by T.A. Barron
Nothing happened. Merlin closed his eyes and squeezed the chess piece in his fist. Garlon, sensing his opportunity, advanced boldly. Across the room, Nimue raced toward the Horn.
Kate anxiously asked her father, “What was the chessboard supposed to do?”
“The pieces,” he replied, “were able to—”
Just then, a series of loud reports filled the great hall. The chess pieces suddenly swelled to enormous size. Thirty-two stern figures, each one twice as tall as a man, surrounded the throne, motionless as statues. Beside Merlin, a red knight with the head of a huge horse stood glowering at Garlon.
“Come alive,” finished Jim, awestruck.
Merlin regained his feet and raised his eyes to the towering knight. Then he turned to Garlon and declared, “I shall be red.”
In response, Garlon pointed to a black knight of equal size. “I shall be black.”
As if on cue, the two knights reared back, whinnied and charged headlong into each other. They crashed together with such impact that they flew backward, skidding across the slippery floor. The black knight plowed into Nimue before she could reach the Horn. Enraged, Nimue spat out a curse that sent him flying right into the flaming chariot. As fire devoured his wooden body, shrieks of pain echoed among the arches.
Giant chess pieces all around joined in the fray. They collided into one another and slammed into arches and walls. Hammering and pounding, they attacked one another fiercely.
Garlon mounted another black knight and rode into combat. Brandishing the sword of light, he chopped mercilessly at two red pawns and a rook. He had nearly gained the upper hand when Nimue, who was being pursued by a pair of huge bishops, yanked the sword from him, leaving him to fend for himself.
Meanwhile, as Merlin retrieved his own sword, a black rook charged full speed at him, intent on running him down. A split second before the collision, the red queen cast herself in the rook’s path, bowling him over sideways.
In gratitude, Merlin turned to the red queen, bowed, and said, “Lovely move.”
The queen curtsied, then replied, “Queen takes rook. One of my best.”
Kate turned to her father. “In chess, if you knock out the other side’s king . . . don’t you win?”
His eyes ignited. “It’s worth a try.”
The two of them plunged into the battle, dodging several chess pieces until they found the enemy king. As the king bent to catch them, they started running circles around him until the giant warrior started to teeter dizzily. Then, in unison, they hurled themselves bodily at him. He fell over with a crash.
Swiftly, Kate and her father rolled the king through a gaping hole that had opened in the wall. As they heard the splash below, all the other black chess pieces instantly froze in place, unable to move.
“We won!”
Kate’s cry was joined by the cheers of the red chess pieces, as well as Jim, Terry, and Isabella.
At that moment, Merlin spied a cloud of dark vapor drawing near to the Horn. “Stop her,” he shouted above the din. “Before she gets it!”
Terry, who was standing near the Horn, scooped it up, even as Nimue bore down on him. He threw it to Merlin.
“I have it!” trumpeted the wizard, holding the Horn above his head.
In a flash, Nimue changed tactics. Instead of flinging herself at Merlin, she braced her wispy form and pointed the sword of light straight at the fiery chariot.
“Checkmate!” she cried, as a violent tremor rattled the great hall. A seething, thundering roar, coming from far below the castle’s foundations, swelled to deafening volume. The Glass House rocked so wildly that everyone, including Nimue, tumbled to the floor. Merlin pitched to one side, dropping the Horn, while the chariot spouted flames all the way to the vaulted ceiling.
The crystal throne fell on its back, splitting in two. Scorched by the blazing chariot, its once-transparent frame turned to blackened coals. As the fire burned hotter, the throne melted into a simmering puddle, then began to evaporate. Soon not a trace of it remained.
As Kate labored to regain her feet, another convulsion hit. More powerful than the first, it did not merely bend the castle walls. It broke them, burst them, splitting apart the flowing beams and buttresses. The force of the tremor hurled Kate like a missile into the cauldron of knowledge, which teetered briefly then fell to the floor with a resounding thud.
“The cauldron,” called Merlin from across the room. “Set it right again!”
Before Kate could do anything, however, a deep crack opened in the aqueous floor. All the bubbling yellow liquid in the cauldron poured out and vanished down the dark fissure. All, that is, but a single drop, which spattered onto her wrist, stinging like a dart.
At once, an idea dawned in her mind. Spotting the copper-red mantle lying next to a fallen column, she crawled hurriedly toward it. From the edge of her eye she saw Merlin and Nimue attack each other with renewed ferocity. Between them, lying on the floor, rested the Horn. Their clashing swords rang out, barely audible above the tumult of the castle collapsing around them.
Grasping the mantle, Kate flung it over her shoulder like a cloak. It smelled of dried autumn leaves and rustled noisily. She started to buckle its golden clasps, when her hands disappeared before her face. Invisible, she said to herself in disbelief. I’m invisible.
Struggling to keep her balance, she did her best to dash across the vibrating hall to the place where Merlin and Nimue battled. As she approached, the wizard lost his footing and lurched to the floor. Nimue, seizing the advantage, bent to retrieve the Horn. At the same time, Kate hurled herself at it. Barely an instant before the hand of the enchantress closed on the spot, Kate grabbed the Horn and spun away.
Nimue froze. “The Horn,” she rasped. “It dissssappeared!”
Merlin, looking equally perplexed, clambered to his feet. Then a strange light flickered in his eyes. He backed away, in the direction of the chariot, taunting Nimue to follow him.
Simultaneously, Kate stood, holding the Horn. She could see her father and Isabella running to escape from a toppling column. As the column smashed to bits behind them, she cried out.
Hearing her voice, Jim stopped abruptly, followed by Isabella. “Kate,” he called. “Where are you?”
“Here,” she shouted back. Then, remembering her invisibility, she tore off the mantle. “Right here!”
“I see you now,” he answered. “Let’s get out of here before—”
A great crack appeared, snaking across the floor with dreadful speed. It cut directly beneath the feet of Jim and Isabella, widening into a chasm. As Kate watched helplessly, it swallowed them whole.
“No!” she screamed as they dropped out of sight. She sprinted toward the chasm, but before she reached the edge a strong hand grabbed her by the chin and wrenched her down. The Horn fell from her grasp.
Garlon stood above her, frowning. Without a word, he lifted his sword to kill her.
Suddenly a figure jumped Garlon in a flying tackle. The seaman stumbled, twisting violently under the weight of his assailant.
“Leave her alone,” ordered the man clinging to his back.
“Terry!” cried Kate, pushing to her feet.
She had barely spoken his name when Garlon jerked forward, throwing Terry to the floor. Garlon swung the sword, but Terry deftly dodged the blow and grabbed him by the ankle. As Garlon fell, Terry pounced on top of him. The two men grappled, rolling one on top of the other.
Kate stood by helplessly, not knowing what to do. She had no weapon, but even if she had one, how could she use it against Garlon without injuring Terry?
They rolled to the very edge of the chasm, fighting to control the sword. Bloodstains streaked their arms and legs as well as the slick floor. Terry’s youth and added weight seemed an equal match for Garlon’s brawn and experience, for every time one gained an advantage, the other would reverse it.
At length Garlon kicked Terry off of him. He stumbled to his feet, grasping the sword, then raised it w
rathfully. Terry lay on his back, helpless, as the sea captain reared back to strike.
Suddenly Garlon pitched backward as one foot slipped into the chasm. An expression of horror on his face, he swung the sword frantically to keep his balance.
“He’s going to fall!” cried Kate.
Then, even as he tumbled over the edge, he whipped his arm and threw the sword straight into Terry’s chest. With a cry of anguish that mingled with his victim’s, Garlon the Seaworthy plunged into the dark waters below.
Kate ran to Terry’s side and pulled out the sword. He groaned as blood spurted from the wound.
Laying a hand on his forehead, she looked around frantically for Merlin. For help. But Merlin was nowhere to be found. All she could see was the collapsing castle and the inferno in the center of the great hall.
She turned back to Terry. He squinted up at her, trying to form some words with his lips.
“Don’t talk,” she whispered.
He grimaced, then forced himself to speak. “This time . . . I tried.”
Her eyes clouded. Now it was she who could not speak. She felt his body grow relaxed and still.
Slowly, she stood, her heart aching. She had lost everyone. Dad, who loved her no less than she loved him. Isabella, who showed her the stars in a single drop of seawater. And now Terry, who mattered more than she would ever have guessed. She shuffled aimlessly toward the flaming chariot, half hoping that another chasm would open up and swallow her, too.
Then she saw an enormous chunk of the ceiling break loose and smash to the floor on the other side of the chariot. Along with the impact, however, she heard familiar voices shriek in pain.
She sprinted to the spot. There she found both Merlin and Nimue, pinned beneath the weighty chunk, which was sliding into a large hole in the floor. The head of the enchantress and the chest of the wizard were held completely immobile. Meanwhile, their arms groped madly for the sword of light, which lay just beyond their reach. In a matter of seconds, the chunk would tumble into the chasm, taking both of them with it.
Crawling as near as she dared, Kate grasped the sword of light. She started to hand it to Merlin, who was struggling so hard he had not yet seen her, when suddenly a ruby light flashed in her eyes.
“Give the ssssword to me,” hissed a voice.
She jerked back her hand holding the sword. Hesitantly, she began to reach not toward Merlin but toward the thin, vaporous arm that beckoned to her.
“Closssser. Come closssser.”
She stretched to give the sword to Nimue, even as the chunk slid deeper into the hole, dragging down the enchantress. Farther Kate reached, and farther.
Then, as Nimue’s fingers nearly closed on the hilt, Kate caught a glimpse of the bottomless eyes. For a fraction of a second, she recoiled. Nimue! I’m saving Nimue.
“Closssser! You are wassssting time.”
Hesitantly, Kate moved nearer. Her stomach knotted. Nimue . . . those eyes. Those horrible eyes! I ca . . . can’t.
The ruby light flashed again, blinding her. But unlike before, she fought to see through it, to see with her own eyes.
“Give it to me,” ordered Nimue, sounding desperate. “Give it to me now.”
“No,” said Kate aloud. In that instant, she swept her arm toward Merlin and placed the sword of light in his hand.
The wizard, seeing her at last, grabbed the sword and immediately started hacking away at the heavy chunk, even as it dropped lower. Finally he freed himself and crawled to safety.
Seething with rage, he pointed the sword of light at Nimue. He readied to run her through, knowing the powerful weapon would destroy her. Then, to Kate’s surprise, he hesitated.
Nimue eyed him savagely. “You ssssentimental fool! Kill me while you have the chancccce.”
“No,” said Merlin. He flung the sword aside. “I will do better.”
The anger melted from his face, replaced with steely calm. He raised his hand and pointed a single outstretched finger at the enchantress.
In a flash, Nimue vanished. In her place lay a simple sea anemone, its black tentacles as long and flowing as her hair had once been. Fixed to a rock, unable to move, it was swept downward into the chasm as the chunk gave way completely.
No sign of Nimue remained, not even a scream.
XXVIII: Unending Spiral
Holding tight to Kate’s wrist, Merlin pulled her away from the hole. His cape torn, his hair disheveled, he looked more like Geoffrey than the great wizard.
He gazed at her solemnly before speaking. “You resisted the ring. That took enormous strength of will, enough to break Nimue’s hold on you. I am grateful.”
She bowed her head. “It won’t bring back my dad, though. Or the others.”
Placing his hand upon her shoulder, he said, “You did your best.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It was enough to keep the Horn from Nimue.” Merlin then turned and walked, a bit shakily, past the flaming chariot to what remained of the throne of Merwas. There, amidst the rubble, rested the Horn itself. He carefully picked it up, watching it reflect the firelight. Then he said, with the sadness of centuries, “I have lost so much, so very much. But once again, for a brief moment at least, I hold you, Serilliant.”
And he recited:
Never doubt the spiral Horn
Holds a power newly born,
Holds a power truly great,
Holds a power ye create.
He pivoted to face Kate. “It may make little difference to you now, but you are, from this day forward, a member of the Order of the Horn.”
“This day is probably my last,” she said somberly.
“All the more important, then, that you receive your due.” He offered her the Horn of Merlin. “Drink.”
“Me?” she sputtered.
He slipped the coral necklace over her head. “Merwas decreed, Only those whose wisdom and strength of will are beyond question may drink from this Horn.”
“I—I don’t know if I should.”
“Perhaps you would like first to smell its special fragrance. Then you can better decide whether you want to drink.”
Hesitantly, Kate lifted the Horn’s gleaming rim to her nose. She sniffed gingerly at first, then closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
Strange sensations swirled through her. A meadowlark singing. A book opening. First morning light. Tasting fresh melon, tart and tangy. Joining hands! Pearls of dew in a lupine leaf. A winged creature, emerging from its cocoon. Warm hearth. Cold lemonade. A baby colt, struggling to stand. An infant garbling his first words. Practicing piano, finally getting it right. Tossing the pitch, starting the game. Subtle sunrise, setting fire to fields of snow. Fresh water, chilling tongue and teeth. Diving in, splash! Blueberry muffins, still steaming, oozing butter. A first kiss. An inspiration. A young sapling, shading the stump of a fallen elder. Shooting stars. A dream to start the day. And, underlying all, the fragrant air of the mountaintop.
Kate opened her eyes.
“Well?”
“It’s . . . wonderful.”
A spare smile appeared on Merlin’s face. “Drinking will be even better.”
“I have the feeling that, when I take a drink, it will be as if my life is . . . starting over somehow.”
“Easier said than done,” cautioned the wizard. “But, yes, that’s the idea. After you drink, your grief will be no less than before. But your ability to make choices may be a bit greater. And if you can choose, you can create.”
Kate looked again at the gleaming Treasure. A magical Horn, a whirlpool, a strand of DNA. It seemed right that they should all possess the same spiral shape. She pondered Merlin’s words. If you can choose, you can create. In a way, creation itself was shaped like a spiral. A vast, continuing, unending spiral.
She moved a step nearer. “I think I understand.”
Merlin trained his eyes on her. “Understand what?”
“The power of the Horn. It’s not about living forever, stretchi
ng your life on and on like a rubber band. It’s about living young. Starting your life over, all the time.”
Showing no expression, Merlin said, “Go on.”
“That’s why the ship, the fish, the whirlpool, even Geoffrey—I mean you—all stay so young.” She twirled her braid, thinking. “It’s almost like a kind of . . . creation. The power to create your own life, to make new choices, to begin again.”
“Serilliant. Beginning.” Merlin gazed into the curling Horn. “The Emperor Merwas knew that renewed life is the most precious kind of eternal life. For despite all the sorrows and losses of living, each new day is freshly born.”
Then the wizard gestured at the once-magnificent castle. “Come now. Take your drink, while you still can.”
Feeling the pull of the Horn’s power, Kate pursed her lips to take her first swallow. But even as she smelled its fragrance again, something made her stop.
The power to create your own life . . . She remembered being a water spirit, so full of possibilities. How had Isabella put it? All the future lies within the present. She remembered that every cell in her body can replace itself over time. And she remembered Nimue’s ring, which would not let her make choices, would not let her be human.
She lowered the Horn.
Merlin scrutinized her. “You don’t want to drink?”
“No. Not exactly. I don’t need to drink.” Seeing his puzzlement, she fumbled for some way to explain. “I, well, I don’t really need the power . . . from somewhere else. I . . . already have it.”
Merlin observed her, as he played with his beard. “Wise you are, Kate. Drinking from the Horn will renew your body, but not necessarily your soul. That part is up to you. And you possess that power, here and now.” Somberly, he reflected for a moment. “But . . . tell me. Wouldn’t you like to live forever?”
“Sure I would. But even more, I guess, I’d like to grow. And change. Maybe the Horn, by making your body stop growing old, makes it easy to stop growing in other ways, too. Like . . . Nimue. Or Garlon. Or the whales.”