Bobbing in the center, right where the lightning had hit the surface, she could just make out a person, floating face down in the water. She dropped her bag right where she stood and tore down the dock, shedding her hoodie, and tossing her shoes recklessly to the side as she dove into the water and began swimming to the figure. When she reached the figure, she lost her buoyancy for a moment as she flipped it face up.
In a practiced motion, she rolled on to her back, and hooked an arm under his and across his broad chest, and she began an almost painful swim back to shore. Every kick, every stroke of her arm brought them closer and closer to the shore. It felt like an eternity, her lungs burned from the effort. Her arms and legs became fatigued from the effort of dragging another person. Eventually, her hip hit the murky floor of the lake, and Elaine pulled her feet under her, hooking her arms under the man’s as she dragged him through the mud.
Elaine heard a sloshing in the shallows of the water beside her. “I’ll take him,” an unfamiliar voice said. The newcomer gently took the waterlogged body of the man and hefted him up over his shoulder and began to rapidly make his way up to her house. She watched as the newcomer hurried, and she knew…knew in her bones that the newcomer was Argus Merlin. Elaine shook her head. There wasn’t time to think, she rushed to the shore and grabbed her bag. Then she made her way to the house.
She caught up with Merlin as he made it to the porch. “Put him on the table,” she ordered as she breezed past him and opened the door. Merlin hurried to do as she ordered. As soon as the man was laid out on her great-aunt’s massive circular dining room table, Elaine set to work. She could feel his heartbeat, but only weakly.
“He’s not breathing,” she said, clambering up on the table and straddled his chest for better leverage. She angled his head back and checked his airway, before bringing her lips to his and forcing air into his lungs. She pulled back and checked his pulse again, and again tried to breathe life into him.
This time, he sputtered the water from his lungs, and Elaine angled his body to the side, rubbing small circles on his back as he frantically coughed up the water. Gasping for air, he rolled back onto his back and looked up at her with dark eyes.
Elaine froze, I know those eyes, she thought as she let out a ragged breath. His hand was on her cheek as his eyes softened and he smiled, “Elaine,” he croaked. His hand dropped to his side, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he lost consciousness again.
Gently, she got off the table, and saw the small stain of blood soaking his already soaked shirt.
“Arthur?” Merlin asked cautiously as he approached the table. Elaine lifted his shirt to reveal a bullet hole just above his stomach.
“Get my bag,” she snapped at Merlin. He grabbed it and tossed it to her over the table. “When was he shot?” she asked automatically. This was far from her first gunshot wound.
“1944,” Merlin replied. Elaine froze and looked at the man. He too was soaked, pale with dark hair and eyes, wearing the now too small clothes of the much older version of the man that she had been standing on the lake shore with, but did not look a day over 35. In his eyes was the same glint that she had seen this afternoon when he had stood on her porch as an old man; a twinkle that was utterly unmistakable.
“I am going to take a lot on faith right now Mr. Merlin,” she said, her voice terse. “How are you at taking orders?”
“Quite good, my lady,” he replied politely.
“Good,” she snapped. “It’s going to be a very long night.” She grabbed a syringe and a bottle of painkillers and began the delicate procedure of removing a bullet from the man on the table.
Chapter Three
Elaine was sitting at the table in the kitchen over a cup of tea. Merlin had moved, ‘Arthur’ to a bed so that he could rest easier. Everything hurt. Every muscle in her body screamed as the adrenaline finally left her system. She ran her hands over her face trying to get her thoughts in order before Merlin came back downstairs.
He had called him Arthur.
Merlin had called that man Arthur.
And what was worse…Elaine knew he was Arthur. THE Arthur. The King of Camelot. She had just removed a 73-year-old bullet from a man that most scholars believed had DIED in the fifth century.
“It’s impossible,” she said aloud to the empty room.
“What’s impossible?” Merlin’s voice came from the stairs opposite her. She looked up at him as he descended the stairs slowly. She tried to remain calm, to not lose her temper.
“Who is that?” she pointed behind him back up the stairs.
“You know who it is,” Merlin said. Elaine opened her mouth to deny it but found that she couldn’t speak the words. Upstairs in one of the many spare rooms, slept Arthur. The hero from all the stories that her father had read her when she was little. She bit her lip and looked down into her mug for a different answer, any other answer, but came up with nothing. She knew it. The same way that she knew that this much younger man was Argus Merlin.
“Are you really even Argus Merlin?” Elaine asked, sitting back in her chair, switching her tactics.
“The Merlin part,” he smirked. “Yes. I found that after a few decades going by a single name appeared to be reserved for your celebrities. Cher...Madonna…Beyoncé.”
“Cut the crap,” she snapped, and immediately Merlin had the good sense to look ashamed.
“I am sorry, my lady,” he bowed his head slightly. “I had hoped a little humor would alleviate the tension.” Elaine shivered. She’d changed her clothes a long time ago, but a chill that had nothing to do with the cold had settled over her. She got up and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders and took a deep breath before returning to the kitchen to find Merlin sitting at the table, a steaming cup in front of him, a spoon stirring slow circles in his mug by itself. She plopped heavily in her chair,
“I have seen a lot of strange things in my life,” she began trying to keep her voice from shaking. “But this…”
“Your Aunt warned me before she passed,” Merlin said kindly, “that you had not been prepared for your role.”
“My role?” she asked.
Merlin leaned, elbows on the table, knitting his hands together, deep in thought for a few moments before taking a deep breath. “You are a direct descendant of Elaine, the Lady of the Lake,” his dark eyes fixed her unmoving. “And as such you are The Lady Elaine Lakeport-115th Lady of the Lake. High priestess and ruler of Avalon. Guardian of the Lake and grantor of Excalibur.” Elaine craned her neck and stared at the ceiling as if it had suddenly become interesting. “The primary duty of the Lady of the Lake these days is to guard the portal to Avalon, in preparation for the return of the rightful King.” He paused and watched her closely, waiting for a reaction that she was too tired to give. “And to bring him back when the world stands on the brink of ruin.”
Elaine sighed heavily. She wished it was a bad dream, but the blood stains, now dry and brown on her clothes, told her that it was not. “So then, I’m done, right?” she asked. “You two will leave, and I can chalk tonight up to a dream brought on by eating bad takeout.”
“No,” Merlin shook his head.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” she chuckled bitterly.
“Now who is using humor to deflect?” he laughed warmly.
“I think I’ve earned it,” Elaine shrugged.
“More than earned it, I’d say,” Merlin nodded.
“So,” she took a deep breath. “if Arthur is back, what does that mean?” Elaine thought back to Merlin’s words only a moment ago. If Arthur was back, that meant that the world was on the brink of ruin.
“This is not the first time that he has returned,” Merlin said picking up his mug and taking a long drink.
“I’m pretty sure I would have heard about it if he had come back,” Elaine scoffed.
“The short version will have to do for now,” Merlin sighed. “When Arthur was about to die, Elaine - your ancestor, Elaine - took him to Av
alon. Avalon is a holy place, a sort of spiritual nexus where great magic is possible. When she did so, I believe it was with the intent to heal him, to save him from his wounds.”
“But that’s not what happened?” she asked.
“No,” a dark look crossed his face, as he continued. “The spell that was cast removed Arthur from time, to be returned to the world when there is need. Until…” his voice trailed off.
“Until what?” she asked. She could sense there was a lot more to the story than what he had told her. But Merlin had said this was the short version of the story, so Elaine had no intention of pressing…for now.
“Until balance between the light and dark is restored,” Merlin nodded solemnly.
“The what?” she asked confused.
“That is the long version,” Merlin smirked. “It will have to wait. Your Aunt was the last guardian and you the next. Unfortunately, before your father could tell you…”
“He and mom were killed,” Elaine filled in for him. She still remembered the day of the accident like it was yesterday.
“Your Aunt...she decided to keep her distance,” Merlin nodded. “She decided that it was best if you had a somewhat normal life before she told you about your duty.” Elaine stared down at her mug. When their parents died, she was only 15, and Lacy became her legal guardian. Their lives had been hard, but they’d made it. Lacy was a detective with the NYPD and Elaine had been a doctor in Queens, until she had agreed to the terms of her Aunt’s will, bizarre as it was.
“So, what am I supposed to do?” Elaine asked, her voice cracking.
“In short, the job of the Lady of the Lake,” Merlin began, “is to unite the knights and work with Arthur to awaken their powers. Traditionally, the Lady has been both friend and advisor to Arthur and the Round Table.” It sounded much harder than he was making it out to be.
“The knights?” she asked.
“Like you,” Merlin said toying with his spoon, “The Knights of the Round Table are…reborn, for lack of a better word.”
“Wait,” Elaine held up a finger. “Reborn? You mean I’m the reincarnation of the Lady of the Lake?” She avoided saying the name of her ancestor…it made it all too real.
“No,” Merlin shook his head. “Reborn is perhaps not the best word. You are the 35th Lady of the Lake since your ancestor cast the spell that began this. Nor are the Knights reborn in that sense. Their positions are like a mantle that is passed down through the generations, to be bestowed upon a warrior at the correct time.”
“So, Lancelot for instance,” she nodded, “is not a direct descendant of Sir Lancelot?”
“Correct,” Merlin confirmed her suspicions. “The current Lancelot could be anyone who embodies the virtues and faults of the first Sir Lancelot. Which is what makes it somewhat harder to find them.”
“So how exactly do we find them?” Elaine asked, pressure building in her temples.
“They come to us,” Merlin sighed. “In a fashion. Now that Arthur is here, he becomes a sort of beacon. They will be drawn here, but only you can see them for what they truly are, which is why you, my dear lady, are invaluable. Except for our Galahad. He will have awakened already and will be here when he can.”
“Ok,” Elaine sighed heavily. Her exhaustion was beginning to catch up with her. “All right, I’m going to table that for now. What about you?” she asked, watching a coy catlike smile spread across Merlin’s face.
“What about me?”
“You were ancient before,” she glared at him from across the table. “You looked like you were close to 100.”
“Actually,” Merlin shrugged bashfully, “1504 years old, this last May.”
“What?” Elaine sputtered.
“Unlike you,” Merlin continued, “or even the Knights, I am, for lack of a better word, immortal. When the…” he paused as if picking his words very carefully, “When the cycle begins again, I revert to the age I was when I first began to work with Arthur. I tutored him when he was a young man and was his first advisor when he ascended to the throne.” Elaine shook her head.
It was too much.
Far too much.
“I am done,” she said, burying her head in her hands. “I’m beyond done for the night.” She stood up, her chair harshly scratching across the floor as she did. She was halfway across the kitchen before Merlin said anything.
“Elaine,” he began. “I know that this is a lot. But we need you.” She nodded. Perhaps it was some bizarre intuition, but she understood. When she thought about it, it felt right. Like a piece of a puzzle that had been lost under a couch had suddenly been found and she could finally see the picture of her life clearly. She turned to look at Merlin from the bottom of the stairs and for a brief moment, she saw every one of his 1504 years in the depths of his eyes. There was sadness there, but also hope…a hope that she didn’t understand.
“You talked about me,” Elaine began. “The ‘Lady of the Lake’,” she tried to keep the disbelief from her voice but failed. “You never mentioned…” she trailed off with a sigh. “You never mentioned Morgan Le Fay.” Anger flashed across his ancient eyes only to be hidden as quickly as it had appeared, but there was no doubt that she had seen it.
“I gave you the short version, remember?” Merlin asked with humor lilting his voice. Elaine nodded, understanding what he really meant. Morgan Le Fay was alive, in some fashion…and it wouldn’t be long before they met. She nodded and climbed the stairs back to her bedroom, only pausing briefly to check on her patient. After checking his heart rate and his temperature, she checked the bandaging from his wound. There wasn’t any blood on the bandage, which was good.
She took a minute to look at him, really look at him.
He certainly didn’t look like he was a mythical king. It was unlikely that she would have looked twice if she saw him walking down the street. That’s not entirely true, she thought. He was ridiculously attractive. He was tall, light-haired, with a chiseled jaw making him look rugged and refined at the same time. His shoulders were broad and heavily muscled. His hands were large, calloused, and scarred, leading to perfectly sculpted arms. His scars had surprised her. His body was riddled with them, and she had to work around more than a little scar tissue when she had operated in her dining room. “How many times have you come back?” she muttered as she pulled the covers back over him and left the room as quietly as she could.
Elaine barely had enough energy to change her clothes, depositing, not one but two sets of ruined clothes directly into the trash. Between the blood, the mud, and her impromptu swim in the lake, they were beyond saving. She flopped directly on top of the covers and was asleep in no time.
Chapter Four
Merlin was sitting in a chair next to Arthur’s bed when he awoke. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” the wizard smiled as Arthur pulled himself up, rubbing his hands over his face. Merlin had always been good about making sure he saw a familiar face when he woke. The last thing he remembered was taking a bullet from Mordred in 1944. His memories were hazy after that, but he must have been sent back to Avalon where the curse set itself anew.
“What year is it?” he croaked. He vaguely remembered coughing up water the night before. Must not have been a boat this time, he thought as he waited for Merlin’s answer. Merlin crossed his arms and told him.
Arthur simply nodded. “Where are we this time?” he asked, swinging his legs from the bed and standing gingerly.
“The United States,” Merlin said. Arthur nodded again and made his way out the door. He could see a staircase and walked down it and into a neat kitchen. Merlin had laid out the usual paraphernalia on the table. Lots of books were piled high, a large cup of what smelled like coffee was placed next to a plate heaped with food. Arthur had developed a taste for coffee several revivals ago in the Middle East, but he still yearned for the days when it was still considered appropriate to have ale with breakfast.
Arthur took the book from the top of the pile and began to read t
hrough Merlin’s journals. It was helpful to have these records of time. It made his transitions easier into whatever time he found himself in if he knew some of what had transpired since he was ‘put back’ in Avalon.
He found it harder to concentrate than he normally did.
He could have sworn, that for a brief moment, he had seen Elaine.
He had only made it through two of the journals when he heard a noise by the stairs and looked up.
There she stood as if no time had passed. “Elaine,” he shot to his feet, the blood draining from his face. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him from the base of the stairs.
Something was wrong. It couldn’t be her. Elaine was not like Merlin who regardless of the time, continued to live. Elaine, his Elaine, was long gone. But the woman standing before him was her spitting image. Fair, tall with long reddish-gold hair. But there was something different: her eyes. Though they were the same warm brown eyes that he remembered, the expression behind them was not one he was used to from his Elaine, an expression of mistrust.
“Elaine?” he repeated taking a step towards her.
“She’s not Elaine,” Merlin’s voice came from behind him, but Arthur watched the woman observe him closely. “Well, she is Elaine, but not that Elaine.”
“You always did enjoy riddles a bit too much,” Arthur said as he turned to glare at his mentor.
“What he means,” the woman said with a glare of her own, “Is that my name is Elaine Lakeport.” She appeared to unfix herself from her position at the base of the stairs and moved to the counter.
“I honestly hadn’t expected you up so early,” Merlin said with a smile.
“Curse of a doctor,” Elaine shrugged, turning back to the kitchen with a steaming mug.
“Women can be doctors?” Arthur asked incredulously.
“Excuse me?” she snapped, eyes alight with anger.
“Arthur,” Merlin took a seat across from him. “Perhaps you should refrain from comment until you have completed your assignment. I am sorry, my lady,” he smiled gently at Elaine. “I doubt he has had time to make it to the civil rights movement, let alone the women’s movement.”
Camelot, NY - the Once and Future King Page 2
