by Daniel Diehl
A few feet ahead of where he stood a dark ribbon of sluggish water ran the length of the cave before disappearing beneath the rock face at the far end. On the opposite wall he could just make out the Roman numerals XXII. There was no doubt; he was back in the Hellfire Caves where he had nearly fallen to his death in his struggle to save Beverley and destroy Morgana le Fay. Turning back to the portal behind him, Merlin stuck his head through the opening to make sure the dragons were still safely elsewhere. Satisfied that he remained unobserved, he knelt down and fumbled through the dirt for the small pebble he had pushed out of the gate when he inserted its counterpart on the other side. Directly beneath him he found it, a marbled green stone no bigger than a man’s thumbnail that Jason had rescued from the Ark of the Covenant. Picking it up, he turned back to the open gate, unsure of the best way to proceed.
Repeating the incantations he had used to close the gate before he fell through, he inserted one hand into the gaping hole while holding the locking stone to the face of the opening. After tense minutes of chanting, he heard a slight whooshing noise as the gate began to reverse itself, slowly sealing off the realm of the dragons from the world of men. As the gateway constricted, he felt the stone in one hand pulled into place as another stone appeared from the nothingness and fell into the waiting palm of his other hand. Clutching the small brown stone tight, he extracted his hand as the gate snuffed out of existence. Smiling and muttering to himself, Merlin dropped the stone back into his pouch.
“That certainly was easier than the last time I went through there.”
“Mummy, Mummy, look here, it’s another tunnel and I can hear my echo.”
The high-pitched voice rolled along the tunnel leading into the cavern, making Merlin snap to attention. Why is there a child wandering around in the Hellfire Caves? Prepared for any occurrence, no matter how bizarre, Merlin hustled across the invisible bridge that Morgana had built to span the river, leapt to the opposite wall and made himself invisible to anyone – or anything - that might appear from the tunnel mouth. The creature that exploded into the pale light of the cavern stood about four feet in height, had blond hair and was swinging a bright purple backpack in one hand. Minutes behind the child came a couple in their early thirties, bringing smiles and laughter into the gloom of the cave that had so recently seen a bloody battle between Merlin, Jason and Beverley on one side, against Morgana and a half-dozen of her hired thugs on the other.
Utterly confused, Merlin rematerialized after the family exited the cavern and followed them back toward the cave entrance. The once dark tunnels were now illuminated with discrete fluorescent lighting and in the huge circular dining room where Sir Francis Dashwood had once entertained members of his notorious Hellfire Club – and where Morgana had established the headquarters from which she hoped to oversee the dragons’ conquest of the world – there were colorfully decorative displays describing the cave’s history from its time as a Neolithic mine through the Dashwood years.
If this bizarre change struck Merlin as disorienting he was totally unprepared for the scene beyond the mouth of the cave. In the courtyard area where Francis Dashwood had built a sprawling folly in the shape of a ruined monastic complex, a profusion of café tables topped with brightly colored umbrellas played host to a dozen chatting, laughing holiday makers. In one corner of the courtyard a portable bar had been set up and on the opposite side ice cream and soft drinks were being sold from a wheeled cart. Everywhere, pots brimmed with bright yellow daffodils and in the pale green leaves of newly reborn trees birds sang and twittered in their search for this year’s mate. Nodding and smiling awkwardly to the people he passed, heading toward the wooded roadway beyond, the man in the long gray robe and animal skin vest felt almost as disoriented as he had when he first arrived in the twenty-first century. Things changed far too rapidly in this world.
Moving at a brisk pace, Merlin walked to the near-by village of West Wycombe where he stopped at a cash machine long enough to cast a quick spell that extracted every last banknote. Heading to the local train station he bought a ticket that would take him through nearby High Wycombe and into London’s Kings Cross Station where he would change trains for York. Six hours later, when he stepped off the train at York Station, he felt rather proud of himself for so successfully navigating his way across the entirety of twenty-first century England without once having to ask for help.
Hurrying across the roadway he ducked through a big arch in the medieval city walls and turned left, heading up Station Road and then across Lendal Bridge toward the towering outline of York Minster Cathedral. His mind was a million miles away from the profusion of spring flowers that proclaimed the joy of the season from their neat beds girdling the cathedral’s foundation, when he paused a moment to admire the wedding cake carvings covering the largest high-Gothic structure north of Italy.
Pulling himself back to his task, he turned left onto Low Petergate Street and hurried through Bootham Bar which had once served as the main entry gate into the old city. Dropping comfortably onto one of the park benches situated on either side of the gate, he surveyed his surroundings, contemplating the best way to approach Jason and Beverley who obviously assumed him to be dead. He knew Jason was still living in York, he sensed it from the moment he stepped through the dragon gate and into the cave deep in the bowels of the earth, but he wanted to choose the least shocking way to approach his friends. As he concocted and rejected one plan after another his eyes came to rest on a sign swinging gently from a metal bracket mounted on one of the old Georgian row houses across the street. Papillon B&B it read; beneath the writing was a brightly painted picture of a butterfly. Knowing instantly what he needed to do, Merlin strode across Gillygate, ducking between passing cars, and knocked on the door of the Bed and Breakfast.
“Pardon me, do you happen to have a room available for a day or two?”
The short, gnome-like man who answered the door stared in undisguised disbelief at Merlin’s streaming beard, long hair and the course, homespun fabric of his floor length robe. When his jaw and lips moved but failed to produce any sound, Merlin smiled benignly and raised a long, slender index finger skyward, positioning directly it between their noses. When the little man automatically shifted his gaze to the finger, Merlin redirected it toward his electric blue eyes. As he removed his finger their eyes locked, and the proprietor of the Papillon B&B broke into a broad smile, mumbled enthusiastic greetings and pumped Merlin’s hand as though he was a long-lost brother. After ushering his new guest into the entry hall, the proprietor escorted the wizard to a seat while he hustled off to find the guest registry. Ten minutes later Merlin had registered, paid for two nights lodging under the name Merlin Carpenter, and been shown to his room. As the landlord turned to leave, he checked himself and turned back.
“And will you be needing anything else, Mr Carpenter?”
“Actually, yes. You don’t happen to know of a high-end retail shop where I might be able to buy a mirror made of crystal, do you?”
Chapter Five
The softly glistening sun had already slipped behind the high stone walls of York’s old city center, tucking itself snuggly behind the medieval fortress, safe for another night, when the old Range Rover lurched into its parking space in front of the hulking Victorian apartment building on Bootham Road. Jason and Beverley each grabbed as many bags of groceries as they could carry, Jason taking the heavier ones, leaving the lighter bags and the awkward job of unlocking the doors, to Beverley. Approaching the big outside door, Jason shifted the weight of his bags and peered around the corner of the portico toward the windows of their flat. Beverley had apparently left the computer running; he was certain he could see the flickering silvery light of the monitor glowing through the curtains. As Beverley opened the door to their apartment, picked up her bags and stepped over the threshold, Jason moved around her, craning his neck toward their office. There was no doubt; the eerie glow of the computer screen was unmistakable. Just as unmistakable was the
low sound of someone humming softly to themselves. Not even pausing to set the heavy plastic bags down, Jason marched toward the office door, ready to confront the intruder.
“Don’t just stand there, boy. Turn on a light and step in here so I can get a good look at you.”
The high-backed desk chair from which the deep, rich voice emanated was in the process of turning toward the door when Jason lunged into the room, ready for anything. At least he thought he was ready for anything, but he was certainly not ready for what he was about to confront. Sitting in the chair was the tall, willowy figure of a man with a gaunt, hawkish face half obscured by shoulder length gray hair and an iron gray beard reaching to the waist of his equally gray gown. Stunned beyond his ability to react, Jason froze in mid-stride as his grip on the carrier bags faltered, sending oranges, potatoes, onions and heads of lettuce cascading across the floor. Drawn by the commotion, Beverley stepped up behind Jason just in time to see Merlin raise one hand, grin broadly and wave a friendly greeting.
“This can’t be real. I’m losing it. You’re not real, are you? Do you see him too, Bev?”
“Don’t be silly, Jason. Of course I’m real and of course Beverley sees me.” Turning his head a few degrees, the great wizard smiled at Beverley, nodded and rose from his seat. “How are you, my dear? It’s been far too long.”
When Merlin extended a hand toward Beverley she ignored it, rushed toward him, nearly knocking him over as she smothered him in a bear hug. While Merlin stroked her hair reassuringly, Jason remained in a state of shock; too stunned to form a coherent sentence he stood there mumbling “But. But, how? How?” Finally, extracting himself from Beverley’s embrace Merlin threw one arm around Jason’s shoulder, turned the pair of them around one hundred and eighty degrees and led them through the minefield of forgotten vegetables toward the living room.
Hour after hour they talked, often simultaneously. Sometimes they all jabbered at once while other moments were filled with awkward silences until they started talking again. Even before dealing with the obvious question of Merlin’s seemingly miraculous reappearance from the dead, they reestablished their bond of friendship, breaking into Jason’s stash of Jack Daniels whiskey and commenting on how each of them had, or had not, changed. Jason’s hair was not quite as blond as it had once been and his long ponytail was now gone. While Beverley looked much as she always had there was something about her manner that told Merlin she and Jason had gotten married. The prize for the most obvious physical change unquestionably went to Merlin. Although the darkening of his hair was apparent to both of them, it was Beverley who first looked beyond the hair and beard to notice that there were fewer lines in his narrow face, less wrinkling around his eyes.
“I honestly think living with Vivian has been good for me” he replied when Beverley complimented him on his appearance. “I feel better and more refreshed than I have in centuries.”
Beverley shook her head. “I’m sure she has been good for you, but it’s more than that. You really have gotten younger.”
“Really? There aren’t any mirrors in that strange place Vivian calls home, so I don’t really know what I look like.”
Looking closely at his old friend for the first time, Jason nodded in agreement. “She’s right. You’re a lot younger than you were before.”
“Vivian did tell me that Ynys Enlli had the effect of reversing the ageing process if a person stayed there long enough. I wonder how long I was there?”
“Almost six years. That’s how long it’s been since you fell through the dragon gate.”
“Six years to you. But I don’t think there is any connection between the length of time since I left you, and the amount of time I spent on Vivian’s island. Traveling through time is a very strange experience.” Cocking one eyebrow at Jason, he added “I visited you far, far in the future, you know.”
“You did?”
“Oh, yes. Of course, there’s no way of knowing if I will do it again, when the time comes. As things change, so does the path our lives take, and those changes inevitably alter the outcome of our future.”
Jason offered a small uncertain scowl. “You think the course of time and events is fluid enough that it can be changed at will?”
“Of course, my boy.” With a smirk he added “For example, if you had not had the improbable experience of meeting me, Morgana le Fay would still be plotting to rule the world and you would never have acquired magical powers. You do have powers, don’t you?”
“Oh, you know about that, do you?”
“Naturally. When I was about to fall through the dragon gate I only had a second in which to act, but I tried to impart as much of my power to you as I could.” Then, with a smile and a shrug, he added “But it was all so sudden, I have no idea what type or how much power I gave you.”
Over the next hour they swapped tales of magical powers; Jason showing Merlin what he could and could not do, demonstrating his considerable levitational skills and explaining his frustration at not being able to direct the movement of the scrying glass after more than five years of continuous work. In response Merlin broke out in a broad grin and laughed uproariously.
“I knew you’d been working on something; when I came in I saw my scrolls and books scattered all over your desk and the floor. I’m impressed. Considering that you had no one to guide you, I think you’ve made exceptional progress. Remind me later and I’ll show you how to pick up a person’s essential harmonic resonances. It shouldn’t take you more than a day or two to learn and then you can follow anyone you like in the scrying glass.”
Jason let out a great exhausted sigh, threw his head back and addressed the ceiling. “A day or two? I’ve been fighting this damn thing for almost six years and you can teach me in a day or two? That is just so depressing.”
“If I had been here, believe me, I would have been happy to have shared my knowledge with you sooner.”
Merlin’s comment gave Beverley the opening she had been waiting on for nearly an hour. Leaning forward and clearing her throat for attention, she asked “So, I understand that you have been living with Vivian, but how did you get to her island from the Hellfire Caves? I mean, we thought you got sucked into the place where the dragons live. What happened?”
Standing up and brushing invisible bits of dust from his ratty gown, Merlin smiled and extended a hand toward Beverley.
“My dear, I would love to tell you all about it, but quite honestly, I’m famished. May I suggest we discuss this over some food? My treat.”
“Been robbing cash machines, again, have you?” Jason’s accusing tone was laced with more than a hint of wry irony.
“Of course.”
Taking the wizard’s hand and swinging it back and forth playfully, Beverley interjected. “And where would you like to eat?”
“Anywhere I can get the two things I missed most while I was gone – next to the two of you, of course.”
“Don’t tell me…” Jason closed his eyes, tilted his head back and laid one finger to his temple like a sideshow fortune teller. “Pizza, washed down with copious amounts of expensive booze.”
“And they say I’m a wizard. Your skill astounds me, Jason.”
Laughing, arm in arm, the reunited friends walked to a new Italian restaurant called La Pizzeria, located at the eastern end of Lendal Bridge, where they requested a table with a view over the night-dark ribbon of the River Ouse. From their windowed vantage point they could watch the ducks and geese bedding down for the night amidst dancing reflections cast by the lights strung out along the bridge, high above their feathered heads.
Over the sheltering comfort of dinner their excited chatter flew from one place to another – helped along its way by a continuous renewal of their wine glasses – each new piece of information helping to fill in the blank spaces left by more than half a decade of separation. Disparate elements, fragments of lives torn apart and reunited, floated in and out of their conversation like a flock of small birds flying in every
direction. As their thoughts moved toward occasional points of cohesion, Jason and Beverley’s main questions had to do with what happened to Merlin after he was pulled through the dragon gate by Morgana le Fay, and how he escaped from the dragons’ realm.
“We were absolutely right about the dragons being demons and their realm being hell.”
“Oh, my God. You don’t mean to tell me hell is actually a real place?”
Merlin turned toward Beverley and nodded his head sagely. “I’m afraid so, my dear. I simply have no words to describe how horrid it is – and I even if I could explain it, I wouldn’t because I don’t want to distress you – but let’s just say that I don’t recommend it as a place to spend your next holiday and leave it at that, shall we?”
“So how did you get out?”
Both Jason and Beverley were leaning as far across the table as they could, fascinated, excited and more than a little frightened by the thought that someone had actually been to hell and lived to tell about it. Even more exciting was the fact that they were about to get a firsthand account of the experience.
“To be perfectly honest with you, Jason, I was thrown out.” Pausing just long enough to rub his hand across his chin, Merlin leaned forward and continued in a conspirator’s whisper. “I had never, until this second, considered what it says about a man when he has literally been thrown out of hell.” Then he threw his head back and laughed uproariously.
When the laughter died, Jason prodded Merlin back to the topic at hand; insisting that he share the truth about his time in the nether regions.
“Oh, I wasn’t kidding, Jason. They really did throw me out. One of the dragons escorted me back to the exact point in time where Vivian buried me in my crystal sphere.” All too conveniently, Merlin neglected to mention the creature’s admonishment that he had upset the flow of time. “They ushered me out through another of these gates, which seem to come in a variety of forms and connect nearly every moment in time and every point in the universe – if you know how to use them - a skill which, I assure you, I have not mastered despite my best efforts.” Pointing a finger at Jason, he added “So don’t feel bad if you haven’t mastered the scrying glass on your own. I had Vivian to help me and even with all of my skills I still haven’t quite mastered the time gates.”