The Helicon Muses Omnibus: Books 1-4

by V. J. Chambers

  “The other,” said Phoebe, “is to request that Julian make some changes to the play, namely removing all mentions of Nimue.”

  The crowd applauded.

  “Well,” said Phoebe. “It seems rather obvious how the majority feels about this issue. Do I have a motion on the floor?”

  Someone spoke up immediately. “I move that Julian be required to remove the mentions of Nimue from the play.”

  “I second that,” came another voice.

  “Discussion?” asked Phoebe.

  Techne Lift raised a hand. She was the head of the science enclave and always had something to say at a council meeting. “I think what Julian has done here is despicable. Completely insensitive.”

  Another muse spoke up. “I lost my daughter in the massacre. I can’t bear to hear the name of Nimue.”

  “The absolute horror can’t be imagined,” said another muse.

  Julian pushed his way to the center of the fire pit. “I never meant to hurt anyone. I was only trying to stay true to the story of Merlin.’’

  “You did hurt people,” said Techne. “Why would you even pick the story of Merlin to write a play about for Summer Solstice?”

  Julian looked flustered. “We usually do a play about some kind of mythological figure. It’s been years since we did anything Arthurian.”

  “And why do you think that is?” Techne asked.

  Julian hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hold on a second,” Sawyer called out. “In Helicon, we’re supposed to be able to create whatever we want to create. You people can’t stop Julian from writing about what he’s inspired to write about.”

  “Yeah,” said Maddie and Nora together.

  Techne looked at them with disdain. “Tweens are not allowed to speak during council meetings.”

  “And why is that?” Maddie said. “We’re a minority, and we’re not represented. We’re the only enclave not to have a seat on the council.”

  Phoebe held up a hand. “A matter for a discussion at a different time, I think, Maddie.”

  Maddie glared, but she shut her mouth.

  “Any other discussion? On topic?” Phoebe asked.

  “Make him change it!” yelled someone from the crowd. At once, the gathered muses erupted into loud yelling and exclamations. It was so noisy that Phoebe couldn’t get it quiet for several minutes. When she finally silenced everyone, she was out of breath and sweaty.

  “All right, then,” Phoebe shouted. “All those in favor of Julian removing the mentions of Nimue from the play, signify by saying aye.”

  The response was deafening.

  “Those opposed?”

  Sawyer, Nora, Maddie, and a few other muses stoutly cried out, “Nay!”

  But it was obvious that they were in the minority. Their voices were paltry compared to those of most of the muses.

  “Motion carries,” said Phoebe.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Unlike May Day, which was centered around a central procession and dance, Summer Solstice much more closely resembled a county fair. Not that Nora had been to many county fairs in her life. However there had been one time when she and Owen had been placed in a foster home somewhere in the middle of Appalachia. The family that they lived with had been nice enough, although it was pretty clear that they took in as many foster children as they did (they lived in a very big farmhouse and all the bedrooms were filled by at least three children) solely in order to fund the horses they kept for racing. At any rate, this family had taken Nora to a fair. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had a lot of time to look around, because she’d been responsible for watching all of the children under five years old—a total of ten.

  Summer Solstice in Helicon was infinitely better than the fair she’d intended. But she did find it somewhat ironic that last year she’d missed the Solstice celebration because she’d been babysitting in the babies and toddlers enclave.

  The main meadow was set up with various pavilions, each showcasing a muse or group of muses and their creations. There was a pavilion full of brightly-colored rugs, one with skirts and dresses, another displaying earthenware bowls and plates, still another with paintings and sculptures. These were all lined up in a row, facing each other. It was like a little street. Nora, Sawyer, and Maddie strolled up and down it, oohing and ahhing over the wares. If they saw something they liked, they had to trade for it—either by promising services or by giving the maker something tangible.

  Surrounding the cluster of pavilions were jugglers, dancers, and musicians. The musicians didn’t all play together, like at May Day. Instead, they clustered in little groups or even wandered about, picking at their guitars or blowing into their harmonicas. The effect was like something out of a carnival. One second, Nora would be walking down the street listening to a very mellow flute. The next second she would move somewhere else and instead would be hearing some jazzy trumpets or even some tribal drums. There were also muses from the food enclave set up all over the place, each offering different, delicious-smelling dishes. So not only did the music change as they moved but so did the smells and sights.

  Later in the evening, once the sun had gone down, they’d all be performing in the play. Julian had knuckled down and written any mention of Nimue out of the script. At first, all of the complaining muses had seemed mollified. But as the practices wore on, many of them began mumbling that perhaps they’d been hasty. The play didn’t seem to make nearly as much sense as it had before.

  Of course Nora didn’t think that the play had made much sense to begin with. She wasn’t sure if she felt glad that the other muses had sort of come to their senses or if she was disgusted with them for taking the whole thing so seriously to begin with. No matter how silly the play was, the principle of the thing was the important part. Nora didn’t like censorship. She felt fairly certain that she could have many, many confusing conversations in the philosophy enclave and still come to that conclusion.

  For now, Nora was happy to enjoy the Solstice with her friends.

  Sawyer was in the middle of having a discussion with someone in a pavilion about how she’d executed the stitching on her skirts. Both Nora and Maddie were starting to get a little bit bored. Nora peered around, wondering if she should drag Maddie over to a group of muses who had started dancing on the far end of the meadow. She opened her mouth to suggest it, when she saw a wizened old man with shock-white hair approaching them.

  Nora recognized that man. Where had she seen him before?

  The old man raised a hand. “Why it’s the boy who wears skirts and his friend. Hello there.”

  That was right! “Ned Willow,” she said. “I didn’t think you left your cabin out there in the woods.”

  Sawyer had turned. “Hi. It’s good to see you out here.”

  Ned pursed his lips. “Well, it is downright noisy, isn’t it?”

  Nora and Sawyer both laughed.

  Ned began to look through a rack of skirts. “Maybe I should start wearing these too, boy. Tell me, are they comfortable?”

  “Very,” Sawyer said.

  “Hmm,” said Ned.

  Nora took Maddie by the arm. “This is our friend Maddie.”

  Ned harrumphed, turning away from the skirts. “Very nice to meet you I’m sure.”

  “We’ve met before,” Maddie said. “It was a long time ago though. I was a little girl, and you still lived in the story enclave. I remember your stories... they were wonderful.”

  “Were wonderful?” Ned said. “By the gods, they still are. I might be old, but I can still spin a yarn like nobody’s business. In fact, I could tell you a story right now if you wanted.”

  “Oh could you really?” Maddie’s face lit up.

  Ned shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m a storyteller, aren’t I? ‘Course I can.” He looked around. “Couldn’t do it here though. Too noisy. We’d have to go someplace.”

  “How about the theater?” Sawyer said. “There’s a story that I would very much like to hear.”
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  * * *

  Ned Willow sat cross-legged on the stage like a Buddha. In front of him, Nora, Sawyer, and Maddie lounged on the ground. They stared up at him with looks of wonder and awe on their faces. But Ned looked troubled.

  “That’s the story you want to hear?” he asked.

  Sawyer nodded enthusiastically. “I thought the play would tell us this story. But it didn’t really. And none of us know who she was.”

  “You think this story will help?” Ned shook his head. “It won’t.” He sighed. “I met her a few times, you know. Before the massacre. I don’t think she was like the stories.”

  “We don’t want to know about the massacre,” said Sawyer. “We’ve heard that story. But in that story, they say that she stole power from Merlin. That’s what we’re curious about.”

  Ned stroked his long, white beard. “That’s the thing, of course. You’re so young. To you, they’re all stories. But the massacre isn’t a story. Not to me. It really happened. And stories... stories aren’t about what really happened. So, I can tell you the story of Nimue and Merlin, but it will be only that. A story. It won’t be the truth of the woman.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Maddie. “If it’s too painful, then tell us something else.”

  Sawyer looked disappointed, but he nodded.

  “No,” said Ned. “You don’t understand. The story doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Stories never do. Even when they’re based on fact, they are still stories. Lies. Something about that has always comforted me.” He paused. “There was a time when I was sure that we muses had created King Arthur out of thin air. We wove yarns and told tales and dutifully sent them on inspiration threads into the mundane world. No part of me thought they matched anything in reality. And then she arrived... someone from our stories.”

  Nora wrinkled up her brow. “Are you saying the stories from Helicon somehow created real things in the mundane world?” She remembered having a similar thought process back in the philosophy enclave last year. Agler had said something about humans creating gods—bringing them to actual life.

  Ned chuckled softly. “I’m not saying that at all. I don’t know how it happened. I suppose I theorize that there may be more than we realize coming back to us from the mundane world. The creativity of the humans feed us, and we in turn feed their creativity. Somehow, their reality got mixed into our stories. But that doesn’t mean that I know the truth of Nimue. All I know are stories.”

  “That’s what we want,” said Sawyer. “We want a story.”

  Ned nodded. “All right, then. But there are many versions of this story. Since I don’t know which one it is you want, I will try to incorporate them all, as best I can.”

  Ned took a deep breath, and began.

  “Nimue was the daughter of a chieftain. Depending on what century the tale is being told in, she might be the daughter of a king. The thing to note here is that she was a person brought up to believe that she was of some importance to the world. And when her father brought her to Camelot, she discovered that while she was important, she was not nearly as important as some people. I think this must have troubled her.

  “She was quite young. Some tales say she was as young as thirteen, some as old as seventeen. For my part, I tend to think thirteen is the more accurate number. There is something about Nimue’s actions later in life that suggest stunted maturity. But this is only my conjecture. I have no way of knowing.

  “Other stories do not paint her as a regular human being. Other stories say she came from Avalon, that she was a wood sprite or a fairy. In some stories, she is conflated or merged with Vivienne and even Morgan le Fay. Those stories say that Nimue is the Lady of the Lake. But I tend to distrust these versions of her. It doesn’t make sense, you see. The women of Avalon would have had no use for Merlin. They wouldn’t have wanted to steal his power for they were far more powerful on their own. And they wouldn’t have wanted to take revenge on Merlin, because they were too powerful to be hurt by him. For myself, I don’t believe it. I believe Nimue was human. She may have had certain abilities—the Sight or a sensitivity to magic. But she wasn’t the Lady of the Lake.

  “There was still magic in the mundane world that this period of time, although it was fading. The Influence was gobbling it all up, the way it had gobbled up the power of the Greek gods and goddesses. People like Merlin, who could still access it, were rare. And that made them important.

  “I think Nimue saw that. I think she wanted to be important. And I think that’s what drew her to Merlin.

  “Most of the stories say they were lovers. And some storytellers would have it that she seduced Merlin. But I’m not quite sure if that’s the way it went. I think perhaps it might have started as an innocent flirtation of some kind. She was young. He was old. Young girls are just beginning to understand the power they will have as women, and they often don’t know exactly what it is they are doing. She had seen women use their wiles to get the attention of men. She tried to copy it. But I think she went too far, without possibly understanding what she was doing, what she was offering.

  “I’m not sure, of course. It could’ve gone exactly the way it does in some versions of the stories. Perhaps she knew exactly what she was doing. But it doesn’t seem right to me. Not exactly. I think I see it somewhat differently.

  “I think she discovered rather quickly what it meant to be a somewhat important person amongst other very important people. Merlin was a very important person. He got what he wanted. And I think her juvenile attempts at flirtation made Merlin want things from her that she wasn’t quite ready to give.

  “Merlin might not have seen it as abuse. After all, she had done something to make him think she wanted it. And, of course, he was who he was, and he could have what he wanted. If he wanted a thirteen-year-old girl, then he could have her.

  “But whatever happened, I think it destroyed Nimue. She was too young for it. It twisted her, made something dark grow inside her.

  “Others might say I’m making excuses for a murderer. I don’t see them as excuses. It’s simply the way things are. Those who are abused grow to abuse others. Possibly, somewhere deep in Merlin’s childhood, someone hurt him as well. As you can see, if it stretches back through the generations, each hurting the other, it becomes ludicrous to excuse them all. It’s not an excuse. It’s an explanation.

  “At any rate, by whatever means, she had become quite close to Merlin. Intimate. She must have thought to use her misfortune to her advantage. She got him to teach her everything he knew. Perhaps she was intentionally flirtatious to convince him. Perhaps at this point, she was in fact a seductress, trading her favors for magical knowledge.

  “But she must have hated him. She must have despised him. And it must have seemed like poetry to use the knowledge he shared with her against him. It must have been the only thing that kept her going.

  “Eventually, she imprisoned him somewhere. Some stories say in a tree. Some say in a magical tower. Some say in a cave. It doesn’t really matter. She locked him up. She wasn’t satisfied with simply killing him. Oh no. She stripped him of his magical power, and she trapped him somewhere. Somewhere where he would never grow old. Where he would live, powerless, the decades and centuries scraping by around him. She wanted him to suffer. She must have.

  “As for what happened after, no one really knows. Sometimes she appears in stories to help King Arthur after Merlin has gone. But beyond that... she is never mentioned again.”

  Ned Willow fell silent.

  In the distance, they could hear the faint cacophony of the Summer Solstice celebration. But here in the theater, it was still and quiet.

  Abruptly, Ned stood up. “Well, I think that’s enough time here. Think I’ll mosey on back to my cabin. Sure is noisy in the main part of Helicon.” He climbed off the stage. “Do any of you know if there is any marmalade to be had at the Solstice celebration? I might pick some up before I go. I do so miss marmalade.”

  CHAPTER TEN

 
; Backstage was chaos. In all actuality, it wasn’t exactly backstage. All of the actors and performers were milling about behind the strip of trees that blocked the stage from the audience. The sun was setting, so it was dark. They weren’t allowed to use lights back here, because the audience would be able to see them. The light that illuminated the stage filtered through the trunks of the trees, however, so they could see a little bit.

  Despite the fact that Damien had told them to be quiet as church mice backstage, (because the audience would be able to hear them) very few of the performers had listened. So Nora could hear actors and actresses anxiously chattering with each other. She and the other dancers huddled all together in a group. They were all following the rules and being quiet. Of course, the dancers were on stage more than many of the other actors, because they doubled as townspeople, nobles of Camelot, and specters in a dream that tormented Merlin. They had to listen for their cues.

  Just then, Nora and the others were waiting for Merlin to say, “What is that racket?” That was their cue to run out and perform an elaborate, melancholy dance mourning the fact that Lancelot had left.

  Someone tapped Nora on the shoulder, and she turned. It was Daryl. Like most of the other members of the security enclave, he’d been recruited to work tech for the play. Some of them were controlling the stage lights, some of them had built the sets, and some of them were working backstage. That was what Daryl was doing.

  Daryl shoved an envelope into Nora’s hands. “I found this on the prop table,” he said in a loud whisper. “It’s got your name on it.”

  Nora was confused. The envelope indeed had her name scrawled on it. “Why would there be a letter for me on the prop table?” she whispered back.

  Daryl shrugged. He waved at Maddie.

  “Daryl,” she whispered, running over to hug him.

  He laughed and kissed her quickly on the mouth. “Break a leg.”

  “See you after the show,” said Maddie.