I returned to Camlann around midnight. Weariness fogged my brain and made pudding of my limbs. I sat stupidly on the back of the horse in the forecourt of the stable trying to figure out how to dismount. I’d have to do that myself. The grooms had gone to bed.
While I stared at the reins hanging limply in my hands, Arthur strode out of the stable. He shook his head at me and clucked as if he were my nurse and I a small child. Without a word, he lifted me from the saddle, cradling me against his chest. We lingered, drawing warmth and comfort from each other for several long moments. Then he set me on a bale of hay and tended the horse.
He still hadn’t spoken.
“Why did you wait up for me?” I finally asked. His silence had gone on too long. I worried about his stuttering. He beckoned me to follow him.
Too tired to think for myself, I stumbled after him to the guesthouse that had been my father’s. I dreaded entering the round hut with stone foundations, wooden walls, and thatched roof. A proper guesthouse close to the quarters of the Ardh Rhi. Nimuë’s scent lingered. I caught a strong draught of it from the doorway. She wore a heavy oil-based perfume from Rome laced with ingredients from her foul magic. A thousand years of scrubbing the walls wouldn’t remove the traces she had left behind, a constant reminder of what she had cost us all.
Da! My mind screamed at the outrage of my father trapped within the great oak tree. Ironically, mistletoe, the symbol of peace, hung heavy in the branches of the tree. Da would never be at peace.
Arthur motioned for me to enter the hut. All of Nimuë’s possessions had been removed. All traces of her had been erased, except her scent. Only my father’s clutter remained. I’d never clean up after him again. I brushed a pile of scrolls with delicate fingertips. A tiny sensation of familiar warmth invaded my hand.
I am here, the scrolls, covered in his tiny, precise script, seemed to say.
I moved on to his metal mirrors and pouches of magical powders and healing herbs.
I am here, they repeated.
The warmth spread up my arm, almost reaching my heart. I half smiled, remembering the lessons Da had set for me, studying the properties of Pridd, Awyr, Tanio, and Dwfr.
“You... must... stay... with... me,” Arthur said from the doorway. The pause between each word went on forever.
“I can’t, Curyll. You know that. The children need me. I have responsibilities back home.” I sat on the bed, unable to stand any longer. Just thinking about the long journey home wearied me to the point of illness.
“You... must help me talk. Only you. Stay.”
“You can speak, Curyll, without stuttering, if you choose.”
“The... the faeries deserted me. I... need your help.”
“You frightened away the faeries when you allowed Archbishop Dyfrig to baptize you. The Christians don’t allow for the existence of any world but this one. The beings who inhabit the Otherworld, therefore, don’t exist. Christians won’t see the faeries even when they are right in front of them. Dyfrig should be the one to help you speak.” I sighed, resigned that this conversation must proceed to the end before I could sleep. “Where is the archbishop anyway?”
“D... dead.”
“Dead? When?” A new unease invaded my fatigue and grief. I sat up straighter, more alert than I’d been for hours.
“The... the same day as... The Merlin.”
“No wonder...”
“What?”
“Did they reconcile?”
Arthur shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Explain.”
I told him of their connection and their separation. I hadn’t seen the archbishop since he denied me the right to see my grandmother. I hadn’t wanted to see him again. But I wanted the hurt in my father to go away.
“Their lives followed parallel patterns for all of their differences,” I added almost as an afterthought. I should tell Grandmother of her sons’ deaths. She wouldn’t understand. Her sons were two rag dolls who slept peacefully in a basket cradle.
“Da and Dyfrig were both religious leaders, wise councillors and prophets. Both celibate. Both more concerned with the fate of Britain than themselves,” I continued my musing aloud for Curyll.
A new thought stopped my rambling words. Balance. Parallels. “One died. So the other must die, too. Da allowed Nimuë to seduce him. He knew what would happen. He chose the time and place of his death.” But not the punishment of the gods. He wouldn’t have wanted to haunt the oak tree for the rest of eternity, be denied a new life through the miracle of reincarnation.
So you believe.
Where had that thought come from?
“No one — knew they — were brothers.” Curyll bowed his head. “I’ve — lost them — both. Y-our father was my g-guide for twenty-three years. D-Dyfrig gave me w-wise counsel for four, since I became k-king. Both advised m-my f-father well, h-his entire reign. Britain — has lost them both.”
“No one can help you now, Curyll. You must help yourself.”
“I — need you, Wr-Wren. Your p-resence helps me f-find the words.”
“What have you been doing for help since you took baptism? You have functioned well for several years now.”
“Your — father gave me the words to speak. When — I know what I must say, I can speak.”
“You have had years of practice. Surely you know what words to say to keep this kingdom functioning. You have flooded the courts of the client kings with rolls of parchment carrying your words. You dispense justice and settle disputes with wisdom and caring.”
“I write the words well. But when I face people, I do not think fast enough. At court I always had your father or Dyfrig.”
“You think fast enough to speak right now.”
“With you. Only. I can’t do this alone.”
“You aren’t alone. You have Guinevere. You have Cai and Bedewyr and Lancelot. You have a hundred Companions you trust with your life. Trust them with your words as well.”
“None of them are The Merlin. You are.”
“No. There will never be another Merlin. I’m sorry, Curyll. I can’t stay here.” Being near my beloved Curyll every day, working close to him. Sensing his thoughts. Loving him. Never being able to show it. Guinevere’s jealous gaze following every move I made. She’d been treacherous once, she could be again given provocation — real or imagined.
“I forbid you to leave. You are The Merlin now. Your place is here.”
“My place is training the next generation to uphold your promise of peace and law and justice. They must learn that honor, loyalty, and promises mean something.”
His eyes twinkled briefly as I quoted his own words from long ago.
“The next generation and all of the ones after that must retain their connection with the land. Without the land and our intimate ties to the rituals of the seasons, we can’t keep the portals between worlds open. Faeries and gods will disappear. And so will magic.”
“Th-the faeries are — are gone already.”
“Not entirely. The door to their world is closing, but remains open a crack for those willing to look. You have forgotten how to look. You can’t keep me here, Curyll. I know too many of my father’s tricks. My presence will only cause you more problems. The Christians tolerated my father because he advised your father well. They will not tolerate me, a pagan priestess with magic, advising you. The memory of Nimuë and Morgaine and their sorcery is too close. Let me go home without forcing me to trick you. Please.”
He bowed his head sadly and nodded. “I — saved The — Merlin’s torc for you. His grandson should have it.” He swallowed back tears. “I wish we could be together, Wren. I need you.”
“I wish the same. But we can’t be together. Ever.”
I pushed him out into the night, closing the door before either of us could reconsider. I sealed it with the heavy bar and with a touch of magic.
o0o
A fierce pounding on the door woke me. Late afternoon sunshine filtered through the small, high window.
“Go away,” I called. Sleep still dragged my eyelids down. I didn’t want to face the day and new problems. I didn’t want to think about my father forever trapped within the oak tree.
I am with you always.
“No, you aren’t, Da. You are only my memory and my need to see you one more time. I need to tell you I love you one more time,” I whispered, choking on my tears.
I know.
“I only had you for eighteen years, Da.” Less than that really. Four years away from him on Avalon and then I hadn’t seen him the last two years.
“Wren, let me in, please,” Berminia pleaded from the other side of the door. “I brought your dinner.”
I smelled the new bread and hot soup. My stomach growled in response. I struggled upright, tangled in the covers.
“Wren, please, I need to talk to you.”
“Coming,” I called back. My voice cracked, hoarse and dry. I’d spent too many hours crying.
At last I stumbled across the small hut on nearly numb legs and unbarred the door. Berminia, Carradoc’s middle daughter, pushed the door open with too much force. I ducked away from it just before it knocked me flat.
“Oh, Wren, I’m sorry to disturb you. Maybe I should let you sleep some more.”
“Berminia?” Where had her bitter accusations and deep resentment fled? Then I noticed how her gown clung to her full figure. She’d always be round and earthy rather than slim and ethereal like her older sister, but she’d lost a great deal of the excess weight. Her blonde hair shone with the luster of health and cleanliness. But her face showed the biggest difference, clear of blemish, and she genuinely smiled rather than sneering.
“Aye, Wren, ’tis me. I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I need your help.”
More than just her body had changed. So had her attitude.
“Come in.” I took the tray from her, searching for a place to set it and her. Da’s clutter filled every flat surface. He might have just walked out the door....
I hadn’t the heart to clear it away.
Finally I shrugged and plunked myself and the tray back on the bed.
Berminia looked about and immediately picked up a pile of Da’s shirts from the floor and began folding them. Then she settled on a three-legged stool, where I had sat so many times looking up to my father as he paced the room — whatever room we happened to inhabit. He’d talk about ideas and new spells while I devised experiments to prove them.
A new bout of tears threatened to choke me.
“Go ahead and eat, Wren. I know you must be hungry.” Berminia waved her hand at the tray. “I can talk while you eat.”
I didn’t wait for a second invitation. The bread was still warm from the oven. It melted in my mouth and soothed my aching stomach. The soup was too salty but warmed the cold knot of grief surrounding my heart.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked around another mouthful of bread. The day began to look a little easier to handle with food in my stomach. My grief might be manageable with a full belly. Manageable, never gone very far away.
“Nimuë.” Berminia looked at her hands rather than in my eyes.
I froze in mid-chew.
“I heard what my sister did to your father, Wren,” she blurted before I had time to think. “I know she is evil. Many times I did her bidding because... because I knew she’d make me even uglier if I refused. I’ve been afraid of her since we were small children. I think she killed Marnia’s mother when we were little more than infants, perhaps my mother as well. But she helped me a lot. She is my sister.”
The mouthful of bread turned heavy and tasteless in my mouth. I gulped it down anyway. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Outrage began to boil within me.
“Wren, my sister made me beautiful with magic. I’ve found a man who wants to marry me, make me a lady, wants me to have his children. A man I never thought could love me. But he thinks I’m beautiful only because of the magic. Now that Nimuë is gone, the magic will fade. I’ll be fat and ugly again. I need you to make me beautiful again.”
I glanced past her left ear, searching for oddities within her aura. Only the pale reflection of orange worry and blue caring met my eye.
“Berminia, I can’t see any trace of magic glamour about you. What did your sister do?”
“She gave me a potion to drink, and we danced naked about an ancient oak before dawn as the dew fell on us.”
The oak tree again. Nimuë must have selected the forest giant long ago for her rituals. It would remain special for all time now because of my father. I had marked it with magic so that woodcutters would leave it alone for as long as it stood upright.
My father’s only hope for release was the natural death of the tree. Destruction of the ancient oak would doom Da’s spirit to oblivion with no chance of reincarnation for all eternity.
“I know of Nimuë’s ritual, Berminia.” I dragged my thoughts back to reality. “She draped a temporary illusion about you. But it could only be temporary. You would have to repeat the potion and the ritual every full moon to maintain it. Nimuë didn’t make you beautiful, you did.”
“How? I don’t understand. She told me every day, I had to obey her or lose the glamour,” Berminia wailed.
“Did you like being your sister’s slave?”
“No. I hated it. I lied to her. I told her cats made me sneeze and swell up so I couldn’t catch them for her to slaughter. I realized that no one had a right to murder for the sake of magic. Even just the kitchen cats. There are always plenty of those.”
“But never another Helwriaeth,” I whispered. I had my own affinity for kitchen cats. My heart thawed a little and accepted Berminia for the woman she had become rather than the girl she had been.
“You resisted her evil.” I brought the subject back to Berminia and her own brand of beauty. “You started to find good in yourself and others. You thought yourself beautiful because of the initial glamour and so you made yourself beautiful. You no longer needed to eat to compensate for other things lacking in your life. You no longer needed to belittle others to make you feel good about yourself. Little by little you made your own beauty. You found your own balance and inner peace. Look in the mirror, Berminia. No trace of Nimuë taints you,”
I handed her one of Da’s polished metal disks. She stared at her face a long time.
“Is this a magic mirror?” she asked, touching her face with wondering fingertips.
“No. It’s just a mirror. Now tell me, who is the man you wish to please so much?”
“Cai,” she whispered.
“The Near-sighted Boar?” I asked, giggling.
“He is not!” Berminia protested. Her giggles bubbled up like my forest spring leaping from a jumble of rocks. “Well, maybe a little near-sighted. But when he kisses me, he stands close enough to see me.”
“He can be as aggressive and single-minded as a boar,” I reminded her. “That’s why we called him that as children. I believe Curyll came up with the name.”
“Arthur is Curyll, the fierce and cunning hawk. And you call Lancelot ‘Stinger’ because he is as fast with weapons as a bee with a stinger. Bedewyr you called Ceffyl because he thinks like a horse and talks to them,” Berminia sighed. “I wish I’d grown up with you.”
I smiled grimly and patted her hand. Carradoc hadn’t been as gentle with her as he had with Marnia and Nimuë.
“Marnia’s baby is nearly two now. Newynog passed on last summer, but the runt of her last litter has replaced her as my companion. She looks just like her mother.” And guarded the children as admirably. I missed her terribly and needed to go home quickly, to hug my dog and my children — Arthur’s children, too, but I thought of them all as mine.
“Is she as hungry as Newynog always was?” Berminia’s eyes brightened with happier memories.
“Always. We call her Newynog as well. But tell me about Cai. Has he proposed?”
“Yes!”
We giggled together like young girls, reminiscing, cementing a new friendship.
“You’ll make a good wife to Cai,” I said. “Now we have to find a match for Bedewyr.” But I wouldn’t be in Camlann long enough to see the plot through. Already I sensed the need to be home, with the children, away from Arthur. Danger to them didn’t pull me this time. Danger to myself, if I stayed and revealed my love for my daughter’s father. Even my father’s ghost couldn’t keep me here.
“Promise me, Berminia, if Nimuë contacts you, you must let me know. She carries my father’s child. It will have a great deal of magic potential. We can’t let that magic be warped by Nimuë’s need for vengeance against me.” The image of Morgaine’s son wedging open the gateway to the Netherworld tied my stomach in knots.