Chapter 25: Power of the Old and the New

When Merlin's eyes came into focus again, he could hardly tell if he had been asleep or unconscious. All that he knew was that he was still dreadfully cold, lying face first on wet rocks and with water sweeping at his feet. In his clutched hand, there was a green gem, its light shining through his fingers, a pale reminder that all of it had not been a dream. So he had seen his father, really seen him, spoken to him, even received some form of praise. His father had been his guide, perhaps in more ways than one. But now Balinor was gone and Merlin was back in the world of the living with a hopeless task to accomplish.

Maybe it would have been better not to go to the Otherworld after all.

"I see that you have taken your time, Emrys."

The sudden voice made Merlin jerk his head upwards. The face that was starring at him was familiar, though he had seen it only once.

"Taliesin!" he cried out, while struggling to his feet.

He had meant the old sorcerer once in the Valley of Fallen Kings. Taliesin had taken him to the Crystal Cave where he had seen a vision of Morgana killing Uther. Gaius had also said that Taliesin had been dead for three hundred years.

"Am I still in the Otherworld?" asked Merlin, glancing at his surrounding.

All the snow was gone. A cold breeze was blowing in the trees. All around them he could see tall mountains. Behind him was a lake that he knew well: the Lake of Avalon.

"How…?"

"You are beginning to understand the voices of nature and of the elements," said Taliesin. "This lake holds great power. You have always known it. It is not by chance that you are here at this moment in time."

The old sorcerer smile briefly and Merlin knew that this was a rare thing to behold on the wrinkled face.

Sweeping his long grey and ragged cloak, Taliesin took a seat on a large rock nearby and gestured for Merlin to join him. The young wizard sat a little reluctantly, feeling the full weight of what he had been asked to do, as though someone had just placed a heavy piece of armour on his shoulders.

"You know what the dragonlords are asking of me," he said to the old sorcerer. It wasn't really a question. Why else would Taliesin be with him now, if not to give him advice?

Merlin was surprised to see the old man turn his eyes up in disdain. "They always ask too much, dragonlords. With them, there is always only one solution, one course of action. For centuries, they have refused to acknowledge our prophecy. That is why, I think, they see you as nothing more than a mean to an end, while in truth you are… everything."

Merlin suddenly felt like a huge weight had been dropped on his shoulders. "You mean… a wizard."

Taliesin stared at him with narrow eyes, as though he was trying to see something that wasn't there. "Maybe not a wizard. Maybe the greatest wizard that every lived."

Merlin almost choked at the comment. Then, recalling something a familiar statement, he asked, "Why does Kilgharrah call me a warlock then?"

Taliesin turned his eyes up again. "Dragons! Always living in the past! We prefer the term wizard. Your friend Kilgharrah is thinking only of a time of war when wizards were also lords and warriors. We are hoping that the world of Albion will be one of peace."

"But to bring peace, I have to commit… murder," muttered Merlin. The word felt bitter in his mouth. "Is there no other way?" he asked the old Seer.

Taliesin's expression was a mixture of sadness and sympathy. "I'm afraid no. Those creatures cannot stay in this world. Already, they have turned to darkness. They must be made to cross the veil and return where they came from."

An image burst in Merlin's mind: Kilgharrah fighting him, refusing to be killed. Would he, a dragonlord, thrust the spear into the dragon's heart? Would he have the strength? A dragon's heart is on its right side, not his left, such had been his father's words just before his death. And then there had been those two lines, engraved on a wall next to a sword, sealing the fate of the cursed Aria's Cradle. Here is the Last Home of the Dragonlords. There is no Hope for the World of Men.

Merlin tried to shake the idea out of his mind, but somehow it had found a way to stick, like an endless song repeating itself.

He bit his lip in an effort to focus on what needed to be done. "What about the ancient ways of the wizards?" he asked to Taliesin. "Can that be of any help at all?"

"I'm afraid those ways are beyond my knowledge," replied the grey-haired man. "I'm simply not old enough. However I will say this. You may be young in years, but your soul is not. It may be that the answer you seek is hiding within the layers of your past, somewhere deep."

Merlin considered the idea. "But how do I uncover it?" he asked, puzzled.

The other sorcerer merely shrugged. "How do I know? I am a novice compared to you. It may be a new power or a very old one. Speaking of a new power, I was meant to give you this."

Without further ago, or before Merlin could ask anymore questions, Taliesin rose to his feet and strode quickly towards the lake. For someone who was three hundred years old, he certainly could move through wet rocks and muddy grass faster than the young wizard. When Merlin caught up with him, the old sorcerer had stopped near a very large tree whose roots dug deep into the ground, reaching far into the lake like a supporting hand.

"Since the dragonlords gave you the Crystal of Fyr, we decided that you should have something of your wizard-half to accompany you."

Without so much as a hesitation, Taliesin thrust his hand deep inside the trunk of the tree, into a crack that Merlin could barely see. The old sorcerer's hand disappeared as well as most of his arm. Instinctively, Merlin laid the palm of his hand on the tree's bark, and immediately he felt a pulse, like a living skin. This tree was old. Very old. Merlin could feel it in his mind and in his bones. There was a connection there, like a soul, and it was alive and communicating. It wanted to help, to give something back to the world of Albion. Something that Merlin desperately needed. A glimmer of hope.

As soon as the other's emotion hit him, he tried to convey back a feeling of gratitude. The tree's trunk began to shudder. Its leaves were trembling. Even its roots were wincing. And then, Taliesin gave a sharp pull and his arm came out. The crack in the tree's barn opened wide and finally the old sorcerer's hand came out carrying a long wooden staff.

The old man handed the staff to Merlin with shaking limps, and then he sat back on the rocks, wiping seat off his brow.

Merlin considered the staff for a moment. It wasn't too long or too short. If he had been looking for a walking stick, he would have chosen exactly this height. It was the right color and shape too; a few knots here and there, but particular flourishing in the composition. By any regular standards, it was a regular fine piece of wood. Yet for someone with magic, to touch it was enough to know of its great power.

"That staff has seen many prophesies come true," whispered Taliesin. "Treat it carefully."

But Merlin wasn't really listening. He had just noticed a bigger knot, at the top of the staff. It was more than a knot: it was a hole. And it was big enough to hold the entire Crystal of Fyr.

"It seems as though it has been made for me," said Merlin, observing his new tool.

The crystal's glow had vanished the moment it had touched the wood. To feel the staff in his hand was almost the same as touching the tree trunk from which it came.

"You are ready," Taliesin said forcefully. "From this moment, I can no longer help you."

As he said this, the outline of the old sorcerer began to fade. His grey hair and cloak became as transparent as a ghost.

"Thank you," said Merlin. Then an afterthought hit him and he shouted, "Wait!" but it was too lake: the apparition of Taliesin was gone.

"Great. How am I supposed to get to Camelot now?" Merlin mumbled under his breath.

As though answering to his wish, the staff suddenly gave a pull. Merlin's fingers slipped off instantly, only to find that the staff was now flying right on top of his head.

"You must be joking," he breathed out.

He held out his hand, palm opened upwards, and the staff gently floated back to him.

This is crazy, thought Merlin. Yet the feeling that he was reading as his hands pressed against the wood could not be clearer.

"All right, staff," he said out loud. "We have a long way to go. I hope you know what you're doing because I definitely do not feel too sure about…"

He did not have the opportunity to finish his sentence. His breath was cut short by the sudden shock of being pulled high into the air, like tumbleweed in the wind. In less than a second, he was higher than the trees with only one hand hanging on the piece of wood. Yet he knew, somehow, that the staff wasn't going to let him fall. His work was too important. The fate of the world of Albion depended on it. Even if he did not exactly know how he was going to accomplish all those things, he would at the very least get to Camelot swiftly.

And then the real challenge would begin.

…..

Author's comments:

I hope you found this chapter interesting. I needed to clarify why I've decided to call Merlin a wizard instead of a warlock. In the real world, it's probably to avoid confusion with Harry Potter because of all the marketing stuff. But in the world of fanfiction, it fits my story plot, so apologies to BBC ONE.

Now please don't protest yet about the staff: it's useful, I promise.

On another note, the first episode of season 5 is EPIC, though I'm very confused about the blue-being-alien-like-creature. What's up with that? I'm opened to theories because I've honestly got none.

More chapters coming soon.

HighEmpress