The Merlin Effect (25 page)

But where could that be? Someplace safe, yet not completely hidden. Someplace where the enemies of Merlin and Arthur would not find it.

Maybe Merlin meant I should keep it myself.
Strangely
tempted by the thought, she lifted the Horn, watching it shimmer in the sunlight. Perhaps she would change her mind and decide to drink from it one day. Or perhaps not. In any case, she would make a solemn promise to guard it for Arthur, to give it to him when he returned.

Or would she? In the presence of such power, would she eventually forget about her promise, as Merlin did long ago? And even if she could stay true, she was only one person. Those who craved the Horn would hunt for it relentlessly. She could not protect it from every conceivable threat.

Her mind drifted back to the story of the Horn. She thought of its many names, its many gifts, its many masters. She thought of its birth, inspired by the love of Emrys for Wintonwy. She thought of its connection to the mer people, ever elusive, and to the sea itself, the watery womb of all life.

As she stood on the deck of the ancient ship, an idea came to her. It was full of risk, yet it held a hint of hope. She looked into the Horn once more, then called out as loud as she could, “Serilliant!”

With that, she hurled it into the waves. For an instant it rested on the surface of the ocean. Then it sank out of sight.

She waited, watching, unsure what to expect.

At that moment, a ring of bubbles came to the surface, encircling the spot where the Horn had disappeared. Out of the sea rose a group of mer people, glistening green. In the middle of their circle, riding a low fountain of water, was the Horn of Merlin.

They had accepted her gift. With a single, soundless splash, they dived beneath the waves and disappeared.

Kate noticed that the
Resurreccíon
was listing more and more. No longer sustained by the power of the Horn, its timbers started to split and crack. A wave smashed the stem,
throwing her into the rigging. The hull moaned like a living thing, then broke apart, its timbers dissolving into thousands of pieces. Into the ocean went the sails, the gold ingots, the jewels, the ivory combs, the cannons, the silks, and the thin red volume, all to be scattered on the bottom by the currents and tides.

Immersed in frigid water, Kate wrapped her arms around the remains of an old beam, hoping to stay afloat. She had no way of telling whether she would be carried out to sea, where she certainly would die, or back to the coast, where she would survive only if she could find a fishing village before falling prey to the desert sun.

A wave drenched her, nearly tearing her from the beam. Somehow she clung on. When she opened her eyes again, she saw a strange shape rising out of the ocean. She caught her breath.

The shape surged higher. At once she recognized it. She still could not breathe, though no longer out of fear. For there, moving toward her, was no sea demon, no phantom ship. It was the submersible.

The next several minutes flowed past as quickly as a crashing wave. The opening of the hatch. The shouts. The waves. The reunion she had never believed possible.

There was her father, hugging her so hard she thought her ribs would crack, then listening with care as she described her final moments with the Horn. There was Isabella, shaking with joy to see her, explaining how they had reached the submersible only seconds before the eruption, eager to hear about the young gray whale. There was the submersible, cramped but wholly satisfactory, bobbing where not long ago a great whirlpool had churned.

As Kate described Terry’s gruesome fate, the others listened in disbelief.

“Can it be so?” asked Isabella, brushing back some stray hairs. “His life should not end that way.”

Jim frowned. “No one’s life should end that way.”

In time, the conversation turned to other matters. Kate painted vivid portraits of her last encounters with Nimue, Garlon, and Merlin himself.

Her father looked at her affectionately. “You’re not a bad storyteller, you know.”

Despite her wet clothes, she felt a touch warmer. “It’s in my genes.”

“I can just hear you now,” he predicted. “Sitting by the fire, surrounded by your grandchildren. One of them asks, ‘Please, Granny, tell us the one about the battle of the giant chess pieces.’”

Kate joined in the laughter. “So I’ll get to tell my own stories about Merlin.” Then her expression changed. “Can you forgive me for almost following Nimue’s orders?”

“If you can forgive me for following my own greed for the Horn. I found out down there that my motives were less pure than I had thought. Still…we did manage to prove the existence of Merlin, didn’t we?”

“And not just in the sixth century.”

“Right you are.”

“He didn’t look at all like what I expected.”

“At least you got the wart on his nose right.” He worked his tongue, pondering something. “I think you did the right thing with the Horn.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. And if Merlin could be here with us, I’m sure he would, too.”

She started to smile, then caught herself. “Maybe he
will
be with us again. And maybe he’ll bring Terry back with him.”

“I hope so,” said her father.

“Do you think he can save him?”

“Merlin is capable of many things.”

Isabella leaned closer. “As is
the place where the sea begins, the womb where the waters are born.
”

Jim gave her a nudge. “Not bad for a marine biologist.”

Before Isabella could respond, a familiar wailing reached the submersible. Familiar, yet somehow changed. Hunched together, the trio listened to the creaking and moaning, clicking and whistling of the whales. They were all around, encircling the submersible, weaving their complex harmony.

“Something’s different,” said Jim after a while. “Do you hear it? Their singing isn’t the same.”

“Yes,” answered Isabella. “There’s a little less sadness.”

Kate nodded, recalling Merlin’s wish for the whales. “Or maybe…a little more hope.”

Just then a gray whale, streams of water pouring from his body, launched out of the waves not far from the submersible. The whale paused, half in the water and half out, before falling back in a thunderous splash, spraying every window in the vessel.

Then he descended, lifting his severed tail into the air.

“That’s him!” exclaimed Kate.

Isabella watched the whale submerge. “I have the feeling you two might meet again.”

“Maybe.”

“Hey,” said Jim, “is anyone else hungry? I’m in the mood for a big helping of something. How about Baja Scramble?”

Isabella pouted. “I’ve been dreaming of pancakes.”

“All right, then. We’ll flip a coin.”

“Here,” announced Kate. “I’ve got one.” She thrust her
hand into her pocket and pulled out a silver coin, as bright as if it had been freshly minted. A piece of eight.

The submersible pitched on the swells, as a lone gull screeched overhead. Waves slapped and surged, rocking to the rhythm of the sea.