by Candace Sams
“Before the US got into WWII. I’d been hunting relics a long time before then, at the request of other counties, of course. Because I was pretty good at it, somebody in Washington set up a meeting with Merlin. That first summit took place in London. You can imagine my shock when I found out that Ethereals existed, as well as Merlin the Magician, and the entire Arthurian legend to include Morgan LeFey. Merlin, along with the Feds on our side, decided to get some of the more powerful relics out of England. As you know, Morgan LeFey was after ‘em. So…that’s where I came in. But I didn’t know about Garrett Bloodnight being Sir Galahad’s bloodline. Not until a lot later. And, I swear, I thought Mr. Bloodnight had been told.”
By now, her voice and her expression were back to normal. He gave her full credit for recovering from a tale that would have disabled someone else, for the rest of the evening if not the rest of the week. Even after such a long time, one simply didn’t get over such a horrendous event.
“It’s terrible…about your family.”
“It’s been a long time, Mac. I’ve gotten over it. At first, I missed my sisters, my brother, and my mother. I missed ‘em a lot. I cried. Then I moved on.” She lifted her chin. “As to my father…I really can’t say I give a damn. I know that sounds terrible, but that’s the way I feel.”
“I understand.”
She gazed up at him. “You lived during those times.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Do you think overprotectiveness for my sisters was misplaced? I mean…there’ve been times in history when very young girls were married off to men. Today, teenagers know more than I did when I reached my late twenties. A lot more. But my sisters were…they were still very naïve. They were innocent. I think they were trying as hard as they could to remain children for as long as they could. And my father…I just couldn’t let my old man…” her voice trailed away.
“You owe no explanations.”
“Well, I do need to explain one more thing. You need to know it.”
“What’s that?”
“Even after so many years, I refuse to swim in the ocean. Or a lake or a small pond. I can do a swimming pool. I’ll get in a pool if it’s an emergency, and there’s no way around it. But, I gotta tell you…I hate it. I mean…I really hate it!”
“I can live with that. And since you’ve been so honest with me, I’ll be as forthcoming.”
“You’ve got a weakness?”
“Yes, Frankie. I have weaknesses,” he smilingly responded. “As it happens. I can be inside a building if I must. I can tolerate it. At least for as long as it takes me to shower, shave and change. However, I prefer being outdoors whenever possible. That’s why I’m up here on this hill, even when I don’t have to be,” he told her as he gestured to their surroundings.
She gazed up at him. “Why? What’s your story?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow night.”
The wind blew cold around them. The breeze lifted the long curls of her high pony tail and shifted them around her shoulders. The starlight that came out, after the earlier rain, now illuminated her in much the same was as their small tabletop candle had. On her lovely face, he’d seen all the expressions available to any being. Horror. Pain. Anger. Despair. Still, she’d remained as beautiful as any angel. As determined as any warrior.
Tomorrow, was soon enough to share yet another sad tale. For tonight, let there be some modicum of peace between them.
She smiled and took up a stance on a rock, gazing out over the land beyond. Apparently, she was willing to wait for his life’s tale.
He stared at her silhouette, wondering how anyone got over such a disaster. His own story was not nearly so gruesome. Certainly, what had happened to him was no act of nature. His entry into immortality was fully owing to his own folly.
Frankie was simply a woman born far before her time. Perhaps, in some way, fate had seen fit to put her where she was needed. Here. And now.
He watched every gesture she made, wishing he’d known her before. Wishing he hadn’t been so judgmental and off-putting on the drive to Bloodnight Castle.
As a very small way of making amends, he poured them a hot drink, and joined her in companionable silence.
Chapter 6
As she’d made her way back to the castle late the night before, unfazed by her trip or the hours he kept, she now stood with him on the hilltop again.
Mac drank his coffee and watched as Frankie put away the empty plastic containers she’d used, to bring yet another fabulous meal to his solitary outpost. Tonight’s supper consisted of Cornish game hens, wild rice, peas, and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. If Merlin shared the food, he didn’t know. The only Ethereal on the premises these days hadn’t made an appearance, since he’d told Frankie he’d be busy with his scrying and futuristic forecasts.
With little need to sleep more than a few hours a day, Frankie seemed to have taken on the role as cook for all of them. A circumstance for which he was exceedingly grateful. Sandwiches were fine, but a good hot meal was so much better. If Merlin chose to hide himself in his agency guise, as Jon Merdwyn, and oddly disappear to look after his candles, scrying mirrors, crystals and cauldron, that left more food for him. It also left more time alone with Frankie.
At first, he wasn’t sure if Merlin’s disappearance inside the castle was a direct effort to get him and Frankie alone. The cagey conjurer was known to pull such stunts to achieve an outcome. He hated to admit that it was working.
Frankie was far more than he had expected. She was intelligent, and seemingly without any hidden agenda. Merlin, on the other hand, had secrets with secrets.
“So,” Frankie blurted.
“Yes?”
“I told you my story. Care to fill me in on your past?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this, Frankie?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Mac nodded toward the turrets in the distance. “I assume Merlin will be ensconced in the castle, as usual.”
“I think so. He’s got something he’s planning with POSI. I know that Garrett Bloodnight, Jean Long and the rest of the staff won’t be around for a while. There doesn’t seem to be any urgency concerning Morgan LeFey’s appearance,” she advised.
“She won’t make her stand until the portents are right. Or until she finds out about Garrett’s heritage. Whichever comes first.”
“In my briefing info, I was told that the battle is supposed to come on the night of something called a Celtic Moon.”
Mac nodded. “I’ve seen them. They’re bright and scary as hell. Perfect night for an evil, vengeful sorceress to attack. As to the absence of all the other castle denizens…Merlin has well and truly pissed Garrett off to the point that he and his staff are staying away on purpose. Just to get even with the old wizard.”
“I can’t blame ‘em. There’s a limit to what a person can take. Merlin has had a long time to tell Garrett that he’s the descendant of the legendary Sir Galahad. That he never did was an error in judgement.”
“Error is a tactful word. I could call it something else,” Mac muttered.
“At any rate,” Frankie continued, “whether Garrett gets over being kept in the dark, and stays away for weeks longer is not my business. You’re trying to change the subject. Tell your story,” she insisted.
“Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asked once more.
“Don’t you want to share it with me? If it’s too painful or —”
“No. You’ve told me your history. I guess it’s time for mine,” he said as he held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. But you might not like some aspects of it.”
“Why?”
“I wasn’t what you’d call an honest man in another life. Not even after I was changed into an immortal.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Were you a rogue?”
He shrugged, lifted his hands in supplication, then let them fall again. “I was, Frankie. I stole, robbed, and beat up more than a few so-called protectors of the realm. There was a t
ime when I was referred to as a Wolf’s Head.”
Her brows show up. “I know the term.”
“Really?” he asked in surprise.
“Yeah. You’d have been considered a hunted animal. You’d have probably had no rights whatsoever.”
“Indeed. You do know your history. However, wolves only kill to survive. I was no different in that respect. I’m not excusing my behavior, but times were quite different.”
“Mac, the use of that name would make you centuries old. Really old! Like…ancient. As in rotting, skeleton-in-a-catacomb old and putrefied —”
“I think we both get the point! I was only thirty-four when I became immortal.”
“Go on,” she prompted.
He paused, and took a deep breath. “Over six centuries ago, most folk didn’t go farther than a few miles from their doorstep. I assumed life for me would be the same. My family lived in a small village in Wales that no longer exists, and hasn’t for centuries.”
“By family, do you mean that you had have a wife and children?”
“No. Just my parents. When I was about fifteen, they died of some flu-like sickness that often spread around during the winter months. I had no siblings to look after and no urge to till land that had always belonged to someone else. So…I buried my dead and left. I wanted to see more than just what was fifteen miles away.”
“Adventurous.”
“You could certainly use that word to describe me. I was both strong and capable, I sought my fortune elsewhere. Sadly, I made my way into a part of Britain where work was very hard to come by. I got hungry. Very hungry.”
“You stole, didn’t you?”
“I man will do what he has to, to survive. I tried to work, for anything people could afford to pay. Even a crust of bread would have been enough. The England you know today, wasn’t the same back then.”
“The laws would have been very intolerant.”
“Intolerant?” he sarcastically replied. “If I picked up wood from the forest floor, just to make a fire for warmth, I could have been arrested. The wood on the ground belonged to the king.”
“So, you had to do something or starve.”
“I met up with a few other men who were like me. Outlaws you might call them. We were all hungry and tired of begging for scraps. The ruling class literally took everything from the farmers. Peasants were tired of being treated worse than any animal. I was sick of watching the poor bury their children for want of a loaf of bread.”
“I see where you’re coming from,” she agreed. “But running with a pack of outlaws…what did that get you?”
“Food, drink, warm clothing, weapons, and even a little entertainment from time to time.”
“By entertainment, do you mean—”
“You know precisely what I mean, Frankie. With a bit of coin, a poor farm girl or tavern maid would do a lot. It was a horrible time. Those who got through it did what they thought they had to. It’s easy for anyone not living back then to judge. Shall I continue?”
She widened her eyes. “Yeah. Go ahead.”
“I was bigger than the men I hung out with. A lot bigger. They took my real name and sort of made a joke of it. But their jesting wasn’t meant to incite anger or cause pain. It was just a way of labeling me something so that the law wouldn’t know who I really was, where I came from, or how to find my family and loved ones…assuming I had any left alive. Family of outlaws were often threatened by the authorities. Sometimes, a man’s kin could be imprisoned or harmed in his stead. So, to fit in with the gang, I used the alias given to me. It gave me identity and a standing in their ranks. Eventually, my name incited fear among those with reason to be afraid.”
“What alias?”
He slowly grinned. “I was always good in a fight. Always good with any weapon, but particularly a staff. A man could carry a staff to herd sheep, and no legal authority was ever alerted by that circumstance. Those who hadn’t a clue didn’t know just how much protection a simple staff could provide, in the right hands. It became my trademark. A mark of esteem, as it were.”
“A staff?”
“That’s right. I couldn’t carry a sword in the open. Even though several of the outlaws I ran with had them, as well as bows. In most cases, common men weren’t supposed to have access to weapons reserved for the noble class.”
“How did you get weapons common people weren’t supposed to own?”
“How do you think we got them?”
“You stole ‘em,” she replied, with a half-smile.
“I’d been angry over the political climate for some time, Frankie. I got good at being a criminal. I got good at all that came with that occupation. I will say that I never took the life of anyone who didn’t deserve exactly what they got.”
“I can imagine. But you still haven’t said what your name was.”
“John Little. The men with me called me —”
“Holy crap!”
He smirked, then laughed outright when her eyes grew wider than they already were.
“Are you telling me that you were one of the Merry Men? And that Robin Hood —”
“Precisely!”
She stared at him for the longest time. He was sure she’d stop questioning him further about his past, having been dumbfounded by what had already been imparted.
Apparently, that was not to be. Frankie, it seemed, was as tenacious as any tick. She leaned forward, filled up a mug with coffee and dug into the subject.
“No shit…really?” she loudly queried. “You’re not puttin’ me on, are you?”
“You can ask Merlin. He knows all about it. By the way, he’s a lot older than me, and I haven’t heard you making an issue of his age.”
“Everybody who knows he exists, also knows that Merlin is old. He’s supposed to be old. He wouldn’t be Merlin if he wasn’t. But you…” her voice trailed away, and she shook her head in apparent shock. “Wow! Just…frickin’ wow!”
“Don’t get too enamored of the subject. We didn’t live the way Hollywood has depicted. We hid, we ran. We were always on the run, and always just a few steps in front of the king’s men.”
“Did you really hide in Sherwood Forest?”
“We did, but —”
“Was there a Maid Marian?”
“No. That was Hollywood, but —”
“Was there a Friar Tuck, a Will Scarlett, and a Much the Miller’s son?”
“Yes, but —”
“Damn…that’s so frickin’ cool! You robbed from the rich and gave to the poor!”
“Uh…not so much.”
“Huh?”
“We pretty much robbed from the rich and kept a lot of what we took.”
“Really?”
“We had to buy weapons, bribe tradesmen to sell food to us, and to keep their mouths shut when we were near their towns. Everything we did was to put a thorn in the sheriff’s side —”
“The Sheriff of Nottingham?” she interjected.
“Yes. He was a son-of-a-bitch of the first order! The people in the nearby villages loved to see us win, just to see him and his men look like idiots.”
She put her mug down, leaned on her elbows and stared harder at him. “You’re a real, frickin’ legend! I used to read about the Merry Men when I was a kid.”
“Things weren’t as your books portrayed, I can assure you. It was a scary business, and we knew we’d get caught sooner or later.”
“Is that how you —”
“Yeah. The sheriff’s men surrounded us in Sherwood one day. I took a body full of arrows and crawled away to die. At least, I thought I was dying. One of the arrows was sticking in my neck two inches. I’d been well and truly skewered.”
“God…tell me the rest,” she softly demanded in an entranced tone.
“I suppose the sheriff’s men must have searched for me after they let those arrows loose. I must have passed out, because I woke amongst a bunch of waist-high ferns. The arrows that had been in my body were all over the
ground around me. I think they’d been pushed out of their respective holes as I healed.” He shrugged. “At that point, I knew what I was. A man who survives that kind of impaling should be an immortal. Just to make sure, I did what I a lot of new immortals do. I cut my hand with a knife. The wound healed right away. All doubt was removed.”
She simply shook her head. A wondrous expression was still plastered all over her pretty face. Her gray eyes were alight with awe.
“When I could, I got up and went looking for my friends. There was nothing to find. There was a lot of blood on the ground, but nothing telling me who it belonged to…friend or foe.”
“That’s so sad,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “It was the way we lived our lives. Assuming any of my friends had been thrown into a dungeon, I had to go to the nearest village for help. There was no telling who I could trust. I didn’t know how the sheriff’s men found us in Sherwood to begin with. So, I waited.”
“How long?”
A few days. I used the time to come to terms with what I’d become. I figured that I could always pretend not to have been harmed; that no one would figure out my secret if I pretended to bleed now and then.”
“Do you think that would have really worked for long?”
“No. At the time, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I began to act on instinct. I knew what would happen to me if I was caught, and the sheriff’s men found out that I was an immortal. I would burn at the stake, and the authorities would make that task take days before finally beheading me! That was how feared immortals were. We’d been ordered killed wherever found.”
“Poor Little John,” she whispered.
“Finally, I devised some sort of short-range plan. I raided a few farms, to find food. Late at night, I’d listen at the windows for any gossip I could glean.”
“You must have been petrified!”
“I was. At any rate, my efforts paid off. Late one night, I overheard a farmer talking to his sons. They were gossiping about how Rob and the others had been killed in the initial attack.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. “I heard that my friends’ remains were hung up for the villagers to see. As a warning to them.”