When I was alone in my room, I would often draw my sword and look at the smoothness and sharpness of the blade. Sometimes I imagined driving it into Uther’s war-hardened flesh and imagining in the surprise on his face that the little girl he had mocked and struck had still retained enough strength in her to hate him.
I was sorry, then, when a few weeks before Christmas news came that Uther had died of his illness and I would have no chance for my own revenge. It came in a strange form, the news. I sat out on the rocks, staring through the mist, when I saw the barge come. I expected the Lady of Avalon, but instead I saw a young man, brown-skinned with thick glossy brown curls falling to his chin. He looked about my age, young and lithe, and he was dressed in simple woollen clothes under a rich and heavy cloak of dark furs. About his neck, too, he bore a strange chain of gold set at its centre with a huge sapphire that glinted like the eye of a dragon. I stood slowly to my feet, mesmerised, and I was shocked when, as the barge docked and the man tied it to Avalon’s tiny wooden pier, he came over to me, took me by the hand and gave a little bow.
“My Lady Morgan.” I was yet more shocked that he knew who I was. “I bring news from your lady mother, the Queen Igraine. King Uther is dead.”
The shock of it went through me, and I felt my hand tremble against his. War would begin soon, then. And my mother had not come. Perhaps she had fled back to Tintagel, my father’s castle, to hide from Uther’s enemies. I hoped that was what she had done, for Camelot was right in the centre of Logrys and could be attacked from all sides, and my stepfather King Uther had had many enemies.
The man reached out and brushed my cheek lightly with his hand. Were I not so stunned from the news I had both longed for and dreaded I might have been surprised at this, but it reached me as though through a dream.
Thoughtfully, he said, “You look so like your mother at that age, you know.”
It seemed impossible to me that he would have known my mother at sixteen. He looked no older than twenty to me, and more like my own age. I did not think, besides, that I could look like my mother. Everyone said that my mother was a great beauty, and that I was not. Too tall, too skinny, too serious about the eyes. This strange man was just being kind, or worse, just being polite.
As though waking from his own daydream, he shook his head, and the brown curls bounced lightly in time with it.
“Morgan, can you take me to the Lady?”
I nodded mutely, and led the way. I couldn’t make sense of anything other than the relief and panic of Uther’s death. He was gone, he could not hurt me now, but my mother and Arthur and Ector and – most of all – Kay, were out there alone in a realm that was soon going to be eaten up by war. Even if my sister’s husband, King Lot, made a play to seize the southern realm of Logrys, it would not be easy. Men would die. Men I cared about. Women, too, and children. And they would not die with swords in their hands riding to battle. They would be slaughtered. Avalon suddenly did not seem so safe or so far from Logrys. It would, of course, remain untouched by war, but I could not forget those who were beyond the lake.
The Lady was in Avalon’s great hall, which was called thus, but was no bigger really than the abbey’s cloister garden. There were a few of the others with her, among whom I recognised Nimue. The Lady smiled when she saw the man with me, and came over to kiss him on the cheek.
“Merlin! What news from Camelot?” she asked. I had not seen her so pleased to see anybody before, except perhaps Nimue. The Lady of Avalon only liked those who were strong in their gifts, and I was not yet one of those, though I felt always the potential of my strength coiled within me.
Merlin. How could this young man be Uther’s witch? He was not even painted with woad, so he had not earned his title on Avalon.
A chair was brought for him, though he did not sit, and the Lady sat in the great stone seat in the hall, and I and the others gathered behind. Nimue, who had come to my side, slipped her hand into mine. I was surprised, but glad, at the gesture. Nimue had not seemed the affectionate type to me before, nor, I had thought, I to her, but she must have sensed my need and I felt the strength of her presence beside me, and I felt more steady.
Merlin gave a little bow before the Lady of Avalon once she was seated. I felt it then, the strength of the power coming off him. It was of the Otherworld, but it was strange and unfamiliar to me in its quality. I remembered then that I had overheard one of the other women once say that Merlin’s father had been an incubus and though he mainly practised the magic of Avalon, he had knowledge of the Black Arts, and had used them to put Uther on the throne. I could not believe those things, looking at the handsome young man standing before us now.
“My Lady, and ladies of Avalon. King Uther is dead.” There was a flurry of noise, of muttering and of half-panic among the women gathered behind the Lady, and she raised her hand for silence. “It is said throughout the land that Uther died without an heir. However, I am come to Avalon with news that this is not so. Uther had a son, whom I gave into fosterage on Avalon.” I did not think that could be Lancelot, though I knew of no other man who had been raised in Avalon. Besides, Lancelot knew who his father was – his father had been old King Ban of the southern lands of France. Surely, it could not be him. “However, it seems that the boy has been lost,” he paused a moment, and a hard look I had not expected passed between him and the Lady, even though moments ago they had greeted each other as old friends, “and I do not know where to find him. I have set a test in the great Cathedral, and when the time is right the boy will identify himself by being the only one able to pull Uther’s sword from the block of stone I have set it in. It will be soon. We must prepare ourselves for a new king. I have seen him in my dreams. He will not be like his father; he will love Avalon and protect your order. Greatness will come to Britain, and I am pleased to be the man who will raise up this new king.”
A lost child? Uther’s lost son? I never remembered another child, nor heard talk of it. It did not seem that this child could have grown into a man, though, so Uther’s son must be younger than I was, which meant he must have had this son with another woman while he was married to my mother. Of course he had. Uther was that kind of nasty brute.
“I will take the Princess Morgan back with me when I return to Camelot,” he added.
“No!” I heard myself shout, shocked by my own boldness, my own loud voice where I was usually quiet. Blushing, I gathered myself to add more calmly, “I cannot go. I have not finished my studies here.”
This was not the whole truth of it. I did not want to go back to Logrys only half a witch, unable to defend myself, but I would have rather gone to Cornwall to be with my mother, or to Lothian to stay with my sister than to go alone to Uther’s warlike capital.
“Morgan.” He turned to me, and when his dark eyes fixed me I felt rooted to the spot. “Do not worry. It will not be right away. And the Lady tells me you are near to finishing.”
When had she told him? The Lady must have written to him about me. I felt hot with anger. I was not near finished. I had learned a lot, but achieved nothing. I suppose I might have finished already if I had wanted to learn the arts of healing, since I had seen other women my age earn their woad quickly doing that, and though I did not want the gift, I found it came to me a little by nature, in the touch of my hands; but I was nowhere close to learning what I had come to learn. I had not even found all the books that I needed.
I went back to my room as quickly as I could when the Lady had dismissed us to talk to Merlin alone. I tried to sit at my books, desperate to learn as much as I could in the little time I had left, but when I picked up the book that was open at my desk, Kay’s letter fell out from underneath it, hitting the stone floor with a papery whisper. I picked it up and held it in my hands, trying to imagine him sitting in his house making the charmingly clumsy letters that skittered across it. It was an old scrap, and on the back were a list of numbers, the accounts of Ector’s housekeeper or something, but I could tell that he had writ
ten it with great effort. I had to write back to him, though I was not sure where I would find him now that the King was dead. I wished it were summer again and we were running through the woodlands, kissing under the trees. I wondered, obliquely, if Kay had yet killed a man. I thought that was when boys finally lost their innocence. I knew for us, for women, it was different, and that I already had, but the day would come for Kay and Arthur when they would have to kill, and that was, I was sure, when it would end for them. Kay still wrote like he was playing boys’ games of fighting, but I could not really imagine Kay writing anything else.
I folded the letter tenderly and tucked it into my bag, between two of my dresses. I did not want to have any chance of accidentally leaving such a precious item behind in Avalon. Then, kneeling on the floor by my bag, I caught the glint of the jewelled scabbard of my sword under the bed, and feeling the need for comfort, I reached under and pulled it out. I stood up, holding it against me, closing my eyes and feeling the power of the Otherworld, and the companionship of Nimue, and what I realised now was the deep kindness and thoughtfulness of her gift, all around me. She had known this day was coming. Nimue, who saw things in her dreams, had seen my need for a sword. At least now this meant that if I was wed to a man I did not like I could kill him. That seemed to me an awfully likely outcome, and I was more glad of the sword that I had ever been of anything in my life.
Suddenly, the door opened and Merlin stepped in. I stepped back, afraid, and held the sword behind me, but it was too late. He had already seen it.
“That is a fine sword you have there, my Lady Morgan," he said, with a gentle smile. He was handsome enough that I felt uncomfortable in my room alone with him. His smile was not so unlike Kay’s, impish and charming, and I felt myself blush to acknowledge my own attraction. “Let me see it.”
He reached out for it. I would not have given it to him if I had been braver, or if I had thought more quickly. But, in the moment it seemed like denying it to him would have only made him take it from me violently, and I did not want it to seem as precious as it was. I was afraid he would take it from me, but if he thought it was of little worth then he would not – though I did not know how I intended to convince him that the jewels on the hilt and scabbard were worthless. Anyone of any degree would want such a lovely sword, even those who could not guess at its Otherworld strength, as I was sure that Merlin could.
He drew it slowly from the scabbard and whistled through his teeth to look at it, impressed. The low winter light from the window glinted of it. I held back my desperate urge to snatch it from him.
“I have seen this sword in my dreams,” he murmured under his breath, his voice full of wonder. “Excalibur.”
I did not know how he knew the name of my sword, but I knew then that he coveted it. I wanted to ask what dreams they were, but I dared not know. After all, he said he had dreamed of this king, Uther’s bastard son. A king would want so fine a sword. Well, he would not have it. Not from me. Lingering for a moment, Merlin slid it back in the scabbard and handed it back to me. As he handed it back his hand brushed mine and he let it, for longer, I thought, than was accidental.
“Many thanks, Lady Morgan. A fine sword indeed.”
I took it back, gathering it against myself protectively, wrapping my arms around it. I should have taken it casually as though I did not guard it jealously, but I was desperate not to lose it. It was my last safety. It would be all that I had when I left Avalon.
As though he had suddenly remembered why he had come to me, he jumped a little on his feet. “Ah,” he began. “Yes, I will take you to Camelot when the King has revealed himself. Now, I understand that you have had some trouble locating a certain book.”
I nodded. I wanted to slide the sword back under my bed, but then he would know where I kept it. I hugged it closer against myself.
“Macrobius’ book on the changing of shapes, the Formae Mutandum,” I told him, quiet with my shyness, and railing against it.
Merlin laughed, but he seemed pleased. “I know the book. I am surprised that you know it. Morgan, you must know that such things are considered by some as part of the Black Arts.”
I had not known that. I had thought the Black Arts were spells of death, or spells that destroyed the minds of others. Such things that blackened the land, or blighted out the sun. I supposed that this explained why I had found no such book in the abbey or in Avalon, but I thought the Lady of Avalon might have warned me that I was wandering into darkness. It was too late, now, to turn back. I would not leave Avalon without such magic, and if it was magic from the borders of the Black Arts, then I would take it.
“I am not afraid,” I told him softly. I was not. I felt shyness, always, hesitancy, but I was not easily made afraid. Not for my own safety. I had heard Black Arts could eat up the mind and soul of those who practised them, but I knew that I was strong in mind if not in body. I was glad, suddenly, that Merlin had come, despite the threat he came with, for he would complete my education, and make me strong.
“No, I see that,” he said evenly. I could see that he was intrigued by me, and he raised his eyebrow and gave me a knowing smile. “I see that you are not easily made afraid, my Lady Morgan. Not easily at all.”
Chapter Six
The next few days, I did not see much of Merlin. I saw him about Avalon, mainly with the Lady, but I did not see him when I passed through the library. I kept to my room, reading as much as I could, but feeling I was learning little. I sat with Nimue out on the rocks, looking out. She said she wished she would go to Camelot, and that she had dreamed of the King, too, and not just of the King but of a red-haired barbarian woman dressed in armour and riding into battle at his side. That sounded more like a fever dream to me than a vision of the future, but I held my tongue for the sake of the affection I had for Nimue.
I asked her if she had dreamed of a dark-haired man, hoping in vain that she might have had some vision of Kay, but she shrugged and said that she dreamed of many dark-haired men and I would have to be more specific, but I could not bear to, so I could not know.
The Lady called me to her the next day, not in her hall but in her private room. It was the same as all the rest of ours, only slightly larger and with a pair of chairs set out for us at the window. I sat neatly in the chair, gazing off out at the mist, heavy with the winter, and low over the lake.
“Morgan,” the Lady began slowly, folding her hands in her lap. The woad on them was old and faded, the skin of her hands slack with age and papery. She was wise, and I longed to be as old and wise as she. I was afraid a different fate awaited me. One of marriage and politics. She sighed deeply. “This is not an easy thing for me to say.” She fixed me with a look of intense sincerity and I felt myself drawn into her gaze. “It has come to my attention that you have requested a certain book from Merlin.”
I felt my heart quicken within me, and felt nervous. I didn’t know what Merlin had said, or why I had the sense that I had done something wrong when I knew I had not.
“It was one I needed to finish my studies. Macrobius’ book on the changing of shapes. I could not find it in the library,” I answered.
The Lady sighed again and reached out to take my hand in hers. It felt like the parchment of the books; dry and soft and old.
“There is a reason that Avalon does not have that book. If I had known this was the path your studies had taken, I would have stopped you long ago. Morgan, I’m afraid to say that I cannot allow it. Macrobius’ Formae Mutandum is dangerous.”
“But we have his other book.” I felt the desperation fire within me. I would not be sent from Avalon having completed nothing, having no new power and no new strength. I felt the injustice of it burn within me. “We have his book on the theory of dreams. What is so forbidden about the changing of shapes?”
The Lady sighed again and shook her head. “The theory of dreams is a philosophical work. The changing of shapes is the Black Arts, Morgan.”
“Why? Whom does the changing
of shapes harm?” My desperation had made me bold, made me desperate to plead for myself. The weary look in the Lady’s eye was the same as the one I had seen Ector give Kay the day he had told Kay that he must give up Lancelot for good. I felt the stab of its absolute parental concern. She would not let me argue her objection away.
“Morgan…” she began slowly, her voice careful, “dark things have been done with that book. Merlin, he has knowledge of it, and he used that knowledge to help Uther conceive this son of his. Uther…” She drew in a breath, as though she was steeling herself. “Uther desired a lady who had a husband, and Merlin changed Uther’s shape so that he could lie one night with her disguised as this husband. This boy Merlin intends to put on the throne – now, he doesn’t know it and it’s not his fault – but he is a child of rape. This is evil magic, and it has done harm to that poor woman. It will harm others. Now, I cannot ban Merlin from Avalon, but I can ban his Black Arts. No such thing will be practised in Avalon, Morgan.”
I felt the despair clench cold inside me. I held back the tears I wanted to cry, aware that they would betray my frustration and my youth. I did not want to go powerless back to Logrys. I had worked hard. I was so close, I was sure I was so close to changing my shape. I would not have harmed anyone.
MORGAN: A Gripping Arthurian Fantasy Trilogy Page 5
