The Iron Gate, page 14
part #2 of The Iron Soul Series
Behind him, there was more shouting. Arto stepped back slightly, hoping to throw the Rider off balance. His foot collided against the boulder he’d used to stand. Sliding his foot up the boulder, Arto huffed in pain as his arms protested holding back the Rider any longer. Pushing himself off the boulder with a scream, Arto knocked the Sid back and pulled Cathanáil away.
Swinging his sword, Arto aimed for the Rider’s head. The golden sword blocked the attack, but they both kept moving. Arto shifted his weight and removed a hand from Cathanáil, planning to use more magic, but the Rider lunged at him forcing him to turn his body to avoid the blow. Bringing Cathanáil up, Arto lashed out towards the Rider. His sword shuddered as it struck the Rider’s golden armor which pulsed with magic.
The Rider jumped back as his armor began to dissolve and glanced down at himself left only in a shimmering white undershirt. Sucking in a quick breath, Arto gripped Cathanáil with his right hand and summoned forth magic in his left hand. With a sudden cry, the Rider swung at him and leapt towards him. The golden sword cut into Arto’s left arm, leaving a long bleeding slice up his forearm. Gritting his teeth, Arto brought up Cathanáil to block another attack even as his magic dissipated.
Gwenyvar shouted, there was a soft thud, and the Rider suddenly stopped, violet eyes wide with shock. Past the Rider’s shoulder, Arto caught a glimpse of Gwenyvar throwing another rock. It hit the Rider in the back with a soft thump, surprising both Arto and the Rider. He recovered first and swung Cathanáil just as the Rider started to move back. The sword sliced down the Rider’s front, cutting into the Rider’s flesh. Arto only saw the pale blood for a split second before the Rider vanished in a flash of magic. His sister was at his side in a moment, gripping his injured arm and studying it carefully. Merlin stepped up behind her. Arto closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then reopened his eyes to look at Merlin.
“The other Rider and Hound?” Arto asked.
“Dealt with,” Merlin assured him, glancing over Arto with some concern. “One fled back into the tunnel. If we move quickly, we should be able to collapse the tunnel before anymore try to come through.”
“I doubt they will even try.” Morgana released his arm to pull out some long strips of fabric from her belt pouch. “They know that this tunnel is lost, for the time being at least.”
“Gwenyvar threw rocks at the Rider,” Arto told them, a laugh escaping him as he said the words.
Merlin’s eyebrows went up as a look of genuine surprise took over the older mage’s face. “Good for her,” Merlin said with a soft chuckle, turning to look at her. “I will make sure she is alright. Arto, allow your sister to bandage you and then we will finish the task at hand.”
As Merlin stepped away, Arto glanced down the gorge. There were scorch marks on many of the rocks, and he found himself wishing he’d had the time to observe the robed Sídhe’s powers properly.
“Which one escaped?” he asked despite being confident of the answer. “The robed Síd?”
“Yes,” Morgana muttered. “The last Rider and Hound protected him, and he ran back into the tunnel on foot. Coward,” she hissed as she tightened the bandage around his arm with a sharp tug. “At least this was only a scratch: you must practice with Cathanáil more, Arto.”
“Who was he?” Arto questioned, watching his sister’s face.
Her expression was angry, embarrassed and ashamed all at once as her green eyes darkened with heavy thoughts. He regretted the question and the desire to reach out and comfort her rose up sharply in Arto. It was only the sharp look that said she wanted no pity that she gave him that stilled Arto’s hand. Morgana said nothing and Arto shifted awkwardly, preparing to step away now that the bleeding in his arm had been stopped.
“He’s a servant of Queen Scáthbás; his name is Murden.” Morgana sighed in resignation. “He was the Sídhe mage who fused me and my Changeling counterpart.” Morgana’s frown deepened, and she looked around. “I wonder why he was here. Riders are simple Síd with low-level magic, Murden is a highly trained Sídhe mage. Scáthbás wouldn’t send him lightly.” Lines appeared between her eyes as Morgana considered the problem.
Remembering what Murden has called his sister, Arto touched her shoulder gently. “You’re not a traitor; I’m sorry he called you that.”
Morgana laughed bitterly, her voice sharp and sad. “Oh I’ve been a traitor to both the Iron Realm and the Sídhe,” Morgana replied shrugging off his hand. “It hardly matters why Murden was here I suppose.” Morgana glanced down the gorge. “Still, something to keep our eyes open for.”
Nodding in agreement, Arto managed a small smile for his sister and looked over to where Merlin and Gwenyvar were waiting, neither of them looking at him and his sister. “Shall we?” Arto asked with a forced smile, nodding his head down the gorge.
Merlin smiled gently and moved forward, quickly taking the lead once again. Arto waited for a moment to allow Gwenyvar to walk next to him. She gently reached out and touched his arm, studying the bandages with a frown before dropping her hand and looking up at him. Smiling gently, Arto let his hanging hand brush against hers. A moment later, Gwenyvar smiled and took his hand, twining their fingers together.
13
Merlin’s Smithy
Bran took in the surprisingly small one-story light green house with white trim on the large lot, half hidden by a massive oak tree as Aiden brought his car to a stop. Despite being one of only three houses on a long road leading out of town, there was a neat white picket fence that marked a large front yard with an iron wrought bench curved around the trunk of the oak tree. A pair of winged stone gargoyles stood amongst some shrubs on either side of the short set of stairs up onto the narrow porch of the house. On either side of the house, thick tall bushes formed a hedge that blocked the view of the backyard.
“This is it?” Nicki asked incredulously from the back seat of Aiden’s car. She leaned forward to peer up at the house from between them.
“It’s nice,” Alex insisted with a slight chuckle. “What were you expecting? A large warning sign saying: Home of Merlin or a castle?”
“Well maybe a mini Stonehenge or a more impressive house,” Nicki answered, sounding a little embarrassed. “Morgana at least has that big classic Victoria,” she finished with a huff making Bran and Aiden chuckle.
“I like the gargoyles.” Aiden unbuckled his seat belt and studied the house. “It’s a nice touch, but otherwise Merlin does have to blend in as Professor Ambrose Yates.”
“Yeah, Ambrose is such a common name,” Nicki muttered. Bran could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “It means ‘immortal’ and is a name often linked to Merlin. And I looked up the name meaning of Yates; it means Gate! As in the gates that hold back the Sídhe. Seriously the man is not blending in at all.”
“He’s an English professor,” Alex said. “I’m sure he enjoys a little symbolism and hidden meaning in his name. A lot of character names are significant after all. It’s not uncommon in fiction for an author to choose a meaningful name.” Alex paused for a moment before adding, “Or for readers to link a name to an aspect of the character’s personality or actions.”
Her statement made Aiden laugh out loud, his laughter filling the car as his head fell back against the back of his seat. Bran stared at him as Aiden struggled to get his breathing under control. The full laugh lessened into chuckling until Aiden finally sucked in a deep breath and relaxed.
“Sorry,” Aiden told them as he recovered. “It’s just that my name means fire.”
“You’re kidding right?” Bran raised a doubtful eyebrow at the statement, but he could see no teasing in his friend’s face.
“No I’m not,” Aiden promised him with a wide smile.
“That’s why your mom always blamed your temper on your name when you were a kid,” Nicki suddenly added before giggling. “I’d forgotten that.”
“You have a fiery temper?” Alex asked doubtfully from the back seat. “Seriously, mister take everything in stride with a calm smile?”
“When I was younger I was a bit difficult to handle,” Aiden explained with a shrug. “That was before Aisling got sick.”
Aiden didn’t offer any further explanation, but he didn’t have to. Everyone, except Alex, had personal experience in how much change a family tragedy could bring. Bran shoved away the memory of how everything had changed in his family when his father was killed in action and then after the car crash that injured him. Even his success in physical therapy and getting out the wheelchair hadn’t allowed things to go back to how they used to be.
“Anyway.” Aiden turned to look over his shoulder at Nicki. “I think you’re the one who wants a mini Stonehenge in her yard.”
Twisting, Bran looked back at Nicki who grinned and shrugged. “It’s true,” she replied, catching his gaze and winking at him. “But then doesn’t everyone want a hedge labyrinth or small Stonehenge in their yard. That can’t just be me.”
With the tension broken and their friendly equilibrium mostly restored, everyone gathered their things. Bran noted the others moved slowly, stretching as they climbed out of the car despite Merlin’s home only being a couple of miles from campus, across the river and up into the hills near the lake. It was a subtle ploy that he was familiar with, but appreciated, to make sure they didn’t rush him leveraging himself out of the car with his cane. In the past he’d been around polite coughing, tapping feet or people who kept trying to be helpful and just made it more frustrating, so he found his friends’ method an improvement. Bran slung his bag over his shoulder and returned his gaze to the house, already examining the stairs which were wide and solid looking.
“Who else is nervous?” Nicki’s eyes swept over the red sports car that belonged to Professor Cornwall.
“I am a little,” Aiden admitted as they started heading for the house. “But a new level of magic, learning to do more with it, that’s exciting and good, right?”
Bran made a small sound of agreement with Aiden’s statement. Nicki was nearly skipping up the walk, but her fingers were drumming on the strap of her messenger bag nervously. Alex was quiet as she walked along beside him: she kept glancing up towards the house with a slightly ill expression. Even only looking at her in the corner of his eye, Bran could see that she was nervous. Her fingers were twitching like she didn’t know what to do with herself until they finally wrapped tightly around the strap of her bag, nearly turning white with the force of her grip. Alex stopped walking when Aiden climbed up the set of steps onto the porch and rang the doorbell.
“You alright?” Bran asked softly, turning to look at Alex.
She looked tired: Bran could see traces of dark shadows under the eyes despite the makeup she had on, including a touch of golden eye shadow to brighten up the dark patches. When they’d had dinner together last on Thursday night, she’d seemed normal and excited for Saturday’s lesson. He frowned; Alex had been quiet during World Mythology on Friday and had said that she hadn’t slept well. Now he wondered if she’d slept at all last night. Something was bothering her, but she didn’t look ready to share.
“I’m just tired,” Alex replied after a moment of silence, her reaction to his words slow. “I was too excited last night.”
That was a lie, but Bran gave her a small nod and looked back towards the door. He was considering how to challenge the lie or inform the others just in case it was something important but was distracted by a call from the right.
“This way!” Professor Yates shouted.
Leaning back, Bran caught sight of the professor leaning through a gap in the tall hedge around his house, waving his arm towards them with a beaming grin. Next to him, Alex tensed but took a stumbling step forward. Professor Yates gestured them towards him, waving them faster as they stepped off the gravel drive and headed across the lawn. When they reached Professor Yates, Bran took in the wrought iron gate that filled the space between the tall hinges that still managed to form an archway above the gate and mostly hide the iron supports of the gateway. He studied the hedge, unsure of exactly what they were.
“Lilacs,” Merlin explained, catching his curious look and patting a nearby small branch fondly. “Marvelous when they are in bloom, but nice now that they are budding.” Merlin opened the gate with a small squeak and gestured them inside. “And they still do a reasonable job of sheltering the back in the winter.”
A small stone path wound from the gateway through the lilac bushes that more than two feet thick and into the backyard which sloped down the hill. To the left, behind the house, was a patio made of smooth fitted stones with a large fire pit surrounded by heavy wicker patio furniture. The back side of the house was similar to the front with white trim surrounding each of the prairie style windows, but large iron designs were fixed on the house. There were seven in total, each of them a little different than the previous one, but all of them formed spirals with small variations that almost looked like lettering of some kind.
“This way,” Merlin called, distracting Bran from his study of the symbols. He looked to see their professor now ahead of him, walking towards a large metal shop just down the sloping yard. It was about the same height as the house but seemed much longer with one carport entrance on the side and one doorway. Several windows were scattered over the wall, but Bran couldn’t see anything inside yet.
Then the door of the shop opened, and Professor Cornwall stepped out. Bran was taken back for a moment as seeing the normally elegant, almost formal, professor dressed in blue jeans with a simple blue t-shirt that was too faded to make out what it may have been before. She was wearing leather gloves, and her hair was twisted up in a tight braid bun on top of her head.
“Ambrose,” she called slightly impatiently. “Where is my small hammer?”
“I reorganized a bit for the students to have room to move,” Merlin called back with a thoughtful expression. “Check the table by your workbench.” Morgana nodded, her eyes moving over the students before she nodded in satisfaction and vanished back into the shop. “Morgana and I share the shop,” Merlin informed them, answering the unspoken question. “She finally learned some iron working in the 3rd century.”
“But you’re three thousand years old,” Aiden protested next to Merlin as they headed for the shop.
“Yes, but well…. Male and female division of labor has been around a long time. Morgana was personally happy to have me do the forging.” Merlin smiled wistfully. “After all as a young man, I was trained in bronze metalwork. Had things not turned out the way they did I probably would have spent my life in village casting bronze axe heads and the occasional sword.”
Bran managed to catch a glimpse of his professor’s face. Despite his physical age, Merlin’s face always seemed bright and energized. Today not only was his voice wistful, but there was a faraway look in his brown eyes that dulled them. Small wrinkles were between his eyebrows, and his shoulders were tense.
“Still,” Merlin added in a lighter voice. “I wouldn’t have been able to see all the wonderful things I have. Did you know that Morgana and I rode the first train for passengers? At the time there had been insistence that traveling so fast would damage a person’s body.” He opened the door and gestured them into the shop. “Not to mention some of the less entertaining events I’ve been witness to.”
Stepping into the large shop was like walking into a wall of heat despite the ventilation system that could be heard humming loudly. The carport door was open allowing a slight breeze into the shop, but the temperature was still higher than Bran had braced himself for. Long tables near the windows were stacked with iron bars of various sizes, boxes of unknown items and finished projects including several fire pokers, a weathervane in the shape of a western style dragon and on one table there was even a chandelier like the one in Book Nook, the bookstore owned by Aiden’s family. On the far wall were small racks attached to the wall, three levels of them, with hammers, tongs and other tools of widely varying sizes.
In the center of the shop, several feet apart were large metal and brick furnaces with arched openings. Anvils were set up in front of each them. Strange square tables with small racks hanging off the sides of them were placed near each of the anvils with a variety of hammers hanging from the racks. They were mostly organized by size, but from his place near the door, Bran could see several out of order on the nearest table. A large vise was set into each of the tables, open and waiting for something to be placed inside. There was a heavy smell of charcoal and metal in the air, so strong that Bran thought it must have seeped into every item in the place. Merlin hummed softly and reached over a hook by the doorway and pulled a leather apron off the hook. He said nothing as he pulled it on over his head and tied it behind his back.
