Merlin's Harp (18 page)

  "Never fear for that!"

  "And Aefa."

  "Aefa? Your shadow?"

  "She lies with Mordred."

  "Like every slave girl in the dun."

  For the sake of Arthur's Peace, I made one last weary effort. "Lugh. I have seen dread omens."

  I went on to talk of dreams and ravens, owls, hawks, and storms, some of them real omens Merlin had remarked, most invented on the spot. Lugh's big face darkened and paled and darkened again as I spoke; the Otter curled himself down small and rocked to and fro, either distressed or mocking me, I did not care which.

  I finished: "Arthur's doom stands at his door, Lugh. Lancelot. Do not you be the one to open that door."

  And I rose up, shook hay seed from my gown, and left them there in the dim stable. I took myself off into sunlight.

U
nder Counsel Oak's leafy roof I stand in twilight. Beyond his shade,
autumn sun still filters through the apple trees of Avalon. I stand by the
black cavern that lightning tore from Counsel's side long ago and look
out at the golden light, and listen to Mellias trill his pipe, far away. I
recognize the tune, a mournful little song called "Yellow Leaves." I am
at home.

  
Out in the golden light five white deer search for fallen apples. One
at a time they raise their heads—four smooth, one antlered—and look
at me, and twitch uninterested ears. I am invisible. I am scentless.

  
A breeze stirs Counsel's leaves above me. "Har…vest" I think
they say. I strain my ears but the leaves do not speak till flickered
by the next breeze.

  
"Rest," they say, almost clearly. "Harvest, rest…"

  
Soon Counsel's leaves will fall. The God will die, to fill the Humans'
barns…

  
"Fall," sigh the leaves. "You fall…we fall…"

  
A figure staggers out of shadow. Golden light strikes green on ragged
gown, silver on long, wild hair.

  
The Lady reels among the white deer. No ear flicks, no head lifts.
The Lady is invisible, scentless, like me. Her brown face has turned
Anglo-white; under her rags she is spider-thin.

  
I yearn toward her. I step toward her, holding out supportive arms.

  
The Lady walks into my arms; into my chest; out my back; on toward
Counsel Oak. I whirl. "Nimway!" I whisper. "Mother!"

  
She limps and lurches from sunlight into the shadow of Counsel Oak.

  
"Mama!"

  
With one skeletal hand she gathers her torn gown close.

  
"Fall…" the leaves murmur.

  
She bows her white head and steps into the black lightning-scar, into
Counsel's side.

  
Far away, Mellias's pipe trills "Yellow Leaves."

  
Before my shocked eyes the lightning scar heals itself. Bark crawls
across the entrance.

  
I run to Counsel Oak. I hammer my fists on his new bark. I tear at
it with my nails. The cavern is sealed.

  I start, a-tremble and awake.

  Still deep in dream-dread, I lay frozen. Mellias's crystal burned against my throat. I opened my eyes and saw Merlin hunched like a shadow over our small fire. His long, even-lengthened fingers spun spells that flickered up the curving wicker wall. Mellias lay asleep on his pallet. Absent Aefa had not touched hers.

  Something was amiss. I felt as though I had waked in the forest and sensed the approach of stealthy paws.

  I felt as though an owl had called a name.

  Beyond our wall the dun was tomb-quiet. Arthur and many of his knights were away. But a sentinel should have paced by on the hard-packed street. A baby could have cried in a nearby hut. Alley cats could have sung.

  Merlin saw my open eyes and beckoned.

  I struggled up, pulled on a shawl over my shift, and settled crosslegged at the fire, though I could not scry for Merlin. I wondered if he guessed that.

  Merlin said with his fingers,
Aefa?

  I signed,
Mordred.

  Merlin grimaced.
Do not trust Aefa.

  
Not now.

  
Aefa is man-crazy; Mordred is handsome.

  
I know.

  
We know what Mordred wants.

  I thought of my journey into that dark mind and nodded. Merlin signed,
He will not wait forever. Arthur will not give him Caliburn!

  
No? Remember, Mordred is his nephew. Almost his friend. Mordred
bade Arthur leave the dun tonight. Arthur left.
Merlin leaned to me.
Niviene. Arthur's Peace nears its end.

  
Yes.

  Merlin had scried this in bird-flight, wind-shifts, stars, fire, water. I knew it as any Human might know it—by watching, listening, sniffing.

  Merlin signed,
Mordred snakes. Mordred pokes here, there, under
foot, in pocket. Hisses of Gwenevere.

  
I warned her she courts death.

  
Arthur will sacrifice her?

  
Yes, he will.

  
You know Arthur.

  I stared into the flickering coals. Merlin sucked in his breath and uttered, "Hah!"

  The sharp pain in my head was Merlin, withdrawing. As I firegazed, he had entered my mind. He stared at me, appalled. He signed,
Arthur's Peace is doomed because you lost power.

  I bowed my head.

  Merlin thrust his hands under my nose to signal,
You love Arthur.

  I drew back away, insulted.
I cannot love.

  
How often have you lain with Arthur?

  
Once. Twice.

  Merlin assured me,
Your power will return. No one is always
powerful.

  
Even you?

  Softly, he snorted. Now you know Arthur. Will he sacrifice hi
s
wife, friends?

  
Absolutely.

  
No doubt?

  
None.

  
When I led you here. The first day. Arthur knew you.

  
Yes.

  
You had met.

  
Yes.

  
Tell.

  I translated one of Merlin's own songs into finger-talk. Lonel
y
hunter…enchanted wood…white deer…maiden.
And I added,
Flowering Moon.

  Merlin sat back to absorb this, his face in shadow.
Gods!
he signed at last,
Good thing you let him live!
He thought further. I watched him make the connection he had to make.
Your child!

  I nodded.

  
Holy Goddess! Mother Earth! If I had known that…Merlin leane
d back into light. The sorrow on his face nearly matched my own.

  I knew his thoughts. My little Bran could have been Arthur's heir. Merlin could have carried him off to some monastery—maybe to Gildas—and had him taught. Merlin could have produced Bran as he had produced Arthur. Merlin could have been druid to three high kings—Uther, Arthur, and Bran!

  I shivered. My little Bran could have grown up Human. He could have joined battle and killed nine hundred men. He could have sat in judgment and ordered fellow Humans drowned or hanged. He might be alive today.

  Or he might not. The Human world has its risks and dangers, and there is such a thing as Fate. But I was deeply glad that I had not known, myself, the identity of Bran's father.

  The rustle of Mellias waking, rubbing his eyes and rolling over, startled this weird night's silence. Lithely he rose, pulled on his tunic, and joined us at the fire. He whispered, "Our Aefa is still gone."

  I said, "You know she is not 'our' Aefa, now."

  To my horror, tears misted his eyes. He muttered, "This night is evil."

  "You feel that, Mellias?"

  "Even a Human would feel it."

  Merlin whispered urgently, "Niviene! Look at the fire!"

  "I cannot scry, Merlin."

  "Pretend you can! Look, Girl, look."

  Outside, a sound broke through the smothering curtain of silence. Muffled, padded feet stomped past our door—horses' hooves, clothed in rags.

Merlin whispered, "Niviene, scry!"

Mellias murmured, "Do neither of you mages hear horses?"

Bent over the fire, Merlin cried out, "Look here!"

  As I bent over the fire, I felt Merlin's hand touch the base of my spine. From where his fingers lay, unlooked-for power wriggled up my back; and, even as I breathed a prayer of surprised thanksgiving, my eyes focused on the scene in the fire.

  Naked and twined, Lugh and Gwen sprawled across a huge bed among rumpled linen sheets and embroidered cushions. A small oil lamp burned on a table. A red coverlet had been pushed to the floor. Lovemaking over, Lugh and Gwen petted and murmured. Lugh spread her hair in the lamplight and wound it around his arm. One of her pale hands fondled his chest. Their double aura had flamed red throughout the small room. Now it was shrinking and dimming to orange.

  In the place where my heart had once lived, something hurt as though stabbed. Why did I have to be a "virgin" mage? At that moment I felt I would gladly be a mere Human queen, if I could live so in my body and treasure my heart!

  Lugh lunged up on an elbow. Gwen pulled him down, but he struggled up again, head cocked, listening.

  Gwen tensed, raised her head, and heard what he heard. She rolled over and reached down for the coverlet on the floor.

  Lugh leapt up off the bed and looked wildly around him. The door—the heavy oak door, iron-bolted—buckled under blows from outside. Lugh rushed frantically around the walls, looking for a sword. The door splintered.

  Lugh darted behind the door. On her feet by the bed, Gwen drew the red coverlet up around herself.

  The iron bolt held, but the oak door broke vertically in half. Naked and empty-handed Lugh stood poised, concealed behind the open half door.

  A small dark man, sword in hand, rushed through the broken door and paused, his back to Lugh. Mordred. Over his shoulder I glimpsed other faces. For the space of a gasp Mordred stood, sword raised, peering around for Lugh.

  I had thought of our hostage, Morgan's son, as a poisonous serpent who would lunge, then slither to cover. His courage surprised me. I would have expected to see him behind the men in the doorway, urging them on, not out in front. But there he stood like a rearing snake, eyes darting around the small, rich room.

  Lugh struck. Clenched into one huge fist, his hands smashed down on the back of Mordred's neck. Mordred dropped. Lugh swooped, snatched Mordred's sword from his numbed hand, and turned on the knights crowding in.

  Those in front pushed back. No man would willingly fight Lancelot if he were armed. He stabbed a knight through the groin and whirled on another. Confused, the knights pushed back, knocked each other over and almost took flight.

  Mordred reeled to his feet, pointing at Lugh. His mouth opened in a shout. The knights surged forward like a wave, attacking Lugh together.

  Lugh backed across the room, slashing and parrying, leaving a man here, a man there, on the floor. He was making for a shadowed door at the back of the room which I thought led into Gwen's herb garden.

  A small, cloaked figure slunk from the hall into the doorway. Aefa.

  She bent and hefted a fallen sword and pushed it into Mordred's hand. Mouth wide in a triumphant cry, he followed the knights after Lugh.

  All this time Gwen had stood statuesque, wrapped in her long hair and coverlet. Now she gathered up the coverlet, scurried to the herb garden door, and shot back the bolt. Aefa glided from the doorway to plaster herself against a wall. Lugh pushed the garden door open with his shoulder and backed outside, parrying. Swords swinging, the knights pressed between him and Gwen. Lugh disappeared in the darkness outside. Mordred and two others seized Gwen by her hair, her arm, the coverlet.

  The broken hall door glowed red. Arthur stood in the open half, armed, Caliburn himself in his gloved hand. His aura spread red through the room.

  Our scrying fire flickered, flamed up once more and died.