by J. M. Briggs
Cringing, she rolled to the side and flinched as her ribs hit a rock. One of the tiny things lashed at her and Alex felt a sting in her forehead as she twisted her hands and released a blast of magic right into its chest. It released an ugly cry and began to dissolve in a flood of grayish gold sparks, a much duller color than that of a dying Sídhe. She could feel a light stream of blood dripping down her forehead and started to adjust her body. Another creature was approaching her only to be flung across the ground in a small swirl of yellow sparks. Smirking Alex rolled onto her knees and began to stand. A droplet of blood fell from her wound onto the ground as she planted her feet and stood up.
The world stilled for a moment. Everything around them seemed to stop: the wind calmed and the distant sounds of the town below faded away. The tingling across Alex’s skin intensified a hundredfold as a wave of magic crashed over her. It seemed to rise out of the ground around them and envelope her, tugging at her magic. Blood ran down her face and she tasted the bitter iron on her tongue.
Blood red waves of magic shimmered over the ground. A knot in Alex’s chest eased and the chill of winter seemed to fade away as power seeped into her bones. Looking around her Alex could see the strange glow flowing over the tor from the spot where her blood had hit the soil. It illuminated the short dry blades of grass and began climbing over the tower and pouring into the strange holes made by the creatures.
The small creatures screamed; their bodies withering as the red magic rose up in small waves over their bodies. It rolled over them and almost instantly they began to fall apart into dust. Two of them reached towards each other, and Alex felt her stomach drop at the sight of the fear in their tiny violet eyes. Around her, the magic radiated outward across the glassy slope of the tor, and in only a few moments all the creatures were gone in puffs of dull grayish gold dust. The glow began to fade, but the warm feeling didn’t and her connection to magic thrummed happily. The wind returned, blowing her blonde hair into her face. Letting out a shaky breath, Alex began to look around at her friends only to have Jenny wrap her arms around her in a tight hug.
“That was amazing,” Jenny shouted. She was almost vibrating with excitement. “I mean it was terrifying, but what you just did was incredible. Just like in the movies! Alex!” Jenny released her and reached for the small cut on her forehead. “Are you okay? Stupid question! You’re bleeding.”
“Easy Jenny,” Lance said as he came jogging over. “Head wounds bleed a lot.” He put one of his hands on Jenny’s shoulder. “Let me check her pupils.”
Jenny stepped to the side, but her hands dropped and grabbed her own. Alex twined her fingers gratefully and tried to hold off the exhausted shakes threatening to overwhelm her. Inside her chest, her connection to her magic felt strained, but all around her, she could feel it pulsing gently. Slowly it was seeping into the ground, receding, but still vibrantly there at the edge of her senses. She realized with a small start that she’d felt it earlier, only much weaker.
Lance hummed softly to himself and pulled out a tissue. Alex almost pulled away from him as he gently tilted her face and dabbed away the blood. She forced herself to still as Lance used the flashlight on his phone to check her eyes, but he nodded in satisfaction. Jenny pulled some more tissues from her purse and leaned up on her tiptoes to press them against her forehead. Despite the closeness of Lance and Jenny and the little flutter of happiness that their attention brought her, Alex looked to the right for the others. Bran was standing by Nicki watching the proceedings with a small knowing smile. Jenny licked her thumb and wiped some of the blood from her face.
“I think your blood caused a magical reaction.” Bran came over and studied the trail of blood down her face.
“There was some kind of old magic in the ground,” Alex explained. She glanced towards Nicki, who was glaring at the space where a few of the creatures had been. “I’m not sure where or rather when it was from, but that’s what I was feeling earlier.”
“You must have reactivated it,” Bran suggested gently. “Maybe a previous Iron Soul laid the magic, and as magic declined it lost power only for you to recharge it.”
“Maybe,” Alex said. There was an odd flutter in her chest at the idea. It was exciting and terrifying all at once. “Any idea what those things were?”
“Probably some creatures from the Sídhe branch: Morgana and Merlin did say that they enslaved a lot of races and that some of them escaped here,” Bran said.
“Then why would they help the Queen?” Nicki asked in a tight voice. She stepped up to join them. Nicki pulled some more tissues out of her shoulder bag and passed them to Jenny. “It would make more sense for them to help us so she doesn’t enslave them again.”
“I don’t have any theories on that one,” Bran admitted. “But we need to get down the tor and see about taking care of Alex.”
“I’m okay,” Alex said quickly. Jenny carefully pulled the tissues away. The wound had already stopped bleeding and with a nervous flutter in her gut, Alex tried to push some magic towards the area. It warmed up a tiny bit and Alex felt the pain ease slightly. “Really, we need to stay focused. If the Queen has alerted creatures to hunt us then she knows that I’m alive and might have some idea of what we are looking for.”
“Those things were fairies?” Jenny asked. She turned to look at Alex with wide eyes. “They looked more like goblins or something.”
“Goblins share mythological roots with fairy stories,” Bran explained. He looked out across the tor. “There’s nothing visible up here,” Bran sighed a moment later. “Come on, we need to look at Chalice Well.”
“Do you think there’ll be anything there?” Jenny asked as she stepped away from her and Lance to rush over to Bran as he started back down the Tor.
“Not really to be honest, but the spring water is slightly red due to iron oxide in the water and in Irish and Welsh mythology springs were seen as doorways to other worlds so it might have become a hiding place.”
“But you don’t think so,” Jenny clarified with a frown.
“No: my vision had the Chalice underground, but it seemed dry. There wasn’t any water around it.”
“Maybe a hidden cave up above the water.”
“Chalice well is just that Jenny, a well,” Bran explains patiently with a small smile. “And the others are springs. There aren’t really any tunnels or caves connected to them.” He shook his head. “Even with the local legends surrounding the tor, most stories point to Glastonbury Abbey as the site of the Chalice, and I don’t think that’s right.”
“Any particular reason?” Lance asked as he fell into step with them.
“Morgana told us that the Iron Chalice was the creation of an Iron Soul in 682 B.C.E.,” Bran replied. “That predates Christianity by a long ways, so myths too strongly tied to Joseph of Arimathea or the establishment of the Abbey are from at least a thousand years later.”
“Yikes,” Jenny muttered. She nervously looked between the mages. “Then we really are just searching for a needle in a haystack aren’t we?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no. It might not be in Glastonbury, but it’s somewhere in Britain,” he said firmly.
“But can we find it?” Nicki demanded with a dark expression. Taking a deep breath, Nicki shook her head and started walking again. “Come on, we’ve got to keep moving. You didn’t have any visions up here.”
“We should call Morgana tonight,” Alex offered in a softer voice. “This magic that activated up here, maybe it had something to do with the Chalice and maybe not.”
“Okay,” Bran said. He looked between Nicki and Alex with a frown. “We’ll check the old Abbey area, but if I don’t have any visions and Morgana says that what happened here wasn’t about the Chalice then we need to get back to Wales and try there. We’ve got things after us now, and it’s only a matter of time before Arthur and his mother figure out what we’re doing over here; if they don’t know already.”
Alex nodded her agreement and swallowed down a ru
sh of bile. She shoved the bloody tissues into the pocket of her coat with trembling fingers. As the others headed down the tor she lingered for a moment, and with an angry huff stamped her foot against the ground and released a long string of curse words. She felt a tiny bit better for about a minute.
6
The Smith
721 B.C.E. North Pembrokeshire Coast
Merlin inhaled the ragged scent of fires, food, and animals with a hint of nostalgia. That mixture of smells would seem the same everywhere to most, but over the years he’d learned to pick out the distinct hints of the area. Here he could catch the hint of the roots his mother had been fond of cooking in several of the houses. Smoke curled elegantly out of each of the twenty roundhouses that filled the small hill fort, and people were moving around rapidly to prepare for nightfall. Merlin eyed the wooden walls surrounding the village and nodded, pleased with the construction. They were buried deeply in the ground, and he had a sense that they were much more solid than the walls of his childhood home.
Strange to think that in a time when the Sídhe could no longer ride the villages were much stronger forts. Then again: attempts to fortify and protect themselves were not met with raiding parties, the sounds of screaming children and torches being thrown on anything that would burn. Around him, men were walking with iron axes strapped to their backs or belts, and women were carrying iron cooking vessels in addition to their clay pots. Houses looked much the same as ever, but there was a different sense of the community now.
It was a different time, he recognized as they walked inside. Those with weapons were not braced for a Sídhe attack, instead, it was the warring tribes that now covered the isles that were the cause of war. Merlin was uncertain how he felt about that: during his childhood, he’d heard of the wars in the far south, but such a thing had been distant from the world that he had known. Guards at the gate kept a close eye on the horizon and seemed to relax more and more as night approached and darkness fell. It would have been the opposite when he was young; they had had reason to fear the night.
“We require shelter for the night,” Merlin said calmly, with what he hoped was a disarming smile. He found it more difficult to play the old man without his staff to lean upon. “We’ve been traveling on the old road all day.”
“Wait here.” The man’s eyes lingered on Morgana for a moment, but if she noticed she said nothing. “I’ll see if someone will take you in.”
There was only silence from the other guards as one of them slipped into the village and vanished from sight. Around them, farmers came wandering into the village with their tools and small carts of produce, sending only curious looks their way. Merlin wondered how often they had visitors here. Ever since the rise of iron there hadn’t been as much need for trade and the once important copper mines served little purpose now. Still, the looks of suspicion and curiosity were a touch annoying.
Thankfully the guard swiftly returned and gestured them down the well-beaten road with a few words about the man offering them shelter. Morgana thanked him calmly and pushed on Merlin’s shoulder to get him moving. There was a lingering look from everyone in the village as they walked between the roundhouses and moved around those finishing their work for the night. Their suspicions made Merlin want to huff with irritation and give them all a stern lecture. A lifetime ago he had been welcome wherever he went as a priest of the Iron Realm, but with the rising influence of Old Ones on the populations, the welcomes had become more and more awkward each year. He was still a great figure, a living legend to many and an ancient man by all calculations of their time. His fingers itched and twitched by his side, already longing for the smooth and well-worn feel of his staff. One more part of his old world gone.
“Stop sighing,” Morgana hissed, but her voice lacked any real bite. “Things will look better in the morning. We just need a good rest and then we can start sorting things out.”
“Optimism from you,” Merlin teased. He was grateful for the distraction and familiar banter. “Will wonders never cease.”
“We haven’t used magic like that in a hundred years.” Morgana sent a stern look his way. “We’re both tired Merlin, and in no condition for this discussion.”
He couldn’t argue with her point as he kept himself moving despite his knees strongly protesting. Merlin was relieved when they found a small balding man standing in front of his roundhouse waiting for them and wringing his hands nervously. Smiling at the man warmly, Merlin nodded deeply to him in greeting. Their host relaxed slightly and smiled hesitantly at them both before stepping to the side and drawing back the animal skin covering his doorway.
The small roundhouse was warm with a fire burning away cheerfully in the hearth. A small shelf displayed only a few items, but there was a fine looking iron axe clearly on display and shining in the firelight. One side of the roundhouse was well lived-in with a bed and plenty of possessions, but the other had an empty bed and two mats laying out for them. A dusty loom dominated the left side and an unfinished basket made Merlin’s smile turn sad. He said nothing of the man’s loss and asked no questions; instead, he sat down next to the fire.
“Thank you for sheltering us,” he said gratefully.
“You are welcome.” Their host couldn’t hide his nervousness but tried. “There is some stew in the pot,” he told them with a gesture towards the fire.
They didn’t say much as they each had a bowl of the stew. It was warm, the meat was tender and the vegetables tasted fresh, and after days of much more simple rations, Merlin thought it tasted wonderful. In the corner of his eye, he could see that Morgana was enjoying it as well and smiled when she complimented their host, who beamed at the praise. The last of the nervous tension faded away and Merlin hummed softly in contentment as he set aside his bowl.
Standing up, Merlin took a few steps away from the fire and felt his legs stretch out with a dull pain. He examined the items on display with mild interest, but his eyes were drawn almost magnetically to the axe. Merlin frowned as he picked up the axe and turned it carefully in his hand. A fine, slightly ornate iron axe head was fixed tightly to the wooden grip. It was far from the most impressive piece he had ever seen and looked as if it was actually used as a weapon rather than just being a show piece. Yet, there was something about it that tickled at the back of his mind and the edges of his senses. With a glance towards their host, Merlin ran a finger over the metal curiously. Something sparked on the surface and he leaned forward eagerly, earning a look from Morgana.
“Merlin?” she asked. “What is it?
“Morgana, look at this.” Merlin cautiously ran his finger over the metal again. The iron seemed to shimmer with a soft light for a moment and he felt a tug on his magic that made him look at her with excitement. “Try it.” He quickly handed the axe to her.
Morgana frowned, but accepted the axe and carefully placed one index finger on the axe head. Her silver magic sparked briefly on the surface as her eyes widened comically. Merlin chuckled and rubbed his hands together in excitement.
“There is magic infused into the metal,” he said in a low voice. “Magic in the iron itself, bound into the structure.”
“So there is a mage working iron.” Morgana looked torn for a moment and Merlin said nothing so she could collect herself. “Interesting.”
“Interesting? That’s all you can say? Magic is rising once more, and there is another mage.”
“Yes Merlin, this might be a good thing, but more magic means that there is a true threat, and that isn’t something I wish to celebrate.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that as he watched Morgana trace a finger over the axe blade with a sad and distant expression. Instead, he nodded, and gently took the axe from her hands, brushing his fingers against hers in a silent demonstration of understanding. The magic swirled beneath his fingers, drawn to the surface by his own power. It wasn’t like Cathanáil, with every inch of the metal infused with magic. This carried only a few sparks, but it was there, deep within
the metal like a faint pulse of life. Merlin doubted that the effort had even been intentional, a notion that filled him with giddy excitement.
“I don’t suppose you know who made this axe?” Merlin asked conversationally. He turned back to their host with a slight smile. “Or which village it came from?”
“Oh it’s local, the smith lives in the village.” Their host’s nervousness was gone, now replaced by curiosity. “He’s just at the edge of the village by the south gate. He’s a nice lad, not the best smith in the world, but he does solid work, and he’s young enough that he’ll only get better.”
“The person who made this lives here?” Morgana’s green eyes flashed suspiciously and she pulled the bag with Cathanáil closer. “You are certain?”
“Yes.” Their host took a step back from her. “What do you want with him?”
“Only to speak with him,” Merlin assured him quickly. “Hopefully we will have the chance to.”
“Well he’s probably still awake, he tends to work late. The banging keeps us all awake, but he does his best work at night.”