White Heart (Merrydian's Gate, #1)

by A. E. Wright

  “Merl, the necklace it’s a key right?” I asked.

  “Indeed, as you already know it opens the gate when it is in the possession of myself or an heir.” He advised.

  “Right, but where I come from if someone opens a lock with a key they would have to do the reverse to secure a door again.” I stated.

  “I’m not sure I’m following you.” Merl seemed disgruntled that I was distracting him, leading him to trip in a slight ditch in the ground.

  “I never locked the gate with the key, the door closed behind me but the necklace didn’t burn or anything, like it did when it opened the door.” I continued.

  “Ah, Of course!” Merl stopped suddenly causing me to collide with him. “Violet have you bled at all recently? Any kind of abrasions, however small, may have been significant.” He asked.

  “Well I cut my ankle when we were in Thistlewick, Idris and Jestin were there at the time. Dahlia may have seen it too when we were in the baths after.” I recalled. Merl digested this information carefully.

  “Regrettably, I myself have not been as careful as I should have been, Evangelista, Rosamaylind and Darrick happened to be in the library when I suffered a paper cut to my thumb, I let them tend to the wound without thinking to ask for the bandage back.” He admitted.

  “So what does that mean?” I could have guessed by the direction the conversation was taking.

  “Unfortunately it would seem that with the gate unlocked, our blood has opened the passage. It is a kind of failsafe I have built into every door or gateway I create. Even more alarmingly however is that whoever it was somehow understood how to open the door with blood, a fact that has only ever been shared with my family.” It suddenly made sense why Idris had lured me up to his bedroom that night. He wanted to get my blood. My revelation was momentary and then I remembered that he was too young to be the traitor. No matter how much I went over the facts, everything fit to Idris, but age.

  It was nearing the end of summer but even for this time of year, the night was unusually dark. The occasional beam of a car headlight in the distance would confirm that I was still walking across a vast field but other than that what lay beyond, waiting in the darkness, was a mystery to me. Would Merl have been traditional and buried Agrona in a graveyard? In an unmarked grave perhaps? Somewhere symbolising the unloved or forgotten, I doubt he would have wanted to make regular journeys to her grave to pay his respects. Were graveyards even a tradition in the age when Merl had fought Agrona? My feet felt heavier with every step I took through the mudded field. I was becoming tired. The one hour of sleep I had managed on the bench at Merl’s wasn’t sufficient in sating my lethargy. I began to feel dizzy, my stomach turning, the field spinning. I felt the weight of my legs collapse beneath me as strangely disconnected images began flashing through the clouded thoughts in my head.

  When they solidified I was no longer walking with Merl through the field instead I stood at the back of a funeral procession as they slowly made their way up towards the top of a high cliff. The winding paths were narrow as they ascended upwards. The strong winds causing my hair to whip at my face as I loitered dangerously close to the edge. When I reached the top, I pushed my way towards a huge stack of wood that seemed to be at the centre of all events. I recognised many faces in the crowd, people I knew from both my new world and my old one. Merl, Jestin and Dahlia were joined by Bettery, my mother and father. They all stood quietly with their head’s bowed collectively but not out of respect or grief. I pushed them aside, they moved rigidly like mannequins’ just about to topple. Everything had become disjointed and surreal. I saw the witch, her deathbed a pyre of dark oak. Her long curled red hair swaying in the breeze, coming tantalisingly close to the angry flames that licked at the wood, the flames eventually consuming the pyre in its entirety. The searing heat transformed the strong wood to mere ashes in seconds. In turn, the ashes fell to the ground. They were catching the people at the bottom of the fire. The crowd of onlookers, who stood stationary and unconcerned, began to burn. The fire was consuming everything and everyone apart from the witch and me. The angry orange flames didn’t reach her, they never would. She was immortal, the burning heat of the fire was no match for the coldness within her heart, and the flames were extinguished at her touch. She turned her head, no longer dead but alive and ferocious with rage. Her severe gaze focused on her enemy, her prize and now I stood in the middle of the field exposed and vulnerable, a sacrificial lamb ready for slaughter.

  “Ruddy well wake up!” I felt a sharp finger in the side of my arm.

  “What happened?” I asked dazedly. I was lying in the field, my other arm outstretched above my head in an awkward position.

  “My Beard! You passed out!” Merl seemed a little annoyed at my sudden lapse of consciousness.

  “Sorry.” I stated, pulling myself to my feet.

  “Never mind, we’re here now.” Merl pointed into the night.

  I surveyed the darkness for evidence of our location but as far as I could tell we were still in the centre of some random field. The grass was short and flat and there was a large stone directly in front of me but apart from that, nothing. Not until I considered how unusually large the stone was. It was also a rectangular shape, a strange and unnatural shape for a stone of its size. It hadn’t formed this way naturally, the elements had nothing to do with its shape. Human hands had designed it. This was part of a structure of some sort. The beam of a headlight caught the rock revealing another, very similar, stone behind it. Then another and another, they formed a circular shape although some of the stones differed in size. I recognised this place. I’d seen its image many times. A very important place, surrounded by mysticism, an enigmatic relic of ancient times, it was now a tourist attraction. I had never been here before although I knew plenty of people that had. Agrona was buried at Stonehenge! If they only knew!

  Time is of the essence Violet, let us not waste it.” Merl took a deep breath before he began waving his arms around manically. I couldn’t hear the magical mantra he was chanting but whatever he was doing was the most extraordinary spell I had seen yet. The enormous stones dislodged from their position and began to fly around in the air as if weightless. They were reacting to the directions of Merl, becoming a new structure, fitting into place like a gigantic game of Tetris. I would have found this amusing if I hadn’t been in absolute awe at what was taking place before my eyes and also terrified of what we were going to find within the tomb that was now fully formed. What had stood just seconds before as a crumbling and incomplete circle of stones was now transformed into a huge square shaped tomb. The largest of the stones settled into place as a door. The engraving of a huge skull adorned with roses took shape upon the stone itself, warning visitors to the danger that was held within. Merl took out a small rusted knife and placed it to his finger. Before he made an incision, I put my own hand in the way to stop him.

  “Let me.” I said this with as much confidence as I could muster not wanting Merl to argue.

  I took the knife from his grasp and drew it across the palm of my own hand. The stinging sensation was instant as the knife punctured my soft flesh. Blood began spilling out of the wound. Merl took hold of my wrist and gently placed the flat of my palm against the mouth of the skull, which opened upon contact. As more blood spilled into its thirsty mouth it became wider until it was wide enough that we could step through it.

  Inside was a cold stone chamber. Nothing but a white slab of marble adorned this crypt. A panic rose within me. Where was she? Who had taken her? What if she was in this dark room, hidden in the shadows, watching? My hands began to shake as I looked to Merl for answers. He was calm as he approached the slab, he gave a quick tap towards the marble.

  “Nocht.” He stated his lip curling slightly in disgust.

  No sooner had the word exited his mouth than the body of the witch appeared laid across the slab, her arms outstretched at either side. I was reluctant in my approach but after the panic of just a moment before
I had to confirm to myself that it was her, that the traitor or the Gnarls had not taken her, that they were not one step closer to achieving their goal of unifying her heart with her body.

  Her skin was white, with no blood pumping around her body she was completely devoid of colour, her bare feet sticking out of the bottom of her black dress were still mudded from the day in the field, centuries ago, when Merl had defeated her. I was shocked to see the gaping hole in her chest, the sheer ferocity with which Merl’s spell had hit her had bust the left side of rib cage completely open. I quickly averted my eyes upwards towards her head, not wanting to see the gruesome hole any longer. Around her neck was a thick golden torque. Its twisted design ending with two large rose bulbs almost touching but not quite. Her hair was the same orange I had witnessed in Rosamaylind’s vision, it created a thick, coiled cushion for her oval shaped head. Her face was eerily animated, her cool eyes, not closed in rest, were filled with satisfaction. Her features wore a smug smile. I guess she hadn’t had any idea of the kind of spell that had been coming her way in the final moment before it actually hit her. The raw power that radiated from her lifeless body was terrifying, foreboding even in her current condition.

  I did not want to think what it must have been like to face her in life. To come up against her as a foe and know that there was no way to plead for your life or the life of your family. She would destroy anything that got in her way, intentionally or not. Other people’s feelings were something of an insignificant consequence to her. I knew in this moment that being close to the woman lying on the marble slab before me was the nearest I would ever come to real and tangible evil in my mortal life. Merl lifted her head and slipped the torque from around her neck, tucking it the inner pocket of his robe he turned to me.

  “Good, she’s still here. Let us leave this godforsaken place. When we get back to Blossomdown I will investigate the ways in which I can hide this tomb forever.” Merl spun to face the entrance after one final glance at Agrona, the darkness that touched his eyes was chilling.

  I was the first to step out of the skulls mouth, instantly feeling the sharp pain of a knife like claw as it took my arm. In the moment before I was spun around to face the entrance of the tomb I saw them, at least two hundred Gnarls filed in ranks in the field. A headlight flashed across the field illuminating them, causing a kind of grotesque showcase of their military might. Another claw quickly took position on my neck. Dangerously close to my arteries, it dug in slightly, causing a trickle of blood to run down the front of my dress. Merl’s shocked features confirmed that our worst fears had come to fruition. We were followed here to the tomb and now I could feel the rubbery skin of the Gnarl as it pressed its grotesque cheek against my own. Up close, the Gnarls smell was repugnant, like the putrefying flesh of deceased animals mixed with a moulding wood. My stomach began to convulse but I couldn’t throw-up, any sudden movement in this situation would mean certain death. The Gnarls would not take any chances when it came to their beloved mistress. Its command to Merl was clear as it pointed its free claw, the one that was not held as a threatening ransom on the vulnerable skin of my neck, towards the back of the tomb.

  “Mistress.” It hissed, giddy with delight.

  I tried to mouth for Merl to close the entrance, after all if I was killed by the Gnarls, Agrona may still rise but she wouldn’t have access to my heart. And since she would never be strong enough to take Merl’s, mine was the last heart she needed to render herself truly immortal. That way Merl might be able to destroy her completely or at least entombed her again. Merl shook his head subtlety so that the Gnarls remained ignorant of our communication.

  “If I permit you to enter this tomb, you will release the girl immediately.” Merl sounded confident yet worried.

  This was more of a command than a bargain. The Gnarl holding me, knew that Merl was going to kill him when he let me go. He dug his sharp claws deep into my arms. I screamed with the sudden shock of the pain as he hoisted me into the air and launched me, much like a child might throw a rag doll into the army of Gnarls waiting behind him. The cackling Gnarls stepped aside not wanting to break my fall. As I hit the ground, the air left my lungs. I lay gasping in the darkness, my hands instinctively finding the wounds on my arms, folding around them to try to stem the flow of blood. The movement as my hands protectively reached towards my arms felt wrong. They were jerky, there must have been some damage done to my triceps as my captor’s sharp claws had pierced my skin and dug deep into them.

  Flashes of blue and purple light erupted like a firework display from the entrance of the tomb. I could not move, I was useless to Merl. I could only wait and hope that Merl was winning the battle that followed my injuries. I could smell the burning of rubber skin and the same hideous screeches that had haunted my dreams night after night. I managed to tilt my head backwards slightly catching glimpses of Merl as he shot powerful streams of light toward the encroaching Gnarls. Groups of them were falling at once, as if they were bowling pins, in the wake of this seemingly defenceless old man. I watched as the feet of the three Gnarls that had been closest to me began to run in the direction of the entrance. As they propelled themselves forward, the mud left the soles of their bare feet splattering my face. I couldn’t move my hands away from my burning wounds not even to wipe the mud from my face. I heard Merl scream the word ‘sufoco’ as a Gnarl fell to the ground clutching its throat, I must remember ‘sufoco’ it seemed like a useful spell. More fireworks and then the severed hand of a Gnarl landed directly in front of my face. Its head landed a little way in the distance. I felt myself being lifted, levitated in the air and I was moving at a fast pace away from the army of Gnarls who were now flooding excitedly into the tomb.

  Merl was running with his hands raised above his head, magically supporting me as he fled the battle. I felt awful, this was my fault. I had been his weakness, he was so determined to save me that the Gnarls were now carrying the lifeless body of Agrona from the tomb. They fought each other ruthlessly to have the privilege of supporting the body. Two of the lager Gnarls pulled at the arms of a smaller one so forcefully that its arms became detached. The two larger Gnarls then began biting and scratching at each other to gain a position under the body. These creatures were both brutal and idiotic, a very dangerous combination, yet somehow they had known that Merl would protect me over the body and now they had the first piece of their precious mistress that they had lost so long ago.

  As the body cleared the threshold of the skulls mouth, the tomb itself began to spin in the air. Once again restoring to a familiar circular formation, the large stones were hitting the unsuspecting Gnarls, crushing some of them, as they attempted to leap to safety. Merl continued running in the opposite direction to them as they now carried the wretched Agrona’s body away into the darkness.

  Chapter Fourteen - Acquiescence

  I HAD PASSED out again on the way back to Blossomdown and had managed to sleep my way through two whole days. When I awoke, I was in the familiar setting of my observatory room, Jestin sat over me tending to my wounded arms with a strange pink substance.

  “What’s that?” my arms were no longer in agony. The deep gaping holes that the Gnarl’s claws had created in them were now merely scratches on the surface of the skin.

  “It’s Bugul’s blood, amongst other things. He gave me a vile of it on the night you were poisoned in the forest. I was hoping to save it for after Agrona had risen but the muscles in your arms had been sliced so I didn’t have much choice.” His face was strained. The stress he was under was obvious, he wasn’t making jokes or smiling any longer. I noticed that as he applied the solution to my arms he was wincing slightly, had he been injured whilst escorting the vulnerable of the Worlen to Blossomdown?

  “Take off your shirt.” I demanded. It wasn’t a request. He didn’t even put up a fight as I removed his long sleeved white smock from his shoulders. His wounds were dismaying but not because they were horrifically deep, infected or bleeding profusely. His
wounds horrified me because they were exactly the same as my own. They were the same depth; they were in the same place and had the same shape. These were not wounds that had been inflicted upon him by an outside force, he had not been ambushed in the wood on the way to Blossomdown; these wounds were not wounds sustained whilst protecting the innocent from some giant adder or reaping bird. They were my wounds echoed on his skin. I cupped his guilt-ridden face in my hands exploring his emerald eyes for an explanation.

  “It’s the binding spell, its punishing me for not being there to protect you. I should have been there to protect you.” He winced. He had these wounds because of me yet he was angry with himself for not being there?

  “But I wasn’t hurt when the adder impaled you.” I stated. As ridiculous as it sounded I detested that this was such a one-way deal.

  “You made no promise to protect me Violet, you are not bound to the spell and I am.” Jestin explained. I already knew this of course, but that didn’t make the sheer unfairness of the situation any more palatable to me.

  “I want the spell undoing,” I protested defiantly. I hated that I could hurt him without even meaning to. This spell wasn’t only ridiculous, it was downright dangerous. If the people of Falinn Galdur had any chance of defeating Agrona, it was not just with Merl but Jestin too and he was compromising that by attaching himself to a weakling like me.

  “Absolutely not.” He was cold and stern in his answer as if he was giving a command to a member of the Worlen army. I picked up the wicker sponge he had been using to wash the injuries from my arms and began to do the same for him.

  “Save the solution, you need it more than I do.” He stated. It was true that his wounds would heal at an astoundingly rapid pace compared to mine but I wasn’t going to let him tell me I couldn’t tend to his wounds either.

  “We both need it.” I smiled trying to look reassuring.