Concealments, Three Womb Burdens, Three Infernal Rivers, Three Fates, Three Furies, Three Graces, Three Acts of Destiny, Three Confusions, Three Heads of Cerberus, Three Myths of Mabon, Three Sons of Tros, Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite - the Three Goddesses, Three Singers of Tales, Three Mortal Heroes, Three Choirs of the Styx. Always the three: terni, triple, tres, triens, trecenti, triennium, triangulus, triquetrus, triplex, trecentesimus, triceps, tricuspis, trident, triduum, triennia, trilibis, trivium. Three of this, three of that, and three of everything else. And now this! I am beset by the number three! Not one or two or four or even twenty-six … but three. I have become homo trium literarum, a man of threes, a slave to the triumvirate trinity of triplication. Where are the other great numbers in this vast store of mythology, fable, legend, and anecdote? Why has all their relevance sought sanctity in triplicity, and why were the originators mesmerized by this cursed number?”

  Twilight watched the long magus grow more agitated as he wrestled in self-absorbed frustration over the hated multiple.

  “But surely the most important figure is two,” the boy said gently. “You and I. Not three. And while it does not sound as important as some of those fine-sounding threes you have just mentioned, we two are here, now.”

  Merlin gazed down at him for a long while, his face slowly softening into an indulgent smile. Reaching out, he ruffled the boy’s thick black hair, then looked toward the woven willow gates of his compound. “That is the very point, my feisty little liege-lord of the Devil Birds,” he said in a soft voice that spelled trouble. “My hawks tell me that we are about to become three, and the other one is very aggressive, extraordinarily dangerous, and closely guarded. We are about to make the acquaintance of a strange and powerful force that is certainly not bearing the olive branch of peace …”

  He was interrupted by the haunting whine of a wolf outside the compound gates.

  “Greetings, long magus. I am Elelendise, resident veneficus from Deira in the north, former pupil of Mael, whom I placed under his mighty stone just over one year ago, liege-lord of the ravenously fierce northern wolf, and counselor to Penda, Saxon Christian King of Deira and Mercia.”

  Merlin inclined his head in a slow gesture of acknowledgment at the greeting as Twilight stood dumbly at his side by the open gates of the compound. Elelendise, cloaked in white from top to toe, removed the hood from her head as she introduced herself and shook her waist-length fair hair free. Her beguiling beauty and the huge white wolf straining by her side commanded attention and took the boy’s breath away.

  “You are welcome, veneficus Elelendise, to my humble compound. I am Merlin and this is Twilight, my tyro veneficus.” Merlin’s voice was low and couched in neutrality.

  The wolf bared its fangs at the sound, snarled loudly, and crouched in barely suppressed fury as if about to spring at the high throat of the speaker.

  “This is Lupa, my guardian. Please do not come too close to me for he is, as you can see, vehemently protective and will tear the throat out of anyone who so much as looks at me in a manner which he considers threatening - which is any look at all.”

  Merlin smiled disarmingly. “You are indeed fortunate to have such a loyal guardian. Would that those in ligamen to myself could offer such robust protection.”

  “Quite. You are the lieg
e-lord of the Wessex small hawk known as the Merlin, and your boy,” she tossed her beautiful fair head disdainfully at Twilight, “has those capricious devil birds and bauble thieves, the pica, for his safety. Hardly a match for Lupa and his ferocious packs.” “Hardly indeed.” The long magus smiled. “But we have no reason to require such vigorous protection.”

  “My pica are not bauble thieves!” exploded Twilight.

  Elelendise murmured to the wolf, which had instantly turned its fang-dripping malevolence toward the boy.

  “Have a care, tyro, even I cannot always control this mighty beast. The morals of your piedpoly pilferers are your concern. As for your need for protection, that depends upon the outcome of my mission.”

  “You seem to know a great deal about us. Did I detect your presence in these parts about a year ago?” questioned Merlin, remembering the power source he had mistakenly thought was the boy passing nearby.

  “You did. It was shortly after I had taken over from Mael. My prophecies told me that Wessex would play a major part in the casting of my future enchantments, so I came to look at its supposed mythical lands.”

  “And have those prophecies now come to pass through the warmongering of your King Penda?” asked Merlin, still remaining studiedly neutral.

  “If ridding these realms of the anti-Christ heathens that populate them is warmongering, then my king is a warmonger. I prefer to see him more in the light of the crusader,” Elelendise sneered again. “You, of all people, should understand the crusading conquest of a believed right.”

  “You are referring to my time as counselor to King Arthur?”

  “Then your exploits were more than legendary in pushing your king ever onward. Conflict after conflict littered his flashing blade. You broke the venefical mold of pacifism for all of us who would follow. You were by his side through many of his bloodiest campaigns, as I am now with Penda.”

  “What if I was wrong?” Merlin sighed.

  “My mentor, Mael, was a gentle veneficus, as you are now, who belonged to the old way of thinking. Many a night we sat around the winter fire discussing the matter. He would become incandescent with rage at what he saw as your illegitimate use of the enchantments to further Arthur’s bloody causes. He always sensed my aggression and its latent search for a champion and tried, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to head me away from it by using your bastardized, warlike counsel to Arthur as the very worst sort of venefical example. In a play upon your name he referred to you as the ‘wrong magus.’ Just because you have now turned away from war completely does not mean that you were wrong then. Perhaps war is the province of the young.” Elelendise looked at Merlin carefully, then pointed the slim index finger of her left hand at Twilight.

  “Perhaps, old magus, you should leave the defense of Wessex, if defended it shall be, to the boy.”

  “The wrong magus,” mused Merlin, ignoring her remark. “Your mentor, Mael, was a most wise and perceptive astounder. I regret that we did not meet. Why, I wonder, did he not make himself and his sagacious thoughts known to me during those times?”

  “Because he knew that you would not have listened,” replied Elelendise dismissively.

  “As you will not … to me … now,” said the long magus sadly.

  “Precisely,” she snapped, replacing her left hand on the tense neck of the wolf. “I am as unapproachable, as absorbed in my own fabulous immortality through the campaigns of Penda, as you were in your day with Arthur.”

  “And as part of that you have come to tell me that Penda and his marauding Saxon armies will shortly cross into Wessex,” stated Merlin.

  “And to see where you will stand in the matter,” she concluded flatly.

  “Is my blessing or opposition of any importance?”

  Elelendise hesitated for a moment before replying harshly.

  “None whatsoever. My king is coming and nothing can stop him. Wessex will belong to us and will be subjected to the strict observances of a Christian, Saxon rule. For the first time since the Romans the entire Britain will be united under one ruler, King Penda. If you, or this boy, or any of your puny ligamen chicklets get in the way, I will feed their carcasses one by one to the salivating jaws of my ravenous Lupa.”

  At the mention of its name the wolf bared its fangs and whined.

  Merlin stroked his thick beard reflectively. He glanced at Twilight with a look that said, “Remain quiet and composed, and do not use mind-speak. This woman will also understand. There are things going on here that I will explain later. Do not be alarmed.” He glanced fleetingly down into the pale blue eyes of the bristling white wolf and smiled with a faintly green-glowing, disarmingly gentle crinkling of his eyes and a slight movement of his lips. Instantly the bristling fur settled and the pale, malevolent eyes became confused for a moment. Then, just as suddenly as the look of confusion had washed across the pale eyes, it was replaced by ferocity, and the pink lips stretched once more across the dripping fangs into a snarl as it crouched as if to spring at Merlin’s throat. The sudden, almost subliminal change in the wolf’s mien had gone unnoticed by Elelendise, who was too busy being fierce herself to catch it.

  “If my blessing or opposition makes no difference, then Penda will do as Penda wishes,” said Merlin. “I have neither the power nor the inclination to stand in his way. My wish would be to continue teaching Twilight the enchantments and provide him with the wherewithal to carry out the rest of my venefical duties until the time comes to hand over. Unfortunately, it’s not Penda and his marauding army that Twilight and I should be worrying about, is it?”

  “No,” snapped Elelendise, tossing her long tresses. “We both know that there can be only one venefical counselor for a ruler, and since you are nearing the end of your term and your successor is an untrained boy, there can be little doubt who that will be.”

  “Perhaps the boy has something to say about that?” said the long magus quietly.

  They both looked at Twilight, who, apart from his earlier outburst, had remained composed and silent and given nothing away as to his feelings. Twilight looked at Elelendise, her fair beauty marred by a sneer of arrogant aggression. His dark, luminous eyes switched to the ferocious Lupa quivering by her side, and his thoughts turned to the previous day when he had placed his hand in the warm resting place of the hare and seen the three full-grown wolves hunt down a small deer and tear its flesh from its body. He decided he hated wolves, but wasn’t in the least frightened of them, especially this one.

  “I am thirteen years old and a tyro veneficus of just a few days’ standing,” he said, lowering his eyes deferentially. “I have nothing to give away, I hold no positions, nor would I presume to hold any opinions on such an important matter.”

  “Good,” snapped Elelendise. “Then I suggest that you renounce your pica ligamen, forget any instruction in the venefical enchantments you have received, and return to whatever dirty hovel you crawled out of forthwith.” She turned to Merlin. “Meanwhile I will allow you to fade peacefully away toward your end day providing you remain here in this compound, renounce your falcon ligamen, and do not use the enchantments against King Penda’s just invasion of Wessex.”

  “You are forgetting one very important matter, and one from which I cannot be released.”

  “If you are referring to the venefical presence at the annual Equinoctial Festival of the Dead, you are mistaken. I will accompany you to the next gathering at Stonehenge in the autumn, and you will introduce me as your replacement. I am familiar with the processes, having attended and soothed the mists at our small stone circles with Mael in the north.”

  “But they can only be regional gatherings, and as such of little consequence,” said Merlin, gently. “Stonehenge is the epicenter of the raging mists, parliament, and sacred crucible of all the lands where the cowerers have to be soothed with the utmost care.”

  “So long as I have the secret, long magus,
the soothing of the raging mists is merely a matter of attendance,” she said disdainfully. “You have that secret, and at the appropriate time you will give it to me.”

  Merlin inclined his head slightly, which could have meant anything. The wolf-woman took it as tacit affirmation that her demands would be met, and moved briskly on.

  “I leave now for the eminently preferable company of my king and his advancing army. When the thunder of that advance rolls over the green sward of Wessex you will both be in the places I have indicated. I will not countenance any insurrection, especially from you, old man. Your days are done. Keep your enchantments in check or the consequences will be dire.”

  She spun on her heel and walked quickly away. Locking itself instantly to her undulating thigh like an overprotective lover, the wolf snarled one last time over its shoulder and they were gone.

  Merlin raised his hand in caution as Twilight opened his mouth to speak.

  Wait. She will hear. Her force is still too close. This way is safe. Mind-speak requires close proximity. I know you are very angry, especially with what she said about your pica, but you did very well. It was important to maintain a neutral stance, give nothing away, and this you did. The last thing you and I needed was a pitched battle of the enchantments. As it turned out neither did she; the aggression and threatening posture was a cover for uncertainty as to my reaction and remaining power. That showed her inexperience. Had we both started hurling great explosions of sorcery at each other there’d have been no telling what the outcome would be. Now she strides the paths back to her Christian king full of confidence, buoyed by the bravado of her own performance. It is a false bravado.

  I hate her. Twilight’s face showed real emotion for the first time.

  Of course you do, and that is fine so long as the hatred doesn’t affect your judgment.

  Do you hate her?

  I hate what she stands for. Fifty years ago I, too, pursued the same goals, the representation of aggression and domination of a stronger force over weaker opponents. To what end? I learned the hard way that such a show of arms and aggression only begets an uneasy peace until such time as the weaker opponent has had the time to raise its strength. The deaths are then multiplied, and it’s all due to the first act of aggression. Wessex will be the loser in Penda’s invasion; the many battles will tear the realm apart, divide the people, and slow all forms of progress. The bells of war toll only for the egos of those who require the domination of others as balm. For everyone else it’s a vile and wretched battlefield mired in the blood of loved ones for causes they will not gain from and cannot understand.