Merlin

SEVEN

They say Merlin slew a thousand thousand, that the blood of the enemy ran red upon the land, that rivers stank with floating corpses from Arderydd to Caer Ligualid, that the sky darkened with the wings of feasting birds flocking to the battlefield, that the smoke of the cremation fires rolled to the very dome of heaven…

They say Merlin mounted to the sky, taking the shape of an avenging hawk to fly away to the mountains.

Yet, when the voices of the searchers rang in the wood, where did Merlin hide? In what pit did Merlin cower while they cried out to him?

O, Wise Wolf, tell me why was the light of the sun taken from me? Why was the living heart carved from my breast? Why do I haunt the desolate wastes, hearing only the sound of my own voice in the mournful sigh and moan of the wind on bare rock?

Tell me also, fair sister, how long has it been? How many years have passed me here in Celyddon's womb?

What is that you say? What of Morgian?

Ah, yes, I have often wondered… what of Morgian?

That first time, of course, was just the brandishing of weapons between foes. She wanted to see who it was she would destroy. She wanted to savour the exquisite hunger before the kill. She was the cat taunting the mouse, trying her claws.

But I do not think she was entirely certain of me then. The meeting was necessary, because she was not a fool and she would not presume to begin her battle without first assessing the strength of her adversary.

Strange to say, but I believe Morgian's offer of friendship was genuine – that is, as genuine as anything about her could be. She meant it, although she could not have had the slightest idea of true friendship because she was not capable of it. But she was so hollow, so empty of all natural feeling that she could adopt any posture as it occurred to her; she used emotion as one might use a cloak, changing when it suited her. Still, she believed what she felt – amity, sincerity, even love of a perverse "sort – until she abandoned it in favour of another, more practical weapon.

Thus, Morgian could make the incredible offer of friendship to me, and make it seem genuine, because she herself believed it – if only for as long as it took her to say it. In that sense, it was not a trap. She no doubt thought it might be advantageous to her in some way to have me as an ally and so spoke sincerely. This was part of her treachery: she could change as quickly as the wind, and put the full force of her being behind the moment's intent.

For Morgian there was no higher ideal, no greater call to be heard above the deafening shriek of her own all-consuming will. There was no core of human pity or compassion to appeal to.

There was only Morgian, rarest beauty, frozen and fatal, mistress of the sweet poison, the warm kiss of death.

Though she ultimately meant me harm – make no mistake about that, I did not – Morgian had not come to join battle with me that day. Only, as I have said, to try her weapons and see what mine might be. I have no clear idea of what she discovered about me in that regard, although she revealed much about herself.

But she was vain! Such vanity is rare in a human soul. But then, Morgian is no ordinary human, and possesses no ordinary soul.