~22~ The Shrine of an Age Past

"So, how do we go about this?" asked Merlin, hastening after the shaman, Gabriela. The steady thump of Kilgharrah's massive wings throbbed in the air overhead, but then he turned west, and vanished from view. Though he knew he could trust her, Merlin didn't like being alone with Gabriela, and listened regretfully as the pounding rhythm became too far to detect.

"The cure for the werewolf has been sought for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. We have but a few days if we wish to keep ourselves safe – who knows how difficult it could be if you turn before we cure you, if we can cure you after you've turned."

The warlock remained in a humbled silence and held the Silver Heart close to his chest. Ever since learning its true potentials, it was like a buoy in his raging sea of troubles, and he never surrendered it to anyone.

"To answer your question," she continued, "we must seek advice from a more...experienced being, one that may or may not listen to our pleas. This way." Gabriela abruptly changed direction and led the way down into a steep-sided ravine, from which tendrils of ivy and cushions of moss were in great abundance. Moist leaves shuffled underfoot, releasing a rich, loamy aroma that calmed Merlin's spiking senses. The air was cool between the narrow, damp walls of rock, and it was refreshing after the taxing trek through the afternoon heat.

The trail wound like a roiling snake, sometimes splitting off or joining up with another, but always walled by jagged rock. Merlin was reminded of the fabled Labyrinth of the Minotaur, and he unwillingly glanced over his shoulder as if expecting the half man, half bull monster to come charging around the bend behind them.

"Is it far now?" asked the servant, anxious to break the deepening silence. Even the birds sought other places to gift the land with their song.

"What is needed is never far, because it is needed."

Merlin frowned in bewildered confusion. "That doesn't make any—"

"Hush now. We approach."

Looking past the shaman, Merlin saw that the trail opened to a wider area, a junction of sorts.

The eye of the Labyrinth, he thought in awe, as he stepped into what looked to be an open shrine. Two other paths led off to undetermined directions. Aged trees above the ravine junction cast the space in shadow and chilled the air. Merlin glanced around curiously, and was suddenly surprised when his foot hit what felt like smooth rock. Looking down, he realized that it wasn't rock, but, in fact, was some kind of metal, faintly gold with twists of silver. He expanded his view and saw that the whole floor was a circular mosaic, difficult to see completely because of the leaves, moss, and other debris left by the neglect of time.

"Where are we?" the warlock asked, slightly dazed. There was an arcane air to the place, as though he was in the presence of something incomprehensibly old.

"This, Emrys, is the Shrine of Larentia, Guardian of the Wood." As Gabriela swept an arm and stepped to one side, Merlin was able to see the alter and stone statue standing above it. The alter was once covered by a cloth of silver silk, but it had long since worn to mere shreds, which wavered in the light breeze. There were tarnished candle sticks, the yellow wax now but stubs with little more than an hour's worth of light. The statue, standing sentinel, was of a woman, kind-faced yet stern, as though she could laugh at anything but would not tolerate any impudence or malevolence. She wore animal skins, stitched together like a forest-dwelling hunter. In one hand she held a longbow, while the other cupped a baby bird, whose head was tilted back in eternal song.

"Larentia the Archon?" Merlin breathed. Though it wasn't really a question, Gabriela nodded solemnly.

"One of the oldest and one of the last to fall dormant when the Ancient Kingdom met its end, making way for the Old Religion. Her worshippers were strong and many, and had continued her simple rituals until just a few decades ago. She might as well have been a goddess for her influence and importance to the world."

"What did she do?"

"Is it not clear in her name? She was the protector of the woods, a guardian of the forest and all its inhabitants. There was once a time when a human could not hunt in her domain or even cut down a tree without her permission. She was usually very lenient, for it was only natural that a man must eat as well, no? If his intentions, however, were to hunt for the sole purpose of gaining a trophy for his mantlepiece, then he may have difficulty acquiring what he sought, and could even find himself lost for a very long time, time enough to reconsider his ways."

"I know you said they weren't gods—Archons, I mean—but the more you speak of them, the more they sound like revered deities."

"What are gods, other than humankind's desperation to discover and explain the world and all its wonders?"

"You are a non-believer, then?"

"I believe what I see, and I have never seen a god. Have you?"

Gabriela was not facing the warlock, but Merlin could feel the weight of her question as though she were burdening him with it in her gaze. He brushed past the expectant air, and put confidence behind the words of his answer.

"People need something to believe in, whether their heart's truly in it or not."

"...Fair enough, warlock."

A prolonged silence followed the touchy exchange, and, having learned that asking what they were doing would not speed up the process, Merlin busied himself with studying the circular floor. It was difficult to see properly.

Shuffling through his memories, he prepared to incant a spell that would clear away all of the debris, but the words halted on his tongue. It was an inscrutable urge, but he had the sudden inclination to dispose of the mess by hand. Was it some subconscious desire to ensure that he was respectful to the Archon he so desperately required knowledge from? He wasn't sure.

Gabriela said nothing as the servant got on his hands and knees and proceeded to brush away the mouldy leaves and spongy moss scattered across the floor. He made small piles and then disposed of them in the paths leading to the shrine, as the ravine walls were too high to throw over. Bit by damp bit, he removed that which covered what was once a respected and worshipped ground, and as the day wore on, he felt aches in his knees and decided to take a break by pulling the ivy and moss from the alter and statue of Larentia.

It took time, but eventually the shrine was a vague reflection of its former glory, by Merlin's reckoning. He dusted moist soil from his pants and admired his handiwork from one of the paths, finally able to distinguish the pattern of the floor.

Again, he was reminded of a labyrinth, for it was a circular maze beginning in the middle and spiralling outwards. The groves were dark while the walls were silver and gold. Merlin wondered why that was so, but then, he knew so little of the enigmatic Archons; he thought it best to wait for answers to come.

Gabriela had not watched so much as waited as the warlock rejuvenated the shrine, but when Merlin came to stand beside her in front of the alter, she nodded in approval, saying nothing.

A crow flew by overhead, cackling. A fox barked in triumph as it rooted out its prey. Far in the distance, an elk keened.

And still, there was no reaction from the shaman or the shrine.

Merlin was beginning to feel restless. If dusk fell before the Archon responded to their presence, if she chose to at all, there was every chance that he may lose a fight with the werewolf within and be forced to relinquish control. He had the Silver Heart with him, but what if it wasn't enough? Gabriela would be helpless without it with her, and he was on the verge of giving it to her when she looked up, to the opening of the ravine. Merlin followed her gaze, and had to rein in a gasp.

A stag, proud, with a full rack of antlers, stood staring down at them fearlessly. For several moments, no one moved; Merlin didn't even breathe. Finally, Gabriela curtsied to the beast, and the servant bowed with her, though he wasn't sure why. When they straightened, the stag had not shifted, but it seemed to regard them with a different bearing, almost as though it was waiting expectantly for something.

"We come in peace, brother," toned Gabriela formally, like would speak to to an equal.

The creature did not respond, of course, other than to blink its great, intelligent eyes and flick an ear back, as though dislodging a pestering fly. Then, with barely a sound, it turned its head and its body followed on stocky legs, and it vanished from view.

Again, the world became one with silence.

Gabriela didn't face him, but she seemed to be reading Merlin's mind. "You have questions, Emrys, many questions. Now is the time to ask them."

Where to start? "What was that? How could the stag have understood you? Was it a servant of Larentia?"

"It a way, yes, but 'servant' is a strong word. Larentia does not believe in servitude. Not in the forest world."

Merlin withdrew into himself as he sought his next question. There were many, but he prioritized them just in case time was growing short. "You said you wanted to speak with Larentia. How can you? I thought the Archons were dormant."

"Dormant does not mean dead. Merely...unreachable."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

It was then that Gabriela finally looked at him, gently, but warning him against rudeness. "Like I said this morning, Emrys, that little silver animal statue has more powers than we can fully comprehend and appreciate, even if we devoted to it a lifetime of study."

Almost unconsciously, Merlin brought out the Heart from where he had stored it in his shirt, and stared at it.

"It will allow us to speak through the barrier between our world and theirs safely, without releasing what shouldn't be back into our domain. At least, that's the theory."

"Theory?"

"Hush. I sense...she approaches..."

All Merlin sensed approach was the wind. In increasing agitation, he had no choice but to force himself to wait once more. The air chilled as dusk stalked up on them, but Gabriela seemed unfazed.

What if I turn? Merlin thought in alarm. What if I can't keep my mind even with the Heart? I must give it to her.

He had nearly reached out to tug her sleeve to alert her when he felt eyes on him. Whether or not it was the monster within him that perked its ears at the detection of others, he didn't know, or care. But he couldn't help but jump when he saw a figure move from one of the paths of the ravine, into the shrine. It was hunched over, and moved fast enough to tie a tortoise in a race. Ragged, faded brown monk robes covered it from head to toe, its hooded head bowed.

Merlin shifted uneasily. He was perturbed, realizing that something moving incredibly slow towards him was about as unsettling as something moving uncannily fast.

The closer the figure stepped into the shrine, the more he could hear its wheezing breath, as though it were sick with some chest disease and its lungs were failing. Its pace seemed almost pained. The warlock figured that this must be because it was elderly. Very elderly.

Merlin held his ground even when the hooded figure continued to approach him. He resisted the urge to step back when it finally stopped mere feet from him then began to straighten. Even with its head and shoulders not stooped, it was shorter than the servant by almost a head.

"Emrys..." it said, and Merlin realized that she was female, "we have been waiting for this day since the dawn of magic in mortals..." Her voice was raspy, wheezing, ancient.

"Are—" Merlin coughed. "Are you...Larentia?"

"I am a priestess of Larentia, and we are the forest." She said 'we' as though she were speaking for more than just herself. Merlin couldn't help but wonder if Larentia was partly talking through her, despite being trapped in a dormant world.

The priestess lowered her hood. "Call me Hecate." She pronounced it "hay-cat-ay," like the fabled goddess of magic. She was definitely aged, her face lined and dry, like an apple that had left out in the sun. Each crevice told a thousand stories, of woe, and of happiness. Her long hair was rough like a horse's mane, rippling between grey and ashen white. Her eyes though, were what startled the warlock. They were a piercing, unnatural yellow, ringed by brown-orange. Merlin struggled to hold her gaze as the priestess shuffled around him, inspecting him curiously. "So mundane in appearance, yet with such a large destiny. You are fated to do such great things, Emrys."


Yes, I know. A clumsy place to break. A feeble attempt for suspense. Blah blah blah.

:)

"This forest is old...very old...Full of memory...and anger..." ~ Legolas (The Lord of the Rings)