The Merlin Chronicles: Box Set (All Three Novels)

by Daniel Diehl

  The next few weeks were anxiety ridden, frustrating and stressful. Overwhelmingly relieved that their flat was exactly the way they had left it, and all of their furniture and possessions, including Merlin’s scrolls, remained safe, there were too many disturbing and unaccountable changes for life to feel normal. Beverley was nearly hysterically by the time she contacted her family in Chester, and she arranged to visit them immediately. She asked Jason to go along but they finally agreed that someone needed to stay in Eborācum and find out how much of their lives remained intact. Consequently, while Beverley went to Chester and Merlin printed out online articles and scoured bookshops for information on crop cultivation, cooking, brewing, vintning and distillation, Jason tried to track the course of their careers.

  Beverley’s week with her family was, on the surface, both a massive relief and thoroughly enjoyable. But again, too many things had changed. Her mum remembered Jason as “that nice looking young American lad” but neither of her parents had any memory of Beverley and Jason’s wedding or subsequent life together. Her brother, Johnathan, could not remember whether or not he had even met Jason and flatly denied having traveled with him, Beverley and Merlin to Northumberland to meet the reclusive computer hacker who called himself Nemo. Unsettlingly, neither of her parents seemed to have the slightest idea what their daughter had been doing since graduating from university. At least, Beverley thought to herself, they knew she had studied archaeology.

  Jason’s own search to find their place in this strange new world was every bit as disturbing as his wife’s. On his way to the university – now Eborācum University – he walked westward along Bootham Road just as he had done hundreds of times in the past. Houses, pubs and office buildings were very similar, if not always exactly the same, as they were in what he now thought of as ‘his world’ and it was not until he came to the corner of Bootham and Marygate that things looked very different. In the past, the large green space behind King’s Manor, where the school of archaeology was located, had been known as Museum Gardens. In addition to the local art museum and public library, the gardens contained the picturesque ruins of the medieval Benedictine monastery known as St Mary’s Abbey. Like all religious houses in England, St Mary’s had been destroyed by Henry VIII in the 1530s. But this was no longer England and there had been no fat king who went through six wives and destroyed the religious heritage of his kingdom. Today, the abbey precinct was as active as it had been five centuries earlier. Monks dressed in modern, but identical, gray suits scurried in and out of the abbey, smiling, nodding and waving at people.

  Confused and disoriented, Jason made his way to King’s Manor, desperately hoping it was still home to the archaeology department. His hopes were at least partially fulfilled. The front half of the venerable old building still contained the school of archaeology but the back portion, which he knew as the Yorkshire Museum, was now the offices of St Mary’s Abbey just as it had been in the middle ages. Jason decided that if his trip to the departmental offices worked out even close to the way it should, he would be able to salvage at least part of his former life. The results were a very mixed bag. Departmental records showed both his and Beverley’s undergraduate, masters and doctoral degrees, but there was no record of what either of them had done since their graduation. After leaving the university they had simply vanished.

  In a final attempt to worm some small information about their recent activity out of his old school, he asked the secretary if she could give him contact information for Dr Carver Daniels. Despite the fact that Daniels had visited their dig at Barbury Castle not more than fifteen months earlier, the secretary insisted he had been dead for four years. Equally distressing was the fact that neither the university library nor the local public library had any record of their book Shining a Light on the Dark Ages nor any other published work by either Jason Carpenter or Beverley McCullough.

  The day was so thoroughly depressing that the trip home demanded fortification stops at two separate pubs in the hope that alcohol would stop the out-of-control thought processes taking place inside his head. Instead, Jason’s mind raced off in one wild direction after another. Back at the flat he spent the remainder of the day glued to the computer, searching through historical timelines for Briton, the Federated Provinces of North America and every European country, and every major war, whose name he could remember. There was no way to tell if the massive change in global history was the result of saving Arthur’s kingdom or of killing Morgana le Fay, but in either case it was all his fault. Six hours of web searches left Jason unable to locate a single familiar war or famous name connected to any historical period he could identify. It was not that there were no wars or no important people over the past sixteen centuries – it was just that none of their names were even vaguely familiar. Finally, less than an hour after Merlin returned from his latest ramblings, Jason escaped the ugly realities of this not-so-brave new world by curling up on the sofa and slipping into an uneasy sleep.

  When Beverley returned from Chester two days later they commiserated with each other but could come to no creative solution for their dilemma. The frightening truth was that they – along with the entire world as they knew it - had virtually ceased to exist. At the very least, Jason and Beverley Carpenter had slipped completely off the radar and they had no idea how to locate themselves or reclaim their lives. Even the great wizard had no brilliant ideas to offer. Hour after hour Merlin commiserated with them, even going so far as to apologize profusely for not having foreseen this possible outcome. Finally, in utter frustration, Jason made a feeble attempt at humor.

  “I don’t suppose if I clicked my heels together three times and said “there’s no place like home” we could make this all go away?”

  Beverley and Merlin both agreed it was unlikely.

  The sad truth seemed inescapable; by going into the distant past to help Merlin rescue King Arthur and his kingdom they had effectively erased their own recent past and altered the entire course of world history. Equally inescapable was the fact that they no longer had any place in a world that was largely their creation. It took two more days of soul searching, regret and recrimination before Jason and Beverley agreed that their best – if not only - course of action was to return to the past; at least there they had friends and job prospects. The only impediment was Beverley’s understandable reluctance to leave her family, but when Merlin promised that he would bring them back to see her parents any time she wanted, the matter was settled.

  After two days of sorting through years of accumulated possessions, disposing of the unwanted, giving away the unnecessary and packing only those things which they decided were essential to their life in the fifth century, they were ready to leave. Merlin’s scrolls, along with new books on a wide variety of useful skills, joined extra pairs of modern shoes in three bulging duffel bags that were lugged to a taxi and hauled to the Eborācum train station, their first stop in accompanying Merlin on his mission to re-seal the dragon gate in the past. A cursory online search told them that the village of West Wycombe, where the Hellfire caves were located, now bore its ancient name of Haeferingdune.

  Once in Haeferingdune they stopped at a small pub for one last meal of familiar food. Jason stared at the deep fried strips of potato skewered on the end of his fork. Even after a decade in England he still thought of it as a French fry rather than a chip, but no matter what you called them, they were wonderful. “God, I’m going to miss these things.”

  Across the table Merlin swished a gulp of single malt whisky around and around in his mouth before allowing it to slide down his gullet. “Not to worry, Jason. Potatoes are an integral part of my long term plan.”

  “I guess that helps.” Jason smiled and leaned back in his seat. “You guys about ready?”

  Merlin washed down the last golden drop of his Scotch, sighed, nodded and stood up, dusting invisible crumbs off the coarse fabric of his long gray gown. A minute later the three of them were making their way toward the door.
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  “So do we assume the caves are still abandoned or are they tourist traps? They’ve been both in different timelines.”

  Merlin pondered this for a second. “A very good question.” Smiling, he hoisted one of the duffels and stepped into the street, waving his hand at a black cab parked along the opposite curb. The taxi pulled into the street, made a one hundred-eighty degree loop and eased to a stop.

  “Where to, mate?”

  Merlin leaned down, poked his head through the open window and offered his broadest smile. “Do you know the caves beneath St Lawrence’s Church, just outside the village?”

  “You’d mean Vortigern’s cave, then. Sure; everybody knows Vortigern’s cave. Hop in; I’ll have you there in half a tick.”

  Merlin pursed his lips, turned to Jason and Beverley and rolled his eyes, thinking back to the time when he was an eight year old boy and he and his guardian, a monk named Brother Jerome, were captured and murdered in that cave by the traitorous Vortigern. Shaking his head he muttered “Vortigern’s cave, indeed.” Letting it go, he reached for the handle on the rear door. “Shall we?”

  Just as it had been the last time Merlin was here, the cave was a public attraction but it was certainly not Sir Francis Dashwood’s Hellfire Cave. The entrance lacked the elaborate faux monastic ruins that Dashwood had built in the 1700s. Instead, the large flagstone patio was surrounded by flags and banners emblazoned with the Welsh dragon and more than a dozen other flags that neither Jason nor Beverley could identify. Making their way to the kiosk, when they paid their fees the smiling woman glanced at a small clock, cautioning them that the cave would be closing in forty-five minutes. Merlin took his change, nodded and returned the polite smile, assuring her that forty-five minutes would be more than adequate.

  Wending their way along the tunnel, it was obvious that no eighteenth century playboy had ever turned this particular version of the cave into his personal clubhouse. The walls were far less smooth than either Jason or Beverley remembered and neither the strange, gargoyle-like faces nor the cryptic Roman numeral XXII had been carved into the walls. But there was no time to compare notes. It was the right cave and they had a job to do at the far end. Hurrying down the long corridors, they ended up in the cavern carved by eons of water erosion. There, in front of them, was the stream Dashwood had jokingly dubbed the River Styx, and on the opposite shore, buried in the rock face of the cavern, was the vortex leading into the dragons’ realm. The invisible bridge that Morgana le Fay had built was no longer there, so they removed their shoes and sloshed through the thigh deep water, struggling to keep the duffle bags out of the water. Once on the other side, they replaced their shoes while Merlin stood facing the wall, fishing through his belt pouch until he found the small pebble Jason had rescued from the Ark of the Covenant. Gripping it tight in his hand, Merlin turned his attention to the cave wall.

  Standing with his face no more than two inches from the rough, rock surface the old wizard muttered incantations, scribing invisible symbols on the surface with his left hand while holding his right hand, and its small treasure, against the rock. Four, five, six minutes his voice droned on. Sweat beads appeared on his forehead and trickled down his cheeks. Finally, the wall began to shimmer and seconds later he felt it give beneath the gentle pressure of his fingers. Thrusting the pebble against the softening vortex, he inserted the stone which opened the gate and deftly caught the locking stone as it popped out of the wall. Stepping back, he made no more than a half dozen deft passes through the air and the soft, squishy appearance of the rick vanished, leaving the cliff face as solid as it had been when they entered.

  “That’s it?”

  Merlin wiped his brow and held out his hand, opening the fingers to expose the small stone. “That’s it. But the gate is now unlocked. We have to get to the past and relock it before the creatures realize there’s nothing holding them inside.”

  Brushing past Jason and Beverley, he resumed his work, repeating the correct incantations and marking the air with the proper runes to open a door to the fifth century. Another five minutes and his hand disappeared into thin air. Grabbing one of the hold-alls he nodded toward the invisible portal. “Come on. No time to waste. I’ve got to get that door closed.”

  “You sure you have the right year?”

  “We’ll find out in a minute, won’t we?”

  Shaking his head, Jason held his breath and stepped through the door into the past, Beverley and Merlin hard on his heels.

  Immediately upon emerging on the other side, Merlin returned to the cave wall where he repeated the spells and incantations that revealed the insubstantial reality of the vortex. The instant he pressed the stone into place, the vortex began to shrink, getting smaller and smaller until it vanished entirely, absorbing the stone and locking the dragon gate. Turning his back to the wall, Merlin let out a great puff of breath and slid slowly to the floor. Jason squatted down beside him.

  “Is it done?”

  “It’s finally finished, Jason. It took me more than sixteen centuries to do it, but it’s finally done. Morgana is dead and now the dragons can’t come back.”

  “Can we go home now?”

  With a sigh of resignation, Beverley added “Wherever home is.”

  Merlin waved his hands, illuminating the tunnel with a soft, eerie green light and pointed to the far end of the tunnel where the river emerged from the rock face. “I’m already working on that.” As they watched, a shimmering mist began to emerge from the inch-wide crack between the surface of the water and the rock ledge beneath which it ran. “We’re still in Saxon controlled territory, so we need help getting home.”

  The finger of mist crept across the water, making its way toward the shore where it slowly congealed, compacting into a small pillar. As it gained solidity it took the form of a young woman. Minutes later, a grin broke across Vivian’s face as she rushed to Merlin, her hands extended.

  “Do you recognize this place, lady?”

  “Of course, my love. This is where we will first meet. When you are a child and are dead.”

  Merlin smiled, nodded his assent and pushed himself up from the floor with a mighty heave.

  “Why have you brought me here? You are certainly not dead again.”

  Merlin shook his head and offered a deep, throaty chuckle. “Fortunately no. But there are still very bad men outside and they would certainly kill us if they caught us. I was hoping you could take us safely back to Baenin.”

  The Lady of the Lake turned to Beverley and Jason. “Why don’t you all come to my island? I think you have been there before, or possibly you will come in the future. I can’t remember which, but I know you would find it very lovely.”

  Merlin put his arm around the naiad and pulled her close. “Jason and Beverley have other things to do right now, but as soon as I speak with my friend Arthur, I will finally be free to live with you on your island.”

  It was impossible to tell who was the most amazed; Jason and Beverley or Vivian. They all stared at him, open mouthed, until he explained. Staring into the girl-thing’s soft, watery blue eyes, he said, “I have always promised you that I would come live with you when my work was finished.” What he said was true, and he had repeated it so many times that even Vivian remembered. “Well, now my work is done. So why don’t you take us all to Baenin, let me have a word with Arthur and then I’ll be ready to go with you.” Jason was about to speak but Merlin cut him off. “I’ll always be there when you need me. And before I leave I’ll show you how to contact me.”

  Jason nodded sadly as he and Beverley followed Vivian and Merlin to the edge of the water. Putting their foot into the dark stream, their next step brought them to the rugged bank of the Og, just north of Baenin.

  As the four of them walked toward the old villa and Arthur’s new town, they spotted a group of riders coming toward them. Within minutes it became clear it was a hunting party; dozens of men in bright clothes, a pack of greyhounds running ahead of them, setting the pa
ce. As the distance between the two groups narrowed, one of the hunters held up his hand, bringing the riders to a halt. Alone, the huntsman rode forward at an easy canter. Reining in his horse, he dismounted, smiled and waved. When he was no more than ten feet away everyone except Vivian offered a small, respectful bow.

  “Greetings, my Lord.”

  Arthur started at Merlin with a lop-sided grin on his face. “While I have long-since given up trying to understand the comings and goings of wizards, I was under the impression the three of you were leaving.”

  “And, if you don’t mind my asking; when, precisely, did I last tell you we were going?”

  The king stared blankly at the old wizard. “We held a final dinner for you just last evening.”

  Merlin looked over his shoulder and smiled at Jason. Motioning him and Beverley forward, he whispered in Jason’s ear. “I seem to be getting better at gauging my time portals.” Then, turning back to Arthur, he said “I believe Master Jason and Mistress Beverley have something to tell you.”

  The monarch shifted his attention to Jason and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

  “If your offer still stands, we’ve decided to remain in your kingdom.”

  A huge smile broke across the king’s face. “This is excellent news. Let me send the rest of the hunt on their way and we can walk back to Baenin together.” Raising his arm and waving it in the air, he signaled his companions to continue without him. As the others turned their mounts and rode away in a cloud of autumn dust, Arthur held out his hand to Beverley, inviting her to walk beside him.

  “The queen will be so happy. When one of her ladies told her that your room was empty this morning, it saddened her more than you can imagine.”