Sword Stone Table

by Sword Stone Table- Old Legends, New Voices (retail) (epub)

  Merlin rolled his shoulders. He sucked in his cheeks between his molars and bit down. Blood cut through the compulsion.

  “Morgana, please. No magic. I’ll tell you, but we must act as equals in this. For him.”

  She leaned forward at that, smiling sharply, encroaching into his space. His dream, that recent trespasser, came back to him full force. He remembered teaching her how to make up for the ridiculous power imbalance between men and women. How to use her body for more than what anyone thought she was worth. How to unsettle. He remembered holding her back when she became too good at it.

  He willed himself not to move.

  “Equal? Such words you choose, Merlin. But no matter. Okay. Then tell me.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  She scoffed, and he saw the old Morgana, in the angry curl of her upper lip. He hastened to speak further before any more of her returned.

  “I don’t. Morgana, something is happening when Ar-Arjun comes near me. I…forget. I become something else, or something else becomes me.” He balled his fists into the coverlet, and his shoulders were tight, up against his neck. An unsteady stream of air pushed its way out of his nose, and he gulped a deep breath back in through his mouth. “I don’t understand it, whatever is happening to me. We were sitting together. I put my hand on his. That is all.”

  He closed his eyes and reversed his breathing. Deep breaths in through his nose and out through lips. Once, twice, three times. Morgana’s eyes caught his; she straightened her back and lifted her chin.

  “Years ago, I wanted to give Arthur what I thought he needed to succeed, and you stopped me. You chose that, and while my actions are my own, your choice set me on a path to becoming his enemy. I think you have a new choice to make, Merlin. I think that he needs you.” She paused and brought her hand up to graze his cheek, then continued: “But I don’t know if he needs you or if he needs who you might become.” She looked like she had that day in front of the caves: frustrated but sure. Desperate but clearheaded.

  But if what she was saying was true, then that would mean—

  “I’d be gone.” Losing his decades of memories, his experience. Losing the essence of who he was.

  “Yes. A version of you, at least. As you were, as I know you. But—”

  But to stay with Arthur…

  Morgana offered him nothing except a stone-steady stare.

  “You would remember, though.”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Why.” He whispered the spell before he thought not to. It shot from his veins, through his heart, his throat, his teeth and lips, straight into her mind. A trickle of blood found its way from her ear and down the slope of her neck. Sweat dripped down his face and into his eyes. He lifted a hand to—he wasn’t sure. Stop the bleeding? Stop her breathing?

  “Enough.” Morgana spoke, and he was done. His hand dropped back onto the bed, and he sagged against the pillows. “As you said, no magic—I will be honest with you, Merlin.”

  “I’m sorry, Morgana. I’m not used to such ignorance.” His face scrunched in anger, and he threw his skull back against the headboard with a soft thunk. “My entire reason for being is knowledge.”

  Morgana’s eyes softened. A small sigh escaped her.

  “I know that better than most, Merlin. I do. But I also think this is what her lady wants. I think this is the best way we can help him to become who this world needs. With you and without you.”

  “And what does that mean for the me that is here?”

  “It means that maybe Arjun needs more than what you’re able to give.”

  Merlin turned his head away, toward those bright yellow walls, unwilling to let her see the fear in his gaze.

  * * *

  —

  The right knob twisted, and cold water poured out from the spigot above the porcelain cistern. There were so many incredible things in this time, and Merlin had to admit he was tired of his own sense of astonishment. He was exhausted by the shiny and new. He wanted the familiar, he wanted homespun clothing, he wanted dirt floors, and bright and clean forests. He wanted a world where he knew things. He looked into the glass above the sink and was again struck by the dissonance his own reflection inspired.

  It was him. It was not him. He found himself hating this sheep in his skin.

  “Leave me be. Let me help, let me help.” He bit out the words as if they wouldn’t just bounce back into his own head. As if they would have any effect on his mirrored face.

  He cupped his hands under the running water and ducked, closing his eyes against the splash. What was he going to do?

  “Emrys!” Arjun’s voice filtered through the door, dampened by distance. “Emrys, I’ve brought breakfast!”

  Well, food was a worthy first step. He pulled the towel hanging from a hook and dried his face before moving to meet Arjun in the kitchen. His king was sitting at a table, fighting with a clear plastic packet. How very regal, Merlin thought, bitterness soaking into his love of Arthur.

  “Good morning, mate! I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I picked us up some Continental stylings.” He punctuated this by gesturing to a feast sitting next to their stove.

  Merlin’s bitterness eased a bit as he took in the sight of a pile of pastries on the counter.

  “Thank you, Arjun.”

  Merlin looked at Arjun-who-was-Arthur, back straight, biting into finely powdered bread. All right. If Merlin was to be someone else, he wanted to know what that meant. As he walked by, he put a hand on Arjun’s shoulder as if in gratitude, and then Emrys let his hand linger just a moment before turning to pick up a muffin.

  “You’re welcome. I can’t have you starving yourself because you think the world will provide, or whatever nonsense it is that got into your head.” Arjun’s teeth showed as he smiled. “It’s possible I’m bribing you to stay.”

  Emrys let his own smile answer back. He was happy being here. He was happy seeing Morgan, who had just come through the door. He was meant to be here.

  “Arjun! I found a strange man in my bed this morning, and I was under the impression we agreed to clear guests with each other.”

  Morgan shot a look at Emrys, and the word remember flitted through his thoughts and he was Merlin again.

  He started, dropping his breakfast onto the floor. Gods. This could not be sustained. How could his erasure be the answer? What cruelty…

  “Sorry! Apologies. I’ll just clean that up.” He waved away Morgana’s and Arjun’s attempts to help. He knew he needed to leave and consider his options. He dusted his hands over the rubbish bin and let Morgana’s and Arjun’s chatter wash over him. He just needed space. A breath.

  “Hey, Emrys—” Arjun interrupted Merlin’s anxious thoughts. He was already standing, with a bag strapped to his back. “I’ve got to go to work, but Morgan’s going to be around the flat today. Why don’t you stay with her? We can have dinner tonight.”

  “That sounds perfect.” Merlin had no intention of being here when Arjun returned, but he could give him hope at least. For the day. Arjun nodded once, waved goodbye to Morgana, and headed out the door. “See you later!” floated in his wake.

  “You’re leaving, aren’t you? On some quest of self-reflection?” Morgana let loose her irritation before the sound of a closed door had even made it to Merlin’s ears. “At least take some food with you, you stupid man.” Morgana pulled out a small bag, procured from a cubby near the table, and started filling it with fruit and bread and packages from their cabinets.

  “Why am I stupid? Because I don’t want to lose my whole self, because I want to continue to be me?” That acrid taste had returned full force in the back of his throat.

  “Because you think it matters more than Arjun—Arthur, Merlin. Because you promised to give that whole self to him to make him king and then you promised to do so again and aga
in, however many ages it took to return that title to him.”

  He remembered promising those exact words, once. But what proof was there, then, that there would be more changes, more ages? He’d expected victory in his time. And what did Morgana know of ages? Was she imprisoned? No, she died and then woke. She had no memories of empty years, with only his own failures for company, before succumbing to seemingly endless sleep.

  “And if our situation were reversed, Morgana. What then?”

  “Then I would forget.” She said this simply, with no bravado, nothing false in her tone. She believed it.

  “That’s easily said when it’s not truly you who has to face it.”

  Morgana’s face took on a strange look. She was quiet for a long stretch of time—considering what truths she would give him, he knew.

  “Merlin, there was a time before you knew Arthur, and you evolved and grew with him. Maybe that’s what we need.”

  Merlin thought of his grandmother again. Great change, she’d said. No, he hadn’t grown with Arthur; he’d grown toward Arthur.

  “Then what was the point of it all?” Merlin couldn’t help the emotion that came through in his question. He wished he could take it back. He wished he couldn’t see the pity on Morgana’s face. Who knew there were things worse than anger that a sorceress could throw at you?

  “Perhaps now…the point is that you must prove you’re worthy in a way you never had to do back then. That your past sacrifice was not such a big sacrifice after all.”

  Merlin was momentarily silenced. Not a sacrifice? His whole life had been in service of Arthur’s ascension. Every step he’d taken, from the moment he’d learned of the prophecy, the moment he’d learned of the man meant to lead them all to Avalon, everything was for Arthur.

  “Consider it, Merlin.” She held out the pack to him as if in consolation.

  Consider it. She was using magic, and the words were wriggling into the folds of his brain. It was infuriating. He felt safe in the familiarity of this anger. How dare she, Morgana, work her small spells on Merlin? He’d heard the tales, he knew how his reputation had survived. He was the most famous philosopher, conjurer, of all time. Who was Morgana but a footnote in his story?

  He would not consider this. Damn her spell. Merlin stormed by her, ignoring her outstretched arm, and flung himself out the door.

  * * *

  —

  All told, Merlin spent seven days away from the Pendragon. He walked the streets of London; he lived in his moments. He didn’t consider. Not once. He just moved forward in time, like the rest of the world. His anger toward Morgana had not yet dissipated. His love for Arthur was as strong as it had ever been. He didn’t know what to do with these contradictory truths. And so he closed his mind’s eye and went minute by minute through each day.

  It was freeing.

  The strength of his spells waxed and waned, with no clear cause. He took it as it was, using his magic when able, and found creative solutions to his problems when he could not.

  It was the evening of his seventh day. Magic weighed heavily in his muscles, and using it was like pulling teeth with no wine to dull the senses. He was sitting on the ground in an alley, back against a building, when Arjun found him. His tiny tracking spell had long since gone dormant, likely found and discarded by Morgana, so he didn’t notice for a moment that Arjun was settling into place beside him.

  “Emrys, why did you leave?” There was such a heavy disappointment laced into his name that Merlin didn’t know how to respond. Arjun waited, perhaps to see if Merlin would speak, but continued when he was met with silence. “Morgan said you disappeared, that we scared you off. I said that was ridiculous, because in what world would you be scared? She laughed at me. I think she knows something I don’t, and I think that something is why you left.”

  Merlin stared resolutely at the ground. He was convinced that if he looked into Arjun’s face, that if those eyes looked into his, he’d be lost.

  “Arjun, you can’t know. You’re not ready, I’m not ready. We’re the two of us circles within circles.” Merlin was most secure when he spoke in riddles.

  “Intersecting circles, maybe?”

  Merlin could hear the forced grin in Arjun’s voice. Instead of being pulled into Arjun’s ploy to lighten the mood, Merlin scrubbed a hand through his hair and bit out his thoughts. “Why are you here? You barely know me. Really think about it, Arjun. Why are you here?”

  Merlin had done it: he’d let old habits rise, and magic flew from his mouth into Arjun’s ears. Merlin still couldn’t stand to look at his king, but he listened when he spoke.

  “Because I do know you, Emrys. I know you’re going to help me with something I’m meant to do. Something big. I don’t know what it is, but I know it will matter. Somewhere inside, I’ve always known that I was put on this Earth to do something important. To make the world better. And I know you’ll help me, because I think you’ve helped me before. And I like you.”

  “Stop.” Merlin was ashamed; he cut the spell off with a quick word. But it didn’t work—Arjun kept speaking.

  “I won’t.”

  Merlin risked a look then and saw that he’d been mistaken: this was no spell. Arjun was speaking of his own accord.

  “I won’t stop.” Arjun repeated. He took a breath and looked up at the sky. “You know, in my religion we believe in reincarnation. That souls travel through bodies until they’ve achieved balance. It sounds ridiculous.” He let out a light laugh. “But somehow it seems less ridiculous when I’m near you. My future seems clearer when I’m near you.”

  Merlin could barely breathe. He stared back down at the ground.

  “Please. Look at me.” A finger touched the base of Merlin’s chin and pushed softly up, and then Emrys was drowning in Arjun’s irises. Brown and black in the setting sun.

  Emrys spoke. “I don’t know why I left. Something in me had to go. I’m not scared, but—”

  “Cautious?” Arjun pulled his hand back and leaned his head against the wall. “We’re connected, Emrys, you were right when you said it. That night.”

  There was another reason they were connected, Emrys knew, but he couldn’t grasp it. It slipped this way and that, out of his head. And what did it matter, anyway, when he was sitting here with destiny in the looming darkness, surrounded by quiet. He gave up chasing it and leaned in to taste the truth on Arjun’s lips instead.

  * * *

  —

  This time when Merlin came to himself, he remembered it all. He was still in the alley, leaning against the wall. Arjun’s body was flush to his, head fallen halfway between Merlin’s shoulder and his chest. Black curls resting against his clavicle. He remembered the intimacy of equals, in stature and in knowledge.

  Merlin brought his hand up and touched his own lips with light fingers. They were swollen and sensitive. He looked down at Arthur, disconcerted. Was this the part he was meant to play? Friend? More? What had happened to teacher? What had happened to the magician behind the scenes? Picking strategies, picking paths?

  And who was he to have put his mouth on his king’s? This was something he’d once relegated to trysts with men and women who would always come second to his work. It was no secret that he loved Arthur, and he knew he was attracted to Arjun—how could he not be? In their short time together, Arjun had shown himself to be kind and intelligent, taking pieces of what had made Arthur great and making them into something new. Something better. But what was the connection that this other man crowding his mind, this Emrys, had with him?

  Was it something that could help Arthur? That would help him to become who he was meant to be?

  Merlin felt out of context. He could remember Arjun, with his dark eyes and heavy stare, sitting quietly with him, his shoulder level with Merlin’s own, he could feel the budding trust between them, two men ignorant of their futures and u
nsullied by their pasts, linked by an intensity of connection unlike any he’d known before. And he could remember Arjun’s hands in his hair, his touch, his tongue, his teeth, the flutter of his eyelashes ghosting against Merlin’s skin—but he also remembered Arthur at his table, head in hands and unsure of what road to take; he remembered advising his king, his friend, his pupil. He remembered that when Arthur had no words of his own to aid him, he always had Merlin’s.

  He dug his nails into his thighs.

  He could not do this, not yet. He was not ready to make the decision. So Merlin did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. Merlin ran.

  * * *

  —

  It took time to get back to his former prison. But there was so much time now, so much for him to take and keep and wind into his life. When he finally found the opening again, nestled deep in a wood, he felt far more tired and old than his body would have most believe.

  He walked in; the walls still shone with the refracted light of thousands of crystal shards. Their warmth enveloped him. He sat cross-legged in the center of the floor, not quite as far in as the stone bed he’d slept on for nearly two millennia. He closed his eyes and breathed.

  “Merlin.”

  “Morgana.” He exhaled her name, and she appeared before him. Not the Morgan he’d met weeks earlier but Morgana, as he’d known her once. Tall and stately, her hair wild and down to her waist, held back from her face by a single gold wire. Her eyes were gray and clear. Her lip cruel.

  “I see you made it home. Do you feel safe, friend?” Her voice sounded far away and tinged with fatigue.

  “Is this taxing for you, Morgana? Perhaps you should rest. You sound tired.”

  “Ha. Glad to see your fear hasn’t dulled your wit.” She paused and her eyes widened, as if something in his face was telling her a truth he hadn’t meant to let go. “Merlin, I don’t want to fall into old habits despite what this visage may imply. I just want to help.”