for strength. His father and the villagers were in danger, and the evil spirit in his vision wanted all the Britons to worship the Stone. With his hands trembling and his knees shaking, Merlin stood amid the jostling crowd and raised his voice for all to hear.
CHAPTER 13
STANDING STRONG
Good people of Bosventor, hear me!” Merlin called.
The forms moving around him paused, and he sensed them turning to face him.
“Brother Prontwon spoke the truth to you last night. He told of the deception of this Stone and the curse of the old ways.”
No one responded.
“He told you not to give up on Jesu. He told you to —”
“Shut yer mouth, Merlin. We heard Prontwon last night. Nothin’ new,” someone bellowed.
“I’m not telling you anything new,” Merlin answered. He wondered if the speaker had been Brunyek. How could he follow the Stone? He was a hardworking farmer, and Merlin knew that he faithfully attended chapel.
“I speak of something older even than these gods the druidow worship. I tell you of the Great Ith’esov, the I Am who makes a covenant of peace. I’m telling you about His Son, Jesu, who made all things new. This is the God that created the whole earth and —”
“Be quiet, Merlin,” a voice shouted out.
“You be quiet,” another shouted nearby.
“Stay out of this, Allun!” the first man said.
The two scuffled, and someone cried out as he was thrown to the ground.
The first man spoke again. “You, Merlin, don’t tell us what to do. Let the heads of the families decide. Let Tregeagle decide, I say —”
The tall figure of Mórganthu stepped forward. “Steady, steady, my young man. This dispute is entirely between Merlin and the kind personage of myself.”
The man backed off.
“Now then,” Mórganthu said as he snaked his arm around Merlin’s shoulder. “What is the trouble? Does your head hurt from last night? Terribly sorry. Civilized men like us should settle things properly. How may I help you?”
Merlin wanted to pull away from Mórganthu and clout him in the head. Send him crawling away from the village never to return. But Mórganthu waved something in front of Merlin’s face that had a strong aroma, like pine mixed with bitter berry. After only a few whiffs, Merlin’s anger faded, and he couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say. He tried to speak, but only gibberish fell from his tongue.
“There, there,” someone beside him said. “We all feel a bit confused now and then.”
Merlin walked beside this kind stranger, who placed an arm over his shoulder. “Who are you?” Merlin asked.
“A friend” said the man with a gentle voice.
“Where are we going?”
“To the Stone, where you’ll be happy.”
The stone? The Druid Stone? That’s what he was speaking against. And the voice belonged to Mórganthu. A surge of anger flowed through him. Yanking away from Mórganthu’s arm, he turned and inhaled the fresh air.
Mórganthu pulled at his collar, but Merlin ducked and broke away. Now he could think straight, and he remembered his task. “Everyone, hear me! This man deceives you. Kifferow died because he worshiped the Stone. There is nothing but death where the druidow lead!”
Mórganthu snarled and threw Merlin onto a pile of musty leaves. The arch druid’s voice roared, “Hear me! Hear, my people. Ignore this son of a braggart. He is no leader of men! He is but a boy who is blind, cursed by the gods.”
Mórganthu pulled off his hood so the torc at his throat gleamed. He lifted his arms, allowing the sleeves to fall down and reveal the myriad of blue tattoos that Merlin knew to be there. Then Mórganthu shouted to the people, “Remember the song our ancient bards sang …
If ever one of six things you bear,
the folk will hear and follow you:
A harp whose notes hang in the air,
or druid-coppered scars of blue.
Fine cape and hood o’er brihem’s hair,
or knowledge wise of fili true.
King’s knife held at the back made bare,
else torc of woven metal hue.
“This boy,” Mórganthu said, “this boy is no chieftain of men! He has no torc or office that you should follow him. Ignore his doggerel, and let us begin our worship of the Stone.”
The villagers laughed as Mórganthu kicked Merlin.
“No torc! No voice. Get away from here,” the people jeered, mimicking Mórganthu. Some even spit on him.
Merlin brushed the dirt off his face. No torc? He felt the hard curve of metal hidden in his pouch. With new confidence he stood again before the villagers. “Give room, good people.” He swung his