Fall of Knight

  But Arthur had done nothing about it, and so the situation had remained, week after week, rolling into month after month.

  Now Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I was…dreaming about Merlin,” he said.

  Gwen propped herself up on one elbow and regarded him thoughtfully. “It’s certainly not the first time.”

  “I know, but it was the most vivid. He was talking to me…scolding me, actually.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like him, all right.”

  “Don’t joke,” he said.

  “Now you’re scolding me.”

  “I apologize. But you should know by now how frustrated and concerned I am about Merlin. It’s a sensitive subject for me.”

  “I do,” she said, putting her hand atop his. “Do you think he was trying to…I dunno…communicate with you somehow?”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. I’m not exactly schooled in the delicacies of sorcery. The problem is, even if he is trying to get in touch with me…what am I supposed to do about that? If he needs my help, how can I possibly rescue him when all he provides me are vague, enigmatic contacts…and ones where he’s yelling at me for that matter.”

  “Maybe he’s still trying to figure that part out.”

  “Maybe.” He stood. He was bare-chested, wearing only pajama trousers.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the loo. Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Go ahead. Skip to the loo, my darling.”

  He rolled his eyes. She never tired of that joke. It had been barely funny the first time she’d uttered it, and hadn’t improved with age. But it was simply one of those things that one either got upset over or chose to find charming. He elected the latter for the sake of their union, just as he was certain there were idiosyncrasies of his that she found annoying. Marriage, he had found, was about mutual tolerance.

  So he simply nodded and headed for the bathroom. As he did so, Gwen pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. The bed was large and expansive, with wrought-iron headboard and footboard, and she liked it better than the one in the castle. She rolled over and proceeded to drift back to sleep.

  Arthur shuffled into the bathroom, making no attempt to stifle a yawn. The bathroom was carpeted, and it felt comforting beneath his feet. He merely had to pass water, and so he opened the toilet and stood over it, preparing to relieve himself.

  He looked down in the toilet water and gasped.

  Merlin’s image was staring back up at him from the water.

  “Put that thing away, Arthur,” he snapped. “There are children present.”

  Arthur let out an alarmed yelp and jumped back. From the bedroom, Gwen called, “Arthur? What’s wrong?”

  “Merlin’s in the toilet!”

  Moments later, Gwen was at Arthur’s side, looking down. She stared right at the grim reflection of the young mage, and said, “I don’t see anything.”

  “How can you not? He’s right there!”

  “Arthur,” she said gently, “I know you’ve been worried about him, but…”

  “He’s right there!”

  “She can’t see me, Wart,” Merlin informed him. “I’m in your mind, not hers.”

  Arthur was about to respond, but then he saw the way that Gwen was looking at him. “It’s okay, Gwen,” he said, trying to sound soothing and instead just coming across as sounding weird. “Everything’s going to be fine. I was just…I was dreaming.”

  “Dreaming,” she echoed, sounding unconvinced. “Dreaming about Merlin in the toilet. You look awake to me.”

  “I was starting to doze while I was relieving myself.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Oooookay,” she said finally. Then, after another pause, she added, “Arthur…do you need to go back to the castle for a while? Have some space to yourself…?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just…I’m fine. It’d probably be best if you left now…”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing,” she said, then cautiously backed out of the room while continuing to keep a wary eye on him. Finally, she closed the door, and Arthur turned his attention back to the toilet.

  Merlin was still scowling up at him.

  “Merlin…how…?”

  “The Lady of the Lake has me imprisoned,” he said sourly.

  “Nimue? Again? How many times are you going to fall for being seduced by that—?”

  “She didn’t seduce me,” Merlin snapped at him.

  “You always had a blind spot with her, and she with you,” said Arthur. “I’ve never understood two beings so mutually dedicated to being wrong for each other. What sweet nothings do you say to her, what names of endearment do you speak, that make her love you so much that she draws you to herself in some sort of eternally selfish dance…”

  “It wasn’t like that, you great pillock! I was damned near fatally wounded and sort of…fell into her realm.”

  “Wounded! Merlin, what—?”

  “Stop asking questions, Wart, and listen carefully, for truthfully I don’t know how much time I’ve got here. Are you listening to me?”

  “Yes…”

  “I’m in a sort of…of fluid nexus that touches all aspects of water on earth. Nimue can manipulate it with more facility than I, and can come and go as she pleases. I’m not as fortunate. But mankind had its origins in the miasma of the world’s oceans, and every one of us is mostly fluid for that matter. Which means that I’m connected to humanity through that aqueous commonality, at least to some limited degree.”

  “That dream I had of you…”

  “That was me, yes, manifesting in your mind. It’s taken me a while to insinuate myself sufficiently into your very being to be able to make my presence directly known to you in this manner. Thus far you’ve merely been benefiting from the side effects of my presence within you.”

  “Side effects?”

  “I thought I told you not to ask questions,” Merlin said in annoyance.

  But Arthur ignored him. “What benefits? What sort of side effects?”

  Merlin blew air in irritation through his lips. The toilet water bubbled slightly. “Arthur…no one’s denying you’re a great speaker. A leader of men. Charismatic and all that. But did you really think that, single-handedly, you could turn that entire crowd in Central Park around with merely the power of your personality? This isn’t a Mel Gibson movie.”

  “Are you saying that you added…what? Some sort of charm or charisma spell to me that…?”

  “I’m saying I pitched in. It was ninety-eight percent you, two percent me.”

  Arthur, who had been singularly proud of the way he’d handled that day in the park, said in annoyance, “Two percent? How significant can two percent be?”

  “The DNA of chimpanzees differs from human DNA by two percent, so you tell me.”

  Arthur didn’t have a ready reply to that, so Merlin resumed speaking. “I’m going to continue to try and work my way out of here…but in the meantime, at least I’ve managed to find my way to a place where I can give you a heads-up.”

  “You spoke of being wounded…”

  “Yes,” Merlin said grimly. “By the Spear of Destiny.”

  Arthur was taken aback. “The Spear? I thought that was myth…”

  “As many thought you to be, which shows yet again the danger of assumptions. Someone came in behind me while I was distracted by Nimue, and he damned near gutted me. It took every bit of puissance I had to keep me alive, which was how Nimue was able to work her watery magiks to bottle me up. I can help you in small ways, Arthur. Introduce aspects of myself, the smallest bits of arcane knowledge or influence to aid you. But until I break out of here, that’s all I can do, and I have to warn you of what you’re facing. There’s a necromancer or alchemist out there, he’s wielding the Spear, and I’m reasonably sure he wants the Grail as well.”

  “Why? For its healing properties?”

  “No. For its destructive properties.” He shook his head. “Y
ou think you know the damage it can cause? You think your sword-to-sword battle enables you to imagine it? You have no clue, Arthur. Not the slightest hint. For all the good that the Grail can do, its capacity for destruction is phenomenal. You know the saying about the Lord giving and taking.”

  “It’s from the book of Job,” said Arthur. “‘Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither; the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

  “Very philosophical. The problem is that it’s more than just an acknowledgment that we come into this world with nothing and leave whatever we acquire behind. It’s a commentary on yin and yang, pushing coming to shoving. For every action…”

  “An equal and opposite reaction. Merlin, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, Wart, that for all the good that the Grail does, then the Lord, or Karma, or the laws of physics, or however you want to define it, builds up an account going in the other direction. For every positive, there’s a negative, and sooner or later, the negative is going to be released.”

  “I still don’t under—”

  And then, in a flash, he did.

  “Merlin,” he said slowly, “the Grail…we’ve been using it to…”

  “To make happy juice for the minions of Earth, yes, I know that. Do you think I could possibly not know that, considering where I am?”

  “And what you’re saying is that—”

  “For every person who benefits, every person who has a better life, every person who is cured or helped or whatever…somewhere, an invisible tally board gets chalked up another mark for the inevitable reaction to the action,” said Merlin. “The destructive capability of the Grail, by this point, is increasing exponentially even as we speak. Sooner or later, the Grail is going to reach a breaking point of stored negative Karma, like a volcano being bottled up and eventually exploding. And when it reaches that point, there will be a terrible psychic backlash against humanity. What’s worse is that, if it’s combined with the Spear of Destiny, the amount of damage it can unleash would be cataclysmic.”

  “How cataclysmic?”

  “Final cataclysmic, Arthur,” Merlin told him. “As in the end of everything. As in scorched earth, if the Spear’s wielder has that kind of determination.”

  “But who is it? Who’s got the Spear?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, and I have some thoughts along those lines. I think the greatest likelihood is—”

  At which point, Merlin’s image continued to speak, but the words were no longer audible in Arthur’s mind. Merlin was instantly aware that something was wrong, because he was clearly starting to shout. It did no good as his image suddenly wavered and disappeared.

  Arthur wanted to shout Merlin’s name, but he’d been speaking very softly the entire time in order not to awaken or alarm Gwen, and so he restrained himself. “Damn,” he said softly, staring down for the longest time, but the wizard did not reappear.

  With a frustrated sigh, Arthur took care of the business he’d originally come into the bathroom for, washed his hands, and went back to bed. But sleep did not come to him that night as he stared in concern at the ceiling and wondered just what the hell he was going to do now.

  MERLIN GLOWERS AT Nimue, who waggles a scolding finger at him and speaks to him in a scolding, somewhat patronizing tone. You have been a very naughty little wizard.

  Get closer to me with that finger, and I’ll shove it so far up your backside you’ll poke your eyeball out from the back.

  She laughs lightly at that. Oooo, how you do talk. And to whom you talk. You were speaking to Arthur, weren’t you?

  You know every damned thing in the world. You tell me.

  She is around him then, encircling him. He feels the caress of her around his face, around his body. Merlin, she sighs, why do you torture yourself?

  I don’t. I have you to do it for me.

  Why do you dally with the concerns of the outer world when I have so much more to offer you?

  There’s nothing you have to offer me that I could possibly want…

  Her voice is whispering in his ear, and there is something terribly, terribly seductive about it. He feels a tingling that he neither wants nor needs, and yet cannot help but attend to what she says.

  I can restore you to manhood, she tells him. You are aging backwards, true enough. But I can reverse the reversal, for the ebb and flow of the waters of reality are mine to command.

  You can turn back time? Is that what you’re saying?

  In general? No. But you are a creature of mysticism, Merlin. The arcane is in your blood, and as such, I can help you—and she swirls around to the other side of him—and you can help me.

  And what do I have to do in order to receive this boon?

  Why…stay with me fore’er, of course. Who better to put to use your manly body than I…?

  He casts a glance at her and has trouble finding her, for she is so much a part of the waters that surge around him. I thought your interests had turned to the wielder of the Spear. Yet now you attempt to seduce me once more?

  I am as vast as the waters of the world. I shift as the mood and tide take me.

  And how do I know that you won’t then shift away from me once more?

  Ahhh, but if I do, she purrs to him, you will always be the one that I ultimately return to. Could you not take solace in that?

  Get away from me, he says angrily. He is not without resources, even in these circumstances, and he is able to push her away with the force of his will. She is startled by this display of power, is taken aback by it. Merlin, how can you treat me so…?

  How can I treat you so! You…

  He restrains himself then, tries to focus back in on what is important. And maybe, just a little bit…he seeks to understand some of the motivations that inspire this elemental creature. He thinks of the words of Arthur, of all things, and speaking names of endearment to her. He remembers when he first encountered her, when the world was just a little bit younger. Merlin, who was thought by many who encountered him to be either a god or, at the very least, demonspawn, found himself falling in love with a being who truly was divine. She had so many names, was worshipped by so many throughout her possibly endless lifetime…so many…he had taught her magic because it pleased her, and she pleased him, and she had needed it so desperately…

  He whispers a name very softly, so softly that no one in the world could possibly hear it, and yet she does. Her impish dance around him slows, and she says, What did you say?

  Coventina, he repeats, for there is power in the speaking of names, and influences that the right name can have upon the so-named.

  She recoils in surprise. No one has called me that in…

  Coventina, he repeats, speaking the name that the Celts called upon when they were gathered in the midst of Stonehenge, seeking the blessing of waters upon their crops or their lives. And then the name uttered by the Romans, Mnemosyne. Mnemosyne, look what you’ve done to me.

  He hears a choking sound from her, and somewhere very far away, the creatures of the sea sense something wrong and do not know how to react.

  Do not call me those…no one calls me those…it makes me feel…

  Sad? He actually smiles in sympathy. Or nostalgic. Nostalgic for the days when your name lived on the tongue of so many people as a being who was genuinely relevant to their lives, rather than merely a fictional construct who serves as a plot means for Arthur to acquire Excalibur. You had a life before him, as did I, yet now you are bound only to him and thought of only in connection to him and me. Coventina, Mnemosyne…

  She sounds as if she’s pleading with him. Stop. Merlin, stop…

  Mneme…Co-Vianna, Vivian, Nimue, I call upon you now…

  Clapping her hands over her own ears, she tries to drown out the driving intensity of his voice, filled not with anger and frustration as it has been until now, but with patience, understanding, and worship. Please, no, Merlin, stop…
r />   Niviene, Argante, he continues implacably, so many names once worshipped, so many fallen into disuse, with the actual worship of you confined only to desperate gamblers who call upon the corruption of your best-known title, Lady of the Lake—Dame du Lac—into Lady Luck. Once you were called upon by heroes such as Perseus or Arthur to provide them weapons…and now you’re invoked by alcohol-besotted gamblers who are hoping you’ll bless their dice…

  WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? Her voice howls within his head, buffeting him with the raging intensity of the storm.

  I am doing nothing, he replies, except trying to get across to you the sense of loneliness and frustration I’m going to feel…by reminding you of what you must have felt all this time. When we found each other, centuries ago, interest in you was already waning, and your power with it. What a low and sad creature you were when we first encountered one another, and yet I loved you anyway. I taught you magic because I loved you so, then you imprisoned me, because it pained you too much to keep looking upon the face of one who had seen you at your lowest. You’ve used my magiks well, Nimue. If not for your influence in the memory of man, Arthur and I might well have been forgotten during our long imprisonment. You aided Arthur and me upon our return, I will always remember that. But now the legend of Arthur has spread beyond the dreaming mind of man and into reality, and you know that that is what truly angers you. So you attempt to imprison me, to dispose of Arthur…to bring an end to everything rather than risk becoming irrelevant yet again.

  She has moved away from him, and her voice is becoming distant. It is not like that. It is not like that at all.

  Yes, it is. It is exactly like that, and I have never been more disappointed in you, milady, than I am in you at this very moment. You claim to love me, but you are incapable of passing the one true test of love…

  To let true love go? Her voice echoes through the ether to him, and the disgust in her tone is palpable.

  Yes.

  A vile and nonsensical notion, she assures him. And you know nothing of me, no matter how many of my ancient names you hurl at me. You do not wish to be restored to your maturity? Fine. Then remain here and rot for all I care.

  There is a tearing of the water around him as if he were trapped in a riptide, and he feels as if his torso is going to be yanked in one direction while his lower half is hauled in another. For a heartbeat he really thinks he is going to be torn apart by the force of Nimue’s departure, then she is gone, and he settles back onto the floor of the nexus of all vortexes.