The Invitation (4 page)

“If I had my time over again, I'd be someone happy and ordinary and small. Never get involved in the affairs of the great and the powerful. Never discover the joy of the art. That's the trouble, you know.” Again the ancient mage turned to face Tim directly. “Once you've begun to walk the path, there's no getting off it.”

Another crash—and another sparkling building shattered and collapsed into the unrelenting sea below them. It seemed to dishearten the ancient one. “There. I've said enough. Take him away, Dark Walker. Show him the next exhibit in the waxwork gallery of the past. And, boy, don't take what they're offering. It's a crock—a big golden crock.”

Tim watched, stunned, as the ancient magician's wrinkled flesh slowly dissolved, leaving only a skeleton. A strong wind whipped up, blowing the bones apart and then into dust. Within moments all that was left was a grinning skull. It was as if the only thing that had kept the creature alive was waiting for this conversation to occur. Now that the warning had been given, the magician could let go—and die.

Shaken, Tim stared at the empty eye sockets. “Did you know this was going to happen?” he asked the Stranger.

“Come, child,” was the only response. “Let's lose ourselves into the past.”

Lose is right
, Tim thought, as images swirled by in a blur. He found himself in a cave then. The damp walls were covered in paintings of animals, illuminated by a crackling, spitting fire. Men in skins danced around the flames. Tim watched them trying to grapple with the dark world outside the cave: the mysterious forces that must be placated and persuaded, sacrificed and prayed to, loved and distrusted.

And so—there was magic. Tim wasn't sure how he knew this, but it came to him as truth.

Next, he felt as if he were in a museum of ghosts. Hieroglyphs of the dead surrounded him and the Stranger on the rough walls of the pyramids, and Tim realized that they had traveled to ancient Egypt. Dog-faced gods, azure scarab beetles, lotus flowers, and legions of painted men and women glowed from the walls. And magic was here too.

Then, abruptly, they stood on the banks of the Yellow River of China. In the sky, paper kites fluttered as priests ducked and twirled, wearing the masks of the sacred dragons. This too was magic.

The world shifted again, and Tim felt Mediterranean warmth, and sunlight. He was in
an ancient Grecian vineyard, watching the revelers as they danced in a rite filled with merriment—and danger. Tim's body pulsed with the energy of the ritual, drawn into the compelling orbit of the vine and the blood.

He collapsed then, the energy completely drained out of him. “Stop it,” he begged the Stranger. “Please stop it. It's too much.” He lay gasping on what he thought might actually be solid ground. He knew he was alone again with the Stranger, the figures of the past vanishing back to wherever they belonged. Tim gulped and panted—it felt like they were still moving. “I think I'm going to be sick.”

As if to prove his point, he rolled over and retched.

“I apologize, Timothy. I fear I have shown you too much, too fast.”

Tim wiped his face on the grass, his mouth on his sleeve. He lay on his back and took in slow breaths.

“All those pictures. Those places. It's overwhelming.” Even harder than the disorienting time shifts was the unbearable loneliness. Tim felt separate and apart from all he'd seen; observing, not participating. On the outskirts of events but not invited or included. It was too much like his
own life back in East London.

And other than being reminded that he was on the outside looking in, what had he learned? All he knew about magic so far was that it had been around for a really long time, that people craved it, needed it, and yet in his very first encounter he had been warned against it—by the only person he'd been able to actually have a conversation with, a bitter million-year-old magician who instantly turned into a skeleton.
How can I learn what it is really all about this way?
Tim wondered
. Don't I have to
do
magic to understand it?

“Isn't there anyone I can talk to,” he asked the Stranger, “so I can ask what it's really like?”

The Stranger sighed. It sounded hollow and sad. “We are adrift in time, child. We have no more reality than the glimmer of a dream. There is no one with the power to see you. Except. Hmm…”

The Stranger appeared to have thought of something. Tim scrambled up—they had moved again. They were standing outside a thatched hut in a deep forest.

“Where are we?” Tim asked.

“Nearer to your time,” the Stranger replied. “Close to Winchester, in England.”

“Practically home.”

They stepped into the hut, and the first thing that hit Tim was the odor. It stank! Some foul-smelling smoke rose from a cauldron hanging in the huge fireplace that took up one wall. Dried herbs hung from the mantel.

Across from the fireplace there were shelves lined with glass jars and thick books. The dirt floor had a large pentacle etched into it, with astrological signs running around the perimeter.

A boy just a few years older than Tim sat at a large oak table, pouring a thick green liquid into a small earthen bowl. He glanced up. “What took you so long?” he demanded.

“What?” Tim asked. “You were waiting for me?”

“I can't go on to the next step without those leaves,” the boy said. “Did you have trouble finding the plants?”

“Uh…uh…” Tim stared at the boy, who seemed to think he was someone else.
Maybe the only way he can see me in his time frame is if he thinks I'm actually someone who belongs here
. Tim wasn't sure what to do.

“You don't have them, do you?” the boy said accusingly, rising from his seat. He wore a thick wool tunic belted over loose trousers, and short
leather boots. Tim wondered who he was—then wondered
when
he was.

Irritated, the boy ran a hand through his thick blond hair. Tim could see that his long hair was none too clean. He didn't see a lavatory in this one-room hut; the boy probably bathed once a month, if that.

“I don't understand why they have paired us as apprentices,” the boy complained. “Imagine, me, Merlin, with the likes of you. I am the most powerful magician of this age.” He glanced at Tim and smirked. “Don't look so surprised. Even our master, Blaise, says as much. The magic burns in my veins.”

Merlin came around the table toward Tim. He stopped a few feet away and stared at him. “But I sense the magic in you too,” he said with surprise. “Something has changed you. An awakening. This power was not in you yesterday. Or even a few hours earlier when I sent you for the mugwort.”

“I—I
am
different now,” Tim said. That was certainly the truth.

Merlin nodded thoughtfully. “We should get back to work. We are still training, after all. Though why I should train when I know I will have all the power I could ever dream of…”

“Maybe that's how you learn to use all that power,” Tim suggested.

Merlin looked at him sharply. “Yes, you have changed.” He seemed to consider something, then said, “Why don't you work the next spell yourself?”

T
IM'S EYES WIDENED
behind his glasses. “Me? Do a magic spell?”

Merlin shrugged. “Why not? You will have to work on your own sooner or later. Let's see if this change in you has any true merits.”

Tim glanced back to see what the Stranger thought of this idea. But as usual, the man's face was expressionless.
Well, if there's any real danger, he probably wouldn't let me
, Tim reasoned, walking over to the oak table.
Unless this is a major test
.
Maybe I'm supposed to refuse. I could accidentally make Merlin disappear and then there would be no King Arthur, or Knights of the Round Table, and all the course of English history is forever changed. All because of me.

Hmm.
Tim scratched his head.
What to do?

Merlin leaned against the bricks of the fireplace, warming his back in the chill air. His green
eyes sparkled with challenge. “Afraid?” the teenage magician taunted.

Tim jutted out his chin. “No way. What should I do for my first trick? Make a rabbit pop out of a hat?”

Merlin looked confused. “Why would you want to do that when we trap rabbits right outside the door?”

“It was a joke,” Tim muttered. “Sheesh.”

“Make the potion on the next page. We can't finish mine anyway, since you neglected to bring back the mugwort,” Merlin said.

Tim turned the heavy, grimy page of the book that lay open on the table. “To See in the Dark” was written in blue ink across the top. “Cool!” Tim exclaimed. What an awesome trick that would be!

“Yes, it is a cold night,” Merlin said. “But that won't interfere with the spell.”

This guy sure is literal
, Tim thought. Then he realized that no one had started saying “cool” yet at this time in British history. “Forsooth, I mean,” Tim tried. “This spell will be exciting.”

Merlin smirked a little. “Yes, it will be. If you can create it correctly.”

I'll show him
, Tim thought. He read through the spell. Easy enough. He just had to blend a few ingredients while saying some weird words. How hard was that?

Carrying the heavy book with him to the shelf of jars, Tim looked up to find the first herb: couch-grass. He'd never heard of it and had no idea what it would look like. He hoped the jars were arranged in alphabetical order.

“No—No labels?” Tim squeaked. He glanced up and down the row. Not a single jar had a label on it identifying what was inside.

“We're not supposed to need labels,” Merlin said. “You don't remember a single item, do you?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Tim.

“Sure I do,” Tim said defiantly. He balanced the book awkwardly in one hand and reached up for a jar. Then he stopped and lowered his hand. It could be dangerous to mix together ingredients he knew nothing about. He had learned that the hard way, when he and Molly blew up her chemistry set.

Tim hung his head. He was ashamed that he had even thought of trying to fake his way through, just because he wanted to show off in front of Merlin. But Merlin misread his expression.

“You have to study, lad,” Merlin scolded. “That's the only way to learn. Don't be such a layabout. You must take magic seriously. It is a serious business.”

“I will,” Tim promised. “But there's plenty of
time to learn how to get these things right. I mean, my future is, well, in the future.”

Merlin's eyes widened. “Are you a seer as well? Do you read the future as I do?”

Tim was stunned. “Can you do that?”

Merlin nodded. He took a bunch of dried herbs from a hook by the fireplace, crossed to the table, and began to grind them in a mortar with a pestle.

“What's going to happen?” Tim asked.

Merlin ground a bit harder. “It's all going to be a dreadful mess, really. I mean, I'll get Arthur up and running. Swords out of stones. All that.”

Tim nodded, remembering the story. How astonishing to discover it was all real. And to be here before it had even begun.

“Create the fleeting wisp of glory called Camelot,” Merlin said. He went to the jars and scooped a handful of sweet-smelling blossoms from one of them. He let them lie on the palm of his hand, gazing into them as if he were seeing the future in the delicate petals. “Camelot. It will be a glorious moment that sputters its light through the Dark Ages and then fades from sight.”

He went back to the table and dropped the flowers into his work bowl. He crushed them under the pestle. “It would have all worked out fine if I could be there to see it through. But I
won't be.” Merlin worked harder, grinding his ingredients into a paste. His jaw clenched, his pressure on the pestle turning his knuckles white.

“Why not?” Tim asked, afraid these questions were making the boy magician angry. But he had to know.

“Nimue will come along and I'll go panting after her like a dog in heat. I'll teach her too little magic to do her any good, and too much for safety. All the while trying to get into her petticoats. Then she'll entice me into a cave and bind me there with my own magic and leave me to rot.”

Merlin stopped to push his long hair out of his face. He stared down into the bowl sadly, but gradually a slow smile spread across his face. “Still,” he said, turning to Tim with a grin. “It will all be very, very interesting.”

“But if you know what's going to happen, why can't you change it?” Tim demanded. “Do it differently? Avoid this Nimue?”

Merlin seemed surprised by the questions. “I must do as I will do. Magic grants no freedoms. You know that. Everything it buys must be paid for.” Merlin went back to the jars, running his finger along the shelf until he found the next ingredient.

Tim saw that Merlin was fading away, the whole room, the fire, the jars, all darkening—
returning to where they belonged in the past. And Tim found himself in limbo beside the Stranger once again.

“He was only my age,” Tim said, his eyes still fixed on the spot where Merlin had stood only moments ago. “Just a bit older.”

“Yes,” the Stranger answered.

“Could I do what he did? Could I be as powerful as Merlin?”

“Powerful?” the Stranger repeated. “A strange word to use in connection with him.”

“Why?” Tim asked. “Just because he ended up in some cave because of that girl? I'd be smarter than that!” Tim looked up at the Stranger again. “Can I be like him?”

“If you choose that path, yes, you could be the conduit for power that Merlin was.”

“I'd like that!” Tim exclaimed.

The Stranger looked down at him for a long silent moment. “Perhaps you would.”

Tim felt his heart race. This was big! His brows came together as he thought hard. He wanted to understand, not make mistakes. Tim remembered the force with which Merlin had mixed his potion, the edge in his voice as he described his future. “It seemed he was saying that he knew his life wasn't going to work out. I mean, he seemed pretty bothered by that. But he
was going to do it all anyway!”

“Yes,” the Stranger said. “That is what he seemed to be saying.”

“The whole world knows about Merlin—
still
!” Tim went on, excited by the possibilities that were presenting themselves, fast and furious. “
That's
famous. This magic thing must be worth it, considering the sacrifice he ended up making.” Tim held out his arms to the void, trying to feel its energy. “Imagine having all that power and being only a kid!” He turned back to face the Stranger. “Tell me more. Show me more. I want to see it all!”

Instantly, Tim doubled over again, but this time he was better prepared. He wasn't frightened or nauseous; his eagerness for experience knocked the dizziness right out of him.

Howls of fear and pain rose all around him. Tim gasped in horror. Women, and a few men, were being tortured in the dungeons of the Inquisition. Fire blazed everywhere, women screamed from wooden posts as they were set afire in Germany, in England, in America. Drownings, stonings, beatings, accusations, shrieks, cries, and wails clamored in his ears. Tim covered his eyes. “It's horrible!” he shouted above the din. “Horrible!”

“The burning times,” the Stranger said. “They reappear throughout history. In what has been
called the Dark Ages, but also in ages of so-called ‘enlightenment.'”

“Why?” Tim demanded, sinking to his knees.

“People kill what they fear,” the Stranger explained. “And magic is a powerful force. It deserves to be respected. But it is mysterious, so it can be frightening.”

Tim pulled his hands from his eyes and watched the images pile up, layering over each other. “Are they all evil?” Tim asked, watching as old and young, beautiful and disfigured, were all murdered in a myriad of socially sanctioned ways.

“No,” the Stranger answered. “Evil exists and magic can be bent to its purpose. But these accused were rarely evil. In fact, they were often not magical beings at all.”

“Then why…?” Tim couldn't grasp it, the torture and murder of innocents. “Why?”

“It was an opportunity to be exploited. Those whom they did not understand, those of whom they did not approve, were all herded into slaughter.”

The cries faded away. The images froze, then dissolved. Tim and the Stranger floated in blank and silent space again.

“After all this,” Tim said, shaken by the violence he'd witnessed, “was it over for magic?”

“In the forests, and in the high places, and beside the great stones, the old religions and old
memories endured.”

Tim thought about the time his class studied the pillars of Stonehenge. His teacher had said they were erected on a sacred site. It was hard to imagine, since they'd become a big tourist attraction, but now Tim believed it.

“It doesn't seem like there's any real magic anymore,” he said. “Not like there was. Where did it all go?”

“Magic hasn't been lost completely,” the Stranger said. “‘Misplaced' would, perhaps, be a more precise term. Many of the powers of Faerie left this plane for good. And as science arose it left little room for magic.”

“Why?”

“Both are systems of belief,” the Stranger explained. “Science believes in what is explainable, verifiable. Magic requires an ability to plunge into the unseen and unknown. The two are rarely compatible. In your world, science has become the shared reality.”

“What are you saying? That magic died out by my time?” If there had been something to kick, Tim would have kicked it.
This is so unfair! Magic disappears just in time for me to miss out?

“No, it hasn't died altogether. But wild magic, the kind of magic that is present in every thing, every leaf, every rock—that is a thing of the past.
And since there are always those who would burn anyone they perceive as witches, many true magicians have adopted new garb, avoiding recognition by disguising their plumage.”

“So there are still magicians,” Tim figured, “but they're going to be harder to find.”

“Correct.”

“I'm glad to know magic still exists,” Tim said. “It would be dead depressing to think we'd killed it all off.”

“The human race has nearly extinguished it more than once,” the Stranger said. “But the power, the art, the talents, the blood-gifts have managed to burn even in embers, and inevitably it ignites again. Given the proper fuel.”

“There doesn't seem to be much magic where I live,” Tim complained. Then he brightened and gave the Stranger a grin. “I'd like to be the one who brings it back.”

The Stranger paused, and seemed to be thinking.

“Your journey has only begun,” he said. “By the end of your path, you will have the information to decide what it is you want. However, I have taken you as far as I can, child.”

Once again the shimmering nothingness in the shape of a large rectangle materialized in front of them.

“Push through that door,” the Stranger instructed. “Beyond it are monsters and saints and sinners and freaks more remarkable than anything you have seen on our travels through antiquity.”

After all that Tim had seen, he wondered what waited for him on the other side of the door this time. Could it really be more exotic than Atlantis and Merlin and the Spanish Inquisition?

He took a deep breath and walked through the doorway.

Into present-day London.