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The Cavanaugh Mine was a gloomy place at night. Knowing that my old boss, Wayne McAllister, had died here made it even creepier. I thought maybe Norman Wheeler would be hanging around, but the mine was deserted. I put the van in park and stared at the dark portal that yawned before me. I spotted the yellow police tape right away.
Well, that was new. I guessed it was standard procedure when a body was found. I had no sympathy for McAllister. In the end, he’d proven to be a backstabbing bastard. He’d joined forces with my sister and wanted nothing but to destroy me. Luckily for me, I had Merlin and Guinevere on my side.
Uncovering the wrapped sword beside me, I glanced at the blade. There were no signs of life at all, no humming, no whispering, no strange surges of power. Excalibur was as it had always been, or used to be. A quiet yet mighty blade made for my hands alone. I sighed and covered it back up. I really needed to go home and get some rest, but I had to see for myself; I had to know for sure. Could Merlin be here? If not, where could he be?
I locked the van and walked toward the mine portal, mini flashlight in hand. One of my crew must have forgotten to take his hard hat to his locker because there was one left on the hood of the excavator. I scooped it up and secured it on my own head. Getting beaned on the noggin by a falling rock was painful, not to mention potentially deadly. The mine had a horrible smell to it; they must have tapped into some sulfuric rock. Then I realized it must have been McAllister’s body stinking up the place. I shuddered. More blood on your hands, Morgan. When will this end?
Walking through the portal, I ventured deep into the mine. Yellow tape ran the length of the narrow pathway, but I really didn’t need it to navigate. I knew this place like the back of my hand. Without warning, the cave shook, as if an earthquake seized its crumbling walls. No way could Cavanaugh continue excavation in here. I stood absolutely still as loose rocks fell around me. Luckily for me, the tremor didn’t last long. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I walked further in, all the way back to the room where Morgan had held me prisoner for a brief time. I flashed the light around but saw nothing except odd piles of rocks and dirt. Yeah, the place looked empty, but things were often not what they seemed.
“Merlin? Can you hear me?”
The sound of pebbles hitting the cave floor answered me.
“Merlin? Where are you?” I whispered, the sound amplified by the natural rock shape. He didn’t respond, but I got the feeling someone was listening. Feeling bolder and more desperate, I said, “Merlin, it is your king, Arthur Pendragon, who calls you. Answer me!”
“You come empty-handed, my king. I barely recognize you.”
I waved the flashlight in the direction of the familiar voice. “Merlin! I knew you would be here.”
The old man sat upon a rock, dirty and completely transformed into the Merlin I knew; the Buddy guise was gone. Merlin was a tall man with olive skin, dark eyes and shoulder-length dark hair. I could never guess his age, not even when I was a child before I drew the sword. He had seemed as old as the hills in my boyhood but looked as young now as my father did back then. Perhaps Merlin did age, only much more slowly than normal mortals. It was whispered that he hailed from an ancient Roman line, but he never said and I never asked.
I walked toward him thinking to hug him, but he stopped me. “No, you can’t embrace me, my boy. I am not myself yet. Morgan’s work did what she intended. It stole my body, destroyed it. It will be a long time before I walk this earth again, and maybe I never will.”
“And where is Morgan?” Anger leaped up quickly, and I glanced around the cave thinking perhaps she might also appear.
“Trapped in her own spell.” He laughed, but it was an empty sound. “It will take even longer for her to reenter the world. I think she may have done herself in for good, for she has neither the skill nor the strength to begin such a working.”
Silence passed between us. I finally had the courage to ask, “What about you? What do you need? What can I do?”
“Nothing is to be done, Arthur. There is nothing you can do and nothing I need.”
There was another great pause. “So that is the end of Merlin and Arthur, then? Camelot has truly ended.” I sat down on a large stone a few feet from him.
“Where is the sword, Arthur?”
“I have it. It is close.” I clicked off the flashlight and sat in the dark with my friend. “It calls for another, Merlin. Excalibur calls for Guinevere. It had me seek her out, but I could not find her.”
“No, but you found something. Tell me what it was.”
I glanced into the blackness in his direction. “Am I so transparent that you know such things without my telling you?” He didn’t comment. “I found her resting place; it was locked from inside. I feared she was in danger, and the sword insisted that I look for her.”
Merlin asked no further questions, so I continued, “I found a business card with the name of a museum on it, the Saint James Museum. It is a strange place, hardly much of a museum. But there is a replica of Excalibur there and a King Arthur exhibit, if you can believe that.” I shook my head at the memory of young Stephen’s question. You’re him, aren’t you? “And there was a statue of Lancelot. Guinevere has been going there, Merlin. She’s been going to see him, to look at him. She loves him, I think, and does not think of me at all.”
“It is merely a statue, Arthur. This is the old wound speaking.”
“Yes,” I confessed, feeling none the better for having done so.
“Imagine what it’s been like for her. Imagine living all these centuries with no rest from the curse, no rest at all except those few hours when she dreams, if she dreams. Imagine waking up every day knowing that she failed you, failed her children, failed Camelot.”
“I cannot imagine what she has endured, but...I have not seen her since...since this. Never once have I said that she failed me. I do not believe that.”
“But she believes it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Wouldn’t you if you were in her place?”
I neither agreed with him nor disagreed. I sat in my misery, grateful that at least I was with Merlin for the moment.
“Forgive me for speaking so directly, Arthur.”
“When have you ever apologized for speaking directly?”
“Let the past go. There is still a future for you.”
“But what of Guinevere? Is there a future for her? For us—together?”
Then a great sucking of air, an absolute cold, permeated the room and I clicked on the flashlight. Merlin had vanished. I had no answer.
I went home.
