The Legacy of Merlin

by Eloise Flood

  They picked their way down to the river. As Piper had hoped, it was shallow enough to wade across, though the current was so strong that she lost her footing once and went down painfully on her rear. But at last they were on the other side.

  Piper looked at Prue and grinned. Prue had a long smear of mud down one cheek, and her white headscarf was soiled and bedraggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Prue demanded.

  “I was just thinking, Niall said we were too clean for his time. Well, you aren’t. Not anymore,” Piper said. “You’ll fit right in.”

  For a second Prue looked annoyed. But then she broke into a laugh. “You look pretty authentic yourself,” she told Piper.

  They started up the wooded slope toward the fortress. When they reached the edge of the tree line, they peeked out cautiously.

  Piper was dismayed to see that the great wooden gates were closed. Four burly soldiers with long spears stood in front of them. A sentry paced along the top of the massive stone walls. “How are we going to get past the security?” she asked. “I mean, I could freeze them all. But I doubt we’ll be able to open those gates on our own. They look really heavy.”

  “I could use my power to open them. But I don’t think we should use magic unless we absolutely have to. We don’t want to do anything that draws attention to us.” Prue pulled Piper back into the shadow of the trees as the sentry turned in their direction. “They’ll have to open the gates sooner or later. There must be deliveries coming or something. We’ll wait until someone else goes in, and then sneak in behind them.”

  As it turned out, they didn’t have to wait long. A few moments later, the sisters heard a strange creaking, rumbling sound. A heavy wagon with big wooden wheels came into view, pulled by a team of oxen. Faint groans rose from the interior of the wagon.

  The rain had let up, but now fog was creeping in. Piper peered through the thickening mist. “I think the wounded men from the battle are in that wagon. Someone’s going to have to open the gates to let it in,” she whispered. Then she caught Prue’s arm as she noticed the knot of soldiers following the cart. “Come on! Here’s our chance!”

  The sisters slipped out and joined the silent, weary crowd as it straggled toward the great gates. “Keep your head down,” Prue whispered as Piper sneaked a look around.

  The gates swung open, and Prue and Piper passed through. Piper held her breath, but no one challenged them. Once inside, crowds of women and children surrounded the wagon, searching for husbands, brothers, sons, and fathers. In the confusion, Prue and Piper had no trouble breaking away from the soldiers.

  They stood under the overhang of a thatched roof. A few bedraggled chickens scratched in the mud at their feet. Men and women bustled around them, and no one seemed to pay them the slightest attention.

  “We did it.” Piper let out a sigh of relief. “We’re in.”

  “Now we just have to find Merlin,” Prue said. She sighed. “Which could be kind of a challenge. This place is bigger than it looks from the outside.”

  It was indeed. Now that they were inside the gates, Piper saw that the fortress was not one building, but several. There was a massive stone hall with a tower at the back; that seemed to be the main building. But smaller wood-and-thatch structures had been added onto it, like barnacles clinging to a rock. In addition, there was a long, low stone gallery that ran along the left-hand wall. It was joined to the main building by what looked like a covered bridge.

  Pigs and chickens roamed freely in the great courtyard. Someone had strewn bunches of straw about, presumably to soak up the rain, but most of it was simply trampled into the heavy black mud. A few yards away from Prue and Piper, two little boys in sodden wool tunics were tussling with a skinny, mangy dog. As the girls watched, the dog pulled itself free of the boys, ran over to a small standing wagon, and relieved itself against one of the wheels.

  “Well. It’s not exactly a fairy-tale castle,” Piper commented wryly. She glanced up at the stubby, square stone tower. “But I say we try the tower anyway. Witches and wizards always seem to live in towers in the old stories.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Prue began to pick her way across the courtyard, wincing as her bare feet sank into the mud. “Ugh! Let’s get this over with. I’m dying to go home and have a shower and a cappuccino.”

  “Yeah. This is definitely one of those adventures that I’d rather watch in the movies than actually experience,” Piper said. “Another thing that I wish Niall had warned—”

  She broke off as a heavy hand descended upon her shoulder. Her heart pounded as she was spun around. She found herself staring at a squat, heavyset woman of about forty whose face resembled nothing so much as a lumpy potato.

  The woman opened her mouth, and Piper noticed that she had no more than four or five teeth left. Then the woman was shouting at her and Prue, and Piper could only blink in bewilderment.

  She couldn’t understand a word the woman was saying! It sounded something like “Hwlch y dolch greidawr mulgwyn.” But that wasn’t English, was it?

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught that,” Prue said politely.

  “Hwlch y dolch greidawr mulgwyn!” The woman shouted the same thing again, but louder this time. Then she shook a finger in Piper’s face. “Dovey diol gwr ffachynleth?”

  Piper gaped stupidly at her. That definitely wasn’t English, she thought. This woman must be foreign. But why is she yelling at us?

  A couple of soldiers who were passing had stopped to listen. Now one of them shouted, “Wyrdryn llangellen a pwyl y fawls!” They both burst out laughing.

  Oh, no, Piper realized. They all speak this bizarre language. They don’t speak English at all!

  She stared at Prue and saw the horror she felt reflected on her sister’s face. It had never occurred to either of them that they might need another language. After all, they were still in England, weren’t they?

  But obviously, in 583, the English language as they knew it had not yet evolved.

  One more thing Niall forgot to tell us, Piper thought as the woman continued to rant at them. By now a crowd was collecting around them, jeering and pointing.

  She gritted her teeth. When they got back to their own time, she was going to kill him!

  Then her spirits sank another notch as something else occurred to her.

  How in the world were they going to persuade Merlin to give them the spell when they didn’t even speak his language?

  Phoebe tore her eyes away from the spot where her sisters had stood only seconds ago. They were off now, and there was nothing she could do to help them. She’d just have to hope for the best and try to find some kind of solution from this end. She took Niall’s hand. “Come on, let’s go to that bookstore,” she said. “We’ve got a lot of reading to do.

  “I wonder if we need to worry about Diana trying to capture you,” Phoebe mused as they walked toward Caer Wydyr. “I mean, is it safe for you just to be walking around like this?”

  “I think so,” Niall said. “First of all, it is broad daylight and we’re in public. I don’t think Diana would dare try anything right now. Second, you read her note. She believes I’ve got no choice. I don’t think it would occur to her that I might simply choose not to appear.”

  “It isn’t going to come to that,” Phoebe said quickly. She squeezed his hand. “You aren’t going to appear because you won’t have to. We’ll have found a way to send you back by then.”

  Niall sighed. “I wish . . .” he began. Then he trailed off.

  They stopped for a red light at a busy intersection. Cars and buses zoomed past them.

  “You wish what?” Phoebe pressed.

  Niall hesitated. “I wish I could find a way to change the doom that’s on me,” he said at last. “I wish I could find a way to stay here, in this time, and just live.”

  Phoebe suddenly felt short of breath. “You mean you like our time better than your own?” she asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  He glan
ced down at her. Her whole body suddenly felt hot and flushed. I can’t believe I’m fishing for a declaration from him, she thought.

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” he replied softly. “You know that, Phoebe. Shall I spell it out? I wish I could stay here—with you. That’s what I’m saying.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I wish you could, too,” she whispered. “Oh, how I wish!”

  They reached the bookshop. Phoebe quickly dashed the tears off her cheeks. She took a deep breath and led the way inside.

  She collected a pile of books, first making sure they were all written in English. Then she sat down on the floor and began paging rapidly through them, glancing at any spells she came across to see if they might help. Niall did the same.

  It was a good thing this was such a sleepy shop, she thought. No one was going to question what they were doing or ask them to move out of the aisles.

  The grandfather clock against the wall ticked relentlessly. BONG! Phoebe jumped as it chimed the half hour. Why couldn’t they have a nice, unobtrusive electric clock? she wondered.

  Tick, tock, tick, tock. Phoebe turned pages even faster. There were spells to get rid of unwanted body hair; spells to make you look younger; spells to make your neighbor’s milk curdle—spells for everything, it seemed, except sending a person back in time. This is hopeless! Phoebe thought.

  Fighting a sense of despair, she put down the book she’d been looking at and opened another, a tattered little book called Enchauntements for Alle Seysons.

  This is so lame, she thought as she flipped impatiently through it. Warding off the evil eye . . . summoning fairies . . . This is not what magic is about. Calling up a strong wind . . . nullifying curses . . . giving your enemy warts . . . Phoebe tossed the book down in disgust. She glanced at the clock and was horrified to see that almost another half hour had gone by.

  No! The time was slipping away too fast!

  Niall must have been feeling it, too, for he turned to her. “Anything?” he asked in a quiet but urgent voice.

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  The clock began to chime. Noon. Only twelve hours left.

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Wait a second. Rewind,” she said aloud. She’d just had an idea.

  No. It was so incredibly simple it couldn’t possibly work, she told herself. Could it?

  Could it?

  She sat back, staring unseeing at the shelf in front of her. The blood was starting to hammer in her temples.

  Could it be that the answer to all their problems had been right under her nose all along?

  CHAPTER

  10

  Prue shot a helpless glance at Piper. The heavyset woman was leaning in close, yelling right in their faces now, and neither Piper nor Prue had any idea what her problem was. How in the world were they going to get out of this situation? Abruptly the woman grabbed Piper’s arm in one hand and Prue’s in the other. She began dragging them toward the long gallery that ran along the left wall of the castle keep. Piper cast a what-do-we-do look at Prue.

  Prue shrugged to signal that she had no idea.

  The woman marched them through a low, arched doorway and down a wide hall. Prue nearly gagged at the thick stench of wet wool, grease, and unwashed bodies that filled the air.

  Then they emerged into a room that could only be a kitchen. Two great fireplaces threw off so much heat that Prue felt beads of sweat pop out on her forehead within seconds. A small, skinny girl was turning a whole pig on a spit over one of the fires. A great iron cauldron bubbled on the other one.

  The heavyset woman thrust them toward a long, wooden table. At one end, another young girl was chopping some kind of root vegetables—parsnips? Prue wondered—and tossing them into a big bowl. At the other end stood another big bowl. The woman pointed at this bowl, then yelled some more incomprehensible words at Piper.

  Piper peered into the bowl. A moment later understanding broke over her features. “It’s bread dough!” she whispered to Prue. “I think she wants us to knead it. She must think we’re kitchen wenches.”

  “We’d better play along for now, until we can figure out how to get away without causing a scene,” Prue whispered. “You’re the cook—you start and I’ll do what you do.”

  She watched as Piper reached into the bowl and pulled out a ball of dough. But when she began to reach into the bowl herself, the heavyset woman jerked her back. Shaking her head vigorously, she pushed Prue toward the middle of the table.

  Then the woman took a hide sack off a hook on the wall and shook it over the table. Four or five dead birds fell out. “Oh, ugh!” Prue groaned.

  The woman pointed at the birds and said something in a commanding voice to Prue. To reinforce her order, she made pulling gestures with her hands.

  “What does she want me to do?” Prue asked Piper. “Tell me she doesn’t want me to touch these hideous things.”

  “I think she wants you to pluck them,” Piper whispered. “Sorry!”

  Prue felt a twinge of desperation as she stared at the bedraggled heap of birds. With those rings around their necks, she supposed they might be pheasants, but who knew? The only pheasants she’d ever seen had been already cooked and cunningly arranged on a plate with some parsley.

  Well, she thought, live and learn. She picked up one of the birds with gingerly fingers and began to tug at its tail feathers.

  With an impatient exclamation, the heavy woman slapped her hand away. She seized the pheasant by its neck, marched over to the bubbling cauldron, and plunged the bird in.

  “She’s loosening the feathers in boiling water,” Piper explained in a low voice. “They’ll come out more easily now.”

  The woman tossed the now-steaming bird back on the table, gave Prue a malevolent glare, and stalked over to the pig on the spit. She poked at it, then snapped something at the little girl turning the spit. In response, the little girl began to turn faster. The woman watched for a moment, grunted, and then headed for the doorway.

  Prue was watching her out of the corner of her eye. Is she leaving now? she thought hopefully.

  No such luck. The heavyset woman lowered herself onto a wooden stool by the doorway, where she sat glaring at all her charges with implacable eyes.

  “I think we’re stuck here for a while,” Piper whispered. She punched at her ball of dough, flipped it over, then punched it again. “Oh, well, at least she didn’t accuse us of being spies or something when we didn’t speak her language. What’s that all about?”

  Prue had wondered about that, too. She thought she knew the answer. “Well, in the sixth century the people of the British Isles were divided into lots of different tribes,” she said. She tugged out a handful of wet feathers, trying not to think about what she was doing. “They didn’t all speak the same language. Also, I think it was customary to make slaves of people that were captured in wars. She probably thinks we’re just slaves from some other tribe.”

  “King Arthur kept slaves? Wow. This is so different from the stories,” Piper commented. “So, any ideas about our next move?”

  Prue sighed. “I guess we just have to keep an eye out for a chance to sneak away,” she replied. “I mean, she can’t sit there all day, can she?”

  But the minutes sped by, and it began to seem as though, in fact, the heavyset woman could sit there all day. What’s more, every time Prue sneaked a glance at her, the woman’s beady gaze was fixed unwaveringly on either herself or Piper.

  This is ridiculous, Prue thought. The heat and smell in the kitchen were starting to make her feel sick. I didn’t come fourteen hundred years into the past just to spend my time plucking feathers out of dead birds!

  “Okay, it’s time for plan B,” she whispered to Piper. “I’m going to create a distraction. Get ready to run.”

  Piper nodded. “Go for it.”

  Prue glanced around discreetly until she spotted a pebble lying on the ground near the far doorway. Focusing her power, she made the little stone rise up and k
nock on the stone wall.

  The heavyset woman turned her head sharply in the direction of the sound.

  Prue moved the pebble through the doorway, just out of sight. Then she made it knock on the wall again. She could only hope no one was out there to see it.

  Frowning, the woman heaved herself off the stool and took a few steps toward the doorway.

  Score! Prue made the pebble knock again.

  The woman turned and shot a glance at the table where Prue and Piper were working. Prue quickly dropped her eyes to her task and tugged out another handful of feathers. As she tugged, she made the pebble knock one more time.

  Muttering something, the heavyset woman disappeared through the far doorway.

  “Let’s go!” Wiping wet feathers off her fingers, Prue headed swiftly for the other doorway. Piper was right on her heels. Glancing back, Prue saw that the little girl at the spit was gazing silently after them. She put a finger to her lips. After a moment the little girl grinned and nodded.

  Prue and Piper hurried out into the muddy courtyard, then veered left and headed toward the great hall. “Keep your head down, and don’t make eye contact,” Prue advised Piper. “With any luck, people will just ignore us.”

  But it just didn’t seem to be their lucky day. They were only halfway across the courtyard when a burly, red-faced soldier stepped into Prue’s path. Leering at her, he said something. Although she couldn’t understand his words, she had a pretty good idea of what his suggestive tone meant.

  “Uh-oh,” Piper muttered.

  Prue forced a smile. “Not right now, I’m on an errand,” she said in as polite a voice as she could muster. “Excuse me.” She tried to move around him.

  The soldier’s grin grew wider. He stepped directly into Prue’s path again, then grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. Once again she was nearly overwhelmed by the smell—this time, the scent of male sweat and grime, plus the gamy odor of his leather breastplate.

  “I don’t have time for this!” Prue grated. Still smiling, she brought her knee up swiftly into his groin. The soldier gave a strangled yell and let go of Prue as he doubled over.