When Merlin was young, he used to stand under the branches of an old oak tree.
It was so old, its roots reached into the deepest bowels of the earth.
Merlin stood in silence, his piercing blue eyes staring into the unknown, listening to the blowing wind of autumn, the wind from the West.
At first, he didn't know the future from the present and from the past. He just felt some portent, some miracle was coming to pass or was already unfolding in its own time.
With long, flowing brown hair, a slender body wrapped up in a red tunic, and that preternatural gaze, Merlin was shunned by most people in the village.
He no longer paid attention. He was used to it, when people avoided his gaze and shuffled their feet with unease.
In time, he moved to the woods, outside the village, and what had been considered just a weird boy came to be regarded as a strange maverick, dispensing advice and healing remedies to kings and commoners alike.
Only when he became Arthur's adviser, did the people start to fear his wisdom and his magic, for it was whispered he was the devil's son. Yet, nobody ever suspected or even imagined the long hours he spent alone in the woods, in the silence of his hut, when Merlin trained himself to listen deeply to nature's sounds and voices, when he taught himself to recognise plants and heal ailments.
What he did for Arthur has been known for a long time. It is the stuff of legend. However, that very day he was standing under the oak tree was the seed of all that was to come.
Merlin stood motionless, staring into the wide expanse of the grey sea, just before dawn.
At that moment, he was a young man, with no remarkable past or present, just a shapeless future in his hands and eyes.
As the wind rose from the ocean, he vowed to forgive and forget all the mean people who had poked fun at him, who had made him feel less than he was, those who had branded him as a misfit.
He had already left behind his small family. His mother had died in childbirth. His uncle and aunt were rather relieved to see him go.
There he stood then, under the oak tree, murmuring incantations to the elements, even before he knew he was destined to become the greatest magician of all times.
What was his calling? Who was calling him?
He did not know, except for a fierce longing to follow his own wild heart.
The morning was grey and restless, beneath the shimmer of silence, like a surface hiding an unexpected depth.
On the threshold of time, while he was hanging in a calm limbo, Merlin caught sight of a little robin hopping among the branches of the oak tree.
He spotted its red breast for a moment, then it hid among the leaves. Yet, Merlin could sense its presence in the rustling of leaves.
He was intent on listening. For a stretch of time, Merlin was there, sensing the little winged sprite.
Little by little, his senses opened like a flower. He felt the bird's blood circling in its tiny body, the flutter of its wings.
Merlin closed his eyes. He saw the bird clearly. He waited. He listened to the bird's song, a strange, melancholic chirping in the thick of the branches.
And as he listened, little by little the robin’s voice turned into something more and more familiar, and Merlin thought he could make out the meaning of its singing… more than that, he could make out single words.
Was he crazy? Or just lonely? Or both?
As he asked himself these questions, the robin’s voice became clearer, warmer, like a woman’s coaxing voice.
“You are not crazy, Merlin,” it said, “do not be afraid. Listen.”
Merlin stood still like a hound pricking its ears, and the voice went on: “Come, Merlin. Follow me. You have come to the right place. Open the faery door and come inside to the land where you will pick your destiny. For your dreams and courage have led you to this place and hour.
Come, dear, follow the Queen of the Faery. Do not turn back, believe in your audacious self.
It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it.”
As the wind blew, the voice subsided. Merlin looked around a moment longer, then he turned towards the tree. And there he saw it: a small, unassuming door carved into the bark of the mighty oak. He took the iron ring and knocked. As he did so, it opened with a squeak.
He walked through.
He walked down a winding, narrow hall, it was dark, and he could only see as far as two strides ahead, but he kept on walking, until he saw a small, clear opening in the distance. He walked.
It seemed an endless distance. And as he proceeded, he saw, projected on the dark walls, sad scenes from his previous life. He stared hard at them, he marvelled, even, at their poignancy.
At any moment, he could have turned back, but he kept on going. Step after step.
On and on, he went until he approached the opening. One last stride, and he was out in a vast landscape, where a blue river flowed calmly across a green expanse.
Far away in the distance, he could see the purple mountains with glaciers glistening in the sunlight. And the water in the river sparkled with light too.
On the banks of the river, poplars and alder trees formed small enclaves, like friends gathering in circles.
One or two grey houses dotted the landscape at mid-bank, while a heron moved slowly on the left bank, as if it were an old thinking man. High above, a bald eagle circled in the sky, as if delivering a hidden message.
Merlin was delighted. He chose to walk on the left bank. As he walked, he lost track of time, since the day was clear, and the sun was steady in the sky. Yet, it was pleasant and cool. Merlin walked and walked, taking in the warmth and the gentle sun rays on his skin.
After passing the last house, he headed towards a conspicuous group of trees. He had always felt peace and emotion among trees. It looked like a grove.
He slowed down and went inside the sacred circle of trees with reverence. There was a large flat stone on two dolmens. It looked like an altar. Just next to it, there was a most peculiar tree:
in the middle of that luscious greenery, it was barren and naked. Only a few, small leaves hung there.
Merlin marvelled at that sight. Then, he closed his eyes and prayed that he might understand.
Gradually, the sky was covered with clouds, and the grove grew dim and shadowy. Merlin kept his eyes closed for an indefinite time, although he could sense the light passing away.
When he came back from that suspended state, it was twilight. The air was filled with a purple afterglow.
He looked at the barren tree and saw its small leaves grow on the branches. Buds grew and opened. They bloomed.
Merlin expected to see fruits any time now, but soon odd and different objects hung from the branches, instead of apples or pears. Merlin closed his eyes again. Then he re-opened them.
The strange objects were still hanging there.
As the evening grew dark, Merlin squinted to make out the strange objects on the branches.
There was giant seashells, stars and moons of various colours, pictures of ogres, goblins, gnomes, fairies… on the treetop there was a nesting stork. As Merlin observed the objects, the moon projected its silver light beam; a heart-shaped object glistened in the liquid light.
Merlin held his breath. It was colder, and the first snowflakes floated in the air.
When he lowered his eyes, Merlin was startled by the shadowy outline of somebody squatting at the feet of that strange tree.
“Hail, Merlin. I have been waiting for you.”
“Who is it? How do you know my name?”
A little man in green attire and a green pointed hat stood up, holding out his sinewy hands.
Merlin took them. They were warm and gentle. They sat on a golden carpet in front of each other. The man said:
“I am the Keeper of Dreams. I am the one who sends dreams to humans, when they are asleep, and when they dream wide awake.”
“And why have you been waiting for me? I hardly know what I have been dreaming of,” said Merlin.
The man nodded. Then, he said:
“There are different kinds of dreams. There are well-known dreams, and dreams of the heart.
Often, the heart knows what you have forgotten, and its dreams move mysteriously in your hushed souls. Humans have a peculiar way of forgetting what really matters.”
He smiled with irony. “Your brain, Merlin, needs some rest. You have been trying to remember so hard. Yet, in the silences of your heart lies the answer you seek. Your heart is faithful and won’t fail you.”
“What are the strange objects hanging from this peculiar tree?”
“The tree is different for everyone; yet, it is the tree of destiny, where those who have courage can see the possibilities open to them. This is your tree, Merlin, and you are here to choose.”
Merlin shivered.
“How can I choose, if I don’t know what I am choosing?”
The man smiled again. “Your heart knows. Your soul remembers. Observe the fruits of the tree, and choose carefully, for you are picking your destiny.”
As he uttered the last word, the man grew smaller, and his shape changed, till a stone lay where he had been sitting.
Merlin rose to his feet, uncertain and baffled. He stared at the stone for some time. Then, he walked around the tree. The full moon shone brighter now. He reviewed the unique fruits of the tree. Again, a beam of light built a bridge from the moon to the amber stone at the centre of the heart-shaped talisman, hanging from the third to last branch.
Merlin climbed the trunk and the branches, till he could stretch his arm and pick the talisman.
The wind was howling now. The leaves sounded like angry cobras.
Merlin saw that the talisman was intricately wrought with foliage and abstract patterns. The round amber stone at its centre was as polished as a mirror. Merlin saw his face in it: he was much older and had a long white beard. He sat next to a great king.
He held the talisman in his left hand and climbed down.