Roar
Chapter 8: Roar
Auntie always said that if you tried your hardest, then you could do anything you wanted. No one could say you were bad, or that they didn't want you.
She lied.
Rowena didn't know where she was going, but anywhere other than there. With the scary man with the angry eyes. She crashed through the forest, seemingly oblivious to the complete destruction her magic was wreaking on her surroundings. Before she knew it, Rowena found herself at the south side of Carhaix. It appeared she had exited the forest behind Thomas Crane's home. She was breathing hard, chest heaving, when she turned around to look back the way she had come. To her utter shock, her pathway through the forest was glaringly obvious as it looked as if a giant had blundered his way through. Branches were cracked and broken, laying on the ground above the trampled fauna that lined the forest floor.
Rowena was so absorbed in looking at the woods she had come through that she didn't notice the approach of footsteps until a light hand came down on her shoulder, making her jump. Rowena spun around, coming face to face with Thomas Crane. He peered kindly down at her.
"Now, what are you doing here all by yourself dear?" Rowena found herself to unsure of how to describe her predicament to say anything. She watched as Crane took a good look at the forest behind her. To her surprise, he said nothing, instead he said mildly.
"My. I wonder how that happened. We've got some rather large beasts in these parts. Best be careful if I were you Rowena. Now, what's say you we go get ourselves some nice hot tea and you can tell me how you like Carhaix, hmm?"
Rowena nodded mutely, and allowed herself into the Crane household. Once inside, she noticed Mrs. Crane sitting near the hearth, a full blaze going, stirring what appeared to be some kind of stew. A full basket of bread sat at her side and the smell of it wafted over Rowena, making her stomach growl and she realized with a start that she never had a chance to eat breakfast. Crane must have noticed her hunger because the next thing Rowena knew, she was sitting at the table, with a bowl of venison stew and fresh baked bread. As she dug in, Rowena briefly thought of Mistress Elladora and about how worried she'd be, but then she remembered everyone's horrified expression when she had come in that morning with the flower.
She pushed the plate away, suddenly no longer very hungry.
"Are you feeling homesick Rowena?" She looked at Crane in astonishment, her young eyes clearly belying her emotions.
"Homesick? For our old home?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the very idea. "Never. The people were horrid, mean people." Crane nodded, his face as if considering her words.
"Then what's got our young miss in such a snit?" His eyes bored into hers, he wasn't very good with children, but if Thomas Crane was gifted in anything, it was in reading people. He knew that Mistress Elladora was nothing of what she said she was, but her actions in the marketplace that first day were more than enough for him to make a reading of her character. But of all the things Elladora had said she was, an ordinary woman was definitely not what she was.
Rowena bit her lip, she might be young, but even she knew she wasn't supposed to tell people what she could do. She looked at Crane, this old man who leaned on the table, leaning on one elbow, staring at her curiously.
"There's some sick people that Mistress is taking care of." Rowena hedged, she wasn't sure why she was telling him, but for some reason, she felt she could. He nodded solemnly, like he knew what they were talking about was serious. Rowena felt proud. He was actually listening to her.
"They're...important people I think."
"Oh?"
"Mistress said something about a King." Rowena noticed Crane's eyes become slightly wider, but when he didn't say anything more on the topic she forged ahead.
"I think I did something that made them very angry. He was yelling at Mistress." Crane gestured for her to continue. Rowena sighed with relief, she didn't have to explain what she had done.
"What if.." Rowena hadn't said this out loud yet, as if saying it would make it more real. "What if they take Mistress away? Burn her like the neighbors burned Auntie back home?" Crane went rigid in his chair, staring at Rowena with what looked like a mixture of shock and horrification. He grabbed her arm urgently, squeezing it hard with almost bruising force, his eyes wild.
"Ouch! Mister, you're hurting me!"
"Rowena, listen to me -!"
But whatever he may have been about to say was drowned out in the sound of a loud boom nearby. The door abruptly swung open to reveal Derek, sweating and sooty, stumbling in, thick smoke billowing in after him. Crane swiftly rose to his feet, instantly at his son's side, supporting his weight on his shoulder.
"Derek! What happened? What is this smoke?" Derek coughed, a dry, hacking sound.
"Bastards! They - " He rasped, his voice giving out halfway, grasping his father's shoulders, almost shaking them.
"What?"
"A caravan from Pellinor's Kingdom, bunch of thugs the lot of them. They destroyed Helaine's tavern! It's naught but rubble, people trapped inside and they're laughing!" Derek didn't have to say much more, Rowena saw Crane march straight out the door, pausing only to grab an ice pick hanging on a hook near the door, swinging it to rest on his shoulder.
She hesitated for all of one second before peeling out right after him, her short stride making it so that she was a constant distance behind the rapid run of the village elder ahead of her, dodging Derek's hands that tried to prevent her from following.
"Hey! Rowena, it's too dangerous! You must stay here! What will I tell Elladora if something happens to you?!"
They heard the screams before they saw the source. When Crane and Rowena reached the tavern, they found he hadn't been exaggerating when he had said it was rubble. The once large and focal point of the town now lay in a smoking pile on the ground, nothing but timber and glass. Rowena's eyes watered from the smoke but she forced herself past it. She could hear the screams of those trapped inside, in great pain and fear.
In the forefront of the mess, she saw Crane, standing in front of the tavern, his eyes zeroing in on a group of men, 12 of them, standing with torches and swords, tall and muscular, with the broadest shoulders Rowena had ever seen. They looked for all the world as if they were at a festival, the way they laughed and carried on in the midst of the destruction. Every so often, they would touch their torches to the wood, and wait for that particular section to catch fire, until it was a veritable blaze.
Rowena could see Crane's fists shake at his sides, as he took in the scene, the chaos and the panic. There were women wailing and scrabbling for the rubble that had been the tavern, only to be rebuffed by the men. Crane squared his shoulders and rushed forward, shouting instructions to the villagers that were staring at the wreckage in shock, unable to comprehend what their small village had turned into.
"Adelaide! Water, get as much of it as you can, Winifred, help her! We can't afford for it to catch fire, It'll turn us into one massive pyre!"
"Right away!" Rowena watched the women rush away, hitching their skirts up and running as if the devil himself had set upon them.
"Arawn! Ector! The two of you gather as many able bodied men you can and get in there! We need to get them out or they will die if they haven't already!"
The two men immediately ran into the crowd and began to motion men towards them, gathering a a force strong enough to lift the timber off the people trapped under the building.
Crane's approach to the tavern was blocked almost instantly, by sword point. The leader, seemingly, of the group, fat and pudgy. His face was a revolting shade of pasty white, his teeth yellowing and seemingly huge in correspondence to his sunken, eyes and thin lips.
"Wher' ya think yar goin' ya barmy ol' codger?" Rowena noticed with disgust, the spittle that followed the man's words, though Crane didn't bat an eyelash.
"This is my village and my people are in there." The man's eyes narrowed.
"Yer gonna do nuthin' if ya know wha's good fer ya. Thos' peas'nts got exactly wha' they deserved. Do ya' simpletons even know who I work fo'? The good Lady Morgana and her Ward Lord Claudas! Best stay outta ma' way if ya' wan' ta be keepin' that head on that ancient neck of yous'!" His voice was as thick as his neck and came out as if squeezed through a vice. Crane's lips thinned as the screams behind him increased. Rowena winced, she had heard those screams before. It was the last time they had heard Auntie.
It was the sound of someone burning to death.
"I won't stand for some halfwit swinging around a sword, killing my people. You may try to stop me, but nothing will get in my way. I will put that fire out and I will save them."
The sword pressed harder against Crane's throat.
"I swear to ya' ya' take a singl' step o'er there and I'll cut ya throat wher' ya stand."
It was at this moment that Derek finally arrived behind Rowena, huffing and puffing from the exertion of having run on his injured leg.
"Da!" The momentary distraction served enough to divert the thug's attention to Derek and Crane used it as an opportunity to slip past him. But he was old, and Rowena knew that the sword would catch him before he would even be able to touch the tavern. The thug roared and swung his hand down, his sword aiming for Crane's stomach, he turned at the noise and raised the ice pick in an effort to deflect the attack.
She ran forward and threw up her hands, in an effort to use her magic to create a shield like she'd seen Mistress Elladora do again and again when they tried to get viper venom to create antidotes. The snake had never gotten past the barrier and Rowena felt sure it would save old man Crane from the sword. So it was a blow to feel the stinging slice of the blade as it carved a path from hip bone to navel.
"ROWENA!"
Rowena heard the elder scream her name, muffled in her head as she crumpled to the ground, flat on her back, her arms falling limply by her side.
Derek felt the blood drain from his face as he watched the man raise his sword, and Rowena threw herself in front of it, taking the blow. He watched the fury on his father's face as he attacked him with the ice pick, a whirlwind of rage. It was a sight to see the short, portly, genial and lovable elder of Carhaix attacking a thug more than twice his height.
"Derek, take her to Elladora!"
"But-" Derek was torn between Rowena and his aged father, fighting alone against such a burly man alone.
"NOW!" The village elder all but roared the command, startling Derek into motion. He ran forward and grabbed the child, noting with terror the absolute slackness of her tiny body, her blood seeping through his fingers and dotting the ground with crimson spots.
With one last look at his father, fighting against a swordsman with nothing but an icepick, he turned and tore through the woods, heading for Elladora's cabin as fast his injured feet would take him. And when he found Salazar, Godric and Helga searching for Rowena in the forest, his heart dropped further when they began to scream at the frightening sight.
. . . . . . .
Merlin had had no idea how much the children had come to mean to him in the short amount of time that they had been together, until he saw Derek come streaking through the forest with the other children, carrying Rowena.
"Rowena!"
His conversation with Arthur forgotten, Merlin practically shoved the King aside to run to Derek's side. Rowena was a sickening white in color and when Derek laid her down in the bed that Gwaine and Lancelot had been lying in, Merlin couldn't contain his gasp of dread when he cut the dress off to reveal the cut on her abdomen. He snapped orders to the children, before realizing they were practically in a vegetative state, unable to reconcile what was happening with reality. He got up and rushed around the cabin, pushing the knights out the away to get the materials he needed.
He knelt back next to Rowena, seeing how much blood she was losing and decided his best option was to stitch the wound shut, to staunch the flow of blood as much as possible. He turned her gently to her side, and tore the dress open over her stomach and began to stitch it closed. Merlin quickly flashed through his memory to a spell he had seen once in a medicine book, describing a spell for internal healing. He murmured through it and hoped to whatever deity was listening to heed his prayers and save her.
"What happened?" Merlin heard Arthur ask Derek, his nerves pulled taut as he worked as fast as he could. He desperately wished Gaius were here. He would have known what to do with an injury like this. He saw that Rowena no longer looked as if she were on the cusp of death but he had no way of being sure.
"Some bastards rode into town, got into a fight with Helaine – our tavern Mistress – and set the whole damn thing to light. The tavern's in ruins and there are people trapped and the lot of them won’t let any us near enough to get anyone out."
There was barely a moments silence before Merlin knew Arthur had made his decision.
"Armor up. All of you, we're going to put a stop to this." Merlin heard the clanking of chain mail and armor and spared a glance to the children, seeing them come back slightly to themselves. The poor things were shaking, eyes wide as saucers. Helga touched Rowena's face, covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
"But we don't just need someone to stop them, we need Mistress Elladora, there are so many injured! We can't bring them all here, they wouldn't survive the trip!" Derek ruffled his hands through his hair, the thought of his father fighting that man struck fear into his heart.
"She can't leave the child!" Lancelot hissed, clearly distressed between the choices they had. It was then that Percival spoke, in his reliable and firm way.
"I'll watch the girl. My mum was a physician. Nowhere near as good as Gaius, but she dealt with nasty sword wounds often. I can do it. Besides, this leg," Merlin heard him smack his left leg, the one with the giant cut nearly to the bone. "Will only make me a burden."
Percival hobbled over to where Merlin was knelt next to Rowena and raised him to his feet, holding his shoulders to guide him. He peered at him, as if checking whether he was in control of his senses.
"Mistress, I'll watch over her, with the other children, you are needed in Carhaix." Merlin nodded stiffly and let the larger man pry the cloth from his hands and push him gently towards the others. He gave Arthur a strained nod, in gesticulation of their momentary truce in the face of the current events. He returned it icily, there earlier argument no where near forgotten.
They instantly took off at run towards the town, where a thick plume of smoke was clearly visible over the tree tops.
. . . . .
The smell of burning flesh struck Merlin's nostrils with palpable force, nauseating him. He nearly crashed into Gwaine's back as they entered the town square where the tavern had been located. It was up in flames, the heat of the inferno itself creating an impenetrable wall.
In front of it, Merlin saw with incredulity, the very same man who had picked him up that first day after he had left Camelot. Then with near hysteria, he saw that at the man's feet lay Crane, an ice pick clutched ineffectually in his hand, though it was covered in blood too.
Merlin was roaring and charging at the man before he had even time to consider his actions, too incensed to care. He shoved his hands out, sending out a wave of energy that knocked the men on their backs, as Merlin ran and slid to a stop by Crane, turning him over to see his condition. Arthur and his Knight's followed, surrounding him, warily eyeing the men who had got back on their feet and were all rather angry now and advancing, swords, clubs and maces out.
"Father!" Derek collapsed next to his father, nearly in tears. Merlin's eyes watered as he took in the state of the man's chest. It was a mess, the shirt stained red, a big tear in the fabric revealing a single, deep stab wound that was dangerously close to his heart. Merlin closed his eyes in defeat as he realized there was nothing he could do for Crane, not now, maybe if he had been younger, with a stronger body, to withstand the damage. But he was too old, he wouldn't survive the recovery, even if Merlin used Magic to help him.
A hand on his cheek had Merlin snapping his head up to see Crane's eyes open and lucid, searching Merlin's own face.
"Derek," he said, his voice scratchy and wet, the edges of his mouth red, staining his teeth. The man, grown as he was, began to sob. The hand that clutched his son's tightened.
"Take care of your mother. Don't ever – cough – leave her alone." Derek nodded and bowed his head, unable to contain his tears.
"Elladora." Crane's voice was getting weaker and taking on a squelchy quality. Merlin leaned closer, bringing Crane's head to rest on his lap, his skirt becoming stained with blood.
"I know - " He turned his head and coughed, a puddle of blood landing in the singed grass. "I know you are not as you seem." He winced in pain, his chest heaving, breathing becoming more difficult. Merlin closed his eyes, trying to block it out, this was the first time someone had died while he watched, after Freya. And he couldn't do a single thing.
"The legends are true then." He wheezed, "Magic returns to Albion through the guidance of Emrys." Merlin gaped at him, then caught sight of a symbol just under his left ear, and cursed silently. He should have seen it before.
He was a druid.
"You're a druid." Merlin whispered in a hushed tone. Crane grimaced.
"Once. Long ago. It means nothing now. I left that way of life years ago." He clutched Merlin's hand, the pressure strong in its urgency. "You must stay strong. They will hunt you for an age, Emrys, but there will be a time. Magic will return and Albion will be great. But not without you. Never without you. You must return to him. Return to your destiny."
The hand gripping his went limp and the eyes glassy, Crane's chest finally stilling. Merlin stared, unblinking at the man who had suddenly become a corpse in his arms.
His mind spun, Crane was dead, Rowena might still die and he had to return to a man who wanted nothing more than to see him dead.
Merlin tipped his head back, tears of frustration wetting his cheeks and did what he had wanted to do since the day his life had gone to hell.
He roared.