Merlin Appears

Merlin glided through the air, over the great salt marshes that spread across the border of the southern kingdom. In his falcon form, he could travel much faster than any horse and attract less notice too. The bird’s keen eyes saw everything below, from the wolves slogging through the marshes, to the poor wretches that tried to live in the blighted lands.

Eventually, even wizards grew weary. Merlin began to search for a dry place to spend the night, safe from the unsavory creatures that prowled the salt marshes once the sun went down. He selected a towering pine tree, and circled as he descended, searching for any sign of predators. After choosing a sturdy looking branch, he landed. As a falcon, his powerful talons could hold fast to the stout bough through the night. The sun was setting and Merlin was tired. He raised one darkly feathered wing, tucked his head beneath it, and was soon asleep.

The smoke woke him. The smell made his stomach rumble in an almost angry fashion. Food had not been a priority, and while he could hunt and kill as a falcon, he did not savor the taste of raw meat the way other birds did. The smell of smoked fish on the other hand, was something the wizard did crave. With a leap, he was in the air again, spreading powerful wings and circling the small hill where the tree stood. The ground there was less wet, but not completely dry either. A tiny fire had been kindled, and two hooded figures huddled near the golden light.

Merlin dropped toward the ground and reverted to his human form just as his feet met the earth. He stood straight, stretching the muscles in his back without making a sound. In the darkness beyond the tiny fire’s light, he was completely shrouded in darkness.

“Hello at the camp,” Merlin said calmly.

“Who’s there!” One of the hooded figures demanded. It was a man, skinny and covered in filthy rags, but holding a knife in one hand.

“A friend, I mean you no harm,” Merlin said. “I smelled the fish you’re smoking and hoped there might be enough for me.”

He stepped closer, his long robe hung to the top of his boots, and was cinched at the waist with a golden sash. His long hair was tied together at the back of his neck, and the soft whiskers that covered his jawline and chin were streaked with gray. From inside the sleeve of his robe, Merlin produced a silver coin. It was polished bright and reflected the firelight as he held it out.

“Umvar, take the coin,” the other traveler demanded.

Merlin held out the coin to the man, who took it and slipped it into his belt.

“We’ve only enough for two,” Umvar insisted.

“You can go hungry one night for a silver coin,” his companion insisted.

Merlin didn’t necessarily like taking the man’s meal, but he had done without on his long journey. A belly full of smoked fish would give him strength to return to his estates in Butan.

“May I?” Merlin asked, pointing to the tiny fire.

“Please, join us,” the second traveler said.

It was a woman leaning against the tree, her arms and legs pulled up around her distended belly. Merlin could feel the child she carried. It was almost to term and had not yet been named. Looking up, Merlin could see the moon was nearly full. The silvery light seemed swallowed up in the darkness of the salt marshes, which were black as pitch. She would have the baby soon, maybe in only a few days.

“My name is Cryslov,” she said, taking a spit from above the fire where the fish had been smoked. There were two fish on the stick, each with its head removed. The bodies were split down the middle leaving two sides hanging on either side of the stick. The skin was blackened, the flesh white. Merlin took the stick and began to pull the flaky, white meat from the bones of the fish. It was rich with the flavor of the smoke and salty too. The man, Umvar, handed Merlin a water skin.

“You’ll have to drink water, we have nothing better,” the man said.

Merlin took the skin, and held it in one hand. With the other, he waved an intricate pattern while whispering a spell. Cryslov looked up, her eyes bright. She wanted to speak, but she waited. It wasn’t wise to interrupt a wizard in the middle of a spell. When he was finished, Merlin lifted the water skin and took a long pull. The water had become a sharp, full bodied, wine.

“It is more than water now,” Merlin said handing the skin back to Umvar.

“You’re a wizard?” Cryslov said. “I didn’t know there were any of the gifted south of Atal.”

“There are a few,” Merlin said. “I’m Errol ap’Tunnar Foyl, but most people call me Merlin.”

“Like the bird,” Umvar said, as if it were an insult.

“The falcon, yes,” Merlin said. “The fish is excellent.”

“Thank you,” Cryslov said.

“Where are you headed?” Merlin asked.

“Wrydun’s Ferry,” Cryslov said. “Hopefully before the baby comes.”

“It will come with the full moon,” Merlin said.

“How can you know that?” Umvar asked.

He was standing and still had the knife in one hand. It was wise not to trust strangers, especially those who wandered along in the dark, but Merlin had paid for his meal and pledged not to harm them. The knife was more tool than weapon, and wouldn’t be much use against a wizard. Merlin was tempted to turn the blade into an eel, or maybe a snake, but it was plain to see that the couple had precious little in the world. Ruining the knife wouldn’t help them, and Merlin was intrigued by the child Cryslov was carrying.

“Your wife is near term,” Merlin said. “Many babies are born when the moon is full. It is simple observation.”

Cryslov rubbed her ample stomach, smiling. “Umvar is my brother. The baby isn’t his.”

“And that is why you haven’t named the child?” Merlin asked, referring to the powerful blessing a child received from its father and mother.

“I’m waiting on his father,” Cryslov said. “He will come.”

“Why isn’t he here now?” Merlin asked.

“There is rumor of war,” Umvar said. “The Farkia Outcasts are massing near the border. The dark magic is a threat to all living kind.”

He took a swig from the water skin, as if talking had suddenly dried his throat. He wiped his mouth and nodded to Merlin, before settling back down in front of the fire. In the distance wolves howled, and an howl screeched. Night in the salt marshes was not for the faint of heart.

“He is a Bright One, your mate?” Merlin asked, referring to the powerful Atals, who were more than human and the guardians of magic.

Cryslov nodded. “He is. When it is safe for us he will come and take us home.”

“She’s been living in Atland,” Umvar said. “She’s beginning to think she’s highborn.”

“We are all precious creations,” Merlin said.

“Easy for you to say,” Umvar continued. “Wizards and princes and all the Bright Ones who have no fear of death speak of equality. But they don’t know poverty, or hunger. They don’t know what it’s like to scratch and claw for your next meal, never knowing when some monster is going to come for you in the dark.”

Merlin knew more than most about magical creatures. His closest companion was a water spirit that lived in the black lake near Butan. And hadn’t he just paid good silver for a few smoked fish? Merlin had lived off field mice, weasels, and other small birds in his falcon form many times. He had sacrificed decades of his life to learn magic which the Bright Ones of Atal were loath to share. But most common folk didn’t want to hear of his hardships, not when he could do things with magic they could scarcely imagine.

Still, it was highly unusual for the Bright Ones to love a mortal being. All the magic in the world couldn’t make a human live forever, no matter what people like Umvar believed. Such a romance would eventually end in heartbreak. Their child would certainly be gifted, but unless the immortal genes were dominant it would be considered lowborn. The Atals wouldn’t accept him, nor would most humans. He would be an outsider everywhere he went. Yet Merlin could feel a sense of destiny from the baby, the way that gold felt heavy in the hand, or a well made sword seemed to lend strength when you held it. He made his decision quickly. Agonizing over a decision was not his way. He could be impulsive, but rarely gave his doubts any heed once his mind was made up.

Reaching out, he put his hand on Cryslov’s stomach. She tensed, but he looked into her eyes, his own glowing golden in the gloom of the night.

“Never fear,” he said, letting magic flow from his body. It was like breathing out, simple yet profound. The bonding spell was a matter of will, not magical strength. “All is well.”

Cryslov didn’t pull away, and Umvar was oblivious that anything was taking place other than a man feeling the baby. It was not an unusual thing for people to do, although more women than men seemed to care about feeling a child still in its mother’s womb. When Merlin finished a moment later he sat back and reached into his robe for the bag of coins he had hidden there.
He handed the pouch of gold and silver to Cryslov. “For the boy.”

“It’s a boy?” she asked, taking the coins.

“He is. And I will watch over him, as often as I can.”

Umvar grunted, but didn’t say anything. He had been drinking the magically crafted wine since Merlin handed it back to him, and was starting to move past tipsy to true drunkenness. Magical spirits were often more potent than natural beverages. Cryslov smiled, and put her hand on her belly. It was obvious that she loved her baby and was lost in her own thoughts of motherhood. Neither of them heard the serpent slither up the far side of the small hill. Merlin rose slowly to his feet just as the snake rose up behind the tree. It was a huge creature, big enough to swallow any of them whole, and probably two of them before its appetite was sated.

“Make no sudden movements,” Merlin said.

“Eh?” Umvar asked.

There was no time to explain. Merlin reached one hand toward the fire, and stretched the other toward the towering serpent that was preparing to strike. Flames from the tiny camp fire leaped toward the wizard, swirled around his body and then shot out toward the snake.