Chapter 8: Affalon Ford

Merlin woke to the sound of a heavy fist knocking on the door of their cellar. He saw his mother get up, throw a coat over her sleeping attire and walk over to the door.

“Yes?” she said to the door, her hair a tousled mess.

“Excuse me for disturbing you so early.” The friar’s voice drifted to Merlin’s ears. “A tragedy has befallen the village of Afallen Ford, and I am called to give last rites to the dying. I could use an assistant today and wondered if you could spare Merlin to accompany me?”

Huddel glanced back at Merlin, and he nodded acceptance.

“Yes, I can spare him for the day. When should he meet you?”

“If he can be ready in a half hour, have him meet me in the stable yard. I will ready a cart for us. Thank you.”

“Of course, Friar. He will be happy to help. I will send him right out.” The friar’s heavy footfalls faded as he shuffled away. Huddel walked back to Merlin, sitting down on the edge of his bed. She picked up his hand, cradling it in between her own.

“Merlin. I do not need to remind you to be careful, do I?” He shook his head. “This town that you will be traveling to was originally a Druid village. They were forced to flee when the Christians arrived. Merlin, the town is a wellspring of magic. You will be drawn to it, but you must resist. You cannot use magic, even to heal. Swear to me that you will not do this? You are to assist the friar. That is the extent of what you do.”

“You want me to let people die, when I can heal them?” Merlin frowned at his mother.

“Yes. If they cannot be saved by common ways, you must let them die. It is not your battle. You are not responsible for their lives.”

“So, I am to ignore what has happened? Turn a blind eye to whatever has occurred?” Visions of their tavern burning flashed across Merlin’s mind, and his hand clenched, squeezing his mothers in a tight grip.

Huddel winced. “If you want to live, yes,” whispered Huddel.

Merlin released his mother’s hand and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, fishing around for his pants. He pulled them onto his legs and stood up. “I will try, but I cannot promise that I will not use my powers.” His mother opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off as he reached for his boots. “I will be careful, mother. I will not draw attention to myself.” He stood, stamping his feet to settle them into the leather depths, then rooted through his clothing chest searching for a clean linen shirt. He donned it, tucking it into his pants, then pulled on a rough spun woolen coat, shrugging it over his shoulders. “I must go, or I will be late.”

Huddel stood and gave Merlin a hug. “You will do what is right. This I know.”

Merlin hugged her back. He grabbed his walking staff and hurried over to the door, pulling it open. Light from torches in the upper hallway spilled across the dusty floor. “I will be back soon,” he called over his shoulder, then ran up the steps taking them two at a time.

As he passed by the kitchen, his stomach rumbled, but before he could do more than glance in the open doorway, he was stopped by Sister Mary Clare. In her hands were two bundles of food.

“These are for your journey.” She placed them in his hands, then slung two water bags over his shoulders.

“Thank you, Sister.” He bowed his head in acknowledgment then headed out the back door. Dawn bloomed on the horizon and the air was pleasantly cool, with a hint of rain in the air. A wagon with a bench and a long bed was standing in the square, hitched to two large coursers. Two rough chests rested in the back, along with a shovel and a pitchfork. A partially secured canvas covered the rear of the wagon. Friar Antonio was bent over the ties checking that they were securely buckled. He tugged the balance of the tarping into place, then fed the last length of leather through the matching buckle. His head rose as he heard Merlin exiting the abbey.

“Good timing. Hop up, and let’s get going.” With a final tug, he pulled himself up into the driver’s seat, the wagon dipping to the side with his weight. Merlin placed the food parcels in the middle of the seat then climbed aboard and settled onto the washboard seat. He tucked his staff under his feet.

“I have food,” he said, gesturing to the packages. Sister Marie Clare gave them to me for the trip.”

“A good thing, too. There are some taverns along the way, but we will not be stopping. I doubt there will be time to prepare food once we arrive. It is not a long distance to Afallon Ford, but from the reports I have heard, there is not much left of the village.”

“What happened? Was it mercenaries? Or raiders from Tintegal?” Merlin remembered the brigands who had attacked them on the road to Camelot. “Or roving bandits?” His heart fluttered with a frisson of fear of what they would discover in a few short hours.

Friar Antonio clucked to the horses, tossing the reins, and the pair set off across the cobblestone, hooves clicking on the rounded stone. “I do not know. If anyone still lives when we arrive, perhaps we will find out.” He glanced at the young man sitting beside him. “You were set on by bandits on your way to Camelot. You lost your father. Are you sure you wish to face death again so soon?”

Merlin stared straight ahead, his face impassive. He did not wish to lie to the Friar, so he centered his response around the last part of the question. “Death can come at any time. Just because one is young, it does not mean that you cannot die.” His chin lifted with determination. “I wish to help those who have survived, and if they cannot be saved, to help ease their passing.”

Friar Antonio smiled at Merlin. “I can see already that you have a kind heart, Merlin. You would do well as a friar.”

Merlin smiled back at the kindly friar. “I doubt that, Friar. I am far too headstrong.”

“Did you ever think about becoming a healer? It is a noble occupation to consider.”

“I am already a brewer. What do I need with two careers? Besides, if I quit, there would be no more beer to be enjoyed at life’s celebrations. People need to celebrate the special occasions, if only to give them hope when the days are dark. No, I will continue to support my mother with our craft.”

The friar’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “No beer. Yes. That would be tragic, indeed. I think you should teach me the craft of making beer.”

They crossed the main drawbridge. Camelot shrank to the size of a child’s toy, before being swallowed by a hill. Two hours later, the road began to descend toward the valley of Affalon Ford. Smoke lingered on the air, sharp and stinging to their nostrils. The trees thinned, and Friar Antonio reined in the horses. Total devastation spread out before them. Not a building remained unscathed. Not a bird sang. There was no movement within the village. Smoke curled from multiple fires and ran the full length of the village, as though a rampaging bull had plowed through the homes, tossing them aside like dirt. Smoldering ashes surrounded lonely stone chimneys, standing forlorn and blackened in the midst of the ruins. Those buildings with stone walls had tumbled every which way, obstructing roadways. The shattered village made no sense to Merlin.

The friar urged the horses forward. As they descended the hillside, a spike of agony speared into Merlin. He clutched his head, bent over at the waist, and vomited. The residue of an intense hatred lingered on the air and attacked him at his core, a javelin thrust deep into the belly of his magic. He gasped, eyes watering, struggling to push back the evil that permeated what was once the village of Affalon Ford.

“Merlin, are you all right? Look away from the carnage. I can let you off here, if you are too afraid to enter.” The friar’s hand descended on Merlin’s back, patting him soothingly.

“No!” gasped Merlin, straightening. “I…I will be fine.” He sucked in a deep breath, swallowing the sour remnants in his mouth, then exhaled slowly. He picked up a water skin and rinsed his mouth, spitting over the side. As he mastered himself, the intense pressure faded, until he gained the upper hand on his roiling stomach. “I’m sorry. It just surprised me.” He gritted his teeth as another wave of nausea washed over him.

“Good man. We are here.” The friar pulled the wagon to the side, jumped down, and tied the team to a broken tree that had been snapped in two. Merlin swung down and walked to the back of the wagon, unbuckling the cover. The friar retrieved a bag of medical supplies from one of the two trunks bolted to the floor of the wagon. “Come on, let’s see if there is anyone to save.”

Merlin followed the friar into the crushed town. Mixed in with the smashed houses were broken bits of wagons, crushed carts, and overturned barrels. Toppled timber lay strewn across their path like a child’s game of pick-up sticks. They moved slowly through the carnage, searching for signs of life. Merlin held his sleeve against his nose. The sharp scent of roasting meat joined that of the acrid char of burnt wood. Some of the smells Merlin could identify, and others, he could not. Nor did he want to know. Nevertheless, he pressed on beside the friar.

Magic is responsible for this destruction, thought Merlin. But who would willingly do such a thing?

The friar stopped walking. “Merlin, I think we should split up. I think we can cover more area that way. Are you up to it?”

“Yes. I can do it.”

“Let’s divide the supplies.” He dug into the bag and laid out a cloth onto which he piled some bandages, a couple of bottles of an herbal salve, and some leathery leaves which were chewed to relieve pain that Merlin recognized from his mother’s healing basket, and a small knife. Friar Antonio tied up the corners and handed it to Merlin. “We will meet back at the wagon in an hour’s time.”

Merlin nodded and took his bundle, heading down a side street in the opposite direction from the friar. He picked his way around a dead horse, partly consumed by flames. The roasting meat smell mixed with burning horse hair. He was relieved to put some space between himself and his companion if only to not have him witness as he emptied his stomach once more. Instinctively, Merlin opened his mind to his core magic, and instantly the nausea was muted to a minor irritation. Straightening, Merlin began his own investigation of the horrors surrounding him, following the magical residues left on the air.

Merlin worked his way between the mounds of debris, alert for any sign of movement. A cat jumped out at him, hissed, then ran off around a smoking pile of clothing, which had once been an elderly woman. A basket of spilled apples lay beside her, untouched by the flames. He knelt beside her, touching his fingers to her blistered neck, but she was beyond help. No welcoming pulse throbbed and he straightened, moving on.

At an intersection to an alleyway, Merlin paused. A mewling sound reached his ears, and he turned to the left, following the noise. The alley was in slightly better condition, having been partially protected by the row of tottering buildings on either side. He pushed aside a toppled cart, emptied of its load of apples. The noise was closer. He could clearly discern that it was a whimper he was hearing. Merlin chased after the sound, pausing in front of a flattened blacksmith’s business, as evidenced by the large, square forge squatting in the midst of the debris. Behind it was a stone shed, one of the few structures that was still standing. Merlin climbed over the debris, snatching up a pickaxe from the ground. He crept closer, his hand reaching for the door.

Three…two…one… he counted down in his head then yanked open the door.

The shed was piled high with wooden boxes filled with iron bars stacked high to the ceiling, reinforcing the walls, and crouched on the floor was a child, a girl with dirty blonde hair. Her tear-streaked face was covered in soot and filth. She blinked at the sudden light and seeing the axe she screamed, scrambling back away from Merlin.

Surprised, Merlin followed her gaze to the weapon in his hand, and he dropped it against the door, propping it open.

“Shhh, I am not here to hurt you. I have come to rescue you. I’m Merlin,” he said in a soft voice, holding out his hand. “Do not be afraid. Are you hurt?” She shook her head, eyes wide and unblinking. “Come, let me check you over and make sure. You are safe now. The danger has passed.” The girl searched his face, then stood moving cautiously forward.

As she moved into the light, Merlin saw that she was older than his first impression. Her ankle length dress was torn, and scrapes and bruises covered her arms. Merlin backed out of the doorway, allowing her to come to him. He twisted his head around and finding a mostly intact wooden bench, hauled it out of the debris. He stood it up then gestured for her to sit. “I have water. Are you thirsty?” She nodded, still not speaking. Merlin handed her his water skin, watching as she tilted back the bag and drank greedily.

He took back the water skin, corked it, then set it on the ground. “Let me see your hands,” said Merlin, and the girl placed them in his. He examined them, turning them over and moving the fingers and wrists. She winced once when he twisted her right wrist but said nothing. “A slight sprain I think.” Merlin dropped her hands. “I need to wash that cut over your eye.” He unwrapped the bundle of medical supplies, and soaking the cloth in water, washed the girl’s face, and the cut, flushing the wound clean. “What is your name?”

“Ashleigh,” she whispered.

“What happened here, Ashleigh? You are the first person I have found, alive.”

Ashleigh cast a frightened look at the sky in the direction of the river. She shuddered and tears welled up in her eyes. “A dragon,” she whispered. “A great dragon with no flesh. It was all bones.”

“Bones?” said Merlin, shocked. “It had no body? No eyes?”

“It had eyes. They were made of fire. But where the fire came from, we couldn’t tell. It shouldn’t have been possible.” The tears began to fall. “It attacked the village, spewing fire from one end to the other. The people, they tried to fight it, but their arrows flew right through it because it was only bones. Nothing they did had any effect on it. All the buildings caught fire.” The tears fell, fast and furious. “There was no place to flee. The dragon attacked for what seemed like hours. Some people tried to escape, but it chased them down and burnt them as they bolted. I don’t think anyone else has survived. It has been quiet for hours now. My papa…” the tears coursed down her cheeks, “is just over there.” She pointed to the forge, then shuddered, burying her face in her hands, sobbing.

Merlin reached into his pack of supplies and gave her one of the leaves. “Here, chew this. It will help with your pain and calm you.” His eyes glanced over his shoulder at the forge, then he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I will go see to him. What is his name?

“Barry.”

“Ok. Wait here.”

Merlin placed the water skin in her small hands then made his way through the detritus to the forge. He hauled heavy timber out of the way, excavating around the base of the forge. It was heavy, dirty work. Soot billowed from the charred timber, ashes puffing into the air around him. He coughed, holding his sleeve against his nose until the dust settled. His eyes searched the debris, scanning for a sign of Ashleigh’s father. The heel of a boot caught his eye, and he made his way to the other side of the forge and pulled more debris out of the way. With a mighty groan, he shifted a large sheet of discoloured tin, possibly a shield for the forge. A man was lying beneath it, garbed in the leather jerkins of a blacksmith. Blood pooled beneath the man, mixing with the ash and churned into a muddy brown.

Merlin cleared the area then felt at the man’s neck for a pulse. He could feel the slightest pulse under the clammy skin. His breathing was so slight as to not be visible.

He is dying. He should already be dead, thought Merlin. He will be, unless I save him right now. Merlin cast a quick glance around, then placed his hands on the man’s back and murmured “Munda cute capitis reparare os sanguinem omnino curare.” Merlin felt the rush of his powers flood his body and sizzle down his arms into the man. Magic glowed around his hands, then plunged into the dying man’s flesh. The glow flushed the length of the man’s prone form, then it faded away.

Merlin sat back, waiting. Barry stirred moving an arm, then his leg twitched as he regained consciousness.

“Papa!” cried Ashleigh, and she pushed past Merlin to hug her father as he sat up. She steadied him with an arm around his waist, as the man blinked, swaying.

Merlin placed a hand on his forehead. It was cool to the touch. Satisfied, he withdrew it. “I am Merlin,” he said, by way of introduction. “How do you feel?” He took the water skin from Ashleigh and proffered it to Barry.

The man’s eyes roved over what remained of his forge, his hearth, and his livelihood. He hugged Ashleigh then accepted the water skin. “I think I am lucky to be alive. Thank you.”

Merlin smiled. “If you and your daughter will make your way to the Camelot road, we have a wagon there. We can take you back to Camelot.”

“Thank you, Merlin, but I must stay and see what I can salvage of my livelihood here. But if you have some supplies to share, that would be most welcome.”

Merlin nodded. “I must search for more survivors. You can speak to the friar about your needs. He will be there in an hour.” Barry shifted to the side, then stood, bending to pick up a forge tool, and that is when Merlin saw it.

A young man lay partially covered in debris. Merlin knelt and touched the man’s throat, but no pulse of life beat in the exposed neck. But that is not what drew Merlin’s attention. Buried deep within a metal wrapped wooden shield, held in the hands of a dead apprentice, was the claw of a dragon. Merlin reached down and pulled the shield from the dead man’s hand. The second his hand touched the claw, magic tingled from his fingers to his toes. He released it, pulled a kerchief from his pocket, and wrapped it around the claw, then pulled it loose, placing the cloth-covered claw in his pocket. With a nod to the pair of survivors, he gathered up his supplies and continued his search.