Embark

by K. M. Shea

  “Better do as Kay says and go inside, Arthur,” Sir Ector suggested.

  “But—” Britt started.

  “Yes, Sir,” Sir Ywain and Sir Griflet said.

  To Britt’s shock, the two knights grabbed her by each arm and dragged her back to the keep—their grasp light but surprisingly strong. “You don’t have to tote me like a doll,” Britt said, trying to yank herself from their grasp without any success.

  “We do, or you would never go with us, My Lord,” Sir Griflet cheerfully said.

  A smile broke through Britt’s stormy countenance, and she looked at the two knights and realized—with a start—that they had both grown and now had broader shoulders and wider chests. Britt was still taller than they—just barely so—but they escorted her as if she had the strength of a helpless kitten.

  “Thank you, you two,” Britt said when they left the practice grounds behind. She glanced over her shoulder—Merlin was shouting at all the knights who had been at the archery range—and shivered.

  “You’re safe now, My Lord,” Sir Ywain said as they stomped through the Camelot’s gates.

  “Indeed,” Sir Griflet said. “No one will reach you in Camelot.”

  Chapter 6

  Blaise the Hermit

  The marksman of the stray arrow was not found.

  The episode nearly put Britt’s day-trip with Merlin in jeopardy, until Merlin reasoned that it might be safer for Britt to leave Camelot and the public eye for a day, which was how, a week later, Britt found herself in a charming cottage owned by Blaise—Merlin’s mentor, and a renown hermit.

  “You’ve recorded everything Merlin’s ever done in these books?” Britt asked, paging through the crude, leather books with awe.

  “I have,” Blaise smiled. As Merlin’s mentor, Britt should have known Blaise would also scorn most concepts of hermits and wise men. Blaise wore a bright green tunic and had well-combed, bark-brown hair. His beard was trimmed and orderly, and he was built more like a knight than a holy man.

  “So, this is like a baby book,” Britt said in delight.

  “A what?” Merlin frowned.

  “A baby book? I love it,” Blaise said, his laughter was loud and booming. “The future has such wonderful ideas,” he said. (As Merlin’s mentor, the wizard had naturally told the hermit everything, so Blaise was aware of Britt’s gender and her origins.)

  Britt tilted her head and studied an illustration. “…Is that Stonehenge?”

  “Merlin knocked one of the formations over when playing with magic. We had to get a giant from France to set it right again,” Blaise said.

  “Wait, so it’s here? It’s already been built?” Britt asked.

  Blaise nodded. “Indeed. I believe those responsible for keeping it breathed a sigh of relief when Merlin finally grew old enough to control his magic.”

  “They did not,” Merlin scoffed.

  “I want to visit it,” Britt said. “In my time, it is considered a marvel of the world. Merlin, we have to go see it.”

  Merlin rolled his eyes to his mentor. “Do you see what you have done?”

  “I won’t apologize,” Blaise laughed. “Flip a few pages forward, Britt. You’ll find the time Merlin was practicing shape-shifting and accidentally got stuck in the form of an old woman.”

  “You can shape-shift?” Britt asked, eagerly flipping pages to look at the colored illustrations.

  Merlin made a face like a puckered lemon. “I used to. It is a practice I avoid at all costs.”

  “Wise choice,” Blaise said, standing to lift a pot of boiling water off the fire. “Would either of you like blueberry tea? I use fruit and mint leaves for flavoring.”

  “Yes, please,” Britt eagerly said, looking up from the book.

  “Tell me, Britt. How do you like being King of England?” Blaise asked, pouring the hot water into three mugs.

  “I can’t say it was ever a personal aspiration, but I’m getting used to it,” Britt said, she thoughtfully leaned back in her chair. “I’ve been very lucky. I’ve made so many friends, and Sir Ector and Sir Kay welcome me like I am a real member of their family.”

  “You do the role justice. Better, I am forced to admit, than the real Arthur would,” Merlin said.

  “You just mean I listen to you. The real Arthur probably wouldn’t,” Britt said.

  “No, he would, he was merely too impulsive to make a well-thought-out decision—as made obvious by his choice to run off with a shepherdess,” Merlin said.

  “I would take the compliment, Britt. Merlin doesn’t dole them out often—it’s as if he’s afraid someone might think him a nice person or something equally as horrid,” Blaise winked.

  Merlin sniffed in distaste. “What I meant is Britt is the best possible person for this job. Obviously, as it was my spell on the sword in the stone that selected her,” he said, accenting his words with a smile.

  “You copied most of that spell from a faerie magic book,” Blaise said.

  Merlin shot his mentor a look. “How quickly I remember why I don’t visit you very often,” he said.

  “I apologize, lad,” Blaise said, solving Britt’s puzzlement over Merlin’s use of lad and lass in medieval England. “It is merely that I don’t often meet someone who can rile you as much as I can,” Blaise said before turning to Britt. “Merlin was an awkward child. He was too smart and found it difficult to get along with others his age. I’m glad he has found you—even if he had to look through centuries to find someone who could stand on equal ground with him.”

  “Blaise!” Merlin said.

  “Thank you,” Britt said, leaning her elbows on the table. She took the mug Blaise gave her, sniffing the mint-scented steam that rose from it.

  “Our partnership works only because Britt acts more like a man than a woman,” Merlin said. “She has never displayed any of the usual symptoms of an irrational woman—for which I am thankful.”

  Britt eyed Merlin. “If you don’t stop talking, I will be forced to kick you on behalf of all the feminists in the twenty-first century.”

  “Careful—it’s hot. You shouldn’t drink it for a few minutes,” Blaise warned, putting a mug in front of Merlin. “Did you put water in the horse trough when you arrived?”

  “I did, but they could probably use a refill,” Merlin said, groaning as he stood and brushed off his baggy cloak.

  “Still wearing that thing, are you?” Blaise asked, shaking his head at the cloak.

  “It’s for the effect,” Merlin said, “to make my role appear more authentic.”

  “Maybe it would have worked with young Arthur, but your current King has more of a refined look to her.”

  Merlin looked to Britt, his eyebrows furrowed. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “She looks faerie enough to stand with the Lady of the Lake.”

  “It’s something to think about,” Blaise shrugged.

  Merlin grunted. “I’ll see to the horses,” he said, making for the cottage door. He paused in the doorframe. “If you show her your illustrations about you know what, I will come back here at night and shave your beard off as you sleep,” Merlin warned before ducking outside.

  “What’s you know what?” Britt asked when the young wizard was gone.

  Blaise snickered, but he shook his head. “Even I’m not that cruel, lass. Now, tell me about you. In his last letter, Merlin mentioned there was a threat against your life. How are you coping?”

  “Well enough,” Britt shrugged. “It’s not really anything new. Even if Merlin forgets, I always have it at the back of my mind that Camelot eventually splinters. What’s an attempted murder or two next to that?”

  “Ahh, yes, your knowledge of King Arthur comes into play,” Blaise said, sipping his tea. “You do realize that as you are the king, it is you who creates the legends? That is to say, perhaps you could keep your kingdom from suffering.”

  “Merlin has told me as much, and he pointed out that the ending as I know it—where Camelot is split because of
the love affair between Lancelot and Guinevere—doesn’t have to happen to me. I mean, I’m a female, and I don’t give two hoots about Guinevere. But…”

  “It still bothers you,” Blaise guessed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Tell me, Britt. What do your legends of the future say about Merlin?” Blaise asked.

  “Well…that he’s a wise old wizard. He usually has a super long white beard and looks more like a mischievous grandpa. I think…at some point he’s killed or something. I don’t remember; I just know he wasn’t with Arthur when Lancelot and Guinevere started their little escapade,” Britt said.

  Blaise nodded. “And is that true?”

  “About him dying?”

  “No, about who he is.”

  “No,” Britt slowly admitted.

  “Did Merlin ever tell you I’m something of a seer? I can see into the future—farther and with more clarity than most,” Blaise said. “I’ve seen this America of yours.”

  “Really?” Britt asked, straightening in her chair.

  Blaise took a sip of his tea and nodded. “It’s also come to my attention that Britain and Europe—when compared to the Middle East and places like Greece or Egypt—are particularly bad at recording history. Our culture is more about oral tradition—right now, anyway,” Blaise said.

  “I could see that,” Britt nodded. She took a sip of her blueberry tea, enjoying the natural flavors.

  “So even if you are the same king all the King Arthur legends are about, don’t you think your story would morph over the centuries?” Blaise asked.

  “What do you mean?” Britt asked, her tone guarded.

  “Say all of the stories you heard about Arthur are about you. Pieces of them might be true—like Sir Ector and Sir Kay adopting you. Other parts, the storytellers might change for the sake of their audience. Right now everyone knows of Merlin and respects him, in spite of his age. But a hundred years from now, will people still believe a young wizard and a time-traveling woman were responsible for the best kingdom in ancient England? I find it unlikely.”

  Britt was quiet as she thought.

  “Stories—and history—are not unbiased. Each new generation will put their own thoughts and feelings into the past…so over the years, a fact that was inconsequential—like the age of a certain wizard—is changed. Perhaps a generation after you, storytellers will feel the need to reinvent King Arthur, and they will make Merlin old, or Sir Kay cruel to you.”

  “So you’re saying I can’t trust the legends I know because they have been changed,” Britt said.

  “In a way,” Blaise said. “After all, have you ever even considered befriending Lancelot? The way Merlin says it, you win men for your cause like a faerie lady wins hearts.”

  Britt made a face. “Have you met Lancelot?”

  Blaise laughed. “Then don’t befriend him. All I am saying is rule with your gut, and use that sharp mind of yours. Your kingdom isn’t the one you’ve heard of—at least, not in its entirety.”

  Britt was silent and drank her tea.

  “Have I at all changed your thoughts on the subject?” Blaise asked.

  Britt hesitated, something—like an inkling of hope—was forming in her mind. “If my story is changed to suit storytellers…does this mean…one day, I might go home?” Britt asked, raising her eyes to meet Blaise’s gaze.

  Blaise gave Britt a sad smile. “I don’t know, lass. I can see the future of technologies and countries, but individuals slip past my eyes,” he hesitated. “I doubt you will. Only a few of the faerie have such powerful magic, and they would have to be absolutely desperate before they would use it. Do you still want to leave that badly?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” Britt admitted. “Sometimes I’m so happy here I could never picture being anywhere else. Other times…I want to be back in my time so badly it makes me sick.”

  “Such is the unfortunate burden of a time-traveler. You are blessed—and cursed—to stand between two times and two very different groups of people who love you. Yours is not an easy road.”

  Britt traced the rim of her mug with her thumb.

  “But, cheer up. You are respected—and adored. Now, since Merlin seems to be taking his time, I shall tell you about you know what.”

  “DON’T even dwell upon it!” Merlin barked, throwing open the door.

  “I was starting to wonder if you had fallen in the trough,” Blaise chuckled. “Sit, and we’ll have some lunch.”

  “You cannot mollify me with offerings of food,” Merlin said, ignoring Britt’s thoughtful gaze as he sat down.

  “He’s right,” Britt finally said, swapping her solemn expression for a grin. “If you want to sooth him, you’ll have to compliment his magical powers.”

  “Merlin’s powers are very great,” Blaise said.

  “Thank you,” Merlin sniffed.

  “Especially now that he has them under control. He came to me a toddler—those were dark times in my life as a result,” Blaise said, winking at Britt.

  Britt laughed, egging on Merlin to accuse the hermit of being nothing but a boring bachelor before his arrival—getting a larger laugh out of Britt.

  The witty conversation continued well into lunch and ended only when Britt choked on her drink in her mirth.

  In the mid-afternoon, Britt and Merlin reluctantly admitted it was time to go. Britt saddled the horses while Merlin consulted with his mentor on several matters. By the time they were finished, Britt had already mounted Llamrei and was waiting for Merlin outside the cottage.

  “Thank you for your help, Blaise,” Merlin said, glancing at Britt—who was unaware of his scrutiny as she adjusted her stirrup. “She was happy about the Round Table, but since Lancelot’s arrival, she looks more and more like a person shoved to the brink of an abyss.”

  “I am glad I could lighten her load. I only hope it helps,” Blaise said.

  “It will. She has not laughed half as much since she arrived in our time,” Merlin said.

  “I wanted to ask you about that,” Blaise said. “She’s been here over a year and a half, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has she changed at all? Physically I mean?”

  “No. All her measurements are the same—or so the tailor and armor smiths tell me. Why?” Merlin asked, looking at his mentor with worry.

  Blaise hesitated. “It only occurred to me, that as a person of the future stationed in the past…”

  “Yes?”

  “She might not age,” Blaise finally said. “Whatever magic you used on her had to be powerful to pull her back through recorded history. It might have stunted her aging.”

  Merlin frowned as he studied Britt, his brilliant blue eyes swirling.

  Blaise patted Merlin on the back. “Do not worry over it. It is just the musings of an old man. Be careful with her.”

  Merlin snorted. “You don’t have to tell me that. Tell her! She is always going off on all sorts of fool’s errands, nearly breaking her neck.”

  “I wasn’t talking about her physical body. She has a gentle heart. Move carefully,” Blaise said before slipping past Merlin to say farewell to Britt.

  Merlin was frozen in the doorway for a moment. “What in the name of—what is that supposed to mean?” Merlin muttered before following him.

  “Thank you for visiting, Britt. I hope to see you again someday soon,” Blaise said, smiling up at Britt.

  “Thank you. Me, too. I would still like to hear about whatever it is that embarrasses Merlin so badly,” Britt said, patting her mare’s neck.

  “Someday,” Blaise promised. “I wish you luck. You are a great King, Britt Arthurs.”

  “Thank you.”

  Blaise turned to Merlin. “Well, my greatest pupil, I wish you well in your endeavors. Come again when you have more stories to share so I might record them.”

  “Hmph,” Merlin said before he boosted himself onto his horse’s back. “Take care,” he finally said.

  “I will. Ride well—and t
ry not to bring down Stonehenge.”

  “Blaise,” Merlin groaned over Blaise’s booming laughter as Britt and Merlin rode from the cottage.

  “I like him,” Britt said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Merlin groused.

  Chapter 7

  Sad Returns

  Britt and Merlin made good time on their ride home, and the sun was still high in the sky when they were less than half an hour—or so Britt estimated—away from Camelot.

  “You’ve been quiet,” Britt observed, tucking a strand of her gold-colored hair behind her ear.

  Merlin squinted at the sky. “It’s nothing. Just something Blaise said. I cannot fathom what he meant by it.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That you have a gentle heart, and I should be careful with you.”

  Impressed that the hermit had caught on to her favorable feelings for Merlin, Britt raised her eyebrows. “That was…kind of him, I guess.”

  “I cannot make sense of it. It is almost like he thought…” Merlin cut himself off and dropped his panicked gaze to Britt. “You are not in love with one of your knights, are you? Was it Gawain or Tor? Is that why you rode off questing?

  Britt burst into gusting laughing. “I am not in love with them, no.”

  “Good,” Merlin said, settling back into the saddle. “That would have been worrisome.”

  “Give me some credit. I’m not going to fall for a boy still in his teenage years. My gosh, I’m at least five years older than most of them!”

  “So, the older knights then? Sir Bedivere is about your age, I believe. It cannot be Kay—he is as comforting as a mountain bear.”

  “I’m not in love with Sir Bedivere, though he could be a model. And Kay is hardly a bear…”

  “Then Sir Bodwain or Sir Ulfius?”

  “Sir Ulfius could be my dad. No! I’m not in love with any of my knights!” Britt said.

  “Good,” Merlin repeated, falling silent again as Britt shook her head.

  Britt steered Llamrei around a puddle and ducked a branch before Merlin spoke again. “Is it me?”

  Britt felt her stomach turn cold—like it was sitting on ice. “What?” she said, trying to laugh.