by Chris Page
The long magus waved his arm to encompass the activity. “They are completely self-sufficient here, have to be, nothing comes over from the mainland. Normal folk are too afraid to come here under any circumstances. Which is why it’s such an ideal hiding place.”
“How long has this been a leper colony, and how do the lepers get here?”
“The Romans established this place two hundred years ago. They had a policy of isolating incurables on remote islands. Did it throughout the empire. Shipped a lot of them here from various leper colonies around the land and left them to it. Most of the early sufferers died quickly, usually of starvation, but gradually, as they learned to fish and get edible crops out of the ground, the colony got going. Before Guinevere came, new arrivals had to swim over or beg, steal, or make a boat. You can imagine the reception they get on the mainland from ordinary folk who generally scream and run away when approached by a leper. Throughout our known history lepers have always been ostracized and hounded out of their communities due to their affliction. Some of those early inhabitants walked for months to get to the mainland setting-off point over there,” he pointed to the blue-gray landmass that was North Kernow, “then sat there for many more months before dying, probably again of starvation, before they could find a way to get over the water. They could see this island plainly on a clear day, but getting here was another matter. Guinevere soon put that right by sending a rowing boat to the mainland manned by a couple of lepers every few days - or when the weather and tides allowed - to a pick-up point where there is a large sign telling new arrivals to wait and that help is on the way.”
“Is there a cure or anything that can ease their torment and suffering?”
“No, and their life expectancy is severely curtailed, ten to fifteen years from the time of the appearance of the first sores, Guinevere tells me, which, if you are a baby or youngster, does not give much of a life.”
“Can we use the power of the enchantments to make them better?”
“We cannot prevent death or prolong life. This prohibits us from interfering with diseases, illnesses, wounds, or problems inside people’s heads. As you know, we can manipulate huge amounts of phenomena, transform whole humans and animals from one place to another, and, as I did with Penda, render them immovable, stop them speaking, read their minds, and plant thoughts and messages in their heads, but their state of health is inviolate. That is Presidium territory. Only the deathless immortals on Mount Olympus are allowed to meddle there.”
He pointed to the hill rising behind the house.
“When one of these inhabitants die - an all too familiar happening, I’m afraid - there are burial barrows on the other side. Guinevere ensures every one of them gets a decent resting place.”
“Elysium or sarcophagal mists?” the boy asked impishly.
“It depends upon the life each individual led before they came here. This disease doesn’t distinguish between saints or sinners, lords or serfs. Once here, of course, they soon learn to join in for the common good.”
“Where does leprosy come from?”
“From the Greek word lepra. In ancient Greek texts it is referred to as the ‘Phoenician Disease.’ Phoenicians are sailors from the coastal regions of Egypt, an ancient desert country in the east. The disease is first thought to have originated with them and spread to other lands through their sea trading exploits. Apart from transmitting diseases, the Phoenicians were also the first race to develop an alphabet, allowing the recording and understanding of the written word, so they were
not all bad.”
The boy thought for a moment. “Is leprosy contagious?”
“Guinevere says it is, but she has been living amongst lepers here for fifty years and hasn’t caught it. She does take simple precautions such as planting and preparing her own food and water and not sharing any clothing or linen with them, but they all live together in the same building, talk together, and breathe the same air. She will, of course, take all necessary precautions with your mother, brothers and sisters, and the princess.”
“She must be a very special person,” said Twilight.
“She certainly is,” replied the long magus looking up. “Aren’t you, my dear?”
Twilight looked up to see a tall, regal-looking silver-haired lady bearing down on them with a wide smile of genuine welcome on her face. Dressed in a rough woolen black floor-length tunic, with nothing on her head and hair tied loosely at the back into a long ponytail, the living legend that was Guinevere, one-time lover and consort of King Arthur and sometime dabbler with his cousin and mortal enemy, Mordred, wound her long, thin arms around the long magus in a hug of pure joy.
“Aren’t I what, old friend?” she said into his chest, her head just about reaching his breastbone.
“A very special person.” Merlin held her at arm’s length with a look of affection that spoke of the bond forged between them over many years of turmoil, conflict, and survival.
“Mmmm …” She frowned, breaking away and stepping toward Twilight.
“And you,” she said, getting down on her knees and bringing her face very close to his, “must be the young man I have been hearing so much about.”
Her own clear, dark brown eyes sought the boy’s. He returned her searching gaze quietly.
“Your mother was certainly right about your eyes. ‘Captivating’ was the word she used. Cimmerian depths of luminous promise, I’d say. The eyes of a champion if ever I saw them. There is hope within those bottomless black pools, hope for the Wessex nation,” she murmured, stroking his long, unruly hair.
Dry-mouthed the boy couldn’t find any suitable words. He glanced at the long magus, who merely smiled and nodded with a sort of benign pride. Guinevere stood up and grasped Twilight’s hand firmly.
“Come, you will be anxious to see your mother and brothers and sisters,” she said, leading them toward the house.
“And the princess,” said Merlin from behind them.
“Oh?” said Guinevere, giving the long magus a knowing look over her shoulder and receiving back an exaggerated wink from beneath the bushy eyebrows.
Suddenly his mother came flying out of the large front door of the leprosaria shouting at the top of her voice.
“Will! Oh Will! Is it really you? Will … Oh Will!”
Letting go of Guinevere’s hand he ran toward her, and they embraced for a long time. With tears running down her cheeks his mother kissed his face, his head, and, raising them to her face, his hands one by one. Then she hugged him tightly again, murmuring his name over and over into his hair. Her smell was the same as he remembered it, her strong dark hair now streaked with gray, glowing cheeks and careworn hands. All the same. His mother again, here, at last.
It was strange to hear his given name. So complete had been his transformation since he’d been with the long magus, he’d almost forgotten that he was born a settlement boy called Will Timms, son of the now deceased Sam Timms and his wife, Leah, and elder brother of John, Joseph, Jack, Annie, and little Meg. Merlin, the pica, and hawks had become his new family. He felt the presence of others and in response to a touch on his back released his mother to embrace his brothers and sisters. There was a little hesitancy and awkwardness, especially with his younger brothers. None of them, even John, who was eleven years of age and the next one down after Will, could remember him speaking. His last six years of silence had been interpreted as an illness. Will, the deep, darkly troubled older brother, had simply lost his voice. They had been buttressed against his silent, brooding presence by the fact that he was rarely there. When he was, he was aloof from the rest of them and seemed to live in his mind. As they played childish games around the settlement with the other children, Will would be off to a quiet glade on his own to try and make some sense of the inexplicable clarion calls and fleeting demons that dominated his being. When they were made to help their father scratch a living from t
he small piece of land they tithed, Will would suddenly drop whatever implement he’d been given and run into the forest. The only one who came anywhere near to understanding that he was different was his mother. She defended and nurtured him whenever she could, sometimes at the expense of his siblings and to the wrath of his father. Perhaps they understood his aloofness a little more now? His sisters were easier, especially the baby of the family, four-year-old little Meg. She only saw her hero big brother in all his new glory.
“Can you do magic?” she said, wide-eyed after planting a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Mum says you are a sorcerer and you can talk again. Can you make me a piebald pony? I’ve always wanted one.”
Not to be outdone, six-year-old Annie joined in with her requirements. With the two girls chattering away, Guinevere holding one of his hands, his mother holding the other, and Merlin bringing up the rear with his brothers, Will Timms and his rediscovered family made their happy way to the front door of the leper house.
There was a great deal to be said and much reacquainting to be done. It was a long way from the wattle and daub dwelling house they had lived in as a poor family at the wolf-ravaged settlement of Malmesbury.
And Will had become Twilight, the silent, brooding settlement boy who could do magic.
Guinevere had split her own private rooms in one corner of the leprosaria into cramped quarters for all of them. Guinevere, Leah, and the two girls slept on straw pallets in one cramped small room, the three boys shared another, and, in deference to her rank as a princess and to help her get over the shock of her new surroundings, Rawnie had a small, converted store cupboard as her quarters. For the Timms family, having two rooms, however small, was an improvement over their settlement hovel where they had all slept, cooked, and lived in one.
As soon as they got inside, the long magus and Twilight went to speak to Rawnie. She had tried to escape earlier that day by stealing a boat and attempting to row to the mainland. Being completely inept at rowing and steering at the same time, she had blundered around in circles just off the jetty, much to the amusement of the watching lepers, before being swept up the shingle beach alongside by the incoming tide. As a punishment Guinevere had confined her to her small cupboard for the rest of the day, where she had resorted to alternate banging on the locked door and screaming until exhaustion had driven her to sleep.
Now, freshly awake as she had been the first time Twilight had seen her in Cadbury Castle and spirited her away, she blinked in blue-eyed suspicion at the two of them crowding into her small cupboard. Once again the boy found his heart pounding in her presence and a peculiar dryness to his mouth.
Merlin explained that in response to her kidnapping and certain defeats in battle, her father had agreed to return to the north with his army and had left Cadbury Castle that very morning. She would be returned to him and her mother when the last soldier had crossed the border into Northumberland.
The young princess obviously found it hard to believe that her all-conquering father had been sent back.
“I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. “You have no army, no men at arms. How could you defeat my father the king in battle and force him to return to the north?”
The long magus smiled and nodded. “You are aware of the enchantments and the venefical mastery of their powers?”
“Yes, but that’s just bits of magic. Party tricks don’t win battles. It’s armies of well-armed and trained soldiers that win battles. Besides, my father had his own veneficus. Elelendise and her wolf packs were there to counteract any venefical challenges he met.”
“Ahhh yes, Elelendise. Unfortunately, your father and the repellent wolf-woman had a falling out, and he sent her away. We are preparing now for her return. As for what you refer to as our party tricks, perhaps my young companion will explain.”
The boy looked at her directly and tried to still the incessant beating of his heart.
“If used correctly, the enchantments can be a powerful force in an armed conflict. Your father had twelve thousand soldiers. Clumsy, armored men at arms needing constant water, food, sleep, transportation animals, and shelter. I will give you an example of how these necessities are an inherent restriction in battle and can be turned to our advantage …”
Quietly, succinctly, Twilight outlined the problems that her father and four hundred and fifty soldiers had faced at Bradley Hill.
“That they and your father were not all drowned was entirely due to this boy’s intervention,” added the long magus when Twilight had finished.
She looked at Twilight with a softer expression. “Thank you,” she whispered. “How long will it take my father and his army to cross the Northumberland border?”
“We estimate about three weeks,” said the boy. “The hawks in ligamen to the long magus here are tracking their progress. We will know within one day of their arrival and will return you immediately to them.”
He felt a strange sadness at the thought of her return.
Later that evening they all sat down for an evening meal in the communal area outside the cramped rooms. Normal leper life went on the other side of the separating wall as the one hundred or so residents prepared and ate their own evening meal before retiring to their dormitories, which they shared at around twenty to each. Guinevere put copious dishes of fruit, boiled vegetables, and leavened slabs of bread on a large trestle table, gave each one of them a thick earthenware plate and water holder, and bade them eat and drink.
“We try to have fresh fish from the drift nets at least twice a week. Today is not a fish day. Do you still eat?” She addressed Twilight. “Or are you like the old astounder here and manage on fresh air alone?”
“I still need food, although it’s gradually becoming less important,” replied the boy.
“Do you mean that venefici don’t require food?” Slapping Jack’s hand away from the apples Leah began to put equal-sized portions on her children’s plates as she asked the question. The long magus looked at her.
“Nor water or sleep, or pretty much anything else that most humans require to sustain them,” he said gently.
Silently, slowly, Princess Rawnie joined them and helped herself to some food.
“How on earth do you keep body and soul together?” said Leah.
“Ahhh yes,” replied the long magus, “the body stays intact through the nutrients contained within the enchantments themselves. As for the soul … now that’s a difficult one. Perhaps your eldest son and the tyro veneficus himself could venture an answer …”
Everyone looked at Twilight. He was silent for a long moment before offering an answer.
“Anima humana. The human soul. A winged free spirit without a shadow, an illusion without appearance, the essential mirror of acts and reflections binding each of us to a passionate identity that may - or may not - propel us into the afterlife.”
He stopped and looked around the table, rather pleased with himself.
“Mmmm …” Merlin frowned.
“Very … er … Celtic.” Guinevere smiled.
“Eala!” exclaimed his mother. “He can certainly talk now.”
Princess Rawnie sniffed regally.
“We had fish yesterday. It was nice,” said little Meg, picking on the last word she really recognized. Squeezing in beside her new hero brother with her heaped plate, she stared up at him before tugging at his arm.
“Do me some magic, Will, go on, do me some magic.”
Twilight looked across at his mentor inquiringly.
“Well, go on then, skirmisher, do little Meg some magic. Add a little crinkum crankum to the proceedings.” The long magus chuckled. “Although there isn’t room in here for a piebald pony, I’m sure you’ll think of something appropriate.”
The boy turned to his little sister, looked deeply into her eyes for effect, and tapped on the table. Her plate of fruit, bread, and vegetables suddenly
disappeared. Then he tapped again, and it reappeared balanced on top of the princess’s head. Another tap and it moved around the table, stopping for a moment on everyone’s head. Little Meg watched its progress with her eyes and mouth wide open in wonder. A final tap and it reappeared back in front of her, causing her to squeal and clap her hands in rapturous delight. The pattern for the evening was set, and from that moment on all manner of detritus appeared and reappeared in odd places. Finally, exhausted with screaming in wonderment and the excitement of the occasion, the two girls went happily to bed closely followed by their brothers. The princess, caught firmly in the aura cast by Twilight’s manipulations - she preferred that to Will, so much more mysterious - retired to the relative privacy of her cupboard.
Leah, her arm wrapped protectively around the shoulders of her rediscovered wonder son, Guinevere, and Merlin talked long into the night. Guinevere talked quietly of her love for Arthur, her dalliance with Mordred, and their subsequent fight to the death. She wept unashamedly at the memories and regret for what had once been hers, her still beautiful dark eyes spilling unchecked tears down her cheeks. Arthur, she said, had been more than a love of a lifetime; he had been that lifetime. She told how the long magus had transformed her and the mortally wounded Dux Bellorum to this island and shrouded it in thick mists whilst she tried to nurse him back to health. After ten days of clinging to life by the thinnest of threads, he’d died in her arms. Her biggest regret was that she did not have a child with Arthur to comfort and remind her of him, and continue his noble bloodline. Without Arthur she was incapable of feeling; had she not been brought up to abhor the taking of her own life, she would have gladly done so. In her innermost thoughts this island would always be known by the secret name they gave it to keep others from finding them. It was Avalon. Their Avalon. Salvation had come in the form of a suggestion from the long magus that she stay here and work with lepers. It had given her life some meaning and purpose, a mask to the great hurt that she had caused. Penitence, self-denial, atonement, purgatorial cleansing, she wasn’t sure, but the fact that her memories still cut her to the quick every single day when she awoke, even now, after more than fifty years, attested to the strength of her love for Arthur. She would take his blazing, undiminished beacon to her grave. There was just one small sprinkling of stardust in the dark firmament of her life. Her beloved king was still here with her, his bones placed in a casket buried in a secret place on the island. Before Guinevere uttered the next sentence Twilight knew what was coming.
