“Until last night, it all seemed fairly straightforward. You know. Defeat monsters, find magic sword, save the world, then go home for tea.” He stopped pacing and looked Merlin straight in the eye. “Oh, part of me understood the importance of what we are trying to do here, but it all so far outside my frame of reference that it hadn’t really registered. People got hurt out there last night, Merlin. My friends!”

“Sit down, Jamie, and I shall try to help.” The Keeper of Light silently invoked his Masters and asked for their guidance. He took the sword from its resting place on the great oak desk, and laid it across Jamie’s hands. The young man felt a thrill as the cold metal touched his outstretched palms, he was holding far more than an ancient blade. He could feel the weight of years and the depth of power pulsing through his fingers and coursing around his body. It was not the voice of his friend who continued, but the voice of the Keeper, resonant with ageless hope.

“There is a price to pay for power, always. This the Oldest Ones knew at the dawn of our age of the world when they offered up their bloody sacrifices. In their eyes it was not murder, but a gift to the gods. They had little and chose to give the one precious thing, Jamie: life. The victims, if such we may call them, were honoured to be chosen and were, in their faith, guaranteed a place with the gods in the afterlife. Thus, they often went willing to their death.

“One thing the Old Ones did not understand, however. It is not the death that buys power but the faith of the willing sacrifice. They knew enough to believe it to be a bad omen for the chosen one to resist death and often prevented the victim from panicking with the use of drugs. The blood that was spilled by our friends last night was freely given. They knew what they were attempting and what the cost of failure might be. For their faith in our quest and their love for each other they willingly risked all that they are. It is never the blood which buys power, no, but in this case, the blood was the visible symbol of their commitment and voluntary self-sacrifice.

“Nor need blood always be the appointed symbol; sometimes the sacrifice made is internal and known only to the gods and the one who offers it. Only the spirit in which the offering is made has any value, and true sacrifice is always answered.“Do you understand, my boy?”

“I think so, Merlin. I know Alec waded into the barguest last night with no hesitation when Rhea was threatened. I think he would have traded his life for hers last night without question.”

“That, Jamie, is another misapprehension shared by many. You may not bargain with the gods. Remember that they are even more deeply bound to natural law than we, being, you might say, created to epitomise that law. You cannot say ‘I will give you this in return for that’, only the first three words hold any value.”

“’I will give…’ yes, I see.”

“I hope so, Jamie. It is not an easy lesson to learn in a world that glorifies wealth and possessions. We learn to take before we can walk, redressing that balance is a difficult task which we all face and many never achieve.” The old man took the sword from his hands as he spoke and laid it back on the desk. “Go for your walk, my boy. Let the wind blow some clean air into your brain, it must be reeling with all it has had to cope with in the last few days. Make sure to take the mobile with you for safety’s sake and don’t stay out too long.” The old man’s smile was as warm as the summer sun. “I must go and tell Beth a story.”

Extract from Sword of Destiny

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