Merlin's Shadow (32 page)

Here? Fog was here? He rose, unsteady on his feet from the effort, went to the flap and looked out … and all over the moor the fog rose, covering the land in a thick whiteness. What was the fog doing here? The orb still blazed before him, and he looked deeply into it once more — and the same thing was happening to Merlin — the clouds churned in the far-distant sky, and a fog began to leach its way across the sea. So he had called it forth in both places.

Mórganthu coughed gleefully. The power of the fang had worked!

Ganieda sneezed and pulled her cloak tighter. The gray clouds had only thickened since setting out, and now they seemed to press upon her, mirroring the sadness choking her heart.

The strange thing was that each step seemed to bring forth wisps of fog from the ground, as if she were puncturing the earth and causing it to bleed white blood into the air.

She passed by a marsh on the right, and not only did its rich stink fill the air, but claws of fog coursed from it too — spilling over onto the land and reaching out to her. Walking over the next hill, she halted. The entire valley before her was filled with fog. She spun around, and it was the same everywhere. No matter where she turned, the mist crawled up the hill.

And which way had she been heading? She made her best guess
and set off down the hill. It wasn't more than a score of steps, and the fog covered her head. She could hardly see, and had to make sure not to trip. And the fog deepened the chill, so that she sneezed again. How long would it take her to find Grandfather's tent? Behind her, she heard a great snuffing sound. Scratching noises. Distant laughter. The grunts of strange beasts. All chasing her.

She ran, hardly daring to look behind and seeing nothing in front save the whiteness, which she tried to swipe away. But it was never ending, and the great breathing sounds at her back set her heart to racing even faster than her feet could carry her.

T
he onrushing men made the pier tremble underneath Merlin's feet. “Get in!” he shouted.

Caygek pounded down toward them — the mob of axe-bearing warriors close behind.

Garth was already in the boat inspecting its steerboard, and Peredur jumped in next to him, awkwardly helping Kensa down. Bedwir stood beside Merlin and drew his blade.

“There are too many,” Merlin yelled. “Get in!”

Bedwir hesitated.

Aulaf saw the commotion and hid behind his stack of herring barrels, giving Merlin an idea. The barrels measured about two feet long and half that in diameter. He grabbed one and rolled it as fast as he could down the pier. He picked up another as Bedwir rolled one down, and soon they had three barrels hurtling toward the men.

Caygek, running singly on the pier, jumped over the first and dodged the next two.

When the barrels rolled toward the warriors, however, the men tripped and ran into each other trying to avoid them. The entire front line went down.

Caygek made it into the boat as Merlin and Bedwir each rolled another barrel down. But one of Atle's warriors vaulted over the cask and was rushing down the pier.

“Get in!” Merlin called, pulling Bedwir's blade from his belt.

Bedwir obeyed while Caygek hacked at the rope tying them to the pier.

The axe-wielding warrior jumped to a fighting position in front of Merlin, who jabbed with his sword.

The warrior caught the tip of the blade from underneath using the haft of his axe, lifted it up, and slammed Merlin in the chest with his head.

Merlin fell, and the boards of the dock groaned and shuddered under the impact.

The warrior stood above him, stepped on Merlin's sword arm, and raised his axe to strike.

Merlin shifted and rammed his knee into the man's calf.

The warrior stumbled as he swung, and the axe blade came down on the dock, cutting into the bottom of the bag that held the Sangraal.

Merlin yelled, grabbed the warrior's leg and pulled him down, dumping him off the pier.

As Merlin scrambled to his feet and jumped into the boat, the Sangraal slipped out of the hole in the bag and fell.

Merlin grabbed for it and missed. It hit the water on its side, and the bowl sank.

He lunged half over the rail and stuck his arm in the water, but the Sangraal slipped through his fingers and was gone.

More warriros were running toward them, and Merlin fell back into the boat, defeated. Colvarth had given the Sangraal to him, and now he had lost it. Ah, but the thing would only be a worthless burden to carry around. He hadn't wanted it in the first place, and so good riddance.

Garth had already raised the mainsail halfway when Aulaf shouted at them, “Hey, take these … water and herring.” And he rolled four barrels clunking into the boat.

The warriors were almost upon them.

Peredur raised the anchor and Garth lifted the sail. The wind took it full, and they pulled away smartly from the dock.

The warriors shouted from the edge for a moment, and then ran back to the large sailboat.

Merlin gave the sword back to Bedwir.

“They'll catch us!” Caygek shouted.

Merlin wanted to knock him down, but held his hand. “And if they do, it's your fault. You nearly got us all killed!”

“How was I to know some of the guards were in the village? Digon saw me and gave the hue and cry.”

“And so you had to lead them to us, huh? Thankfully, their boat has a broken rudder.”

Caygek snorted. “I couldn't outrun ‘em … so just drop me off down the coast.”

“We're headed for the open sea. North.”

“But —”

“You want to be dropped off in Pictland? If Arthur's life weren't in danger, I'd sail south to let you off — believe me, I would.”

The druid's hand made a move for his sword, but Garth stepped over. “Whether you like it or not, you're one o' us again. Now help raise the headsail, or they'll catch us, rudder or no.” Garth pointed. The warriors on the pier had raised their own sail and had set out after them.

Caygek and Merlin both helped to raise the sail on the front mast, tying the ropes down, and this increased their speed. But the other ship raised its headsail too, and the warriors gained on them. Merlin was glad none of them were archers.

The bay before them widened, and Garth steered the boat, strangely, toward a small island of rocks that showed its gray and scrubby head above the water.

“What're you doing?” Merlin asked. “Don't strand us!”

Garth didn't answer, but kept his eyes swiveling back and forth from the island to the boat behind. The warriors had sailed directly behind them now, and the big boat overshadowed the stern of the curragh.

Merlin panicked, wishing he hadn't given his blade to Aulaf.

The enemy warriors prepared to jump.

Kensa handed a long oar to Merlin. “Kop dem in de luggers!” she shouted, her hat balanced precariously on her hair.

Grabbing the oar, he lifted it and knocked a jumping warrior into the drink. Garth turned the boat then, just in time to avoid the island, and the next jumping warrior missed and sunk, flailing out his hands as he splashed cold water across Merlin's chest.

The big boat, unable to steer, ran its bow, onto the rocks, cracking the wood. The boat tilted and began taking on water.

The warriors yelled, but there was nothing they could do.

“Landy softs,” Garth was heard to say. “Should not ha' come sailin' without a rudder. They don't know a clam's shell what they're doin'.”

Merlin patted Garth on the shoulder.

They sailed onward until a hazy dusk fell over the water, much earlier than Merlin had expected. The sun never set this early in Kernow.

Only then did Merlin get a chance to really study the boat. It was different from the wooden-hulled fishing boat they'd crossed the Kembry Sea with six months earlier. When the waves hit that boat you heard them loud and clear — but this boat was quiet, the oxhide skin first stretching, the wooden ribs then compressing, with only a bit of creaking and complaining. In fact, the boat almost undulated in the water like a stiff snake — for its ribs were, after all, only held to each other, to the spine of the ship, and to the rail by tough leather straps.

And the leather hull was only three times the thickness of his boots.

How could a boat like this survive in the open ocean? Had he been daft to have them jump on board? Maybe facing the axe-laden warriors would have been safer. They could have pled for mercy and gone quietly back to Atle's hall. Sure, they probably would have all been shut up in Kensa's prison cell, but at least they'd be alive.

As it was, Merlin worried that he'd doomed them all to a swift, watery grave.

So he tried not to think about the boat, and looked up at the stars, which Garth was using to guide them on their journey. At first the clouds were thin enough to let a few cheery points cast their light — but soon a gray mass rolled in and thickened. No stars could be seen at all.

Then a fog arose upon the water. All had seemed clear when Merlin bent down to help secure the barrels with the other ballast of stowed rocks. When he stood again, their ship was nearly suffocated in a thick bank of whiteness.

He immediately loosened the ropes holding the sail to let it slacken.

Garth left the helm and grabbed his arm. “Why'd you do that?”

“I don't want us getting lost,” Merlin said. “If we can't tell which way is north, we can't steer, and this fog makes it even worse.”

Garth pulled the rope from Merlin's hands. “The wind's from the west —”

“But —?”

“I know, you thought we were headed north. But the waves are goin' the wrong way. We'll have to go north-wester-like till the current pleases.”

“Won't we get lost without the stars?”

“The wind's light, but seems to be holdin' steady,” Garth said. “If it keeps like that, we can still make progress, even in the fog, and if we get a little lost, we'll have to leave Arthur in God's hands. Our only other option is to just sit here until the fog clears.”

“How long could that take?”

“Who knows. Maybe days. I've seen fog-frettin' last weeks.”

Merlin shook his head. Days? Weeks? Merlin helped raise the sail again, and the boat kept up its speed. The fog drifted by in ragged splotches, and ahead of them all was white. At first Merlin was glad they were moving, but soon a fearful knot tightened in his stomach: the fear of not knowing what lay ahead of them. “What about rocks?” he finally asked. “We could crash.”

Garth put his face right up to Merlin's, dew dripping off his hood and nose. “Do you want me to wait till the fog clears, or what? Just say it.”

“Keep going,” Merlin said — but it was hard not to tell him to roll up the sails and float the anchor. He'd trusted so completely in himself and his own ability to fix their problems during the last six months that it was difficult to put himself so entirely into God's hands — or anyone else's. He wanted to pray for Arthur. Pray for their own safety. Desperately, he did. The angel had said that Merlin was wayward, and it was true. His soul felt dry, beaten, and lonely.

He fell down upon the wooden ribs of the boat, hugged his knees, and whispered out to God, “Don't let me go, Father. Hold me in your mighty hand and help me to hold on to you. Please, Father …”

Mórganthu cursed as he looked into the orb, for the fog hadn't slowed Merlin down. If anything, they moved confidently forward, skimming over the waves, with that insufferable Garth at the helm: unseeing and uncaring what awaited them.

Ah, but Mórganthu knew what was coming, for he'd planned it. A storm! A storm to drown them all to the grimy ocean bottom! He could picture their bones picked clean by fish.

With his stump upon the fang, he called forth yet again:

And even as Mórganthu strength waned from the effort, he saw within the orb the winds pick up, and the mast of their little ship bend. “Aha!” he gloated — until his own tent began to shake as a powerful gust of wind blew past. Then it began to rain.

“What! Not here as well. Not again!” he said, as the whole tent tilted to the side and strained against its moorings.

Merlin held on as the boat was tossed like a rag caught in the wind, the power of which had risen so suddenly that his heart nearly leapt into his lungs.

“Lower it,” Garth shouted at the sail, “or the mast'll break!”

Merlin crawled toward the rope that held the mainsail's crossyard in place, but a giant wave caught the ship, and he fell over onto his side. The boat tilted. He grabbed the leather straps that held the ribs of the boat together and narrowly avoided being thrown into the water.

The wave lifted them high into the air. Garth worked the steerboard frantically, and turned them toward the rush of the water. The boat now lay upon the very top, and then, slipping to the edge, pointed downward. Merlin yelled at God for getting them into this, yet he didn't know if he could even be heard over the crash of water. The boat sped into the valley. He closed his eyes as cold water splashed him across the face.

“The sail!” Garth yelled. “Drop it!” He angled the boat once more to face the next oncoming wave.

Merlin sat up, pulled himself forward, and untied the rigging. The wind was so fierce that the line almost ripped out of his hand. But Caygek was there, and helped grab on. Together, they let it out as slowly as possible, dropping the mainsail's crossyard about three feet, until the mast ceased to bend before the wind. While Caygek held it in place, Merlin tied it down again.

Bedwir did the same for the headsail, and then it was time for another wave. The boat rose, slowly at first, but then higher and
higher, water crashing over the bow until they reached the crest. The boat shuddered, hesitated, and then dropped down with maddening force.

Merlin's stomach lurched.

At the bottom of the valley, Garth called to the front of the boat. “We need a sea anchor! Do we have an extra sail?”

Peredur dug into the leather-covered bow of the boat. “Here's a ripped one,” he called back. Garth nodded, and they passed it to him.

“What's a sea anchor?” Merlin asked as Garth frantically tied the old sail to a rope, tied the rope to the boat, and threw it out the back. But there was no time to answer, for the boat rose upward yet again. At the top, the gusts whipped Merlin's hood back, and the rain blinded him for a moment. The boat hung precariously over the edge of the wave, wobbled, and then plummeted once more. This time the sea anchor slowed their descent, allowing Garth to keep better control.

But the crashing waves and pouring rain came with their own price. The boat had begun to fill with water.

“We need to bail,” Caygek called, fruitlessly trying to find something to use.

Merlin helped search for something to bail with — at the sides of the hull and in the stern — but found nothing. If they didn't do something soon, the boat would sink.

Garth tapped him on the shoulder. “Your sack is leather … dump your food in my bag and use your sack!”

And the boy was right. He untied the bag, opened it up … and fell backward in shock.

The Sangraal.

The boat rose again on the next wave, and Merlin had to hold on for the descent. When the boat steadied, he looked again — and it was true. The Sangraal sat in his food bag, half submerged with the grain. But he had dropped it in the water! It couldn't be there, but there it sat, its dark wood staring at him, daring him, and searing his mind with its utter uselessness.

Natalenya lay dying back in Briton.