Fantastical Ramblings (3 page)

“Don’t!” Herakles stayed The Merlin from dousing the altar
with another bucket of water. “The blade is now part of the altar. It looks
sculpted from the marble.”

The Merlin smiled. Mischief brightened his eyes. “Now for
the final deception.” He slid the metal blade out from beneath the marble
casing. A perfect replica of a sword sheath lay atop the altar. Then the
magician retrieved a second sword from the folds of his cloak. He slid this
weapon under the marble sheath. “Uther Pendragon’s sword of state. The sword
that other kings will recognize as belonging to the next High King. Our hero
will be the only man among them who can draw it forth. A useful weapon, but not
an artifact of power and destiny.
Our
sword will come to our hero later, when the time is right.”

Another slosh of water extended the marble casing over the
grip.

“Where did you get Uther’s sword?” Herakles asked.

“I have kept it safe during his last illness. It will be
here, awaiting our hero when he is ready to claim his heritage. You almost hid
the sword in this cave too late for him to claim it upon Uther’s death.”

“Tell me, Merlin, how you work this magic. Are you a god?”

“No. Every person can work magic if they want. Not all have
the patience to bring it forth from the depths of their souls. Not every one
has the courage to work magic only for good. Few have the wisdom to know the
difference between good and evil.”

Herakles looked from the true sword to the replica on the
altar. Both resonated a kind of power, reflections of the original weapon. Had
he diminished the sword?

Hesitantly he touched the blade with one finger. Energy
snaked up his arm to his shoulder, infusing him with new strength. Changed, not
diminished. The lightning of Zeus and the invincibility of Hephaestus still
resided in the metal.

Together they hid the tools and other evidence of the
transformation they had worked.

“I must go now.” The Merlin tucked the sword within the
voluminous folds of his cloak. “I have had the rearing of our hero. He will be
worthy of this blade when it comes to him.”

Herakles grasped the sword within The Merlin’s cloak one
last time. “Promise me that he will know humility.”

“I’ll do my best.” The Merlin bowed his head. “I would give
him a perfect life if I could. But I can’t alter the future, only perceive it.”

“I trust your promise, Merlin. Now I too must go.” He knew a
satisfying sense of completion.

Herakles looked up, startled by the sound of a determined
step at the cave entrance. The Merlin seemed to fade into the shadows and
reflections of the crystal as he took a step back toward the wall.

“Looking for this?” Herakles asked Hera as she ducked into
the cavern. He pointed to the sword replica upon the altar.

“What have you done to it?” she screeched as she ran to the
stone. She wrenched at the sword grip and guard, trying to free it from the
marble.

“Hera, the sword is beyond you.” Herakles chuckled. “The
time has come for us to leave Earth to younger powers.” Out of the corner of
his eye he saw The Merlin. No more than shadow, the old man seemed to flow
toward the cave entrance.

Hera looked only at the sword sculpture. Defeat dragged her
shoulders down. She hung her head and dropped her hands away from the marble
altar. “How did you make it more beautiful than Hephaestus could? I will find a
way to retrieve it.”

“No, Hera. Other powers govern it now.”

“Who? Who dared help you deface the sword of a god?” Hera
whipped her head around searching every corner. She spied the movement of
shadow on shadow. “Stop!” She lunged for The Merlin. He evaded her grasp and
ran.

Hera followed. Herakles strode after.

“I command you to stop!” Hera screamed.

The Merlin continued running. He escaped the cave and dashed
toward the lake. Dawn sent ripples of fiery light across the smooth water. The
Merlin skidded to a stop at the water’s edge. He jumped back, just a little, as
if the water were poison or he feared to trespass.

Hera latched her hand around The Merlin’s wrist. She yanked
at the sword.

Herakles grabbed Hera around the waist, lifting her away
from the magician. “Cease, Hera. You can’t win this battle,” Herakles said,
keeping her arms pinioned and her feet off the ground. She kicked him. He
tightened his grasp.

“It takes a woman to keep an artifact away from a woman. I
consign its care to the Lady of the Lake. It has been foretold that she will
bestow this sword on the proper hero.” The Merlin laughed out loud as he raised
the sword and invoked the Lady. He hurled it far out into the lake. It tumbled
end over end, spinning in the growing sunlight, reflecting it back more
brightly than any crystal in the cave.

“Noooooooo!” Hera screeched. “You can’t! I need the sword.”

A graceful feminine arm clothed in white samite, reached up
from the depths of the sparkling water and grasped the grip of the sword. The
delicate fingers wrapped possessively around it. “I name thee Excalibur!” The
Lady of the Lake’s triumphant voice echoed up and out from her watery home. Then
she pulled the sword beneath the surface of the lake.

“It’s lost forever.” Hera sagged limply in Herakles’ arms. “She’ll
never give it up.”

“Not forever,” The Merlin said with a smile. “Only until the
Lady finds a hero worthy of its power.”

“That will be forever,” Hera sobbed.

“Perhaps.” The Merlin smiled knowingly.

“The Lady of the Lake alone will make that judgment.” Herakles
stood between Hera and the lake, making sure she didn’t dive after the sword. “Go,
Hera. Go home now. You have lost this battle.”

“Hmf,” she snorted as she snapped her fingers and
disappeared.

“I’d better follow her. Someone has to keep her—and the
others—from meddling where they don’t belong. Goodbye, Merlin.” Herakles
wrapped the darkness of time and distance around himself and reached for
Olympus. The sword was safe now, his work on Earth finished.

~THE END~

Death sat at the bar wondering what he had forgotten to
do. 11:02 P.M. December 31. There was something he had to do before midnight or
the new year would not arrive. Time would stop. Life would be frozen in an
endless cold sleep. Souls would have no home.

Change would not continue to shape the universe.

Fates would not be fulfilled.

Death took a sip of his drink and concentrated on his duty.

The potential suicide in the corner vacillated in her
decision. Her well-cut red suit looked too bright and cheerful for her mood. She
twisted a diamond wedding set around and around her heart finger. Death shouldn’t
leave until she made up her mind.

Suicides always disrupted the schedule of appointments. He
didn’t like
last minute
changes.

But there was something else....

He checked his appointment book. The potential suicide wasn’t
listed anywhere in the last few pages. In two minutes, a man with a heart
condition would run out of time. Death grabbed his staff of office and left the
bar. If the woman in the corner made her decision in the next two minutes, she’d
still need two more to find a means and a place.

The little black appointment book with magnificent gold
calligraphy on the cover burned in the pocket of his flannel shirt beneath a
down parka. His staff of office, half again as tall as he, shrank to the length
of a walking stick. The ebony end that curved back on itself to form a window
for a huge black crystal, dissolved into a knob with the winking crystal set
into the end. No flowing black cape and skeletal hands for the heart attach
victim. This candidate for death needed the reassurance of a familiar personage
to make the transition quietly.

Death sidled through crowded Times Square. He appeared to be
just another reveler on New Year’s Eve.

His candidate jumped up and down, waving to friends and
strangers alike. He paused in his excited dance only long enough to chug-a-lug
the whiskey in his hip flask.

Death tapped his shoulder.

“Hi! I’m George. Who are you?” The candidate greeted Death.

“Hello, George. You have an appointment.”

An over-weight, middle-aged body collapsed on the sidewalk. George
turned to look at his former shell. “I guess I have to leave now. Before the
New Year.”

“Yes you do.”

“Pity. I’ve never actually been here on New Year’s Eve when
the ball dropped.” He looked wistfully at the great ball of light atop a
near-by building. “I guess now I never will. Can’t I stay a little longer, just
until the ball drops?”

“Sorry, George. 11:07. You are precisely on time. You can’t
linger, even to see the New Year.”

George looked back at his former self, one last time. A Good
Samaritan had already begun CPR on the limp body.

“He might revive me.”

An ambulance siren wailed in the distance.

“He can’t revive you, I have touched you. Your Fate is
determined. If you choose to wait, or refuse my escort now, you will wander
aimlessly as a lost soul for all time. Your choice.”

“Some choice.” George looked back on his body with longing
in his eyes and posture. Then he nodded in quiet acquiescence. Death took
George’s elbow and led him out of the crowd.

Two minutes later, Death blinked his eyes and transported
back to the bar. Little Miss Indecision was still dithering, still twisting her
rings, occasionally tugging at them. They wouldn’t come off easily. She’d worn
them long enough that her finger and knuckle had grown thicker. Death pulled
out the appointment book once more. A little book now with only a few names
left. The page with George’s name dissolved under his gaze.

“Who’s next?” he asked the book.

At year’s beginning the book had been a huge tome that had
gradually dissipated to this thin reminder. Not many names left. Not much time
before one year faded into the next. Choices and change had to continue. Unless....

Death ordered a drink. He took a sip, remembering when
alcohol tasted good; made him feel good.

Strange, he wasn’t supposed to remember life, only his
duties as Death.

Time. 11:26. There was something he had to do. The
appointment book heated up again. A child dying of cancer. A child ready for
the release of pain. Too bad his parents weren’t ready to let him go. They had
made all of the child’s decisions for him. This last choice had to be his
alone.

Death walked into Pediatric Intensive Care at Mercy Hospital
dressed as a teenage candy-striper, the staff of office now only a small
syringe on a tray with a black crystal plunger. The family of the candidate
hovered around the bed. Tears and aching hearts filled the room with an aura of
misery.

The candidate smiled at Death. “Hi, I’m Mike. About time you
showed up.”

“Hi, yourself, Mike,” Death replied in his feminine voice.

Mike’s body convulsed and gasped for breath.

“No. You can’t die. I won’t let you,” Mike’s mother threw
herself onto the little boy’s body, oblivious of tubes and machines. The woman
looked up directly into the eyes of Death. “Take me instead. He’s so little. He
hasn’t had a chance to live yet. Take me!”

Time stopped until a choice was made. Fate required a death.

“Can you do that? Change the appointment?” Mike asked, eyes
wide and wondering. Momentarily he was free of the constraints of his body. Only
his soul knew what transpired.

“Fate dictates that my appointment is in this room, at this
time,” Death announced to all those present. “The name of the candidate is not
known until the actual moment of death. Anyone here may accept the fated death.”

“Take me,” the mother said resolutely. “Spare my little boy.”

“No, Mom.” Mike looked around at his loving family, frozen
in time until the choice was made. “Think of Dad and the family. Julie and Tom
need a mom. Dad needs his wife. They’ll learn to get by without me. Life will
be a lot harder on them without you than me. Let me go. I’m tired of hurting. I’m
tired of watching you hurt because of me.”

Emotions flooded Death. He remembered pain and how love
lessened it. Getting involved with his candidates was not a part of the job. But
Mike was so strong, so adult, he reminded Death of....

Death refused to remember life. Change and a choice of fates
belonged to others now, not him.

Mike climbed off the bed, leaving his body behind. “Time to
go. Good-by, Mom. Bye, Dad, Julie, Tom.”

Time resumed. The family clung to each other in sorrow.

Death and Mike walked slowly toward a swirling circle of
light, leaving life behind.

A car accident diverted Death’s attention on his transport
back to the bar. Smashed metal, flying glass, the smell of hot gasoline ready
to ignite. Agony! Desperate pleas. Death put aside the memory. Those terrible
things must have happened to someone else.

He checked the most recent victims. Serious injuries, but no
one needed his guidance to the other side yet. He made a note in his
appointment book to check back with the five passengers and three drivers once
they reached the hospital.

The little black book didn’t accept the note. The accident
victims would not face a final choice within the remaining minutes of this
year. What would happen to the book at one second past midnight? Death did not
know.

Or could not remember.

Which?

Death looked at the last page of his book curiously. He saw
an appointment listed for 11:59:59. The assignation hadn’t been there earlier
in the evening. No place, cause, or name followed the time. Strange. What did
he have to do in the last second of the Old Year to make certain the New Year
came? The thought of all the souls of humanity drifting homeless for eternity
made him shudder. Time must continue. People must experience change and make
choices. Fates must be fulfilled.