The Gathering: The New Order of Merlin Book 1

2. A child of prophecy

》 SUMMER of 1992《

To hold life and death in your hands.

Merlin blew the wooden chips off, happy with the impeccable Old English runes he carved into the rod. The Sidhe, the original owners of this staff, had engraved this passage in Old Irish, but the wood had eroded. Merlin fashioned a replacement and marked it in his native tongue. The metal grove holding the blue crystal survived the test of time. The new rod, made of a rowan tree he retrieved at the Isle of the Blessed, was an exquisite choice, worthy of this precious artifact.

He looked fondly at the staff, remembering all the times the potent Sidhe magic had saved his hide. He'd learned spells just as powerful by now, but it still had a purpose. Like a wand, the staff could be used even when his own magic was depleted, however rare that was.

He hovered his hand over the rod to coat it with a finishing charm that would protect the wood and his new engravings against erosion. Once satisfied, he hung it over the fireplace, right next to an antique sword.

"Getting dull, are we?" he said, having the weapon float to his outstretched hand. He summoned a file, had it float up to the sword, and start sharpening on its own while he leisurely plopped into his favorite armchair.

He preferred magic combat to blades, but relying on magic alone was a mistake. Just a few centuries ago, he was attacked by a thief who wore a powerful ancient charm that rendered him immune to magic. Merlin had no weapons ready to summon, so he attacked the thief with a broken teacup. Unsurprisingly, that embarrassing attempt got him killed.

Granted, Merlin didn't stay dead; he was up and about before the swine laid his hands on the Cup of Life, but the point was that he had nearly failed at protecting it. He had learned his lesson the hard way—good old-fashioned blades would never become obsolete.

As soon as he got comfortable, he felt a tingle on his skin. Someone activated one of his protective wards. He ran up to the window and moved a curtain aside to check for visitors.

He grinned wide, recognizing his surprise guest, and wrenched the door open.

"Albus!" he exclaimed and gave the old wizard a quick hug.

Albus Dumbledore smiled down at him warmly. The fuzzy hair spilling down his shoulders and an even longer beard were whiter than the last time Merlin saw him. He had picked up a fashion of wearing floor-length robes in his old age, and unlike most wizards, he liked to dress with a little flair. Today's garb was adorned with embroidered purple satin and a matching soft hat with a tassel dangling by his cheek.

"A visit was in order, my ageless friend," Dumbledore said. "Moreover, I have a proposition for you."

"Terrific! Get in here."

The old wizard froze upon seeing the sword float in the air as if held by an invisible servant.

His eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead, accentuating deep wrinkles.

"Getting ready for a siege?"

Merlin murmured to himself, "Can't a guy sharpen his blades in peace," and waved a hand to move the sword and file to the corner of the room where they continued the sharpening.

Modern society was so touchy about weapons. Merlin stored a magical arsenal that could prompt the end of the world lest they fell into the wrong hands, but it was a sword that got Dumbledore worked up. The blade was more decorative than anything else, but it would be a disgrace to let it get dull.