Stephen Lawhead - Pendragon

Exhausted in body and spirit, I turned at last to Ynys Avallach. It had been too long since I sojourned in that blessed realm. I ached to see Avallach and Charis again, and hoped to find solace and sympathy. In truth, I desperately needed a balm to heal my troubled spirit.

The Fisher King's palace remained unchanged as ever. The green mound of the tor rose above the quiet lake, its image reflected in the still waters. Apple trees graced the steep slopes, rising to the high, graceful walls. Peace and calm wreathed the isle like the mist upon the reed-fringed lake, and breathed an air of tranquillity soft as the light upon its shaded paths. Westering sun struck the soaring ramparts and towers, causing the pale stone to blush like fire-shot gold. The quality of this radiance suffused the very air so that it seemed to tingle on the skin – living light, transmuting all baser elements to finer, purer stuff.

Avallach, regal and dark, his beard curled and oiled, welcomed Pelleas and me gladly, and made much of us. Charis, Lady of the Lake, fairly glowed with love for me; her green eyes shone and her long golden hair gleamed as she led me, arm in arm, among the apple trees she tended with such care. We strolled the deep-shaded groves, or rowed the boat on the glassy lake in the evenings and went to our sleep with the song of nightingales on the night air.

Still and all, I ate and slept ill. I fretted. Even fishing in the lake below the tor with the Fisher King, I could not rest. Nor could I unburden myself to my mother. Charis, whose sympathy knew no restraint, comforted me as best she could. But I would not be comforted. In truth, it was not succour I needed, but a vision. And that I lacked.

I ask you, O Soul of Wisdom, tell me if you can: what remedy for the lack of a vision?

Day by day, my spirit grew colder. I felt as if I were freezing from the inside, as if my heart were hardening within me. I felt my very soul growing numb and heavy like a dead limb. Charis saw it. How could I hide it from the one who knew me better than any other?

One night, I sat at the table with my plate untouched before me, and listened to Charis explaining the work of the good brothers in the nearby abbey; there were, she told me, plans for a place of healing. 'It is only fitting,' she said. 'Taliesin saw the Summer Realm as a place where disease and infirmity were banished forever. And many come here seeking aid for their afflictions. The abbot has brought monks from Gaul and elsewhere – men who know much of healing and medicines.'

I was only half listening to her. 'Of course.'

She stopped, put her hand on my arm. 'Merlin, what is wrong?'

'It is nothing.' I sighed. I tried to smile, but found even that small effort too much. 'I am sorry. The abbey? You were saying-'

'Only that the healing work continues to flourish hereabout,' she replied quickly. 'But we are talking about you now. You are unhappy. I think it was a mistake for you to come here.'

'A sojourn in the Summer Kingdom is never a mistake,' I replied. 'I am simply overtired. God knows, I have reason enough – what with riding on one errand after another all summer.'

She leaned forward and took my hand in hers. 'It may be that you are needed elsewhere,' she continued, brushing aside my objection.

'I am not needed at all!' I shouted, and regretted it at once. 'I am sorry, Mother. Forgive me.'

She pressed my hand more tightly. 'Arthur needs you,' Charis said simply. 'Go back to Celyddon. If all you say is true, that is where the future lies.'

'Unless the southern lords turn from their warring ways, there is no future,' I concluded gloomily. I paused, remembering Uther's fiery temper. 'We need another Pendragon.'

'Go, my Hawk," she said. 'Return when you have found him.'

I slept poorly that night, and woke before dawn, restless. 'Ready the horses, Pelleas,' I told him curtly. 'We will leave as soon as we have broken fast.'

'Are we going to Londinium?'

'No, we have finished here; the south must fend for itself. We are going home.'

It is a long way to Caer Edyn, and a long time in which to contemplate the folly of self-important men. Despair embraced me to its bony breast; misery settled in my soul. The road took us east before turning north, passing close to the old Cantii lands of the coast. This south-eastern region is the Saecsen Shore, so called by the Romans for the linked system of beacons and outposts erected against the fierce seaborne invader. A tribe of Sea Wolves under a war leader named Aelle had taken over several of the abandoned fortresses on the south-east coast between the Wash and the Thamesis.

It was along this same stretch of southern coast that Vortigern settled Hengist and Horsa and their tribes in the vain hope of ending the incessant raiding that was slowly bleeding Britain dry. And it was from this coast that the barbarians spilled out to flood the surrounding land, until Aurelius contained and then defeated and banished them.

Now they were back, taking once more the land Hengist had overrun… the Saecsen Shore – its name would remain, but for a different reason. Unlike their fathers, these invaders meant to stay.

I thought of this and felt the sudden rush of the awen as it passed through me. I stopped and turned my horse to look back at the lands sloping away behind us. I saw the land fading as into a twilight haze, and it came into my mind that despite my best efforts, the night had already claimed the south. Now would begin a dark time; this I saw most clearly: despite ravenous Sea Wolves crowding his borders, Morcant would continue to press his idiotic war; Madoc, Bedegran and others would be forced to increase their warbands, and there would be much senseless bloodshed.

I had cried for a vision and now I had one. Oh, but it was bleak indeed. Great Light, have mercy on your servant!

Turning away from that grim prospect, I proceeded once more along the bramble-choked path, as if along the future's tangled pathways. There was little hope in what I saw, little comfort to hold against the gathering gloom. The darkness must have its season, and the land must endure its travail. That is the way of it!

Putting the south to our backs at last, Pelleas and I pressed on our way through the long, wide valleys which gave way eventually to deep green glens and cold-running streams and wild, wind-mumbled heights. The world was growing colder, I thought, and it was more than idle speculation, for we woke several times to snow in the night, though Samhain had not yet passed.

At length, we arrived at Ector's Rock weary and disheartened, the futility of our long sojourn clinging to us like our own sodden cloaks. Ector, who had been riding the circuit of his lands with Cai and Arthur, found us a little way from Caer Edyn.

Arthur gave a loud whoop and raced to meet me. 'Myrddin! Pelleas! You have returned.' He threw himself from his horse and ran to me. 'I thought you would never come back. I am glad to see you. I missed you both."

Before I could reply, Ectorius rode up, shouting, 'Hail, Emrys! Hail, Pelleas! If you had sent word, we would have met you on the road. Welcome!'

'Hail, Ector! I give you good greeting,' I replied. My gaze fell upon young Arthur, standing at the head of my horse. He fairly danced in place, hopping first on one foot, then the other, as he held the reins of our horses. 'I have missed you, lad,' I told him.

'Things are well in the south?' Ector asked.

'The south is lost,' I answered. 'Folly reigns. All day long the petty kings give themselves to treachery and war. What they do not destroy, the Saecsen stand ready to steal.'

Ectorius, the smile still playing on his face, glanced from one to the other of us, as if struggling to believe. Indeed, the rain had ended, the sun shone brightly, and hopeless words held no force against it. He cocked an eye towards the dazzling sky. 'Well' – Ector shrugged his shoulders lightly – 'you have had a long and difficult journey, to be sure. Perhaps you will find yourselves in a different mind after you have washed the road from your throats. Come, there is ale aplenty for that purpose.'