The Old Magic (14 page)

Three turns of the hourglass to lunch. Six turns to dinner. Three more turns to bedtime, then start again. Each day was exactly
like the last, until Merlin’s head felt stuffed to bursting with the knowledge it now contained.

“Why do I have to memorize all these incantations if I’ll never have to use them?” Merlin grumbled. He gazed at Frik mutinously.
By now he’d graduated to lighting torches on the walls and fires in the fireplace with a single command, and he was tired
of all of it. The Land Under Hill had lost its novelty value, and Merlin had begun to miss the freedom of the forest and his
animal friends with a distracting intensity. He wanted
out
—back to the world in which he’d grown up.

“We cannot always guarantee how far we will proceed in our studies,” Frik said pompously, “try as we may. Therefore, every
step along the path leading to the exalted heights of the Wizardry of Pure Thought must be scaled. You’re doing quite well
in Unnatural History and Technical Hermetics. As soon as you become proficient in summoning fire, we can proceed to memorizing
the Twenty-Seven Basic Incantations for Most Purposes.”

“What fun,” Merlin said, sighing.

Every evening now, Merlin went to the Great Hall for his dinner.

The Great Hall was a daunting place. Its silvery walls soared hundreds of feet into the air, toward a ceiling lost in shadows.
High narrow windows of stained glass glittered with deep rich colors, flaring to brightness when sprites outside flew past
them. Between the windows, the walls were hung with banners, each of which glowed with complex and unfamiliar heraldry. One
was bright gold, with three hearts and three lions marching across it. Another was blue with a single golden lion. One had
thirteen gold crowns on a blue field, another a bright golden woven star on a red field, and another, whimsically, had three
silver mice on a black field, a speckled chevron dividing them. The walls of the Great Hall were bright with griffins and
leopards and hawks, suns and moons and stars.

“All the devices which you see were borne by knights in my service,” Mab told him proudly.

Merlin was seated at Mab’s right hand at the long refectory table that filled the Great Hall. The table itself was a single
sheet of black glass, yards long, that hung in midair without any visible means of support. Merlin was not able to count the
number of chairs around it. Every time he tried he lost count. But no matter how many chairs there were, the only ones that
were ever occupied were his and Mab’s. Frik did not join them; at mealtimes the gnome transformed himself into the perfect
servant, and waited obsequiously on the pupil he usually badgered. His behavior puzzled Merlin, but it didn’t seem possible
for him to ask Frik about it.

“What happened to them?” Merlin asked.

“They died,” Mab said in her husky serpent’s voice. “And left me all alone.”

I won’t leave you,
Merlin thought, but somehow he could not bring himself to say the words aloud. It was almost as if they weren’t true, though
he believed they were. The idea of becoming Mab’s champion was one that disturbed him more and more in a way he could not
quite explain.

“Tell me more about the Old Ways,” Merlin asked instead. Both Mab and Frik were quite willing to tell him that becoming a
great wizard meant bringing back the Old Ways. Mab and Frik spoke of them as if everyone knew what they were, but Merlin had
little idea of what the Old Ways involved save having the magical powers to do precisely as one chose. He was beginning to
realize that neither Blaise nor Ambrosia had ever discussed the Old Ways in any detail, and he did not feel comfortable exposing
his ignorance to the Queen of Fairy.

“In the old days we were worshiped,” Mab whispered dreamily, staring down into her cup of wine. “No king ruled save with our
consent—and in return, we saw to it that there was no lack. Everywhere there was plenty and contentment. …”

But Mab’s stories of a golden age of plenty and contentment only confused Merlin further. If everything had been so wonderful
in those days, why had anybody turned away from the Old Ways to follow the New Religion?

Time passed, and Merlin became more involved in his studies. He reluctantly mastered the Twenty-Seven Basic Incantations for
Most Purposes. He learned about Atlantis and Lemuria and drowned Lyonesse, about how to use mandrake root and unicorn horn,
about reading palms and reading minds. For a while he was even able to forget the peculiarities of the Land Under Hill, but
if half of him thought of it as his home, then the other half was homesick for the forest.

It’s just the way it was before, except in reverse,
Merlin thought sadly. When he’d lived in the forest, he’d longed for the Land of Magic, even though he hadn’t known that
was what he wanted. And now, in the Land of Magic, he longed to be back in the woods again.
It just isn’t fair,
Merlin thought, sighing. Wasn’t there any place where
all
of him would feel at home?

“Frik?” Merlin asked one day. “How do you know if you’re living a good life?”

“Good?” the gnome asked blankly.

“You know,” Merlin prompted. “How do you know if you are doing good? Living the right sort of life and acting with justice
and mercy toward everyone?”

Frik removed his bifocals and polished them briskly on the tail of his gown.

“What does justice have to do with anything?” Frik demanded irritably. “Oh, Master Merlin, I do hope you’re not too attached
to those sorts of ideas about good and justice and right. They’re for humans, not for wizards.”

“But Aunt A—”

Frik whisked around the table in an eyeblink and covered Merlin’s mouth before he could utter the fatal words.

“Mmmph!” Merlin said.

“I really do think it would be so much better if we just didn’t mention that name, don’t you?” Frik said hastily. “And as
you’ve been such a particularly good pupil, I’ve arranged a very special treat for you. A sort of a field trip. You’ll like
it.”

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked eagerly, willing to drop the ticklish subject for the moment. Frik might well have made
up this field trip on the spur of the moment to distract him, but after the length of time he’d spent in Mab’s palace, the
chance to see anything else was intoxicating.

“Come with me,” Frik said mysteriously.

With a shimmer Frik changed from his cap and gown to a new costume that included shorts, a butterfly net, and a tan-colored
hat shaped a little like a mushroom cap, and led Merlin out of the library and down a long hallway lined with dark gilt-framed
pictures of various notables wearing crowns and dour expressions.

Eventually they stopped before a large carved door.

“What’s in there?” Merlin asked.

“Open it,” Frik said.

Merlin pushed the door open. Despite all that he had seen here so far, he gasped in awe.

Through the door lay the trees of an enormous forest. The trees grew right up to within feet of the open door. Outside, the
day was dim and misty, and each tree was so tall that Merlin could not see the tops, for they soared into the mist and were
lost.

“This,” said Frik importantly, “is the Forest of the Night.”

“But it isn’t night,” Merlin pointed out.

“Well, of course it isn’t night,” Frik said fussily. “It’s never night here—not without sun nor moon it isn’t. ‘Night’ is
just a sort of expression. A metaphor, you might say, for the deeper reaches of the human mind.”

“The forest is in my mind?” Merlin asked, becoming more confused by the moment.

“No, of course it isn’t! It’s in
everybody’s
mind. Impossible boy,” Frik muttered to himself, striding through the doorway.

Merlin followed, and soon was caught up in the smells and sounds of the forest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the
woodland until he’d come here. Mab’s palace was lavish beyond his wildest imagination, but it was all indoors, and something
deep inside him chafed at the confinement. It was as if he couldn’t breathe freely except in the wilds.

Merlin wandered along happily through the trees for some time until he saw a flicker of brighter light up ahead. Though it
wasn’t night here, beneath the trees the light was so dim that the light ahead was quite distinct. He looked for Frik, to
ask him what it was, and realized he hadn’t seen his tutor for quite some time.

“Frik?” Merlin whispered. “Where are you?”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” a soft voice advised. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere. Don’t you want to go see what that light is?”

Merlin looked up in surprise, and saw a small wildcat perched on a tree branch above him, watching him with glowing green
eyes. Its soft thick fur was striped and speckled until it seemed to blend into the tree trunk. Its ears were tufted, and
its long plumy tail was ringed with black bands. Herne had told him about such creatures, but Merlin had never seen one until
now. They lived in forests far away to the north, where snow fell heavily all winter.

“Who are you?” Merlin asked.

“I’m the Cath Palug,” the cat replied. “I’m extremely well-known in some circles.”

Merlin looked back toward the light.

“Is Frik there?” he asked.

“Why don’t we go see,” the cat suggested. It backed down the tree, its claws scrabbling on the rough bark, then turned and
sprang into Merlin’s arms.

It was heavier than it looked, and its fur tickled Merlin’s nose. He shook his head and tried not to sneeze as the Cath Palug
climbed up onto his shoulder, balancing there by digging its heavy claws into his shirt.

“Let’s go that way,” the cat suggested, nipping at his right ear.

Without Frik to guide him, one direction was as good as another, Merlin supposed. Putting one hand up to balance the cat,
he began walking toward the light.

When he got closer, he could see that the bright light came from a ring of torches set around the edge of a large forest clearing.
He stopped, some instinct warning him of peril. As he crouched down, the Cath Palug jumped off his shoulder and padded off.
Carefully, Merlin peered through the bushes.

He was looking out into a wide forest clearing filled with people and baggage carts. The men in the clearing seemed to be
soldiers from two different armies. One group was tall, fair-haired men wearing heavy studded leather corselets over wolfskins
and leggings. They were bearded and wore their hair twisted into long plaits. They carried axes and long spears, and wore
gold neck rings and armlets.

The other group of men seemed to be their prisoners. They were shorter and darker, wearing elaborate bronze armor with kilts
and high sandals, and long red cloaks. None of them was armed, and only a few of them still had their crested helmets. Their
hands were tied behind them with strips of leather, and many of them were battered and bloody.

“I know these men,” Merlin whispered excitedly to the cat. The men in the bronze armor were
Romans
—but according to Blaise, the last of the Imperial Legions had left Britain long before Merlin had been born. How could he
be seeing them here?

The bearded men seemed to be arguing with each other in a language Merlin didn’t understand. The argument stopped when a tall,
grey-haired, bearded man in a long white sleeveless hooded robe walked into the clearing. The old man had coiled snakes tattooed
on his arms from shoulder to wrist, and he was barefoot. His robe was tied at the waist with a braided red wool cord, and
from the cord hung a golden sickle.

He must be a Druid,
Merlin thought excitedly. Long before he was born there had been many Druids in Britain and on the mainland, but most of
them had died off long before Merlin’s birth. This must be why Frik had brought him here to the Forest of the Night—to see
the Old Ways for himself. He parted the bushes, striving for a better view.

The old Druid turned toward the sound, and perhaps would even have investigated if one of the bound Romans had not chosen
that moment to make an attempt to gain his freedom. Instantly all attention was diverted toward him, with the bearded men
gathering around and clubbing the helpless captive with their spear-ends until he lay still. Merlin froze as well, as still
as any deer in the forest. He was beginning to realize that he would be in a very awkward and dangerous position if they happened
to see him.

As he watched, the Druid selected several of the captives, including the one who had tried to escape. These were separated
from the rest and remained in the clearing. The others were yoked together with wooden collars and leather ropes and herded
off behind the wagons until Merlin could no longer see them.

All this had taken place directly in front of Merlin, so he had not been paying much attention to things upon the periphery
of his vision. But now, at the Druid’s command, several of the warriors began dragging a large wooden platform upon which
stood a most peculiar object.

It was almost twenty feet tall, and carefully constructed from branches woven together. It was vaguely man-shaped, in that
it resembled the scarecrows the farmers around Barnstable put out in their fields to drive thieves like Bran away from their
grain. But this wicker man seemed to have a far more sinister purpose.

Its sturdy legs and the lower portion of its belly were filled with wood and brush, and its arms and head were filled with
livestock: pigs, chickens, goats, and rabbits. There was a sturdy door in the central chest cavity, which was pegged open.
The bearded warriors brought a ladder, and by means of threats and spear-points induced three of the Romans, carrying their
unconscious comrade, to enter the enormous basket that made up the chest area of the wicker man. Then they tied the door shut.

In the distance, Merlin heard a faint mellow sound, like a hunting horn blowing. Another answered it, and slowly a chair decked
with pine boughs and colored berries and borne upon the backs of several younger Druids made its way into the clearing. Sitting
in the chair was a woman dressed in white, wearing a golden crown set with amber and carved with the spiral and crescent symbol
of the Old Ways.