Turn Turtle

By ChocolateEclar

Turn Turtle:

Capsize, turn upside down, as in When they collided, the car turned turtle. This expression alludes to the helplessness of a turtle turned on its back, where its shell can no longer protect it. [First half of 1800s]

               ~ From The American Heritage® Dictionary of Idioms by Christine Ammer

Prologue:Carmarthen (Caerfyrddin), Wales

July 18, 1613 A.D.

The boy had never doubted his master, but he wondered if perhaps he should stop being his apprentice. It all started with the nobleman’s son, Lucas. Lucas was a very tall blonde boy who was not gawky like the apprentice, and the young novice admired Lucas and his haughty air.

Lucas even had a name – and a good one at that in the apprentice’s opinion. The younger boy had never been christened with anything – let alone an actual name. Master Emrys called him “child,” “boy,” and “apprentice.” He promised to give him a name when he had completed all his tasks and was a master himself.

Lucas said the Master’s teachings were sinful and unholy though! the boy thought worriedly. He tossed and turned on his bed of straw and strips of fabric before his master appeared at the doorway with a little flame dancing on his outstretched palm.

“What ‘tis it, child?” the old man asked. He had very blue eyes and corresponding long white hair and beard. He wore a long robe that dragged at his heels and had a strange accent compared to the other people in the village.

The little eleven-year-old boy sat up and replied, “Sir, is’t sinful to learn sorcery?” He had light brown hair that curled around his ears and was adorned in a tan smock and ratty chocolate-colored pants.

Master Emrys stared straight at his apprentice for a moment before replying. “With your gift, child, it would be unholy not to. Now, who told you it was?”

“Lucas, sir,” answered the boy truthfully.

“Ah. Of course,” whispered the elderly man thoughtfully. “Do you feel wicked conjuring?”

“Not…Not really, sir,” responded the novice. He beamed at Master Emrys and said, “Thank you, Master.”

“Good night, child,” said Master Emrys. He left the room and strolled back to his own down the hallway of the little one-story house. He swept the flame off his palm with his thumb with a deft brush and turned to his window. The village was spread out through the trees that separated his home from their prying eyes.

“Not much time left,” sighed the old man, massaging his temples. He had never found a way to make the visions, the foresight, painless. Instead, he always felt a dull throbbing. “Oh, my apprentice,” he mumbled. “You are still so young and naïve. In time, you will learn the hardship I discovered when I had to escape my confinement.”

“Are you quite fine, Merlin?” asked a tiny voice at his window.

The Master smiled wearily at the little pure white cat sitting on his windowsill. “I’m quite fine, Meinwen,” the Master replied.

“You lie,” hissed the cat, Meinwen, with an irritated flick of her long, thin tail. “You are dying, Merlin!”

“I know,” said Merlin, the Master. “There is nothing to be done though. I have lived for over a millennium.”

The feline bounded from the sill and was in the shape of a woman in a white gown in one fluid motion. She held onto the front of Merlin’s robe and pleaded, “Do not leave our child and I.” Her hair was waist-length and flaxen, and she had emerald green eyes.

“It matters not,” Merlin said calmly. “He doesn’t know he is our son. You should tell him when he is old enough.”

“No!” shouted Meinwen loudly enough that Merlin covered her mouth with his hand.

“Hush. He is finally slumbering,” Merlin said.

Little tears were cascading from the woman’s green eyes. “No,” she whispered sharply. “You mustn’t go!”

“Worry not,” Merlin replied. “I won’t go until he has mastered all of what I promised him. After that, he must live on in his own way.”

Meinwen nodded sorrowfully. “I will make sure someone watches over him when I cannot,” she said.

“Fine. Now I shall be young for my goddess one last time…” Merlin muttered. He was a much younger man then with longish, light brown hair and no beard. He leaned down and kissed Meinwen.

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One Mile Outside of Carmarthen (Caerfyrddin), Wales

June 3, 1618 A.D.

“What are you up to, fool? More sorcery?” shouted a tall blonde man in smooth indigo satin embellished in gold, leaning out of the window of his stopped carriage.

The apprentice-turned-master – now a young man himself with long russet-colored hair and a black cloak held tossed over one shoulder with his left hand – smirked. “Not at all, Lord Lucas,” he replied with a bow. “I’m on my way to Spain for a bit of…enjoyment.”

“How do you propose to get across the channel once you reach the coast?” Lucas inquired disdainfully.

“Oh, that’s simple,” responded the younger man. He vanished in a blink of an eye then and reappeared atop Lucas’s carriage. “See? It’s easy, and I can go up to halfway across the world this way. I was just walking a bit of it to see the scenery.”

“Men!” hollered Lucas furiously, staring wide-eyed at the magician. “Arrest this man! He’s performing witchcraft!”

“Farewell forever then!” said the sorcerer with a wave.

He was in Madrid before the guards could aim their swords at him.

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