The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (11 page)

When her sisters had
disappeared in the gloom, Morgan cut down the dead gerbil. ‘There, Tom,’ she
said, kissing the tiny broken body and pressing it to her cheek, ‘it’s all over
now. I had to punish you, didn’t I? I did it for Margie. You shouldn’t have put
your thing in her, Tom. You really shouldn’t have.’ Laying the corpse carefully
on the compost heap, she followed her sisters back to the house.

 Merlin had been hired to teach
mathematics and science at Glastonbury School. In practice, though, he taught

every subject under the sun,
including some that were not on the curriculum of any school in the land. As he
had promised Hector and Elizabeth, he kept an eye on Keir and Arthur, and in
particular, for his own reasons, on Arthur.

Keir hated sport but was a
solid, if uninspired, student. Arthur was an excellent all-round cricketer, a
fine scrum-half and a promising tennis player. Academically he held his own,
although his heart wasn’t in it. The classroom was no more congenial to him than
a cage to a wild animal, and he spent most of the time peering out of the
window wishing he were anywhere but where he was.

When first he came to
Glastonbury Arthur was invited to tea by his housemaster, as were all new boys.
Merlin was pouring tea when there was a whir of wings, and an owl perched on
his wrist. ‘Ah.’ Merlin laid down the pot and stroked Virgil’s chest feathers.
‘This is Virgil.’

Arthur’s eyes were big. ‘He’s
a barn owl, isn’t he?’ ‘That’s right.’

‘He’s beautiful.’

Virgil puffed up his feathers
proudly until he was twice his normal size. When Arthur held out his hand
Virgil took two fingers in his beak and nibbled them gently. Then he jumped
onto Arthur’s shoulder and began to inspect his hair. Merlin beamed. ‘He does
that to me. He’s never done it to anyone else.’

How different the two brothers were, Merlin was
thinking as he watched the owl and the young boy. A year ago he had introduced
Keir to Virgil, and Keir had made what he obviously thought were owl sounds.
Instead of responding, Virgil had turned his back on him. Not wanting Keir to
feel rejected, Merlin had tried to explain that birds and animals needed to be
treated as individuals, just as human beings did. But Keir was not interested.
What was the point of an owl or a blackbird? What use was a fox or a mouse or a
weasel? Now fish were something else. Fish you could catch and put in a basket
and take home and eat.

As Arthur settled into his
first term Merlin left his academic studies in the hands of other teachers,
believing there were more important things for him to learn than anything to be
found in books. If Arthur wanted fun, then that was what Merlin would provide,
and so he concentrated on making learning fun, and Arthur learned without
knowing he was learning.

With the magus there were no
formal lessons. Merlin might, if he felt like it, mumble ‘Astronomy’ or
‘Geography’ or ‘History’ or ‘Zoology’ to give Arthur some idea what it was he
was about to experience, for that is what all Merlin’s lessons were; there were
no lectures and no exams, only experiences. Master and pupil would go for long
excursions in the country at weekends and talk about anything and everything,
though never about schoolwork. Most of the time Merlin was the best company in
the world, cheerful and ebullient. Occasionally, for no apparent reason, a
black mood descended on him and the magus would withdraw into himself like a
tree in winter. Arthur would be concerned and finger the small scar on his left
cheek as he sometimes did when he was troubled, wondering where his friend and
teacher had gone; but then suddenly the dark cloud would lift and Merlin was
alive again, sprouting words and gestures like spring leaves.

From time to time he would
show Arthur one of his conjuring tricks, or so he called them. But where in
this world or any other was there a conjurer like Merlin? ‘Astronomy’ he would
say, slip his hand into his pocket and pull out first a miniature Sun, and then
in quick succession, Mercury and Venus, Earth and Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and
Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. A wave of the hand, and there wheeling overhead, was
the solar system. Soon Arthur knew the night sky like the back of his hand –
the Great Bear and Orion’s Belt, Taurus the bull, Aries the ram, Cancer the
Crab and the scales of Libra. He would lie awake on a starlit night and dream
himself into space, and into time past and future, until his spirit left his
body and floated among the stars.

A mumbled ‘Geography’, a nod
of the head, and there were the Victoria Falls, or the Pyramids, or Venice, or
St. Petersburg, or the polar icecap. Studying an atlas was fine but having the
world come to you was surely better. History? The wink of an eye, and there was
Nelson or Socrates, Julius Caesar or George Washington. For other boys history
was dead and gone; for Arthur it was alive and here and now.

Botany and Zoology? Merlin
taught the lad all there was to know about the natural world and by the time he
was thirteen Arthur knew the name of every flower and shrub, every bush and
tree, every insect and butterfly, every bird and animal. In the dust Merlin
would draw the outline of wild geese and goshawks, robins, blackbirds and
nightingales. A flick of the fingers, and he would send them flying. In no time
at all Arthur knew the birds of the air better than he knew the palm of his own
hand, every detail of every feather, every speckle of every egg, every note of
every warble.

Animals came next. Merlin
would raise his hand and conjure up a lion or an impala, a tiger or a bear, a
wolf or a reindeer. Fortunately none of them showed the smallest inclination to
eat Arthur, for the power of the Magus confined them to their world.

Then followed the patterns and
functions of plants and trees, stones and rocks and clouds, streams and oceans,
black holes and galaxies, so that soon Arthur was as familiar with the
boundless universe as he was with his own small room.

When Arthur had learned enough
to know that he would never know enough, Merlin decided it was time to give his
young protégé some practical experience. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be a
dog?’

Arthur laughed and shook his
head, and the next thing he knew, Merlin was stooping to pat him, asking, ‘Who
are you?’

‘I am a dog,’ growled Arthur,
wandering, nose to the ground, to smell out any rabbits in the neighbourhood.
Never had he imagined that life could be so interesting. What smells! He could
smell the whole delicious, odorous world! What was more, every smell signified
something tremendously important. And what sounds! Such wondrous sounds! He
could hear every note that every bird sang, every step that every creature
took, every breath of wind, every creak of every branch, every rustle of every
leaf. He could even hear Merlin breathing.

‘Yes, I know what it’s like to
be a dog.’ ‘How do you know?’

‘Wasn’t I a dog once? Or did I imagine it?’

Merlin chuckled. ‘You imagined
so hard, you imagined yourself out of your head. That’s the first lesson,
Arthur. Most people are trapped inside their heads, all they care about is
themselves, all they know is themselves. You have learned how to escape from
your head.’

After a time Arthur could
imagine almost anything – what it was like to be an owl like Virgil, or a
blackbird, or a thrush, or a plant or a tree, or a fish (he was very thoughtful
after that experience), or a field mouse, or a mole, a hedgehog or a squirrel,
an otter or a badger, a bee or a snail – what it was like to be almost
anything, in fact, anything that lived in the whole wide, vibrant, excellent
world.

One day, Merlin said, ‘Imagine being a lion.’

That was a real challenge, for apart from
Merlin’s conjurings, he had only seen pictures of lions. But to his own
surprise, he heard himself roaring, ‘I am a lion.’

‘Or a warthog?’

‘I am a warthog,’ he grunted.

‘Imagine what it is like to be
a lion killing a warthog.’ Arthur’s expression was fierce and cruel.

‘Or a warthog torn to pieces by a lion?’

The young lad’s eyes were clouded and full of
pain.

‘I’m scared, Merlin,’ he
confided, on the way back to school.

‘Excellent!’ said Merlin
cheerfully. ‘That shows how well you are doing. It can be a frightening
business living in someone else’s head. It doesn’t matter whose head it is,
head of predator or prey, beggar or king, young or old, good, bad or
indifferent, black or white. But believe me, Arthur, it’s the only way forward,
a man can run to the end of the world and back again, he can explore the outer
limits of the universe, but he will never escape from his own head. Unless . .
. ’

‘Unless?’

‘Unless he can imagine a way
out of it, just as you are learning to do. Remember, Arthur, a man can know
everything, and understand nothing. When you understand that, you might learn
to understand other people.’ He laid his hand affectionately on Arthur’s
shoulder. ‘Who knows? You might even learn to understand yourself.’

‘Do you believe in God,
Merlin?’ ‘I believe in creation.’

‘Who created us?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t have to
know. I only know we were created.’

‘Why do we die?’

‘Because we have to change.’
‘How do we do that?’

‘When our time comes, we
return to earth. There, with the rocks and the stones, we learn patience and
the mystery of eternal life.’

‘You believe in eternal life, then?’

Merlin gave the question some
thought. ‘I believe that the life force is eternal. But everything has a
beginning and an end

– sun, moon, stars, galaxies,
black holes, comets, the planet earth which we inhabit, the universe itself.
That is the great paradox, Arthur. Nothing survives that does not change.’

‘Does God change?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Merlin,
laughing. ‘It’s one of your better questions though.’

‘It was you who taught me to
ask them.’ ‘Don’t ever stop,’ said Merlin.

 A week before Arthur’s thirteenth
birthday, Hector reminded Elizabeth of the promise they made Merlin all those
years ago. She stopped knitting. ‘What promise was

that?’

‘We agreed to tell Arthur he’s
adopted. We said we’d do it before he was thirteen.’

‘Oh, that!’ Elizabeth resumed
her knitting, clacking the needles noisily.

Hector would not be put off.
‘We gave our word.’ Another burst of agitated clacking.

‘It’s time he knew, Liz.’

Elizabeth laid down her
knitting. ‘He’s our son,’ she insisted obstinately, ‘and that’s all he needs to
know.’

‘Of course he’s our son. But
we adopted him and there’s no use pretending we didn’t. Even if we hadn’t given
Merlin our word, it would be wrong not to tell him.’

Suddenly Keir was in the room. ‘Tell him what?’

Hector jumped. ‘How many times
have I told you not to listen at doors?’

‘What is it you have to tell
Arthur?’ insisted Keir stubbornly.

Hector hated to lie but how
could he tell him the truth? ‘It’s a private matter – nothing that need concern
you. Alright?’

‘Fine.’ But Keir was not
convinced. Something was going on and he was determined to find out what.

For the next few hours
Elizabeth debated fiercely with her conscience, dropping a few stitches and
more than a few tears.

That afternoon she beckoned Arthur into the
kitchen and shut the door.

‘There’s something I have to
tell you,’ she said, bustling about making tea. ‘It’s private.’

The longer Arthur waited, the
more puzzled he became. What was so private that she couldn’t say it in front
of dad? Or in front of Keir, for that matter? And why was his mother, normally
so efficient, creating such a drama over a simple cup of tea? First she forgot
to put the tea bag in the cup, then she knocked over the milk jug. He watched
with some anxiety as she stooped to wipe up the milk. Was there something wrong
with her? He felt cold and afraid. Whatever it was she had to tell him, he did
not want to hear it.

The words that finally crept
out so hesitantly were not the ones she had rehearsed. ‘I just wanted to tell
you . . . to tell you . . . that . . . you are my very own son, and I love you
very much.’

It was not clear to Arthur why
that would make his mother cry, but being a feeling person, he understood that
for some reason she needed love and comforting. ‘I love you too, mum,’ he said,
hugging her.

Elizabeth was a little ashamed of herself. She
could scarcely look Hector in the face. ‘I tried to tell him. I just couldn’t.’

‘Then I shall have to.’

She knelt at his feet and laid
her head on his knees. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Promise?’ ‘I promise.’

He had his doubts about that
promise, but he hated to refuse her anything.

The days passed, and Elizabeth
could not bring herself to do it. Hector was worried. He did his best to
persuade her how much better it would be if Arthur learned the truth from them
rather than from someone else. She seemed to agree, and she renewed her promise
to tell Arthur but so passionately did she want Arthur to be her own flesh and
blood that she had almost convinced herself he was.

By the time the two brothers next
went fishing, Keir’s persistent eavesdropping had been rewarded; he had
discovered his parents’ secret. Moreover, he knew they had not shared it with
Arthur. Lying on his back, hands clasped behind his head, Arthur watched his
beloved clouds race the wind across the sky. There was a time, not so long ago,
when he would have seen more than clouds in those white scraps of cirrus. When
he was seven years old, what else would they have been but ships from outer
space? Now that he was thirteen and a man – or so Merlin said – he had to admit
they were nothing more than clouds. He was not at all sure that he liked
growing up.

Keir cast his line. ‘I always knew it.’

So heavy was the burden of
silence that in the end Arthur felt obliged to respond. ‘Knew what?’

‘That you were not my brother.’

Arthur sat up, his attention
fully engaged. ‘What did you say?’ he asked, not sure he had heard right.

‘I said you are not my
brother. And mum and dad are not your parents. They adopted you. You are no
relation to any of us. None at all.’ Keir’s voice rose triumphantly. ‘I knew
you weren’t one of us. I always said you were different.’

For a few seconds Arthur
stared at his elder brother in disbelief, then his face folded in grief and
pain, and tears sprang from his eyes.

‘Cry baby! Cry baby!’ chanted
Keir. This was positively the best moment of his life. Nothing, absolutely
nothing, would ever give him greater satisfaction.

‘I don’t believe you,’ said
Arthur. But he did not know what to believe. For days he was in torment. Was Keir
lying? His first thought was to ask his parents, though Keir had warned him not
to say anything to them – ‘My parents,’ he called them, rubbing salt in the
wound – or they would throw Arthur out of the house and he would have no home
at all. Arthur knew that could not be true. Elizabeth and Hector loved him. It
was not what they might do that troubled him, it was what they might say. What
if they said it was true? What if he really was adopted? In a way he preferred
living in uncertainty. He did not want to know. But in the end the strain of
not knowing became too great and at breakfast a few days later he blurted out,
‘Keir says I’m not your real son.’

Elizabeth and Hector looked at
each other in shock. Hector put down his cup. ‘Your mother and I need to talk
to Arthur alone,’ he told Keir. But as Keir got up to leave the kitchen,
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘let him stay. This involves all of
us.’

Arthur had his answer. There
was nothing more to be said. ‘So it’s true.’

Feeling his pain, Elizabeth
suffered with Arthur. If only she had listened to Hector. ‘Yes,’ she said,
‘it’s true.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asked Arthur
wretchedly.

‘Dad wanted me to. I’m so
sorry. I was afraid.’ She opened her arms.

‘Afraid of what?’

Her voice was low. ‘Of losing your love.’

Arthur went to her and hugged
her. ‘You could never do that, mum. Don’t you know that?’

Elizabeth burst into tears. ‘I
was scared of hurting you – the way Keir has done.’

Keir sat with head bowed,
raging. Wait till he got the little shit alone!

‘You see, Arthur,’ said
Elizabeth, clasping her younger son tightly, ‘we adopted you when you were a
tiny baby. You were only ten days old. We have never thought of you as anything
but our own flesh and blood. The law says you are our adopted son but we don’t.
We never have, do you see? You are our son, just like Keir. As far as we are
concerned, there is no difference.’

Keir was close to tears. ‘He’s
not your son! He’s not my brother!’

‘He is, and he always will
be,’ said Elizabeth firmly. ‘That’s because you love him more than me.’

‘That isn’t true,’ said
Hector. ‘We love both of you the same.’

After a long silence,
Elizabeth said, ‘I was wrong, Arthur. I should have listened to your father.
I’m really sorry you had to learn the truth this way. But I’m glad you found
out, even if you didn’t hear it from me. I never carried you in my womb but
from the first moment I laid eyes on you, you have been a part of me, part of
my flesh, part of my bones, part of my heart. You are my son, my very own son.
No mother ever loved a child more than I love you.’

‘I am your father, Arthur,’
said Hector. ‘I love you with all my heart and soul.’

Then Elizabeth and Hector took
both their children in their arms and hugged them. Arthur hugged them back, but
Keir held himself stiffly, his head filled with bitter thoughts.

Hector said hesitantly, ‘I’m afraid we don’t
know who your

– your birth parents are. We can find out, if
you want us to.’

Arthur shook his head. ‘No.’
He was not ready to accept that he had any other parents.

Neither Hector nor Elizabeth
rebuked Keir for the wrong he had done his brother. Keir suffered torments, not
because his conscience troubled him but because Arthur bore him no grudge.
Indeed he went out of his way to show his older brother the affection he still
felt for him. Keir accepted it as his due, and gave nothing in return. Perhaps
Arthur tried too hard, or Keir too little, but whatever the reason, Keir was
more jealous of his brother than ever.

There was, however, one
significant change in their relationship. Never again did Keir try to bully
Arthur. Nothing was said, there was no confrontation, no threats or counter
threats, it was simply that he noticed something different about his younger
brother, something indefinable, revealing itself in small ways – a look in the
eye, perhaps, or a touch more confidence in the way he carried himself –
insignificant enough, but a clear warning, none-the-less, that Arthur was not a
child and would no longer tolerate being treated like one.