Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (20 page)

“Can’t I fish?”

She slipped a crock out from their food bag and set it in the middle of the blanket. “I have your favorite.”

Tinga jumped up and down, splashing the water. “Grouthe pie! Grouthe pie!”

“Settle, now — we have to thank God first.”

Taliesin set his fishing line down.

“O Lord, thank You — for You are the provider of this feast. May You cleanse our souls even as we enjoy the bounty of Your provision. Thank You for making the clouds to shade us, the stream to run, and the trout to leap. Amen.”

Taliesin’s eyes popped open to survey the falls. “The fish aren’t leapin’ right now, Mammu.”

Natalenya sniffed teasingly. “Well, they will be soon.”

“Hopefully so. Can we eat?”

Natalenya smiled and cut a thick slice of grouse pie. She handed
it to him along with a smaller one for Tinga. While they ate, Taliesin pulled off his boots and tossed them to the grass. He promptly plopped down and slid his feet into the water. Natalenya did the same, sitting between them, breathing deeply, feeling alive.

“Aren’th you going ta eat, Mammu?” Tinga asked, her mouth full.

“I am,” she said.

“Here, Mommu.” And Tinga cut her a ragged piece of the crispy-crusted pie filled with layers of sheep cheese, greens, and tasty grouse. The birds had been given that morning by one of the horse tenders who had gone hunting, and Natalenya and Eira had prepared them together.

Natalenya ate, smelled the weedy freshness of the falls, and swished her feet through the cool, swirling water until her toes tingled.

Taliesin ate another huge piece, pulled out his fishing line, and stuck some grouse meat on the bent copper hook. Finding a good spot not too far from his mother, he threw it in.

Tinga took the net and tried to catch fish farther up the falls.

“Be careful,” Natalenya said, and then she pulled her feet from the water, lay back on the blanket, and closed her eyes. Soon the splashing and humming made her sleepy. She dozed.

She was awakened by Taliesin shaking her shoulder. “There’s no fish here. Can we go to the pool?”

Natalenya had to think about that. The pool was just outside the gate. But what was the harm? There were always warriors on guard.

“The fishin’th better there,” Tinga said, hopping up and down.

“Yes, I know. We won’t stay long?”

Taliesin was already winding up his line. “Just so we can catch a fish.”

“All right.” Merlin loved fishing with them, and Natalenya sensed their determination was tied to missing their tas.

She packed up, and, still barefoot, they hopped the stream before walking down the path to the guard’s crennig. The clouds had thinned some, though the sun didn’t reach into the gorge at
this time of day, leaving the stones cool on Natalenya’s feet and the air moist.

And as usual, the guards were lying about, two of them napping beside old Brice, the porter, who was knitting with deft, gnarled fingers.

“And what are you making today?” Natalenya asked him.

“Ah, sumtin’ for ta missus.” He had one of the thickest Rheged accents, causing all his vowels to be drawn out slowly.

“Well, now, have you replaced that rusting hinge yet?”

“Ah . . . nooo.”

“And what about the cracked bar? Have you gotten a new one?”

“Ah . . . I dooon’t think so . . . Nah yet, nooo.”

“And the weak part of the gate . . . Have you had the smith make some new plates to strengthen it?”

“Ah . . . lemme check.” He stood, shuffled over, craned his head at the gate, and shuffled back. “Ah . . . no.”

Natalenya tapped her fingers together and stared at him.

“I’m right sorry, Missus Ambrosius. I’ll see to it . . . next week.”

Natalenya raised her left eyebrow.

“Right awa’, then . . . right awa’.”

“Thank you, Brice. Now, we would like to fish in the pool outside, if — ”

Brice nodded and kicked the nearest guard where he slept with his hat over his eyes.

“Logan, get up! And you too, lazy-knees!”

The two jumped up to help and had the gate open in no time. Uncle Ector normally kept five guards with the porter, but what with the warriors riding to help Urien, they had a shortage.

“Call if you need us,” Brice said as he closed the door most of the way.

The pool was just a little way down and to the right, shaded and almost hidden by a few pines. Merlin loved to take the children here, and they almost always caught a few of the good trout that congregated in the deep, cold water.

But there was a curious object resting at the edge of the pool, a sort of case made from horn. Someone must have lost it here. Natalenya picked it up.

“What is it?” Taliesin asked.

From inside she fished out a shaving razor. The iron edge was oiled and quite sharp, and its handle was made from bone, and . . . there were symbols carved into its side.

Natalenya sucked in her breath and closed her mouth.

She hadn’t seen scratchings formed like that, since . . . since she had been a slave.

It was Pictish!

With shaky hands she put the razor back in its box, tucked it in her belt, grabbed the children’s arms, and dragged them back to the gate. After they squeezed inside, she shoved it closed and called for the guards. There, with a thrumming pain coursing through her head, she leaned upon the gate’s old timbers — and moaned.

T
he veins in Merlin’s neck began to pulse and his breathing quickened. The thief was trying to steal another of their horses!

The man cinched his rope tight around the head of the horse stuck in the riverbed and then turned to look at Merlin.

His face went white.

With the fragility of the bridge, Merlin knew he couldn’t ride Peredur’s horse across with any speed. Therefore he leapt off, laid his harp on the brown grass, and ran up the bridge.

The man frantically tried to get the rope loose, but couldn’t. By the time Merlin closed the distance, the man had drawn his knife.

Merlin halted, rethinking his plan to grapple him, and drew his sword instead.

The man lunged at Merlin, his blade seeking Merlin’s sword hand, but a broken board made him lurch and miss.

“Get away!” Merlin yelled, swinging to force him backward.

The man held his ground but ducked, causing Merlin’s sword to cut a slice in the top of his hat.

Still holding the coil at the end of the rope in his left hand, the man threw it at Merlin.

The rope hit Merlin in the face, stinging his left eye and blinding him momentarily. He swiped to keep the man back, but the thief was already running down the opposite side of the bridge.

Merlin tripped on the rope and fell on his side to the boards. The one under his shoulder groaned, cracked, and snapped. Merlin fell, and he landed on his back in the mud. The putrid, stinking mud.

A dead frog popped out from the ooze and its toothless mouth gaped at him.

It was a long time before Merlin was able to extract himself from the muck and, with the help of the thief’s rope and Peredur’s horse, pull his horse free from the mess.

About that time Arthur, Culann, and Dwin came riding back to find out what had happened.

Merlin told them the story, and they cheered at the recovery of Merlin’s horse, even if it was covered in mud and had a torn saddle strap.

“Where are Gogi and his daughters?” Merlin asked.

“They went on ahead.”

“Good riddance,” Merlin said under his breath.

Arthur heard him and glared. “What’s wrong with Gogi?”

“He’s bad luck, with worse advice.”

“You should have ridden farther to the left.”

“I never heard him say that. He made that up!”

“No, he didn’t!”

Merlin cleaned off some of the mud coating his saddle. “Well, it’s not Gogi you like, anyway. It’s Gweni-what’s their names.”

“Don’t bring them into this.”

“Why not? You’ve been talking to them all day.”

“Well . . . they’re nice. At least they speak to me, unlike the girls back home.”

“Perhaps, but Gogi’s daughters don’t know when to keep their mouths shut, either.”

“What happened wasn’t their fault.”

The hurt in Arthur’s voice cut Merlin’s anger short. He clenched his teeth together and drew a deep breath through his nose — a mistake, considering the filth. He’d spoken too rashly. Whether or not the boy acted like a king, Merlin owed him the same respect he would have given to Uther.

Placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, he met the boy’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s get moving.” Arthur said, shaking off Merlin’s hand and mounting Casva again.

Merlin was careful not to forget his bag with the scrap of Natalenya’s skirt. Slinging his harp behind him, he climbed onto his horse and rode it bareback. At least they could stink together.

By sundown, their party still hadn’t located Gogi, Gwenivere, and Gwenivach. It was as if the three had simply disappeared. Arthur, Culann, and Dwin searched all along the trail, and if so many other horses and wagons hadn’t come through, they would’ve been able to track them. As it was, they wasted too much time trying to interpret the muddled signs.

Although they passed through the promised village, they found no sign of the Walkers, and pressed on until the light began to fail. As much as Merlin didn’t like the giant and the girls, he began to worry that something bad had befallen them. Thieves did roam the forest — he knew that now — and visions of the giant slain and thrown in some ditch floated at the back of Merlin’s conscience. Three times that night he sat up with a start, thinking he had heard the distant scream of a girl. But the woods were always silent and dark, and he was forced to wonder if he had imagined it.

Merlin awoke to Arthur shaking his boot.

“Time to get up. I want to get on the trail early.”

Merlin sat up and rubbed his right shoulder, which still hurt from his tussle with the thief. “Do you forgive me for yesterday?”

“I do.”

“Maybe we’ll catch up to them farther on.”

“We should have found them yesterday. They can’t have just disappeared.”

Dwin, who was already up and packing his horse, called frantically from near the woods. “Arthur! Come look at this!”

Merlin and Arthur ran over, leaving Peredur and Culann to wake themselves.

“What is it?” Dwin asked.

Merlin looked, and there in the horse manure was the print of a wolf, though larger than any Merlin had ever seen. Looking more closely, Merlin saw something else — the print was more elongated than it should have been, almost as if the pads had been stretched.

“Is it one of the wolf-heads?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a wolf this large.”

They broke camp quickly and in silence.