~25~ To Curb and Vanquish
Merlin took a deep breath as he felt the werewolf stir on the threshold. He was vaguely aware of Gabriela, standing away from the circular mosaic floor with the Silver Heart, and Hecate, the priestess of the Ancient Kingdom, watching intently like a grave sentinel. The faint winds of Larentia the Archon drifted soothingly around him, calming his mind and his body, and allowing the beast within to rise to the surface.
When the first bout of pain wracked his chest, the warlock cringed, but held his tongue and did not fight. It was like his heart was becoming too large for his chest, and he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes as though to hide from the torment. The next spasm occurred in his shoulders, and his head flinched to the side before returning to stare blankly at the statue of Larentia. He released the breath he didn't know he was holding and tried to remain tranquil even when what felt like ravenous rats began to gnaw and burrow into his stomach.
"The time comes, Emrys," Hecate said softly as the servant finally yielded and doubled over in agony. "Prepare yourself. Remember, you are the master here. You are in control."
"I—" Merlin retched emptily. "I am in control." The words felt foolish to say, but he meant every syllable. Even as he fell to his knees, he braved the storm raging in his mind and refused to let his feeble yet faithful vessel be swallowed by the greedy waves. Fire ripped through his hands and arms as muscle bulged and tendons snapped. He screamed as his spine broke and grew extra vertebrae, making him taller. He gnashed his sharpening teeth as he struggled remain standing, and noticed that his legs now had the structure of a wolf's, but the musculature of a human's. He also had a tail, which was probably the strangest feeling of all.
He could no longer speak, for his mouth and nose had turned into a muzzle of grinding teeth, with twin savage canines and piercing incisors. His hearing senses had heightened along with his smell, and his night vision was impressive.
The transformation was complete. Merlin tossed his head back and howled at the sky, for the urge was simply too great to ignore. When he finished, breathing heavily, he relished the sensations of the beast, the strength, the power, the speed; he felt invisible. He longed to run through the woods and hunt, be it man or animal, and he was on the verge of jumping out of the ravine when a strange voice whispered calmly yet pressingly into his ear.
Remember who you are, Emrys.
It took several seconds, but Merlin did remember. His hackles fell and his muzzle smoothed as he ceased to growl. He relaxed his hyper, tensed muscles and crouched lower to the ground, submissive.
I did it. Merlin was pleased he could still think words with sureness. He looked happily to the priestess, who seemed unafraid of the dangerous creature before her.
"Control is a precarious state," Hecate said soothingly. "It can be lost at a moment's notice, and be very difficult to win back. You have kept your mind even when your body was taken, and a lesser being could not do better. Few have been able to do with several tries that you have succeeded in one, and by the sounds of it, none have been able to control it at all for centuries. The art must have been lost when the werewolves became an endangered species. Be proud, Emrys. You have done what many would have assumed impossible."
Merlin growled with pleasure, but Hecate was not done.
"I warn you again, Emrys: anything can set you off and let the werewolf take control. Even the scent of blood was known to make a master whirl into a frenzy. It is a pity that there are no masters left to teach you and fine tune your skills, but time is short, and there is another thing you must do."
You want me to change back?
"I want you to change back," she said, as though reading his mind. "It would not do to be caught in this form."
But Gaius told me that once a person has turned for the third time, he is stuck a werewolf forever. Merlin frowned, as well as his new features would allow. Hecate must have noticed his puzzlement.
"You were probably told, or perhaps read, that the transformation back to a human after a third change is impossible," she said. Her "telepathy" was uncanny. "The account of man cannot be entirely trusted. If you didn't know that it was possible to keep full control of yourself, then you may not know that it was also possible for you to take control and turn into a werewolf the moment you were infected, the moment the blood of the beast filled your veins.
"There was a time when werewolves were kings and tyrants," she continued. "Many mundanes were afraid, others awed, most jealous. Stories spread, and as the hunters, the Silverbloods, expanded and became more powerful, they spread lies. They toppled the werewolf dynasties all over the world, here, in Albion, last of all. That was long, long ago, and over the gap between then and now, it would seem that the knowledge was lost, and if the modern day Silverbloods know of it, they are clearly telling no one."
"My lady, if I may poise a question?"
Both Merlin and Hecate turned to Gabriela. The warlock had forgotten she was there. The priestess nodded, albeit begrudgingly.
"What aboutRowan Silverblood? He never changed back, and the werewolf has allowed him to live for over a century."
"Rowan Silverblood never learned control. Even now, I can feel his presence, wandering the woods, loose and dangerous. Do not worry yourself about him; he is lost."
Gabriela nodded sadly and took a pace back, head bowed.
Merlin inspected himself, taking in the glossy, ebony fur and the muscle that rippled below it, the wide slashing hands and powerful legs. So...it is possible for me to turn back as much as I want?
Again it was as though Hecate read his mind.
"Your willpower is strong, but do not overestimate it, whatever you do. Even biases have threads of truth in them. Before you change back, however, I'm going to show you what it's like to be under the influence of the Silver Heart, not that it would make much difference if you were. You would be helpless."
With that, the priestess glanced at Gabriela, who brushed the Heart and stared intently at Merlin. All at once, his limbs froze and he could not move. Even his thoughts felt not his own, though he was conscious of it. He tried to take a step, twitch a finger, blink, but he could not. It was as though he had become a statue.
"Enough."
Merlin released a gush of air, the sound whooshing through his nose and accompanied by an unanticipated growl, startling himself.
"Now, Emrys," instructed the priestess, "you must turn back. It won't be easy, for you were not long a beast and you haven't sated the blood lust that comes with it. But you must prove that you are the master here."
Merlin nodded, a strange feeling in his wolfish form. Then he remembered something, and glanced down at the torn clothes scattered around him. Uh...
Hecate chuckled, something she had not done before. "You need not feel shame around me, Emrys. However, I believe your companion had thought ahead and brought you new attire."
On cue, Gabriela lifted the satchel from her shoulders and left it on the ground while she departed to give him privacy.
The priestess faced Merlin straight on. "It is time, Emrys. Force the werewolf down and coax your own body back to the surface. I warn you, it will be no smoother than when you turned into the beast. You will want to end the pain, but then you will never turn back. Give it an attempt now."
Again, Merlin nodded in acceptance, after which he glanced down at himself uselessly, unsure of how to start. He half-expected Hecate to give him some pointers, but when the priestess said nothing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on...well, it was difficult to concentrate on something if what should be concentrated on is not known. For several minutes, he stood there, staring at nothing, trying to ignore the tempting forest scents and the urge to hunt. Impatience began to override his determination, and he paced sullenly around the circular mosaic, his nails clicking against the metal. He amazed himself with how much his tail was of use when keeping balance.
I am Merlin, he thought. This is my body, and I demand it back!
Nothing. The growl that purred with his every breath intensified, and he turned himself inward, as if to find the werewolf conscience within and force it to relinquish its hold, to no avail.
What felt near thirty minutes trickled by and the warlock had no success. Finally, Hecate could not ignore his aggravation and said, "It is like learning a new and difficult spell, Emrys. You have done more intricate things than this, because your dedication and determination let you, helped you. This is no different."
A new spell? Merlin thought to himself. When I learn a new spell, I just trust myself and my magic to do it right, even if it takes a few tries...I just...trust myself. The answer came to him then. Well, not so much as an answer than the right path.
This time, he tried not to think of it as a torture, but as a pleasurable pain that came with a tolling exercise on the practice field, one that he knew only made him stronger and more durable. As his coat of black fur shed, his muscles shrank and his bones yanked back into proper lengths and positions.
Before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees, gasping for breath and sweating like a horse. He was human.
He smiled to himself as he saw his claw-less, hair-free hands. He wiggled his fingers against the mosaic floor with a flourish. His night vision was gone, yet his smell was still peaked more than usual. That was easy enough to live with. His legs felt shaky, so he crawled over to where Gabriela had left the satchel and fished around for a fresh set of clothes. Once dressed in the flowing garb of the Druids, he used the rough walls of the ravine to stand.
"Well done, Emrys."
Merlin smiled through his fatigue. "I did it."
"You did. Now for the other half of the bargain."
The warlock stiffened, trying not to grimace. He recalled that Hecate demanded three things in exchange for lifting the curse of the werewolf. The first was that he had to learn to control it, despite it being redundant. Another was to destroy the Silver Heart once the werewolves were extinct. Hecate had failed to announce the third requirement.
"What is it?" he asked briskly. Suddenly, his achievement didn't seem so invigorating. He sensed Hecate approaching, and he tried to face her. He felt felt her wrinkled hand fall on his shoulder.
"I want the spirit of the wolf."
Instead of fear, now Merlin only felt bafflement. "What?" He turned towards her, unflinching beneath the scrutiny of her yellow eyes.
She sounded almost mournful as she said, "I have seen many years on this earth, serving Larentia in any way I could." She shook her head. "But servitude alone is not enough to assure passage to her domain when I pass, and I know I shall pass soon. The spirit of the wolf will give me the ability to be with the Archons, with Larentia, forever when I die."
Merlin swallowed. "So...you want me to bite you?" It was a very strange thing to say. Not at all acceptable in the social outlook of things.
But Hecate was shaking her head wearily. "If you do that, there is a chance, even with your control, that you would kill me. If that is the case, then I would be seen as having taken my own life, and I would never see Larentia again." She stepped back, her withered hands moving to rest inside the others' cuff. "I will lift your blessing, and make it my own."
That sounded a lot better than biting an old lady.
"How?"
The priestess moved to stand closer to the statue of Larentia, and then indicated to the middle of the shrine's maze-patterned floor. "Stand here."
Merlin pushed away from the rock wall to obey. As soon as he reached the middle, he paused. "Wait! What about Arthur?"
"I cannot removed the gift from the king while he is so far away."
Merlin sounded alarmed. "Then what should I do? Go get him?"
"No. Larentia's power is not limitless in this realm, and even now, it runs weak. The only thing we can do after removing your blessing is create a vessel that will free your friend and master."
"A vessel? How do you mean?"
"I will explain after. For now, let us deal with you."
Before Merlin could protest, insist that she make the means to cure Arthur first, Hecate began to chant. She spoke lowly, too softly for him to hear, and as she did so, the warlock felt the winds of Larentia swirl slowly around the shrine. Fear held him in place.
She didn't explain to me how this would work, he thought nervously, then flinched when a bright white flame, its tips flickering silver, was conjured before him. It hovered, its source invisible, level with his chest. It flickered playfully as Merlin watched with a growing sense of calm.
What have I to worry about? he asked inwardly, scoffing at himself. I have this flame to protect me. He reached up to touch it, or tried to. His arms felt too heavy. He contented himself with simply staring into its ivory, bottomless depths.
Hecate's scruff, wheezing chanting grew a little louder as she continued to circle, as sly as a prowling cat. Merlin didn't notice that when she pulled her hands out from either sleeve, her right one was clutching a white-hilted dagger with a transparent, glass-like blade that was narrower than her smallest finger. All Merlin noticed was the visions he was beginning to have.
He was in a forest, running wildly and free, wherever he wanted. The comforting, familiar scents of the woods filled his lungs with a feeling of home. He could sense the other wolves running alongside him. They were hunting, together.
Hecate's spell grew louder, mentioning Larentia several times. The wind picked up. Animals in the forest lifted their heads from feeding, poked their heads from their burrows or otherwise simply stopped what they were doing and froze, anticipative.
Merlin continued to stare into the flame.
He could smell the doe now. She was lame in one leg, the result of some past survival with another predator. Now, though, it was slowing her down, making her easy prey.
Crawling on his belly, he circled the oblivious deer with his kin, falling into position. What he didn't expect however, was the doe lifting her head, detecting danger. Certainly, she had not yet sensed his brethren?
Voices. Loud human voices. Coming from the east.
The doe twitched an ear uneasily, but when silence fell, that was when the air felt most dangerous.
Hecate paced around the warlock, making sure his focus was entirely on the flame before standing behind him and placing her splayed hand on the back of his head. He cringed, closing his eyes as though in pain, but his mind was already focused entirely on the flame. Hecate readied the dagger.
He ran now, fleeing the humans and their sharp, pointy tools. Some threw things, some swung things, but all aimed for the same goal: to kill any and all who was not one of them.
Merlin could smell the fear of his kin, and their fear became his own. It was every wolf for himself now. He flinched as two pointy shafts from the crescent-shaped sticks thudded into the tree just above him, then lengthened his stride. There was a burrow nearby, he knew. If he could reach it—
A third shaft aimed true. He yelped as he felt it break through skin, muscle and bone, felt blood fill his lungs from his pierced heart. Oh, the pain, the agony! He stumbled, vision failing...
Hecate pulled the dagger out of Merlin's chest as he began to fall. He was screaming, yet not of his own volition. It was the werewolf who was screaming, the spirit of the beast roaring with rage. Now the warlock fell onto his back, writhing in utter torment as the beast's blood gushed out of the small wound in his chest, over his heart. Despite its location, very little would have come out because of the type of knife Hecate used. But this wasn't a normal wound on a normal person. Larentia was calling the wolf out.
The visions of darkness, swirling with the smell of blood and loam, brightened with every beat of his failing heart. Merlin could see someone, someone he felt he always knew yet had never seen before. She was nice-looking, pretty even, and she was smiling at him. He wagged his tail. She would take care of him, he knew, even as he died. She was the mother wolf, after all.
Hecate lifted Merlin's eyelid, seeing that it had rolled upwards as though asleep. He wasn't breathing.
Standing, the priestess moved towards the flickering white flame, its silvery tips flaring brighter than before. She cupped them in her hands, relishing the brilliance of them, then brought them to her mouth and inhaled.
She felt the awesome strength of the werewolf even before she had finished breathing it into her blood. She felt arthritic aches dwindle, the fluid in her lungs vanish, her eyesight and smell enhance by thousandfold.
The gift of the Archons...
Hecate called upon the Druid woman, Gabriela. If she was alarmed by the sight of the warlock on the ground, she gave no sign of it as she approached with the Silver Heart.
"Give it to me," she said, hand out for the silver wolf figurine.
Only slightly hesitant, Gabriela obeyed, surrendering the Heart to the priestess.
Once more, Hecate struck up her ancient chant, holding the Heart aloft. Tendrils of light entered the figurine, and it glowed slightly before fading back to silver. It was hot to the touch.
"Tell him to give this to his king," she said, a bit warily. She could feel the diminished powers of Larentia fading, retreating back to her own world. "In his hands, it will activate the magic and lift the blessing." Gabriela accepted the Heart back impassively.
Finally, Hecate looked down at the warlock and knelt by his side. Leaning over, knowing that she would have never been able to do it without the boy's wolf spirit, she kissed his brow and stood again, facing Gabriela.
"Tell him, I have old friends in old places," she said, turning to leave the shrine for the last time. Then she added, over her shoulder, "And tell him, do not fear the call of the Wild. To do so would be to fear his own salvation." Her stride was considerably quicker than before, a lot less painful, a lot more eager. In seconds, she was gone, lost in the woods she had trod within for hundreds of years.
"Thank you," whispered Gabriela, to no one in particular.
Merlin knew it was gone the moment his chest remembered to breathe. Air whooshed into his lungs so fast he immediately broke down into a coughing fit. He curled onto his side until it eased, then slowly stretched out, looking around.
What happened? Where's Hecate?
He realized that he had asked his questions mentally and repeated them aloud.
"She is gone. She had done as you asked and left."
Merlin jumped and whipped his head around. It was Gabriela, standing nearby with the Heart.
"I...but I don't..." Do I feel different? I do. His senses were back to normal, and the impulses to hunt and run were gone. He knew it the moment he woke up, and any doubts that had spawned died. "I...I feel..." He put a hand to his chest, where he felt a hot stickiness. He was a little surprised to feel blood, but more surprised to find no wound or pain anywhere.
"Reborn," said Gabriela, nodding. Merlin realized he had never finished his sentence.
"Yeah," he replied, standing cautiously. He glanced around the empty shrine. "So...that's it?"
The Druid passed him the Silver Heart without reluctance. "You have just done a great deed, Emrys. Though you did not know it, but Hecate could have removed the curse of the werewolf without taking it into herself. In fact, if you refused that part of the bargain, she would have still felt obliged to lift it, then destroy the wolf spirit."
Merlin grimaced. "But I didn't know that, so it wasn't really a good deed at all."
Gabriela shrugged. "In any case, she told me to tell you that she has old friends in old places."
Again the warlock paused in confusion, looking down at the Heart. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come," said the Druid, ignoring his question. "You must get back to your king. Destiny awaits you."
That...sounded corny -_-
"Control your emotions. Discipline your mind!" ~ Severus Snape (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix movie)
