Once I’ve mastered the runes (and after Merlin finally gives up on trying to teach Arthur), we learn more about trees. Merlin starts his lesson by telling us about the ash.
“It was once thought that all mankind emanated from the ash,” he says. “The ash is therefore considered to be a sacred tree, a symbol of the life force. We call it the ‘tree of the world’ or Yggdrasil, for it spreads its limbs over every land and forms a link between the spirits in the world above, the dead in the world below and our own land of the living. Stories from across the water tell us that Odin hung himself from an ash to receive wisdom, while Nemesis carried an ash branch as a symbol of divine justice. Spears made from the ash are invisible to the enemy, and may be used to inspire an ecstatic frenzy.” He pauses a moment. “That’s especially useful in times of battle,” he adds dryly. “When you’ve embarked on a killing spree, you usually don’t have too much time for rational thought.”
Arthur is already engaged in a mock battle, lunging with a pretend sword and raising his arm to block a pretend blow. He’s no longer listening, but I am fascinated that a tree I’ve always taken for granted can have such a history and such magical properties.
“How do you know all this?”
“I have been there and heard the stories.”
I frown. In all the time I’ve known Merlin, I’ve never seen him embark on a sea voyage to anywhere. So how can he …? I give a little grunt of amusement. Merlin has no need of a boat to travel anywhere! I swell with pride to think that, once I have mastered all he can teach me, neither shall I.
Merlin is still lecturing. “In Britain, we use the ash for spells of rebirth and new life, especially when it comes to the protection of children and to ensure longevity. The ash is also used in the cure of fever and liver complaints, and to aid digestive upsets.”
He clicks his fingers to summon his wand, which he then waves in front of me. “This is made of ash,” he says, and points to the symbols carved in a spiraling pattern along its length. “When you reach thirteen summers I shall give you your own wands, Morgana. You will need an ash wand for healing, which will become the greater part of your practice, but it will also give you protection, health and prosperity.”
“And the power to work magic,” I remind him.
Merlin smiles. “For that you’ll need a wand of hazel. But you’ve already acquired enough skills to begin working magic on your own account. You have no need of any wands just yet.”
“But I want a wand!” I’m not prepared to give up such a valuable instrument, not having come so close to acquiring it.
“And one day you shall have all three,” Merlin promises, and lays his hand on my head. “The wand of greatest power is the wand of oak, for the oak will help you gain access to Otherworlds, worlds beyond our imaginings.” He is gazing over my shoulder, and I wonder what he’s looking at. The sacred island of Avalon, about which I’ve heard him speak, but have never seen? Or is he looking beyond, to those places across the water with which he seems so familiar?
“One day this kingdom will come under threat as never before,” he says, his eyes still fixed on the line where the earth meets the sky. “A great horde from across the ocean, barbarians who covet our land, will invade our shores and try to take from us what is not theirs to possess. Several raiding parties have already come, but there are watchers on the lookout and beacons ready to be lit, both to give warning and to summon help. So far we have managed to repel them. But once Uther dies, you need to be ready to take his place and unite the kingdom in order to fight off the invaders who will surely flock to our shores once they hear of his death.”
“I’m ready now, Merlin.”
Merlin blinks. His gaze focuses on me almost as if he’s seeing me for the very first time.
“It was my father’s wish that I succeed him after his death. Uther may have usurped my father’s position, but he cannot undo my destiny,” I say fiercely, unsettled by his strange expression. “That’s why I’m learning all I can from you, Merlin! Together, we’ll be more than a match for any invaders. We’ll crush them as if they were just so many ants!” I grind my knuckles into the palm of my hand to illustrate my point. “We’ll drive them back into the sea and then Britain will be safe forever.”
Merlin is no longer looking at me. His gaze has settled on Arthur.
“No!” I shout, not sure why I’m protesting or even what I’m protesting about. “Look at me, Merlin! Look at me! I can do everything you ask of me, and more. I know I can be the leader Britain needs when the time comes. And I promise you that I will honor your teaching in everything I do. I shall be a wise leader, and a strong one. I shall protect everything we hold dear, with my life if necessary.”
The old man removes his hand from my head. “We shall see,” he says.
I shiver at his words; an icy dread settles on my heart, so heavy I can scarcely breathe.
“It’s my birthright!” I protest, growing angry now. “You promised me, Merlin.” I grab him and give him a shake. I’ve never dared touch him before and I am surprised how frail his arms feel within my strong grip.
The force of his power and his anger smash through me like a thunderbolt. At once I snatch my hands away and take a quick step backward, touching my forehead in a sign of obeisance. “I beg your pardon, master,” I murmur. “Please forgive me.”
It isn’t often that I address him so, but the mage will not be mollified. He banishes me from his presence and I feel the scorching breath of his anger reaching out to me through many days and nights before he sends for me once again. When our lessons resume, I am cautious and extremely polite. Our falling out is soon forgotten in the thrill of learning how to tell time and direction from the sun and the stars and how to communicate with birds and beasts, among other useful and often magical abilities and tricks. Finally, to my joy, Merlin gives me three wands: ash for healing and protection; hazel for the power to work magic; and oak to help transport me to the Otherworlds I long to visit. But this provokes the first serious argument between Arthur and me.
“Can I have some wands?” he begs.
“No, Arthur!” It is inconceivable that my brother, who is so inept when it comes to performing magic, should also be given these symbols of power.
“But I want them. It’s not fair to give them just to you!” Arthur’s face is red with frustration, but Merlin just laughs and tells him he can have them when he’s older.
Merlin might laugh, but his words strike dread in my heart.
“Why should Arthur have any wands at all? You know he’ll never be able to perform magic as well as I can.”
Arthur scowls at me. “I can do magic if I have some wands.”
I stare at my little brother, and realize he’s no longer so little. He’s old enough now to think for himself, which makes him old enough to understand once and for all his place in our future.
I turn in appeal to Merlin. “I need these wands because I am the one who will inherit this realm, and maybe rule all of Britain one day. Therefore I am the only one who should have them.”
“But you’re only a girl!” says my brother.
I curl up my fists in rage and frustration. Arthur has taken to watching the knights and their squires training in the tilting yard, practicing their wrestling holds and their sword play. I should have realized when I caught him fighting shadows with a broken stave that he might also mimic their opinions.
“I may be a girl, but that won’t stop me. My destiny is to rule our kingdom,” I say, trying to hide my annoyance.
A fleeting smirk crosses Arthur’s face. “You can only ever be a queen, Morgana. But I’m a boy. And I’m going to be king one day, so I’ll rule the kingdom. That’s why I need wands too.” He tries to grab them from my hands, but I am too quick for him. I hold my wands high in the air, out of his reach.
“Merlin!” he shouts, and stamps his foot.
“Not now, Arthur.” The mage places his hand on Arthur’s shoulder to calm him. It doesn’
t prevent my brother from sticking out his tongue and glaring at me. I try to ignore him, but I am troubled. It was our father’s wish that I inherit his realm. I have no intention of breaking my vow and handing it over to Arthur.
“He’s young, he’ll understand when he’s older,” I tell myself, trying to settle my spirits so I can concentrate on Merlin’s next course of instruction: how to fashion a magical cloak of invisibility.
Our lessons pass without further fuss from Arthur, but sometimes he looks at me and in that brooding stare I know he has not forgotten. I suspect he has not yet accepted his fate, but I know this is something he must come to terms with in his own time. To make much of it now would only look like gloating; it would harden his heart against me. I couldn’t bear that. And so I am affectionate toward him, as usual, and he still reaches out to me when in need of something.
I work hard to win Merlin’s praise and esteem, learning my lessons well and practicing diligently all that he can teach me. I am determined that, when the time comes, my destiny will not be in doubt. It consoles me that Arthur is having trouble keeping up with us. On this day he lags behind as Merlin leads us to an unfamiliar part of the forest and shows us the herbarium he has created around a bark hut at its center. I am curious about this hut, for I do not think he lives there: there is no sign of a bed or storage space for his clothes, or a supply of food or anything else of that nature. Instead, there is a workbench and a fireplace, with pots and receptacles of various sizes.
“This is where I brew my healing potions,” he tells us. “And this is where I shall teach you all that I know, Morgana. And Arthur,” he adds quickly, as Arthur catches up to us, and scowls at being left out.
We go outside once more, and Merlin begins to talk about his plants. “These are the herbs of healing,” he says, and shows us agrimony, betony, and woundwort. “Comfrey will help to knit broken bones together,” he tells us. “And this is valerian, for nervous complaints.” He moves on to a tall plant with fern-like leaves, clusters of small white flowers, and a terrible smell. “This is hemlock,” he says. “It’s poisonous, so you must use it with care and very sparingly. It’s good for pain relief. Poppy juice is even more effective, but again must be used with care.” He walks over to a patch of bright red flowers that commonly grow wild in the fields, and demonstrates how to gather their seeds to make a soothing syrup. At the center of the patch stand some white-flowering blooms on tall blue-green stems. He plucks an unripe pod from one of them, and slices it open. He points to the milky juice oozing out. “I shall also show you how to prepare this, for it is excellent for pain relief. But beware: too large a dose will bring oblivion and even death.”
There are many plants to remember, all with their different uses, and not only for healing for some also have magical properties. We return to Merlin’s garden many times, and learn their appearance and purpose one by one. Some have a use in the kitchen, such as tansy. “It’s used as a strewing herb to repel insects,” says Merlin, who shows us also the fragrant and flavorsome herbs used in the preparation of food. I listen, and I write down the names and particulars of every plant he shows me so I won’t forget. I am not allowed near the kitchen gardens at home; my mother considers it beneath me to learn the art of healing, or how to cook and flavor food, for we employ others to do such things for us. But I want to learn and so I press Merlin to tell me what else he knows of the practice of medicine, such as the importance of balancing the humors for wellbeing, the efficacy of leeches and how to set broken bones. I watch carefully as he shows me how to brew, blend and concoct the creams, lotions and potions that will ease pain and bring relief to the sick and injured. And when he sees I have a knack for this, he invites me to make use of his hut to prepare remedies of my own. I know that Merlin is pleased with me again for he praises my diligence and smiles at me like a fond father, especially after I tell him that castle servants are starting to visit me in secret, seeking a cure for their various maladies.
Arthur sulks because he can’t remember the names of the plants, and is in a total muddle over their uses. I suspect it’s because he is just not interested; it’s the techniques of fighting and killing rather than nurturing and healing that hold his attention now. I sense that he’s withdrawing from me. He’s spending more and more time with the pages, with the squires, and even with the knights when they’re not too busy to tolerate him. He is growing up fast, and turning toward the world of men.
Arthur’s interest sparks again, however, when Merlin speaks of the strange arts, the first of which is harnessing the power of the lodestone to turn base metal into gold.
“I shall need to know how to do this when I am king,” he tells Merlin.
I’m about to remonstrate but Merlin’s laughter and upraised hand forestalls me. Instead, I glare at Arthur, and he scowls back at me. Merlin doesn’t notice; he’s busy assembling what he needs for the demonstration. But he doesn’t show us how to accomplish this transmutation.
“I want you to try, Morgana,” he tells me. “If anyone can succeed, you can.”
At once, Arthur pushes in front of me to stand at the table. Merlin draws him back.
“Let Morgana do it,” he says, and begins to recite instructions from an old book that he sometimes uses, while I try to follow them. To my chagrin, I fail to achieve the desired result: the base metal stays as it always was.
“It’s not working!” I turn to Merlin in frustration. Arthur sniggers. Merlin comes closer to inspect my efforts.
“To some, those who value riches above all else, this knowledge is the Grail,” he says. “I wanted you to try, Morgana, so that you would know it cannot be done. Nor is it possible to find the elixir of everlasting life, which is another Grail that others may seek.” He gives a sudden wild cackle of laughter. “Some people search all their lives for this Grail, the Sangreal they call it. But none has ever found it, and they still die when their time has been spent. No one has ever managed to turn base metal into gold, or create such an elixir.”
“Not even you, Merlin?” I am sure he must have succeeded, for he is so ancient! A hundred summers at least, or even older. But Merlin merely smiles and taps the side of his nose.
At our next lesson, and because Merlin deems me old enough to understand, he begins to introduce me to Otherworlds beyond my imagining. Arthur tries to come too, but he has trouble moving into the unknown, fetching up short each time, as if an invisible wall has stopped him.
“Can’t we just leave him behind?” I ask impatiently, but Merlin says, “It might be helpful if he can see what you can see, so that in time he will learn everything you know.” His words send a frisson of foreboding down my spine, but he looks so stern that I am afraid to argue.
But finally, even Merlin is forced to accept defeat and so we go adventuring together without Arthur.
I like the first Otherworld we visit best of all: there I meet magical and mythical beasts like fierce gryphons, airy phoenixes, winged wyverns and fire-breathing dragons. I make the most of the time I spend with these strange and wonderful creatures. I look into their minds and hearts, I learn how to communicate with them, and I interrogate Merlin about their habitat, their natures and their magical qualities.
A silvery white unicorn becomes my special favorite, for he allows me to ride on his back. Aleph is faster than any of the horses in our own stable so that once we are in motion it feels almost as if we are flying. When I ask him if unicorns can fly, his long lips curl into a smile but he does not reply. Nevertheless, I live in hope that one day we might fly together. I feel sure that all the worlds as we know them would then be revealed on our travels.
I found the castle in uproar when I returned after our first visit to that Otherworld— everyone had been out searching for me. Although we were only with the magical creatures for a little while, some days had passed in real time and I was missed. Arthur, the little sneak, had even broken our pact and told our mother that I was with Merlin. Fortunately, no one believed him.
Now, I always find some excuse for my absence before Merlin and I go adventuring to Otherworlds, for I am never quite sure how much time will pass in our own world while I am away. Nor am I ever sure whether the Otherworlds I explore with Merlin are back in time from ours, or in the future, although some of them seem very similar. For example, there is a world where Druids still hold power over the realm, although their world looks much like our own. But their ways are different from ours and, as always, I learn what I can from them, along with whatever Merlin can tell me.
There is also the magical Isle of Avalon, the Isle of Apples, a place of great power and mystery, situated as it is at a confluence of several overlapping Otherworlds. Merlin had told me about it—and about the priestess Viviane who rules over it—and finally I saw it for myself. A tor towers over the isle, but this tor also forms part of an Otherworld called Glastonbury, where a great abbey is located.
There are no tribes in Glastonbury; the country is united and is ruled over by a king. But even the king pays heed to the priests of the man they call Jesus Christ. We know about him in our own world, and our priests conduct Christian ceremonies, but Merlin tells me that Christian churches are far more widespread here. This Glastonbury cathedral is also much taller and far larger than any abbey I have ever seen, with soaring stone arches supporting the walls, and beautifully carved statues to decorate it inside. There are even precious colored-glass pictures in some of the windows. The ceremonies are elaborate and mysterious. I suspect this world is more advanced than ours, even though the inhabitants appear to have no knowledge whatsoever of magic. But it is impossible to say, for their calculation of time is different from our own, and so all I can do is look, and marvel, and learn what I may.
I, Morgana Page 2