Chapter 5: Dream of fire

Merlin woke up coughing and gasping for air. The heat and the smoke were stinging his eyes. It took him less than a second to realize what kind of situation he was in: the forest was burning. The sizzling and cracking of the flames were everywhere around him. The smoke was already thick, forcing him to breathe in the folds of his arm. He bellowed the names of his friends, but there was no reply. Panic gripped him. Hot, dreadful panic. However he knew that his time was short and that he couldn't give in to fear. He had the power to control the fire, but first he had to make sure he didn't pass out in the middle of a spell.

Through a wisp of flames, he saw the thin undulating outline of the stream. Water would be his salvation. Springing to his feet but keeping as low as possible, he ran towards the river. The flames rose as he sped by, like giant tongues wanting to catch him. He felt a burn on his left arm, but still he kept going. The hope that Arthur and his knights had taken refuge in the stream was enough to give him speed.

His feet hit the water with a splash, slowing down his race against the fiery chaos that was chasing after him. Immediately, he bent down to soak his left arm in an attempt to soothe his ache. But even after a whole minute in water, his tunic remained dried, and so were his boots. And his skin. The water would not even touch his fingers. As he glanced up and down the stream, he realized that the fire had no effect over it. The water still carried various shades of blue and green though the fire was raging on each side.

This is a dream, he thought with a jolt of surprise.

He cried out to the others, but there was still no reply. If he was truly in a dream, it was likely that he was alone. He was always alone with eerie voices and ghost-like apparitions; such were his dreams of the future. Sometimes they were not even the future but deep pools of magic that he did not dare enter. Gaius had told him that his dreams were from the Spirit world, and that he should let the spirits guide him, whatever form they may take, but he had had no luck so far. If the spirits were trying to talk to him, then he was failing miserably at hearing them.

Without realizing it, he had started to walk down the stream, guided by its flow. Any path was better than returning into the raging fire.

He was thinking that he ought to wake up soon when a new sound caught his ears: bells. He was hearing Camelot's warning bells.

He broke into a run. With each step, his boots made a splash but his feet remained dried. The outline of the burning forest became a grey and orange blur. He wasn't running; he was almost flying. It was as though he was being carried towards the sound.

He was getting close. The sound was louder now. He slowed down a little and caught a glimpse of the castle's highest tower through the thick grey smoke. Inwardly, he scolded the burning trees on each side of the river for blocking his view.

"Get out of the way!" he shouted in spite of his better judgment.

As though answering to his command, there was a great roar on both sides of the stream and the burning trees parted, writhing and spiting fire as they did. The smoke rose upwards in a swirl as though it had just been blown away by a gust of wind. The fire was still raging, but at least now he was able to see; and what he was looking at wasn't encouraging at all.

Camelot was burning.

The city's walls of stone were still standing, but the houses in the lower town were all in flames. Unnatural, piercing screams filled the air, reaching deeper than usual voices. The highest flames were licking the castle's walls.

Was this Camelot's future? Were its people going to die in the flames? And where was Arthur's in all this? Was he dead or dying?

Unable to bear the thought, Merlin grabbed his head and dropped to his knees. The stream's strange waters swirled around him, keeping him from the fire that was now reaching close to him behind his back. He should have been soaked, but he wasn't even wet.

Except for his eyes. His eyes were letting out little streams of their own.

"What do I do?" he muttered to himself. "Please tell me what do I do?"

"Why so sad, brother?"

The new voice caught him off guard and he jumped to his feet. Through the flames, standing in the raging fire but being quite unarmed by it, was Julius Borden. His defiant grin was the same, but his outward appearance was quite different. Instead of the worn out long coat and mud-covered boots, he was wearing a long black tunic with a collar of grey and white wolf fur.

"Don't call me that," replied Merlin between gritted teeth. "We have nothing in common. Nothing."

"Clearly we don't have the same taste in clothes," said Borden while looking at Merlin up and down.

Glancing at himself in the stream, Merlin saw the silhouette of Old Merlin, with white flowing hair, a long white robe and red cloak, and a walking stick – a staff – of grey knotted wood.

"This is a dream…" the young sorcerer began to say.

"One of the advantages of being a Shade is the ability to travel between worlds," said the person opposite him. "Some doors are visible and can be – like your dreams – easily opened."

"You're in my dream," said Merlin. He was certain that he wasn't comfortable with that notion. "And you're not Julius Borden."

The other merely nodded and then he started to pace around Merlin. As he did, the flames followed his movements, like dozens of snakes crawling at their master's feet. The stream that had not so long ago been Merlin's path was now nothing but a pool.

"Who are you?" Merlin asked forcefully.

His opponent smiled but did not reply. "The way Morgause spoke about Emrys, I thought you would be taller, older, more impressive. But you're less than ordinary, are you?"

Merlin felt more annoyed than insulted. "Did you come into my dreams to insult me? If that's all you're after, then you should have gone to Arthur. I'm sure he would be happy to assist you."

"Pendragon?" snarled the other. "Don't be ridiculous! Pendragon doesn't interest me. The Pendragons lost the dragonlord gift long ago. My plans are way more ambitious, especially for you."

"I'll never…"

"Join you?" Borden finished for him. "But you are already one of us. Your name. Your heritage. Your magic. Do you really think you will ever be accepted in Camelot? Never. But the reign of insignificant men – mortal men – is over. The Age of the Dragonlords has begun. It will start with Camelot, but my rule will reach everyone in all four corners of Albion. You shall have Camelot if you want, or Aria's Cradle. Why shouldn't you? You're a dragonlord like me."

"All the dragonlords are dead," Merlin said sceptically. "I am the last one."

"Didn't I tell you I'm a Shade? You and I both know that death isn't the end; though if I have to – if you give me no other choice – I shall send you to meet your end."

"Who are you?" Merlin insisted.

The only answer that he got was a cruel laugh and a wave of roaring flames. He took a step back and almost stepped into the fire, most unwillingly. The pool of water was slowly fading away.

"Think about it, Merlin!" cried out the black dragonlord. "If you make the right choice, you can find me in Camelot. If not, then you and Borden will have a lot in common."

The flames reached a peak in intensity, swirled around the other man's silhouette for a while, and then swallowed him. Yet Merlin knew that he was not gone. He had merely removed himself from the dream.

The burning forest was closing in fast. The pool of water had shrunk to a puddle. The smoke was so think the he could hardly keep his eyes opened.

Wake up, he told himself.

It wasn't working.

And then, out of the blue, he heard a new voice. A voice that he was longing to hear. One that he would give his life for. One that just a few minutes ago had called their destinies troublesome things.

It was the most important voice in the world. And it was also the most annoying.

"Merlin, wake up, you idiot!"