Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (39 page)

“Yes. It is a wolf, sent by Mórgana, an’ more deadly than any that has yet existed in the shroud o’ this world. The wolf an’ his army have just destroyed Aquae Sulis, Vortigern’s third-most important city, and they must be stopped.”

“How can I — ?”

“By overcomin’ yer fears, which are set far deeper than yer scars. Yet, ya can overcome them and face the wolf.”

So it was true. All his fears had united against him to become a nightmare, a walking death so terrifying that it strangled even the screams of his soul. Then a horrid remembrance of his childhood came back to haunt him:

He was shrieking
,
and the wolves were scratching his face
,
snapping at his limbs. Sharp teeth. Hot
,
putrid breath. And there was no one to help.

And when Merlin’s father finally came, it was too late and Merlin had been blinded.

Beyond the door a child began to sob now and call for help. Merlin realized that the tables had turned, and it was
his
time to help. Just as he had hoped for someone to save him, he needed to rescue others.

Merlin stepped forward, the tip of the blade shaking.

The beast’s claw rent against the door, and Merlin heard it crack.

“Pray for me, Mother.”

There were tears in her eyes. “Always, Merlin . . . I always love ya, an’ I’m always prayin’ for ya.”

Merlin walked forward.

The beast began to beat against the door, shaking it and causing dust and rocks to fall from the stonework.

Merlin readied his blade and then placed his hand upon the latch. The metal was cold and wet.

The beast roared.

Merlin jerked his hand away and looked back. His mother was still there.

“I ken ya can do it. Go.”

Merlin gulped as he shakily reached out again . . . grabbed the latch . . . and squeezed.

There was a clicking sound inside the iron handle, and the beast fell silent beyond the door. Merlin imagined it waiting, tensing . . . flexing its claws. Ready to slit Merlin’s skin until his lifeblood ran and his soul screamed for mercy.

He stepped back as he opened the door, the point of the blade ready.

But there was no beast. Beyond the door lay only the camp where he had fallen asleep. The moon was hidden behind clouds now and the crickets weaved their gentle, humming music. Arthur, Dwin, and Culann slept beyond the campfire.

Merlin turned once more to his mother, confused, and she urged him forward. “Go now, sweet son, and know that God is with ye. Confront yer fears, and know this: No matter what, God’s love is with ya, and I’ll always be prayin’ fer ya.”

As Merlin stepped through, the door, ledge, and lake vanished.

He took a long, slow breath, and looked up to the night sky where a star appeared, brighter than anything Merlin had ever seen — its light burrowed into his eyes like a flaming cinder. It swooped low over the camp and moved toward the southwest. Merlin squinted and saw that it was a shining drinking bowl made from the most beautiful golden glass that he had ever seen, as clear and bright as if it had been heated in the furnace of the sun itself.

The Sangraal!

Over the sleeping men it floated, past the horse pickets and beyond the vastness of the southwestern forest. Toward Kernow. Toward Mórgana. Toward all that Merlin feared. Yet it gave him hope and faith as it directed him onward.

And as it went, words filled the air, and they brought back a remembrance from long ago.

The bear will charge — with steel claw free

’Gainst hoary swell of peoples be.

All things will lose — and dead the tree,

Lest wisdom to — he bend the knee.

Hell dog will dark — the sun’s bright face.

The beast will rise — from secret place.

All men will flee — to water trace,

Till sword and spear — with prayer grace.

The beast will bring — forth fetid birth,

And bear will scratch — and prove his worth.

But land will not — have new its mirth,

Till red-leg crow — be brought to earth.

It was the words of the madman, Muscarvel — and his prophecy floated away on the air like a nightingale’s lament. Merlin knelt down in prayer, embracing the wisdom that he knew was right, fearful though it was. After Glevum they would travel to Kernow to fight Mórgana. She and her conspirators were the source of all that was wrong in Britain, and even if he had to fight wolf-heads to stop her, this he would do.

T
he Picti crashed their battering ram into the doors of the tower once again.

Boom!

With panic ripping into her soul, Natalenya tried to breathe slowly, evenly. The ground seemed to lurch under her feet even as all that she had trusted in for the last sixteen years failed. She had been a slave of the Picti once, and had vowed that it would never happen again. Then she had carried a disease that had caused the Picti to loathe her — the same disease, from appearances, that was killing the inhabitants of the tower.

Merlin had tried to tell her that her disease had been caused by his sister, but Natalenya had never fully believed him. It just seemed so . . . strange. Yet now, with slavery and disease surrounding her once again, she began to truly believe her husband’s stories — seeing apparitions of Ganieda far from home, even fighting her ghost. Thankfully, their family had all been spared such evil goings-on
during the last many years. Yet now, with Merlin away, they had come upon her again, like a crazed mountain bear slavering to kill.

She closed her eyes and, for a brief moment, grabbed hold of the secret dream she’d held on to throughout the siege. She imagined that she was sailing away from this hell. Sailing away south to Kernow — to Dinas Camlin — to see her mother once more. Sailing to the ends of the earth in search of her love, her Merlin. She longed to hold his face, look up into his tender eyes and feel his strong, safe arms around her.

Boom!
pounded the battering ram.

Her dream faded like a phantom, and the nightmare took her once more:

Slavery. Disease. Death. Was there no way out?

Then, in a flash of insight, it all made sense. How could she have missed it? She had been protected her from Necton before when she was a slave — would God do it the same way now?

O bright Father
,
O holy Son
,
O sanctifying Spirit . . . grant us your safety!

She grabbed Bedwir’s shoulder. “How long will the doors hold?” she asked.

He looked at the tower doors, the bars, and the hinges.

Boom!
crunched the battering ram.

“Ten more blows, I’m afraid, if that.”

That’s not enough time!

“Everyone!” Natalenya shouted, startling Garth and those around her. “There is a way to save ourselves, but we’ll need more time! Is there anything to brace the doors?”

Caygek shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Anything! Please!”

Crack!

And one of the door hinges bent.

Garth ran to her. “I can slow ’em down! I know a tune . . . it’s about their greatest king. If I play it, they’ll stop to listen!” He reached into his sack and pulled his bagpipe out — the same one
he had owned when he was a young orphan, the one he’d inherited from his father.

Natalenya smiled to see it after so many years. “Run! Up the stairs! On the third floor there’s a window facing the gates . . .”

But Garth was already bounding up the steps while fitting the drone pieces on.

Boom!

Parts of the lower bar shattered, sending splinters into Natalenya’s hair.

Taliesin patted her on the shoulder. “Can I help?”

She turned to look at him. He had blood smeared on his cheek and there was fear in his eyes, but a maturity and determination too that Natalenya had never seen there before. “Yes.” She ran her hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. “Protect your sister. Take Tinga and the pups to the third floor. Help Garth.”

“But — ”

“Hurry! Now!”

Taliesin grabbed Tinga’s hand and ran upstairs with Gaff and Gruffen.

Boom!
The post on the right side started breaking away from the wall.

Natalenya called everyone over and began instructing them.

A sound interrupted her, a skirling sweetness raining down that could only be Garth’s bagpipe. The man’s fingers played a low, complex, and mournful tune that immediately tugged at Natalenya’s heart.

The battering ram stopped its swinging, doom-filled rhythm.

Natalenya forced herself to focus once more, then finished her directions and sent everyone running to their given tasks.

But halfway through the preparations, while Natalenya was running up to the second floor for the third time, Garth’s bagpipe faltered in squeaks and honks. He’d run out of air. Natalenya sent up a supplication urging God to give him a second breath.

Then she smelled smoke.

Taliesin came bounding down the stairs. “Necton was mad that the men stopped hittin’ the doors, an’ so he lit them on fire!”

“Help me!”

Taliesin did, and when they made it down to the first level, once more the flames were shooting through the door. Smoke began to fill the room.

Garth started playing again, weakly, and yet he provided enough distraction to hold off the Picti until Natalenya and the others had completed their task, coughing and choking through the smoke.

When it was done, Natalenya ran up to the third floor with Taliesin and the others, legs weak and lungs burning.

Garth’s face was deeply red, and his poor bruised lip was swollen even more.

She nodded for him to stop.

When he caught his breath, all he could say was, “. . . Outta practice . . . way outta practice . . .” And she gave him a hug.

“Hey!” Taliesin reported from the window, “Necton’s got piles o’ tinder against this side o’ the tower, an’ the fire’s climbin’ higher!”

And then the battering ram boomed once more.

Crack!

Natalenya sat down with her back to the wall, pulled Tinga close, and called Taliesin away from the window.

He came, bringing little Gruffen.

Loyt led them all in a prayer for protection, and Natalenya and others joined him, for it was the twenty-third Psalm, which they had been memorizing:

The Lord God, my Good Shepherd, sates my hunger

And gives unto me verdant fare on the heaths,

Where I may feed my soul.

The Lord God, my True Chieftain, quenches my thirsting

And gifts unto me crystal streams in the glens

Where I may fill my spirit.

And now Taliesin joined in, and Tinga snuggled closer with Gaff.

The Lord God, my Just High Priest, slakes my longing

And grants unto me righteous paths on the heights,

Where I may praise His name.

The Lord God, my Stout Shield Arm, guards my lifeblood

And walks with me through the vale of deathly shades,