by Ben Zackheim
“What are you looking at?”
“Sorry,” Simon said. “Here’s your jacket back.” The giant took it, throwing it over his shoulders. “May I rest a bit?”
“No. Get moving.”
“I’m not sure how much longer I can go.”
“I’ll give you plenty of reason to get moving come lunchtime.” That didn’t sound promising. The giant took a sip from a pouch.
“Do you have any more of that?” Simon asked. “Maybe in another container?” He didn’t want to sip from the same pouch if he could avoid it.
“Didn’t get enough to drink with that little trick you pulled back at the loch?” Simon guessed that was a no.
He mustered enough energy to go for another hour. But the pace was too fast and the slope was solidly up, up, up.
The air became noticeably thinner and Simon had a hard time catching his breath. Even the giant was doing his best to stay on his feet. In fact, he was stumbling like he was drunk. Wherever he wanted to go, Simon thought, he was determined to get there. The peak of the mountain was getting close.
Finally, Simon’s legs gave way and he fell to the rocky ground. He didn’t know what the punishment was for falling down, but he couldn’t go any further. If the monster was going to eat him for lunch then that was his fate.
His captor sighed, plopped down next to him and squinted at the horizon.
“We have some time. Make the most of it.” Simon followed his gaze and barely made out the small shape of someone far below. Were the two of them running from someone? If they were, what could scare this guy enough to make him run? And why did he need Simon to tag along? He was just slowing them down.
Simon couldn’t stop the question from slipping out of his mouth. “What are you?” he asked.
His kidnapper let out a laugh like the bass drum of an orchestra. It made Simon’s belly rumble, rolling right through his gut.
“You humans call me a troll.”
“You mean like a troll under a bridge?”
The troll turned to look down at him. “What’s that supposed to mean? What bridge?”
“Trolls. Under a bridge. They charge a fee for crossing a bridge.”
“Why would trolls charge a fee for crossing a bridge?”
“I don’t know. That’s what trolls are supposed to do, I thought.”
“Sorry to disappoint you then, boy. Trolls don’t work the roads. We have better things to do with our time.”
“Like what?” The question seemed to catch the troll by surprise.
“Like drink! And mine for gold! And bet it all away, of course!”
“I thought that was dwarfs.”
“That means trolls can’t enjoy drink and wealth? What do they teach you people out there?”
“Not much, actually.”
“I can see that! Now enough with the stupid questions!”
Simon pondered ways to rephrase his questions as comments. “I wonder if Red made it home okay.”
“Who? That boy you were with? Oh, trust me, he got away fine. Ran for the hills as soon as he saw me. That one knows how to stay alive.”
“I tried to do the same.”
“Aye, but you didn’t have a free pass like he did.”
“What do you mean ‘free pass’?”
The troll growled. “I mean he was a traitor. Has that kind of smell. He led the winged creature to you, that’s my bet.”
“Red? He saw it when he woke up this morning and his head almost exploded. No way. Besides what would a gargoyle want with me?” The troll glanced at Simon sideways. It was a puzzled expression.
Simon wanted to make the uncomfortable silence go away. “My name’s Simon.”
“I know who you are.”
“How?”
“What do you mean how? Don’t be coy with me. Why do you think I took you?”
“I have no idea.” The troll studied him for a second and his expression softened. It was only then that Simon wondered if he was referring to the whole Lancelot thing.
“You tell the truth, eh? You really don’t know what value you bring.” He studied Simon for a moment. His voice rumbled, “Hmmm. Better that way.”
“The same value as my parents?” It was a shot in the dark, but he’d taken a lot of those recently, so why stop now?
“Ha! Your parents. They were another matter altogether.”
Simon’s ears warmed immediately. The adrenaline was pumping fast and furious. “So you knew them?”
The troll raised his hand to shush him. Simon followed his stare down the hill and saw that the once-distant, mysterious figure was much closer now. He could even make out that it was wearing a robe of some kind. How did he move so fast?
What happened next was a blur.
Someone else, a second pursuer, leapt from behind a nearby boulder. A green light appeared twenty feet over Simon’s head, accompanied by a piercing screech. The light rolled and bundled up in a smooth ball and flew at them. Simon rolled out of the way, but the troll was knocked back a few yards. He let out a terrifying roar, collected himself, and ran downhill toward the new guy.
Except it was no guy. Her hood slipped off and Simon could see her clearly.
It was Maille.
She cowered at the sight of the troll bearing down on her. She stepped out of the way and he overshot her, falling and sliding on his face for a few yards.
“Caradoc! Stop!” she shouted at her opponent. But if she meant to make the troll behave, she failed. He sat up, shook his head, growled and then ran at her for round two. The green light surrounded Maille’s crooked bat again. This time it shot at the troll and surrounded him in a glowing sphere that lifted him into the air. He clawed at the ground, trying to break free. His arms swung wildly as the sphere carried him past Maille. One hand grazed her, knocking her ten feet in the air. She landed out of sight behind the same boulders she’d emerged from. Caradoc the troll dropped to the dirt.
For a few seconds, Simon only heard the wind and the heaving breath of an exhausted creature.
“Move!” The troll pulled Simon along with him. When he couldn’t keep up, he was swept off his feet and thrown over a shoulder.
They hurried up the rest of the mountain. As they reached the peak, what emerged was the most spectacular sight Simon had ever seen.
On a mountain range to the south was a castle, large enough to envelope an entire town in its stone arms. The fortress started with short, small buildings near the base of the mountain, close to a loch’s edge. But as it crept up the slope the structures got bigger and taller. Perched near the peak were four towers that surveyed the land like guardians. Simon was lost in the vision of the stone walls standing amidst the green hills in the soft morning light.
Why had he never seen pictures of this place before?
But he didn’t have time to savor the moment. Unfortunately, Caradoc decided the best way to proceed was to run down the hill. As they picked up speed Simon could tell the troll was losing control of his legs. With a surge forward they were falling. If Caradoc landed on him, he was finished. Simon’s life didn’t flash before his eyes. The only thing he saw was a troll’s butt about to squish his head.
And then everything stopped.
The troll was floating in the air with a terrified grimace on his face. His hands reached for something to break the fall. But it was all as still as a photo.
Simon didn’t stick around to find out what was going on. He scurried out from under the levitating one-ton monster and found a nearby boulder to lean against, out of harm’s way.
Simon needed a moment to collect himself. He’d hurt his wrist in the fall — that much was clear as the adrenaline faded. The pain was excruciating. He guessed that his wrist was broken. He almost passed out, but the eerie sight in front of him helped him stay conscious. The frozen troll almost looked funny. His mouth was wide open as if he were crying out “Oops!” and his body was twisted in a knot.
If time ever did start up for him again, h
e was in for one mean landing.
A figure waddling down the mountain distracted Simon. The stranger lifted an arm up and the troll abruptly landed with a sickening thud. He skidded down the mountainside as if time had never stopped. Simon cringed at the sound. He wasn’t in the business of feeling bad for smelly trolls who had kidnapped him, but the screech of pain was pitiful. When he came to a sudden stop the troll groaned with that deep, doglike growl and proceeded to pass out.
The new guy on the scene was a huge old man. He wasn’t as towering as the troll but Simon guessed he was about seven feet tall. His most curious feature was that he was almost as wide as he was tall. Simon couldn’t tell if it was fat or muscle, but it was an impressive sight either way. He was probably seventy, with shoulder-length, wild white hair and a mustache that was so bushy it fluffed out from his long, braided beard by about twelve inches. He was dressed in a simple robe that was similar to the one the stranger in the city park had worn, only cleaner. The large hood draped down over the old man’s slumped shoulders like a cape. Simon immediately thought he looked a lot like a giant bearded Einstein in a dark purple bathrobe.
The man glared at Simon as he got closer. His eyebrows were as white as the rest of his hair, and they moved around his face like a couple of hyperactive caterpillars.
“Your wrist is broken. Come here,” the old man said.
Simon struggled to his feet. He held out his hand and the man took it in his long fingers gently. He muttered something under his breath, and then, without a word, walked toward the troll.
Even after all he’d just witnessed, Simon couldn’t believe it.
The pain was gone. He shook his hand. Not even a twinge.
The huge stranger stood over Simon’s kidnapper and clucked his tongue, shaking his head. Again, he mumbled some words. The troll’s face relaxed and he began to snore.
“Before you ask,” the old man said, turning on his heel, “I am Merlin!” He raised his staff over his head and stood up straight. The dramatic move made him appear a foot taller.
Then he turned and walked away, slouched over again.
Simon had a hard time grasping what the guy had said. Of course, he couldn’t mean he was Merlin the wizard. On the other hand, he had stopped time and healed wounds with a few words. That would suggest he had a few tricks up his sleeve.
But, first of all, Merlin had never existed. Second, even if he had existed, that was a thousand years ago. This guy didn’t look a day over seventy-two. The confusion must have been plastered all over Simon’s face because Merlin frowned.
“Do not doubt me, boy. You’ll find I don’t have time for fools.”
“I’m not a fool. I just don’t get it.”
“The definition of a fool where I come from.”
“I mean… but how… which Merlin?” He cringed after he asked it. That was a fool’s question.
“What do you mean, which Merlin? What other Merlin would there be? I made quite sure the name stayed unique to me, so unless my skills have waned I think you know very well ‘which’ Merlin I am.”
“I’m sorry. I… I don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t care if you believe me. Lancelot never listened to a word I said, so why would you?”
Simon’s stomach dropped. “Oh, come on…”
“Excuse me?”
“This whole Lancelot thing. It’s stupid. This is all stupid! I don’t even know what’s going on!”
“Ah yes. Maille told me you didn’t know about your bloodline. But…” He smirked.
“But what?”
“Rest assured the blood of that boor is in your veins, my little not-Lancelot.”
“I’m Simon Sharp, born in New York City in 2001.”
The wizard, if that’s what he was, moved toward Simon and bent down until he was face-to-face. Simon backed up a step.
“I go by Emrys, Ambrosius, Wild Man of the Woods, and Son of the Devil. Call me what you want, but I am Merlin.” He poked Simon with his stick. “Sir (poke) Lancelot (poke) not-not (poke, poke).”
“Thanks for the backup, Merlin!” Maille limped down the mountain, looking precisely as if she’d been thrown ten feet through the air by a troll. She dragged her bat behind her.
“Pain is how we learn, girl.” Merlin winked at Simon.
“So you tell me. Which is why you like to send me ahead to do the fighting.”
“I’ve learned all I need to know.”
“Well, that’s convenient. Hello again Sir Lan…”
“I wouldn’t call him that if I were you. He’s touchy!” Merlin said, mockingly.
“I’m Simon.”
Maille shared a quick look with Merlin, who shrugged.
“Hi, Simon. Are you okay?” Maille asked.
“Yeah. This guy fixed my wrist. I’m fine. Who is that, anyway?” He pointed to the beast.
Merlin’s eyes went to half-mast, as if he disapproved of the question. “That is a particularly troublesome troll, and he’s paying the consequences of pursuing his own glory at my expense.”
“Bringing you to New Camelot, namely,” Maille interjected.
“It’s a great insult, and now he’s going to pay the price.” It appeared that Merlin had stuff to get off his chest when it came to this particular troll.
“Merlin and Caradoc don’t get along,” Maille said with a slight smirk on her face. “It’s mostly Merlin’s fault, though, if you ask me.”
“Which no one has, but you’re still yapping your flapper,” Merlin shot back.
“Caradoc just tries too hard to please you!” She turned to Simon. “The only creature Merlin hates more is Rish. He’s a goblin.”
“Goblins, trolls, gargoyles,” Simon mumbled. “So when do I see a dragon?”
“Why would you want to see a dragon?” Maille responded, as if it were a serious question. Simon rolled his eyes.
“When did you see a gargoyle?” Merlin’s tone required a quick and concise answer.
“This guy killed one,” Simon said, pointing to the snoring Caradoc, who mumbled something about chickens.
“Did he really? Well, isn’t that inter…” Maille started.
“Enough! We need to get back to New Camelot. If what he says is true we have certainly been followed.” And with that, Merlin pointed to Caradoc.
Maille limped to the troll, took him by the back of his pants, and lifted the whole one-ton monster over her head. Simon was stunned. Again.
Wide-eyed, he watched her walk effortlessly down the hill — Caradoc sleeping like a big baby on his mother’s back. Merlin grumbled as he strode by Simon.
“It’s magic, moron.”
14
Simon tried to keep up but had to settle for being a distant third the entire trek down the mountain. His companions obviously had a lot of experience maneuvering the rough terrain. It was a quiet trip, with the wind whispering in their ears.
“So you’re telling me that castle is Camelot?” Simon had to yell because they were so far away.
“We’re not telling you a thing,” the old man shouted back.
But Maille took pity. She walked backward for a bit, only stopping for a second to adjust the troll on her shoulders. “It’s New Camelot, Simon,” she said. “Merlin had it built more than a thousand years ago. I gather it’s grander than the original. That one was destroyed by the Romans.”
“Why haven’t I seen it before?”
“Because it’s hidden from the outside world, of course,” Merlin hollered. “A trivial spell. You have all your cockamamie radarks and ultraviolents, and you still can’t see the grandest castle ever made! HA!”
Simon looked at Maille, confused.
“He means radar and ultraviolet,” she muttered. “But he tends to mess up modern words a lot.”
Simon ran his eyes over the castle again. It was indeed the grandest thing he’d ever seen, bar none. Its beauty was equal to the legend. He almost found himself believing the old man. But if he did, then the L
ancelot tale was likely true, too.
He wasn’t ready to accept that.
AT THE BOTTOM of the mountain, they walked into dense, old forest. The trees were so thick with leaves that even the rising sun barely broke through. The group followed the edge of a noisy creek, which made the uncomfortable silence a little more bearable. If Simon was reading their body language right, Maille and Merlin were wallowing in an uncomfortable intermission between fights.
After weaving around countless massive trees, they emerged on a dirt road and approached a small shack. Several lamp posts on either side of them glowed orange. The gas lights would have been more appropriate on a Paris street than the middle of a forest.
An old lady waddled out of the shack and smiled.
“Greetings!” she hollered, even though they were standing not three feet away.
Merlin stopped. He held out his arms to make sure Maille and Simon didn’t pass him. “We wish to enter New Camelot, Myrtle.”
“Always so formal with me, Merlin.” She was still hollering. Simon realized she probably didn’t hear very well.
“You’re our first line of defense, Myrtle. You need to make sure I’m who I claim to be, and not an imposter.”
“Yes, yes. The gatekeeper!” Her wide grin made Simon smile. She nudged him in a friendly way and winked. “It would be hard to fake bein’ Maille Rose, wouldn’t it? With a one-ton troll fartin’ on your shoulders? HA!”
Merlin opened his arms. Like trees bending in an invisible hurricane, the lampposts leaned toward him. As they moved over his head, their flames flared up. When the lamps touched, Simon watched in awe as Merlin was surrounded by a waterfall of orange light. It set his body aglow and released hundreds of colorful dots that danced over his skin. To Simon’s horror, Merlin’s robe slowly disappeared, leaving the old man’s backside as bare as a newborn babe. Maille turned away at the same time Simon did, and made a face that was exactly how Simon felt — tongue stuck out and eyes squinty, followed by barfing motions, without the barf.
“Yer clear Merlin,” Myrtle yelled.
“That’s not the word I’d use to describe what I just saw,” Maille muttered. Simon grinned, barely able to swallow a laugh. Maille took her turn as Simon pretended to admire Myrtle’s run-down shack.