Arthur: Book Three of the Pendragon Cycle

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “I could not rest. The more I thought about it, the more troubled I became. That some dread design of Morgian’s lay behind it, I did not doubt—”

  “Morgian!” Gwalcmai gasped.

  “I am sorry, Gwalcmai,” said Myrddin softly. “It is true. But you need feel no shame—the fault is hers alone.”

  Gwalcmai’s contrition was pure. He knelt down before Myrddin, bowed his head, and stretched forth his hands in supplication. “Forgive me, Emrys. If I had known…”

  “But you are guiltless, lad. I blame you not, neither should you hold yourself to blame. You did not know.”

  “What of Morgian’s design?” I asked, itching with curiosity to hear the rest.

  Myrddin shook his bandaged head. “I could in no wise determine what that design might be. Waking or sleeping, the questions assailed me like hornets disturbed in their nest. Why? Why? Why?

  “I prayed to the Illuminating Spirit to teach me this purpose. I fasted and prayed to learn it. I fasted and prayed like a very bishop, all the time riding deeper into Llyonesse.

  “Then, upon waking one morning, it came into my mind that Morgian, Queen of Air and Darkness, was fear-driven. It is so simple! Why did she act now after all these years? Because something drove her to act—and that something was fear. Morgian was afraid.

  “Now what could cause such fear? Think! What does darkness fear but the light that reveals its secret empty heart? What does evil fear but goodness?

  “I ask you, Bedwyr: who then stands between Morgian and her dread desires? Who is the Summer Lord? Whose reign signals the beginning of the Kingdom of Summer?”

  “Arthur’s,” I answered; I had heard him say as much.

  “Yes…oh, yes. It is Arthur she fears. His power waxes greater in this worlds-realm and she cannot abide that. For Arthur’s power to grow greater, hers must decrease. And that is the thing most hateful to her.

  “She fears Arthur, yes. But more she fears me. For I am the one who upholds Arthur in his power. This is the way of it: such power as Arthur has is my own. Without me he would fail, for he is not strong enough yet to stand alone. So, if she would conquer Arthur, she must first destroy me. And she is ravenous with hatred and fear.

  “By reason of this driving fear, I determined, she had destroyed the Fair Folk settlement. Why? Because out of the remnant of Atlantis’ lost children will come her doom. It is true. This much I have seen—though in essence only; I know not its form.

  “Therefore, she must destroy all the Fair Folk if she is to save herself. In the same way, I weened, she must soon move against Avallach and Charis at the Tor—as she had moved against the Fair Folk in Broceliande, and against Belyn in Llyonesse. She must destroy them all if she is to earn a measure of rest from her unrelenting fear. And again, she must also destroy me.

  “A poisoned draught and a knife—but Pelleas prevented it. That was a clumsy, childish attempt. No credit to me, it nearly succeeded—for the obvious fact that I expected more from the Queen of Sorcery than infantile trickery.

  “That in itself is a riddle. But the answer is perfectly simple. Pelleas and I once stood within the very circle of her power, yet we had not been destroyed. Why? I will tell you: she had not the strength to do it. It was a lie! Everything about her is a lie! She could enchant, she could charm and beguile; but she could not destroy outright. I tell you, Pelleas, she could not, or surely she would have done so.”

  Myrddin seemed to forget who was there with him and imagined instead that it was Pelleas. It did not matter. I was fascinated by all he said. For I heard in his words the veiled brightness of truth too dazzling for utterance.

  “How stupid I have been! Like so much else about Morgian, the depth of her vaunted power was a lie! Yet, in all events, it was sufficient to the task. And it had grown more potent of late. Broceliande was the first warning of what was to come.

  “Oh, Morgian had not been idle. Gathering the scattered threads of her force, concentrating the far-flung strands of her energies, marshalling the vast, twisted array of her weaponry—this had been all her work since her failed attack on me. And she had grown mighty through it.

  “Make no mistake, she meant to finish what she had begun. And that soon—before Arthur grew too powerful in the Light, before the flowering of the Summer Realm rendered her weak and harmless.

  “So she must seek me out and kill me. Once that was accomplished, there would be nothing to restrain her anymore. She would grow from strength to strength as her seeds bore fruit. And her evil would be beyond imagining.

  “I despaired, Pelleas. I tell you the truth, I did. I knew all this; I saw it all clearly, but I was powerless to prevent it. Probably I was already too late. My spirit cried within me. I wept for my weakness.

  “Yet, by the courage of the Living Light, I gazed into the very shadow of despair, into the black ugly heart of the thing I have hated and feared all my life. And I saw…this I saw, Pelleas—glory to the Saving God, I saw that my solitary hope lay in taking the fight to her. I must be the one to confront her.

  “A scant hope, you may think. But it was, I considered, the only weapon I had, and all that would be given me if I did not take it. Well, I took it. I embraced it. I tell you, I gloried in it. I prayed to the All-Wise God for the wisdom to use it well.

  “Then I waited. I fasted and prayed, and when I felt the quickening of my soul I came here to this place.” By this, I think he meant the sea crag where I had found him. “Taking no thought for myself—whether I might live or die, I tell you it did not matter anymore! I would gladly give my life to banish the Darkness once for all.

  “Curiously, once my feet were on the path, comfort was granted me in the form of understanding. For at last I understood that Morgian was trapped by her fear—her fear of Arthur and of me, and of the Kingdom of Summer—and she was far more desperate than she could allow anyone to know.

  “Lord and Savior, it is true! Do you see? It is the fear—the insatiable fear that is companion to great evil. She that must ever appear Sovereign of Fear, is herself its servant.

  “And this is her failing. Great Light! This is her weakness! The Queen of Air and Darkness can never admit her fear, her unbearable weakness, even to herself. She must appear to hold the very power she lacks. She must seem always to possess the very thing which remains forever beyond her grasp.

  “Oh, but I have feared. Great Light, you know I have felt the terror of death and the despair of weakness. I have known failure and grief. I have borne the pitiable shortfall of frailty, yes, and the loathsome impotence of the flesh.

  “I have known and endured these things. I have drained the cup that was poured out for me, and I did not thrust it aside. I understood that this was my strength. By this I would conquer.

  “Do you see it now, Pelleas? It is beautiful, is it not? The designs of God are ever subtle, but beautiful in their subtlety…ever glorious. So be it!

  “I tell you I rejoiced in this knowledge. I made it my battlesong; I forged sword and shield from it. I wore it like a helm and battledress. And I rode to meet the trial I had avoided for so long.”

  Here Myrddin paused, then reached out a hand for his cup. I gave it to him and he drank. It was full dark now. The night air had turned cool. The dew would form heavy tonight, but the fire would keep us dry.

  I tugged Myrddin’s cloak closer about him, took the cup from his hand when he had finished, and poured more water into it. Then I settled back, pulling my own cloak around my shoulders, and I waited for Myrddin to speak again. From up in the branches of a nearby tree, a nightingale began its lilting song. The voice of melancholy; sweet sorrow in melody.

  As if this were the signal he had been waiting for, Myrddin began to speak again. But his voice had changed. There was sadness in his tone, and pain. A pain deep and wide as grief.

  “I did not know where or how I should meet her. Nevertheless, I considered that she would know of my coming and likely would meet me before I wandered very far, for she could n
ot abide the light that was in me. In this I was not mistaken.

  “I thought it would be at night, in darkness. I trusted her to choose her element, and she did.

  “In the time between times, when the veil between this worlds-realm and the next grows thin, she came to me. I had camped for the night in the ruin of an oak grove. I had slept a little, but grew restless and awoke. The moon had slipped low in the sky, but it shone enough to see by.

  “She rode a black horse, and was dressed much as when we had met that day in Belyn’s court: black cloak and mantle, tall black boots, long gloves, her face hidden beneath a hood. She had come alone, and this surprised me. For she certainly knew why I had come.

  “She knew, but her self-deception argued for boldness, and her debauched pride exulted in her superior strength. She came alone because her vanity demanded it.

  “Yet, if she was wary, she was also calm. The swarming force of her hate did not gather at once. Curiosity, I think, held it back for the moment. She could neither understand nor credit my intention. Such is her intelligence, however, that she would not attack a foe until she knew the weapons he would use.

  “Of course, my weapons were unknown to her: courage, hope, faith. I displayed them fully and without guile, but she could not discern them.

  “I spoke first. ‘So, Morgian,’ I said, rising as she approached. ‘I knew you would find me; I prayed it would be soon.’

  “She answered me. ‘You are far from home, Myrddin Wylt,’ she said as she swung herself down from the saddle. I could read nothing from her tone.

  “ ‘Perhaps,’ I allowed. ‘We are both strangers here, I think.’

  “She rankled at my suggestion. ‘You flatter yourself too highly if you think we meet as equals. I am as far above your small powers as the sun above the barren earth you toil over, as high as the hawk above the flea that troubles your wretched flesh. We are not met as equals.’

  “ ‘Once you offered me friendship,’ I replied. A strange thing to say; I do not know why I said it. Could it be that God’s mercy is such that it could embrace even Morgian? On Jesu’s behalf then, I made the offer. ‘It is not too late, Morgian. Turn back; I will meet you. You can be redeemed.’

  “She scorned it, as I knew she would. ‘Do you think to bind me with that, dear Myrddin? Do you think your contemptible god interests me at all?’

  “ ‘The offer of peace has been made, Morgian. I do not withdraw it.’

  “She let fall the reins from her hand and approached me slowly. ‘Is that why you have come?’ I could feel the icy heat of her hatred begin to burn.

  “ ‘Why do you hate me so?’

  “She made a motion with her hand, and my camp fire leapt higher. Whereupon she lifted the veil from her face so that I should admire her dire beauty. Such wasted splendor, such tainted elegance. Oh, her allure is astonishing, dazzling, and as potent as her spite—and that is well nigh boundless. Yet, to see her is to know the mocking futility of the gilded tomb.

  “She pouted, and even her frown was beguiling. ‘But I do not hate you, Myrddin. I feel nothing for you at all. You are nothing to me—less than nothing.’

  “It was a lie, of course. Mistress of Lies, she owned no other language. ‘Then why waste the breath to tell me?’ I asked. ‘Why bother to confront me now?’

  “Morgian’s eyes flashed. ‘What I do, I do to please myself. If it amuses me to speak to you, that is reason enough.’ She sidled around me, her palms pressed together, gloved fingertips touching her lips. ‘Besides, we are kin, you and I. What would people say of me if I refused hospitality to a kinsman?’ She was still uncertain. She who could no longer apprehend the truth suspected treachery.

  “ ‘You elude my question, but I will answer for you, shall I? You hate me because you fear me, Morgian. In this you are one with the rest of unenlightened humanity: fools hate what they fear.’

  “ ‘You are the fool, cousin!’ she hissed. The words were knife pricks. ‘I do not fear you! I fear no man!’ The flames jumped still higher. Then, as if the fit had never occurred, she smiled and lightly stepped closer. ‘I told you, I feel nothing for you.’

  “ ‘No? Then why have you come to kill me?’

  “ ‘Kill you?’ She affected a laugh. The sound was wretched and pathetic. ‘Dear Myrddin, do you imagine your life means anything to me? Your existence is beneath my regard.’

  “ ‘You tried to destroy me once and failed,’ I reminded her. ‘It was a child’s trick, and still you could not succeed in it. You need not bother to deny it, Nimue.’

  “She laughed again; the flames crackled ominously. I sensed that she was very close to striking, but I did not know how the blow would come. ‘Oh, well done, Myrddin! I compliment you on your great sagacity. You guessed that it was me at last, did you? Well, Wise Myrddin, this time you will not fare so well. This time your precious Pelleas will not interfere.’

  “I was expecting her to strike, and still she caught me off my guard. The force of her hatred hit me like a physical blow. My lungs were squeezed by a tremendous pressure, and I felt as if I were falling beneath the weight of the world—as if Yr Widdfa itself had been dropped upon my chest. I staggered backwards, fighting to stand upright, struggling to breathe. My vision dimmed. The crushing weight forced me to my knees.

  “Morgian was delighted with her handiwork. ‘You see? I could crush you without a word…But I will not.’

  “Instantly the weight left me. I pitched forward on knees and elbows, lungs aching, my breath coming in raking gasps.

  “Morgian stood over me. ‘Death is but the beginning, my love,’ she whispered. ‘I have often contemplated your destruction, and I mean to savor it to the full. I have waited so long.’

  “She began circling around me slowly, drawing off her gloves. Then, holding her hands shoulder high, palms outward, she began to chant in the Dark Tongue. I saw eyes—scars burned into her flesh and painted in black and silver on her palms in the form of eyes. As she spoke, these seemed to glimmer and gleam as if alive.

  “And swelling up behind her I saw the form of Darkness—a spreading darkness surrounding her—everywhere she moved it moved with her; it was alive, I tell you! This thing, this living shadow began to seethe and writhe. Like a mass of snakes it drew together and separated.

  “I looked and there now stood around her six huge forms—demons they were, Pelleas, called from some nameless Hell to witness her great victory. They stood with her, watching, the frigid vapors of their awful malevolence seeping into the air.

  “Dread they were, but beautiful to behold. Achingly beautiful. Like Morgian, they were exquisite in their perfection. But it was the perfection of empty precision; soulless and insensate, lethal, immaculate in its vanity.

  “To see them—oh, Pelleas, just to see them stopped the warm heart beating in my breast. I grew cold; my flesh tingled with the terrible malice of their presence. The stench of rotting corpses filled the air. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “Morgian stepped nearer. She was in the full flowering of her fell glory. Gloating, her eyes dancing with malice, she exuded venom. The eyes excised on her palms radiated the force of her wickedness like waves rippling out from a stone plunged into deep water. This was calculated to unnerve me.

  “But I was not unnerved, neither did I fear. In truth, once I had weathered the first storm of her hatred, I knew that she could not touch my soul. She might kill me. Ha! Any brute barbarian with a sharpened stick can do that! But Morgian could not destroy me. She could not make me renounce the Light, or die cursing my Lord.

  “I found my voice. ‘Do your worst, Morgian. I will not be moved. In the name of Jesu, Son of the Living God, I possess the strength to defy you.’

  “These words had scarcely left my mouth when I became aware of wings around me. Strange, I know—but there is no other explanation. Wings! Enfolding me, sheltering me, protecting me. Whether the wings of angels, or of the blessed Christ himself, I cannot say. But I was surrounded. Peace flowed o
ut to me. Peace in that place of horror. Think of it! I knew beyond all doubt my Lord and King stood over me. The Swift Sure Hand upheld me.

  “Morgian sensed the shift in the battle. It made her angry, though she could not see the source of my courage. ‘Words! Words! Fool of a prophet! Your insipid god cannot save you. No power on earth can save you now!’ She raised her hands and crossed them above her head, and began calling down the powers of the Air and Darkness.

  “She chanted her ghastly incantations, and I heard the frozen scream of the howling void.

  “So strange, but even then—at the very moment her power had reached its full height, she had lost. I had not given in to her, you see. In the face of her hate, I did not hate. Neither did I cower or flee.

  “Great Light, the Enemy’s power is so fragile! The devils can use only what we ourselves will give them. Do you see? Give them nothing and their power fails; it falls like a spent arrow, like a blade broken and blunted.

  “Morgian railed at me, she cursed, she summoned the demons of Hell to her bidding. Oh, you should have seen her, Pelleas. It was terrible to behold. But the wings enfolded me, and I did not fear.

  “She summoned a gale of fire. The rage! The rage and hate surged out of her in a vile and poisonous stream. Dark lightning flashed, and the blighted grove began to burn. Branches flamed and fell around me; trees became torches and toppled one over another. But I felt no heat; no flame touched me!

  “Emboldened, I called to her. ‘You see the truth at last, Morgian: by the power of the Holy One, the True God, I am saved. You cannot harm me. Greater is he that is in me than he that is in you. All honor and glory and power belong to him. So be it!’

  “This she could not abide. Neither could she stand against it. For so quickly had she consumed her strength that she now had nothing left; she was exhausted. She could not even hold up her hands any longer.

  “I taunted her. ‘Come, Morgian!’ I cried. ‘Your lords are watching. Show them how their creature wields the weapons she has been given.’