by Lily Luchesi
Turning, she went for the strange hidden exit in the dungeon wall, leading Merlin out by his own power this time. Once they were on the surface, she turned to him and gestured for him to follow her.
She stopped walking when they reached the river, staring down into its depths.
“What exactly are you looking for in this darkness?” Merlin wondered.
“The Queen wondered how you could get messages to us from Camelot. Did you know this river is rumoured to run all the way through Avalon and beneath it as well?”
He nodded. “It holds many magical underwater plants.”
“And creatures,” Morgan added with a nod. “Some are extinct, yet more live on. Like Nineveh.”
“Who?”
“A childhood friend of mine.” Morgan sat down in the soft grass at the water’s edge, gesturing for him to join her. “When I was younger, I’d steal away here if I needed to cry about my parents, or if others were giving me a hard time about my powers. This is where I met Nineveh. I fell into the river. To this day I wonder if it was an accident, or if my subconscious tried to do something … desperate. Regardless, Nineveh saved my life, and I have come to visit her often in the years that followed.”
He looked acutely uncomfortable as he sat in the dewy grass, but his eyes never left her as she spoke.
“I believe Nineveh will help if I ask,” she continued. “I need only to call her.”
“Why did you not tell the Queen this?” Merlin wondered.
“Because while the Queen wants what is best for the Coven, I don’t trust her not to use Nineveh for her own personal gain for Gaia knows what reason,” she explained. “You see how she roped the elves into being our messengers.”
“Nineveh isn’t a witch?” he asked, though he sounded more resigned than inquisitorial. She had a feeling he knew that already, and was merely looking for confirmation.
Morgan nodded and opened her mouth to call her friend. While tracing runes in the water’s surface with her forefinger, she softly crooned:
“Six feet deep
Come to me, you whom I seek
Reveal yourself to me
Underwater, now break free.”
It would take a few minutes, depending on where Nineveh was at the time.
The surface began to ripple down the way as her old friend made her way swiftly through the waters to answer her call. She watched with the same amazement she had when she was five as the water broke in front of her and Merlin, revealing a unique, grotesquely beautiful sight.
Nineveh would have been a beautiful human, if not for her fishlike eyes and gills where her ears should be. She had a nose to breathe out of water for a time, and her lips were pale grey. Despite being underwater, the sun hit her skin enough to make it glow a beautiful, dark bronze. Her hair was kept short, to make it easier for her to move through the water.
“Morgana. Hello, little fairy,” Nineveh said in her deep voice. Morgan could never place her accent, though it sounded similar to ones from the Middle East.
“Nineveh, hello,” she said.
The mermaid glanced at Merlin and said, “And who have you brought with? Your betrothed, perhaps?”
Morgan’s face turned bright pink in the moonlight. “No, not even close!” she insisted. “This is Merlin Emrys, he’s part of the Coven, too.”
Nineveh turned to face him fully and gave a faux curtsey in the water. Her brilliantly coloured red, purple, and gold tail slapped the water as she did so. “Hello, Master Emrys.”
“H-hi,” Merlin stammered, in awe. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, little wizard,” she said. Turning back to Morgan, she asked, “If you did not call me to meet your intended, why am I here? I was having a rather pleasant time with some starfish.”
“Apologies for interrupting the merriment, but … have you heard what is happening to our Coven?” Morgan asked.
Nineveh shook her head, sending water droplets on both magicians. “I assume a mortal is behind whatever it is.”
“Good guess,” Merlin commented.
“Merlin here is risking his arse to give the Coven information on our enemies from within their kingdom. It’s a dangerous undertaking, made more so due to the fact that he has to sneak out to come. And he can only do that every fortnight. Which is too far in between to be truly helpful much longer,” Morgan explained. “I was wondering if you could possibly give your assistance. I admit, I’ve nothing to give you in compensation, but―”
“Little girl, stop,” Nineveh said, holding up a webbed hand with long nails encrusted with sparkly pebbles from the bottom of the river. “What makes you think I would ask you to pay me?”
“No one does anything for nothing,” Merlin said.
“Speaking from experience, are you, Master Emrys?” Nineveh’s tone was almost accusatory. “Do you truly wish to bargain, Morgana?”
She nodded, ignoring Merlin.
“Then make your Queen write an order of protection for my species. Humans and magicians alike used to hunt us for sport, displaying our corpses as trophies. Make it stop.” It was not a plea or request. It was a demand and a negotiation from someone who knew the personal pain of such an injustice as being hunted for sport.
Morgan nodded. “I will speak with her on your behalf. I promise.”
Nineveh smiled, showing white, sharp, needle like teeth.
Morgan felt better. She was fairly certain Nineveh would have helped for nothing, but this made her confident in their deal. “I would like you to come when either he or I call you and deliver messages between us. Can you please do that for me?”
Nineveh nodded. “Indeed I can, little fairy. For you.” She turned to Merlin. “You cannot call me when others might see. I do not sleep as you do, so make sure you call me when most mortals slumber. If I am caught, I will not go down so easily as my school did.”
With that, she gave a jaunty flip of her tail and dove back underwater, speeding away.
Merlin stared after her, unblinking. “Morgan … are you telling me I just met a merperson?”
Morgan nodded. “You did. What? Did you think the world was limited to magicians and mortals?”
“No, but I never knew we had merpeople in Avalon,” he said. “What’s next, you’re going to tell me you’ve got a unicorn to ride me into battle?”
Cocking her head so a curtain of dark hair partially obscured her face, she grinned. “Well…”
“Seriously?” Merlin cried.
“If you went outdoors sometimes, you might have met some unusual creatures, too,” she reminded him. Standing, she brushed some grass from her skirt and cloak. “If Aritza doesn’t write a law for the Covens to leave merpeople alone, I will.”
“You will?” Merlin asked. “How?”
Morgan turned and glared at him. “I may be just a girl, but once this is all over, everyone, human and magical alike, will see they vastly misjudged me. And you. If that doesn’t give us a bit of influence, nothing will.”
Merlin crossed his arms, smirking. “So that’s why you didn't balk when you learnt of my desperate power grab in Camelot. You want it, too.”
“I do. But I won’t betray my people to have it,” she chastised.
“I know I buggered it all up. I am sorry,” he said, dark eyes earnest. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I regret it.”
“And I understand it,” she said. “When Gwen said she was going, I nearly agreed to go with her.”
“But you didn’t,” Merlin observed. “And that is why you’re a better witch than any of us who defected.”
“Let us agree to disagree on that.” She gathered her skirts. “I suppose you should be going now.”
He nodded. “You’ll hear from me soon. Just … next time I arrive, please don’t jinx me.”
Morgan chuckled, surprised at how easily he drew the laugh from her. “I make no promises, Emrys.”
Chapter Seven
Merlin arrived back in Camelot a half hour before su
nrise. It was all he could do to bathe and change his dirty clothes before the cooks served breakfast for the royal court members. He was expected to be there.
I must ask Morgan to give me a few potions on my next visit, he thought as he blinked rapidly to keep the sleep from his eyes. Perhaps I can have a quick kip this afternoon and no one will be the wiser.
Arthur was already seated at the head of the table, with Guinevere on his left and Lancelot on his right. The king waved to Merlin, gesturing to a seat at Lancelot’s right, which had previously been occupied by Accolon. The closer one sat to the king, the more integral a part of the kingdom they were deemed.
Merlin had certainly climbed up the ladder.
“Emrys, you look ghastly,” Gwen commented as he sat, hand to her chest.
“My sincerest thanks,” he replied sarcastically. “I was working on a new spell last night and did not get enough sleep.”
Arthur trailed concerned eyes on him. “Indeed it appears so. My friend, we cannot have you ill. Never mind any duties you have this afternoon; I give you leave to recuperate from your restless night.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Merlin said, surprised at the kindness he was shown.
With the admission of his exhaustion, few people engaged him in conversation, so he was able to sit and observe without seeming conspicuous.
Arthur was accessible for a king. Merlin heard human rulers were sequestered away from the population, and that was not the case here. Arthur spoke warmly with the rest of the court at the table, laughed with his knights, and told interesting stories about his youth to Gwen.
If Merlin was human, he might have agreed with Arthur that the Coven were villains, and he was merely trying to keep his people safe. Had he been born and grown up with the king, like many of the knights had, he would have been pleased to be friends with such a kind soul.
And yet, this chuckling man turned around and plotted individual murders in order to make his plan for genocide easier to undertake.
That was the difference between Camelot and the Coven. Camelot’s leaders always wished to strike preemptively, or in this case, get revenge for a slight unproven. The Coven merely wished to be left alone to exist in peace.
All the goodness and Light in the world didn’t make up for the convoluted thought process of Arthur and his late father.
After breakfast, Merlin decided to go on a slow walk around the castle courtyard, observing as the knights practiced their swordplay and archery. Many of Camelot’s more eligible females watched from the sidelines as well, all hoping to be a Lady of Camelot’s court one day.
That is one thing we need never concern ourselves with in the Coven, he thought. No one needs to wonder if their betrothed has ulterior motives… Though I suppose anyone who might wish to marry me would have to be vetted, for what reason could they have for desiring my company for the rest of their lives?
His train of thought brought him back to last night. How mad could he have been to tell Morgan the only reason he defected from Camelot was to protect her? At least she hadn’t pried and accepted his explanation of why he wanted to protect her.
For how could he tell her the truth?
“Hey, Morgan, remember when we used to play together as kids, and you used to use magic to make butterflies sparkle? I’ve been in love with you ever since and never stopped, even when we weren’t friends anymore.”
He was fairly certain she would laugh in his face, particularly since she liked women, and that would destroy his heart more than it already was.
Despite the fact that she would never care for him in the same way he cared for her, he vowed to protect her and be there for her no matter what. Perhaps it was pathetic, but she was it for him, his heart had attached itself to her. He would use that attachment to do what he could to make her life better … even if it made him bitter.
She surprised him the night before with her kindness toward Nineveh. He knew she was kind, somewhere under that Dark layer she encased herself in when she was a child. However, that level of goodness was something he never witnessed amongst magicians or mortals alike.
Morgan’s heart was softer and more fragile than anyone realised, especially Gwen.
“Off with the faeries?”
Speak of the Devil. There she was, the future human queen, smiling softly as she fell into step with Merlin.
“What do you want, Guinevere?” he asked.
“Can I not catch up with an old friend?”
“We were never friends. It was always you, Fiona, and Accolon against me. How you managed to rope Morgan in, I will never know,” he commented.
“Aye. But she never allowed us to do much to you, now did she? The Princess of Poison harboured a bleeding heart under those voluminous robes of hers,” Gwen observed with a grimace.
“She deserved better,” Merlin said before he could control himself.
“Better than what?”
“Than you.” He glared at Gwen. “You never discussed your plans with her, you merely packed up and left. When she didn’t wish to accompany you, you shrugged her off and now plan to marry someone who wishes her dead.”
“So do you,” she scoffed. “Arthur told me he wishes for you to engage Morgana in a duel to the death.”
Merlin turned to regard her, trying to keep his voice even. “And that doesn’t bother you? You told me you still loved her.”
Guinevere giggled. “Of course not, because I know you’ll lose. You can’t possibly dream of defeating my Morgana even with both hands tied behind her back.” She turned and began to walk backwards, smirking at him. “My plan will succeed. You just keep playing your role for me. Morgana will come around.”
“Tell her,” he said abruptly. “Do not allow her to believe a lie any longer.”
She stopped walking, but he did not, passing her by with his head held high. His heart felt like it was in his throat, but it was for Morgan’s own good. If, perhaps, the rumours about her were true, she would agree to Gwen’s plan. And if it made her happy, that was what mattered.
Wasn’t it?
Then why did he feel as though he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole at the mere suggestion?
“What are you talking about?” Gwen asked. “She won’t listen. Not yet.”
“If she loves you, she’ll listen and believe, no matter how outlandish it sounds.”
* * *
Despite his lack of sleep, Merlin barely managed to get two hours’ rest. Nightmares plagued his slumber; violent, bloody scenes, both in the Coven and Camelot. Hundreds dead, golden unicorn blood spilt over the grounds, body parts strewn all over, blood turning the river vivid red.
He woke with a start, gasping for breath as he brushed his damp hair from his face and neck.
With trembling nerves, he got out of bed and opened his window, letting in the cool spring air. Watching the darkness, only penetrated by a few lit sconces for the night guard, he spotted a telltale baby-pink cloak.
Guinevere was going somewhere, and it looked as though she were trying to avoid the guards.
Without a second thought, Merlin followed, casting a Concealment Charm upon his person so as not to be spotted. She was swift, but he was better, able to move freer thanks to the charm and keep up pace with her without risk of discovery.
It could not have surprised him more when he saw her enter the castle library. Guinevere had never been a bibliophile within the Coven, and he highly doubted she had changed much in the past eleven months at Camelot.
There was something she wanted in there, perhaps had stashed away or needed to hide, and he was determined to find out what.
The library was large, but more impressive for its vast amount of literature rather than its spatial size. In the human world, books were reserved mostly for the wealthy, and the more tomes you collected, the wealthier and more impressive you were.
In the Coven, anyone could come and borrow books, they were not stored away for only certain people to enjoy. Merlin felt
he would always be dumbfounded by humanity’s strange ways of distributing wealth and knowledge.
He paused and listened for footsteps and breathing, ensuring he didn't get too close to be discovered. Once he locked onto her soft breaths, he gently walked to where she was, peering around a high shelf.
She sat unladylike on the floor, a leatherbound book in her lap, and two more at her side, poring over what appeared to be handwritten pages from a quill.
The library was deathly silent, and Merlin knew a single misstep could alert her to his presence. Which was why he hadn't cast any spells over himself to mask his sounds. If one were to fail last minute, and he didn't realise it quickly, it could reveal him to her in a second.
Unlike other magicians, even Morgan, he did not believe that everything in life required magical assistance. Some things were better done the mortal way.
Guinevere did not believe that, despite her siding with Camelot to renounce magic. She flipped through pages as the book hovered before her, a lux spell creating enough light to see by but not alert anyone beyond her little bubble to her location.
However, the light spell created enough light for Merlin to read the words scrawled onto the paper as she did. His eyes scanned the pages, unblinking. So enthralled was he in what he read, someone could have come up behind him and killed him without him putting up any resistance.
He was literally struck dumb as he read the words before him, and knew that Gwen would use this new knowledge to destroy both Camelot and the Coven as they knew it.
Chapter Eight
It’s a common misconception that running water was only used in wealthy human manors a near millenia after Camelot fell. Many ancient cultures, such as the Native Americans of the United States, the Incan, the Mayans, and all Covens worldwide had indoor plumbing long before white historians can perceive.
After all, it was quite simple for magical engineers to put complex stone piping from the river in through the main castle and cottages that made up the small village. Elemental witches kept the water flowing and clean, and simple heating spells made things like bathing and washing laundry a bit more pleasurable.