by J. M. Briggs
“Let’s start with what is in the bag,” Morgana suggested, her voice softening to the point that Merlin wondered how worried and stressed he looked.
He unzipped the backpack and reached inside, poking around until he found the solid mass of the first jar amongst the towels. Pulling forth one of the old earthen jars, Merlin gently ran his fingers over the long dried clay. He marveled that they had remained so intact. The weight of Morgana’s eyes was impatient, but she remained silent as he carefully set the jar on the table before them.
“You know the story of Taliesin and the magical cauldron I assume?”
“The story where the boy brews a potion to grant wisdom with the first few drops and the rest will be poison?” Morgana asked with a furrowing brow. “I’ve heard it.”
“It is one of those tales that I wonder about the origin of.” Merlin tented his hands together in front of him. “Rather like the Fisher King, I suppose. I wonder if there was a mage who had visions of the past or future and told them as stories, unaware of their real meaning and significance. Someone who didn’t understand what they saw and dismissed it as entertaining dreams.”
“Ambrose,” Morgana called sharply, pulling him from his thoughts. “I believe that the myth of Taliesin has become connected to the stories about you over the years.” There was cunning in her eyes as she waited for him to confirm what she must already be suspecting.
“Indeed it has and with the same odd twist as the tale of Guinevere and Lancelot being connected to Arthur. It is true in a fashion. The first year that I was training as a mage Cyrridven brewed a potion for a year and a day just as the story goes. The first few drops contained within them such a strong concentration of magic that they triggered my vision of the birth of the Iron Soul and reinforced my connection with the Iron Realm. I have never wavered since then.” He breathed out slowly, his mouth dry and his lips feeling ready to crack. “But the rest of the potion was poison. It was completely free of even a flicker of magic and thus could destroy whatever it touched. I stored the poison in earthen jars and hid them away to keep them from ever being used as a poison on the world.”
There was shock in her wide eyes. The tale was old, but it was a strange one with only a glimmer of truth. He wasn’t sure what Morgana had expected him to say, but the way her eyes were locked onto the jars told him that this hadn’t been it. Fear and worry replaced the shock and she eyed the jars carefully which assured him that she understood the weight of what he was saying.
“There were three jars,” he explained softly. “I hid them long ago. There was no way to destroy the poison and I feared the consequences of using it. When I was retrieving them a group of Sídhe attacked me. The poison eroded the walls and utterly destroyed the creatures. Thankfully when released it doesn’t work for long.”
“Why did you never tell me?” Morgana asked in an emotionless voice. “Did you not trust me?”
“No I trusted you, but this…” Merlin trailed off and placed a hand on the jar. “At the time the idea of it frightened me, but over the years that fear has transformed into a terrified clarity of the danger these pose. I never spoke of them, Cyrridven never asked of them and we both tried to act as if they did not exist. It is why neither of us ever entertained the notion of making that potion again: not for Arto or any other Iron Soul. The danger is too great. I wanted to forget.”
“And yet here it is,” Morgana said.
Merlin noted that she did not reach for the jar and was staring at it with a hesitant expression. “A poison completely free of magic… I found myself wondering if it might be able to corrode the connection between Arthur and the power of the Iron Soul,” Merlin said softly.
“You kept it stashed as a weapon,” Morgana all but hissed. “How many caches do you have, Merlin, of things you’ve never told me of?”
“There are a few,” Merlin heard himself admit as he raised his eyes to meet Morgana’s. “And there are things in place to inform you of them should I fall.”
Her face betrayed no reaction to his words. He suspected she was not surprised. It would not surprise him if Morgana had arranged something similar. Their slow aging, eternal purpose as it was had sustained them for a long time, but they had avoided accidents and grave injuries. The extent of their lifespans was unknown to them both though he had often wondered. Still, they had their duty and both were devoted.
“What is your plan then?” Morgana asked, moving the conversation forward. “We’d have to find Arthur or the Iron Chain to even try with the poison. And how could we safely deploy it? If it is as dangerous as you suggest then we need to be precise.”
“There are many aspects to consider I know,” Merlin agreed wearily as he reached out and touched a finger to the jar. “Sadly I’m not sure how to weaponize the poison beyond just throwing the jar.”
“These jars… how were they made?” Morgana questioned, ghosting her hand around the small vessel. “If this potion is so powerful how does this small thing contain it?”
Merlin chuckled lightly. “There’s nothing special about them, Morgana… we just put the poison in them as soon as the potion was used. I don’t know if there is a delay before it stabilizes or something else.” He paused and closed his eyes, straining to pull the memory from so long ago. “We poured it directly from the cauldron.”
“But the jars?”
“I made them myself out of clay,” he said. “It seems strange, Morgana, but what keeps the poison, has kept it safe all these years is some sort of magic. Something beyond…” he trailed off and shook his head before looking towards her with a smile. “Strange isn’t it. After all these years there are still things we do not understand.”
“I suspect that will always be the case,” Morgana said before turning her eyes back to him. “I don’t like this, Ambrose, but we will not resolve it today. I expect that you will not store them with the Iron Chalice.”
“Never,” he assured her quickly. “I will not risk the Chalice.”
“And keep them away from the children,” Morgana added sternly. “Clearly you’re going to do what you think best, but don’t risk the children.”
There was no small amount of anger and judgement in her voice. Merlin might have laughed at the reversal of roles, but it wasn’t funny. “Where are the children?” Merlin asked, rubbing his eyes as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him.
“I’m uncertain of their exact location at the moment, but somewhere in Paris,” Morgana answered him with a hint of smug satisfaction. “I saw them off from Portland with their passports and plenty of funds.”
His head snapped up and Merlin looked at Morgana in unconcealed horror. “What?” he gasped. “Morgana, what have you done now?”
“They have a lead on the Iron Hammer,” Morgana informed him, raising her cup of tea to her lips and taking a long sip. “It made sense to send them to Paris. Well Alex and Bran at least, but they’re safer together.”
“But Arthur-”
“Arthur is unlikely to be looking for them in Paris,” Morgana countered quickly, giving him a warning look. “They placed the blood protection spell in Spokane and Portland before departing. Ravenslake is now barred to those that mean harm to the mages,” she added with a smirk. “Timothy remains able to move around without discomfort.”
“Arthur found me without any issue!” Merlin protested, slapping a hand on his knee. “I’m not sure how, but that’s why I lost focus on the water tunnel, Morgana.” He shook his head and began to stand up. “Somehow he found me!”
“Ambrose… Merlin,” Morgana started as she licked her lips nervously and considered him carefully. “What is this about?”
“We need to stop them,” Merlin answered as calmly as he could, but the look on Morgana’s face made him stumble. “They aren’t safe!”
“No.” Morgana’s eyes dropped to the jars on the table. “This is more than that. You never told me about these even during the first war.”
“We weren’t fighting strange hal
f-Sídhe creatures like us back then!” He ran a hand through his gray curls and tugged at the hair in frustration. “Alex is in danger! We have to bring them back here! Arthur could find them or something else!”
“Alex is fine, Merlin!” Morgana shouted. Silence dominated the room and Morgana exhaled slowly. “She’s alright,” Morgana repeated. “It bothers me too, Ambrose. We failed to see the threat. We let him close to her, close to us and he nearly got the sword. Aiden only survived because we were lucky and that had nothing to do with us. We had nothing to offer except money after the fact!”
“And yet you’ve sent them off once again with just money!”
“They can handle it,” Morgana answered in a cold voice.
A wise man would drop the topic at that voice, but Merlin was stubborn. “They’re children, Morgana!”
“Not by the standards of our time,” Morgana said, her green eyes narrowing on him. “Everyone is a child to us, Ambrose, but they’ve already proven that they can handle a threat.”
“We had to rescue them at Stonehenge.”
“They could have handled it.” Morgana crossed her arms and glared at him. “Are you going to tell me what this is really about?” She gestured to the jars. “After all this time you go and retrieve these jars and now you’re hovering even worse than me.”
“I…” Merlin faltered, suddenly aware of a weakness in his knees. Morgana’s gaze softened. She stood up and came around the coffee table, sitting next to him on the sofa. Their fingers entwined as she put a hand over his. “I feel old,” he finally answered.
“You are old,” Morgana reminded him with a chuckle.
“So are you.”
“But you’ll always be older.” Morgana squeezed his hand warmly. “I know what you mean,” she admitted a moment later. “We missed something big and it almost… but we can’t just lock Alex in Ravenslake. She’s got to make her own choices and so far she’s doing a pretty decent job.”
“But so much could go wrong,” Merlin protested weakly. “And we…” He shook his head. “I’m just not sure what we’re dealing with now, Morgana.”
To his relief, she said nothing in response to that. They just sat there for some time as he tried not to wonder about Alex, where the Iron Hammer was and what they were supposed to do next. Finally, he turned her gaze back to the small earthen jar and wondered how he could use it to destroy Medraut and Scáthbás once and for all.
21
Sympathy for Old Enemies
116 C.E. Sør-Trøndelag, Norway
The sun was creeping towards the horizon and Thor was trying to stay still. His breath wafted up into the air forming tiny forms in front of them. Adjusting his fur cloak, Thor held back a shudder at the chill beginning to seep into his bones. Northman or not, winter was setting in too quickly for them to dawdling around outside.
Across the snow covered glen, Sif gave him a smile that sent a flash of warmth through his chest. He barely held back a silly grin even as her brother Baldr caught his eye with a warning glint. Merlin and Odin were speaking in low voices to his right and Morgana was scanning the forest impatiently. A layer of snow covered the ground and only the subdued sound of critters moving in the trees disturbed the peaceful scene.
“Where is Frea?” Morgana asked out loud as she glanced towards the sun. “She should have been here by now. We even met later in the day for her sake. At this rate, it will be dark before we can return to the village.”
“Not to mention the cold,” Merlin added with a chuckle. “Peace, Morgana. They may have gotten turned around. We can afford to wait a bit longer. We have magic after all.”
The Dvergrs made impatient noises from where they sat together sharpening their weapons on a fallen tree they’d dusted off. The slink of metal on the stones was strangely comforting and Austri, one of the Dvergrs he’s learned to tell apart from the others, looked up and nodded to him. Thor looked into the trees as he debated just going over to talk with Sif despite Baldr’s presence. Her tall brother kept giving him looks from time and time and Sif looked flustered. Thor hoped it was a good sign.
Suddenly a scream filled the mountainside making them all tense. The chirping of the birds and the sounds of small creatures moving around them all seemed to go silent. Thor strained his ears, desperate to confirm that the high pitched shrieks weren’t coming from the direction of his village. Another scream reassured him that they were coming from further inland only to have a rush of guilt hit him at the relief he’d felt. Without waiting for the others, he began to move.
“Stay together!” Merlin ordered sharply behind him, but Thor didn’t slow down. “Mind the snow, Thor!” Merlin shouted after him.
The warning was enough to make him slow a little as his feet tried to slide out from beneath him. Blood was pounding in his ears at the sudden silence seemed unnatural. Rushing through the trees, Thor found himself both hoping for and dreading more screaming. There were a few faint game trails for him and the others to follow as they fanned out. Another shout filled the forest followed by the clanging of metal on metal. There was a battle nearby and Thor sped up his pace as the ground began to slope towards a valley.
Rocks lined the way, dropped there by landslides and other disasters, confusing him as he looked for the source of the noise. A steep valley began to open up ahead and he caught sight of smoke beginning to curl up through the air. Tracks in the snow ahead of him were coming towards him and then suddenly turned back around. Racing forward, he followed the small narrow trail they marked down the slope of the valley.
A rocky outcropping and woven wood wall created a large shaded space from the rays of the sun up ahead. Smoke was pouring out from underneath the sheltering shelf of rock and for a moment he was stunned at the sight. He’d known Frea’s people lived nearby, but he hadn’t imagined it was so close and yet undiscovered. Thor stopped in his tracks and looked down in shock at the sight of small burning buildings and Sídhe creatures running from Dark Elves. Smoke billowed up into the air and the smell of burning hair and flesh filled his nostrils. The woven walls were collapsing in flashes of fire and only the rocky terrain kept the flames from spreading. Steam hissed as burning fragments of wood rolled down into the snow and half obscured the scene.
Pulling out Mjolnir, Thor marched forward as a small Síd ran screaming from the village and began to climb the rocks towards him. The rays of the sinking sun cast long shadows all around them and the small Síd stopped and looked at him with terror filled eyes.
“I’m not here to harm you,” Thor assured her quickly. “Hide until this is over!”
She nodded weakly and dashed off into the valley, huddling behind a rock where he caught sight of a few more Sídhe hiding. Behind him, he could hear the others catching up before another set of shrieks echoed in the valley. He kept moving forward towards the smoke and the once hidden village. The last rays of the sun were vanishing behind a mountain causing the temperature to drop and Thor barely held back a shiver.
A flash of silver magic from behind him illuminated the area. Moments later shining silvery orbs shot past him and settled in the air, casting a soft light through the smoky war zone. Dark Elves looked up sharply, their dark eyes glittering in the magical light with expressions of surprise on their faces. Sídhe creatures with their translucent skin used the distraction to flee. The Dark Elves froze and the screams died down leaving the howl of the wind through their rocky valley and the sound of footfalls.
Then the strange peace of the scene was broken as the Dark Elves turned their attention to him and the other new arrivals. Gone were their rags and simple clothing, now they all wore full leather armor with bronze accents and carried bronze weapons. Five began to march out of the village towards him, sending a jolt of fear through him. One of them snarled and he began to move as battle instincts took over. Swinging Mjolnir to the right, Thor stuck the nearest Dark Elf with a hard blow as magic leapt from the metal and struck the creature. It began to dissolve as screams tore from its
mouth, but he was already moving on. He thrust the hammer forward as he willed the magic thrumming within it to release on a group of Dark Elves a few feet ahead. They were moving towards him as pale blue lightning arced through the air and struck them. As he pushed further into the small village he found more and more small Sídhe creatures that some part of his mind recognized as children to his own shock hiding and trying to flee.
Green magic bolts blasted past him and collided in a flurry of light with the chest of another Dark Elf. It swung its sword wildly at him before another bolt threw it backward and it began to dissolve like the others. Thor kept moving into the village, catching the attention of another Dark Elf that threw a spear towards him. Deflecting it with Mjǫllnir, Thor jumped forward and swung the hammer against the being’s head. There was a cracking sound and it began to dissolve, but Thor didn’t linger.
Two more Dark Elves charged him. He swung Mjǫllnir, releasing another blast of lightning that took one down in seconds. The second swung a sword at him. Thor slammed Mjǫllnir against its arm sending it stumbling to the side grasping the arm in pain. Before the Dark Elf could recover he opened his left hand and sent a wave of pale blue sparks flying forth to form an arrow in the air. It screamed and began to vanish.