Merlin

She was right in this, for I knew full well who it was that addressed me. My own dread had told me, if nothing else.

'Morgian,' I said, my tongue finding movement of its own. How quickly her name leapt to my tongue.

'Well met, Merlin,' she replied politely.

At the speaking of my name I felt a delicious thrill, sensual and seductive – like that a man might feel in succumbing to some forbidden pleasure. Oh, she had many kinds of power and knew their various uses well. I actually wanted her, at that moment.

'How is my dear sister?' she asked, taking a half step and lifting the gauze from her face. At last we stood face to face.

Morgian was beautiful, very much like Chads; the family resemblance was strong. But at the moment my mother was the furthest person from my mind. I stared into a face of seeming exquisite and compelling beauty.

I say 'seeming', because I am not at all certain now that it was not enchantment. She was of the Fair Folk, of course, and had the natural elegance of her race. But Morgian far exceeded this. Hers was the dreamlike beauty of a vision: heart-rending, flawless, perfect in all its parts.

Her hair gleamed like spun gold, pale and shimmering; her eyes were large and luminous, flecked with the green fire of matched emeralds beneath golden lashes and smooth, gently-arched brows; her skin was white as milk, contrasting with the deep blood red of her lips. Her teeth were even and fine as pearls.

Yet… and yet, around her, or behind her, like spreading black wings, or a living, invisible shadow, I saw an aura, brooding dark and ugly, as if made up of all the nameless horrors of nightmare. This thing seemed alive with churning, writhing torment, and it clung to her – although whether it was part of her, or she part of it, I cannot say. But it was a real presence, as much as fear or hate or cruelty are real.

'You are long in answering, Merlin,' she said, lifting a hand to my face. Even through the fine leather of her glove, I could feel the cold fire of her touch. 'Is something wrong?'

'Charis is well,' I said, and felt I had betrayed my mother merely by uttering her name.

'Oh, I am glad to hear it.' She smiled and I was shocked to feel genuine warmth in her smile. Immediately, I thought I must be mistaken in my estimation of her. Perhaps she did care after all, perhaps the evil I sensed in her was of my own imagining. But then she added casually, as one might upon suddenly thinking of it: 'And what of Taliesin?'

The words were malice itself – a poison dagger in the hand of a skilful, hateful enemy.

Taliesin is dead these many years,' I intoned flatly. 'As you well know.'

She appeared taken aback by this news. 'No,' she gasped, shaking her head in mock disbelief, 'he was so alive when last I saw him.'

It was a wicked thing to say. I did not think it needed a reply.

'Well,' Morgian went on, 'perhaps it could not be helped. I imagine Charis was devastated by his death.' The word was precise as a knife prick.

I reached for a weapon as well. 'Indeed, but her grief was not without some consolation at least.'

This drew her interest. 'What consolation could there be?'

'Hope,' I replied. 'As my father was a believer in the True God, he had won eternal life through the grace of Lord Jesu, the Christ. One day they will be reunited in Paradise. That is the hope and promise that sustains her.' It was a clean thrust and I felt the blade go in.

She smiled again and I felt the power leap up in her, as it reached out to me like a hand poised to slap. 'We need not dwell upon such unhappiness,' Morgian said. 'We have other things to discuss.'

'Do we, lady?'

'Not here; not now. But come and visit me again,' she invited. 'You know the way, I think. Or Pelleas will show you. We might become friends, you and I. Oh, I should like that, Merlin, to be your friend.' Those striking green eyes narrowed seductively. 'You would like that, too. I know you would. There is much I could teach you.'

Such was the power of the woman that even though words like 'friend' were so unnatural, so alien to her, I still believed she meant it. Her charm could beguile and it could confuse and convince; it could make the most impossible, repulsive suggestions seem logical and attractive.

I said nothing, so she continued, 'Oh, but you are soon leaving, are you not? Well, another time. Yes, we will meet again, Merlin. Trust on it.'

The prospect chilled me to the marrow. Great Light, spread your protecting wings around me!

She pulled the veil across her face once more and stepped back abruptly. 'I must not keep you,' she said, and turning away made a small flicking motion with her hands.

I could move once more, and lingered there no longer, hurrying from the hall and through the corridor beyond, anxious to put as much distance between Morgian and myself as possible. Outside, the horses were ready and I vaulted to the saddle without a backward glance.

Gwendolau was waiting with the others and regarded me closely as I swung into the saddle, perhaps sensing something amiss. 'One other will be coming,' I told him. 'Pelleas is riding with us.'

'Is everything well with you, Merlin? You look as if someone has just danced across your grave.'

I forced a laugh. 'There is nothing wrong with me that a good day's ride will not cure.'

He climbed into his saddle beside me. 'Are you certain?'

'Yes, brother, I am certain.' I gripped his arm; I needed the reassurance of flesh just then. 'But I thank you for your concern.'

The big man shrugged amiably. 'I am only thinking of myself. My sister would flay me alive if I let any ill befall her husband.'

'For the sake of your oversized hide, I will try never to let that happen,' I told him with a laugh, and felt Morgian's influence receding.

Pelleas came alongside a moment later. He had a small bag slung on the back of his horse and a great grin on his face. 'I am ready,' he announced happily.

'Then let us ride, my friends,' called Gwendolau. The day is speeding before us!'

We rode out from the forecourt and through the tower-bound gates of Belyn's palace, and no one came to see us away.

SEVEN

They say Merlin slew a thousand thousand, that the blood of the enemy ran red upon the land, that rivers stank with floating corpses from Arderydd to Caer Ligualid, that the sky darkened with the wings of feasting birds flocking to the battlefield, that the smoke of the cremation fires rolled to the very dome of heaven…

They say Merlin mounted to the sky, taking the shape of an avenging hawk to fly away to the mountains.

Yet, when the voices of the searchers rang in the wood, where did Merlin hide? In what pit did Merlin cower while they cried out to him?

O, Wise Wolf, tell me why was the light of the sun taken from me? Why was the living heart carved from my breast? Why do I haunt the desolate wastes, hearing only the sound of my own voice in the mournful sigh and moan of the wind on bare rock?

Tell me also, fair sister, how long has it been? How many years have passed me here in Celyddon's womb?

What is that you say? What of Morgian?

Ah, yes, I have often wondered… what of Morgian?

That first time, of course, was just the brandishing of weapons between foes. She wanted to see who it was she would destroy. She wanted to savour the exquisite hunger before the kill. She was the cat taunting the mouse, trying her claws.

But I do not think she was entirely certain of me then. The meeting was necessary, because she was not a fool and she would not presume to begin her battle without first assessing the strength of her adversary.

Strange to say, but I believe Morgian's offer of friendship was genuine – that is, as genuine as anything about her could be. She meant it, although she could not have had the slightest idea of true friendship because she was not capable of it. But she was so hollow, so empty of all natural feeling that she could adopt any posture as it occurred to her; she used emotion as one might use a cloak, changing when it suited her. Still, she believed what she felt – amity, sincerity, even love of a perverse "sort – until she abandoned it in favour of another, more practical weapon.