by Robert York
“So when I get hurt I heal faster now,” awed excitement in my question.
“Yes young Sir, but be warned you are not in possession of godlike powers, you are still mortal though you now have knowledge to be slightly more than mortal,” caution in his tone. “I merely removed the restrictions that nature hath placed upon that process nothing more.”
I nodded thoughtfully. How cool was this development! I could heal quicker. No more of Barnabas’s witch doctor salves or cures. All I needed now were Adamantium claws and I could be friggin Wolverine. Then my mind drifted back to what this spirit initially said. Then I asked.
“Wait, you mean you’re the actual Merlin,” I asked. “I mean his ghost…Spirit,” I amended. “Your spirit,” I finished awkwardly.
“Precisely,” he said soberly. “I am Merlin,” “Author, poet, artist, Wizard and the sole keeper of the knowledge of Prometheus,”
He went silent reflecting on a thought or memory.
“I foresaw the death of my King,” he said.
“Such wonderful times,” he continued. “I also saw my eventual imprisonment in that piece of stone that every Wizard from here to Peking worships.”
“Beijing,” I said interrupting.
“Beg pardon?” Merlin asked.
“Peking was renamed Beijing.”
Merlin sighed. “I’ve been asleep far too long. I’ve missed entirely too much. The last time I was employed a young Queen Elizabeth sat upon the throne of England.”
“Wait, your last host was Queen Elizabeth?” I asked skeptically.
“Indeed,” Merlin replied absently.
“As I recall she was vindictive and bloodthirsty.”
“Yes, she was,” he said in a mournful tone.
“You made her into what she was?” I asked, then an icy chill ran down my spine as realization dawned. I was Merlin’s current host. I could only imagine what he had in store for me.
“Heavens no!” He said defensively. “Her bloodlust came from her father Henry the Eighth. He was a murderous, philandering bastard.” Merlin said, vile anger in his tone.
Merlin went quiet for a good two minutes. He stood there, shaking his head from time to time, remembering I assumed, and then he said.
“England was beset with enemies on all sides, the crystal was given to her at a time when there was the most need. Once I discovered her true self, the one that lurked deep inside her heart I remained dormant not assisting her in any way. Sadly I bore witness to her vengeful hatred and malice.”
His eyes met mine and then he smiled.
“You young Sir however have a good strong heart where kindness has an honored place. You think only of yourself at times, but make up for it by your deeds. You need only apply yourself and you could become great.” He said in an uplifting tone then added. “Perhaps not as great as myself, but a lesser great nevertheless,”
I said nothing. Mainly because I was just a little embarrassed. Not many people have said that I could become great. - That included Barnabas - It was good to hear that someone thought I would amount to something if I only applied myself. Granted the words of inspiration came from the spirit of the most powerful Wizard that ever lived, which now resided inside my head, I think I’ll file this under the glass half full heading. Almost as an afterthought, something began to gnaw at me. Now that he was inside my head, how much influence might Merlin actually have over my thoughts and actions. Would he be able to manipulate me the way a skilled puppeteer can manipulate marionettes?
“You’re the one who’s been making my magic stronger,” I asked finally.
Merlin quirked an amused smile.
“In matter of fact Young Wizard, the power which was exhibited in your spells resided within you already. Your teacher, Barnabas has been instructing you in the use of weaker spells.”
“Weaker spells?” I asked.
“Yes,” Merlin replied. “You have a rare gift for harnessing enormous quantities of raw power from the world around you releasing it at your will. Most wizards never achieve such levels of power even if they live to be one thousand years old.”
I glanced at my hands.
“You can influence my thoughts and actions, right? You’re inside my head I mean, you have access to everything that makes me… Well me,” I said not looking at Merlin.
“I can, yet again I cannot. I have the ability to take control of your body, which includes your magic if I wish; you however can dispel my influence with your own will. It is not my intent to take over your mind, body and soul for my own purposes, our minds are separate and I wish to keep it that way. My purpose is only to guide and help you to hone your abilities. I can advise you, help teach you spells and magical control other Wizards have only dreamt of.”
I placed my hand on the invisible barrier glancing at my surroundings.
“Is that what this is?” I asked. “This circle is a barrier between your mind and mine?”
“Yes, I have seen far too many occasions where the effect of direct influence on a host can be destructive. It was necessary to keep our two minds separate.” Merlin said.
Something else occurred to me. When it did, I think I may have blushed a deep red, but I had to know.
“Did you help me resist Adrianna’s glamour at her office,”
Merlin chuckled heartily.
“No young Sir, you did that all on your own… You have surprising control over your libido,”
I may have blushed even more.
“Her glamour had no effect on you whatsoever,” I asked.
“I would be telling you a falsehood if I said it did not, I had hoped you would embrace the forward manner of her advances, but fate was not on my side nor yours as it turns out,”
That was gross and creepy on so many levels, Merlin riding shotgun in my head wanting me to score with Adrianna, talk about voyeurism.
“So you can experience emotions as well as sensations through me,” I asked.
Then he paused for just a moment offering me a grin.
“Of course, I am able to hear, smell, see, feel, along with taste everything that you eat,” He broke off suddenly lifting his head sniffing the air, a pleased smile on his face.
“In fact I smell a delicious beef stew cooking and you haven’t eaten in quite a while. Besides, I haven’t tasted stew in years. I think you should wake up now.”
Merlin raised a hand. I raised mine in protest
“No wait,” I pleaded.
I saw a flash of bright light then darkness once more.
Chapter 19
Iawoke, lazily coming back to consciousness the way you’d rouse yourself on a brisk autumn morning. Knowing that the chilly air awaited that moment you threw off the covers to chill you to the bone. Instead you lingered beneath the deliciously cozy blankets for those brief few minutes longer, like reluctantly leaving the embrace of a lover.
OK, maybe the reality wasn’t as romantic as I described, but I was comfortable and didn’t want to get up. It felt like it did back in my high school years, cocooned under my covers in a darkened room with Barnabas standing at my door commanding me to get up for school. He eventually won those battles - with magic - but not before I got a few extra minutes of bliss.
Sleep drifted away drowsily much the way I felt and I became aware of the scents drifting around my nostrils. They were by no means unpleasant, there were however too many to process. Pine was the first thing I smelled, followed by a fragrant vanilla tobacco. Then the familiar scent of wood smoke wafting its way to my nose behind that was the mouth watering stew Merlin had mentioned. Leather, I definitely smelled newly tanned leather along with a whole bunch of smells I couldn’t identify. That stew made my mouth water, it felt like I hadn’t eaten in days, which I probably hadn’t
I reluctantly opened my eyes, not wanting to wake. I’d assumed that when I finally woke I’d be in some sort of dank frozen cave with a huge hairy beast looming over me sharpening a rusty nicked cleaver on a jagged rock as it hummed the Ch
ili’s “Baby Back Rib” tune. The sight that met my adjusting eyes was surprising.
I was lying in a large bed nestled beneath a handmade patchwork quilt. The bed was situated in one corner of a modest cabin. The walls looked as though they were finished in knotty pine. The cabin appeared to be clean and well kept. My left arm was bandaged and resting outside the quilt. I let my eyes scan about my unfamiliar surroundings. The cabin, one room in its entirety, roughly comprised the size of a large two-car garage with high ceilings. The cabin was functional yet devoid of many personal touches, no photos or paintings or knick-knacks of any kind. There wasn’t even a calendar hanging anywhere that I could see.
Next to the bed stood a dresser with an attached oval mirror. A pitcher and bowl sat upon it with a red and white checked towel folded neatly beside them. Beyond the foot of the bed I spied a small kitchen area, a potbelly stove stood at the far end of the room, it’s sides glowing a faint red. Atop the stove sat a large steaming pot, which I realized was the source of the delicious smell of stew.
Situated in front of the stove was a plain looking table and four chairs. My now empty backpack hung from one of the backs of the chairs, its contents were placed neatly upon the table. On the back of another chair hung my chainmail shirt along with my clothes neatly folded over it. I checked under the blanket thankful to see that I still wore a t-shirt and briefs. I hadn’t yet become the victim of a “Deliverance-like” experience. A stone fireplace was built into the side of the cabin opposite the table and potbelly stove. A warm inviting fire crackled in its hearth. To the left of the stone hearth hanging on a series of wooden pegs hung a long black fur coat with matching gloves and boots. It appeared that my rescuer wasn’t a beast after all. Situated in front of the fireplace stood an enormous faded and worn brown leather chair. In it sat a man that could’ve been Paul Bunyan’s little brother.
My eyes did a double take. Which hurt. Though he was seated, I judged he could’ve easily been Glum’s height. The man though large and husky appeared not to have any fat on him. His skin was a burnt orange in color. The sort of hue you’d get if you frequented tanning salons more often than was medically advisable. I also spied numerous faint jagged white scars on the exposed skin of his head and hands. His attire was plain and unremarkable. He must order his clothes from the “Farm Hands, Cowboys and Amish” catalog. Thick jet-black hair fell below the level of the man’s shoulders framing his aquiline face. Held in his left hand was a tiny book. After a moment of squinting I realized he was reading one of the paperbacks that I’d brought with me. The other two rested on an end table beside his chair. A pair of lit candles next to the books provided light for reading. By the looks of the book spines, he’d read them a number of times. I was taught long ago not to stare, the calluses on my knuckles from Sister Mari’s wooden ruler were proof I had difficulty learning that lesson. However, he was focused intently on the book and I didn’t want to interrupt him as he read. He possessed the expression of a man that had found a coveted pot of Leprechaun gold and was meticulously counting every coin.
To hell with it, I thought. I needed a few answers and I was hungry. If I had to smell that delicious stew any longer my stomach was going to escape through my belly button to eat that entire pot by itself.
“Hello,” I said, the words coming out raspy, weaker than I felt.
He gave no indication that he’d heard me. When his eyes arrived at the bottom of the page he dog eared it then regarded me.
“Hello, I trust you are feeling better?” he replied in a thick German accent.
“Yes,” I said adding a bit of a smile. - It hurt to smile - “Thank you for saving me from those ape creatures.”
“Yeti’s,” He said soberly. “Yeti’s attacked you,”
He placed the book on the end table getting to his feet. - My God he was tall -
“Though I have never seen them in such numbers before, nine in all. Most unusual,” he continued moving over beside the bed examining my arm.
“Your arm is healing nicely, it was broken when I found you,”
He regarded me suspiciously for a moment.
“You carry the staff of a Wizard… are you a Wizard then,” he asked.
“Yes, I’m still an apprentice though,”
“Human,”
I hesitated not understanding his question, then I realized Merlin’s healing factor had to be making him wary of who or more importantly what I was.
“Yes, I’m just employing a spell to speed along my recovery,”
He nodded thoughtfully.
Not exactly a lie, but not exactly the truth either.
“How did you know they were out there?” I asked. “The Yeti’s I mean, with the storm and all?”
He hooked a powerful looking thumb at the oval mirror on the dresser.
“A gift from an old friend,” he said. “I can see trespassers miles away in any sort of weather day or night.”
A disturbing thought jumped into my mind. I attempted to get myself to a sitting position, what I managed to do instead was give myself a pounding headache as well as a bloody nose.
“The others,” I blurted out through the pain. “Are they OK?”
One of his huge hands rested upon my chest, gently forcing me back down onto the bed. He took up the pitcher on the dresser pouring some water into the bowl. He then wet the towel wiping the blood from my face and nose. The towel felt icy against my skin, which was a welcomed easing sensation. I relaxed as he helped stopped the bleeding. The pain from the headache was a different story however.
“Your people are fine. They are camped about three miles northeast of here.” He said in a calming voice. “When you have rested and have eaten I will point you in their direction when the storm abates.”
I stared blankly up at him, trying to process the words I’d heard. Making certain they were in fact what he actually said. I hesitated before asking.
“Point me in their direction? You won’t be taking me to them yourself? What if there are more Yeti’s out there waiting to finish up on me,” I asked, a hint of anxiety bubbling up in my tone.
He remained unmoved by my pleas, wiping the last of the blood away.
“There is no danger to you young man.”
“Solomon, my name is Solomon,” I said interrupting.
“I know what your name is young man, I did after all go through your things. As I said there is no danger so you will make the journey unmolested. You must excuse me however for not escorting you myself, you see I don’t like being around other people. That’s why I live in this remote place by myself.”
He straightened moving quickly into the kitchen area. He placed the bowl along with the blood stained towel on a well-used chopping block that sat under a small window.
“Are you hungry,” he asked.
I nodded without speaking. My stomach however made a growling noise reminiscent of a seal begging for a fish from its keeper. He returned the nod with a hint of a smile as he bustled around his little kitchen. The first thing he did was to move over to the potbellied stove. He took the lid off the cast iron pot, billows of steam wafted up from the contents inside. The smell was incredible. He ladled some stew into a pair of oversized bowls, replacing the lid on the pot then he rummaged around under a small cupboard producing a bed tray with fold down legs.
He set up the bed tray arranging a bowl of stew, a spoon, a good sized crust of bread, a cloth napkin and a mug filled with what looked like strong tea neatly on the tray then brought it over to me. I scooted back against the headboard arranging the pillows so that I could sit up. Just moving that little bit made my muscles and joints cry out in pain the way your body would protest after working out for four hours straight when you hadn’t done anything strenuous like that in a long while. I was proud of myself though, I whimpered only once. He placed the tray over my legs, which made me feel like a little kid. The tray was larger than a normal bed tray; it literally came up to my chest. Regardless of that inconvenience, I grab
bed up the spoon with my good hand hell bent on digging into that stew. The motion was abruptly arrested however with a gentle rap on the back of my hand, I lowered the spoon back to the tray looking up at him a little crestfallen and still hungry.
“We must say grace,” he said in a hushed respectful tone.
He turned grabbing one of the chairs from around the table dragging it scratching over the wood floor up beside the bed. He went over to the counter placing a piece of bread in his bowl picked up a spoon and a mug of tea for himself, then walked back to the bed seating himself into the chair placing his food on a small nightstand next to him. He leaned forward grasping his hands in prayer bowing his head, as an afterthought he looked up at into my eyes encouraging me with a nod of his head to mimic his actions. I complied. I mean he saved me after all and was going to feed me. He bowed his head once again then began to pray.
“Heavenly Father, though I am not worthy I humbly ask you to bless this meal we are about to receive. Thank you for providing us with thy bounty to keep your servants healthy and strong and Heavenly Father please watch over Solomon keeping him safe from harm. Amen,”
I couldn’t help regarding him for a moment, there was something more about this man then meets the eye. Not in a bad way mind you, but there was something else he wasn’t telling me. He lived in this remote place away from civilization and other people. That alone was a bit strange, however not uncommon for people to shy away from others, like the Unabomber for instance. It was the first line of his prayer that got me thinking, “Though I am not worthy”. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but for some reason I knew that line meant more than just a devout Catholic praying to The Lord. - Granted, I was only assuming that he was Catholic - He lifted his head and I said in a thoughtful voice.
“Amen,”
He turned picking up his bowl of stew along with his spoon.
“I know this isn’t much, but it fills the belly,” he said apologetically.