Merlin put his hands on his hips, looked at the staff leaning up against the chair opposite his and said, "Really? You're excited about police? Ah, you want to be off your leash a bit. Relax. We need to avoid these people now, not confront them with a scorching blast. You have a lot to learn it seems," said Merlin.
Merlin stood. A scowl furrowed his eyebrows, and he knew a fast decision must be made. He took three steps to the staff, and grasped it firmly in his right hand. He smiled as the power of the staff mixed with his own. This is better than sex, he thought. He sighed. A second thought brought a soft smile to his lips. I do have to test that thought. His smile grew broader.
Merlin focused his attention, reached out to the willing staff, and together they quickly formulated a plan. Raising the staff off of the old oak floor and pointing it straight out toward the bookshelves, he clarified his intention, and then spun slowly in place to complete a full 360° circle. Everything in the house with the exception of the books in this library, from the clothes in his closets and dressers, to his furniture, and even his DNA and fingerprints, immediately broke down into their constituent molecules and would never be found no matter the depth of the search. None of those things could, or would, be returned to this world. And nothing would be found in this house as Merlin erased his presence here forever.
Pulling his power back into himself, Merlin slowly turned and looked at the hundreds of books shelved around the room. He knew his four other homes were still safe and he decided to spread these books around. Once again, he reached out to his staff and spun slowly in a full circle. His free hand pointed from wall to wall as he spun with the commands to move the books.
"Books on the west shelf. To the York house. Go.
Books on the east shelf. To the Cambridge house. Go.
Books on the south shelf. To the Cardiff house. Go
Books on the north shelf. To the Newcastle house. Go"
Nothing happened. The books stayed on the shelves and didn't as much as quiver.
Merlin's entire inner being lurched and felt as if it had been cut loose from reality. He looked at the shelves. He reviewed his internal thoughts about the spell and noted he'd omitted one specific part of the magic that would transport the books. He shook his head; this kind of thing seemed to be happening more and more lately. Three more seconds passed. He reviewed the spell again and decided he had it right now.
He repeated both the spell and the spinning and to his relief, the books disappeared. He took a deep breath and sent waves of gratitude to his staff.
Merlin looked around the room at the now empty shelves, and a careless gesture with his left hand dissolved the spell that normally protected the room from burglars.
He remembered his car, wondered why he'd forgotten it, and decided he really did not want to lose the car. He pointed his staff out through the walls to the garage. A quick word, "Go!" and the car was instantly transported to the Cardiff home. It's too bad, thought Merlin, that I can't drive it there. We both would've enjoyed that.
Like anyone going on a long trip, Merlin did one last check of the house by slowly turning a circle and reaching out into every room for any trace of fae or himself. He found none. It was as if he'd never been here.
With a soft smile of regret for leaving one of his favourite houses, he dropped his chin to his chest, imagined the Cardiff home, and disappeared.
Security Goes To Merlin's house
A few seconds after Merlin disappeared, Ross's sergeant knocked on the Fiesta driver-side window. "Sir. You OK?"
Ross turned his head, looked up at the Sergeant's eyes and nodded. "Yes, Sergeant, just reviewing the data about this individual. But I'm fine, thank you."
Ross got out of the car, took three limping steps and opened the rear door. He reached into the back seat of the patrol car and took out his protective vest and helmet. He strapped the vest into place, put on the helmet, pulled the visor up and looked at his team of men assembled in front of him. He took his pistol out of the locked case in the backseat, chambered a round, flipped off the safety and pointed it straight down at his side.
"Safety's off," he said. The men responded quickly with all of their weapons including loosening the knives in their leg sheaths. Each met his eyes and nodded to confirm they were ready.
He pointed to the two men on his far left and said, "The back, wait till you hear me give the signal on the radio." He turned to the next two and said, "Cover the windows on the east." The next two in line got the windows on the west. Glancing at the remaining four men, he said, "You're with me. We're going in the front." The men immediately moved to their assigned locations while Ross and his team moved to the front door.
Ross looked at the large ornate door handle. It never hurts to try he thought. He gently took the handle and - to his surprise - it turned easily. A gentle push on the door surprised him with how easily and silently it swung inwards.
The two men holding the battering ram dropped it onto the lawn and in a quick glance, Ross noted the large divot it created when it landed.
As the swinging door reached the extent of its travel, Ross peered in. He didn't see any tripwires or other signs of a booby-trap. The 12-foot wide hallway in front of him had polished wood stairs leading up one half of the hallway and a view down towards the back and closed doors at the end down the other half. Shiny metal picture hangers dotted the walls and clean rectangles on the painted surface marked the size of the paintings they'd supported. The two doors to his immediate right and left stood wide open.
Looking into the door on his left he could see a floor-to-ceiling bookcase without a single book in sight. There were no carpets on the floors and no tables he could see. There was nothing but the empty shelves.
He turned to his right and the open door there showed a small brick fireplace with a black log holder at the base. It wasn't lit nor did it appear there had been a recent fire. The mantle was an impressive 3-inch thick, 8-foot long length of oak. Ross couldn't see anything but a blank wall above the mantle. He noted there was an empty picture hook above the fireplace and the wall was slightly darker around the edges where a picture frame used to hang.
He spoke into his radio, "It appears the house is empty. This is too easy and there's something wrong here. I'm going inside to check for traps. Hold your position."
Ross took a small, hesitant step across the threshold. He knew had there been any bombs or booby-traps, they likely would have sprung right away and he'd already be a wounded man, body armour or no body armour. A shiver went up his back as the memory of his shocked disbelief of having a bullet tear through his leg played yet again in his mind. He took two small steps to his left and peered in through the doorway to the former library. He confirmed that it was totally and completely empty. He turned around, took eight slow, careful steps looking for any sign of a trigger that would set off a trap, and looked into what would have been a formal dining room. It was empty as well.
"Rear door team, is the door locked?" Ross asked.
He heard the surprised response, "Negative, Sir. It's not locked."
"Enter carefully. Do a quick visual, watch for traps," Ross ordered.
30 seconds later his team reported that all was clear, and the back storage rooms and kitchen appeared to be completely empty.
Ross looked at the team members behind him and then swung his arm in a come-in-here sign and pointed up the staircase. His team quickly entered and ran up the stairs to investigate each room on the second floor. The messages soon came back. "Empty, sir" reported each of the four men one by one.
Ross switched channels and said, "Command, the house appears empty. Not just empty of people, but of everything. There is no furniture, there are no books. There is absolutely nothing that we can see in the house. We'll need a forensics team for DNA analysis, fingerprints etc."
"That team is standing by, one block away from you, and has been given the go signal," said the voice in Ross's earpiece. "They'll be there in two minutes."
Discussion With Daghdha
Merlin's home in Cardiff couldn't have been more different than his London house. Instead of an imposing mansion-like building, it was a single-story, wood-framed bungalow constructed in the early 1950's as post-war housing for World War 2 veterans and their young families. The owner before Merlin had covered the old wood siding boards with sheets of white aluminum and replaced the old black shingles with fashionably dark-green ones.
But now the veterans were dying of old age, and young families were moving in to rejuvenate the neighbourhood. The silence and placid pace of the street with its fully grown, spreading English oak trees shading the yards and street had been replaced over the past few years with the joyous energy of young children at play. The sedate cocktail parties had disappeared and now backyard barbecue and beer parties were the standard summer activity. And instead of quiet shade and fluttering birds, more than one of the trees contained a tree house of undetermined architectural design.
Merlin's small front yard was surrounded by an immaculately-maintained, white picket fence. While Merlin was extremely popular with the children, some of the older residents resented him. He seemed to ignore the long-blooming, fragrant roses growing luxuriously on the fence, yet they bloomed more heavily and longer than those of his rose-growing neighbours. And, much to the annoyance of more than one bird lover, more birds and more species of birds lived in Merlin's trees than in those any other house on the street. No matter what kind of food these envious neighbours put into their feeders, or how ornate the bird houses, the birds ate, nested, and raised their young with Merlin.
One old biddy had even started spying on Merlin's feeders to see what he fed them, and how he managed to keep them full all the time. No matter how often she peeked into the yard when Merlin was away, the feeders were full. The problem was that - thanks to a small spell - she forgot her visit as soon as she'd left Merlin's property. Her family and friends were concerned about her mental health and were talking about placing her in a senior's home.
Merlin's living room, with its one large window shaded by a massive oak tree and framed by blue velvet drapes, was usually too dark to read without lights. This meant that at any time of day other than high noon, Merlin had lights on if he was reading. Shelves lined this room except for two breaks. One was a fireplace on the outer wall of the house, and the other, opposite it, a space in the shelves where a watercolour by Turner occupied a place of honour. The painting showed the gentle blues of a flowing spring amidst the grey of the surrounding rocks at one of the hidden entrances to a fae domain. Turner likely hadn't known about the fae residence back in the early 1800's when he painted it, but Merlin suspected his sensitive, artistic soul felt some kinship with the place.
The books Merlin teleported from London this morning were neatly stacked along one wall because there was no room left on the shelves. Merlin, wearing his oldest, most disreputable jeans and a favourite plaid work shirt he'd imported from Canada, and with a cup of tea in hand, wandered barefoot along in front of his book shelves touching his favourite volumes as if in benediction.
He was considering what to do with them all and where to stack them when he felt someone of great power approaching.
Books forgotten instantly, he turned to the centre of the room. His tea cup disappeared from his hand to clatter in the kitchen sink on the other side of the wall. He leaned one arm casually along a book shelf and did his best to appear relaxed. He was anything but relaxed as the power coming at him was immense and he was so newly recovered he hadn't time to fully rebuild his energy stores.
He felt something missing, thought about it for a second. It had been so long since the staff was part of his life, he'd almost forgotten having it in his hand. A quick wave at his staff on the other side of the room and it teleported with a snap into his open palm. He took a deep breath and considered whether it would be prudent to bar entry to his home or accept the guest. He decided the lesser evil was to accept the guest. Anybody this powerful would not appreciate being stopped. He watched as an image of a tall, fully robed man slowly solidified in his living room.
"Lord Merlin. Do you have a few moments for an old companion?"
Merlin relaxed considerably.
"Lord Daghdha, of course, Sir. You are most welcome," replied Merlin to the Chieftain of the Tuatha Dé Danan. "You have only to ask. Any man who has carried the Lorg Anfaid as long as you have and uses it as wisely as you do commands my willing attention. He brought himself to attention and bowed his head. Then turned and tilted up his head to peer impishly at his visitor through lidded eyes.
The Daghdha was a tall man, totally enclosed from his head to toe in a brown, homespun woollen cloak with a hood pulled up and over his head to hide his face. His harp, Uaithne, was supported by a wide brown leather band that he'd slung over his left shoulder. That left his powerful right arm free to wield his famed club, the Lorg Anfaid, which either took lives or restored them, depending on the Daghdha's mood at the moment.
The Daghdha laughed out loud and the room seemed to shiver with the sound. "Old friend, it's good to see you and it's equally good to see you've put the Lady in her place. She is one angry woman at the moment - you having tricked her for a thousand years or more. Merlin weakened by a woman?" He laughed in a deep tone that would have frightened a human to death. "You'll have to watch her now you know," he said.
"Oh yes, I've felt her rumblings from out on the lake. I did remind her though that I owned the land around the lake. When she remembers that, and she will every day, she's also figured out I can sell it to any number of people who'd love a weekend getaway spot," said Merlin. "She'd be hemmed in by the mice of the twenty-first century."
Merlin broke into raucous laughter at the thought, and even the severe Daghdha smiled deep under his cowled hood. But a small voice of warning whispered there was bad news coming, and Merlin stopped laughing, his face grew serious.
"Sit, my old friend," said Merlin. "You should be comfortable when you speak the heavy words you carry with you today. Merlin pointed to a large comfortable, leather-covered, arm chair in front of the fireplace on the outer wall of the house. The Daghdha took one chair, slowly lowered himself into its overstuffed luxury and smiled. He gestured to the other and Merlin joined him.
"Merlin, my friend, you are as perceptive as ever," the Daghdha said and continued without a break. "Are you aware of the work of the Sixth Council?" he asked.
Merlin cocked his head, rummaged through his memory and then shook his head. I've had little on my mind since the Lady limited my powers, not much of fae could get through," said Merlin.
To which the Daghdha laughed uproariously. "Little on my mind, indeed," he managed to spit out. "She had you pretty much tied up and out of touch, didn't she?" he said with a large grin. "You'll have to tell me the story of why you let her do that. Some day …" He left the words hanging.
"Well, you don't have to laugh at it, you know. She might do the same for you," replied Merlin.
The Daghdha didn't reply. Merlin could feel the power of the lidded eyes behind the hood's protection.
"Well, maybe not," said Merlin. "But you never really know."
The Daghdha didn't move a single muscle.
"OK, you're right and you know it. The bitch won't get you," said Merlin, accepting the power of the man. He nodded to the giant in front of him and he received one in return. Their powers acknowledged by each other again after a long separation, it was time for a more relaxed conversation.
"Beer?" asked Merlin.
"Yours?" replied the Daghdha.
"Anything else would be sacrilege," said Merlin.
"Tankards then. One for each fist," said the Daghdha. The smile in his voice said how much he'd missed his old friend.
Merlin made a few gestures and two full beer steins hung in the air in front of the Daghdha. Merlin plucked
the two hanging in front of himself out of the air and drank deeply from one. He smiled as the Daghdha sampled the beer from both mugs almost hidden within his massive fists.
With a half tankard of Merlin's best beer remaining firmly in each hand, the Daghdha spoke, "Merlin, the Sixth Council has finished. And there has been a decision. What only remains is to decide who and how. In my opinion and that of the council, you are the who. But I, like the rest of fae, am still undecided about the how," said the Daghdha. "We are not yet fully prepared to wage war on humanity in a war of survival. We both know the extent of their insults that have ruined this world and these do not require listing. You are commanded to try once again to set this world straight."
"Commanded by whom?" asked Merlin.
The Daghdha's voice softened and saddened. "Merlin, it was the Sixth Council. We only have one more to call, and you know what has to happen with that final Seventh Council," he said.
Merlin looked at the powerful being in front of him, nodded in agreement. "I do. Yes. And yes, I'm no more interested in singing my Death Song than you or any of us are." Merlin dropped his head to his chest allowing his thoughts to run wild and the emotions to rise.
"I've done this three times before you know. Tried to unite the worlds of fae and humanity. It's almost killed me all three times. The last was the worst and I don't know if even I can take that pain again. The entire world knows that story," said Merlin. He sat silently for a minute and the Daghdha matched his silence.
Merlin looked at the Daghdha again. Opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as the Daghdha spoke first.
"It's your geas," replied the Daghdha in as soft and kindly a voice as he possessed.
The Mage Returns Page 5
