Merlin

'Mother?'

She smiled bravely. 'I had thought myself free of her. Now I know I never will be. But her power belongs only to this world.'

'I know that – at least I was reminded of it today… that poor woman – '

'Uisna is healed, Merlin. God has made her whole.'

'Are there many like her?'

'Yes,' Charis sighed, gazing across the lake to the Tor, 'and more all the time. She is the third since winter. Abbot Elfodd tells me that it is the same in other places. He has spoken to the bishop about it – there is talk of a plague.' I winced. 'A plague of evil spirits?'

'Bishop Teilo says that it is to be expected. For when God's kingdom increases, Satan is roused to wrath. The Evil One seeks always to keep us from the knowledge of God, for then we are defenceless before him.' She smiled again. 'But, as you have seen today, we are far from defenceless.'

I remembered that day on the mountain-top in Celyddon, and I shuddered. A plague of evil spirits – a ghastly thought. Yet, it was true, our Lord was more powerful in his simple goodness than the Enemy in all his vast evil.

That is what I had seen this day at the Shrine, and I had been admonished – indeed, I had been rebuked – and sternly reminded that I feared for nothing. Morgian could be faced, and Morgian could be defeated. This truth, like so many, was bitter to me, for it brought me to my knees beneath the weight of all my failings.

Oh, yes. So many failures, so much wasted time and effort. The barbarian still threatened, the petty kings still strove with one another for power, the blessings of civilization were fading from memory… The Kingdom of Summer was no nearer to becoming reality.

Could this be blamed on Morgian?

Only in part.

It was Morgian, and the lord who ruled her. It was my own short-sightedness – or lack of faith, it amounts to the same thing sometimes. Time and again, I had been given opportunities and I had wasted them. Time and again, I had held back when I might have acted more swiftly, more forcefully. Why? Why had I done this?

The heart of a man remains a mystery for ever beyond his reckoning. What of that? I did not have to continue in my ignorance and disgrace. I could change. Knowing the difference, I could choose the higher way.

'What are you thinking, Merlin?' Charis asked after a while.

'I am thinking that this is my battle. I have run from it long enough.'

'What will you do?'

I shook my head. 'I cannot say. But I will be shown soon enough. And, while I wait, I will make myself ready. I will stay here at Ynys Avallach and I will strengthen myself with prayer and meditation on the Holy Christ.'

Charis hugged me again, and kissed my forehead. 'My Hawk, forgive yourself as you have been forgiven. Your failings are not unique to you alone.'

That was all she said; she left me soon after that. But I felt forgiven. I prayed: 'Great Light, thank you for waking me from my long, selfish sleep. Lead me, my King. I am ready to follow.'

The next day but one Avallach returned from Llyonesse. The news he brought was mixed. Belyn had improved, though would not recover, and did not expect to see Samhain. Nonetheless, he seemed content, and welcomed Avallach's visit. Consequently, the brothers had effected a reconciliation. And Avallach had gleaned what he could from Belyn regarding Morgian.

'There is little enough to tell,' Avallach informed me, 'but that little is disturbing. King Loth is dead, and Morgian has left the Orcades. Where she has gone is not known. Belyn expected her to return to Llyonesse in the spring, but there has been no sign or word from her.'

'Loth dead?' I mused. 'Then there are two thrones that will fall to her.'

Belyn's and Loth's, I was thinking: both would see one of Morgian's offspring made king. Two realms had fallen to the Queen of Air and Darkness – which was what the people of Ynysoedd Erch, the Islands of Fear, had taken to calling Morgian. Two kingdoms – one in the north, one in the south – under her power. But Morgian's influence extended much further than that – as I was soon to discover.

Three days later word came to Ynys Avallach that Uther was dead.

SEVENTEEN

Strange to tell, two years had passed me in the Fisher King's hall. So given to hate and despair was I, that I had noticed nothing of the wider world – the silent turnings of the seasons, the long, slow swing of the Earth through her measured course.

Now Uther was dead.

I pondered this. The Imperial line of Constantine was never ordained to flourish. Each of noble Constantine's sons had been king, and each in his turn had been, like his father, cut down before his time.

Poison, again, it was said: one of Gorlas' loyal stewards who blamed Uther for his master's death and sought to even the blood debt. Many believed this, although there was also vague talk of a mysterious malady; it seemed Uther had suffered a lingering illness through the winter. I gathered my things together and prepared to leave the Tor.

'Farewell, my Hawk!' called Chads as she waved me away. 'We will uphold you in your battle.'

She was right, of course. My battle, so long avoided, was finally beginning.

I sent Pelleas ahead to Londinium and made my way to Tintagel in all haste, hoping I was not too late. But it was not Uther I was concerned with now. I wanted to see Ygerna, and to collect Uther's sword. For word had gone out: the kings of Britain were gathering in Londinium to choose a new High King from among their number. I must be there when this took place.

Ygerna received me gladly. She had borne her loss bravely, but was tired and wanted someone to share her grief. Indeed, Uther was not much mourned; he was not the High King to inspire the love and sympathy of the people. What he had accomplished for Britain – his fierce battles, his brilliant victories – these were already forgotten. The only thing people remembered was that Uther had killed Gorlas to marry Ygerna. That is all they remembered, and that little a lie.

I found the twice-widowed queen standing on the rampart of the wall, gazing out at the sea, her hair streaming in the sea breeze. In the falling light she appeared at once frail and wonderfully strong – fragile as sorrow, potent as love. She turned lightly when I approached, smiled, and held out her hands to me. 'Myrddin, you have come. Welcome, dear friend.'

'I came as soon as I received word, my queen.' I said, taking her hands. Her fingers were cold, although the late afternoon sun was warm on the wall. Then, hesitantly, she stepped nearer and embraced me chastely, brushing my cheek with cool lips. I held her for a long moment, very much aware that she was a young woman who needed the comfort of a reassuring touch.

'Will you sit with me a while?' she asked, stepping back, a queen once more.

'If you wish.' We walked along the wall to a block of grey stone which jutted out from the rampart. She settled herself on it and indicated that I should sit beside her.

'It happened so quickly,' she said abruptly, her voice sad and low. 'He had been out hunting and returned feeling unwell – it had been a bad spring for him so I did not remark upon it. He went to bed and awoke in the night with a fever. He remained in bed the next day which was most unlike him. I saw him twice, but he complained of nothing. I expected him at supper, but when he did not come I went to his room.'

She squeezed my hand tightly. 'Oh, Myrddin, he was sitting in his chair… his flesh was cold, and he was dead… '

'I am sorry, Ygerna.'

She seemed not to hear. 'The odd thing was – he had his shield beside him, and his standard; he wore his leather breastplate. His sword lay across his lap. It was as if he expected to fight an enemy.' The queen lowered her head and sighed. 'I did not speak to him again. I did not tell him I loved him – I wanted so much to tell him, and then it was too late. Myrddin, why does everything always come too late?'