Merlin's Shadow by Robert Treskillard Page A

asked.
    â€œI am not sure,” Colvarth whispered. “If this Anfri is one I have heard of, it may be better to ask the nearest thief.” Colvarth brought out the tin box again and opened it. “Now help me — what can this be? In my lore as a bard and druid, I have heard of such things, mage-made things. By the power of demons I would now say. But this is not pagan — it has the cross of Jesu Christus upon the box.”
    Colvarth felt inside, his fingers passing through the bowl and stirring the “dust,” as he put it. He sighed, and then prayed aloud in his slow and halting speech. Merlin closed his eyes and lowered his head.
    Father of rich wisdom — we beseech thee in poverty.
Spirit of bright power — we call thee in weakness.
Son of high royalty — we call thee in humbleness.
O hear our praying — you who dwell on the mountain.
O hear our calling — you who sing upon the thunder.
O hear our weeping — you who reign over the whole earth.
Reveal to us thy mysteries — mighty Father of the fathoms.
Reveal to us thy secrets — sweetest Spirit of the whispers.
Reveal to us thy riddles — gentlest Son hiding in shadows.
For we praise thee — in our rising we praise thee.
And we praise thee — in our journey we praise thee.
Always we praise thee — in our resting we praise thee.
O God — to your Threeness we lift our voice.
O God — to your Oneness we lift our eyes.
O God — to your Glory we lift our prayer
.
    Colvarth finished and held the open box out to Merlin. “Tell me what you see,” he said.
    Merlin lifted the bowl and studied it carefully. He described its grained ridges, flecks of wood, and texture. This was all amazing to his newly healed sight, and he wondered if the miracle had given him the ability to see spiritual things as well. Either way, he hoped his wonder would never fade at being able to see again after seven years of blindness.
    Next he described the bowl’s shape as simple, even plain. He himself had drunk from many carved bowls in his life. But the wood of this one was unique. He told Colvarth he couldn’t guess the type of tree, or its age. “If only we could read the writing on the box,” he said.
    â€œWould it hold water?” Colvarth asked, pulling a draught-skin from his belt. He pulled the stopper with his teeth and poured a little into the bowl — but it passed right through the bottom and splashed his knee.
    Merlin was surprised — the bowl felt so real to him! “It must be for some other liquid — heavenly, maybe,” he mused.
    Colvarth held the box out again, and Merlin put the bowl back inside. Colvarth then closed it, wrapped a twine around to keep it closed, and placed it carefully in his leather bag.
    Merlin remembered his awful dream about the boat pursuing them. “Do you think Vortigern will follow us?”
    â€œThis man is the grandson of a ruthless, usurper High King who slew Uther’s grandfather. He will not rest until Arthur is either out of his reach or is dead. We must ride north and hide like the wren — with those loyal to Uther’s house.”
    Merlin grimaced, for the time had come to tell Colvarth of his decision. Natalenya’s mother had asked them to bring news to their uncle, but Merlin had wondered if it was best, in light of the dangers ahead, to leave Natalenya with him instead. Now that Merlin knew how ugly his face was, he had to release her from their betrothal.
    â€œFirst I must deliver Natalenya to her relatives in Oswistor … to her uncle Brinnoc.”
    Colvarth squinted. “Why? Will you two not marry?”
    A lump rose in Merlin’s throat. “You think I don’t … want to? I saw my scars for the first time, and I can’t subject her to —”
    Colvarth waved a hand. “Nonsense. She does not see your scars, she only sees the love in your eyes.”
    Merlin swallowed.