Dark Rain: 15 Short Tales (32 page)

Behind them, Merlin’s mummy rises unnaturally from the sarcophagus—as if his head and shoulders are being lifted by invisible, winged creatures.

And now the ancient wizard steps down. As he does so, Monique is certain she is going to die of fright, if her hammering heart is any indication. In fact, she would rather die of fright, than face this…
thing
coming toward them.

Merlin—or whatever it is—is hideous. The thing of nightmares. His skin is tattered and hangs off of actual bones. Even his face is partially a skull, the white bone gleaming through.

This isn’t happening,
thinks Monique, squeezing her eyes shut.
I’m in bed, back in our country home. I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. Please God let me be dreaming.

Clifton never wanted this.

Yes, he had wanted adventure… but he’d never wanted
this
. He never wanted to be in any real danger. And he especially didn’t want to put his cousin in any danger. Except that’s exactly what he has done.

We are so busted
.
But first things first.

And first up was, of course, dealing with Merlin—and Clifton is certain that the thing ambling toward them is, indeed, the once-great magician, judging by the dead guy’s tricks and old wizard robe.

“Relax,” he says. “We’re the ones who set him free, right? Why would he hurt us?”

That line of reasoning seems to calm Monique down—and him, too, for that matter.

That is, until Merlin raises his emaciated hands… and hurls a shaft of bright blue light at the two kids, knocking them off their feet, and slamming them back against the wall.

“Geez,” grunts Clifton, picking himself up. “Now that’s gratitude for you.” He turns in time to see another shaft of blue light fly forth from the reincarnated—and clearly pissed off—wizard. This time, the light is directed solely at Monique. Rather than blasting her, it envelopes her completely.

“Cliff!”

“Hang on, Mon!”

He reaches for her, but the light is scalding to his touch. He recoils, gasping.

Meanwhile, the wizard raises both hands… and still surrounded by the blue light, Monique rises with them.

“Cliff! Help!”

The boy is momentarily at a loss. He gasps, looking for anything that can stop the old wizard—whose horrid, dried-out hide begins to flesh out before his very eyes, while Monique’s soft, young skin begins to crack.

No, no, no!
thinks Clifton.
This isn’t happening!

He desperately scans the room. There, on the wall opposite him, hang all sorts of medieval weaponry. He dashes across the room and, gasping and stumbling, pulls a battle ax free. But it’s far too heavy for him. He ditches it and next grabs a nearby sword. It is
almost
too heavy, but he uses both hands to control it.

With Merlin’s attention solely on Monique, who now rotates slowly in mid-air, her skin drying out at an alarming rate, Clifton rushes the wizard… and plunges the sword deep into the magician’s back.

The dark-haired boy frantically searches the circular room.

Finally, his wildly scanning eyes fall upon the same hole that Monique had found earlier. A quick examination reveals fresh ash and silt around the opening. Next, his eyes next settle on one of the many torches embedded in the wall. He immediately grabs one, and brings it over. Black smoke trails behind it.

Just then, a hideous shriek erupts from behind the wall.

The dark-haired boy gasps, then jams the torch inside the opening.

Merlin shrieks.

The mummified wizard drops to his knees, grabbing at the protruding sword. His connection to Monique broken, she falls to the hard stone floor, landing hard. Immediately, Clifton is at her side.

“Mon! Are you okay?”

But she can’t speak, her withered face more like that of an old woman. Or a mummy.

Oh God!
“Monique!”

A frantic Clifton turns in time to watch Merlin reach back and yank the sword free.

“Oh shit!” he looks back at his cousin. “C’mon, Mon!”

And just as he’s about to pick her up, Merlin the Great appears before him. The once-great wizard appears younger, fresher. And why shouldn’t he? He’s consumed Monqiue’s life force.

More disturbing is the blood dripping from the sword wound. Clifton is certain that this old bag of bones hadn’t bled in a long, long time. That, in fact, the blood belongs to none other than his cousin.

It’s about at then that the very same sword Clifton had plunged into the wizard’s back appears suddenly, slashing through the air like a silver, one-winged hawk. The sword controlled by none other than this very wizard.

Unfortunately, the sword is also hurling straight at Clifton, who dives just in time to avoid being impaled by it. Instead, the sword point buries itself deeply into the stone floor next to him, its handle wobbling like an arrow in a bull’s-eye. As the boy scrambles to his feet, the sword slides free on its own volition.

“Not good,” Clifton says.

The sword slashes again—and Clifton rolls across the dusty floor. He scrambles to his feet and sprints to the far wall, where he grabs another, similar sword.

Just in time, too. The magically compelled sword scuds straight for him, point first. A blow meant for Clifton’s heart. Except Clifton had spent a lifetime playing swords with his older brothers and friends. Hell, Clifton had always always wanted to be a pirate or a knight.

Using both hands, Clifton times his swing just as the flying sword appears before him. He heaves as hard as he can… and sparks fly. And so does Clifton. The force of the enemy sword is enough to knock him off his feet. But, at least, he’s alive. For now.

He barely has time to find his feet before the sword is back, flashing and striking and cutting. It is all Clifton can do to defend himself. But the magic behind the sword is too strong. The blows are too powerful. Each one sends him reeling and stumbling…

The dark-haired boy takes a deep breath… and pulls hard.

Once again the circular room rotates, revealing the secret chamber beyond. The dark-haired boy watches, stunned. Then he takes in the chaos. There, lying on the floor, is the same girl he had seen earlier. And beyond is the boy—who’s fighting a sword wielded by no one.

“Bloody hell?”

And there, most disturbing of all, is something old and clearly from a world of nightmares.

He stares for only a moment before springing into action. He dashes through the doorway and finds another sword on a nearby wall. He grasps it, pulls it down. So far, the ancient wizard hasn’t noticed the newcomer, so intent is he on compelling the magical sword to fight the boy.

Now the dark-haired rescuer creeps up behind Merlin. Monique awakens now, turns her head, watches the scene unfold. She stifles a gasp.

The dark-haired boy is suddenly not sure about this plan. He pauses, swallowing hard. The sword falters, shakes. But still he raises it over head—

And just as he does so, the wizard turns to face him.

Too late. The boy is already swinging his weapon as hard as he can—

The wizard raises his hands—

The sword flashes as bright light erupts from Merlin’s fingertips.

Wizard and the boy stare at each other.

In the back of the tomb, Clifton’s disembodied nemesis promptly clatters to the ground as an angry red slash appears across the magician’s throat. A throat that has been looking younger and younger.

Now the red slash turns into a stream of blood.

And the wizard’s head promptly falls off to the side, and the body collapses.

Clifton, out of breath and sweating, dashes over to his cousin who’s still prone on the floor. He lifts her head, cradling it. Her skin rapidly reverts back to normal, and young Clifton watches in fascination and relief as her aged face grows young again.

“Clifton?” she mumbles.

“You’re going to be okay.”

He helps Monique sit up against the arched opening, then heads over to the dark-haired boy who still holds his sword as s he stares down at the wizard’s headless body.

“Thank you! But there’s no time to waste. We need to light the candles again. And get him back in the sarcophagus.”

“The what?”

“The big casket.”

“Oh right.” But the dark-haired boy still sounds dazed. “Why?”

“Just trust me.”

Using the torches, the two boys relight the candles. Next, they drag the headless body back to the coffin. A grim business. Finally, Clifton nerves himself to pick up the head by its long hair, holds it out before him, and looking away, carries it back to the ancient casket. He tosses it inside, and the boys close the lid.

“Let’s get out of here!” says Clifton.

No one disagrees. The three exit the hidden chamber, Clifton supporting his cousin. Once in the circular outer room, the dark-haired boy promptly pulls the lever/torch in the wall. Almost immediately, the room rotates again, sealing Merlin’s chamber closed—and opening the far tunnel. Their exit.

Before entering it, the dark-haired boy breaks off the tip of the wooden torch within the opening, jamming the lever. He looks at his handiwork, grins. “That should do it.”

Torch in hand, they head back to civilization. As they near the winding stairs, Monique has regained her strength enough to climb on her own. Long minutes later, each is out of breath when they reach the altar. The dark-haired boy kicks open the secret entrance.