Geis

Disclaimer: Not mine and I make no profit.

It was Yule and the youngsters had gone hunting a wren early in the morning. Merlin had woken early also so he could watch them go, to the amusement of his mother who had been quick to point out he wasn't usually so early riser. At the age of ten he wasn't quite old enough to be called a youngster and, as longingly as he had watched after the boys covered in woollen coats and furs, he wasn't so childish he didn't understand he would only have slowed the Wrenboys down in the high snow drifts. Maybe they couldn't have caught the wren then and Merlin didn't know what might happen without the wren, but he was sure it would have been something terrible.

Everybody knew this, just like all the women of the village were afraid to hear the sound of the deathwatch beetle because that means the man they love is doomed to die.

The boys had returned, carrying a small bird, brown and fragile-looking and so tiny on Dryn's giant palm. Dryn was the biggest of the youngsters, already bigger than all the grown men except for his own father and uncle, but he was a gentle soul and the dead bird had looked so out of place in his hand. He had been wearing a funny straw hat that had hidden his face, they were all dressed like that, and they had carried the wren around the town, singing. People had given them food and Dryn had carefully plucked out a single feather for everyone who gave them food.

Droolin, droolin, where's your nest? 'Tis in the bush that I love best, in the tree, the holly tree, where all the boys do follow me.

Hunith had given them two geese to roast or spit, and the whole village had prepared to feast upon the crackling of the bonfire. Pigs and geese and bread and apples and fish; winter was the meagre time, but this night the back of the winter would be bent and they all rejoiced the return of the sun.

There was a pole decorated with red and yellow ribbons like sun, wreaths, and dried flowers at the center of the dance where they had stomped the snow into hard ground. The bird had been put on top of the pole. Merlin though it was a great feast.

"Are you having fun, Merlin?" his mother asked. She asked that a lot when Merlin wasn't playing with his friends. But he played with them often, though usually the mood stuck him when he was supposed to be doing something else, but so it went, he supposed. But he also had fun sitting on a bench and watching all the rejoicing.

"Yes, mom, I have fun," he said, exasperated. His belly was full and warm with food and the corners of his mouth slick with ham drippings. Mother ruffled his hair.

"I'll go dancing. Join the merrymaking, my son, its only Yule once a year!" She collected her rusty red coat, the warmest she had, and her skirts and hasted into the circle of people swirling around each other with no care of what they looked, lifting their legs high, their laughter little, white clouds. The music was quicker now and beckoned in his ears, his left foot was tapping the ground and he was getting a little cold just sitting there. He rose to his feet to step in.

And power swept through him, fierce like north wind it took his breath away. Merlin could feel things other people couldn't, the small magics of healing and growth his mother performed like the smell of fresh, baked bread and a ghost-hug, but he had never felt anything this intense. Icy touch brushed against his soul and he shuddered. Something was coming, he felt it with his every heartbeat and turned his head frantically, trying to catch his mothers eyes among the whirling dancers. He was scared.

A hand landed on Merlin's shoulder, making him jump and scream. But when he turned around the feeling was gone like it had never been there and the hand, old and wrinkled, belonged to a crone in a faded blue cloak.

It wasn't polite to call old women crones, but she was old and ugly, her nose too long for her face, which was small and wrinkled, her fingers bony and her dirty grey hair looked like she hadn't even shown it a comb in several years. But this wasn't why Merlin took a step back and then bowed a little, gnawing his bottom lip; a nervous habit his mother was trying to break. The Crone was old age and death, winter, the end of all things and the waning moon. It wasn't polite to call old women crones, but she was cold like a block of ice.

Maybe it was just an old woman. Merlin wasn't going to bet on it. He was usually so proud he was different from the other boys, he was special, and even though he was small and thin even Gav and his bullies left him in peace, but then there were thing like this. She tried to touch him. He shirked away, his heart fluttering like a baby chick. He didn't want to be there!

"Peace to you, little one," the old woman croaked and brushed tangled mess from her face with a clever, elegant wave of hand that looked like something a young girl would do. Jill of golden hair and big smile did that a lot when she was talking with Dryn. It was funny how he thought of that now. "I ask for hospitality here," the old woman continued and cast the wooden table full of food a longing look and a painful knot began to unravel at the bottom of Merlin's stomach.

It was a privilege to welcome any and all guests at any hour to stay for as long as they liked. All householders were obliged to provide food, drink, a bed and entertainment to anyone who appeared on the doorstep without any questions whatsoever. Never was it proper to ask their identity, point of origin or destination, though most provided these readily. In return the guests were to abstain from any violence or quarrels. This was the law, older than the laws of kings. This was sacred. And Merlin smiled at her and asked if she would like to have something to eat, suddenly not afraid at all. Humans were just people, mother had told him, and they couldn't always be trusted to respect the sacred things in this world, but their older siblings knew better. If she was a guest then everyone was safe.

"Merlin! Come here!" Will shouted at him and danced away with Jill. Dryn was looking at them indulgently; Will was much too young to be a rival. It was funny how Will didn't think anything of the strange woman talking with Merlin, or maybe not.

"We are happy to have you here. You picked a good night too! You can stay with my mother and me, but I think the headman might steal you away, since this is his village so he does things like that. I'm Merlin and my mother is Hunith." Merlin chattered away, his tongue loose now. The old woman smiled indulgingly at him.

"A follower of the old ways, aren't you?"

Merlin nodded, puzzled. They were all followers of the old ways. He had heard that in the kingdom of Camelot king Uther Pendragon had carried out a terrible retribution against the Old Religion and all people who followed the old ways were killed, but in the kingdom of Cenred the king was wiser and didn't challenge the gods.

Nobody could challenge the gods and win. Just as nobody could stop winter from following summer and summer following winter.

"Do you know what geasa are, little boy?" the woman asked from Merlin. He nodded, grinning, eager to show off his knowledge. Nobody knew more of the gods and magic than him in the village of Ealdor except his mother. Merlin knew that no one could know everything, but if someone could make him doubt that truth it would be his mother.

"A geis is both a gift and a curse, like a two-edged sword. It brings power, but if someone under a geis violates it they will suffer dishonor or even death, just like Cúchulainn!"

When Merlin was six years old his mother had told him the story of Cúchulainn, a great hero from the western land. It had been midwinter also, only five days before the Winter Solstice. Fresh fruits were but a dream of summer, but Hunith always had many strings of whole apples, cored and dried and smaller than her fist, hanging from the beams of her hut and she had pulled an apple down for her son. Merlin had slowly savoured the treat as his mother had told him of little boy called Sétanta and how he had gained his better-known name. Cúchulainn meant the hound of Culann and as a child, after he killed Culann's fierce guard-dog in self-defense, he had offered to take its place until a replacement could be reared.

Her warm voice accompanied by the warm crackling of the fire, mother had told him how he had single-handedly defended Ulster against the armies of queen Medb of Connacht and also how he had died.

Cúchulainn had a geis to never eat dog meat, but he had another geis also: to always eat any food offered to him by a woman, and once an old crone offered him a meal of dog meat. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, Cúchulainn had eaten and then Lugaid son of Cú Roí had killed him with a magical spear.

"Very good, little boy. But tell me, Merlin Emrys, am I beautiful to you?"

Merlin swallowed. She was a guest, but he still didn't think it would be wise to tell her she was ugly to her face. But it really wouldn't be a good idea to lie to her either, of that Merlin was sure. He squinted his eyes and when the golden light of the bonfire burned behind the old woman, lighting her hard bony edges and leaving the rest of her in shadows except for her black, sharp eyes, he guessed she wasn't all that ugly after all. Just kind of old and wrinkled.

"I'm sure you are very beautiful for your age, ma'am," he answered. The old woman threw her head back and laughed heartily. She wasn't beautiful, but she still had all her teeth left and they were white as fresh snow.

"You are honest, little one, and polite also. Will you give an old woman a kiss even if she isn't beautiful?" She was fluttering her eyes funnily.

Merlin blinked, surprised, but that one wasn't difficult. He walked the few steps that had separated them. She was so hunched they were almost the same height and so Merlin had no difficulties at all pressing his lips against her cheek, winter-pale, but apple red of the night that was steadily becoming colder. The freezing power shot through him in a flash of silvery pain.

First there was laughter and he felt something cold blistering in his hand. Merlin looked and realized he was holding a snowball. He threw it, wondering where everyone had gone to. He could only hear distant, joyous laughter and the hooting of an own, the moon above him casting all in blue light. But Blue Moon wasn't really blue, was it? Merlin had never seen one before.

Every twenty-eight days the full moon rises to illuminate the skies and this equals twelve moons a year, but what happens when there is a thirteenth moon, the Blue Moon? If you make plans under the Blue Moon, they will come true, but be careful, the moons powers are unpredictable and you may get your wish, but it may be more than you want. Everything was white, clear like blue ice and swirling like snow flakes, brilliant and distant and uncaring. When the storm came, it hit the village like a hammer. The snow fell in a wall of white. It was night, but all was still so shining white and cold Merlin could see like it was midday, even though the moon and stars were hidden behind the heavy clouds. He was terribly cold. There was a huge hill of snow where there had been his mother's hut. This time last year there had been a bonfire and all the houses were decorated with evergreen; now there was just snow. He was cold. He was alone in a world of white, only him and the blue eyes...

Merlin was standing in the light of the bonfire again, the laughter and music in his ears. The blue eyes were still in front of him, watching him from the most beautiful face.

Celebrate the great wheel's turning in this darkest, coldest night; With the yule log brightly burning, sing, and praise the coming light!

The old woman was gone like she had never been and in his stead there stood a regal, tall lady in shimmering midnight blue dress and white furs, smiling down at him. Her skin was very white, but her cheeks were healthy red and her hair, so pale yellow it was almost white, had been gathered up with a clip that looked like it had been made of some king of dusk, its ends encased in golden sheaths, and still the fair tresses reached her waist. Merlin had a name for her now, he was sure of it. She who carries a hammer for shaping the hills and valleys, who herds the deer and fights the Spring and was reborn on every All Hallows Eve, returned to bring the winter and the winter snows and returned to the earth by turning to stone on Beltane Eve. She who is said to be the mother of all the goddesses and gods.

Cailleach Bheur.

"Do not fear, Merlin Emrys. Those who reject me I punish, but you gave me a kiss." Her smirk was mischievous like a little girl's, but her eyes were still old. She pushed her tresses aside again and now the flick of wrist suited her. "You are a bit young to be judged this way, aren't you, though?" she asked. Merlin realized she expected him to say something.

"Am I?" he asked. No one noticed a thing. No one saw that he was talking to a strange woman, everyone simply feated away, eating and dancing and merrymaking. Even his mother didn't come to him. He wanted his mother so badly. But he wasn't going to cry; he was a big boy and big boys didn't cry. His nose was running and he tried to sniff covertly.

"But young people judge by looks also, so I guess I will let this pass. A hard geis I intended to give you, but you are simply too cute to burden terribly. So heed to my word, the littlest warlock; you must never allow a woman you have taught to take you to an oak tree." Now her face was sterner, like she was thinking that even he should manage that much, or else.

"That's it?" Merlin asked and then realized what he was arguing against. "Not that I'm not happy its just that, ma'am, its just that you are a really important goddess and I'm kind of unimportant so how come I rate a geis in the first place?" Not that I doubt your judgment…" Oh, he was just talking himself deeper into the swamp!

"You are going to leave this little village when you grow older, Merlin Emrys. You are meant for greater things than healing sprained ankles and measles. You will live in a castle with a king." One long, whiter-than-snow finger stroked Merlin's cheek.

Merlin knew there were great castles outside. Outside was magical place to him, somewhere he had never been to, of which there were many stories. Outside was behind the forest that surrounded their village and the fields around it. Outlaws lived in the forest. Robbers lived in the forest and so did wolves and Merlin was a lot more afraid of bad men than animals. Wolves, mother had told him, were more afraid of humans than humans of them and only attacked people if the winter was long and hard, when it was so cold birds dropped from the branches dead and food was scarce. Bad men were bad men all the time.

There would be a lot of bad men out there, since he couldn't defend the peace and freedom and justice if there weren't villains to protect them from. But it would be a great adventure. And maybe this king could be his friend.

Merlin was usually so proud he was different from the other boys, he was special, but even though he had friends he didn't have the same kind of friends other boys had. It was the same way everybody treated Hunith of Ealdor nicely. If you have a toothache so bad you can't sleep and it's down to a choice between going to a witch or going to a huge, soot-covered blacksmith so he could rip your tooth off with big tongs everybody sensible would go to the witch, or if your only cow comes down with terrible foot rot, foul-smelling lesions blooming like mad roses, and you just can't afford to loose it it's best to be in good terms with her. But she had no more real friends than Merlin had.

Actually, Merlin thought to be fair, he was exaggerating because he had Will. But Will was just one person. And a real king! Merlin couldn't help, but be exited. Would he wear his crown always, or only in banquets?

"I will do as you say, ma'am," he promised, belatedly wondering if maybe he should call her by more respectful title, like your divine majesty or something. But he would have felt very silly talking like that and he had a feeling that the great Cailleach Bheur had little use for people who kissed up like that, with lots of melodrama.

"See that you do, Merlin Emrys. The world is changing, but it need not be necessarily a bad change. Men and women like you will have a hand in shaping it, in good and bad both. See to it that you do good." And then she was gone. There was no movement, no flash of magic to be felt like frost creeping into his bones; she simply wasn't there anymore. In her footsteps grew two sapling so close they ere almost intertwined. Merlin knelt to see them closer. It was hard to be sure since they were so small and had no leaves, but he was pretty sure one was gorse bush and the other was probably holly, both holy trees of Cailleach Bheur.

He remembered what his mother had once told him of the properties of oak and rowan and ash tree and… Holly for guarding against lightning, poison and evil spirits. Gorse bush for protection from influence of the Sidhe and good luck.

"Call on Dagda and Bel for protection while holding a gorse branch," mother had told him. "Call on Áine and Grian for prosperity and success. And remember to wear gloves – it's very prickly!" Merlin touched a little branch carefully with the tip of his finger. The rind was still a little green, like it was a spring and time for new growth.

"Merlin! What are you sitting here, staring at… tree?"

It was Will. He didn't look happy with Merlin. He was a good friend and always tried to involve him in things and generally worried when he did different things, like staring at tree sapling in the middle of a feast.

"There weren't any sapling here yesterday, were there?" he tried. Will was a good friend, but he wasn't entirely happy with all the things he was.

"Of course there must have been," Will said, but he looked uncomfortable. A calloused hand snaked from the shelter of long sleeves and grabbed Merlin's wrist with tight grip. Merlin allowed him to drag himself into the dance, deciding to cut himself a branch of both trees once they had grown a little.

He was going to live in a real castle one day, with a king, and he had a geis. It didn't make very much sense to him, but then again, not being allowed to eat dog meat didn't make sense either. It didn't seem like it would be a very difficult to follow either – it wasn't like he had two geasa that could make a conflict.

He wondered why Cailleach Bheur had called him Emrys. He would have to ask mother about it.

AN: "You must never allow a woman you have taught to take you to an oak tree" is a reference to Viviane. Viviane learns her magic from Merlin, who becomes enamored of her. She refuses to give him her love until he has taught her all his secrets, after which she uses her power to trap him either in the trunk of a tree or beneath a stone, depending on the story and author. I wonder if forewarned is forearmed here?

Emrys is a Welsh form of the Greek Ambrosios, meaning immortal. My Merlin doesn't know what it means yet because Emrys is a Cymraeg word and his native language is Gaelic. (Myrddin is a Welsh name, but it isn't like the story doesn't take big liberties with the legends anyway.)