by J. M. Briggs
“Still… we chose the sword over the boys. That may have been the wrong choice, and if we had the Chalice… well, that’s one more item that we might choose to protect over the Iron Soul.”
“Do you think there will be another life?” Merlin questioned, turning towards Morgana and finding her eyes watery.
She didn’t answer him right away, but then he supposed there was no rush. Around them the wind made the trees sing a deep tune as their branches groaned and carried a faint whistle down from the mountains. The scent of smoke from the nearby village was tempered with the sharp clean smell of snow.
“Yes,” Morgana finally answered. The word was strangely loud. “Sadly I do. I can feel it.”
“You don’t usually rely on feelings.” Merlin sighed. “Though I am inclined to agree.”
They were both silent again and Merlin had no doubt that Morgana, like him, was wondering when and where they’d find the next Iron Soul. Her talent for scrying could be useful now that they knew what they were looking for, but the Iron Soul might return far away. His knowledge of the southern lands was rather limited and he knew from traders in his youth that the world extended much further. It was a frightening task, and they still had to worry about protecting Cathanáil even if they couldn’t find the Chalice.
“Merlin,” Morgana whispered, her voice nearly lost on the wind. “Maybe we should give Cathanáil to Cyrridven. She can protect it.”
He felt an icy rush of fear and confusion down his spine at the suggestion. It was terrifying that she would say those words. Even as a part of his mind whispered the wisdom of her suggestion, another part of him fiercely railed against it.
“This won’t happen again,” Merlin protested. He shook his head and looked at Morgana in surprise. “We’ll be on our guard.”
“It’s not that.” Morgana toyed with the edges of the cloak with downcast eyes. “Galath isn’t wrong you know. We told Gofiben and Bran that we would help them; that we would guide them, but in the end, we didn’t.”
“We had to protect Cathanáil. There was no telling what Badb might have been able to do with it. We had an obligation to Arto; to the world, to protect the sword.”
“We also had an obligation to those boys,” Morgana reminded him as she looked out across the rolling hills.
It was all he could do to stay still and silent. Morgana’s grief had made her frighteningly calm, almost as if she had lost Arto all over again. The whole situation was gnawing at him: there was the sense that the answer was just beyond his reach. Bran’s visions remained a mystery; at the end had the boy realized some hidden truth in them that compelled him to tell Galath where to hide the Chalice, as Gofiben’s brother had hinted? His instinct said that yes, Bran had found some sort of solution even as he and Gofiben were dying, but what had it been?
He wondered back on the odd visions that Bran had told them about: strange shining buildings much taller than anything he’d ever seen, people of different skin tones and strange sounds. The boy had certainly been confused, but it didn’t even sound like the great cities in the south or to the east. So what did it mean; what did Bran tell Galath to do? Merlin had the odd desire to tug at his curly hair in frustration. He was already going gray despite being apparently immortal and this was not helping.
“Merlin,” Morgana called to him, pulling him from his musings. “We have to let go of something, and I’d rather it be the sword.”
“We won’t always be able to protect the Iron Soul; there are no guarantees.”
“No there aren’t; if it is born again then there is nothing saying it might not be a terrible person, but we still have to try and make things work,” Morgana countered calmly. “And someday, that may mean helping their rebirth along.”
“You…” Merlin shook his head and stepped away from her. “Morgana…”
She shook her head at him and her eyes scanned the horizon. Glancing back at him, Morgana started to walk towards one of the nearby foothills. With a sigh, Merlin followed her in silence as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. He lost track of time as he focused on the steady sound of their feet crushing the snow. It was calming and distracted him from the tension in his shoulders. He knew that if he wanted to convince Morgana this was a mistake, he needed to speak now, but the words would not come.
Too soon they had hiked over the crest of one of the sharply sloped hills surrounding the snowcapped mountains. Below them was a small lake with snow up to the edge of the water. It was still and calm, and Merlin felt the urge to run, but Morgana carefully made her way down to the water’s edge. He swallowed thickly and reached back to brush his fingers over Cathanáil’s sheath. There was a soft hum of magic even though the leather and he felt his heart pounding. For a moment Merlin felt dizzy and lost. His feet slipped on the loose rocks and snow, and he nearly tumbled down the hill just as the water of the lake surged up as Cyrridven arrived.
Morgana caught his arm and Merlin ignored Morgana’s concerned look as he studied the flow of the water. He’d always been amazed by Cyrridven’s power over water, but his experience in Badb’s water tunnel had added a new dimension to his understanding. One that he wasn’t sure he had ever wanted. Cyrridven stepped forward, the streams of water weaving together into a humanoid form and a flowing gown. Her features were beautiful with small black and blue lines across her bronze skin drawing attention to the pair of startling green eyes. Long black hair hung around her shoulders in gentle waves. Small glowing droplets of water on her circlet illuminated her face as she smiled sadly at the pair of them.
“Merlin, Morgana.” She nodded to each of them in turn. “My condolences on the passing of the Iron Soul.”
“Do you think it will be reborn again?” Morgana asked.
The Old One’s eyes took them both in, and Merlin saw Morgana shift uncomfortably. She’d never been completely at ease with Cyrridven, though apparently, Morgana did trust her. Then Cyrridven nodded once again, a sad expression taking over her face. She folded her hands in front of her and looked over at him.
“Indeed: I see no reason to believe that Arto and Gofiben are isolated occurrences. They were merely part of a cycle that is already beginning again.”
“Do you mean to say he has been reborn already?” Merlin asked a hint of terror in his voice.
“No.” Cyrridven shook her head and smiled reassuringly. “I only mean to say that with his death the process of his rebirth has begun. I do not know when or where he will reappear, or if his powers will reemerge. Such things will happen in their own time, and depend on if the Iron Realm needs its champion.”
“That is what we feared,” Morgana admitted with a soft exhale. “Cyrridven, would you… can you protect Cathanáil?”
A look of honest surprise overtook Cyrridven’s face; an expression that Merlin did not believe he’d ever seen on her. She looked between them both, but he felt her eyes linger on him much longer. “You fear that another will try to take the sword? That is a wise concern. Yes; I could guard the sword. I am an ally of the Iron Realm so it should not harm me, and my own power should hide its magic.”
There it was then, Merlin conceded. He knew that it was a necessary precaution: they needed to be able to focus on the Iron Soul and the sword was a distraction. Looking towards Morgana, Merlin felt a spark of anger; wondering how she could part with Arto’s creation. But her eyes were fixed on Cyrridven, and he noted that she was clutching at her robe. This was not easy for her either then. He sighed and nodded softly in understanding.
“Pragmatic as always Morgana,” Merlin whispered to her. “The Queen did you no favors.”
Pulling Cathanáil from its sheath, Merlin took a long moment to study the blade. The style of swords had already begun to change slightly, and he knew from his unplanned journey that decoration and size varied, but to him this was The Sword. It eclipsed all others in every way. Cathanáil was the perfect size and shape and had the ideal balance. Despite being made of iron the blade was smooth and gleamed i
n the sunlight. Just over two feet long with its golden hilt; it was beautiful, but he forced his arms to extend and hold it out to Cyrridven.
His mentor smiled softly at him, that all-knowing and gentle look that he’d long come to associate with her. She did not reach for the sword right away but instead raised one hand to brush over his cheek. A slight electrical shock sailed through his body before she dropped her hands.
“I will guard it with all my might,” Cyrridven promised with a deep nod. “And I trust that you will do the same for the Iron Soul.”
“We will,” Morgana agreed with a nod. “We will help and guide them to the best of our abilities.”
“It will not always be easy,” Cyrridven reminded them, looking sadly between the two of them. “The Iron Soul is at its core very human and is capable of good and evil to the greatest extent of any human. You may find the path you walk to be a very trying one.”
“Yet it seems to have been decided that it is our path,” Merlin muttered as he looked down at the blade in his hands.
Cyrridven gently took the blade in both of her hands, one on the hilt and the other on the blade. Forcing himself to release his own grip, Merlin swallowed and took a shaky step back from the edge of the water. With a smile, Cyrridven drifted away from the shore, sending small waves lapping at the rocks. She shifted the sword, raising its tip and clutching the golden hilt with both hands. Looking at each of them in turn, she nodded, and the water around her began to churn softly as she began to descend back into the water.
Cyrridven kept Cathanáil lifted towards the sky as she sank into the lake and out of view. The sunlight glistened off of the sword and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the hand holding the sword above the waves. Then Cyrridven vanished completely, and Cathanáil slipped out of view into the waters.
“We’re done here,’ Morgana announced wistfully. “Galath will tell us no more.”
“You want to give up on finding the Chalice?”
“We have no proof that it is real and no knowledge of where to look,” Morgana sighed as she turned her green eyes on him. “Perhaps for now, we should let it go. Galath’s statements seem to hint that we will find it when the time is right.”
“You don’t sound certain of that,” Merlin huffed.
“I’m not,” Morgana admitted with a shake of her head as she began to turn away from the lake. “But then I’ve been certain of few things in my life. It seems that the magic of the Iron Realm has decided on our purpose.” She began to walk away, calling over to him, “It’s late Merlin.”
Nodding, Merlin swallowed and turned to follow Morgana. Part of him wanted desperately to turn and look back at the lake, though there was no reason to believe that Cyrridven was still there. No, he told himself; she was already long gone and hiding Cathanáil from any other Old Ones that might seek to abuse it. He put one foot in front of the other and followed Morgana over the crest of the hill, away from the village where Galath was currently living.
He didn’t know where they were going, but he supposed that it didn’t really matter. There was a wait ahead for them, but at least now they knew what they were supposed to be doing with their immortal lives. It was a sad and bitter purpose, the idea of guiding Iron Souls and losing them to their deaths, but it was a purpose. Inhaling deeply, Merlin straightened up and nodded to himself, falling into step beside Morgana and allowing her to choose their next destination. After all, they had time.
34
Welcome Home
She probably should have waited until the sun was up. Probably should have waited until Bran was awake, but instead, Alex had just written a note and packed up a bag before slipping away from the dorms. Merlin would be really frustrated at her, but Alex couldn’t stay in Ravenslake any longer. She’d managed a few hours of sleep before a nervous knot in her stomach woke her up. It was no mystery what she was uneasy about and Alex couldn’t bear just to linger.
The sun came up only a few minutes into her trip, allowing Alex to relax a little. She kept glancing towards her phone waiting for the inevitable phone call or text from the others. All around her the curvy roads and tall snow dusted trees made her feel isolated and Alex found herself using breathing exercises to stay focused on driving. When she finally hit the interstate near Albany, Alex pulled over just long enough to send a text to the others that she was on her way home along with a reminder to Nicki to keep her updated on Aiden.
Traffic gradually picked up and gave Alex something else to focus on. Her head began to feel heavy and she wondered again if she shouldn’t have waited to get more sleep, but the knot of nerves in her stomach fluttered once again. The day stretched on and Alex was finally forced to stop for lunch and sent another series of texts to alert her friends to her progress. None of them were calling, which she was grateful for, and Nicki kept her one text to a simple update on Aiden: he was out of the ICU and in a normal room while they kept trying to find something wrong with him.
The sun was already setting. It was the shortest day of the year Alex reminded herself, as she navigated her way through the Spokane roads that led to her home. Around her car, Christmas lights were flickering on like runway lights as she passed. Her family’s dark gray and blue trim house came into view around the stocky pine trees and Alex let out a sigh of relief. Matt’s car was parked in front of the house and there were tracks in the snow leading to both doors of the garage. White lights were strung around the lowest roofline and around the porch railing. It wasn’t the neatest decorating job in the neighborhood, but Alex couldn’t help but smile as she brought her car to a stop.
As she stepped out of the car, almost falling over thanks to her sore muscles, the porch light turned on and the front door opened. Her mom appeared with a surprised expression that transformed into a wide smile. A flurry of snow blew off the roof and the porch light highlighted the faint hints of gray in her mother’s blonde hair. For a moment Alex was frozen in place as she just soaked in the sight of her. Then her mom stepped out of the house towards her with open arms.
“Mom,” Alex sighed gratefully as the woman swept her up in a tight hug.
“Oh sweetie, we were starting to worry that you wouldn’t make it home,” her mother cheered, rocking her slightly. “You should have called to let us know you were on the road!”
“I’m sorry,” Alex whispered as her throat tried to tighten up. “I was just in a hurry to get home. I missed you so much!”
“Okay,” her mom said, releasing her and brushing gently at her cheeks. “I’m glad you’re home. Your father is out grabbing a few things I’m afraid, but come inside and the boys will get your things.
Alex was shuffled into the warm and bright house quickly by her mother. She inhaled deeply the moment she was inside. Her childhood home still had the undefined mixture of scents that something in her bones just recognized, but on top of it was the smell of a cooking roast, the hint of cookies and the thick aroma of an evergreen. Tears sprung to her eyes and Alex felt her knees tremble, but she kept the tears from falling and moved further into the house. A loud bark of excitement and the sound of claws clicking against the tiled kitchen floor made Alex grin.
Dropping to her knees, Alex ran her fingers through Anne’s thick fur as the golden retriever rushed up to her. Anne happily barked at her and shoved her face up into Alex’s. She spluttered as the dog licked all over her cheeks and tried to keep from laughing too much. Thankfully, Anne dashed away from her with a happy bark and ran through the kitchen and down the hall before spinning around and running back.
“She’ll calm down soon,” her mom promised with a laugh, tugging Alex to her feet and pushing her into the living room. “Sit down,” she instructed before marching over to the staircase. “Boys! Your sister is home!”
Noisy, almost thunderous footfalls upstairs moved over her head and to the stairs. Alex shoved her face against Anne’s coat and allowed herself another moment to regain some control as her brothers came downstairs. The sound of
someone’s feet hitting the bottom of the stairs was her cue and Alex stood up with a smile.
Eddy grinned widely at her, jumping up to stand in front of her and compare their heights. Alex realized with a jolt of horror that he’d finally caught her and could tell the moment he realized it. A horrible grin took over her brother’s face and Alex sighed in defeat. Eddy had caught up to her and at fifteen there could be no doubt that he had at least one more growth spurt in him. His blond hair was overdue for a haircut and their mom’s brown eyes were bright with energy. To Alex he looked wonderful and she surged forward to wrap her arms around the baby of the family.
“Glad to see you too sis,” Eddy teased though there was some real surprise in his voice.
Alex released him and turned her attention to her other brother. Matt, on the other hand, was only a little taller than Alex and he frowned at Eddy, no doubt already figuring out that the baby brother was going to pass him too. He took more after their father with his brown hair and gray eyes. There was the beginnings of a mustache under his lip and Alex nearly laughed at the mental image of what her brother might look like with one. Unlike Eddy, he stepped forward instantly to hug her, wrapping Alex up in a big hug.