Sorcerer's Vendetta (The Secret of Zanalon) (15 page)

The Lady of the red hair made her way up the familiar staircase, mumbling to herself. It was an old habit, one she'd never quite broken. Too many times she had just been the only one to talk to.

"Damn that officer," she swore softly. "Got his eye on a better badge, no doubt. Why in the world does such a thoroughly ambitious fellow have to show up when I'd rather be dealing with one of the other ninety-nine percent, who'd just as soon let the case drop with less paperwork. And Lord 'a mercy – tearing in here with guns, no less!"

She snorted softly. "Well, I just hope dear Merlin made good use of my stalling to get that girl away from here. But of course he must've taken her someplace safe. Imagine that. Showing up here of all places. Too bad he never mentioned that little detail. There was so little time ... I just hope that's all, he just didn't happen to mention it."

"You don't believe all that fireball crap, do you?"  The harsh voice was distant, yet carried through the stillness of the darkened forest as if over water.

Merlin pulled Rachel to her feet, already had her heading to safety before the echoes died.

"Wear my cloak. There is no time. I will gather thy clothing. Run," he hissed. Pulling the cloak around herself, she started off, obeying with dazed, lackluster haste. Right behind her, he bent to snatch up her things---

And then he felt it. An unnatural warmth in the center of his body. He was sensitive to the feeling, knew it instantly. Merlin was the target of a retrieval spell.

He straightened, empty-handed. Sparkling lights came into being around him, danced in warning.

Rachel, alerted by the glow, spun to face him, her wild, dark hair flung wide. Her eyes showed her dismay at what she saw.

The blue crackling fire began its tracing around him. He could see it running along one arm, then the other, defining him.

His time had come.

He tried to take a step toward Rachel but the spell was coalescing about him and he could not. Strangely, it seemed to be pulling off of him, extending out around him, stretching toward her as well.

"Rachel!" he called, but already his voice was stilled. Resisting the power with all he had, everything that he was and had become, he slammed against the wall of blue lightning. His only desire was to touch her one last time.

He lunged, his body met hers and he wrapped his arms around her, even as he slid out of time.

Together they fell.

Alone.

Through rushing rainbows, the spectrum and beyond in that place that was not, in an instant without time, he slipped. Merlin went into it holding her as tightly as he could, but inside it she was gone, as he knew she would be. Everything was gone.

God be with thee, Rachel …

Chapter 10 – PERCEPTIONS

Reality returned in patches. First, Merlin became aware of rougher sensations and his connection to the earth. Earth ground into his forearms; he knew he was lying face down. He tried to move before he was fully integrated into this space, felt softer pressures against his body, his face. Then he caught the scent of her, silky strands of her hair through his fingers, brushing his cheek.

Merlin could not control the surge of joy he felt when he raised his head from the softness of her neck and looked into Rachel's eyes.

One thought shattered it.
She must watch me die.

He could say nothing. Suddenly he couldn't look at her. He looked up, around them. As he had expected, they were at the cottage of the witch, in the small clearing before it. They were lying in the center of a pentagram, oriented point north, drawn in white powder, white magick. A full moon rose low before him in the east, only a red half-disk so far, riding over the far tree-line beyond a meadow, framed by the nearer trees surrounding the witch's cottage. He looked to his left, north, squinted against a blazing fire, then right.

There was another pentagram beside them, only this one was glowing, active. He was not surprised to see it slowly turning, its color changing from blue to violet to red and back again, depending on whether its top point was aligned north or south. It was executed exactly as he had requested of the witch, with the addition of one element he had not asked for but that he knew he, in her position, would have entwined.

The witch had linked The Spell of Immortality to the clock that sat just beyond that pentagram. The clock was symbolic, the spell itself bound inevitably to a coming instant, embodied in the full light of the rising moon, untouchable.

Little time remained.

Beyond the clock sat the witch, in her rocking chair that she had brought out into the open for the occasion. Past her he saw the transparent glowing shapes of the Elementals of Light. They were encircling them all, brightening when the pentagram slipped into the blue.

Among them he discerned tantalizing glimpses of beauty, tiny creatures that flitted like Faeries. He caught sight of the fiery Arianta for a fleeting instant, then her earth brother, Torendar, in the likeness of Arthur in his prime, bearded and majestic with the sparkling of Excalibur's steel at his side, shining in the armor of a king. There were more, but they began to fade with the turning of the circled star.

Outside of their protective circle were the Others. As the light shifted into red, the light elementals faded and the Dark Ones encroached. He saw the red light thrown back at him from the baleful flash of an eye, the gleam of razor sharp claws and the glint of fang.

They were hungry. In this era, they were
very
hungry.

He brought his gaze back to the witch. Her eyes glittered in the flicker of firelight, as she looked at him. Then she looked to Rachel, beneath him. The rocker stopped. A look of shock spread across her face.

Merlin knew what she saw. Between the two of them, there was a good amount of bare flesh showing: he, in only his breeches; and Rachel, in only his cloak, though much of it was flung open. Her best covering at the moment was his body. Merlin rose carefully, drawing the cloak close about her as he pulled her gently with him, then held her steady. She seemed traumatized and she moved listlessly.

The old woman's gaze went to Rachel, her expression changed to puzzlement, then, as she brought her eyes back to his face, disgust.

"What a pretty turn for thee. Rape to sweeten thy revenge." She went on, a trace of a sneer in her voice. "Though I would 'ave thought that beneath th---"

"I did
not
rape this woman," he snapped. His emotions were still raw; the mention of rape struck him and clung like hot grease. He heard nothing she said after that one word.

"She ... she ... this is ..."

"I know who she is," the witch said softly, nodding indulgently, then she hesitated, looked askance at him. "Oh, I see, o' course
she
knows not. Thou'rt fiendish indeed, to seduce 'er thus. The trap, yes, I remember ... Betrayal for betrayal, eh?"

Much of what she said he wasn't truly following, still smarting at the image she called up of rape. He narrowed his eyes at the witch, then he shook his head dismissively and returned his focus to Rachel, tucked the cloak more closely about her tender body. It must have been hard on her, being dragged through time with him. He hadn't believed it possible.

Merlin glanced up, at the shining circle of spirits around them. Torendar moved into his gaze and smiled, then changed.

The earth elemental took on the image of Hafgan, a young man with curly blond hair and warm brown eyes, smiling.

Shock. Merlin's emotions spun crazily in a whirlwind. He felt the burn of hatred, then it gave way to puzzlement.

What dost Torendar mean by this?

Then he realized. This was Hafgan, before ... When Merlin had loved him like a son.

Why did I not tell him?

He stared at Torendar. Suddenly he saw himself treating Hafgan, in spite of himself, the way his own father had treated him---stern and demanding, with never a word of praise. Some of his hatred of Hafgan melted. He gave Torendar a slight smile, acknowledging this gift of vision, however painful, with a nod, and Torendar faded back into the dancing light.

There was a nagging uneasiness at the back of his mind, as if he had forgotten something; it had been with him much in these last hours of his life. He pushed it away, again. Distracted, he started to ask the witch what she was chattering on about, not really expecting an intelligible answer.

"What dost---?" Then he stopped, catching the expression on Rachel's face. She was staring at the old woman. Then, still dazed, she turned slowly to look at him and his question was forgotten.

"You knew?" A strange look of bewilderment twisted her sweet face.  Something else – he could swear it was a trace of fear – was growing in her sky blue eyes.

"What---?" he started.

"When did you ...?" she stammered. "Did the air elemental tell you? I stepped into your pentagram, you must ... You were so
angry
..." She stopped, lowered her eyes, then drew a tight shudder of breath. "Oh, God, then the fire-spirit ... When you kissed her, as me ... The seduction began ..."

Merlin, confused, took her by the shoulders. She flinched back at his touch, as if he meant to strike her. He was horrified by her reaction. Enunciating his words carefully, he tried to control the panic he felt building inside.

"I know naught of what thou speakest." He gave the witch a puzzled glance, queried, "Rape?" then back to Rachel, "Seduction? What---?" He stopped.

What had she said? When he kissed ...?

He felt his life's blood drain from his face.

"Thou perceived Arianta's kiss?" His voice came out a stricken whisper.

She couldn't have, I dropped contact with her ... unless ...

Rachel nodded, once, slipped her arms around herself in a withdrawn hug. Her eyes were reddened from crying and she seemed on the verge of more tears. Still, to him, she couldn't have been more beautiful.

Merlin was puzzled by the fear and pain in her eyes, along with a strange resignation. More questions arose.

"Then thou hast power ..." he began. His words drifted into silence as his thoughts churned. Something was starting to come together, like ice lacing up his spine. He stiffened, fighting it.

"'old," interjected the old woman, coming to her feet. "'old. Just a minute, 'ere." They watched in silence as she came around the moving pentagram, moving through blue, violet, red, violet, shuffling at a painful pace.  inally she stood before them, looking up at Merlin. Then at Rachel. Her gaze softened.

"It is not thee who is blinded by love," she said, quietly. She reached out a brittle-boned, silk-fleshed hand to Rachel's elbow. "Child, he knew thee not."

Rachel looked down into her aged eyes and seemed to accept this, relaxing a little. But the resignation was still there.

"He will," she said softly.

Merlin turned to her, confused, trying to struggle through to some resolution of the questions in his mind, yet slamming into dread of the answers in his heart.

She possesses power ... The old woman says I know her not ...

Do I?

Chapter 11 – SACRIFICE

Rachel saw Merlin look to the witch, unsure.

"This ... this is Rachel Floyd, of the year two thousand ten. She is also known to me as the Lady Niniene, who once lived in the village---"

"Niniene?" The old woman questioned, surprised. "I remember Niniene. I was but a sprig of a lass meself, then. She came to me once, for a potion, but I ... I couldn't 'elp 'er." She dropped her eyes, then looked up at Merlin.

"'Twas a love potion for thee she desired. 'O course, I told 'er she 'ad to know thy true name, an' that were the most coveted knowledge o' a wizard. She said she knew thy name, but then would not tell."

She smiled her gapped smile, sly. "I would 'ave given much for that, but she would not betray thee."

Then she turned to Rachel. Her smile became sympathetic. "Name's Morgana, m'dear. No fancy title, just Morgana."

Rachel knew her face was, as usual, a road map of her emotions, but the old woman had already turned and did not see Rachel's eyes widen slightly with recognition at the name.

Morgana took a step back, considering, then raised a hand to direct their gaze to the pentagram as she met Rachel's gaze. "Dost thou know what this is?"

Rachel stared at it, in the red at that moment, and saw beyond to the darkness, the creatures in their dance of death within. Terror froze her throat; she couldn't say a word. But she nodded.

The old woman glanced at Merlin and went on, speaking as if to both of them. "Understand, there is no power that can stop it. That were 'ow we deal with those of greater power that we cain't exactly trust. Designed for Merlin, willing, to be given to those of the Light. An he comes to fightin' it ..." At this, she gave him a warning glance.

He returned it with silence, steadfast.

The old woman dropped her gaze, murmured softly, almost to herself, "An I'da known ... an I could stop it …" She shook her head and pulled herself back on track, away from might-have-beens. With a glance at Rachel, she continued.