Tomorrow's Magic

by Pamela F. Service

  “Great,” Welly muttered, and paddled until he thought his arms would break off and sink.

  The grayness was closer now and could clearly be seen as a gigantic wave. Earl redoubled his efforts physically and magically, but it didn't seem possible that they could reach the rocks in time or even that, once reached, they would prove any refuge.

  The wind roared as the wave rolled steadily toward them. With scarcely a flinch, it passed over the rocks and continued bearing down on the fragile boat. A dark, towering wall of water, its top crested into a fringe of foam. In seeming slow motion, the wave broke and began falling down upon them.

  Heather and Welly stared upward, voiceless with horror. Earl lunged forward, grabbing their shoulders, and yelled, “Hold on to your paddles! Don't let loose of your paddles, no matter what!”

  It seemed ludicrous advice, but they gripped their paddles furiously as the falling water hammered into them, driving them down toward the ocean bottom.

  Heather felt the boat dissolve around her. She was tossed over and over with no discernible up or down. The air squeezed from her lungs, and her ears hummed. Then there was a movement she vaguely recognized as rising, and after endless moments, her head burst through the surface. Gasping wildly, she swallowed lungfuls of water and air. She coughed. Her head slipped beneath the waves, and again she was sinking.

  Earl was shouting at her, shouting in her mind. “Your paddle! It's wood, old, dry wood! Grip it, concentrate on it, float like it, become like it. You are the wood. Light and buoyant, bobbing on the surface. Up and down over the waves.”

  Welly, too, heard and responded to Earl's hypnotic words but almost sank again when, remembering his glasses, he grabbed at his face to hold them in place. It took long spluttering seconds to rebuild the illusion. The new mental image produced a stick of driftwood with an armlike branch that crooked up at one end.

  Heather, now as buoyant as her paddle, sped along on the surface, and her own mind freely supplied another image. She was like a storm-tossed ship, its carved figurehead bravely bearing down on the rocky cliffs.

  And they were racing toward the cliffs! Already the long beach they had left so recently was sliding by far beneath them. She could almost feel the tearing hardness of the rocks beyond as she hurtled toward them. They would be smashed!

  A grip tightened painfully on her shoulder, moments before a jarring shock. Then blackness.

  Welly opened his eyes, a surprising act, considering he was dead. He tried to focus on the cloud-smeared sky above him. He thought about limbs and muscles and tried to twitch a set that would theoretically move an arm. An arm did move in tingles of pain. No, it was asking too much to be dead, to be peacefully, painlessly dead.

  He turned his head toward a groaning sound. Beside him, Earl lay facedown in the sand. Feebly the older boy moved a hand. Then slowly he sat up, spitting out sand and coughing.

  “Sorry,” he gasped after a moment. “I tried to make that landing a little easier.”

  “May I let go now?” a thin voice quavered above them.

  The two boys looked up and saw Heather clinging to her stick of driftwood, which was wedged firmly between two rocks. Earl staggered to his feet and caught her as she dropped. Together they toppled again onto the sand and narrowly escaped falling over a ledge.

  Only then did they see where they were: a sand-filled crevasse high on the cliffs that had once marked the ancient coast. Heather shivered and with still-numbed arms pulled herself back from the edge.

  Already the incredible wave had slunk back into the sea. The gray depths churned with the huge undertow, while winds beat the surface into froth.

  They'd lost their packs and coats in the water, and now, soaked and shivering, they huddled together on the wind-battered cliff, watching the tortured seascape below.

  “I conclude,” Welly said through chattering teeth, “that this wave was not illusion.”

  Earl groaned and shook some sand out of his hair. “No. She's good. That was some wave.”

  “Well, now she's bent on finishing off your rocks,” Heather observed.

  They looked out toward the rocks, which not long before had been their goal. From all sides, waves tore into them, battering them mercilessly, tearing away huge chunks.

  “She's certainly seeing to it that there won't be anything left to find there,” Heather said heavily. “There won't even be any ‘there’ in a few minutes.”

  Earl stared glumly at the scene but did not reply. He seemed to huddle into himself, his head sunk dejectedly on his knees. The sun dropped into a thick bank of cloud, spreading a sullen glow over the western sky. Against that backdrop, the jagged pillars and freak window of the battered rock stood sharply silhouetted.

  Behind that rock, the cloud curtain tore briefly, and the sun glowed redly through. Its bloody rays shot directly at them through the rocky portal.

  Suddenly Heather stood up and looked quickly behind them. “Earl!” she cried. “Look! Look at the light!”

  He raised his head and followed her gaze. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “I should have guessed! That rock wasn't our goal at all. Only a signpost—pointing here!”

  Even as he spoke, a mighty wave crashed against the pierced rock and toppled it into the sea. Behind it, the sun sank below the watery horizon, but not before its beams had shown them the dark cleft between two tumbled stones, stones still entwined with faintly carved vines.

  “Quickly!” Earl yelled. “Before she sees or guesses!”

  Grabbing them by their shoulders, he propelled them toward the dark opening. Heather slipped quickly through, but Welly balked at the narrow gap.

  “No time for qualms,” Earl said, shoving him into the opening.

  Three feet into the darkness, Welly stuck fast, wedged between grating rocks. A wave of panic hit him worse than in the old Welsh mine. He felt Earl apply a foot firmly to the small of his back, and suddenly he popped through.

  Grabbing up his staff, Earl crowded after him as the wind outside rose to a vengeful shriek. Ahead, they faced darkness more total than any they'd ever imagined.

  LEGEND'S RETURN

  “Earl.” Heather's voice sounded small and brittle in the utter darkness. “Do you think you can give us a light?”

  “I doubt it,” he said, close beside her. “In Avalon, my puny magic isn't worth a thing.”

  He stamped his staff sharply on the rock and muttered some words. “Nothing. Here, let's just hold hands and move carefully. We were allowed through the first gate, so there oughtn't be any traps.”

  Tucking his staff under an arm, he fumbled for their hands, and slowly they shuffled through the blackness. On either side, Heather and Welly felt rough rock walls slip by beneath their fingers. The stone floor was uneven but took no sudden drops.

  The walls were becoming damp. Their fingers recoiled at the first touch of spongy moss. Glowing with a faint violet phosphorescence, these patches seemed to swim in the darkness before them. As the moss became denser, the light faintly showed the way and cast an eerie radiance over their faces.

  The walls and floors glistened with damp, and here and there they heard the hollow drip of water over stone. They moved more confidently in the pale violet glow, but the farther they went, the less it felt as if they were traveling in a straight line. The sensation was of curling around themselves in ever decreasing circles—like being trapped in a giant snail shell.

  Ahead of them, they heard a faint musical chiming. As they drew closer, it seemed almost to have words interwoven, words they could never quite catch. It drew them on until, turning a corner, their eyes were assailed with light. They blinked in the brilliance. A patch of green-gold shone through a curtain of falling water. The drops, sparkling in the pure sunlight, cascaded over a rocky ledge. With silvery tinkling, they fell into a clear pool edged about with moss and ferns.

  The three pulled up at the beauty of the scene. Earl sighed deeply, like a traveler coming home. “Well, no stopping now,” he said
after a long moment. Tightly gripping their hands, he pulled them after him through the pool and the veil of sparkling drops.

  The water was tingling cold, but before they could gasp, they were through and standing on thick green grass. All about them the air was soft and warm, filled with a hazy golden light. Everything was of such aching loveliness, it brought tears to their eyes.

  On all sides grew trees such as Heather and Welly had seen only in pictures, great stately trunks with graceful branches that spread into a canopy overhead. Leaves fluttering in the breeze filtered the sunlight in shifting patterns of gold and green. The grass underfoot was thick and soft and scattered over with tiny white flowers. From trees and bushes and the clear blue sky came mingled birdsong.

  Earl smiled but could find no words. None of them could. He began walking through the arched trees, and the others followed, bemused with wonder.

  On every side, some new loveliness lay casually about, as though natural and not indescribably precious. Undisturbed by their passage, animals rested or fed in sundrenched glades, animals they'd seen in books or scarcely imagined in dreams. With barely audible whirrings, rainbow-winged insects flitted through the air.

  The grass sloped down to a shallow pond, its edge fringed in wind-ruffled reeds. Earl peeled off his travel-worn jacket and flopped down on the grass. Breathing its sweetness, he lay back and looked into the depths of blue sky. The others joined him. There was a gauzy timeless-ness in the air, as though a single moment had been snatched from some eternal dream.

  Sitting up at last, Earl removed his wet boots and socks and dug his toes into the cool grass. Laughing, he jumped up and waded out into the pool, rippling its clear green water.

  “Come on!” he yelled to his two friends.

  “Are you sure it's all right?” Heather asked. It was so beautiful here that, happy as it made her, she felt somehow out of place.

  “Of course it's all right! The water does wonders for sore feet.”

  Boots and socks quickly discarded, the two joined him. The smooth coolness of the water lapped about their ankles, soaking into travel-weary feet like a healing balm.

  Earl waded out farther and then, to the others' surprise, let out a joyous yell and dove into the water. For seconds, the glassy surface closed over him, then he burst through it in a shower of emerald drops. Laughing, he splashed glittering arches of water toward them. They splashed back.

  At last, ending the water war, Earl sat down chest-deep in the pond and splashed his arms in great angel wings, watching the cascading drops sparkle in the sun.

  “Boys will always be boys, I see,” said a soft, musical voice behind them.

  Earl spluttered to a stop and stood up in the water, looking embarrassed. Water dripped from his dark hair over his face. “Lady,” he said sheepishly.

  The woman laughed. “It's a good deal younger you are than when we last saw you, Merlin. But you are unmistakable and always welcome, as are any you bring.”

  Heather and Welly turned to see a woman more lovely than imagining. Her gown was of sunlight sparkling upon water and her hair an aurora of light caught with shifting rainbows. The delicacy of her face seemed carved from a precious gem, but it was softer and glowed with a golden warmth.

  She smiled, her blue eyes bright with laughter, and she held out her hands to Earl as he waded from the pool, dripping water and looking abashed.

  “Lady,” he said with a bow, “these are my friends and companions, Wellington Jones and Heather McKenna. Without them I would probably not be here.”

  The woman took them both by the hand. “You are welcome indeed. It is good to know that Merlin has found himself such stout friends. We knew he had awakened but didn't know how he might fare in that world of yours, nor when he would seek one of the few doors left open.” She looked at them, a smile playing softly on her lips. “I expect you will all have tales worth telling, and as your friend can tell you, we are very fond of tales here.”

  Heather and Welly smiled up at her but could find no words that seemed fine enough. Earl, however, said, “Lady, where is …”

  “Merlin! Two thousand years, and you are still as impatient as ever. One would think your mixed blood might mellow you some. But then, I suppose wizards are a law unto themselves.”

  Earl hung his head in chagrin, but the Lady laughed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We wouldn't want you to change, friend; you are needed as you are. Yes, I'll take you to him soon. But first, I think these children can use some rest and refreshment. And as you seem to be a growing boy again, you also might want a taste of the food Avalon offers its guests.”

  Welly was delighted at the prospect of food, but Heather said, “Oh, Lady, just being here is enough. It's all so lovely!” She stopped, surprised at her own temerity, but the Lady only smiled sadly.

  “I am glad it pleases you, child. But it hurts to hear how lovely you find it. Once our two worlds were very close, as close as a mirror and that which it reflects. They grew apart, but even as Merlin first knew them, one could still see the original in the reflection. Now, I'm afraid your world is a pale reflection indeed, and it saddens us.”

  As she talked, she led them away from the pond to a small sun-filled meadow where other beings as lovely as herself awaited them. Some seemed human or partly so, while others were definitely something else. Several greeted Earl like old friends and led the three to seats of sun-warmed rock. There they were brought food and drink in crystal plates and goblets.

  The food was lovely to the eyes, and every bite or sip had its own unique flavor, too fine and rare ever to be repeated. In the air around them was music of wind and pipes and laughter. They relaxed on the grass under the vast blue sky. Golden afternoon slipped into dusky twilight and then into glorious night. The sky glittered with a myriad of stars.

  They woke the next morning, or perhaps many mornings after, stretched comfortably on the grass. The Lady was with them and offered to lead them to Arthur.

  “He was sorely wounded when he came to us,” she told Earl as they left the meadow. “But gradually we healed him, his body at least, and returned him to his youth and vigor. His other wounds … they were healed perhaps by time. We didn't wish him to forget, only to rest and wait.”

  They had come to the shore of a large lake, gleaming like a golden mirror in the sun. The Lady led them into a shallow leaf-shaped boat. Of its own power, it moved out over the water, gliding silently past white swans, who turned their long necks to watch them pass. Heather trailed her fingers through the smooth water, then lifted them to watch the falling drops catch the light. Finally they slid onto the fine white sand of the other shore. There the Lady led them to the base of a high hill, steep and rocky. As they climbed, a stiff breeze played about their hair and over the grass.

  At the crest, the air was perfumed by a grove of flowering trees, their silver-gray trunks gnarled with age. Fallen blossoms floated along the surface of a brook, which they followed to its source, a spring bubbling up in a quiet glade. Low in the grass was a moss-softened rock, and on it lay a man sleeping.

  He was a young man, scarcely more than a boy. His skin was pale and clear. A shock of golden hair fell over a rough-carved face softened by sleep and by youth. He seemed deeply asleep, as though floating in distant peaceful dreams.

  For a moment, Earl stood looking down at him. Then with a sob he sank to his knees. Reaching for the young man's hand, he dropped his forehead upon it.

  After a time, the man stirred and opened his eyes. Blue and blurry at first, they focused on the lady. “Ah, Lady, you have such long dreams here.” He sighed. “And such rest.”

  The dark head rose beside him, and the man stared into the gaunt tear-streaked face.

  “But who … ?” He looked more closely. “Merlin, is it you? ”

  “One who scarcely hoped to see you living again, my lord.”

  Arthur laughed and sat up. “I can't say how I knew you, old wizard! Aren't you just a trifle younger than when I saw
you last?”

  His friend smiled. “Don't rub it in, youngster! Last I saw you, you were a hardened, battle-scarred warrior with streaks of gray in your golden beard.”

  The two laughed and hugged each other as friends might after several millennia.

  Time had little reality there, but in its own way, it passed and was spent renewing old acquaintances and forging new ones. Arthur and several of the denizens of Avalon listened with concern as Earl, Heather, and Welly related the events of their own recent lives.

  Arthur's concern deepened as they reconstructed the happenings in their world since he and Merlin had left it. In the end, it was a picture of heartbreaking sadness: great struggle, beauty, and achievement overlain with a wash of hate, stupidity, and inexcusable waste. Afterward, it seemed that not even the beauty and peace of Avalon could raise Arthur's spirits.

  But to Heather and Welly, although their own world was harsh, it was something to be accepted, not mourned over. And Avalon was a life apart, a sweetness to be savored: they spent the golden days and crystal nights wandering through its beauties or in companionship with its inhabitants. Waterfolk taught them swimming, and after initial trepidation on Welly's part, it seemed as natural as it would to a fish.

  But Earl spent his time with Arthur, and the two wandered restlessly over the Eldritch lands.

  The mists of another morning were rising as they walked the rim of a high waterfall. Blue rainbowed clouds rose from the chasm where the slender column of water crashed among the rocks. Moss-hung cypress sighed and whispered among themselves, and the breeze was scented with sage and wild thyme.

  Arthur kicked a loose pebble over the edge and waited to hear it clatter and bounce on the rocks far below. “What I don't understand, Merlin, is why they didn't tell me. I wasn't sleeping all that time. And they knew what was happening out there. True, some of them have lost interest; things have strayed so far apart. But the Lady and others, they watch; they know! Why didn't they tell me what was happening, how our dreams were faring—what succeeded and what failed, and how the whole thing drove itself insanely off a cliff? It was my world. They should have told me!”