-o-o-
10.
-o-o-
Four years almost to the day since Morgana had come to the coven, Acracea declared that their solution was complete. They had pieced together lore and legend and found what they were convinced must be the exact ritual. It was unspoken but accepted that Acracea would be first.
They spent several days painstakingly copying ancient patterns to produce an immense chalked symbol which sprawled across the rock floor of the largest cavern. In the centre was a golden goblet. Iastheir and Talfryn had filled it with water and cast a wordy enchantment over it.
Acracea had gone to fetch the final component, whatever that was. Morgana brushed her hands together to remove the chalk; ineffective as it was she used magic and her hands were clean and soft again. She was alarmed when Acracea returned with a child tied up and struggling in her arms, a boy about ten years old. His clothes were dirty and torn.
"What do we need him for?" asked Morgana, fearing the answer.
"There is a reason we do not always divulge everything to you." Acracea produced a knife from under her cloak. "You were always the one with the bleeding heart. But I'm sure you won't allow sentiment to come in the way of our prize."
"You can't sacrifice someone for this!"
"A blind waif who will hardly survive the next few years in exchange for immortality? For life there must be life given, Morgana, and this is quite the trade-off."
"I won't let you!" said Morgana, reaching out to wrestle the knife from her. The boy fell to the floor. She managed to get hold of the knife, but Acracea used her magic to push her up against the wall.
Lillian was watching the confrontation with an expression of interest. The others stood fixed and staring open-mouthed as Morgana flailed. She mustered her powers and managed to prise herself away from the wall. Acracea muttered enchantments, causing rocks to fall from above, all the while trying to force the blade out of Morgana's hand from a distance.
Morgana dodged the rocks and struggled to keep hold of the knife, before giving up and flinging it. It spun in the air and hit Acracea squarely in the chest. Morgana was shocked into silence as her friend collapsed on the ground.
As Acracea's strength dissipated, so did her beauty, until all that could be seen poking out from under the mountain of silvery cloth was a small pair of wrinkled hands and a wizened head.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Iastheir, who gave Morgana a petrified glance and then vanished. Talfryn disappeared a moment later, presumably to follow her.
The boy lay whimpering. Acracea's blood dribbled from her slackened body, making the chalk patterns run into one another. Dylan and Lillian shielded their eyes from the sudden burst of intense gold light emanating from the symbol.
The magic burned through Morgana's body, stinging and slicing at every inch of flesh, as though she might be rent into pieces from the sheer agony of it. The light half-blinded her but she could feel shards of rock still being shaken from above; she was sure the ceiling would give in at any moment.
She reached out to pick up the child and, with a pitying glance at the others, transported herself and the boy up to the clean air of the island just as the cavern collapsed in on itself.
She lay on the grass, quivering and breathless, her eyes watering until tears dripped down her face. The pain gradually filtered away, flames dissolving into smouldering remnants, into a low background thrum of power that she could easily ignore. The boy was lying next to her, wriggling, trying to free himself.
"Don't be afraid," said Morgana. She untied him and he scrambled back a few feet. "I won't hurt you, I promise. What's your name?"
He was terrified and didn't speak. She looked down at herself. She would hardly have known that anything was different but for that pleasurable thrum of magic that flowed through her still and an almost imperceptible sheen on her skin that she thought must be new.
"I'm Morgana. What's your name?" she repeated.
"Eadred," said the boy warily.
"If you tell me where you live, Eadred, I'll take you back home to your family."
"I don't live anywhere. I don't have a family."
"Acracea took you off the streets?"
The boy screwed his eyes up tightly, seemingly ashamed. "I was begging, miss."
"I don't live anywhere either now," said Morgana. "I thought those people were my friends, but…" But she searched and failed to find sympathy for them, though they must surely have been crushed by the cave-in. Something about this poor lost child tugged at her heart, though.
She had an idea. Now she was sure she possessed more magic than ever before. "Keep still," she said, touching her hands to his face. He flinched but didn't try to move away.
Morgana focussed and whispered a spell. Nothing happened. She tried again, concentrating on stitching the broken tissues back together.
Eadred blinked a few times. "Oh." His mouth dropped open.
"You can see?"
"I can see you… you're blurry." He reached out his hand and found her shoulder. "Thank you," he said earnestly.
Though it wasn't quite what she had hoped she would be able to do, Morgana found herself smiling. "Maybe we can find a place to stay together, you and I."
"I'd like that, miss."
-o-
They must make a curious couple, thought Morgana as they searched for the abandoned cottage she knew was around here somewhere: a lady in fine, flowing silks and her half-blind charge in tattered rags clinging to her hand.
The weather was baking hot, but she was not bothered by it, despite the way her fabric was sticking to her skin and should have caused at least some discomfort. Eadred started to complain more vociferously that his legs were tired and it was too hot, so she scooped him up in her arms and carried him. He really was very small and probably younger than she had assumed, she decided as he rested his head on her shoulder.
Once they had found the cottage, Eadred settled down on the grubby mattress and began to moan instead that he was thirsty. The place was furnished; Accolon had told her of how a couple accused of witchcraft were dragged out of here kicking and screaming.
Morgana went to fetch some water from the river – it was easier to clean water with her magic than to conjure it. She splashed some on her face. It cooled her skin but she felt no relief, not having been hot in the first place. Curious, she took a sharp rock and made a small cut on her arm, watching with fascination as her body healed itself before her eyes. The cut had not hurt at all either.
-o-
"You have many faces. None of them's going to fool me." Talfryn would have recognised that slow, stupidly graceful walk anywhere, but in the guise of a raggedy child it was especially incongruous.
"Don't know what you mean," said the girl, pretending to wipe her nose on her sleeve for emphasis.
"I'll lose my patience soon, Iastheir." His slight doubts were cast aside when the girl twitched at her name. "Why are you bothering to hide?"
"After one of my friends turns out to be a murderer… well two, really."
"You know I'd never hurt you. And I don't think Dylan and Lillian will be doing any hurting ever again. I've been looking. Mostly for you."
"People don't even know," whined Iastheir. "When I'm like this" – she gestured at her juvenile form – "they don't bother to keep their secrets and nobody's talking. No one realises that there's a Fay walking among us."
A frown crawled its way over Talfryn's handsome features. "She might be dangerous. People should know."
"And then we should hide for good. Morgana might already want us dead. This is going to be a miserable existence." She looked down forlornly at her shabby dress.
"I don't think it has to be," he replied with a cautious smile.
"No?"
"Strength in numbers."
"Oh."
"You think-"
Her form shifted swiftly to one of radiant beauty, which was only increased when she smiled happily at him. She reached out to take his hand. "Let's tell the world."
-o-
It did not take long for Morgana to realise that her power grew even yet. The low murmur of magic became more noticeable, transforming into a constant, unchanging sensation of something like delight, which nonetheless annoyed her; for all it was pleasurable, its presence dulled every other physical sensation. She knew no pain or discomfort. The thin sheen on her skin had not merely persisted but developed into an opalescent veneer that lifted her appearance to that of something altogether unearthly.
Within a few weeks she was able to heal Eadred's sight completely and the way in which he adored her unreservedly was quite a consolation for the drawbacks of her new-found powers.
"I'm going out for a moment," she told him one evening. He was sitting and shifting coloured stones about on the floor in a game to which he only knew the rules. Soon she would have to find them somewhere to live where he would be able to play with other children.
"Okay, Mama." Her name had descended by degrees through Morgana to Mor'na to Mama, and she found she was fine with that. She was sure she could have loved Eadred like her own, once, felt a bond as she had with that poor druid boy, though she knew that Eadred had no magic. Though she would always be careful, through magic if necessary, that she had no child of her own, she had in more innocent days looked forward to motherhood, if no other part of marriage.
She could have watched the castle in the way Iastheir had shown her. But it was not the same as to stand here at the edge of the town, to feel the breeze that made the crimson flags ripple, to smell the smoke that swirled from the houses to gather as a roof-level miasma from which Camelot rose like a goddess from sea-foam, grand and glorious above the dirty thatched roofs. Morgana did not shiver at the cold nor cough at the smog, merely looked out at the scene before her and thought.
Her aim until recently had been to seek power and to find out about her supposed destiny, but with no more power to be had and her greatest source of information destroyed, there was a temptation to return Camelot. But even if Arthur welcomed her, he had no need of her; he had a wife and an advisor and what other use could she be?
Sighing, she descended from the hill into the town, changing her clothes to appear at least a little less conspicuous. She had never tried to disguise herself with magic; at first she had not known how, then she had had no use for it, holed up as she had been on the island, and now it hardly mattered if someone recognised her. She could be miles away in the blink of an eye.
The sun had set a few hours ago and the streets were almost deserted. A man perched on the sloping side of an old wagon, strumming on what looked like a bizarre combination of a lute and a lyre.
"Made it myself, miss," he said when he noticed her interest. He scratched at his temple. "New here, are you?"
"Passing through."
He nodded. "Fancy a song?"
Morgana leant back against the wooden fence that bordered the house behind her. "Do you have any ballads?"
"Feel like wallowing, eh?"
"Very much."
"Well then, you're in luck. I know hundreds."
"Your favourite, then."
"As you please, miss." He winked at her and started to sing.
He had a tuneful voice and his strange instrument a soft, pleasant timbre and the song was one of unresolved love. Morgana listened politely and willed herself to be affected.
"That was beautiful," she said when he had finished, though she had not been moved.
"I try my hardest, miss"
"How much?"
"Oh, only the pleasure of looking 'pon such a pretty face for the duration, nothin' more."
She was about to insist, but her attention was suddenly caught by a small but raucous group of men a short way away, one of whom had the most distinctive bright red hair.
"Excuse me," she said to the man on the wagon, who was still leering at her, "but I think I see someone I know."
-o-
Arthur clutched at his head and tried to suppress the urge to pull out his hair. The cacophony of voices was unrelenting.
"Lady Morgana-"
"It's Lavain, sire."
"We were just out for a drink…"
"He knew that!"
"Silence!" shouted Arthur. The knights were quiet at last.
"Now," he said, "if just one of you could speak at a time. Start again."
The four of them glanced nervously amongst themselves and Tristan stepped forward when it was clear none of the others would.
"We were coming back and Lavain was… a bit merry."
"He was dancing," muttered Gawain.
"Shush, brother," Gareth muttered back.
Tristan tried to clear his throat and ending up coughing and wheezing. Gareth slapped him on the back.
"Ahem. Thank you." Tristan cast about for the thread of his story, even though he'd only just started it. "Yes, we left and then the Lady Morgana appeared. Of course, only I noticed, having been in your father's service. These boys had no idea who she was, nor did Lavain." He stopped and seemed to search for inspiration again.
"She pulled out a knife," said Gareth in an effort to be helpful. "A long knife."
"She pulled the sword from his belt," said Gawain, "not a knife."
"It was dark," said Tristan. "Hard to see. But Morgana said he had killed a woman and she was acting in the name of justice. She had the knife to his throat."
"The sword," muttered Gawain.
"He killed a woman?" asked Arthur. "When? What did she mean?"
"I don't know, my lord," said Tristan.
"We kill a lot in our line of work," said Gawain and his brothers glared at him.
"Then the sword vanished," continued Tristan. "Thanks to Merlin, of course."
"Merlin was there? Why in God's name am I not questioning Merlin instead?"
"He went to the library, my lord," chimed in Gaheris. "Morgana said something like 'Fear Morgana the Fay!' or something-"
"I don't think she said that," interrupted Gawain.
"-and Merlin, when we came back, told us to tell you the story, so we are. He said the situation was desperate."
"Urgent," corrected Gawain. Arthur pointed to him.
"You," he said. "Fetch me Merlin."
"Me?"
"You. Now."
"Yes, my lord," he said sulkily and slouched off.
"Right," said Arthur. "Tristan. Get on with the damn story."
"Well now, where was I, my lord? Oh yes, Merlin. He was about to do some kind of magic, but he wasn't fast enough."
"Morgana killed Lavain with a spell?"
"No, my lord, she, er…"
"She twisted his head around," said Gaheris, looking slightly pale. "We heard his neck snap."
No one spoke for a moment.
"And then?" Arthur's words sounded small and tinny in the sudden silence of the hall.
"She said those words to Merlin about how people would know her name. Then she went." Tristan rubbed his palms together anxiously. "She looked sad, my lord. She didn't relish it."
Arthur's head was in his hands. "Oh, Lavain," he mumbled. Then, more softly: "Oh, Morgana."
The knights were standing about awkwardly and wondering what if anything to say to their King when Gawain returned with Merlin. At their arrival Arthur sat bolt upright on his throne. His face gave way to no emotion.
"Merlin. We need a council meeting. As soon as we can gather them."
"Yes, sire."
Arthur's gaze flitted over the available knights. "Gaheris. Find a messenger. Astolat must be informed immediately. Make sure he finds out where Lavain's family wishes him to be buried. Tristan – no, Gareth. Double the night guard tonight. Gawain… make yourself useful somehow. And Tristan, sleep off the drink. Off you go."
"Yes, my lord," they chorused with varying degrees of resentment and the room emptied itself until Arthur was alone. His head dropped back into his hands. "Oh dear," he thought to himself, "this is going to be a long night."
-o-
"Mama? Why're you shaking? Do you feel the cold?"
"You should be in bed now, Eddy." She was shivering. It was one thing to kill, and she had killed before, but to feel invincible as she did it made it all seem so unfair, though she was convinced she had been justified.
Eadred clambered into his bed. She had made him some clean blue sheets and more pillows than he could possibly need. "Has someone hurt you?" he asked.
"No, no. I'm fine. And I don't feel the cold, not really."
They had told her she was destined for greatness, but what greatness? Was the choice to be a murderer or to fall through the gaps of history? What scared her most of all was how little she had thought about taking his life, how quick it had all been. One moment there had been a pulse fluttering beneath her fingers and then-
"I do," said Eadred.
It took her a moment to work out what he was talking about. "Another blanket?"
"Yes please."
-o-
"So," Merlin concluded, "that's all I've found about Fays."
A hush descended upon the room. The council had convened at the Round Table and now each man was doing his best not to be the first to speak.
"Immortal," said Lamorak, unable to bear the silence any longer. "With stronger magic than any Camelot has to offer."
"She doesn't have a fatal flaw, by any chance?" asked Arthur's cousin Cador with a nervous chuckle.
"Unless you count loneliness, the stories don't seem to mention anything." Merlin looked to Arthur. "But she had a reason for what she did. I'm not sure she would go after others."
"Her reason, if I understand correctly, was that he killed someone once," said Lamorak.
"Yes," said Merlin, "that's right."
"And who among us, or among the knights of Camelot, has not?"
Across the table, Geoffrey of Monmouth started to put up his hand and then clearly thought better of it as Arthur stood to address them all.
"It'll be dawn soon. Get some rest, gentlemen. I need to talk to Merlin alone."
When the others had gone, he spoke tiredly to him. "There's nothing we can do, is there?"
"Arthur."
"We can't stop her. If she wants us dead, that's how it'll be."
"Then, sire, I would take some comfort in that we're still alive."
Arthur managed a faint smile. "You do have a way of looking at things, Merlin…"
"Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"I know… I know you didn't want to spy on her before, but I think we have to now. She doesn't think of us as friends any more."
"No," said Arthur, kneading at his forehead, "I don't think she does."
"She could be watching us this very moment."
"You know how to…"
"Of course. I'm not as stupid as I look."
"Well, that would hardly be possible, now, would it?"
Merlin conjured a bowl of water into existence and, dipping a finger in, spoke an enchantment. Sparks of gold threaded their way across from where he was touching to form a thin web across the surface of the water.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Interesting."
"It's supposed to be showing her," said Merlin, confused.
"I think we may have to review that part about being as stupid as- wait."
When Merlin had removed his finger, the threads had begun to wriggle about and reform themselves.
"Maybe she can block it," said Arthur. As he spoke the threads had spelt out words on the surface, words in an ancient language he couldn't read. "Er, what does that say?"
Merlin removed the bowl with a disgruntled wave. "It said 'Nice try'"