Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [54]
Ailis. Ailis. Drat it, child. Pay attention!
For an instant he thought he could almost feel the girl-child, like seeing a light flicker in the distance, through trees, but then it was gone, and Morgain’s protections fell between them again. The enchanter sighed, knuckling his eyes and sitting back in his wooden chair.
“I’m sorry, sire,” he said, speaking just loudly enough for his king to hear him. “The barriers…I felt them slip for an instant, but I could not reach through.”
Arthur stopped long enough to come over and place a gentle hand on the enchanter’s shoulder. “Keep trying. If we can reach her, we can tell her what to look for and what to tell us. It’s bad enough to discover Morgain’s hand in this trouble along the northern borders, but what else might she be stirring?” The king continued, “And let Ailis know that help is on its way. So she can focus on learning Morgain’s secrets, not escaping.”
Merlin frowned, his concern for the child warring with his understanding of what was necessary. You used the weapons you had on hand. “Yes, sire.”
Taking a deep breath, Merlin slid back into his trance. Ailis! Be strong! We will not desert you. Strength is coming.
He hoped.
EIGHTEEN
“Morgain?”
“Yes, witch-child?”
By now, Ailis had accustomed herself to Morgain’s nickname for her. In time, she suspected that she might begin to think that it was her given name. Sleep last night had been filled with dreams of people calling for her, voices shouting each other down, pulling at her in a hundred different directions until she woke feeling exhausted, as though she had single-handedly served a midwinter feast. When Ailis woke at last, she hadn’t been quite sure where she was or even who she was exactly. A hot bath and some herbal tea had soothed her body and sharpened her mind, but she was still feeling a little off-center and confused. She didn’t like feeling confused. You couldn’t be confused around Morgain. It was too dangerous.
“You had a question?” the sorceress prompted her.
Ailis pulled on her braid and smoothed the feather she now worked into her hair every morning. It was her talisman. It reminded her of dreams of flying, of dreams of magic under her own control. “Why did you put that sleep-spell on Camelot?”
Mixing a floury substance into a dark green liquid that simmered pleasantly, filling the workroom with the scent of pine and brine, Morgain stopped what she was doing and looked at Ailis in surprise.
“Why do you think I put that spell on Camelot?”
That had been the pattern for the past few days. Ailis would ask a question and Morgain would repeat it back to her. It would have been infuriating, except for the echo of Merlin’s own eccentric speech patterns that made it somehow comforting as well. Were all magic users like that? Or was it simply Merlin’s influence on Morgain long ago? Ailis didn’t know.
“Some say that it’s because you’re evil. That you don’t need any other reason.”
“Is that what you think?” Morgain went back to her blending, as though the answer was of no importance at all.
The now-familiar space of the workroom gave Ailis courage to press on. “I think you have a reason. But it’s not just because you’re evil. I’m not…I’m not really sure that you are. Evil, I mean.”
There. It was said.
That got a laugh out of Morgain; a real one, full-bodied and full of surprised delight.
“Oh, I’m evil, witch-child. Never mistake that. By the standards of those who raised you, I’m perhaps the most evil soul of all.”
“By their standards?” Ailis repeated, confused.
“Mmmm. That is something I learned very early on, Ailis.” The fact that Morgain used her real name made the girl pay closer attention. “Do not blindly accept the word of anyone who would tell you how things must be. Question, witch-child. Question especially those who would define ‘evil’ for you.”
Ailis felt as though an entire hive of bees had moved into her head, buzzing and stinging in her brain. Morgain was trying