Bryn Myrddin

The curious warbles of a rosella serenaded his return to consciousness. The forest around him wafted in a soft coating of mist, the rising sun catching every drop of dew and turning each one into crystal prisms of light. The murmur of gentle, running water was hypnotically soothing. He could smell the sweetness of the air.
Had he fallen asleep outside again?
No Taylor, you have not.
"Shit!" bolting off the comfortable mattress – only long years of occupying the bottom bunk saved him from hitting his head on the overhanging rock – it took him a few seconds to recollect his sleep-numbed thoughts.
Are you alright Taylor? How many fingers am I holding up?
"Fi . . . fingers? How would I know? I can't see you!" the High Merlin chuckled.
Ah good. You'll be alright.
"Of course I'll be alright," he didn't really mean to sound so aggravated, it came more from habit; one of Zac's favourite practical jokes was to wake him up long before it occurred to any rooster to rouse the entire neighbourhood with its crowing and squawking.
Not a morning person I see?
"Definitely not. What time is it?" for the third time, he combed his hair off his face, only to have it fall back again five seconds later.
What time do you want it to be?
"God, not here too,"
The entire labyrinth adjusts itself to suit. If you wish it to be morning, then it's as good as morning.
"Don't you have a clock or anything?"
The clock has controlled you your entire life, wouldn't you like to control the clock for once?
"I . . . but . . . it's not . . . real, is it?"
Of course it's real, if you want today to last ninety-six hours, then ninety-six hours it will last.
"But what about outside? Ninety-six hours . . . that's four days, so for every ninety-six hour day in here, four days will have passed outside,"
No, only one day will have passed outside.
"But . . . I . . . how. . . ?"
'Tis mind-boggling, the amount of power you now possess just by entering Bryn Myrddin, is it not?
"I. . . ."
But no time to worry about such things now, I'm sure you'd much prefer to return to the library. You still have 'Introductory Metaphysics' to finish.
"High Merlin?"
Aye?
"Can I take one of those ninety-six hour days to try and figure this out?" the High Merlin's laughter was starting to get on his nerves. Just what had he said that was so funny this time?
My friend, you are many books away from the specifics of parallel time passage!
"Yeah, whatever, can I just take the day off please?"
You have only been here one day Taylor.
"And I'd appreciate a few hours where I'm not being bombarded by ideas that two days ago I would have thought were material for some sci-fi movie!"
As you wish my friend, ninety-six hours are yours to do with as you please.
Why did the High Merlin have to sound so amused?

Taylor very quickly got bored with the forest; sure it was nice to fall asleep there, nestled on a rock ledge, surrounded by the music of nature, but there was nothing to do! Did he dare or did he not? That was the question.
'Oh what the hell!'
A quick stroll revealed the door that led back out into the corridor. Just like the one in the library, this door was surrounded by free space; he barely prevented himself from being startled.
"Man this is going to take some getting used to," he didn't know what to be more surprised at, that the High Merlin had not offered any comment, or that he'd been expecting one. Oh well, it was a relief as much as anything else. At least he could think without the risk of being overheard!
The door moved without a sound, opening to a surprisingly plain corridor, painted a cheery yellow that usually did more to dampen people's spirits than lift them. The corridor was reminiscent of the library in the fact that it extended as far as he could see. Which slightly defied belief because he'd walked (or perhaps 'stumbled' would be a better word?) down what must have been at least a thousand steps the night before, yet was there a single staircase anywhere in sight? Of course not! Nothing could ever be that simple at Bryn Myrddin.
At least the doors that lined both sides of the corridor were in some semblance of order; they looked like some kind of paint-by-number game. The door opposite him was red.
"High Merlin, what's behind this?" there was no answer, "Oh great! Of course, the Merlin's as temperamental as his books!" no help of any kind was going to be coming from that quarter until, Tay felt he could safely assume, the ninety-six hours were up. He'd just have to do this the old-fashioned way; open the door and see what was on the other side.

The painted hinges squealed in protest as he forced them open. Strange. The room inside was dark, gloomy, dank. It smelled of must, dust and . . . and cheap oil paint. Was this some kind of storeroom?

< I don't think so Tay. >

"What?! Who said that?"

< I did. >

"And who are you?" this voice – definitely not the High Merlin's – echoed around the room, seeming to come from everywhere at once. But like the High Merlin, it seemed to find what he said amusing.

< You'll find out soon enough. >

"What?"
"What?!" another voice, much more gruff, slightly more annoyed – and more human – came from a corner. Sitting in front of an easel, an odd-looking man stared at him. He seemed like any stereotypical university art student, unshaven, with the beginnings of dreadlocks (perhaps unintentional?), and clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed for a month. The denim jacket and paint splattered jeans probably would have smelt the same way, if not for the completely overpowering odours of the unkept room.
"I . . . I'm sorry, I didn't realise anyone was in he–"
"He who would seek the Muse, must first unbind his eyes and open his soul to the unknown. The Goddess takes many forms, for she resides in the hearts of men,"
"I . . . beg your pardon?"
"He who would seek the Muse, must first unbind his eyes and open his soul to the unknown. The Goddess takes many forms, for she resides in the hearts of men," and with that, the artist grumpily returned to his work, muttering in an ugly, guttural language. And Tay saw what made him different from any stereotypical university art student.
He only had one ear.
"Um, excuse me –"

< Vincent won't help you any more than that. He's far too wretched and tragic at this time of day. >

There was that ubiquitous voice again! What was it with Bryn Myrddin and voices? Was it too much to ask that he at least be able to see whoever it was talking to him?
Quickly retreating, the cheerfully depressing yellow corridor went unnoticed. What on earth was Van Gogh doing in the High Merlin's labyrinth?

As much of a relief as it was to not have the High Merlin sabotaging his every thought, Tay found that loneliness was beginning to stain his freedom. One huge corridor (with stairs around somewhere!) all to oneself dulled very quickly. The only company he had was the strange voice, that seemed to speak from every wall, from every inch of the floor and paint-by-number doors. It might have been female, but he just couldn't tell. Maybe it was the echo, it sounded so far away. Maybe it wasn't. The voice only talked to him when it wanted, and that wasn't often. Its last, almost exasperated message had been to tell him the answer he wanted was right in front of him, that all he had to do was ask. ('Ask?')
That had been about six doors back. All those doors had revealed were mirrors.
"And behind door number seven we have. . . ." he flung open the door.
"Your reflection" lucky Taylor had a good grip on the door handle, since his knees decided that this would be a good time to buckle.
"I'm not seeing this!"
"Of course you're seeing it idiot! Would I be standing here if you weren't?" his reflection stood there, arms folded, eyes glaring contempt back at him as he struggled to his feet. His reflection just rolled its eyes.
"Wh . . . what the . . . the –"
"By Ceridwen, give up on being surprised or shocked or whatever it is you are right now Tay, you've got work to do," even while being thoroughly cowed by superstitious fear, Taylor still found room for indignation.
"Work? The High Merlin brought me here just to work?"
"Taliesin thought maybe you were smart enough to figure it out on your own, but obviously not,"
"If you're my reflection, aren't you meant to be like me?" he didn't think he could manage the high levels of disgust that laced his reflection's features.
"I may look like you, but otherwise I'm your complete opposite – thank the Gods – but that's also why I'm stuck on the Other Side of this goddamn mirror!"
"I. . . ."
"You might enjoy wasting a day or two dreaming, but I'd prefer to actually get something done!" Tay inwardly sighed; the last thing he felt like dealing with was his petulant reflection this early in the morning. Was it impossible for anyone in this place to be straightforward or just plain nice?
"What am I supposed to do then?" for some reason, he felt tired.
"You have to find her,"
"Who?"
"Her,"
"Who's 'her'?"
"If you need to ask, then you haven't got a hope," and his reflection faded back into the mirror. Right then and there, Taylor felt like finding a quiet corner to sit and let loose the frustrated scream he'd been fighting back for the last ten minutes. What was it they all wanted him to do?! Did they think he could read their minds for the answers? He'd just been dropped into this mess, and everybody expected him to know exactly what the hell was going on, right down to the last syllable! And all these damned cryptic messages! 'He who would seek the Muse, must first unbind his eyes and open his soul to the unknown. The Goddess takes many forms, for she resides in the hearts of men', what on earth was that supposed to mean?! Taliesin would know, but he was too busy sulking to be bothered helping! God, what did they all want from him?! Some kind of miracle?!?
"What is you want me to do?!? Huh?!? Why don't you just tell me for hell's sake?!? Wh–"
"Are you coming or not?" his contemptuous reflection reappeared on the surface of the mirror, impatiently tapping its foot. All that was missing was a fly buzzing around his head, but then flies didn't exist on the Other Side of mirrors. Only humans could manage that. "Of course, if you'd rather sit there and feel sorry for yourself, I really don't care,"
"So what, I just walk through the mirror?"
"Yes!" exasperation was written all over the reflection's face, thinking a child would have figured it out sooner.
"But what's on this Other Side of yours?"
"Oh for Ceridwen's sake!!" the standard rules regarding a reflection is that a) it follows the reflectee's movements without error or question, and b) it stays on and in the mirror. But this was Bryn Myrddin, and nothing was standard here. As frustrated as its reflectee, the reflection reached out and grabbed Taylor by the arm, dragging him through the mirror.

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