CHAPTER 10
STRANGE MEETINGS
Merlin opened his eyes to see deep forest.
As his sight adjusted, he could clearly make out the details of his surroundings. He broke off an oak leaf and studied it in the low light that filtered through the trees.
Was it morning or evening? A vision or a dream?
Far off in the distance echoed the sound of someone sobbing.
He stood up from the grassy bower and scanned the trees in the direction of the cries but spied nothing.
A man’s voice cackled from behind. “You’ll never find ‘im!”
Merlin whipped around, suddenly conscious that he had neither staff nor knife.
On a boulder inside the mouth of a cave sat a man of grotesque proportions. Nearly twice the size of Merlin, he had muscled arms that bulged in comparison to his scrawny legs. In one hand he held a large knotted club that could crush Merlin’s head with one blow.
The man’s shirt and bright red pants were torn and stained. One of his legs was shrunken, and its foot stretched and bent. His back curved so much that upon reaching his neck it had bowed toward the ground again. To compensate, his skinny neck craned upward so his ponderous head appeared to float in front of him.
“Search as you like. Crom says you’ll not find ‘im. Hahaha!”
His tongue licked at a few remaining stumps of teeth in his rotting gums, and his bulbous nose jutted forth between tiny black eyes. From this monstrosity of a head hung great knots of moldy yellow hair, long enough to pass his knees, and maggots and flies crawled in and out of the thick strands.
Merlin stepped back. “Find whom?”
“You don’t know? Well ‘ee’s mine, an’ I won’t let ‘im go.”
Without moving his body, Crom snapped his neck forward so his mouth slavered within a few feet of Merlin, who cringed at the smell of decay. “I’ll et ‘im up one day. Maybe tonight. But before then, Crom Cruach thinks he’ll et you!”
His teeth clicked forward, and Merlin ducked. The club rose and whizzed down.
Leaping to the side just in time, Merlin again heard sobs coming from the wood behind him. He darted through the pines toward the sound, and Crom limped after, smashing down trees with his club. Merlin soon found he’d entered a steep-sided canyon through which the crying echoed down from above.
Crom roared with laughter just behind him.
Onward Merlin ran. His gaze raked the rock walls, searching for a way out, but there was none. Instead, the ravine narrowed.
Crom limped on behind, whacking the cliff so that chunks of rock cascaded from above.
In desperation, Merlin broke off the sharp end of a dead tree limb and tucked it into his belt. Coming to a young oak, he leaped up and grabbed a branch overhead, bending the entire tree with all his strength. He clutched the branch with both hands and crouched behind a nearby pine.
Keep coming, brute.
Crom stepped closer, his sneaky black eyes darting back and forth.
One more step …
Crom sniffed and shuffled forward. Merlin let go of the branch. The tree whipped upward, clouting the giant’s face, and Crom roared in anguish.
Merlin made a run for it, but an impossibly skinny foot jerked forward and tripped him. Before he could right himself, Crom picked him up by the scruff of his shirt and dangled him over his putrid mouth.
“You’ll not see ‘im again. Say good-bye, little crunchkin!”
Crom brought Merlin closer to his drooling lips.
Pulling the stick from his belt, Merlin jabbed it straight into Crom’s eye. “Let me go, beast!”
The monster shrieked. He flung Merlin down the valley, fell to his knees, and pulled the stick out of his bleeding eye.
Merlin hit the ground hard, which knocked the air from his lungs. By the time he struggled to his feet, Crom had risen as well. With spit flying, the creature declared, “Won’t just et you. Crom’ll rip your skin off while you scream to the bloody heavens!”
There was no way past him.
Merlin ran in the opposite direction and soon came to a small trickle of a stream. At the end of the ravine stood a rocky hillside from which the water dribbled down. The sobbing sounds floated down from above.
Up Merlin clambered. When he neared the top, Merlin turned back to see Crom scaling the cliff faster than seemed possible. The monster’s eye streamed red into his yellow hair, and he bellowed hideous threats. With a final burst of effort, Merlin pulled and kicked himself up the last few difficult feet until he could see over the ledge.
Not ten feet away sat a boy. His back was turned, but Merlin could tell he had red hair and wore a stained tunic and leather trousers. As the boy cried, he turned his head to the side, and Merlin saw blood and tears smeared across his face, all but obscuring the spray of freckles on his nose.
Was he Garth? Merlin studied the boy’s face, with pouting lips and faintly upturned nose. He couldn’t be sure, having never seen Garth properly. He called out, but the sobbing boy didn’t seem to hear as he stared at a bloodied bundle of cloths in his lap.
Merlin scrambled over the ledge as a flash of light filled the sky. All at once, between him and the boy stood the man dressed in white, the angel from his first vision. He spoke, and his voice shook the air like a thousand thunders.
“STAND STRONG, MERLIN!”
Crom roared from behind, too close. Panic welled up in Merlin, and he wanted to run, but he kept his gaze on the angelic figure before him.
“I tol’ you, little crunchkin,” Crom said, his breath like rancid fire wafting over Merlin, “that the boy is mine.”
As Merln turned to face the monster, a club thudded him on the head, and Crom pulled him back down the rocky slope.
Merlin yelled as he twisted away from the grip on his legs. He kicked violently, but they were held too tightly. He struggled to sit up, finally opening his eyes.
A vague blur moved toward him, and someone grabbed his shoulders. “Easy, boy. You’ll wake the High King himself with your bellowing.”
Merlin drew in a great shuddering breath. “Tas? Where am I?”
“In bed. The sun rises, and I just started my work, no thanks to you.”
Merlin touched his head; his right temple throbbed. “Crom hit me on the head …”
“What?” The blur he knew as his father’s face drew in closer. “Don’t you remember last night? Mórganthu, it was.” His father stepped away for a moment, then pulled up a chair.
“I recall walking with Gana … Oh … now I remember.”
His father slammed his hand on the table next to Merlin’s bed. “You caused a riot.”
“Me? And Mórganthu did nothing?”
“You swung first, rabbler.”
“Only after Prontwon was hurt.”
“Allun and Troslam helped me pull you —”
“I can handle myself!” Merlin sat up, but his head pulsed, and he almost fell over.
“Can you now?” Owain said. “After Mórganthu wrenched your staff away, he walloped you like hot barstock on the anvil. The druidow wanted to rip you to rags. We took you out.”
“What happened to … to …”
His father itched his beard. “To your friend? Mórganthu ended the meeting and announced he’ll speak again at noon today. Garth marched out with them like a dwarf legionnaire.”
“And Prontwon? How is he —”
Owain snorted. “Don’t know. I was worried about you. Carried you home. That Garth, he’s caused enough trouble!”
“You care too. Remember the bagpipe?”
“Stop risking your life.”
Merlin leaned back against the rock wall of the smithy. “And you’ve never risked yours? You’ve hinted of your past. Tell me, Tas.”
There was a long pause, then Owain cleared his throat. “I can’t.”
“Did you ever care about something enough to risk your life for it?”
His father drank from the pitcher and wiped his mouth against his sleeve. “Just for my family. Family is all that matters.”
Merlin felt a tightness in his chest, but he pressed further. “And the villagers have no families? Tell them what you know about Mórganthu.”
“You want me to preach like Prontwon? You’re more of a fool than I thought.”
Merlin couldn’t hide his excitement. “You’re respected, Tas. They’d listen —”
“Did that staff completely addle your brains?”
“You threw Mórganthu out —”
His father put a hand on Merlin’s mouth. “Why’d you bring Gana to the bonfire and leave her?”
“I —”
“Mônda and I came home — and I lugging you. But Ganieda was gone. Know where I found her?”
Merlin shook his head.
“At that Stone. Some of the druidow were guarding it, but a lot of villagers hovered around. Some were touching it.”
“Who?” Merlin was shocked.
“Grevin. Stenno. Priwith. And Olva brought her sick child. Two of Tregeagle’s men were there. I had to drag your sister home.” And then his father’s tone turned to a whisper. “Did you sense it? The Stone’s power?”
“You mean the flames?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. The longer I looked at the Stone … It’s hard to describe. It stirred something deep within me. I wanted to touch it, but I had to get Gana back.”
Merlin thought about the Stone. It had hurt Prontwon and enchanted Garth. How did it have such power? If only he could see it clearly, maybe he’d understand. “Are you going at noon?” He reached in vain for his father, who had risen.
“Yes. But early. I want to see the Stone without Mórganthu present.”
“I’m going too, then.” Merlin stood. His head still hurt, but he wasn’t about to let his tas go near that glowing rock alone.
“No more rabble-rousing?” His father’s tone felt like ice pellets.
“No lashing out. Promise. I’ve had enough lumps for a while.”
“Tregeagle might put you on a galley.”
“I thought about that.”
His father grasped Merlin’s shoulders and shook him gently. “Not enough!”
“I need you, Tas —” Merlin reached out and hugged his father, who stiffened at first but slowly hugged back, gripping Merlin’s head and hair in his calloused hands.
“Not enough, son. Not enough.”
Merlin’s first meal of the day was a poor one: the milk was sour, and there weren’t enough oats for his liking. No one else complained, but he was glad when Mônda took the dishes away and his father asked him to go to the nearby smokehouse and buy fish for their evening meal.
And the best part was that his father considered him healed enough for such a job.
Merlin wrapped his harp in its leather bag, swung it over his shoulder, and grabbed his staff. As he had numerous times before, he went out behind the house, climbed the slope, swung over the wall, and carefully found the worn track leading to the docks and marsh beyond.
This was the perfect time to go, as the fishermen would be out on the marsh, and the docks would be clear. After buying the fish, he could sit and think for a bit. Maybe play the harp. He followed his nose to the satisfying smell of the smokehouse, which lay near the shore of the marsh, next to the docks. Here Megek, an elderly fisherman, dried and preserved the fish others brought in from the wetlands.
The smokehouse was an old stone building divided in two — one half for curing the fish that hung over smoldering wood, and the other for gutting and cleaning the fish. An iron-plated door separated the rooms.
Merlin knocked on the outside door and tried the latch, but he found it locked. He called, but no one answered. Odd; Megek was always there during the day. As Merlin walked away empty-handed, he heard a woman’s voice from uphill.
A man answered her in a demanding tone. “Give me! Offered a pay ya for all o’ yar eiskes. The ard dre said.”
“You can’t have them,” the woman said. “These are for guests, I’ve told you already. Let go!”
By the sound of her voice, the woman was young and from the moor somewhere, but the man? Merlin thought he sounded Eirish.
“Stops askin’,” said a man whose voice rattled, “an’ sticks her wit’ a blade —”
“Shame, McGoss! Ask, take, then pay. No hurtin’! So lass, give! The crennig man said ya’d just bought his last.”
The woman screamed.
Merlin strode up the hill but marred his entrance by stumbling on a root. A mass of men in multicolored garb surrounded the woman. How many? Six? Merlin started to raise his staff … then put it down. He prayed God would give him wisdom to help the woman, as well as protect himself.
“Is something wrong? May I help you, ma’am?”
“I … ohh,” she began but stopped short.
One of the men peered into Merlin’s face. Somewhere metal slid against metal — maybe a sword from a sheath. “He’s short o’ sight. Look at his scars.” It was McGoss, with the rumble in his voice.
“Are they stealing your fish?” Merlin asked the woman.
“No, no, it’s all right. Really. I’m fine. Believe me.” But he detected a shrillness in her voice that belied her words.
He struck his staff on the ground, gripping it to hide the tremor in his hands. “Leave her and her fish alone. And we say fish with a p here in Kernow. Pyskes.”
The men moved around, and Merlin couldn’t keep track of them. Had someone gone behind him?
A hand grabbed the back of his tunic and jerked him up so the tips of his boots barely touched the ground. He felt empty air in all directions.
“Put me down.” He wanted to lash out but prayed instead.
“Since ‘ee’s a lad o’ the tongue,” the giant of a man said from behind, “let’s see if ‘ee knows to say ‘pummel’ wit’ a p.”
“Let me stick ‘im first” came McGoss’s voice.
“McEwan, what’s that on his back? Some sort o’ bag?”
Merlin reached to snatch the strap but missed as they pulled it from his arm. The wooden peg clattered on a rock at Merlin’s feet, and the foreigners hushed.
A new voice spoke. “McEwan, let ‘im down. Yar roughin’ a shanachie, an’ here’s ‘is harp.”
“Who cares?” McGoss said.
“I do,” the voice spoke again. “An’ while I lead, we’ll nay break the laws o’ our people.”
McEwan, the big man, dropped Merlin, and he fell on his feet, struggling for balance. Strong hands steadied him. He spun to defend himself, but the man had disappeared like a ghost. A blur of yellow moved below him. Was the big man on his knees?
“Forgive me, bard, for layin’ me hands on ya.”
Was this a taunt? Merlin was about to explain that he wasn’t a bard when another voice spoke.
“I’m O’Sloan, an’ I lead this band. Forgive us for botherin’ ya. An’ lass, for the bard’s sake, we bid ya well. Now out o’ here, lads.”
They placed the harp in Merlin’s hands — case, wooden peg, and all — and the colorful forms of the men disappeared.
“Who were they?” Merlin asked, hoping the woman knew.
She stepped forward, and the smell of smoked fish filled the air. “The question is, who are you? Every time I see you, Merlin, you surprise me. First you teach my brother a lesson. Then you’re whipped for Garth —”
“Natalenya?” Had he really just faced those men in her presence?
“And last night, other than Brother Prontwon, you alone stood up to that horrible druid —”
“You saw it?”
She placed her hand on his tunic, over his heart. “And now these warriors bow to you as a bard.”
Merlin’s face turned red. “It’s your harp! If they’d asked me to play, they’d have beaten me with it and taken your fish.”
“Well they didn’t, thanks to Jesu.”
Merlin nodded, his heart grateful. “Who are they?”
“Warriors. I’ve never seen their like — wild hair, armbands, jewelry, and beautifully embroidered jerkins over their tunics. The sides of their sleeves went down to their knees. Have you ever seen …”
Her words trailed off, and Merlin felt her staring at him.
“You’re so brave.” She pushed away the curly black hair that partially hid his scars. “I saw you in chapel all those times, and I never knew you were so brave.”
His hands began to shake worse than before, so he put them behind his back. “What are Eirish warriors doing here? Are they from Lyhonesse?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t know, but they all had swords, and the one that picked you up was like a monster. When I saw it was you, I planned to just give them the fish.”
“But your father …”
“If it meant keeping you from getting hurt, I’d have been glad to let my father’s guests starve. I don’t care if they are the High King’s men.”
Merlin almost jumped. “The High King’s men?”
“Shh,” Natalenya said, stepping closer. “I shouldn’t have said anything. There’s war on the eastern coast.”
Merlin nodded. He had learned the news from an iron merchant who had come to their shop two weeks ago. “What have you heard?”
“A host of wild men have landed along the coast, pillaging whole towns. Rumor has it that even Lundnisow may be in danger before the year’s out. High King Uther is coming through to raise troops from Gorlas.”
“Your father would’ve been furious if you’d given up the fish.” Her hair smelled like the heather that grew on the mountain near her home.
“I don’t care. You’ve had enough happen to you lately.”
“Why didn’t Megek help?”
“When they threatened him, he barred the door. He’s very old, so I don’t blame him. How’s your head?” She touched the bruise where Mórganthu had hit him. “You seem to be getting knocked about up there of late.”
“He hit me pretty hard, didn’t he? Actually, I don’t remember. Tas told me everything.” Merlin moved backward a step.
“Mother and I saw it. We prayed for you.”
“My tas is going to see the Stone at midday, and I have to keep an eye on him. But I want to sit on the dock and pray first. I like to listen to the birds.” His voice quavered a little. “Would you care to join me?”
She nodded, and he hoped it was a smile he’d seen on her face.
As they walked, colorful blurs waved in the sunshine to their right. He reached out and picked one — a wildflower, orange — then gave it to Natalenya. She put it in her hair, and he smelled its sweet fragrance as she guided him over a muddy spot and onto the first plank of the dock.
They sat at the end of the dock, where birds twittered and chirped among the tall sedge grasses that seemed to grow out of the morning fog. A few boats tied nearby bumped each other on the dark water.
“Did you say your tas wants to see the Stone?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Yes, but I need to somehow stop him from going, or else help him while he’s there.”
She was quiet for a while. “It made me want to look at it. There’s something spiritual about that Stone. It grabs your heart and twists it.”
“But I don’t understand. How can it do that?” Merlin asked. His throat felt suddenly dry as he realized how near Natalenya sat to him.
Natalenya put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s dangerous. Don’t let your father or anyone you know get near it. Prontwon did and is deathly injured … I hope he recovers.”
“As do I.” Merlin splashed the water with his feet. “The Stone does seem to command attention. Last night after the druidow left, some villagers were touching it. Even two guards from the Tor were there. Hopefully your father wasn’t angry.”
“He will be if he hears that. He dreams of piles of gold and lots of men serving him. I … I pray for him. He’s changed since I was young.”
“My tas and Kiff fixed the wagon, so hopefully he’s happy with it.”
The sound of soft, slow paddling floated to them across the marsh. They stopped talking and listened.
“Who’s that?” Natalenya asked.
“A fisherman. Do you see him?”
“No. The fog hasn’t fully lifted … Wait … I see a boat.” She got up on her knees. “It’s not like the others,” she whispered. “It’s like a floating island with grass and mushrooms. If it wasn’t moving, I wouldn’t know it was a boat at all.”
Merlin stood, one hand on his dirk. “Who’s in it?”
“A man. He’s paddling toward us.” She rose as well and stood close. “He’s old … and wild. Gray hair down to his waist, and he’s in rags. Let’s leave.”
“Muscarvel. The wild man of the marsh,” he whispered back. “Have you heard the tales?” Merlin bent down and put on his boots, but before they could leave, the boat gurgled past them toward shore. He felt Natalenya’s hand take hold of his arm.
“Where’s he going?” he asked. “Did he ignore us?”
“No, he’s on the dock! He’s holding a sword, and his eyes —”
Dripping footsteps creaked toward them, and the dock swayed beneath the man’s feet.
They were trapped.
Merlin stepped forward to face the stranger.