Arthur' The Legend and Myth Chapter 20

20.

Gendal took the last effort to reach the low lying root to have the hold for the descent. He regretted not bringing the rope but the words of his father was his to adhere. He was told to fetch the stone where the star had descended the night. Father told him from his bed that the Gods sent the stone to him. Gendal set off on his journey that morning at dawn. He had eyed the star that night and saw it streak across the sky. It landed not far from the hut but it was deep into the ravines. He disliked that place for it was home to the mountain creatures. Gendal’ l egs slipped on the footing at the cliff. It was one thing to slip on one foot but both legs meant a sliding was to be. Gendal slid down the cliff and soon found himself saved by another root that gave him some leverage. It from there Gendal slowly descended the side and then he was at the bottom.

”Aitean!” Gendal cursed in his Gaelic Irish word. He picked himself up and was met by the intense heat. It was emitting from the bottom of the valley. He had his hands raised to cover his eyes and then slid behind the boulder nearby. It was a relief but the heat was still there. He stayed there for a while and when he felt it was fine, he stepped out to look for the stone. It was not any stone but the one that the Gods had sent over. He found the stone eventually but it was a small stone. It was elongated and light enough to carry. Gendal wrapped the stone with his cloak and carried it home.

“Gendal, work on the fire.” Gendal heard his father while he stepped on the bellow to keep the fire going. Each step he do it, his heart burned and his limbs hurt. The stone was hammered by his father who had dragged his body off the bed. The elderly man was near death and yet with the stone, the life in the man was rejuvenated. They have been working on the stone for three days and nights, and it was slowly forming. Gendal looked to man who was his father. He was one of the best blacksmith in the art of sword making.

“This sword will rival that of the best. I will name it….” The elderly man paused in his hammering. “Caladbolg… that is a good name.”

“Caladcholg? What is in the name?” Gendal asked. “Why not something more meaningful?”

“The hard blade it meant.” The elderly man raised the hammer once more. “You are not the one who is doing this. I know my blades. I made some of the best. I was taught by the goblins. They are great masters….”

Gendal was not looking. The man had no interest in the blades. He was not keen to be in line as the next blacksmith. He had been learning his art in the making of the plough and the farming tools. He had seen the battles and the killings. The Romans drew the Picts away from the lower lands and they pillaged it here but not for long. The Picts were not all killers; they were also farmers and with the need to fight soon ceased. The Picts went back to their farms and peace soon reigned. It was then Gendal learned the new tools. The elderly man soon realized that the family trade was ending with him but he will hammer the last great sword. He has plans for it. It will redeemed his sins and repay that of his family.

The sword was made.

It was given a hard metal hilt and wrapped with the thongs from the wolves innards cured for days. It was then coated with a layer of glue materials to strengthen the wrap to the hilt. A wooden scabbard was made to hold it and on the scabbard was crafted the rune designs. The elderly man then was weaker with the last effort of hammering the sword. Nevertheless he dragged himself to the forest and from there he took the hard walk by the roots and the low hanging branches. He needed to rest at several spots but soon he came upon the destination. The large tree trunk blocked his view but once he went round it, he saw the lake.

It was the lake he sought.

The lake was small but the water was deep. He knew that for he had carried his daughter body into it and stopped after a few feet. The water had reached his chest then and the water soon took his daughter body into it. It was his way of seeking forgiveness. It was the wishes of the Lake. His daughter was in a better place in the lake. In return he promised to serve the Lady in the Lake.

“Make me the sword.” That was her request. It took him twenty years to do it.

That moment was then.

The elderly man stepped into the lake and walked on with the sword on his back. He was not returning but to join his daughter. He wants to be with her. He felt the water reached his chest and then something happened. It felt like fishes swarming around him and then the tug on the sword on his back. He reached for it but the water was stiffening his limbs. He was held against his wishes and the wrapping on the sword was becoming loose. He was to scream but the water at his chest rose up. He felt then that his body was raised up and floated on the surface. He was swept to the banks. He found himself lying there.

“It’s not fair. I am dying.” The elderly man shouted out. He pushed himself up but the blow on his head came not from the water but that of a man. Gendel lowered the hammer that was in his hand. It was covered with his father’s blood. He dragged the body to the tree lines and then returned to the lake. He bowed to it and then spoke up.

“I done as you asked. Now please give me water to the farm. The wars are over and we need to live.” Gendel spoke up. He then turned to return to his home. He was done with the killing. The body of his father will be devoured by the predators of the forest.

Arthur laughed at the take spoken by Merlin. He looked at the druid.

“Are you then Gendel?” Arthur asked. The later shrugged his shoulders and then replied.

“I am not Gendel but he was known to me. He was told to me by a master I once served with.” Merlin stammered out. He then looked at Arthur. “I could assure you that my list of masters is few but with each one I learned new things. If you are concerned on your role, you are not my master. You are my Lord.”

“Lord? Master? I cared not. I rode with you because you told me of Excalibur. If that was the sword, then I am not pleased with it. It was made by a master who was killed by his own ….apprentice.” Arthur mocked up a smile. “Like…”

“Like us? Me the apprentice to you the master? I think you have ride off the cliff there. We are not the same. I am your servant to the Lord of the new world. You can’t be the Lord unless you hold the power in your hand.” Merlin looked at the gladius on the belt. “That is not a powerful item. It’s a normal sword. It’s not Fragarach or the Claiomh Solais. Those were great swords of the Kings.”

Fragarach was known as the Answerer or the Retaliator. It was once held by Manannan mac Lir. No one could tell a lie or move when the sword was held at the throat. The sword was said to be able to cut through any walls or shields. The Claiomh Solais was the sword that could slay the Gods. Both swords were spoken by mouth but never were ever seen.

“Well, I will not hold that sword. Not now and not ever.” Arthur snapped back. He then took leave of Merlin but the later stopped him.

“How can you be the Lord of the lands when you held nothing in your hand? Your knight Lancelot held one.” Merlin challenged him. “You must hold one.”



“Then get me one.” Arthur replied.