Merlin's Nightmare (The Merlin Spiral) (7 page)

He hugged her close, telling her through his touch how much he had missed her. Then he cupped her head in his hands, feeling her long brown hair, and . . . it felt funny, sticky. He sniffed the top of her head — it smelled like she’d slept with a flock of sheep.

“You’re making wool-grease again?”

She drew back so she could look at him. “The shearing was last week, and . . .”

“It smells awful.” Merlin looked away as memories came unbidden to him of his desperate journey to the land of darkness in the fragile, leather-hulled boat that had been coated in wool-grease: The waves crashing over the side . . . The boat shattering on the rocks . . . Arriving too late . . . Arthur dying at the hand of King
Atle . . . The Sangraal healing Arthur and raising him from the dead.

But Merlin’s hard memories had made him forget Natalenya, who turned his head so their eyes met once again. “Come back, my love. The grease gets everywhere, sorry . . .”

He pulled her close once again, leaned his head against hers, and whispered in her ear. “I’m the one who’s sorry. The past . . .” He shook his head. “You’re a hard worker, and the smell doesn’t matter because I’m home with you.”

“Tath!” Seven-year-old Tingada came running out of their crennig and latched onto Merlin’s waist.

Merlin freed one arm to wrap around the little girl’s shoulders. “Ah, my little beauty! Did you miss your tas?”

Tinga grinned up at him. With her top four teeth missing, her face bore an aura of mischief that belied her childish speech.

Merlin ruffled her brown, curly hair, thanking God again for blessing them with children when they had least expected it. The wait had only sweetened their present joy and deepened their love for Arthur — their son too, in heart if not in body.

At the moment, however, thoughts of the boy brought thoughts of the inevitable truth that loomed ever closer. One day soon he would have to tell Arthur the truth of his parentage and of his rightful role as the future High King of Britain. The vague answers he and Natalenya had always given him could not continue for long, and Tingada and twelve-year-old Taliesin were a balm against that difficult day of reckoning.

“Are you goin’ to stay, Tath?”

Merlin knelt, looked into Tingada’s green eyes, and patted her hair once more. Did he have to tell them? Did he have to ruin this moment? He wanted to stay for a week, a month, a year —

“No, Tinga, I can’t. King Urien has called us to battle, and as Ector’s bard, I must go too.”

“A battle?” said a voice from above. Merlin looked up onto the roof of their crennig. There, on the edge, six feet off the ground, stood Taliesin, with moppish black hair, a bright red tunic, and torn-off russet breeches. On his back he’d strapped a dull-edged sword made by Merlin, and his freckled hand went to it as he grimaced at them. “If there’s a battle afoot, then I’m ready!”

Merlin nodded up to him. “Yes, a battle.”

“Will there be blood?”

“I expect so.”

Taliesin jumped down, pulled his blade from his back, and attacked the broken-off trunk of a dead elm. “Got him!”

Natalenya put a hand on his shoulder, her gaze on Merlin. “A battle . . . ?”

“Picti.”

“But you’ve only just come. I’d hoped . . .”

From where he knelt, Merlin looked up to Natalenya, trying to let her know he was sorry.

Her brows knotted and worry flickered in her eyes.

“Caygek and Bedwir are mustering as many as can ride today, but I’m not leaving until the second muster, tomorrow after the mid-meal. So we’ll have time together — ”

“Not enough.”

Merlin stood and hugged her one more time. “Not enough.”

“Not enuffff!” Tinga announced as she and Taliesin joined the long hug.

Natalenya remained silent a long while, and then, with a sigh, pulled away to look at him one more time. “Well, we can at least enjoy the little time we do have.”

She led him inside, and the children followed. Merlin took the place of honor at the hearth by lying upon his sheared sheepskin rug, and after she cleaned the wounds on his arm and foot, they celebrated his homecoming with a dish of venison roasted in wild garlic chive sauce, fresh-baked bread, and raspberry-leaf tea to wash it down.

The bread alone eased his anxiety and helped him relax — hot and steamy with a dip made of honey, horseradish, and butter. Each bite made his home all the more real after his eight league ride from Luguvalium, and the horror of the wolf attack. And Natalenya was here, holding his hand. Tingada sat nearby, alternately munching a large piece of bread and combing his curly hair. Sitting across the hearth, Taliesin served himself up thirds of the venison dish, a broad smile above his greasy chin.

Merlin allowed himself to forget, if only for now, the reality of their situation.

Later, after the children had moved away from the table, Natalenya drew close and whispered, “The Picti, again?”

“Yes, but I’d rather not — ”

“Do you think it’s Necton?”

Merlin sighed and moved closer to Natalenya. “Now that he’s High King of the Picti and has added Guotodin to his kingdom, he doesn’t lead raiding parties.”

“What if this is more than a raid?”

Merlin sipped his raspberry-leaf tea before responding. “Of course it’s just a raid. Urien’s scouts would know. That’s why I’m allowing Artorius to come along. Dwin and Culann as well if their parents agree.”

Natalenya looked at him in disbelief.

“He’s ready. Ector agrees.”

“Not yet.”

“I understand how you feel, but he’s a man now.” Merlin glanced at the children to make sure they were out of earshot, and then lowered his voice. “He’ll never be king if he can’t fight. I don’t want this either, but it must be. It is his destiny.”

Natalenya swallowed and nodded. “It’s hard to let go.”

Merlin took her hands in his and closed his eyes. “I know.”

“I just don’t want you, or him, to be captured by the Picts again. The first time nearly destroyed us.”

“Our slavery is long past — and will never be again, so help us God. And now that we’ve helped Rheged become strong through her warhorses, it’s our task to prevent others from becoming slaves. Artorius needs to help now too.”

Natalenya stood and turned to face the wall. “You promised me when we chose to live here — so far north, so close to the Picti — you promised that you’d never unnecessarily risk yourself. I wish I felt otherwise, but I can’t help but worry you are doing just that now.”

“I won’t even be fighting. Bards don’t fight, you know that.”

“I also know that battles can be lost and bards can be taken.”

“Not apart from God’s will.” He stood and stepped behind her. “Natalenya,” he said, and she turned around in his embrace. “This is
something that Artorius and I must do, despite the possible danger. We can only put our trust in Jesu’s direction. Even now. Especially now.”

At the sound of running footfalls outside, they broke apart. Arthur burst into the crennig, bringing with him a whoosh of air that smelled of horse and sweat and dirt. “Can I fight?” he asked breathlessly.

“You promise to stay in the ranks and obey every command?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing reckless?”

Arthur shook his head.

Merlin glanced to Natalenya, and she squeezed his hand. Turning back to Arthur, he took a deep breath before speaking. “You’ll leave with the second muster, tomorrow.”

“I thought there was only one. Dwin and Culann have permission and are getting their gear ready I just can’t believe you finally said yes should I bring a shield a spear or a sword can we sleep in the stables tonight?”

Merlin didn’t answer at first in his amazement to see Arthur so happy. The energy radiating from him reminded Merlin of what he’d felt in Uther when they’d discussed ways to overthrow the druids. The young man’s dark chestnut hair was nearly shoulder length, like Uther’s had been, and though Arthur didn’t yet have the raw might of his father, it would come.

“Well?” Arthur’s brown eyes fairly bulged at Merlin’s delay.

“Yes, yes, and yes.”

“But . . . spear or sword?”

“Both.”

Arthur took a trencher, piled it with venison and bread, kissed Natalenya, and then ran off, the door banging behind him.

Taliesin stepped into the place where Arthur had stood. “Can I go too, Tas?” He had his sword out, and his brown traveling hat crookedly on his head.

Merlin pulled him close. “Not this time, but someday you’ll join me. Though not as a warrior . . . as a bard. Have you practiced your harp today?”

Taliesin frowned. “But, Tas! I’ve even strapped my knife inside my breeches in case I’m caught.”

“Practiced harp?”

The boy’s body sagged. “Yes.”

“And your Latin?”

“Um . . .”

“Your rhyming?”

“Yes!” he said, nodding.

Natalenya put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And he’s been learning a new song we made named ‘Tingada’s Cloak’ — haven’t you?”

Taliesin nodded.

“Well,” Merlin said. “I’ll have to hear it before I go.”

Merlin helped Natalenya clean up from the meal, but her silence made him feel awkward.

Finally, after he had buried the coals in the ashes for the night, she spoke.

“Merlin . . .”

He looked at her, and a tear hung in the lash of her right eye.

“Are you sure Artorius is ready?”

“Yes, as sure as I can be. Caygek’s drilled him expertly in the sword. Bedwir in the spear and shield. Peredur taught him horsemanship. Ector taught him battle tactics and how to lead. And I’ve passed on all the reasoning skills and knowledge that he might need from what Colvarth imparted to me.”

“But is he
ready
?”

“I don’t know.”

Natalenya wiped the tear away and gave a light smirk. “Did he show you his latest trick?”

“Just before I came . . . He’s so reckless.”

“I know.”

Natalenya fell asleep that night with a hand draped down, resting on Tinga’s curly head where she slept on a woolen mat beside her parents’ bed — listening to the wonderfully soothing sound of Merlin’s gentle breathing beside her, and beyond him on the floor, Taliesin’s.

She dreamt then, of Merlin and her in a boat on Lake Derwentlin while the summer sun shone down. As she reached out to him the dream shifted to her hand and his bound together with crimson ribbon. Colvarth stood before them, blessing their marriage in the name of Jesu Christus. The sweet, earthy smell of eglantine and musk roses filled the air, and Merlin smiled at her nervously, but with a light in his eyes that warmed her soul.

And Arthur celebrated with them, only two winters old then, but standing proudly with his little cloak thrown over his shoulder.

The images shifted. Darkness covered the world, and a child’s scream split the night air. Arthur!

Natalenya ran from her bedroom and through the dark great room, where the sound of her feet echoed upward to be muffled by the thatch roof. The crying drew her forward, pulling desperately at the deepest part of her. She heard a clicking sound, as though some taloned beast scuffled through the crennig.

She ran through the doorway of the stone wall to Arthur’s room and rounded the corner to face his bedside, her arms already held out to pick up the sobbing boy. But he wasn’t there.

Behind her, she perceived a scraping noise, and more clicking. She spun. Her bare foot hit some moisture, and in the pale moonlight she saw a trail of liquid drops making a path to the window. The iron bars Merlin had fitted had been cut and bent down. She knelt and touched the moisture with her finger. It was dark.

Blood. Arthur!

She screamed, startling herself awake, her chest thump-thump-thumping.

Merlin lay sleeping next to her, his handsome, scarred face barely visible in the darkness. She sat up and listened. The house was quiet. She reached down and felt Tinga’s warm cheek, and the little girl muttered in her sleep.

Biting her lip, Natalenya studied the room carefully as her heart
calmed down. But nothing was there. It had just been a horrible dream. Arthur was eighteen now, and sleeping in the stables tonight before the muster. There was nothing to worry about, so she lay back down and rolled over, resting her hand on Merlin’s shoulder.