I, Morgana (3 page)

“I shall need to know how to do this when I am king,” he tells Merlin.

I’m about to remonstrate but Merlin’s laughter and upraised hand forestalls me. Instead, I glare at Arthur, and he scowls back at me. Merlin doesn’t notice; he’s busy assembling what he needs for the demonstration. But he doesn’t show us how to accomplish this transmutation.

“I want you to try, Morgana,” he tells me. “If anyone can succeed, you can.”

At once, Arthur pushes in front of me to stand at the table. Merlin draws him back.

“Let Morgana do it,” he says, and begins to recite instructions from an old book that he sometimes uses, while I try to follow them. To my chagrin, I fail to achieve the desired result: the base metal stays as it always was.

“It’s not working!” I turn to Merlin in frustration. Arthur sniggers. Merlin comes closer to inspect my efforts.

“To some, those who value riches above all else, this knowledge is the Grail,” he says. “I wanted you to try, Morgana, so that you would know it cannot be done. Nor is it possible to find the elixir of everlasting life, which is another Grail that others may seek.” He gives a sudden wild cackle of laughter. “Some people search all their lives for this Grail, the Sangreal they call it. But none has ever found it, and they still die when their time has been spent. No one has ever managed to turn base metal into gold, or create such an elixir.”

“Not even you, Merlin?” I am sure he must have succeeded, for he is so ancient! A hundred summers at least, or even older. But Merlin merely smiles and taps the side of his nose.

At our next lesson, and because Merlin deems me old enough to understand, he begins to introduce me to Otherworlds beyond my imagining. Arthur tries to come too, but he has trouble moving into the unknown, fetching up short each time, as if an invisible wall has stopped him.

“Can’t we just leave him behind?” I ask impatiently, but Merlin says, “It might be helpful if he can see what you can see, so that in time he will learn everything you know.” His words send a frisson of foreboding down my spine, but he looks so stern that I am afraid to argue.

But finally, even Merlin is forced to accept defeat and so we go adventuring together without Arthur.

I like the first Otherworld we visit best of all: there I meet magical and mythical beasts like fierce gryphons, airy phoenixes, winged wyverns and fire-breathing dragons. I make the most of the time I spend with these strange and wonderful creatures. I look into their minds and hearts, I learn how to communicate with them, and I interrogate Merlin about their habitat, their natures and their magical qualities.

A silvery white unicorn becomes my special favorite, for he allows me to ride on his back. Aleph is faster than any of the horses in our own stable so that once we are in motion it feels almost as if we are flying. When I ask him if unicorns can fly, his long lips curl into a smile but he does not reply. Nevertheless, I live in hope that one day we might fly together. I feel sure that all the worlds as we know them would then be revealed on our travels.

I found the castle in uproar when I returned after our first visit to that Otherworld— everyone had been out searching for me. Although we were only with the magical creatures for a little while, some days had passed in real time and I was missed. Arthur, the little sneak, had even broken our pact and told our mother that I was with Merlin. Fortunately, no one believed him.

Still, I had to come up with a quick explanation. I remembered Arthur’s wet nurse, of whom I was fond but who had been dismissed once Arthur no longer needed to suckle at her breast. She lived in a village some distance from ours and so I told everyone that I’d gone to visit her, at the same time making a pretty apology for not warning everyone that I would be away for some time.

Now, I always find some excuse for my absence before Merlin and I go adventuring to Otherworlds, for I am never quite sure how much time will pass in our own world while I am away. Nor am I ever sure whether the Otherworlds I explore with Merlin are back in time from ours, or in the future, although some of them seem very similar. For example, there is a world where Druids still hold power over the realm, although their world looks much like our own. But their ways are different from ours and, as always, I learn what I can from them, along with whatever Merlin can tell me.

There is also the magical Isle of Avalon, the Isle of Apples, a place of great power and mystery, situated as it is at a confluence of several overlapping Otherworlds. Merlin had told me about it—and about the priestess Viviane who rules over it—and finally I saw it for myself. A tor towers over the isle, but this tor also forms part of an Otherworld called Glastonbury, where a great abbey is located.

There are no tribes in Glastonbury; the country is united and is ruled over by a king. But even the king pays heed to the priests of the man they call Jesus Christ. We know about him in our own world, and our priests conduct Christian ceremonies, but Merlin tells me that Christian churches are far more widespread here. This Glastonbury cathedral is also much taller and far larger than any abbey I have ever seen, with soaring stone arches supporting the walls, and beautifully carved statues to decorate it inside. There are even precious colored-glass pictures in some of the windows. The ceremonies are elaborate and mysterious. I suspect this world is more advanced than ours, even though the inhabitants appear to have no knowledge whatsoever of magic. But it is impossible to say, for their calculation of time is different from our own, and so all I can do is look, and marvel, and learn what I may.

On one occasion in this Otherworld I manage to escape Merlin and I run off on my own to explore the marketplace. A jongleur stands beside a cross at the center with a crowd around him. He is holding everyone spellbound with his recital. Curious, I come closer to listen, for we also have jongleurs and entertainers in our world and I am always eager to hear their stories.

It is a pleasing tale of knights and their ladies at a court called Camelot, and of the knights’ adventures against dragons and Otherworldly beasts. I wonder if the jongleur has also visited Otherworlds or whether this is a fancy of his own invention, and I question him afterward.

“Have you ever seen these dragons and unicorns of which you speak?”

He looks puzzled. “No, my lady. Everyone knows such fabulous beasts exist only in legend.”

“And where is this Camelot with its knights and its courtly adventures? Is it real and of this world, or is it also a legend?”

The jongleur looks at me for a long moment. “I believe that is something you need to find out for yourself, my lady.” He bows, and turns to talk to someone else.

I am torn between wanting to stay and question him further, or returning to the abbey, where I left Merlin looking over an old manuscript in the great library. Finally, I decide it would be best not to risk incurring Merlin’s wrath, and so I reluctantly leave the marketplace.

To my relief, Merlin hasn’t missed me. Indeed, he continues to praise my efforts to please him. I take comfort from this for, when he is not in Merlin’s presence, Arthur continues to taunt me about being a girl, which he insists makes me unfit to rule a kingdom. I realize ambition has awakened in him, but he is clever enough not to plague me in front of Merlin. Instead, he spends all his free time at the archery butt and the tilting yard, learning how to become a warrior, and he boasts of his growing prowess. I ignore him, content in the knowledge that I have Merlin’s support, and that my intelligence coupled with my ability in the magical arts will prove far more important for the safety and future of our kingdom.

I can feel my power growing as I learn all manner of spells: to transform, to bind and to release. The only spells Merlin cannot teach me are the spells I want most: to travel back in time to wreak revenge on my enemies, and to have the power of life—and death—over them. I have one particular enemy in mind, and I hate him with a great passion, a hatred that grows stronger as I grow older. My relationship with my mother has descended into indifference but toward my stepfather I am openly hostile. I provoke and defy him at every opportunity, despite Merlin’s command that I must rise above my petty grievances and make peace with my family. Somehow, being with Uther brings out the worst of my temper, always.

The best times are when Uther goes off hunting, or parleying, or else takes to his bed, for there is some unknown malady that keeps striking him down. If I had the skill, I would ensure that the malady became terminal. As it is, there seems little I can do to defeat my most hated enemy, but that doesn’t stop me searching for the means to bring about his downfall.

After long months of winter, a hunt is planned. I beg my mother to allow me to accompany the men, for I am almost losing my wits being shut indoors with the ladies, being made to spin, stitch and weave, and other such womanly things. But my mother forbids me to go.

“Why? I’ve always gone hunting with the men in the past. Why do you prevent me from doing so now?” I am close to tears; I am desperate to be free.

“You are sixteen summers grown, Morgana; old enough indeed to be a wife and a mother. It is not seemly for you to ride out with the men.”

Beside her, Uther nods in agreement. My hands curl into fists.

“It is time we found you a husband worthy of your position, but there is still much for you to learn before you can become a wife,” my mother continues.

“My father said I should choose my own husband—when I inherit his realm.”

Uther looks as if he is about to speak, but my mother quickly shakes her head.

“I’ve already learned all the skills needed to run a household,” Morgause says, looking smug. She sits on a stool close to our mother, her usual position as our mother’s favorite.

“Morgana could learn a great many things from you, Morgause.”

I make a rude noise in the back of my throat. I would rather visit the Isle of the Dead than take instruction from my sister!

“I
will
go!” I say loudly. I can tell from Arthur’s expression that he longs to come too. “I can take Arthur with me. He’s old enough now to go hunting.”

“No! Neither of you is to go.” Our mother sends a glance of appeal in Uther’s direction. He is reclining along the seat beside her. Although he is still recovering from his latest bout of sickness, he has announced that he will lead the hunt come morning.

“You’ll do as your mother says,” he growls.

“I won’t be confined indoors with the women,” I shout. “I will not!”

“Then I shall lock you away, for you will not come with us,” he says.

Furious at being shamed by him in front of my mother’s ladies, I turn on him. “I hate you! I wish you were dead!”

“Morgana!”

My mother’s appalled whisper is drowned in a roar of rage from Uther. “You are a rude and undisciplined young woman, Morgana. It’s time you learned how to behave as befits your position in this household. And I shall make it my duty to teach you. By soft words, if that is possible, but by the whip if it is not.”

“I’ll never bow down to you. Never! I’d rather leave this court than let you rule my life.” Even as I say the words, I know it’s a vain threat, for I would never turn my back on my realm and my people. But Uther pounces on the idea as a cat pounces on a mouse.

“I wish by all the saints you’d do exactly that!” He sounds angrier than I’ve ever heard him. “God knows, our lives would be so much easier without having to listen to your waspish tongue and put up with your disobedience. In fact, we’d have been spared a lot of trouble and heartache if you’d never been born at all.”

Aghast, I look to my mother for support. But she stays silent, and reaches to stroke the hair from Uther’s forehead.

“Your mother is right; it is time you were wed,” Uther continues. “One of my subjects will do—someone old enough to keep you under control and who lives far enough away from here that we’ll no longer be plagued by your tantrums.”

“No!” It is a cry from the depths of my heart, but my mother nods her agreement.

“It will be for the best, Morgana. It is your duty to your family to marry well and become a good wife and mother.”

“It is not my duty to marry and breed! My duty is to inherit this kingdom, as my father promised me, and to rule it wisely and well. I swore an oath than I would do as he asked, and that I would honor his faith in me. I will
not
betray his trust.”

Arthur has been sitting quietly beside Uther, but now he stands to confront me. “Our father is dead, and Lord Uther has taken his place. He is the High King of Britain, and you must do as he says.”

I am so angry, and so hurt by Arthur’s callous disregard for my rights, that I cannot speak. Instead, I raise my hand to slap him hard. But he catches my wrist, and holds my hand steady. I realize that his time practicing at the tilting yard has been well spent, and that his strength is equal to mine. We stare at each other for a long, heartbreaking moment.

“Go to your bedchamber,” Uther commands. “You will stay there until you have learned obedience.”

“I won’t go! You cannot banish me as if I was still a small child.”

“You will go. And you will be locked in until I give you leave to rejoin us. I hope that by then you will have remembered your manners and that you will at last behave in a way befitting the daughter of a High King.”

I begin to shake with fury; the words pour out of my mouth in a flood of hate. “I am no daughter of yours, Uther Pendragon. Nor are you the rightful king, not of this realm! My father would never have treated me as you have done, nor talked to me as if I was some common kitchen maid. He loved me! And I would have done anything for him. Anything at all. But not for you, Uther. Never for you. I swear on my mother’s life that I’ll—” But my threat is cut short as, at a nod from Uther, I am seized by two of his men and dragged from the solar.

Their grip is painful on my arms, but I will not cry mercy. Instead I maintain a dignified silence, even when they push me through the open door to my bedchamber, sending me sprawling. I pick myself up, stalk to the door and slam it in their faces. I am seething with rage—and something akin to panic.