Fall of Knight (22 page)

“I still don’t under—”

And then, in a flash, he did.

“Merlin,” he said slowly, “the Grail…we’ve been using it to…”

“To make happy juice for the minions of Earth, yes, I know that. Do you think I could possibly not know that, considering where I am?”

“And what you’re saying is that—”

“For every person who benefits, every person who has a better life, every person who is cured or helped or whatever…somewhere, an invisible tally board gets chalked up another mark for the inevitable reaction to the action,” said Merlin. “The destructive capability of the Grail, by this point, is increasing exponentially even as we speak. Sooner or later, the Grail is going to reach a breaking point of stored negative Karma, like a volcano being bottled up and eventually exploding. And when it reaches that point, there will be a terrible psychic backlash against humanity. What’s worse is that, if it’s combined with the Spear of Destiny, the amount of damage it can unleash would be cataclysmic.”

“How cataclysmic?”

“Final cataclysmic, Arthur,” Merlin told him. “As in the end of everything. As in scorched earth, if the Spear’s wielder has that kind of determination.”

“But who is it? Who’s got the Spear?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, and I have some thoughts along those lines. I think the greatest likelihood is—”

At which point, Merlin’s image continued to speak, but the words were no longer audible in Arthur’s mind. Merlin was instantly aware that something was wrong, because he was clearly starting to shout. It did no good as his image suddenly wavered and disappeared.

Arthur wanted to shout Merlin’s name, but he’d been speaking very softly the entire time in order not to awaken or alarm Gwen, and so he restrained himself. “Damn,” he said softly, staring down for the longest time, but the wizard did not reappear.

With a frustrated sigh, Arthur took care of the business he’d originally come into the bathroom for, washed his hands, and went back to bed. But sleep did not come to him that night as he stared in concern at the ceiling and wondered just what the hell he was going to do now.

M
ERLIN GLOWERS AT
Nimue, who waggles a scolding finger at him and speaks to him in a scolding, somewhat patronizing tone.
You have been a very naughty little wizard.

Get closer to me with that finger, and I’ll shove it so far up your backside you’ll poke your eyeball out from the back.

She laughs lightly at that.
Oooo, how you do talk. And to whom you talk. You were speaking to Arthur, weren’t you?

You know every damned thing in the world. You tell me.

She is around him then, encircling him. He feels the caress of her around his face, around his body.
Merlin,
she sighs,
why do you torture yourself?

I don’t. I have you to do it for me.

Why do you dally with the concerns of the outer world when I have so much more to offer you?

There’s nothing you have to offer me that I could possibly want…

Her voice is whispering in his ear, and there is something terribly, terribly seductive about it. He feels a tingling that he neither wants nor needs, and yet cannot help but attend to what she says.

I can restore you to manhood,
she tells him.
You are aging backwards, true enough. But I can reverse the reversal, for the ebb and flow of the waters of reality are mine to command.

You can turn back time? Is that what you’re saying?

In general? No. But you are a creature of mysticism, Merlin. The arcane is in your blood, and as such, I can help you—
and she swirls around to the other side of him
—and you can help me.

And what do I have to do in order to receive this boon?

Why…stay with me fore’er, of course. Who better to put to use your manly body than I…?

He casts a glance at her and has trouble finding her, for she is so much a part of the waters that surge around him.
I thought your interests had turned to the wielder of the Spear. Yet now you attempt to seduce me once more?

I am as vast as the waters of the world. I shift as the mood and tide take me.

And how do I know that you won’t then shift away from me once more?

Ahhh, but if I do,
she purrs to him,
you will always be the one that I ultimately return to. Could you not take solace in that?

Get away from me,
he says angrily. He is not without resources, even in these circumstances, and he is able to push her away with the force of his will. She is startled by this display of power, is taken aback by it.
Merlin, how can you treat me so…?

How can I treat you so! You…

He restrains himself then, tries to focus back in on what is important. And maybe, just a little bit…he seeks to understand some of the motivations that inspire this elemental creature. He thinks of the words of Arthur, of all things, and speaking names of endearment to her. He remembers when he first encountered her, when the world was just a little bit younger. Merlin, who was thought by many who encountered him to be either a god or, at the very least, demonspawn, found himself falling in love with a being who truly was divine. She had so many names, was worshipped by so many throughout her possibly endless lifetime…so many…he had taught her magic because it pleased her, and she pleased him, and she had needed it so desperately…

He whispers a name very softly, so softly that no one in the world could possibly hear it, and yet she does. Her impish dance around him slows, and she says,
What did you say?

Coventina,
he repeats, for there is power in the speaking of names, and influences that the right name can have upon the so-named.

She recoils in surprise.
No one has called me that in…

Coventina,
he repeats, speaking the name that the Celts called upon when they were gathered in the midst of Stonehenge, seeking the blessing of waters upon their crops or their lives. And then the name uttered by the Romans,
Mnemosyne. Mnemosyne, look what you’ve done to me.

He hears a choking sound from her, and somewhere very far away, the creatures of the sea sense something wrong and do not know how to react.

Do not call me those…no one calls me those…it makes me feel…

Sad?
He actually smiles in sympathy.
Or nostalgic. Nostalgic for the days when your name lived on the tongue of so many people as a being who was genuinely relevant to their lives, rather than merely a fictional construct who serves as a plot means for Arthur to acquire Excalibur. You had a life before him, as did I, yet now you are bound only to him and thought of only in connection to him and me. Coventina, Mnemosyne…

She sounds as if she’s pleading with him.
Stop. Merlin, stop…

Mneme…Co-Vianna, Vivian, Nimue, I call upon you now…

Clapping her hands over her own ears, she tries to drown out the driving intensity of his voice, filled not with anger and frustration as it has been until now, but with patience, understanding, and worship.
Please, no, Merlin, stop…

Niviene, Argante,
he continues implacably,
so many names once worshipped, so many fallen into disuse, with the actual worship of you confined only to desperate gamblers who call upon the corruption of your best-known title, Lady of the Lake—Dame du Lac—into Lady Luck. Once you were called upon by heroes such as Perseus or Arthur to provide them weapons…and now you’re invoked by alcohol-besotted gamblers who are hoping you’ll bless their dice…

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?
Her voice howls within his head, buffeting him with the raging intensity of the storm.

I am doing nothing,
he replies,
except trying to get across to you the sense of loneliness and frustration I’m going to feel…by reminding you of what you must have felt all this time. When we found each other, centuries ago, interest in you was already waning, and your power with it. What a low and sad creature you were when we first encountered one another, and yet I loved you anyway. I taught you magic because I loved you so, then you imprisoned me, because it pained you too much to keep looking upon the face of one who had seen you at your lowest. You’ve used my magiks well, Nimue. If not for your influence in the memory of man, Arthur and I might well have been forgotten during our long imprisonment. You aided Arthur and me upon our return, I will always remember that. But now the legend of Arthur has spread beyond the dreaming mind of man and into reality, and you know that that is what truly angers you. So you attempt to imprison me, to dispose of Arthur…to bring an end to everything rather than risk becoming irrelevant yet again.

She has moved away from him, and her voice is becoming distant.
It is not like that. It is not like that at all.

Yes, it is. It is exactly like that, and I have never been more disappointed in you, milady, than I am in you at this very moment. You claim to love me, but you are incapable of passing the one true test of love…

To let true love go?
Her voice echoes through the ether to him, and the disgust in her tone is palpable.

Yes.

A vile and nonsensical notion,
she assures him.
And you know nothing of me, no matter how many of my ancient names you hurl at me. You do not wish to be restored to your maturity? Fine. Then remain here and rot for all I care.

There is a tearing of the water around him as if he were trapped in a riptide, and he feels as if his torso is going to be yanked in one direction while his lower half is hauled in another. For a heartbeat he really thinks he is going to be torn apart by the force of Nimue’s departure, then she is gone, and he settles back onto the floor of the nexus of all vortexes.

THAT could have gone better,
he mutters to no one.

N
ELLIE PORTER CORDOBA,
former right-hand woman of Gwendolyne Penn, and carrier of the offspring of herself and husband Ron, stared across the kitchen table at her husband with a face that had gone several shades of pale. Ron couldn’t meet her gaze and instead became very focused on the table’s shining wood surface. Not for the first time did he make note of the fact that their table was round. He found it comforting to know that, despite everything that had happened, he could still appreciate irony.

It had been difficult enough for him when he had come home the previous night and informed Nellie that he had quit his job. On the one hand she’d been upset since, naturally, mere weeks away from giving birth is not the time that a woman wants to discover her husband’s out of work. On the other hand, it hadn’t come as a total shock to her. She knew that Ron was becoming increasingly unhappy with the relationship between himself and the president. She wasn’t stupid. She knew something was going to have to give sooner or later, and she’d been pretty damned sure it wasn’t Stockwell who was going to be doing the giving.

So she had tried to find the bright side, to be a good and supportive wife.

However, she was not a stupid woman by any means and was soon able to figure out that there was more than what Ron was telling her on the surface, namely that he and Stockwell had disagreed over matters of national security. She had pushed and prodded as gently and insistently as she could, and finally an apprehensive Ron had brought her into the kitchen, turned on every appliance from the garbage disposal to the dishwasher to the blender, cranked up the radio besides, and drew her close to him at the table and spoke softly of the specifics of his and Stockwell’s last conversation.

He had watched as her face had gone more and more pale, her vivid blue eyes widening and standing out in stark contrast to the sudden pallor of her skin. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered after Ron finished.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“You
can’t
be
serious
!”

“And again, I am. Did you take your vitamins today?”

She made a face over being reminded of what seemed so trivial a notion, but she resolutely got up, went to the cabinet, retrieved the little vitamin tray that she meticulously maintained with all the proper supplements the doctor wanted her to take during the pregnancy. Popping the appropriate medication into her mouth, she swallowed it with a glass of water and returned to the table. “Happy?” she whispered.

“Ecstatic.”

“We have to—”

“No,” he said, anticipating what she was going to say.

“—warn them…”

“We can’t.”

“Ron!”

He drew even closer to her until his lips were practically against her ear. “If they find out…they will put me in jail. Do you understand that? Stockwell wasn’t kidding. Hell, they might charge me with treason, and I can’t say for sure that it won’t stick!”

“But what about Gwen! And Arthur!”

“Arthur’s been taking care of himself for a thousand years. He doesn’t need me to put my neck on the chopping block for him.”

“Oh really,” she said sarcastically. “Taking care of himself. Let’s check the record, shall we?”

“Nellie…”

She started ticking off instances on her fingers. “Mortally wounded by his bastard son a thousand years ago. Almost died. Needed ten centuries to recuperate. Came back, ran for mayor, attacked and killed and barely brought back through medical science. Became president and his wife was nearly killed, and embarked on a quest to save her that almost killed him yet again and some other people as well…who were they again…?”

“Look, I know you’re concerned about—”

“Oh! I remember! You and me!” She slammed her open palms hard on the table, causing the cups to tremble. “Based on his track record, I’d say he needs all the help he can get.”

“Well, he can’t get it from us!” whispered Ron. “Not this time!”

“Arthur would do anything he could to help you if you needed him. And you won’t do whatever you can to help him? Warn him?”

“That’s right. And you know why? Because in the end, he’s a legendary king, and I’m just some guy.”

“He was just some guy too, Ron, at one point. He made himself a legend. And if you—”

Then she stopped, blinked, and put her hand on her stomach. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” asked Ron, concerned.

“What a really hard kick,” she said.

And then her eyes rolled up into her head, and she slumped sideways. Before Ron could catch her, she slipped out of her chair and crashed heavily to the floor. She lay there with her eyes still open, spittle trickling from between her lips, and he crouched over her, screaming her name, his shouts unheard over the cacophony of noise emanating from the kitchen.