Merlin

SIXTEEN

We stayed a while at Caer Myrddin, and would have been content to remain there longer but, when the weather broke, Pelleas and I made our way back to Ynys Avallach. The journey was uneventful – indeed, we met no one at all on the road. But a day out from Dyfed a deep melancholy settled on me. A nameless longing, sharp and poignant as grief.

Into my mind came all the losses I had known. And, one by one, I saw forms and faces of those who had touched my life and now were gone to dust in the ground:

Ganieda, fairest daughter, wife and lover; her clear gaze and ringing laughter; shining hair, long and dark; her sly smile when she hid a secret; the sweetness of her mouth when we kissed…

Hafgan, Druid Chief, watching the world from the lofty elevation of his vast wisdom; welcoming the curiosity of a child; instilling dignity in the humblest gesture; standing firm for the Light…

Dafyd, goodness embodied, kindness with a soul; diligent searcher, defender, and warrior for the Truth; ready believer who did not condemn the unbelief of others; sower of the Good Seed hi the soil of men's hearts…

Gwendolau, stout companion; fierce in battle and in friendship; first to raise the cup and last to set it down; drinking deep of life; knowing no pain or hardship for the sake of a sword brother…

Blaise, last of the true bards; keen of perception and understanding; unwavering in devotion, steadfast in virtue; a burning brand touched to the dry tinder of the Old Way…

And others: Elphin… Rhonwyn… Maelwys… Cuall… Aurelius…

This heavyheartedness lasted with me into the spring and summer. I found myself turning more and more to thoughts of my father, wondering what sort of man Taliesin had been, regretting that I had not known him, weeping for the sound of his voice in song. The regret, at first merely sorrowful, festered and grew into black hatred for Morgian who caused his death.

That she lived and breathed the air of this world – when Taliesin, and so many other good people had gone out of it – infuriated me.

It came into my mind to kill her.

I even planned how this deed might be accomplished. And, before spring was over, I had conceived every aspect of her death – indeed, I had murdered her many times over in my heart.

Nor did I fear carrying out my plan. I believe, if left to myself, I would have found her and slain her. However, we are rarely left to ourselves. Jesu, who watches over the affairs of all men, is not content that any should fall from his hand or long remain beyond his touch. If not for that, I am certain I would have joined Morgian in the stinking pit of hell.

What happened was this:

A woman came to Shrine Hill, suffering from an ailment of her bones which caused them to become brittle as sticks, quickly broken and slow to mend. In the least, the slightest blow would cause a bruise that would swell painfully and last for many days. She had suffered long with this affliction, always in the sorest agony, labouring with her arm in a sling, or hobbling on a crutch – the small bones in her hands and feet snapped so easily.

But she prevailed upon some kinsmen to bring her to the Shrine, for she had heard of the healing work the brothers practised there. In truth, she had heard of the wonders Charis had performed with her healing art. So she came with simple faith to be healed.

Charis had marked – with alarm, I should think – my growing bitterness and depression. She had spoken to me about it, but I was beyond listening. So the day she went to minister to the woman she took me with her. It was a day of darkness for me and, not caring where I was or what I did, I accompanied her to the Shrine.

The woman, neither old nor young, was dressed in a well-patched green mantle, ragged at hem and sleeves, but clean as she could make it. She smiled as Charis came into the room the brothers set aside for treatment of the sick. There were others gathered there – other sick, and a few brothers in their grey robes moving among them. The sound of Psalm-singing came down to us like sweet rain from the hilltop Shrine above.

'What is your name?' asked Charis gently, settling on a stool beside the woman's pallet.

'Uisna,' she replied, her smile tight with pain. 'May I see your hands, Uisna?' Charis took the woman's hands in her own. They were delicate, with fine long fingers, but hideous blue-brown bruises discoloured them and made them ugly. The woman winced as Charis gently, gently probed the bruises, and I saw that it hurt her even to have them touched.

Her feet and legs were the same: beauty made grotesque by the grossness of the malady. One leg had been broken in the past and poorly set; it was crooked and misshapen. I had to look away.

'Can you help me?' Uisna asked softly. It was a plea, a prayer. 'It hurts me much.'

To my amazement Charis answered, 'Yes, I can help you.' How could this be? If I had not known her better, I would have thought my mother callous or unthinking for promising the impossible. But she added, 'The God of this place helps all who call upon his name.'

'Then tell me the name, please, that I may call upon him.' Looking directly into the woman's pain-filled eyes, Charis replied, 'His name is Jesus, King of Love and Light, Great of Might, Lord of Heaven. He is the Son of the Good God, the Everliving.'

No one expected what happened next. For no sooner had Charis uttered the name, the woman's head snapped back and a scream of utter torment tore from her throat. Her body became rigid, the cords of her neck and arms standing out against the skin. She fell back on the pallet, writhing.

Charis jumped to her feet and I dashed forward. She extended a hand to keep me away, saying, 'No, do not come nearer. There is an evil spirit in her.'

The body thrashing on the pallet began to laugh – a sickening, hateful sound. 'You cannot help this bitch whore!'

The woman screamed in a rough, raucous voice. 'She is mine! I will kill her if you touch her!'

The brothers hurried to Charis' side and conferred quickly. One of them dashed from the room and returned a few moments later with a wooden cross and a vial of anointing oil. Meanwhile, the poor woman thrashed and flung her limbs around so wildly that I feared she would break them off – screaming continually with that dreadful, demented laughter.

The monk approached with the cross and oil, but Charis went to him saying, 'I will do it, but I will need help. Go and tell the brothers at the Shrine to uphold us in prayer.'

The man raced away again, and Charis nodded to several of the other brothers, who stood near. 'Hold her so that she does no hurt to herself,' she said. The monks knelt beside the pallet and gently but firmly laid hold of the woman's nailing limbs. Charis, holding the cross and vial, knelt down by the pallet.

'In the name of Jesu the Christ, who is the living Son of God, I abjure you unclean spirit, and demand that you come out of this woman.'

The woman, poor wretch, was instantly beset with violent tremors, convulsions that seized every part of her body, flinging her back against the straw bed again and again, despite the brothers' best efforts. At the same time, the hideous laughter came forth, bubbling up from her throat as from a very great distance.

'JES-S-S-S-U-U-U!' she hissed with wicked glee, and uttered an unspeakable oath against that sacred name.

The monks fell back in horror. But Charis did not so much as cringe. She held out the cross in her hand. 'Silence!' she commanded. 'You will not blaspheme the holy name!'

The spirit twisted the woman's face in a ghastly grin. 'Oh, oh, please, be not angry with me,' the thing whined. 'Please, fine lady, be not angry with me.'

'In the name of Jesu, I command you to silence!' Charis insisted.

The woman convulsed, her stomach swelled and foul gas broke from her bowels. She spat, and her spittle ran yellow with puss. She laughed and spread her discoloured legs, breaking her foul wind.

Abbot Elfodd appeared, crossed himself and entered the room. 'Brother Birinus told me to come straight away,' he whispered, coming to stand beside Charis. 'What is to be done?'

'I have commanded it to silence,' Charis replied. 'But it is a stubborn thing. Exorcizing it will be difficult.'

'I will do it, sister,' Elfodd offered.

'No,' Charis smiled and gripped his hand, 'I have begun; I will finish. She is in my care.'

'Very well. But I will stand with you.' He nodded to the monks, who took up places across the room; they knelt and began singing a prayer.

The woman lay still, panting like a winded dog. At the sight of the abbot her eyes grew round, she shrieked and spat more of the vile poison. Her hands became claws and she reached for him to scratch him – all the while mouthing silent obscenities.

Charis knelt down, holding the cross before her. I marvelled at her composure: she was so calm, so self-assured. 'Uisna,' she said softly. 'I am going to help you now.' She smiled gently, a smile of such hope and beauty, I believe the smile alone could have healed any malady. 'Rejoice! It is God's good pleasure to heal you today, daughter.'

Poor Uisna's eyes rolled up into her head and she spewed forth more puss and bile, and began choking on it.

The abbot bent over her and lifted her head. Her arm whipped up and struck Elfodd on the side of the face with such a blow that he was flung back against the wall. The monks prayed louder.

'I am unharmed,' said Elfodd; rubbing his jaw, he returned to his place. 'Continue.'

'In the name of the Most High God, Lord and Creator of all that is, seen and unseen, and in the name of his Holy Son, Jesu, Beloved Friend and Saviour of men, I renounce you, Evil One. I command you to come out of this woman and trouble her no more.' Charis held the cross before the woman's face; Uisna shrank from it, expressions of terror and triumph rippling over her features.

'In the name of the Christ, be gone!' Charis shouted.

At once, the woman gave out a tortured scream. It seemed as if the sunlight dimmed and the room became cold, and that a rushing wind filled the room. This unseen wind whirled once, twice, again; then, lifting the thatch of the roof, raced out into the clear blue sky above.

Uisna lay as one dead: limp, grey-faced, no breath left in her body. But Charis placed the wooden cross on her breast and, taking the woman's discoloured hands in her own, began rubbing them gently. Abbot Elfodd lifted the vial of oil, offered a blessing, and, dipping his finger, anointed Uisna's head.

Both Charis and Elfodd prayed over the woman then, asking Jesu to forgive her sins, and heal her body and soul, and receive her into the Holy Kingdom. It was simply done and, when they finished, Elfodd said, 'Awake, dear sister, you have been healed.'

Uisna's eyes fluttered open. She looked up at the two bending over her, puzzled. 'Am I..? What has happened?'

'You have been saved,' Abbot Elfodd replied. 'And you have been healed.'

Uisna sat up slowly. She raised her hands, and her mouth fell open in awe. The grotesque bruises had vanished, and her flesh was smooth and white. She lifted the hem of her mantle: her feet and legs were no longer discoloured; the flesh was firm and healthy, the once-broken leg straight.

'Oh!… Oh!… ' Uisna cried, throwing her arms around Charis. Tears streamed down her face.

The monks exclaimed in praises to God. Abbot Elfodd embraced the woman and, as if it could no longer remain silent, the bell at the Shrine began ringing out wildly. Moments later monks began crowding into the room to share in the joy of the miracle.

'You must continue in faith, sister,' warned Elfodd gently. 'Renounce sin, Uisna, take Jesu for your Saviour, and trust only in him. Be filled with God and his Holy Spirit so that the evil spirit cannot return again – or it surely will return sevenfold.'

And I – suddenly, I felt as if the room was closing in around me, suffocating me. I could not stand to be there any longer. With the sound of thanksgiving and praise songs ringing in my ears, I fled the place, my breath coming in raking gasps.

Charis found me later, where I sat among the reeds below the Tor with my feet in the water. The sun was lowering in the afternoon sky and she came to me and quietly sat down beside me on the bank, laying a hand on my shoulder.

'I saw you run from the sickroom,' she said softly.

I shook my head sorrowfully. 'I am sorry, Mother, but I could not stay any longer – I had to get away from there.'

'What is wrong, my Hawk?'

I turned to peer at her through a mist of tears. 'I have been afraid,' I sobbed, tears running freely now. 'I have been afraid… and oh, oh Mother, I have failed… I have failed… '

Tenderly, Charis gathered me into her arms. She held me for a long time, rocking slowly, gently. 'Tell me, my son, how have you failed?' she said at last.

'There was so much,' I answered finally, 'so much I meant to do. And I have done nothing. I have betrayed the trust of my birthright. I have strayed; I have wandered far, Mother; and I have wasted myself in empty pursuits – because I was afraid.'

'What did you fear?'

I could scarcely bring myself to say the word. But, squeezing my eyes shut, I forced it out: 'Morgian.'

Charis said nothing for a long time. She was quiet so long, I turned to look at her and saw that her eyes were closed, shedding silent tears beneath her lashes.

'Mother?'

She smiled bravely. 'I had thought myself free of her. Now I know I never will be. But her power belongs only to this world.'

'I know that – at least I was reminded of it today… that poor woman – '

'Uisna is healed, Merlin. God has made her whole.'

'Are there many like her?'

'Yes,' Charis sighed, gazing across the lake to the Tor, 'and more all the time. She is the third since winter. Abbot Elfodd tells me that it is the same in other places. He has spoken to the bishop about it – there is talk of a plague.' I winced. 'A plague of evil spirits?'

'Bishop Teilo says that it is to be expected. For when God's kingdom increases, Satan is roused to wrath. The Evil One seeks always to keep us from the knowledge of God, for then we are defenceless before him.' She smiled again. 'But, as you have seen today, we are far from defenceless.'

I remembered that day on the mountain-top in Celyddon, and I shuddered. A plague of evil spirits – a ghastly thought. Yet, it was true, our Lord was more powerful in his simple goodness than the Enemy in all his vast evil.

That is what I had seen this day at the Shrine, and I had been admonished – indeed, I had been rebuked – and sternly reminded that I feared for nothing. Morgian could be faced, and Morgian could be defeated. This truth, like so many, was bitter to me, for it brought me to my knees beneath the weight of all my failings.

Oh, yes. So many failures, so much wasted time and effort. The barbarian still threatened, the petty kings still strove with one another for power, the blessings of civilization were fading from memory… The Kingdom of Summer was no nearer to becoming reality.

Could this be blamed on Morgian?

Only in part.

It was Morgian, and the lord who ruled her. It was my own short-sightedness – or lack of faith, it amounts to the same thing sometimes. Time and again, I had been given opportunities and I had wasted them. Time and again, I had held back when I might have acted more swiftly, more forcefully. Why? Why had I done this?

The heart of a man remains a mystery for ever beyond his reckoning. What of that? I did not have to continue in my ignorance and disgrace. I could change. Knowing the difference, I could choose the higher way.

'What are you thinking, Merlin?' Charis asked after a while.

'I am thinking that this is my battle. I have run from it long enough.'

'What will you do?'

I shook my head. 'I cannot say. But I will be shown soon enough. And, while I wait, I will make myself ready. I will stay here at Ynys Avallach and I will strengthen myself with prayer and meditation on the Holy Christ.'

Charis hugged me again, and kissed my forehead. 'My Hawk, forgive yourself as you have been forgiven. Your failings are not unique to you alone.'

That was all she said; she left me soon after that. But I felt forgiven. I prayed: 'Great Light, thank you for waking me from my long, selfish sleep. Lead me, my King. I am ready to follow.'

The next day but one Avallach returned from Llyonesse. The news he brought was mixed. Belyn had improved, though would not recover, and did not expect to see Samhain. Nonetheless, he seemed content, and welcomed Avallach's visit. Consequently, the brothers had effected a reconciliation. And Avallach had gleaned what he could from Belyn regarding Morgian.

'There is little enough to tell,' Avallach informed me, 'but that little is disturbing. King Loth is dead, and Morgian has left the Orcades. Where she has gone is not known. Belyn expected her to return to Llyonesse in the spring, but there has been no sign or word from her.'

'Loth dead?' I mused. 'Then there are two thrones that will fall to her.'

Belyn's and Loth's, I was thinking: both would see one of Morgian's offspring made king. Two realms had fallen to the Queen of Air and Darkness – which was what the people of Ynysoedd Erch, the Islands of Fear, had taken to calling Morgian. Two kingdoms – one in the north, one in the south – under her power. But Morgian's influence extended much further than that – as I was soon to discover.

Three days later word came to Ynys Avallach that Uther was dead.