The Iron Chalice

by J. M. Briggs

  Closing her eyes, Alex tried to meditate. She was tempted to reach for her magic but held back. Alex didn’t dwell on her hesitation. She hadn’t connected with her magic since she’d found out that she was the Iron Soul, the so-called protector of the Iron Realm that had been made by the Iron Realm itself thousands of years ago. Yeah: she wasn’t ready to go there just yet. Giving up, Alex opened her eyes again, glancing around for any signs of other people awake and moving. Everyone she could see other than Bran was asleep.

  The knowledge that far below them was the open ocean only added to the sense of silence and isolation. Alex swallowed and shivered as the small voice of doubt in her head became louder. What the hell were they doing? They were flying from freaking Oregon to Wales to find an ancient Celtic artifact that apparently a former incarnation of her had made so they could save Aiden. It was completely insane. It was the plot to some kind of lame adventure movie or video game. Then again, if it was then she and the others would have been older and had weapons rather than having to leave their iron daggers in Lance’s truck back in Portland.

  Alex’s hands were gripping the armrest so tightly that her fingers were beginning to ache. Some hero she was. She’d been tricked by her own boyfriend, stabbed and left for dead, and gotten one of their ancient allies, the Lady of the Lake, killed. Morgana seemed to have faith in her, but in the rush to leave Alex hadn’t even spoken with Merlin in private. Was he disappointed in her? Did he think she could do this?

  She was in trouble, Alex reflected with a sigh if she needed to hear it from the old mage that she could do it. Aiden’s life was in the balance and she was feeling sorry for herself, but she couldn’t help it. She was a modern girl. Life had prepared her for school and probably a desk job with the jobs available to Literature majors. Karate lessons instead of ballet and piano lessons would have been a better idea, but she’d been a kid and certainly hadn’t known the insane destiny that she had. This was much more entertaining in books and movies when it happened to other people.

  A phone rang, distracting Alex from her thoughts. She’d heard a few during the long flight, but this sounded very close, even if it was muted. It was a soft jangle that was very familiar, and Alex tried to look around without rousing Jenny. A moment later, however, the girl asleep against her jolted awake and reached down towards her feet. Alex suddenly realized with a soft sting of embarrassment why the ring tone sounded familiar. She’d only lived with Jenny for most of freshman year, minus those last couple of weeks where she’d lived with Nicki after Jenny’s affair with Lance had been exposed.

  Alex stayed still as she watched Jenny. The Hispanic girl pulled her purse out roughly from underneath the seat in front of them and pulled out her cell phone. Jenny looked down at the phone nervously and brushed a black curl from her face. She muted the ringer but did not answer it. Then the phone began to ring again and Jenny sighed softly as if defeated. Alex remained still as Jenny raised the phone to her ear, both in a desire to give Jenny some sense of privacy and in curiosity.

  “Hi, Daddy.” Jenny’s voice barely louder than a whisper. “No, I’m not on my way home.”

  The tone of Jenny’s voice was careful, nervous and guilty all at once, and Alex felt bad for her just hearing the defeat in her voice. There was a long pause and Jenny flinched slightly with a sad and resigned expression crossing her face. Jenny toyed with her necklace for a moment and then tugged on her turquoise shirt absentmindedly.

  “Yes, I did Daddy. Please believe me that it is important.” Another pause and Jenny closed her eyes tightly. “No, I can’t explain: it’s not my situation to explain, but please try to understand that I have to help however I can.”

  Jenny’s expression softened a little and Alex could see a few tears gathering. She closed her own eyes tightly and willed herself to stop hearing Jenny’s words. They twisted uncomfortably in her gut and made her heart hurt.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” Jenny whispered a few moments later. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m sorry about getting the tickets without asking, but I really do have to do this.” She stopped talking again. “Yes I’ll try to be home for Christmas, and maybe then I’ll be able to explain.”

  Jenny lingered on a phone a few more minutes. She didn’t say anything more but made small sounds of agreement. Finally, Alex opened her eyes to check on Jenny’s expression. She still looked guilty and there were faint tear tracks on her cheeks, but she was holding the phone gently with a sad, little smile on her face.

  “I love you too. I’ll be careful, I promise.” The call ended and Jenny sighed deeply, falling back into her seat. “That sucked.”

  Alex was at a loss of what to do. Part of her knew it would probably be smartest to pretend to be asleep and spare Jenny anyone overhearing the conversation. Bran had only glanced up when the phone had rang, but with the headphones, she doubted that he’d heard anything. But then Jenny leaned her head against Alex’s shoulder, and she could feel the moisture of a tear through her shirt.

  “You okay?” Alex asked.

  Jenny didn’t look up at her and instead kept her face turned down. “Not really,” Jenny replied after a long uncomfortable pause. “He’s being wonderful, as usual, which just makes me feel worse.” She laughed sadly. “He seems to think that some friends and I are going to help a friend from Wales. At least that’s a plus of college; the international students help explain buying five tickets.”

  “I’m sorry,” Alex apologized, feeling a rush of guilt. “It wasn’t fair to saddle you with that.”

  “I’m the rich girl,” Jenny muttered. “Your mother may be a doctor, but Daddy is a senior partner in a multi-million dollar law firm.”

  “Rub it in,” Alex teased.

  Jenny laughed softly for a moment before she sighed, still not moving her head. “I was almost over it,” she told her in a low voice. “I was actually feeling okay about being the reincarnation of Guinevere, with Lance being the reincarnation of Lancelot, or whatever their names were in the Bronze Age. I was actually starting to think about going out with him,” Jenny admitted, so softly that Alex almost didn’t hear her. “I mean, the guilt was nasty, but at least Arthur was okay and he had you there to pick up the pieces. I was the one who had cheated, so I deserved the guilt and doubt as I worked my way through things, but now I have no clue how to feel. Things were getting better, getting easier. Lance still wanted me, Arthur wanted us to be happy and you and I were patching up our friendship. Now the rug has been pulled out from under me, and I just… I haven’t got a clue.”

  “I know,” Alex admitted. “I’m trying not to think about all of it. It’s just too much.”

  “But we’ve got to, don’t we? In another life we were married to each other; which is weird to think about, because I love you Alex, but not like that.”

  “Right back at you,” Alex told her. She grabbed onto the more familiar banter quickly.

  Jenny chuckled and sniffed loudly, clearing her throat. “But Arthur, the guy we all thought was the real reincarnation of the… Iron Soul, was just using all of us. I keep thinking back to high school when we started dating and wondering….” She shook her head and pulled away from Alex’s shoulder to rest her head against the back of her seat. “It was all just an act for him; a means to an end. I trusted you when you told me that: I believe you when say that he tried to kill you and that it’s his fault that your friend Aiden is in the hospital, but I can’t…. reconcile it. I just can’t.”

  “I can’t either. That’s why I’m trying not to think about it.” Alex turned slightly in her seat so she could better face Jenny. “When I met Arthur I had a vision, I was the only one and I guess I convinced myself that it meant we had a special connection. I liked him from the first time I met him, and when I thought I found out who he was I was so sure that there was something important between us. Now, I just wonder if that was a leftover from us being cousins in that life, or if Arthur caused it to get me to trust him.”

  Jenny said
nothing and they lapsed into silence. Then in a low voice, Jenny asked, “You were cousins?”

  “Yeah, I asked Morgana about it. The original Iron Soul and Arthur’s previous life were cousins, and apparently Medraut, that was his name, not Mordred, killed him out of jealousy for his position.”

  “I just can’t imagine the guy I dated for years doing that,” Jenny admitted.

  “Me neither. I keep waiting to wake up from this nightmare. I keep hoping that it is some trick of Chernobog’s, but in my gut I know that isn’t true. He lied to all of us, and he did it so perfectly that there were never any hints.”

  “Maybe there were,” Jenny told her. “Your friend Aiden said he was a little too perfect once, and there were moments here and there when he seemed to be watching us just a little too closely”

  “Yeah, I guess he was a little too perfect.” Alex looked up towards the ceiling of the airplane cabin. She didn’t say anything about Jenny’s other point but silently agreed with it. “But where does that leave us now?”

  “I don’t know. We’re probably starting with the only thing we can: saving Aiden. Once that’s done then… I don’t know; maybe I’ll just finish sophomore year and transfer. I only came to Ravenslake University because of Arthur.”

  “You’re going to leave?” Alex looked back to Jenny sharply. “I know that things are a bit weird but-”

  “What is Guinevere’s role if she isn’t the king’s wife? Who is she if she isn’t betraying him with his best friend and best knight?” Jenny asked her in a small voice. “That’s her role in the story, isn’t it?”

  Alex couldn’t think or speak for a moment. There was a part of her that was angry at Jenny for the question, but she understood it. Guinevere and Lancelot. They were such a huge part of the western consciousness. She couldn’t remember ever learning about them. Instead, it felt like she had always known about them and their affair. What did that mean and what did it leave for Jenny?

  “Yeah, but I’m starting to learn that sometimes you have to go away from the traditional story,” Alex managed to say around her dry mouth. “Look at me: I’m a female King Arthur, or close to. There aren’t any stories that I’ve ever heard of about that.”

  “True,” Jenny agreed with a small smile that reached her dark eyes. “That’s a good point,” she conceded before lowering her eyes for a moment. When she looked back up at Alex she asked, “Does that mean you want me to stay?”

  “You’re my friend in this life. Not my wife, not someone who cheated on me. You were there for me and supported me when all this magical stuff started and I was freaking out. You made me feel happy and like I wasn’t alone. I know that I hurt you with everything that happened with Arthur, and I’m sorry for that. More so now than ever. So yeah, I’d like my friend to stay, but only if she wants to.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Jenny promised.

  The other girl shifted in her seat so she could reach her purse. Alex watched silently as Jenny turned off the phone and dropped it in. As Jenny leaned back in her seat and put the pillow beneath her head, Alex felt a little better. Reaching down she retrieved her own pillow and carefully put her own seat back a little more. She turned off the overhead light and closed her eyes with a sigh.

  3

  Badb

  721 B.C.E. North Pembrokeshire Coast

  Dark clouds hung over the cold, rocky landscape. The last chill of winter was hanging in the air even as the small trees showed the first signs of budding, and green was beginning to return to the dull brown of the ground. His staff thudded against the ground with each of his rapid steps as Merlin scaled up the steep slope towards the top of the cliffs. The roar of the waves against them was almost deafening and his lungs were beginning to burn, but he pressed on. Up ahead he could see a figure with a blue cloak billowing in the wind and long dark hair flying around her. He sighed in relief but did not slow down.

  There was something heavy in the air, and even with the wind howling along the cliffs, he thought that he could feel some kind of stillness in the world around him. Like it was holding its breath in anticipation for what would happen next. His staff struck the small rocks in a steady rhythm, and he only slowed down when the figure turned and regarded him for a moment. She was shivering slightly in the wind but made no move to tighten her cloak and turned to look back at the sea.

  “Morgana.” Merlin wheezed slightly as he leaned forward to support himself on his staff.

  “Merlin,” she answered in a voice that was almost lost to the wind.

  She turned to look back over her shoulder at him once more. For a moment her green eyes met his brown ones and he was struck by how old she was beginning to look. It was only her eyes. Morgana, like himself, had aged very slowly over the last hundred winters. There were thin lines around her eyes and mouth, but her hair was still a vivid dark brown and she moved with natural grace.

  “You are distressed about something Morgana,” Merlin said. It was an empty question as they both knew what was bothering her. “Please speak with me.”

  “Why are we still here, Merlin?” Morgana asked softly.

  He stepped up next to her, debating the wisdom of touching her shoulder. Even a century after losing Arto to the Sídhe he was so often at a loss of how to interact with Morgana. She both enjoyed and loathed being touched, depending on her mood, and as of late, her mood had been dark and stormy.

  “We are half Sídhe, me by birth and you by fusion with your Changeling,” Merlin said. “We are not human, and our lifespans... simply reflect that.”

  “Is there nothing else? How long are we to endure like this?”

  “There are still Sídhe to fight. The descendants of those who invaded us still linger in the dark caverns and tunnels. I hear that on the west island they are even calling them the mound people now.”

  She did not chuckle at his remark, and Merlin felt his worry intensify. Normally Morgana took pleasure in the humiliation and mocking of the once terrifying Sídhe. Her childhood as a slave to them had not prepared her to grant compassion to them.

  “Arto and mother died in the last battle,” Morgana sighed softly, tilting her face up towards the sun. “And Airril has been gone for so long. I feel like a memory lingering in the Iron Realm. We are half Sídhe Merlin; perhaps we are not as welcome in the Iron Realm as we would wish.”

  “Morgana-”

  “We fought for this realm, we helped create the Iron Gates and we protected the Iron Soul,” Morgana said. She stepped back from the edge and moved to sit on a large smooth boulder. “I don’t know what to do now Merlin,” Morgana admitted. “Hunting the surviving Sídhe lost its appeal over thirty years ago.”

  “I understand,” Merlin assured her. “I keep waiting for Cyrridven to come and tell me what to do now, to reveal my purpose.”

  Morgana looked at him with a hint of surprise shining in her eyes, and Merlin felt regret and guilt for not sharing this with her before. He owed Arto’s sister better than that. She’d proven herself loyal to the Iron Realm a hundred times over and now she was drifting. Merlin shifted and swung the large bag strapped across his back down and opened it. A sword with a golden hilt that was just over two feet long was secured in an old, but well-cared for leather sheath.

  “We still have to protect Cathanáil.” Merlin shifted to touch the sword’s hilt. “This is Arto’s legacy, and must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the Sídhe or others who mean harm to the Iron Realm.”

  “Nothing has sought the sword since Medraut’s death,” Morgana scoffed, spitting the name of Arto’s dead cousin.

  “Morgana, there is still magic in this world. We cannot let our guard down.”

  “The magic has been fading for a century.” Morgana tightened her cloak around her shoulders.

  “Yes but it is not gone,” Merlin said. “Please put these dark thoughts out of your mind.” He nodded towards the cliff. “There is no guarantee of anything.”

  Morgana did not move for a long moment
before she looked back towards the cliff. A soft sigh escaped her and drifted on the wind, but she turned and stepped towards him. She reached for him, but her hand settled on the heavy bag slung around his back and he knew that she was feeling the shape of Cathanáil. They began to slowly walk away from the cliff, saying nothing of Morgana’s darker thoughts or Arto. It was a familiar heavy silence that often haunted their time together, and Merlin had to bite back the urge to sigh himself.

  Away from the cliffs, more trees grew along an old, worn path that long before had been part of the pathway down to the shore. So much had changed since Arto’s death. The old trading network was all but gone, and the religion of old was falling away as the priests of the earth and the ancestors were replaced by followers of the Old Ones. Even Cyrridven was known across the isles as a goddess, despite that he knew she did not seek such a title. The small ships that once were constantly along the shores transporting tin, copper or finished bronze goods to the southern land were almost gone. Iron had been scarce for a long time after Arto’s death, but it was appearing more and more in the hands of regional chiefs who now ruled as kings rather than simply being leaders. Merlin wasn’t sure what to think of it. Worse still this was what Medraut had predicted would happen. It all made him feel so very old, and while he would never consider taking his own life, he understood Morgana’s doubts all too well.