Believe

by Victoria Alexander

  She glanced at Merlin. He still wore that Disney-character outfit. “If I close my eyes, you’ll go away and I’ll wake up. Here we go.” She squeezed her lids together tight. “One, two, three”—she’d wake up by the time she got to ten—“four, five, six”—was he gone yet?—“seven, eight, nine”—she snapped open her eyes—“Ten.”

  Merlin stood right where she’d left him, a smile of amusement quirking his lips.

  “Damn.” She groaned. Merlin opened his mouth as if to say something. “I know, I know, you don’t have to say it. It’s a chapel. I’m sorry. But it’s not a real chapel, so it doesn’t matter. It’s all in my mind.” She cast her gaze around the room. “I do have a wonderful imagination, though. Look at all this.” She waved at her surroundings. “The walls, the sunlight coming in the window, even Sir Hunk over there, it’s pretty authentic. Especially when you consider I don’t even like this time period.”

  “A disgusting, crowded, filthy, smelly period. Full of plague and pestilence. I believe those were your words,” Merlin said in a casual manner.

  “Exactly! See. How would you know that unless this was a dream?”

  “Or I was Merlin, Wizard Extraordinaire and Counselor to Kings.”

  “No way, no how. You’re not real. This is a dream.” She shook her head vigorously. “And even if it wasn’t a dream, you still wouldn’t be real because Merlin never existed. You are a figment of my imagination. An impressive figment—”

  “I try.”

  “—but a figment nonetheless. The closest you could come to reality would be as a stand-in for Fred Astaire—”

  “Taught him everything he knew,” the figment murmured.

  “—but even that wouldn’t count because I’m asleep. Period. So…” She shook her hands in front of her as if they were wet, a nervous gesture she’d had since childhood. Her voice rang perilously high. “Why can’t I wake up?”

  “Well, I’d say the answer was obvious.”

  “You’re awfully smug for someone who doesn’t exist,” she snapped. “And what do you mean, ‘obvious’? I don’t think—dear Lord!” She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “I’m in a coma, aren’t I? That explains why this doesn’t quite feel like a dream. But I don’t remember anything? Maybe I was hit by a car—”

  “In the library,” he said wryly.

  “You never know. Cars crash through buildings all the time.”

  “You were on the third floor.”

  “Fine.” She glared. “Maybe it was the snow. Maybe the roof collapsed and I’m buried under a ton of snow. That would explain why I don’t remember anything.” She paced the room, stepping around Sir Hunk, who didn’t move a muscle. Just her luck. Her mind comes up with a man like this and he’s stiff as a board. And not in a good way. “So, the roof collapsed and I—oh damn!” She stared at Merlin and tears welled in her eyes. “I’m dead, aren’t I? I’m dead and this is hell. They’ve sent me to spend eternity in the Middle Ages with a gorgeous man who’s frozen solid and you.” She widened her eyes in realization. “If this is hell that means you’re—”

  “I most certainly am not.” His voice thundered with righteous indignation. “I quite resent your assumption. Oh, certainly, I have not been perfect in the last few millennia but I am more than confident I shall not be spending eternity, let alone presiding over it, in anyplace substantially warmer than perhaps a nice, lush Caribbean island. Aside from that, you are not dead.”

  “Thank God.” She breathed a sigh of relief and absently pulled the clip from her hair, ran her fingers through it, then reclipped it in a low ponytail at the base of her skull. “Then it must be a coma. Maybe I fell? That makes sense. I fell and hit my head on that table. Sure—big, heavy, oak table. I hit my head and now I’m in a hospital somewhere. People are taking care of me. I probably have tubes in my arms and all that stuff. But I can’t be hurt! I’m going to Greece in three weeks. What if I don’t wake up in time? What if I don’t wake up at all? What if—

  “Ouch!” Once more the unmistakable pain of a pinch shot through her. “Why did you do that?”

  “I suspected it was preferable to slapping you across the face.”

  “Yeah, if those are the only available options.” She glared at the alleged wizard, who returned her stare with a tolerant smile.

  “Are you quite finished?”

  “No,” she snapped and rubbed her arm. “Okay. Now I’m finished.”

  “Excellent. If you have managed to get your emotional outburst under control, we have quite a bit to chat about.”

  “I usually don’t lose it like that,” she muttered.

  “I know, my dear. I must admit I was quite surprised.”

  “You were surprised? Jeez.” Her gaze shot to his. “I’m so sorry.”

  “And sarcasm too. Tsk, tsk.” Merlin shook his head and sighed.

  Annoyance swept through her. You’d think if she was going to make up a vision as far-fetched as Merlin, Wizard Extraordinaire, etc., her subconscious could come up with someone a little less irritating. She clenched her teeth. “I know I’m going to regret this but why are you surprised?”

  “You are an adult, twenty-six years of age I believe.”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Indeed? Hmmm. I stand corrected.” He raised that superior brow again. “And as yet unmarried?”

  Tessa groaned to herself. The tone in his voice was distinctly reminiscent of her mother’s whenever the subject of marriage came up. Leave it to her mom to influence even the invention of her subconscious mind. “As yet.”

  “I believe I had also considered you to be relatively intelligent—”

  “Thank you.”

  “—considering your gender and the times you live in, of course.”

  “Of course.” Terrific. Her figment was a medieval sexist and a history snob.

  “It has nothing whatsoever to do with sexism or snobbery, although I freely admit, your era is not one I’m particularly partial to.”

  “Don’t tell me you can read my mind, too?” She smacked her palm against her forehead. “Of course you can. You’re in my mind.”

  He cast her a pitying glance. “My dear young woman, this will no doubt be a great deal easier, on both of us I might add, if you would simply accept the truth.”

  “The truth?” She studied him for a long moment. If she wasn’t asleep or in a coma, and she had to admit, nothing had ever seemed so real in her life as this room and this weird little Fred Astaire clone, then she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the truth. Still, what choice did she have? She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Okay. Let’s have it. What is the truth?”

  “It’s really quite simple.” His eyes gleamed. “I have pulled you from your moment in time to one of my own choosing.”

  “You’ve pulled me through what?” Her breath caught.

  “Time.”

  “Time?”

  “Time.”

  “Time.” The word throbbed through her.

  “I believe I just said that.”

  “I’ve traveled through time?” Her heart thudded in her chest.

  “Exactly.”

  “Like what’s-his-name on Quantum Leap? Or that one Star Trek movie about the whales? Or H. G. Wells?”

  The figment shrugged. “Drivel.”

  “Drivel?”

  His bushy brows pulled together. “We shall never get anywhere if you insist on repeating everything I say.”

  “Well, excuse me, Mr. Wizard,” she said sharply. “I’m having a tiny little problem here grasping this entire concept.”

  “Very well. I daresay I should have expected this. It happens every time.”

  “Every time? How often do you do this?”

  He released an impatient sigh. “Do sit down and try to remain calm and I shall endeavor to explain.”

  Tessa glanced around the chapel. Aside from the altar and colorful wall hangings, the room was bare. “And just where do you suggest I sit?”

  The figment d
idn’t so much as twitch but at once a chair appeared before her with the abruptness of a bad film edit. She tried not to flinch and cast him a condescending glance. “Oh come now. A folding chair? A lousy old metal folding chair from a Wizard Extraordinaire and Counselor to Kings? Surely you can do better than that?”

  “Please, forgive me. What was I thinking?” Amusement lurked in his eyes. “Is this better?”

  The folding chair vanished. In its place stood what could only be called a throne. A seat fit for a king or an emperor or a fantasy. Huge and golden, with jewels encrusted along every carved, gilded curve, and the heads of lions as armrests, the massive chair fairly filled the small room. Tessa gasped, then bit back a giggle. “I think that’s a little too much. Can’t you do something in between?”

  The throne disappeared, replaced by an aged but extremely comfortable looking recliner.

  “Hey, that’s my dad’s.” Tessa grinned with delight and plopped into the chair, running her hands affectionately over the arm rests. “I’ve always loved this chair.”

  “I know,” the figment said smugly.

  “Don’t you dare try to take any credit for this.” She stretched against the faux leather, reached down and pulled the lever that flipped up the footrest. “This is all part of my subconscious. I’ve made this up. I’ve made you up. And I’ve done a surprisingly creative job of it too.” She reclined the back of the lounger, folded her hands behind her head and grinned.

  “If you’re quite ready?”

  “By all means.” If she had to be stuck in this crazy coma or dream or whatever, she might as well be comfortable. “Please, go on.”

  The figment rolled his eyes heavenward as if asking for divine guidance then stared at her with a gaze steady and firm. A gaze that would have made her more than a little uneasy if, of course, he wasn’t something she’d made up.

  “As I said before, I have brought you from your time—”

  “Are you comfortable standing there like that?” she blurted, abruptly uncertain that she was at all ready to hear what he had to say.

  “Quite comfortable, thank you. Now as I was say—”

  “Are you sure? Because you can have this chair. Or maybe whip up another one?” Why did she want to put off his explanation? If she was so confident all this was the product of an injured mind, a hallucination or simply a bad dream then why this overwhelming reluctance to listen to him?

  “Very well.” A chair similar to her own popped into the space beside her with the figment already seated in it. “Now, may I go on?”

  “I suppose,” she said in a weak voice.

  “As I attempted to explain earlier, I have removed you from your time and brought you to mine.”

  “Okay.” Why did his words strike fear into her heart? Why did she want to cover her ears, curl into the corner of the recliner and hide from him and his whole world? A world she’d made up. A world she’d invented in the deep recess of her mind. A world that couldn’t possibly be real.

  But what if it was?

  He studied her, as if he knew her thoughts. But of course he knew her thoughts. He was one of her thoughts. And absolutely nothing more.

  “Why?” she said with a sudden resolve to face this illusion or whatever it was head on. “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Then…” his words were slow and measured, “you believe me?”

  “I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you exist. In fact, I don’t believe you ever existed.” She snapped the chair into an upright position and bounded to her feet. “If any of this is real, and I still question that wholeheartedly, there’s no way you can be Merlin, Wizard whatever and counselor to anybody.”

  He reclined in the chair and gazed at her idly. “Oh, and why not?”

  “Because, there never was a Merlin. There never was an Arthur. There never was a Camelot. There’s no evidence, no proof and nothing that you can touch or see. There never was anything but a make-believe story. A myth. A legend.”

  “What if…” An emery board appeared in one hand and he casually filed the nails of the other. “You’re wrong?”

  “I’m not,” she said with far more confidence than she felt.

  “But what if there was a Merlin—”

  “There wasn’t.” Was there?

  “—and an Arthur—”

  “There couldn’t be.” Could there?

  “—and everything else that goes along with your so-called legend?” He held his hand out in front of him and eyed his nails critically.

  “Never.” Maybe?

  “And let us further suppose…”—his gaze drifted above his hand to meet and lock with hers—“that Merlin, who is quite accomplished in the ways of magic and what you think of as science—”

  “Wizard Extraordinaire,” she whispered.

  “—wanted the world yet to come to believe that which he had nurtured and helped create and loved with his whole heart and soul was nothing but a fairy tale. A story. A myth. A legend. And worked his magic to make the world so believe?”

  His eyes held her spellbound, her question was little more than a breath in the still of the chapel. “Why?”

  “To save it from the denigration of history. To preserve what was, for one bare moment in time, the best man had to offer. Not of his science or his knowledge but of himself. His loyalty, his gallantry, his honor.” His gaze burned into hers with an intensity that reached inside her and chilled her very soul. “It did not last long. The nature of flesh-and-blood men predestined it to certain failure. But for a moment, it was man at his finest and he has never reached such heights again.”

  “Sounds swell.” Her voice squeaked with fear and a growing acceptance of what she already suspected. This was no dream, no coma-induced hallucination, no fantasy. “So…what does that all have to do with me?”

  “You? You!” Merlin rose out of his recliner like an avenging spirit and her heart dropped to her toes. She stifled the impulse to cower and forced herself to stand straight with the set of her shoulders firm and her head held high. And prayed her knees wouldn’t collapse beneath her. He aimed a long finger in her direction and she wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see flames shoot out the tip. “You do not believe.”

  “So…who does?” She cringed at her own flippant words. Not exactly the way to pacify an irate sorcerer. Real or not.

  “But they do not go around preaching their lack of acceptance, their doubts, their disbelief with an unwarranted passion, that goes far beyond the bounds of academia I might add, to classrooms full of young, innocent minds.”

  “Wait, hold it right there, pal.” Indignation swept away her fear. “Young, innocent minds? I teach at a university. The youngest I get are freshmen and ‘innocent’ is not exactly how I’d describe any of them.”

  “Still, you are encouraging their skepticism!”

  She glared at the indignant wizard. “Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? You just said you wrapped Arthur and company in your magic to keep them from being seen in the harsh light of reality. To keep them from being judged as real people are judged by history and the passage of time. I don’t see your problem. I’m doing exactly what you want.”

  Merlin flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder. “I changed my mind.”

  “You changed your mind? What do you mean, ‘you changed your mind’?”

  Merlin shrugged. “I am not infallible, you know, I do make mistakes. I’m only human.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Well, perhaps human is not entirely accurate; regardless, every now and then, with the passage of the centuries, I get extremely annoyed at having my accomplishments, and the accomplishments of Arthur and the others, seen as little more than a delightful story for children at bedtime.”

  “That’s it? That’s what this is all about?” Relief surged through her. “No sweat, pal. I’m more than willing to change my line about your little world. In fact, I’ll even tell students, personally, I believe in Merlin a
nd Arthur and all that other stuff. Piece of cake.

  “Now that we’ve got that settled,” she nodded with satisfaction, “why don’t I just close my eyes and you can zap me home? Back to the library or the hospital or wherever. Your choice. However you want to work this is fine with me.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Anytime now. You go right ahead.”

  Still nothing.

  She sighed and opened her eyes. “Do I have to click my heels together and say ‘There’s no place like home’ or what?”

  Merlin chuckled. “Now that was a fairy tale.”

  “Oh, I see. Don’t believe in Oz but do believe in Camelot. Is that how this works?” She fisted her hands on her hips. “You’re not sending me home, are you?”

  “I’m afraid not. At least not yet.”

  “Why not? You’ve already convinced me of at least the possibility of the existence of”—she waved impatiently at the chapel—“all this. Whether it’s real or not, I admit, I’m willing to rethink my position. So…why can’t I go?”

  “It has a great deal to do with him.” Merlin nodded toward the knight.

  “Him? He doesn’t even look alive.” Tessa stepped to the still figure and peered at him closely. “See, he’s not breathing.”

  “Oh, he is indeed breathing. You simply cannot see it.”

  She hesitated for a moment than placed her hand flat on his back, just below his broad shoulders. “No, he’s definitely not breathing. I don’t feel any movement at all.”

  “You cannot feel it because we are not yet on the same level of existence with him.” A thoughtful frown creased his forehead. “Perhaps I have not explained this as thoroughly as I should have.”

  “You think so, Mr. Wizard?”

  He ignored her and continued. “We are, you and I, between moments, as it were. We exist in the space between his last breath and his next.”

  “I don’t get it.” She pulled her brows together and tried to make sense of his so-called explanation. “Are you saying we’re moving in fast-forward and he’s moving one frame at a time?”