by Sarah Kleck
CHAPTER 27
It rained. Again.
Shivering, I pulled my hood over my head and walked faster. The brown paper shopping bag was dangerously soaked, and I didn’t feel like collecting my shopping out of a puddle.
I longed for the warmth of summer. The feeling of sun on my skin. I sighed. I’d been living in London for more than sixty years, but I was fed up with this rain. Not because of the water, no. Water never bothered me. Quite the contrary. But the cold, the cold got to me. Not that I was ever ill. That probably wasn’t even possible. I’d never had a cold for as long as my soul had lived in this body, not in—how many years had it been? I’d stopped counting.
I put the bag down in the tiny kitchen. My flat on the Isle of Dogs in London’s East End felt barely larger than a dollhouse. It was a decayed townhouse, quite typical for the Docklands before the start of mansion building by the riverside. I never had company. Which was somewhat due to my never getting along that well with people. Also, my flat would have looked very strange to any mortal. Starting with the freestanding bathtub that took up almost all the space in my living room where one would expect a couch instead; it would surely make an odd impression. But what would first have caught the eye of any visitor to my house would have been my swimming flatmates. My place had more aquariums than any pet store from here to Liverpool.
I brushed off my boots.
“Well, did you miss me?”
I loved my fish—they were the only things that meant anything to me. They were all I still had. Everything else had either been taken from me or fallen to dust. Morgana. A bitter taste came to my mouth at the thought of the dark witch. My home, the love of my life—she had taken everything. I scattered fish food into the aquariums and watched how the thin flakes that were not gobbled up first floated to the surface, eventually became soggy, then slowly sank to the bottom. To be a fish, I thought. No worries, no fears, no grief, no pain.
I wondered how much suffering a soul could bear and whether an immortal’s soul could bear more than a mortal’s. I had no answer. All I knew was that I’d reached my limit. I’d seen everyone die: my daughter, my grandchildren, my great-grandchildren. I breathed against these painful memories. Losing only one more beloved person would have been too much. So I’d gone away. Lived my life alone. Lost sight of my descendants. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if anyone was left. Living day by day without feeling seemed the better option. At least better than having to forever relive the pain of loss. Thus, I continued to live. Day by day, year by year, century by century.
The doorbell rang. I looked at the door in shock. The doorbell almost never rang. At most, it was the postman when he wanted to leave a parcel for a neighbor. It was probably him, so I decided to ignore it. There was another ring. Again I waited. Then there was a third ring. I got up, sighing, and went to the door.
“Yes?” I said, peering through the narrow door gap without looking up.
I heard a nervous clearing of a throat.
“Nimue,” said a young woman with a trembling voice.
It hit me like an electric jolt. I’d not been called by my proper name for centuries. I looked up at eyes the color of the Lake. Her eyes, my eyes—were the same. Then I recognized her.
I undid the safety chain and opened my door.
Nimue stood behind the open door. “My dear,” she said. I heard the deep feeling in her voice.
I nodded, feeling unsure, even timid, and hesitantly moved toward her. Nimue came the final step forward and took me into her arms. I broke out in tears. We only let go of each other after several minutes.
Her gaze wandered over my shoulder. “Amazing,” she said, taking a step toward Jared to have a closer look. “You’re the spitting image of Merlin.”
He smiled.
“Come,” she said, asking us in. We followed her through the living room into the kitchen.
Jared and I exchanged surprised looks at seeing the multitude of aquariums scattered about the flat and the bathtub under the living room window.
“Tea?” asked Nimue.
“That’d be lovely,” said Jared, without betraying his amazement.
She turned on the faucet to fill the teakettle, then spun around and looked at me. How beautiful she was . . . She looked just like my mother.
“What’s your name?” she asked me.
Damn! Hadn’t I introduced myself yet?
“Evelyn. Lakewood,” I answered, somewhat embarrassed. “This is Jared Calmburry.”
Nimue placed the teakettle on the stove. “Calmburry. You’re the last one, right? The last of Merlin’s bloodline.”
“Yes. My family . . . they’re all dead.”
“I heard about it. I’m sorry.”
Jared nodded and looked at the floor.
“And you?” she asked me. “Are there more of us?”
I shook my head. Slowly and sadly.
“I had a sister. Zara. She and my parents—they’re all dead.”
“My poor child,” she said, appearing to hold back tears. For a moment, I thought she’d cry, but then she composed herself.
The teakettle whistled. Nimue swallowed, took it from the stove, and poured hot water into the teapot.
“So . . . how long have you been living in London?” I asked awkwardly. She smiled. Given the circumstances, this banal routine question almost seemed absurd. I would have preferred to retract it.
“About sixty years.” She poured tea into cups and placed them before us. “Every ten to fifteen years I make a break and start over again. New name, new home, new job. People get suspicious if you don’t age even a day in twenty years.”
“I’d imagine,” I said.
Nimue placed sugar and milk on the table. “First, I worked at the London Aquarium.”
Jared grinned. “Lots of water there,” he remarked while pouring sugar into his tea and stirring.
“Yes.” she grinned back.
We were silent for a while. The clinking of the stirring spoons was almost unbearable.
Suddenly, she raised her eyes. “How did you find me? Please don’t misunderstand, I’m delighted you’re here, but I’ve always taken care to wipe my trail clean. So how did you find me?”
I frowned. “We didn’t find you, to be precise. I didn’t even know you were still alive. A woman by the name of Mary Hayman found you. Her daughter gave me Mary’s notebook. It had your address.”
“Who’s Mary Hayman?”
“A light guardian. She died about thirteen years ago. Morgana killed her.”
Nimue flinched at Morgana’s name.
I looked at her closely. I couldn’t even fathom how much she’d suffered because of the old witch. “May I ask you a question?”
She cleared her throat. “But of course.”
“Why did you never return to Avalon?” I looked intently at her face. Pain distorted her youthful look.
“Because I couldn’t.” Nimue lowered her eyes. Looked at her hands. I could see the memories flooding her. She took a deep breath. “The first time I tried, Morgana killed a nymph right before me.” She paused a second. “When I tried the second time, she killed ten nymphs. When I tried the third time, she burned down half the island.” She closed her eyes. “The cries in the fire are etched into my memory forever.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, tears threatening to spill over.
Nimue took a moment before opening her eyes again. “Merlin was dead, Avalon was unreachable for me—I had nothing worth fighting for, so I hid from Morgana by disappearing into ordinary life,” she told me with a heavy voice. “I married and had a daughter. I named her Viviane.” It seemed she had to make a great effort to pronounce her daughter’s name. “You . . . you look like her,” she added ruefully.
I swallowed.
“What happened?” I asked.
“She died. Anno Domini 632.”
Although I had never known her, I felt a deep sadness over Viviane’s death.
“How did she die?” I did
n’t want to intrude, but I just had to know.
She shrugged and tried to hold back her tears. “She was simply . . . old.”
Jared frowned. “Then she wasn’t like you?”
“You mean immortal?”
He nodded.
Nimue shook her head. “No. Only water from the source in Avalon can bestow immortality. Once you drink from it, you partake in immortality.”
My mind went blank, and then I turned to Jared—who returned my stare. Taken aback, uncomprehending. It took a while before I even had an approximate idea what this might mean. Could it be?
“The fog . . . you made it through Morgana’s fog?” Nimue mumbled, her voice barely audible. Judging from the expression on her face, she was just as surprised as Jared and I. “You were there, weren’t you?” she finally said.
I couldn’t speak, not a single sound. I just stared at Jared. He stared back.
“You—” Nimue started, then stopped, struggling for the right words.
Nothing happened for a long time. Then I cleared my throat, which suddenly felt dry. “Are you trying to say that even if you drink only once from the source, you’re . . . immortal?” I asked in disbelief.
She nodded. Slowly. She did not look away from us. Then she suddenly sucked in air. “I’m more than one thousand, six hundred years old, Evelyn.”
I jumped up, clasped my forehead, and started pacing the small flat. Jared remained seated and stared into space. We were both completely overwhelmed. Suddenly, Jared got up and took me in his arms. Then he let his golden magic light up and enveloped me in it.
Calm and confidence returned.
I looked at Nimue, who watched Jared with wide eyes. Her lips were slightly open. A tear flowed from the corner of her eye. She blinked, stood up, and went into the kitchen.
Jared kept holding me. “You and I—forever,” he whispered into my ear.
My eyes widened. How did he know this line? Did I ever tell him that these words had become my and Zara’s mantra after the death of our parents? Was it pure chance that he chose the exact same words? Or maybe it was destiny?
“You and I—forever,” I repeated. That’s the way it was going to be. Jared and I. Forever.
Then we kissed.
When I joined Nimue a little later in the kitchen, she was rinsing the cups. Soon, she turned to me. Pure love shone from her eyes. “Why did you come here, dear?” she asked. It didn’t sound as though she was upset. Rather, it sounded like genuine interest.
I smiled. “I want to return something that once belonged to you.” I looked at her for a moment, then reached for the back of my neck and undid the lock of the fine silver chain I wore around it. She curiously followed my movements. When she saw the amulet, her eyes widened, and she clasped her hands over her mouth.
“Is that . . . ?” she asked with a trembling voice.
I nodded. “Your amulet.”
“M-Merlin made this for me.”
I placed the blue-green gem into Nimue’s shaking hands.
“I once gave it to my daughter,” she said quietly. My eyes rested on her beautiful face. “She passed it on to her daughter.”
“It must have gotten lost at some point,” I said. “My mother discovered it at a flea market in London.”
She looked at the amulet for a moment.
“Keep it.” She returned the amulet to my hand and closed my fingers around it. “It has been passed from daughter to daughter. One day it will belong to your daughter.”
I hesitated and stared at the jewel in my hands.
“Please. Keep it.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
I stared at the shimmering stone for a long time, then suddenly had to laugh. “It helped us find Morgana, you know?”
Nimue frowned and again drew her eyebrows together. “Find Morgana?” she repeated in disbelief. “Are you mad? Keep away from her. You don’t know what she—”
“Morgana’s dead,” I said in a calm voice. “Jared killed her.”
She looked at me, incapable of putting her astonishment into words.
“Dead?”
I nodded slowly and clearly as Jared stepped behind me.
“That’s not the real reason we’re here.” I looked her straight in the eyes.
“I didn’t just come to return the amulet to you. I’ve come to take you home.”
EPILOGUE
She went ahead through the fog. She hadn’t been here for more than a millennium, but she knew the route well. Nimue turned to me with a smile. Her blond, almost platinum hair shone in the mist. I felt a sting in my chest, seeing her. She looked like my mother. Wonderfully beautiful, forever frozen at the age of twenty. She took my hand and led me through the silver fog, which respectfully whispered “Mistress” as we passed through it. Then we arrived.
Nymphs, barghests, goblins, pixies . . . they’d all come to greet their mistress. They accompanied us to the source. Then Nimue went into the cave. Alone. I waited.
I must have fallen asleep at some point. When I awoke, she was kneeling beside me. She gently brushed my hair. Then she helped me up and looked at me.
“I want to give you something, dear,” she said. Pure love shone from her sea-green eyes. “Close your eyes.”
I did. The next moment, I felt her fingertips on my forehead—gentle and without pressure, but I clearly felt her touch. On the skin, but also inside. A golden-green glow penetrated my closed lids. I felt the warmth from Nimue’s fingertips, and it spread over my face and streamed along my backbone, through my legs to my toes.
“Open your eyes,” Nimue said. Then she kissed my forehead and let part of the golden-green light pass over to me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I wish to thank my dear colleague Mila Summers and all the members of the Facebook group Schreibmotivation am Abend [Writing Motivation in the Evening]. Without you, I’d probably still not be done.
I thank Michael Osmann, Audrey Deyman, and my editors for all the work they have put into this book.
I thank Claudia Ummenhofer, who handles matters for me of which I understand nothing.
I thank Petra Förster—you were the first to believe in me; Nina Vosschulte, who built me a bridge across the sea; and Elizabeth DeNoma, who finally made my dream come true. Thank you, you wonderful women, for accompanying me on this journey.
I thank Anna-Maria, the most beautiful girl in the world, for teaching me to recognize what life is all about. Thank you, my treasure, for bringing me back to the light.
And of course, I thank you, my readers. Without you, all this would mean nothing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014 Fokus Fotographie
Sarah Kleck studied education, psychology, and sociology at the University of Augsburg in Bavaria. Currently, she works as a human resources officer and lives with her husband and two little girls in Germany near Lake Constance. The Revealed is her second novel.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATORS
Photo © 2012 Audrey Deyman
Photo © 2013 Michael Osmann
Michael Osmann and Audrey Deyman are trained medievalists, linguists, former orchardists, and mythology enthusiasts. They live in Ontario’s Beaver Valley near Georgian Bay, where they enjoy the company of their children, dogs, cats, poultry flock, and the local wildlife.