Merlin's Shadow (36 page)

Merlin directed everyone off the ship and helped Kensa out last of all.

The men heaved the boat away from the shore and rowed off. Merlin watched them until they were lost in the darkness and waves.

He and his companions were alone now. Abandoned. And the moon had risen farther into the sky with only the thinnest sliver of white to tease them. Touching the hilt of his knife once more, he envisioned it lodged in Atle's gut.

Following the beach, they found a way to climb to the snowy plain that led to the distant mountain. On top, Merlin could see the lights even better. There must be many men up there.

“Come on!”
he called. “There's no time to lose.”

Setting off at a jog, he ran through the snow as quickly as he could. A league or more he ran, the others trailing behind and sometimes running ahead. To his left lay a broad bay whose dark waves roared and lapped against the shoreline. Around the bay he ran, turning toward the mountain. The heads of large rocks stood in the snow, and here and there a wind-mangled tree had fought its way up toward the dark sky.

Merlin's strength waned. His lungs began to hurt. And then his cold and numb legs tripped over a sharp rock hidden in the powder. He fell.

Bedwir, his breath an icy swirl in the wind, helped him up, and then ran on ahead.

Merlin's shin was bleeding, and his ice-crusted trouser was torn. He stumbled on, and now everyone passed him — even Kensa with her wobbling, bent-over gait. He looked down, being more careful of his steps, and kept plodding in the tracks of the others, forcing each foot to lift and carry him forward yet one more painful step.

The time passed achingly slow, and even if he didn't look up through his slogging, he was thankful that each stride and ragged breath brought him closer to the mountain and Arthur.

Then he heard cries. Birds. Ravens. There must be hundreds, by the sound of it.

Merlin looked around. He had descended onto a shallow, frozen lakebed at the foot of the mountain … and trapped in the iced-over lake stood the devastated remains of an old city. Broken pillars and smashed walls reached out of the ice, all part of once opulent buildings. He tried to pick up a broken stone with a masterfully carved fish on it, but it was frozen in place.

And the city must have fallen to ruin long ago, for great trees had grown up and taken over so that the place now looked like a
grove — a dead grove. For the ice had killed the trees and cracked the trunks, and their dead limbs clawed skyward in mocking sneers at the heavens. Had the land sunken since the trees had grown? How many generations had passed?

And this is where the ravens had gathered.

Bedwir faced him, mouth agape, and Peredur beside him. Garth and Kensa suffered the sight from the left side. Caygek, alone on his knees, had vomited.

For before them — in the trees — hung forty or more corpses. Not old, rotting corpses, but fresh ones. With their red blood frozen to their limbs. Each one had been impaled upon a great branch, and the ravens greedily devoured their flesh.

After endless dreams of fire smoldering within the marrow of her bones, Ganieda awoke. The world was dark, wherever she was, and it clutched at her with a viselike grip, cold and breathless. She screamed for air and clawed upward. Buried; someone had buried her. She fought, lifting her tired knees and kicking down, ever downward, until her head rose up to freedom. She sucked it in and found it to be salty and sick, but at least it was air.

A dead face leaned toward her. She screamed, for she knew where she was now — the druid pit. Pushing away from the dead man and his thin, ruddy beard, she found the wall of the pit and grabbed upward. Anything. Anything.

She kicked herself sideways, and there her hand found a root. She pulled herself up, but halfway out, it snapped. She fell back. There were more roots. She grabbed one, and pulled, then another, and tugged upward. She lifted a leg onto the freezing ground, grabbed the trunk of the tree, and slid her whole body to the top. Her shoes had been lost in the muck, but she didn't care.

She sat up, and the stink from the pit and from her own clothes stung her nose. Taking handfuls of snow, she rubbed her clothes with it to wipe off the grime.

Then she remembered the giant wolf. She whipped her head around but didn't see it. Where had it gone? The beast might come back, and then what would she do? Ganieda stood on shaky legs and ran off into the snowstorm that swirled and pulled at her cloak and hair.

The thin trees ended and she came out onto an open hillside. Where was her grandfather? And then she stumbled. Weariness had pulled her down, but she forced herself up and kept moving. Her legs felt so weak, she needed to rest somewhere out of the wind.

Trees … just ahead. A thick grove. She ducked under the leafless branches and picked her way forward. Before her — at the edge of a clearing — loomed up a massive stone. She trudged to it, leaned against it, and found its shelter kept the snow from blowing in her face. She slumped down, determined to rest for awhile.

She laid her head down, and covered herself with her cloak. She would get up soon, she told herself. Darkness and sleep embraced her, and she embraced them back.

M
erlin turned away from the dead bodies — not wanting to gag and not wanting to see them any longer. But mainly, he didn't want to see if Arthur was there. Were they too late?

“Is … is he there?” he choked out without turning to look. “We need to make sure.”

Merlin sat down on his haunches while the others searched the grove. He prayed for the first time since the storm at sea.

Someone crunched across the ice and snow and came to stand next to him. He looked at the boots and saw the person's big toe sticking out of a hole. It was Garth. “Art's not here, but we scared off two wolves before we found this … hangin' on a branch.” He passed a red cloth to Merlin, torn but not bloody. It was a small tunic — the one Arthur had last worn at the feast, and the same one Merlin had seen in his vision.

Maybe there was still time.

Merlin looked up at the moon, now nearing its apex in the southern sky. The thin white line that had been there during their journey across the plain had become nothing more than a glow around the rim.

Merlin stood, and a new strength filled his legs.

They had to get up the mountain.

Now
.

But what if they were captured before they could rescue Arthur? Then their weapons would be taken, including his sword and knife. Arthur might die because of the noise of one footfall. The glint off a sword in the wrong direction.

But what if Merlin could keep his knife? That might allow him a second chance. He pulled the short blade out from his belt and compared its length to the rolled-up leather map still in his bag. It would fit. And so, lacking any better place to hide it, he opened the bag, slipped the knife into the roll of leather, and tied the bag once more to his belt. No, the knife wouldn't be immediately available to him, but he still had his sword. And besides, with all the torches swarming the upper mountain, their best chance was stealth.

Meanwhile, the others had all been talking about how best to approach the top.

“Can't we climb?” Bedwir asked. “They won't expect us to do that.”

“No, no,” Kensa said. “Ett's too steep, so take de path up. But den nott all o' ye are wanted. Ah, but we'll make de best o' ett.”

“Won't they see us coming?” Peredur asked.

“Dey're busy,” she said, “and dey keep no lookout. Straight up and de trees vil hide ya. But we must hurry.
Der's no time!
” Her voice was urgent, and she began to push Merlin forward.

Merlin held her off with a hand so he could look up and see what she was talking about. This hoven was very similar in size to Dinpelder back in Britain, except here the entire mountain was slanted on one side all the way to the plain, making a natural path to the top from the ruined city where they stood. And she was also
right about where to hide — a stand of thick trees grew on both sides of the path just near the top.

“Let's try it, and everyone be as quiet as you can. Keep your weapons under your cloak if possible.”

Peredur stepped up to Merlin. “May I pray?” he said in his humble, quiet way.

Merlin nodded, and hushed the others to listen. Peredur cleared his throat and prayed:

Merlin thanked him, and Peredur blushed.

“It's just a prayer o' me father. He always prayed like that to begin our day training horses. I dunno if it's appropriate for sech a task as this, but I s'pose it's better than naught.”

Merlin led the way through the rest of the ruins and trees, trying not look at the corpses. The path up the mountain was harder than he had expected — relentlessly it rose, higher and higher, and Merlin's tired lungs could hardly suck in the cold air.

Bedwir walked to his left, his blade hidden, but his eyes sharp, and Garth, wary, walked to his right. Caygek and Peredur followed behind, with Kensa bringing up the rear. Two things aided them — the darkness, which the enemy had desired for their own purposes, and carelessness, for no guard appeared to accost them as they climbed toward Atle's temple.

When they reached the trees, Merlin gathered everyone together and instructed them all to be as quiet as they could and to watch their step. Thankfully, the woods were mostly filled with pines, and the thick layer of soft, wet needles muffled their steps.

Merlin hiked upward very slowly, picking his way. He tried
to keep them together, but it was so dark under the canopy, and the trees so thick that they spread out farther than he'd intended. Merlin could barely see anything at all.

When he finally reached the edge of the trees, he crouched down into the brush. What he saw took his breath away. Just a few feet away chanted and danced an assembly of over five hundred people — men, women, and children of all ages. Each of them held daggers in one hand and a small torch in the other. And their feet, as well as the snow, were stained red with the blood of their many victims.

The temple itself was in ruins. Ancient stone columns made a wide circle upon the crest of the hill, and the closest was no more than eight paces from where Merlin hid. The stone roof, which had once formed a dome over the columns, had somehow been knocked down, for a great pile of mason-cut rubble lay heaped up on the right side, and part of the dome was still intact. Many of the fluted columns themselves had either been shorn off or toppled.

Atle stood in the center of the circle, and Arthur was with him — standing stiffly on a low, stone altar with his hands tied by a thin rope held in Atle's hand. He was bare chested, and fear covered his little face.

Then Merlin saw Kensa.

She stood beside Atle, holding her shredded purple hat and talking to him. He was nodding. Merlin looked behind him to where he had thought she would be, but only Bedwir, Peredur, Garth, and Caygek were with him. Merlin wondered if she had even entered the woods when they had left the road. She had probably set off straight to Atle.

Then he heard — back in the trees — the cracking of branches and the padding of many feet.
She had betrayed them!
Atle's warriors jumped forward with axes. Caygek leapt up and gutted one with his spear, but two more appeared right behind. Bedwir barely had time to draw his sword before they were upon them. Peredur and Garth ducked.

Anger flared up in Merlin's veins, and he took up his sword and swung it at the nearest warrior, slicing him through the ribs. Whirling, he slammed the pommel into the next one's head, and the man crumpled with a scream. One of the warriors was swinging an axe at Garth, and Merlin slammed his shoulder into the man and knocked him down.

Within moments another warrior stepped up and swung a heavy hammer. Merlin spun to get away, but not quickly enough. The hammer slammed him in the left arm just above the elbow. Something cracked, and Merlin fell to the ground in agonizing pain.

Bedwir had just killed a warrior when the man with the hammer slipped behind him.

Merlin yelled to warn him.

Bedwir ducked, but he hammer still gave him a glancing blow, and he collapsed.

Merlin tried to use his left arm, but something had broken in the elbow, and the intense pain shot to his shoulder and down his ribs. Where had his sword gone? He realized he had lost it in the dark. The muscles in his left hand began to cramp up, so he used his right to reach for the bag where his knife was hidden.

Ten more warriors jumped into the fray. Two of them disarmed Caygek. Garth and Peredur lay on their knees with their hands on the backs of their heads. Loth appeared out of the darkness, a sneering scowl on his face, and put the tip of his sword to Merlin's throat.

Merlin let go of the bag's knot. He would have to trust to his ruse now. There was no other hope.

The cold fled away, for the darkness was deliciously warm for Ganieda. It enfolded her. Held her. And its blackness was like the locks of her mother's hair. Her family's hearth appeared, and her mother was there, taking a loaf of honeyed bread from the fire. It smelled so delectably fresh, and the warm, soft bread slid down her throat to fill the emptiness.

Ganieda smiled at her mother. She was so beautiful. Even the druid scars that laced her arms and hands like spiderwebs added to her attraction. Most of the druid wives didn't undergo the scarring process, but her mother had. As the daughter of the arch druid, this was her right, and she had taken it.

Ganieda touched one of the blue lines and traced it upward toward her mother's sleeve until it swirled and knotted with another line. Ganieda became lost in the knot, and followed the line upward until she was lifted into the sky, and still the line plunged onward. Stars whirled above her, forming a shape. A wolf.

She heard a howl all around her. Deafening. Something breathed heavily nearby. Wetness dripped upon her cheek. More howls. She covered her ears.

The beast had returned.

She glanced upward, and its yellow fangs hung right above her, the horrid, black lips sagging over its blood-covered gums.

She screamed and closed her eyes. It was about to eat her, and she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't get away. Her running was over.

The wolf licked her. Again.

She opened her eyes and realized this wolf had a white muzzle. It was her wolf, Tellyk. He'd found her, after all this time.

He whimpered and nudged her again.

She sat up, and with her last ounce of strength pulled herself onto his back. Tellyk loped forward effortlessly. The snow stung her face, but she gripped his warm fur as they passed through the pines, through the trees, and to a tent where the light of a small fire shone upon the fabric walls. An old, cracked stump sat outside that she recognized.
This is Grandfather's tent!

Tellyk barked as Ganieda slipped off.

“Grandfather …” she called, falling on the ground before the door.

“My daughter's daughter, is that you?” He untied the flap, and soon he had it all the way open, displaying a face full of surprise. He helped her up, and she stepped in.

Tellyk made a move to follow her.

“I won't have that wolf in here. Out! Out!” he yelled. He tried to kick Tellyk, and the wolf backed up with a slight growl. Grandfather hastily tied the flaps again. “I've … I've been worried. You've been missing so long, I had almost given up hope.”

Ganieda wished Tellyk could come in and feel the warmth of the fire, but she didn't have the strength to protest. And besides, she saw the wolf lay down and lean his body against the door, leaving an impression on the tent wall. She could always reach her hand out and pet him if she wanted to show appreciation for her friend. Tellyk had helped her so much.

Grandfather threw on a few logs and warmed up some oatmeal for her.

“So … so where did you get that torc?” he asked as he stirred the little pot. “I have not seen its like before in Britain, or in all of my travels.” He touched the heads of the dragons; first the red one, then the white one. “Is this … is this …”

“A gift for me — from the Voice,” she said, and her words sounded cold in her own ears. It was strange — her heart wanted to weep because of the torc, and the emotions welled up within her. But somehow that part of her had turned mute. No tears would come.

“From … from the Voice?” her grandfather asked. “You have
seen
the Voice?”

“I've been with him an eternity. I see him all the time. He appears, and I speak with him. He is powerful and beautiful in my eyes, Grandpa.” Her mind could still see the Voice. He was her father now, and he had always loved her. Oddly, she loved him and would do whatever he wanted of her. Had she felt that way before? She couldn't remember.

The wind blew against the tent then, and the bones hanging from the ceiling clinked into each other. Grandpa handed her the pot of oatmeal.

She wanted to eat it right away but instead took a moment to fill her lungs with its goodness before digging in her spoon. Oh, how
the oatmeal gave her strength, and how the fire warmed her life and limbs. She laid her head down on the oxhide and slept for awhile, finally waking to see her grandfather sitting on his carved chair.

“You have slept long, my daughter's daughter, while our enemies await their doom!” His lone hand held the orb engulfed in a violence of purple fire. The fang was not in sight.

Ganieda leapt up to see the images flashing in the orb, and Merlin was there. A hatred for him, pure and delightful, burned deeply in her. He was being forced to bow before an old man upon a windswept mountain that she had never seen before. And someone held a sword at Merlin's throat, a man who looked much like Merlin did, with his long black hair and handsome nose, but without the scars. The man scowled at Merlin, and this pleased her. Perhaps he could be useful to her. Useful to the Voice.

“He is Loth,” her grandfather said. “I have heard his name spoken in another vision the orb gave to me. He is —”

“Most helpful!” Ganieda finished. The man was young and strong, and there was a certain spirit about him, opposite of Merlin's, that thrilled her.

And there stood little Arthur. The child whom her grandfather hated. Whom the Voice hated. Whom she now hated most deeply. His hands were bound, and he stood upon an altar covered in clotted blood. The old man held the rope in one hand, and a long knife in the other.

Grandfather laughed. “See … see! Both Merlin and Arthur will soon be no more!”