Morgan Le Fay: Children of this World

By Jo-Anne Blanco

A STORM IS BREWING...

Brothers Ambrosius and Uther Pendragon have landed in Belerion with an army raised to fight High King Vortigern. Supporters of the High King gather at Tintagel, seat of Morgan's father, the Duke of Belerion, as they prepare for battle. Ominous clouds of war hang over the castle and treachery lurks in

• Language: English
• Publisher: Argante Press
• Release date: Sep 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781838489335

Book preview

I

NEW ARRIVALS

It didn’t seem as if it would ever stop raining. The water bucketed down, plummeting to earth in torrents from the dark sky. It flooded the courtyard and gathered in great pools of water, soaking into the green and brown headlands beyond. It even started dripping in through the roof. Wooden pails were placed directly underneath to stop the water spreading, but the river rushes and straw strewn across the floor still got all damp and soggy. The rain seemed to be doing all it could to get inside, drumming relentlessly and remorselessly on the roof, pounding at the battlements, lashing at the walls.

Tintagel Castle stood on the edge of the cliff in lonely defiance against the ferocity of the storm. A western wind swept around the castle, howling and gusting with fury. From time to time, jagged forks of bright white lightning shot across the sky, lighting up the black clouds, followed by deafening crashes of thunder so loud they threatened to shatter the walls. It felt as if the storm were trying to beat and blow and smash Tintagel into pieces, attempting to sweep the castle off the edge of the cliff into the raging ocean below. Beyond the castle window, the steel-hued sea was in turmoil. Huge, roaring waves lurched themselves at the cliff faces, crashing against the granite rocks in misty mountains of spray so high that they almost reached the castle itself. The waves were joining in with the rain and the wind, the thunder and lightning; attacking Tintagel, trying to drag it all down into the depths of the dark waters.

Morgan sat in her mother Igraine’s chambers, gazing up at the window from the cushions she was sitting on. A fire was blazing in the hearth but Morgan didn’t want to be near it. Strangely, she didn’t mind the cold, or the wind, or the occasional spurts of rain that splashed in through the window. She preferred to be where she could see as much as possible – the brilliant flashes of lightning, the churning, steely ocean, the sheets of rain billowing against the grey stone walls.

Everyone else in the room seemed to be uninterested in the storm, or at least was studiously ignoring it. Igraine’s lady-in-waiting, Halwynna, was seated on a chair by the fire darning a woollen dress with great concentration. Morgan’s two younger sisters, the twins Anna and Blasine, were sitting on a bear rug by the fire at Halwynna’s feet. Blasine was playing with a couple of her straw dolls, while Anna was waving a small wooden stick around mouthing words silently to herself. Morgan had no idea what game Anna was playing, but she didn’t much care either. Morgan’s best friend Fleur was on the cushions beside her, reading her beautiful gold-illustrated Bible. She didn’t look up from her book or out at the storm at all.

Igraine herself wasn’t there. The Duchess had gone to help her husband with the visitors arriving at the castle. As the Duke and Duchess of Belerion, it was the duty of Gorlois and Igraine to greet all the people who came to visit them; especially now, as many nobleman and ladies were coming to see High King Vortigern and his Queen Rowena, who were soon to arrive at Tintagel. Morgan recalled the richly dressed men on horseback and elegant ladies either on horses or in covered wooden wagons that she had seen from the storm-swept battlements. She remembered that many of the men had also been wearing armour, and she thought of the guards armed with spears and swords whom she had seen standing sentinel on the battlements.

Vortigern and Rowena and all those other people weren’t just coming to Tintagel to visit. They were all coming to the castle because Vortigern’s enemies, the Pendragon brothers, had landed in Britain with an army from Armorica across the sea and wanted to fight Vortigern.

Morgan still didn’t know quite why Ambrosius Pendragon and his brother Uther wanted to fight Vortigern, though. She wondered if her father, Gorlois, would fight on Vortigern’s side. Safir had told her some of the men said Gorlois didn’t want to join Vortigern in the fight against Ambrosius – and as Gorlois’ squire, Safir would know.

She and Fleur had talked about it together in low voices. Do you really think my father doesn’t want to fight on Vortigern’s side? Morgan asked her.

Fleur frowned. I don’t know. Why shouldn’t he?

Maybe he doesn’t want a war, Morgan said. She remembered what she had seen of the terrible Muryan and Piskie faerie war, and winced. Lots of people could be killed.

Maybe it’s because of the Saxons, Fleur suggested. My father always says you can’t trust the Saxons. He says Vortigern should never have joined with them.

The Saxons. Morgan had heard about them all her life, but she only knew vaguely who and what they were. She knew they were people, but they weren’t like the people of Belerion. The Saxons came from lands far to the east and that was where they lived – a long way away from Belerion in the west. She had never seen or met a Saxon. They weren’t part of her world.

Morgan hated sitting in the chamber hour after hour. She wanted to move about, go where she wanted to, do something. She wished she could have gone with Igraine to greet the visitors. But she was only five years old and she knew little children didn’t really matter to grown-ups at times like this. She didn’t have Sebile’s Theogony with her, which she would have liked to read more of. She peered over Fleur’s shoulder at the Bible and saw her friend was reading about Noah’s Ark. Father Elfodd had just been telling them about that in their lesson at the chapel earlier that afternoon. People had become so bad and sinful that God had sent the Great Flood to wash the earth clean and build a new world.

Morgan had seen how God did that. In her nightmare, on the night before the last terrible storm, she had seen people drowning in a sea that turned to blood. In that same dream she had seen angels falling from the skies, their wings on fire, into that same ocean. Then, when she had woken up, she had seen the ship, the Sea Queen, wrecked on the coast of Tintagel, and people drowning.

Out of that terrible storm and shipwreck had come new arrivals, new friends from outside her previously closed-off world. Fleur, the princess of Ynys Môn and cousin of her own age, who had come to live with them; she was the adopted daughter of King Pellinore and Queen Sardoine, Igraine’s sister. Taliesin, the fisherman Elffin’s adopted son, a former page boy who was now a Druid apprentice to Grand Master Cadwellon himself. Safir, the eight-year-old Saracen girl who’d run away from her home in Babylon, had stowed away on the wrecked ship, and who now lived disguised as a boy because she worked as Gorlois’ squire. And Merlin and Ganieda, the twins, also of Morgan’s own age; the children of Lady Aldan, who’d been sent into exile by her father King Einion of Gwynedd because of Merlin and Ganieda’s strange ways.

But the storm and shipwreck had brought other things, too. Things Morgan never could have imagined. Things she found hard to talk about. The death of Arcile, her young maid, who had drowned in the storm flood. Morgan had seen Arcile’s dead body, lying all cold and stiff among many other dead bodies that had drowned that night. But then she had seen Arcile again – first in the shape of a small, round white light, a Will o’ the Wisp; then as a young girl again, in the faerie court of Diana.

Diana. The Moon Goddess. Morgan recalled the night after the dark moon when Diana had come to her on the battlements of Tintagel, just as the herald Dyonas had said she would. Diana had taken her across the night sky on her chariot to a mountainside far away, where she and her strange, scary, yet wonderful Wild Hunt danced and revelled all night. Diana had told Morgan that she was special. Unique. That there was no one else like her and there would never be anyone else like her. That she had been granted many gifts. Morgan hadn’t understood that until later. Arcile had told Morgan she was precious to Diana and that Morgan was more magical than any of them. That was what Diana had meant.

And that was why Diana had chosen Morgan to perform a dangerous task for her. Morgan had had to go into the realms of the Small People, a whole other new world, where Diana could not go. Morgan had had to go to rescue the soul of a stillborn baby boy, Mabon, who was destined to be reborn.

Morgan had gone with Merlin and Arcile down into the underground cave-like realm of the beastly Piskies, horribly ugly and revolting little creatures ruled by their king Twadell. Twadell had threatened to kill her and Merlin, and had taken Arcile captive. But the baby boy Mabon and his twin sister Maglore, who like him had died at birth, had been taken from the Piskies by their enemies, the Muryans. The Muryans were beautiful-looking faeries who lived in what looked like a lovely faerie hill. However, underneath all their beauty, the Muryans were just as horrible as the Piskies, if not even more so. The Muryans used magic to hide the fact that they were turning into hideous ants. Their queen, Caelia, had betrayed their three former rulers, the Elven. She had stolen the Elven’s magic and had turned them into insects.

Morgan had sought out the three Elven, Aynia, Cleena, and Una. With their help, she had used magic and had saved Mabon and Maglore. For that, Arcile had told Morgan, the Piskies and the Muryans were angry with her. The faeries knew about her now. They would be coming for her. To seek a terrible revenge, Arcile had said.

But the Muryans had taken other children too. Human children, including a girl called Agnes, keeping them prisoner and using them as servants. Morgan had tried to save Agnes and the others, taking them with her when she escaped from the Muryans’ realm. But Agnes and the other children had been in the Muryans’ realm for a long time, maybe hundreds of years. Without the Muryans’ magic, Agnes and the other children had grown old in the space of seconds and crumbled to dust.

It was so painful to think of Agnes that it made Morgan feel sick. She may have saved Mabon and Maglore, but she hadn’t saved Agnes. Agnes had had a horrible life and, because of Morgan, a horrible death too, with no chance of getting another life, either in this world or in the faeries’ world. Diana had taken Mabon to be reborn into his new life. The Elven Aynia, once again a faerie queen, had taken Maglore to look after. But Agnes had gone. Disappeared into nothingness. No one had come for Agnes. No one had saved Agnes. Agnes had been left. Abandoned. Forgotten. And there was no one to remember her.

What’s wrong with you?

Morgan’s little sister Anna was standing in front of her, waving the stick she’d been playing with in her face.

You look like you’re going to be sick! Anna exclaimed in glee. There was laughter and jeering in her voice. It sounded as if she was pleased.

Morgan? Are you alright?

Her other little sister, Blasine, chimed in from across the room, seeming scared and worried. Halwynna looked over at them and Fleur raised her head from her book.

Nothing’s wrong with me! Morgan said crossly. As usual, Anna annoyed her intensely. She wished the horrid little girl would leave her alone.

But Anna scowled back at Morgan and pointed the stick directly at her. Normally her little sister would have looked quite pretty with her fair hair like Igraine’s and dark eyes like Gorlois’. But now, with her face all scrunched up, she looked ugly.

Do you know what this is? Anna said, waving the stick at her threateningly. It’s a magic stick like the Druids have. It’s got great magic. I’m going to use that magic on you! I’m going to kill you!

Anna looked so stupid that Morgan burst out laughing.

Magic! she scoffed. You! You don’t know anything about magic! And you never will either! You’re just a baby waving a silly little stick!

Anna’s frown deepened even further with fury. The little girl looked as if she were about to hit Morgan with the stick. But Morgan was older by a whole year. She was fully prepared to pull the stick off Anna and hit her right back. She was about to do just that when Halwynna intervened.

That’s enough! Lady Morgan! Lady Anna! What would your mother say if she saw you behaving like this? You know she has raised you to be young ladies – you must behave as such. Young ladies don’t fight.

Anna’s mouth twisted. Morgan glared at her little sister right in the eyes until Anna looked away and stomped back over to the rug by the fireplace.

There were times when Morgan really hated Anna. Most of the time she ignored her. But whenever they spoke, Anna was always annoying her, always saying nasty things, always arguing with her. It was as if Anna wanted Morgan to hate her. Morgan knew she should love Anna because she was her little sister. She loved Blasine – but it was easy to love Blasine because she was sweet and gentle and never said horrid things or annoyed anyone. But Morgan found it very difficult to love Anna. She decided the only way she could ever love Anna was by ignoring her and not speaking to her. Ever.

By late afternoon, the wind, thunder, and lightning began to die down. All that was left was the rain, still pounding hard on the castle roof and walls. Just when Morgan felt she was so fed up with being in the chamber that she wanted to scream, Sebile entered the room.

The old tutor was wearing her usual white headdress and carrying a large brown leather satchel, the one she always used when making her rounds. Tintagel Castle had no official physician, but Sebile was such a skilled healer and had such wide knowledge of herbs and medicines that everyone had come to depend on her. Sebile had so many talents – not only was she Morgan and Fleur’s tutor and the castle healer, she also kept a library of scrolls and books in her chambers. Morgan would always rather be in Sebile’s rooms than in any other place in the castle.

Greetings, Sebile acknowledged Halwynna, who had stood up as the tutor entered. I just came to see Morgan and Fleur. I’m on my way to visit Lady Aldan, children – would you like to accompany me?

Fleur wrinkled up her nose in distaste.

But it’s still raining, isn’t it, Sebile?

I’m afraid it is, Sebile agreed.

Then, no, thank you, Fleur said politely. Fleur was always so good and neat and beautiful. Morgan couldn’t imagine her ever getting dirty or wanting to go out in a rainstorm. No matter what she did, Fleur always looked perfect and acted perfectly; so exquisite, graceful, and sweet. The little princess didn’t look like anyone else either. She stood out from everyone at Tintagel with her very delicate, unusual features, her long, silky, straight jet-black hair and her eyes as black as ebony.

But Morgan couldn’t wait to go outside in the rain. She jumped up from the cushions immediately. Sebile looked at her with a hint of a smile hovering on the edges of her lips. But all the tutor said was, Go to your room and put on a cloak if you’re coming, child. I’ll wait for you at the stairwell.

Morgan rushed back to her chamber and pulled on the first cloak she saw, a dark blue one with a hood. The upstairs corridor was glowing orange-gold from the lit torches in their iron holders on the walls, giving the damp interior a warmth to counter the dark grey rainclouds surrounding the castle outside. There were a number of soldiers in mail shirts standing guard, and several servants were rushing to and fro carrying pots and buckets of water, cloths, and brooms.

Downstairs, the castle was even busier, with more people outside the main hall than Morgan had ever seen before. They were all milling about, greeting one another, calling out to each other and talking animatedly. Most of them she didn’t recognise; they must be the visitors she had seen from the battlements. They looked even more impressive close up. The men were wearing dark trousers, some loose, some fitted, and a variety of colourful tunics both long and short, pinned at the shoulder with distinctive metal brooches, some of which had coloured jewels of red, blue, green, orange, and black. Morgan noticed that it was older men who wore their tunics long, while younger men wore their tunics shorter with belts and long trousers tucked into boots. The tunics were all very elaborate and embroidered, made of rich materials often trimmed with silk.

The women looked even more stunning; beautiful flowing tunics and wide-sleeved dresses in reds, blues, greens, yellows, purples, pinks – all colours mixed together, shimmering with silk embroidery and glittering gemstones. Younger women wore their long hair in plaits that fell to their waists – women with hair of fair gold, raven black, copper red, and chestnut brown – and metallic diadems like crowns on their heads. Older women wore their hair pulled back off their faces and light headdresses held in place by diadems similar to those of the younger women. A few even older women wore white headdresses that covered their hair entirely, as Sebile did. Even the soldiers among them were dressed more finely than Morgan had ever seen Tintagel soldiers dress, wearing black and brown leather tunics and rich cloaks together with their metallic mail shirts.

Morgan was so mesmerised by all the new grown-ups that at first she didn’t hear someone shouting her name. When she finally heard it, she turned to see Taliesin waving at her and moving through the crowd, dodging around the grown-ups in his way. It was easy to follow him, a very pale-skinned little boy with curly hair so fair it was almost white.

She wasn’t sure if she was happy to see him. When she had told her friends about her adventures with the Piskies and the Muryans, neither Fleur nor Taliesin had believed her. She had been upset about Fleur, and upset and surprised about Taliesin. After all, at only seven years old, Taliesin had gone from being a page boy to becoming apprentice to the leader of the Druids, Grand Master Cadwellon himself. If anyone should have believed her about the faeries, it was Taliesin. Morgan decided she was going to be unfriendly to Taliesin since he wouldn’t believe her. However, Taliesin seemed so pleased to see her that she couldn’t help but warm to him again almost immediately.

Morgan!

Taliesin came right up to her and grinned. In the past he had been cautious around her, afraid that someone might see them talking and he would get into trouble. But now he seemed much more confident.

What are you doing here? Morgan asked him.

I’m here with Grand Master Cadwellon, Taliesin told her. There was pride in his voice. He’s called a meeting of the Council of Twelve before High King Vortigern gets here. He’s letting me go with him.

Your master is going to meet the Druid elders now? Sebile said. The tutor was looking down at the two children, listening.

That’s right, Lady Sebile, a man’s voice answered behind her.

Standing there was Grand Master Cadwellon himself. He was wearing an all-white robe that matched his hair and long beard exactly, and the bejewelled gold necklace Morgan had seen Taliesin cleaning in the stables that morning. The Druid master carried his long staff in his left hand and acknowledged both Sebile and Morgan with an incline of his head.

"Good to see you again, athrawes. And you, of course, Lady Morgan."

You’ll be discussing what you’re going to say to the High King, I imagine, Sebile said.

Cadwellon sighed. We’re in a very difficult situation, as I’m sure you’re aware, my lady. If Ambrosius and Uther have crossed the sea and landed in Britain, it means they intend to go to war with Vortigern and all who support him. It’s rumoured that, after all these years in Armorica, the Pendragon brothers now favour Christianity, which means that they are no friends to the Druidical Order. He then gave Sebile an odd look Morgan didn’t understand. Or indeed any of us who follow the older faiths.

From what I remember of the Pendragon brothers, they won’t care who or what helps them or hinders them, Sebile said dryly. They’ll do whatever it takes, use whatever means they deem necessary, to ensure they’re victorious.

Morgan wasn’t sure she had understood this right. Sebile remembered the Pendragon brothers? Ambrosius and Uther, the enemies of Vortigern? Sebile knew them?

She and Taliesin exchanged looks. Taliesin’s hazel eyes were wide; he was as stunned as she was.

Then we must ensure that High King Vortigern does the same, Cadwellon was saying. But he cannot achieve victory without help. Not only does he need the Duke and the men of Belerion, he needs the help of his Saxon allies.

The Saxons again. Morgan listened intently, not wanting to miss a word.

Do you really trust the Saxons to help? Sebile asked in a tone which made Morgan realise that Sebile herself didn’t trust them.

Cadwellon gave the tutor another odd look.

Well, the Saxons at least respect our faith, the Grand Master said. They have a similar faith – or, at least, they aren’t Christians either. They have no time for that man from the eastern lands who called himself a prophet. In fact, they have paid homage to our gods. When Vortigern and Hengist first forged their alliance, Hengist and his men offered up gifts and sacrifices to our Oakfather and to Belenos as a token of good faith to seal the bargain.

Sebile said nothing for a moment.

"What’s the matter, athrawes?" Cadwellon asked her, again addressing the tutor with the word Morgan didn’t know.

Be wary of those from outside who offer gifts to your gods, Grand Master, Sebile said in a strange, strangled voice that didn’t sound like her. They can use those gifts as a trick, as a means to gain your trust and then strike from within when you least expect it – like a viper taken to the breast. I have seen it happen, time and time again. What you might think is a holy gift, an offering to the gods, or even a gift from the gods themselves, may be a catalyst for your betrayal. What you might think is a kindness, and a token of faith and friendship, may be the seed of your own destruction.

Morgan felt a tingling going all the way down her back. She had never heard Sebile talk like that before. Taliesin was staring up at the tutor, open-mouthed.

Cadwellon was looking at Sebile with great respect and, Morgan thought, some sadness too.

I hear what you’re saying, the Grand Master said gently. But what choice do we have? With most of the kings of Cambria taking a neutral stance, and the Pictish warriors and Éireann raiders poised to attack us from the north and west, Vortigern doesn’t have the forces to fight them all. We on the Council of Twelve must advise him on all matters military as well as matters of faith.

Cadwellon put his hand on Sebile’s arm. "I assure you, athrawes, we take every precaution with Hengist and his Saxons. Why else do you think we only gave them rough lands in the bogs and marshes to the south of Londinium – far away from the richest and most fertile lands of our island? Why else do you think we use Hengist and his hordes to keep the Picts at bay? It satisfies their lust for fighting and keeps them so busy that they cannot turn west to attack us. Do not fear. We know how to deal with them."

Grand Master.

A lean, dark-haired man was standing behind Cadwellon, dressed in strange Druidical robes that looked almost black. It was Myrddin, the dark Druid, Cadwellon’s right-hand man.

Morgan suppressed a shudder. There was something about the man that made her feel very bad. Once, when she had caught Myrddin staring at her in the courtyard, she had realised that the dark Druid really didn’t like her and she had no idea why. She did know, however, that she really didn’t like him either.

But Myrddin didn’t look at her now. He didn’t look at Sebile, either – the tutor may as well not have been there. The dark Druid gave Taliesin a cursory glance, then focused his full attention on Cadwellon.

I have shown the Council into the Duke’s chamber, Myrddin said. They are waiting for you, Grand Master.

Very well. Cadwellon made as if to leave, but Myrddin stepped quietly in front of him, blocking his path.

What is it? the Druid Grand Master said, sounding surprised and rather irritated.

Forgive me, Grand Master, but I wish to ask you, in all humility, if I may attend the meeting of the Council of Twelve with you. I understand – here Myrddin glanced again at Taliesin – that your apprentice is to accompany you. I have some suggestions that I feel the Council needs to hear.

"You have suggestions? Cadwellon was astonished now. May I remind you, Myrddin, that you are not on the Council of Twelve. Our deliberations must be secret until we come to a decision."

Myrddin’s face twitched.

But your apprentice – he began.

My apprentice is coming to the meeting because he serves me, Cadwellon interrupted him. He’s just a child and he is sworn to me. But you, Myrddin, are a Vate and you know only Mages can sit on the Council. Let us have no more of this.

The dark Druid bowed before Cadwellon. The Druid Grand Master bade Sebile and Morgan farewell, but Morgan was watching Myrddin. His face had a curious shadow upon it, a shadow that seemed to flicker across his features. His lips were tightly pursed. As Cadwellon passed, he gave Myrddin an appraising look – a look that reminded Morgan of the way grown-ups would look at her when they thought she might do something naughty. Taliesin, trotting after Cadwellon, was looking strangely at Myrddin as well.

When Cadwellon had gone, Myrddin straightened up, turned on his heel and walked swiftly away without a backward glance. He had not looked at, spoken to, or acknowledged Sebile or Morgan even once. He acted as if they were invisible to him. Yet Morgan knew he had been very aware of them the whole time.

He’s trouble, that one, Sebile mused. Come along, Morgan. Lady Aldan is waiting for us.

Morgan wondered if she should tell Sebile the secret she knew about Myrddin. She had never liked keeping secrets. Ever since she had found out that Merlin was studying with Myrddin to be his Druid apprentice, she had been tempted to tell someone. Merlin had asked her to keep it a secret. But if Myrddin was trouble, like Sebile said, then maybe she should tell someone. If Myrddin was trouble, he could get Merlin into trouble too.

But she decided against it. So what if Myrddin got Merlin into trouble? She was still annoyed at Merlin and his weird ways. She had never known anyone who could sway so quickly from being friendly to being unfriendly, from being loyal to being hostile, from being kind to being mean. Merlin was so puzzling, so infuriating, so hurtful. If he got into trouble because of Myrddin, it would serve him right.

***

Do you really know the Pendragon brothers, Sebile?

Sebile looked down at the little girl hurrying along beside her. I knew them a while ago, Morgan. When they were children.

And did you – Morgan began, but Sebile hushed her. No more now! I didn’t bring you with me to chatter! I brought you with me to learn.

They were crossing the castle courtyard. The rain was easing off to a light drizzle and the clouds above were lightening from black to charcoal grey. The cobblestones underfoot were all mucky and slimy and covered in muddy puddles; Morgan had to hold tight to Sebile’s hand to keep from slipping, stepping very carefully over the dirty pools of water.

At the foregate, armed guards stood to attention, looking outwards for signs of more visitors. People were still arriving; several horses were being taken by grooms into the stables, while a couple of horse-drawn wooden wagons had been pulled up against the walls. Men wearing hats trimmed with fur were helping elegant ladies down from their horses and wagons, then accompanying them inside. Plainly clad servants were going back and forth from the storehouse carrying bags and boxes of food, their clothes and hair dripping from the downpour. Morgan had pulled the hood of her dark blue cloak over her head, but her hair already felt soaking wet.

The stairs leading to Lady Aldan’s two small, low-ceilinged rooms above the stables were covered in mud and footprints. Morgan remembered the stench of hay, horses and dung from the last time she was there with Sebile and Fleur. This time, as she and Sebile entered, Morgan caught the mouldy whiff of damp as well as all the other smells. The thatch on the roof was soaked through and there was a steady drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling onto the floor.

She understood now why Fleur had been so shocked by the state of Lady Aldan’s rooms. After all, Lady Aldan was a princess. She too had been on the wrecked ship The Sea Queen, sent away from her home by her father King Einion because she had had children when she wasn’t married. Bastard children, they called them. Morgan might only be five years old, but already she knew what that meant.

But that wasn’t the only reason Lady Aldan was sent away. Morgan found the second reason a very strange and scary one; however, Merlin’s former tutor, the monk Brother Blaes, had insisted to Gorlois and Igraine that it was true.

The monk thought that the father of Aldan’s children was the Devil. But Father Elfodd thought it was nonsense, didn’t believe a word of it, and had said so. And Morgan had been relieved that, when she had asked her father, Gorlois had told her that he didn’t believe it either. He had said that Merlin was a little boy. A child just like her.

In a way, that was true. Merlin was a child, just like her. And Merlin had magic, just like her.

In Merlin’s case, Aldan had said his magic had been obvious from when he was a baby. That was why the people of Merlin’s country, Gwynedd, had begun to fear him. And that was the third reason why Aldan and her twin children had had to leave their home and seek refuge at Tintagel.

Aldan was sitting on the edge of her four-poster bed, trying to raise herself up on two wooden crutches. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, given that her broken leg was being held straight and stiff by the two wooden splints that Sebile had tied onto it. Morgan recalled how Aldan’s leg had been injured when the stormy sea had flung her onto the rocks. She marvelled at how Sebile could heal such things and felt glad that her tutor was teaching her how to do the same. When Aldan saw Sebile and Morgan enter, she smiled in welcome.

How’s the leg today? Sebile asked her. I’m glad to see you’re following my instructions and not putting any pressure on it.

I’m trying, Lady Sebile, Aldan said. It’s difficult, though. She struggled again with the crutches. Sebile took them from her and placed them against the wall.

I know, the tutor said gently. "Unfortunately, you need a lot of strength in your upper body to be able to use them. But you must not put pressure on your leg in any way. You must give it time to heal. And you must not take the splints off, either – I know they’re uncomfortable, but the only way the bone will set properly and return to normal is if you keep them on at all times."

I understand, Aldan said. It’s very painful, but I trust you.

As Sebile placed her satchel on the bed and sat down to examine the leg’s dressings, Aldan smiled again at Morgan, who took her hood down.

My goodness, child! Aldan exclaimed. Your hair is such a mess! Come over here to me.

Morgan did so. Aldan took a beautiful red and gold half-circle comb from a small box-type chest by her bed and told Morgan to turn around. Morgan obeyed again and felt the gentle swish of Aldan’s comb through her messy, rain-sodden hair. It had been a long time since anyone had helped her with her hair or dress. Not since Arcile had gone. Her mother Igraine never had any time and Morgan was too old now for a nurse like Halwynna.

Aldan took hold of Morgan’s shoulders, turned the little girl round to face her and began combing her hair from the front. Sebile had removed Aldan’s leg dressings and was taking fresh white bandages from her satchel, which Morgan knew Sebile had boiled in water beforehand to make them clean.

Now watch and learn, Morgan, Sebile said as she held up a small clay flask. First, you apply a balm treatment of wolfsbane to the injured limb. This yellow flower you cannot find anywhere on this island; I have to have it brought to me on merchant ships from the continent. Without it, you can use lavender balm in the same way. You apply it like this – she began rubbing it onto Aldan’s leg – "to soften any bruising or swelling.

Then, the tutor continued, you use this oil made from the roots and leaves of the symphytum herb, which here you call comfrey. You use this to help reconstruct the broken bone inside and out. Outside you apply the oil to the limb, and then – she handed Aldan a glazed vial – "the patient drinks this medicine, made from powdered comfrey root and water, to help heal the bone from inside the body as well.

And finally – Sebile filled a thin linen compress with a moist green paste – you apply a poultice of burdock leaves to aid the soreness and ease the pain.

Morgan was staring fixedly at what Sebile was doing. So intent was she on following the tutor’s every move and instruction, and so determined to remember it all, that she hadn’t noticed Aldan holding the comb suspended in her hair and looking wistfully into her eyes.

What pretty eyes you have, Morgan, my dear, Aldan said.

For a moment Morgan was pleased and proud. Then she remembered Ganieda. Aldan’s daughter, of Morgan’s own age, with blind milky-white eyes that saw nothing. She felt terrible.

She looked back at Aldan. Waves of sadness suddenly washed over Morgan like waves on a beach. The sadness threatened to engulf her, pull her under, drown her.

Morgan reeled from it and steadied herself. She felt desperately sorry for Lady Aldan. She was such a sad lady; the sadness enveloped her like a cloud. It lingered in the air about her, something that couldn’t be seen, but could definitely be felt. It was like a smell but not a smell; something that made the air heavy, hard to breathe, hanging there unseen.

Why do you think that? Why do you think my mother is sad?

Morgan jumped, getting her hair snagged in the comb. Then she realised that no one else could hear it. It was in her mind.

She stared round. Ganieda was sitting on a chair in the corner next to the makeshift bed she and her brother Merlin shared. Nobody had noticed her.

The little blind girl’s white eyes stared, unseeing, straight ahead of her. She was sitting all alone, in a world without light, without colours, without sound, without voices. A world of total darkness and total silence. Ganieda looked as sad and forlorn as the feeling in the air around Aldan.

Morgan felt desperately sorry for her as well. She forgot her annoyance at Ganieda. She had been so irritated at her for communicating to her brother that Morgan was going to leave the castle to find the faeries, but that didn’t matter anymore. Morgan only wanted to be kind to her.

Why do you think my mother is sad? Is she sad because of me?

No! You mustn’t think that! Morgan thought fiercely.

She hoped Ganieda hadn’t sensed what Aldan had said about Morgan’s eyes. The little blind girl had become very good at seeing and hearing things through Morgan’s eyes and inside her mind, using Morgan’s eyes and ears for her own. But then, with a sinking heart, Morgan realised that Ganieda now knew anyway. She knew now simply because Morgan had thought it.

Ganieda’s white eyes had no expression. But the little girl turned her head, directly towards Morgan, even though she couldn’t see her.

Morgan pulled away from Aldan, who was still combing her hair. Lady Aldan, shall I bring Ganieda over here for you? Can she come and sit with you?

The sadness hanging in the air withdrew a little, as if the waves were rolling back from the beach into the sea with the tide.

Oh, yes! Aldan held out her arms. Thank you, Morgan. Please bring my daughter to me.

As Morgan went over to Ganieda, Sebile didn’t look at Morgan or up from her work, but the tutor was smiling to herself. Ganieda didn’t move, but when Morgan touched her gently on the arm, she slowly stood up. Morgan took her by the arm and carefully led the little blind girl over to the four-poster bed.

Lady Aldan drew her daughter into her arms and pulled her up onto the bed with her, hugging her tightly as if she would never let her go. The waves of sadness withdrew completely. There was still no expression in Ganieda’s white eyes, but a sudden eager happiness shone from her face. Morgan watched as Aldan tenderly kissed her little daughter’s dark head. New feelings washed over her, waves rolling back up onto the beach. But this time they were different waves, waves that carried love and warmth; lapping lightly over her, caressing her, comforting her, like the sea blown onto shore by a soft summer breeze.

"What’s she doing here?"

The warm waves withdrew so suddenly that Morgan gasped. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water.

Merlin was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes surveying the scene. The little boy’s face was expressionless, but his tone of voice had been rude. Almost angry.

Now, Merlin, you mustn’t talk like that! Aldan chastised him. Lady Sebile has come to help heal my leg as she always does.

But Morgan knew Aldan hadn’t understood.

He doesn’t mean Sebile, Lady Aldan, she said in a voice that she hoped showed her annoyance. He means me!

Merlin glanced quickly at Morgan, then looked away again.

Surely not! Aldan exclaimed. Then she softened her tone. "Lady Morgan does us a great favour by coming to visit us, Merlin. She’s here to help Lady Sebile. Lady Morgan wants to be a great healer too, don’t you, my dear?

Yes! Morgan replied. "And I’m going to be a great healer!"

She was getting even more annoyed at the fact that Merlin wouldn’t look at her again. As usual, he wouldn’t look directly at her, but kept his eyes averted.

She felt angry and upset and helpless against his behaviour towards her. She couldn’t understand why he acted like that. It was so strange, seeing as how he was the one who had followed her out to the Moon Moor and into the faerie world. He had seen almost everything there with her; he had lived through nearly everything there with her; he had been almost killed there with her. He was the one who had magic, just like she did. He could even talk to her through their minds, just as she and Ganieda could. He knew more about her than any of her friends – more than Fleur, more than Safir, more than Taliesin. More even than Sebile or Igraine or Gorlois.

And yet Merlin was the one she couldn’t understand. He was the one who would be rude and mean and unkind when she least expected it; the rudeness, meanness, and unkindness always hitting her with the unexpected force of a blow. He was the one who annoyed her, frustrated her, angered her, and upset her so much. Instead of making things better between them, sharing the adventures in the faerie world had only made things worse. And Morgan couldn’t understand why.

With one arm around Ganieda, Aldan held out her other hand to Merlin, inviting him to join them in their hug. The warm waves washed over Morgan again. She could feel it in the air, unseen but tangible, the strength of the love radiating from Aldan for her two children.

But Merlin didn’t move or react. He just stood there, stock still in the doorway. A strange expression crossed Aldan’s face. She didn’t lower her hand, but gave Merlin a smile so full of love that it seemed to light up the room.

Once again, Morgan didn’t understand. What was the matter with Merlin? Why wouldn’t he go to his mother?

Unbearable pain suddenly tore at her chest, as if her heart would break. The pain, the hurt, the ache, seared into her body. It was crushing her.

Morgan staggered, almost collapsing under the weight of the pain. She was scared. She had no idea where this feeling had come from. All she knew was that she couldn’t stay in that smelly little room a minute longer.

Morgan! What’s the matter? she heard Sebile asking her sharply. You’ve gone very white, child. You look as if you’re about to faint!

I’m alright, Morgan managed to say. Can I go back now?

Sebile scrutinised her, looking concerned. Very well. But be sure you go straight back to your mother’s chambers. I’ll come to you there when I’ve finished.

Morgan was about to turn to go when she remembered her manners. She wasn’t going to be rude like Merlin. She curtsied awkwardly to Aldan.

Goodbye, Lady Aldan. Thank you for combing my hair.

Aldan smiled at her.

"Thank you, Lady Morgan. And thank you for being so kind to us."

Ganieda’s white eyes were looking at Morgan as if she were seeing her.

I’m going now, Morgan thought to her. I have to go.

She deliberately didn’t look at Merlin. If he wasn’t going to look at her, she certainly wasn’t going to look at him. She pushed past him in the doorway and left.

***

Downstairs in the stables, several grooms and squires were leading horses into stalls. The stables were very crowded; there wasn’t enough room for all the horses to fit. Arguments were breaking out over which horses should go where. Some squires were leading their masters’ horses back out again.

Morgan caught sight of Safir standing in the stall beside her father’s brown courser horse Swiftback, arguing with another squire, an older, sandy-haired boy, holding his master’s horse by its reins. Like Fleur, Safir stood out from everyone else by looking so different, with her raven hair cropped very short, her dark brown skin, and her big, beautiful black eyes. Even in disguise, Safir was so pretty it was often hard to remember that they were supposed to pretend she was a boy.

You take that horse outside the gate! Safir was saying angrily to the other squire. This is the Duke’s horse and this is his stall! He cannot share it! There’s no room!

Don’t tell me what to do, you filthy Moor! the sandy-haired boy snarled. What the hell are you doing here anyway? What’s Duke Gorlois think he’s doing, employing black scum like you?

Safir’s eyes turned ice-cold.

"I am the Duke’s squire and I am telling you to get out! So get out, you sick-faced latrine rat!"

The sandy-haired boy’s fist clenched. He was going to hit Safir.

"No!"

Morgan rushed forward, dodging her way through the stable until she reached Safir. She stood in front of her friend, looking up at the sandy-haired boy.

"I’m the Duke’s daughter! Don’t you dare!"

The sandy-haired boy looked her up and down with contempt. You? The Duke’s daughter! Swive the saints! Get out of the way, you little bitch, or I’ll do you, too!

"She is the Duke’s daughter, you fool!"

Another older boy, tall and gangly, was standing behind them. Morgan knew this boy as the squire of her father’s seneschal Sir Brastias, but she had never heard his name.

You’d better take that horse out, the gangly boy said to the sandy-haired one. They’re setting up some pens outside the gate.

Muttering to himself, the sandy-haired boy led his master’s horse out of the stable, casting a look of hatred back at Safir as he did so.

Thank you, Safir said to the gangly boy. But to Morgan’s shock, the gangly boy gave Safir a look every bit as hateful as the one the sandy-haired boy had given her, before turning on his heel and walking away.

Safir let out a deep breath.

Are you alright? Morgan asked her.

The squire smiled ruefully. Yes, I am alright. It happens a lot.

You should tell my father! Morgan exclaimed. Or I will!

No! Safir said, shaking her head. Don’t tell him, Morgan, please. I have to be strong if I am to be his squire – if I am ever to be a knight. I don’t want the Duke to think that I am not strong enough.

Morgan wasn’t happy about this. But before she could argue further, someone called her name and she turned to see Fleur, dressed in a bright red hooded cloak, stepping daintily over the dirty floor of the stable towards them.

Hello, you two! Fleur greeted them. I came to find you, Morgan. The rain’s finally stopped!

Morgan peered out at the outside world beyond the stable door. Sure enough, the rain had stopped. The sky was getting darker though, the dove-grey clouds turning to charcoal. Evening was beginning to fall. Everything was soaking wet. The wooden stable door frame was dripping into a pool at the entrance and the gushing sounds of water running could be heard across the courtyard.

Why, hello, Merlin! Morgan heard Fleur say in surprise. What are you doing here?

Merlin was coming down the stairs from his mother’s rooms. Ganieda was on his arm. Merlin led his sister down, came over to Swiftback’s stall and helped Ganieda sit on a small box usually used for climbing up onto a horse.

I’m taking my sister to get some air, Merlin said shortly.

Morgan was so irritated with him that she really didn’t want him around. Why did he always have to be there? Why couldn’t he wait until she’d gone?

Through the stable door came the sound of more horses’ hooves clattering on the cobblestones. But this time excited voices were raised and began shouting outside. What’s going on? Fleur asked.

More people must be arriving, said Safir. She gave Swiftback a pat and the horse nuzzled against her. Then the squire went to the stable door. Morgan rose and followed her. The damp air smelled of rain, of water, of salt and seaweed. The courtyard was still filled with horses, many of which were being led outside the castle. Wooden carts were chuntering in through the foregate, carrying wheat and grain.

In the centre of the crowded yard, three figures stood out by the refinement of their dress and the quality of their horses. An older, battle-scarred warrior knight accompanied two noble young grown-ups, a man and a lady. At first Morgan took the pair to be husband and wife, but then she realised they looked quite similar, having the same dark red hair and pale skin.

Sir Mark!

Gorlois’ voice was heard from the castle entrance. Morgan saw her father come striding across the courtyard to greet the visitors, followed by Sir Brastias and a few other men she didn’t recognise. The red-haired young man dismounted from his horse and bowed.

My lord.

I am glad to see you arrived safely. Gorlois turned and nodded to the young lady, still on her horse. Queen Heliabel, it is an honour. It’s been some years since you were in Belerion.

Lord Gorlois. The young lady inclined her head. This is the first time I have been back since my marriage. My husband has asked me to represent him to the High King. She looked beyond the Duke towards the castle. I trust everything is well?

Gorlois held out his hand and assisted the young lady down from her horse. I’m sorry my wife is not here to meet you. She was helping me greet our visitors but then began to feel unwell. Our healer Lady Sebile advised that she return to her chambers.

My wife is also indisposed, Sir Mark said. She is too sickly to accompany us at this time. She sends her apologies to the Duchess, but she has had to stay at Castle Dore.

The older scarred warrior joined them.

Sir Brunor! Gorlois greeted him warmly but with some surprise. I didn’t expect to see you! I’d heard you were in Gaul. There have been many tales told of your bravery there.

It was time to return, my lord, the warrior said, grasping the Duke’s hand. Things do not go well with Vortigern, as I understand.

Let’s speak of these things inside, Gorlois said with a meaningful look. In the meantime, Brastias, see to it that the horses are attended to.

Yes, my lord, Brastias acknowledged. Then, raising his voice, Safir! Geraint! Get over here at once!

I must go, Safir said under her breath.

She ran out of the stable and towards the group in the courtyard. The gangly older boy joined her from the other side of the yard. So that was his name – Geraint. She watched as Brastias ordered Safir and Geraint to take care of the horses as Gorlois walked towards the castle with Mark and Heliabel.

Many of our men have been out in the fields all day, trying to salvage what they can of the harvest from the storm, Gorlois was telling them. They’ll be back soon. There’s always so much to do at this time of year, what with storing grain for the winter and bringing in the livestock.

There couldn’t have been a worse time for all this to happen, Sir Mark said.

I know you and my brother have much to discuss, the young lady said as she gathered her cape and draped it over her arm. I will go to Igraine in her quarters and join you later. Oh, don’t worry, she added as she saw Gorlois about to speak. I know the way.

She swept away from the yard and into the castle, leaving Gorlois and Sir Mark together. Morgan had warmed to her at once. She marvelled at Queen Heliabel’s elegance and prettiness. Her dark red hair and brown eyes made her very striking. She wondered where Heliabel had come from and what she was queen of. Sir Mark, now talking in a low tone to Gorlois, might have similar looks and colouring to his sister, but Morgan thought he was quite different. While Heliabel was sweet and charming, he seemed cold and unfriendly. While his sister looked pretty, he was rather pale and sharp-boned and not nice to look at.

Brastias and Brunor were talking and laughing together like old friends. Safir and the other squire, Geraint, were leading the three horses towards them into the already crowded stables. Morgan again noticed Geraint’s distinctly unfriendly sideway glances at Safir, but Safir ignored them. Morgan moved away from the door as they came in and led the horses inside.

Queen Heliabel looks really nice, doesn’t she? Fleur said, echoing Morgan’s thoughts.

Do you know her? Morgan asked.

No, I never heard of her before.

Let’s go and meet her. She’s gone up to see my mother.

Fleur agreed enthusiastically. Yes, let’s!

The stable had almost emptied of people now. All that were left were a few squires and the horses that had been allowed to remain there, crowded together. Safir couldn’t speak freely to Morgan and Fleur and Merlin with Geraint there. She gave Morgan and Fleur a quick smile, then busied herself tethering Queen Heliabel’s horse in a corner.

Merlin was standing beside Ganieda, still seated on her small box. All the happiness that had shone from the little girl’s face when she was in the arms of her mother had gone. Ganieda looked so forlorn that Morgan again felt sorry for her.

Fleur and me are going to my mother’s chambers, Morgan told her. Would you like to come too?

Ganieda lifted her head. She didn’t reply but her face lit up. Morgan felt an outpouring of eager gratitude and happiness wash over her. She went over to the blind girl and Ganieda stood up at once. Morgan took her arm and turned to Fleur, who was surprised but interested, looking from her to Ganieda.

Ganieda’s coming with us, Morgan said.

Fleur didn’t ask any questions, but nodded and moved to take Ganieda’s other arm. Morgan knew at once that Merlin was taken aback. She had no intention of inviting him as well. His bewilderment turned to anger and Morgan felt exultant. As she and Fleur walked out with Ganieda, she shot him a triumphant look, knowing that her deliberate snub had cut him.

Morgan …

She heard his voice in her mind, pleading and resentful at the same time. The door in their minds that had swung open the night of their adventure was open again now. But this time Morgan refused to let him in. Using all the strength of her anger and dislike, she slammed the door shut and locked him out of her head.

II

THE LORD OF APPLES

It’s going to be so different with all these new people here, Fleur said as they made their way to Igraine’s quarters.

I know, Morgan said. She thought about the reason they were all coming. I wonder when King Vortigern will get here.

I’m looking forward to seeing him, Fleur said eagerly. The High King! And his Queen as well! I wonder what she looks like.

In the same way she had shut the door to Merlin in her mind, Morgan held the door open to Ganieda, allowing the blind girl to hear their conversation in her head. She was rather enjoying using this new power and controlling it this way. It was very useful. She had tried talking to Fleur and Safir and Taliesin in her mind, but it hadn’t worked at all with either of the two girls. With Taliesin she had felt a brief flicker of something, a thought, a feeling that wasn’t her own, but then nothing. It only seemed to work with Merlin and Ganieda. Since she and Merlin both had magic, Ganieda must have magic too, Morgan reasoned. That must be why. She must ask her about it.

When they reached the top of the stairwell, Fleur reached behind Ganieda and tapped Morgan on the shoulder. Look! she hissed.

Igraine’s lady-in-waiting Halwynna was at her door. With her was a man. Morgan recognised him as Elffin, Taliesin’s father, the fisherman. What was he doing here in the castle?

Halwynna and Elffin were standing very close together, talking in low voices. Ganieda stumbled a little as Morgan and Fleur helped her up the final step, and Halwynna and Elffin turned at the noise. Upon seeing the three little girls they both looked startled, then fearful. Halwynna whispered something to Elffin and he left immediately, striding off in the opposite direction without a word. Halwynna came towards the girls.

Lady Morgan, Princess Blanchefleur, the lady-in-waiting said, somewhat breathlessly with a bright smile. What brings you here?

We’re going to see my mother, Morgan said. Queen Heliabel is with her. We want to meet her.

I was just going to her myself. Halwynna seemed flustered. I’ll take you to her.

Why was Elffin here? Morgan inquired.

He came to talk about his son, Halwynna said after a pause. To find out how he’s doing.

She said nothing more. Morgan noticed that Fleur was staring at Halwynna and frowning.

When they reached Igraine’s chambers, the Duchess was seated in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket. The twins, Anna and Blasine, were sitting at their mother’s feet. To Morgan’s astonishment, Sebile was standing beside Igraine, with no medicine satchel and as calm as you please.

How had Sebile gone from Aldan’s room above the stable to Igraine’s chamber so fast? And how