A Faerie Tale VII

It was once called the Great Forrest. Trees of every kind grew here, and flourished to amazing heights. Animals lived in abundance, as there were no predators, only herbivores with an endless variety of sustenance. The trees were still there, those same ancient plants, yet no longer quite flourishing. No longer quite trees. And the animals that lived among them were scarce, and not anything anyone wished to come across.

It was still technically named the Great Forrest. Only no one called it anything. It was not a place many cared to think about, much less speak of. The vegetation no longer fed off sun and rain, the magic that had long ago assailed this place transformed all, mutilating what was. The plants now were twisted, vampyric flora that drained the life force of any who got too near. The native wildlife did not survive long. What moved in to take their place were such creatures that had no life force to feed off.

They had walked through this place for nearly two full days now, only stopping for the young man to get a little sleep. The old man looked haggard and close to collapse. He longed for sleep, longed to close his eyes and drift away. But that would be the end of both of them. It was only by force of his will that the wood could not make prey of them. Such force was hard to sustain under such pressure, even for one such as him.

“So why is this sword so special, Merlin?” The boy, either out of his own desire for contemplation, or intuiting that his elder wished not to converse, had spoken little since they entered the Great Forrest. Perhaps he felt the oppressive nature of the environment pulling on him as well. It was hard to miss.

“Do not tell me you have not heard the stories?” He slowed his step slightly so that the boy was walking next to him, instead of slightly behind.

“Yes, of course. I mean, I know it was my father’s, and that it is said whoever pulled it from the stone would unite the people of Britain. But, why this sword? It is beautiful, and feels like it was made for my hand, but still… it is just a sword. People prayed to God for the day someone would claim it. Is there some sort of magic in it I am missing?”

“No. There is not. It is never the sword, Arthur, but the man who wields it. The heart and mind of that man. The sword represents hope to a people who have little else, not the sword for the sake of the sword, but for the man who could claim it. It is said that man will be a king who bows to his subjects. One who knows the meaning of equality and justice.

“That sword you carry does have an intriguing history. It was not by accident that your father chose to leave it for you out in the open, where no one else could get it. As a gift for you, and a sign to the people. Soon I will tell you that story. But now we approach the first of our destinations. I must prepare you now. Do you know any scripture?”

“Yes, sir. Do you think Sir Ector would not make certain of that?”

“Good. Choose your favorite passage, and start repeating it in your mind, slowly. Focus on it. Be fully aware of each word as you think of it.”

“And?”

“And?”

“And what else. That is my preparation?”

“Yes.”

Arthur fell silent at this, and Merlin quickened his pace once again. They would be at the clearing in moments, and the boy would face his first true test in life. If only so much were not riding on it. If only he were not so young. Perhaps he should be told what was about to happen, and the cost of failure. Would it help?
And then they were there. No time to second guess things.
It was a small clearing, a perfect circle in which nothing grew, barely twenty feet in diameter. On the far side stood a smiling youth dressed in loose fitting black clothes, dark brown hair set in two braids, one falling over each shoulder, coming to a rest near his waist. His right hand upon his hip, the left hanging onto the hilt of a long sword.

“So you have finally decided to not only reveal yourself again, but to challenge me to a duel, eh, Lyardaan. Foolish of you. But good for me, it will be nice to finally have you out of the way. And father will be pleased, he’s very angry at the way you turned out, after showing so much promise for so long. I see you brought a second? Unexpected, but I guess I must allow it. Just tell him not to interfere, or I have to kill him too. Those are the rules after all, are they not?” The voice did not match the soft smiling youthfulness of the speaker, it was hard and deep and full of mocking malice.

“No, you are mistaken, Baalial. I am his second. He is your challenger. Prepare for your end, brother.” Arthur almost flinched at this, but his higher awareness commanded him to be steady. He did not know exactly what was going on here, but he did not go through all that training to not behave as a soldier.
“Hah, this boy? Well that is depressing. Kind of a waste of a trip really. I came for a battle, not a slaughter. But killing is killing, and all in good fun. Let’s get this over with. There is a certain prince wondering about alone, I need to go put an end to that.”

The old man turned to Arthur and placed a hand on each of his shoulders, staring him directly in the eyes. “Sorry, I will explain all this when it is over. You must fight him. You must win. Are you still holding that passage clearly in your mind?” Arthur nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Think of nothing else. Draw your sword and hold it in front of you. Make sure he sees it clearly. Keep your own eyes on it. Do not look at him directly, when you are ready, just strike. End it with that strike. Understand?” Once again the boy nodded slowly. Merlin, Lyardaan, started moving backward while gently turning Arthur towards Baalial.

Arthur felt in over his head. Very much so. But he pushed that feeling aside, because he also felt following Merlin’s advice would get him through this. He drew his sword and held it before him, his eyes settling and then focusing on the tip. Through his mind slowly crept the words, “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.”

Baalial was feeling very annoyed. Lyardaan came as the boy’s second, if he did not interfere, he could not be harmed. Yet. That day would come though. Soon. For now he focused on the energy flowing through him, pushing it outward to cover the world around him, and make it appear as he wished. And he had some very dark wishes. For this boy, he wouldn’t bother with his sword. It was more fun to use illusion to toy with simple prey. Then his mind fully registered what his sight was showing him. That sword. It’s not possible… and a slight gasp escaped from between his lips.

His opponent did not miss that slight sound. To Arthur it was as if it were a thunderclap that shook the earth and commanded him to move, strike now. He met no resistance until his steel met Baalial’s neck coming down at an angle, slicing through all but the collar bone, which it shattered. Baalial’s body dropped to the ground. Arthur dropped his sword, turned around, placed his hands on his knees, and vomited onto the barren ground.