The Book of Avalon Eternal

Gawain is astonished by the revelation that Merlin grew up with Irun Gwilt, who wrought such chaos on Camlann. Who in fact, set in motion the events that have broken Camlann into pieces.

But then, Gawain remembers a story that Arthur did not tell him, but one that his father King Lot told him one night when he was still a young boy. Lot was drunk on wine, as he often was, and his tongue was loosened. He told Gawain the story of Arthur's birth, how Merlin assisted Uther in the satisfaction of his lust, deceiving Igraine and conceiving Arthur at the great castle of Tintagel that overlooked the western sea for many centuries. Then Merlin and Irun Gwilt are not so different. And yet Irun Gwilt is named a dark mage, while Merlin is revered. Or at least his memory is revered, as he has been gone from Camlann now for near on two years.

'Merlin?'

'Yes, the very same,' replies Nimue.

qe distance is between a rain shower in the early spring and a raging thunderstorm that drenches the land in late summer. Unlike the Unholy One that screams with a thousand voices, this creature screams in agony, and it is the personal agony of one being in enormous suffering.

But the scream sounds similar enough to the Unholy One's scream when Gawain stood on the rampart of Camlann years ago next to Merlin, who was not deceived by the Unholy One and who had enough power to overcome it. On that day, Gawain felt that to be with Merlin was to be safe.

As he thinks of Merlin, he feels the trance from the creature coming back on him, stronger this time. He realizes now that like all feelings of safety, the one he felt with Merlin on the day they faced the Unholy One is illusory and unreliable.

As the memory of Merlin circles in his mind, he is overtaken by a terrible sadness that bleeds into resentment: the loyalty of Merlin to Arthur that exceeded all other bonds, Merlin's use of others as objects to be moved about to achieve his own ends, and most deeply, Merlin's treatment of Nimue for many years, of which Gawain was not aware, nor was anyone else.

Then a new thought enters his mind: There was someone else. Arthur knew. Arthur knew the truth about what Merlin was doing to Nimue, but he did not intervene. Arthur could have, and he did not. And in that moment, a seed of hate falls from that black bitter flower and takes root in Gawain's heart: hate for Arthur, hate for his selfishness, his brutality, but most of all: hate for how Arthur's kindness ended when the inconvenience of helping others began.

The scream of the creature continues, and it lasts longer than any scream he has ever heard before. It permeates his being, and the resentment, anger, and hatred that has now formed in his heart for Merlin and Arthur leads to even greater depths of the most profound sadness.

He feels as if the weight of grief for every person, every animal, every being at all that he has ever loved and who has loved him in return, is pressed upon his heart at once. The shock that comes in the moment immediately after the death of a loved one, seeing the light leave their eyes, seeing them alive one minute and then the next they simply are not. Gawain cannot explain what leaves, or what looks different. But it is as different as a bright noon is from the darkest midnight. All of this grief lands upon his heart at once, and he feels that it will burst asunder, and he begins to sob.

The scream stops, and he is temporarily returned to an awareness of his surroundings, tears streaming down his face. The creature gathers itself to scream a second time. Gawain's vision narrows, and he can only see a shrinking pinpoint of light. The creature drops to all fours and starts running towards him again with the second scream forming in its throat. Feeling the trance overcoming him again, he closes his eyes, feeling totally powerless, and opens himself to the acceptance of impending death, or worse.

He feels himself slipping from the saddle, shifts his weight to the right to avoid falling on his broken leg. He slides off and falls for what seems an interminable amount of time. When he lands, his broken leg is jarred and sharp agonizing pain ricochets up and down his leg and into his stomach and arms. But he pushes himself up to a sitting position so that if he cannot face the creature standing, then it will not overcome him while he crawls away as a coward would.

Gawain hears another scream from behind him, higher pitched and human this time, and turns to see that Nimue has unveiled her magic, summoning the gray-silver glow that holds her power. She works fast, much faster than she did on the hillside with Eormenric and Irun Gwilt. As she finishes the spell, she lets it build in her hands, pulsing stronger until it seems she cannot hold on to it anymore, and it erupts from her grip and out towards the creature.

...who reaches up with one handlike paw and simply bats the magic projectile aside. More than that, it seems that Nimue's spell is just winked out, extinguished. Nimue stands for a moment, her black hair whipping in about her head, silver threads trailing about her, silver belt trailing behind her while her shift billows in the wind left over from the spell she has just cast. She presses her shift down, smooths it out, and stares at the creature. Her eyes narrow as if she is looking through the it to something just over its shoulder, and then her face changes to an expression of sudden understanding.

Nimue turns to Meurig and makes a hand signal that Gawain cannot interpret. They jump down from their horses and stand in the center of the track with the creature now twenty yards before Gawain, and Nimue and Meurig forty yards behind. They huddle close together, and Meurig throws his cloak around Nimue's shoulders and pulls up his hood so that they are both enshrouded in the druid's cloak. The creature stops again and stands up on its hind legs, seeming to peer beyond Gawain to try and make out what Nimue and Meurig are doing.

And suddenly Meurig pulls back his cloak, and from his hands come what looks like a sandstorm rushing faster and higher towards the creature, but upon looking closer, Gawain sees that it is not sand but fine shards of a sparkling substance. When it passes over him, he lays down underneath it but can reach up and touch the bottom part of the passing cloud, and he finds that it is made up of tiny razor-like shards of broken glass. When Gawain brings his hand down out of the glass cloud, it is covered in shallow cuts that start to bleed profusely. Regretting his action more and more, he now finds that hundreds of glass shards have embedded themselves in the back of his right hand.

Suddenly a spell from Nimue's hands hits him with full force. It knocks the wind out of him, but he quickly recovers and feels an odd sense of power surging through him. His broken leg has stopped throbbing. His whole body has a feeling of strength that it has not had since before the preparations for the Battle of Camlann began, and that was weeks ago.

And then he sees his sword, and it has been dusted with the glass shards, and the shards themselves have been melded to the blade by Nimue's spell. His sword is now so covered with glass that it starts to shimmer and pulse. Looking back at Nimue, she makes no expression but stares at him resolutely, perhaps a very faint nod that he cannot quite make out from this distance.

Turning back towards the creature, he stands shakily up, still favoring his broken leg which feels unusually strong, but now facing the creature on his own two feet. The creature is enraged and falls back to four legs before leaping forward towards him, covering nearly all the twenty yards in one leap.

Gawain rotates his sword in his right hand, the handle feeling oiled and covered in resin, and the carving to suit his hands feels perfect. Just before the creature reaches him, the shard cloud hits it square in the face. It recoils, paws reaching for its face to claw in vain at the hundred shards now lancing the soft flesh of its nose, cheeks, and eyes.

Gawain pivots and spins to his right with such nimbleness that the creature rushes through the spot he has just been, stumbles, and falls to the ground. Gawain takes this moment to jump onto the creature’s wide shoulder blades, and he feels a sense of revulsion when his feet touch the back of the cursed thing. He feels it start to gather itself underneath him, but before it can regain its balance, he positions himself to either side of its head.

His sword pierces the creature's skull much easier than he expected. It feels like nothing more than spearing a piece of fruit from the tabletop. He presses further and feels the blade scraping against the creature's back teeth, and he shifts the blade forward so that it cuts the tongue. The creature begins a third scream, but only black bile emerges in a gurgling sound. And with a final push, he splits the obscene snout in two with a levering push up from his sword. The creature goes limp beneath him, red steaming blood making a great pool around the shattered skull.

Heaving, he looks up triumphantly at Nimue, who smiles in relief, and at Meurig who appears covered with sweat and who simply nods at him. All at once, in an incredible rush of pain, his broken leg folds underneath him. The spell has worn off, and now his leg feels worse than the day he broke it. He collapses forward and roles off the creature, careful to avoid the blood and bile as much as possible. When he lands, he rolls in agony, clutching for his leg. When he turns towards the slain creature, its face looks more like Geraint than ever.