Merlin's Shadow by Robert Treskillard

tin,” Colvarth whispered. “But old, perhaps from years beyond our lifetime.”
    In one corner the metal lay brighter where it had been scratched. Upon the front, there was a small, rusted, rectangular iron plate with a hole for a sliding key that must unlatch the box. There was writing as well, but Merlin couldn’t read it.
    â€œWhere did this come from?” he asked, feeling the weight of the box.
    â€œFrom the island of Inis Avallow. It was buried inside the old tower. Uther had a vision — but to my shame, I thought he was drunk.”
    Merlin examined the narrow gap between the lid and the base. “Shall I try a blade to force it open?”
    Colvarth hesitated, and then closed his eyes. “You may try — only be careful. It was bought with the blood of Uther and his wife.”
    â€œSo Arthur owns it now?”
    Colvarth nodded.
    Merlin took out a small knife and slipped it lightly into the gap near the latch. Pressing gently, he heard a click, and the lid loosened. Not opening it, he handed the box back to Colvarth, and the old man received it with trembling hands.
    Colvarth opened the lid — slowly.
    Inside lay a small wooden bowl, dark from age, and it was cracked on one side. Merlin reached in and took it up, and its base was covered in a band of gold with more writing.
    â€œThat is all?” Colvarth said. “A circlet of gold, and black dust?”
    Merlin looked inside, but saw no dust — the box lay empty. The wooden bowl in his hand did not have any dust in it either. “I see no dust, Colvarth,” he said, “but the bowl is very old.”
    Colvarth squinted his eyes. “I see no bowl, but you hold an empty circlet.” The old man reached out and took the band from Merlin — but his hands passed right through the wooden bowl as if it didn’t exist.
    Merlin blinked. He grabbed Colvarth’s wrist to hold the man’s hand steady. He felt the bowl again — and sure, it was there, rough, solid, and wooden.
    â€œYou can’t see the bowl?” Merlin asked. “I can see and feel it. And your hand passes through it.” Merlin received the bowl back, and held it by its wooden edge.
    Colvarth gasped. “The ring floats! You are not touching it, yet it floats before your hand. Truly this is a mystery. And you say you cannot see the dust in the box? The bottom is filled with it.” Colvarth reached his hand in and stirred around the nothingness.
    Inktor, who’d been chatting with Crothak and Henktor at the rudder, stood and began walking toward them. He ducked under the sail, stepped over the sleeping, and sauntered over, whistling.
    â€œHide this mystery,” Colvarth whispered. “Put it back …”
    Merlin returned the bowl to the box and closed the lid loosely. Colvarth hastily threw his cloak over it just as Inktor came close.
    â€œWith wind like this, we’ll land before sunset,” Inktor said. “You a little sick, uhh?”
    Merlin forced a smile. “We’re fine,” he said, hoping Inktor would leave so he could look at the strange bowl again.
    â€œIf you’re Christian and need help,” Inktor said, “there’s a church near the village. You might consider there, uhh? But if you’re all druidow …”
    â€œI am a
former
druid, but am now Christian,” Colvarth said. “Do you know of a priest?”
    â€œWhat? You think I live in Baegower? You think I know everything, uhh?”
    â€œSurely —”
    â€œJust cause I say
there’s a church
, you think I know all about it, uhh?”
    â€œWell, no, but —”
    â€œHis name’s Anfri, and he lives up the hill beyond the village. Take the main road a good walk, and you won’t miss it.”
    With that, he walked back to the sail, adjusted a line, and then joined his companions at the rudder.
    â€œSo we make for the church, and get help there?” Merlin