The Merlin Effect

by T.A. Barron

  Oblivious to Kate’s stricken look, Geoffrey went on, “This is number thirty-one thousand, eight hundred and forty-three.”

  “Treachery!” roared Garlon. Grabbing Kate by the shoulder, he shook her wrathfully. “It will be a pleasure to kill you.” He raised the gleaming sword.

  “Don’t,” cried Geoffrey, stepping between them.

  “Get away, old man.”

  Geoffrey drew himself up, a mixture of scorn and pity in his eyes. “So is this what has become of Garlon the Seaworthy? Reduced to striking down an unarmed girl?”

  Garlon faltered, then snarled, “Whatever I am is because of Nimue. And that miserable Merlin.”

  “Merlin had nothing to do with your troubles! And if you hadn’t listened to Nimue in the first place, you would never have been cursed by her.”

  “Bah! You are wrong.”

  “Even after what you did, Merlin might have found it in his heart to forgive you, from the depths of his tomb.”

  “You lie. Merlin hated me as much as I hated him.”

  “Ignored you, perhaps. But never hated you. If Merlin cast you aside, that was only because he was consumed with his desire to help Arthur.”

  A strange, smoldering fire shone in Garlon’s eyes. “So you are saying that Merlin cared more for Arthur than he cared for his own brother?”

  “Yes,” answered Geoffrey. “You may have been Merlin’s brother, but his first loyalty was to his king.”

  “Merlin’s brother?” exclaimed Kate.

  “It is true,” Geoffrey went on. “Garlon is the lost brother of Merlin. Lost, in more ways than one.”

  “Enough of this.” Garlon aimed his sword at Geoffrey’s throat. “I am tired of waiting for Nimue. You will give me the Horn. Now!”

  “No,” hissed a voice behind him. “That will not be necessssary.”

  XXVI: Oldest at Birth

  Kate reeled with a rush of cold that clutched at her spine and clawed at her brain. Even the sweetness of apple blossoms in the air could not lessen her revulsion when she turned to see the sorceress.

  Nimue stretched her gaseous arms toward Kate, twisting them like tentacles. Then she cocked her head, the only solid part of her form, and fluttered a misty finger. “You shall remember.”

  Suddenly their meeting came back to Kate. She remembered the blackened eyes, the steamlike voice—and the terrible bargain she had made to protect the life of her father. She knew that Nimue would not easily free her from whatever form of servitude she had in mind. And though Kate could not tell what that might be, the prospect filled her with dread.

  “Sssso we meet again.” Slowly, Nimue coiled her vaporous arms around Kate’s waist and pulled her near. “I am pleassssed you remember me.”

  No words came to Kate, but a powerful shiver ran through her whole body.

  “You have assissssted me, whether you like it or not,” said Nimue, speaking directly in Kate’s ear. “Tell me, now. Am I correct that the old fool over there hassss brought me the Horn?”

  “No!” cried Geoffrey. “Don’t answer her!”

  Kate tried to resist, but a powerful force made her speak. “Y-yes. He h-has it.”

  “Exccccellent.”

  Nimue uncoiled her arms, leaving Kate trembling. With a low laugh that rippled up and down her smokelike form, the enchantress floated over to the throne in the center of the great hall and settled into it. Resting her head against the throne’s back, she lifted her dagger and began casually twirling it in her long black hair. Finally, she swung her gaze toward Garlon and addressed him as if the former sea captain were nothing but a lackey.

  “You. Fetch me the prisonerssss.”

  Garlon winced, then turned and strode across the room to the cage. With a blazing sweep of the sword of light, he sliced through a row of bars. A hole opened in the cage and through it crawled Isabella and Jim.

  Kate and her father ran to each other and embraced. The feel of his arms, so warm and strong, melted the lingering chill of Nimue’s touch. A surge of hope, small but tenacious, began to rise inside her.

  Garlon shoved Jim roughly. “Get going.”

  Kate separated from her father. Isabella took her arm as they walked past Nimue’s throne to rejoin Geoffrey and Terry. The enchantress, still twirling her hair with the dagger, observed them. Then she spat out another command.

  “Now fetch me the Horn.”

  Garlon advanced toward Geoffrey. Sword gleaming at his side, he ordered, “Give it to me.”

  Geoffrey tried to hold his bent body upright. “I’d rather not.”

  The sword of light lifted. “Give it to me, old man, before I smite you with this.”

  For several seconds, no one moved. A drop of perspiration rolled down Geoffrey’s long nose, hovering at the very tip before falling into his beard. At last, he cleared his throat and uttered a single word.

  “No.”

  Rage sparked in Garlon’s eyes and he stepped closer. “One more time. Give it to me or I will take it.”

  His hands twitching at his side, Geoffrey stared defiantly at Garlon. Then, without warning, he spat in the ruffian’s face.

  “Aaaargh!” Garlon started to bring down the sword on Geoffrey’s head.

  “Sssstop,” barked Nimue.

  Garlon froze, his blade only inches from the white mane. He looked anxiously at the enchantress.

  “You brainlessss bungler.”

  Garlon cringed, but held his tongue. He lowered the sword.

  “I ssssee now that I musssst do it mysssself.” With a gruesome grin, Nimue raised the blackened dagger, watching it glint with the fire of the flaming chariot. Almost casually, she pointed it at Geoffrey.

  A bolt of white lightning exploded from the dagger and struck Geoffrey full force in the chest. The old man shrieked and flew backward, landing in a heap on the other side of the room.

  “Geoffrey!” cried Kate, sprinting to him.

  She grabbed his robe and shook him. Nothing. She listened for his breath, for his heartbeat. Nothing. She called out his name again, hoping for some sign of life. Nothing.

  Tears welling in her eyes, she stroked his haggard head for the last time. Then she stood and faced Nimue.

  “You killed him.”

  “Of coursssse,” replied Nimue calmly. “And now you will bring me the Horn.”

  Kate stiffened. “I will not.”

  At that, Nimue lifted her hand not holding the dagger. No one but Kate saw the flash of ruby light from one of her fingers.

  “Pleasssse reconssssider. I assssked you to bring me the Horn.”

  Without willing herself to do so, Kate knelt by the body of her slain companion. Haltingly, she reached under the folds of his robe, slipped the coral necklace over his head, and removed the glistening Horn. As she stood, light shimmered across its curves.

  Seeing the Horn, her father caught his breath. He watched, frozen in place, as Kate began walking with a mechanical gait toward the enthroned enchantress, sloshing her feet across the watery floor.

  Without warning, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Don’t do it,” he told her. “Don’t give her the Horn.”

  Kate looked up at him. She wanted badly, so badly, to do as he wished. Yet another, stronger power commanded her to do otherwise. For a moment she hesitated, then continued walking straight ahead, as though her father did not exist.

  As she bumped up against him, he gazed at her, dumbfounded. “What’s the matter with you, Kate? I told you to stop.”

  “And I told her to come,” replied Nimue, giving another low, guttural laugh. “Now you can ssssee where your daughter’ssss true loyalty liessss.”

  Jim tried to seize the Horn from her hands, but she dodged him. Whirling to face Nimue, he shouted, “What have you done to her?”

  “Sssso,” hissed the enchantress. “The protective father returnssss. Or issss it the greedy father, who would like the Horn all to himsssself? One never knowssss.” She waved one of her smoky fingers at Garlon.
“Go to him, will you? But do not ssssmite him until I ssssay.”

  Garlon bounded to Jim’s side and held the sword of light at his chest.

  Kate, still holding the Horn, shook herself. “Wait!” she called to Nimue, speaking groggily. “You promised . . . promised you would . . . not harm him.”

  Nimue twirled her hair relaxedly for a while. “Yessss, I ssssuppose I did.” She peered at Kate. “But it doessss not matter, ssssince I have a better idea.”

  The enchantress coiled the lower part of herself around the arm of the throne, basking in the heat of the flaming chariot. “Garlon,” she instructed, “I want you to take the Horn from the girl. But do not take a drink for yoursssself! Not until I ssssay. Or what happened to that old fool will happen to you.”

  His hand quivering with excitement, Garlon snatched the Horn from Kate, all the while keeping his sword aimed at Jim. He brought the prize toward his face, then lowered it when he heard Nimue hiss angrily.

  “Now Garlon,” commanded Nimue. “Give the ssssword of light to the girl.”

  The seaman’s jaw dropped. “Give her what?”

  “The ssssword of light.” Speaking to Kate, she declared, “I want you to hold the ssssword, but harm no one.”

  Kate nodded, as Garlon hesitantly gave her the weapon. Grasping the hilt with both hands, she could feel it vibrating with energy. The thought half formed in her mind to strike down both Garlon and Nimue, but it was swiftly overpowered by a desire to do exactly as the enchantress had commanded. She stood as still as stone, holding the bright sword.

  “Exccccellent. Now we shall tesssst both the sssstrength of your will and the sssstrength of my ring.” Nimue purred with delight before issuing her next order. “I want you to raisssse the ssssword above your head.”

  Kate did as she said.

  “And now . . . I want you to kill your father.”

  A jolt of revulsion struck Kate. Yet, despite everything she felt, she found herself bracing to bring down the sword. She could hear the cries of Isabella and Terry, could see the horror in her father’s face, could feel her stomach churning in torment. I can’t, she told herself with great effort. I can’t do it.

  Even so, her hands tightened around the hilt, preparing to deal a powerful blow. Then, dimly at first, another idea surfaced in her mind.

  “You . . . promised you wouldn’t . . . harm him.”

  Nimue grinned broadly. “Yessss, but I made no promisssse about what you might do.”

  Kate shuddered, fighting back the power of Nimue’s desire. I can’t. I w-w-wo . . . She tried with all her concentration to say the word. Won’t. I won’t.

  She lowered the sword ever so slightly, feeling stronger by the second. I won’t. Shaking with strain, she began to take control of herself once more.

  Nimue thrust out her hand. The ring flashed ruby red, blinding Kate’s vision and assaulting her will.

  “I ssssaid, kill your father.”

  “But—”

  “Kill your father.”

  Kate looked from the void of Nimue’s eyes to the terror of her father’s. The stench of vomit seared her throat. Perspiration stung her eyes.

  At that instant, a sudden trembling shook the floor of the great hall. Kate caught sight of the pile of brown rags that once was Geoffrey. His robe seemed to flutter in a wind that she could not feel. As she watched, the edges of his garment began to glitter, as if touched by the rays of a distant sunrise.

  Then, miraculously, the robe deepened in color to azure blue, while silvery stars and planets sprouted along its borders. Geoffrey himself sat up with a start, even as his body began to transform. As he rose to his feet he grew markedly broader, until he was almost as stout and square-shouldered as Garlon. The hair on his head and beard lengthened and developed flecks of red amidst the white. The curve of his cheekbones lifted, and his hawklike nose twisted and developed a hairy wart on one side. Wrinkles far deeper than Geoffrey’s lined his brow, although the coal black eyes remained the same.

  Nimue released a long, shrill hiss but remained motionless.

  The man raised his prominent eyebrows, and a brief blast of wind knocked the sword of light from Kate’s hands. As it slapped the coursing surface of the floor, she staggered backward. For the first time since seeing Nimue again, she felt like her own self.

  “Merlin,” she whispered, astonished. She traded glances with her father.

  “Oldest at birth, youngest at death,” quoted Jim, studying the wizard’s profile like a piece of long-lost parchment.

  Without taking his eyes off Nimue, Merlin spoke to the historian in a resonant voice. “An exceptional ballad, that. My only regret was that Saint Godric never got around to arranging it for troubadours.”

  Garlon started to speak, but choked on the words. He took a small step backward, cradling the Horn in his arms.

  Merlin bowed slightly, still watching the throne. “It has been a long time, brother.” His voice echoed in the chamber.

  “I thought, I thought you were dead,” stammered Garlon.

  “You and many others.” His jaw clenched. “Do you regret your treachery?”

  “No! You brought it on yourself, by thinking you were so much better than everyone else.”

  Merlin’s eyes bored into his brother’s. “I have made my mistakes, just like you. I have paid a hefty price, just like you. Now I ask you, can you look to the future and not to the past? Can you cast aside petty jealousy and take my hand?”

  Garlon grimaced. “Only to slice it off.”

  “Fool! You have not changed one bit! You were stupid to join the likes of Nimue.”

  “You are the stupid one if you think you can stop us now.”

  “I can stop you,” answered Merlin. “I can stop you both.”

  “That,” rasped the enchantress, “issss where you are wrong.”

  XXVII: Checkmate

  It wassss clever of you to esssscape from the cave,” declared Nimue, her vaporous arms slashing the air. “You desssserve credit. But it will not change the outcome. It will merely ssssweeten my victory.”

  Merlin studied her with regret. “Once . . . you were so much more than this. You were . . . magnificent.”

  Nimue’s face tightened.

  “You valued knowledge more than power, beauty more than gain. I recall a time—was it so long ago?—when you turned the sands of a parched desert into a newborn sea, flowering with sea anemones. You even told me that sometimes you wished you had been born a sea anemone, so graceful and beautiful, so free from the tragedy and remorse that fill our lives.”

  “Ssssentimental fool! Who would want to be a lowly ssssea anemone, fixed to ssssome rock, unable to move, even when attacked by a sssslimy sssslug?” The enchantress coiled and uncoiled her vaporous arms. “I ssssee you have learned nothing from your yearssss of confinement.”

  “And what have you learned?”

  “That I have only one dessssire, the Horn. You denied me it oncccce. You shall not again!”

  With that, Nimue aimed her dagger straight at Merlin.

  Just as a bolt of lightning burst from the blade, the wizard leaped away. The bolt missed him narrowly but grazed his beard, scorching several hairs. Merlin flew into Garlon, knocking him over and sending the Horn skidding across the wet floor.

  Landing near the glassy table laden with Treasures, Merlin plucked one of his own hairs and touched it to the whetstone.

  “Blade!” he cried.

  Instantly, the hair sizzled and exploded in a cloud of smoke. In its place Merlin held a gleaming sword with the hilt cupped over his hand. Shaking the rapier at Nimue, he declared, “If it is fire you want, then fire you shall get.”

  He advanced toward the enchantress. Suddenly he stopped. His cape had caught on the corner of the table.

  “Look out!” shouted Kate.

  The wizard spun backward as another bolt of lightning crashed past, shattering the table to shards. Treasures sprayed in all directions. At the same time Garlon t
ook up the sword of light and slashed at Merlin’s head.

  The two bright swords clashed, throwing sparks in all directions. Between thrusts and parries, Merlin glanced repeatedly at the Horn lying on the floor. Yet every time he attempted to edge closer to it, Garlon fought him off, trying to do the same.

  The two burly men fought furiously, working their way around the burning chariot. Fire from the chariot as well as their swords leaped at their clothing. For a split second Kate lost sight of them behind a blast of orange flames. Then Merlin reappeared, running to fetch the Horn.

  But Nimue, seeing her opportunity, moved faster. Trails of mist flowing behind, she lifted off the throne and flew toward the shell-shaped Treasure.

  In desperation, Merlin threw his sword like a lance at the Horn. It struck its target full force, sending the Horn sliding toward Jim.

  “Throw it to me!” called Merlin.

  Jim gathered up the Horn and started to hurl it to Merlin, when he abruptly caught himself. Gazing with wonder at the shimmering object, he held it before his face. All at once he seemed overcome with desire, and lifted the Horn to take a drink.

  “Throw it!” Merlin cried.

  Isabella tugged on Jim’s arm. “Come on, throw it!”

  Jim hesitated, giving Nimue just enough time to pluck the Horn from his grasp. With a savage swipe of her arm, she knocked him backward. Then she announced, “I shall be the one to tasssste itssss power.”

  “No!” bellowed Merlin, charging at her.

  Just then Garlon careened around the chariot and collided into Nimue. The Horn flew into the air, bounced off the throne, and rolled to a far corner of the room.

  “Sssstupid fool,” cursed the enchantress, starting after the Horn.

  Merlin changed course, hoping to get there first. But Garlon, seeing him, wheeled around and intercepted him. Panting, he prepared to strike down his brother with the sword of light.

  “Garlon,” pleaded Kate. “Don’t!”

  “I’ve got you now,” crowed the seaman, swinging his weapon.

  Merlin drew a quick breath, then lunged—not at Garlon, but at the chessboard sitting on the arm of the throne. He grabbed one of the wooden chess pieces and tumbled aside, chanting, “Arise now. Arise!”