"All right, where's Midsea?" said Arthur, who had instantly worked out Merlin's obscure references and come to see Gaius.
"Midsea, oh dear, that's bad, sire, very bad," said Gaius. "Would you pass me that almanac?"
Arthur complied, for Gaius was old and frail, and Merlin's uncle.
"Let me see. Ah. Yes." Gaius angled the book so that Arthur could see the map and its notes. Gaius read aloud. "At Midsea, at the turn of the year, a great tide washes in, seeking folk whose task in the world of men is done. Its influence is felt throughout the land, as winter's cold takes those not meant for this world..." Gaius coughed. "People seeking absolution for crimes and deceptions, betrayals and impurities, may stand on the shore at Midsea and be cleansed. Winter's Tide refreshes the land and clears the way for new growth in the spring."
"Cleansed," said Arthur. "Is that a euphemism for killed?"
"Yes, sire."
"But why would Merlin -"
Gaius coughed again, a hacking, choking noise. Arthur jumped up, and poured him a cup of water, and held it while he drank.
"I don't see why," Arthur began again, and stopped.
Gaius was looking seriously at him.
"Deceptions," said Arthur.
Gaius sipped water, keeping his eye on the King.
"Impurities," Arthur whispered.
Gaius grimaced.
Arthur sprang up. "Great Tree! I must find him!"
He whirled away, and Gaius smiled. He closed the book, and began coughing again.
Merlin unstrapped his bag, and magical staff, from the horse. The sea breeze lifted his hair. "You stay here," he told it. "Don't want you getting washed away."
The animal whinnied and stamped.
"If Arthur does come," said Merlin, "go back with him. If he doesn't, go with the first kind person who's heading towards Camelot.
"Arthur won't come," he added. "I irritated him too much."
It was too dangerous here for a King, especially a King without an heir. Merlin had told Arthur often that Arthur needed to marry. The kingdom might be at peace but that did not mean Arthur was free to dither about not choosing a wife, and going on to Merlin about how he was fine being single, even though he obviously was not.
That was a row they'd had many times.
"If you're so desperate for a wedding, you get married," Arthur said. It was the last argument, the one by candlelight, in Arthur's chambers, at night after too much winter wine, and Merlin had started the subject.
"I don't want to," Merlin said.
"Well there you are. Cuts both ways, doesn't it?"
"I'm not the king! It doesn't matter if I don't marry!" He was on his feet, the wine cup forgotten.
"What about your powers? Your sorcery?" Arthur squirmed a little, for it was an intimate subject. "Don't you want your bloodline to go on?"
"I don't see how it can,' said Merlin.
"Well," said Arthur. He, too, rose, and carried his cup to the window. Outside, Camelot was full of nighttime sounds - trees rustling and owl hoots, and the noise of the guards' footsteps. Arthur turned to Merlin, who stood kicking the table leg behind him. "A wedding would be a start."
"I could say the same to you!"
"There's plenty of time." Arthur tossed back some wine. A little dribbled down his chin, and he dashed it away with his wrist.
"What if there's not? What if you fell off your horse tomorrow?" Merlin frowned at the venue, and the chin.
"You'd heal me."
"What if I couldn't?"
Arthur scoffed. "Of course you could. You can do anything."
That silenced Merlin, and ended that particular row.
Merlin sighed, now, and watched his breath float away in the frigid air. Here the breeze was relentless, and gritty with salt. A shallow cliff stretched down, step by shale step, to a rocky shore. The land here simply flattened, crouched, and lowered itself into the sea. A man might walk far out to the rolling breakers, and stand waiting for Winter's Tide.
Merlin patted the black horse farewell, and began the descent.
The pale sun blurred into the pale sky, and the sky merged with the bright sea. All was white and cold.
Merlin was alone on the glaring shore. He was not surprised. He was early.
It had taken him an hour to pick his way over the dun-coloured rocks, to the sea itself. He edged to the very last dry rock, a platform jutting over the roiling white froth, and raised his staff. "Midsea," he said. "Winter's Tide. I call you!"
The diamond sea glittered from his boots to the horizon, but made no reply. In the old tongue he called, "Sæflôd, wiðstandan winterlic, ic pro cêapung wið êow!"
"Merlin wait!"
On the horizon, a grey line was thickening, rising and drawing towards the shore. Merlin swung round and saw Arthur, sword in hand, loping across the treacherous rocks towards him. "No!"
He glanced at the sea. The tide, the black tide which would sweep its chosen ones to the white sea, was advancing.
"Stop! Stay back!"
Of course Arthur ignored this. He could be commanded by nobody, least of all Merlin .
Merlin raised his staff. "Stop!"
He really did not want to enchant Arthur, but if Arthur came closer he would be in great danger.
Arthur stopped.
Merlin cast an eye at the tide, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them once again and began picking his way towards Arthur.