Merlin

  Elac, eyes starting from his head, gripped his spear so tightly the blood drained from his hands. Others bit the backs of their hands; some lay prostrate on the ground whimpering.

  I rolled up into sitting position. The clan’s wise woman, the Gern-y-fhain, pushed her way through the others to stand over me with her hands outstretched while she stared into the risen sun, chanting in their singing speech. Then she made a motion with her hands and snapped an order at the men looking on. Two of them came to me hesitantly, the last act in the world they would have chosen, and untied the braided rope and unbound me.

  Now men will say that I broke the knife with magic. I have even heard it said that it is not surprising in the least that the knife should break since, as anyone knows, bronze cannot harm an enchanted being like myself.

  Well, I was surprised and did not feel the least little bit enchanted. Also, I had not yet learned the secrets of the ancient art. I tell you only what happened. Believe what you like. But as Vrisa’s sacrifice knife flashed through the air towards my heart, there appeared a hand—a cloud hand, Elac called it. The knife struck the palm of this mysterious cloud hand and shattered.

  Vrisa’s wrist was already swelling. The force of her blow and the shock of the shattering knife nearly broke her wrist, poor girl. I call her girl now, for I soon learned that she was but a summer or two older than I was at the time, yet already chief of her Hill Folk tribe. Gern-y-fhain, the wise woman with the flint-sharp eyes and puckered face of a nut-brown apple, was her grandmother.

  Gern-y-fhain was not slow to recognize so powerful a sign. She stepped in, raised me to my feet, and gazed long into my face. The sun was up now and my eyes filled with new morning light; she scrutinized me and turned to the others, speaking excitedly. They stared, but Vrisa advanced slowly, raised a hand to my face, pulling down my cheek with her thumb, and stared into my eyes.

  The light of recognition broke across her face and she beamed, forgetting her painful wrist for the moment. She invited the others to see for themselves, and I was subjected to a painless ordeal as the entire clan examined the color of my eyes by turns.

  When they had satisfied themselves that I did indeed possess the golden eyes of a hawk, Gern-y-fhain put her hands on my head and offered up a thanksgiving prayer to Lugh-Sun for sending me.

  The clan had felt they needed a powerful sacrifice to offset a run of extremely ill fortune they had been having for the last three summers: poor grazing and worse lambing, two children had died of fever, and Nolo’s brother had been killed by a boar. Their prospects for improved fortune were decidedly bleak when Elac, returning home from a spoiled hunt, heard me shouting on the hilltop in the fog. They thought their prayers had been answered.

  Elac climbed the hill and verified I was there, then hurried to the rath, told the others what he had found, and after chewing it over among themselves, they decided to fetch me along and sacrifice me in the morning. The shattered knife put a new face on it, however, and they decided that I must be a present from the gods…unfortunately disguised as a subhuman tallfolk youth, it is true, but a gift nonetheless.

  I do not mean to make them sound like backward children, though childlike is a fair description of them in many ways. Still they were anything but backward; on the contrary, they were wonderfully intelligent, with sharp, accurate memories and a vast store of instinctual knowledge that comes to them through their mothers’ milk.

  But the strength of their faith was such that they lived their lives in unquestioning acceptance of all things, trusting their “Parents,” the Earth Goddess and her husband, Lugh-Sun, for rain and sun, for deer to hunt, for grass to graze their sheep, for the things they needed to live.

  Thus, to them anything was possible at any moment. The sky might suddenly turn to stone, or rivers to silver and hills to gold; dragons might coil in sleep under the hills, or giants dream in deep mountain caverns; a man might be a man or a god, or both at once. A hand might appear in their midst and shatter a knife as it slashed toward the heart of their much-needed sacrifice. And this, too, was to be accepted.

  Does this make them backward?

  With faith like this it is little wonder that once they learned the Truth, they carried it a long, long way.

  6

  I thought that when we returned to the rath I would be set free. In this I was mistaken, for if I had been desirable as a potential sacrifice, as a living gift I was even more valuable. They had no intention of letting me leave. Perhaps when the purpose for which I had been sent to them was fulfilled I might depart. But until then? It could not even be contemplated.

  This was communicated to me in no uncertain terms when I tried to leave the rath later that day. I was sitting beside the door to the rath and, when no one was looking, I simply got to my feet and started down the hill. I escaped but ten steps and Nolo called the dogs. Snarling, growling viciously, the dogs surrounded me until I retreated to my place at the door of the rath.

  The days crawled by, and each passing moment my heart grew heavier. My people were in these hills somewhere, searching for me, worrying over me. I had not the skill to see them then, but I could feel their anxiety across the separating distance, and I knew their misery. I wept at night as I lay on my pallet: stinging tears for the sorrow I was causing my mother, and the hardship my absence meant.

  Great Light, I cried, please hear me! Give them peace to know I am unharmed. Give them hope to know I will return. Give them patience to wait and courage to endure the waiting. Give them strength so they will not grow weary.

  This prayer was to become a litany of comfort to me for a good long time. Often spoken with tears, it is true.

  The next day, after nearly four days of judicious contemplation, Gern-y-fhain took me by the arm and sat me down on a rock at her feet and began speaking at me. I understood nothing of what she said, but paid close attention and soon began to discern the rhythm of their speech. I nodded from time to time just to show that I was trying.

  She puckered up her wrinkles and made a gesture which included the rath and everyone and everything in it. “Fhain,” she said, repeating several times until I did the same.

  “Fhain,” I said, smiling. The smiling worked wonders, for the Hill Folk are happy people and smiling indicates to them a soul in harmony with life, and they are not far wrong.

  “Gern-y-fhain,” she told me next, thumping herself on the chest.

  “Gern-y-fhain,” I repeated. Then I thumped myself on the chest and said, “Myrddin.” I used the Cymry form of my name, thinking that would be closest to their speech. “Myrddin.”

  She nodded and repeated the word several times, much pleased to have such a willing and able Gift. She then pointed at each of the other clan members as they went about their various tasks, “Vrisa, Elac, Nolo, Teirn, Beona, Rhyllha…” and others. I did my best to keep up with her, and managed for a while, but when she turned to naming other things—earth, sky, hills, clouds, river, rock—I fell behind.

  That ended my first lesson in the Hill Folk tongue, and began a custom that was to continue many months after that: beginning my day sitting beside Gern-y-fhain, as at Blaise’s feet or Dafyd’s practicing my lessons.

  Vrisa took it upon herself to civilize me. For a start, my clothing was taken away and replaced with skins and fur. This concerned me until I saw that she carefully placed my things in a special basket lashed to a roofpole in the rath. I might not be leaving soon, but at least when I did it would be as I came. She then led me back outside, chattering at me all the while and glancing at me from time to time to smile, showing her fine white teeth, as much as to say, “Be welcome, tallfolk-wealth. You are fhain now.”

  It pleased her when I said her name and taught her mine. Indeed, they roared with delight when I was finally able to tell them that my name meant “Hawk”—that confirmed them in their belief that my coming was ordained by their Parents. They watched my progress hungrily; any little thing I did pleased them all enormously. They found endless pl
easure in recounting my achievements to one another around the supper fire at night. At first I considered this was because of my status as Gift; later I learned that they treated all children that way.

  Children were held in especially high regard among them. Their language proved this in that “child” and “wealth” were the same to them: eurn. This one word served both meanings.

  They viewed children as others might view honored guests—worthies deserving of consideration and respect, whose mere presence was cause for joy and a treat to be relished with pleasure and celebrated whenever possible. Thus, even though I was, in their reckoning of age, very nearly a full-grown man, I lacked the proper upbringing, and so I must be considered a child until I learned enough manners to become an adult. This made an interesting period of adjustment, for in those first months I spent as much time in the company of the young as with their elders.

  The summer passed quickly; time sped because I was desperate to learn their speech so that I could communicate my anxiety about my people, and learn their reason for keeping me. My opportunity came one crisp autumn night not long after Lughnasadh. We sat, as we sometimes did, before an outdoor fire on the hilltop under the stars. Elac and Nolo—first and second husbands to Vrisa—and some of the others had been out hunting that day and after supper began describing what had taken place.

  In utter innocence Elac turned to me and said, “We saw tallfolk in the crooked glen. Yet they are searching for their child-wealth.”

  “Yet?” I asked him. “You have known of this before?”

  He smiled and nodded. Nolo nodded with him and said, “We have all seen them many times.”

  “Why did you not tell me?” I demanded, trying to keep my temper down.

  “Myrrdin is fhain now. Be you fhain-brother. We will leave soon; tallfolk will stop searching and go away.”

  “Leave?” My anger vanished at the thought. I turned to Vrisa. “What does Elac mean? Where are we going?”

  “Snow time is coming soon. We will go to the crannog, fhain-brother.”

  “When?” I felt desperation rising in me like a sickness.

  Vrisa shrugged. “Soon. Before the snow.”

  It made sense, and I should have known. The Hill Folk did not live in one place very long; I knew that, but somehow failed to consider that they might leave soon for their winter home—a crannog in a hollow hill in the north.

  “You have to take me to them,” I told Vrisa. “I must see them.”

  Vrisa frowned and turned to Gern-y-fhain, who shook her head slightly. “That cannot be,” she replied. “Tallfolk will borrow child-wealth from fhain.” They had no direct word for stealing; “borrowing” was as close as they came, and they were wonderfully resourceful borrowers.

  “I was tallfolk before I am fhain-brother,” I said. “I must say farewell.”

  This puzzled them. They had no sense of parting or farewell—even death was not a strict separation since the dead one had only gone on a journey much as one might go hunting and could return at any moment, in a different body perhaps, but essentially the same. “What means this fayr-well?” Vrisa asked. “I know it not.”

  “I must tell them to stop searching,” I explained, “to go back to their lands and leave the crooked glen.”

  “No need, Myrddin-wealth,” explained Elac happily. “Tallfolk will stop searching soon. They will go away soon.”

  “No,” I said, rising to my feet. “They are my fhain-brothers, my parents. Never will they stop searching for their child-wealth. Never!”

  Their concept of time was equally vague. The idea of continuous, ceaseless activity could not be comprehended. Vrisa merely shook her head lightly. “This is a thing I know not. You are fhain now. You are a gift to Hawk People, Myrddin-wealth, a gift from Parents.”

  I agreed, but held my ground. “I am a gift, yes. But I must thank fhain-brothers for letting me become a Hawk Person.”

  This they understood, for who would not care to become a Hawk Person? Such a great and impressive honor would naturally engender enormous gratitude, which the recipient would be duty-bound to express. Yes, it made sense to them that I would wish to thank my former fhain-brothers.

  What is more, they took it as a sign of my growing maturity. “It is a good thing, Myrddin-brother. You will thank parents tomorrow.”

  “And fhain-brothers,” I insisted.

  “How will you thank them?” asked Vrisa suspiciously, sensing potential trickery, her dark eyes narrowed and wary.

  My answer must be innocent or she would refuse outright. “I will give back their tallfolk clothes.”

  Again this made perfect sense. To a people without skill at weaving, without looms, cloth was scarce and extremely valuable. She might be sorry to see the cloth-wealth leave the fhain, but could well understand why I wanted to give it back; and why my former tallfolk fhain, if they could not have me, would at least wish to have my clothes.

  “Elac,” she said finally, “take Myrddin-wealth to tallfolk firering tomorrow.”

  I smiled. There was no use in pushing the matter further, it was all I was likely to get from them for the moment. “Thank you, Vrisa-chief. Thank you, fhain-kin.”

  They all smiled back and began chattering at me benignly, and I fell to working out how best to make my escape.

  * * *

  There were four of them in the crooked glen. I could tell even from a distance that they were my people, members of the warband that had ridden as escort. They were camped by a stream, and the glimmering light of their fire reflected in the moving water. They were, from all appearances, still asleep, as the sun had not yet risen above the hills to the east.

  We were poised on a rock ledge on the hillside, waiting. “I will go down to my fhain-brothers now,” I told Elac.

  “We will go with you.” He indicated Nolo and Teirn.

  “No, I will go alone.” I tried to sound as firm as Gern-y-fhain.

  He regarded me slyly and then shook his head. “Vrisa-chief says you will not come back.”

  Indeed, that was my plan. Elac shook his head and stood up beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We will go with you, Myrddin-brother, so tallfolk do not borrow child-wealth back.”

  I saw it all very clearly now, if a trifle late. If we all went down together there would be a fight. Elphin’s warriors would never allow the Hill Folk to leave with me. They would try to save me, and they would likely die trying—pierced with arrows before they could draw their swords. One or more of the Hill Folk might be killed in the skirmish as well. No, I could not let that happen. My freedom was not as important as the lives of men I called my friends.

  Now what was I to do?

  “No.” I folded my arms across my chest and sat down. “I will not go.”

  “Why, Myrddin-wealth?” Mystified, Elac stared at me.

  “You go.”

  He sat down beside me. Nolo frowned and put out his hand to me. “She-chief says husbands must go with you. Tallfolk cannot be trusted with child-wealth, Myrddin-brother.”

  “Tallfolk-brothers will not understand. They will kill fhain-kin when they see you, thinking to help fhain-brother.”

  That got through to Elac, who nodded glumly. He knew just how unappreciative tallfolk could be.

  “Hawk Fhain fear tallfolk not at all,” boasted Nolo.

  “Well, I do not wish fhain-brothers killed. That will bring great sadness to Myrddin-brother. Bring sadness to fhain.” I appealed to Elac. “You go, Elac. Take the clothes to tallfolk-brothers.” I indicated the pile of clothing on the ledge beside me.

  He considered this and agreed. I folded my cloak, trousers, and tunic as neatly as I could, frantically thinking how I might send a message that would not be misinterpreted. In the end I took off my rawhide belt and tied that around the bundle.

  My people would recognize the clothing, of course, but I still needed another token to indicate my safety. I glanced around. “Teirn,” I held out my hand, “I need an arrow.”

/>   I would have preferred a pen and parchment, but these were as foreign to the Hill Folk as pepper and perfume. They did not trust writing, and in this showed remarkable wisdom.

  Teirn withdrew an arrow. The missiles of the Hill Folk are short, flint-tipped reeds fletched with raven feathers, unmistakable and deadly; and Hill Folk accuracy is legendary. The tallfolk tribes in the north have learned great respect for the fragile-looking arrows and the unerring hand that draws the bow.

  I bent to the bundle and took the arrow, snapping it in the center and tucking the two ends under the rawhide belt. Then, as an afterthought, I removed the silver wolf’s-head brooch from the cloak and handed the bundle to Elac. “There…take this to tallfolk camp.”

  He looked at the bundle and at the camp below. “Lugh-Sun is rising,” I told him. “Do take it now before tallfolk-brothers wake.”

  He ducked his head. “They will see me not.” With that, he scrambled over the ledge and was gone. A few moments later we saw him running toward the camp. Creeping with all the stealth and silence of a shadow, Elac entered the sleeping camp and, in an act of impulsive bravery typical of him, carefully placed the bundle beside the head of one of the sleeping warriors.

  He returned to the ledge in no time, and we returned to the rath a moment later. It took everything in me to keep from looking back.

  I could only hope the fact that my clothes were neatly folded and deposited in their camp would somehow indicate that I was alive and knew my searchers’ whereabouts, but could not come to them myself. There was every chance that my message would go awry, but I trusted the Great God and hoped I had not made things worse.

  Something changed inside me that day. For in giving up my clothes, it was as if I also gave up the idea of rescue. Curiously, I became more content to stay. And although I still grew heartsick and moody from time to time, perhaps I too began believing my presence with the Hawk People had a purpose. After that day, I no longer contemplated escape, and eventually came to accept my capture.