The First Technomancer (7 page)

Ever after this point, cynicism would grow,
and creep into the human heart.

Atop of a bombed, burned out building Kheira
watched, tears streamed down her illuminated face, while in her
right hand she held Caliburn, its blade still lit, coruscating
chromium green, as she watched the German assault throw projectiles
across the city.

Kaboom!

The air filled with smoke.

Despair had brought her to this moment in
time, just as love had pulled her to Merlin. Thought of the
Technomancer caused her to both smile, and further weep. As she
stood, watching World War I begin in earnest, Merlin waited for his
king. Not mind you, that these moments were parallel, time halted
for Kheira, yet for Merlin it moved ahead.

Other thoughts about Merlin made Kheira ache.
Great tragedy yet awaited him, between himself and his would be
sorceress that desired to become like him. Even with her absolute
grasp of the future she could do nothing to prevent it. Time
remained delicate, only certain threads could be tampered with, or
she risked unraveling it all. And Kheira had already made herself a
participant in history. The doom of Merlin, and his Lady of The
Lake had now been made unmalleable.

Nadia had, or rather she would at a far off
future moment accuse her of talking of events as if she were
reading about them from a book. Kheira understood, that's how she
witnessed history, lives upon a page, often in the past tense,
where she could involve herself only in the most limited of
fashions, or end up destroying that which she cared about.

Kaboom!

From her perch Kheira noticed a Belgian
soldier, and he her.

Kheira exhaled, she had not observed this
battle in her aeriform, figuring that with the pandemonium of war
no one would pay her any mind. Clearly that had been a mistake, as
this Voltigeur, judging by his awestruck expression plainly
recognized her not to be human. For a heartbeat, he looked at her,
transfixed by awe.

What to do? Kheira projected confidence,
lifted Caliburn above her head in a victorious gesture. Clearly
enunciated in French for both this Voltigeur, and any who might
hear: “Vous gagnerez ce jour.” There, a dent in time. They would
recall her as The Angel of Liege, a portend of righteousness for
the ensuing Great War.

Tick tock, time ticked on, Merlin's king soon
would arrive, and she would be called upon to judge him worthy, or
not of her father's sword. At least she'd be able to see her lover
once more. That caused Kheira to smile. In a blink, the luminescent
angel who had stood on a burnt out rooftop and predicted a victory
for the Belgium army at the dawn of war vanished.

Fog thick, and unnatural enshrouded the apple
orchard, King designate Uther Pendragon slammed a hammer down as he
was charged upon by those who would take his crown away before he
yet could attend his enthronement. Even as he defended his nascent
regime, Uther could hardly grasp all which now took place. He had
gone to the pool, compelled by a voice, woken from a dream, which
existed still in his memory just beyond his reach. In a manic state
he had worked on the table, and chairs, neither eating, or taking
much sleep. The table became his obsession.

Not once during it all did he aspire to
become king.

Did he want to be king?

Simply by showing up, and voicing his claim,
many of the nobles had submitted to his right to rule. They had
even taken a vote, by a majority, he had been elected as
Vortigern's heir. They were as a body pleased to have someone
present himself in a calm, reasonable manner. Hoped even his
demeanor of assurance, and honor would carry over the land.

One noble alone however opposed Uther
Pendragon still.

“Cornwall!” Uther spat.

“Uther – I will be king. It is my right.”
Gorlois of Tintagel, a blond gargantuan hacked his way toward the
king designate, he would not be that for long.

In the fog Gorlois unhorsed Uther, they
dueled.

Merlin, as if from out of the fog itself
appeared to witness Uther and Gorlois fight. For this martial
occasion he wore a silver skullcap, a golden ouroboros decorated it
above his third eye, the polished metal reflected all in curved
likenesses. Vrroch hooted, and came to perch on his staff.

Gorlois grunted as Uther knocked him to his
knees, sword poised to strike.

“Do it!” Cornwall screamed, he did not
understand why Pendragon did not strike. Had it been Uther bowed at
his feet, Gorlois knew he would not have wasted the advantage.

“No.” Uther threw aside his blade. “I need
your sort of strength if I'm to lead.”

The wizard moved closer. A magnanimous,
though dangerous gesture of mercy on Uther's part. Cornwall looked
confused, he had been ready to die, and did not understand how
anyone could have passed up ridding himself of a challenger to his
authority.

“Merlin!” Uther shouted, half aware of the
wizard's presence in the whirl of fog. “I have done it. The nobles
recognize my kingship.”

“Oh?” The wizard glanced at Gorlois, clearly
trying to decide if he would grab the King's thrown away sword and
deliver a death blow to the new monarch. Yet, the Duke of Cornwall
let the moment pass, realizing he had been outmatched on all
fronts. Seeing Cornwall's submission Merlin grinned, an expression
of unabashed joy. “Tomorrow, come to the pool. There I will present
your prize.”

Bishop
Letholdus frowned,
Merlin grinned. The two men waited by Dozmary Pool, the wizard
serene while holding his staff, Vrroch perched atop. The clergyman
by contrast fidgeted with his mitre, and golden shepherd's hook, as
both men awaited Uther and his nobles to arrive.

“This is most unusual...” Bishop Letholdus
remarked apprehensive at his role in this. Not that he was very
sure exactly what this was supposed to be. Coronations took place
in the church. Not at a lake's shoreline. Why had this madman of a
devil worker called him here? Merlin had seemed, when he stormed
into the church very urgent that King Uther be anointed as soon as
possible. “Most, out of the ordinary.”

Merlin smirked, he could hardly contain
himself. “Most out of the ordinary indeed my Lord Bishop.” He
watched as Bishop Letholdus shifted in his place, casting a furtive
glance over his shoulder, at the still pool, trepidation plastered
across his old, heavy weary face. “Events such as these do not come
alone but once in a lifetime.” He couldn't help himself. “Don't
stare too hard,” he said mysteriously, but with a smirk. “It might
jump up and eat you!”

That remark put Bishop Letholdus all out of
sorts, so he took a cautionary pace back away from Dozmary Pool,
not really sure what might happen.

Merlin laughed, and the bishop glowered.

Matters of religion seldom entered Merlin's
equations, not that he thought of himself as a materialist, the
inverse in fact, given the scheme of his life. Sure, he made a
study of the Druids, whose ways and teachings were now on the wane,
relics. But he also counted the Christian messiah as among his
blood relations, an uncle. Neither pagan, or Christian, he stood
beyond both. Tormenting this bishop, was but a bit of innocent
amusement, he harbored no ill will towered Christians... and in
truth thought they were a necessity.

Finally Uther Pendragon arrived.

The bishop began the coronation, blessed the
new king, and said many a prayer. At last he anointed Uther with
sacred coronation oil, Pendragon was pleased to be done with all
the pomp and circumstance.

Yet all had not been complete.

The wizard raised his staff, sent his owl off
with a flutter. “Lady of the Lake I beseech you,” he hoped this
worked, as Merlin realized he did not know how to properly call
upon Kheira. “Come, bestow our new king with might sent from
Heaven!”

A chromium green blade pierced the water's
surface, holding it aloft, a hand clothed in silver-scales, gold
bangles at the wrist. Out of the lake she rose, in her undisguised
form. For a split second Kheira glinted as she took on a mortal
coil, not a drop of water glistened on her, yet like before she
stood on the lake as if it were frozen. In but a few steps Kheira
crossed to stand beside Merlin on the shoreline. Ever so slightly
she graced him with a touch. The sword pulsed in her right
hand.

To his credit, Uther did not flinch at
Kheira's unusual appearance. Instead he deeply bowed. “My Lady of
The Lake. I Uther Pendragon, King of Britannia offer my service.”
Merlin had warned him to be humble, show her that he embraced a
code of honor. “I have pledged my life to this land.”

“Good Uther Pendragon.” Kheira, her voice
haughty studied the new king. Caliburn hefted at her side, at the
ready to use should Pendragon not impress her. If he failed her
expectations... ever, Kheira knew she would slay him. “Because the
land and the king are one.” Appraisal reached, she let out a long,
contented sigh. “I entrust Caliburn, blade of my father to you King
Uther Pendragon.” She presented the lit chromium blade, could tell
he was mesmerized by the filaments vibration. “A sword of kings,
forged in the Heavens by a god. Take the oath. Swear on your life.
Vow that you shall use Caliburn to heal, not hack.”

Taking hold of the ornate burnished hilt,
Uther tested the unusual monofilament blade, having never seen it’s
like. Such a weapon could wreak much destruction. No foe could
stand against him. This truly was a sword of power. “I swear it! On
my blood to wield Caliburn for Britannia and her people. My life,
for this blade.” A practice swipe, odor of brimstone, sheared
granite. The power of this blade thrummed in his grip. “A fine,
dangerous weapon my Lady. ”

“Very lethal.” Merlin emphasized.

As Uther and his party withdrew Merlin turned
to speak with Kheira who had not moved since she surrendered
Caliburn. As Uther went, her black eyes watched the new king, a
hard, yet sad expression marred her beautiful illuminated features.
Like she'd just ushered in doomsday. “In my time,” Kheira said. “We
all know about Uther Pendragon.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes Merlin, my love. We
read of him in books, stories are told. Movies are made.” Kheira
purred, ran a gentle hand down his back. Thought, how she'd love to
attend the Coronation feast at Tintagel.
I've not been to a good royal banquet since my father's
palace... yet Tintagel is a place I dare not go. The matter of
Igraine must attend to itself. And Morgana... She'll have her
reckoning. I cannot punish her for crimes yet not committed.
Besides, she's but still a child.
“Uther
has been memorialized for all history, his story, legend.” Hastened
to tease, yet tempted to divulge all of it. “Only one king eclipses
Uther's fame.”

“Which king is that?”

She tsked, shook her head, jewelry clanged,
put a finger to his mouth, so as to silence the barrage of
questions which Kheira could see forthcoming and quickly kissed
Merlin on the cheek. “Not yet. Goodbye, my love.”

Merlin wanted to know more. Another king. But
who? Had not Uther been The One's own selection to rule over
Britannia? She couldn't just tantalize him like that with future
history, and then hold back what she knew! Though, answers were not
to be. Kheira had promptly gone insubstantial and faded away.
Ripples on the lake held the wizards emerald eyes, a mallard bobbed
up from catching a fish, devoured it in one gulp.

Merlin waited apart, a steady eye on all the
guests who had come by the Duke of Cornwall's invitation to welcome
the new king, until Uther, weighed down in his heavy cloak of
state, completed by a thick fur collar beckoned him over. “Merlin,”
the King's words were touched by a goodly amount of mead. “This is
King Leodegrance, ruler of Cameliard. I've made him Keeper of The
Table. Oh yes, and his lovely wife, Queen Consort Tamsin.”

The wizard was familiar with the balding,
sharp nosed Leodegrance, whom Uther had entrusted care of and
keeping for his wondrous round table. As High King he had made it
an official office of the crown. Leodegrance, a giant of a fellow,
good natured to a fault. Though a king in his own right, he was but
simply a client lord who maintained tribal lands in the name of the
crown. Very trustworthy. Now his wife, Tamsin, Merlin had never met
her before. Blonde, green eyed, tall. A gorgeous, generous woman
some several years junior than her husband.

“Pleased to meet you Lord Merlin.”

Avoiding offered hands, Merlin instead
regally bowed.

“What a pretty owl.” Quipped Tamsin.

“Vrroch seems to like you my Lady.” Merlin
observed as the bird jumped from his usual perch on the wizards
staff, over into Queen Tamsin's hand. As a show of affection,
Vrroch moved up her arm, planted a peck, a gentle bird kiss on her
lower lip. This caused Tamsin to let out a girlish laugh, a sound
which made everyone gathered in the hall turn around, to see what
had elicited such a pleasant noise. Tamsin really warmed up a
room.

Merlin excused himself, to brood. Uther had
insisted that he join him at Castle Pendragon. He'd of much rather
remained in his hovel, to do his work, experiment and fiddle. In
private, not while under the watchful eyes of a king's household.
Reason however motivated him to agree to the move. It was early,
too many things could yet go wrong. Better to keep the High King's
ear, act as a font of rationality. These knights were often too
quick to the blade.

A rush seemed to fill the air. For a moment,
Merlin half expected Kheira to have arrived, yet his time leaping
lover could not be seen. Out of the kitchens came a woman. Copper
haired, quite tall, majestic with every movement. For lack of a
more accurate term, bewitching. The Lady of Castle Tintagel. Lady
Igraine.