White Heart (Merrydian's Gate, #1)

by A. E. Wright

  “I don’t know, I guess if they had left Solomon in the woods he would never have been found, or at least we wouldn’t have known about it on this side.” I answered.

  “Precisely!” Merl seemed to think I had grasped the point that I was still missing. He huffed exasperated, “Whoever left Dahlia’s fathers body on the beach wanted it to be found, they wanted to create a war between the two races in order that they would be too distracted fighting each other to suspect what was really happening.”

  Finally, it made sense. This had been a distraction all along and poor Solomon was simply a pawn in a game between ancient forces that he could never have fathomed.

  We cannot afford to delay any longer Violet, if the traitor is causing distractions now, it means that he is close to achieving his goal of awakening Agrona and has found a way to pass through the gate already.” Merl stated, animated with a sense of urgency.

  “So what are we going to do? It’s going to take at least three days to travel back to Blossomdown and to be honest I’m not thrilled at the prospect of having to cross the Loch Du again.” It sounded childish and self-centred as soon as I said it. Somebody had lost their life and no doubt, many more deaths were to come, and here I was complaining that I didn’t want to cross the loch.

  “We are not crossing the loch; it would take far too long. We are going to fly to Blossomdown where there is a passageway to the grave.” Merl replied.

  “Ok, so I’ll just fetch my jet pack and then we’ll be off.” I stated sardonically. It wasn’t the time for sarcasm but the idea that I was going to be able to fly was ridiculous.

  “You buffoon, get your bow.” Merl’s patience was truly exhausted.

  We quickly scoffed the sunflower dew bread that Bettery had just baked and then set out through the gate towards the moorland just beyond. The rocky fields were damp from recent rainfall; the air was sweet with the smell of wet grass and thick moss. The visibility was low due to dark clouds that consumed the sky above, devouring the natural sunlight that attempted to break through the grey.

  “What are we doing here? I thought we needed to get to the grave site as soon as possible?” I questioned. Merl didn’t reply, instead he pointed to a blurred shape moving across the sky. I focused harder it was a bird. Either a crow or raven I could never tell the difference. I hunched my shoulders, my upturned palms directed towards the sky in question. Merl made a movement as if he was shooting a bow. This confused me, why were we out here hunting food? Deciding it probably wasn’t wise to question his motives when he was already so angry at me, I did as he instructed before the bird flew out of sight. My arrow hit the unsuspicious bird directly in the chest with terrifying precision. Merl rushed over to collect the lifeless bird from the ground, holding it aloft, confirming to me it had been a crow. He tucked the dead crow into a small cotton sack that he brought with us and we headed back towards the gate.

  Security at the gate had become even tighter since the threat of a Banshee attack now loomed heavily over the Worlen people. Once again, a guard we had passed not twenty minutes previously searched us. The guard pulled the bird out of the sack, recoiling at the sight of the dead animal.

  “What’s that doing in there? I hope you’re not up to any magic?” The guard was pointing accusingly at Merl.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, this is my meal I’ll have you know.” Merl was equally as abrupt sounding. I hoped he was lying, I really didn’t fancy eating the crow. The disgust on my face matched that of the guard. Who threw the bird back into the sack and then pushed it back at Merl as if it was a bomb about to explode.

  When we reached Balthus’s home Jestin rose from the table, pulling me by the arm into Elba’s room closing the door behind us.

  “You’re not going with him, you’ll be putting yourself in grave danger and I won’t be there to protect you.” I found the way Jestin said this, as if I was utterly defenceless, slightly offensive.

  “I can take care of myself and we won’t be gone long, we’re just going to make sure the grave hasn’t been disturbed.” I tried to sound nonchalant, naively thinking that if I didn’t sound concerned, Jestin wouldn’t think it was such a big deal either.

  “See Violet, you clearly don’t understand the seriousness of the situation. If the Gnarls get even the faintest idea of where you’re going, they will be on you like a Reaping bird on a hare.” He stated angrily. My approach had clearly had the opposite of the desired effect and now Jestin thought I didn’t realise the danger I was putting myself in. There seemed like a simple solution to this.

  “Come with us then.” I said. I wasn’t being selfish. I didn’t actually want him there, where he might be in danger but if that was what was needed to put his mind at rest then so be it. He looked utterly desperate,

  “I can’t, I’m helping Balthus with his clandestine evacuation of the weakest people. We are taking them to Blossomdown against the king’s orders. If there is a war with the Banshees, I see no reason why the children and the elderly should suffer. Why don’t you accompany me?” He seemed more hopeful at the end of this sentence but it was in vain. I reached my hand towards his cheek, gently stroking the bristles of stubble that scratched at my hands in protest.

  “When you nearly died in the forest, why wasn’t I harmed?” I asked. Although Jestin looked confused about my sudden change in conversation, the question had been playing on my mind and this may be the last chance I got to ask it.

  “I bound myself to you Violet. You did not bind yourself to me. Thankfully, my fate has no bearing upon you.” He answered.

  This confirmed what, deep down, I already knew. The way I felt about Jestin, the immutable connection I felt to him, was not the result of some mystic force. It was plainly and very simply, love.

  “Come with me Violet.” He implored.

  “I can’t, you protect your people the best way you know how and I will do my best to protect you.” I said sadly.

  “VIOLET DEARY,” Bettery’s calls interrupted Jestin as he begun to protest so I used the opportunity to escape the impossible situation, racing down the stairs at top speed. When I re-entered the kitchen the wingless corpse of the bird sat upon the table next to what I presumed was some kind of condiment jar. Whatever liquid was inside looked a lot like vinegar in both colour and consistency. Merl fiddled angrily with the lid before launching it across the room as it released unexpectedly. I suppressed an unexpected giggle at his anger with the inanimate glass jar he was now verbally abusing. The air filled with the vapours of alcohol. I felt almost dizzy from its pungency.

  “What on earth is that?” I questioned. My answer came as Merl gently lifted two majestic looking wings from the mysterious substance. They were larger than the wings that had been detached from the crow I shot. The brown speckled pattern that covered the innermost section, became more dispersed as it gently gave way to brilliant white feathers on the edge of the wingspan. I recognised them, I don’t remember how I knew but they were definitely falcon wings.

  “These are my wings. Bettery brought them with her in her bag. Unfortunately, we were working on the assumption that we had a few more weeks before I might have to use them and hadn’t prepared any for you. These however will suffice.” Merl pointed at the detached crow’s wings that Bettery had cleaned with water from the public well just outside of Balthus’s home.

  “And exactly how are we going to fly with these?” I held up the two small-feathered wings that were not significantly bigger than my own hands. Merl and Bettery looked to one another, a knowing smile taking shape on each of their faces.

  After creeping out of the house unnoticed by Jestin and Balthus, who were plotting at the table, we headed for the moorland beyond the gate. Bettery was going to stay behind and help with the evacuation. It was the first time Merl and I had set out alone and it was a little strange leaving everyone behind without any goodbyes. As the sun set in the sky, brilliant oranges, reds and purples made up the horizon before the light gave way to darkness
. It was my job to keep the wings safe so I had stashed them underneath my brown leather robe as we descended through Forge Gate. Merl stopped me as we neared a guard’s checkpoint and waving his hands over me whispered ‘cela’ and I was gone, invisible to the rest of the world. He then plucked a small strand of grey hair out of his pocket and placed it on his tongue,

  “Athru.” The word was slightly slurred but distinguishable. Where Merl had stood a second previously there was now the large grey wolfhound that had slobbered all over me at the manor. I followed the gangly dog down the winding paths towards the gate, wondering how we were going to get the guards to open it. I should have known that Merl’s plan would be both bonkers and effective as he trotted towards the guard that had searched us earlier and cocked his leg up to urinate.

  “URGH, get out you filthy mongrel.” The guard pulled open the gate and shooed Merl out with his foot. Merl lingered around growling his false protestations just long enough for me to slip through before he casually trotted out behind me. Once we had passed the vision line of the archers, now posted at specific defensive points of the gate, Merl slipped easily back into his human form and tapped me hard on the shoulder,

  “Nocht. Ah! there you are. Now, take out the wings.” He instructed. It occurred to me that if Merl had the power to transform into an animal, why didn’t we just become birds to fly across to Blossomdown? He answered my question before I even had chance to ask it.

  “It would be far more dangerous to turn ourselves into birds, for example, what would happen to you if you lost track of me? Do you think you would be able to change yourself back?” He asked. The thought of being a bird for the rest of my natural life put me off the idea.

  I passed him the wings. He took mine first and positioning them on my shoulder blades he pressed them roughly into my back.

  “Drochi” he stated. I felt a crack in both shoulder blades and the intense pain of breaking bones. I wanted to scream in agony but any detection by the Worlen royal guards would have meant a far worse punishment than the momentary burning as my skin attached itself to the giant wings that were taking shape on my back. Merl had already begun his transformation. The effortless way his wings glided into existence and then moved in sync with his natural body, evidenced that this was not the first time he had flown. My own wings, now fully formed, were heavy against my back and threatened to topple me over. I flexed my shoulders, surprised that the movement caused my huge wings to flutter and fell slightly to the right catching myself before I hit the ground; subsequently I now overbalanced to my left.

  “This is no time for dancing girl, we must get going.” Merl seemed to think that my utter lack of co-ordination came from an excited desire to dance.

  “How do you take off with these?” I already felt a hundred times heavier than my usual self did. It was a mystery to me how I was supposed to propel myself from the ground. Merl began to flap his own wings gracefully and came around to face me. He took hold underneath my shoulders, his thin arms still strong despite his infinite old age, and together we ascended towards the celestial moon. We soared to around one hundred feet into the air before he smiled mischievously and let me go.

  I fell for what seemed like forever, unable to co-ordinate myself. I was panicking, my posture was wrong and I had pulled my legs into my chest, transforming into a human cannonball as I hurtled towards the ground. Instinctively my arms flew outwards, as did my legs, followed by my wings that caught the air current and thrust me back upwards towards the sky. The rush of adrenaline that hit me was rapturous as I soared ever higher towards the heavens.

  I finally understood why people threw themselves out of planes attached to large pieces of fabric. Before this experience, I always thought they were slightly crazy. I was weightless in my aerial manoeuvres. The feeling of intense freedom of direction was overwhelming at first. The sky seemed so much larger than the earth itself. It was a vast sea of oxygen that had now become my playground. I steadily became aware of the direct path that Merl and I had to follow. I was giddy as we soared in and out of the moonlit clouds, it would have been cold had it not been for the constant physical struggle it became to keep the wings moving, I found that short sharp flexing of the shoulders created the most effective flapping movement to drive myself forward with.

  I dipped below the clouds noticing myself in the shimmering reflection of the lake. The bird girl staring back at me was glorious, her huge black wings beating powerfully as her streamlined body shot through the air. She was also terrifying. Inhuman and unnatural in her powerful ascension she had stolen something beautiful that didn’t belong to her, for her own benefit. She was a thief. My own reflection suddenly scared me as if I was Agrona herself. I climbed again through the mist of the clouds and decided it would probably be best to stick to Merl’s side for the remainder of the journey. A good decision, because I didn’t have a clue which direction to head in. After around an hour or so my initial energy waned. I was exhausted but the exhilaration of flying kept me ploughing onwards until I noticed that we were closing in on the ground again, our target the small garden of Merl’s twisted town house.

  There seemed to be a hidden structure I hadn’t seen before at the bottom of the garden. Disguised by ivy, I only realised it was a building because of a half-formed chimney that emerged above the greenery. I made a mental note to inspect it when I had the chance.

  Merl was the first one to land pulling his wings off with a similar cracking sound they made when we first attached them. He did mine next, pulling them off was not as painful as attaching them in the first place yet I still let out a small sigh of pain as the wings detached. It was strange how the wings shrunk back to normal size once removed.

  He entered the kitchen and pulled out a jar of the vinegary smelling substance. Plopping both sets of wings into the liquid he sealed the lid tightly. I assumed we were going to go straight to the burial site but Merl thought it best we rest for an hour before travelling again, after all if we were attacked we would need all the strength we could muster to fight of a pack of Gnarls. I settled onto the cushioned bench in the sitting room and closed my eyes.

  When I opened them again Merl was sat patiently in his chair, waiting. I rubbed my eyes groggily,

  “Are we going then?” I yawned.

  “Indeed we are, make sure to bring your bow.” Merl replied steadily.

  How are we getting there? I wouldn’t mind trying the wings again.” I smiled. Merl smiled back, rising from his chair and heading towards the corridor of bookcases in the entrance hall of his home.

  “Come this way my girl, we will be travelling via portal.” He shouted behind him.

  I followed cautiously. I had not forgotten the terrifying breathless sensation of the last time I travelled through a magical portal created by Merl. He pulled away one of the heavy looking bookcases to reveal a door. It was very similar to the door at the gateway. The only difference was there was no handle on this door. Entry was by special invitation only.

  Chapter Thirteen - The Grave

  MERL SPOKE CLEARLY, as he pushed on the hard wooden door,

  “Ar agor,” he commanded. Yielding to his demand, the door flung open. I expected to see a vortex of some kind, a tunnel of air like the one I had travelled through to get here but there was only darkness. Merl stepped over the threshold and I followed closely behind not wanting the door to slam shut and separate us.

  I stepped out into the cold night air, the brilliant light of the stars radiated against the backdrop of the midnight sky. The moisture from the wet grass crept into a small hole in the sole of my boot. A car engine rumbled in the distance signalling that I was back in a familiar world, a world with central heating, fridges and cars. A world that was devoid of magic. I was surprised by my reaction but after weeks of longing to be here on this island, the island I had known and loved for almost seventeen years, I suddenly felt out of place. I didn’t belong here anymore. I chose not to dwell on this sudden realisation, after all there wer
e far more pressing issues at hand, like finding the grave.

  “Where is it then?” I asked in a hushed tone, we didn’t know if the Gnarls would have any idea that we were here. Merl suspected they might have been watching at more than one possible gravesite for hundreds of years. They must have believed they were close to finding her otherwise Rosamaylind’s prediction didn’t make sense.

  “This way,” Merl whispered back. We couldn’t use the light spell he had taught me, if we were being followed the last thing we needed to do was draw attention to ourselves. He took my hand pulling me in a direction I couldn’t ascertain, through the darkness and across a sodden field. I found an odd sort of comfort in the withered skin of his hand. It symbolised his wisdom and magic but most of all it symbolised that Merl had lived. He had survived this witch once before and no matter how terrifying or evil she may be, I was in the company of the one person who had the power to stop her. I wondered how she would rise. Who would be the one to reconnect her heart with her body? Therefore doom the whole of Falinn Galdur and why, why would they want to bring her back? I mean the Gnarls sure, I could understand that, they were like her puppies, devout followers who hadn’t rested in the centuries that had passed since Merl had entombed her. I found myself recalling a news story that had been on television the night before I went through the gate. It was about a Springer spaniel dog that had kept returning to the grave of its former owner. Day after day, it would sit there waiting, hoping that its owner would awaken. The only difference I could see between the Gnarls and Reginald the Spaniel was that the vain hope of the spaniel was about to become a reality for the horrid Gnarls. It wasn’t the Gnarls that had opened the gate. It couldn’t have been. It had to have been someone on our side with access to either Merl or myself. Then something occurred to me.