Merlin's Blade (8 page)

And just in case, he snatched up his dirk, slid the scabbard onto his belt, and tied it around his waist. Fear churned in his stomach like the tidewaters on the craggy Kernow coast.

“I mean me … you can't leave me.”

“Come along if you have to. Tas wanted you with me, and since I'm going, you come too … And you can help me get there faster.” He stood up and found his staff next to the wall.

“You sure?”

“Stay close and don't wander off.”

Outside, the last smear of the orange sun fell beneath the hill that stood between their land and the marsh. A chill wind blew as they set off down the path, Merlin tapping out ahead with his staff. He wrapped his cloak tighter, but could do little else as the gusts whistled through his hair and sent shivers down his back.

Ganieda hummed a slow tune he'd often heard Mônda sing. She slipped her small hand into his as they turned east onto the main road of the village and continued on toward the meeting house.

Merlin felt every sense crackle as they passed Allun's mill and entered a stretch of road flanked by heavy underbrush. Off to their right, he heard movements in the bushes.

A snarl.

Merlin kept walking, but his grip on his sister's hand tightened.

“Keep going,” he whispered.

Deep growling now. Behind and in front.

Fear crawled up from the pit of his stomach and grabbed the inside of his throat. How many? Dogs or wolves? “Stay close,” he said as he drew his dirk and whipped his staff around low to the ground.

“Don't hurt them!”

Her words barely registered as Merlin's mind flooded with memories of the attack seven years before. That time it had been the same: He and Ganieda had been alone on the path outside their house. Howling wolves had surrounded them. She'd been hardly two years old. Defenseless. He'd been eleven and had tried to save her by keeping the wolves back.

But they had attacked him — and she had never been touched. They knocked him to the ground and mauled him, scratching and biting his face. By the time his screams had reached his father, it was too late. His eyes had been ruined and his face marred forever.

“No, Merlin!” Ganieda pulled at his arm. “It's my wolf, Tellyk, and his friends. They want to see me.”

Merlin snapped back to the present. For a moment he tried to comprehend his sister, then another snarl jerked his attention to the bushes. “Get behind me, Gana!”

O
ne of the wolves lunged, snarling, at Merlin's ankle. Panicked, Merlin jabbed his staff toward the sound and bashed the wolf on the side of the nose. With his other hand, he tried to stab it with his dirk, but the creature jumped back with a whimper.

Ganieda called out, “Go away … Away, Tellyk!” She waved her hands toward the bushes. Swiftly the wolves slunk through trees and brambles, downhill and away from the village.

“Th-they're gone?” Merlin asked, still whipping his staff around.

“That's what I've been trying to tell you. They're my friends. Especially Tellyk.”

He wished he could see her face to judge whether she was telling the truth. “When did you make friends with them? Why do they obey you?” Merlin took her hand again. This time it was his that trembled.

“A long time. I don't remember when.”

As he struggled to grasp the implications of this revelation, Merlin noticed a smudge of light blazing farther down the road. “We'll talk about this later.” He pointed at the light. “What's that?”

“A bonfire in the village pasture.”

“Anything else? Do they have the gallows up?”

“I can't tell. There are lots of people … shadows. The whole village must be gathered for the fire.” Her voice turned petulant. “Why didn't Tas and Mammu want us to come?”

“Let's hurry.” A blazing fire meant no wolves.

They approached the village green and entered through the main gate, which creaked in the wind. So why had everyone gathered? Merlin held Ganieda's hand as they walked toward the crowd. Soon he picked out amid the general noise a voice, strong and deep, speaking to the people. He'd heard that voice before.

“… to call you back to the old way. To call you as lost children back to the only way your ancestors knew — they who claimed this wooded land as their own and coaxed forth crops from the soil, who mined the streams for tin, who built your homes.”

Merlin searched his memory, and a sickening feeling settled in his stomach.

“Your ancestors call you back to worship the old gods — the guides, the healers, those who bless your fields and cattle, who protect you from witchcraft and guard your children against the wailing
sidhe
… the gods who are furious at your obstinacy.”

Mórganthu!

“You have spit in their bright faces. They who have been faithful to you. Turn … turn back!”

Brunyek, the oat farmer, shouted from the crowd. “Eaah! If they've been so faithful, why'd my two sheep get killed by wolves last week?”

“If
you
had been faithful, son of the ancient woods, then the god Kernunnos would have tamed the wolves and made them your friends.”

Merlin held tighter to Ganieda's hand.

Mórganthu turned and held his arms out to someone in the crowd. “Olva, if you and your husband yet choose the druidic way, then the god Grannos will take your son into his arms and heal him.”

The couple whispered to each other excitedly.

It bothered Merlin to hear this. How did Mórganthu know Olva's name and that her son was sick?

“And Brioc! I see the fear on your face with another year of uncertainty, debt, and too few lambs born. I proclaim that your crops will flourish and your flocks will thrive if you return and worship Crom Cruach and the great god Taranis again.”

Brioc grunted from Merlin's right.

“And not least, Stenno.” Mórganthu extended his hands to a young tin miner, his voice growing almost tender. “Your father would not have died and left you destitute if he had worshiped Belornos, protector of all who hew the earth.”

Merlin fumed. Why didn't anyone speak out against this? These were lies. “Ganieda, are the monks here? Do you see them?”

She grasped his sleeve for balance and stood on her tiptoes. “Can't see over the people.”

Mórganthu spoke louder. “All who hear my voice, come. Come and seek the druid way. Seek the secret knowledge, wisdom beyond your ken!”

“Where's Tas? … Do you see him?” Merlin asked his sister.

“No. Just those near the bonfire. It's too dark everywhere else.”

Mórganthu strode back toward the bonfire. “This! … This is the source of wisdom!” With a flourish, he bent down.

“He threw a leather skin to the side,” Ganieda said. “I can't see what's under it, though.”

Merlin knew what was under the tarp but hoped he was mistaken. All the people around him stepped back, and someone's heel crunched on Merlin's toes. He backed up as well, then hefted Ganieda up so she was positioned above the crowd. “Tell me what else you see.”

“A rock of some kind, black … no, silver. Oh!”

A blue light appeared, and now even Merlin knew where the Stone lay.

The bonfire seemed to dim. Mórganthu stepped next to the Stone and raised his voice to a crescendo. “This Stone has been given by the god Belornos. He who loves it will be blessed, but he who is found unworthy of it will be destroyed.”

All around Merlin, people dropped to their knees.

“What's happening?” he asked his sister.

“Men are bowing … They're all druidow! They're mixed in with the people.” She shivered as if with excitement, and Merlin set her down with a prayer.

The men raised their hands in homage — he assumed to the Stone.
Where are the monks?
Merlin wondered.
Where's Prontwon?

Mórganthu spoke again. “Who will be the first among you to join us?” His voice was soothing and inviting.

The druidow rose to their feet as a lone voice spoke up. “I will be first.”

“Good, good. Step forward. Who are you?” Mórganthu asked.

As the man stepped through the crowd to enter the circle, he spoke again. “I will be first, but not to worship your blasphemous Stone. I have come to speak truth.”

Abbot Prontwon!

Prontwon stood before Mórganthu, his voice steady and his stout frame firm.

Mórganthu stepped back and studied the newcomer.

“Yes, I will be the first,” Prontwon called out. “The first to stand against this trickster.”

Mórganthu stepped forward again, but Prontwon continued. “I will show this Stone an idol and this man a liar.”

“You … you call the wrath of the gods upon you!” Mórganthu screeched.

Prontwon turned and faced him. “Your gods are demons from the pit of hell.”

“Do not, I say, do not speak ill of the ruler of the blessed underworld, for Belornos will repay you.”

“There is but one Ruler — the Son of God, Jesu the Messiah — about whom God has sent Holy Scripture into the uttermost parts of the earth by the power of His Spirit and the blood of His saints.”

Merlin felt a cheer rise in his heart at Prontwon's boldness, but it died on his lips as the crowd remained silent.

“And this,” Mórganthu shot back, “is a lying spirit who bewitches you all. Break the spell that chokes your life! Throw off the puny god of these little monks and their cross.”

“The cross is for the forgiveness of our sins.”

Flourishing his staff, Mórganthu pointed at Prontwon. “And do you know, O people, what this sin of your abbot is?”

Prontwon stepped back, paused a moment, then replied, “Go ahead. Tell them. It matters not.”

“Hah. It does matter.” Marching over, Mórganthu grabbed Prontwon's right arm and ripped the sleeve all the way to the shoulder.

“Tattoos!” Ganieda said. “Drawn on his arm. There's a snake with the horns of a goat. The symbols of the druidow.”

Merlin held his breath. Had he heard right?

Mórganthu lifted his voice in victory. “It matters, I say. For the
sin
your abbot committed is that he, yes he, was a druid!”

The druidow snickered as the villagers fell silent.

“It is true,” Prontwon said. “I was young. And foolish.”

“Wrong! Wise beyond your years. My brother taught you, and you ate each word as if you were a starving bird.”

“And in my hunger, I did not see clearly.”

“Then how can you be trusted now?” Mórganthu jabbed the bottom of his staff down.

The abbot cried out, wrenched his foot free, and then limped backward. “Jesu opened my eyes, and I saw for the first time my need.”

Mórganthu shouted so that it echoed off the rock walls of the village green. “A fool and the follower of a fool. Leave this Jesu!”

Prontwon turned to the people and implored them with raised hands. “Do not deny Jesu your Lord. What benefit did we ever receive from following these gods?”

“Benefit indeed,” Mórganthu mocked. “All they have received from Jesu is slavery to the churchmen from Erin, slavery to their worthless writings, and slavery to the Roman army.”

Prontwon lifted his head and stood as tall as he could. “The Word of God is priceless —”

Mórganthu's form forced him backward. “The writings of these monks are from the dead lands of the East, foreign and not to be trusted.” His voice boomed from deep in his chest. “British ways for the Britons! … Away with the foreigners!”

All the druidow shouted with Mórganthu, stomping their feet and banging together anything that would make noise.

“Look, the old monk is shouting too, but I can't hear him.” Ganieda laughed. “The villagers look funny covering their ears.”

“British ways for Britons. Away with foreigners!”

Ganieda's voice rose higher. “That geezer of an abbot's climbing on top of the druid's rock. He's cupping his hands around his mouth.”

“People, hear me —”

But Mórganthu struck the side of the Stone with his staff, and blue fire burst forth.

“The monk's legs are on fire!” Ganieda said. “You should see his face — all red, and his eyes are bulging.”

Prontwon crumpled forward and fell off the Stone.

Merlin's heart hammered in his chest. Prontwon was on his knees, the blue light of the Stone dancing upon him. Brown-robed monks ran forward and put their hands under and onto the abbot, appearing to whisper prayers as the noise subsided.

Mórganthu declared to the people, “You see! You see for yourselves that the judgment of Belornos is upon him. He dared desecrate the Stone and is now struck down!”

Merlin could stand no more. “Stay here,” he told Ganieda. He
shoved his way through the crowd and broke into the center of the circle. The shadow of a tall man stood in front of the dying light of the bonfire and the weird blue flames of the Stone.

“Now, I ask once again,” Mórganthu called. “Who will be the first to join us?”

A voice, young but firm, answered from the crowd. “I'll join.” Someone short, dressed in a brown robe, stepped into the ring. “If you'll have me.”

It was Garth.

“No!” Merlin yelled as he sprang forward and swung his staff at the dark figure of Mórganthu.