Read Online The Old Magic by James Mallory - Free Book Online Page B

never seemed to gain on it. The beast ran tirelessly ahead of him, just out of reach,
     and the longer he chased it, the more determined Merlin was to catch it.
    It seemed as if he ran for hours at its heels without it tiring or slowing. He was breathing hard, with the sweat running
     in salty trickles down his face and into his eyes, but just as he was about to give up, he realized that he’d been gaining
     on it for the last few minutes. Victory was within his grasp, and Merlin gathered all his strength and made a wild leap for
     the stag’s back.
    But as he jumped, his foot caught in a tree root, and instead of landing on the stag’s back, Merlin crashed full-length to
     the forest floor. As he lay gasping for breath, he heard a distant crackling of branches, and by the time he scrambled to
     his feet, he couldn’t even see in which direction the creature had fled.
    He shook his head, pushing the hair back out of his eyes, and ruefully assessed the damage. He’d lost the honeycomb somewhere
     back at the beginning of the chase. His skin was scratched and his clothes were berry-stained and bramble-torn. Aunt Ambrosia
     would not be pleased—she always said he was far too hard on his clothes. Maybe some wildflowers or rare herbs would appease
     her, although frankly Merlin doubted it. The effort was worth making, though. He looked around, to see where he was and what
     might be growing here.
    Funny. I don’t remember ever seeing this place before.
    Since he’d been old enough to venture away from his own front door, Merlin had roamed the forest. He’d been sure he knew every
     inch of it as well as Aunt Ambrosia knew her own kitchen.
    He’d never been here.
    It was later than he’d realized at first; almost suppertime. The evening light shone down upon a forest pool that welled up
     out of a cleft in the rock behind it. He was hot and thirsty from his long run; kneeling beside the water, he cupped his hands
     to take a drink.
    Another face stared up at him from out of the water.
    “Yah!” With a startled cry, Merlin jumped backward and fell sprawling. Common sense reasserted itself a moment later, and
     he advanced warily on the spring. This time, when he looked down, he could see that the face that had gazed up at him was
     a carving, not a living thing. He drank thirstily, and then carefully cleared away the debris and leaves that had fallen into
     the pool over the years until he could see the carving clearly.
    It was a carving depicting the faces of three women, cut into the granite at the bottom of the pool by some long-forgotten
     master craftsman, as perfect and beautiful as the day that unknown artist had laid down his chisel. Two of the faces were
     shown in profile—one facing left, one facing right—with the third one gazing straight ahead. The three faces shared a certain
     resemblance, but each was subtly different. He did not know how he knew them, but somehow he did—a secret knowledge that emanated
     from some secret place within. Once—before the Christians, even before the Romans—these had been the gods of Britain.
    Mab-Morrigan the Warrior—Lady of Ravens, Queen of Battles—Titania the Maiden—Bright Enchantress—and Melusine the Mother, Mistress
     of the Silver Wheel. …
    The one facing left was a young woman: Titania. The Maiden’s cheeks were full with youth, and her cheek was dimpled with a
     hidden smile. Her hair was long and flowing, and it was braided with wildflowers, each blossom carved in such loving detail
     that Merlin fancied he could almost reach into the pool and pluck them from her hair.
    The one gazing straight ahead was older, a woman grown, somber and purposeful: Mab-Morrigan. This was the Lady in her aspect
     as Warrior: Her mouth was set with solemn determination, and there was justice but no mercy in her expression. Her eyes gazed
     steadfastly into his. She wore the coronet of rulership upon her brow, and clusters of ravens’ feathers were braided into
     her