by Chris Page
When they had parted, the long magus had asked him if he was ready for the challenges that lay ahead. Adopt the tactics of the guerrilla brigands, the old wizard had said. Frustrate, harry, and panic the enemy with small raiding parties that hit and run. And always remember the wolves; they will be circling on the outer margins.
I am ready. I was born for this, he’d replied.
Halfway to the Cheddar Catacombs he’d had an idea and turned back with twenty-five lightly armed men, sending the rest onward. A surprise attack on Penda’s forces camped outside the castle to release all their cavalry horses before they had a chance to settle in had been the idea. It would take days to round up the horses, which would be scattered like chaff on the breeze throughout Summer Land. As they searched for the horses, his men would pick them off.
A good plan but the young knight had forgotten an essential ingredient and one the long magus had specifically warned against.
The wolves.
As soon as Elelendise arrived at Cadbury Castle she had dispatched a pack of wolves to track down the recently departed Godwinson and his men. They had strict instructions not to make contact or be observed. It was an easy task for the ultra keen noses and ground covering ability of the wolf pack, who located their Cheddar-bound quarry within hours. When Godwinson broke off with twenty-five lightly armed men to return, half the pack stayed with him just out of range whilst the other half loped ahead to inform their mistress of the impending return of the enemy.
The two hawks Merlin had detailed to cover Godwinson and his men split, with one following each part of his force. Rho, the bird following the returning force of Godwinson’s men, could see what was happening, but try as he might there was no way he could communicate with the young knight, who, bloodlust to the fore, was hell bent on his course and ignored, or didn’t understand, the screeched warnings coming down at him from above.
It was an easy task for Elelendise and Penda to set an ambush for the would-be raiders. As Godwinson and his men rushed toward the tethered horses, they were surrounded and picked off with ease. It was target practice for the skilled longbow men of the north.
As the archers advanced on him Godwinson looked helplessly at the dead and wounded of his own men around him. The arrows that had accounted for most of them were embedded in higher, more mortal flesh than his own. No mercy was asked for and none given as a few brutal sword slashes quickly silenced the remaining wounded.
So much for the great feats of battle in emulation of his father. So much for the stardust of glorious deeds that would sprinkle his own name around the fireside yore of Celtic history. Just before he blacked out he thought he saw a tiny speck hovering high in the sky above.
Go tell the long magus of the failure of the son of Sir Gawain at his first attempt, he thought as a sharp sword tip pressed against his throat. Tell the hawk man and his clever little companion that the young knight pretender is a purblind hotheaded fool who caused the death of his men because he forgot the long magus’s advice about the wolves.
“There are myriad lifetime struggles in all of nature,” said Merlin. “A blade of grass, flower, bush, the mighty beech. All the animals and insects, the fish, even the delicate snowflake. Each has its own survival story that is at least the equal of anything humans have to endure. However, as far as I know, none of those other species have any form of afterlife, good or bad. Nor do they have an overlord at the Presidium or an annual opportunity to scream their sarcophagal opprobrium at the resident veneficus. Those are reserved only for wrongdoing humans in the form of the cowerers.”
“Is there any place in the afterlife reserved for the souls of good humans, those buried in the long barrows and settlement graves?” Twilight was back to asking questions.
“There is. It is known as the Elysium - the home of the permanent peace of the blessed dead. They have earned residence through the living of a good life. Unlike the mists, Elysium is a non-place and therefore does not impose any burden of afterlife upon its inhabitants.”
“But surely that gives the cowerers some sort of advantage, a continuance of what they had on earth. Is that not reason enough to lead a bad life?”
The long magus gave one of his snorts. “If you were to ask that question of any of the soulless millions that inhabit the charnel house mists, every single one of them would scream for the Elysium of permanent peace. What they have does not constitute an existence as we would know it but a prison for their tortured souls, a perpetual agony the like of which cannot be assuaged. It’s death without flesh or form, nonexistence with intense pain, specter without sight. The screaming silence of the damned held in a maelstrom of delusion and otherworldly hatred overseen by a black protector.”
“I know you answered these questions for me when we visited Stonehenge, but I understand more now and would like to ask them again. How long do the cowerers remain trapped in the equinoctial mists?”
“Forever. There is no time limit.”
“And their numbers just grow and grow?”
“A fact that we can see by the ever-increasing size of the mists.”
“Perhaps the mists are just getting too big and that’s why Tiresias wants them released.”
“I don’t think so. There is still plenty of room. I think Mael was right and it’s more a case of devilment or boredom on the part of Tiresias.”
“Could you release them?”
“Of course I could, but it’s against everything I and the venefical movement were established for. Our prime reason for being is the containment and soothing of the cowering masses. Any other good that we do through the use of the enchantments is a welcome undueness to our existence.”
Twilight chewed his lip as he wrestled with his next question. Finally he spoke.
“What do you think will happen if we fail and the cowerers are all released?”
The long magus paused. The thought of the screaming mass of undiluted hatred pouring out to terrorize an unsuspecting land had been uppermost in his own mind of late.
“At the very least, all living humans in these Celtic lands would be destroyed, lost to the wind,” he said quietly.
“And us along with them?”
“Of course. That’s a precondition, but if our destruction is ordained it would not come from the release of the cowering masses, but at the sinister hand of the wolf mistress. Their release would mean she had triumphed over us. Elelendise cannot attend the equinoctial festival without me, for I alone hold the secret of entry. And because only two are allowed, she has to remove you in order to accompany me. She cannot release the mists until she has discovered the key from me, and then, and only then, will she try to remove me. But do not forget. I alone have the key to the imprisonment of the cowering masses. I am the holder of the eternal secret, and there is no known method of coercion that can remove it from me until the moment comes when I choose to hand it over to you.”
The boy spoke directly to Merlin’s mind.
You told me to engrave these words in my mind forever as an initiate part of the great secret. Always give your soul what it needs for peace.
Always give your heart what it needs for happiness.
Always give your conscience what it needs for justice.
There are more words to learn to accompany these?
Yes, but now is not the time to add to it.
When will that time come?
When I judge it to be so.
Twilight stuck his bottom lip out and sulked for a few moments before reverted to ordinary speech with another question. “Mael hinted that, along with the flaw in her aura, there were other things wrong with Elelendise. During the night when you were regaling each other with your great feats of magic, did he elaborate any further on what that might mean?”
The boy’s question again demonstrated an uncanny ability to pick important facts from an otherwise vast quantity of i
nformation and happenings.
“He did.” Merlin smiled conspiratorially.
“Well?”
The long magus adjusted his position along the log they were sitting on as a prelude to telling a story. They were halfway up the treeless side of the Glastonbury Tor, just about on the water line that gave it the local name of the Island of Glass when it flooded.
“You see that water down there?” The long magus pointed to the winding course of the river Axe, one of the two rivers that ran each side of the Tor and were responsible for the seasonal flooding. “That’s one of her great problems. During the first few weeks with Mael she took to joining him and the otters in the lake - you’ll remember he told us how he liked to frolic with them in the water. Well, Sarah Walters, the embryonic Elelendise, was definitely not a water baby. Mael was of the opinion that she had some sort of bad experience with water before she joined him because she was most hesitant about actually getting wet. Not that the otters or the old bald magus wanted her in there, for Mael was an expert in the water and could swim as fast and acrobatically as any of his animals, and occasionally would stir in a little crinkum crankum and shoot out of the lake high into the air and hover, slowly turning somersaults whilst throwing tiny thunderbolts around the long tails of the frolicking animals. This was a game they had played for years, and the otters would squeal in delight as the thunderbolts chased them from one end of the lake to the other. So, for the first few days Sarah splashed around aimlessly in the shallows whilst Mael and his otters zoomed around the lake playing games and performing all sorts of tumbles.”
“Why didn’t she use the enchantments to help her?”
“Because Mael didn’t teach her anything at first as he was uncertain as to her purpose. He only started the process after she had drowned …”
“Drowned!” shouted the boy in surprise. “How … why …? But she is still alive. You said that even a fully fledged and trained veneficus cannot come back from the dead, so how could she?”
“No they cannot … but she did. It was the otters that lured her into deep water when Mael’s back was turned by letting her hold onto their tails. Then they abandoned her out in the middle of the lake where, despite a great deal of frenzied thrashing, she quickly sank into the depths. By the time Mael realized what was happening and got her back to the shore, it was too late.”
“What happened then?”
“He laid her lifeless body out on the shore, sat and thought about it for a while, and began to build a funeral pyre. When he had finished he bent down to lift her up to place on the pyre. Suddenly she opened her eyes, sat up, and began cursing him and the otters. That night another twenty otters died of a mysterious pestilence.”
The boy thought for a moment. “It was yet another omen that she was different and that someone more powerful than anything we understand on earth was helping her and would punish Mael through the death of his otters if matters didn’t go according to the great plan.”
“True. But Mael swears that from that moment on she never got anywhere near the water again and even if splashed would take to screaming. Eventually she learned, as with the flawed aura, to disguise and control her paranoia with water, but the old fellow was convinced that it remains a real problem to her.”
“So how do we exploit it?”
The long magus paused in thought for a few moments. “We lock the fact away for a while and wait for the right opportunity. Right now we have to consider what needs to be done about the unfortunate Godwinson.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
Late that night a lone wolf arrived at the bottom of the Tor, put his head back, and howled until approached by Merlin and the boy. As the old wizard came close the wolf turned sideways, exposing the collar he wore with a message. As soon as the long magus had released the collar the wolf sprang away with a snarl and, as if carrying out orders that did not sit well with him, sat looking away into the dark night.
Unrolling the message Merlin read it aloud to the boy.
I have Godwinson. His wounds are slight, although they will grow increasing more painful as the night wears on. His suffering will end in death at first light if you do not bring the boy in exchange.
“It bears no signature or sign.” The long magus chuckled. “I wonder who it can be from?”
“What are you going to do? That wolf has obviously been told to wait and escort us to Cadbury Castle.”
“Then he’s going to be disappointed,” replied the long magus, stroking his beard. He walked toward the wolf, which turned and began to snarl ferociously until Merlin held up his hand and his eyes glowed iridescent green for a moment. The wolf immediately stopped snarling, shook its head, turned, and walked slowly away until swallowed up by the night. Sniffing the breeze the long magus held up his hand again to silence the questions that were about to come tumbling from the boy’s lips.
Caution. Wait a moment or two. Just to be sure the wolf is on his way and is alone.
After a suitable time Merlin pointed to the top of the Tor. “I have implanted a reply in the wolf messenger’s mind that she is to meet me at the top of this hill at daybreak. We will both be alone. The interesting thing was that she did not speak directly to my mind but sent the wolf. I wonder why?”
“And Godwinson? He could be dead by then or at least severely injured,” replied the boy. The long magus sighed and gave the boy a sad look.
“Sacrifices are inevitable. We will do what we can, but I fear the worst for the young knight. I do, however, have a rather cunning plan that I think you will like and might even save Godwinson’s skin.”
The boy brightened up immediately.
The long magus continued. “The unwisdom of not meeting me on the Tor at daybreak will not be lost on Elelendise. It will also be apparent to her that I have replaced her order for a meeting with one of my own, but she needs, nay must have, immediate contact with me if our suspicions of her intent are correct. Time is running out for her. She will come. And what does that mean for her deadly ravening watcher?”
The boy thought for a moment.
“She will want all her powers available for a meeting with you. Therefore, the watcher will have to be switched off whilst that meeting takes place?”
“Precisely. And therefore?”
“King Penda, Queen Phoebe, and Princess Rawnie will only have human guards. They will be vulnerable.”
“Good, very good.” The long magus chuckled, pleased with the deductive powers of his charge. “Now I need a favor of your loyal pica and I need it fast, always assuming, that is, they are on speaking terms with their cousins, the hooded ravens. More specifically, those hooded ravens I saw living in and around the turrets of Cadbury Castle.”
Twilight was already calling for the nearest pair.
As the night slowly receded from the Tor and the shadows around its vales and autumnal woods melted into the dawning Wessex day, Merlin stood tall and still on the peak. His long silver-streaked beard and shoulder-length hair ruffled and flattened in the eddying Celtic breezes, whilst the piercing emerald eyes beneath the bushy brows that could flash such powerful changes in nature and phenomena were still and neutral. His long arms were folded with the hands up the opposite sleeves of his long tunic. Composed and at peace with his surroundings he waited for the arrival of the wolf-woman about whose life, impurity, and deadly purpose he now knew so much.
She did not disappoint him. The transformed arrival placed her no more than four arms’ lengths away from him, the beautiful, full-lipped face, ringed by waist-length fair tresses, already twisting into a sneer of hatred as she appeared. Merlin was instantly aware through the power of her aura that she had switched off the ravening watcher. Good. The first part of the plan had worked.
Without showing a flicker of emotion and by way of a greeting, the long magus inclined his head politely.
“So, old ma
n. You chose to ignore the immediacy of my warning. It will, therefore, not be lost on you that the hotheaded son of your old friend is close to death. Only your utmost and immediate compliance with my demands can save him.”
The old wizard smiled, his gentle words at odds with their message.
“Godwinson means nothing to me. Do with him as you will. As for your demands, they are equally meaningless.”
Her sneer turned into a snarl. “So much for the vaunted chivalry and togetherness of that great family of the Round Table supposedly embodied in all those battle trophies I saw adorning the walls at Cadbury Castle.”
Merlin shrugged. “That was fifty years ago. I won’t deny that it all meant something then, but not now …”
“Where is the boy?”
“I have sent him away.” The long magus was purposefully oblique.
Elelendise stepped back a couple of paces and pointed the index finger of her left hand at his face.
“You have fourteen days before the Equinoctial Festival of the Dead takes place. I will be your companion, and you will hand over to me at the Festival.”
“And if I refuse?”
“For a start I will feed Godwinson’s blood-soaked intestines to my wolves this very morning. They will enjoy feasting on the fattened offal of a well-bred. You may or may not care about that, but you will care when King Penda and his Christian army, assisted by my command of the enchantments and the ferocity of my loyal beasts, tear every pagan in this accursed land limb from limb. Then my wolves will feast on their entrails, gorge on their genitalia. You have already witnessed their ferocity when they raided your young brat’s settlement of Malmesbury. Believe me, old man, that was nothing compared to the coming slaughter. Rivers will run crimson with blood. Colonies of weevils and sundry insects will feast and breed in their rotting Celtic cadavers and rats suck out their brains. Children will be hung by their dirty feet from boughs and used as spear and arrow targets before being pulped to bile of red spume. Babies will be eaten alive from their straw cots and their screaming mothers cast into deep pits of poisonous excrement. Decapitated male heads will adorn stakes at every bridge, crossroads, and flattened settlement, their heathen bones burned to charcoal twigs in fire-pits alongside. The air will reek of the foul bane of apostate stench. We will scourge, we will obliterate, we will emasculate. We will not just kill but slaughter with extreme violence. No one will be spared - thanes, villains, freemen, house carls, goatherds, knights, slaves, pig keepers, kitchen middens, troubadours, bondsmen, peasants, and yes, obstructive venefici, all will be remorselessly rendered to dust, their casts removed forever. I will also personally see to it that the bent-beak hawks whose friendship you so zealously guard and the piedpoly bauble thieves your brat values so highly are extinct within days - their rancid meat poisoning the earth where they fall, their feathers turned to stagnant forest floor litter. When I leave here my first task will be to hunt down that settlement brat you call a tyro veneficus and turn him to a droplet of vile spittle. You may have had some limited success with childish tricks, but from here on it’s serious bloodletting that is deaf to every appeal. I will destroy everything around you until you are completely alone in a barren landscape, devoid of all living forms of civilization. Wessex will become a pitiless ghost land of Celtic memories wallowing in the fetid decay of its dead because its stubborn, aged old protector refused to acknowledge his frailty and accompany his natural successor to the Festival and pass on the great secret. Finally, if you do not take me I will go without you.”
