Merlin kicked his legs to spin toward the sound. A small dinghy rocked toward him. He called to it as the boat rowed nigh, but no one answered. When he reached up to grab hold of its railing, his hand touched nothing. Just air above and water below. He sank headlong, off-balance and confused.
Thrashing back up to the surface, Merlin sputtered. He glimpsed the occupants, and his heart leaped into his throat. The man was his father, though he looked younger. Was the woman Mônda?
No.
Drenched red hair lay upon her shoulders. Not his stepmother but his mother. Gwevian, dead now fourteen years.
Merlin called again, but the occupants didn’t hear him, and the phantom boat swirled by through the swelling waves. By some miracle, some curse, he was witnessing the past.
Water lashed his face as he swam after them.
A bolt of lightning arced from the depths of the water and shot up to the sky. The entire lake lit up deathly white. Another of the fiery tongues shot up from the center of the lake and hit the boat, scorching and rending it in half. The two occupants fell into the water, stunned.
Darkness. Thunder. Merlin yelled again and swam toward the wreckage. “Father! Mother!” Water rushed into his open mouth.
Bubbles rose. His father’s hand grasped a board, and he pulled himself up. Merlin tried to help, but his hand passed through his father’s shoulder.
“Gwev — Gwevian!” His father hunted frantically among the flotsam, not finding her. “Gwevian!” He dove. Thrice he sought her below, each time surfacing more exhausted. Finally, his strength nearly gone, he kicked to shore, only ten yards away.
Merlin swam after him, tears streaming into the lake that had become his mother’s grave.
His father collapsed on the shore, wailing in great gasps. His whole body shivered, and his mud-stained feet lay in the water.
Merlin pulled himself next to his father, tired and his limbs aching.
The moans of his father faded, and Merlin knew no more.
Garth slipped away from the planting easily enough. That lazy monk Herrik, who was supposed to be working beside him, always snuck a nap during the hottest part of the day. What a dodger! When he sent Garth and his wooden hoe off to the eastern slope so he himself could “get some hard work done without interruption,” Garth took his chance.
His stomach growled as he crossed the expanse of barren field between him and the Fowaven River. Abbot Prontwon had cut his tucker down to oatmeal and water for the week as punishment for crashing the magister’s wagon — but they were fussing over nothing. He’d just borrowed it and planned on returning it after dropping off the charcoal.
As for the crashing, well, if that was anyone’s fault, it was Merlin’s. Sure, Garth had driven the horses a mite fast, but if he-who-wanted-to-slow-down-now hadn’t grabbed the reins, Garth would have handled those beautiful, white, high-stepping horses just fine.
He felt a twinge of guilt over the flogging, but Merlin should never have asked to take his punishment. What a useless thing! Didn’t Merlin know that he’d never have let himself be flogged? He was getting ready to bolt out the magister’s front door — and he would have, too. He had run away from his father many a time to avoid a chastisement, and he wasn’t about to take one from sour face.
And those monks! How could they side with the magister? He’d never forgive them for planning to sell his bagpipe. They couldn’t do it, and Garth wouldn’t let them. They’d have to rip it from his bloody fingers. If they found it, of course. And to make sure they didn’t, he had hidden it in the bottom of Dybris’s barrel of belongings. They’d never think of looking there, the big brutes.
Oh, the thrill of freedom as Garth hitched up his robe to wade across the fast-moving Fowaven. After reaching the opposite shore, he climbed the hillside into the trees and marched as quietly as he could through the dense forest. When he made it to the road, he slunk along, on the lookout for any strangers, until a distinctive fragrance halted him in his tracks. Mmm. Someone was roasting meat nearby.
He turned in a slow circle, trying to determine which direction the smell came from. His stomach hurt something awful, and he craved some of that meat. But this time he wouldn’t get scared away before completing the job.