by J. M. Briggs
“Just be careful,” Alex told her family with a forced smile. “There’s now a blood protection spell around Spokane. Sídhe and most of their descendants shouldn’t be able to come here.”
“Shouldn’t?”
“You’ll be safe,” Alex assured her with a smile, reaching over to squeeze her mom’s hand. “But if you see anything strange then let us know right away.”
“We will,” Ed agreed with a nod and a serious look that surprised Alex.
“We will.” Her mom gave a slight nod of her own and squeezed Alex’s hand in return.
Taking another bite of her sandwich, Alex did her best to push away her worries. Her family would be safe now. The blood protection spell was one of the most powerful and raw magical spells known even to Merlin and Morgana. She’d bound her desire to keep this city safe from invaders into the very soil, into the plants, and even the human-made structures of the city. Yet she couldn’t quite ignore that there was a lingering fear at the back of her mind. Some sort of suspicious and frightened shadow seemed to have settled there and Alex was at a loss of how to banish it.
2
Walking the Old Path
Merlin rather liked Norway. The landscape was still raw like it had all those years ago when he and Morgana had been training the young and rather stubborn Thor. Even from his place up the hill, he could still hear the waves crashing below and the glimpses of towns that he could see were distant and small. It wasn’t like England which was so changed by the years that he sometimes doubted it was truly the same place. He could still remember when London had been nothing but a Roman fort town; it made him feel every bit his almost three thousand years. Norway on the other hand still smelled like it should. The people had shifted away from their Viking culture back to a calmer and more community-centric one like it had been when he’d lived in the area.
Chuckling softly, Merlin shook his head at his own thoughts. He was sounding old indeed; much older than the simple if a touch eccentric literature professor Ambrose Yates should. He chuckled again, this time amused by his own modern name. It was always bittersweet to create a new identity, but there was often an element to fun to the process. Breathing in the air, Merlin noted the taste of salt and kept moving. His walking stick clinked against the rocks and Merlin tightened his fingers around the well-worn wood. The staff stood as tall as him and the warm brown color and smooth finish was interrupted by small symbols carved into it. They circled the top few inches and appeared seemingly random down the rest of the staff. It wasn’t his original staff, that one had been destroyed long ago in Wales. During Gofiben’s lifetime if he remembered correctly.
Wales: that thought struck a chord with him and made him pause. There were still wild places in Wales in the crags of the valleys and mountains high above the rolling farmland and calm pastures. After all the young generation of mages had found a dragon hidden deep beneath Dinas Emrys guarding a fallen white dragon and the Iron Chalice and there remained so many questions. The origin of the local legend of a blond person with blue eyes finding a hidden cavern with a treasure within was a mystery to him.
“Perhaps I should visit the dragon this summer,” Merlin remarked thoughtfully to himself, relishing the way his voice echoed against the rocky outcropping. “He must be lonely for company and conversation.”
It would certainly be one of the more interesting conversations and moments in his life and given the length, there were many remarkable ones to choose from. His foot almost slipped on a loose rock and Merlin sternly reminded himself to pay more attention to his surroundings. Shifting to the right, Merlin looked around critically at the nearby rock formations. He was almost there and followed the ridge of rocks down to a small narrowing crevice.
The dark local stone was spotted and covered with a thin layer of dirt, dust, and some vegetation trying to grow. Putting his hand on a warm rock side, Merlin moved further down the slope into the small ravine. His eyes scanned the hillside, trying to find the right section of rock. Then he spotted a sunken area with a pile of rocks collapsed around it. As he stepped towards it, Merlin’s phone suddenly rang and he pulled it out at once.
“Ambrose Yates.” Leaning forward, he examined the half-collapsed area. He was confident that this was the right way.
“Ambrose, Morgana,” a very familiar voice greeted.
“Ah, Morgana, how are you? Nothing wrong I hope.”
“No, Ambrose,” she replied in an even tone. “Nothing is wrong. I’m just checking in.”
“You needn’t worry so,” Merlin teased with a smile tugging at his lips. He could just imagine his counterpart frowning as she narrowed her green eyes. “I’m almost to the Iron Hammer now. I’ll have it within an hour. Though please keep in mind that the phone will not function once I’m below ground.”
“I’ll remember,” Morgana answered, but there was a hint of something in her voice. Merlin remained on the line even as he kept walking, just waiting. “The mages have left Ravenslake. They were in Spokane today.”
“The blood spell?” Merlin was unable to suppress the small flare of worry in his chest. “Morgana was that wise?”
“They are all together,” Morgana assured him quickly. “They are planning to visit the cities around here where they have family: Spokane, Eugene, and Portland.”
“That spell is dangerous.”
“Not so much for Alex,” Morgana reminded him with a hint of pride in her voice. Merlin frowned at that, worried that Morgana was allowing her fondness for the reincarnation of her beloved younger brother Arto to cloud the issue. “Her ability to collect the magic of the others and even traces in the air makes it much less dangerous for her.”
“Using that spell can kill mages,” Merlin protested.
“You taught Arto how to use it.”
“I trained Arto from a very young age, Alex has been training barely a year,” he countered as he came to a stop, far too distracted to keep moving. “It isn’t about power Morgana, I acknowledge that the girl has that, but she lacks experience.”
“None the less they are casting the spell. Aiden checked in with me and the spell in Spokane went smoothly. Alex was a little shaky on her feet, but she was fine.”
“Still-”
“I remember you and Arto hiking through the night after he cast the spell at Glastonbury and creating Cathanáil before he had any rest,” Morgana told him sternly with a definite hint of disapproval. “He was fine and you weren’t so worried then. Alex may be fairly green still, but she has the determination and her endurance is improving. Only time and practice will improve her skills now Merlin.”
She was irritated with him now, Merlin reflected. Morgana made a point of calling him Ambrose, though he had to admit she’d been slipping more and more lately. The younger mages had long since adopted Merlin over Professor Yates and she seemed to have followed. A sigh escaped him and Merlin held his staff in the crook of his hand so he could rub between his eyes.
“Very well Morgana,” he said. “I have faith that you’ll keep them safe.”
“I will. Keep us up to date on your progress and I’ll do the same. They should be back about the same time as you’ll return with the Iron Hammer.”
Tightening his grip on the phone, Merlin tried to articulate his thoughts. There was a bad feeling creeping up his spine that he didn’t quite understand and wasn’t sure how to communicate. It was foolish. The children had been successful in finding the Iron Chalice in Wales over Christmas break mere months ago. He’d gone looking for the legendary chalice himself centuries ago with no luck and they’d been successful.
“I see,” he finally forced out, fighting down the wave of worry. “I’ll be in touch then.” Making himself smile, Merlin added. “I’ve found the entrance to the tunnels.”
“Good, stay safe Merlin.”
She hung up on him, probably sensing that he was trying to find some argument against Alex leaving Ravenslake. Though she had already. Merlin wasn’t sure what it was that both
ered him so much. He’d grown up in a rather egalitarian society and known Morgana for three thousand years so he was fairly certain that this wasn’t based on Alex’s gender. Still, he couldn’t put his finger on why he was so concerned about this Iron Soul. Certainly, he was always a bit protective of them, but he liked to think he’d gotten better over the centuries.
Shaking his head, Merlin shoved those thoughts away to ponder another day. Apparently, Morgana had cleared the young ones to leave her side and given how protective she was then she must not be very worried. Instead, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand: recovering the Iron Hammer.
Rocks had shifted over the small cave entrance, half burying the thing beneath the weight of the hill. Rather than feel irritation, Merlin smiled in relief. At the time the Iron Hammer had been placed here the underground had been firmly in the hands of allies. Yet that had been a very long time ago. Merlin glanced around and listened for a moment just to certain that he was alone. When he found no sign of anyone else, he raised his staff dramatically into the air and called forth his magic.
The familiar leaf green magic flared around her fingertips, flowing freely from his chest through his arms. Twinkling green sparks spun around his staff and settled into the wood in a well-practiced action. Merlin allowed himself a small puff of pleasure in the simple calling of magic before he turned his staff towards the hillside. Mentally he commanded the magic to move the rocks and open the way. In his mind’s eye, he could see the old tunnel that had led into the hidden chamber and commanded it to be shown to him. Pushing his will into the magic, Merlin focused on his desire and urged the magic to make it reality.
Green streams of magic burst forth and spun into the rocks. Merlin waited with a small smile as his magic caused the whole hillside to shift. Rocks were scooped out of the hidden tunnel and flung out into the ravine like a great invisible hand was at work. Magic continued to spin around Merlin lazily and he fondly traced one of the symbols carved into his staff. Then the feel of magic brushing over his skin eased, the task he had set his magic to completed. With the stones and dirt dug away, Merlin could clearly see a long tunnel stretching into the earth ahead of him.
Opening his left hand, Merlin called on more magic and watched calmly as the green sparks appeared once more. They fused together to form a perfect orb. The green color faded to white as the orb began to glow and cast a soft light around Merlin, brightening the shadows cast by the walls of the ravine. Merlin brought the orb up to the top of his staff and the magic-laced itself around the top of the wood, fixing the light securely to the top. With that sorted, Merlin stepped into the small tunnel and began to follow the worn stone path deeper into the earth.
The tunnel only went in about thirty feet in a slow slope. Runes were carved into the walls. Nothing special in his eyes, but they were bits and pieces of Thor’s story: descriptions of his relationship with Sif, Odin’s affection for the young man, his powers over lighting, and more importantly a description of the Iron Hammer. It was a dramatic description to be sure, but Merlin could understand the awe that Thor’s hammer would have created. His ability to summon storms and call lightning down had been impressive even to a seasoned mage like him.
Merlin paused to look at the runes and wondered if these runes had played any part in the rise of Thor’s myth. He was certain that the man he’d known would be tickled to know that he was remembered as a god. Though Merlin could not figure out when Loki had come from in the mythology. Then again, he knew that humans loved their stories and they often grew in the telling. Hence why a mage could become a god and he and Morgana could vanish from the story completely.
Following the tunnel further into the hillside, Merlin became aware of the drop in temperature as he ventured far beyond the rays of the sun. As the air became staler, he used a quick wave of magic to clear it and kept moving. Merlin hummed softly to himself as he allowed the old memory to guide him through the tunnels. Everything was still and quiet with the musty smell of stone surrounding him. Gone was any sound of the Dvergr at work and Merlin felt a twinge of mourning for the long gone beings. This had never been their world and they had been all too happy to lock themselves into the old Dark Elf tunnels. Time had done the rest, but at least he could reassure himself that while Brokkr and the others were gone that their home world remained.
There were small collapsed tunnels leading off the main one, but Merlin ignored them in favor of following his current path. The lower tunnels were long abandoned and he doubted there was much to find deep in Svartalfheim after all this time. Instead, he stayed focus on this surface tunnel and followed it until it widened into a small room. It was a small cavern cut in a roughly round shape with two stone pillars supporting it.
Stepping further into the room, Merlin found himself holding his breath. He reminded himself that Thor wasn’t buried here, that Sif had taken her late husband’s body into the water with her and that there was nothing waiting here except for the Iron Hammer. Merlin walked further into the room and lifted his staff to cast more light through the space. The beams filled the room and Merlin turned his eyes to the pedestal.
Merlin was still in the passage doorway as he took in the sight of the old cave. The elegant carving of the Tree of Reality filled the back of the cavern and one only mildly familiar with Norse mythology might have mistaken it for Yggdrasil if they did not stop to note that there were far too many worlds. But the stone pedestal that had been the resting place of the Iron Hammer was empty. It was gone.
3
Lord of Thunder
116 C.E. Sør-Trøndelag, Norway
Thor moved one calloused finger over the smooth flat surface of the Iron Hammer, studying the plain form intensely. His fingertip glowed a bright almost white blue color as he carefully poured his magic into the hammer. The iron was resisting him. Thor frowned and glared at the smooth shimmering surface of the hammer in his hand. It fit perfectly in his palm, even more so than when it had simply been his primary forging hammer. One end of it was thick and large with the other end tapering into a point. He’d always found it solid with enough versatility to start any project and finish most of them, but now the magic in the metal was pushing back a little against him.
Huffing in irritation, Thor tried to relax as Morgana had instructed him in the past. It wasn’t an easy thing for him. He was a man of action, a man who liked to just get his work done so a moment of silence and inaction was uncomfortable. However, he could feel the hum of magic in his chest growing stronger as the spark flared to life like an ember fed with fresh dry sticks. Sparks jumped across his fingertips, illuminating the small alcove of rock that he’d hidden himself in to work far from his still reeling village.
As the bright pale blue of his magic flowed into the Iron Hammer, Thor smiled as the shimmer of magic within the metal increased. He could feel small jolts of lightning arcing off the metal and onto his fingertips. Rather than being frightened or worried, he found the sensation pleasing and exciting. Thor quickly pressed his finger against the warm metal of the hammer and summoned up the design he wanted to add in his mind. Right now the Iron Hammer was too plain for an object of such power.
Slowly the iron shifted beneath his fingertip, melting and reshaping ever so slightly. Thor’s smile widened and he carefully moved his finger along in the desired design. The smooth curves of a triskele appeared and Thor could feel the magic in his chest flaring at the sight of the symbol. Morgana and Merlin had tried to explain the significance of the symbol as the mark of the magic of the Iron Realm, but he hadn’t fully understood. None the less at the moment he could feel something settling in his bones as if it was a relief to have the hammer thus marked.
Unsure of what to make of that, Thor pushed his confusion aside and decided not to dwell on it. After all, it was magic. He didn’t think he was really supposed to understand it. As the magic began to fade and left a three spiral arm design on the side of the hammer Thor nodded in satisfaction. It was far neater than he
expected: there were no rises of melted iron. Instead, the symbol appeared to have been perfectly carved into the metal. Turning the hammer over in his lap, Thor leaned back against the cool stone and repeated the process on the other side.
Soon he had the triskele on both sides of the Iron Hammer. He hefted it a few times to test that the balance was still correct. It was, the hammer still fit perfectly in his hand and Thor knew that with some force the weight of the front half could easily turn deadly. He’d shaped weapons, pots, and tools with this hammer and now it was so much more. With that thought, Thor shifted and fastened the hammer into the leather loop he’d added to his belt. The weight against his hip was still unfamiliar, but he was confident that he’d get used to it.
With a sigh, he looked up and turned his gaze towards the ocean. His home village was built near the shores of the pounding waves amongst the rocks and small inlets. It was a rough area: full of rocky hillsides, small ravines, and small trees around the fields that they’ve managed to scrape out. His farmer brother was out there no doubt, hands in the dirt and hard at work. Thor sighed, he should be too. There were plenty of orders that needed to be filled throughout the village and he was the only blacksmith. Snorting, Thor mentally amended that thought: he was the only human blacksmith.