Dear Merlin lovers,
I have just removed Merlin After from the blog because something better is on the way. Before summer I hope that my new novel about Merlin will be released. Here you have a few sample pages.
Thank you all who have visited this blog and read Merlin After. Thank you especially those of you who have left comments. You've been very encouraging.
I hope you will read and enjoy this new novel, one of a series of five.
All the best,
Rhuddem
Protecting
Cheesyfee
by
Rhuddem
Gwelin
The
Merlin Chronicles Volume IV
Part One
The First Twenty-Four Hours
1.
‘I can do things’
She ran.
The sound in her ears
of her heart pounding did not drown out the sound of her racing footsteps. Nor
did it drown out the sound of the racing footsteps of the men pursuing
her. Nor her fear.
She darted into the
night traffic on Bermondsey, cars slamming on their brakes and swerving, their
lights flashing into her eyes, blinding her, their angry horns blaring after
her. Her breath burning painfully, she got to the other side of the multi-lane
street, which suddenly seemed to be empty of cars, the traffic having melted in
one direction into the night and in the other, obediently waiting at a red
light.
Her pursuers crossed
the street without problem. They were gaining on her. Less than fifty metres
now.
Fear sent a spurt of
speed to her feet and involuntarily her head whipped around to see a tall thin
figure rushing at her.
He caught up to her
and grabbed her arm but before she could shout or make any sound at all, or
tear her arm away from him, he hissed, ‘They’re after me too! Keep running!’
She didn’t take – or
have – the time to think about it. She kept running, with him running beside
her. He too was breathing heavily but
only ran faster, side by side with her.
She heard the
footsteps gaining. He did too. He turned and without slowing down thrust his
arm out behind him, his fingers spread.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw two of the pursuers fall and
another one trip over them. But the
others swerved around their fallen companions, losing no speed in their
pursuit.
‘Down here!’ she
gasped and skidded around the corner, narrowly missing a man carrying an
attaché case. He growled, ‘Hey!’ and her – whatever he was, ally? fellow prey?
– grabbed the man to stop him from tripping, then caught up with her. She cursed herself under her breath. Why hadn’t she just ditched him?
But there he still
was and when she ducked into the courtyard of the George he was with her. The inn was still open and the lights spilled
out onto the court but there were no people there. If they could just get to
the corner of the courtyard they could cut through and get to the Guy’s
Hospital area –
She heard a sharp
sound. She’d seen enough films to recognize it. A gunshot. And his leg buckled
under him and he fell. She stumbled, part of her wanting to stop and help him,
but her legs sprinting on. Until she heard another shot just a split second
before – or was it after? – a sledgehammer smashed into her back and she fell hard,
face down on the courtyard stones.
Distantly she was aware of pain, of a roaring in her ears and of his
voice saying, ‘Branwen, come on, Branwen,’ but that too then was fading. She seemed to be lifted up and she opened her
eyes. What she saw, she vaguely thought,
must be a hallucination. Her companion
was standing, leaning against the inside corner of the courtyard wall. One arm
was around her, holding her on her feet the other was lifted, the palm of his
hand raised against the men chasing her. Suddenly the pursuers were all lifted
from their feet and smashed against the inn wall so hard that they fell in an
unconscious heap on the stone yard.
‘Right, Branwen. Where were you heading?’ His voice was soft
in her ear. Or maybe he was shouting, she couldn’t tell. She wondered foggily
how he knew her name. ‘You were heading somewhere. Tell me. I don’t know my way
around here. Where do you want to go?’
‘Guy’s’ she
murmured. ‘Through the corner, to the
left, down the...’ She didn’t have the strength to say more. She felt herself
being lifted up, and she was aware of being carried like a sack of potatoes,
over his shoulder, moaning at times when his limping run jarred the pain that
was spreading in her back.
Hours or seconds
later she was lowered down onto a cold floor in a dark corner of a dark room in
a dark building. It was silent, but for his heavy breathing. She slowly opened her eyes when there was a
small flare of light. She could see his
face, shadowed in sharp contrast, flickering in the small flame he had in his hand
– what? – bending over her. He carefully placed the flame in the air – what?
She must be hallucinating – near them and he lifted her up carefully so that
the upper half of her body was leaning against him, her face against his
shoulder. He pressed one hand against her back. Branwen felt a sharp wrench as
if something was being sharply pulled out of her flesh. He held up something,
looked at it briefly, and then with the flame hovering close to her he lay her
down on her back and passed both hands over her body, muttering something. The pain disappeared and she felt her
strength returning.
She sat up abruptly and stared at him. She was mesmerised by his
bright blue eyes – sombre in the wavering silvery golden flame hovering in the
air between them. He was thin, and tall,
and pale, with shaggy black hair, sharp cheekbones, hollow cheeks, a long
straight nose, wide mouth, sharp cleft chin. He was unshaven. He met her eyes
again; his were dark blue, flickering in the flame that hovered in the air near
their heads. He was about her age, late
twenties, she guessed. He looked, in
fact, rather normal.
He looked back at her a moment then he sat back, wincing as he
stretched his leg out in front of him.
The worn denim of his jeans was drenched in blood from the thigh
down. He passed his hand over what she
could clearly see was a bullet hole and a bullet popped out of his leg and into
his hand. He passed his hand over the
wound again and it closed up. A third
time and the blood disappeared.
Just like that.
She stared at him. He met
her eyes steadily. Finally she said, ‘What did you just do?’
He looked down. ‘Um, I can do things.’
‘I can see that!’ She felt
her voice rise hysterically. She took a deep breath, fighting back the feeling
of panic. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked sharply. As if that mattered.
‘I’ve been called a lot of things.
You can call me what you like.’
‘What do you call yourself?’
‘Usually Hey You.’ The
corner of his mouth twitched to reveal a deep dimple in his cheek.
‘Well what does your family call you? Assuming you have one.’
He grinned. ‘Usually Hey You. When they’re being polite.’
‘Are you mad?’
‘I’ve been called that too.’
She took a deep breath. She
didn’t know how to deal with this. She
had to avoid looking too closely at what was happening so she let out the
breath in a long sigh and said, ‘OK, I’ll call you Gwydion.’
His head jerked back and he looked at her with sharp eyes. ‘Gwydion?’
‘Yeah, it’s from a story my Welsh Gran used to tell me. It means
magician.’
He laughed. ‘Yeah, right. It’ll do.’
‘Are you going to explain?’
‘Explain what?’ His laugh lingered in his eyes but he also looked
shifty. And sad.
‘What do you think? All this!’
she waved her hands around. ‘What’s your trick?!’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Well let’s start with something easy then. Where are you from?’
‘Um, that’s complicated too.’
‘Where are you from!’ she repeated angrily. Whatever his
game was, it was nonsense and she was losing her patience.
‘Um, from long ago and probably before that from far away.’
She stared him. Maybe he was mad. He met her eyes briefly then
looked away quickly and seemed to shrink back, though he didn’t move. ‘What are you doing here?’
He winced. ‘Good question.’
‘Come on! Cut the shite!
Tell me something! Why were they chasing you too?’
‘Um, because I’m...protecting you.’
She jumped up and backed quickly into the corner, glaring at
him. ‘What the fuck are you talking
about?’ She started shaking violently
and sank down onto the floor, scared. She felt trapped, hemmed in.
Quickly he removed his hooded jacket and though she tried to pull
away from him he wrapped her in the jacket and pulled her into his arms. ‘Hey,
it’s OK,’ he murmured. ‘You’re in shock,
you’re OK, you’re OK.’ He spoke as
though trying to tame a wild animal and to her angry amazement it worked. She stopped trembling. Though she wanted to stay in his arms she
pulled back and looked at him again sharply.
He let her go and reached out for the rucksack she hadn’t noticed
he had been carrying. He rummaged in it,
produced a small kettle and a bottle of what she guessed was water. He held his hand up to the flame which
docilely floated through the air towards him and settled at his feet. ‘What you need is a cup of sweet hot tea,’ he
said matter-of-factly.
‘What are you, my granny?’
‘Yeah.’ He grinned briefly without looking at her. He worked in
silence and soon handed her a mug. ‘Be careful. It’s hot.’
‘Aren’t you going to have some?’
‘When you’re done.’
It tasted delicious and she almost inhaled it. It was like an elixir. Maybe it was.
When she was done she felt great.
She had just escaped some bad guys, been shot and healed and was alive. In some grotty old warehouse or something
with a scrawny scruffy madman but alive.
‘Thanks.’ She handed him the
mug and stared at him while he made himself some tea. He was pale and didn’t look so healthy
himself. Of course he too had been shot
and lost blood. Maybe he was in shock too.
When he had started sipping his tea she said, ‘So why were they
chasing me?’
He glanced at her then away.
He sure wasn’t one for meeting one’s eyes. ‘You don’t know?’ he asked.
‘I just asked, did I not?’ What was wrong with this lunatic
anyway?
‘Yeah, well.’ He gestured with his chin towards her front and said,
‘What’s in your pocket?’
‘My pocket?’ He nodded. She
pulled out her USB memory stick and held it up. ‘This?’
