THE VAGABOND OPERA
The campfire gave a grumbling crackle, spitting beads of glowing embers at Merlin's bare, muddy toes. They missed, searing little black holes through tiny clumps of orange autumn leaves. A small circle of life nestled around the illuminating yellow flames, huddling from night's dark cloud: a skinny white rabbit with a matted, bloody clump torn from her neck, a twitchy, swaying great-horned owl, whom glared his beady, tiresome orange eyes from his perch atop the slumbering maple tree, and a sickly, shrunken grey kitten, like a pale of withering ash, purring brokenly in a curled ball on Merlin's lap.
Merlin gave a great, world weary sigh, poking the dismal fire with a long, broken stick of disfigured maple. "Buttercup, come here," he mumbled, gesturing at the bloody mass of hungry, shedding snowy fur; beautiful, although stained with a crusting crimson wound. The rabbit rose on shaking legs, and hobbled to Merlin's outstretched palm. "Your time has come...I'm sorry," Merlin tone reached a plea, stretching for forgiveness.
Buttercup whined, and feebly turned in attempt to scramble away. He abruptly grabbed her by the scruff, and her struggling, shrieking body went limp. The kitten mewed, and the owl gave a dismal hoot, before graciously turning his gaze, as Merlin tossed the body into the jaws of the fire.
"Buttercup served well," Merlin began. "She was a clever girl, may her soul rest with her body."
The owl looked upward into the starry night sky, admiring the stars, which twinkled so far, far away. Vagabond, the lonely songbird, could have whistled Buttercup to sleep had she remained. The owl couldn't sing, yet he still gave a soft, respectful coo.
Merlin continued poking the fire with his stick, watching the rabbits fur burn and skin peal to ash. Slowly, tentatively, the morning awoke, taunting the purple bruises under Merlin's eyes. He blearily sat up, and reached for his mouldy, scruffy boots to clothe his pale, bony feet. The kitten slipped from his lap, and so he lifted the frail creature, placing her within the fluffy lining of his ancient leather satchel. The fire no longer burned, crumbled red jewels glowing and fading to fat blocks of coal.
Merlin untied the scrap of scarlet fabric, crudely crafted into a thin, useless scarf, from around his wrist, feeling the course fabric between each calloused, long fingertip. A scar, thick and red, ran in a deathly slit from each corner of his neck. He hurriedly hid his gruesome lump with the dirty material, and carefully slung his satchel across his shoulder.
"We're nearly there," Merlin said to the owl, his eyes as heavy as lead. "You know what that means."
The owl gave an empty nod, and a sad coo.
"I'll miss you too, my friend, but I know you'll enjoy peace."
The owl didn't reply, but flitted from his perch onto Merlin's outstretched arm, his great power causing Merlin's weak, weary shoulder to crumple under the weight, before swiftly regaining composure.
"You'll like it there," Merlin began in a lousy, slow shuffle from foot to foot. "It's very dark, and rather cold, but the food is splendid. I know you wish to reunite with your songbird, she was such a lovely, happy creature."
Merlin took a deep, shaky breath, and continued.
"There's music, and dancing, and the Queen is an absolute beauty. She'll like you, I'll send her a good word."
The owl gave another coo, nudging his head into Merlin's cheek, struggling to remain upright with great difficulty as Merlin clumsily hobbled along.
Merlin blushed, the rosy tint unfamiliar on his languid, icy blue skin. "Don't be silly. Who could ever love an ugly corpse?"
He scowled darkly as the chirping, merry birds parted for the deathly companions.
"There could have been something, perhaps once, but all that has passed. I'm a country bumpkin, a foolish boy, and a dead one ontop of that. I'm a freak of nature, a mutation of all that should be balanced and equal in this world." He once again sighed, as the forest cleared to warm, sunny fields. He steered clear into the cool, welcoming shadows. "Humans fear death, yet they don't realise how blessed they are."
Merlin halted, and slowly, carefully moved his satchel, prying through the wrinkly leather to gently pull the growling kitten from it's depths. "Take her and fly as far as you can. I'll need my full life for now. I'm sorry."
The owl cooed, and took the scruff of the grey kitten's neck to his beak.
"No, don't say goodbye," Merlin smiled. "Because we'll meet again, in the underworld. Perhaps goodbye for now, but not forever."
He stepped into the light, wincing at the unfamiliar, searing brightness of the sun. The earth felt too dry, the wind too warm. The grass wasn't green like he'd expected, but dry and sandy.
"A half-life has been so painful, I can only imagine how horrible you've felt. I'm sorry for what I've done to you, my dear old friend."
The owl lifted his wings, and leapt to the crisp blue sky with a jump that clearly required more practice. Merlin could feel the life, which he'd given to the owl and cat, gradually slip away as they furthered in distance. He hobbled onwards through the fields, his gait gradually becoming stronger, his skin gaining a peachy, fleshy tone. His blue eyes, dull as rusted iron, sparkled like stars as though a match had been struck behind, and his sluggish, clogged veins burst into excitement with renewed vigour.
Freya sat in the corner, away from the merriment infront. It was the Underworld, and creatures of all kinds danced and sang and ate. A goblin, with mossy green skin, a hunched back and nose of huge proportions gave a lewd wink to Freya, as he waltzed with the beautiful wood pigeon patron. Freya nursed her warm, steaming cup of Belladonna juice in her quivering palms, drawing her knees in contact with her chest.
A woman approached from the far corner, ghostly and flickering in bare feet and a frilly white nightdress. Freya knew this was Morgana's vision, and shyly gestured for the elegant, tall woman to come closer. A worm briefly slithered through the moist furtile walls, before a little fairy snatched the pink, slippery creature with stubby hands the size of fingernails, and devoured the wriggling worm with teeth like tiny pointed daggers.
"Good evening, your Majesty," Freya nervously greeted, bowing her head and casting her eyes to the earth floor, where her toes curled around a pale, sickly weed.
"Why do you people call me that," Morgana scowled, modestly attempting to cross her arms over one another. Her nightdress did indeed leave very little to the imagination, and Freya quickly snatched away her gaze in embarrassment.
"Because you are our queen, and we await your return, Morgana LeFay," Freya bashfully replied, reaching to tuck a loose strand of curling hair behind her furry, pointed ears.
Morgana's frown deepened, and she gracefully sat beside Freya on the long, thick log of wood. "I've had these dreams ever since I was a girl. Did you know that?" Morgana murmured, gazing in awe as she'd always used to as a child. "I haven't been here for years."
"Merlin greatly missed you, m'lady," Freya sighed.
The woman's eyes brightened, and a grin spread unbidden in her cheeks, which she hastily muffled behind a jewel-encrusted hand. "Merlin...how has he been?" she excitedly asked.
Freya swallowed her tears and bit her tongue. "He's gone to see you, m'lady, but you won't know."
"Of course I will!" Morgana cried with a glare. "How could I ever forget dear little Merlin?!"
"Because this is a dream, m'lady, and everyone forgets dreams."