Ever My Merlin (Book 3, My Merlin Series)

by Ardis, Priya

  Matt threw a red vial in his face. “Not you.”

  Robin’s eyes widened with a surprised look just before the vial exploded in his face. Red powder puffed in the air. He slumped down next to Raj. I gaped at Matt. “What the hell, Merlin?”

  “They’re not dead, just asleep,” Matt said.

  With a frown, I crossed to Robin and leaned down to check his pulse. It pounded strongly against his neck. I checked Raj’s. His skin, although still warm, felt different. I checked his neck. I couldn’t feel a pulse.

  “It’s just a sleeping potion. I threw a little bit too much at Raj.” Matt moved my fingers directly on Raj’s chest and pressed deep. Under the skin, life thrummed.

  I sighed in relief and sat back on my haunches. “Why would Raj attack you?”

  “Vane—”

  “Not everything goes back to him,” I exclaimed.

  “He convinced the wizards to follow him once before.”

  I stared at him. “Why are you so bent on hating him? Do you know what happened to him after he was forced to leave you?”

  “There was no force. He left,” he retorted. Then, his eyes narrowed. “You’re seeing his memories.”

  I nodded. “They’re pretty gruesome. He fought in Carthage—”

  “You can’t allow the past to affect you. He had a difficult childhood. It happens. So did I. It’s what he’s chosen to do now that terrifies me. He’s bent on power, Ryan. He always will be. His past has made him so, but his current actions can’t be excused because of it.”

  “I know that—” I stumbled when the plane sunk, beginning its final descent.

  “We should strap in.” Matt grabbed me by the arm and hauled me into a nearby seat. He threw himself into the seat opposite me. His face was tight with a tinge of a sickly glaze to it. He grabbed the sick bag from a side pocket built into the seat and clutched the paper bag like a lifeline. “You shouldn’t have stowed along.”

  “You shouldn’t have tried to sneak off.” Wisps of hair hung over my eyes. I blew at them. “We’re in this together. No matter how upset you are at me.”

  “I thought we were in it together,” Matt retorted. “You’re incapable of listening, aren’t you? Is it really so hard to understand why I don’t want you along for this? You are tied to Vane. I don’t want him to know what I am doing.”

  “Good plan, Merlin.” I stuck out a thumb at the prostrate Robin and Raj. “Seems like the whole keeping it secret thing worked really well.”

  Matt’s expression turned grumpy. “Secrets never seem to work well in this century.”

  “You might consider updating your philosophy.”

  The amber in Matt’s eyes flashed. “Thanks to you, it’s all I have left.”

  His words punched me somewhere low. “Not all.”

  Matt didn’t reply. After we touched down on a secluded airstrip in Colombo, Sri Lanka, Matt threw more sleeping potions at the two pilots upon landing. We pushed the plane’s aft door open and extended the stowed air stairs. They slid forward on rails and unfolded outward. We avoided the waiting pit crew fairly easily. After a quick exchange of immigration cards and previously completed forms (from the date Matt filled out on the form, I realized he’d been planning this trip since Greece), we exited the airport. Gloomy clouds hovered over the horizon, yet the sight of them finally eased the tension in my shoulders. With some magical inducement, the men in white customs uniforms inspected the questionable items in his bag. I wasn’t keen to be detained in a country where a singular conviction of smuggling resulted in hanging.

  Matt pulled me toward a waiting line of taxis. I watched a man in a business suit negotiate a fare with the taxi before accepting the ride, and did the same. I made Matt squeeze into the narrow backseat of a yellow-black, three-wheeled tuk tuk, barely big enough for two. It may have not been the best choice to pick a three-wheeler in the dust and smog of the city, but I’d always wanted to ride one. In the front, where the driver sat on a seat that looked more like a stool, there were no doors. In the backseat, the windows were cutouts without any glass. An unused mileage counter shuddered in the wind as the taxi flew down an open highway.

  We sped past white-sand beaches. Hard bits of salty rain peppered us like miniscule bullets. Deep blue ocean and an abundant sprinkling of greenery stretched as far as the eye could see on one side of the taxi (my side). The swaying palm trees attested to the fact that we were traveling the outskirts of a huge island. On the other side (Matt’s side), exhaust fumes and clouds of smog that went hand-in-hand with emerging industrialization were his only view. We passed beachfront hotels. Many appeared recently renovated, still bearing the marks of the 2004 tsunami that devastated the region. People streamed through the streets. Street vendors reopened their shuttered shops as the latest threat of a tsunami abated.

  The three-wheeler tuk tuk turned off towards the city center and crossed a small lake in the middle. Men in paddleboats rowed casually along it. Huge Buddhist statues hugged the bridges. However, the soothing sounds of the ocean quickly disappeared under a layer of diesel-induced smog and billboards with squiggly writing. Renovated Colonial forts interspersed with glass high-rise buildings. In a cacophony of honking horns and fast-talking locals, the three-wheeler squeezed into a narrow street and through the heart of a bazaar. Shops and department stores advertised various clothing and crafts in rupee amounts. Then, the smell of rice and colored curries hit my nostrils.

  My stomach rumbled. Loudly. “Matt—”

  He groaned. “We might miss the train.”

  “We’ll get another one.” I lowered my voice. “Anyway, I need to get supplies—”

  “We’ll get them later.”

  I raised a brow. “In the middle of nowhere? Do you really want to watch me wash my undies every day?”

  Matt turned red in the face. I almost laughed, not surprised he was the sort that any mention of the unmentionables would send him into a dither. He scowled at me as if to say he knew what I was pulling, but despite a downpour of rain, he tapped the driver’s shoulder.

  “Stop here.”

  A lunch of yellow curried vegetables with a hint of coconut, white rice, and a mango smoothie (called a “lassie” by the waiter) later, I made quick work of gathering a few supplies. Mostly. When a shop full of gorgeous patterned sarongs, waving in the wind like banners, beckoned me closer, Matt adroitly pushed me into a yawn-inducing luggage store instead. I got a backpack—a rucksack, as he called it—to haul around with me.

  An hour after our impromptu stop, Matt hustled me back into another three-wheeler. It was a short ride under grey skies and industrial-tinged rain to the Colombo Fort train station. The sudden jerk of the rickshaw, to avoid an unmindful pedestrian, jarred me. I was holding a metal pole on the partition that separated the driver from the passengers, but my hand slipped and Matt caught me as I flew back into him. There were no seat belts. Matt’s arm went around my waist to hold me steady. His breath blew warmly against my nape. I grabbed the pole that framed the window and pushed away from him, scooting along the torn pleather seat. He let me go.

  But then, he was always letting me go.

  Inside the station, Matt managed to get tickets on a departing diesel train for a second-class cabin (only a limited number of trains had first-class cabins)—which meant no air-conditioning during the ride. Inside the train station, beautiful, whitewashed wooden railings and walkways crossed over barren concrete platforms below. Like the rest of the city, old Colonial architecture shone amidst modern industrialized steel.

  A khaki-uniformed guard with a long rifle walked in front of me. From passing knowledge, I knew the country had recently ended a thirty-year civil war. The Tamil Tigers, a separatist liberation group in northeast Sri Lanka, continually used suicide-bombers to target civilians, until their defeat by the government in 2009. I was glad we were heading toward the middle of the country, and not the north.

  The diesel train pulled forward onto the platform: a long metal snake with
stripes of rusty red and blotchy white. Scratches and dents marred its sides, indicating the age of the workhorse engine. Matt and I climbed up steep steps into the railway car. Rows of two seats per side made up the interior. In a few minutes, every seat was filled, and by that time, the train started. A gang of boys in similar short-sleeved, plaid cotton shirts and dark trousers stood at the ends of the compartment just at the exits, presumably poised to jump out if the conductor asked for their tickets.

  Once we left the city, the true journey began. Almost immediately, the sights turned rural. The only thing consistent was an on-again, off-again downpour of rain. Sharp ash that caked my nostrils cleared, only to be replaced with the smell of lush foliage. The countryside afforded absolutely stunning sights of verdant fields, colorful flowers, and wet, sloping hillsides. I imagined myself taking a train ride through the Garden of Eden.

  We passed farms upon farms, and hills with steps carved into them. There were small villages marked by domed, white temples. Railroad tracks took us across high, Roman-built bridges with arched columns over crisp blue waters. Locals in a mixture of western (shirts and khakis) and traditional (sarongs and saris) clothing chattered with tourists. Merchants passed through the car, offering snacks (very popular) and tea (even more popular).

  While I gaped at scenery, Matt studied a guidebook. He bought it at the bazaar in Colombo. It completely captured his interest. A little girl with pigtails, braided and tied at the ends with bright red bows, hung over the seat in front of us. She stared at Matt with huge eyes. I smiled at her and she giggled. Matt glanced at her briefly, then went back to reading his book. The little girl’s lip stuck out in a disappointed pout before she flounced around and sank back into her seat.

  I could picture Vane laughing with her. He had a soft spot for children. The young siblings of the other lacrosse players back home had loved Coach Vane. (He always found little jobs on the field for them to do. It worked even better than ice cream.) Shaking my head at the unexpected pang the memory caused, I tugged at Matt’s sleeve. “You’re missing everything.”

  “I’m not here to enjoy the landscape, Ryan,” Matt replied without looking up from a guidebook that must have also contained the secrets of the universe.

  “Live a little.” We passed yet another towering waterfall nestled in the crevices of a hill.

  Matt shrugged. “I prefer to make sure we’re not all dead soon.”

  Which, apparently, was my preference. I ground my teeth. “How long are you going to be upset with me?”

  “I’m not upset.”

  Yeah, right. I asked, “Then what?”

  He stared at the guidebook. “My power in Vane’s hands is more than simply not good. It is catastrophic. He’ll use what he learns to stack the odds in his favor.”

  “Stack the odds in our favor,” I argued.

  “If only I could believe that.”

  I sighed. It was not an argument I was going to win, because everything I’d seen in Vane’s memories so far led me to believe Matt was right. Vane only listened to himself. Unlike Matt, though, I was banking on the hunch that the two end goals were one and the same. Then, I spotted the tight lines at the edges of Matt’s lips. He was holding something back. It didn’t surprise me, but again, it hurt and I was tired of feeling hurt.

  The train crossed a small town. At its center stood a temple with a giant statute of a chubby-cheeked monkey. Matt’s head jerked up to study the passing statue.

  “That’s Hanuman.” Matt flipped through the pages of the guidebook. “It says here—in the epic, Ramayana, the monkey god helped rescue Princess Seetha. King Rawana kidnapped her and took her to his home in ancient Lanka. He hoped to woo her into becoming one of his wives. Prince Rama came to rescue her after Hanuman found her. Rama’s and Rawana’s armies battled across the island until Rama finally defeated the king in battle.”

  “Why do I care?” I leaned back against the hard plastic of the seat. A gust of cool wind through the open window made my hair dance. I tamed it as best I could. The temperature dropped as the sun sank lower into the horizon.

  “King Rawana was said to be a master of astrology. Supposedly, the creator god, Brahma, gave him the nectar of immortality as a celestial gift.”

  “You think he had the Healing Cup—”

  Matt put a hand over my mouth and glanced around the train. People continued to chatter on without paying any attention to us.

  “Ease up, Merlin.” I pushed his hand away.

  “I don’t want to run into another Robin Chaucer.”

  “How do you know Robin wouldn’t have helped us? It was Raj who attacked us.”

  “He’s a Regular. He’ll only get in the way.”

  It was an arrogant statement Vane would have definitely made, and yet, coming from Matt, it left me momentarily speechless. “I’m a Regular.”

  “Of course you are,” Matt said in a placating tone. His voice lowered. “Listen, I’m not sure how it’s all connected, except every instinct I have tells me that the answers we seek lie here. Our foundations go back to this region—”

  “What do you mean the foundations? How so?”

  “The Council theorizes that the Keltoi emerged first in the civilizations of the Indus Valley roughly in 3000 BCE.”

  The wizards called themselves Keltoi. It was some kind of ancient name.

  Matt continued, “Sects of the Indus people migrated across Mesopotamia, Greece, and up into Western Europe. Among them, us. If you follow the derivation of languages spoken in the region today, you can follow the migration of magi—” With another furtive glance over his shoulder, he lowered his voice. “Our people.”

  He raked a hand through brown, shaggy hair. “But more than that, I get the feeling that we’re supposed to be here. That we didn’t wind up in this place… at this time… by coincidence.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Lady knew what would happen once the Fisher King awoke. She knew we’d come to this region to avert the disaster.”

  The more I learned of the Lady, the less I liked her. Now, she got credit for my decisions too. “I made us come here. You wanted to go back to England, remember? Anyway, Bran of Pellam took the Healing Cup to Aegae.”

  “I’m not so sure. From what I could glean from Lelex, the mermaids beheaded Bran in Aegae. One version of the Fisher King story says as much—that the head of the king came back and was buried, and its magic protected the Island of Britain from marauders thereafter.”

  I rolled my eyes. Boy, had they been wrong about that. The Vikings sacked Britain for a hundred or so years after Arthur.

  Matt continued, “The point is—the mermaids never had the Cup. Galahad and Perceval must have found it. In the legends, it’s not clear which one got the cup. They were supposed to bring it back to Britannia, but Galahad never returned.”

  I blinked. “I thought you sent Galahad after the Cup. Who is Perceval?”

  “Actually, three set out after the Fisher King. Perceval, Galahad, and Bors. I didn’t mention it before because it was irrelevant. From what I’ve been able to glean, only one of them seemed to have actually gotten the Cup. Also, Vane and Perceval were close. It happened a long time ago, but I didn’t want to remind Vane of him.”

  I stared at him. He’d just made a small admission that he actually cared enough to spare his brother’s feelings. Was I ever going to understand these two? I cleared my throat. “Vane and Perceval?”

  “Vane brought Perceval to Camelot with him. Perceval was the youngest son of a noble. He was orphaned and Vane trained him. In turn, Perceval worshipped Vane.” Matt muttered, “Seems he has a thing for orphans.”

  That dig was directed at me. I ignored it since I heard an underlying edge to his tone. He’d been jealous. Wow, Merlin jealous. My head swam with the insight. Then, it clicked. “Was Perceval from Carthage?”

  “Yes, that is where Vane found him. You’ve seen him in Vane’s memories?”

  I nodded.

 
“As I said, they were close.” He went back to reading the guidebook.

  My eyes raked over Matt’s profile. The straight line of his jaw was so similar to Vane’s. Yet, I could never get a good handle on who he was—Matt or Merlin. Matt, I could trust. Merlin, I never had. Matt would save his brother. Would Merlin? After what I’d seen of Vane’s memories, their animosity didn’t make sense. When had it all gone so wrong? At least the brothers felt so strongly about each other once, it gave me hope that they would again.

  It also made me wonder if I made a distinction in my head that wasn’t there. Matt or Merlin. Either way, be it Matt and Ryan or Merlin and Ryan, we were at a standoff.

  I took the first step. “Matt, I need to tell you something. Vane had a vision about you.”

  We pulled up into a train station as the train screeched to a halt. More rain poured over the steel roof of a thin concrete platform. A sign declared the stop to be the city of Kandy. Decorative, twinkling lights and bright lanterns were strung across the platform. At its center, a banner celebrated the upcoming Vesak Poya festival. We were halfway to Ella.

  ***

  Almost four hours later, I sat, annoyed, in the train. So much for taking the first step—I may as well have not said anything. Beside me, Matt flipped through the guidebook. He’d already read twice. I seriously considered chucking it out the window. His reaction to Vane’s vision had been two underwhelming sentences. “It doesn’t change my plans. Believe me, I know what I’m doing.” Then, he turned back to the guidebook and buried his nose in its pages without speaking another word.

  Boys, I cursed.

  The train took us closer to the mountains in the middle of the island and up into the hills and higher elevation. Outside, the dense foliage resembled a jungle. We passed through a short tunnel, hewn out of rock, and the countryside opened to the sky. Tidy rows of tea bushes layered hillside terraces of a large tea estate. At its center, I spotted a stately white Colonial house.