by J. M. Briggs
Morgana raised her hand and silver magic coiled tightly around her palm like a serpent. Instead of throwing the gathering magic, she stalked forward and placed her hand on the Queen’s chest. The magic jumped off her hand and burrowed into her chest cracking the remnants of her golden armor.
“You won’t be here either,” Morgana hissed in a low dark voice. If she said anything else Merlin couldn’t hear it. Then she stepped back leaving the silver magic attacking Scáthbás from the inside out.
Rising to his feet, Merlin took a tentative step forward as Scáthbás screamed and the gate’s glow brightened. He could see small threads of white magic connecting the Queen and the iron of the gate and frowned in confusion. The Queen began to dissolve in a burst of golden light and the gate’s glow brightened for a moment. She reached out a hand towards Morgana, her lips moving silently as dark violet eyes bored into them both. Medraut stumbled towards the queen with wide fearful eyes, but he collapsed against the gate. His bloody fingers gripped the iron bars which flashed in response. The Iron Gate pulsed with magic, sending white flashes of magic sparking around it. Beyond the gate, Merlin could see violet eyes and retreating figures. Scáthbás vanished with a silent scream and Medraut’s hands gripping the Iron Gate caught fire. His screams cut through the air and Merlin shuddered at the sound as Medraut’s entire body was consumed.
Covering his eyes, Merlin looked away from the gate as it began to glow a blinding white. Everything around them seemed to fall away for a moment and the air smelt like a thunderstorm had just rolled in. Merlin carefully turned back towards the gate, bracing himself. He could see the gate clearly, the iron looked polished and was shining slightly in the light of the distant fires, but the glow of the magic had faded. There was no sign of Scáthbás or Medraut and Merlin took a tentative step towards the gate. He could feel the soft hum of the magic, but it was light and soft as it finished settling in. Glancing back at Morgana he found her staring down at her brother’s body with a look of complete devastation. Her fingers were gripping her cloak tightly by her sides and shaking badly.
Deciding to give her a moment, Merlin turned and surveyed the surrounding area. The smoke in the air reflected the fires in the village illuminating everything with a dark red glow. He could see a few surviving Sídhe running west and briefly considered following them. They would be trouble, he could feel it in his bones, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to leave Morgana. In the distance, the sounds of laughter and glee echoed down the hills and he wondered just how many of the poor creatures enslaved by the Sídhe had escaped. They also might be trouble in the future he realized with a sigh. He’d never felt so much his age before, he’d been very lucky to maintain his health and vitality, but now he just felt worn out.
“How did this happen?” Morgana asked in a low broken voice. “We were so careful for so many years. We had them cornered.”
“An animal is most dangerous when wounded and trapped,” Merlin observed sadly. “You were right Morgana: there was a traitor. I am sorry.” He stepped towards her, reaching and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
“It doesn’t really matter now does it?” she remarked sadly with another sniff. “Arto is dead, but the war is won.” She raised her head and looked towards the Sídhe that were vanishing out of sight in the night. “They are trapped in the Iron Realm; I wonder how long it will take them to die.”
“We’ll deal with them another day,” Merlin assured her. “Not tonight.”
“No, not tonight,” she agreed, swaying on her feet.
The sound of someone coming made them both tense and Merlin turned quickly with Cathanáil raised. Airril came into view, blood trickling down his face from a small cut on his forehead. He was unsteady on his feet, but a smile spread over his face at the sight of Morgana. It faded a moment later as he caught sight of Arto. Merlin’s heart swelled slightly at the recognition of how much this man cared and he deeply wished that Medraut could have been half such a man.
“Morgana,” Airril said gently as he moved to his wife.
She tensed but allowed her husband to slip his arms around her. After a moment a small sob escaped her and she turned to bury her face in her husband’s chest. Merlin watched them for a moment using the sight of Airril stroking his wife’s hair as a distraction. When he became aware of his staring he looked around the area.
Bodies were collapsed all over the hillside with red blood staining the ground. He could see the blood protection shimmering softly and absorbing the blood of those who had given their lives in the battle. Merlin tried to take comfort in knowing that their sacrifice would only strengthen the defenses of this place. This area by the shoreline would be protected from the Sídhe for generations even if the gate were to ever fail. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his churning emotions before he lost control of his magic.
“We should return to the village,” Morgana told him weakly. He said nothing about her red eyes or the tracks left down her dusty cheeks by her tears. Then in a softened, almost childlike voice, she asked, “Will you help me with Arto?”
Merlin nodded, giving her what he hoped was a gentle smile. She bristled slightly at the look and took a determined step away from Airril. He lingered close to her, his bronze sword in hand as he glanced about. Morgana brought up both her trembling hands slowly. Silver sparks began to dance in the palms of her hands. Merlin stepped up next to Arto’s body and called forth his own magic. It lazily swirled out of his fingers as if sharing his sense of exhaustion.
Silver and green magic swirled together in a soft breeze around the pair of them before the glimmering sparks of magic spun down to surround Arto’s body. Morgana made another small sound of grief as his body slowly lifted off the ground and revealed the large pool of blood that was seeping into the ground. Reaching over, Merlin took her hand and squeezed it tightly. They said nothing as the body slowly rose into the air until it was at the level of Morgana’s chest. With a shaky breath, Merlin took out his water flask and wet the edge of his cloak. Gently he washed away the blood around Arto’s mouth and cleaned his hands. A soft flash of green magic sent sparks flooding around the wound to clean and mend the fabric, hiding the deep gash.
Airril knelt down and collected his staff and Merlin nodded his thanks to the younger man, tightening his fingers around the hilt of Cathanáil. They moved down the slope of the hill slowly, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Even as he kept his magic gently flowing into the air to support Arto’s body Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look at the lad. The loss didn’t seem real, didn’t seem possible, and even now he knew that he was waiting for the land to do something to help its champion. Arto had been created by the raw power contained in their realm so why, how could he be gone? But as they slowly walked towards the dying flames of the village nothing miraculous happened and Merlin felt his hope fading.
Over half of the village was gone with the ashes already blowing away in the wind. Villagers were moving around with jars of water and dowsing what flames still remained. Piles of red coals outlined what used to be homes and Merlin shook his head sadly as he watched a few survivors poking through the devastation. He wished them luck in finding a few valuables as he saw a couple of women placing some objects in a basket.
His eyes went up the hill towards the site of Arto’s former roundhouse and glanced towards Morgana. There was no sign of her mother and Merlin doubted that Eigyr would have fled the village while her children were fighting. Morgana’s expression was neutral, but her green eyes were darting around and her jaw was tight. The next few days were certain to be amongst the most difficult that either of them had ever faced.
Airril led the way to an intact roundhouse and with care they lowered Arto onto the surviving bed. Merlin looked around and saw that almost everything had already been scavenged from the roundhouse and sighed softly. Exhaustion was weighing down on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit on the bed next to Arto. Merlin took his staff back from Airril and gently laid Cathan�
�il over Arto’s chest. A sad sound escaped Morgana as she leaned over and kissed her brother’s forehead and brushed a strand of brown hair from his face.
Merlin managed a small smile as Airril wrapped an arm around his wife and Morgana leaned against him. The roundhouse was still and silent as all three looked down sadly at the body of Arto while outside the roundhouse the villagers were already at work putting their lives back together. Leaning forward on his staff, Merlin rested his forehead against the smooth wood. As he looked at the man’s face he couldn’t help but feel angry once again at Gwenyvar and Luegáed. Perhaps them being here could have saved him, and if not then at least he wouldn’t have died broken-hearted. Holding back tears, Merlin thought back to the first day he’d met Arto when he’d first come to the village to meet the remarkable young boy.
Time slipped away from them. Airril left the roundhouse eventually to help with the efforts of the villagers, but Merlin and Morgana remained in their vigil. Neither of them spoke and Merlin was certain that Morgana was as lost in memories as he was. For the first time, he felt guilty for having taken Arto away all those years ago. At the time he’d doubted her love for her brother, but now… he almost laughed; time did indeed change everything.
Rays of sunlight slipped into the roundhouse through the empty doorway and cast a soft glow over the body. Morgana moved first. She reached down and gently took Cathanáil off of Arto’s chest and with shaky hands unbuckled the sheath from his shoulders. A soft sound escaped her as she slid the sword into the sheath and gripped it tightly. Without a word, Merlin unclasped his cloak and draped it over Arto’s body.
He could hear birds outside and more people moving about. The survivors were returning home and it was time to begin rebuilding. Merlin inhaled slowly before raising his eyes to look at Morgana. She swallowed thickly and looked up to meet his eyes, raising her chin bravely. With a small smile, Merlin shifted his staff to his left hand and held a hand out to Morgana. After a moment of hesitation, she removed her left hand from Cathanáil and accepted his hand. Together they stepped away from Arto and stepped outside into the daylight.
34
Helpless
As she sat waiting and trying not to think about Arthur, Alex reflected on the fact that hospitals are strange paradoxical places. In one room a father of two gets told that he beat cancer while just a few meters away a woman loses her baby girl. Even as soft chimes sound the arrival of a new baby in one part of the hospital there is crying and suffocated whimpers as a loved one passes in another. Alex had never spent much time in hospitals. There had been a few trips to visit relatives and friends after some kind of surgery, but this felt different. She’d gone to the recovery rooms then, where there were bright balloons, complaints about the food and one or two machines at the most.
Now she was in a small waiting room by the intensive care unit. Her seat gave her a view of the main nurse’s station. There was only one other person in the room and he was staring at the wall with a completely dead expression. Her chair let her look out into the hallway and into the ICU where Aiden was being cared for. His parents had burst in only a short time ago and she’d watched Merlin and Morgana speak with one of the nurses as doctors went in and out of the small room that Aiden was in. Curtains blocked her view into the room, but with each moment more machines were coming in. Once again she was left feeling like a silly stupid kid who didn’t know anything about the world.
She’d expected Merlin and Morgana to be able to help Aiden themselves, but instead, they’d come straight to the hospital and Aiden had been handed over with a quick story about wild dogs. Neither of the older mages had asked her about what Arthur had done and she hadn’t even told them about Cyrridven yet. Her thoughts were jumping all over the place, but always circling back to Arthur.
Was this really real or was it a nightmare conjured by Chernobog? She wanted it to be, desperately wanted it even as the sense that this was very real settled on her shoulders. Little things that Arthur had said and done over the last year and a half kept replaying in her head. Only Alex had ever formed a Connection with him, but the others never had. Maybe it was because they were related or they had been. Her stomach turned at the very idea and Alex shivered. She pulled her legs up and curled up as tightly as she could on the chair. There were so many little things, but they added up and she felt so stupid. Worse than stupid, she’d helped him and encouraged him. She’d thought that she’d saved him when he’d taken off after finding out about Jenny and Lance but it was all just a show. Everything had been a show.
Shuddering, Alex hid her face in her knees and tried to push away all the little memories of them. She’d been crazy over him and so damn happy when they got together. It had almost seemed like a fairy tale except that she got to save him. She nearly laughed at herself and sniffed loudly to control the urge to cry.
Her side still ached. Alex reached down and brushed her mended shirt over where she’d been stabbed. There wasn’t even the smooth skin of a scar, but she could still feel how much it had hurt. Tears stung her eyes and Alex took in a shaky breath as she tried to control them. Guilt rose up in her chest at her feeling sorry for herself when Aiden had hurt himself saving her.
Then the old man stood up and headed back into the ICU area leaving her all alone in the room. Soft slow music was playing in the background and the television was showing scenes of waterfalls, fields of wheat and baby animals, but Alex just felt like shit. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands. Even with the music playing the ticking of the clock on the far wall seemed to echo in the room as Alex’s sense of time slipped away.
Rapid footfalls made her look up in time to catch a flash of red hair as Nicki rushed up the nearby nurse’s station. She felt herself begin to rise from her chair, but then stopped as fear crept to the front of her mind. Sitting back in her chair, Alex dropped her eyes and tried to ignore the sound of Nicki’s voice asking after Aiden. The nurse didn’t give Nicki an answer she liked and for a moment the redhead tried to argue. Alex glanced up in time to see Nicki’s shoulders slump and her nod.
Nicki stepped back from the counter slowly. Her movements were sluggish and Alex saw her swallow thickly. She wanted to reach out and grab her hand or hug her, but she couldn’t make herself move. Her own limbs felt heavy and cold. It was almost like she was back on that shore and dying. As she stepped into the waiting room, Nicki stopped and stared at her with wide eyes like she was seeing her for the first time. Neither of them moved and Alex wondered how much Nicki knew or had guessed. Then the redhead crossed the waiting room and sank into the chair next to her, but made no move to touch her.
“Hi,” Alex offered softly.
“Hi,” Nicki whispered before she looked over at Alex. “They won’t tell me about Aiden’s condition.”
“Morgana and Merlin are in there; officially they brought him in,” Alex offered carefully. “His parents are already here too.”
“Good,” Nicki fidgeted in her seat for a moment. “I just missed you guys at the lake. I found Aiden’s truck and was trying to find you when Merlin called. He gave me the highlights,” Nicki explained softly. “Is it true?”
“Which part?” Alex asked in a low voice.
“That you’re the real Iron Soul and Arthur was Mordred.”
“Yeah,” Alex managed around a lump in her throat. “The Lady of the Lake showed up to help us; she gave me the sword before Chernobog killed her.” Nicki reached over and brushed her pinkie against Alex’s limp hand. “Arthur stabbed me with the sword.” A small sound escaped Nicki and Alex looked up to see Nicki staring in shock. “Aiden saved me with healing magic,” Alex choked out, flinching into herself.
If Nicki was going to say anything it was lost when the sound of more footfalls in the hallway made them both tense up and look towards the doorway. A few moments later Alex heard Bran’s voice. She forced herself to stand up, nearly collapsing at the effort. Nicki stood up beside her and reached over
to link their fingers for a moment. She breathed in a little more easily and headed for the doorway. Together they stepped out into the hallway and spotted Lance, Jenny and Bran coming up the hallway.
Bran was pale and shaking with each step he took and looking far too old. Lance was hanging close to his side and kept glancing towards him and adjusting his position. Jenny was trailing behind them looking confused, worried and lost all at once. She caught sight of Alex and visibly sighed in relief before she dashed over.
“Alex! Thank goodness!” Jenny said with obvious relief.
Jenny slung her arms around Alex before she could move. For a moment Alex was completely still. She waited for the world to go funny or for her to have some kind of flashback or something, but all she felt was the warm hug. Slowly she released Nicki’s hand and brought her hands up to return the embrace as a few tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.
“I was so worried,” Jenny told her as she released Alex and stepped back. She glanced around nervously and then frowned. “Where’s Arthur?”
Alex froze at the question. Whatever warmth and reassurance the hug had given her flitting away like pollen on the wind.
“Haven’t you told them?” Nicki asked Bran with a pointed look towards Lance and Jenny.