The woman wore a gown and veil reminiscent of a nun's habit. It was made of a coarse material that was a dirty white in color, although the garments themselves were clean. From across the room the veil threw her face into shadow and it wasn't possible to tell anything about either her age or her looks.
Three pairs of eyes were fixed upon her as she glided across the room, her hands folded inside the sleeves of her gown. As the lamplight caught her face, Peter stifled a gasp. It was a face neither young nor old. It was ageless in its looks. But it was surely the most beautiful face Peter had ever seen—although later he couldn't have told anyone why it was so beautiful. Despite the air of humility surrounding the owner of the face, her posture was very upright and dignified. As her gaze fixed upon him, Peter sprang forward into her arms. Suddenly he was a small child again.
Her hands had freed themselves from where they had been seeking warmth, and her arms were out ready to receive him; they closed around him. Peter buried his face in the coarse fabric of the abbess's gown, which smelt of fresh fragrant herbs. Everything felt unreal to the Peter who was awake, but to the Peter who was surely dreaming it was as though he had come home.
Chapter 6
The Lady
OVER THE top of Peter's brown head a pair of lively gray eyes regarded the two men quizzically.
"And what brings my lord Merlin to such an out-of-the-way and humble place as this?” From the tone of her voice Peter suspected she was gently laughing at her visitors.
Uncle Paul came straight to the point. “My lady, we haven't time to waste. You spoke to me in a dream from across the centuries and started my awakening. Now you yourself must wake up. Look closer. I am not Merlin—at least not the Merlin you know."
The gray eyes clouded in bewilderment. They swept over the clothing worn by the midnight visitor—clothing very familiar to anyone with any connection at court. Probably the whole of Britain knew the cloak and tunic to be the coronation garb of Merlin the Enchanter, if not in fact then by hearsay. Her gaze came to rest on the face above the garments. Her gaze locked with his, for moments that stretched to minutes—as though time itself stood still. Peter sensed a powerful unspoken communication passing from the man to the woman. Slowly her eyes cleared of bewilderment.
"From what century do you come?"
"The twentieth."
Grief transformed her face. “Dear God! That far ahead! Of what account, then, is my struggle, and that of the Chosen—wherever they are? For I know that shortly I shall need them."
"Of great account, my lady. Many things that you do won't find their way to recorded history. But Arthur needs you as surely as he needs Merlin. The time is not far off when many great deeds will be wrongly ascribed to Merlin and the future King Arthur. But Merlin and Arthur will know who was responsible and will be accepting the glory merely to protect you until you become the Lady in White who will redeem my century. And but for you I might not exist in that century to help in the battle."
"Then why have you found me so wanting in power that you had to seek me here instead of in your own century?"
"The Enemy's power has grown great enough to keep me asleep to my true identity until it was too late—for Peter was already in my keeping. And then I sought you in vain, and realized the Enemy had stopped you from taking your part in my century."
The Abbess looked down at Peter, who still regarded them with baffled eyes. “At least they didn't stop this one—Simon Peter, son of Arthur—who is of greater importance. As his forefather to this century, so will Simon Peter be to your century."
The words sounded like a prophecy. The strange, old-fashioned-sounding term for his surname only increased Peter's bewilderment. And the eyes that looked down at him had lost their tender, loving expression and become blank and faintly glazed—like the eyes of someone in a trance—eyes that saw great visions invisible to the others. The unfocused effect vanished as Uncle Paul broke the tense silence. “Peter will not be a king."
The Lady Abbess smiled faintly. “He will not need to be. It would seem that kings are of little account in the twentieth century."
Uncle Paul laughed heartily, if briefly. “My lady clearly has a poor opinion of twentieth-century royalty. While it's true kings no longer ride to battle, or lead their troops in any way—wars being commanded by others—monarchs have their uses."
"To such as I, used to the kingship of men like Uther Pendragon, from what I can understand of the monarchies of your century they are decidedly lacking. Who is your king? Edward? George?” she added abruptly.
"Our monarch is Queen Elizabeth the Second.” Uncle Paul unconsciously squared his shoulders. “She is queen of many countries scattered across the world."
A glint came into the Abbess's eyes. “A queen! Indeed things are looking up if women rule in important parts of the world. There should be an end to the uselessness of war, anyway."
"As I said, monarchs don't rule in the way of Uther Pendragon. Politicians administer wars."
"Politicians?"
"Parliament—the monarch's body of counselors."
"Your queen allows her counselors more power than she has?” The Abbess's voice held more than a touch of scorn.
"Queen and Parliament rule together, neither one having supreme power. But politicians start and run wars. We've had two world wars. Another one—which is what the Enemy wants—would probably destroy the whole planet."
Intense pain crossed the Abbess's face. “Please don't remind me. Whatever century I'm obliged to live in, I prefer to live by whatever rules regulate life in that time and to accept the gift of forgetfulness of what has been revealed to me of the future. Ignorance is the best shield against the Enemy. I have literally to become what I seem to be. Nothing must diminish the Power of the Chosen, which is in my keeping."
"The Power is you, my lady. Those like myself are as broken tools without you."
"I'm not always much more myself. Power, from whatever source it comes, is not endless. As the body obtains energy from food, so I must garner what power I may for future use. I wish I knew when I had gathered sufficient—and preferably some to spare—but I never know until I am put to the test.” Peter, becoming bored by a conversation that was incomprehensible to him, stirred in her arms and she looked down at him with terrible compassion. “This child—the most important of your century's Chosen—will have no time to arm himself for the fray. His power will be demanded of him before he is ready. You yourself are not ready. My heart is as lead within me to be called upon to provide more power than will ever be used or needed in my own century."
Merlin didn't answer. The Abbess looked deep into his eyes as though to read his troubled heart. She put her hands to the back of her neck and unfastened something that hung in the folds of the front of her gown. She held it out toward Merlin and the red and gold light from the fire glinted on what looked to Peter like a medallion. “Please take this. It may help you in your fight against evil. I have little need for Tokens of Power, and I know you have none as yet. The others you need you will find when the time comes."
As she held it out, the chain that was threaded through a hole at the edge of the medallion clinked and the sound was loud in the quiet room, where the only other noise was the whisper of the flames. The firelight danced on the silvery surface of the trinket as it was passed over Peter's head. He found his eyes were desperately trying to see what was engraved on the side of the medal that faced him. The light blurred and the yellow of the flames vanished, leaving only a reddish glare. In the blaze Peter could make out something moving. He blinked to bring the murky vision into focus. It wavered and began to grow.
Then he saw it clearly: a red dragon, powerful beyond belief. Its jewel-like eyes glowed like red wine held up to the light. The scales covering its massive body glistened with a pearly luster. From its huge jaws issued red and gold flames. Peter was aware of something fleeing before the mighty beast. Whether or not it was human, he couldn't see; neither was he sure whether i
t was only one being. In an instant the dragon reduced whatever it was pursuing to a ball of fire.
At the same time a voice intoned above their heads and Peter was unable to say whether it was the Abbess or Merlin speaking:
"The prophet of doom shall call them forth
from four hundred back and south to north.
The Obsidian Orb will tell a tale
of battles so dread the strong will quail.
The paths of wisdom the prophet will give
must be traversed so the good may live.
Atop the observation tower,
Twelve tokens manifest their power.
The Chosen Ones though scattered wide,
The great one summons to his side.
Each token's nature they must learn
To gird them for the final burn."
The dragon turned its attention to Peter. To his surprise, the beast appeared to grin at him. Peter blinked again—and the dragon vanished. To his astonishment he was sitting in front of the fire on some form of wooden couch. The Abbess and Merlin sat in chairs at either side of the fire, and there was no sign of Tom.
"Who is this ‘prophet of doom'?” Peter heard Merlin ask. “And of what orb does the prophecy speak? There has been no orb for at least fourteen hundred years. The Obsidian Orb was destroyed many centuries ago."
The Lady Mary smiled wryly. “Your mind is still in the twentieth century, my lord. There was such an orb created shortly before Arthur's birth. You will remember the witch Morgause destroyed it not long ago. She tried to use it and its power was too much for her. However, it had no protection against the spell of destruction she used in her blind rage. Although Morgause didn't destroy the orb—it self-destructed—her spell scattered the pieces beyond all mending. It is Merlin's ... your task to refashion it in the century from which you have come.” She stopped as a knock came at the door and the servant entered with a tray on which rested glasses, a bottle of wine, a round of bread and a slab each of butter and cheese. The portress placed the tray on a table at the Abbess's elbow.
"Ah! Thank you, Agnes. Has the stable boy seen to the horses?"
"Yes, milady.” She scowled at the visitors. “He says they'm the weirdest beasts he'm ever seen."
"Unfortunately, he wouldn't know a horse from a pig,” the Abbess said mildly, without censure. “And these are my lord Merlin's horses."
At this timely reminder Agnes gave the visitors one frightened glance before backing out of the room and closing the heavy door sharply.
The Abbess turned her attention to the food and drink.
"Wine for the boy?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
Merlin looked at Peter's strained-looking face. “I think it won't do him any harm."
Peter was given a small glass of ruby-red wine, a rough hunk of generously buttered bread and a chunk of cheese. He was surprised at how good it tasted and realized he was hungry. The wine was astonishingly pleasant: soft on the palate and warming to his frozen bones.
"We're obliged to you for your hospitality,” Uncle Paul said formally over his second glass of wine, “and we're very sorry to have to impose on you further, but we must ask for a few hours’ sanctuary. We'll have to leave before dawn, but you needn't concern yourself with that as we won't require refreshments before we leave."
Before the Abbess could reply the clanging of a bell broke into the peace of their simple meal. Three heads jerked up. Lady Mary looked hard and long at Uncle Paul.
"This night is more than just midwinter's eve and the time of my wakening. It is the beginning of my fight in this century against the forces of evil. I can no longer be merely the Abbess of a humble, inoffensive convent. I must fulfill my destiny.” She rose to her feet, causing Merlin and Peter to do the same to avoid discourtesy. “It is also time for you to accept your birthright and take up the burden of protecting the Chosen Ones of Earthlight and the Pendragon of your century."
The bell rang again, imperiously and impatiently. As they stood waiting, they could hear Agnes hurrying along the passage muttering. When she opened the door, they all heard it protesting loudly on rusty hinges. A dispute arose between Agnes and the second lot of visitors to the abbey.
A few minutes later a knock came at the door. At Lady Mary's instant “come in” the door all but crashed open and Agnes announced breathlessly, “My lady, there be two more visitors sayin’ they'm Lord Merlin and—and Prince Arthur.” She looked at Peter and Uncle Paul, her eyes wide with terror.
"Well, let them in, girl, let them in,” the Abbess said with unwonted asperity.
Agnes quickly moved away from the door. As soon as the newcomers had entered, she scuttled out without closing it behind her. The taller of the two visitors closed it smartly, his cloak swirling around him in a rustling dark blue cloud. He turned back to the room....
...and across the centuries two boys and two men came face-to-face with themselves.
"Ah!” said the tall newcomer, breaking the short, pregnant silence. “I thought this might be the reason for your summons, my lady—especially as ‘tis midwinter's eve."
"Then you will know what to do, my Lord Merlin.” The Abbess's gaze swept over the boy, who was more than half asleep. She poured some wine into her glass and sprinkled into it something that she took from somewhere in the folds of her habit. She held it out to Prince Arthur with a sympathetic smile. “Drink that. It will help you to keep awake until it's safe for you to sleep again."
With a “thank you” that was little more than a whisper, the boy drained the glass and returned it to the Abbess, who put it on the table. Her eyes asked Merlin if he would like some more wine and he impatiently shook his head. “As soon as our horses are fed and rested we must leave. It wouldn't do for us to be found here."
"They can't harm me,” the Abbess said calmly, “and I'm perfectly capable of shielding those who look to me for protection. I know who I am. I am fully awake to my destiny in the coming reign of King Arthur."
When they went down to the stables they found Tom Masterton with the horses, refreshed after their rubdown and feed. There was no sign of the stable lad, supposed to be asleep in the loft, so they saddled their own horses, with Merlin and Arthur taking two of the abbey's beasts, and rode off as quietly as was possible on hard frozen ground.
Merlin and Uncle Paul led, riding abreast, while Tom Masterton took up the rear. Peter was totally unable to distinguish between the two tall figures in front. As both men looked straight ahead without speaking and the only sound to be heard was the steady clop-clopping of the horses’ hooves, he was reluctant to be the first to speak. Besides, the two figures ahead were sending out a compelling command for silence.
He looked surreptitiously at his companion, only to discover that he also was being furtively watched. Both boys immediately tried to pretend they had been looking at something else and Arthur nonchalantly turned his attention back to the horses in front.
Peter felt himself redden with embarrassment. Arthur looked so self-assured. Peter comforted himself with the thought that the other boy couldn't possibly see his discomposure and tried to bring his concentration to bear on riding the pony—well aware that Arthur had probably ridden since he was big enough to sit in the saddle.
Throughout the rest of the ride Peter tried to keep his head fixed forward, although from time to time he peeped at Arthur through the corner of his eye, often catching the other openly staring. He sensed that Arthur also longed to question him. However, they both obeyed the unspoken command from the two powerful figures ahead.
The mist had been closing in fast ever since they left the abbey. All they could see were the riders in front of them.
Merlin's voice spoke into their minds: “Keep us in sight at all times. This fog is necessary for concealment."
Only then did they realize the noise of their horses’ hooves sounded muffled. Both boys forgot their curiosity about each other and concentrated wholly on keeping their leaders in sight.
After
a while Peter found himself wondering if he could use mind-speech on Arthur and concluded that he had nothing to lose in trying. If it didn't work, no harm would be done. He closed his eyes so that he could concentrate. “Are you really the future King Arthur?"
Back came the answer—only it was from one of the riders in front: “You have yet to develop that power, Peter. You are officially thirteen—but only just. Such powers develop slowly.” Peter was unable to tell whether it was Merlin or Uncle Paul. “Have patience,” the speaker added kindly.
Peter opened his eyes and swallowed. It wasn't at all pleasant having someone read your thoughts when you didn't want them to, he thought resentfully.
They had left the road and had been for some time cantering on sound-deadening turf. The mist was also beginning to disperse—slowly at first. It was still a shock, however, when something loomed in front of them. When it resolved itself into one of the enormous monoliths at Stonehenge, instead of the giant on horseback he was half-expecting, Peter let out a sigh of relief; but it was some time before his heart ceased to pound.
The fog started dispersing much faster. They dismounted outside the circle and left the horses in Tom Masterton's charge. Peter and Arthur silently followed the two men into the circle until they reached the altar stone, where they stood waiting until Peter was sure he would freeze on the spot.
Hours passed. Then, abruptly, one of the men took up a stance behind the stone and spread his arms above it. The setting moon outlined his form from behind. His gigantic shadow passed over the stone and flung itself across the grass.
Peter's heart gave a great skip and started pounding again; for this was the vision he had received on his first night in Auckland. So much had happened since that he had forgotten it. The second man—Uncle Paul, Peter was sure—stood facing the first. The boy Arthur went behind the stone and took up the same stance as Merlin. Taking this as a cue, Peter went to stand beside Uncle Paul. Uncle Paul raised his arms until his fingertips touched Merlin's. Peter followed suit, touching Arthur's fingers.
The Obsidian Quest [Search for Earthlight Trilogy Book 1] Page 6
