The Serpent Waits

by Bill Hiatt

  “I should come as well,” said Creirwy. “I am not as strong a caster as my mother, but I know enough magic to be useful.”

  “We are a well-disciplined, tightly knit group,” said Magnus. “Adding too many new people could break our rhythm, endanger us in battle.”

  “Your tongue is not well-disciplined, for you have spoken before your leader, to whom my request was directed.”

  Tal raised a hand. “I always welcome advice from my allies—for that is what we are here. Allies…and friends. We fight together by choice, not because any of us are bound by fealty to do so.”

  Morfran was so hairy it was hard to tell, but I thought he raised an eyebrow. “Arthur’s round table—taken to extremes. Well, so be it. But what say you to my request, Taliesin?”

  “We can use all the help we can get,” Taliesin replied, but his tone seemed reserved to me. Was he, like Magnus, suspicious of the sudden appearance of Ceridwen’s children?

  “What of mine?” asked Creirwy.

  “The battlefield is no place for women,” said Morfran.

  “You’ve stepped in it now,” muttered Gordy.

  “In our group, women fight alongside men,” said Eva, her voice sharp as her arrows.

  Morfran’s eyes widened. “I meant no offense. I was worried about my Creirwy. Having thought for years that I had lost a mother, I have no wish to lose a sister.”

  “We look after each other,” said Carla. “Eva, Viviane, and I have fought beside the men many times, and we have all survived. I’d bet your mother has been on a battlefield from time to time as well.”

  “It is true,” said Ceridwen. “I fight with magic, not metal—but I do fight. Worry not, my son, for you and I will be there as well to look after Creirwy.”

  “I am new to this group,” I said. “However, even I have seen how much they protect each other—and me. One of them saved my life.”

  “I don’t need as much looking after as you all seem to think.” Even frowning, Creirwy was still exceptionally beautiful.

  “You are welcome as well,” said Tal, bowing to her. “We’ll need to do a little work with you, Morfran, and Ceridwen to make sure we coordinate properly in a fight, but that won’t be hard. First, though, Ceridwen has a few things to do.”

  “Ah, that is so,” said Ceridwen. “I will go and check my other properties to see which would be safe to use as bases. It will be difficult to fight Hafez in California if we must do it from Wales.” She turned and walked quickly out of the room.

  “While she takes care of that, Amenirdis, perhaps you could tell us what you know of this staff,” said Taliesin.

  “Just as the Khalid of this world told us, the staff began as a project to surpass the power of the staff of Moses. If the records of my time speak the truth, the work began in the reign of Thutmose IV, and, despite a brief interruption under Akhenaten caused by the Pharaoh’s foolish monotheism—”

  I noticed Stan’s frown—or was it David’s—and realized that, as Gordy put it, I had “stepped in it.” I decided the best course was to move forward as quickly as I could.

  “The work continued until about the beginning of the reign of Setnakhte, roughly your year 1190 BCE, about two hundred years after it was first begun.”

  “Two hundred years?” asked Viviane. “No wonder the staff is so powerful.”

  “It is rumored to be quite powerful, but in truth, much of the delay came from politics. The priest of the various temples united their efforts, determined to receive the blessing of every single god of Egypt to make the staff as powerful as possible.

  “However, the priests quarreled over matters of precedence. Who would get the most credit was more important than how rapidly the work was finished. Some stories say the gods themselves joined in those quarrels, though I find that hard to believe.

  “Nor were the Pharaohs always respected as representatives of Amun-Ra on Earth. Usurpers arose. Some even claimed the throne for a while. By the time Setnakhte ruled, he had reason to feel insecure. The staff had just received its final blessing, and he should have been able to use it to reinforce his authority, yet he feared to do so.

  “Some whispered that he was a usurper himself, perhaps even a commoner, and he, in turn, refused to recognize the previous two pharaohs as legitimate. It is said that only a true pharaoh or one of pharaoh's representatives—a priest or god’s wife such as me—can wield the staff without fear of retribution from the gods.”

  “Then how does Hafez wield it?” asked Shahriyar.

  “It may be that part of the story is wrong, but Setnakhte believed it. He died after a short reign, never having used the power of the staff. His son, Rameses III, may have used the staff during his victorious battles against invaders from the sea, but if so, that was the first and only time it was used. There was a large conspiracy against Rameses, led by one of his wives. Because some of the conspirators were practitioners of magic, Rameses feared priestly involvement. If that were the case, some of the priests might have used the staff against him. Rather than risk that, he hid the staff by magical means, intending to reveal the secret only to his chosen heir. Unfortunately, he was assassinated before he could do so.

  “Through the grace of Amun-Ra, his son, Rameses IV, thwarted the conspirators and became the next pharaoh, but he failed to find the staff.”

  “Earth is much harder on magic than some of the other planes of existence,” said Viviane. “The pharaoh’s spell must have failed at some point, and one of Hafez’s ancestors must have found the staff.”

  “Or DeMille did,” said Stan. “Even on our Earth, there were all kinds of weird rumors about Demille shipping in Egyptian artifacts to use in the silent production of The Ten Commandments.

  “Hafez’s grandfather knew DeMille and gained ownership of the land where DeMille buried the set, remember? DeMille may not have realized the magical potential of the staff, which would have dormant by that time, but the elder Hafez must have. At some point, someone in the family developed enough magic to revive the staff.”

  “I’m thrilled to know all the completely unnecessary history of the staff,” said Magnus. “I’m more interested in prepping against Hafez, though. Exactly what does the staff do?”

  His tone was insolent, but I ignored the implied affront. “If the stories are true, pretty much anything. Any power granted by any god was bound to its sacred wood. Particular care was taken to ensure that anything alleged to have been done by the staff of Moses could be replicated.

  “Some combination of those powers must be how Hafez could breach the barriers between parallel universes,” said Carla. “No one else we’ve encountered has been able to do that.”

  “If we take the description literally, the wielder could also bring nationwide plagues,” said Shahriyar. “How would modern people react if Hafez turned all the fresh water into the United States into blood? How many would die if Hafez slaughtered the firstborn in every family?”

  “I only wish I knew whether that was truly in his power,” I said. “We have to assume it is.”

  “We can’t expect you to know every detail about a staff lost several centuries before your time,” said Taliesin. “What you’ve said confirms one thing, though—we have to strike as fast as we can. We have no idea what Hafez’s plans are or how quickly he might put them into motion.”

  “Or what he wants with us,” added Carla. “If he’s so powerful, why bring us into it at all?”

  Ceridwen walked back into the room. “Awen is clear. My protective spells haven’t been breached. That gives us a base close enough to Hafez to do some good.”

  “Let’s move out now, then,” said Taliesin.

  Ceridwen led us via portal to Awen’s entry hall in minutes. Amy had been unconscious when she’d been carried through it, so her memories were no help. However, the furnishings were consistent with the parts of the house she had seen. Immaculate hardwood floors, rugs in elaborate patterns that resembled Celtic knots, highly polished wood paneling, cr
ystal chandeliers—it was truly a home fit for a pharaoh.

  I created a glow to fend off the shadow assassins. Ceridwen surprised me by flipping a switch that made the chandeliers blaze to life.

  “Everything’s going according to plan,” she said. “If the utilities are still on, that means my wishes are being honored, which indicates that no one has gotten me declared legally dead. I’ll need to spend some time with my lawyer, but at least there won’t be any complications.”

  “I don’t remember any housecleaning spells in the Awen of our world,” said Viviane.

  Ceridwen smiled. “There aren’t any here, either. Just as the utilities have been kept on, the servants are still employed. There are probably still security guards walking the perimeter, too. The person who does all the management won’t be here this late, but I’d better call him right after I talk to my attorney. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’d be kind of a shock to him in the morning.”

  “Servants?” asked Morfran nervously.

  “They won’t be around this late, either, particularly since the house has been unoccupied. They live in a separate compound nearby.

  “Let me show you to the conference room upstairs, and then I’ll make my calls.”

  “Don’t you have a large sitting room right next to the guest rooms?” asked Tal. “Perhaps that would be best. We’re going to want to talk a little, but we should probably rest before we tackle our battle plan.”

  “We could probably use some food,” said Gordy. “I know, I know, we ate dinner, but it seems long ago, now.”

  “The servants—” began Ceridwen.

  “Most of us don’t have servants,” said Gordy. “And I know my way to the kitchen.”

  “Are you all this familiar with Awen from your world?” asked Ceridwen.

  “We saw quite a bit of it after the…defeat of your counterpart,” said Taliesin. “There’s been some remodeling in the last couple of decades, but if the basic floorplan is the same, we can find our way around.”

  “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it. Morfran, Creirwy, make sure our guests feel at home.”

  That looked suspiciously like Ceridwen was using her children to keep an eye on us. That’s what I would have done under similar circumstances.

  “Anyone who wants food, follow me,” said Gordy. He was as much at ease as if he owned the place. Everyone else moved after him, so I followed as well. Who knew when someone in a relaxed moment might accidentally reveal something I could use?

  Gordy led us down a long hallway dotted on both sides with paintings. Most of them featured what I recognized from Amy’s memories as Arthurian themes. Ceridwen liked to be reminded of her past every bit as much as I did. The difference was that the world of her past still existed in some ways. Mine was dormant, awaiting my rescue. And what was I doing about it? Having midnight snacks with people who would lock me away forever if they knew what I was really thinking.

  “What if there’s no food?” asked Michael. “The staff didn’t know Ceridwen was coming back.”

  “Look around,” said Eva. “There isn’t a speck of dust anywhere. My guess is that their orders are to make sure everything is ready in case the boss appears unexpectedly.”

  The kitchen was enormous. A whole family of commoners could have lived in it in ancient Egypt.

  “It looks as if the appliances have been updated a few times in the last twenty years,” said Carla, pointing at the sparkling chrome and white devices that lined the polished tile counters. “The staff really was running the place on auto-pilot.”

  There were several refrigerators, perhaps to provide for large parties. Gordy opened one of them. “Behold!” It was crammed with food, though I wouldn’t have recognized most of it—or the refrigerator—without Amy’s memories.

  “All this for a boss who hasn’t been here in twenty years?” asked Viviane. “That seems like a waste.”

  “The servants eat whatever they want when Mother isn’t here,” said Creirwy. “What is left is donated to local charities that feed the homeless.”

  “You guys have been here a lot?” Jimmie asked Creirwy and Morfran.

  “She has,” said the hairy man. “I haven’t. Hiding from the servants all the time would have been cumbersome, and Mother couldn’t exactly introduce me as her son.”

  The buzz of background conversation ceased. Even the sounds of Gordy clunking around in the refrigerator stopped.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” said Morfran. “The choice was mine. In recent years I’ve stayed in some of her safe houses. She planned to visit me, but she couldn’t because of the kidnapping by the Sons of Mordred. By the time I escaped, Mother had disappeared…been captured, as I now know. It would have been even less possible for me to make myself known to people then, but Creirwy visited me as often as she could.”

  “That sounds lonely,” said Nancy.

  “When you look as I do, loneliness is preferable to having people constantly stare at you. In modern times, there would also have been the problem of people asking questions about medical procedures I couldn’t undergo.”

  “Gordy, why don’t you make us all sandwiches?” asked Viviane. “You know what most people like. Ask our new friends.”

  Gordy, who had been standing awkwardly at the refrigerator, nodded and started pulling out a variety of meats, lettuce, tomatoes, ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise. Jimmie found the bread and brought three loaves of different kinds over. Michael found knives and plates. The way they moved reminded me of how long they had been together.

  “Morfran, if you don’t mind my asking, why would you be opposed to medical procedures?” said Viviane. “When you were young, medical science was very primitive, but now—”

  “I cannot take the risk,” said Morfran. “Mother tried a great many things in the early years. Shave the hair, and it grows back—in seconds. Alter my face, and it stubbornly returns to the way it was. Even illusions don’t stick, and invisibility lasts for only a very short time. What would happen if I had some kind of surgery, and my body reverted to the way it was? How could we explain that to mundane doctors? I’d rather stay as I am than risk exposing Mother and the rest of the supernatural world.”

  “You know what that sounds like?” asked Michael over his shoulder. “It sounds a little like what happened to me. Morfran, I was originally like Tal over there. Cronus regressed me four years and locked me that way to keep me from developing magic or otherwise getting in the way of Hecate’s plot. Even now I recover quickly from injuries, physical or magical, but Arianrhod was able to fix it so that I could age normally. Maybe she could help you, too.”

  “I doubt Cronus is the one who locked Morfran’s condition—but that does get me thinking,” said Viviane. “Do you know who cursed you, Morfran? Since you look nothing like your mother or sister, I assume it’s a curse.”

  “That I don’t know. Mother tried to find out but never had any luck.”

  “May I examine you?” asked Viviane. He tensed. “I mean no disrespect to your mother, but we have made many discoveries in magic during the time she was in prison. It’s just possible I’ve seen something that might help.”

  Morfran looked uneasy and said nothing. “She’s one of the most accomplished healers on the planet,” said Carla. “Why not let her have a look? What have you got to lose?”

  “My peace of mind,” said Morfran. “I put aside hope long ago. If I allow it into my mind again, I run the risk of feeling the pain when the hope proves false.”

  “I can make no guarantee,” said Viviane. “My suggestion would be not to start hoping again just yet. Allow me to take a look and see what I find. I promise not to give you optimistic prognoses I’m not absolutely sure of.”

  “Let her try,” said Creirwy. “It would make Mother happy if something could be done.”

  Morfran nodded slowly. “Look if you wish. I will maintain my current resignation to my fate.”

  Despite his words, there was a flicker of something in his eyes.
Could it have been hope? I had no way to be sure.

  Viviane took his face in her hands and closed her eyes.

  Taliesin patted Morfran on the shoulder. “If there is anything we can do for you, we will do it, my friend.”

  “There’s no need to feel guilty about drinking the potion of knowledge meant for me,” said Morfran. “I know it was an accident.”

  “I’m not feeling guilt. I remember how noble you were. You deserve a better fate than the one you have.”

  Gordy, Jimmie, and Michael passed out sandwiches. Morfran looked at them and then looked around the rest of the room.

  “Not since King Arthur’s knights has there been any group of people who did not treat me like a freak, and even they never really befriended me. I was a comrade-in-arms—but not one who was ever invited to dine with their families. Most of them couldn’t even look at me without my helmet on.”

  “I don’t remember it being that bad for you,” said Tal.

  “Because you could look at me—and because you weren’t me. You didn’t catch all the things that happened. And you left early, remember?”

  Tal nodded. “With Merlin around, Arthur had little need of me.”

  “Yet you did not return when Merlin vanished. You were not around when I tried to play a greater role in public. You didn’t see the children run in terror from me as I walked through town. You didn’t see the women I was trying to rescue who screamed louder about me than about their captors.

  “You want to know why I was one of the few who survived the battle of Camlann? Mordred’s men thought I was a demon and stayed away from me.”

  Tears would have run down Morfran’s cheeks, but the little droplets soaked too quickly into his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” said Taliesin. “I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’ve always said I never wanted pity, and yet here I am being as pathetic as I can be. I was…touched by the way your group acts so natural around me—just as if they didn’t have a monster in their midst.”