Sean Cullen - The Prince of Two Tribes

Merddyn gently pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ah,” he said wearily. “We lost so much on that horrible day. So many Ancients went to the Far Lands, or what Humans call heaven. Many others were maimed and chose to pass to the Other Side, cutting themselves off from this world and its woes. Few of us were left, and very few of the truly Ancient Ones like myself survived. Much deep knowledge was lost.”

Merddyn looked up at Brendan and smiled sadly. “How can I begin to describe to you the heartbreak I felt at such waste? You couldn’t grasp it.” He fell silent again.

“What does this have to do with me?” Brendan prompted. “And the tree?”

“Oh.” Merddyn roused himself. “Everything. You see, the Fair Folk who had survived and remained on This Side after the Pact was struck were younger, without the experience of the Ancient Ones. Much lore and wisdom was lost. They scattered far and wide, some passing out of contact with their brethren altogether. I tried to keep us all connected as best I could, but there were few who could help me. Whereas before the Fair Folk had instinctively understood the ebb and flow of the energy that is the lifeblood of the universe, they now comprehended it only in fragments. In the passing centuries, the idea that a Faerie could master only one Talent became the accepted norm.”

“That’s what Greenleaf told me,” Brendan confirmed. “And Ariel, too. Everybody is unusually good at one Talent.”

“But you have more than one. Why?”

“You’re the expert. You tell me!”

“In the Old Times, there were no specialties, no specific Talents or Arts. There were no such distinctions. The universe is full of energy. It’s alive with it. We could tap into it readily and manipulate it to do anything we wished. Let me explain.” Merddyn waved a hand at Edgar. “A glass of water, if you don’t mind, Edgar!”

Edgar complied, filling a tumbler from the tap. He brought it to the table.

“Many thanks,” Merddyn said. Edgar went back to his paper. Merddyn pushed the glass of water into the centre of the table. “Tell me, Brendan. What do you see?”

Brendan shrugged. “A glass of water.”

Merddyn nodded. “That’s one answer. I think there is a better one.”

Though he was seated across from the legendary Merlin himself, Brendan couldn’t help but feel completely exasperated. “Oh, come on, will ya? Does everything have to be some kind of Zen riddle?”

“I like Zen riddles. ‘Koans’ they’re called, by the way. Buddhism has some wonderful mystical traditions. And Buddha himself was a very sweet fellow. So curious and good-hearted. A wonderful student.”

“You’re telling me you taught Buddha?”

“For a brief time. He had the idea already. I just gave him a nudge in the right direction.”

“Buddha was a… one of us?”

“Oh, no! He was a Human. Like Jesus and Mohammed and Zarathustra. Enlightened Humans who saw that there was a pattern underpinning the world we think we know. But that is beside the point. What we have here is a difference in perception. You see a glass of water. I say that within this glass is all the water in the world.”

Brendan just stared. “I don’t get it.”

“You have to see all the water in the world as one thing, no matter how it’s parcelled up. Those partitions-a glass, a lake, a river, an ocean-are all boundaries we place on a thing so that we can better understand it. What they actually do is make it impossible to understand that thing completely.”

Brendan thought about that. “But I can’t possibly hold the image of all the water in the world in my mind. It’s too huge.”

“Better philosophers than I could and would elaborate on this idea, but for our purposes, it isn’t necessary. I just want you to think in a new way.”

“So I’m thinking in a new way,” Brendan conceded. “How does this relate to me, exactly?”

“The energy Faeries draw upon, the energy that fuels our glamours and our Wards, is like that ocean. In the distant past, we were able to see this ocean of energy as a continuous thing, without a beginning and an end. We could manipulate the energy and make the universe do our bidding.

“Now that perception is gone. We’ve lost our ability to see. The Fair Folk now dip a bucket into that proverbial sea and believe that the bucket of water is all there is. There is a problem with our thinking.”

“But I don’t even have a bucket,” Brendan said in exasperation. “I haven’t even got a cup!”

“You’re wrong, Brendan.” Merddyn smiled. “You grew up without the mindset a Faerie usually has when he’s raised in our world. You have no preconceived notions about Talents and Arts. You are having trouble because you can’t understand the restrictions we have come to set upon ourselves. You are unique.”

“I am? I don’t get it. I can’t seem to master any skill.”

“No. You don’t seem to need to master those skills. Because your mind is unrestricted, you can manipulate the energy of the universe spontaneously. When you are pushed by necessity or danger, you just draw on that energy and create what you need to overcome the problem.

“Allow me to illustrate another point. Watch.” He plucked a chocolate-glazed doughnut out of the box. “What is this?”

“A doughnut.”

“Yes, but it is also anything I wish it to be because it is made of energy. I can manipulate that energy with my will.” Merddyn closed his eyes and concentrated. The doughnut shimmered, melted, swirled, and then solidified into a pebble. The small stone remained for only a moment before it, too, transformed into a handful of feathers. The feathers crackled and turned into a blue flame that danced in Merddyn’s wrinkled palm and finally disappeared, rising as smoke toward the rafters. “They are all the same. The doughnut, the stone, the feathers, the flame.”

“Mass is energy,” Brendan said with hushed awe. “Einstein.”

“A clever fellow, Albert. I guess someone has been paying attention in physics class.” Merddyn smiled.

“What about living things?” Brendan said suddenly. “Why not change the doughnut into a bird or something?”

Merddyn frowned. “That’s very difficult. Life is very complicated. To create it means that you must have the insight and wisdom to construct a soul for your creation. Very arrogant and very dangerous.”

“So… what does this mean for me? I can do things because I have no preconceived ideas? I’m some kind of Faerie freak? I’m… what do they call those people… an idiot savant?”^ 46

“A savant, perhaps,” Merddyn agreed. “An idiot? I think not. I believe you are like the Fair Folk when they were in their infancy, in the most Ancient of times. You’re a throwback but a wonderful one. I believe you are what all Faeries should be. When I first heard of you, I was intrigued. I asked Ariel to keep an eye on you and inform me of your progress. What I learned excited me. I’ve been looking for someone like you for a long time. I thought our Charlie might have been the one.”

“Charlie?”

“Yes. She grew up in the Human world, ignorant of our ways. I thought she might be the clean slate I was looking for. Alas, I found her too late. She’d already been partially trained by a native Shaman. Her mind had been set. Her ability is quite unique and beautiful, don’t you think? Quite unlike anyone else’s in the Faerie world.”

“She’s kind of terrifying. I wouldn’t want to cross anyone who could turn into a bear if I got them upset,” Brendan said. “Wait a minute, though. Isn’t she a shape-shifter? There’s a guy at the Swan of Liir on the Ward’s Island who can change into a lion.”

“Ah, yes. Leonard! Charming fellow. You’re right, he is a shape-shifter, but shape-shifters can assume the shape of only one animal. Charlie has several in her repertoire.”