lord, this also I have kept for the day of your rising. The Christ hid it in a bog, and I found it! A great chief of men died I know not when, and I wrenched it from his leathern neck.”
Natalenya pulled Merlin closer. “It’s a torc of fine workmanship. Made from thick braids of gold. On its ends are crafted what look like the heads of falcons.”
Reaching up, Muscarvel placed the torc upon Merlin.
He felt the cold, heavy weight of it on his neck and collarbones, and he reached up to touch the ancient curves of the torc with his fingertips. I don’t deserve this. Who am I? No one. Just the blind son of a blacksmith. Why had Muscarvel done this? And who was he?
Muscarvel plucked his sword from the plank and yelled, “I’m free!” He ran down the shaking dock and jumped into his boat. His paddle sloshed through the water swiftly, and his parting words called back to them through the mist.
“Lost the meat! I’ll find it, Father. I’ll find it yet!”
For a long moment Merlin and Natalenya stood side by side, speechless. When the sounds of Muscarvel faded, Merlin listened instead to Natalenya’s breathing, so close beside him.
All at once, she turned toward him. “I should go. Here.” She rummaged in her bundle, then pressed a smoked fish into his hands. “It’s no golden torc, but it’s the least I can do after you saved me from those men.”
The scale-free fish felt soft against Merlin’s fingers, and the mouth-watering aroma made his stomach growl. “Thank you.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Merlin.”
Her two soft hands grasped his free one for a moment, and then she was gone.
He picked up his staff, tapped his way back to the end of the dock, and sat down, alone with his thoughts once more. He laid his staff beside him, peeled off the fish’s skin and chewed it, relishing the smoky flavor before swallowing. For a while he just sat and ate the rest, thinking of Natalenya … of the warmth of her hands … of the Eirish men who would steal fish from a woman but wouldn’t touch a bard … and of Muscarvel.
His good mood soured. Pulling the last of the flesh from the fish’s bones, he held the bare spine in his hand. This was how he felt. Like a dead fish, blind and useless.
Father, what is my life? Do my efforts even matter? I bared my back to the whip, took a beating from Mórganthu, and what does Garth do? Off with the druidow.
And Mórganthu had shown the village what a fool Merlin was. He couldn’t fight properly, and he wasn’t respected enough in the village to speak. It was his father who needed to stand up and tell the people the truth about Mórganthu. Why won’t he do it?
Maybe Prontwon would try again when he got better. Or Neot. Or perhaps Dybris, the new monk, could convince the people. Certainly blind Merlin could never sway their minds. What could he do? And what of this torc Muscarvel had given him? He reached up and felt the intricate lines of the ancient gift resting around his neck. He touched the gold falcon heads fashioned on the ends. What was he supposed to do with it? He hadn’t earned such a thing. Everyone would laugh if they saw him wear it. Ha-ha! There goes the blind man who thinks he’s a chieftain!
And all Muscarvel’s other gibberish.
In anger Merlin spread the ends of the torc and pulled it from his neck. He loosed the ties of his bag and shoved the torc inside, where it clinked against his few coins. He rose and set off for home. Muscarvel was mad, plain and simple.
When Merlin arrived, he found the house quiet.
“Tas?”
He stepped into the room and listened. “I’m over here,” his father said from a stool at the table. He sounded tired, and a little angry. “Waiting for you. Quite awhile to buy some fish.”
“Where are Mônda and Gana?”
Owain rested his forehead on the table and then thumped his head on the wooden surface. “Oh … I don’t know exactly. I worked on the sword for an hour or so, and when I came in —”
“Mônda almost never leaves the house.”
“I know. I’m afraid they’ve gone to her father.”
“To Mórganthu?”
“Yes.” His voice sounded empty. “Mônda and I have been arguing since last night. I wouldn’t let her go. So now she’s left.”
“I hope you don’t plan on following.”
His father stood,