Gwen watched wide eyed as the world dissolved around her. The trees of the pavilion became a brownish haze. The towers of glass of the surrounding city melted away, and the sky's shining blue grayed and faded. Gwen blinked. And the world was gone. A rush of sound and light flashed by. Chains danced across her line of vision.
Suddenly she stumbled forward. Her feet found even footing. She looked up, and gasped.
She stood among the square stone pillars of Camelot Castle's courtyard. Empty barrels of wine were stacked neatly against the walls. Ornate carriages bearing the crests of various noble and royal families were parked off to the side near the drawn gates. A full moon hung in the sky surrounded by clusters of shining stars. Lights shone in the castle windows high above, and the sounds of nobles chattering in the banquet hall drifted downward to her waking ears. Tom, who still stood beside her, spoke.
"This is Camelot castle, during the reign of King Vortigern a century ago." He pointed to one of the carriages. Unlike the others it was made of bare wood with no paint. Three interwoven leaves were carved into its door. A Druid carriage. The Druids were here. "It was mere minutes ago that the Druid, the Weaver sang the prophecies before the king. Though Vortigern held them in contempt the Pilgrim was there to record them. From here he must harness the chains one more time to reach our present, almost anyway." He pointed again.
The castle doors creaked open and the Pilgrim emerged. In his arms he held the form of a tiny girl no older than six with a pale yellow egg clutched to her chest. Tears stained her cheeks. She trembled, sobbing into the elderly man's robes.
"Shhhh," he whispered, stroking her hair soothingly. "It's alright my dear. It's alright." Gwen felt her face soften. She had always loved children, and seeing one so distraught tore at her heart.
"I don't know what happened!" she cried. "My magic just took over. I couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe, and then I was singing….Voices were in my head, whispering me things," She trailed off, sobbing.
"What you sang was not merely music, Arianna, but prophecy. Foretelling's of events profound and holy yet to come. You are the next Weaver of the Druid people." Gwen gasped. This little girl was the Weaver, the one who had given the prophecies?
"I-I spoke the future?" the girl, Arianna, asked feebly. The Pilgrim nodded.
"Indeed my dear." He nudged the leather bag that hung down his back. "I've written them down for you if you wish to see them later. You'll find them rather interesting. Though it will take time for you to understand what they truly mean. Prophecies will come at random throughout your life, along with a variety of other gifts. I can help you to control them. Would you like that?" Arianna nodded.
"Excellent!" the Pilgrim laughed. "Come, come let me show you. It's rather simple when you get the hang of it." Setting her down the Pilgrim led her to a nearby pillar where they sat cross legged side by side. He reached into his bag and pulled from it a gilded hand mirror. The glass was cracked around the edges, but it would do.
"Have your magic instructors taught you to make a flame?" again she nodded. Casting a simple fire spell was considered the most basic of magics. She cupped her hands together in her lap.
'Agnis" a flame bloomed into life above her palm.
"Very good," the Pilgrim complimented, raising the mirror so that the flames flickering light refracted off its glassy surface. "Now whenever you start to hear the voices or feel that you're losing control of your magic, create a flame and hold it to this mirror. The reflections will allow you to see the words rather than hear them. They shall become visions."
"Visions?" said Arianna, her curiosity more than piqued. "I'll see the future?" she sounded excited. The Pilgrim chuckled.
"Bits and pieces of it yes. But be forewarned my dear, the gift of foresight is a mixed blessing. Seeing future events will not help to prevent future horrors or things we wish not to happen. However, we can learn from such visions. They can help us to prepare, to be ready, and in the end to pass our wisdom on to others for the good of the world…" he paused as if deep in reflection. Gwen thought that in that moment he looked far, far older. His wrinkles were more defined; the joyful determination usually in his eyes was nearly gone. When he did speak again his voice was quieter, more controlled.
"You are rather lucky in receiving your gift in a form that can be controlled. Seers see in many different ways. Other seers have the misfortune of seeing in their dreams. No mirrors can help them there. Many go mad, unable to discern between what is real and what is a figment of their imaginations. Long ago I knew such a seer. A very beautiful woman, with a keen mind and a heart full to bursting with love. She would do anything to defend those she called friends, and, perhaps ever more to defend what she believed. Then her visions started. Slowly the love became hate, and her perseverance became a fiery lust for power."
A long silence followed.
"W-what happened to her?" Ariana asked. She clutched at the Pilgrims sleeve fearfully.
"She died in the end. All mortals must. Consumed by darkness she waged a war against her own brother, and killed her own father…I loved her, you see, for the woman she had been, for the woman she could have been…I killed her that day, and she killed me as well." Regret was clear in his words. Tears welled in his aged blue eyes.
The young weavers arms wound around his frail form. She squeezed him comfortingly.
"You didn't have a choice. She must have really become evil then; someone like you would never kill a good person." He smiled painfully.
"It is very nice of you to say that my dear. But nonetheless I still wonder if I could have done things differently. Tis very difficult not to dwell on what was not and what may have been. Now let's get to your next lesson, I'm rather short on time, and I must leave soon." Sadness left his face. The twinkling in his eyes had returned. "You'll like this part."
He stretched his arms out before him, fingers spread, palms facing upward. Magic glowed in his eyes. Between his fingers appeared two shimmering threads, one a light evergreen, sprouting from Arianna's chest, the other silvery white, sprouting from the Pilgrims.
They drifted lazily in the air.
"These are the threads of life Arianna. They are the manifestations of ones own soul and destiny As the Weaver you will be able to touch and to see them with great ease. Go on, touch them. Such things can bring you no harm." Tentatively she reached forward and fingered the threads. They twitched at her touch and sparked with energy.
"With these in your hands you will see a persons destiny, feel life pumping within them. Reach inside yourself and find the power that lies within. Using your own thread, others will be made known to you." He pointed the egg in her lap. "When your familiar hatches she will be able to help you. I must depart from you now my dear." As he stood the threads disappeared. Arianna leapt to her feet.
"Will I see you again?" she asked desperately.
"Well of course dear." The Pilgrim smiled. "But it will not be for a little while. A hundred years or so. Now don't fret. For people such as us a century isn't long at all." Newly formed tears filled her face.
"How will I know your coming? When will I know to be ready?"
"When you receive a vision of a boy with peculiarly large ears. It is then that you will know that the prophecy is being fulfilled. Until we meet again, my young friend. Nansi Bobi." Green mist puffed in his hands. Arianna fell forward, dead asleep, into the Pilgrim's waiting arms. He carried her to the carriage and lay her comfortably on the padded seats. From his bag he withdrew a stack of papyrus scrolls, rolled and sealed, and placed them on the girls heaving chest.
All business now, he closed his bag and stalked over to a nearby pillar. Here was where he leaned his staff earlier in the evening.
"Chronis," he jabbed at the pillar with the staffs tip. Concrete pealed itself away from the pillar, revealing the bright another bright hourglass that held the chains of time.
"There's more than one of them?" Gwen asked her father.
"Of course. There are dozens spread across history. They bind moments together. Now our old friend here has a need to be in another time."
The silver chains unfurled themselves from the pillars depths. Again they wrapped themselves around the Pilgrims body, and the world shifted.
Gwen felt her breath catch in her throat. Rushes of light and color roared passed her.
"We're home," said Tom. They stood in a crowded dirt streets of Camelot's capitol. Peasants laden down with baskets of fresh produce hobbled towards the markets. Stableboys led horses by the bridle to be watered. Children chased one another around their protesting mothers legs Gossiping girls giggled madly as soldiers in dashing red capes strode by. The summer sun showed that it was around noon, the heat of the day at its peak.
"I'm off, father!"
Gwen spun on her heel to see herself, wearing a robin's egg blue dress step out of the smiths workshop with a basket of perfectly folded clothing secured under her arm. She was headed off to work for Morgana. This had been her routine since she was just eight years old.
"Have a good day sweetheart!" the memories Tom yelled from within. Gwen turned to the version of her father that stood beside her.
"This is one year in the past Gwen. Very recent and very important."
Right on cue the Pilgrim padded out of a nearby alleyway. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and stepped into the workshop. Gwen and Tom followed.
"Hello my good man," said the Pilgrim cheerily. Memory-Tom looked up from the anvil where he was shaping a pair of horseshoes. "I was told you're the towns blacksmith."
"You were told right," Tom replied. Removing his apron and placing the shoes in a nearby barrel of water to cool he gestured the elderly man out of the shop and into the living space. They sat across from one another at the table. "What can I do for you? I've got my backed up work out of the way so I'm open for new projects."
"Excellent," said the Pilgrim. He reached into his bag and took out a large scroll.
"You took work from him? Why didn't I hear about any of this?" Gwen whispered harshly to her non-memory father.
"I was told not to," he replied simply. "Just watch."
The Pilgrim unfurled the scroll and spread it out across the table. Penciled in perfect detail was a crown. It was a perfectly round circulate of cold with nine points adorning its top. Each of the points was tipped with a star. On the circulate were engraved in bold capitol letters that spelled out the words. MITHRAE INVICTO ARTUR URSAI NIANUE ETERNUS.
Memory-Tom stared at the image.
"What is this?" he asked slowly.
"Exactly what it appears to be. A crown. It will be needed for when the young prince Arthur takes his throne. The inscription reads 'Arthur the bear, for now and always.'" Seeing the bewildered look on the blacksmiths face he raised his hands. "Before you question my motives or my sanity, I ask you something. Have you seen the way your daughter looks at the prince, how he looks at her?" Gwen flushed a deep pink. "It is a fact that she will be queen one day. A great queen. Your blood will flow through the royal line, and Arthurs heir will bear your name. Now please, Tom, my friend forge the crown." Without waiting for a response he rose from the chair, placed a heavy sack of gold on the table, and made for the door.
"Oh yes," he said over his shoulder. "When you've made it place it in a small chest and bury it behind the workshop. Gwen will find it there. I'm sure I'll tell her where to find it eventually." With that he departed, leaving Tom gawking confusedly at the plans for the crown.
LINEBREAK
Deep in the heart of the crystal cave Merlin's visions began to shift and change. Gradually the gray colored images that flashed before him melted away, leaving nothing but a curtain of pitch black nothingness behind. Though he could see nothing, he could feel the flame flickering warmly above his palm. Like the light of sunrise breaking over the horizon the darkness was beaten away, replaced by the otherworldly glittering of the crystal globe.
However the violet stones were not the same as before. No longer did Merlin feel their sharp edges cutting into his knees. It felt as if he were floating. Suspended in midair. Around him the crystals orbited like the glowing cosmos against the night sky. Pure magic flowed from his core and set his nerves aflame. Gold filled the usually blue irises, and the entire cavern shook. As if connected by invisible strings the stones twirled in perfect synchronization.
They vibrated and chinked against one another. Merlin expected this to generate harsh scraping noises. But instead came music. Notes high and low, joyful and sorrowful reverberated around the cavern in a glorious song.
O Emrys in your crystal cave
Sang a voice both quiet and thunderous. Merlin had never heard the words before in his life. But a strange sensation ran through his mind, and he knew what the words were, and what they meant. Prophecy, sung long ago by the Weaver.
O Artorius in your hallowed halls
It was a sense of…knowing that filled him. Somehow, through the mixed and muddled facts and pieces of information he had, he knew. The specifics of events were blurred. He did not know how or why, but he knew what had to happen. The cave was what gave him this knowledge. Within the crystals was stored the knowledge of what was, what is, and what will be. It was the crystals that told him what the words were, and what it meant to be Emrys. What it meant to be a prophet. That was what he was. What he was always meant to be.
Arthur's prophet.
Artorius the king and Emrys the Prophet.
Mordred was Arthur and Morgana's sun, chained back in time to be bore by another. Tension was rising in the Druid camp. Morgause now knew of Lancelot's escape with the dragon egg, and had formulated a plan to retireve it and shatter Albion's already frail political situation. Lowering himself to the ground Merlin forced the gold from his eyes.
More visions would come later. More knowledge. But for now the magical people needed their prophet.