Per me si va ne la città dolente,
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,
per me si va tra la perduta gente.

Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create
se non etterne, e io etterno duro.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.

Through me one goes into the city of woe,
Through me one goes into eternal pain,
Through me among the people that are lost.

Before me there was naught created,
Save eternal things; and I eternal last;

Abandon all hope, ye that enter here!

- Dante Aligheri, Divina Commedia. Translation by Courtney Langdon.

They rode southwards for all of the next day, keeping to the forest and avoiding the main pathways as much as they could. It should not have been possible for the horses to travel as swiftly as they did, but Finna worked some sort of charm, which made the beasts as surefooted in the rough woodland terrain as though they were galloping on flat roads.

"Why did you ask me to accompany you?" Elyan had asked the Druidess, shortly after they had departed Arthur's camp.

"For protection," Finna had said.

"Protection?" Elyan had been confused. "From what I've seen, you and Merlin are both powerful sorcerers. I don't think any company of fighting men would give you trouble."

"'Tis not men that I fear," said Finna. "Keep that sword from your forge close by you."

Merlin had said, "Must you be so cryptic, Finna? Speaking to you is like speaking to a dragon sometimes."

Finna had smiled at that. "Didn't Kilgharrah tell you that speech is as sacred among the Druids as among his kind?"

"Could you at least tell us what frightens you? I thought we were going to commune with the shade of my father."

"We are."

"Then… you can't think that he would try to hurt me?"

"I do not believe your father means you harm. But we are riding to a place where the Veil between the worlds is thin. I have spoken with the dead many times, and it is always dangerous. For when one calls out to a dead soul, one never knows what else will answer the summons. And when one opens a Gateway to the Otherworld, there are many things that may seek to pass through. As a rule, the dead do not love the living, and it is wise not to disturb their rest."

Merlin did not feel reassured by that, and almost wished he had let Finna's words remain unclear.

The woods were beautiful in the month of April, for the fertile power of the Earth was surging in preparation for summer. To ride in the deep green shade of the trees was so much more pleasant than going on the pathways made by men. Despite the anxieties burdening him, there were long periods where Merlin could let his thoughts wander, and simply take in the scenery. Whatever Finna had done to the horses, she had thrown some glamour over them, so that they appeared more a part of the forest than before. Creatures that would have usually been frightened away by the sound of hoofbeats did not seem distressed by the riders.

Lush carpets of wildflowers covered the fields, sending up sweet perfume, and raucous birdsong weighed down the air. Swift streams and creeks rushed over stony beds with silvery music. Insects hovered, flashing like jewels, and bright birds darted to catch them. A vixen watched them pass with her clever yellow eyes, her downy kits peeping their faces out of their den in curiosity. Red deer loped through the trees, their speckled fawns stumbling on their limbs, reminding Merlin of the unsteady lambs and kids he had helped deliver back home in Ealdor. Once they saw a stag with a regal set of antlers twining on his brow, so much more awe-inspiring than a human king's crown, so that it was no surprise the churchmen said the crown-of-thorns of their Saviour graced these forest lords.

That night they made camp by a stream, and sat around a blazing fire. Finna passed around some herbal drinks which warmed them wonderfully.

"In the old days," the Druidess said wistfully, "spring was a time of celebration. Fertility returned to the land, and all rejoiced. But it was also a time of danger, for prosperity could attract the attention of the Fair Folk. The old people left out fresh milk and the first fruits of the harvest as tithes to the elves, in the understanding that they would take their share and leave the rest of their goods alone. The Druids wove garlands and put up charms to protect their cattle, their farms, even their children, for the Fair Folk love all new and beautiful things.

"In Elfland, time passes differently, and the Fey are immortal, so they are old, old beings. Never experiencing death, they can never truly experience youth, or rebirth. It is said they take the first fruits, and new flowers, and children, for they are fascinated by all things young and fragile and newborn. Their world is old and undying. Our short, clumsy lives intrigue them… remind them of things they knew once, and can never know again… in a strange way, they envy our mortality, for without death, they can never change or grow as we do...

"Oh, and after spring! When summer came, we celebrated Beltane. Not as you do in Camelot now, where it is just another festival, on which you listen to bishops drone, and praise your Resurrected God, and chant hymns in stone churches. In those days, the Druids celebrated the power of the Sun, which is greatest in summer, and from which all Fire comes. All the people of the land doused their hearth-fires. Then the chief Druids would gather in a sacred place, and invoke the blessing of Belenus, the Bright God, and kindle a great bonfire in his name, a flame blazing with the light of prosperity to come into the land. And from that great pyre, flames would be taken to all the households of the kingdom to relight the hearths and lamps and candles. The whole country would be aglow with heat and light. And new food would be cooked by those fires, and cattle would be passed between them, and couples would leap over them, and pledge their love to each other…"

Merlin looked at Finna in the light of the campfire, and for the first time he saw her as a woman, not just a Druidess. She seemed ancient, yet in her recollections, she became a little girl again, dredging up memories not just of her own life, but of the whole kingdom of Camelot. It occurred to him that he knew Finna only as a wise force of magic, a sorceress pledged to serve him and the Old Religion. He did not know anything about her life as a young woman, how her family had been persecuted by Uther, what things she remembered witnessing before and after the Purge.

"Finna," Merlin said, "Arthur is the king of legend. You will see all these things from your girlhood return to Camelot, and more. The Druids will be permitted into the city. Your wise men and women will take their place beside the bishops and abbesses. The triskelion will be raised beside the cross. Rhodri will permit this, even if the Archbishop won't. The best of the Old Religion and the New Religion will learn to sit side by side with each other, just as the many peoples and customs of this island will be united under Arthur."

"I pray you are right, Master Emrys," said the Druidess, with tears in her eyes. "Yet I fear you are wrong. Druids are not Elves, to live forever, and Camelot is not Fairyland, to endure for all time. It is the fate of mankind to be lashed by the winds of change. The Druids are dying. It is true that the Old Religion cannot be destroyed, that it will always survive in some form, but a century from now, it will not be any form that my elders recognised. Our descendants will be an alien people to us, our customs forgotten. The past is a land which they will never revisit, except when they dig up our tombs and wonder at our outlandish habits.

"But this is the Way of the Goddess. What is essential to Life will endure and be reborn, generation after generation. Everything else will be scattered in the mists of Time. We must learn to endure loss, and if we cannot, we should go into the Elf Country, and live in a land of illusions, where time stands still, sorrow never enters, and memories and shadows are our only companions."

The mood became sombre after that, and Finna did not speak more. The three of them turned in soon after, Finna assuring them that keeping watch was not necessary, for she would have foreknowledge of anyone drawing close to them in these woods.

Merlin had been pleased to see Finna open up at first. He had wanted to hear her speak of the Old Ways, had wanted to learn more of her people's lore, but not, as it turned out, like this. Now that she shared some degree of familiarity with him, were her lessons and stories always to be mixed with sadness? He remembered how he had felt about magic when he first came to Camelot. It was true, he had learnt shame and secrecy in Ealdor, had suppressed his gifts as much as he could. But reading and hearing snatches of stories about others gifted like him had filled him with hope that magic could be a joyful thing, if he ran away from home and found a place to belong.

Camelot was supposed to be such a city, even though he had seen the brutality of its war against magic on his very first day. He had still held out hope that magic could be a beautiful and wonderful thing. But Gaius' teachings had been mixed with rancour and bitterness, and all his shames and regrets about the Purge. Balinor had seemed more comfortable with his magic, yet he was a broken man, who had lived like a hermit, away from all human company for years. In the end, the only teachings Balinor had given Merlin had come with his dying breaths. Freya had been beautiful, and magical, but her magic was a curse that made her a monster, and only death had freed her from that burden. Gilli had tried to practise magic openly, but he had used it for personal glory and revenge, until Merlin had persuaded him otherwise.

And then there was Morgana! And Mordred…

Merlin turned over in his skins, unable to put his mind at ease. Did he know anyone with magic who had come to a good end? He could not share the view of conservative churchmen that all sorcerers were demon-worshippers, for he had been able to work spells at a very young age, despite never calling upon spirits, or learning from forbidden books. And yet, could he fault people for thinking magic a sign of evil, when all those touched by it seemed to have some heavy misfortune laid on them? And if he were truly Emrys, whom the Druids called the greatest of sorcerers, did that mean he was destined to bear the greatest sorrow of all? If there were a just God, which Merlin often had cause to doubt, perhaps the burden of magic was a curse he placed upon those he wished to punish, or to test more severely than other men.

His mind distracted by these wayward thoughts, Merlin tossed and turned, eventually settling into an uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was running through the forest, following the tracks of an unknown beast. It was queer, for the prints before him were sometimes made by great paws, and at other times by a man's feet. All was silent, and a pale moon hung in the sky, yet it looked wrong, as did the stars around it, as though the seasons were disjointed. It seemed that Merlin ran under an alien sky. The tree branches were naked, clawing upwards, and of a breed unknown to him. The harsh crying of ravens was the only sound beside the rushing of the wind.

He burst into a clearing, and saw the beasts he had been tracking. There were seven enormous wolves ahead of him, each glowing in the soft moonlight. The lead wolf turned, and looked at Merlin, and suddenly their roles were reversed: now their eyes had met, the wolf was the hunter, and Merlin was the prey.

He ran, and it seemed to him that he now had the body of a stag. His cloven hooves flew across the earth, barely touching it, and there was a heavy crown of antlers on his brow.

How fitting, he thought, that I am wearing the crown-of-thorns. For I am to be the sacrifice. The priests say the king of the forest must die in the hunt, just as the King of Men died on the Holy Mount.

He heard the wolf coming closer, its heavy paws thudding on the ground, and for some reason he felt no fear, even as he sprinted with all his might. This was the Way of the Goddess. Finna had said they must learn to endure loss, for in man's world, nothing lived forever. Everything passed away. They were not Elfkind, immortal, fearing nothing, feeling no sorrow.

When the wolf leapt, its massive bulk bore Merlin to the ground, and he felt its teeth close in his neck, twisting his head up towards the sky. With a jerk, the beast tore out Merlin's throat, and he saw his own blood spurt into the air, droplets hovering against the stars, outlined against the white disc of the strange moon. The liquid fell in slow motion, sprinkling them both.

This is my body, Merlin thought, and this is my blood. I forgive you.

The force of the wolf's charge sent them tumbling and rolling together. They were no longer beasts, but in the shapes of men. Merlin came to rest on his back and the other man was above him, pressing down on him.

Even in the gloom Merlin recognised the face of Arthur, but it was Arthur as Merlin had never seen him. There was fire in his blue eyes, a wild, savage light, as if all the humanity had been cast away from him. The wolf's skin had been shed, but not the wolf's nature. Arthur was a stranger, yet more himself than ever before. Merlin thought him animalistic and beautiful, yet terrifying.

Arthur also wears a disguise, thought Merlin. I thought I was alone, having to take on the shape of Dragoon. The truth is, all men conceal themselves. Arthur has no magic, but there are parts of himself he hid just as I did all those years… only he and I can truly know each other. Soon there will be no more secrets between my king and I, for better or for worse.

He saw the red blood smearing Arthur's lips and face, and knew it was his own, yet he felt no revulsion, only curiosity. Was he mad? He wondered what Arthur's mouth would taste like.

"Merlin."

He came awake with a start. Elyan was leaning over him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. Behind the knight's head Merlin saw the first peach tints of dawn staining the sky.

"You slept right through the night," Elyan said. "Did you rest well?"

"More or less," Merlin said uneasily. "You?"

"Alas, no. The wolves were howling all last night, strange music for a new moon. I'm surprised they didn't wake you."

Merlin shivered, and hastened to rise and busy himself with breaking camp.

When they were ready to ride again, Finna said, "We are close to a lake that is sacred in the Old Religion. All waterways had power in the old days, and even the new Church recognises this, for their pilgrims go to wells and springs to be cured of sickness, though they make their saints responsible now. But there is a danger.

"Not all bodies of water are the same. Some lakes are placid, while others conceal lurking terrors. Some rivers cleanse and give life, while others have undercurrents that snatch the unwary out to the deeps to drown them. Even so, the magic waterways of old differed in their characters, and their tides were ever-shifting. Once, the High Priestesses and Druids watched over these waters, and protected the unwary.

"Lakes with a connection to the dead have the most treacherous magic. These lakes are doorways, and they may lead to many worlds. They were guarded, once, and the Druids stopped unwanted souls from coming through. Before the Fey and the Elder races were driven from Brython, it was not uncommon to see a Faery woman coming out of the waters. Many a child or unwary man was lured to an alien world, or the land of the dead, by some otherworldly beauty…"

Merlin said, "And you want us to reach Balinor through one of these? Isn't there a safer way?"

Finna said, "There are less perilous ways to touch the minds of the dead, but they are less reliable. You will need a clear connection to your father, and I know not how much time you will take to imbibe the Dragonlore. To speak properly with him, we must take this risk. But in opening this gateway, we must be ready for whatever will rise to challenge us.

"I have knowledge of the Old Religion. Your magic exceeds mine by far, despite your youth. And Elyan's arm and will are strong. But in the absence of the Druids and High Priestesses, the Veil itself may oppose us. We must be on our guard, and have all our wits about us."

They rode on, and though the sun rose, throwing its rays across the land, Merlin felt as though a shade had been drawn across the forest. Perhaps it was Finna's warning, but where yesterday he had seen brightness and light, today his eyes were pulled towards the lurking shadows of death.

The spring birds plucked insects from the air and crushed the life out of them. They carried them back to their nests, where hungry chicks ripped the fragile carapaces apart. The vixen, with her kits, feasted on the hare and her children. The stag with his antlers drove his beaten rival away, to wander the woods and die without mate or offspring. Even the flowers bloomed in blood, their roots nourished by rotten corpses that melted beneath the soil.

Merlin remembered the Spring Lady he had seen as a boy, that strange woman in the woods, beautiful and richy gowned. But underneath her veil and her bright blossoming cheeks were corruption, and the stench of the graveyard. What a melancholy world this is, he thought, where the threads of life and death are so tightly bound together. And he remembered the wolf in his dreams, and Arthur's mouth red with blood.

They came, eventually, to the shores of the lake, and Merlin could already feel that this was no ordinary place. Thick reeds clustered around the lake, waving gently, and the surface, so clear that it looked like a mirror, reflected the heavenly blue of the sky. The waters were so still it seemed one could plunge straight through them into the sky itself, crossing into the inverse worlds Finna had spoken of.

There were no water-fowl, no flies hovering about the surface. No splash of a fish's tail broke the calm. All was still, lifeless.

They left the horses tied a little way back, and came to the water's edge. Elyan looked around with an apprehensive expression, his hand on his sword-hilt.

"Be ye ready?" said Finna.

Merlin nodded, and Elyan followed suit, more reluctantly.

Finna raised her hands and began to trace patterns in the air. As her fingers waved and danced, ripples spread across the lake's surface, as though the Druidess were agitating something in the depths.

"Fréon meres!" Finna called. "Onwic! Ic onlúcan dor Deáþworulde! Ic geclipe Balinor, Merlin-Fæder! Forþcum, ic gebene þec!"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wind picked up, whipping the surface of the lake into a mass of waves. Mist boiled from the water, rising and thickening, blanketing the three companions. The sky darkened, but the waters of the lake glowed brighter, as though light from otherworldly skies were filtering up through its depths.

"The portal is opened," said Finna. "But… it is not Balinor who approaches. Stand ready!"

Elyan drew his sword, and took a couple of paces forward, so that he was slightly ahead of Finna. He had to lean into the wind blowing from the lake, which set the scarlet knight's cloak streaming from his shoulders. The Druidess was tense, her grey robes whipping around her, her eyes squinting into the mists, as she sought the unwelcome thing that had heard her summons.

The fog suddenly blew past them and cleared, and they saw a figure rise from the waters.

"No," said Elyan, stumbling backwards, paling beneath his dark complexion. The hairs on his forearms prickled, standing on end. "My God, no!" His sword dropped from his nerveless fingers, falling in the soft rushes of the shore. The knight raised a trembling hand to his brow, and he made the sign of the cross, again and again.

"Confiteor," he breathed. "Confiteor Deo! Holy Virgin, and Michael, Prince of Angels, pray for me!"

"Elyan," said the figure of Tom the Blacksmith, dripping with the waters of unknown worlds. His tunic was spotted with red wounds like gaping mouths, and there were two lances still transfixing his body. "Have you returned at last, son? It is good to see that face in death, which I missed so much in life… I lay awake many nights, wondering what we did to drive you away. Your sister hurt more than I did, though Gwen always puts on a brave face. I'm glad you came back to her, eventually. It is no good thing for a man to see his only daughter live alone."

"Father," said Elyan. "I'm sorry. I should have been there for you. I-I wish I'd never left. I wish I'd known how little time we'd have."

"It was not your doing. The war between sorcerers and Uther condemned me. Nimueh's malice, and Merlin's compassion sentenced me. What are men like us to kings and sorcerers? Chattel. No more than animals, pawns in their great wars."

The shade of Tom turned, and looked at Merlin.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Merlin said. "Nimueh's magic would have killed you. I thought I was helping."

"I understand, Merlin," said Tom. "You couldn't have gone against Uther directly. Your destiny is more important than my life. You had to choose between Arthur's father, and the father of my Gwen. And what does anyone else mean to you besides Arthur?"

Merlin's eyes stung, and his throat felt tight.

"Why are you here?" said Finna sharply. "You were not called for. Who sent you?"

"I beg your pardon, mistress," said Tom. "I know you came for the father of a great sorcerer, and not the father of a mere tinsmith."

"I do not despise the blacksmith's art," said Finna. "I chose your son as my companion for a reason. But I mistrust the souls that have passed beyond this world, for there are powers in death's kingdom that may cast their influence over you. Why are you here? Why have you come to us wearing the face of a loved one, yet speaking words made to sow discord?"

"The man you seek," said Tom, "is bound, and unable to answer you. He was the cause of much death and much suffering, like his son. And like his son, he was a traitor to the Old Religion he was born to serve. The High Priestesses have taken his soul to a secret place beyond the gates of Death, and they mean to have it for eternity. They subject him to such torments, that even a man as great as Balinor may have nothing sane left in him by the time you find him."

Merlin started forward involuntarily. "Where is he?" he shouted. "How do I find my father?"

"That is simple enough," said Tom. "You must cross into the kingdom of the lost. But take care not to lose yourself before you find him."

"No," said Finna. "The spell was wrought to bring a soul over to this side. We will not play games with whatever is thwarting my magic. I will release your binds now, Tom Blacksmith. Return to your rest in peace."

"No!" said Elyan. "Just a bit longer. Please!"

"The question," said Tom sorrowfully, "is whether she will release you. For as you know, Druidess, when you reach for another world, it also reaches for you, and it may not let you go."

"What do you mean?" said Finna. "Are the servants of the Triple Goddess opposing us?"

"No," said Tom, "they have strengthened your spells. Not even you could have foreseen what you did by bringing Emrys here. For there is a mark on him that draws him towards her servants, and they mean to have him."

"Avaunt!" said Finna. "Elyan! Pick up your sword! Emrys! Flee this place!"

Merlin tried to move, but his feet were stuck in place. He looked down, and with a thrill of horror, he saw that the shoreline had disappeared. Dark water was swirling around them. The lake had broken its banks, swallowing the whole land. The black floodwaters rose - or were they sinking?

Finna was hissing spells, her eyes flickering gold, but to no avail. Elyan was unmoving, sinking into the waters, staring at his father with such a hollow and tender expression that Merlin felt touched, even in the midst of horror.

A moment later, darkness closed over Merlin's head, and he felt himself falling into nothingness. Curiously, he was resigned and distant, as he had been in the stag-dream when the wolf had come to slay him.

At least I will see my father again, soon, he thought. But Arthur, I wonder if Arthur-