Chapter Twenty-One
I felt as if I had been run over by a car. Those amazing metal contraptions from the future were always something I fixated on when I was able to look through the eyes of Eleanor or Juneau, but I also knew that they must hurt a great deal if they struck someone…
And, as the people from the future would often say: I felt like shit.
I had been just about to tuck into a bowl of steaming stew that Mistress Morris had put in front of me when a familiar itching sensation filled me.
Many things had changed around Castle Camelot in the years that I had holed myself up in my cave, but the cook’s ability to throw things into a pot and produce the most mouthwatering dishes had not. All I wanted to do was unhinge my jaw, devour the hot food (my tongue be damned), and crawl into my rectory that I sincerely hoped had been dusted in the past decade before falling into a deep, and I do mean deep, sleep.
But alas, the gods waited for no man, especially not their proverbial errand boy.
Whenever they wanted me to see something that they had once shown me of the future they would create a buzzing sensation in my chest that was impossible to ignore.
The command was simple, even without words: go find Arthur and make witness of the greatness of fate.
For ten years that had been my sole purpose—to set into motion the events of the future that the gods desired and complete the task that they had placed before me when they formed me out of their own essence so long ago.
I could not remember my birth or anything that happened afterward. My life began the moment I stepped out of the mist with the gods’ voices whispering on the wind, urging me to keep walking until I met my fate.
It was only when I met a dirty, golden-haired little boy who was chopping wood behind his foster father’s house that things began to click into place.
That same buzzing had spurred me forward then just as it had made me glower and push my food away before standing.
“Merlin,” Mistress Morris called from where she was standing before a great cauldron over the fire, stirring what looked to be dinner for the entire castle. “Ye’eve hardly touched yer food.”
I waved her off, hoping that her propensity to chase people with a wooden spoon when they didn’t finish their meals had also faded over the past ten years.
“I’ve lost my appetite,” I told her with a grimace. “And I also need to check on his majesty before bed.”
Mistress Norris’s blue eyes narrowed and she puffed out her already round, ruddy cheeks before pointing her steaming spoon at me. “Ye get a pass tonight, young man, but I expect ye to eat a full breakfast come mornin’.”
“Your wish is, as ever, my command,” I told her with a flourishing bow and turned to leave.
“And Merlin?”
I stopped, looking over my shoulder at the woman who now stared at me with affectionate eyes.
“Welcome home, we missed ye something fierce for all these years.”
My chest tightened with a feeling wholly separate from the incessant buzzing from the gods.
It had been a long time since I had seen the people of this castle and to know that they had missed me made me feel…
Well, I wasn’t quite sure how it had made me feel.
My time in the cave had not felt like ten years, but as soon as I stepped foot outside of it the time between then and the present day had come crashing down like a weight.
If I could go back, I would have waited that night and explained everything properly.
Which would have been much easier to do if not for the damned buzzing in my chest. It had been painful that night, urging me out of the castle and into my cave as flashes of a future not yet come to fruition filled my mind.
“I have missed you too,” I told Mistress Morris honestly, offering her a smile before finally giving into the push from the gods and ducking into the corridor.
Dinner for the rest of the castle would be served in the next hour, everyone coming together in the great hall to eat, drink, and be merry, all the while not knowing that their king suffered from a nasty wound on his side.
Normally, I would have healed such a wound long before he made it back to the castle. A king was meant to seem invincible to his people, so such wounds were kept with a strict secrecy that typically required me to heal the wound fast before anyone saw it.
But when he had shown me his gash late in the evening last night I could barely muster a spark from my fingers let alone conjure actual healing magic.
That was the most frustrating part of all of this. I could pull stubborn alphas and an equally stubborn omega together easily. Hells, they seemed to already want each other based off of the instinct that had ruled humans for centuries. I could even cut through Morgana’s mind magic that she was attempting to sprinkle around the castle and Arthur’s men, though to what end I wasn’t sure.
I could do all of that, and yet my magical stores which had always felt endless before, now sat empty deep in my soul.
Before my self-isolation in the cave all I used to need was a good meal and a long sleep to restore them if they ever became depleted—usually after a long battle or a particularly long day of helping out in the fields making the soil more fertile for the people’s crops—but now it was as if whatever receptacle held my magic before had a crack in it.
Over the past few days I had tried to support Arthur and his men as they battled through the countryside, engaging in skirmishes with small groups of Saxons who had razed through the villages on the way to Cameliard, but past the most basic of spells I could not do much but get in the way. Even still, I ended every single day completely exhausted, as if mustering the strength just to get onto my horse was too much for my body.
None of it sat right with me and I had a sneaking suspicion that the spell to pull an individual through time, the one the gods had taught me in my dreams, was to blame.
I was certain that doing that spell once would drain even the best of sorcerers and I had done it three times—four if you counted the poor omega I had yanked through time along with Guinevere.
I had no connection to that unfortunate soul and I just hoped she was managing fine on her own, whoever she was.
In any case, I was trying not to think of her as I turned the corner down the corridor that led to Arthur’s chambers. As I drew nearer, I couldn’t help but feel as if my presence would be useless to the king. It was not as if I could heal him at this point.
With a sigh, I raised a fist and rapped on the door.
“Arthur?” I called, feeling suddenly uncertain. “I am here to look at your wound.”
The buzzing in my chest grew louder as a sense of awareness filled the silence that followed my words.
Then, Arthur’s gruff voice spoke, muffled by the wood. “You may enter.”
I pulled on the handle and stepped inside of the room, my eyes widening at the scene before me.
It was just as it had been in the flash of a vision that gods had shared with me the night I left Camelot. Arthur stood with Guinevere hugged to his front and the pair was framed by the roaring fire in the massive fireplace. Guinevere even wore the same contemplative expression, and her dark brows furrowed as her gaze left Arthur’s face to find me.
A wave of dizziness filled me as the buzzing stopped abruptly, having completed its task.
Can you hear me? Her voice came to me loud and clear, making me jump.
With Juneau and Eleanor, they had only ever been able to speak back to me if I allowed it, but Guinevere was doing it with ease and without my express permission.
Our minds felt almost suited to one another in a way I was not accustomed to. Curiosity sparked and I imperceptibly nodded my head.
Brown eyes narrowed before Guinevere stepped away from Arthur and turned back to face the still-open cabinet. Can you heal him?
Her question rang in my head as Arthur spoke out loud. “I believe I told you to eat first, Merlin, you look as if a stray wind could blow you right over.”
“And believe me, I feel worse,” I told him, my voice dry. “At the moment I am uncertain whether I can heal that wound with my magic for it still feels depleted, Arthur, I’m sorry.”
My words answered both Guinevere’s question and responded to Arthur’s worry.
“It is no matter,” Arthur said, shaking his head as he glanced down at the gash on his side. “It is not something that common remedies cannot mend.”
I glanced over at Guinevere, watching her full lips pinch together as she glared at her hands.
Then the liquids in the jars behind her began to shake.
I had long since assumed that Guinevere, like her other omega counterparts that I had pulled through time, also possessed some sort of magic. Ever since her arrival the propensity for rain on cloudless days had risen and it had become abundantly clear to me that the omega possessed at least some affinity for water.
Do you want to help me? I asked, thinking about the shock of magic I felt the night I brought her here and how it had chased away the weakness in my limbs.
Guinevere jumped, turning to face me fully. How?
The question was simple, though nothing about what I was about to suggest would be.
I glanced over at Arthur. “Arthur, what if I told you that Guinevere could help me heal you?”
Arthur frowned, his red-gold beard twitching as he did so.
“Elaborate,” he ordered, glancing from Guinevere to me.
“The night of her arrival, when I was weak, her touch reinvigorated me, why do you think that is?”
If Arthur did not appreciate my testing him, he did not show it as he scratched his chin contemplatively.
“Because Guinevere has magic,” he finally said, filling in the blank as he looked over at his wife. “Is that why the sky always seems to leak around you?”
“It doesn’t leak!” Guinevere’s voice was defensive as she crossed her arms over her chest. “But maybe I’ve noticed some weird things happening with water lately.”
You are also able to speak into my mind, I pointed out to her silently and watched as her shoulders stiffened slightly.
“Okay then what do I do? Rub my feet on that bearskin rug over there, build up static, and then try to zap you with it? Use a magic word? Does Alakazam work here?”
“What is static?” Arthur asked, clearly confused about the direction that the conversation had taken.
I searched my memory of the future in an attempt to explain it to the king but Guinevere just rolled her eyes.
“What static is doesn’t matter—how am I supposed to use this magic you claim I have?” She waved her hands in the air with a furrowed brow as if that could conjure moisture from the air.
“It is not so simple,” I told her with a shake of my head. “It takes time to properly learn how to use magic, but I have need of you tonight. This evening you will act as a conduit for me.”
“A conduit?” Guinevere asked, her hands dropping to her sides. “How do I do that?”
I turned to Arthur who was still standing and looked as if he was a few moments from dropping completely. The king’s skin was ashen and he swayed on his feet in a way that spurred me into action. “Lie down, Arthur.”
Arthur sank down onto the bed without further argument, his back hunched for a moment before he let himself fall amongst the covers with a groan.
Guinevere rounded the bed, her expression worried as she examined the wound which had begun to bleed again. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
I was not certain in the slightest, but I did not want her panic to keep me from accessing her magic.
“It will,” I told her with false-confidence as I held out my hand to her.
“What do I do?” Guinevere’s fingers slid into mine and the warm thrum of her magic was immediately obvious. Eleanor and Juneau had possessed magic that had been powerful, but Guinevere’s magic felt different as if it wanted to jump into mine without me needing to do much to draw it out.
“Just relax,” I told her softly, my voice no more than a whisper as I felt her magic start to filter through where our hands were connected. The vast emptiness that was my magical reserves began to fill faster than anything I had ever felt before.
It was so fast that I could feel the magic crackling in the air around us, lifting our hair as if neither of us could contain the energy any longer.
“ Whoa ,” Guinevere gasped, her normally brown eyes starting to glow blue as they had the night she had arrived and touched me.
The only time I had ever felt anything like this was the day I had been born—though created would probably be a better word for it.
My goddess Arianhrod had formed me from her own magic for the express purpose of being an aid to Arthur’s fate. Magic had never flowed through me so much as that day when she created each piece of me before pushing me into the misty, cold world below.
Now Guinevere’s magic chased away all of the iciness that had settled into my limbs and I felt suddenly strong again. My entire body was flushed with an inexplicable pleasure as her thumb ran circles over the top of my hand, her cheeks filling with color as she stared at me.
“What is it?” Arthur asked, trying to sit up as he frowned up at us. The king, who bore the magic sword Excalibur but possessed no innate magic himself could not feel the sheer level of magic floating in the air.
Guinevere’s head jerked in his direction, her dark curls bouncing as she looked at the king with an open-mouthed shock. “You can’t feel that?”
“No, but I can see your hair lifting as by invisible threads,” Arthur told us, his skin growing even more pale as he flopped back down onto the bed.
“We must heal him, Gwen,” I told her quickly, threading our fingers more tightly together. It was, in-part, because I needed to continue to touch her to use her as a conduit to heal my king, but also in-part because I could not help but enjoy the way her fingers felt in mine and how our magic seemed to dance around each other in a way I had never experienced before.
Holding my free hand over Arthur’s wound, I began to weave the spell of healing, my mouth moving in the ancient words I knew by heart.
Arthur gasped, his blue eyes flying open as the skin knit itself back together and the redness around the gash began to fade.
I stared down at the wound with surprise as the healing seemed to be occurring much faster than it usually did. Normally, it would take upwards of an hour for me to do a spell like this, even with the reserve of magic that my goddess had gifted me, but now I watched as the wound closed almost instantly.
Guinevere had magic, but it did not feel strong enough to do spells such as this until we were physically touching. Now it felt as if I could do any spell with ease and with little sacrifice.
It gave me much to ponder as I finally slipped my fingers free from hers and checked on the king who was now fast asleep, his cheeks flushed with color again and his wound healed completely.
Without contact, the powerful feeling that had filled me so completely began to fade, and though I did not feel as weak as I had walking into the room earlier, my body still ached for a good night’s rest.
I turned to leave, but Guinevere’s voice stopped me. “Wait!”
She moved around to my front, the glowing light still fading from my eyes. “You said that it takes a lot to learn magic like that.”
“I did.”
“So, teach me how to do it. Teach me how to use magic.”