The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  He remembered Merlin saying that you could not cheat death and how his father had paid his debt so he could live and be here at this exact moment. Had he saved Jared and now had to pay the price with his own life?

  Screaming, he rolled onto his back and stretched his limbs wide. He could feel his ribs shifting and his chest rising higher. Toes were straining in the growing metal boots and his biceps pounded his gloved hands harder against the stone floor. A tingling spread across his face and it itched like mad, every hair on his head burning like it was on fire.

  He was about to pass out when it finally stopped, tears streaming down the sides of his face and his body shaking from the ordeal it had just been put through. Forcing his body to roll over, he pounded his fist against the ground and winced at the thud, yet felt no pain with the strike. Opening his palm, he forced himself to his feet and hovered there, unsteady and dealing with nausea as he slowly began to test his legs. Vertigo hit him and he almost went down again. Throwing out an arm, he tried to steady himself against the dais, but it was lower than it had been, and he almost toppled over it.

  Confused, he lifted his helm free and let the air soothe his aching skin. It felt stretched and still tingled with slight pain. Putting his helm down on the platform that still held two swords he noticed something that he must have missed before, there were two gems nestled into place on the dais’s surface, one brown and one red. How had he missed the red one after the first test? Had he been that out of it?

  He glanced at the two remaining slots but knew that he was in no shape to continue. His body was ravenous and if he didn’t eat, he was going to pass out. Stumbling over to where his pack lay, he reached out, snatching the straps, the resulting yank making it fly towards his face with the strength of his pull. His other hand swept towards it quickly and stopped it before it hit him in the chin. He set it on the dais next to Madera and Justice and pulled his gauntlets off. The fingers that slid into view looked larger than they’d ever been, and he flexed his biceps, feeling the strength in his arm.

  What had the magic done to him?

  He longed for a mirror, but there was none to be had. He unfastened his pack slowly, worried he’d tear it open if he did anything else, and snatched a large package of jerky out of the lower part of his bag. Kylee had taken the time to prepare a deer she’d killed while they were on the plains after Kershaw, and he was suddenly happy that she had done so. Tearing into it, he felt the salt sting his raw lips, saliva dripping unencumbered off his chin.

  Reaching up to wipe it away, he encountered hair, and his eyes looked down with shock. He could just see the outline of a moustache just under his nose and his fingers were entangled in a very short beard growth. The tips of his fingers would not sit still as they probed his face, his mouth working as it greedily swallowed a large portion of the deer meat.

  As he ate more, he marveled at the stronger chin, the more pronounced cheek bones and brow, and felt stunned as his fingers ran through long hair flowing down from his brow to the back of his head. It fell in his face and he had to smoothly push it back behind his ears. He had never had facial hair before, nothing more than a few small hairs he’d occasionally have to shave away. Had the magic aged him? Was that it? How many years had he just lost?

  Though the meat was helping the gnawing hunger subside, he still had a problem controlling his body. His limbs responded with more strength and speed than he had ever known. His legs felt like running even though he clearly wanted to just stand there and catch his breath. The aches of the journey were gone; he felt fresh and renewed.

  Reaching for Justice, he noticed that the hilt felt smaller, the sword less massive than it had been before. He held it with ease, whereas his muscles would usually ache after a few minutes of wielding it. He swung it experimentally, still chewing the dried meat, and felt the swiftness of his muscles swing it like it was a wooden stick instead of a sword of steel.

  Did he even look like himself? Would Willow recognize him? Would she shun what the magic had done and long for a boy that was no more? He ached at the thought and stared at the other two doors with unease. Heart had strengthened his love for his fiancé, had stripped him of doubts and untoward thoughts towards others. Which he didn’t mind one bit; that is how it should be; he accepted that.

  This, however, the physical changing of his body into something alien and unknown? What right had the magic have to do that to him, to change who he was? What would the other two doors do if he went through them? What would happen if he simply walked away and never came back?

  He gritted his teeth. That was not an option. Not after everything they had gone through and experienced. He had to stay the course and keep going, regardless of the changes the magic made. He had to trust that when it was over, he’d still be himself, that Willow would still love him. That in the end, Excalibur would be his and he could move on with their quest.

  Holding Justice in a grip he’d never had before, he looked at the hilt of his father’s sword and recalled the old man’s face. He had given this to him as a sign of his support and love and now it was time to show whether he’d been deserving of them, or if it’d all been a waste of time. Stepping towards the door with wavy lines engraved on it, he nestled his father’s sword into place and backed up slowly. It clicked, then the door flew swiftly upward with no resistance. Almost as if the door had been made of nothing but air.

  Again, darkness awaited and with a deeper breath than he thought possible, he steeled himself for what would come next, then stepped into shadow once more.

  Chapter 11

  Soul & Mind

  I

  Standing in a small glen, he watched as a silver armored knight began to eat a rabbit he’d been roasting on a forked branch hovering over a fire. His helm was lying by his side forgotten, as fingers stripped a few pieces of flesh free and fed it into his familiar looking mouth. Something about the figure called to him and he felt that the two had known each other for a very long time. Blue eyes looked his way, and though the knight kept eating, he felt tension that hadn’t been evident before.

  Who thou?

  He began moving closer, the afternoon light slowly dying in the west, and the shade of the tree fading to his rear. Walking slowly towards the knight in the fading sunlight, he eyed the man suspiciously and cleared his throat. “No, who are you?”

  Oh, I wot whom I am. The question is, doth thou wot whom thou are anymore? Doth thou e'en recognize the person you’ve become?

  Though the man’s lips didn’t move, he could hear the stinging question clearly within his mind, and he pursed his lips as he thought over the man’s question. “My name is—”

  Thy name is not relevant, it’s whom thou are inside that counts. Names are hold, but for a word won’t define a person, not a reflection of whom they are. For instance, mine name is Lancelot du’Lac, meaning of the lake. That doesn’t mean that’s whom I am, only what I am bid. Now, who thou?

  He shook his head. “I don’t have time for riddles. A war is raging, people are dying, and I must succeed at my quest if we’re to have any chance of victory.” His voice was stronger, gruffer, yet he could still hear his heart reflected in his words.

  There is aye a war raging. Aye someone to fight. Allow me say to thou a secret. The orb shall not end no matter whom wins, maugre what you’ve been told. We might all die, civilizations may fall, yet the orb shall hie on regardless. E'en if every piece of life was extinguished, the orb would hie on. What we doth shall not change that. We are yet gouts 'i the oceans of time to the orb we inhabit, and we are nought that’ll aye be noticed or remembered. Say to me, stranger, why are thou on this quest? For what intent? To save the orb? As I just quoth, that is a pointless office, so what else drives thou? Why are thou very hither?

  “Is stopping the Phoenix not enough? Is that not a reason to keep fighting?” he asked, coming to sit by the man’s side. They were as two old friends, having a conversation in the oncoming twilight. The knight offered him a piece
of rabbit meat and he found himself to still be hungry and accepted it with a nod of thanks.

  That is why Merlin is on this quest, not why thou are. Encave thou behind his words and pray for 'em to be true, yet that is not what drives thou. Kylee is seeking vengeance for past wrongs. Reyna was with thou because of her brother, yet now continues on for her own soul and want for vengeance. Willow says she doth lack to save the orb, yet the only reason she’s with Merlin is to be with thee. To course thou to the depths of hell if that’s what it takes, as long as the two of thou are together. Kore fights for the freedom of his race and the safety of his issue. Melissa continues on because she fears retribution for her actions and hopes that by going with thou she’ll save her own skin 'i the process. Trek was sent by the Fairy Queen to look after thy unborn child. E'en Bleak tags along because he knows that a great evil is coming and that sometimes, e'en the smallest of people can compose a difference. Yet none of that tells me why thou are hither. Why, second son of Constantine, Prince of Lancaster, heir to the throne of Griedlok, are thou going through these tests and trying to retrieve the sword from Lady Nimue? What is thy true intent?

  He paused and looked at the sun setting in the distance. The words that sprang to mind were automatic but had also been used by Merlin several times to justify what they were doing. What did he really want or need from any of this? What indeed, drove him?

  You’re not firm-set enough to see this through. Several times now, thou hast failed to act when thy actions could hast saved lives. Thou saw what befell when thou bore thy ground and faced War. Thou saved Jared and killed Clint 'i the process. Yet, that was hold, but for a glimpse of what might hast been. What very befell is thou fled from broil and didn’t e'en hast the strength to catch the man you’d been sent to pursue. Jared died and Clint got aroint. Why? Because you’re not firm-set enough.

  I am.

  Allow me take thy place 'i this quest. I shall see to it that Excalibur is retrieved and granted to mine king, Arthur, so that he might once again ride against the forces of evil and vanquish the Phoenix from this ship of existence forever. I shall protect Willow and thy child. Kylee shall not die defending Kore, and the three of 'em shall grow corky together as they raise Hope 'i Griedlok, long after the Phoenix is nought yet a remembrance. None shall die because of thy brainsick indecisions or inactions. I shall be firm-set where thou canst not. I’ll be the man that thou only hope thou could be.

  The man’s words were sincere, but there was something in his eyes that he appeared to be afraid to speak. Some unspoken need for redemption.

  He shook his head.

  Don’t be hasty with thy decision, regard it through. Moe than thy life hangs 'i the balance and if thou compose the wrong choice, then many moe shall perish ere all of this is over.

  “I know what makes me who I am, and cowardice is not part of it. I will not run and hide while you take over my body and rush off on some foolish quest of redemption. Why am I here? Because I was shot by one of my own people in service to the Phoenix. That woke me up to the evil in the world, and I will not tolerate it affecting anymore innocent people if I have anything to say about it. My father gave his life so that I can be here, and I will not disrespect his memory by handing over my body to a lost soul using logic to hide his own pain and suffering,” he answered back.

  He looked Lancelot straight in the face as he continued. “I may not be who I once was, but I know who I want to be, and that is a good leader to my people, a warrior strong enough to fight the hordes back and keep them safe, and a loving father to my wife and future children. Nothing you can offer will change any of that and I refuse to let them go out of fear of failure. I know I can do this, I have never felt more determined in my life to see this to the end. Not for my safety, but for that of my wife, my children, and my grandchildren. To give them all a better world to live in than the one that will come from my selfish inaction. In short, fuck off.”

  The silver knight leapt to his feet, his sword sliding free and held in front of him. I had hoped to try this the primrose way, yet would we might not but fight, so be it. Get on thy feet and draw thy sword.

  He laughed. “I’m not fighting you.”

  I quoth on thy feet. Die as a man, thou pathetic weakling!

  He just shook his head. “You want to kill me, then do it. But I’m not going to fight you, because no matter what you say, I know the truth. You are and always have been a part of who I am. Whenever I wanted to do something crazy or courageous, it was you pushing me on. When I saw that vision of the Elven King screaming on his knees, it was you that rushed out of me and tried to run to his aid. I don’t know if there is such a thing as reincarnation, but if there is, then you are a reflection of my soul and I’m staring at the person I used to be.”

  He rose to his feet. “You are not Lancelot du’Lac. I am.”

  II

  He was standing just outside the third sliding door and he felt weaker, winded. He stumbled forward and sat on the dais, a white stone shimmering into existence just under the place he put his hand. Raising the other to his head, he tried to focus his thoughts, but he couldn’t; the bombardment had begun and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  Memories flooded through him of a life he had once lived and emotions he had once had. He was a small boy by a lake, learning from a timid old man how to fight. The instructor was cruel and violent, but the innocent youth kept pushing on, not allowing the man to abuse anything other than his mortal form.

  He had been young when he left home with nothing but the clothes on his back and a small pony to ride upon. His mother had died of dysentery and the old man had a malady of the mind that made him forget who he was for long spans of time. Putting his past behind him, he rode north towards the tournaments, determined to put his skills to the test.

  Over the years, he won tournament after tournament, his armor slowly coming together, and eventually a giant stallion replaced his pony. He was unmatched with the sword or lance, and soon many of the noble ladies in court tried to pursue him and tie him down. He had refused, combat was the only true love of his life. When things had become stale, he had set north once more and left Paris to take a boat across the isle to the land of Britain, where tales of a new king beckoned him from afar. Proud and sure of himself, he even did battle with the young monarch, and for the first time in his life, had been put flat on his back. Recognizing that he’d been beaten by a superior foe, he took a knee and offered his sword to the hovering king, feeling that he had finally found the one place he might call home.

  Arthur had accepted him and embraced him as a friend. Their journeys together strengthened their bond and when the Knights of the Round Table were formed, he was named the First Knight and honored by all that met him.

  Then Arthur met Guinevere and all it went to hell rather quickly.

  It was an arranged marriage, but he could see that his best friend was head over heels for her. The problem was, so was he. Though he fought it constantly, he could not stop the feelings he long thought dead from rising to the surface. He had forsaken any thoughts of love and companionship for the perfection of his skills, and now his whole life was thrown into chaos by the love he felt for his best friend’s wife.

  He forced himself away from court, journeyed the back roads of the British Isles and offered his services far from Camelot and the love that kept pulling him back. Yet no matter where he went, who he saw, it was Guinevere’s face that looked back at him. He was driven mad and with a sudden impulsive move, rushed back to Camelot and straight into her awaiting arms. It had been madness and though his heart ached and yearned for it, his soul despaired at the betrayal he was committing.

  When he awoke the following morning next to her naked body, he realized the stain upon his soul and screamed in agony. Quickly gathering his clothes, he left his armor and sword behind as he fled into the forest depths, purposely throwing himself into harm’s way in order to end his miserable life. Though he eventually saw Arthur agai
n, and words of forgiveness were exchanged, he never could forget what he’d done or forgive himself for the treacherous act. And when he died fighting Mordred’s army, he went willingly into Death’s arms and welcomed the void.

  He could remember it all and felt gravity twisting within him. The memories faded to the background, but if he tried, he could recall them easily. A voice spoke from his unconscious mind and he smiled. What skills I had are yours. Thou are worthier of 'em than I aye was. Retrieve Excalibur, save Arthur, and say to him once moe how sorry I am.

  “How sorry we are,” he corrected, for truly Lancelot was as much a part of him as he was of Lancelot. They were two but were now one, and he felt his soul rejoice at the healing of his broken soul.

  He glanced down at the dais at the one empty slot and his eyes flickered towards the last remaining door.

  Water. Mind.

  He dreaded what he’d find within, which is one of the reasons he had held it off til last. He felt a surge of courage and smiled in response. The man that he used to be was forging him into the better man he could be.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to the fading soul and reached down to pick up the last remaining sword. Without hesitation, he thrust Madera into the slot and watched as the door suddenly splashed to the earth in a torrent of water. The shadowy depths beckoned him forth, as if taunting, and with new found confidence, he stepped forward and greeted it willingly.

  It was time to end this.

  He opened his eyes. He was lying on a bed in a cell and when he looked over to his left he saw Selene standing there smiling at him. He couldn’t move his body, but his soul reacted, and he screamed in absolute terror.

  III

  His body was frozen in place, unwilling to move and strike out at the witch sliding her clothes off and commanding his hands to do the same. He was trapped within his mind, unable to fight her off. The woman that had assaulted him was once more stepping his way, a wider smile upon her face.