bloody druids
"Someone tell me why stone circles have to crop up around here like a rash." Merlin says, surveying the landscape.
"You're the ex druid." Arthur says, watching the birds above them.
"I got drafted." Merlin says. "Often at a very young age."
"So the fact that you actually helped line up Stonehenge and the Ring of Brodgar, the Maidens, the Dancers and Hurlers, and half the stone circles and henges in Britain is besides the point." Arthur says.
"Definitely." Merlin says. "I was under duress. Half of them are focussing and defence tools, I can't remember what the others are for." he waves his hand vaguely in the air to indicate something profound. "Thing. Something important at the time. Pretty sure the Dancers were a focussing device of some sort. Then there're the copycats."
"We're not starting you on Breton again." Arthur sighs. Then grins. "I just love that Eddie Izzard is actually bloody accurate. Oh a henge is it, there's lovely. You bastard, you never said it was this far!"
"You're exaggerating" Merlin sniffs.
"No I'm bloody not." Arthur retorts. "Even if you were helping with your magic for part of it and to get the calculations to get them all lined up properly, you still weren't very exact about how long it would take."
"There were some very precise calculations, thank you." Merlin says, huffing at having his work impugned.
"Morgana helped." Arthur points out.
"Well, yes, she's good at that sort of thing, logistics especially. I didn't say she didn't." Merlin says.
"Cursing all the way." Arthur reminisces. "And she threw a pot at your head a few times after some really nasty ones." He puts up a hand to shade his eyes. "It was really impressive, I have to say. You never think she'll have a good arm until she unleashes it. I really hope women's cricket takes off. Or she could become a tennis player. Really go for the forearm smash."
"It took me weeks to get all the pottery splinters and oil out, thank you." Merlin grumbles.
"As opposed to that white horse, which you definitely planned out when you were pissed." Arthur continues, ignoring his grumbling.
"There was an awful lot of mead." Merlin says, wincing. "And then we found Gawain made adjustments and a couple of improvements..."
"And then he and Percy and Galahad and Bors moved a few markers." Arthur adds, and grins. "The amount of fast talking you all had to do to insist it was a horse as the gods saw it in motion was really, really impressive."
"Yes, yes, moving on." Merlin says, kicking the grass. "At least stone circle have a purpose. Or at least did for ages. I just don't get what's with all the copies. Bloody divining, and then people decide that they just had to have a mini one of their own..."
"Merlin, I said we weren't allowed to talk about Brittany." Arthur says, shoving him.
"Some people can't think of an original idea of their own." Merlin grumbles. "Just saying. I'm allowed to grumble."
"You never seem to be much bothered by them after they'd served their purpose." Arthur points out. "Sacrifices, parties, religious ceremonies..."
"I'm all in favour of mad parties." Merlin shrugs. "Especially at Stonehenge. Once they kick the druids out. and trample that twerp who calls himself Arthur Pendragon. Him with the beard."
Arthur rolls his eyes. "Tell me more about the druids, Merlin, I don't think I've heard it umpteen times before. Even when you were one."
Merlin sulks. "Fine. Be like that. See if I don't drug you, stuff you in the back of the car and drive you to the fucking Gorsedd or one of those new age pagan meets so you can share my pain. See if I don't."
Arthur gives him an unimpressed look. "I'd last longer than you would. I saw you short out all the electrics once in a panic to get away."
"You laughed yourself sick once when confronted by someone pontificating on the nature of spirituality and past lives." Merlin replies. "You actually had to be given water and made to lie down."
"Merlin, they're *funny*. Get a sense of humour about them trying to replicate some idea that never existed." Arthur says. "Especially the outfits and robes and staffs." He pauses. "What do you have against beards, anyway? I have one half the time. I do now."
"Stupid long white beards that look ridiculous on idiotic self-important people." Merlin says.
Arthur tilts his head to see if this is making any more sense from a different angle, then shakes his head. "Are we back at the Gandalf thing? We're back at the Gandalf thing, aren't we. Merlin. You love and adore Ian McKellen, just stop taking the Victorian illustrators and TH White personally."
"It's all right for you, you're always drawn as if you're in the prime of your life." Merlin huffs. "But no, no druids. None who haven't been specifically trained in the exact ways that using magic and so on actually work, and they mostly look like the weather priests. Solidly dressed for tv or in giant cosy sweaters. You know. Actual priests of the old gods. None of this mumbo jumbo about the threefold way."
"You're aware you've got so huffy you've crossed your arms." Arthur says. "can you do a harrumph before the age of thirty? Is it possible?"
"I am refusing to answer that question." Merlin says, adjusting his crossed arms for comfort. "Anyway, you had just as many bad words to say about the druids yourself. 'Ritual obsessed, power hungry wankers who couldn't make up their minds without consulting the nearest set of stars or blood spillage' was a good one. I liked the 'would it kill them to wash sometime this year?' and 'if they don't fucking stop going on about the stars and their placements I'll tattoo them with sodding woad, then let's see how many stars they see'." he smiles happily. "You could get incredibly creative about them and how far they could be drop kicked off the nearest high wall."
"That was when they were in front of me."Arthur says. "I don't complain about the people who dress up as them now. I just think they're funny."
"You can talk when you've had to be dragged through all the rituals to become one. it's like when you started laughing yourself hoarse when they started going on about chivalry and knights a while after everyone had forgotten what an armoured bloke on a bloody great horse was for." Merlin says. "What about the ones who go around insisting Arthur and Merlin were all pagans after the Roman era?"
Arthur blinks. "That'd be impressive given how Britain had been christian for a couple of hundred years by the point of Camlann. The Saxons were the ones still worshipping Thor and Odin when they invaded."
"Precisely." Merlin snorts. "Oooo, Merlin and Morgan Le Fay were of the old ways in the Roman fucking hill forts and Guinevere was the weird Christian who disrupted the court with her preaching and new religion..."
Arthur works his jaw. "I think Gwen might be in her rights to smack them one for character defamation. Especially if was one of the times she's been a smith or handyman's daughter. Use the giant fucking tools. It's Lance who's gone a bit loopy for Christianity those few times. Mostly during the Middle Ages, true, but I think they need to dial back a bit before the Dark Ages before they can talk about a couple of Christians and everyone else pagan at court."
"Think it's part of his occasionally self denying self sacrificing phases." Merlin says. "Give that boy a cause or a reason to throw himself in front of a bullet, he's there. but like I said, I am allowed to run far and fast and at the same time set their crystals on fire as I go past."
"Still, I used to get amused about the Holy Grail thing." Arthur says. "Not that I didn't send the knights off to get stuff, act as messengers and do treaties, but a quest for a bloody cup? Sounds more like Constantine's mother when she went to find the bits of the true cross. It's been a couple of centuries, love, you honestly think a well-used killing device isn't going to get re-used until it breaks and then used for, oh, I don't know, firewood?" He grins. "Arthurian scholars and teachers always look a bit distressed when you ask *why* a knight is going on a quest."
"Unless it's an excuse for why they went walkabout for a few months." Merlin says. "Normally it ended up being 'well, I lost my sword in a game of dice and I had to work my debt off' once you'd prodded them enough. Of in Percy's case, managed to get lost on the way to Northumberland and ended up in the middle of a dispute about sheep." He looks like he's about to start on another rant about the New Age movement when he gets decidedly distracted by something off to his left. "Um. Arthur? Did you see that?"
"See what?" Arthur asks, swallowing. "The old stones reappearing over your shoulder?"
"...Yes. That." Merlin says, walking a few paces forward, closer to the stone circle that's just appeared. It hasn't been around for a couple of hundred years. The stones fell over and got buried, were re purposed for other things in the area, (a nice way of saying taken for someone's building foundations or hearth stone) and in some cases... just disappeared. The other circles are still here, some stones missing, but - Merlin stretches his hand out to see if it's an illusion or real.
"Merlin!" Arthur yells. "What have I said about touching things? don't touch it, it might be a spell, or a fae trick!"
"Why would the fae do that?" Merlin asks back, just as the circle blinks out of existence, gone as though it was never there. "Um."
"Precisely. Now imagine if you'd been touching it when it disappeared again." Arthur scolds. "I'd rather not have you stolen away by some power hungry fae."
"But why would it appear in the first place?" Merlin asks. "And don't be silly about the power hungry fae, when have they ever managed it?"
"An illusion? Someone's experimenting?" Arthur asks. "And I've had to bloody fetch you a few times when you'd been knocked out or got pissed, and let me tell you, that was not fun." The stones appear again, making Arthur jump. "Personally, I'm thinking it's just to freak me out. Merlin, don't touch it!"
Merlin Pokes the stone in front of him experimentally. "It feels like stone, and identical to the stone the others are made of. It feels a bit... fuzzy, like it's not quite there?"
Arthur frowns, staying well back. The stones disappear again, then reappear, like a flickering lightbulb. When they're not there, you can wave your hand through the space so recently occupied by a giant slab of stone. Arthur would really prefer Merlin didn't do that, because what if the stone appeared while his hand was passing through that space? There's every chance it might get stuck. And all right, so it's Merlin, the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist in the British Isles, never mind be reincarnated over and over again while there's still a Britain to exist, he'd probably just shake it off or melt the stone, but still, Arthur doesn't want a one-handed Merlin. He likes those hands. A lot. they're very useful at all kinds of things
After an hour of this, the stones staying for longer periods each time but equally longer periods disappeared, Merlin turns to Arthur. "I think this officially qualifies as definitely weird. I'm not sure if it's the actual stones or the memory of stones."
"Which ever one it is, I'm personally in favour of leaving them alone." Arthur says firmly.
Arthur's in the middle of taking out the bins in the afternoon when Merlin decides he wants to go for a walk on saturday afternoon. "I've told you about hiking and how I don't do it for fun, Merlin." Arthur says, doing a quick check in the bins for any bottles or cardboard that Merlin can't do a quick separation job on to chuck in the recycling. All the food bits are already in the box for the allotments and Joss and his pigs. Nothing this time, so he pulls the bag sides up and tie them off, tipping them into the big bin and locking it. In other counties you can apparently manage to leave wheely bins out without seagulls coming along and getting into them. He's seen it, he's just very suspicious of it. All right, pigeons might not have the strength, but what about cats?
Merlin looks at him. "I said a walk, Arthur, not hiking. You know perfectly well most walking doesn't actually involve hiking."
"If it involves effort, steep slopes, climbing and mud it's hiking. We're in Cornwall. the steep slopes are a bit of a given." Arthur says, getting the second load in.
"But the hiking part isn't." Merlin says. "Seriously, what did that stretch in the Lake District do to you?"
"There was a girlfriend." Arthur mutters. "Several of them. They all loved hiking and refused to And it wasn't just one stretch."
"And now you no longer make sense." Merlin says, shaking his head. "Anyway, I want to go for a walk up to the old roads. It's nice up there this time of year and there's no cars aside from the bus."
"This still isn't endearing me to it."
On Sunday, Arthur still can't figure out what he's doing out on the old road. All right, it's a nice day. By which he means quite cold, a bit damp but vaguely sunny. Normal Cornwall winter day. There's quite a lot of people out, and several of them with dogs. Cafall approves greatly, and is bouncing about making new friends of both canine and human type.
The old roads are a slightly strange thing' they were originally just the paths across the hills and valleys, a bit like the motorways of their day. However, they were around so long, and so much happened on them, that a bit like a lot of old structures in Britain that people didn't necessarily live in but treasure, they became infused with the odd qualities of magic. The islands are a bit of a sinkhole for magic, but it doesn't always work in the same way for things. Stonehenge is mostly informed by reverence, but you can raise the magic equally by ritual or mad party. The wilds have their way of - you can't summon anything, but you can use it to cloak yourself. The roads, on the other hand, have somehow got a bit of magical protection cum forcefield but also a reposit or memories. It's not for nothing that so many of them have fog and ghosts. Several of them became the motorways, but the ones that didn't got a bit of personality. Each of them different, each equally a bit temperamental. The Cornish old road for some reason decided that it would really go along with Cornwall's reputation for being a bit cut off from t he rest of England. Partly it's geographical, partly it's financial. The industrial revolution came and the road started getting a bit cranky. People reported failures of mechanics along, things with working parts. and it really did not like the combustion engine in the slightest.
The first car attempted to come down it and the engine failed within about two yards of setting tyres on it. No matter how much pumping of the engine or turning it over or tweaking they did, the engine simply refused to work. Eventually they had to get a horse and several people to push and pull it off the road. as soon as it got off the old road, the engine gave a couple of coughs and started purring along quite happily. They tried again, and this time it only got one yard, barely a whole turn of the tires on the old road before the engine died again. fortunately the owner of the horse had decided to stick around for a laugh to see if this rich twerp would get anywhere with his noisy piece of machinery that kept breaking down and clearly not half so reliable as a horse or boat, so they didn't have to wait too long for someone to help them get the car off the road. Once again, the minute it got off the road, the engine was fine. Out of sheer bloody minded optimism and pride, the car owner tried again, declaring that it was just a road and that it couldn't have a mind of its own, nor did he hold truck that the little folk didn't like it. At that point even the horse couldn't stop laughing, since everyone knew the little folk were more concerned with work or being down the pub than having anything to do with the roads. Everyone who had even the slightest bit of sense and knowledge knew that the land was perfectly capable of having an opinion and mood of its own. and that definitely included the horse, who was eyeing the car and shaking its head with an exceedingly sceptical expression. The car driver even tried to give it a run up. However, it didn't even manage to get its nose onto the the road before the engine died. At which point the onlookers and the horse collapsed in laughter. The owner actually leapt out and started kicking the engine. and then the horse collapsed in giggles again. Trying to pick up a horse is no small feat, especially when those trying to lever it up are still giggling. as is the horse. After a bit they finally got themselves into enough order to turn the car around, and gently encouraged the driver to never try this route again. Because next time there might not be anyone close enough to help the car off the road. And the horse might have worse hysterics and be unable to help, which would just be embarrassing
this set the pattern for nearly every single thing possessing a combustion engine that attempted to use the old road. it didn't matter what the size of it or how eco friendly it supposedly was, the engine would fail. Bicycles were fine, carts were fine, but anything that required an engine of sorts was absolutely buggered. So were some devices that required a lot of moving parts, especially if it required a battery or outside power source that wasn't muscle-driven. phones seem to be all right, but only as long as you're not using it as an mp3 player, at which point whatever triggers the anti technology part of the road kicks in. It hates portable music players. Absolutely hates them. No boomboxes, walkmans, ipods or mp3 players can work on it. or in the hedgerows, as one runner found out. Due to the fact that it dislikes combustion engines, there's an interesting side effect. The road's cobbled, no tarmac. Since you can't get an engine of any sort down it, you can't get a tarmac producing machine down it, nor the machine that flattens the tarmac. never mind a mixer of any sort. All paving has to be done by hand, and whenever it's repaired, you get the slightly head scratching sight of a horse drawn cart with a load of cement and cobbles coming down the road.
Still, it doesn't stop people from trying, no matter that Cornwall Council still can't be convinced to put up a sign saying 'no cars allowed' because technically cars are allowed, they just don't work, and that's not the council's responsibility. The locals have put up a few signs of their own. Mostly with the number of a tow truck. The AA and RAC simply forward any calls to the nearest tow truck company, since simply turning it round and getting the car or van's wheels off the road will get the engine going again. There was a big problem when car satnavs were first introduced, because obviously the programmers knew nothing about a very local problem of this old road that looked perfectly fine from outside and according to the Ordnance Survey maps. The word got back soon enough, and it's only occasionally that an update misses out the fact that this road is a no-go. They rectify it soon enough, though. Still, the local farmers have the number of the software engineers as part of their contacts next the pickup truck.
There's one exception, which no-one can figure out. A small bus managed to get the whole way along it when the driver got hopelessly lost in the fog during the fifties. there was a lot of head scratching from the locals who bounded that road, and the bus was searched all over for any sort of charm or spell, as was the driver, but no, it was a perfectly normal bus. Plenty of buses of the same manufacture and design tried, and all failed. Just that bus. No other vehicles before or since. And as you can predict, that bus is very well maintained. It doesn't do sundays, though.
As a result, the old road is a haven for horse riders, cyclists and walkers and the occasional horse and trap or horse and cart getting goods along it. It's possibly one of the few places outside a museum where they have working horse and carts for transport of goods. There's plenty of carriages across the country, mostly used for weddings, but this is the only place where you've still got someone making and repairing carts. Admittedly the carts often use rubber wheels, and they look a bit more like an unholy dross between a buggy and the back of a lorry, but they're still carts. A few too many moving parts or the slightest hint of a power source and the cart fails.
So you can imagine the shock and alarm from the walkers and cyclists and people on horseback when a small removals van came down the road that sunday, alarmed cries and swearing coming down the path from miles down the road. by the time it gets to them, the van's not even going ten miles an hour, and it's stopped beeping by now. the van pulls to a stop by Arthur and Merlin. and Cafall. "What's the problem with you lot? Everyone's been cursing me, won't get out of my way - there's not some funeral or something, is there? The satnav and map says it's fine, there's not a no entry sign that's been blown down, is there? And what the hell was with the two horse and carts I passed? You filming some sort of post apocalyptic thing down here?"
"Er, no." Merlin says. "It's just... no car ever comes down here. It's become pedestrian by default. Hence the swearing. And the horse and carts. For some reason people are okay with that cos they don't go very fast."
"Huh. Bloody weird, the map shows it as a fairly direct path across this bit of country." The driver says as Merlin surreptitiously scans the van and him for charms and spells. "I mean, the satnav didn't come up with anything, and I double-checked the map cos you know what that's like, I've been sent down enough one way streets by the sat nav..."
"Can I see?" Merlin asks. "There's normally a sign someone puts up, at least, and normally the satnav companies put an update through to indicate this area's a bugger to get through, or five miles per hour if you're lucky, like you did - did it not at least say that?"
"Nah, nothing on it." The driver says, tilting the satnav so he can see, and pressing the buttons back along the programmed trip. "See? Doesn't even say it's go slow like I've been doing."
"Huh. Must be on the blink again." Merlin says. "They do that sometimes."
"But you say it's always like this." The driver says, sitting back.
"Yeah. It's more crowded than usual today, it being sunday, but it's nearly always about ten miles if you're lucky." Merlin shrugs, leaning down to pet Cafall where he's bouncing up on Merlin's leg, curious why they've stopped.
"Think I'll try the other roads if it's anywhere near this slow normally." The driver says, sucking his teeth. "Plus I can do without being fucking sworn at every two yards." With that, he drives off in the direction of town to the tune of swearing and yelling from yet more walkers and cyclists. with more staring after him in amazement.
Arthur turns to Merlin. "So? How the fuck did that happen? I thought only the bus could get over the old road."
"Yeah, I thought so too. Something is really weird." Merlin scratches his head. "Something really fucking weird is going on."
"Looks like we're going to have to check if anyone else has heard anything." Arthur says, clicking his fingers to get Cafall over to him and leave Merlin alone. "Who do we know who'd have any idea?"
----
"Ah, midwinter." Merlin says. "If in doubt, add some greenery, get drunk, overeat and set things on fire." He grins, tilting his head up to look up the hill where the procession will be going in a week or so. "And if in doubt, make up a new one that supposedly has some link to the past so it makes people feel like they've got something familiar to latch onto."
Arthur glances at him as they start to climb the hill to Lescudjack Hill Fort. the light's starting to dim a bit as sunset approaches. "You make it sound like you're talking about new age druids. Don't lie, Merlin, you love these new and resurrected festivals."
"I didn't say I don't!" Merlin protests. "I was... more saying in a roundabout way how much I like humanity's endless ways of creating fun. Seriously, remember how unbelievably boring the Puritans were? And then when the Victorians decided that the German tree customs looked fun?"
"Yes, because I distinctly remember having to be the one who had to haul the tree home every Christmas since." Arthur says. "Even when you weren't living with me I had to haul your tree home. Never mind who actually has the powers that levitate things the size of eight foot fir trees without any effort whatsoever out of the pair of us."
Merlin raises a sceptical eyebrow. "We made a deal about a minute into you attempting to make paper chains, if you remember. You promised that you'd happily go and get the tree and carry it if you didn't have to touch another bloody paperchain or get another papercut." He smirks. "Gwen said you made the exact same statement when they got parchment down to a fine enough consistency that you could get papercuts off've it." He pauses. "And who gets out of making the holly and ivy wreaths ever year even when there were no longer any women or servants to do it?"
"I still says inventing a craft where you're constantly getting stabbed every two seconds is completely daft." Arthur sniffs. "I'm merely being practical."
"Says the man who likes getting beaten up and getting bruised so much that he misses it and took up a sport where you do precisely that, only without armour." Merlin points out. "Honestly, Arthur, what's wrong with football?"
Arthur shrugs. "It's fun but I picked rugby this time." He muses. "Maybe I can come back as one of the winning side of an england squad in the world cup next time."
"Because that's really going to save Britain from some unspecified threat, you getting paid a gazillion quid to kick a ball around in front of a giant crowd screaming your name." Merlin says. "I can't imagine why you'd find having your ego pandered to even more than when you've been a king would sound attractive"
Arthur shrugs. "Spartacus nearly made it when he led the revolt of the slaves."
"That was the Roman Empire, and they all got slaughtered and crucified as an example!" Merlin exclaims. "Arthur, *nearly* making it and then getting everyone who follows you slaughtered is not your raison d'etre for being reincarnated!"
"We were part of that for a good few hundred years, Merlin, it could've happened here." Arthur says.
Merlin rolls his eyes. "Now you're just thinking of the glory, this is ridiculous. I swear, battle just does something to your brain. normal humans don't reminisce over getting covered in blood and mud and getting the shit kicked out of them by enemy opponents." he says, turning to face Arthur. "Besides, we were the nasty wet outpost edge of the Roman Empire, Arthur. remember? Good for trade, but no-one in their right mind wanted to be posted here unless you were looking for a quick promotion. Seriously, how many legions were posted here? The only place with as many was Germany, and they had that giant sodding open border to the north, we just had the picts, and even after that they built christ knows how many walls. they didn't build walls in Germany. No-one would bother to expend too much bother putting down a glorious revolution in Britain after a while, we were just generally too much trouble day by day. Boudicca's uprising only got serious retaliation because we were a fairly new outpost at the time and it was a point of pride." He takes a breath. "besides, we know perfectly well what happened after it got to be too much trouble and bother, they just left."
"Leaving behind a complete clusterfuck and Saxons, Merlin, I’m quite aware." Arthur says.
"all I'm saying is that I can't see how the modern day equivalent of highly paid gladiators are really going to lead to you saving Britain" Merlin says.
"Even if I was a spy?" Arthur asks. "There was that time I was a plumber."
"Which I am never going to hear the end of." Merlin says. "And besides, you being a footballer would be completely aside from your work as a spy. Like an afterthought as it is."
"But what an afterthought. And I'm sure raising people's hopes and feeling good about themselves should count." Arthur says.
"In that case, you'd have been reincarnated as Johnny Peacock and Jessica Ennis and Mo Farrah and Ellie Simmonds at the Olympics. All at once. think of the sheer dizzy euphoria the nation was in." He pokes Arthur in the arm. "And yet, here you are without multiple gold medals and a gold painted postbox in your hometown even though you were alive at the time and old enough to have competed."
"...Bastard. Point made." Arthur says, sticking out his lower lip. His sulky not quite pout. Exact same expression, every lifetime. It never fails. "So I'm never going to be reincarnated with the destiny in mind of winning the world cup."
"Nope." Merlin says cheerfully. "But think about it this way: it's perfectly possible that one day you might win the world cup but save Britain for something completely different, if that helps."
Arthur rubs his jaw. "I can cope with that."
"Does your crushed ego feel better?" Merlin asks.
"It wasn't my ego, it was my hopes and dreams." Arthur says, attempting to give him a shove but Merlin starts off up the hill. "hey!"
"You snooze, you lose." Merlin replies. "Not to mention the light's going and I want to make it up this hill without falling into a rabbit hole. and twisting my ankle. And I like surfing, thank you."
"Never mind surfing, you with a twisted ankle would be crap in the kitchen. We'd have to get a high chair or something for you to sit on." Arthur says, scrambling to catch up with him.
At the top of the hill by the fort, where they'll have the beacon and all the lanterns and procession going up to on midwinter, you can see fires and moving lights already. Getting closer, you can see that it's the dancers and fire manipulators using sticks and poi, practising for the final procession and culmination of lighting the beacon. in the fast-darkening light, they look like dark fuzzy shapes in the dimness. Along with the lights, you could start up a whole load of ghost stories right now. Close as they are, it looks like an attack of will o'the wisps. And yes, Arthur and Merlin have seen that, thank you. they were a bit angry at the time. it's not unlike looking at a live version of the British Gas blue flame multiplying and discovering synchronised swimming, only in mid air. You want to say birds flocking, but no. They move nothing like that. Like fish, only with the complete strangeness of those old Hollywood films. or Strictly. Maybe that would be a better analogy. the shot from above they do for the pro dancers, where they're all whirling in and out but spinning off on their own at the same time. As it is, and given that this is on a Cornwall hilltop on the coast, it looks like a very, very complex set of signals to the smugglers coming in. Smuggler semaphore. 'don't go into the cave on the right, it's filled with tea, please try the one two doors down'. If it was wreckers, you get he impression that the message would be 'this lighthouse is fucked, just don't ask. really. Don't ask. The lightkeeper had one job. The lightkeeper is very probably drunk. Little too much scrumpy.'
Merlin and Arthur do not do fire dancing. They've been around fire plenty in their lives, most of which involved it as the main source of light and heat, so braziers, torches, cooking fires and so on are fine. So they know precisely how far away you can sit to make sure the sparks don't get you (Merlin gives eternal thanks to the inventors of the fireguard) but also far less fear of being very close to it, your hand only being five inches from a live flame on the end of a torch as it's the main and only real way to get light when there's no lantern to hand. or in the days before lanterns for a very long time. and they've been known to chuck things a the tv or internet when it comes to so called historical experts.
Arthur's favourite is still Merlin's outburst one night, which was "Just because someone's invented the computer doesn't mean you burn all the pencils, twatface!" The outburst was accompanied by him actually picking up and flinging the pencil that'd been sitting on the table next to the sofa. Arthur was deeply impressed. There may or may not have been a moment where Merlin subsequently got a little weirded out by Arthur's impressed stare, asked "...What?", so Arthur felt compelled to snog him into the sofa.
Still, they're used to using fire as a basic tool, or in Merlin's case, a very scary weapon to be manipulated like it was his personal toy, but you couldn't get them to do dancing whilst whirling poles or long rags with big burning coals on the ends at high speed. Arthur might have the grace and be used to handling weaponry at speed, but he's not trusting himself with it being on fire, and Merlin's handled fire as a weapon a fair few times with absolute confidence, but Arthur wouldn't trust Merlin to handle any weapon at speed. Sleight of hand yes, surfing yes, even long distance running, but once you get his limbs involved in strange complex manoeuvres at speed... no. Merlin agrees with him on this fervently. he's been attached to travelling circuses a few times and every time utterly refused to do that kind of thing. Normally by proceeding to trip over the practice stick or wrapping the rag around his throat and arm.
Amongst the fire dancers, skilled as they are, is one set of fire poi that seems to be going at twice the speed of everyone else's in more complex patterns, and spinning what looks like one set of poi, then two sets, then three at once, then back to two. All at varying speeds, even as the person manipulating it is dancing around in complex patterns and jumping and spinning, in and out of the other fire dancers. Just making it absolutely clear to any onlookers that there is fire poi and then there is fire poi. But then again, practice makes perfect. Arthur and Merlin know tat particular fire dancer, and she's got what you might call an unfair advantage when it comes to length of practice. A bit like Arthur and battlefield and siege tactics or broadsword fighting. putting someone who's had many, many lifetimes or practice up against someone's who's only been doing it for fifteen years is considered a little unfair in the supernatural community. Even though they'll use it to their advantage. One of the reason the supernatural community's more long lived members are still around is precisely because they learned never to not take full advantage of your opponent being green compared to you. The shadow manipulating it appears to be a young woman, at least.
Arthur and Merlin wait for a breather in the whirling fire dance before Merlin waves his hand to get attention in the flickering fire light. "Joan? Got a minute?"
The fire dancer's poi turn, whirl, do some sort of complex figure of eight before all just... stopping, as though they've hit a barrier in the air before dropping to dangle semi harmlessly by her sides, and she tilts her head to look at them, the light flickering across their faces. the fire reveals her as a woman in apparently her twenties, lithe limbed and covered in what's either paint or tattoos. The flickering firelight makes it difficult to fully judge, since she's done both as per her whims. "You two? What're you doing here before the festival? Didn't think you were based around here this lifetime. did you move here?"
"We're not, we came up to see you since we figured you'd be busy during the actual festival." Merlin says, shrugging.
"You look well." Arthur adds. Well. Joan the Wad's the queen of the piskies in these parts, and she can fucking well like she wants. "See you've made a concession to the temperature and locals by putting clothes on."
Joan looks down at the very short hotpants and sports bra she's wearing, and snorts in disgust. then rolls her eyes for good measure "Temperature my arse. I've been out in snowstorms naked. but nope, Penzance council and the Montol organisers all insisted due to it being a 'family' event." She whirls the poi across her body in a way that makes it look like the poi have multiplied in mid-air and then back into their individual fire balls, using what looks like nothing so much as an annoyed twitch of the shoulders. "Honestly. How do you think you get children? You humans are weird."
One of her fellow fire dancers sticks his head in. he's got dreads, and Arthur vaguely remembers seeing him in Newquay at Boardmasters. "One of the organisers even tried to raise the issue of us wearing fire proof suits one year for health and safety reasons. He was gently taken aside to have it explained to him that the only way he'd get a single fire dancer to do that would be to put on the suit himself and learn how to do it. we're performers and artists, not firemen."
"Plus I presume it''d be a bit difficult to be able to move properly in a fireman's outfit." Merlin says.
"True." Joan says, then prods at her clothing. "I hate having to get used to wearing clothes. They're sticking to my skin, this is just wrong." She looks up, and narrows her eyes at Merlin. "So what do you want, wizard?"
"Have you noticed anything particularly odd recently?" Merlin asks.
"Define odd. I'm a piskie." Joan says, humour the mortals tone firmly in place.
"Well... there's been a few odd things going on." Merlin says, scratching his neck. "There's been a few disappearances amongst the mermaids, one of the stone circles keeps flickering in and out of view - the one that disappeared a couple of centuries ago - there's been lights seen out on a few of the bays, some of the fishermen have missing memories, the Bucca're acting up..."
"Again, my lover, define odd." Joan says. "None of these are unheard of."
"But not all together The weather priests down at the Lizard are reporting really strange weather patterns and incoming pressure on the news that isn't resulting in storms, which is apparently just wrong." Merlin says. "So... can you keep your ear to the air?"
"Yes, little magician, I'll do that." Joan says, never mind that he's the most powerful mage this set of islands has ever seen, and distinctly more powerful than quite a few of the old folk and been around a lot longer than a lot of them. Joan included. He still gets called little every time he's reborn. "Now bugger off, I have to make sure this lot are in order for Montol and the coming of the light against the dark days. You're coming, right?"
Merlin shivers. "As long as I don't have to get up close and personal with the Obby Oss."
Arthur squeezes his shoulder. "It's okay, I'll protect you from the skull on a stick covered in ribbons, Merlin." He pauses as a thought occurs. "Merlin."
"Yes?"
"The Obby Oss is there for Golowan, not Montol. you're confusing your seasons." Arthur says pointedly.
"You weren't the one who had it appear out of the fire and crowds and turn and speak to you three years running. And the year after that, some fucker went and wore a horse skull as part of their mask. with the ribbons. and then they went into a trance." Merlin mutters.
"You'll have to forgive him, he's gathered a lot of echoes over the years." Arthur says to Joan and her retinue, then turns back to Merlin. "I believe you're missing something fairly important out, Merlin. Tell the nice lady, we're not doing this dreckly."
Merlin sighs. "Must I?" and grumbles when Arthur pokes him pointedly. "Okay, okay. the thing is, that's not all. On top of all of the generic weird bits, there's something that's really bloody weird."
Joan raises an eyebrow. "And you couldn't've started with this earlier?"
"He's really bad at getting to the point." Arthur sighs. "At least when it matters."
"A van managed to come over the hills by the old roads." Merlin says, then grimaces as Arthur pokes him again. He's got really bloody sharp fingers. "do you mind, I'm telling her! Everything intact, including his satnav."
Joan blinks. "What? Are you sure? He could've just said he did." She says, looking deeply sceptical.
"We were there on the road." Merlin says. "He of course didn't know he shouln't've been able to, his engine should've stalled or a tire blow out or something, but... delivery of whatever it was he was carrying achieved by what he thought was a shortcut."
"Did he have wards? Charms? Something that might disguise him into the bus?" Joan says, now looking more alarmed. Piskies do not like things to appear out of nowhere when they're not the ones causing it.
"I checked." Merlin says. "I went over it with a fine tooth comb with six different spells, scanned him. He's just a normal removals van driver who's got a delivery order who was a bit glad he didn't have to take the long way round. Only of course, he's not going back that way since it takes so bloody long, what with all the pedestrians."
"This needs to be investigated. now" Joan says, tensing, fire reflecting in her eyes and possibly making her look even more tense. The fires are flaring a bit around them, the wind's died down so - ah. That's Joan manifesting through the flame due to her tenseness, not a reflection. "There is only one combustion engine able to get over the old roads, and it's the number 32 bus." She raises her hand to make the ends of one lad's fire stick really flare up, and stares into the flame. The poor sod holding it looks like he wants to run, but he doesn't dare let go. Mostly because irritating the powerful being controlling the flames you're holding on to is never a good idea. "Find the seers. The protections of the old road changing means something has to be coming."
"You never said it was back when the number 32 came down the road." Merlin says.
"You were up the other end of the country then, young wizard." Joan says pointedly. "And only found out about it after the fact."
"So what caused it then?" Merlin asks. "Couldn't it be the same thing?"
"We don't know, but it's thought something that had been hit during the war finally managed to come to the surface." Joan says, still staring into the flame. "There was a sea change in culture back then. Another thing may not be so relatively harmless, especially combined with the other portents."
Merlin folds his arms. "Most people would think a long-gone stone circle flickering in and out of view would be portent enough."
Joan snorts. "These people clearly aren't familiar enough with stone circles. There's plenty that flicker in and out of view every evening, or when someone not right comes near. Never mind the ones that disappear for a hundred years at a time, only to reappear with absolutely no fucking fanfare whatsoever." she waves her hand dismissively, and the flame on the fire stick goes down to normal levels. The man whose stick it is lets out a relieved breath. "The old roads, on the other hand... they don't change. they might get a little more protective, but they don't change. They keep echoes and memories, they don't suddenly change and let things happen." She shoves some of her fringe back. "Right. What else weird has been going on? Any little thing, you have no idea what might be important."
"Oh, let's see, experience of being these isles guardians for how many thousand years might give us some." Merlin says, getting a mulish look.
"You never stayed in the same place from one life to the next, young wizard." Joan says. "Whereas I know this corner like the back of my hand, I'm better attuned to it."
"Yet we're the ones gathering all the information..." Merlin mutters. "Um. Weather, the van, the fishermen, the Bucca, the mermaids, the lights, the stones..."
"I think that's it." Arthur says. "Can't think of anything else." He shrugs. "The only other thing that's happened at all was the day the Feegles decided to rustle the police horse. That stopped traffic in town. Was pretty funny, watching the copper go backwards and clinging for dear life."
"Feegles?" Joan asks, raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess, some student band?" She's now looking interested. "How did they manage to rustle a horse with the copper still on it?"
"Wasn't a band, it's another name for pictsies." Merlin replies. "They got drunk and decided that since there wasn't any cows or sheep in range, it being the middle of the town, they'd rustle the nearest thing. Which was the police horse. with the copper still on it. One per leg, and you''re up and away. The beast is normally too poleaxed to think of moving."
"The normal state of pictsies is drunk, from what I can tell." Arthur says. "Copper took a lot of calming down before she hauled them off to the cells."
"Pictsies?" Joan frowns. "Pictsies..." A look of horror dawns on her face. "you don't mean piskies, do you? Scots ones?"
"Yeah. Red hair, Glaswegian accents." Arthur agrees.
"Tattooed all over?" Joan questions, starting to look tense again. Her fellow fire dancers are eyeing their flames nervously, hoping that they're not the one to get nearly singed this time.
Arthur shrugs. "Who isn't these days? You can tell the emmetts because they've not got that many visible tattoos."
"I'm going to kill them." Joan growls. "I'm going to fucking kill them, I'm getting that bloody clan chief on the phone and ripping him a new one - they're not even allowed south of the Humber, never mind into Devon and Cornwall - there are wards, there are treaties, I signed that treaty myself! We put up fucking wards and if they've failed - those Clan Chiefs aren't going to sit down for a week, I'm going to singe their arses so badly. Never mind the wards, that's just rude." She growls again. "I'll give them verra verra complicated legal documents, let's see what happens when they violate the clauses on a centuries old contract signed on their sacred stones."
"So some very drunk Glaswegian piskies came down south for surfing and a lad's weekend, what's the problem aside from..." Arthur pauses. Piskie treaties signed on sacred stones. Oh dear. He doesn't want to be the Clan Chiefs in the slightest. Maybe this is what he's around for this time, preventing all out war. "Getting his head kicked in. Don't see what that's got to do with the odd goings on."
"It has everything to do with it." Joan says, the fires flaring up and then down again. "Did you not hear the wards part, Pendragon? We didn't just sign treaties that extend forty feet down the halls with so many sub clauses you needed a glass to read them, we put up wards. They shouldn't have been able to physically come south of the Humber, and haven't for hundreds of years. The wards have failed, Pendragon, and there is something deeply wrong." Joan turns away, puts her hands on hips, and tilts her head back to look at the stars. She turns back, frowning, then spins back to look back at the stars. "Why didn't I see? Now I look, it hasn't felt this off kilter since the sinking of Lethowsow."
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "You weren't there. we were, so we should know."
"Yes, you were very heroic." Joan says. "Some of us were on the higher ground. Here, in fact. And I'd noticed the rumblings just as your human seers did." She rubs her forehead. "You get onto the weather priests. Find out exactly what the problems are weather-wise, I'm going to light a fire under the Clan Chiefs' arses for breaking the treaty." She smiles, fire reflecting in her eyes. "Literally."