Merlin's Keep Part 4

A son. A fine healthy son. The kingdom was saved from all the nonsense of recent times. Saved! He arrived at the door to his wife and baby and stopped. He was stricken with another thought. Why now? Why do strange doubts ever arise at these truly happy times? He sensed the cool air of change about his neck, and he felt uneasy. All that was awaiting for him in this room was a reality once his had entered. It was no longer an idea but a symbol of hope. Hope for who? He was too happy to think of it all. His head would burst if he waited another moment. He bounced happily into the room.  He fixed his beloved with a demanding stare. “Where is he?”

      Marina was resting on a cloud of pillows with the baby in her arms surrounded by another cloud of cotton sheets and blankets. She smiled. “He is here,. Come see,” she offered him the tiny bundle wrapped in fine blankets.

      McMervin took the child in his muscular arms. His being shone with pride. “He is beautiful,” he said and turned to Marina. “As are you, my love,” He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

     She was taken aback. This time she gave him the very thing he wanted. A son. She had schemed, plotted, make pacts with demons and was about the endure the ultimate sacrifice. Yet he failed to notice. His eyes focussed only on the child. Up to that moment she had been content for him to not know. 

      However the cloaked figure standing in the corner of the room with a scythe in his hand was not to be ignored.

      She looked at him and found herself suddenly uncertain. Other thoughts than the stranger filled her mind. Had this new son so soon usurped her from McMervin’s affetctions? Was she to be cast aside like a worn glove? The joy she felt at her son’s birth suddenly fell flat. She had wanted this moment to be perfect. And McMervin had failed to deliver. The frown that cast a shadow across her happiness took little from her beauty. She lay resplendent, radiant beyond beauty, with an aura fairer than angels wings, eyes as blue as cornflowers, skin as smooth as milk with rosebud lips. “You will cherish him, won’t you, McMervin?” She could not explain why she asked the question. There was no need. She knew the prophecy as any other. “You must care and love him,”

      “I am more proud than any man in my kingdom. You have given me a son after two daughters. At last a male heir to my throne. You have saved the kingdom, Marina. I shall cherish him. He shall be the best of all kings, surpassing all others in his wisdom and justness.” McMervin said, his eyes fixed on the child.

       “Then, my lord, it is time.” 

       McMervin turned. Before him stood a gowned figure, almost totally draped in blackness bar for the white boney hands and the glint of peg like teeth beneath the hood. A rope tied his gown and these boney hands were clasped in front of him.

      “Not yet,” Marina said. “Please a little longer,”

     “I thought you were ready,“ The stranger said.

      “Who is this?” McMervin asked glancing at the figure.

      “It is no one of importance,sire. Someone who brings us good tidings on the birth of our son,”she said quickly.

     “A tad too impertinent for my liking,” McMervin said his eyes not “Yet indeed I shall accept his good tidings on this most joyous of occasions,”

       Marina’s pale face brightened briefly and changed to the greyest grey on realizing the stranger with them remained.

      “Be gone, my good fellow. This is family business,” McMervin said, taking his eyes from his son’s face for the shortest of minutes and then returning his gaze to the child. “Do I need the guards?

      The stranger was oddly unmoved by the royal command. 

      “One thing. Tell me, stranger,” she pleaded. “How does he see you? It is said only those you call for can see you,

      “From this moment on his time is counted.”

     “There’s no need. I have delivered the child and he clearly loves him. The Prophecy is forfeit.”

     “None of us have access to the future. Today I am here for you, my lady. I can call for him at any time,”

     “Please. A short time longer,” Marina begged. “My son, please let me hold my son once more,”

      The hood that covered most of his head turned side to side. “The sands are drained.” He said. “I can gift you no more,”

      He moved forward and Marina fell back onto the pillows.

      McMervin’s absorption in the baby consumed him. The maids in waiting in their black dresses curtsied and bowed before them, unsure who should speak the dreaded words. 

      Grizelda stepped forward. “Father?” she said, her voice breaking. “Mother?”

      “What shall we name him?” McMervin said. The reply did not come. “My love, his name?” He turned. McMervin’s wails echoed through the castle, the broken sobs of a man who hhad everything and now had less than nothing. “Take him,” he wailed, handing the baby to the Grizelda. “Leave me with my wife,” He threw himself on the stricken body of his dead wife.

      “Father, the registrar demands a name,” she said tremulously.

      “Not at this time,” McMervin sobbed.

      “He insists,” she pressed.

      McMervin turned, his swollen eyes moist and tear streaked face fell upon her. “I have not the heart to name him. You choose.”

      Grizelda said. “Sire. Please. I would not presume. A name of your choosing. Please choose.”

     “What are you doing?” hissed Isadora.

      “Leave me!” he roared. “Leave!”

      He ushered them forcibly from the room slamming the door. 

     Grizelda cradled the child. “We have a brother, sister,” she said with a smile. Her voice was low and filled with excitement.

     “He is beautiful,” Isadora returned the smile. “You heard his majesty, our father. Name him, Grizelda.”

    “I couldn’t.” Grizelda said. 

    “You must. The prophecy requires it,”

    “I know what must be done, sister. But now this time is here I have my doubts. This name changes everything. I fear I have not the courage,”

     “Do not waste this chance, Grizelda. Only you can name him. It is written.”

     “So helpless. So tiny. I fear for the child if we do this,” Grizelda said. “You know the king will reject him.”

    There was a silence before she replied. “Poor mother.” said Isadora, her eyes glistening. She pulled from her cardigan a speckled handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. she added harshly. “Do not let her die in vain. Do it,” Isadora urged. “Do it and change the world,”

    Grizelda cradled the baby. She snivelled a drip from her nose. “Tell the registrar the name of Merlin is to return to the keep.”   
 Merlin's Keep and allies Parts©️Lorraine Poulter 2016         

      

     

      

      

Musing on "Safe" Places

I do this every time. When I have something important like keys, like a document  just arrived in the post, a receipt for some electrical purchase, I always put it away somewhere "safe". There it will stay for a day, a week or longer until the time comes when it is needed. Only to find my "safe" place is so safe I cannot find it. Hours of frantic searching takes place in which I enlist the search party of husband and daughter. We all go around the place looking in old "safe" places and never finding it because I knowingly had put the item in a new "safe" place.
The really annoying thing is that I am never the one to find the item. But somehow when it is found I suddenly have total recall of where I place the lost item.

First Chapter of The Aerengorm Chronicles

                                                 The Story of Penn

                                                     Chapter One

                                 

      Penn was fourteen years old. He longed to be eighteen. So he could leave Welboron, and leave for good. He yearned for the places where the sun shone and the people were always happy, where homework was unheard of. He’d seen pictures in books and watched the films. So exotic, so far removed from Welboron. More than anything he dreamt of travelling to the Meerfel Waterfall and watching the ice crystals form as the water hit the lake of ice in a rainbow of colours. It was an event so rare that it occurred only every fifteen years and its time was due again next month. He would have done anything to go, and had done anything to go. All had gone well until today. And he bitterly knew this was the last straw and that his dreams of going were lay in tatters.

      Penn and his parents, the ageless Felthrae and Merlina lived in the suburb of Welboron. Their house was a small well -tended home with a garden in a cul de sac with other similar detached homes. Home was happy. He had many good times. All was good. Even school. But lately things had changed. He was changing.  

     Penn had awoken that morning with an inexplicable sense of doom lowering over him. There was a sense of change, a sense that deep inside he had neglected something. He rose from bed tetchy, unsure, certain only that his world was about to be overwhelmed by events that it would change everything irrevocably. 

    Breakfast. This was his first bad move. Or rather the fact that breakfast was close to school time and much to his horror the realization he had forgotten to do his homework. He shook his head in disbelief and groaned. The exercise book lay open on the side but the words were not there. It had happened again. How could time have slipped by so easily, so silently, so quickly? Yet it had.

     The row that ensued over the breakfast table was one of the worst ever, and to his surprise one, of the bitterest. 

     Why could they not understand? They always spoke how quickly time flew yet when it happened to him they were-cagey, uneasy. He shrank under their relentless barrage sending his head reeling. Tears would not flow, only anger coursed through his every corpuscle. The harsh words of their argument burned his soul with betrayal and he fled.

     Penn ran. He ran faster than he had ever run before. His legs moved rapidly over the ground. He had to get away. His mind grated painfully as he recalled the face of his mother contorted unrecognizably in rage. His father’s voice rank with disapproval and disappointment droned on until Penn felt his head would explode. 

        He did not know where he was going or how long it would take only as far as it would take for him not to hear their angered voices ringing in his ears.

          And then he ran some more. 

         “Call this a garden?” he muttered angrily as beads of cold sweat dripped from his brow and into his eyes. “It’s a wasteland.” He ran further into the long, deep wilderness that was the garden. His feet stumbled over rocks half buried beneath the rough clods of soil; he painfully clipped his toes on clumps of roughly hewn grass and felt molehills crumble beneath his feet. He did not hear the soft dry rustling of snakes rapidly slithering from his path into the anonymity of the tall dry ferns. 

        The problem with Penn was that he always felt like he was being squeezed into a pair of shoes two sizes too small. And as always they began to hurt if worn too long. Time for him ran at a different pace to everyone else. He was always playing catch up. He took too long to wake in the morning; he took too long to dress, to eat his breakfast, to leave to catch the bus for school. Time slipped away from him like sand in an hour glass and he was always caught out by it. 

       The only thing that made true sense to him was the garden. The garden he had helped his father to grow. They had planted the flowers, shrubs, the trees. He had watched them grow from tiny seeds and watched the garden expand into ponds and rivers with woodlands sprawling into the distance. A truly gigantic masterpiece of tamed nature.  And yet, had Penn taken the time to think about, in so many ways impossible. It was here where Penn fled to when there was too much to take in, too much anger, too much angst. 

     Penn ran deeper into the garden. He crossed the meadow of tall sharp grasses that sliced his legs like razors. From here his feet slurped through the mossy, swampiness, disturbing clusters of angry gnats that rose into the air, surrounding him a shroud of bites and stings. He brushed them aside. 

       The anger still raged in his blood, driving him on and on.

      Penn ran until he was suddenly forced to stop. Not by a person but the land had come to an abrupt end. Directly in front of him a steep crumbling bank dropped sharply into the arms of the restless river. He stopped suddenly, breathing hard. 

    This time, maybe this time, he would jump into the cold running water? Maybe this time he should. The sunlight glistened on the rippling waves, drawing him closer.

     He bit his lip. Of course he wouldn’t. But all the same he’d hold that thought for another day. He held his side rubbing from it a stitch.

     “It’s not fair!” he said bitterly. If he was waiting for a reply or merely an echo, none came. Not one single voice in his entire world took the trouble to enquire “why?”  “It’s not fair.” He said this time shouting. This time his voice was lost in the sound of the tumbling water as it rumbled noisily over rocks.  A bird squawked in surprise and took flight. Its wings flapping the rhythm of its fearfully beating heart.  Penn looked up. The sun shone brightly through the treetops and through some places Penn could actually see the cool blue of the sky.

     Penn scuffed the ground with his foot. It hit something solid. A large white stone half buried in the soil caught his eye. He hated it. He grinned. It was perfect. Too perfect.  And it was big. Think of the splash that would make if he were to throw it in the water. He really wanted to make a splash on this place. He wanted to disturb the calmness of this wilderness, to bring havoc, to let this in this haven of peace know that it was created in a lie. Peaceful havens did not exist.

     He bent down to pick it up. He wrapped his arms around it and lifted. It did not move. Like an iceberg there was more under the ground. He tried once more. He wrapped his arms around the rock and yet could not take hold. There was less to hold than before. He stepped back and wiped the sweat from his eyes and blinked. 

     He hadn’t been here for ages. He knew where he was yet there was something different, something new. As though someone had rearranged things. Not many things. Just enough to notice. The trees had grown with large branches hanging down shading the path he had just taken. In places the trees seemed stooped with age, and hung unkempt in resignation. Old met new, side by side, uncomfortably. A grey haze hung over the river and clung to the edges of the banks, lurking into the unhappy forest. The change was tangible.

     Penn shrugged. The problem was not his. He picked up a handful of flat rounded stones and skimmed them across the water. He watched them jump and then sink.

     “A friend of mine once managed twenty skims off one stone.” A gentle lilting voice said in a tone that sought conversation.

     Penn started.

     “Skimming is a popular pastime where I come from.”

    Penn swung round. He saw no one. “Show yourself.” Penn offered feebly more afraid that the voice had no body but actually came from his mind.

     “I’m right here.”

     Penn scanned every branch, every moving blade of grass, and still saw nothing. “Are you a ghost?” he said really wanting it to be something so out of the ordinary that he would never look at things the same again. “I can’t see you.”

     “You’re looking in the wrong place, you idiotic boy.” The tiny voice said irate. “Look lower. No. Lower still.”

     Penn lowered his eyes from the trees to the flowers, to the ground.  His jaw dropped open. “You’re-you’re-“  Penn walked round the stone, eyeing the small creature from all angles. 

     “Yes. I know what I am.”

     “But that’s impossible.”

    “About as impossible as it is for you to be here.  So that makes us equal.” The little figure of a sprightly elderly gentleman wearing a green hat and sporting a mischievous grin was sitting crossed legged on the stone Penn had just tried to lift from the ground. Had Penn picked him up he would have fitted neatly in his hand with room to spare. “Me name is Billy MacGuire. Welcome to my home.”

              For the briefest of moments the unlikeliest thing occurred. Penn was stuck for words. It did not last long but the ensuing silence rang across the universe and in a far off place in another world it was noticed.

     “What do you mean your home?” Penn said. Finding himself returning. “This is my home. My garden. And while I’m on the subject what’s a leprechaun doing in my garden?”

     “So you do know what I am. You’re smarter than you look.”

     “What with the hat, beard that accent. There’s nothing else you could be. But you don’t exist. Not outside fairy tale books. What am I doing talking to you? You’re not real.” Without thinking he reached forward and gave Billy a sharp prod in the chest which sent him falling backwards from the stone into the tall grass. 

     Billy let out a scream as he fell backwards. He emerged grasping his chest crying wheezily. “What did you do that for?” He rolled on the ground in agony. “I can’t breathe. I’m dying.”

    “You’re real! I felt you. You’re real.” Penn gasped. “You’re solid.”

    “Of course I am. I’m as real as the next Aerengol. Don’t know what the problem is with you young today. Not happy to make use of your eyes. You have to prod some poor fellow in the chest. It’s why I’ve hidden meself away for all this time. It’s not safe from the like of you. Next thing you’re in a jar being watched. I knew it was a mistake.” He clutched his chest. “You’ve finished me off. I hope you’re satisfied. Let me lie here and breathe me last in peace.” He lay himself comfortably on the ground in a suitable pose, repairing to meet his end.

     “Oh pull yourself together.” Penn said impatiently. “If I’d killed you, you wouldn’t be lying there moaning about it. Also I’m sure there’d be a lot more blood.” Penn towered over Billy. He was regaining some of his composure. “Now, Billy MacGuire, start talking. I want to know everything about you. Where you come from. How long you’ve been here and when you’re going back?”

      Billy MacGuire smiled weakly.

©️ Lorraine Poulter 2015
Aerengorm Chronicles ©️Lorraine Poulter 2015

Harry Styles as Marcel from Best Sing Ever Video by Hannah

Hannah's take in Harry Styles in his role as Marcel in Best Song Ever Video.
Picture©️Hannah Poulter 2016

Quick update for the coming week

Check out the web page lorrainepoulter.com for a new read, the children's story called Blue. A take on the poem for children Little Boy Blue.

Also watch this space for the next part of Merlin's Keep on Friday. Summary so far: The spoiled king McMervin had endured his wife's labour and she has produced the son he needs to save the kingdom. Or is he?

Don't forget the story of the Grand High Witch and her followers. Having eliminated all those who may be a threat to her quest for power over the coven, will she get away with it? Watch this space.

More to follow in the coming week.

Work in acrylic-Nearly finished

                                                      ©️Lorraine Poulter 2016

The Grand High Witch-A sample of a short story in Progress by Lorraine Poulter

The Grand High Witch

     They watched. Their minds a whirl. No one had expectd the outburst from Jado and his storming from the room.  All five looked to each other in disbelief and shock. Jado was gone. He had lead them for the past eighteen months. His leadership was erratic but he was fair and wise in all the dark knowledge he passed onto them. Which after all was their reason for being there. This was the coven of Jado. A new type of coven in which warlocks and witched combined to greet their Master on a weekly basis.

        They were all taken by surprise at his words on leaving. All except one. The Grand High Witch. She gazed over them with half closed eyes as black as night with the satisfaction tha all her hard work for the past months was about to pay off: that her carefully orchestrated and surreptitiously connivings had led to her dream coming true. The smile that lurked on the corner of her lips was ill hidden.

     Now what do you make of that!” she exclaimed for them all to hear the contempt she held for Jado.She would have clapped her hands for joy had she not known that it would be most unseemly. After all the demise or sudden overthrow from power was not a moment of sorrow for her but one of celebration and joy. She just had to be sure they felt the same. “That came from absolutely nowhere!” she said seeking to rally the coven and force from them their support while they were feeling vulnerable.

       “I am shocked,” agreed Marlo, an elderly Warlock who had retired from the violence of mainframe Warlocking to seek a more sedate life in his old age. “I am most surprised,”

      “Me too,” the quiet voice of Midliss spoke. She was a timid witch. Her timidity though hid her ruthless ambition. Initially she had been sent to the coven by an overbearing aunt who felt it would “bring her out of herself”. Midliss did not need bringing out of herself. She was a secretive, sly witch, craven in her lust for power, who listened. She soon realized the power of the coven laid not with Jado but indeed with the Grand High Witch. She secretly swapped her allegiance to the Grand High Witch and her life changed forever. There was nothing she would not do for the Grand High Witch. Indeed if only the Grand High Witch knew how much she was involved in ridding Jado from the group.

        Midliss watched the Grand High Witch adoringly. One day, she thought longingly. One day she would have favour of the Grand High Witch.

       “Goes to show how unstable he is. Unpredictable outbursts like that. You’d need to watch yourself. I’m glad he didn’t draw his wand. That could have been messy,” The Grand High Witch said. What she meant to say was that she would have used the death spell on him if he not left that evening. He had worn her patience thin with his reluctance to leave. With each effort he made to put right things set by his invisible enemy, the bigger the hole he was burying himself in. Such a delight to watch, the Grand High Witch thught, if painfully slow. Still it gave her time to seal off all routes back into the group at a later date. Now that chance would never be available to him. All she had to do was convince the others they were better off without him.

       The other two witches who were seated next to the now absent Jado silently rose from their seats and departed.
The Grand High Witch©️Lorraine Poulter 2016