MORGAN: A Gripping Arthurian Fantasy Trilogy

by Lavinia Collins

  I had nothing to say to him. How could I defend myself against the rawness of Kay’s truth? I had not trusted him. Every step I had taken to defend myself had been a step that had taken me further from the good love that had once made me whole, and now this last step had robbed me of the two men who had loved me, Kay and Accolon. I was finally alone. Alone, and once again robbed of my sword. I could not turn back. I could only go further into the darkness.

  “I will do you one last kindness, Morgan,” he said softly. “I will not tell Arthur it was you that took his sword.” It is my sword, I thought, but I held my tongue. “But, Morgan, do not try to harm him again.”

  I fixed him with a sharp look, drawing into myself, drawing all the power I had about myself. I could see him feel it, though he tried to hide it.

  “Tell Arthur what you please. You and Arthur and all the knights of Camelot could look for me all over God’s earth and not find a trace of me if I did not wish it. I am not afraid of Arthur’s vengeance; I will do much more than this, when I see my time.”

  Kay sighed deeply, and I saw it go through his whole body. He rubbed his face one last time.

  “Morgan, please,” he said.

  I neither moved nor spoke, unwilling to assent. Kay might not have forgotten me as utterly as I thought he had, but Arthur had, and if Kay was with Arthur, then Kay too must be my enemy. Kay and I were finished, and he had declared his place at Arthur’s side. The coldness and absoluteness of the end of it all cauterised me against any of the pain I felt, for Kay, and for Accolon, and I did not cry when he left.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  They brought his body back to Rheged, but I could not look at it. Among the armour they stripped from him, I found the scabbard. It had not saved him. The belt was sliced through, as though Arthur had cut it from him in battle, but he must not have known it was his own scabbard because he had not taken it with him. It was caked in mud, and I only knew that it was truly Excalibur’s scabbard from the feel of it in my hand. But I could not bear to keep it. I had no need of a magic scabbard. I had my own ways to protect myself, my own potions to stop myself spilling a drop of blood.

  I stood on the battlements to watch the smoke rising from the pyre as they burned Accolon. Even he had abandoned me at the last. He had not even left me with a child.

  When the smoke stopped rising, I called for my horse, and took the scabbard, and rode to the shores of Avalon. I would return the cursed thing to where it had come from. Night was falling as I arrived, but I did not care. A thick mist rose off the lake, and I hurled the scabbard out into it. I did not hear it fall into the water, but I knew it was gone. I climbed back on my horse and rode back to Rheged, fast. The ride was long, and I did not get back until the depths of the night, but it had cleared my head, and when I lay in my bed that night, I felt colder, calmer, more resolved than ever to make myself invulnerable.

  I knew it was time to make a final, desperate effort to get Merlin’s knowledge. I was afraid, now, that Nimue would not bring it to me, and I was determined to have it. I wrote to Camelot, asking him to come to me.

  I did not have to wait long for Merlin after I sent for him. I thought that he would be intrigued. It was a bright evening, early spring, and I stepped into my room to find him leaning against the window-frame, in his young, handsome form. He had, then, come to negotiate. I closed the door behind me, and drew the bolt.

  “Good, you came,” I said, briskly, walking into the middle of the room to face him. He was only wearing a shirt and breeches, though the chill of winter still lingered in the air. He regarded me with an amused interest, leaning back against the window, his elbows resting on the sill.

  “What do you want with me, Morgan?” he asked.

  “I want the rest of your secrets. The rest of the Black Arts,” I told him.

  “That is interesting.” He stepped forward, walking right up to me. I did not back down. I was not afraid of Merlin, and I knew the price. I was prepared. I would give anything in my possession for the rest of Merlin’s dark knowledge. He reached out and laid his hand lightly against my throat. I could feel my pulse quicken under his hand. He had not left, so he was considering it. “And what do you possibly have of equal value?” He let his hand trail down, over my breast, down my stomach, and then around my waist, to pull me against him. He whispered close, his voice lower, more threatening, more unpleasant. Though he was still young and handsome in his form, I felt my skin crawl as it had when I had looked on his true shape. “You have lost the sword, you have lost the book, you have thrown away the scabbard.” He leaned closer still to whisper in my ear, and I felt his lips brush against my neck. I did not push him away. I was prepared to get the knowledge from him by any means necessary. “If you were hoping you could get my secrets from me by offering me your body again, you should know that Nimue has matched your offer.” I felt his teeth, lightly, at my ear, and he pulled me closer against him. “But,” he continued, his hands reaching up my back to pull open the lacing at the back of my dress, “Nimue is a lovely young virgin, and you have had many men before. So, you will have to offer me something more convincing, like – the child.”

  I pushed him back then, suddenly enough that he stumbled away from me.

  “What child?” I demanded. His smile spread slowly across his face, and I felt my blood grow chill.

  “Morgawse’s child with Arthur,” he replied.

  I thought for a moment. I had seen what joy the little boy gave my sister, what happiness. I had seen how much she loved him. But, if she could be convinced to give him away to be fostered, why not with Merlin? Then he could protect himself from his father’s anger with secret knowledge. Merlin might agree to take the boy when he was fifteen years old and of the age to become a knight. It would be no different to her than what would happen anyway. Every boy must become a knight someday; if she had to let him go anyway why not to become a witch?

  “He is not my child to give,” I answered slowly. Merlin leaned away, and I could see that he was about to leave. “But,” I added, swiftly, “I think I could persuade Morgawse to give him up, if she could be sure of his safety.”

  Merlin gave a harsh laugh, “Sure of his safety? Morgan, you misunderstand me. I do not want the boy alive. There is powerful black magic to be done with his blood, and that is what I want. All of it.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, disgusted, drawing back.

  “Then you shall not have him.” I was not going to give away my sister’s beloved child to be murdered. There were still things I would not do; betray my sister, kill a child. Merlin shrugged.

  “Then you shall not have my knowledge.”

  “How do I know that the rest of your knowledge isn’t nothing more than some cheap small-town conjuror’s tricks, learned to scare kings into listening to you?” I demanded, suddenly angry. I knew well enough how it was easy to convince someone you were all-powerful with but a small display of magic tricks.

  Merlin grasped a handful of my hair, at the base of my neck, pulling me back towards him, turning my face up towards his. I could see the wildness of his anger in his eyes, and I felt once again all around me his dizzying strength.

  “Do not play games with me, Morgan,” he hissed, twisting his hand tighter in my hair. “I am stronger than you. I am cleverer than you. I know of things you could not even dream. You will not win.” He leaned down, and brushed his lips against mine, and softly, he whispered. “Surrender, Morgan.”

  I was unwilling, not wanting to give without a promise of return, and I wanted to push him away, but under the force of his power all around me, I felt myself obey, and my mouth opened under his, responding to his kiss. I have lost control of my body, I thought, with terror.

  “You see, Morgan? I could have you against your wishes any time I pleased, and yet I am kind. I offer you the choice. If you cross me, I may not continue to be kind. I am offering a fair exchange. You only need surrender to my wishes, and we shall both have what we desire,” he w
hispered, and I felt his control slip from around me. He had only been showing me his power. It was only a taste. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest.

  “Not the boy,” I insisted, staring back into his soft brown eyes, that I had seen smile and look kind, that hid beneath them the black, cruel beetle-eyes of his real form.

  “No boy, no secret knowledge,” Merlin answered, tightening his grip on my hair.

  “Why does it have to be him?” I asked.

  “A king’s blood.”

  A sudden, awful thought came to me, and before I could consider it fully, before I could hold it back, in my desperation to spare Morgawse, the words were out of my mouth.

  “The Queen is with child.”

  I felt cold at the words even as I had said them. What had I done? Merlin released his grip on my hair, and he laughed, a bright, tinkling laugh that did not suit him at all. I wanted to unsay the words, but it seemed to me that the only other option was to offer my own sister’s little child, and I would not do that.

  “How do you intend to prove this, Morgan?” he asked, but I could see that he believed me.

  “Go and see for yourself. She hides it well, but it is there.”

  “What a secret, Morgan. What a secret.” He pulled down my dress over my shoulder, still loose from where he had untied it, and traced a line of blue with his finger across my shoulder, swirling across the top of it. He pressed his lips lightly against my skin, and I felt myself shrink away inside with disgust. He looked up at me again. “So, this is the exchange you offer?”

  “It is,” I said, softly.

  He gave a brusque nod. “Well, Morgan, the deal is done.”

  He moved away from me, to sit in the chair before me. I had hoped that he had gone to fetch something for me, some book he had hidden, but he had nothing. He just sat back in the chair, looking at me with a smile on his face.

  “Now, Morgan, as a show of good faith in our agreement, I will have you. You can consider it a down payment on the secret knowledge you covet, until I get my hands on the child. Take off your dress.”

  I pulled my dress back up over my shoulder.

  “Merlin, I am not your whore,” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. Merlin stood back swiftly to his feet, stepping over to me, grasping hold of me at the hair again, his other arm wrapping around my waist so that I could not back away from him. I could not escape anyway, since the strength had left my body under the pressure of the dark Otherworld power coming off him.

  “Are you not, Morgan?” he hissed, pressing his forehead against mine. “You have received payment from me in return for your body before. Don’t you remember the first exchange we made, for my book of Macrobius?”

  “You took my sword,” I hissed back, only more angry in my powerlessness. “That was the exchange, unfair as it was.”

  Merlin laughed, low, touching his nose against mine, letting his lips brush against mine as he whispered.

  “So it was. And yet you gave yourself to me anyway, didn’t you? You wanted it, you wanted me.” He made a little movement as though he were about to kiss me, and under his power I felt my mouth open slightly in response, in anticipation, but the kiss did not come. “I felt it from the moment I saw you. I could feel your hot little virgin body quivering with desire whenever you saw me. But you gave yourself away cheaply, didn’t you? Even I was shocked how willing you were. A few cups of wine, and that book before you, and you melted into my hands. Ector’s Otherworld boy was not much on your mind that night, was he? Did you tell him it was I who had you first? Did you tell your husband?” He kissed me then, and though my mind fought against it, my body responded. My breath quickened under his eager kiss, and I even felt a flush of heat run through me, though in my heart and mind I felt nothing at all. At last he released me.

  “It was not much of a choice you gave me, Merlin,” I said flatly, staring up at him. “I thought you had brought me that book out of kindness, or out of interest in my studies. I feared that if I refused you, you would take the book from me, or perhaps you would have forced me and taken the book away anyway. I see you are not above forcing a woman.”

  “Oh Morgan, you make me sound like such a monster.” He moved away, releasing his grip on me, and slipping back into the ugly bald-headed form that I knew. His expression was strange. “Very well, I shall come to collect the rest of my payment when my work is complete. Then – only then – will I give you my knowledge.”

  Before I could object, he disappeared before me, into nothingness. What have I done? I thought again. What have I done?

  I waited for news as spring began to break around me, and the snows around Rheged thawed. My heart still felt cold. I dreamed of Accolon at night; over and over again my mind played back the first night we had spent together when he had pulled back the curtains of my bed, and put his rough hands on me. In my sleep I felt them tangling through my hair, still, I felt his hot mouth against mine, I felt his stubble graze the skin of my neck, and then I would wake and pull back the bed curtains, and the room would be empty, and I would remember that he was dead.

  I tried moving my room, to sleep in Uriens’ bed, but that was worse. I dreamed there of Uriens on top of me, his hand over my mouth, or worse, of pushing him off, and him being be limp and dead, his dull eyes unfocussed. I went back to my own bed.

  The only news that came to Rheged was that the Emperor Lucius had finally given in to his fear of Arthur and was beginning to invade the vassal territories in France. He had attacked Carhais and taken it. He had killed its King. News, too, came to me that my mother had died and that Cornwall had come not to me or my sister, as it should have, but to one of her cousins, Mark. I wrote to Arthur protesting this and received no reply. I hoped and did not hope that this meant that Merlin had succeeded.

  I received, too, a letter from Morgawse which read:

  “Dearest sister, sad news about mother. I hope you are well. Also, I heard that you are a widow, too, now. I am sure you mourn your husband just as much as I do. Lothian thriving. Gareth almost of age to become a knight. Wish he was a girl. Morgawse.”

  I certainly intended to mourn my husband as Morgawse mourned hers, but after the loss of Accolon I did not feel ready for another lover. Not right away. I thought of Morgawse and all her sons. But if she had had girls, they would have been sent away to be married at the same age or younger. Every child must leave its parent, and she still had Mordred. I did not even have the son I had, not really. He was always with his nurse, and he seemed happy and healthy enough. I wished that I had loved Ywain. I would have had something left, then.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  The next news that came to Rheged was from Nimue, but it was not a letter. I had been with the new steward of Rheged, who was a dull but efficient man of middle age, and some of the local Barons, giving my instructions for the spring. We needed to decide how many men we should prepare in case Arthur sent to Gore for men for his army to march against Lucius. These duties completed, I walked back to my room to find Nimue standing there when I opened the door.

  She did not speak, but reached out and took both my hands in hers. Instantly, I felt the room quaver around me, and a light-headedness pass through me. The room dissolved, and instead a high windswept cliff came into focus above me, and on it, towering over the rocky bay below, was the castle that had been my childhood home, Tintagel. It was black against the bright white cloud of the spring day, rising sharply up over us. I had not lived there since I was three or four years old, but I recognised it well. Why had Nimue brought me back to my father’s castle? It was Mark’s castle now. I hoped for a moment that she had brought me back to return my castle to me, but when I glanced at her, she was not looking at me.

  She was looking the other way, across the rocky bay, to the other side where a dark, deep cave led off into darkness. There was a big rock at the mouth of the cave, and I could see the figure of a man lying slumped on top of the rock. From where we were, I could not tell who it was. She
turned to me, her pale blue eyes bright with a wild anger.

  “You need to see this, Morgan. You need to see how I deal with those who cross me, and who harm those under my protection.”

  I could feel the power coming off Nimue already, and she was as dark as Merlin. She must be deep in the Black Arts by now. So, Merlin had taken up her offer rather than mine. But, when I followed her closer, I saw that the man slumped on the rock was the young Merlin. He was breathing quickly, as though he was in pain, his eyes open but unfocussed and looking up at the sky. Nimue climbed nimbly up onto the rock to stand beside him. I hung back, wary.

  Nimue was talking to him, but I could not hear what she said. But, when she leant down over him, I saw him flash through his forms; the young man, the ugly bald man, an old man with a long grey beard, a child, the brown-haired girl, over and over again, as though he was trying to wriggle away from her magic by changing his shape. But there was nowhere for him to go. I felt a wave of dark power come from Nimue, and it turned my stomach. Then, fast after, came a blinding flash of light. When I opened my eyes, Merlin was gone, but from deep, deep under the rock, I could hear him, screaming and screaming and screaming. Nimue, seemingly unfazed, jumped down off the rock beside me, and without a word, took me by both hands and the landscape melted around us.