The Final Part of The Grand High Witch

     “LET ME IN!” Jado said, his voice laden with pathos and sorrow and yet fully commanding. It boomed through the hovel drowning out all sounds of the storm. “It is I, Jado. Your one time friend. Let me in!!!” he moaned.

       The Grand High Witch stood stock still as snowflakes blew into hovel and through the spectre before her. Yes. He was not only transparent but hollow too. Her heart was frozen with fear and although her hard mind was sharper and colder than the breeze that ushered inside. She reached out to close the door leaving Jado outside. “Be gone with you foul fiend! You are no friend of mine,” she spat through her brown teeth. 

      Jado did not move. “I am neither foul nor a fiend. You curse failed.”

      The Grand High Witch flustered. Her arm moved to close the door. Only it did not move. Her hand held tight on the edge of the door and her arm was unable to move. She could neither open nor close the door. “What have you done to me?” she screeched.

      “Nothing. I bring you nothing. It is that narrow voice you neglect. The voice of your conscience. You are torn, Grand High Witch. You want rid of me yet you want to know why I am here. You do not know which way to turn.” He said with a slight, very slight, chuckle. He bandages on his face loosened slightly and a very slight droop to his fleshless jaw could be seen.

        She struggled to move for a moment to move and gave up. Her shoulder ached from the effort. “You had better come inside then,” she said resignedly, never one to waste time when she had no choice.

       The tall spectre of flowing rags floated inside. She gazed at it. So unlike the Jado she knew. He seemed more assured, more confident than the broken wizard she had evicted from the group. “Death agrees with you,” she muttered. The Grand High Witch stumbled forward as the door was released and suddenly shut closed. 

       Dusting the cobwebs from her cardigan she turned to face him.

      Jado hovered above the ground. His long robes, probably the robes he was buried in, hung below his feet that they could not be seen. “You died?” she uttered.

      “Of a broken heart. You remember the circumstances?” he said with pathos.

      “You certainly weren’t well.” She said.

      “For months I was driven to distraction by your lies.” He seemed to grow in his rage and his anger filled the room. “I am sure you remember.”

      The Grand High Witch hid her head under her arm as she cowered.

      “Do you seek my forgiveness?” she offered in a broken voice. “Do you need closure before you can move on?”

      “I am not here for myself. I come for you.” Jado said mournfully.

       The Grand High Witch straightened her back. “That’s very kind of you. There is no need. I am in a good place. A better place for you not being here. No need for you to linger any more. Go and be happy,” she uttered breathlessly. “I release you,”

      Jado was quiet. Very quiet. And then he laughed. He laughed so heartily and loud that his lungs would surely have burst, had he owned any that worked. The whole raggedy being rocked.

       “What’s so funny?” she asked, her uncertainty was returning. 

       “You!” he roared. Menace crept into his voice and the Grand High Witch cowered once more. “I am not here to haunt you. I am here to collect you.”

        The Grand High Witch for the first time turned pale. Every line of her square face deepened and every long year she had lived showed all at once. She asked feebly. “Where are you taking me?”

         “Wherever you may wish to go. Anywhere in the Ether or the solid world. Any place where you cannot perform your magic. You have made a name for yourself on this side of the Ether. The Demons of Silth have asked me to close you down,”

         She spluttered. “I am the best demon summoner this side of the Ether Cloud. Why would they want to close me down?”

         “Your magic is tainted. You have been cursed and are too proud or stupid to know it.”

        “Now you stop right there. My magic is the purest of darkness.” she said regaining her composure. “You may have come here with some idea of saving me, well I don’t need saving. In case you have not noticed there is no one with the magical power to curse me. I am the Grand High Witch,”

       The bandage surrounding Jado’s face fell onto his chest. His fleshless bony skeleton gazed out at her with red burning eyes in his skull. His jaw plunged open. Jamieson hissed and retreated to the kitchen.

       With a bony hand he held his jaw as he tightened the cloth.  “Demelza Goodchild. Ring any bells? A couple of months ago you evicted this talented young witch from the group in a most ignominious manner. You were jealous of her powers and you knew she posed more of a threat to you than those two dimwits you keep in tow.”

      “It’s called protecting your interests. You were as guilty of as much in your lifetime.”

     “You ran circles around her with your magic and your callous lies. You drove her out in tears. I am surprised at you. You a wasted an opportunity. With her at your side you could have accomplished what I had never fully realized. You could have brought union with this world and the Ether. You would have made history.”

       “I didn’t know. She can have a second chance, if she likes.” Grand High Witch said sulkily. She could never share the power. Although she could use some extra magic to help her climb the slippery path to the Ether but once there she had no need of anyone else.

       “No bother. There is no chance of her returning. Demelza cursed you. She cursed you to have this very night, to speak with me and others whom you have treated disgracefully and worse. To live out your worst nightmares.”

       “A curse? I’m sure I would have noticed.” 

       “You chose not to.”

       “I’ve been cursed before by better witches. Nothing much came of them.”

       “Far from it, Esmerelda. Yes. I know your name. The name you abandoned. The name given to you when you were born. The name you chose to forget. Esmerelda.”

       “Don’t call me that.”

      “It is your name.”

      “ Truth is I never liked it.” She chewed her lower lip. 

      “So you changed it for something more in keeping with the role you would like yourself to play. Grand High Witch. A title, not a name. A job description. Think on, Esmerelda. You have lost this game. You have been found,”

      “Let it begin.” She said proudly. “I am ready,”

      “It has begun already. I am your curse. I am to be the voice of our conscience. I am to haunt your every decision. I am to be the voice in your ear that raises doubt. You will not have a thought without which I cannot pass judgement. Not a single thought.”

      The Grand High Witch paled. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “For how long?” she uttered.

      “Indefinitely!”

      “And if I change my ways?”

      “Indefinitely!”

      The wail that tore through the fabric of time was heard by all who had the capacity to hear. The sound of some poor demented creature caught in a snare.

©️2016 Lorraine Poulter 

      

       

      

       

The Darkest Hour

The Darkest Hour

“Hold back until the whites of their eyes

Shine through the darkness to the wise!”

The soldiers feared their sergeant lost

For they were surrounded by,

Not white but red eyes of their unwelcome host.

Many fled with terrible dread

And those who stayed knew they were dead.

“Wait until the first sunlight,

Before we step into this fight.”

And so in mud-filled trenches they waited through the starless night.

In cold endurance they supped their rations

While rain fell down upon them in relentless fashion.

The dark was deep and endless run

The soldier’s solace, lay in his gun.

“Get ready, men. Soon we will go.

In honour, wisdom, and the world will know

Our numbers few, we did not cower

We died for good, in this darkest hour.”

They waited through the darkest night

To take the order, that sent them into fight.

Hand in hand in conflict’s arms

Through vales of death, through tears of veils,

They lay, wretched, defeated,

Soldiers of the Quest of Psalms

The darkest hour fell onto them.

And they knew their time was done.

©️2015 Lorraine Poulter

Silence is Broken

                                                             Silence is Broken

            

      In the valley. The dry, barren wasteland amid the arid desert rocks, where the bald Eagle flew.  This was their homeland.  A vast expanse of land that bordered the river, edged across the lakes by forests that rose high up onto the plains. Their village of conical tents covered in animal hide. They had lived here since the beginnings of time, they were the ancestors of the future. Their ways the same as their forebears, unchanged, and never changing. Amid this township a huge fire burned. It smoked and crackled. These people had gathered. Horses neighed while they sang, chanted in a low rhythmic singular voice. 

       The witchdoctor danced, he whooped, he shook burning twigs before their faces. His song to rouse the dead and numb the mind to the drums that beat the heart of the village. He promised her that as the sun went down so the “silence would break”. The sound would herald the end of the old and bring in the new. Mikita could not understand this. There was no new world to come without her husband. Her life had ended. She was old, used. Without him she would be an outcast from the village. The day her husband took the brunt of that Moose’s antler was the day her world ended too. She felt her duty would be to burn with him.

      Mikita covered her eyes, fearing she would faint at the thought. An arm touched hers bringing her back with a kind smile. Did they expect this of her?

      Then several more joined the gathering. Some danced, their tanned faces painted, their hair clamped under their feathered headdresses. Men. Warriors. Would  one of these fine men seek her for their wife? 

      She watched blandly as women fussed over their beads and swayed to the rhythm. 

      The drums throbbed. Drawing them. Taking from them the truth of the present and giving them the old truths of the fathers. 

       Mikita wanted this. The present was too painful. Too horrible.  

      She wanted to be lost to the vapours, the course smoke of the fires to tingle in her throat and scents of the burning sticks to numb her mind. 

     Singing, whooping filled the air, chanting waving, dancing. It was frenetic, yet mournful. A desperation, an urgency of their need. The spirits of their fathers so readily ignored them, easily took from them that assurance that the afterlife was one intoxicated dance away around and ever round the blazing fire.     

      Mikita watched. 

      The sinking sun cast orange and purple shadows on the calm lake. The wooden boat was set into the oily waters. They were near the end. The single boat glided over the still water, knowingly taking the boat, knowingly treasuring and welcoming its only passenger wrapped in a shroud, lying with all life gone.

         

        A whoosh. A flaming arrow was soared toward the boat. A gentle thud then a ball of roaring flames as the boat was engulfed.

     The  world silenced as they turned to the banks and watched: in profound silence. 

    Such silence as had never been known. The silence of knowledge, of anticipation. 

     Mikita tightly clutched Nerin’s hand. They waited an eternity. Until finally through the fire, white eyes formed, then up rose the grey head of a wolf. Mikita’s heart skipped a beat. Nerin smiled. “Is it him?” he whispered. She breathed a sigh.

    From the far off mountains a lone wolf bayed up at the solitary moon.

©️2016 Lorraine Poulter

          

        

"Big Bang" Theories

A couple of years ago Hannah introduced us to the comic delights of the Big Bang Theory.  For the few who do not know it is a tv programmed based of the fictional lives of a small group of science geeks. Immediately Hannah began to draw similarities between my personality  and those of the character played by Jim Pearson, Sheldon Cooper. At first I was unsure how to take these comments as I was new to the programme and did not understand the character and his quirks.It was not long before I realized how true she was. I cannot claim to have Sheldon's eidetic memory nor his intelligence but I do understand some of his social misunderstandings and the oddness and ambiguities of our language. If there are two ways of interpreting a conversation you may be I get the wrong meaning. And sarcasm is totally wasted on me as I never know.
I have grown to love my personality counterpart and although I do not let on, I love watching the programme.

Angel of Hope by Hannah Poulter

Hannah painted this picture at the height of her depression. I always felt it was like the awakening dawn after the long, dark night.
Painting Angel of Hope©️ Hannah Poulter

The Grand High Witch-2

  The Grand High Witch looked to her remaining followers. “Well! Now we know the way the cookie crumbles!” she said nastily. 

      Midliss and Marlos smiled weakly at each other. It was all too much for them.

      “Quite so, quite so,” Marlo said, he mopped the beads of sweat from his brow. The chill of the night had no impact on the perspiration coursing from his neck down his back: a cold sweat borne of sheer naked fear. He had just witnessed something he hoped never to see again. He had seen a person, a friend, callously run to ground by sly innuendoes. He had witnessed Jado slowly lose his mind with worry, lose all confidence in his fellow coven members knowing that things are not right; and not knowing from where the unsettled realization that you were being excluded from your own group came from. For weeks Jado had turned to Midliss seeking answers and at every turn she had betrayed him, only succeeding in confusing him more. He had watched Jado disintegrate under the pressure of never knowing who or where to point the finger of suspicion or accusation of disloyalty. Marlos had witnessed it all. And did nothing.

       The Grand High Witch continued. Her hat wobbled importantly over her long, crooked warty nose from which hung a large pendulous drip was waiting to be caught in an unsuspecting tissue. “Just like that other upstart who joined us a few months back. She turned nasty for no reason at all. Never would have thought it of her. Mad as hatters the two of them. Glad to see the back of them,”

        Marlo felt a wrench of nausea at the recent memory. “I thought she showed great talent,” he said. His thumbs twiddled around each other as his hands were clasped together. A reaction to the anxiety he now faced.

        “What do you make of it then?” The Grand High Witch said. Her eyes darting eagerly from one to the other. She was keen to make good use of the now vacant seat of power that had so effortlessly fallen into her lap. How fortunate she was to be there. All that was needed now was to take control. There was no denying the coven was now hers for the taking. She just had to convince these numbskulls to hand it over to her. “You, Midliss? What do you think?” She pounced.

        Midliss flustered and a red bloom flushed her cheeks. The Grand High Witch knew how favourably she stood with Midliss. At that moment, the knowing was not enough. She wanted to hear it. She wanted Midliss to anoint her ears with those words of adoration and affirm her power once and for all in front of them all. “It is a shame that Jado has left in these circumstances,”

        Thunder crept across the Grand High Witch’s face.

      Midliss added quickly. “But I think he should not have said all those horrible things to you, Grand High Witch,”

      The Grand High Witch smiled. Sympathy? It was a long time since she had evoked sympathy. A highly potent emotion, which when offered freely can be used to great disadvantage. “Right, right, right. Barking mad.” She said impatiently. “What of you, Marlo?”

     “I-I’m still trying to take it all in,” he replied timidly. He was fond of old Jado. It pained him to witness the manner in which Jado had been cornered and ousted. He swallowed hard. Maybe he was getting old but he found the ousting of witches and warlocks from covens no longer the pleasurable experience he once enjoyed. He was getting old. Too old to play this game.

         The Grand High Witch’s face fell in sorrow. “I understand the shock you all must be feeling.  I can only feel pity for the state of his mind. His mind is gone.” she moved in for the final damning words. “It is our duty to ensure he never returns as leader. For his own good, of course,” she placed her hands on the table in a business like fashion. This was after all unfinished business and she wanted all loose ends that lay between her and the leadership of the coven, tied up before they left that evening. She retrieved a mangled tissue from her sleeve and wiped her nose. Her sharp nose itched and it was not the evidence of her cold. It was the itchy nose of conflict. She was ready for it. “Without further ado, I suggest we close our Sabbath for this evening,” she said. “All this going on will turn the energies against us. We should meet again next week.”

       “Do you really think so?” Midliss said her voice rank in disappointment. 

      “Maybe Jado will calm down and return soon,” offered Marlo.

      The Grand High Witch fumed. She could not afford to upset either of them. Yet. “I fear he has gone. Gone for good. Now we must decide who will take up his mantle until we find a replacement. While we are waiting I do not mind standing in until such time a replacement is found. If everyone is in agreement?”

       “Oh! That’s very kind of you, Grand High Witch!” exclaimed Midliss with admiration.  Her smile dropped when she saw the empty seats around the altar. She wondered how so many people could be so disagreeable, so very judgemental of the Grand High Witch. She was seriously misunderstood by them all and many more. If they all gave her a second chance they would see how vulnerable the Grand High Witch was and how much she was in need of a really good friend. That good friend, Midliss hoped would be her.

       “I can advertise in Witch Weekley. Put the word out at the same time for mew members. It’s been a while but I still have some connections. Our numbers will be full in no time.” She saw their glazed faces. She was moving fast, too quickly for them. She added.  “If that’s alright by you?”

      “Oh yes,” said Midliss. “That would be wonderful,” her face alight with more admiration and hero worship.

       Marlo looked doubtful. “We are no longer a coven nor are we a twelve or any number but a three. What do we do while we wait for new members?”

      “Good point,” the Grand High Witch said. “I suppose we could set up a weekly practise. Continue with our Sabbath meetings but we could use the time to hone our spells and magic. Until more join. We could boost the energies of the altar in preparation of resumption of our full numbers. Who knows? We might accumulate so much energy that we could carry on as normal,”

        Midliss and Marlo nodded.    

      The following weeks saw the Grand High Witch in tremendous form. She relished setting up her own coven. She paraded through the meetings which had suddenly moved from a democracy to a dictatorship with the grace of a blindfolded bull in a china shop. She was unstoppable. She cast spells each week and showed off her talents to great effect. She ordered the meetings, she ordered their lives in the same way. She dazzled them with her abilities as a coven leader. She became their shining star. They could see no one but her, obey no one but her, hide their feelings from no one but her and totally submit to no one but her. They could not have seen it coming nor did they realize the depths to which they had sunk; so obvious to the world outside the group. They shunned and were shunned by all those who disagreed with the Grand High Witch. Their numbers were many more than Midliss and Marlo knew or cared to realize.

       As time went by new members joined although they all left. Often without a word, just simply vanishing. Never to be seen. Their departures always observed with an acid remark by the Grand High Witch, denying all knowledge as to the cause of their leaving and declaring them all mad. Midliss and Marlo never questioned, and questioned the sanity of those who questioned the Grand High Witch. 

     On rare occasions a couple of those who left the group under that invisible cloud had seen the Grand High Witch out of the corner of their eye only for her to disappear when they looked more closely. For such a conniving, grasping, controlling creature the Grand High Witch loathed face to face disputes and avoided them with the enthusiasm of an arachnophobe  who avoided spiders. Theses disaffected had the pleasure of never speaking with her again on any terms.

     It was about six months later and the coven settled into a cosy weekly homage to the Grand High Witch. She revelled in it. She loved it. As each week passed her power and control over them grew. They became compliant to her ways as she introduced them to the darker arts of their Craft. She took from them all sense of will and self to that of complete obedience, complete obedience to her alone.  A craven, evil witch who sought to have nothing more than power. Power over them, over the Ether, over the coven, over the world. She cast spells of concealment. Concealment of her own dark ways. She knew they were dark and would not be tolerated by them had they the sense to see it. Her spells wove a thin yet strong web around them until they were willingly seduced by the Grand High Witch, plummeting them into the abyss alongside her.

      They enjoyed a hugely successful few months. Their weekly Sabbaths were considered the most exciting and extravagant among the covens. Many looked on with admiration and longing although few approached to join. The reputation of the Grand High Witch had well moved beyond the coven and while the other witches admired and respected her, they also feared her. Those outside could see the terrible things happening within and dared not venture too close for fear of being caught up in some diabolical caper. Also many had heard of how Jado and others had been forced to leave. So no matter how much advertising and spreading the word this coven remained as a Three. Or as they were known the Poisoned Three. For indeed all who came in contact with them, had their world poisoned by them. Yet neither Midliss nor Marlo had the eyes to see it.

       Christmas was drawing near. The nights were dark dotted with frosty sparkling stars, the magic of the ancients filled the air. To all but the likes of the Grand High Witch, it was a beautiful time. She hated it. All that good will and joy to all. Yeuch! She was even seen to gag at the mention of Christmas.

      The Grand High Witch wrapped her holey cardigan over her shoulders and shivered. The icy wind whistled through the cracked wooden window frames and from under the door. What a year! she thought as she hummed happily to herself. The grey net curtains rustled stickily. On the table at her side was a notepad on which she was planning the year ahead. So much to do, and so little time to finish it. She was old, even ancient by standards. And all her life she had lived in the shadows; in the shadows of evil; in the shadows of others. Too long had she waited. Too long had she lingered around her dreams instead of breathing life into them. This was her time to shine.

             This night. This was the night.

      The wormy grandfather clock struck the hour. She stirred the bubbling green gloop in the cauldron. She sprinkled in some powder and stirred some more. It was ready. She took out a bowl and spoon from the cupboard, the ladled the gloop into the bowl and retreated to the rocking chair. Pea soup. Nothing like it on a cold winter’s night.

       Jamieson, her black cat and loyal familiar, curled by the dying fire. He was a lean creature with black clumpy fir, a crooked bottle brush tail, a tear in his ear. His knowing yellow eyes twinkled from beneath his half closed lids. He too sensed it. This eve of Christmas held not only the expectations of the following day but also the sense that magic was around. Magic unconnected with Christmas. He sleepily hissed, baring his teeth while the hackles on his back rose.

       “There, there, Jamieson,” The Grand High Witch said. She stretched down a long crooked finger and scratched his bony head with her long grey nail. 

       The door to her hovel blew open. The roaring storm from without entered. A blast of cold air met her old lungs and she gasped.

       The Grand High Witch leapt to her feet. Filling the doorway was a grey almost transparent apparition.

       “LETT ME IN!” the spectre boomed in his horrible deathly voice. His rags flowed as though through water, his awful face wrapped in bandages that held its jaws closed.

       The Grand High Witch froze. 

       It was Jado.

The Grand High Witch©️Lorraine Poulter 2016

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