“Mônda’s your mother now. It’s time to accept it.”
“My mother died. You can’t make me forget her.”
His father stood and paced the floor, raking a hand through his thinning black hair. “I failed her too, you know. I’ve made a mess of my life.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Say it, then. ‘Owain An Gof couldn’t save his first wife from the water, couldn’t save his ungrateful, foolish son from wolves or whips … has a difficult second wife and an unloving daughter … and he spends his time bending worthless iron.”
He clasped his hammer and struck it sideways upon the anvil. “I should’ve done something different. Maybe earned a chieftain’s torc. Mônda says —”
Merlin stopped listening because his father was speaking nonsense again. “Tas, you’re one of the most respected men on the moor. Everyone depends on you —”
“Fie! You know the old saying:
Unless one of six things you bear,
folk will not hear nor follow you:
A harp whose notes hang in the air,
or druid-coppered scars of blue.
Fine parchment of a monk in prayer,
or steaming food by wife who’s true.
Sharp knife held at a back made bare,
else torc of gold or silver hue.”
“So? You’re a master swordsmith. All the warriors —”
“Hah! You think that loafer who ordered your wolf-killing sword will even pay for it? My work is nothing but a bucket of ashes, and you make it twice as hard. Stay away from that chapel. Do you hear?”
He strode out of the smithy and slammed the back door.
The day stretched on interminably, but Merlin’s father didn’t return to the forge. Though a cool breeze would slip in through the open front doors now and then, it brought Merlin little relief. By late afternoon, sweat slicked his hair, and it felt as if fire seared his back. He tried to rest, but he grew more and more agitated. His head felt heavy, and at one point the room flipped upside down. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a shadow stood over him with a whip. Merlin held out his hands and wanted to yell, but the man disappeared.
Soon the shadows convulsed again until the shape of a wolf formed between the workbenches. The light of its eyes filled the room, and it snapped and licked its teeth.
Merlin sat up in a panic. He had to get to his father. Get out of the smithy. Get away from the wolf. His blanket turned into cobwebs as he shoved it aside and stood. The room spun, and he waited for it to right itself. He tried to walk to the door but veered left and banged his knee into the forge, which he clutched to steady himself.
His hand rested upon the edge of the new sword — the one he’d killed the wolf with. He clutched the temporary handle, lifted the blade, and turned upon the shadows.
“Leave me alone!” he called. “I’ve got the blade. I’ll kill you again.”
The wolf’s maw blazed out dizzying flames.
Merlin brought the blade up and sliced it through the air. The beast backed up. Its teeth glowed, and noxious vapors hissed from its nostrils.
Merlin’s face burned. Why was he so hot? Sweat dripped down his forehead and across his scars, stinging his eyes. Once again, he raised his weapon at the creature, just as the jaws parted and it lunged at him with a howling cry.
Merlin jumped back as sparks burst from its mouth, burning his skin. He thrust the sword straight into the fiery throat. The creature’s body turned into smoke and disappeared.
It was finally dead.
The weight of the blade pulled Merlin forward, and the room tilted. He fell with a black crash, and he could no longer breathe. He was floating. Sinking.
Merlin’s heart and lungs threatened to burst before he felt himself begin to rise. Liquid flowed oddly against his skin. He struggled upward through the water, frantic for air, his lungs searing. He broke the surface, coughed, and sucked in the life-giving sweetness again and again.
Dark-green water surrounded him, and thunderclouds rolled above as rain poured from the sky. He wiped his face while kicking to keep afloat. He didn’t know where he swam, but as in his previous vision, he could see clearly.
The world darkened again, and a burst of light jabbed into his eyes like nails. Thunder split the heavens, and voices floated to him. Faint at first but growing stronger.
“I’ve nothing to bail with …” said a woman’s voice.
“Keep trying,” said a man. “I’m rowing, but we’ve sprung a