by Kay Hooper
Remembering, of course, brought all the emotions and stress back to mind, and even as Serena heard her laugh trail off, she saw Merlin’s smile fade, as well. The tension hadn’t vanished, it had merely been ignored for a while.
Would she really have all her questions answered by the time they returned from Atlantis? Even the painful ones—like the identity of his blond bedmate? Would this trip be a panacea for their strained relationship, or would it only make matters worse between them?”
“Serena …”
She looked at him, at the awareness in his eyes, and wondered despairingly if she had forever lost her ability to keep her feelings hidden from him. It seemed so.
Carefully neutral, she said, “So you want to get started first thing tomorrow?”
He nodded slowly in reply, but said, “Serena, what we have to do is going to be difficult enough without—”
She couldn’t let him finish that, and got up even as she spoke briskly. “I know. Look, neither of us has eaten supper, so why don’t I go and see what Rachel left for us?”
“Fine.”
When he was alone again in the study, Merlin gazed broodingly down at the open book on his desk, trying to forget the naked moment with Serena. He was able to push it aside, if only because there were so many other things to think about.
Odd the twists and turns fate pursued. If his father had not given him this book, the “reference material” that contained the procedure to take Serena’s powers, he would never have found what he had searched for all these months. It wasn’t an answer, but it was definitely a beginning.
The book seemed to have been written long after Atlantis’s destruction and long after the law forbidding women to become wizards had been created. But in the section of the book detailing the extended and elaborate procedure used to render a female powerless (Merlin refused even to read the actual procedure), there were numerous vague references to “the dark times” and allusions to some dreadful cataclysm.
As the judge had said, there was nothing specific in this book about the reasons for the law, but the use of the word cataclysm had struck Merlin forcibly. How many true cataclysms had there been in all of history? Not many, really, given the span of time. And in the history of wizards, none was claimed to have had any meaningful effect on their society.
Yet in this same book, in another section dealing with the historical accuracy of certain events, was an old account of the destruction of Atlantis, clearly written by an eyewitness who had been, of course, a wizard. (The doings of powerless beings were detailed by their own books.) Though the account was concise and detailed, it was not dispassionate; there was anger and bitterness and pain in every word. And after the bald details of what a continent looked like as it wrenched itself apart and sank into the ocean, there was one line that had made Merlin’s heart suddenly beat faster.
We mustn’t let it happen to us.
A great deal of meaning could be inferred from that brief statement. “It” had to be the destruction of the continent; and “us” had to be the other wizards, the ones who had lived, then, primarily in Europe. The implication was that the eyewitness had been a visitor to Atlantis. And the statement was a strong indication that the wizards of Atlantis had somehow caused their own destruction.
Speculation, certainly, but possible.
It had taken hours of searching through his library for Merlin to find any other information about Atlantis, and what he did find was sketchy. The society there had seemed to be one of great promise, its people strong and healthy, their land fertile, and their community vigorous. There were definitely wizards among the powerless; Merlin couldn’t find out how many because whole passages in several of his books and scrolls were completely illegible, and nothing he tried had any effect.
As if the information had been deliberately destroyed.
Still, there was enough to convince Merlin he was on the right track. Common sense told him that the taboos against women must have resulted from some immense traumatic event (a good definition of a cataclysm, he thought, would be the destruction of an entire continent), and it was surely no coincidence that much of the information regarding Atlantis was as elusive as that regarding female wizards.
From that deduction it was only natural to consider going back in time to find out what had happened.
It wouldn’t be the first instance of time travel for Merlin, so the actual journey didn’t disturb him—even without the permission of the Council. He wasn’t even unduly alarmed at the prospect of landing on a continent about which he knew next to nothing except that it was about to vanish under the sea. His worries were more complicated.
What tormented him the most was Serena, and what he would have to do to her if the past held nothing to help him. He would have to destroy her. To see the astonishing trust in her eyes turn to horror and fear … and pain.
Merlin tried to shake off the thoughts; there was no use worrying until he knew whether or not the past offered anything helpful. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Serena; he’d never been able to do that. Not since she’d grown up.
Was he being reckless as well as irrational in taking her with him into the past? There was no real reason for that course of action, after all. He had certainly never needed help, and given the tension between them, her presence was likely to cause more strain than he wanted or needed to deal with. There was no reason at all for her to accompany him.
Was there?
He’d been sitting here at the desk for hours with that question in his mind, and had come to a decision only when Serena walked into the study. It might have been because he was a fair man and this certainly concerned her; it might have been because he had a hunch that this time he would need help—her help—to attempt to understand what had gone wrong in the society of wizards.
Might have been, but wasn’t.
Ever since he had talked with his father, Merlin had been struggling to cope with the painful knowledge that the older wizard had not trusted his wife of twenty years, despite her fidelity, trust, and devotion, and that she might have killed herself because of it. That, more than anything else, revealed to Merlin just how tragic and unnatural was the wizards’ reflexive wariness and mistrust of women.
When Serena had walked into the study, he had looked at her and had felt the disturbing jumble of emotions that had become painfully familiar these days—and his father’s words had echoed inside his head. There is no place in your life for a woman of power…. It’s not in me to trust a woman, just like it isn’t in you…. You feel it’s true even if you don’t think it is, and that kind of conflict will tear you apart.
His deepest instincts were at war with his intellect, and Serena, innocent and unsuspecting, was in the middle of that battle. If there was something in Atlantis that would help resolve his conflict, Merlin intended to find it, and he wanted Serena to be with him when he did. In the end his decision to take her with him was just that simple.
As it turned out, both Serena and Merlin had to go to their offices early on Monday to arrange to take the remainder of the week off, so they decided at breakfast to begin getting ready for their forthcoming trip in the early afternoon.
Serena met Jane for lunch, mostly because she knew her friend was sincerely worried about her. Their broken shopping date on Saturday, as well as Serena’s recent preoccupation, had convinced the lively brunet that Kane’s column had caused all kinds of problems, and it required Serena’s best efforts to convince her otherwise.
After soothing her friend, she returned home to find the house deserted. Rachel had gone, and Merlin apparently hadn’t gotten home yet. Serena changed into jeans and then, on impulse, went downstairs to his study. The door wasn’t barred, which was something of a relief for more reasons than one.
What she wanted were a few answers. She didn’t know if she could find anything Merlin wanted to keep from her, but she had to try because she had the uneasy feeling that what he was doing—his apparent dispute with th
e Council of Elders and his flouting of their authority in his decision to travel through time without permission—was somehow her fault.
Besides that, there was simply too much curiosity in her nature to allow a puzzle to continue unchallenged.
For the first time, Serena entered Merlin’s study with her mind and senses deliberately wide open—and as soon as she crossed the threshold, she felt breathless. She realized that her own strong mental shields had always blocked whatever energies were contained in the ancient writings—but she felt them now.
Not a negative force, the sense she had was of sheer power, muted and dormant. She leaned back against the doorjamb and half closed her eyes, cautiously probing. And at the extreme edge of her awareness, she almost heard soft whisperings of a hundred, a thousand voices. The languages were varied, but all were obscure and contained Latin phrases and strange words that belonged to no language mankind had ever known. Or had ever heard, even when it had been spoken.
Her veiled gaze traveled slowly around the room, sliding over books and scrolls, then stopped. She pushed herself away from the door and walked to the shelves between two windows. A particular book, oversize and so old that the leather had been worn almost to nothing, seemed to pull at her. She had never noticed this book before. It wasn’t the one that had lain open on his desk; that book was not in the room.
Damn him—he knew her too well.
She got the other book down, the one that seemed to tug at her senses. Handling it carefully, she carried it to Merlin’s desk; then holding it balanced on its spine, she allowed the book to open where it would.
A glance showed Serena that the language was totally alien to her, and she wasted no time in trying to decipher the unfamiliar symbols. But there was a full-page illustration on the righthand side, a stark, black-and-white drawing. It was faded by time so that little of it was even identifiable to her. She thought it represented a terrible conflict; bright jagged lines like lightning bolts seemed to be emanating from some kind of structure, and framed by what looked like a lighted window, two human figures struggled.
Serena touched the drawing and almost instantly drew her fingers back. She felt unsettled, strangely anxious and almost afraid. It was a primitive fear, like something rustling in a dark corner of her mind.
Bad. The simple word of a child, yet it encompassed what Serena felt about the drawing.
Unwilling to look through the rest of the book, she closed it and returned it to the shelf. That was when she saw the box. It lay on a higher shelf and was built of some glossy dark wood, every inch of which was carved with strange symbols. She’d never seen it before, even though she had been in this room often over the years.
Had she missed it until now because her senses had never been open? Was the strange box one of the things in a wizard’s world that had no substance until it was seen? She lifted it down; it was about two feet long, eight inches wide, and eight inches deep. It was heavy, and she could see no seam, no hinge or lid of any kind.
She carried it to the desk and set it down, then studied the box intently. The symbols were vaguely familiar to her, and she thought she might have seen them somewhere else, in a different combination, perhaps in one of Merlin’s spellbooks. She felt along the edges of the box very carefully with just the tips of her fingers, but could still distinguish no seam or opening of any kind.
“Damn,” she muttered.
“Ever heard of Pandora’s box?”
With a guilty start she looked up to find Merlin leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t look angry—but then, she hadn’t had much luck in interpreting his expressions lately, so she couldn’t be sure.
Sighing, she said, “Yes, I’ve heard of it. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. Well, I did, actually, but I shouldn’t have, so I’m sorry.”
Merlin inclined his head slightly, as if accepting the apology, but his eyes were speculative. “Open the box, Serena.”
She started to say she could see no way to open it, but then she realized. If there was no apparent seam, no hinges or handles or obvious lock, then clearly it was meant to be opened by less-conventional means.
This was not something Serena had been taught to do. And since she hadn’t been able to open the study door when Merlin had barred it, she wasn’t at all sure she would have much luck with the sealed box. But given his permission and urged on by her own curiosity, she gave it her best shot.
Without actually touching the wood, she glided her fingers along the edges very slowly, allowing her senses to probe. She could feel something inside the box, something that radiated the warmth of power, and her fascination grew. She focused her concentration even more, using her energies to delicately explore the box. Searching … searching …
The lid of the box silently lifted.
Serena caught her breath, staring. Inside, cradled on a bed of black silk, lay the most curious-looking thing she had ever seen in her life. It was a staff about twenty inches long and made of carved wood that was heavily inlaid with gold and crusted with numerous jewels. At one end, obviously the top, was a large round crystal, polished to a flawless finish and about the size of a man’s fist. Below the crystal, a narrow band of gold encircled the staff, and below that were diamond-shaped bits of inlaid gold, each set with a marquise diamond of several karats.
The handgrip, about halfway down the staff, was made of brushed gold; immediately above and below the grip was a heavy ridge of large rubies encircling the staff, the stones a brilliant scarlet. Below the handgrip, the staff began to narrow, finishing almost at a point. Along the lower section were three inlaid bands of gold, each set with several radiant sapphires.
Serena understood the significance of the various stones. The crystal was the most obvious; from ancient times it had been used by wizards, seers, and other beings of power to divine the future. Diamonds were known as the “king-gems” and symbolized fearlessness and invincibility, as well as conferring superior strength, fortitude, and courage on one who possessed them. Rubies symbolized command, nobility, and lordship, as well as vengeance. Sapphires, particularly blue ones, represented wisdom, high and magnanimous thoughts, and vigilance.
Gold, in the society of wizards, denoted absolute truth—and absolute power.
Tearing her eyes away from the incredibly beautiful staff, Serena looked across the room at Merlin and almost whispered, “What is it?”
For a moment he didn’t move or answer, merely looking back at her with a slight frown and narrowed eyes. But then he left the open doorway and came to the desk, halting to the left of Serena so that no more than a foot of space separated them.
He wasn’t looking at her now, but at the staff. With his left hand he lifted it from its box, holding it horizontally, then turning his wrist so that the staff came upright, the crystal at the top gleaming and every gem catching the light and reflecting it in white, red, and blue fire. The gold handgrip fit his hand perfectly.
“The staff of a Master wizard,” Merlin said slowly. “Made by his hand, without power. The stones have to be gathered from all over the world, and the gold has to be mined. Everything borrowed from the earth, from the wood of the staff to the crystal crowning it.”
Serena turned her head to stare up at him. “You made it? Without any of your powers?”
He met her gaze, his own grave. “With my powers, it would have been easy. But the final step from Advanced wizard to Master is the learning of a very simple lesson. Nothing should be too easy, Serena. We can never forget that we were meant to work at life.”
Gazing into his black eyes, she felt … caught. Had they been this close before? Yes, when they danced. But dances were public, and this felt very, very private.
“If you made it without power,” she managed to say, “then why can I feel power emanating from it?”
“What you feel is my power.” He spoke as quietly as she had, his low voice a little husky. “The staff is a conduit, channeling and focusing energies. In
ancient times, it was used like a wand to direct the current of a wizard’s energy in a specific direction; now it’s more a symbol. But a Master’s staff always absorbs and holds a part of his power. A part of himself.”
From the corner of her eye, Serena caught movement and realized that he was returning the staff to its box, but she couldn’t take her eyes off his face. She had the curious idea that she had never looked at him before.
Merlin half turned toward her and lifted one hand as if to touch her. But then his face changed subtly and he was moving away from her, around to the other side of the desk. Serena was left feeling bereft, struggling silently against the urge to reach out to him or say his name—anything to recapture that instant of closeness.
But she knew it was gone, gone because he had pushed it away. Gone because there were boundaries they weren’t supposed to cross, that was what he’d said.
Serena drew a breath. “Do you want me to put the box back on the shelf?”
“No, leave it.” He was opening one of several books on the big desk, frowning down at it. “We’ll need the copy of Gray’s Spells and Incantations. Could you get it, please?”
“Yes, of course.” She left the study without another word. Obviously he wanted to be alone for a couple of minutes, she decided. Not a bad idea; she could use a little time to pull herself together.
When she’d gone, Merlin looked after her for a moment and then turned his gaze to the staff in its box. The lid of the box closed silently when he directed it to, and it returned to the shelf where Serena had found it.
He sat down in the chair behind the desk and drew a deep breath. This time the tightness in his chest didn’t ease at all. Once again Serena had jarred him with an unprecedented ability. Only a Master wizard could open the box containing his staff, and her ability to open his had caught him completely off guard despite his invitation for her to do it.