The magicians came to themselves. Viviane and I joined them, followed by Mazoe, Gliton and Tyronoe. Anxious to avoid the harm that all this scene could bring to the world, they took things into hand rapidly.
Humans started to get on their cell phones, but Thiton concentrated and caused interference with the radio frequency waves so that no one could communicate, and she also called up an invisible wall so no one could leave. All the television antennae were broken, so the journalists could not diffuse any images of what had happened. Gliton and Glitonea were working to heal the wounded, so I lent a hand there. Alwena and her soldiers had fled after the death of the sorceress, but I was sure I would see her again soon. After all, I had killed her mother.
Viviane and the other fairies gathered then, and holding hands, they started to murmur some incomprehensible words, then their voices amplified and I saw an immense dome charged with electricity form all around us. The wind came up again, but this time it followed the contour of the dome, accelerating into a sort of tornado that sent out tiny sparks from its magnetic field.
The people appeared uneasy, but then they all froze, their gazes lost in the void. Every broken object, every building recomposed itself. I saw our rowboat take shape again in the water, as well as the Oxford boat, which had been in a thousand pieces, and all the still-unconscious rowers moved through the air and took their respective positions in their boats. Then a blinding flash made the dome disappear and everything started over at the instant when we were battling for the lead, as if nothing had happened. Spectators screamed encouragement, and journalists commented on the sports event.
Oxford took the lead and beat us, accompanied by their supporters’ shouts of joy. The presentation of the Cup passed as in a dream, as I was having a hard time coming back to reality.
Afterwards, I found Viviane and we looked at each other without saying a word. We understood each other, for we shared the pain of having lost a loved one. However, I did not understand my earlier reactions.
“What happened to me, Viviane? I didn’t try to transform into that creature, and I wasn’t in control of anything.”
“I don’t know…” she mused. “I never saw Myrddin do that kind of thing, although he could make a dragon appear that he’d created for protection. But he never became one himself. Plus, his dragon was much less imposing.”
“I saw Merlin in my mind, and he seemed content about what happened, as if he knew I was capable of it. How is it I can communicate with him, though? I didn’t think I could speak to the dead.”
She looked at me, troubled, then took a breath and opened her mouth, but then shut it. After a moment, she changed the subject. “Have you discovered any new information about his spell book?”
Her tactic was so obvious it startled me, but I pretended not to notice. “Yes, I have to keep
searching in St John’s Chapel.”
“Good. If you find anything, could you let me know via Galahad?”
“Definitely,” I assured her, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek. She smiled and went off to find the other fairies.
Back in Cambridge, I came upon Professor Deen at the corner of a road close to my lodgings. I was trudging home for some well-deserved rest.
“Are you okay, son? I heard the news, and felt really sorry for you.”
I looked at him idiotically.
How could he know? The whole event was erased from the memory of all the people there!
Seeing my distressed look, he quickly went on, “It’s not so bad. You’ll win next year. We can’t master everything!”
I almost sighed in relief when I saw my mistake. Evidently he was talking about losing the race.
“Yes, that’s for sure,” I said, more relaxed. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I need to rest.”
“Of course, of course,” he prattled. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, see you tomorrow.”
The next day, the instant I opened my eyes, everything came back to me. The suffering hit with full force. Morgana Lefay had ordered my parents to be murdered, and if a sorceress like Adenora was capable of such an act, I dared not consider how much Morgana and Mordred were capable of.
For the first time, I tried to imagine Avalon. I concentrated on Viviane’s description of the vast fields of grains and apple orchards. It wasn’t long before I saw myself flying over the fertile lands, the setting sun lighting up stretches of wheat, making it look like gold. The apple trees, which made the island’s reputation, stood up proud and majestic, their leaves rustling in a light breeze and revealing glimpses of shiny, bright-red apples. My grandmother had told me the trees were never trimmed, but grew naturally, thanks to the magic abundantly present in the island.
In the old days, the king and his subjects had lived happily, until the fairy Morgana, hurt by Merlin’s rejection of her love, had decided to help Mordred take over the kingdom.
I saw the gorgeous landscapes of Avalon grow dark all of a sudden, the fields of wheat withering and the apples losing their leaves and their fruit. People dressed in frightful rags laboriously tilled the arid soil under the scrutiny of soldiers carrying whips, and such despair and suffering marked their faces that I suddenly felt sick and guilty. Morgana was drinking so deeply of the island’s magic that it was disappearing.
I had to help them.
Tossing and turned in my bed, deep in a trance from my visions, I kept repeating in a shaky voice, “I have to help them!”
Then Merlin’s face appeared, and once again, as he’d done several years ago, he exhorted me, “You must protect them!”
“But that’s what I’m trying to do!” I objected, still dazed. “We need your spell book – where is it?”
I felt stupid talking to a dead person; none of this was real. His face faded away and I heard as if from a great distance his last words, “I often remember.”
Startled, I woke up.
Why did he quote the motto of St John’s College?
I ran my hands nervously through my sweat- dampened hair, trying to understand. But no answer came. I decided to go visit the chapel.
It’ll do me good to get some air.
I took a shower, then headed for a long walk along the Cam River. Once again, my thoughts turned to Melora, and a wave of nostalgia filled me. Four years had passed since we’d spent that last day together. Four years! But I still missed her affection and her silvery laugh. How would she have reacted if she’d seen me transform into a fiery dragon?
Sometimes, I wished that she did know who I was, but mostly I prayed she’d never find out. One thing was sure, I could not allow her or anybody I cared about to be exposed to danger because of me, so I’d have to avoid getting close to them. After that obvious conclusion, the future seemed even darker.
“Hey, man, you alright?” Henry called out to me when he saw me later, still out wandering along the stream. “You’ve got a weird look! The race must have tired you out.”
“You couldn’t have said it better,” I grunted, sticking my hands into my pockets nervously.
“It’s just a race, you know? Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of java.”
I must have looked like I was wavering, so he pretended to be outraged. “You’re not going to let me go all by myself!”
I really was hesitating between going with him to relax for a bit or digging around in the chapel. Finally, his cheerfulness and insistence won me over and I went with him.
By the time we separated, it was late – only an hour before dinner – so I hurried over to the building I had decided to explore.
Its coldness hit me as soon as I walked through the door. I stopped and took a long look around the interior before going any farther. Because I had been here in the chapel so many times already, I needed to concentrate in order to try and see it with a new perspective. I carefully examined the nineteenth- century stained glass windows in the hopes of finding a clue. The scenes of Christ’s life unfolded before my eyes. I walked forward under the magnif
icent richly-decorated ceiling, my steps resonating on the marble squares, until I reached the altar. Nothing. No clues whatsoever.
Disappointed, I decided to check the spot I had often avoided out of repugnance: Hugh Ashton’s tomb. He had died in 1522, and as in many tombs of that era, he was represented in two ways: a sculpture of him wearing his academic robes and praying in hopes of resurrection, and a stony effigy of his gaunt cadaver lying recumbent. That was the name for this type of statue, in fact: a recumbent effigy.
Seeing that emaciated and suffering effigy, I realized the name was fitting. It might pass unperceived, but our ancestors had given us a life lesson in this representation: when we compare his beautiful statue, so richly decorated, and the stone effigy of his cadaver in decomposition, we can only conclude that despite all we appreciate and possess while living, none of it can be carried through death and into the afterlife.
I inspected the tomb more closely for an inscription or motif that would give me some hint or reminder. This was unsuccessful too.
But as I straightened up, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something gleaming under one of the windows: a shiny golden eagle standing proudly over a marble tablet engraved with the words “I often remember.” The college motto! My heart started beating rapidly.
How could I have missed that! I thought, slightly annoyed.
I approached cautiously and brushed it with my fingers, moved by the beauty of this tablet glorifying the professors of the past. I looked desperately for any clue, a crack, some sign of a secret mechanism used to keep the manuscript hidden. I touched the red and gold rosette carved just under the phrase, and ran my hands over the eagle, then the words, but nothing happened. However, the now-familiar tickling sensation in my veins indicated that I was getting closer to my goal. Exalted by this realization, I investigated even more assiduously than before.
But after a few minutes, it proved unfruitful. I groaned in frustration and hit the stone with a rush of anger.
“Nothing! Always nothing!”
A flash of pain in the palm of my hand caught my attention. Surprised, I stared at a drop of blood escaping my skin, then I noticed a tiny pointed piece of metal sticking out of the gold-leaf grill to the right of the rosette. I recalled the phrase inscribed on the floor of St Bene’t church:
Often I remember that he is the key to recovering hope, blood of my blood.
Blood of my blood!
I had spent so many days searching for its meaning, and at that instant, it became clear. I slowly placed the palm of my hand on the bright-red rosette. As soon as my blood touched it, I heard a click, then a grinding sound. The majestic eagle stirred and then started beating its wings before taking off in flight, leaving a gaping hole behind it.
Ever so slowly, I stuck my hand in the orifice and drew out an old roll of paper. Disappointed at not finding the spell book, I stood there for a second, my heart beating furiously, before I opened it.
I then read aloud what was written on the parchment: “Merlin is to be found where knowledge sleeps. Taliesin will reveal him.”
Another quotation, as enigmatic as the first! I felt totally crushed. My grandfather had definitely taken every possible precaution to keep his book from falling into evil hands. I simply hoped that I would not prove to be another victim to his too-successful efforts to hide it.
The whooosh of beating wings made my hair blow around as the eagle flew over me to take back its place in the niche. I had only fifteen minutes before the dinner bell, and the rules being quite strict as to tardiness, I took off running, arriving out of breath in the dining hall, where the first thing I saw was Henry signaling to me. I waved at him and gestured to wait.
I wanted to talk to Professor Deen, who was sitting at the back of the room. I thought he might have an interesting opinion about that citation, but I would have to provide a convincing explanation as to how I’d found the parchment.
I hurried over to him and blurted out, “Professor, can we meet after dinner?”
Seeing my worried look, he nodded without asking any questions. “At the Eagle, if you want.”
“Perfect,” I said, then hurried over to my seat next to Henry. I had just enough time to join my hands for the blessing.
The pub was rather empty that evening. It appeared that our defeat at the Boat Race the previous evening had cooled everyone’s spirits, and no one felt like having a party. Professor Deen was seated in a corner, his nose in a pile of papers. My approach startled him.
“Ah, Gabriel!” he exclaimed, closing his file folder and pushing it aside. “Have a seat! I was just going to order a beer. Do you want one?”
I nodded and thanked him as I sat down.
“I wanted to show you another citation I recently found. I’d like to know if these words signify anything to you.”
I took out the parchment and unrolled it, then read in a low voice, “Myrddin is found where knowledge sleeps. Taliesin will reveal him.”
He stared at it a second then looked at me searchingly. “Where did you find this parchment?”
I avoided his glance and mumbled awkwardly, “It was slid into a manuscript that I was looking at in the library, and I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but I promise I’ll put it back in place as soon as you’ve given me your opinion.”
If he didn’t believe my tale, he didn’t show it, and I sighed in relief as he began talking.
“Taliesin is a sixth-century historical poet, but also a bard of Welsh literature. In fact, he was the chief bard of Brittany, and some believe implicitly that he was Merlin. A manuscript written much later, in the tenth century, collects all his known poems. It’s called ‘Taliesin’s Book.’”
My heart started pounding but I kept my voice calm and steady. “Is that manuscript at the library?”
“No, unfortunately there aren’t many more editions of it left. You can find one at the Welsh National Library though. I’ve also heard there’s a copy in Paris in the old library at the Sorbonne but I’m not certain of its authenticity.”
Without thinking, I blurted out, “Paris.”
A word that the little voice in my head repeated endlessly, that went with the word “Melora.”
“Paris what?” Deen asked.
I quickly gathered my wits and explained. “I have to go to Paris, as I’d like to consult that manuscript.”
I uneasily awaited his reaction.
“Hmmn… Actually, I’m attending a conference at the Sorbonne next month, so I could arrange for you to be in on that trip.”
I looked at him, surprised at the coincidence.
“You’d do that for me?”
“You’re my top pupil!” he exclaimed. “Of course I can do that for you.”
“It’s decided then – I’m coming with you to Paris.”
March 2014
Paris, France
Melora watched her roommate affectionately as she poured out a flood of incomprehensible speech. The girl was too excited to make sense.
“Mellow out, Caroline!” she interrupted. “Slow down a bit. I don’t get it at all.”
The girl took a deep breath. Her hazel eyes sparkled with cunning and her long, bushy red hair gave her a slightly hysterical look. The curls framed a face with milky-white skin powdered with freckles. She was a great success with the boys, to whom she easily accorded her winning smile and mischievous winks.
But most often, the boys’ admiring glances were for Melora. She attracted attention with her long, graceful legs and the noble way she carried herself, the shiny brunette hair cascading down her back and those entrancing eyes that always seemed to waver between light green and gray. Melora was oblivious of any admiration, however. She was completely indifferent to her beauty and even unaware of it, and she was studious, preferring the books in the library to the flirting attempts of the opposite sex.
The two girls had shared a room in Lycée Henry IV’s boarding house for four years, after meeting by chance in the school courtyard on the
first day of school. Both were entering eighth grade back then, and both felt a little flummoxed. Naturally, that had brought them together. For four years now, they had shared their joys, doubts, heartaches and homesickness. They were very close and had no secrets from each other, or almost none…
For Melora had never spoken about Gabriel to Caroline. Not having seen him again since that fateful day at the swimming hole, she thought of him as being part of the past. Every time she’d gone home for school vacation, he was absent, even at Christmas. She’d learned from his grandmother that he spent his holidays in her London apartment, where she preferred to meet him, rather than have him make the long trip home to Comper.
Brushing away these painful thoughts, she brought her attention back to her friend, and asked her again to explain more calmly why she was so happy. So Caroline began telling her story in a more composed manner.
“At the end of the year, the director plans to bring us to the Sorbonne university for an introductory visit!”
“So?” asked Melora.
“It’s the perfect chance to find a Prince Charming!” she gushed, a little exasperated. “Stop thinking about your studies all the time, and have some fun! It’s not outlawed, you know.”
“There’s no such thing as Prince Charming,” said Melora, rolling her eyes. “Boys make you believe in an illusion until they find something more interesting to do.”
“How would you know? You spend all your time with your head in your books,” her friend retorted.
“I know it, and that’s all,” Melora replied bitterly.
“Please,” Caroline begged. “Don’t make me go all alone.”
Then she listed her arguments: “It seems there’s some high-faluting professor from Cambridge who’s going to be there. John Deen. He’s going to give a talk about astronomy and astrology. He was invited along with several of his students. I know that interests you, as I’ve seen you reading stuff about that subject, several times.”
Heirs of Avalon: The passage Page 9