by J. M. Briggs
She remembered how Cathanáil felt in her hands; the strange instant burst of energy that had traveled through her own body. At the time she’d just assumed it was the power of the sword before she’d handed it to Arthur, but maybe it hadn’t been. The sword had somehow fit in her hand, somehow hadn’t felt heavy or awkward, but like an extension of herself. The magic of the Iron Soul had been bound up in that metal, in every strike of the hammer that had shaped it and in every act that Arto had used it for. Three thousand years later and she’d still been able to feel it. Maybe she could feel the Chalice too.
It was a long shot; a really really long shot, but Alex inhaled slowly and tried to remember what holding Cathanáil had felt like. She tried to envision a simple looking Chalice made of iron that looked like a bowl on a wide iron base. How would it feel in her hands? Alex swallowed and sent a small burst of her magic into the ground through her hand along with a wish for it to find the Chalice. The wish kept repeating in her head over and over again.
A sudden roar in her ears threatened to deafen Alex and shook her whole body. Alex was about to open her eyes in alarm when the darkness behind her eyelids vanished in a flash of red quickly followed by a flash of white. There was a blur of two battling colors and another roar, this one at a lower pitch. She couldn’t see anything for a moment but everything around her seemed to tremble and shake.
A red dragon rose up in front of her out of a crumbling hillside on four legs, fierce, sharp dark-red talons digging into the stone beneath it. Then it looked right down at her with glowing, golden eyes that seemed to flash as they met hers. Long red horns formed crests atop its head. It roared, opening its mouth and exposing rows of sharp, vicious-looking teeth right before opening blood-red wings and casting a dark shadow over her. Another roar made it look up and a white shape came crashing down at the red dragon.
Her eyes opened on instinct and Alex gasped for air, suddenly feeling like her lungs had been compressed. Forcing herself to calm down she looked at Bran, who was staring at the mirror in his hand with wide eyes as his hands shook. Pulling her hand off of his, Alex swallowed thickly and shook herself as if she were a dog trying to shake off water.
“Alex? Bran?” Jenny questioned from next to them. “Did it work?”
“Yeah… yeah, it did,” Bran replied slowly with a growing smile. “At least I think it did; I saw something really wild though. It might not have anything to do with the Chalice.”
“It does, it has to,” Alex insisted as she blinked her eyes and tried to process what she’d just seen. Her heart was racing and she was fighting a strange sense that she’d forgotten something that she should know. “It has to,” she repeated.
“What did you see?” Nicki almost shouted as she dropped to the ground beside them both.
“Dragons!” Bran grinned. “Real dragons: one of them was white and the other was red. They were fighting and there were flashes of another battle, but it wasn’t as clear. Then they both fell to the ground and the earth shook. It was intense.”
“A red dragon,” Lance repeated as he bent down and pulled the book on Wales out of Bran’s shoulder bag. “That sounds familiar,” he added as he offered his arm to Bran and helped the other young man to his feet.
“It should,” Nicki declared as she held out a hand to Alex and tugged her to her feet. “It’s a myth about Wales and the Saxons. The Welsh were represented by the Red Dragon; it remains the symbol of Wales to this day while the Saxons were represented by a White Dragon.” Nicki frowned, pressed her lips together and tilted her head thoughtfully. “They were battling underground, and their battle kept causing a castle to collapse over and over again. A king was told to find a boy with no natural father and sacrifice him to stabilize the castle.” Nicki, realizing that she had everyone’s attention, shrugged. “That boy, according to the myth, was a young Merlin.”
“I remember that story,” Alex added with a nod. “We went over it in our King Arthur class, but Merlin said that it never happened. That the story wasn’t real.”
“Maybe not to him,” Jenny offered, “But if you heard a story about a wizard back then you’d probably assume it was about Merlin.”
“Besides,” Nicki added with a nod. “Morgana said that she and Merlin had left Gofiben and Bran. Maybe something big happened.”
“But dragons?” Alex asked with wide eyes. “You think dragons happened?!”
“It’s right here in the book,” Bran said. He held up the guide book and started to read. “Dinas Emrys: near Beddgelert in Wales and has the remains of a fortification on the hill. Site of a 1st or 2nd century Iron Age settlement and is the site of the legendary exchange between Vortigern and a young Merlin. Legend says that there were two dragons battling deep beneath a pool, one white and one red.”
“Where is Beddgelert?” Jenny asked softly.
“To the north, outside of Pembrokeshire,” Bran answered with a frown. “A long way outside of Pembrokeshire.”
“Morgana said that Gofiben lived in this area.” Jenny tugged at the hem of her coat and bit her lower lip. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Just because this is where he lived doesn’t mean that it’s where the final battle took place,” Alex said. “But where the hell would the dragons have come from? Morgana didn’t mention dragons.”
“Maybe she thought the dragons were made up,” Lance suggested. “As for where they came from maybe, they were summoned somehow.”
“Look, that doesn’t matter right now,” Nicki cut in. “The question is do we head for Beddgelert?” She pulled the book away from Bran and showed the map of Wales. “It’s all the way up here.” Nicki pointed to a place in the northern bit of Wales before she pointed to the southern tip. “And we’re down here. If we get there and we’re wrong then we lose time.”
Above them, the sky rumbled and cold raindrops began to fall. One hit Alex and rolled down her cheek sending a shiver through her body. Closing her eyes, she pictured the red dragon. She could see the long curve of its neck with the small dark gold red spikes, its wings rising out from its sleek scaled body, and the long whip of its tail. Alex exhaled and opened her eyes. The others were watching and waiting.
“We didn’t see the Iron Chalice.” Alex turned to look at Nicki. “What do you think?”
Nicki’s eyes widened and she swallowed as she took the book from Bran, holding a side of her coat out over it. Frowning, she looked down at the pictures, including the one of the Welsh flag. After what seemed a very long time Nicki nodded.
“Yeah,” she said. “You and Bran were focusing on the Iron Chalice, and the dragons were what the magic showed you. Maybe the Chalice is there and the dragons were just magic showing us the way.”
“Okay then, let’s see if our taxi is still there and get back to Fishguard. We’ve got a train to catch.”
“Actually I’ll be impressed if we can get a train from Fishguard tonight,” Bran muttered behind her. He pulled his hood up against the rain and shoved the book back into his bag. “But let’s give it a shot.”
21
Crack in the Mountain
721 B.C.E. South of Mount Snowdon
Gofiben had never been so far from home. Gone were the rolling hills and pasture lands he’d grown up with. Here there were high mountains, rocky slopes and hill valleys cut by rivers. The mountains above were still capped with snow, despite the flowers blooming on the hillside amongst lush green grasses, and hung ominously over the valley. There was still a chill in the air although winter was behind them.
Swallowing thickly, he tried to distract himself and looked down the hill to where two of the rivers joined in a swirl of water and dirt before raging on down the valley. Yet the sight wasn’t calming in the least. It all seemed so wild, so untamable and yet here he was, suddenly feeling very small as he watched the rays of the sun creep up over the hill. He wanted so much to be brave, to relish these new sights, but he it seemed every time he saw something new his mind flashed back to those terrible animated corpses.
“I wish we were back home,” Bran admitted. He climbed up next to Gofiben and sighed “I miss home.”
“Me too,” Gofiben said. “I miss my forge: I miss feeling like I know what I’m doing.”
“And they won’t even give you the sword,” Bran added with a frown as he glanced at the axe in his hands.
“To be fair I was pretty bad at using it.”
“Hit the other guy with the sharp part,” Bran huffed as he sat down on one of the rocks that made up the slope of the hill. “It’s not that hard.”
“I’m used to hammers,” Gofiben defended, even as a blush crept up his face. “Besides I’m not good with combat in general.” It was an understatement and Bran nodded his understanding. “Do you think anything will happen this time? Badb’s just run the last three times we caught up with her.”
“Merlin and Morgana seem to think that something is going to happen.”
“They always think something is going to happen.”
Bran opened his mouth to say something, but the clear voice of Morgana called up the hill, “There you are! Gofiben, Bran get back here this instant!”
“Yes mother,” Gofiben grumbled. None the less he began to slowly make his way across the hill on a small game trail with Bran following along behind.
Morgana was standing on a clear spot overlooking the rivers, Cathanáil grasped tightly in her hands and the blade shining in the early morning light. She didn’t turn to them as they reached her and Bran stayed behind Gofiben, pushing him towards the older mage.
“Beltane,” Morgana observed. “And another confrontation with Badb.”
“Maybe not,” Gofiben suggested as he took a tentative step forward. “She keeps retreating each time we catch up with her.” He kicked at a rock, sending it tumbling down the hillside. “Morgana, isn’t there more we can do about the plague? It’s terrible here, that last village-”
“Gofiben…” Morgana interjected with a shake her head, tightening her grip on Cathanáil. His eyes were drawn down to it, and he felt a slight hum in the air that made his heart beat faster. “Contrary to what you think, I’m not denying you Cathanáil because you’re not ready or bad with a sword. You haven’t practiced with a blade so it only natural that you’d be a bit clumsy.”
“Do you not trust me then?” Gofiben asked, only to flinch at the brash words.
Morgana however merely turned to look at him and shook her head before answering, “No Gofiben, I don’t want you having the sword because you’re safer without it. Right now Badb isn’t interested in you; she doesn’t care much about the Iron Soul and that keeps you safer.” Morgana shifted to look at him. “I know you want to stop the plague, but Cathanáil doesn’t have that power.”
“Maybe I can make something that does!” The words spilling out of Gofiben’s mouth before he considered them, but he liked the sound of them. “I’m a smith by trade Morgana, and I was using my magic while smithing before you found me. Surely I can-”
“Cathanáil was made by Arto after years of preparation,” Morgana reminded him. “It exhausted him even with the help of Cyrridven.”
Their conversation was ended by an explosion rocking a hillside just up the valley. Morgana turned sharply and growled as dark smoke began to curl up into the sky. Gofiben’s mouth went dry as he saw flashes of dark red magic arch into the air. Down the hill, he saw movement and green magic spinning into the air. The green magic swirled out over the river and up the hill before transforming into a rain cloud that began to downpour over the flames.
“Remember,” Morgana said sternly. “Today is a season day; we are at a disadvantage against Badb. The defenses for our world are at their weakest when the seasons change. You cannot count on your magic to protect you from her.”
“Do we have to fight her today?” Bran asked in a softer voice. He looked around the sloping hills of the valley. “This feels like a trap.”
Morgana frowned: Gofiben wasn’t sure if she was worried about the observation or Bran’s reluctance to fight. Gofiben understood both and wanted to be brave, but the last few seasons of chasing Badb further and further north as more villages fell ill had left him exhausted. They weren’t ready for this, and his own fear must have shown as Morgana’s expression softened.
“You’ll be fine, just stay together,” Morgana told them as she lifted Cathanáil and looked back towards the pillar of smoke. “Keep your distance from Badb, but keep an eye out for any of her tricks. If something goes wrong Galath is in the village waiting for you.”
Then Morgana took off, rushing down the hill even as she released small blasts of silver magic to keep herself steady. Her magic formed into a bridge across the river and she vanished into trees.
“I hate this part most.” Bran tightened his cloak nervously. “What do you think?”
“Let’s cross the river at least.” Gofiben took a tentative step down the hill. “So we’re close in case they need us.”
Bran clearly didn’t like the idea as his eyes widened, but he nodded. Slowly they made their way down towards the river, having to watch their steps while also glancing towards the churning flashes of dark red, green and silver up the valley. Gofiben’s heart was pounding by the time they found a good crossing point, but he felt the fear threatening to turn to panic when he heard a scream echoing down through the valley.
“We’ll just cross the river,” Bran said behind him. “Just in case.”
They crossed quickly; icy water splashing them. Gofiben called forth his magic in a whirl of orange sparks that glinted like embers around his hand. Closing his fist he concentrated on heat rather than the flame and smiled in relief as waves of heat rolled off his fingers over Bran and himself. Reaching out, he touched his friend’s shoulder and commanded the magic to dry their clothes, careful to keep the heat from becoming too much.
Thick greening trees surrounded them, celebrating spring, but they did little to muffle the shrieks and sounds echoing amongst the hills. Gofiben flinched back and lowered himself against a rock when a blast of fire erupted ahead of them and shook the valley. Water splashed out of the river and over their feet. Something was definitely happening today: Badb was not running. He looked over his shoulder at Bran who was pale with his freckles standing out starkly against his skin, but the other young man nodded and they resumed their hike.
“How close should we get?” Bran asked as they ducked behind a large outcropping. “Merlin and Morgana can probably handle her themselves but-”
Another explosion sent small rocks pouring down through the valley followed by the noise of trees snapping. They could hear more crashes and a loud groan of pain that sounded like a male, which meant it was Merlin. Gofiben licked his lips and looked over at Bran, who was eyeing the hill around the outcropping nervously. He dearly wished that mage or no mage, his brother was here; he could use the reassurance.
“It doesn’t sound like it’s going well,” Bran said. “I suppose we could…”
“Yeah,” Gofiben agreed with a nod and swung himself out from the outcropping before he could change his mind.
Moving faster now, they could both see the battle up ahead of them. Badb, Merlin, and Morgana were fighting on the eastern bank in a burned-off patch of the hill. Gofiben straightened up as he saw a dome of silver form around the battlefield, blending with green magic and holding back a stream of dark red power. Unease churned in his stomach. Badb seemed more powerful than before. Bran’s concerns about a trap suddenly seemed much more real.
Trees were downed in the water, half drenched and half aflame as dark red magic clashed midair with green and silver. Part of the hill had been wrenched up by Merlin’s magic, but Badb did not seem concerned as she laughed and more dark red magic glittered around her. Glancing behind them, Gofiben looked down at the small village near the joining of the rivers with a sympathetic grimace. He hoped those who were still free of Badb’s plague were fleeing and that his brother was keeping things calm.
Then Badb sc
reamed, released a wave of her dark red magic that flooded the battlefield like a thick red fog. Morgana and Merlin’s dome flickered as the green and silver glow was consumed in the fog. Gofiben started to run up the shore; his heart pounding as he summoned his own magic once more. Burning trees were uprooted and scattered around the battleground as thick black smoke rose into the air, and the hissing of steam filled Gofiben’s ears as the fires met patches of snow and wet ground. He brought up his hand and pushed back the red fog in front of him with a shimmer of orange magic. Next to him, Bran released a wave of his own, clearing a small patch of the shore. Through the red haze, Gofiben caught sight of green magic flashing followed by a pillar of silver forming. Grinning in relief, Gofiben stepped back and watched as the red fog began to recede.
He could see Morgana and Merlin again now. Both were panting and covered with mud even as their magic glowed brilliantly in their palms. Badb dodged a bolt of lightning flying from Merlin’s hand and Morgana’s silver whip spell lashed at her arm. A howl of pain escaped Badb, but she just grinned at Morgana with flashing red eyes.