The Iron Hammer

by J. M. Briggs

  “She isn’t,” Morgana reminded him. Merlin got the impression she was reminding herself of that more than talking to him. “They’re heading to the Paris Catacombs today. Alex had a dream of hiding the hammer in tunnels lined with bones.”

  “The Catacombs?” Merlin repeated in alarm. “But Morgana the Catacombs are a mess of bones, pitfalls, and cave-ins! The place is a maze.”

  “Which is why it fits that this Gottfried Eckstein hid Mjǫllnir there,” Morgana said shifting into the living room. “Even the locals only know part of the Catacombs. Nazi occupiers wouldn’t have had a chance. Eckstein was stationed in Paris for a time so he would have thought of it as a place to hide something away.”

  Merlin studied her expression and held back a hum of irritation. Morgana had that cold vacant look on her face. She wouldn’t budge against any argument he could make. Glancing towards the kitchen, Merlin debated calling Timothy to join them but decided against it. Reaching out, he gripped her arm and directed her into the sitting room. Sunlight was pouring in through the windows creating a pleasant atmosphere. Merlin released her arm and went over to the front facing window to open it. The air outside was still a bit crisp, but fresh and carried a light scent of the new grass and coming flowers.

  As he turned back to Morgana, Merlin froze in place from shock. There was a lost and exhausted expression on Morgana’s face. Her eyes were distant and she seemed somehow smaller and younger than she had in years. It took him a moment to notice that Morgana’s shoulders were shaking. She had wrapped her arms around herself and was far too quiet.

  “Morgana?” Merlin whispered, half afraid of scaring her.

  Morgana’s dark hair was hanging into her face. Her green eyes were dull with the shine of tears illuminating them. She wasn’t crying yet, but it was the closest that Merlin had seen in decades. He moved forward to her, giving the girl a soft understanding smile. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her. After a heartbeat, Morgana dropped her arms and brought her hands up to grip his shoulders.

  “I’m so worried for her,” Morgana whispered. “All those memories, somehow Arto’s funeral at Stonehenge caused something to change. Some spark of magic to go into Alex and unlock her past lives. I don’t want her to have to remember all of that!” A muffled cry escaped Morgana and Merlin brought a hand up to gently cradle her head. “Merlin, humans can’t cope with that! We’ve barely lived with it and we’re half Sídhe!”

  “Morgana, you need to calm down,” Merlin said. “You’re becoming too invested. Alex is a lovely girl, but…” he trailed off and swallowed. The words stuck in his throat. He understood her worry. “I understand. I was arguing for her to return myself yesterday,” Merlin reminded her with a forced chuckle.

  Morgana pulled back and looked at the floor with flush red cheeks and a few tear tracks visible. A hand came up to brush them away and Merlin thought he saw a flash of silver magic. “I remember,” Morgana said as she looked up at him. The tear tracks were gone with a hint of silver fading into her skin.

  “It’s dangerous to care too much.” Merlin rubbed at his eyes, frustration gathering in his spine.

  “It’s worse not to,” Morgana returned softly. “Then what would we be?”

  “Sídhe,” Merlin admitted. “I suppose.” He half collapsed back into his armchair. “Sometimes I miss the simplicity of the first war.”

  “It was easier,” Morgana agreed. She sat down on the sofa across from him. “We knew our enemy without emotional complications.” She must have heard Timothy in the kitchen because she glanced knowingly towards the doorway.

  “Yes, the emotional complications have rather piled up haven’t they,” Merlin observed as he looked at his hands. “The questions… the moral grays.”

  “Lieven, Elizabeth, Peter…” Morgana shook her head and trailed off. “They kept me sane when the world wanted me to vanish into the background.”

  “They were fine children,” Merlin agreed gently. “And they grew up to be fine men and women. They have descendants out there in the world Morgana.”

  “Who know nothing of me besides old myths.” Morgana shook her head. “We’re just ghosts, Ambrose. We train the mages, but we’re losing our ability to adapt.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Merlin protested with forced cheer. “I’m managing the computers and smartphones just fine.”

  “It’s not about that,” Morgana countered giving him a stern look. “We…” she trailed off and bit her bottom lip lightly. “We don’t question why anymore.”

  “Course we do,” Merlin huffed, frowning at her.

  “No, not really. We’ve paid attention to technology and learned to live and work with it, but take Bran for instance. He’s trying to understand the real basis of magic. He’s looking at the physics of it. Alex is trying things with her magic that I’ve never seen before.”

  “You’re saying we’re not creative.”

  “When was the last time we figured out a new use for our magic?” Morgana asked. “And now I’m not sure how to help Alex. These memories and dreams… it’s new. It is something actually new and I have no idea of what to say to her and how to help her.”

  “Do you want to die?” Merlin asked gently.

  “Not right now,” Morgana assured him, meeting his eyes with a clear and intense gaze. “Alex… she needs us. More than most of the others did. Too much is happening right now for us to leave her, but I’m getting tired again, Merlin.”

  “Well, let’s not dwell on it,” Merlin suggested as he stood up. “I’ll make some tea and let’s work on those jars. I fully intend on making sure that Scáthbás dies and has no refuge this time.”

  “I still wonder how she managed it all.” Anger flashed in Morgana’s eyes.

  “That like many things I suspect we will never have an answer to,” Merlin said sadly. “Life never reveals all, not even for a mage.”

  His remark drew a slight smile and a nod of agreement that reassured him as to Morgana’s mental state. Heading into the kitchen he found Timothy levitating the plates and griddle back into their respective positions. He opened a cupboard and brought down two mugs before picking up the kettle.

  “Timothy, thank you for taking care of that,” he told the Brownie gratefully as he began to pour water into the kettle. “Though at this rate I’ll be sad to see you go.”

  “I would prefer to remain and help the mages,” Timothy told him, standing up tall and straightening his small jacket that had been made from dolls clothes. “The Queen… her powers are dark and twisted. Bad things for all if she takes this realm.”

  “I agree/” Merlin set the kettle on the stove. “Do you know anything about her plan?”

  “No, she sent her will through the binding,” Timothy explained with a visible shudder. “Anger, rage, and smugness. It pulled at us, hurt us when we tried to disobey and then we were just puppets to her distant will. She… it is hard to explain, I’m just a Brownie,” Timothy said nervously. “But there is dread in my heart.”

  “And what of the Sídhe still in Sídhean? Do you know anything about them?”

  “There are old stories, my family carried them with us to this part of the world,” Timothy offered with a tilt of his head. He blinked his black eyes with gleamed in the light. “But the stories of the Sídhe I don’t know. Even now… we don’t mix much.”

  “No, I suppose thousands of years of slavery are hard to overcome.”

  “We all carry burdens not our own,” Timothy agreed seriously. “But Iron Soul, Alex… her magic tastes old and yet fresh.”

  The words almost made Merlin jump and he narrowed his eyes on the Brownie. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Not sure,” Timothy squeaked. He drew back from Merlin’s thunderous expression. “Like the Chain that bound, but also different.”

  “I see.” Merlin sighed in a strange blend of relief and disappointment. He licked his lips, feeling a touch foolish. “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “Fee
l stronger now too,” Timothy said. He gestured at the cupboards. They all swung open at once and he giggled. “We Brownies use our powers for housework. It’s simple and straightforward, but this feels better.” He rocked on his heels and began to look around.

  “Timothy, do you think that’s because of the Iron Chain?” Merlin questioned quickly before Timothy became distracted.

  “Probably,” the Brownie agreed even as his eyes focused on the door to the small pantry. “Our magic has never been strong. The Sídhe don’t have any, probably because they were true enemies.”

  “Or your home world was closer to ours,” Merlin suggested thoughtfully. “Sídhean is one of the outer worlds from what I’ve learned.”

  “Yes that fits the stories,” Timothy replied distantly. “My magic feels stronger now.”

  “That may be because of the binding,” Merlin said. “You only feel stronger.”

  “Maybe.” Timothy shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out if it lasts.”

  The Brownie jumped off the counter in an astonishing bound. He hit the floor with barely a tap and rushed over to the slightly ajar door. Merlin watched with a curious look as the Brownie vanished inside.

  “Wonder if they’re all like that,” he muttered. His mind whirled with the bits of information Timothy had given him. “I wonder if he is stronger… no, that would be ridiculous,” he told himself, but there was a small doubt at the back of his mind.

  The whistle of the kettle drew his attention back to the matter at hand. As interesting as Timothy and his kind were they had the pressing problem of Scáthbás and Arthur to deal with. There was no doubt in his mind that the pair would already be plotting their next move. Placing his hands around the mugs, Merlin sent a small jolt of magic into the ceramic to heat them up. His hands moved quickly through the familiar motions and soon he had two warm mugs of tea, each one made to their preferences.

  Sparing one more glance towards the pantry, Merlin chuckled as he heard Timothy talking softly to himself. He felt a moment of pity for whoever’s house Timothy had formerly lived in. The small noises would have been very distracting and worrying to an ordinary human.

  “I see you found the jars,” Merlin said as he reentered the sitting room. Morgana had a notebook open and pencil in hand and the pair of jars on the coffee table.

  “Your top dresser drawer,” Morgana said without looking up at him. “Where else would they be since you can’t put them in the safe with the Chalice? You still are under the delusion that I would shy away from your underwear.”

  “It is rather rude, my dear Morgana.” Merlin held the cup of tea out for her.

  “Really, Ambrose.” Morgana chuckled as she accepted the drink and gave him a look. “After all the time we’ve know each other? You really think thoughts of your nether regions are going to be what bothers me.”

  “Not to change the subject,” Merlin cut in before the conversation could go any further. “I believe that we have another item to address.”

  “What’s that?” Morgana questioned, sitting up and taking a sip of her tea.

  “Do you remember what Thor told us the last time we saw him?” Merlin questioned.

  “I recall that boy trying to lecture us on a great many things,” Morgana pointed out as she raised her eyebrow. “I don’t recall what the last one was.”

  “I can’t recite it word for word,” Merlin admitted with a shake of his head. “But he said that we were too stubborn about being enemies with the Sídhe.”

  “Not everyone is comfortable befriending ancient enemies of the realm,” Morgana grumbled, looking towards the window. “I’m not sure what I would have done if he’d taken up with Frea instead of Sif. That was bad enough.”

  “Still Thor may have had a point,” Merlin said earning him a look from Morgana. “Timothy and the others were connected to Scáthbás through her use of the Iron Chain. When you bind something to you then you are bound to them as well.”

  He could see the realization in Morgana’s eyes. Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Then Morgana carefully set down her tea and picked her notebook back up.

  “Well then,” she finally forced out. “Let’s start with how to open these jars safely and once the children are back safely, see about setting up some peace talks.”

  “I agree,” Merlin returned with a smile. There was something building in his chest that he couldn’t put his finger on. It was part excitement, part dread and part something else. Something new was coming, potentially answers to questions he’d long forgotten or perhaps even more.

  26

  The Mines of Paris

  Lance was the calmest as they gathered outside the hostel. Night had fallen once more and the thrum of Paris around them was both exciting and terrifying. Neon lights blended with the softer glow of the street lamps to create multicolored lines across the glass of windows on passing cars. There was something magical and romantic in the air that Alex knew they wouldn’t get to enjoy. Alex adjusted her small backpack nervously as the bottles of water and snack bars shifted inside of it. Licking her lips, she watched as another group of young tourists headed out of the hostel. They were laughing and joking, no doubt on their way to a bar or club. She hoped their attire and supplies didn’t give away their plans.

  “Nervous?” Bran asked as he stepped up next to her.

  “Well we’re about to combine our powers in a spell to track the Iron Hammer and hopefully help us navigate the catacombs,” Alex replied softly, fighting to keep her tone even. “Yeah, I’m a bit nervous.”

  “The good news is that we’re mages,” Aiden said. He tugged at his own backpack nervously. “The bad news is that it has been illegal to enter the Catacombs without official permission since 1955 and they have special police that patrol everything.”

  “We could plead American ignorance,” Jenny pointed out with false cheer.

  “I think that would just get us into more trouble,” Bran said. “Look we don’t have time to find a guide and we’d never be able to sneak away from an official tour.”

  “But we need to get to the normal official area,” Nicki said quickly. “Alex saw bones and those are mostly in the tourist area. The rest of the catacombs are old quarries.”

  “Yeah, except those police will probably be near the official area. Plus we can’t say for certain that things haven’t been moved,” Aiden reminded them. “And Eckstein probably didn’t hide the hammer in the main tourist area.”

  “According to what I was able to find online there are small tombs scattered in the tunnels,” Bran added. “Beyond the main tourist area. That’s probably where it is.”

  “Not much to go on and we can’t safely just wander around.” Lance shared a worried look with Jenny.

  “We’re going to use magic like we did with the Chalice,” Bran assured him. He nodded down the street. “Maybe in the park? That’ll give us some room.”

  They walked down the sidewalk in silence towards the small patch of grass that Alex hesitated to actually consider a park. There were two benches on either side of the triangular area, but a couple trees at least provided some illusion of privacy. Lance and Jenny shifted back from them as the mages gathered in the center of the area and in the corner of her eye, Alex saw Jenny take Lance’s hand. The simple action caused a sharp pang of relief and grief mixed together in her chest that Alex quickly pushed away.

  Taking Bran’s hand with her right one and Nicki’s hand with her left, Alex breathed in and out slowly. Aiden stood opposite of her in the small circle and offered her a reassuring smile. Alex could see a faint glow of magic gathered around each of their hands and tugged gently at her own magic. Beneath her feet, she could feel a soft hum in the ground and found it comforting. There was a tingle of magic through her body and she pulled gently on the spark in her lower chest. It flared to life like a flame exposed to fuel.

  The dull gray color of her own magic blended with Bran’s yellow and Nicki’s blue. Slowly both began to darken to the
color of iron as the energy flowed into Alex. Her eyes moved to Aiden as his own red magic flowed into Nicki and Bran as she pulled on the offered power. It was gathering her chest, growing sharper and hotter with each passing moment. Alex could see the pulsing mass of dark gray magic as it gathered the magic surrounding them.

  She closed her eyes and focused on the Iron Hammer. The dream of the prior night sprang to mind and she could feel herself in the dark catacombs. There were bones that she was shifting in order to hide the hammer in a maze where the Nazis would never find it. She didn’t know the whole story yet of how Eckstein and the Ahnenerbe found it, but his desperation echoed in her. Somehow, something had made him believe in its power.

  Magic jumped off her fingertips. “Guide me,” she said out loud, pushing her that thought to the magic, trying to imprint that wish onto the magic. “Guide us.”