Chapter Three: Of temptations, failures, and fears
"Your soul knows the geography of your destiny. Your soul alone has the map of your future; therefore, you can trust this indirect, oblique side of yourself. If you do, it will take you where you need to go, but more important it will teach you a kindness of rhythm in your journey." – John O'Donohue
The cave loomed a sickening glow of darkness. Glistening crystals, instead of their usual faint bluish white, now turned a misty greyish black. The further Merlin walked in, the more unsettled he became. Something in those stones at the entrance was pulling him in, luring in that sickening sweet voice to follow inside, to take a peek. The stones seemed to whisper something too faint for him to hear, but a siren kept singing in the back of his head, in undecipherable words, leaving a trace of longing in him. "It can't hurt right? I'll just take a tiny peek, and even if there's a devil hiding behind, I might finally find relief." This line of thought convinced him to turn his eyes just a little way to the left, to decern what's about to be revealed to him.
Standing before his eyes is Nimueh, clad in the same red dress she wore when Merlin traded her life for Gaius's. Her raven hair seemed to flow in the soft breeze, and those cold piercing eyes stared at him as if to claw his heart out. The Nimueh standing before his eyes were the exact picture he tried to erase from his mind. He was so overjoyed in regaining Gaius that he failed to notice the implication of his action. It was the first mark of his difference from other sorcerers. Priestesses would dedicate their whole life and only a High Priestess would be granted this rare ability of life and death. But Merlin, the ever special one, without using the Cup, called down lightening to fulfil his task. Little did he realize at the time that not only did he gain the ability of a High Priestess, but also did it by bending nature at his will. It would seem impossible for a mortal, too impossible for any logical explanation, and Merlin concluded that since magic is outside the bound of science, no logical explanation would be required to explain his peculiar affiliation with natural magical forces. That young Merlin soon pushed this incident out of his mind.
Now as he looked at the spitting image of Nimueh, of the fire dancing in her eyes, he knew something was amiss. Nimueh narrowed her eyes as if in scrutiny, and spoke in a curious voice, "I've always wondered what's so special about you Merlin, that makes everything around you bend to your will." As if seeing the confusion in Merlin's eyes, the corner of her mouth twisted even higher, "You didn't realize it did you? No, of course you didn't. You see, from the moment you set foot on the Isle of the Blessed, voices erupt as if crying your name. You didn't see how the winds picked up at your side and shadows creeping behind the walls. But I did, and over the years I've kept my eyes on you. When you blasted me to pieces, all I felt was envy. Envious of how an idiotic servant could wield so much power, of how that sacred place fell to your favour instead of me, a high priestess! The more I saw of your ventures, the more I envied you. You could easily beat any Priestess alive or dead; your affinity towards magic was the strongest I've ever seen. Jealousy indeed I felt, but there's also that longing and eagerness for your company. Before Uther turned against me, I had other priestesses with me, but none escaped Uther's wrath. You see, I cannot bear seeing the reincarnation of magic standing side by side with a Pendragon, and your friendship shall one day be your demise. You see, it was I who told Morgause of her relationship with Morgana, and may have encouraged the ever-so-lovely Morgana to usurp against Uther. How ironic seeing his own daughter overturning everything he built. Don't you agree Merlin?"
Nimueh rambled on, clearly taking Merlin's silence as vindication of her victory. But Merlin was not focused on what she said in her gaunt, somewhere in the middle, something caught his attention. "Magic reincarnation" she had called him, and as a former high priestess, she could never be mistaken. Does that mean he was not a human, but a shell formed for the sole purpose of containing magic? Was he truly a monster he feared he was, temporarily harbouring human emotions, and may one day lose his control over his human instincts and be lost forever? What would he be, how would he stand with his friends? Would he even harbour friends? Merlin's mind was suddenly jumbled with more questions unanswered than otherwise. He wished Nimueh would stop her incessant chattering and explain where all this nonsense came from; he still cherished the hope that Nimueh was mistaken through the years and had taken him for someone else.
Seeing no response, Nimueh paused and tilted her head. Strangely, Merlin felt no malice from her, despite her earlier taunts, and saw in her as someone whose ego was badly wounded and in need of a vent. So he ignored all her jibes and cut straight to the chase, "Why do you call me 'magic reincarnate'? I am not magic; I would have known."
Nimueh smirked as if Merlin had asked a stupid question. "Didn't you feel the abundance of life in the forest? Didn't you realise how easily the Vilia came to your aid? You are special, more intoned with nature than we are. As high priestess, I could pray to the Triple Goddess and borrow her powers, but you need not. Your power came from yourself, an entity forever connected to the earth, the sea and the sky. Wherever you are, as long as you remain in contact with nature, your power will be boundless. That's why my aversion of you was so intense. You see, with so much power, yet you've taken it for granted what we needed lifetimes to gain! You are wasting your gift!"
This was not the first time someone had told him of his great powers, but a shocking confirmation nonetheless of his abnormal amount of innate power. "But do I still count as a human?" Merlin thought, though he didn't realize he had voiced it out until he heard Nimueh replied in a voice slightly uncertain, "I've never seen your like Merlin. Even as a former High Priestess, I could give you no guarantee of your mortality, but if I could suspect, that gangly body of yours may be more than it looks."
No, it couldn't be, he could never and would never concur that he was anything more than any other human being. Nimueh's words seemed to tear at something precious, the thread clinging him to humanity was on the verge of breaking.
"I never hated you you know." Nimueh whispered. Merlin looked up surprised, and instantly his insides calmed a bit. "You were simply following destiny's path, all of us were. None could escape. In this sense, we are more alike than you think."
"Maybe we were." Merlin inwardly screamed, "But at least you wouldn't need to still suffer from it because you're already dead! You have more freedom in death than I would have in living!" He wiped away a silent tear, and mumbled under his breath, "And I wouldn't want to be like you Nimueh, so full of hatred and anger. You seek too much for absolute power, for immortality, but should them be granted to you, you would only misuse them. No, I wouldn't ever fall that low as you."
He averted his eyes, fearful that any more contact will bring out yet another shocking revelation he would never be able to stomach, for he still refused to take in the fact that he was immortal, or possibly a demigod. But he instantly regretted his decision, for on his right, a man clad in black feathery clock stood in the distance. It was Sigan.
Still clad in a crow-like cloak, with his greasy hair sleeked back to reveal a creased eyebrow under which a set of black eyes forever piercing, seemed to stare deep into the soul. Merlin was still unnerved after all these years, and despite all the power he gained throughout the years, he wouldn't look back on the day when Sigan temped him with promises of a magic-free future, one filled with vengeance and infested in darkness. If Nimueh was only tempted to revenge on personal grudge alone, Sigan was the living embodiment of evil. His purpose for life was not to create a kingdom for all, but a living hell where his powers alone could manifest without surveillance. When Sigan's soul was released from Cedrick's body and latched onto Merlin's, he felt a power so strong that it nearly overtook his mind. At that moment, he felt he could bend the world to his knee. With the combined forces of Sigan and his own, he could move mountains and raze Camelot to the ground in just a thought. But why would he do that? He had no wish of causing havoc, and if anything, he knew he wished to remain a farm boy at heart, living a life of peace and simplicity with his mother. If he could, he would shed his destiny in an instance, and what could more magic do for him? But he knew he couldn't give away his magic to Sigan, that much he was certain. With magic as great as his own, he dared not let it fall into such an evil hand, least Sigan would turn against Camelot once he finds a suitable body again. And this, Merlin thought, was where he differed from Sigan. He might lack years of practicing and proper tutorial, but his heart was set in the right place.
As if reading his inner thoughts, Sigan suddenly spoke, "I always knew you and I were the same, Merlin, born warlocks with such power! Listen to me boy, you've let your powers to waste. What a talent to be confined in a self-made jail. If you wish not to join my cause, at least give me your powers, such a treasure can't be buried forever." He then made to grasp something near Merlin's heart, and Merlin instantly backstepped a little and slashed his sword, but it was met with thin air. That Sigan was no more than a phantom and Merlin cursed his stupidity.
But Sigan cocked his head, and wondered, "You've got no magic, but it's impossible." He then grasped at his own heart, prodding as if to check something. He kept muttering under his breathe, debating his chance of using Merlin's now useless body. Merlin signed, and turned to walk forwards. But he was again met with the shadow of another.
"Alator," Merlin greeted with somewhat of a relieved sigh, "I am sorry about … [he gesticulated wildly], I hoped to save you, but Finna and I couldn't make it, and I failed to save Finna as well." Tears swelled in Merlin's eyes, and he knew that no word could amend for his inaction that caused two innocent deaths. Instead of his usual bow, Alator raised his staff and pointed at Merlin. Merlin immediately backed off and raised his hands, "Whoa whoa, Alator, wait. I mean you no harm."
Alator paused, and fire seemed to sprang from his eyes. His entire pose reminded Merlin of a serpent ready to strike. "I have waited, Emrys, waited and waited for the Albion you promised to bring. But what did I get? Nothing but a painful death. So did Finna. She gave her life for yours and all she got was a death in vain. Look around you Emrys, all your brothers-in-arm had died to bring forth your bright future, but none could conquer your fear of self-exposure. You were not abiding for the perfect opportunity to reveal your magic to the Once and Future King, you were saving your own neck, while leaving us rest to be slaughtered or died in vain. You are a hypocrite as much as Uther, and even worse! You gave us hope and then abandoned us! The pyre will be a quicker death than this!"
Merlin stared at Alator, never did he thought that Alator would be the one to complain, but death could do strange things to people. He looked down at his hands. They were clean, but were they really? The blood of Alator, Finna and all those sacrificed for a brighter future tainted his once angelic hands and heart. In his hesitance of revealing his secret too early, he had wasted the numerous opportunities gained through innocent sacrifices. Disappointment in Alator's change of heart flashed across Merlin's mind, but was instantly replaced by the weight of his own guilt. Merlin wished for nothing more than to reassure his faithful ally, Alator of the Catha, that one day Albion shall be built, but when it will be built remained unanswered.
A shadow appeared behind Alator. A figure strikingly similar to… to Finna. It pained him to think of her. He could have saved her, at least had Kilgarrah take them both to safety, but no, he fled like a crowd he was. Retreated to safety while allowing his faithful subjects to stand in his place. The cave seemed to echo with cries of children, women and men; the woeful cries of the innocents slain before witnessing the rise of Albion; the sorrowful wails of the Druids who misplaced their faith and trust in Emrys.
Merlin desperately wiped his hands on his shirt, as if it could wipe away any trace of innocent blood in his name. The voices were now sneering at him, mocking his cowardice. A feeble choke was all he managed to utter. No sobs, no explanations were given, Merlin simply stared at those looming shadows that seemed to grow on him. He felt numb and cold to the heart. Powerful as he was, he couldn't save them all; and now, how could he save himself when he had lost all that power? Should he forfeit his life, the only thing left which belonged to him, in exchange for the innocent lives lost? He could redeem himself then, and wash away all the guilt and pain and suffering. But could he? Innocents would still be slaughtered unless… unless he took action. His role as Emrys was never meant to be given up easily, nor in exchange for lives lost. For they were already gone, no power, however great, could reverse time and correct mistakes. We must live on, knowing that we had erred, in the hope for better judgement. Lives weren't lost in vain, but were meant to teach him valuable lessons, on choices made, and heartbreaks withstood.
As he peered closer, those shadows seemed to flicker. They were merely shadows, meant to guilt me into retreating into a cocoon of safety, and weaken my resolve, Merlin thought, Hinderances they may be, they've allowed me to see pass my guilt and reminded me of what I must do; for this, I shall pray for their passage into Avalon, if I should get my powers back. Merlin placed his hand over his heart in silents prayers, though he knew it would make little difference to those shadowy spirits, at least, it would show his remorse.
He walked on, and at the next turn, could finally see the dim glow of the crystals. Merlin's heart lightened at the sight, and quicken his pace. But a voice stopped his tack. "Emrys. Over here, Emrys." The voice sneered, "How well you've kept your secret. How well you've protected my brother."
"Face me, Morgana." Merlin pulled out the sword as fast as he could, whilst sharply turning his head for side to side, checking the many fork roads on which she could lurk, "Why do you hide? You still afraid of me?"
Morgana was enraged, but a hinge of weariness still remained in her voice. Emrys may have lost his magic, but destiny… was a tricky thing. "But you cannot help your king now. You cannot even help yourself." Morgana seemed to have convinced herself, and with a smirk continued, "You have defied me for the last time, Emrys." Not waiting for any response, in case Merlin should come up with some other tricks in his sleeves, she blasted the rocks on the ceiling, blocking his way out. "Stanas ahreosath!"
"No!" Merlin rushed forward as soon as the dust settled, and tried to move the rocks. But they were stuck fast. He reached higher up, but no even the small rocks at the top could be moved. He tried frantically again, but still nothing happened except for his fingers to bleed and splinter. The pain grounded him, but it also reminded him of something more. So much pain he had endured, but what did he gain? Nothing, except to be locked in this physical cage of rocks. And his heart, it was also under locks and chains. He was worn out, not willing to move a finger. If this was meant to be my end, I may as well rest eternally in the cave, Merlin thought.
The world was now locked out, he could hear nothing but his own heart beats. For a single moment, Merlin was grateful for the rockfall. At least it gave him a peace of mind that he could neve obtain under all that weight of destiny. Now, his hands were tied, no chance of helping anyone but himself. This time, Merlin straightened his back and relax his shoulders, and walk into the cave not to change the future, nor to save anyone else, but to understand himself, and to embrace whatever was left of him. He entered, light as a feather, shedding the shadows that followed in his wake, and walked towards the crystals.