Veneficus: Stones of the Chosen

by Chris Page

  “There is no need,” said the boy simply. “It cannot be unhappened. I know where it all fits, and I believe I have the right perspective on matters as they stand now. I also understand how you were carried away by the fuss that surrounded the whole Dux Bellorum thing.”

  The long magus looked down at him for a long moment. The boy returned his stare fearlessly.

  “By the Wall of Severus, I have no idea where your levelheadedness comes from. It’s remarkable for one of only thirteen winters, but I believe you do understand. There is great hope in that, young skirmisher, great hope.”

  They fell silent for a while before Merlin suddenly spoke again.

  “As an aid to our understanding of her perspective, what do you think of the idea that we migrate to the north for a couple of days to see what we can find out about her upbringing and training with her departed veneficus Mael?”

  “I think it’s a good idea,” replied the boy immediately. “Can we leave Summer Land to Penda and the wolf-woman for that long? Will our birds be safe?”

  The long magus pondered for a few moments.

  “I think so. Penda needs time to settle his men into and around the castle and reacquaint himself with his wife and daughter. We can leave a couple of diversions to make the repellent one think we’re still around. As for the birds, we’ll ensure that they all lie low well outside the Summer Land area.”

  “Have you ever been to the north of Britain?” asked Twilight.

  “No, not the far north, but I have heard of a person and place there to start our search.”

  “Who, where?”

  “His name is Aidan. He is a Christian monk at an island monastery called Lindisfarne in the region of Northumbria, which is where Penda began his crusade. I mentioned Lindisfarne to you before. It’s where that unfortunate old snake man Bovey came from.”

  “Can I commune with my mother before we go?”

  The long magus raised a bushy silver eyebrow, his glowing eyes receding. “You have the ability. Have you already done so using mind-speech?”

  “Once, just before you spirited her and my brothers and sisters away. It just happened without warning. Suddenly we were exchanging thoughts. I do not know how or what caused it to happen or where you have hidden them.”

  “As with many other matters venefical I kept it from you as a protection. At the time I thought it best in case the wolf-woman got her claws into you if we were separated, and forced you to reveal their whereabouts. She would destroy them.”

  The boy looked at him levelly. “She will only ever get from me what I choose to tell her in order to bring about her downfall.”

  “Then I will tell you where they are.”

  The old wizard looked to the horizon for a long moment as if visiting his past before continuing.

  “I have made a number of references to Guinevere, the bride of Arthur …”

  “They are with Guinevere, the beautiful wife of Arthur!” the boy burst in, unable to contain himself.

  Merlin held his hand up before continuing.

  “When Arthur was wounded in the battle against Mordred, Guinevere took him to the Isle of Avalon in order that he might recover from his wounds. But he did not recover and died there, and as you know, his soul was transported to the mists of the cowering masses. Guinevere was so broken-hearted and full of contrition - Mordred, who also died at the same time, had wanted her as well, and she had certainly not spurned his advances; indeed, some say she had led him on - that she vowed to stay on Avalon for the rest of her life as penitence. That she has done. Well into eighty winters now, her legendary beauty has faded somewhat, but she is still an active and passionate woman.”

  “Have you seen her recently?”

  “I pay her a social call every so often. She is the only one left from those days I have stayed in touch with.”

  “Are my mother and brothers and sisters safe with her?”

  “I would say so, along with the others on the island.”

  “What others?”

  Merlin took a deep breath before answering.

  “Guinevere decided to serve her penitence by looking after the sick for the rest of her life, and that she has done. She has turned the island into a home to over one hundred very sick

  people.”

  “How sick?”

  “Very, I’m afraid. Incurable. They are lepers … the famous Isle of Avalon is now a leper colony.”

  It took Merlin and the boy a half of one day to make the transformations necessary to get to Lindisfarne. The long magus gave in to Twilight’s pleas to be allowed to execute the transformations himself, and three times they ended up in the wrong place. Eventually the frustrated Twilight turned to his mentor for help. In order to get their positioning back on track the long magus asked Twilight to reverse the procedures to get them back to Summer Land and then he would start again. By midday they stood on the seashore at Sandham Cove, gazing out at the mighty monastery on Lindisfarne Island. The tide was in and the causeway to the island was impassable, and so they sat down on a rock to wait.

  Twilight had never seen the sea before and was full of questions. After lengthy explanations and much drawing in the wet sand, the boy was satisfied. After a few minutes’ silence he found another subject for his curiosity.

  “Are there pica and falcons here?”

  “Yes, they are spread throughout the land.”

  “Are we their liege-lords as well?”

  “Of course, it’s universal, applies to the species wherever they are. If we required their help we could call upon the local population, and they would flock to us immediately and pledge their entire being to our command as our Wessex birds do.”

  “Should we let them know we are here?”

  “If we need them, then yes. In the meantime, we’ll leave them in peace.”

  Slowly the causeway revealed itself as the tide began to turn and then recede. After a couple of hours they could see the rocky path on the causeway stretching all the way to the island, and began to walk carefully along its wet, slippery surface.

  They were not alone. Three monks had waited further along the shore and now followed them along the causeway toward the towering edifice on the island. As the monks drew abreast they pulled off their hoods, made the sign of the cross, and greeted them cheerily. Explaining that they were from Ireland and had taken many weeks to make the pilgrimage, they were very excited to have arrived finally at their destination, which they referred to as the Shrine Aidan. Waving them through, Merlin and the boy followed behind.

  “Have they come further than we have?” asked Twilight.

  “About the same distance. However, their journey included the crossing of a mighty sea.”

  “Walking wears me out. Thank goodness the enchantments allow us to transform directly to places … sometimes,” said Twilight cheekily.

  “You will see and understand far more by walking.” The long magus chuckled.

  “This Aidan,” asked the boy after a while. “Where is he from?”

  “He is, as far as I know, a Christian pioneer, also from Ireland. I think he established this place.”

  They passed through the open gates of the monastery and into a courtyard. Over in one corner the three Irish monks were on their knees in front of a stone statue being led in prayer by one of the resident monks.

  A young monk in a rough woven brown cassock approached them with his hands clasped together in front of his chest in an attitude of prayer.

  “Welcome, brethren,” he said deferentially. “You have journeyed far?”

  “We come from Wessex for an audience with Aidan,” replied Merlin.

  “From Wessex? I have heard of this land. Full of heretics and pagans, I believe. I’m afraid his holiness does not receive guests. He has many other important duties to attend to. I will accompany you in prayer
to sanctify and give praise for your long and brave pilgrimage, and give you bread for the return journey.”

  The long magus snorted. “You most certainly will not. Kindly tell his holiness Aidan that the Wessex veneficus Merlin and his tyro Twilight - a couple of agnostic heretics and pagans of the first persuasion - await the pleasure of his company. Otherwise, I will turn all his resident monks in this monastery into goats!”

  He flashed his eyes in the direction of the resident monk and the three kneeling Irish pilgrims. Much to the surprise of the Irish, the resident monk leading them in prayer turned into a goat and began to bleat plaintively.

  Merlin turned his iridescent green gaze to the young monk in front of them, who gazed back at them in sheer stupefaction before dropping to his knees and pressing his forehead to the ground in some sort of terrified homage.

  The long magus and Twilight helped him gently back to his feet. Merlin nodded again in the direction of the goat and pilgrims, and all was as was before with the resident monk once again leading them, albeit somewhat shakily and with frequent mystified glances at the long magus. The young monk came to his senses and began to babble wildly as he turned and stumbled toward a large door on the other side of the courtyard.

  “That wasn’t a very nice thing to do,” scolded Twilight. “You’ve frightened the life out of him and probably ruined his future as a Christian monk.”

  Merlin scowled.

  “Would that I could ruin a few more such futures. They’re of more use as goats.”

  A small, round man wearing a tall, pointed hat, a floor-length brown tunic, and a beaming smile emerged from the door the terrified monk had stumbled through.

  “Turning my brothers into goats, eh?” He laughed loudly, approaching them. “There is only one man I have heard of from Wessex who is capable and capricious enough to perform such a feat. The mighty wizard himself. You must be Merlin … the long magus?”

  The old sorcerer bowed.

  “Vive, vale, Aidan.”

  The small monk bowed in return.

  “Sit tibi terra levis magna veneficus.”

  The long magus indicated the boy at his side.

  “Twilight, my tyro veneficus.”

  The little round monk, who was about the same height as the boy, looked him in the eye, smiled, and placed a gentle, heavily ringed right hand on his shoulder.

  “I hope he is teaching you more important uses for the great gifts you bear other than that he has just demonstrated on my poor monk, my young tyro.”

  Drawn in by the smile and gentle hand the boy nodded.

  “I have just rebuked him for it, your holiness. He gets a little carried away sometimes.”

  Aidan burst out laughing again.

  “I see you have a most wise apprentice here, long magus. Now, I am aware that most venefici - for reasons and knowledge beyond that of us mere mortals - are not followers of our faith. It follows, therefore, that you haven’t come all this way to pray at the altar of Lindisfarne, so your quest must be of an altogether different nature. Please, come into my rooms so that we may discuss it in private.”

  Still chuckling he led them back through the large door and three floors up a rough stone spiral staircase into a small room at the top that was completely full of rough vellum skin sheets of varying sizes covered in a beautiful flowing Latin script.

  As they climbed the stairs the boy spoke directly to Merlin’s mind:

  Vive, vale, Sit tibi terra levis?

  They are polite greetings of the sort used by strangers to show peace and goodwill, replied the long magus. Vive, vale means long life, and his reply, sit tibi terra levis, is translated as may the earth lie lightly upon you.

  Such cadence and descriptive poetry, flashed the boy.

  Keep practicing. You will be fluent in that language and all its wonderful nuance and power within the year.

  “Excuse the mess,” said Aidan, carefully placing a stack of the sheets on the floor to reveal two oak stools. “I am attempting to write a magnum opus called Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum. The Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Just when I think it’s getting near the end, another great event springs up requiring commentary and inclusion.”

  “Like King Penda’s invasion of Wessex currently taking place under the guise of spreading the Christian faith?” said Merlin quietly.

  “Ahhh … I see. Yes, events like that.”

  “Then you will never finish it.”

  The little monk smiled again. “Most probably not, but others will keep it going until mankind finally learns to live in harmony with each other.”

  “Then it will absolutely never be finished.” Merlin grinned. “The magnum will become a perpetual opus for all time.”

  The small monk leaned forward and addressed the boy directly. “You see, young tyro. A most wise and experienced but apostate veneficus and a scholar monk who has had his faith reinforced through many years of debate, scripture, argument, and reason - and here we are just moments after meeting completely at odds with each other’s point of view. Is it no wonder the world we live in is such an uncertain and tumultuous place?”

  “It is an uncertain and tumultuous place because of people like Penda and his counselor, the wolf-woman, Elelendise. She and her slavering wolves are responsible for the slaughter of everyone in my settlement, including the death of my father. And for the wanton slaughter of forty pairs of my pica, to whom I am liege-lord.”

  Twilight had started delivering his statement pugnaciously but ended with tears in his eyes.

  The small monk nodded sadly and patted him on the shoulder.

  “I know of her and feared as much. She trained not far from here with the veneficus Mael. She left many months ago with Penda and his army.”

  He looked closely at Merlin. “Such matters, long magus, are well known to you, are they not? Gaudium certaminis - the delight of battle. Your reputation in these parts is one of warlike council to the long departed King Arthur.”

  Merlin sighed heavily. “It is a burden from which there is no escape, but in my own defense I never advised the slaughter of innocents, human or otherwise.”

  “I see,” said Aidan. “And retribution can only be yours through the correct teaching of this young astounder. A task, no doubt, made doubly difficult by such a past.”

  “You are most perspective,” replied the long magus. “But my venefical duties leave no options. Past deeds notwithstanding, I must equip this boy to the very utmost of my ability. As you have already observed, he is a most intelligent and wise apprentice.”

  “You have come to these parts in search of Mael and knowledge to help you fight Elelendise?”

  “We know that Mael is dead and lying under his destiny stone, the final resting place of all venefici at the end of their one-hundred-year life. We come in search of anything that will help us in the battle against the wolf-woman before she completely destroys our Wessex homeland, its Celtic way of life, and everyone in it.”

  The little monk looked at them both in turn before speaking. “In that case, long magus, young tyro, I have some news for you that may come as something of a welcome surprise. Mael is not dead. At least he wasn’t two days ago, for I had an audience with him. Blind, yes, weak and nearing the end of his hundred-year term, also yes, but still very much alive and mentally alert.”

  Merlin threw both of his long, bony hands into the air.

  “Ingens salutis,” he exclaimed loudly. “A most mighty salvation. The old fox fooled her by taking a year from his life right from the outset. We must go to him … immediately!”

  The tall forest of autumn trees swept down the Northumbrian hillside to the lake’s edge in a patchwork of orange, brown, and yellow, with occasional splashes of dark evergreen. On and above the lake’s surface, water birds swooped and aquaplaned, sundry ducks dived and squabbled, a
nd fish leapt from the depths in unconstrained delirium. In a small clearing near the water’s edge a semicircle of sleek brown otters licked at their own thickening winter coats without taking their bright brown eyes off the completely bald, silver-bearded old man sitting on a log in their midst.

  With one hand holding a gnarled old stick polished through years of use, and the other resting on his knee, the near naked Mael gazed through sightless eyes directly at the spot off to his right to which Merlin and the boy had just transformed.

  “I do believe,” he said after a few moments’ reflection, in a voice quivering with age but devoid of surprise, “I have visitors. Judging by the unfamiliar auras there are two of you, both of the same persuasion as myself. If one of you is that scallywag Merlin, you are well overdue but still, despite your history of violence, most welcome. Speak.”

  “Before you indeed stands that scallywag Merlin, otherwise known hereabouts, I believe, as the ‘wrong magus.’ Also my tyro named Twilight, a boy of thirteen winters.”

  Mael nodded to himself. “Your reference to the wrong magus - a nickname I have applied to you since news of your barbaric deeds alongside that odious slayer of men called Arthur - tells me you have met the fair but dubious Elelendise.”

  “Sit tibi terra levis magna veneficus,” the boy blurted out suddenly, anxious not to be left out.

  “Salutem dicit, tyro Twilight! Literatus Latinus?” Mael’s reply was gentle, understanding.

  Merlin replied for the boy. “He’s not exactly learned in the great tongue. More, as with all other matters relating to the enchantments, just beginning to grasp the enormity of the task before him, especially as we only have seven short years left to prepare.”