by Candace Sams
“There are a number of legends,” Gart replied. “I suppose, if anyone would know the truth, it’d be you.”
“Quite so. But to tell the story correctly, you must first know something of an ancient time in this area; a time when events were turned into legend. Stories were often generated by those seeking pathos instead of truth.”
Gart pulled apart a piece of bread and gave a portion to Jean before responding. “I’m listening.”
“Actually, it might be easier if I showed you,” Merlin absently uttered.
The older man put down his food and drink, then suddenly stood. He raised his right hand, and pointed his index finger into the darkness beyond the fire. While still pointing, he circled his entire arm. “Look back into time, Garrett Bloodnight. See the real history, Jean Long. Know the truth. Subtract the myths, and you will have your answers.”
When a large green circle of light formed a few dozen yards away, Jean half-choked on her portion of bread, and Gart pulled her close.
In that green light, images of a landscape appeared. It was like looking at a circular television screen.
Within that vision, an enormous full moon poured light on the land.
Jean immediately knew that she and Gart were witnessing a vision from the past. Some scene of great historic significance was about to be communicated. The landscape within the circle seemed familiar, yet wild.
Then she recognized the place being shown to them.
It was the land Garrett owned, and the very hill on which they sat.
Within the center of the circle, men on horseback appeared. She stayed quite still to Gart, watching the scenario playing out, fearing she might disturb it if she moved an inch.
The clothing the riders wore appeared to be leather or animal skin. Their garments were certainly different from any clothes she’d ever sewn. The tack on the horses was similarly ancient looking.
Some great upheaval had taken place given the way the men road, and by the frothy sweat formed on the horses’ bodies. Eventually, the riders stopped beneath a grove of oak trees. Weary, dirty, bloody, and carrying wounded with them, they epitomized despair. The unnerving light of the moon showed everything. That light illuminated the features of the men in the vision. Their expressions told stories of individual horror. Their bodies slumped with exhaustion, and what skin was exposed was marred by gouges and bruises.
Jean swallowed hard.
Gart leaned forward, apparently eager to see more.
Together, they watched in silent awe.
Among the riders, Merlin appeared. This image of him, however, was a vision from the past. He appeared to be the same age, but now wore a long hooded robe of dark brown. His garment was like clothing that someone practicing Druidism might don.
Nothing was hidden. That odd, huge moon kept illuminating the smallest detail. It glowed so brightly that the entire landscape was easily viewable.
One of the riders eventually spoke. At first, the language he used was confounding. As seconds ticked by, Jean discerned words she knew. None of the languages she now studied, for whatever work she’d be assigned, came close to the dialect being spoken. Finally, the words became quite plain, as if some translation device was being applied—or some use of magic.
She was as close to Gart as she’d ever been. He now held her tightly against his body.
As the historical event continued, she wasn’t about to let go of the big man next to her.
“Water the horses,” one man shouted.
Other men dismounted, gasping for air as if they’d ridden hard.
“Merlin,” one man began as he faced the Druidic figure, “is there nothing more to be done? Can we not win back the day?”
Merlin waved one hand denial. “Sir Drustan…we carry the body of our king so that Morgan LeFey will not defile it. What is left to win?”
“Surely, we can negotiate. Even if the terms are not to our liking—”
“There is no negotiating with that woman! She means to see us all dead.”
The man identified as Sir Drustan drew himself up in an angry fashion. “Where is the magic you promised, conjurer?”
Others in the group stopped their care of the horses when they heard that bitter query.
Sir Drustan moved closer to the be-robed figure. “I have long believed that meddling in magical arts would lead to no good. Morgan had the darkest powers on her side. What have you given us but defeat and the death of our king?” he asked.
“Drustan…guard your words. They are not fair,” one man called out.
“Sir Áedán…let Drustan speak,” Merlin insisted. “It was I who advised Arthur. I will take the consequences.”
“It was Arthur who did not listen,” Áedán defended. “You showed the king every portent. He used free will to ignore your warnings.”
The man known as Drustan drew his sword and pointed it toward the other knight. “Áedán dares to speak such words when the body of our beloved king lies rotting across the rump of a horse!”
“Stop…both of you! There is nothing more that can be done,” Merlin insisted. “If my words still hold sway, I advise you to leave this land before Morgan and her men find you. There is nothing left to save; no lives must now be lost on a cause that is as dead as our beloved king.”
The men went silent for a moment.
Then, another unidentified man came forward. He spoke loudly. “Is there nothing left of the law? Is there no justice, Merlin?”
“Not any longer. I fear we will not see peace in your lifetimes,” Merlin said. “You must all go. I will stay behind and bury our king. If there is wrath coming, I will take the brunt of it. The rest of you may have a chance to escape if Morgan’s anger is directed at me.”
Heartfelt denials came from the men now surrounding Merlin, but he held up his hands to silence them.
“It is me the sorceress wants. She fears my powers to the point that she believes I can give life back to our dead knights, and to the king himself. Though I am as incapable of such a miracle as she, that practitioner of darkness will never believe otherwise. So, I give you one last command in Arthur’s name. Leave this place forever. Live in peace. Do what good you can on this selfish earth, but keep yourselves hidden. The dream is over.”
As one, the men surrounding the robed Merlin bowed their heads. The man called Áedán seemed to recover first.
“I will help you bury the king, Merlin.”
“Stay here and you will die. That is not what Arthur would want. I beg you…go now. Live. Be far away before sunrise, or no powers I summon will protect you. Morgan gathers forces that I cannot defend against. Not presently. She has summoned strength from the foulest sources. Those sources relish death and destruction of the land itself.” He lifted his chin. “Know this…if the knowing will be of any comfort…believe that those terrors Morgan called forth will demand payment. Long ago, I warned her against meddling with dark arts. She will be judged by the goddess called Nature. The bitch wanted this island for her son, Mordred. He might have been Arthur’s blood, but blood alone does not make a king. That is why Arthur denied Mordred’s claims to the throne. And that is but one more reason why Morgan now seeks our deaths. We may not see her fall, but her end will come. It will come as surely as I stand and breathe!”
The men around Merlin angrily called out for the very recompense that Merlin predicted. Clearly, they wanted their dead king avenged, but in the present, not in some future they would not see.
“Go quickly. Find your families and move them before Morgan’s hordes arrive,” Merlin commanded
The knights turned away, and approached their mounts.
Many clasped arms. Some hugged. Clearly, this night marked the end of a dream they’d shared.
“Merlin,” Áedán begged, “please…let me help you bury our king. Though I was angry with his refusal to send Morgan and her son away, Arthur deserves more than hasty words and an unmarked grave. Though he would not heed your warnings, our ruler was truly
a good man. His last request was for the Lady of the Lake to take him to Avalon, but there was no time to summon her. Morgan and her vermin have chased us in circles. We are now almost back to the site of the battle. Our enemies will be upon us soon.”
“I hear the truth of your words, Áedán. I had hoped to buy your families time to escape, by riding in a confusing, circular path. But time is a precious treasure now; a treasure I fear we have spent. At any rate, our king will never sleep in the arms of a magical protectress of Avalon. Not now,” he sadly announced. “Now, an unmarked grave is the only thing that will keep Morgan from despoiling his remains. Only I must know where the king rests. I have no family to threaten if I am caught. Morgan cannot torture the king’s whereabouts from me. She knows I would die first. You must go with the others, Áedán.” Merlin put a hand on the knight’s shoulder. “May the peace of Goddess go with you. Be assured, Arthur will lie in a safe, soft bed. A serene spot where he can finally rest.”
“I shall do as you ask, Merlin. But I will not know peace. I shall die ashamed and unknown. Without honor. Without mercy. That is all that a knight without his king deserves.”
Before Merlin could respond, Áedán mounted his horse, lifted his sword and cried out in agony. He then rode away.
The green circle, and all the images within it, faded.
Merlin turned to his contemporary audience. Unshed tears shimmered in his eyes. “Ask what you will,” he murmured as he hastily blinked.
Jean couldn’t summon a single syllable. Gart managed to string a few, barely audible words together.
“Merlin, it was all true then? There was a Camelot and Mordred did exist?”
“Yes. Arthur’s dream was of a united England. He alone devised a system by which grievances could be heard. Any common man or woman, with a cause or charge, could come to court and state their complaint. Anyone accused could be represented, and face his or her accuser. There were to be no more tortures, hangings, or deaths based only on the say-so of some landowner.” Merlin sat once more, and poured more wine for himself and his audience. “Under Arthur, justice was achieved. For a time, Camelot was truly a golden place. The land flourished, without war from different royal factions tearing it apart. Arthur was a king worthy of respect. For a time, he had it.”
“But?” Gart prompted.
“But…Mordred eventually appeared at court; incensed by his wily mother, Morgan LeFey. Since Arthur was without an heir, Mordred claimed to be Arthur’s by-blow, from a very old relationship with Morgan. Mordred demanded his rights to the crown as Arthur’s bastard son. However, Arthur never recognized the entitlement, just as you heard me tell the knights in the scene you watched. The king was convinced that Morgan conceived the boy through other sources. It was very true that Mordred and Arthur looked nothing alike. They were opposites in every way. There was certainly reason for the king to doubt Morgan’s claims. The sorceress showed up quite conveniently, never having mentioned her son’s existence before Arthur became king.”
A short silence ensued as Merlin stared into the distance.
“Tell us more,” Jean whispered, as she finally found her voice.
“The rest of the tale is sadder still. In the vision circle, you heard me reference the use of terrible, dark magic.” He shook his head and dragged one hand through his hair before continuing. “For her son’s sake, Morgan resorted to using what I refer to as forces of misrule. Mordred wanted the throne and was determined to have it by any means. Arthur would not remove that young man’s malicious presence from court, out of pity for his one-time lover…Morgan. And that wicked hag played upon Arthur’s feelings from a relationship that was decades old. Morgan’s machinations even came between Arthur and his queen.”
“Just like the stories,” Jean added.
“Yes,” Merlin admitted, “some of the truth found its way to the future.”
Jean licked her dry lips. “What happened next?”
“For a time, I could fend off Mordred’s sense of entitlement, and Morgan’s lust for power. But, because Arthur let Mordred and his mother remain at court, more and more of the ruling class began to take Mordred’s side. After all, Arthur had not produced an heir; Mordred continued to claim he was Arthur’s son, and Arthur never denied his one-time relationship with Morgan. Like an open wound, the situation began to fester. Still, Arthur would not send Mordred or his sorceress mother away. Arthur believed it was safer to keep his enemies close to court. Where they could be watched.” He clenched one hand in anger.
“Is…is it true that Guinevere’s affair with Lancelot helped Mordred destroy the kingdom?” Jean queried.
“There was a knight who loved the queen. That knight and the queen did betray Arthur. But the queen’s name was not Guinevere, there was no knight named Lancelot. Still, the situation of which you speak…that certainly did exist. When Arthur would not send his previous lover and her son away, his rightful queen grew angrier and more resentful by the day. Eventually, the queen had her revenge by bedding a not-so-goodly knight.” Merlin snorted. “I will not ever repeat the real names of the queen or her traitorous lover, since their actions allowed Mordred’s maliciousness to take firm hold. That treacherous duo will remain unknown, in ignominy. The queen and the knight she bedded would not listen to my council any more than Arthur when I begged him to send Mordred and Morgan away.” Merlin sighed heavily and shook his head. “Gossip ran rampant. Friends’ betrayal wounded the good-hearted Arthur. He was so emotionally torn that he’d have never been the king he once was. He never fully trusted anyone again.” Merlin sipped yet more wine, then carried on with his story. “Two sides emerged. There were those who stood with Mordred, and there were those who stood with Arthur. When war broke out between the two factions, Arthur died in battle. He was run through with a lance. Mordred, much to his evil mother’s delight, did the deed.” Merlin paused for a long moment before continuing. “Many died. Including innocent villagers.”
“So, those of you who survived the battle left, and took Arthur’s body with you. That’s what you showed us,” Gart stated as fact.
“I and the few knights you saw in that vision circle were all that remained. However, Morgan LeFey did not seek me out as I believed she would. I was the most powerful of Arthur’s supporters left alive.” He scowled before continuing. “Instead, she found a more insidious way to take revenge.”
Gart leaned closer. “What happened?”
“She went after the knights I cared for,” he softly said. “Before a fortnight passed, all of them were dead. All killed by enemy forces, hunted down like animals. Their families were slaughtered. Only one infant child from all of Arthur’s knights survived. That boy was taken away by fleeing servants. I did not seek that child out since I knew Morgan could use magic to find and follow me. She would then have learned of that one child’s survival. I used magic to cover his existence, as well as I could.”
“Knights killed children?” Jean asked, as she blinked back tears. “But why? She won! She had what she wanted. Arthur was dead. Why destroy innocent children?”
“Do not let their chivalric appellation fool you, my dear. Those who followed Morgan LeFey and her sick son were never honorable.” Merlin took a deep breath before telling more. “Later in the day…in the same battle that killed Arthur… Mordred met his fate. He came to a grisly end, at the sword tip of one of Arthur’s bravest and most trusted knights. I was not at that part of the battlefield to witness Mordred’s death, but I was told that the bastard was gutted entirely, and that he felt every wretched second of his demise. More to the point, this gruesome end supposedly came right in front of Morgan LeFey. It was later said that when she watched her son die, Morgan screamed so loudly that the very earth shook with her rage. It was rumored that lightening echoed in the hillsides and the skies grew dark with her anger.”
Jean gasped. Gart stared into the distance.
Merlin drank yet more wine.
Neither Jean or Gart had long to wait before Me
rlin told the rest of that history.
“Morgan LeFey sought revenge for her son’s death. Having got it by killing the rest of Arthur’s knights and their families, she was bereft of both son and the power she craved. You see, not even the knights who followed her would allow a sorceress to sit on the throne. Being of royal blood, from highly-placed families themselves, Morgan’s men turned on each other for the right to rule. Fighting on this island was widespread. Blood ran everywhere. For whatever reason, Morgan had no control over her minions any longer. At that time, she had no sanity left. She had no sense of purpose other than her sorrow.”
“Sounds like Karma,” Gart murmured.
“It was said that she could not even conceive another child. That was but one price she paid for misusing magic,” Merlin advised as he stared into the distance. “In the years to come, she was also said to have disappeared into the mists of time and darkness…grieving her only beloved son; the son through whom she’d have ruled,” he finished.
For the next fifteen minutes, silence ensued. Eventually, Gart spoke.
“That power…that scene you just showed us…what did you call it again?”
“A vision circle. Jean will one day have the means to conjure one, but not any time soon. Moreover, she will never be able to conjure a scene from any past in which she did not live or personally see. Her memories generate the vision. She must learn a great deal before she can wield that kind of power.”
“What other powers are there? How can they be accessed? Why was I never informed of any of this? I don’t understand how Ethereals can exist without my ever knowing,” Gart angrily interrogated.
His sudden outrage was palpable. Jean put one hand on his arm in an effort to calm him.
Merlin held up one hand to stall the bigger man’s anger. “I told you, Bloodnight, there are very few Ethereals in existence. We keep our secrets well. Even ranking members of the organization don’t know about us.” He nodded toward Jean. “Obviously, she is the latest to enter our ranks. This brings us back to the present and my reiterating your circumstances?”