The Magic Flight

When I woke again, I was looking at a television screen. I watched the picture and saw my own face. My eyes were closed as if I were sleeping but my lips were moving and the voice that came out was unfamiliar. I could not understand the language I was listening to but it seemed to be a story. And though it was my face on the screen, the voice seemed that of an old man or a priest, solemnly telling a story. What was the language? What were the words? I had so many questions. Suddenly, the video stopped and the television displayed nothing. I lay awake, listening to the silence of my room. The only thing I could hear was the sound of my own breath. I lay still, hoping that I could remember my life before this place. In my memory flashed images of a woman and a child, both at various ages. The questions I had were building and I didn’t know if I would ever have answers. I closed my eyes, trying to think, and again I slept.

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Myrddin was born the son of a king but had never really been prepared to be a prince. Even when young, he seemed strange and different compared to other boys. He had no desire to play, no impulse for competition. He enjoyed studying and observing the world around him. He was physically weaker than other boys and his mind more delicate. So, he was given an intellectual education. Someday, he might rule and if he could not control his kingdom with his fist, then he might maintain it by his mind. But, he was so easily distracted by the details of a circumstance that he never really grasped any situation he was faced with. His mind would wander around a problem and never properly locate the solution. Sometimes his father would have guessed his son to be witless. At other times the boy pointed out an acute observation that no one else would have even noticed, a trait he had inherited from his mother. Myrddin was very much like her, though she had died while delivering her second child, Gwenddydd. The king had loved his first wife very much, and would allow no harm to come to her children.

As Myrddin and his sister matured, they began to take on more responsibilities. Even as a child, she became a mother and viceroy to her brother, knowing that someday he might be king. Gwenddydd’s strong personality balanced Myrddin’s erratic behavior and she often used her brother’s obsessive attention to detail to help him focus on a problem. Together, they were an unbeatable team and could solve any riddle or puzzle presented to them.

But now, her beloved brother had become a strange creature. He had abandoned his mind completely and had taken to wandering in the woods. He seemed half-beast, half-man, creeping between the trees and rocks, as if hiding from an unseen enemy. He had witnessed things that his already sensitive mind could not handle. He had been present at a horrible battle in which his father and their entire army had been slaughtered by enemy forces. Gwenddydd had married a kind young nobleman that she half-loved to protect her kingdom. Myrddin had fled the battle to live amongst the beasts of the forest. Every Sunday, she would gather some food and drink and journey to the caves and glens where he took shelter. There, she would lay out the meal, in hope that her brother would come to his senses and rejoin civilization. She did this every week for a few months, when finally, as the summer cooled into autumn, he appeared before her.

His clothes were in rags and his hair looked like a bird’s nest but he did not seem dirty. She cut and buttered some bread and invited him to sit down with him. He seemed hesitant at first but after a moment he sat and ate the bread. She poured him some wine but after tasting it, he spat it out, saying how unhealthy it tasted. She offered him beer and mead, and these too he rejected. Finally she offered him milk and he drank a glass but he said he still preferred simple water. He continued to eat the bread, and as he did, he made some comments to himself that sounded like poetry or prophesies. It was then that Gwenddydd realized that her brother might be a prophet or wizard of some kind. He had always been half-mad, but the scene he had witnessed on the battlefield had finally upset the balance of his mind. She tried to persuade him to come home with her. She had, through her husband, secured their former residence, where his room was kept almost as if he had just left. There, he could find peace and solitude.

He answered her that he was not ready yet, but he would return with her if she would first tell him a story. So she chose to tell him the story of one of her dreams, since she could not immediately think of a story to tell him. As she spoke, his eyes seemed to drift away, focusing on a distant point on the horizon. When she had finished the story, he seemed to come back and the wild look in his eyes vanished completely. Then he spoke softly and told her the meaning of her dream and agreed to go back home if only she would tell him more of her dreams.