“Did anyone else notice that tree is moving?” He asked the group. It looked for a moment like the thick bark of the ancient oak tree was running upwards, like a river flowing. They all noticed at once that the tree was growing before their eyes, widening as well as growing taller, rapidly. Myrridian continued to watch them, as they wondered what happened. It was Mungan who noticed the grass around the tree had gotten taller as well. He walked over to an acorn and figured it out. This tree hasn’t grown, he thought, as he picked up an acorn from the forest floor. It was the size of a large melon. Why, Myrridian has shrunk us all down!
As he realized this, he looked around at the rest of them as they were having the same realization. They had their heads hung back, gaping at the enormity of their surroundings. Their minds were taken completely off of Stone Henge for a moment.
Myrridian didn’t stop them. He laughed quietly to himself as the six inch tall Merlins perused their new environment.
Cyprian walked around the tree and noticed what looked like stairs that led beneath the tree’s visible roots. It looked like an ordinary foxhole. I would never have seen these steps, he thought. If he had been his ordinary size, which was nearly five and a half feet tall, he would have walked right past the hole. He was just the right size to look down under and notice a vey tall set of double wooden doors at the end of the short landing after the subterranean steps. They were sturdy, just like German Alehouse doors. He was tempted to walk right up and knock on the door, but thought better of it.
Cyprian walked around the tree and saw Myrridian still leaning up against it, waiting.
As Cyprian approached, he said,
“Cyprian, you found it. Thank you.” The Merlins all looked over at the two.
“Found what?” Asked Mungan.
“If you want to know, come on,” said Myrridian. “Take us to the entrance, Cyprian,” he said. Cyprian walked around the tree and looked down into the hole he had discovered beneath it’s roots. No one seemed interested except Myrridian.
“Well, good job, Cyprian, you found a hole. Congratulations,” said Rinauld. He was the Merlin of the West Midland Birmingham District, where the Forest of Arden is located. Myrridian walked over and looked down into it.
“That is much more than a hole, my friends. This is the house of a gnome,” he said. He walked down the steps and gave an extremely peculiar sequence of knocks on the door. It was a series of four knocks in rapid succession, then three loud knocks. He repeated this cycle three times, and the door opened suddenly, revealing a plump white haired gnome woman who was holding a cast iron skillet that had thirteen pastries on it.
“We were wondering if you all would ever get here,” she said, “the tea has been ready for an hour.”
“I must apologize, my dear madam,” said Myrridian. “We were nearly murdered by the heathen hunters just moments ago.”
“Even more of a reason then; please tell your friends to come on down. Dweldin’s waiting for you in the study,” she said. “My name is Braelyn.” Myrridian looked up at the Merlins, except Cyprian, who was already down with Myrridian and Braelyn.
“Let’s go, men,” Myrridian yelled up the steps. Rinauld peeked his head down. “Come on, we’re running late already. We are invited into the home of the renowned Merlin, Dweldin,” he said. The men began to file into the house, Braelyn first, then Cyprian and the rest of the Merlins. Myrridian waited until the last one entered and followed behind him.
As Myrridian entered the threshold, Braelyn was leading the Merlins through her kitchen, which was saturated with the delicious aroma of mushroom and potato stew, and the bread that was baking in the oven. He lagged behind the others and looked over the simmering cauldron. He heard the woman’s voice,
“Come on Myrridian. You’ll have to wait with the rest. It’s not ready,” she said. Myrridian, impressed with her sight, followed her order.
“Of course I could see you. That’s my kitchen, son,” she said. The small kitchen was walled with wood planks and the roots from the tree below. Passing into the next room, a vast expanse lit by bright clear mirrored lanterns opened up. This was the dining hall, and an enormous round oak table sat directly in the middle of the room. At the far corner, facing the entrance to the kitchen, was the Merlin Dweldin.
He was a gnome; his outfit was complete with a tall red conical hat and blue coveralls. His cheeks were red, and he wore a large smile on his face. As the Merlins filed in, he retained his seat. When he saw Myrridian, he jumped up as spry as a toddler, ran to him, and embraced him. He squeezed Myrridian so tightly it knocked the wind out of him.
“Why, you’ve been gone too long my brother,” said Dweldin. Myrridian was crouched with his hands on his knees, still attempting to resume his normal breathing pattern.
Between gasps he said, “Yes it has Dweldin. Maybe if you didn’t try to squeeze me to death every time we met.” He was smiling, and began to laugh as he regained his composure.
“When are you bringing the boy to see us?” Asked Dweldin. He was referring to Goldach, and had no way of knowing he had even been born. Dweldin heard his thought.
“This great tree surrounding us told me. That’s news around here. Everything has come to life over this boy. What’s his name?” He asked.
“His name is Goldach, and he’s still rather young to be smearing on flying ointment,” replied Myrridian.
“You and I both know, Myrridian, that child can get here without it. Why, look at your men,” he said. “They’re all here. Were you going to introduce me, brother?” He asked.
“Please pardon my lack of consideration. Please make each other's acquaintance. Here is Cyprian, Rinauld, Mungan, Adair, Forgall, Gabhan, Ernan, Conlan, Doran, Trefor, Heddwin, and Cullan,” he said. Each of the men tipped their hats as his name was announced.
“Pleased to know you, men. Anyone care for a drink?” Asked Dweldin. He held up his stein, then tipped it back, draining it and slamming it down onto the table. He then walked over to the corner adjacent the kitchen entrance, where a large oak barrel was sitting on a marble slab. He opened the valve and refilled his cup.
“Feel free; the steins are on the wall,” he said. The mugs were hung on wooden pins that were securely fastened to the wall. A line formed. Myrridian was at it’s head. He sat down, directly opposite Dweldin. The rest of the Merlins found their chairs, and began to enjoy their ale.
“This is a fine brew, Dweldin,” said Myrridian.
“Yes, it is,” he replied.
“What are the ingredients?” Asked Myrridian.
“I do not know. This barrel was a gift,” he said. As Myrridian tasted the brew, he allowed his mind to wander. He did not want to ask Dweldin who contributed the barrel, but he had to know.
“Well, just ask me then,” said Dweldin. Myrridian saw his answer in his mind’s eye. It was a familiar face, and old Merlin turned Templar from Northwick.
“Some secrets are better left untold,” said Myrridian. The men were occupied with their ale, and not paying attention to the two of them.
Did Grefin brew this ale? It looks like he’s created a situation in Canturbury. Has he talked? Thought Myrridian.
You are perceptive, sir. It is indeed his handiwork. He is in trouble, Myrridian. They have had him locked in the dungeon, feeding him pig droppings. Yet he will not reveal the secrets, even after many months. I don’t know how long he can hold up.
Grefin was a young Merlin in training Myrridian had first met just after the death of his mentor, Aurelian. He had been invited to join the Knights Templar then. Ever since, he had been sort of a double agent. Now, no one knew who’s side he was on. The clergy at the Canterbury Cathedral had gotten wise and detained him. They lacked the mercy to kill him, allowing him to waste away chained to a wall in the dungeon there.
“I would like us all to raise our steins,” said Myrridian, “to Dweldin and his lovely wife Braelyn. May they live a hundred more years,” he said. All the Merlins raised their steins and chanted in unison, “Aye!”
“Don’t be shy. If your cup is empty, please refill it,” said Dweldin. “It sounds like you all have a valid reason to drink yourselves silly. What’s this business at Stonehenge all about?” He asked. Myrridian’s face turned red. He had momentarily forgotten about the recent events. Now reminded, his anger rose in his throat. He drained his glass, got up, and filled another.
“They’re putting the screws to us,” said Myrridian. Dweldin shrunk back and hid his thumbs. “No, not the thumb screws,” he said, “they have forced the issue. It looks as though the Merlindom has finally been overtaken.”
“They teamed up against you, huh?” Asked Dweldin. “Well, you know what Aurelian said about this,” he said. Myrridian stared at him. He did not want the man’s name brought up here, even though it was inevitable.
“Men, it is time to discuss Stonehenge,” said Myrridian, taking his cue from Dweldin.
“The incident shows us, our time is short. Those men were agents of the church, many of them Templar Knights. They were planning to sacrifice every one of us,” he said.
“I don’t believe that. I didn’t see anything out of place at all. A regular old fashioned ritual it was,” said Rinauld.
“The hell it was,” said Dweldin. He was sitting forward in his seat. His face had reddened and scrunched up. His eyes got large and wild and he hunkered down as if he was telling a ghost story.
“I saw it with me own two eyes. If a word of what I tell you is false, let Thor strike me dead where I stand with a thunderbolt,” he said. “As the men assembled at the Big Stones, there were mounted cavalry surrounding the entire area. Troops had amassed and were poised to strike as the ceremony began. If Myrridian had not arrived when he did, you all would have been pig food,” he said.
“Is that how it was, Myrridian?” Asked Rinauld.
“The Merlins have been infiltrated, said Myrridian. “They caught us off guard. I was not expecting them to have advanced so quickly,” he said.
“They, the Roman Catholic Church, have begun to employ Elemental Spirits, who fight their wars for them. Without our help, nothing grows, wells dry up, cows stop giving milk, and the land withers,” he said. “When the famine comes, the agents of the Church are there to pick up the pieces,” he said. “That’s why every one of you are on their kill list; not one Elemental I know would go against you,” said Dweldin.
