The Merlin Effect
Page 19
Suddenly he lurched violently, tackled from behind. The Horn slipped from his grasp and skated across the deck, coming to rest by a case of cannonballs.
Kate rolled out of her tackle and crawled madly toward it. But Garlon grabbed her by the calf and yanked her backward. Raging, he picked her up and shook her as though she were a rag doll.
“I should have broken your neck long ago,” he fumed.
Just then the first fragile ray of sunlight, reflected off the brass door latch to the captain’s quarters, touched his brow. Though a more gentle blow could not be devised, it seemed to strike him like a hammer. He staggered under the impact.
Nimue’s curse, realized Kate, though she could not tell whether Garlon had felt the effect of the curse or merely his fear of it.
Frantically, Garlon threw her to the deck and ran to the Horn. He snatched it up and brought it to his face, ready to drink.
XXXI: A Day without Dawn
At that instant, the ship burst above the waves. It began to circle the rim of the whirlpool, buoyed by the water rising through the funnel.
Garlon’s eyes, so like his brother’s and yet so different, danced with victory. Even as he raised the Horn to his lips, he seemed poised to release a long-awaited cheer.
Then his face contorted in a spasm of uncertainty, evolving slowly into terror. He dropped the Horn as his body convulsed, falling to the deck. A subtle perfume of apple blossoms blew past. The ship’s bell tolled one time, echoing eerily. Garlon looked at Kate in horror, started to cry out, then vanished into the salty air.
The dead will die . . . Kate recalled the final words of the ballad, as she stared at the spot.
She glanced toward the east. The orange sun had barely begun to peek over the horizon. She lifted herself to her feet, only to witness a staggering sight.
Drawn upward by the reversed spiral of the whirlpool, an enormous volume of water lifted like a great wall around the Resurreccíon. This circular tsunami, spinning slowly along with the ship, raised itself to a great height. It blocked the ascending sun, covering Kate and her vessel in shadow.
For a long moment, the towering wall of water hung there, ringing the ancient ship. Kate felt sure it would collapse any second, smashing the galleon to splinters. And she hardly cared if it did, now that Garlon had been destroyed. For the briny air of the surface reminded her more of what she had lost than of what she had won.
Collapse it did, but gently, smoothly. The wall of water melted into the sea, while the whirlpool, its power spent at last, started to merge with the prevailing currents of the Pacific. As the volcanic rifts far below finally quieted, giving the ocean floor a new geography, the whirlpool itself came to rest, returning the ocean surface to its geography of old. In a matter of minutes, the waves grew calm.
Remolino de la Muerté was no more.
Kate scanned the expanse of water, deep green with flecks of gold, surrounding the ship. The sun, now well above the horizon, beamed down on her warmly. Yet, for her, this was a day without a dawn, a day when the sun did not rise, either for her or for those she had lost beneath the waves.
No longer supported by the surging water of the whirlpool, the ship floated like a stick of driftwood, jostled by every wave. Kate reached for the Horn, lying near her on the deck. Again she studied its lustrous surface, its radiant liquid, its spiral design. And again she heard the voice of Merlin, saying, It is up to you to choose its rightful home.
But where could that be? Someplace safe, yet not completely hidden. Someplace where the enemies of Merlin and Arthur would not find it.
Maybe Merlin meant I should keep it myself. Strangely tempted by the thought, she lifted the Horn, watching it shimmer in the sunlight. Perhaps she would change her mind and decide to drink from it one day. Or perhaps not. In any case, she would make a solemn promise to guard it for Arthur, to give it to him when he returned.
Or would she? In the presence of such power, would she eventually forget about her promise, as Merlin did long ago? And even if she could stay true, she was only one person. Those who craved the Horn would hunt for it relentlessly. She could not protect it from every conceivable threat.
Her mind drifted back to the story of the Horn. She thought of its many names, its many gifts, its many masters. She thought of its birth, inspired by the love of Emrys for Wintonwy. She thought of its connection to the mer people, ever elusive, and to the sea itself, the watery womb of all life.
As she stood on the deck of the ancient ship, an idea came to her. It was full of risk, yet it held a hint of hope. She looked into the Horn once more, then called out as loud as she could, “Serilliant!”
With that, she hurled it into the waves. For an instant it rested on the surface of the ocean. Then it sank out of sight.
She waited, watching, unsure what to expect.
At that moment, a ring of bubbles came to the surface, encircling the spot where the Horn had disappeared. Out of the sea rose a group of mer people, glistening green. In the middle of their circle, riding a low fountain of water, was the Horn of Merlin.
They had accepted her gift. With a single, soundless splash, they dived beneath the waves and disappeared.
Kate noticed that the Resurreccíon was listing more and more. No longer sustained by the power of the Horn, its timbers started to split and crack. A wave smashed the stern, throwing her into the rigging. The hull moaned like a living thing, then broke apart, its timbers dissolving into thousands of pieces. Into the ocean went the sails, the gold ingots, the jewels, the ivory combs, the cannons, the silks, and the thin red volume, all to be scattered on the bottom by the currents and tides.
Immersed in frigid water, Kate wrapped her arms around the remains of an old beam, hoping to stay afloat. She had no way of telling whether she would be carried out to sea, where she certainly would die, or back to the coast, where she would survive only if she could find a fishing village before falling prey to the desert sun.
A wave drenched her, nearly tearing her from the beam. Somehow she clung on. When she opened her eyes again, she saw a strange shape rising out of the ocean. She caught her breath.
The shape surged higher. At once she recognized it. She still could not breathe, though no longer out of fear. For there, moving toward her, was no sea demon, no phantom ship. It was the submersible.
The next several minutes flowed past as quickly as a crashing wave. The opening of the hatch. The shouts. The waves. The reunion she had never believed possible.
There was her father, hugging her so hard she thought her ribs would crack, then listening with care as she described her final moments with the Horn. There was Isabella, shaking with joy to see her, explaining how they had reached the submersible only seconds before the eruption, eager to hear about the young gray whale. There was the submersible, cramped but wholly satisfactory, bobbing where not long ago a great whirlpool had churned.
As Kate described Terry’s gruesome fate, the others listened in disbelief.
“Can it be so?” asked Isabella, brushing back some stray hairs. “His life should not end that way.”
Jim frowned. “No one’s life should end that way.”
In time, the conversation turned to other matters. Kate painted vivid portraits of her last encounters with Nimue, Garlon, and Merlin himself.
Her father looked at her affectionately. “You’re not a bad storyteller, you know.”
Despite her wet clothes, she felt a touch warmer. “It’s in my genes.”
“I can just hear you now,” he predicted. “Sitting by the fire, surrounded by your grandchildren. One of them asks, ‘Please, Granny, tell us the one about the battle of the giant chess pieces.’ ”
Kate joined in the laughter. “So I’ll get to tell my own stories about Merlin.” Then her expression changed. “Can you forgive me for almost following Nimue’s orders?”
“If you can forgive me for following my own greed for the Horn. I found out down there that my motives were less pure than I had t
hought. Still . . . we did manage to prove the existence of Merlin, didn’t we?”
“And not just in the sixth century.”
“Right you are.”
“He didn’t look at all like what I expected.”
“At least you got the wart on his nose right.” He worked his tongue, pondering something. “I think you did the right ling with the Horn.”
“You really think so?”
“I do. And if Merlin could be here with us, I’m sure he would, too.”
She started to smile, then caught herself. “Maybe he will be with us again. And maybe he’ll bring Terry back with him.”
“I hope so,” said her father.
“Do you think he can save him?”
“Merlin is capable of many things.”
Isabella leaned closer. “As is the place where the sea begins, the womb where the waters are born.”
Jim gave her a nudge. “Not bad for a marine biologist.”
Before Isabella could respond, a familiar wailing reached the submersible. Familiar, yet somehow changed. Hunched together, the trio listened to the creaking and moaning, clicking and whistling of the whales. They were all around, encircling the submersible, weaving their complex harmony.
“Something’s different,” said Jim after a while. “Do you hear it? Their singing isn’t the same.”
“Yes,” answered Isabella. “There’s a little less sadness.”
Kate nodded, recalling Merlin’s wish for the whales. “Or maybe . . . a little more hope.”
Just then a gray whale, streams of water pouring from his body, launched out of the waves not far from the submersible. The whale paused, half in the water and half out, before falling back in a thunderous splash, spraying every window in the vessel.
Then he descended, lifting his severed tail into the air.
“That’s him!” exclaimed Kate.
Isabella watched the whale submerge. “I have the feeling you two might meet again.”
“Maybe.”
“Hey,” said Jim, “is anyone else hungry? I’m in the mood for a big helping of something. How about Baja Scramble?”
Isabella pouted. “I’ve been dreaming of pancakes.”
“All right, then. We’ll flip a coin.”
“Here,” announced Kate. “I’ve got one.” She thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out a silver coin, as bright as if it had been freshly minted. A piece of eight.
The submersible pitched on the swells, as a lone gull screeched overhead. Waves slapped and surged, rocking to the rhythm of the sea.
“ The Ballad of the Resurreccíon ”
An ancient ship, the pride of Spain,
Embarked upon a quest
To navigate the ocean vast
And still survive the test.
It carried treasures rich and rare
Across the crashing waves
Beyond the flooded fields that are
So many sailors’ graves.
Its goal to link the
Orient With distant Mexico,
The ship set sail with heavy hearts
And heavier cargo.
The galleon brimmed with precious gems,
Fine gold and silver wrought,
Silk tapestries and ivories
And spices dearly sought.
From China, Burma, Borneo,
Came crates of lofty cost,
And one thing more, the rumors said:
The Horn that Merlin lost.
Upon its prow, the words inscribed,
God bring us safe to land,
The ship at last raised all its sails
As lovers raised their hands.
Resurreccíon, O mighty ship,
You bear our very best!
Resurreccíon, O mighty ship,
Where will you come to rest?
Prevailing winds advancing east,
Pacific storms alive,
The brave men steered for Mexico
And prayed they might arrive.
They fought against the torrents,
A plague, a great typhoon,
Pursued by monsters of the deep
And pirates seeking boon.
The sailors suffered from the sun
That cracked and baked their skin,
Yet knew, between the sea and sun,
The sea would surely win.
For seven months they eastward sailed
Adrift upon the swells
Till even men whose hearts were strong
The stench of death could smell.
All water gone, as well as hope,
They grew too weak to stand
Until a voice cried loud and clear
“Land ho! I see the land!”
A joyous cheer arose that day
From sailors nearly dead,
Yet when they steered the ship to land
Their joy gave way to dread.
Resurreccíon, O mighty ship,
You bear our very best!
Resurreccíon, O mighty ship,
Where will you come to rest?
The ship began to list and spin
As sails apart did pull
And timbers buckled under waves
That smashed against the hull.
In circles tighter than a noose
The helpless vessel sailed
And every man upon the deck
Collapsed to knees and wailed.
For though the sea’s a dangerous place
With terrors great and small,
Still mariners have always feared
The whirlpool most of all.
As swirling waters swamped the boat
And snapped a mast in two,
The galleon’s mates leaped overboard
Into the churning blue.
The whirlpool dragged them under waves
Where endless chasms yawn.
The noble ship sank out of sight,
Its crew and cargo gone.
Then up from waters deep and dark
A pod of whales appeared.
They grabbed the men between their jaws
As Death’s own jaws drew near.
Resurreccíon, O mighty ship,
You bear our very best!
Resurreccíon, O mighty ship,
Where will you come to rest?
To shore the saviors carried them,
And lo! The men survived.
They never knew why came the whales,
Nor why they were alive.
They only knew their ship was doomed
Because of Fate’s cruel hand.
So many dreams and fortunes lost
Within the sight of land!
The whirlpool drowned the treasure ship
Upon that dreadful morn,
And buried it beneath the waves
Along with Merlin’s Horn.
And so today the ship’s at rest.
Removed from ocean gales,
Surrounded by a circle strange
Of ever-singing whales.
A prophesy clings to the ship
Like barnacles to wood.
Its origins remain unknown,
Its words not understood:
One day the sun will fail to rise,
The dead will die,
And then
For Merlin’s Horn to find its home,
The ship must sail again.
OTHER EDITIONS
Table of Contents
Cover
PART ONE: Beyond The Lagoon
I: At Sea
II: Darkness
III: The Horn of Merlin
IV: The Story of the Thirteenth Treasure
V: The Ballad
VI: Piece of Eight
VII: An Ancient Ship, the Pride of Spain
VIII: One Out of Three Billion
IX: The Eye of Light
PART TWO: Beyond the Whirlpool
X: Mist
XI: At Anchor
XII: Geoffrey of Bardsey
&nbs
p; XIII: The Order of the Horn
XIV: Uninvited Guest
XV: The Red Volume
XVI: Magma
XVII: The Story of the Whirlpool’s Birth
XVIII: Ageless Fears
XIX: Swirling Vapors
XX: Water Spirit
PART THREE: Beyond the Abyss
XXI: Battle in the Depths
XXII: The Passage
XXIII: Sea Stars
XXIV: Prisoners
XXV: First Loyalty
XXVI: Oldest at Birth
XXVII: Checkmate
XXVIII: Unending Spiral
XXIX: Jaws of Death
XXX: An Unexpected Twist
XXXI: A Day without Dawn
“The Ballad of the Resurreccíon”