2 - HOW MERLIN RETURNS, AND WHAT HE HAS TO SAY FOR HIMSELF

“Hail!” Bedevere saluted with his remaining arm as he waltzed into the Kingfishers’ game room.

Artie, clutching the golden controller he’d gotten at the Invisible Tower, blurted over his shoulder, “One sec, Beddy.”

Bedevere looked at the new forty-six-inch flat-screen mounted to the wall, where Artie’s Otherworld character, Nitwit the Gray, was up to his old tricks. He was dealing with a violent and unruly giant with a red Mohawk, who was swinging at him with a massive hammer. Artie had the game switched to first person, so only Nitwit’s hands could be seen. The right hand held a long and terrifying mace, complete with spikes, and the left was charged with the green glow of magic. Nitwit was a warrior-mage—good not only with weapons but also with spells.

Nitwit jumped, then ducked a swipe and threw some of the green magic at the giant, poisoning the monster. Its health bar began to plummet. But the poison didn’t stop the giant from scoring a hit that knocked Nitwit to the ground. Dazed, Nitwit couldn’t move as his enemy jumped into the air and came down on top of him. Now it was Nitwit’s health bar that jumped alarmingly toward death.

Artie fumbled manically with the controller, switching spells. The ball in his left hand turned golden yellow, and the margins of the screen sparked with the same energy.

Bedevere smiled and said, “Damage Conversion, eh, sire?”

“You bet,” Artie said, not taking his eyes from the screen.

Bedevere sucked at video games, Otherworld especially, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand them. In fact, Bedevere had insisted that Nitwit learn Damage Conversion even though Artie didn’t want to waste Spell Points on it. A totally unglamorous conjuration, it converted all damage into healing for ten seconds. When the spell was on, the harder Nitwit got hit, the better he felt.

“Nice,” Bedevere said as Nitwit’s power was restored. “You should drop that mace and use your spear. It’ll keep some distance between you and that . . . thing.”

“Duh,” Artie said quietly, switching weapons. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Artie’s fingers danced on the controller as Nitwit jabbed the giant in the chest. For nearly a minute he scored cheap hits as he waited for his spell-casting mana to restore. Finally, he threw caution to the wind, chucked the spear at the giant’s midsection, downed a booster potion, and hurled a huge two-handed fireball at his adversary.

That did the trick. The giant fell, throwing up a cloud of sand, and died unceremoniously.

“Take that!” Kay said, catching the final blow as she entered the game room.

Artie turned to his sister and smiled. “Yeah, take that,” he said with a lot less enthusiasm.

Kay plopped next to her brother. Artie paused the game and looked into his sister’s crazy, mismatched eyes. “The game’s not doing it for you, is it?” she asked.

Artie shook his head.

He wanted so badly to go back to the real Otherworld and finish what he had started. Morgaine had stolen Excalibur and, worse, his dear friend Qwon. Every day Artie spent away from the Otherworld was like torture. He had to go back as soon as possible.

But of course he couldn’t go back. Not yet. He’d promised to wait to hear from Merlin. But Merlin had been totally AWOL since they’d freed him from the invisible tower back in Cincinnati a few weeks earlier, and Artie was beginning to lose his patience.

“I can’t stop thinking about her, Kay. Q must be so miserable and scared. And I can’t stop thinking about what I need to do in the Otherworld,” Artie lamented.

“Well, what’s going on in the video-game version of the Otherworld?” Kay asked, trying to change the subject slightly.

“Some quest for a magic sword, which sucks because all it makes me think about is Excalibur. I can’t believe that stupid witch snagged it from me.”

Bedevere said, “Give yourself a break, sire. She is extremely powerful.” He pointed at a pair of long scars on Artie’s leg. “Don’t forget what she did to you that day.”

“I know,” said Artie. “At least if I mess up in the video game, I won’t get fried by a bolt of lightning.”

Kay lifted her shirt a little to reveal a long crescent-shaped scar on her stomach. “Or get gored by a giant boar.”

Bedevere twirled the stump of his right arm through the air. “Or get your arm shot off by a half-crazed wood elf.”

Artie said, “I’m sorry about the arm, Bedevere.”

Bedevere shook his head. “You’ve said that a million times, sire. I’m fine. I’m a knight. Knights lose things like arms from time to time.”

“I guess,” Artie said, still not convinced that Bedevere really didn’t care. “But, seriously, if Merlin hasn’t turned up by next weekend, we’re going back.”

Bedevere started, “I don’t—”

“King’s orders, Sir Bedevere,” Artie said.

“Hey, guys!” Kynder yelled excitedly from the kitchen before Bedevere could respond. “Come check this out!”

Artie bolted upstairs, Kay and Bedevere right on his heels.

As Artie stepped into the kitchen, he found Kynder wearing a very authentic-looking medieval robe. It appeared to be made of hay, burlap, and wool, and Artie thought that it must be the itchiest thing ever worn by anyone in the last five hundred years.

“Well?” Kynder asked, the overhead light reflecting harshly off his square, owlish glasses. He did a little twirl and asked, “What do you think? Don’t I look exactly like a fifth-century druid?”

Since they had returned to Shadyside, Kynder had become obsessed with general Arthuriana. He spent most of his time on the computer reading about the old days, when Romans were a scourge, and magic roamed freely over the cliffs and through the dells, and knights battled regularly and with much honor.

In short, he’d become a Dark Ages Dr Pepper head.

Kay rolled her eyes and pushed by him. “No, Kynder,” she said loudly, “not exactly. I don’t think druids wore Nikes. And if they had glasses, they sure didn’t look anything like yours.” Kay opened the fridge and stared into it.

“Oh, well, besides that,” Kynder said. “I’m sure they didn’t wear underwear, either.”

“Gross,” Kay said, closing the fridge without taking anything out.

They heard the front door open and close. Lance clambered into the kitchen carrying a couple of big empty buckets and a short two-by-four. “Hey, dudes! Who wants to help me put some new sparring dummies together?”

“I do!” Kay said, quickly moving toward the patio door. She loved making things that she could later destroy with Cleomede.

Lance followed her and paused next to a silent Artie. He knew how hard it had been for Artie to wait to return to the Otherworld to save his friend. “C’mon, dude,” Lance said. “Don’t mope. It’ll be good to work. Go get the circular saw and meet us in the yard.”

“All right,” Artie said softly.

“Good,” Lance said. He went out back and Artie ambled after him.

Artie did actually feel a little better as he and his knights worked on the dummies. Lance measured, Artie cut some two-by-fours, and Kay and Bedevere assembled. They’d made dozens of dummies over the past couple of weeks and had it down pat. Artie liked the growl of the saw and the smell of the sawdust. Lance had been right: working was good.

Artie finished cutting the last batch of lumber and turned off the saw. His ears rang a little from the noise, but this unpleasant sound was quickly replaced by a vigorous burst of birdsong.

A lot of birdsong.

Too much birdsong.

The high-pitched vibrato got so loud that everyone had to cover their ears. Looking around, Artie realized that the surrounding oaks and maples were dripping with songbirds. It was as if they had simply materialized in the trees. Some were extremely colorful, but most were jet-black with little red tufts on the tops of their heads.

Artie got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the back of Kay’s neck went cold. The siblings could feel each other’s unease—a special gift they shared. A slight breeze sifted through the yard. Kynder walked onto the patio to see what was going on, and as he did the birds stopped singing, as if following a command.

Total silence reigned for a few moments, and then BOOM! A blast of blue light sparked the middle of the yard, and the birds took wing away from the explosion, expanding outward in a ring.

The blue light chased the birds and then fell back, gathering above the grass like a little supernova. It became very bright, forcing Artie to shut his eyes as a strong wind swept through, blowing leaves and sawdust everywhere.

When the air around them settled, Artie cautiously opened his eyes.

Collapsed amid a mess of building supplies was Merlin, a great spike of wood driven through his left thigh.

“Merlin!” shouted Kay.

Everyone rushed to the fallen wizard, and Lance gently rolled him onto his back. Kynder inspected the wound in his leg, and Kay asked, “Should we call nine-one-one?”

“No,” Merlin wheezed. His eyelids fluttered and his skin was ashen. His tattoos were blurred and faded, like they’d aged a thousand years.

Artie stepped forward. Bedevere, fearing some unseen treachery, went to the shed and grabbed his claymore.

“What do you need us to do?” Lance asked with a soldier’s urgency.

“There,” Merlin said, using his eyes to indicate a white canvas bag gripped tightly in his hand. “In there.”

Kynder grabbed it and peered inside. “But it’s empty!”

“Reach in. A bottle. A wooden cane.”

Kynder stuck his hand into the bag. What a wonder! It was full of furry things and slick things; hard things and gummy things; rocks, dirt, and leaves. Kynder felt small bones and claws, and sifted his hands through a mass of marbles. He thrust his whole arm into the thing, even though from the outside the bag was only about a foot long.

“I can’t find them.” Kynder panted.

“Deeper,” Merlin ordered. Kynder pushed farther into the bag. “There,” the wizard whispered.

Kynder felt a cone-shaped bottle and a length of wood. He wrapped his fingers around both and yanked his arm out.

The bottle was full of a brown, unappealing liquid. The piece of wood was a gray walking cane, the handle carved like a roosting owl, one eye shut, one open.

Merlin stared at the liquid. Kynder pulled at the wax stopper, but it didn’t budge.

“Mr. Kingfisher, hold it out,” said Bedevere. Kynder did, and with a clean stroke Bedevere used his ginormous sword to slice the wax-covered top off the bottle.

An unholy stench of rotten eggs, wet dog hair, and gym socks shot from the opening. Kynder held it at arm’s length, and everyone took a step back.

“Put it to my lips, please,” Merlin said.

Kynder did, and Merlin gulped down the elixir like it was chocolate milk. Merlin’s color returned, and he held his hand out for his cane. Kynder passed it to him and, with Lance’s help, Merlin sat up.

“Now, Mr. Lance, please push that blasted thing through my leg,” Merlin said, indicating the piece of wood in his thigh.

Lance nodded. One end of the shaft stuck out of the top of Merlin’s thigh by less than an inch, while the other end protruded from the hamstring at a handsbreadth. “This looks like a crossbow bolt,” Lance said.

“’Tis. Get rid of it,” Merlin said.

“It’s gonna hurt.”

“Nonsense. Do it!”

“Right,” Lance said, propping Merlin’s leg against his own. “On three. One. Two. Three.”

Lance pushed the tip of the crossbow bolt through the wound as Kay let out a long “Ewwwww!” The old man grimaced but didn’t make a noise. Then Lance grabbed the other end of the bloody bolt and yanked it out.

Merlin grunted and said, “Thank you. Please throw that as high as you can.”

Lance flung the bolt into the air with a great underhand motion. When it reached its apex, Merlin pointed the carved end of his cane at it. The owl’s closed eye opened briefly, and the bolt exploded into a million little pieces.

“There,” Merlin said, satisfied. He looked totally spent.

“Dude, you need a tourniquet,” Lance said as he applied pressure to the wizard’s thigh.

Merlin nodded weakly as his color faded again.

Bedevere dropped his claymore and ripped off his T-shirt. He handed it to Lance, who quickly and expertly stanched the flow of blood from the wizard’s leg.

“Water,” Merlin said. “I’m so thirsty.”

Bedevere ran into the house.

Breathless, Artie knelt next to his friend and asked, “Merlin—what happened?”

Merlin’s head rolled toward Artie. It took all his effort to say, “I tried to find Qwon. I tried to go to Fenland. But Morgaine . . .”

And before he could say any more, he passed out.