by C J Brown
Verovingian nodded. “I didn’t see you before because I never had the chance,” he said. “But I heard about everything you did. Healing the wounded. Freeing the old man who shouted at you before all of Demetia.”
“He grieves for his son,” Merlin told him. “He did nothing wrong.”
“You would be an honorable king,” Verovingian told him. “Sadly, the way the world works is that the honorable often get killed trying to do the right thing and the corrupt go on, winning thrones and crowns.”
“That is why my father is king,” Merlin said. “He knows how to be honorable and manage the dishonorable at the same time. The successor he appoints will do the same. But governing is far from what my role is.”
“Truly spoken. What will you do now?”
“Arthur is suffering,” he said. “I am the only one right now who can bring him back. And he needs to return, Verovingian. He must. I keep trying to tell him what will happen if he does not return to fight, to fulfill his destiny. But he does not want to. I don’t blame him. Starhearth is a great deal more peaceful. But we cannot abandon this worldly realm to the darkness.”
Verovingian thought for a moment. “Might I suggest, rather than telling Arthur more bad things, why don’t you tell him the good that will happen if he returns?”
Merlin looked at him. “I’d never thought of that before. I will try it.”
He climbed up and sat beside Arthur as those who had already packed up their stuff were standing nearby, ready to begin walking again.
“I will see you again, my friend,” Verovingian said, and turned to leave.
For the half hour that elapsed until the march continued, Merlin spent his time remembering all the spells and chants he’d learned while training to be a warlock. All of them were simple things, but none of them were at all substantial regarding someone’s revival and their return from Starhearth.
Spells were tools that warlocks used so that a goal beyond their ability could be achieved. Spells were thus dangerous. They could be used by ill souls who sought to corrupt the world for their own gain. Only the wisest warlocks knew spells, for only the wisest could be trusted to know what they were meant for, and not use them for anything else.
Merlin’s grandfather had not been around when he was born as a warlock, so there had been no other warlock to train him. So, he trained himself, reading the books of the ancient sorcerers, practicing for hours amidst the eternal sentinels that formed the enchanted wood. His father and those with devotions were the closest he had to tutors. Megolin believed that Merlin would be worthy of learning the spells, and so Merlin learned them. The Demetians secretly doubted their king’s decision, and Merlin did not blame them. Spells were used by corrupt minds for bad. And they could sometimes corrupt even the good minds that were weak.
Merlin remembered the first spell he learned.
It was called, “Earthly summoner, here I am, heed my call and remember my debt.
It was a simple spell. One who had not yet learned how to control the wind and the oceans could use it to do so.
Merlin had felt so afraid, so worried that he was standing at the start of a dark path.
The night before he trained with spells, he dreamt that he was standing at a fork in the road. One path was flanked by orchards and flowers and was fresh and bright. The other was flanked by withering hedges and gnarled trees, haunted and mean. The road was littered with fallen leaves, and it was dark, and the air was strangely uncomfortable.
Yet he had found himself walking that way.
He had started to shout and call for help and try and stop and turn back, but his legs betrayed him, and he just kept drifting further form the light.
That morning, he told his father his dream and pleaded not to learn the spells.
Megolin told him that his fear was justified, and, if anything, should have been encouraging, because the fact that he had feared turning dark meant that he did not want to. So, Megolin had told him to learn the spells and to be aware of himself.
It had been twenty years since then, and Merlin had learned more spells than he could care to remember.
All of them were of an ancient language. No longer spoken by either the commoners or the nobles, it was a language reserved by the warlocks and which survived through them.
He remembered the one for reviving souls that had drifted away.
Many times, he had trained himself by reviving mice that had died just moments before. A spell of containment was only meant for beings who would not return for some time. But if a warlock could revive them immediately, no such spell was required.
Merlin was good at reviving rats and birds, but he had never revived a person before.
He looked at Arthur and could feel the dread and pain he was suffering from.
He closed his eyes and chanted an ancient phrase. Like when he had called upon Gaea to contain Arthur’s spirit, he called again to bring him back. But this time, he called upon the universe with all the strength and energy he had. Multiplying the power of the spell, his words carried beyond the din of the march and rose up to the heavens.
Merlin closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he found himself standing amidst the stars of Starhearth, and Arthur was before him.
“What are you doing?” he shouted at him.
“You must return,” Merlin said. “You are the chosen one. With your rule, Britannia will survive this war. Britannia will unite, and our people will prosper!”
“You fool!” Arthur bellowed. “I just want to remain here.”
Merlin could feel Arthur fighting him.
“Arthur! Listen to sense. You know it’s the right thing to return to the world.”
“No! I am here! I am at peace! Leave me be!”
A blinding wave of light shone from Arthur’s form, and Merlin had to shield his eyes, and then the light dimmed, and he looked to see Arthur gone.
He opened his eyes again as the wagon rattled on.
The people were walking nearby, rank upon rank of them, all of them hoping their leaders would win this war and save Demetia from extinction.
6
Counsel
Merlin felt like he could not join his father for their afternoon meal. The sting of his failure was still too great.
So, he dined with Verovingian.
Megolin did not permit any stops during the day, so they ate either ahorse or afoot from pewter plates, with waterskins at their sides. The midday meal was a combination of cheese, bread, and salted boar.
Verovingian remained atop his horse and Merlin walked beside him.
“Why are you not with your father?” Verovingian asked him.
Merlin chewed a bit of his cheese.
“I have failed,” he said. “My father cannot see me now. Not until I have brought Arthur back.”
“Distancing yourself from those who support you will not help you.”
“No,” Merlin said, “but at least I won’t have to be so burdened by the shame.”
“You will find no such worries with your family,” Verovingian answered, finishing the last of his salted boar. “But you will find help and direction.”
“You know, I wonder how you were not born a warlock,” Merlin said. “You speak like one of the wise ones.”
“My prince is most kind,” Verovingian said, storing his plate away. He reached for his waterskin which hung from his saddle.
“You must drink as well,” he told Merlin.
“I have failed,” Merlin answered. “So, the water is foul.”
“I am no warlock,” Verovingian said, “but one thing I have learned is that if you are destined to fail, everything will feel terrible. Everything will be terrible. Sometimes, things may seem good, but they’re actually not. But when you are destined to triumph, everything will be as it should. Forgive me, Merlin, but I would say that yo
u are committed enough--”
Merlin’s eyes snapped to him. “What did you say? You think I’m not committed enough? You think I’m standing here, with my people threatened with doom, with everything burning and falling away, and knowing that Arthur needs to return to fix everything, and yet I’m not committed enough to bringing him back?”
Verovingian looked at him. “Merlin, you misunderstand me. I do not mean you are less committed than you can be. I mean you are not committed enough.”
Merlin looked at him. “So, you’re saying I need to be more committed. How might I do that?”
“You must realize that we do control things to a certain point, but beyond that, we can do no more than act, and hope that our actions will affect things. What you can control is telling Arthur the reasons he should return. Do not use spells. Do not force him. If he returns when he does not want to, he will fall forever to the dark. It will only make things worse. Tell Arthur why he should return, and then let him decide to.”
Merlin thought for a moment. “How do you know that’s even possible? You haven’t spoken to him, haven’t heard his words, haven’t seen his look of hopelessness and grief and anger. I have, and I don’t know what to do.”
Verovingian smiled sadly. “There are many things we do not know,” he said. “But we must be willing to trust every once in a while, that the universe will not fail us.”
“You say that so surely.”
“And, I admit, I once did not. But many things have proven me wrong. Please, try this at least.”
“We don’t have the time.”
“There will be time enough if it is to happen,” Verovingian promised him.
Then he snapped his reins and went ahead, leaving Merlin to think.
7
Hope
Merlin considered what Verovingian had told him as he returned to Arthur’s wagon.
He sat beside him once more and looked at him.
Verovingian had said he essentially just had to set Arthur on the path to healing, and let the rest happen by itself.
It was the kind of thing he knew wiser warlocks would say, but Merlin found it difficult to believe. For one thing, they did not have the time to just let things happen, and for another, how could they even be sure?
All around him, the people marched on, quiet, with all that remained of their worldly possessions either on their backs or borne by the wagons a few of them were lucky to have escaped with. As the Royal Guard formed a shield around Megolin, Igraine, and himself, Merlin tried to steel his resolve.
He believed it was not reliable, what Verovingian had said, but he could think of nothing else, and it wouldn’t hurt to take a leap of faith.
So, Merlin closed his eyes and transported himself to Starhearth once more.
“Arthur!” Merlin shouted, and then the entire world was echoing his voice.
A moment went by, and Arthur did not appear.
“Arthur!” Merlin yelled again. “I am not here to tell you to return! I just want to talk!”
A few moments went by, and Merlin started to feel despair. If Arthur didn’t want to speak to him, how could they communicate?
Merlin could not give up. “Arthur! I just want to talk!” he yelled again.
A minute went by, and then Arthur appeared before him.
Merlin felt relief douse the fires of his dread.
“Arthur…how are you?”
Arthur looked at him suspiciously.
“Better than I have ever been,” he said.
“I’ve seen this place,” Merlin told him. “But I don’t think I truly understand it.”
“You wouldn’t,” Arthur said, seeming to smile now. “But I can tell you about this place the best I can. Olivie calls this place the Soul Field. My father, Uther, because he’s Roman, calls this Heaven. What do you call it?”
“Starhearth.”
Arthur nodded.
“A just name. But everybody’s names for it are born of their culture and religion. If I could name it, I would name it Peace Keep. Because it is peaceful here. No one is fighting. There are no enemies here. There’s no running from a usurper or combating hateful barbarians. There’s just family who you thought you’d never see again.”
Merlin smiled sadly.
“That sounds…yes, peaceful.”
Arthur nodded. “You know that we’re all going to end up here, right?” he said. “Whether you lose to the Huns, or to the northerners, or they lose, we all end up here. It’s clear now that the universe does not discriminate between creeds and religions, and that we’re all one, so we’ll all be here.”
“Yes,” Merlin agreed, “but the worldly realm is not just about the survival of your person. It is about the world itself, the light and the dark, the legacy that we leave behind.”
“Merlin, I know you hope, but hope is a more dangerous thing than even the worst weapons. Because hope makes things seem right, seem like it will all be all right. And then your hopes are crushed by the weight of defeat and tragedy. There is no point to it. All of you, everyone, will be here one day, and we can all live peacefully then.”
Merlin fought to control the despair and loss he was enduring just then.
“Do you really mean that?”
Arthur nodded. “I had hope once,” he said. “I had hope that my father would wrest the imperial throne back from the usurper, that Rome would rise once more as the standard of morals and justice that Rome once was, that all the corruption and suffering would be washed away, and that a new and better life awaited not just us, but all of Rome. My grandfather, he wanted to reestablish connections with Britannia, not as rulers, but as friends. My own father had plans to establish true peace throughout the Continent, to end the wars with the barbarians, to end…to end all our troubles. And then…well, you know what happened.”
Merlin looked down. “Have you spoken to anyone else besides your father and Olivie?”
“No,” Arthur said. “I don’t know anyone else who’s here.”
“Can I speak to them?”
“I think so…” Arthur said. “Do I call them, or do you call them?”
“You call them.”
“Father!” Arthur shouted. “Olivie!”
At once, they appeared beside him.
“Merlin,” Uther greeted him. “It is good to see you.”
“It is,” Olivie said.
Merlin looked at them. “Olivie, please forgive me. We could not save you.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “After all, you were not the one who loosed that arrow. And now I’m here, with Arthur.”
“Merlin,” Uther said, “how is Igraine?”
Merlin hesitated. He didn’t know whether saying the truth was the right thing now.
But, he realized, it could help with getting Arthur to decide to return from the afterlife. If Uther and Olivie decided to add their voices to his, it could change his mind.
“Aunt Igraine grieves,” Merlin said. “For you and her son. But she remains strong. She is an unofficial member of my father’s council now. She keeps to herself, to contain her grief.”
Uther bowed his head. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“No!” Arthur shouted, and everyone looked at him. “You will not bring this up with them! You will not!”
“What are you talking about?” Uther asked him.
Arthur reduced his volume. “It’s nothing, Father. It’s just something Merlin didn’t want to tell you.”
“Arthur, don’t do this,” Merlin said. “They must know.”
“No!” Arthur yelled.
“Arthur Pendragon!” Uther shouted. “You are my son still, and you will not stop me from asking a question and receiving an answer! I want Merlin to tell me what this is about, and you are not to say otherwise.”
Arthur look
ed at him. Then he bowed his head.
Uther turned back to Merlin.
“I’m here to bring Arthur back,” Merlin told them.
“You can do that?” Uther asked.
“Powerful warlocks can,” Olivie told him.
“Well, why haven’t you brought him back yet?”
Merlin looked at Arthur.
“Because…I’ve been trying, but Arthur doesn’t want to.”
“What are you saying?” Olivie said.
“Arthur is going through a great deal of pain,” Merlin answered. “He does not want to go through any more, which is all he will find if he returns. But there will not be pain forever. I can’t explain it, but Arthur is meant to end all these wars. There’s a future for everyone, for Rome, for Demetia, for Caledonia, but that future depends upon Arthur. He must return, or all the darkness that is now falling upon all the lands will soon snuff out every torch, and none will be lit again.”
Uther turned to Arthur. “You know of this?” he asked.
Arthur nodded.
“And yet you refuse to help? And yet you refuse to do what’s right?”
“Why do I have to go back there? I already lost you, but I’m with you again. I’m with Olivie again. And soon we’ll all be here.”
“How do you think your mother feels?” Uther said, a red rage upon the face of his glowing form. “How do you think your mother feels knowing that you can return and yet you won’t? How do you think your mother feels knowing that you can save everyone and everything, and yet you choose not to? I am gone, Arthur. I am gone. Igraine will never see me again until she joins me here, and that cannot be amidst this. Even if it was tomorrow, if that tomorrow was still a day amidst this darkness, it cannot be. But if things had somehow been lightened again, then tomorrow is tomorrow. But neither your mother, nor anybody else, deserves to perish amidst this turmoil. And you can save them, Arthur. You can save your family.”
Arthur looked at him.
Merlin and Olivie looked at each other.
“I am your friend,” Uther said, after a moment of silence had elapsed. “Truly, I am. But more importantly, I am your father. As your friend, I know the pain you are enduring, and more. And as a friend, I would say I support you, and that you have the choice to remain here, to let everything else burn and find the peace you’ve been looking for. But as your father, I must say that doing that is wrong. Yes, these people will all die, but that’s not the point. Death should be at the hands of nature and time, not madmen and darkness. That’s not the way of things. As your father, I must tell you that you must go back. You must save their lives. You must save your mother. If you don’t, the peace you feel now is not true. If you let this darkness snuff out the light, you will spend the eternity that your spirit lives regretting, being angry. But if you do the right thing, you will have true peace.”
