The Mage Returns

by Christina D Stewart

  On a long forgotten lake, 30 miles from any civilization with the blue water sparkling in the full sunshine, the energy easily covered a small island.

  When the energy burst reached the Lady of the Lake, she stopped moving and took a sharp breath. It was then, and only then, she recognized that Merlin had willingly given up his power, had willingly been enslaved for those ages, because he recognized he had made a mistake and needed to hide himself away. It wasn't that she was more powerful, he simply didn't want to have to do battle with her, and reveal the extent of the power he controlled. For his mistake and for all their futures, he had given her the victory.

  His staff had saved him and his energies for the long centuries of his imprisonment by the Lady. Those days were over. With his staff, and restored to his full power, Merlin was now more than a match for the Lady and for what lay in front of him.

  In their mutual love, the staff didn't hesitate at all and sent its message across the fae realms. It announced Merlin was reclaiming his rightful place in this age. And Merlin's words followed, "This was my land it was named after me, and now it is mine again. So say I."

  Merlin pounded the deck three time with the butt of the staff as if in emphasis. In reality, he sent the words resounding into the ether for all to hear.

  The world of fae stood silent for a moment. Then one by one all dropped their eyes and heads in silent salute to the return of one of the first and greatest lords. The Lady was the only one who stood, head unbowed, eyes blazing, staring up and out into the energetic firmament.

  Tuatha Dé Danann

  Two of the Tuatha Dé Danan stood silent and immobile on one of the northern islands off the coast of Scotland. Accompanied only by the sharp wind, they stood companionably close, some might notice lover-close, and watched the night sky flash and burn against the horizon from the far south. As the sky blazed, and the sound of Merlin pounding his staff on the deck of HMS Victory faded, one spoke.

  "He's back," said the shorter one, a female.

  "Indeed," replied her lover.

  "Do the humans understand what's just been released?"

  "No. Their only reference is cartoons or friendly novels," said her lover.

  Both contemplated this thought as they watched the southern light show fade.

  "They'll be surprised, won't they?" he said turning to her.

  "Oh, my dear. You have no idea at how deep Merlin truly is - both in kindness and cruelty. Merlin was ancient and powerful before the Roman legions and their genocidal war against our peoples. He returned from China and the Far East too late to help, and he's never forgiven himself," she said.

  He nodded and sighed. "Yes, I know. I was there beside him as his shieldman at the fall of Rome itself. With a battle axe in one hand and a short, stabbing sword in the other, he led the charge that broke the Roman legion lines. Merlin was magnificent in his rage, and was one of the very few berserkers to come home again. And it's why he led all the survivors he could gather to these islands and why, in some of the more remote areas he's still called Tá Súil Agam or "Bringer of Hope."

  There was no answer but her trembling.

  After a full thirty seconds had passed in silence, he broke the silence, "Let us remain in the north for at least the rest of the summer.

  Security Sees Him

  "Lord love a duck," said Robert Johnson.

  The Dockyard CCTV camera focused on Victory's mid-section flashed a red alert-light on the main console in the Security offices. And the young man, just back from making tea, watched the monitor speechlessly as Merlin pulled his staff out of the mainmast. He eyes never wavered from the screen and his hand, that should have been slamming an alarm button, never moved.

  As the massive smile lit up Merlin's face, the young man remembered his training. He flipped the safety covering off the big red button and slammed his fist down on it. Why is it that emergency buttons are always big and red, he wondered. And then smiled at the stupid thought. He remained motionless, his mouth open and his eyes as wide as they had ever opened in his life as he swivelled back to stare at the monitor.

  Bloody hell, I hope that got onto the disc. Jesus. Nobody's going to believe what just happened without that. The thoughts tumbled around his head like lights in an amusement arcade.

  His communications speaker came to life with the voice of the emergency services operator, "Can you tell me the nature of this please," said the voice on the phone.

  "You wouldn't believe it if I told you, you'd think I was drunk. Just get your asses down here with as much firepower and men as you've got on hand. You're going to need every last little bit of it. And I've got it all down on tape," he said.

  "Johnson I hope you're not drinking because if this is not an emergency, you'll be unemployed by the time you go home tomorrow morning," said the anonymous voice on the other end of the line.

  "Just get your butts down here and bring everything you got. I got tape that you are not going to believe," replied Johnson.

  Three minutes later, Johnson heard the rising and falling tones of the police sirens getting louder as they approached the dock.

  Johnson leaned back in his chair and wondered what it was he had just witnessed. He'd seen a man's arm disappear into the middle of Victory's mainmast and when it reappeared, it held a piece of that mainmast. It was impossible, and he knew it was impossible. But he'd just seen it and he had a video of it.

  He looked again at his computer systems. Decided that he would copy the video right now before the police removed it. You just never knew when a bootleg video would come in handy. A few flicks of the mouse and the video file system appeared. He right clicked, and the video copied slowly but surely. The machine asked him to "Save as…?" And with this he hesitated. "Save as…," he said. He repeated himself, "Save as…" The machine patiently waited for the command.

  And then he smiled. He reached into his pocket, took the thumb drive on the end of his key ring, shoved it in the slot and dragged the copy file over to it, named the file, "NotPossible." The machine's download symbol started rotating

  The sirens grew louder.

  One minute later there was a soft bing from his machine as the backup completed. He ejected the thumb drive, closed it, and put it and his key ring back in his pocket.

  The sirens became almost deafening as two vehicles entered the parking lot. The lone police car led an unarmoured van right up to the building entrance. Eight fully battle-armoured police emerged from the vehicles to sprint toward the entrance gates.

  Johnson watched them on the cameras as they came into the Security building. He stood, walked to his door, and threw it wide open. As they burst into the lobby, he waved from his doorway. The commanding officer, who had led the men into the building gestured to the other doors and the troops moved to guard each. The young officer walked briskly towards him. Johnson took one look at the straight back, swinging arms and officious look on his face and decided he didn't like this one already.

  "Johnson?" the officer asked.

  "Yes, sir, it's Johnson. Fred Johnson, Sir."

  "Lieutenant Borders," said the officer. He continued without hesitation in the clipped accent of the well-educated, military officer. "Well Johnson, let's see what you've got."

  Johnson keyed up the appropriate part of the CCTV video and smiled as he watched the young officer's jaw slowly drop so that his mouth was wide open and his eyes bugged out as he watched Merlin retrieve his staff.

  "What the… " said the young officer.

  "Now you know as much as I do, Sir," said Johnson

  "Where did he go. Show me those camera views," ordered Borders.

  "Don't know, Sir. We've got him coming down the gangway on this camera, and the CCTV outside the other side of this building shows him simply walking up the street. You may have passed him."

  "Oh crap," said Borders. He continued, "Do not move. Do not go anywhere. Do not do anything to that tape. This is now a national security issue."

  The young
Lieutenant turned and double-timed across the entrance hall yelling at his men to get back into the machines on the double.

  As the young man ran, he said, "Command radio, how do you read me?"

  "Reading you 10 x 10," replied anonymous voice in his headset.

  "You won't believe what the video shows. We need a full video-security team here soonest, and I do mean soonest. We also require an immediate search for an elderly man, grey hair to his shoulders and trimmed grey beard, blue jeans, black leather jacket, about 65 years old and he's carrying a long wooden staff. Do not approach. Do not arrest. Simply observe and track. Do that first. Now! And then get me the most senior person on duty," said Borders.

  A few seconds went by as the young Lieutenant continued running towards the parking lot. He received the confirmation.

  "Yes, Sir, I've put those requests out and we'll see what we can do, Sir. Stay online for the night duty officer, Major Peters, Sir."

  Borders continued his run towards his troops, yet spoke carefully into his helmet microphone, "All troops, back to the vehicles on the double. Now, now!"

  The men clustered around the vans and Borders said, "We're looking for a tall elderly man, grey hair and beard, wearing a black leather jacket, blue jeans and carrying a staff that's almost as tall is he is. Don't bother any old guy unless he has a staff," said Borders. He paused for two seconds and changed the tone of his voice for the next order. "Listen carefully. If you see him, watch him, but do not approach. We're not sure what we're dealing with here. This is no ordinary old, white guy even though he looks like one. Just radio his location in and watch him."

  He continued, "This isn't a Boy Scout taking his staff back. I don't know what he is, but I just watched him take a jeezly long piece of wood right out of the middle of Victory's mainmast and that was no camera trickery."

  As they entered the van, one of the troops looked at his partner, raised his eyebrow and then spun his eyes around twice. The other nodded and sent a private message, "Indeed. Bedbugs. Crazy as…"

  Two troopers joined the young Lieutenant and the two vehicles split up to slowly cruise the streets leading away from the dock. They drove down all of the adjoining streets one by one, but didn't see anyone remotely resembling their quarry. Other police cars joined their search. Stealing something from Victory offended their national and professional pride and they weren't about to treat this as a minor theft. But they didn't catch even a glimpse of Merlin.

  "Excuse me, Sir. He could've gone to ground a long time ago," said the team Sergeant. He continued, "I don't think were going to find him out here, Sir. It's been over an hour we've been driving around, and wherever he is, he's deeply hidden now."

  "Officer of the watch, do we have him on CCTV?" asked Borders.

  "Negative, Sir," came the reply.

  Borders took a deep breath, considered extending the search but reality intruded and he looked at his sergeant. "Unfortunately. I think you're right. Sonofabitch, I would've loved to have caught him. After seeing that tape, I don't know who this guy is or what he can do. But, I really want to ask him how he pulled that wood out of the friggin' mainmast," he said.

  Two seconds later, Borders closed his eyes, and wondered whether he'd really like to confront somebody who could put their arm deep into a huge mainmast and pull something out of it. A shiver ran up his back.

  MI5 Involved

  The room was just another government office. Its pale, institutional-green, painted walls contained no windows but it did have an old metal fan slowly turning back and forth in a vain attempt to freshen the air. The door appeared to have a lock, but the key had been lost after the second world war and had never been used since. The metal furniture was provided by the lowest bidder, and a single black telephone on the battered desk was the most modern thing in the room. But even then, the phone was an early touch tone button model and sat stolidly and squarely on the right hand side of the desk. The desk top itself was currently filled by piles of paper so tall that it was only by leaning against each other and the grace of gravity they remained upright and didn't litter the floor. To the occupant's credit, the floor was spotless.

  The office was currently occupied by James Ross, the most junior officer in MI5, the UK's internal security services. Officer Ross, referred to simply as Jamie by his friends but Ross by his superiors, had joined the service after a too-short career in the army. A bullet through the thigh in Afghanistan had knocked the twenty-six year old out of Special Forces and left him with a permanent limp. He'd been assigned to MI5 as a way to keep him in Her Majesty's employ. Or, as he and his friends put it, they could pay him a pittance of a pension for doing nothing or they could pay him almost the same pittance and put him to work. It was his second day on the job and he was already chafing with the dress code that called for a suit and tie. He particularly hated the tie that seemed to always flop where he didn't want it.

  The phone on the desk let loose with a jarring series of noises that were somewhere between a bell and an air raid siren. Ross started with the noise and grabbed the handset as quickly as possible before it could ring again.

  The voice on the other end of this antiquated system surprised him with its cultured tones. "Officer Ross, could we have a word please," said a man's voice in the telephone headset followed by a sharp disconnecting click. The owner of the voice didn't feel the need to identify himself and Ross didn't have a clue who had called or where to go. Finding his Team Leader, sounded like a good first step, but when he limped out of his office, his superior, Greg Smithers, was already standing out in the hall, beckoning him forward. When he reached him, Smithers said, "We've both been called to the Director's office."

  The two men navigated the warren of rooms and hallways to the office. Smithers knocked once, opened the door and walked in. The young woman, sitting at the only desk in an office lined with filing cabinets, nodded at him absent-mindedly. But she straightened up when she saw the devilishly good-looking, well-built Ross. She met the young man's almost black eyes, tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear, and smiled as she waved them through an open office door.

  Trailing behind Smithers, Ross saw an office five times larger than his with fashionably-pale cream walls, eight comfortable arm chairs surrounding an oak table at one end and a massive matching oak desk at the other end of the room. There were a multitude of personal framed citations and mementoes hanging on the walls behind the desk but Ross didn't focus on the those nor the three monitors on the wall at the end of the table. He did examine the telephone, a match for his own, and he smiled at the sight.

  The man behind the desk waved the two men towards the table and then joined them. Four other men and three women came in as well, nodded to the Team Leader and surreptitiously stole glances at Ross. Director Campbell did not, apparently, feel the need to introduce these people. After all had taken seats, the Director began without preamble.

  "Gentlemen, are you aware of a theft from HMS Victory last night?" asked Director Campbell.

  "No, Sir, I haven't heard anything about it," said Smithers taking the lead.

  "Heard anything?" asked the Director raising an eyebrow, and looking directly at Ross.

  "No, Sir," said Ross. He noticed a few eyebrows raise as his soft Scottish accent telegraphed his ancestry.

  "Well, let's show you then," said Campbell. He reached into his pocket, plucked out a remote, flicked it at the video monitors on the end wall, and one lit up with the recording of the theft. It showed Merlin's approach, the multiple views from the main deck of Merlin removing the staff, plus his subsequent casual stroll out of the Dockyards. It ended with Merlin disappearing through the main gates.

  "Your explanation for this?" asked Campbell.

  "Hollywood film?" asked Smithers in a tone of voice suggesting it wasn't.

  Campbell only smiled gently and shook his head. He turned to Ross, raised his eyebrows and cocked his head inviting another effort.

  Ross wasn't a stupid man by any stretch of
the imagination and he suddenly became aware he was far and away the most junior person in the room. Two days of service at MI5 didn't even begin to register on the time-served counter, particularly when compared to the level of experience of those in this room.

  The insight reminded him that new officers were often tested and sometimes in ways that guaranteed they'd fail or become the brunt of mistakes made by superior officers. I'm being set up, he decided. His next question was why this was happening and the answer rolled in quickly - nobody wants to be involved with anything having to do with "magic."

  He decided he'd face this as he faced most of the challenges in his military career, straight on. He locked eyes with the Director and began, "Well, Sir, if I may be so bold as to haul out an old chestnut, if all other technological explanations fail, then it might very well be magic. Technology beyond our understanding and all that…". He stopped talking after this. If he was about to be hung out to dry as a newcomer, he'd let them take it forward from here.

  "Indeed," said the Director. "Anybody else?"

  The room remained silent.

  "Officer Ross, our responsibility in this service is to find and solve problems before they become a national security issue. In simple terms, we're the good guys who stop the bad guys. And, if this kind of technology is available, we need to find it and control it. We can't allow it to fall into terrorist hands."

  Campbell took a deep breath, paused for a second, looked at Smithers and continued, "Officer Smithers, I want you to take command of this investigation. But I want Ross involved as well as the lead investigator. It will be a good way to break him into MI5."

  Campbell turned to Ross and continued, "We appreciate it's your first week on the job, but all other senior officers are already involved in full case loads. We think your background in the military will be of an advantage as will your physics degree. You may be able to learn how this individual changes matter or at least, perhaps hacks video cameras to make it appear as if he is."