A Wizard of Dreams (Myrddin's Heir Book 1)

  “Master Myrddin,” he said, and heard a slight tremble in his voice, “you said our road ahead was long; but those I love are in my other world. When may I return?”

  Myrddin placed that comforting arm on his shoulder. “Soon, my young friend, soon. Henceforth we will divide your time between that world and this. You have much to learn in both.” He pointed his staff at the castle. “But first you have an audience with a King.”

  NOTES

  FETA; WHETHER IT ACTUALLY CAME FROM GREECE; SURREPTITIOUS; EINIOES, GRASLONRWYDD, GWYTHYR; DOCUDRAMA

  Chapter 60

  We Meet AtLast

  At the end of the meal, Edith made a suggestion. “Why don’t Gordon and I have a little stroll in the fresh air? You can go to the plant deck and take your time deciding what you think would look best in our garden at home.”

  Victor looked surprised. He had been looking forward to spending time on the plant deck adjoining the Visitors’ Centre at the top of the hill. However, he had expected the decision on which plant to take home to be a joint one. “Fine, if you’re happy to let me choose.”

  His wife patted the back of his hand. “Of course I am. You have a good eye, when it comes to plants.” Victor was aware of a feeling he’d had before: that his wife was saying one thing and meaning another. “It will give the birthday boy and me a chance to talk.”

  OH, so that was it: a mother-and-son, quality time thing. Okely-dokely. “Right,” he said. He gathered the debris on to the trays and scooped them up. “I’ll get rid of these, and nip up to the Plant Deck. I’ll ring you when I’m done.”

  “We’ll see you soon,” Edith promised him. They watched him go, Zack with a somewhat sinking feeling. “Let’s get back into that fresh air,” Edith said briskly. “You and I can walk as we talk.” He smiled weakly and followed her out.

  “So,” she said, as they began to stroll through what the Guidebook called The Outdoor Biome, “we meet at last.”

  Zack made a fruitless last attempt at subterfuge. “Sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

  Edith grabbed his shoulder and twisted him towards her, pinning him with her eyes. Dimly, he understood what it felt like to be a rabbit trapped in headlights. “You have always been there, and I know you almost as well as I know my Gordon; but it feels very, very strange to finally meet you, ZACK.”

  Zack felt a tearing sensation somewhere near Gordon’s heart. He had not had nearly enough time to get used to the strength of these feelings. He found he couldn’t speak. He stared back at her with his lower lip trembling, and his eyes filling with tears. She wrapped him in her arms as if she would never let him go again, and then they were both sobbing.

  “Are you all right Love?” said a kindly voice. Edith looked up to see an elderly couple looking very concerned at this outpouring of emotion between mother and son. “Can we help at all?”

  She got to her feet and dived into her handbag for her tissues. “No, no, thank you. You’re very kind. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Well if you’re sure,” the woman said, her face suffused with sympathy. Edith nodded and managed a watery smile. She put a protective arm around her son’s shuddering shoulders and handed him a clean tissue. Zack had his first go at blowing Gordon’s nose, and found it helped. He definitely needed a course of lessons on how to manage a human body. These earthquaking emotions shook it to its innermost core.

  They began walking again, side by side, not looking at each other. “You’re the best friend Gordon has ever had, and could ever have,” Edith said. “I love you for it, but I want him back. Where is he?”

  Zack knew there was no point in trying to pretend any more, not with her. In a curious way it released him. “He had to go … somewhere. I really don’t know where. It’s the first time. He’ll tell me when he gets back.”

  Edith stopped dead. “You mean, he’s not in there with you, like you were in there with him?”

  “No. When he’s in here, this is his body. I can’t - don’t, wouldn’t ever want to - usurp it.”

  Edith gave his hand a little squeeze. She needed to stop herself from going mad, or at the very least from losing control of her anxiety. “What happened?”

  “He was called away, suddenly. He didn’t have any choice. Honestly, Mrs Bennett, he would never have left like that if he could have prevented it. He was so enjoying his birthday.”

  Her child’s alter-ego was politely calling her Mrs Bennett. It was unhinging. “Oh God, you’re not an alien, are you? Gordon hasn’t been beamed up to a mother ship somewhere?? They’re not reprogramming him, are they?!” Her voice was increasing in volume and rising to a pitch approaching hysteria.

  Zack squeezed her hand as tightly as he could and steered her towards a vacant bench. He needed to get a grip on this situation. He was well aware that he had made a pig’s breakfast of it so far.

 

  Gordon stepped into the great stone hall, and his eyes widened. Its vastness and solidity overwhelmed his senses. The rectangular inner space was paved with granite slabs. Massive columns stretched along both sides. They were so tall their diameters seemed to dwindle at the top. Vaulted arches radiated from each one, taking the tremendous weight of the roof.

  What little light there was leached in through narrow slits in outer walls at least three feet thick. The huge space was empty, save for one enormous structure occupying the centre of the floor. It might have been called a round table, had its proportions been more reasonable. It was circular, and of table height. A hundred people could have stood around it, each at arm’s length from the other on either side.

  Its flat surface appeared to be made from slabs of dark grey slate about six inches thick, highly polished, and intricately carved. A great cross quartered it to the north, south, east and west. There was a magnificent rose carved in the very centre.

  This table top, if such it was, rested upon stocky granite plinths, similarly scrolled and set in circles of decreasing diameter, taking their share of the weight. Myrddin and Gordon walked towards it. They made no noise, as if the very stones might prate of their whereabouts.

  On reaching it, they stopped and turned towards the far end of the hall. Myrddin lifted his staff and struck it once on the granite. The sound rolled like thunder through the startled air. It echoed around the arches and columns, reverberating. Gordon heard the creak and thud of huge doors opening. Sunlight blazed in at the far end, perhaps a thousand feet away. He was blinded at first, then his eyes gradually adjusted.

  In the centre of the brightness a figure was emerging. It was flanked by two others, a pace behind him on either side. Behind them were three more. Behind them four, then five, then six ... As the man in the centre strode further up the centre of the hall, a spear-shaped phalanx of men appeared behind him. Each rank contained one man more than the rank in front, until the line was fifty abreast.

  And still they came, in solid formation and with military precision, until the entire space was filled with knights. They were dressed like Gordon in white tunics over suits of fine chainmail; but where he had an empty scabbard, each man wore a sheathed longsword with a simple cruciform hilt. A pair of chainmail gloves was tucked into each belt.

  The figure at the front wore a simple crown. A crimson cloak flowed from his shoulders, the colour of the sail Gordon had seen when first he’d found himself in Avalon. The leader’s face was bearded, his long hair sable-silvered, and his eyes a striking blue. There was a deep scar etched across his face.

  He came to a halt on the other side of the round table, and all the men behind him stopped as one. When many thousand marching feet come to a sudden halt the silence is palpable. He stared at the child standing behind the round table, then transferred his gaze to the old man beside him. “You have summoned me for this?” he asked. His voice was almost as hard and cold as the stone on which he stood.

  Myrddin inclined his head slightly. His voice was calm and civil in response. “Majesty, this is th
e child.”

  The cold blue eyes slid back to Gordon. Not a man moved. Gordon thought that the crowned figure now regarding him could not be feeling what he could feel: the power emanating from the figure behind, beside and all around him. It surged through that space. He returned the king’s gaze, sending his thoughts beyond those ice-blue chips into the sadness and the pain. “We are in this place for a reason, you and I.”

  “My name is Arthur, boy,” the king said suddenly, his voice calculated to reach all ranks. As one, the men behind him drew their swords and went down on one knee, their hands clasped over their hilts. The clash sent a sound tsunami crashing around the sombre space. It would have drowned a fainter heart than his. Gordon imitated the movement of the knights, though his clasped hands had no weapon on which to rest. Kneeling where he was, he must have disappeared entirely from the king’s view.

  “The times, it seems, have changed,” said King Arthur. Gordon thought that his voice, though still rough, was less harsh. “But the way remains mysterious, eh Myrddin? Rise, boy, and tell me your name.”

  Gordon lightened his body weight and rose with apparent effortlessness. The speed and smoothness of the manoeuvre was not lost upon the king. Arthur smiled grimly. Stretching out his arms to either side, he made an upward motion. The men behind him rose with rather more difficulty, many of them using their swords for leverage.

  “My name is Gwythyr, Majesty.”

  The king’s barking laugh was bitter. “That is “Victor” in the conquerors’ tongue. Have you earned that name, boy?” There was a rumble of laughter from the ranks.

  “I have not, Sire,” Gordon said, “having been given it but one hour ago.”

  “Then have a care,” Arthur said, “before you choose to move in one of Myrddin’s more mysterious ways. I bear upon my body mortal wounds, as does every man here.” His eyes were chips of flint. “Each earned his place by dying for a cause he thought was just, believing what his priests had prophesied. ‘Do it in His name, and be called ‘Gwythyr’”

  “MOST OFTEN HAVE MY NAMES BEEN USED IN VAIN!” Myrddin thundered suddenly. His voice dislodged the dust of centuries and sent it drifting sadly to the ground, as if each speck had been a life snuffed out. “The times must change,” he added, his voice once more soft and sad, “must change, before I die.”

  NOTES

  SUBTERFUGE; SUFFUSED; A HUNDRED PEOPLE COULD HAVE STOOD; A GREAT CROSS ...A MAGNIFICENT ROSE; PRATE OF THEIR WHEREABOUTS; SABLE-SILVERED; PALPABLE; EMANATING; TSUNAMI

  Chapter 61

  The Lake Of Tears

  Edith sat on the bench, closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. In slowly and deeply through the nose, out slowly and gently through the mouth. The advice of Mr Jones in the old TV series Dad’s Army suddenly came to her. “Don’t PANIC! DON’T PANIC!” She had a hysterical urge to giggle.

  Uncontrolled anxiety serves no useful purpose. If ever you stand on the edge of a cliff, resist the urge to throw yourself over it. You will smash to pieces on the rocks beneath.

  Blessings, blessings; count them! Gordon is with you, in body if not in mind. He is breathing and talking and functioning. He is saying “Gordon will be back soon Mrs Bennett. I promise. I promise!” He is holding your hand.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. He was scared; she could see it in his eyes. Afraid for Gordon or afraid for her? Or both? The mother in her kicked in. “It’s all right; it’s all right.” She reached over and placed her other hand on top of her son’s. “We’re going to be all right.”

  “We are,” Zack said eagerly, “we really are.” His relief was quite touching. Edith suddenly realised she was dealing with a child - a very well-informed and curiously formal child, but still a child.

  “So,” she said, smiling bravely at him, “while we wait for Gordon, let’s talk about you. You’re absolutely sure you’re not an alien?”

  Zack grinned at her. “Totally positive.”

  “So what are you, do you think? And how come you’ve been sharing that body with Gordon from the beginning?”

  Zack screwed his borrowed face into a grimace and shrugged his recently acquired shoulders. “I don’t know, really. I could be a kind of hologram of some part of his spirit or soul or consciousness. But that wouldn’t explain how I know a lot of things he doesn’t, and the fact that I was with Will when he wrote his best lines.”

  “‘Will’? Who’s ‘Will’”?

  “William Shakespeare,” said Zack, matter-of-factly.

  “Oh,” said Edith faintly.

  “But here’s another thing that I’m looking forward to telling him when he gets back,” Zack said eagerly. He found it was really helpful to get things off his brand-new chest. “Since he went, I’ve had to run this body for him. It’s been a really steep learning-curve for me, let me tell you.”

  Edith repressed a smile. How often had she heard Gordon come out with a quaintly adult way of saying something and suspected that Zack might still be around, somewhere well hidden?

  “But now he’s not here, I can’t do a lot of the things I can do when he is here.”

  “Like what?” Edith wanted to know.

  “We-e-ll,” he said slowly, realising he was in danger of letting Gordon’s tongue run away with him, “when he’s here looking after the physical side, I can sort of ... pop out and give him a hand with things.”

  “What sort of things?” Edith asked. If Zack really wasn’t an alien, then the likeliest explanation for all this was that he really was Gordon’s alter-ego. She was getting a fascinating glimpse into the workings of the extraordinary brain her son seemed to have been born with.

  Gordon walked slowly beside Myrddin across the glade towards the lake and the waiting boat. “Was that really King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table?” he asked timidly. He was working up the courage to ask a different question, the one uppermost in his mind.

  “You saw and heard him. Was that not enough?” Myrddin asked him.

  “Yes, but there were so many.”

  “Each man died for a cause he thought was just, most often in my names. All who so fall come here to Avalon; and still they come, in greater numbers than autumnal leaves that drift in heaps beneath the shedding trees.”

  “My friend’s dad died fighting in Afghanistan,” Gordon said. “Does that mean he was somewhere in those millions, near the back?”

  Myrddin drew in his breath in a shuddering gasp. “I bear that cross, and grievous is the weight of it.”

  “I want to help his son Tom, and his mum. Can we help them?” Gordon asked eagerly. “He misses his dad so much.”

  Myrddin nodded thoughtfully. “Your wish comes from a pure heart, and shall be granted.” Once again, he placed the tip of his staff lightly against the torque round Gordon’s neck. “It needs a warrior to heal that wound.”

  They reached the boat and climbed into it. It seemed that even the dolphins were in sombre mood. They took the ropes and towed the boat across without breaking the surface. “You said the times must change before you die,” Gordon said hesitantly. He looked up at Myrddin. There were aeons of weariness around the wizard’s eyes.

  “I have lived long and prospered in my time,” Myrddin said, “while men had need of me. Some need me still, unwilling to believe their atoms came unbidden from the burning hearts of stars.”

  They were nearing the other side. The sun was setting. “But it is time for your race to come of age. We must stop all the killings in my name. There are simple ways towards a better world, and I would see them trod before I die.” The boat crunched on the gravel, and Gordon felt his spirits sinking with the sun. It just seemed sad. Those clear, fresh waters had sparkled for him. They had leapt with life, and now, it seemed, they were a lake of tears. There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

  Myrddin clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder. “We look not to the past, my young pupil,” he said, “except to learn from it. Now fill yo
ur heart with hope, for you and I have just begun. Your world may yet be made a better place for all to live in. We will find the ways.”

  He smiled down at Gordon, who felt his spirits lift. “Here endeth the first lesson,” the great wizard murmured. The torque slipped from his young apprentice’s neck.

  NOTES

  IN GREATER NUMBERS THAN AUTUMNAL LEAVES; AEONS OF WEARINESS; THERE IS NOTHING EITHER GOOD OR BAD BUT THINKING MAKES IT SO

  Chapter 62

  The Wanderer Returns

  There were so many paths. Edith and Zack found that without realising it, they had walked in a wide circle and were back at the link-building. The entrance to the Mediterranean Biome was up the stairs and to the right. It would be an easy place for Victor to find them.

  “The path to knowledge ...” Zack muttered.

  “What?” Edith said.

  “The path to knowledge is unfolded truth,” Zack said. “I was just thinking ...”

  “Yes, I was just thinking as well,” Edith said, interrupting. “Your path to knowledge has been unfolding a very long time if you were around when William Shakespeare was alive. How can that be when you’re only eleven years old today?”

  “AH,” said Zack, warming to his theme. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I might have an answer.”

  Edith’s phone went off. She let go of Gordon’s hand while she reached into her bag. It had to be Victor. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi, hi,” was the cheerful response. “I think I’ve found the perfect plant, but it doesn’t make sense to buy it now and carry it around. I thought we could pick it up on our way out. Then you can see what you think before we make a final decision.