by Ruth Kaufman
Forcing himself to relax his shoulders, to focus on the upcoming fight, he said, “We’ve been enemies for twenty years, since you learned of my father’s amazing powers and yearned to claim them. My enmity has risen to a new level. You’ll not live to see another day.”
“And fair Nimuë,” ap Lewis continued smoothly as if Morgan hadn’t threatened him. “This is all because of you. Does that make you feel bad? Of course not. Because you have no heart. And thanks to you, neither have I. You’ve ruined me. Now I shall destroy you and all you hold dear.”
Morgan’s head spun from these cryptic comments. “What in Taliesin’s name is he talking about?”
“Jankyn and I were lovers for many years. Until recently,” Nimuë confessed, her face alternately pink, then green in the flowing light from the cave. “I foolishly bragged to him about my affair with your father and told him how Merlin had trained me in the magical arts. Jankyn’s jealousy over the fact that I’d lain with a man more powerful than he knew no bounds. He kept insisting I still loved your father, though I repeatedly denied it. I think he’s also jealous that I’m stronger than he. Gaining powers became his obsession. I had to leave him, for his demands made my days miserable.” She shrugged. “Even I can make mistakes.”
Jankyn didn’t dispute a word of her tale.
Why didn’t he know of this? Because he’d been engaged with an obsession of his own.
“Why not just kill him and be done with it?” Morgan asked. “Or ensorcell him as you did my father?”
“I’m not the evil woman you think I am,” she said. “Besides, I could never kill the father of my son.”
So he held Jankyn ap Lewis’s son hostage.
“Yet you took him from me, when you knew how I loved him,” Jankyn said. “Now I’ve got Merlin’s son. Morgan’s got mine. Merlin must share his powers with me. If he refuses, I shall defeat, then kill Morgan. Keeping him too weak to use his powers against me isn’t enough.”
His heart pounded. Ap Lewis knew how to kill him?
“There’s only one way to destroy an immortal,” Morgan said. “’Tis a secret guarded more closely than any other. By the Grail, Nimuë. Don’t tell me you pried that from Merlin along with everything else. And then told Jankyn.”
“I’m beyond ashamed to say I did,” she said. “I had to have the upper hand over your father.”
“Then ’tis a good thing Jankyn is going to die today, so his knowledge can die with him. To reach my father, you have to go through me.”
“And I shall,” Jankyn vowed. “Gladly. Nimuë, when I procure Merlin’s powers, you and I can live happily as equals until the day we mere mortals die. I do this for you and our child. For our family.”
For the first time Morgan heard emotion color ap Lewis’s voice. He did love her, albeit in a sick way.
“There’s no need for violence,” she said softly. “I’ll go with you willingly if you’ll swear to give up your quest. Let’s leave this place and never return,” she pleaded.
“Not until we share power as well as love,” ap Lewis growled.
“Morgan, I think I can fix the outcome of this battle,” Nimuë said. “With some choice words—”
“No,” Morgan and Jankyn replied in unison.
“We’re in agreement for once. Get out of the way, Nimuë,” Jankyn ordered.
“We fight to the death. Man to man,” Morgan said.
“No spells,” his enemy countered.
“No spells.” Some battles had to be fought by the sword alone.
“To the death, then,” Jankyn agreed.
“Very well. Fools.” Nimuë disappeared down the crystal stairs.
’Twould be a challenging fight in this small, low-ceilinged chamber. Neither would be able to swing at full extension. Morgan pulled his dagger from his belt and bent his knees. Jankyn did the same. They circled each other in the colored light, moving in and out of shadow, boots scraping against the dusty floor.
Was Nimuë in on this? She’d agreed to leave a bit too easily. Had Morgan’s demand gone along with her own plans to lure him so far beneath the earth he’d be as an ordinary man? The cave walls were too thick. He required a window, even a chimney, some egress to the outside to call upon his powers.
Though he was very difficult to kill, he could, as Jankyn had alluded, be kept for centuries in a weakened state. ’Twas but another of the reasons many immortals led quiet lives away from mortals who’d go to great lengths to use their captive’s powers.
“What are you waiting for?” Jankyn slashed his sword through the air, back and forth. “Fight me.”
Impatience was getting the best of him. Morgan concealed a smile. ’Twould mean his opponent’s downfall if he couldn’t control his temper.
“I know what’s delaying you. Fear,” Jankyn taunted. “How often do you pick up a sword, once in a hundred years? I train frequently and battle often. I am one of the best in all of Wales. Without your immortal powers, you are nothing.”
Jankyn swung at Morgan’s head. He ducked easily and aimed for his opponent’s legs. Jankyn thrust downward, Morgan parried. Jankyn swung again. Strokes flew fast and furious, swords clanging. Morgan’s sword met his with a devastating blow. Jankyn’s sword flew from his hands and slammed into the wall. Morgan raised his weapon for the kill, but Jankyn dropped and rolled. He grabbed his sword and leapt to his feet, back in the fray.
“Did you think it’d be that easy?” Jankyn snarled, sweat dripping from his brow to disappear into the dust.
“I don’t want to kill you, but you’ve left me no choice.” Morgan struggled to catch his breath. “I can’t trust you to leave me and my father alone for the rest of your life.”
“Do your best. And when you fail, I’ll force Merlin to share some of his secrets. Do you know what it’s like to want a woman, Morgan, so badly you’d do anything to have her?”
He did know. That was exactly how he felt about Annora. He’d only realized it after he’d left her. And the strength of his feelings scared and thrilled him.
“Nimuë is my life,” Jankyn said. “If I can’t have her, I don’t want anything. My having magic, as she does, is the only way we can live as equals.”
Jankyn had hit on the very thing that would keep him from Annora even after Merlin had been set free. No one knew of any immortals and mortals who lived in harmony. In every tale, the strain of being so different, of not being able to truly understand the other, pulled the couple apart. No matter how close, how passionate they’d been in the beginning. He couldn’t bear to watch the passion he and Annora shared dwindle and die. If by some miracle they did live happily, he wouldn’t be able to watch the woman he loved perish while he lived on, alone.
Pain stung his arm. Shocked, he saw blood on his sleeve. Jankyn had drawn first blood because Morgan had been too busy thinking about Annora.
“Ha!” his opponent cried, flexing his sword arm. “Say whatever prayers your kind says, for your minutes are numbered.”
Grunts, moans and harsh breaths mingled with ringing swords. With a swift turn, Jankyn moved behind Morgan and kicked the back of his legs. As Morgan fell forward, Jankyn sped to a small black box near the waterfall and lifted the lid.
Panting heavily, bleeding from a long scratch on his chest, Jankyn said, “Now, Morgan, meet your doom.”
Morgan stood in fixed horror as a winged snake slithered out of the box, golden scales glimmering in the flowing light. He’d never seen one, only heard chilling accounts of how the rare snake’s venom destroyed immortals within minutes. No antidote existed.
Like a cobra charmed from a clay jar in an Indian marketplace, the creature hissed, webbed wings pulsating and forked tongue darting in and out as it prepared to fly.
The winged snake had sensed its prey.
Morgan’s blood ran cold. He was tempted to run from the caves and never look back. But he’d worked too hard to give up, though his greatest enemies surrounded him.
Jankyn leaned against the wall, a
rms crossed with a smug smile as the snake hovered several inches above the ground.
“What happened to man to man?” Morgan asked calmly. He’d not let either Jankyn or the snake sense his fear.
“You said that. I only said no spells.” Jankyn laughed. “I could join my beloved, but I want to watch the snake kill you. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
Morgan remained perfectly still, holding, his sword in one hand and dagger in the other. He’d been trained to kill his predator, but hadn’t tested the techniques on a live reptile.
“The snake is too dangerous, too clever,” his mentor had said. “’Tis as if he anticipates your every move.”
Immortal and snake stared, all senses on alert, waiting for the other to budge.
“Oh, come now. This is most boring.” Jankyn tossed a rock at the snake.
The snake hissed and whirled to face its tormentor, wings fluttering madly. It flew at him.
“I thought they only killed your kind,” he cried, cowering, hands over his head.
Charging forward, Morgan sliced off the snake’s head. Blood splattered them both as the creature’s body writhed, then flopped to the ground.
“A snake is always a snake. I should’ve let it kill you. But I reserve that honor.” He stepped over the carcass. “Before I do, I must thank you for distracting it. Few immortals are known to have survived an encounter with a winged snake. I’ll be renowned.” And perhaps, finally accepted by immortals.
“You wouldn’t have succeeded if not for me,” ap Lewis jeered as color returned to his face.
Morgan repeated something he’d said to Annora. “We’ll never know for sure, will we? Victory is all that matters, not the means of attaining it as long as they’re honest. When I’ve defeated you and released my father, I’ll take the carcass and have a golden sheath made for my dagger. ’Tis a symbol of great valor among immortals to wear the skin of the winged snake.” He raised his sword. “If you’ve no other tricks up your sleeve, let’s get this over with.”
“Cocky son of a bitch.” Jankyn surged from the wall.
Morgan parried. They swung again and again in a frenzy of clanging swords. Morgan slid on a clump of gritty dust, losing his balance. As ap Lewis lunged, Morgan aimed straight at his enemy’s heart. His sword pierced Jankyn’s chest with a crunch and sent him stumbling toward the waterfall. Jankyn’s sword dropped with an echoing clatter.
“No, no.” Slowly, eyes wide as he clutched the sword protruding from his chest, Jankyn sank to his knees. He toppled, head hitting the ground.
Relief swamped Morgan. He dropped to his knees. He’d done it. Jankyn ap Lewis would trouble his family no more.
Breathing hard, he pulled his sword free, then wiped the blade clean on Jankyn’s tunic. He put the snake carcass in his pack and paused at the top of the treacherous crystal stairs, Nimuë’s means of trapping any unsuspecting visitor fortunate enough to make it this far. Just as a spider’s web snared flies. The first time he’d come here, he tumbled down the entire flight—three hundred and sixty-five stairs, one for each day of the year. He’d smashed his head against the walls numerous times. Had he not been immortal, he’d have died.
He braced himself against the uneven rock wall, setting down each foot with care. ’Twas dizzying and deceiving, for each step was so clear he could see through to the yawning cavern below, making him think he was about to fall and impale himself upon limestone spires protruding from the cave floor. Vertigo gave him pause, but he pushed on. Only a few hundred more to go.
Nimuë waited at the bottom, blocking the entrance to his father’s prison. Would she dare thwart him now?
“So. You have prevailed.” Her voice wavered. Did tears gleam in her eyes, or did the shifting lights deceive him? Did she mourn ap Lewis? “I thought as much. But of late my visions lack accuracy, so I couldn’t be sure. My powers are dwindling. All I strove for will soon be lost to me. I thought I could keep my powers until Arthur’s return, so I could be his wizard. But now—I fear mortals can’t hold as much magic as immortals, or for as long. It wears our bodies down.”
“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you,” Morgan said.
“You should know that your father’s powers have also faded from lack of use.”
“Have you ruined him for all time?”
She didn’t answer, but stepped aside.
At last. Morgan’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t describe the intense emotions of a son looking upon his father’s visage for the first time in decades.
Encapsulated as if in ice, Merlin looked the same, from every last hair on his long white beard to every glistening thread of his blue robes patterned with silver stars and his immortal’s necklace depicting Excalibur.
“Morgan! Nimuë?” Merlin’s voice was weak, not echoing through the cavern as it once would have. But his familiar face was warm with welcome.
“Father.” His heart swelled with pride and hope. “At last I’ve succeeded in my quest. I’ve come to set you free. Say the words, Nimuë. Do as you promised.”
Shoulders slumped, Nimuë nodded. “But I won’t apologize. And I hope it works.” She stood tall and planted her feet firmly. In the old tongue, she said, “Rachnath llanall vosuth ditheen, torsielle mierte. Juvien.”
The crystal cracked so loudly Morgan had to cover his ears.
Nimuë raised her arms. “Vosuth ditheen, torsielle mierte. Juvien!”
Suddenly, the clear substance melted. Water gushed over their feet. Merlin fell to his knees, barely holding his head above the flood. Nimuë collapsed in a heap, face down. The waters carried her away.
Morgan couldn’t let her die. Struggling to keep his footing, he hauled her out of the water, then propped her up against a large rock as the waters receded.
He ran to his father, who was wiping clinging, wet hair from his face. They embraced for the first time in hundreds of years.
“Thank you, my son, for risking your future to save me. I love you, Morgan.”
The first time his father had ever said the words.
“I love you too, Father,” Morgan whispered, his heart full.
How he’d needed to hear he was loved. How much everyone needed to hear that.
Annora.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. “Can you walk?”
“These old bones are shaky, but I think I can if we travel slowly. I owe you a debt I can never repay.” He stretched his arms above his head. “Now my recovery can begin. I’ve had more than enough time to weave wondrous plans to restore Arthur to the throne.”
“I can’t wait to hear them. And help you and the others bring them to fruition.”
“I’ll need time until my energies are restored and we can start. I wish I knew how long. For now, how wonderful it feels to be free. Able to move. Interact with the world. Go home.”
Nimuë was tugging at her heavy, wet skirts, trying to stand. Morgan helped her to her feet.
Merlin and Nimuë stared at each other.
“Merlin, I—”
“I’ll not hear another word from your lying lips,” he said. “I haven’t decided your fate, but any word you utter will only make it worse.”
“She has a son, Merlin. Ap Lewis’s son.”
Morgan wouldn’t have thought Merlin could get any paler, but he did. He looked crestfallen. As if he wished her son was his?
“I’ll keep to our bargain and release your boy as soon we return,” Morgan said as the drenched trio carefully made their way up the slippery stairs. “For his sake, I’m sorry I had to kill his father.”
Nimuë, either following his father’s orders for once or overcome with emotion, didn’t reply.
They reached the top of the stairs.
Suddenly she gripped his arm, nails biting into his wet skin. She stared straight ahead, not seeing him but through him.
The hairs on the back of his neck raised. “What trick is this, Nimuë?”
“She needs you, Morgan. More than ever. You must hurry
.”
“Has something happened to Annora? What do you see?”
“Nothing clearly, more’s the pity. I know she’s sad. Cold, down to her very bones.” Nimuë shivered. “And in trouble. Maybe even in danger of losing her life.”
Nimuë was convincing, but did she speak the truth or was she trying to get rid of him?
“Morgan!” she screamed.
In Annora’s voice.
Despite his vow to stay away, he had to rescue her. Had to see her once more.
Chapter 18
“Who aided Lady Annora?” Sir Roger roared as he rushed into the hall. He marched around, waving a folded piece of parchment in servants’ faces. “Who dared send a letter for her against my direct command, allowing her to receive this reply?”
Servants halted in the midst of sweeping, carrying, cleaning. Emma cowered in the corner, concentrating on the gown of Annora’s she was mending. Her hands shook. She wouldn’t confess that she and her son were guilty of defying him. Fortunately, Albert, who might not have the good sense to lie despite the danger, was off doing chores in the stables.
Amberton’s acting lord watched everyone so closely she could barely get a moment alone with her lady, but she’d managed to sneak her some parchment and ink a few days ago. The day after, she’d hidden three letters underneath a platter of cheese and whisked them to Albert.
Sir Roger ripped open the red wax seal and read the letter. “Damn the bitch. She’ll never accept her illness. Fortunately she has me to look after her.” He crumpled the letter and threw it into the fire. “You there, Harald, fetch the kitchen boy.”
Harald ran as bid and returned dragging a scrawny boy with light brown hair and dark eyes holding an apple.
“I didn’t steal it, Sir Roger, I swear I didn’t. Kerwyn gave it to me,” the boy wailed.
Emma clasped her hands in prayer. What shall I do, Lord?
“Someone must pay for this perfidy. It’s going to be you, boy.” Roger grabbed the boy’s tiny wrist and slammed his arm onto the table, sending the apple flying. “Unless—”
