Tomorrow's Magic

by Pamela F. Service

  There was a sudden silence as the attacks ceased. Holding his staff high, Merlin looked anxiously about to see why. Silently one of the creatures dropped from its perch on the clifftop. Wings outstretched and jaws open, it hurtled like a spear toward the wizard. But as it moved down, a tendril of ivy uncoiled from the cliff and ensnared the creature in midair. Wings entangled, it jerked sharply, snapping the vine loose and plunging out of control to the rocks below. Sprawling beside Merlin's shivering horse, the thing twitched once, then lay still. From above came a single mournful cry, and the second creature shot away like a black arrow.

  Heather did not want to crawl from her shelter and look at the thing. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her horse and on Welly's. In a short time, both animals plodded up the road, with Welly limping behind.

  When Rus found her and began licking her face with both tongues, Heather finally abandoned her hiding place and joined Welly and Merlin by the dead creature. It was black and long, a scaly snake body with wings, and it stank as if it had been dead for days.

  The troll slipped from rocks at the base of the cliff. Merlin looked up. “I believe we have your friends, the rock sprites, to thank for snaring this thing.”

  Troll nodded, smiling broadly. “They happy to. Say snakes belong in rocks, not sky. These bad.”

  “Well, they smell bad, too,” Welly said, covering his nose. “Let's get going.”

  “Right, but just a minute.” Merlin got off his horse and, walking to the base of the cliff, piled several stones into a rough pyramid. Then he yanked three black hairs from his head and placed them on the top stone. Kneeling, he muttered a few words, then got up and returned to the others.

  “What was all that about?” Welly asked.

  “A thanks offering,” his friend replied. “A token of friendship and trust. The folk of Faerie generally don't take part in the battles of men, but when enemies of their own are involved, they can be very useful allies. That thing does stink. Let's go.”

  They passed out of the gorge without further incident, though somehow the cliffs seemed less hostile and lifeless than before.

  The following day, they sighted what might be flying snakes several times, distant black specks against a pale sky. That evening, five streaked like poison darts across the crimson sunset.

  Camping in flat, open land, the travelers felt uncomfortably exposed. Merlin conjured a large fire and they huddled around it, eating their meal and flicking occasional glances up into the darkness.

  Finally Welly, Heather, and Troll wrapped themselves in blankets and curled up on the ground to sleep. Rus snuggled in beside Heather and was soon snoring with both muzzles. Wrapped in his own blanket, Merlin leaned against a rock by the fire and kept first watch.

  Heather could not fall asleep. She closed her eyes, but visions of flying snakes darted vividly through her mind. The occasional real shrieking of one in the high distance sent shivers through her. Shifting restlessly, she rolled over and watched the firelight play over Merlin's gaunt features. He seemed lost in thought. She sat up.

  “Earl, where are we headed next? Camelot? ”

  He looked toward her, his eyes slowly blinking back into focus. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face. “I had planned that, yes. In the daylight you could see the hill south of here. But now … I think we'll try somewhere else first.”

  “Why? Didn't you say that's where the bowl would have been taken if it weren't at Caerleon?”

  “True, but it might not have stayed there. Once Arthur was gone and his kingdom falling apart, the royal treasure would probably have been moved somewhere safer. Glastonbury, I should think.”

  “Glastonbury? Where's that?” Swathed in her blanket, she shuffled closer to him and the fire.

  “West of here. It was a village, a small one, but it had a church and monastery, probably the oldest in Britain. The monks there were good friends with us at Camelot, particularly a Brother Joseph. He was a young fellow and used to come over to gossip and play chess.” For a moment, the wizard seemed lost in a dreamy distance. Then he focused on Heather again.

  “Arthur's told me that after that final battle—it was fought right around here by the River Cam—the wounded, himself included, were taken to Glastonbury.”

  “Is that where … ?”

  “Yes. It was from there that he was taken off to Ava-lon. A hill there, Glastonbury Tor, was a main entrance to Faerie.”

  He was silent a while until Heather asked, “And you're certain all of the King's treasure would have been taken to those monks?”

  Merlin shook his head. “No, I'm not, but … but frankly, Heather, I don't want to go to Camelot if I can avoid it. It will be a bare, weedy hilltop, and I'll remember it with wooden palisades, banners snapping in the wind, laughing people, faces I knew. I would … rather not deal with that now—unless I have to.”

  His voice cracked. Hesitantly Heather placed a hand on his but could find nothing comforting to say. Finally he continued. “That's my problem, you see. I'm too tied to the old world, to its memories and ways of magic. Even now I'm circling through the old sites, searching for an old tool that might not even work in this world.”

  The desolation in his voice was unbearable. Heather struggled to change the subject. “Earl, there's something I've been wondering about. I know how you survived all those years enchanted in that mountain. And you've said that Morgan probably survived by having some unscrupulous dealings with death. But she wasn't locked up in a mountain. What did she do all that time?”

  “Morgan?” He smiled bitterly. “Oh, make trouble, I imagine. Of course, her powers would have weakened as the strength of magic did. But come to think of it, I suspect she was quite comfortable in some of those later centuries.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, her magic was always very cold, very ‘thing-oriented.’ And from what I've read, those last pre-Devastation years were quite thing-oriented as well. They must have been, I suppose, for people to allow their things to destroy them.”

  The two sat for a while in silence, cold pressing on them from one side, the fire's heat from the other. Heather looked at her friend. “And that's what you're trying to stop from happening again, isn't it?”

  “Yes, that and whatever Morgan is planning for our immediate future.” Angrily he crushed a twig he'd been toying with. “But the question is, how do I stop it, any of it? If that bowl doesn't work, what then? That's the only sort of magic I know. Sometimes, despite all our ‘power,’ I suspect that both Morgan and I are irrelevant in this world. We have our little magic toys and play our little magic games. And they work, in their way. But still we don't quite fit in this new world with its new magic.”

  “But, Earl, remember talking about how all this might be fated? If there is some overall pattern, then—”

  A nerve-tearing screech sliced down at them. Heather dove to the ground as Merlin hurled a hasty fireball into the air. The creature's gaping mouth glowed red as the flames flew past. It veered away. Shooting upward, it joined a half dozen others circling overhead.

  “What was that?” Welly cried, sitting up and groggily groping for his glasses.

  “One of Morgan's little toys,” Merlin replied.

  “Ooh, me saw!” Troll said, jumping about excitedly. “Great Wizard singe nasty snake's wings. Next time shoot one down in flames.”

  “Next time?” Heather questioned, huddling closer to the fire.

  Merlin sighed, looking up at the black forms circling in the darkness above. “I can see that this is not going to be a particularly restful night.”

  TREASURE LONG KEPT

  When dawn finally came, the snakes broke formation and drifted eastward, at last disappearing into the orange smear of sunrise.

  “What a night,” Welly groaned as he unwound himself from his blanket. “How many of the little beasts did you incinerate?”

  Wearily Merlin started to answer, but Troll piped up, “Three, me count!”

  Merlin nod
ded, yawning. “Yes, though I think the last one was just singed. But I don't believe that Morgan sent them to seriously threaten, just to harass. Right now, I think she's more curious than dangerous.”

  “Well, I feel plenty harassed,” Welly said. “I can put up with a lot of abuse, but a good night's sleep is sacred.”

  Merlin laughed. “Once we get going today, everyone had better keep an eye on each other so no one falls asleep and gets left in a heap by the roadside.”

  The road that day proved to be a long and dreary one. The land was featureless with distant hills, dark against a gray sky. A few stone buildings huddled beside fields of muted green crops.

  Once more, Heather's thoughts were dragged to her amulet. Last night when the flying snakes were attacking, she'd felt a nagging urge to grab and use it. But part of her kept warning that she didn't know how, that it had worked badly in the gorge, and that, anyway, Earl could handle things. It was her comfort in Earl's presence that finally shut out the nagging. In the end, she'd tried to lie so that the cold black stone couldn't touch her skin. She was reluctant to take it off altogether, but when she couldn't feel its tingling cold, she was more at ease.

  Now, however, anything seemed better than the boredom of the trip, and she tried experimenting with it again. Rippling the grass as from an unseen wind or making rocks roll along the road behind them was great fun. But after what Earl had said last night, even this play made her a little uneasy. If this was some magic tool from the old, old days, maybe it really ought not to be used now. And besides, anything her mother had used … No, that was probably unfair. Still, the power didn't feel quite right for her.

  The sky lowered as the day wore on. Clouds tumbled over one another, turning darker and darker shades of gray. Against them, the shape of Glastonbury Tor grew steadily larger. Occasionally they saw black things slipping between the clouds. And at times they caught glimpses of movement among rocks and ditches as they passed.

  “Earl,” Welly said uneasily, “that hill you mentioned, is it still an entrance to Avalon? ”

  “No, not to Avalon. That is the home of the Eldritch, and they've closed most of their doors to this world. But there are many parts of Faerie, all very different, though some share doors. What do you say, Troll?”

  “What, Great Wizard?” The creature bounded up on its spindly legs.

  “Those little shadowy things we've been half-seeing, are they out of Faerie?”

  The troll sidled closer to Merlin's horse and looked around nervously. “Yes, from Faerie, but not from Troll's part. Other parts—dark things there.”

  “And are they coming through the Tor?”

  “Me think so, yes.”

  Merlin frowned. “Which means we're heading into a hornet's nest. If Morgan wants to cause us trouble, she's got ready-made helpers. And whatever happens, she mustn't get that bowl. That would give her far, far too much power.” He thought for a moment, then looked down again at their small yellow companion. “Troll, is there any chance that the Tor also opens onto your part of Faerie?”

  “Don't know. Maybe.” Suddenly he sprang up excitedly. “Oh! Great Wizard wants Troll to go on secret mission. Fetch help. Be hero!”

  “Well, if we have to face an assortment of Faerie's darker folk, it might be useful to know if there are any willing to rally to the other side.”

  “Yes, yes. Troll go. Fetch help. Big hero!” Quickly he jumped over a roadside ditch and disappeared into the gray landscape.

  “Do you think he'll bring help?” Heather asked.

  “Hard to say. Most folk from his part of Faerie aren't strongly committed one way or another. But they're not averse to fighting if the mood strikes them. Like those rock sprites at the gorge. Actually, this area was once full of swamp sprites, and they made powerful friends if you could interest them.”

  “Swamp sprites?” Welly looked around. “It's dry as a bone around here.”

  “Yes, now. But it used to be all swamp and lakes. Glastonbury on its hill was almost an island, with a little dock down near the base of the Tor. People must have drained it later for farmland.”

  As they approached the town, their road climbed out of the lowlands. It passed ruined outskirts and entered finally through recently refortified city walls.

  The arrival of three mounted warriors and their extraordinary dog caused quite a stir. Market booths clustering around the old stone cross were beginning to shut down, but there were still plenty of people about to point and ask questions.

  One stout, authoritative-looking man walked up to Merlin. “You young people on your way to join the King?”

  “That depends on which king you mean.”

  “Why, Edwin of Wessex, of course. He's called for all able-bodied fighters to rally to him at Uffington. I'd go myself if I were a bit younger, that I would.”

  “I'm certain you would. But, you see, my companions and I have recently ridden here from Wales and are rather out of touch with events in these parts. What is the threat that causes your good King to head for Uffington?”

  “Indeed, you must've been under a stone of late! Take no offense, none was meant. It's the armies of the East under that witch woman of theirs. Rumor has it they are ready to move on Wessex.”

  “Rumors!” scoffed a second man. “We've had rumors of those Easterners for months and not seen a one.”

  A short gray-haired woman bustled up. “Oh? What about the muties attacking flocks down near Salisbury? Those aren't rumors, and they say the witch controls them, too.”

  The first man nodded his head. “And if it's rumors, then King Edwin takes them mighty seriously, because I've heard he's called on those two in the North, the Scottish Queen and King Arthur himself.”

  “More rumors! And if you believe that King Arthur story, you're more of a doddering old fool than I thought!”

  “Huh, that shows how much you know, Jedediah!” the woman said. “That King Arthur is as real as these three youngsters here. Why, he's united half the shires in the North already.”

  “Maybe so. But you can't pretend he's the real King Arthur.”

  “Who else but the real one could have done a thing like that, I'd like to know. Besides, they say he's brought back his old wizard, too, and they work magic—a lot bigger magic than Sam the tailor or the old henwife do.”

  “Bah! You're not going to catch me believing in a fairytale king and a crazy graybeard wizard. I've got sense!”

  “Jedediah, if that old wizard were to hear you say a thing like that, he'd turn you into a centipede. What do you say, young people? You've been traveling.”

  All three suddenly developed a cough. But finally the eldest recovered and said, “Ah, yes, I suppose he might. Though maybe into something less nasty—a goose, perhaps. But, friends, you say Arthur is to join your king at Uffington? ”

  “That's what they say,” the stout man replied. “Will you be going there, then?”

  “Yes, I think we might. But first we have some business here. Could you tell me where the church is?”

  “Which church is it you want? There's Saint Mary's and Saint Michael's, the New Zoroastrians, the Armaged-donites, the—”

  “I mean the old church, the very old one.”

  “You mean the abbey? That's supposed to be the oldest church in England. It's nothing but ruins now, has been since way back.”

  “No matter. That's the one we want. Where is it?”

  “Just down the road and beyond those walls. But if it's praying before battle you're looking for, there's no clergy there.”

  “Thank you, but we're looking for something else.”

  As they rode down the street, Welly and Heather were still quivering with laughter. Merlin shot them a squelching look, then chuckled. “Maybe once I finally start growing a beard, I'll dye it gray, just to live up to expectations.”

  The dark afternoon was slipping into a darker dusk. Yet as they passed through the enclosing walls, there was still enough light to see the ruins of the once
-vast abbey. The building was a great shattered shell. Roofless now, it was paved only with weeds. Remaining segments of wall soared upward, holding empty windows against the sky. Here and there among the ruins crouched rare hawthorn trees. In the dusk, their blossoms shone a ghostly white.

  Merlin shook his head. “This place certainly grew after I saw it last. Then it was just a couple of wattle-and-daub buildings with a fenced-in churchyard. Now the trick's going to be finding just where that old church was.”

  He dismounted and, clutching his staff, wandered toward the east end of the sprawling ruins. There the roofless span was widest. Suddenly uneasy in the growing dark, Welly and Heather hurried to join him.

  As Merlin walked slowly about, concentrating on stones and weedy soil, the attention of the other two kept shifting to the darkness beyond the walls. Shadows seemed to flit there, just out of sight. Whimpering, Rus crowded up to them, both tails stuck between his legs.

  “Earl,” Welly whispered, slowly pulling out his sword, “I don't think we're alone here.” But the wizard, poking at some stones with the end of his staff, didn't seem to hear. Shrugging, Heather unsheathed her own sword. The two followed their friend, keeping eyes on what they couldn't quite see.

  Deliberately they crisscrossed the open space, then passed through an arch in a lone fragment of tower. Suddenly something snapped out of the darkness. Wrapping a scaly paw around Heather's ankle, it yanked her to the ground. She slashed at it. Her sword met something solid, and the air was sprayed with rank liquid. Shaking, she scrambled to her feet to find Welly struggling with some dark, entwining shape.

  Spinning around as if suddenly awakened, Merlin slammed his staff on the ground. Purple flame shot from its top, illuminating the scene. The creature wrapping itself around Welly shrank back, but not before they clearly saw its many hairy arms and bulbous head.

  Heather nearly gagged at what the light showed of her own attacker. Her sword had slit open its scaly hide, and entrails now lay steaming on the bloody grass. Turning away, she took several shaky breaths and walked to where the wizard was now kneeling beside a dip in the ground.