by J. M. Briggs
Shuddering, Alex felt her legs finally give out. Cold raced through her body as her knees collided with the snow. Everything was white, gold and gray in a blinding swirl of magic and colors. Then there was a rush of heat and a flare of fire before her eyes. She could see Bran again, standing by the altar stone with Arto’s burning body floating in the air before it. He was stumbling back from the burning bones with a stunned look on his face. She heard a soft sound of surprise from Jenny and an aborted question.
Fire suddenly flowed into her veins, hot and powerful. The threads of energy linking her and Arto exploded into a brilliant rope of golden light and wove its way up her arms and curled around her neck. The cocoon of magic was opening slowly, allowing the flames to leap and jump into the air. Embers fluttered into the sky and Alex trembled as another wave of magic crashed over her. Throwing her head back, she focused on a dull gray cloud directly overhead, but arches of gold, white, green, violet, blue and many other colors were forming around her. Colors were streaming through the air like a hundred tiny rivers and swirling around her, cutting off the rest of the world.
There were faces: dozens of faces flashing before her so that she couldn’t really see any of them. All male, but with every tone of skin on Earth, every shade of brown, blue and green eyes within humanity and every build. Some were scarred, some had beards, some were clean shaven, some were smiling and some were frowning. All of them were staring at her as she flew past their faces. Their eyes, whatever shade or color they were, were all locking with her own gray ones. The vision ended as quickly as it became leaving her reeling.
She was moving; stumbling in the snow blindly. Alex could feel the heat of the flames but was too preoccupied to consider what she was looking at. Someone was shouting; they sounded frightened, but even that didn’t cut through the sense of desperation and purpose. Her fingers clawed rough fabric and then she was on the ground again, something cool grasped between her fingers.
The Iron Chalice began to glow in her hands. Alex felt the magic settle over her body like a warm cloak. She felt the Chalice begin to pulse and connect to her own magic with tiny sparks running up her arms. Her hands began to glow a soft gray color that seeped into the relic. The rusty patches that had remained faded away, and the worn bits of metal knitted back together. For a moment it shone so brilliantly in her hand that Alex had to slam her eyes closed. Everything stopped around her. The frantic hum in her bones turned soft and soothing.
Then the magic that had been thick around them like a fog began to recede, a tide going back out to sea. She opened her eyes and looked down at the artifact in her hands. It was gleaming like it had just been polished. Turning the Chalice slowly in awe, Alex stopped as the triskelion came into view. The small symbol had a glow all its own that twinkled up at her before slowly fading. Alex basked in the warm presence of it in her hands and the tingling sensation running over her skin. Raising her eyes, she found a pile of ash in front of her that was already beginning to blow away in the cold winter air, and the others staring at her with shocked and exhausted expressions. She was about to say something when screams suddenly erupted around them as the last of the magic slipped away.
27
The Chalice
721 B.C.E. South of Mount Snowdon
It has been fifty days now, Gofiben reflected as he surveyed the area around the small roundhouse that had been home for almost a season. Galath had begun storing food for the winter and there was now a small yard with livestock. They really should return to the south: these mountains were becoming too familiar to them all. It wasn’t home. Yet home was an uncomfortable place now; a place with whispers and frightened looks.
Gofiben sank down by the fire pit with a sigh and rested his chin on his knees. With each passing day, he worried more and more that Morgana and Merlin were dead. Midsummer had come and gone with no news, no attacks, and no changes. Badb’s plague was weakened in her absence, but many of the victims were still feeble and in pain. The dead may not be walking, but the effects of Badb’s magic were still present.
Looking down towards the village, Gofiben rubbed the back of his neck in aggravation. They did what they could to help, but also retreated back into the hills to avoid the lingering plague. Around him the wind blew through the trees, sounding like the waves upon the cliffs not far from his home village. For a moment he felt so very homesick for the place, if not for the people. Meanwhile, the two people whose advice he needed most were gone.
Gofiben shook his head and stood up suddenly, unwilling to just sit and wallow. He started marching towards the distant hill, his eyes fixed on a bare slab of exposed rock. Putting one foot in front of the other; the sounds of the forest hills around him and the happy bubbling of the flowing river helped steady Gofiben. The steepness of the hill slowed him down, but he reached his goal before midday.
He licked his lips and followed the soft chiming that was ringing in his head with a smile. It had been a clever idea on Galath’s part; way to find the new entrance into the cavern without leaving it too exposed. It took him only a moment to open the passage and step into the warm, dark cavern. Calling on his magic with tightly closed eyes, Gofiben formed a small orange orb of light to illuminate the path.
“Hello Emrys,” Gofiben called out, his voice echoing down into the darkness below.
He stopped a few steps away from the sharp drop. It was a dizzying thing for him, being so high with nothing beneath. A brand new and frightening experience, but his life had been full of those lately. With a roar of his great wings against the air, the dragon came up into view and landed on the far ledge that he’d made for just this purpose. His horns dragged along the cavern roof, and Gofiben held back a smile.
“Morning,” he greeted quickly, hoping to hide his amusement.
“Good day Gofiben,” Emrys answered with a nod. The dragon lowered its head closer to them.
“I’m a bit sorry we already sealed the cavern,” Gofiben offered with a smile which earned him a stern look.
“I will manage,” Emrys replied, crossing his great clawed feet in front of him. The dragon tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “You are distressed, Gofiben.”
His mouth opened, but no words came out. It was distressing to realize just how transparent he was. Suddenly grateful that he hadn’t met his brother or Bran that morning, Gofiben swallowed and licked his lips. Emrys was silent, merely watching him and swinging his tail below the ledge.
“I don’t know what to do,” Gofiben finally spit out, pacing on the small ledge as Emrys watched him with sympathetic gold eyes. “There is no sign of Merlin and Morgana. I know I should probably go home, but there’s a pair of dragons under a nearby hill.”
“Gofiben,” Emrys called gently to draw his attention. “Yes there are dragons here, but we will be here for a long time. Neither of us can return home.”
“That’s not fair,” Gofiben sighed, collapsing to sit on the ground. He buried his hands in his hair and groaned. “Emrys, it feels like I’m supposed to be doing something more. The plague is still making people sick across the land yet I was barely trained as a mage.”
“You and Bran helped me make this prison,” Emrys reminded him as he tilted his head and made his horns drag along the rock. “Carved in dragon fire, but sealed with the power of mages. Neither of us will escape from here.”
“Wait,” Gofiben suddenly cut in with a frown. “You mean… you can’t leave either?”
“We sealed the mountain after I pushed the White Dragon in,” Emrys reminded him gently. “You and Bran used your magic and followed my instructions to make the stone immune to dragon fire. Unless the power of the Iron Realm fades away I do not believe that it will be possible for a dragon to leave this hill for thousands of years.”
“Then why did you- Emrys, couldn’t you have just thrown the White Dragon down here and left it at that?”
“I cannot leave him alone,” Emrys answered sadly as if regretting the current conversation. “I c
an keep him asleep: that is safest for us all. Hunger afflicts neither of us in your realm so not even that shall wake him.”
It was tempting to look down into the great cavern hidden out of sight and attempt to catch a glimpse of the terrible white dragon. He felt a bit sorry for the thing; wondered if it had gone through as much pain as Emrys when it came through. True it had been able to fly off, probably believing Emrys dead, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Emrys’ comment about no longer feeling hunger made him relieved and sad at the same time.
“You’ll trapped yourself here too,” Gofiben finally said, looking back at Emrys. “Why? Don’t you trust yourself?”
Emrys breathed out slowly through his nostrils, sending a wave of warm damp air over him. The dragon’s face tensed up and for a moment Gofiben believed that he’d pushed this tentative friendship a bit too far. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Emrys spoke first.
“No, I do not,” the dragon admitted softly, dropping his eyes. “There are stories of the effects of traveling to other worlds. Without your magic, you and I would be unable to understand one another; I would just be a great fear-inspiring creature that cannot die. Perhaps in the future, I will be: perhaps after being in your world too long, I shall lose my mind and become something quite unlike what I am.”
“I don’t believe that,” Gofiben insisted, speaking up before he’d thought about it. “You’re not like that Emrys. You crashed into our world by no fault of your own and have been nothing but kind and good to us.”
“The White Dragon was free while I recovered,” Emrys reminded him, his voice deep and rumbling in the cavern. “I have no doubt that he caused damage, nor should you. Perhaps he did not fall under the power of this Badb as she might have intended, but I failed to protect your world from him.”
“You put too much on yourself.”
“We are both defenders,” Emrys answered with a softening look. “You speak to me of feeling like you must do more: I understand, Gofiben. That is why I become a defender of my own realm; that is why I refused to stop fighting the White Dragon even when he slashed my wing. It is a part of me, and should it ever be stripped from me by the flaw of being trapped in your world I would have myself locked underground than above with your fragile fellow humans.”
“I don’t think that could ever happen to you.”
“Gofiben, the only constant in all the worlds is change. It occurs whether we like it or not,” Emrys informed him sadly, curling his tail up on his ledge. “It is why even though dragons are reborn with our knowledge, we are never the same. Death transforms, and each moment of a new life transforms us. We embrace this change, perhaps too much in some cases,” he added with a dark look into the vast blackness below. “And even I too in this darkness may change.”
They sat in silence after that for some time, both lost in their own thoughts. Gofiben was strangely comforted by Emrys’ words and wondered if he would be reborn again as someone else. He’d been Arto before so who would he be next?
“You spoke of a magical sword that brought us here; forgive me but you seemed concerned about it,” Emrys questioned suddenly.
“Cathanáil; the first Iron Soul made it. Badb stole it and that’s why Morgana and Merlin ran off after her,” he muttered more bitterly than he wished to. “It’s very powerful: I don’t think they knew it could do something like that.”
“It sounds as if the sword is attuned to the fabric of your world,” Emrys pondered, “I suspect that power was imbued in it by your predecessor.”
“I suppose.”
“Have you considered trying to replicate it?” Emrys asked curiously. “From our conversations, you have a solid understanding of the magical basics of your realm and you are the Iron Soul’s current form.”
“You… you think I could make another Cathanáil?” Gofiben asked before he stepped back from Emrys, a dark thought flooding his mind. “So that you could go home?”
Emrys straightened up and snorted, looking offended, but he shook himself lightly and relaxed. His talons scraped at the rock, and Gofiben gave himself and the dragon a moment to center themselves.
“No,” Emrys finally answered, “I cannot return home, and there is no need for you to make a sword, Gofiben.” Gold eyes met his own brown ones and he had the distinct sense that Emrys was rather excited. “You are a smith are you not? I suspect that you could make whatever you wished.”
“I don’t have a forge here,” Gofiben protested even as he felt his mind lighting up at the mere possibility of what Emrys was talking about. “There’s no way to achieve the heat necessary at the roundhouse, and I’m not sure I want to try infusing magic into metal down in the village.” He rubbed the back of his neck as his excitement turned to frustration. “I can’t do it without traveling.”
“Or perhaps Dragon fire might be of use,” Emrys suggested, lowering his head down to the ledge where Gofiben was standing. “I am able to control it.”
Gofiben stared at the dragon, trying to process the words. Then they all snapped into place and he stumbled back with a stunned, awestruck and exhilarated expression. Dragon fire: he could remember the flames that burned into the mountain in a small precise stream. The power and raw heat had so completely dwarfed his own magical flames that he hesitated to even think of them as anything alike.
“You… you would do that?”
“This realm is now my home,” Emrys replied with no small amount of resignation. “And the sad truth, Gofiben, is that I expect there to be many days in the future without any company. I would help you while you are still here for me to help.”
Swallowing, Gofiben nodded and stepped back. Mortality was something that was becoming increasingly difficult to think about. His new friend seemed unable to die and would linger for eternity, much like Merlin and Morgana he supposed, while he would die and be reborn into yet another life. Another life that would never be as important as his first one. He shook his head and looked back to Emrys.
“I’ll need to get some things, and we’ll need iron,” he explained as he looked around the cavern. “This isn’t ideal, but with Bran’s help I think we can make it work.” Emrys nodded and Gofiben smiled as he turned back to the tunnel. He raced down to the opening only to turn back around. “I’ll be back soon Emrys!”
“I thought as much,” the dragon laughed behind him as Gofiben began racing down the hillside, not even bothering to close up the tunnel.
He made it back to the roundhouse without even tripping once. Bran and Galath were both awake by the outer fire and looked up in surprise as he came barreling past. Galath was on his feet first, drawing his axe and looking around for a threat while Bran stumbled after him into the roundhouse.
“Gofiben, what is going on? Are you alright?”
“I’m better than alright,” Gofiben answered with a laugh as he began to look through the iron they had available. “Can’t use Galath’s axe, but we’ve got those two daggers,” he muttered to himself as he sorted through one of their bags for the spare weapons in question. “And that extra clasp too.”
“Wait, what are you doing?” Bran questioned in confusion. “Gofiben, slow down and explain.”
“Emrys brought up an interesting possibility this morning.” Gofiben forced himself to slow down. “He’s offered to help me forge my own magical item like Arto did with Cathanáil.”
“You’re making a sword?”
“No; not a sword, something else, something new!” He picked up his hammer and grinned at it. “I’m not sure what yet.”
“Wait, so you’re just going to take the iron and go to make something?” Bran laughed. “Gofiben, you aren’t even going to plan it?”
“I’ll plan it when I get up there, but I need to do something.”
“But without Merlin and Morgana to help-”
“I’ve been infusing magic into my work without meaning to Bran; if I’m trying to, then I know I can do this,” Gofiben shouted as he shoved everything into a bag and slung it o
ver his shoulder. “I just can’t…”
“Okay,” Bran offered with a hesitant smile. “Let’s go then,” he paused and chuckled. “But you know that Galath is going to insist on coming.”
“Yeah, I doubt we can give big brother the slip.”
“He’d start banging all over the hill until he found you.”
As if summoned by his name, Galath stepped into the roundhouse with a serious expression. “What happened?” he questioned as his eyes swept over Gofiben, checking to make sure he was okay.
“I’ll explain on the way,” Gofiben informed him, stepping past his brother to get outside.
“Wait,” Bran called out to him. “This may take some time; you explain to Galath and I’ll grab us some food and water.”