The Iron Gate, page 20
part #2 of The Iron Soul Series
Looking around, Arto waited for something to trigger a memory, but the village looked like all the others he’d ever been in. Roundhouses were scattered about with worn paths leading to a central dirt road and small fenced areas where animals were kept. People looked over at them with curiosity and wonder but soon returned to their tasks. As they began to walk forward, Arto could see a group of weavers and a bronze caster working nearby in small yards by different roundhouses. Others were carrying baskets and earthen jars through the village.
The path cleared in front of them as they walked further into the village, everyone moving smoothly out of their way. Merlin’s staff thumped on the ground with each step and Arto tried to relax as he listened to the familiar rhythm. He caught sight of several older men that he vaguely recognized from his travels who were talking together. Arto just hoped that they were feeling positive about the talks that would begin tonight.
They followed the bend of the path around the hill and Arto nearly stopped when he caught sight of Morgana up on the hill by a roundhouse. A sudden strange feeling gripped him as he saw the curve of the path up to the door and the large rock that was in the fenced yard. Morgana was standing there alone, but the pelt that covered the door was moving as someone inside the house lingered at the door.
Taking a deep breath, Arto climbed the hill. It was familiar, slowly coming out of a thick haze. His height made it seem strange even as it felt familiar, his legs were too long, and he was seeing the house at a new angle. He looked back at her sister, aware that he was moving far more slowly than usual, but Morgana was waiting calmly with her hands folded in front of her. Lowering his eyes from her knowing gaze, Arto forced himself to take the last few steps to joins her.
“I know,” Morgana whispered, wrapping an arm around his back as she turned to face the roundhouse. “I haven’t seen them in years either.”
“But you at least grew up here,” Arto hissed as he stumbled towards the door. Morgana sucked in a sharp breath, and Arto flinched as he realized his words. “Morgana, sister, I didn’t mean-”
“It’s alright,” Morgana said quickly. “Just go inside. Uthyrn was insistent that he and mother not embarrass you in front of the visitors.”
Nodding mutely, Arto reached for the animal pelt that covered the door slowly. Morgana reached forward and pulled it back, clearing the way for him, and Merlin gave him a sudden push, forcing him into the roundhouse. It was greatly changed from the foggy memories he had and seemed far barer. A large set of shelves stood directly opposite of him, holding elegant bottles, jet necklaces, golden rings, and bronze axe heads. There was only a small fire in the hearth, giving Arto enough light to see a figure rise from a short seat at the right side of the roundhouse. Turning his head, Arto saw that it was an older woman who was staring at him with wide, teary eyes.
Tensing up, Arto swallowed thickly as his mother approached him. There were small wrinkles around her warm brown eyes, and they were shining with unshed tears. Eigyr’s long dark brown hair had strands of gray running through the braid that hung over her shoulder. Her hands shook gently as she tentatively reached for him.
“Arto,” she breathed in a soft broken voice. “Oh, my baby.”
Eigyr’s arms were suddenly around him, clasping him tightly against her. A warm hand was stroking his hair and tears fell onto his shoulder. Arto could barely breathe, his chest felt tight, and his arms were hanging limply at his sides, too heavy to move.
“Mother,” he choked out, stumbling over the word.
The arms around him suddenly loosened and Eigyr stepped back. Her eyes were still teary, but she straightened up and lifted her chin with a forced smile. “Welcome… back, Arto,” she greeted, stumbling for a moment herself. “I understand that this must be overwhelming for you.”
He didn’t want to feel guilty, but Arto couldn’t help it as he saw the sadness and hope blended together in his mother’s eyes. Giving her a small smile, he managed a simple nod. He swallowed thickly and licked his lips, desperately searching for something to say. Eigyr watched his face for a moment, her shoulders sinking before she turned to Merlin. She didn’t smile at him, giving him a cold look with barely concealed anger.
“And you return to our little village after all these years, Merlin,” Eigyr said as her eyes took him in with a sharp glance. “It has been too long.”
“Indeed,” Merlin agreed, giving Eigyr a small bow and showing no reaction to her cold reception. “Sadly the Sídhe have kept us very busy over the last few years and before that simply keeping those creatures away from Arto made all things in life much more complicated.”
Arto watched his mother fight internally, her eyes flashing with anger and sadness before they settled to a dull shade of brown. A resigned sigh escaped her, and she looked back at him.
“I’m glad to see you,” Eigyr whispered, carefully reaching out a hand and straightening the metal clasp of his cloak. “I’ve often wondered what you would look like.”
There was movement at the side of the roundhouse and the sounds of a large person moving. Looking away from Eigyr, Arto saw a tall broad-shouldered man with light brown hair which was streaked with gray. Brown eyes were nearly hidden under thick eyebrows. A jet necklace that seemed familiar hung around his neck, and small golden decorations were woven into his braided hair. Swallowing again, Arto was left realizing that he didn’t look as much like his father as Morgana tended to say.
“Father,” Arto greeted, his voice higher and more nervous than he wanted. He cleared his throat and repeated the greeting in a more normal voice, barely resisting the urge to deepen his voice.
“Welcome son,” Uthyrn replied moving closer slowly. The older man limped slightly but walked with a straight back. A hazy memory of being carried by his father returned making Arto’s throat tighten.
“Thank you, Father,” Arto said with a nod before looking over at Eigyr. “I am happy to see you both. I wish it was under better circumstances.” Arto shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could turn to Merlin or Morgana for guidance in the situation.
Then Uthyrn stepped forward and clasped his shoulder with a small smile. Uthyrn looked over at Morgana and nodded to her, getting a small nod of acknowledgment in return. “Come, son,” Uthyrn said, the word hesitant. Arto barely held back a flinch at the reminder of what Merlin taking him had cost his parents. “There is someone you need to meet.”
“As you wish, Father.” Arto allowed his Father to turn him towards the doorway.
Morgana and Merlin stepped out the way, clearing the doorway. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw his mother be wrapped in a hug by Morgana and cling to her daughter. His stomach churned, and his mouth went painfully dry, but his Father led him out of the roundhouse without another word. Uthyrn kept a firm grip on his shoulder as he steered him gently through the village. All around them, people stopped and looked at them, some even coming out of their roundhouses to catch a glimpse of them. Arto wondered how his parents had reacted to some of the tales about him, Merlin and Morgana that had spread across the land over the last few years. It was strange to think that this village was where he had been born and that had things gone differently he might have spent his entire youth here.
They suddenly stopped at a roundhouse near his parents’ and Uthyrn pushed him towards the doorway, finally releasing his shoulder. Nothing about the roundhouse stood out, it was of good construction, and it looked like the roof had been redone within the last summer or two. A thick hide served as a doorway but was pushed open to let air flow into the house. Glancing back at his Father, Arto saw Uthyrn nod to him and walked up to the house. Behind him, he heard his Father follow and wondered just who it was that he was going to be meeting. The discussions about the Sídhe wouldn’t begin until near sundown.
Arto hesitated for a moment at the doorway but stepped into the roundhouse after taking a quick breath. In front of him was a shelf with several small bottles and a gleaming bronze sword on display along with two bronze axe heads. There was only one bed at the side of the roundhouse, and the fire in the central pit had gone out. Movement on the left side made Arto turn his head and look over to see a young man about his age standing up from a small seat.
The young man had long dark hair pulled away from his face with small golden ornaments. Like Arto, he didn’t have much facial hair and was dressed in a simple tunic and pants. As the man stepped closer, Arto nearly frowned as he recognized a strong resemblance between the young man in front of him and Uthyrn. Dark eyes took him in quickly, and a nervous smile appeared on his face as the young man stepped closer to him.
“Arto,” Uthyrn spoke up from behind them, stepping up next to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “This is your cousin Medraut, the son of my brother Adair.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, at last, cousin.” Medraut stepped forward and gripped Arto’s forearm with a smile. Arto returned the gesture and nodded to his cousin with a relieved smile. His Father’s tone had made him worry.
“Arto, Medraut lives here because he is my heir,” Uthyrn informed him gruffly. “I’m sorry, son, but when it became clear that you were never going to return here to live, I needed to determine the succession. We have valuable trading connections that have to be protected.”
“Oh,” Arto breathed, blinking in surprise. He’d never really thought about the political situation that his Father oversaw in the region with the bronze trade to the southern lands. Arto felt a bit silly for a moment, remembering that Morgana’s marriage had been in part a political arrangement once Morgana agreed to accept Airril. “I see, Father,” he forced himself to say and gave Medraut a more welcoming smile. “I am relieved that my gift and responsibilities haven’t caused any lasting harm to the family.”
His response seemed to put Uthyrn at ease, and his Father clapped him on the back. “A fine answer, son. You would have been a fine leader, but it seems that you may become one anyway.”
“I am of course at your service, cousin,” Medraut assured Arto with a widening smile, standing a bit taller with a spark in his brown eyes.
Uthyrn made a small sound of relief behind Arto and squeezed his shoulder before excusing himself from the roundhouse. Trying not to appear nervous, Arto smiled warmly at Medraut and studied the young man quickly. Medraut greatly resembled his father’s side of the family with a strong jaw and broad shoulders, making Arto suddenly feel small in comparison, but he forced such thoughts aside.
“How long have you lived here?” Arto settled on for his first question.
“Four years,” Medraut answered with a small shrug as he gestured to the doorway. “My father died, and Uthyrn invited my mother and me here. She passed last year.”
Arto allowed Medraut to lead him out of the roundhouse and the two stood in silence as they watched villagers rush around preparing for the gathering. His Father was mingling with the men he’d noticed earlier in the largest open area of the village where a large circle of stools had been placed. More men were joining the group with each passing moment causing Arto’s stomach to
“Quite a sight,” Medraut murmured next to Arto before chuckling. “I don’t think anyone other than the traders and the priests usually come so far.” He glanced over at Arto and added, “And mages of course.”
“This is important.” Arto’s eyes found Morgana and Merlin speaking nearby. Both of them were ignoring the people staring at them. “It’s rare that something affects everyone.”
“Some leaders from the western island are even coming,” Medraut said, glancing at Arto again. “The rumors are that you have a plan to stop the Sídhe for good.”
Arto didn’t even have to look at his cousin to know that his eyes were on Cathanáil. People seemed to know more about the sword than him.
“Arto!” a female voice called to their right.
Turning, Arto’s eyes widened in surprise as Gwenyvar came running up to him, her long brown hair flowing loose behind her with only a few small braids holding it back from her face. Arms were suddenly around him, and a cheek was pressed against his bare neck. Next to him, he heard Medraut chuckle as he slowly brought his arms up around Gwenyvar.
“Excuse me, cousin,” Medraut said, giving Arto a quick nod and turning to walk towards Uthyrn.
“Hello, Gwenyvar.” Arto glanced around to make sure that Morgana and Merlin weren’t watching.
She released him and stepped back, blushing slightly, but smiling widely. “It’s very nice to see you Arto.”
“It’s nice to see you as well,” Arto replied uncertainly. “Are you here with your father?”
“Yes,” she told him seriously. “He wanted me to come since I have some personal experience with the Sídhe and saw you destroy that tunnel.” Gwenyvar glanced down at the ground, her hands trembling the tiniest bits as she clutched the fabric of her dress. “I want to be sure that everyone understands what you can do.”
His mouth went dry again even as his palms suddenly felt sweaty. Gwenyvar raised her eyes to meet his and gave him a small smile. His heart jumped, Arto nearly flinched at the strange feeling but returned the smile. “I’m really not-”
“You were very brave that night,” Gwenyvar insisted with a stern expression, giving him no room for argument. “You refused to back down and were able to destroy that wretched tunnel.” Gwenyvar’s expression softened. “Arto you’re the best chance we have. Well you and your sword,” she added quickly with a nervous giggle.
“I- thanks, Gwenyvar.”
Arto barely caught sight of Morgana in time to jump back from Gwenyvar as his sister walked towards them. She raised an eyebrow and looked over at Gwenyvar, her lips forming a thin line. Morgana nodded to Gwenyvar but turned her attention to Arto without a single word of greeting.
“Arto, its time, the last priest from the east just arrived.”
“Alright,” Arto said, taking in a deep breath to try and calm himself as his stomach felt like it flipped and his throat tightened.
“We’ll talk later,” Gwenyvar assured him, giving a deep nod to Morgana before she turned and rushed down the hill. Arto watched her long enough to see her reach her Father and take a spot standing behind him.
“Shouldn’t Merlin-” Arto began to ask.
“No,” Morgana answered quickly, cutting him off. “You are the Iron Soul. You are the one who created this plan.” His sister stepped closer to him, placing a hand on each shoulder. “I know that this is frightening, but we wouldn’t have you address them if we didn’t think you could do it.”
“It’s the sword that everyone cares about,” Arto told her, hating the whine in his voice.
“The sword is easier to understand than the one who wields it. You created that sword Arto: it may be iron, but unlike those lesser iron blades that Merlin brought here, it carries magic. In your hands, it is capable of things that no other blade can do.”
Arto nodded, not completely swayed by his sister’s words, but knowing that he could not argue. Her faith in him and the knowledge of Merlin’s faith in him made him feel stronger physically, but worries of disappointing them now joined the brew of fear and nervousness churning in his gut. Morgana walked ahead of him down the hill, leading him to where Merlin was seated and waiting for them. Morgana sat down gracefully on an empty stool, leaving one between herself and Merlin. Swallowing, Arto turned and lowered himself onto the wooden seat, trying to appear every bit the hero that his sister and mentor thought he could be.
Merlin raised his staff and brought it down on the packed earth with a flash of his brilliant green magic. All the voices stilled and almost as one, the sea of heads all turned towards them and lowered to the ground. Before him sat dozens of men, some large and young and some older and frailer, but all were watching him. He found the familiar face of his brother-in-law Airril amongst them and for a moment focused on him, trying to gather his strength and courage. The desire to shrink back behind Merlin nearly overwhelmed him despite knowing that he’d lose whatever respect he did have from them. Morgana discreetly placed her hand against his back, silently telling him that she was there.
“Welcome,” Arto greeted as loudly and clearly as he could manage. “I thank you all for coming; I know that it has been a very long journey for many of you.” Cold sweat was trickling down his back, and he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, settling for folding them in front of him. “We are gathered together to-”
Screams erupted from the gate cutting Arto off, and everyone turned to look behind them. “Riders!” a man shouted in the distance. “Dozens of them!”
Without thinking, Arto reached back and pulled Cathanáil from its sheath in one smooth action. Merlin grabbed the bag of swords and held it out in front of him.
“Quickly,” the elder mage shouted. “Arm yourselves! It seems we will have a demonstration of the power of iron tonight!”
19
