MY spell had two parts. First I must banish the attraction for the ravens from the environs of Caer Tair Cigfran. Second and hardest, I must find a new place for the birds to go.
I dropped the first bundle of herbs upon the flames, singing a thanksgiving to them and inviting them to join and enhance the power within me. The smoke climbed through the air in a lazy spiral. I let my mind drift upward on the same pattern. Another song inviting the Goddess to bless the spell followed the smoke. Belenos glinted bright red against the sparks within. Not much time. I had to finish at the moment of the sun’s setting and the moon’s beginning.
The smoke spread outward, reaching for the caer, village, and fields. My song drifted with it, seeking out hidden corners and dark places. When I sensed that I had permeated the entire area with the seeking, I added a second bundle of mixed plants — dried and newly harvested. Cleansing followed the seeking. With each breath I sent the combined smokes into every nook and cranny, banishing previous spells with fresh air and bright hope.
Resistance rose up to meet me. Nimuë!
She had grown stronger, more complete.
Her will pushed me back into myself. I wanted to draw back into my quiet fire, letting the smoke dissipate before it finished its work.
But a spell left unfinished and ungrounded would backlash with threefold consequences. I had to persevere.
Go back. Go back to the arms of your father, Nimuë’s counterspell whispered into my mind. No one else wants you. No one else can love you.
“Never!” I shouted aloud. “I’ll never return to The Merlin as his daughter. Not after what he did to me.” He didn’t trust me. He didn’t trust anyone but himself. Since he couldn’t trust, he had to control and manipulate.
So did Nimuë. I had to balance her quest for power.
Where had she learned so much about magic since her last pitiful attempt to counteract my wards?
A third bundle of herbs intensified the smoke. I willed this last portion of the spell to overcome my rival’s resistance and my own. Deeper I pushed the purifying smoke, singing of cleanliness and health and freedom from the weight of fear. Harder I pushed against her spell.
I pushed until I thought my mind would explode. I kept pushing even after my body rebelled with trembling limbs and terrible hunger. I enfolded Newynog and Cat within my arms. They couldn’t help me, but I found comfort in their presence.
Then I pushed one more time, a tremendous effort as if birthing a child.
Thunder rolled, lightning flashed. The stupefying humidity gave way to drenching rain. Nimuë’s spell washed away along with the last lingering daylight.
The ravens had nothing left to keep them at Caer Tair Cigfran. Now all I needed was a place to send them. A place they could call home forever.
I sent them to the largest concentration of Saxons. Let the birds ruin their homesteads.
o0o
The Merlin stood beside Uther’s litter on a rise above the battlefield. Dun Edin rose behind them, forbidding with its steep cliffs broken by jagged ravines. A good, defensible position. No enemy could circle around behind them.
The enemy didn’t need to. They outnumbered Uther’s exhausted forces three to one.
Uther tried to sit up and peer out at the disarray of his troops. He managed to brace himself on one elbow before collapsing.
“Send the cavalry,” he croaked. “We have to break through to their leader and capture their standard. It’s the only way. We have to kill the leaders.” The Ardh Rhi closed his eyes, exhausted from his few words.
Merlin spotted the standard on a knoll across the field and slightly to the left of his position. Then he searched out the Pendragon banner. The red dragon rampant on the field of yellow stood out in the carnage that littered the field.
Arthur, no longer mounted on the vicious black horse, defended the banner. Blood streaked his face and mail. His helmet was dented. He swung his sword with less enthusiasm than he had at the beginning of the day.
Two of the men beside Arthur fell to enemy axes. Arthur’s right side — his weak side — lay exposed.
Three Saxons spotted the vulnerability at the same moment. They roared in unison and sprang forward.
“Not Arthur. I won’t let you kill my boy!” Merlin screamed. He needed help. What magic could he conjure to stop the attack?
Lightning shot from his hands. The upheld ax of one enemy caught the bolt, exploding in shards of wood and iron and flame. The man dropped to his knees, screaming as he watched his hand become a torch.
None of his comrades rushed to help him. They stepped over him to aim their own weapons at Arthur’s battered shield.
Weakness assailed Merlin. He had nothing left — no strength, no will, no magic — to defend his boy or his land.
He bent over, clasping his knees and breathing hard. Darkness encroached upon his vision.
Had all his hard work, his manipulation and planning come to this? Defeat at the hands of the Saxons on the eve of bringing all of the pieces of Arthur’s life pattern into place!
“Ah, Wren, I would give my life to hold you in my arms one more time.”
What? What could he do? He must do something. He couldn’t fail now.
He stood up again. Dizziness rang in his ears. He fought to retain his balance and his consciousness. All day he’d sent spell after spell into the fray. All day the Saxons had poured more and more men into the battle. They were out of reinforcements. But he was out of strength and ideas.
“I won’t let those bastards kill you, Arthur!” Merlin grabbed the reins of a white stallion from one of Uther’s aides. He mounted in one easy motion and kicked the beast into a gallop.
“If nothing else, I’ll drag you off the field before they get you, Arthur.”
Halfway across the battlefield the darkness gathered closer around his vision.
He fought to stay conscious.
The darkness intensified. A great roar, as if the ocean tide rushed toward him from the North, came with the roiling cloud.
Cloud? The day had dawned bright, clear, and hot, and stayed that way. If a storm approached, perhaps he could use it. He gathered every last bit of his resources, ready to throw his last great spell where it would do the most work. He sniffed for traces of rain as he whipped the horse to greater speed with the ends of the reins.
His senses remained clear of any trace of coming storm. Then he looked closer at the dark cloud roaring ever closer.
Birds! A massive swarm of black birds fled something perilous with speed and determination.
“Thank Dana! I don’t know who sent you or where you are going, but for now you will descend upon my enemies!” he shouted. He stood up in the stirrups and raised his hands for one last spell.
Before he could do more than breathe deeply, the birds tucked their wings and dove. As if propelled by one mind they sought the Saxons. Ten of them landed on each of the two men beleaguering Arthur. Five more flapped their wings in the faces of the war leaders, pecking eyes, digging talons into any exposed skin on hands, arms, legs.
Hardened warriors dropped their weapons and beat at the plague of birds. One by one they fled the field and the birds.
The massive flock of ravens followed without pausing to peck at the free meal of carrion on the field.
Arthur cheered, raising his sword and the Pendragon banner high. Weary Britons rallied to him, picking up his cry of exultation and repeating it until it swelled and filled the air with life and arial. The standard of Uther Pendragon fluttered in the wind that followed the ravens. Arthur clasped it firmly.
Merlin made his way back to Ardh Rhi Uther. A weary smile caressed his face as he dismounted.
“What?” Uther asked sharply. A measure of vitality returned to him.
“Your son has won the day.”
“My son and your magic. You will make a fine team, old friend.” Uther paused to breathe heavily. “Take me back to camp. I will meet Arthur and name him my heir before the sun sets.”
“Yes, old friend. The time has come. Our boy is now a man. A well-respected warrior.” Pride invigorated Merlin. “Well done, Arthur. Well done.”
“You must summon Archbishop Dyfrig to bless the naming of my heir.”
Merlin stopped cold. “Why Dyfrig?” He pushed the question through clenched jaws. “Is not my blessing sufficient? I raised the boy, after all.”
“Precisely why Dyfrig must bless the boy. You had the raising of him. You are prejudiced. You must stand beside the archbishop. The kings and lords must see you stand together in this.”
“If the archbishop agrees.”
Then he heard the victory chant on the field below him.
“Merlin, Mer-lin. All hail The Merlin.”
“But I didn’t do it — ” he started to protest. Then he smiled. If the army hailed him as their savior when the battle was nearly lost, then Dyfrig would have to accept his presence at the blessing. And the crowning.
“No one will believe you didn’t conjure those blessed birds, old friend. Take the glory while you can.” Uther fell back amongst his cushions again. “All glory is fleeting. Take what you can while you can. Time and God will steal it from you just when you start believing in it.”
o0o
“She’s gone!” Berminia cried loudly. Fat tears ran down her plump face.
I watched the drops of water catch on a pimple, split, and make new tracks. My mind and body were too cold, wet, and exhausted to comprehend the source of her distress. I clung to Newynog’s neck to keep myself upright. My trek back to the caer through the storm had not been easy. The spell had taken its toll of my strength before the long walk home. I hadn’t the strength to light a fire to lead me through the cave to the storage cellar. My only choice had been the long walk. I hoped I hadn’t hurt the baby by pushing so hard to drive the spell to conclusion.
I’d had no choice. At a time when choices should have opened up to me, my options seemed very limited indeed.
“Who is gone?” I finally managed to ask. Newynog broke away from my grip to check her pups.
“Nimuë,” Marnia wailed behind her sister. “She’s run off into the teeth of the storm. We have to go after her.”
“Is she truly gone?” A little bit of interest heated my body enough to think. “Did she take her cloak? Which horse did she ride?”
“I don’t know,” Berminia sniffled.
“Then find out. Ask the stable lads which direction she went. See if she had any bundles or luggage with her.” I trudged toward the back of the Long Hall and the privacy of my bedchamber. “I must bathe and eat before I decide how to proceed.”
“But the horse may have thrown her. My sister could be dying, and you can’t send someone after her until you bathe!” Berminia didn’t sound as outraged as she tried to look.
I wondered how much of her loud cries and copious tears were real and how much for the benefit of the servants.
“If you worry so much, you should have sent Diones after her when you first discovered her absence. You don’t need my authority to start a search for someone truly missing.” I dismissed her protests and closed the door to my room behind me.
“You don’t care about my sister. You don’t care about anything but that stupid, traitorous dog!” Her words followed me.
Dana help me, I did care. I’d just walked through the storm, miserable and exhausted after banishing my rival. How would it feel to face the same storm with defeat dragging at every step?
“A search will be fruitless and dangerous without more information. Find out which direction she took and when,” I said. I had no doubt that Carradoc’s daughters heard me.
Food came with the hot water. I ate every scrap Hannah, Diones’ wife, had placed on the tray. She lingered nearby, wringing her hands. I knew she had been nurse to all three of Carradoc’s daughters. She must be terribly worried about Nimuë, the favorite.
“Forgive me for intruding, Lady,” she said as I drank the last of the ale.
“Yes?” I tried not to sound as irritated as I felt.
“It’s them birds, Lady.”
“What about the ravens?” A spark of curiosity stopped my quest for a warm wrap to throw over my shoulders. Food had helped, but the chill wouldn’t go away so quickly.
“The birds flew off when the storm started.”
I knew that, but it was nice to have it confirmed.
“Perhaps they won’t return and we can get on with our lives,” I replied. “As soon as the rain stops, we must plant again. The harvest will be late and small, but something is better than nothing.”
“The Lady Nimuë screamed at the thunder and lightning, Lady. She screamed like the lightning burned her. Then she said, ‘She’ll pay for this. She’ll pay in kind. She stole my father. Now I’ll steal hers.’”
My dream. My father reaching for my hand. Only I could save him. Only I could prevent Cernunnos from trapping him within the Worldtree for all eternity, never dying, incapable of living.
What would my stepdaughter do to him?
Whatever happened was my fault.
I had no choice. Balance must be restored.
Someone pounded on my door. I stared at the planks, unable to think past the noise. I had doomed my father by defying Nimuë.
What else could I have done?
The pounding interrupted my self-defeating circle of thoughts. “Enter,” I called. My voice sounded weak and uncertain to my own ears.
Diones stood framed in the doorway. He stared straight ahead, jaw rigid, eyes blazing with anger. “Her horse just came back. Frothing at the mouth and twitching with fear. It lost a shoe. The saddle is still on him, upside down, the girth partially cut with a knife,” he recited the list of woes in a monotone.
“She’s dead!” Hannah wailed. “My little girl is dead.”
They didn’t have to say it. They believed me responsible for the death of their lord’s daughter.
All that night and all the next day we searched for Nimuë. We searched while the land dried enough to receive seeds. On the second day, I ordered most of the men and women to replant our barren fields. Diones and Hannah and a few others, I left free to continue the search as far afield as they could ride on a sturdy pony.
“Aren’t you going to search any farther than that?” Berminia asked as we broke our fast. “My sister is out there, alone and friendless, maybe even dead, and you can’t spare the men to search for her!”
“If she’s dead, I can’t help her,” I replied quietly. “If she managed to travel more than a day’s ride away, she probably found shelter elsewhere and will return in her own good time. We must start planting today or risk starvation this winter.”
“I hate you!” Marnia screamed. She hadn’t eaten much of her bread and cheese. She never did. Berminia transferred the leftover food to her own plate and ate it hastily. Guiltily.
“Nothing has gone right since you seduced our father into marrying you,” Marnia continued her tirade. “I hate you, and I hope your baby kills you when it’s born.” She stormed out of the hall in a flood of tears.
Berminia followed her. Neither of them spoke to me again for a long time after that.
We found no trace of Nimuë. The rain had washed away her tracks and all evidence of her passing. The family mourned her as if dead. The villagers carried on with their lives. And I knew in my heart that my husband’s daughter lived and made her way to Uther’s army and my father. What would she do to him?