by C J Brown
Merlin looked at him. He hadn’t realized it, but Arthur was right. With every battle the Huns fought, hundreds were being sent to Starhearth. Merlin could not imagine what their grisly tales would be like.
He realized that Arthur was battling with a far more difficult reality than he had thought.
“Arthur, I know you’re suffering. I know you’re angry, and you think you have failed. Right now, you haven’t. But if you refuse to return, if you deny the Isle the one thing its people need to survive, you will have.”
“Why am I that person? I tried uniting the tribes. It didn’t work. The North is your enemy because of me. There is someone else.”
“There is no one else.”
Arthur looked at him.
“I’m sorry, Merlin. I’ve left my fighting days behind.”
He began to disappear, leaving Merlin to think and fear.
When he returned to the realm of the living, Merlin found himself panicking.
He turned and left the room.
His head was spinning and light.
He raced down the steps, almost tripping as he ran.
He reached the first level of the keep moments later and ran out the oaken doors.
The cold rain chased away his plight, but just for a moment, and then he was panicking once more.
The guards who had been standing by the door looked at him with surprise.
They ran out to see him.
“My prince, are you all right?”
Merlin looked at them.
And then the world turned black.
He awoke to see Megolin and Igraine standing beside him, but then he fell asleep again.
When his opened flicked open again, the faces of Lord De Grance and Guinevere was clearer than his father’s when he had seen him.
Merlin forced himself not to drift away again.
“How long?” He croaked.
“Ten hours,” De Grance said.
The fog of sleep still clouded Merlin’s mind. His sight blurred now and then, and his head was heavy. His ears rang and his nose was blocked.
He heard the door open and then Megolin and Igraine stepped through.
“Merlin,” Megolin said, “are you all right?”
Merlin looked at his father. “I have failed,” he said.
Igraine eyed him. “What do you mean?”
“Arthur wants no part of this. Mergus has spoken with him. The ancient Fergus has as well. I have. Thousands more are showing up at Starhearth every day as the Huns burn and pillage. Arthur says he has spoken to them. He says he has failed them.”
Igraine looked at him. “Merlin, Arthur is not a coward. If he says he cannot help, there is good reason. They may not be right reasons, but they are good reasons. He has lost his father. He has lost his betrothed. He has lost friends and family, both of which he also gained, but to him, he failed them, too. You have not failed, Merlin. You cannot give up. Know his pain, know his mind as best you can. And do not lose hope.”
“Perhaps I can speak to Arthur,” Guinevere said.
Merlin and the rest of the room looked at her.
“Guinevere,” De Grance said.
“Really, I can,” she said. “At least, let me try.”
Merlin eyed her and noticed there was something different about her.
He had seen that she had the yellow eyes of a warlock, but now he could not understand why she did. Her father was no warlock, and a sorcerer gained power by being the child of a sorcerer.
De Grance turned to Igraine and Megolin.
“My daughter is a powerful warlock. She has had no teacher, but she has demonstrated powers beyond what some of Britannia’s most powerful could wield.”
“This is not about power,” Merlin argued, but there was something about Guinevere’s energy that he could not comprehend.
“What's wrong? Scared I’ll be more powerful than you?” Guinevere asked him.
“Guinevere!” De Grance said.
“Forgive me, my prince,” Guinevere said. “Still, I can try.”
“Let her try,” Igraine said. “There is more to her than meets the eye. I’m sure your teachers thought the same thing when you first trained as a warlock.”
Merlin nodded.
“Then it’s decided then,” De Grance said.
Guinevere bowed her head, her yellow eyes shining.
“Father, princess, king, and prince.”
Then she turned and left the room.
16
Katyana
Merlin thought about Guinevere and her magic as the others left the room, and then his thoughts returned to Arthur. He remembered how different he was. He remembered how he refused to return, how he could not see the light. But Merlin knew there was some way to revive him, some way to mend his soul.
“How?” he asked. He knew there were spirits beyond the realm of the living, beyond the realm of Starhearth as well. When the Fallen King Ergar cleansed the Isle of most of the sorcerers, their souls did not ascend to Starhearth, nor were they lost forever. They lingered as part of a parallel dimension, standing by people who could not see them, walking the battlements and roads of this world, yet never truly being here. They watched over the world at night, when fouler things than wolves threatened the light and security of the Isle. But he had never been able to contact them. He wished he could now. He closed his eyes and remembered all the books he had read about the sorcerers and the magic of Demetia. He pictured them before him, and when he opened his eyes, they were stacked upon the table beside his bed. He reached for the one named “The Ancient Sorcerers of Demetia”. The book talked about the fall of the ancient kingdom and the cleansing of all witches and warlocks.
But one thing it could not answer was what happened to the warlocks who had sheltered at the Temple of Land’s End the day Ergar’s armies stormed it. Merlin looked through the books and scriptures for anything regarding communicating with the ancient sorcerers. About Starhearth, there was nothing he didn’t know, and about the parallel world, there was almost nothing, only writing that said it was legend. No one, after all, who had gone there, ever returned. Merlin set the books aside and closed his eyes. But rather than aim for Starhearth, he directed his spirit toward the other dimension. He tried to think about the sorcerers of old, thought about the great war that had ultimately fractured the unity that had cost years and thousands of lives to secure. He had never lived through it, but he remembered it. He remembered the fire. He remembered Ergar’s crazy blue eyes, his tousled hair, and fearful looks. He remembered the band of anti-sorcerers who emerged from the shadows when he denounced all warlocks. He remembered the ancient magic. By tracing his own line, he found that his own predecessor, King Mergyle, had witnessed the casting of a dragon. The vision he saw was of Demetia City, the capital of Demetia. Four thousand years ago, there was no Land’s End, for only King Megolin had established it as a place to be the home of sorcery, for the place from which the guardians of the light cast their spells and controlled the events of time. The dragon that had materialized before Demetia City had been a fire-breathing beast. With scales of steel and amethyst wings, it had soared above the city.
Merlin could see its form racing though the air as it breathed lances of flame. The dragon soared high as the people of Demetia clapped, and then it swooped low. Merlin awoke then and found his spirit lighter. But dread returned when he realized none of that magic made any difference if no one could wield it. Merlin knew he wasn’t one of those ancient sorcerers. Merlin knew he wasn’t nearly as powerful as the warlocks and witches who had cast dragons and revived the fallen, like his grandfather. Then he remembered Guinevere’s energy.
Merlin walked to the door and left the room, his cloak glowing purple. A sudden idea had struck him. And now he needed to see if it was true.
With both certain and unsure steps, he f
ound himself walking to the end of the hall, where a guard was standing.
“Where is Lady Guinevere?” he asked.
“She and Lord De Grance and Lord and Lady Megolin have gone to the throne room. Lord De Grance said he does not wish for his court to be disturbed.”
“He’ll listen to me,” Merlin walked away from the guard.
“My lord,” he said. “You cannot go to the throne room.”
But Merlin wasn’t listening anymore. He just walked to the end of this other hall, flew down the stairs to another level, going past guards and servants as he walked.
From outside, starlight was shining through the windows as the torches crackled. And for the first time, Merlin actually saw it as light.
He reached the throne room moments later and stepped through the lord’s door. De Grance’s councilors were arguing about how best to defend their border with Demetia, and De Grance was listening. Merlin walked straight past his father and a silence fell on the throne room as Merlin stood before his family, Guinevere, and Lord De Grance.
“Merlin,” Leo said. “What happened?” Merlin looked at Guinevere. He sensed there was more to her than even she knew. There was a power that she harbored that she did not know how to use, or where it was from.
“I believe your daughter might be the witch who will revive Arthur.” The court did not know what to say. Lady Genie and Lord De Grance stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“A feeling.” Merlin looked at Guinevere. And then a vision replaced the world. He was no longer standing amidst the court of Land’s End. He was standing by one of the walkways of the Green Keep. The moon was shining bright amidst the stars, and no corner of the sky was left to darkness. Land’s End was a maze of torches, with every street lit by iron sconces, and every home by torches and candles. Merlin turned and saw someone standing at the balcony, but their form was ghostly, like the forms of the spirits of Starhearth.
Her eyes glowed yellow, and cloak blue. A guard walked past, not noticing her. And then someone walked toward her. “My lady, you seem disturbed,” he said. His cloak glowed blue as well, and his eyes were yellow.
“It’s nothing. I just still remember that day,” the witch responded.
“We all do, but we can find a way make things right,” the wizard said.
“I know. Any premonitions?” The witch asked.
“Not as of yet. For that, I’m grateful.”
“Good,” the witch looked out beyond the city, and then staggered back.
The warlock turned, his face worried.
“Enya?” he said. But the woman’s eyes had gone black. She was seeing a dark vision.
Merlin tried to see what the vision was, but he could not. A minute went by, and then Enya awoke. By this point, other warlocks and witches had joined her.
“What happened? Your eyes turned black,” the first warlock said.
Enya looked at him. “Darkness.”
“What are you talking about?” Another warlock asked.
Merlin leaned in to hear her talk more clearly. She spoke of the Hun invasion.
“The Huns?” a warlocks said, “but Emperor Constantine is fighting them now. They are weak. They could not possibly be planning to attack the Isle.”
“This isn’t now. It is some time hence, when the Huns will be commanded by the foulest person who ever walked.”
Merlin straightened. So, he was looking at a past from a few decades ago, when the Huns were righting Rome. But he could not recall any woman named Enya from that time. In fact, wasn’t Enya one of the great magicians from the years of his ancestor Mergus Megolin?
He leaned forward again, to hear the magicians on the wall better.
“What do you suggest we do?” the first warlock asked Enya. “We cannot change the course of events. We can only direct time.”
“So that’s what we do. For three thousand years, the Isle has not seen more than a few wizards. De Grance’s daughter will be born tonight, but Leo fears that neither she nor his wife will see the dawn. I can hear him. He is praying now. Someone must answer.”
The first wizard stroked his beard.
“I will,” a younger witch said. Enya turned toward her, yellow eyes glowing.
Merlin, too, turned toward the young witch. Her energy glowed bright and clear, and her face looked kind.
“You know what you will be giving up,” Enya said. “Once all good returns, all of us will return to the world as we are, but you will know nothing of yourself.”
“Why does this have to happen?” the wizard asked. “Why does Lord De Grance’s daughter mean anything?”
“The wizard who returns to the world of the living by her is destined to change the course of the future. What I saw, Toryen, will happen. And a second darkness from which we cannot escape will shroud the Isle if we do not act. De Grance is praying for his daughter to live. It is the only chance we have.”
Merlin listened with surprise. They were talking about Guinevere.
“I can do it,” the young witch said. “My name is Katyana. I had no family of my own three thousand years ago. I shall have one now. You are my family as well, but I sense we will all perish if this does not happen.”
Three thousand years ago. Merlin sucked in a sharp breath. It was a great privilege to look into the Wizard’s Plane.
“No,” Enya said. “I’ll go.”
“Enya, you cannot do this,” the first wizard said.
“I’m sorry, Toryen. But this has to be done.”
Enya smiled at Katyana. “I will not let you give up your life. Twenty years from now, when the fight is here, you will fight from this world, and when the light prevails, you will return to the land of the living.”
Katyana shook her head. “I have decided,” she said. “I will go. I will not die. And maybe one day, I will remember all of this. Now, I must go.”
“Katyana,” the one called Toryen said, but she disappeared.
“She cannot be stopped now,” Enya said. “We can only hope that her sacrifice will not be for nothing.” “We must stop this darkness, or Britannia will never escape from it.”
“How?” Toryen asked.
“Lord De Grance prays that his child will survive. His daughter is sick. We will answer his prayer.”
Merlin found himself standing near De Grance, but he was not the old, happy man he had met recently. He was far younger. His white hairs were black, and he looked more like sadness personified than greatness.
“Just save her,” he prayed.
Katyana walked past Merlin and to De Grance. Then Leo turned and walked back to his child. The midwife was holding her by the fire, trying to wake her. Merlin saw Katyana watching the child, resolving that she might never live as herself again. Then she closed her eyes, she chanted, and she was gone. Then the baby cooed, and Merlin saw as Leo laughed, carrying his child. And then Merlin was standing before the same man, nineteen years later.
Merlin looked at Guinevere, amidst the torches that illuminated the hall, as the members of Lord De Grance’s court watched him, and as Megolin and Igraine eyed him. “You are the one who will bring Arthur back. You are more than you think you are. You are more powerful than you think. You are more powerful than even my grandfather.”
“What are you talking about?” Guinevere asked.
“You don’t know,” Merlin said. “I can show you.”
Her eyes turned white, and she found herself no longer amidst her family, but standing by the rail of one of the walkways of the keep.
Merlin was there with her.
“Look there,” he said. He was looking at a wizard and a witch, standing by the rail.
“How are they sorcerers?”
“Just look.”
She looked, and she could hear them talking, but she could not understand what the
y were talking about. And then Enya said Toryen’s name.
“Toryen. He was a sorcerer of the old kingdom.”
She listened, and Enya was staggering back. She walked towards them.
At the mention of the Huns, her blood grew cold, and then colder when she heard Enya say that the Huns would attack decades hence.
“What is this?” She asked Merlin.
“It’s your history.”
Guinevere could not see it. She listened to the warlocks talking about what she had seen, and then Enya talked about how her father was praying that his daughter live.
“I’ll do it,” Katyana said.
Guinevere looked at the woman. It was almost like looking at her own reflection. Enya tried to tell the woman that she could not, that what she would be sacrificing, her life, her memories, herself, that she couldn’t. Katyana said that she would have a family now, and then she flew up and disappeared, reappearing on the balcony of the chamber where Guinevere had been born. She’d cast dragons here before, and it was where her father told her she would one day be the lady of Land’s End, and that she would return the region to its place as the center of sorcery. She saw her father, crying at the rail, praying, right next to where Katyana had appeared. Then her father turned and walked to the midwife who was holding a baby by the fire. Guinevere found herself welling with tears. Her father had told her the story of how he’d nearly lost her, but that a prayer to the heavens had saved her from death. And now she saw Katyana watching the baby. Katyana closed her eyes and began to chant, and Guinevere watched as she disappeared. She heard the baby—herself—cough, and her father laugh, and then she turned to see Merlin.
“I am Katyana.”
Merlin nodded. “You are one of the most powerful sorcerers who have ever lived.” Merlin said.
Guinevere’s parents stared at the two of them with worry etched on their faces.
Guinevere smiled at her father. “The night I was born you said a prayer to the heavens. And the heavens responded. The sorcerers who perished near the end of the War of the Light, they were here that night. They emerge every day at the triple witching hour to watch over the world. And I am Katyana, one of the most powerful sorcerers who ever lived. I knew Enya and Toryen. But I don’t remember them. Katyana forgot everything when she became me.”