Fellowship & Fairydust

You know that it could have been you there on the throne.

Merlin sighed and looked at the window. Halfway through the coronation, he had known something infernal had entered the courtyard.

The proceedings had begun well. The Archbishop had asked Merlin to give a summary—the old king’s death, Merlin placing Arthur in Sir Ector’s care, the sword in the stone which only Arthur could remove—allegedly because some of the lower-ranking knights present had been only children when Uther Pendragon passed. Merlin suspected the Archbishop felt a ceremony wasn’t a proper one unless it took all day. He had reached the part about Kay trying to take credit for removing the sword from the stone when he felt the hairs on his neck and shoulders rise. Arthur looked concerned as Merlin paused. Merlin kept talking and no one else seemed to notice.

The presence made itself clearer as the ceremony continued. When the Archbishop told his servants to bring out the crown, Merlin could hear a sharp wind rattling a tree near the chapel wall. When the servants brought out the oak chest, one of the servants kept his eyes on Merlin as the other opened it. The wind picked up. One of the tree’s branches clattered against a stained-glass window. The servant kept staring at Merlin as his partner handed him the crown. A larger branch smacked against the window. The servant fumbled, the crown falling from his hands. Merlin crouched and caught it before it struck the floor.

The presence was impossible to ignore now. His shoulders—large shoulders, the monks said they were large because he was born to wear wings—sweated. The crown felt warm. Far warmer than it should have felt after decades in a cellar. The branch rattled a constant beat against the window.

Merlin stood and handed the crown to the servant. The servant snatched it and passed it to the Archbishop. The Archbishop hissed for the servant to leave, then turned to place it on Arthur’s head. As the servant went to a side door, he looked at Merlin again and made the sign of the cross. Merlin wasn’t surprised. What surprised him was that the servant didn’t whisper anything as he left. He was used to people whispering when he passed.

Demon spawn. Child of hell. Antichrist. Madman of the woods. Even the druids fear him.

Once the crown was on Arthur’s head, the branches stopped rattling the window. The ceremony ended with Arthur on his throne, promising to do right by all God’s laws, then giving out knighthoods and listening to pleas for aid. The Archbishop had said a few words about the appropriateness of crowning a new king at Pentecost, when the church was born anew, and then signaled for the feast to start. Sir Ector had made sure Merlin had a prominent place at a corner table near Arthur. Merlin hadn’t commented on the fact it was across the hall from the Archbishop and church representatives. It also happened to be directly across the hall from the window.

While others chatted and ate, Merlin sipped his wine and examined the window. It depicted the Holy Mother meeting the angel Gabriel. The tree behind it didn’t move. It looked a little too still.

That was when he heard the voice.

That could have been you on that throne.

Merlin picked up his goblet and signaled a page for more wine. Once he had it, Merlin stood. Arthur’s gaze met him as he rose. Merlin smiled, patted his stomach, and cocked his head to the side door. Arthur grinned and nodded. Kay—Sir Kay now—leaned toward Arthur’s ear. The two foster brothers laughed, and neither noticed when Merlin left the hall.

The courtyard was empty when Merlin entered it. Merlin approached the tree. His sweat had covered his inner garment, making it stick to his back. As he neared the tree, a shadow across its largest branch took a new shape. It became a winged man, with hunched shoulders and a broad back.

“Lucien,” Merlin said. “It has been some time since you last visited me.”

The shadow cocked his head.

“You were so close,” the shadow said. “What did you think of that servant boy’s face when he looked at you? Did it seem proper for him to treat a son of a prince of Hell so poorly? Did you think about turning him into a mouse and crushing him?”

“He’s a foolish boy,” Merlin answered. “One day someone will explain to him that once baptized means once sanctified.”

The shadow reached for a thin branch above. It snapped the branch off. It turned the branch over in its hands, stripping away the leaves.

“There was so much that went into making you possible,” the shadow said. “I still remember my master’s words. ‘Our abode may be harrowed, but our battle continues. We will make a man of our own image, schooled in vengeance and vigor. The prophets may have deceived us, but our prophet will return it tenfold.’ It was our greatest effort. The Infernal Council caroused for a month after your conception.”

Merlin pulled back his cloak and reached for his shoulder. His hand separated the inner garment from his skin, and he rubbed his shoulder. He had worn his thinnest hairshirt to avoid damaging the nice clothes Arthur had given him for the feast. It still chafed. 

Merlin withdrew his hand and held up a piece of the hairshirt. “Perhaps the prophet part suits me,” he said.

The shadow held the branch like a pan flute. “I’m sure your mother was pleased that you wear it,” it said. “Still, who can say what she wanted? I remember your father’s words. ‘I can place seed in a woman, and I know a woman I can corrupt. By the time I have had my way, she will not know herself.’”

Merlin clenched his goblet. A blue flame rose over the wine. He raised the goblet.

The shadow stopped playing with the branch. “Go on. You’re no lackey to a bastard English boy. Do you truly think an aborted antichrist can bring forth a savior? Be what you know you are.”

Merlin stared at the blue fire. The wine steamed. The goblet radiated heat. It would blister his fingers in a few moments.

He lowered the goblet. The blue fire faded. He looked back at the shadow.

“I know what I am,” Merlin said. “I know I am the bastard son of Hell’s princeling. I know I was born to unmake the Lord’s work. I know I seem a fool to you. But I will not play your games.”

The shadow threw the branch. It ignited in mid-flight. Merlin caught it before it struck the window. When his gaze returned to the tree, the shadow was gone.

Merlin raised the cup and drank the hot wine. The sun had set. He turned and went back to his king’s coronation feast.

This story is expanded from “The Light Bringer,” a 150-word short story that appeared in the audio collection Tapes from the Crawlspace. Original story copyright 2020 by Gabriel Connor Salter.

The story of Merlin’s conception appears in a twelfth- or thirteenth-century poem written by Robert de Boron. The quotations from the demons in Hell are original dialogue, written as a loose paraphrase of the poem’s demon quotations (lines 36-42, 47-48 in “The Birth of Merlin,” as published in the 1998 translation of Prose Merlin edited by John Conlee, published by Medieval Institute Publications). I also consulted Nigel Bryant’s translation of the poem, included in Merlin and the Grail (D.S. Brewer, 2005, Kindle edition). Both translations are copyrighted, and no infringement is made or intended.

This piece and similar pieces appeared in the Fellowship & Fairydust issue Happy & Glorious: A Royal Celebration.