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  BURIED

  You have the Musings of Merlin Series. Why stop there?

  When Gwen Cooper’s best friend is kidnapped by a mysterious stranger on a trip to England, Gwen gathers her courage and follows her into an extraordinary Otherworld. As Gwen navigates the wilds of the primeval forest and the enchanting fires of faerie people, she finds clues to her past and the mother who abandoned her―discoveries which challenge her to embrace and wield her own hidden powers to save her friend.

  “Captivating and enchanting.”

  - Amazon Reviewer

  Get the first quarter of Mark of the Breenan today!

  BURIED

  MUSINGS OF MERLIN SERIES

  EMMA SHELFORD

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  BURIED

  All rights reserved.

  Kinglet Books

  Victoria BC, Canada

  Copyright © 2019 Emma Shelford

  Cover design by Christien Gilston

  ISBN-13: 9781795358606

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  www.emmashelford.com

  First edition: March 2019

  DEDICATION

  For the cast and crew of BBC’s Merlin: your unsatisfying final episode to a beautiful series turned the wheels of my imagination. Thank you.

  PROLOGUE

  It takes only a moment to change a perspective. A harsh word to a lover, a kind glance to an angry child, or a gentle touch on the shoulder of a grieving stranger―all these can switch a person’s image in an instant. First impressions are important, but it is all the moments between then and now that reveal who we truly are.

  I am experienced at revelations. So many times, I have exposed my secrets to those I love. Often, my efforts have been rewarded, many more times they have been rebuffed. But I must reveal my true nature to those I am close to, or else live forever alone. And it goes both ways―their true nature is exposed at the same time mine is. I can only hope that our history is stronger than their fear.

  CHAPTER I

  I soar far above the city of Vancouver on feathered wings. The wind is brisk and ruffles my pinion feathers, and the late summer sun warms my back. I shriek my delight to the blue skies, and a crow far below me looks up in alarm.

  Too soon, the roof of the auto body repair shop appears as a tiny postage stamp on the ground. I tuck my wings together and plummet in a steep dive toward a cluster of trees near the shop. The trees will give me cover for my transformation, not that anyone would believe their eyes if they saw it.

  I open my wings at the last moment and flap heavily between branches to the ground. The grass is dry and brown here, in need of autumn rains that are still months away. The trees surround a tiny ravine with the riverbed clay dry and cracked. Nobody ever comes down here. It’s a perfect place to revert to my human form.

  Crackling grass between my talons disappears once my human foot is ensconced in a sock and shoe, and the roar of traffic, almost deafening to my avian ears, reduces to a dull hum. I shake my head to feel the movement of my body once more, and my hands pat down my shirt. It’s time to pick up my car, finally fixed from the hailstorm of weeks ago.

  There’s a deep groaning noise from somewhere deep below me. I whirl on the spot to find the source, but nothing appears out of the ordinary. The groan resonates again, and the hairs on my neck stand up. That’s not a noise made by human, animal, or machine. It is from the Earth.

  Faster than I can move, a yawning hole splits open at my feet. Dry dirt clods crumble into the dark fissure as it opens. I jump into the air and desperately fumble with my lauvan to transform into a falcon once more, but I can’t catch the right strands in time. My body plummets into the newly created sinkhole.

  I brush against waving threads of earth lauvan as I fall. They slip through my fingers but slow me enough that when I reach the bottom of the crack, it is not so jarring. My heart pounds, and my breath comes in sharp gasps, but now that I’m not falling, I can stand on shaking legs and look around.

  My ankles are deep in loose dirt, although firm soil under the soles of my shoes reassures me that I will not fall farther. The crack is twice my height, but only as wide as my shoulders, so it’s a tight squeeze. An earthworm at the level of my eyes wriggles free of its earthen confinement and falls to my feet. It smells of mold and damp and growing roots. Somehow, the scent relaxes me, and my brain tries to unravel this mystery.

  Why did a sinkhole appear in the middle of Vancouver? Even if this city were prone to them, which it isn’t, the conditions aren’t right. And what are the chances that a random sinkhole appears directly below my feet and swallows me whole?

  Very low chances, indeed.

  As if in response to this thought, earth lauvan sinuously float from the dirt walls to wrap around mine. I expect this and hold still to allow the connection. If there is anything I learned from almost getting drowned by water spirits, it’s that I shouldn’t put up a fight with spirits who only want to talk. And what else is this sinkhole, this crack in the ground that didn’t leave a scratch on me, if not a very large appeal for my attention?

  My lauvan relax and allow the earth strands to intertwine with them. Soon, some of the strands coalesce into the vague form of a head and torso. A voice emerges from the region of the mouth.

  “Merlin. You are here.” The voice is low and gravelly and speaks slowly. I raise an eyebrow.

  “Hard not to be, since you dropped me in this hole. Did you have a reason, or does it simply amuse you?”

  The voice speaks without acknowledging my cheek.

  “We did not want you to flee when we spoke. The connection is clearest deep in our element, and you cannot escape easily. We can speak to you now.”

  “Yes, about that. I have a lot of questions. This seems like a great time to clear some things up. Your water counterparts were not very forthcoming.”

  “Water is slippery and cannot be pinned down, but earth is unmoving. We will answer your questions if we can. If we cannot, we will never yield.”

  That isn’t a great start to a conversation. What do they want from me?

  “Why are we talking?”

  “Do you know of others who are like you? The successor wishes to know.”

  “Other teachers? Other handsome men? Other people who were around when the Magna Carta was signed?”

  There is a pause in which I almost detect a small sigh. Have I goaded the earth spirits too much? It’s strange, but whereas I felt only anxiety and fear in the presence of the water spirits, with these earth spirits I am far more comfortable. Perhaps I am getting used to dealing with spirits, and they don’t faze me in the same way.

  “Others who can see the threads of the world. What do you call them?”

  “Lauvan,” I say. “But your words are far more poetic. I know of no others who can see lauvan. I have never met anyone else, and I doubt they exist.”

  “The world is a large place, and there are many people in it,” the voice says in a musing tone. “Doubtless they do not advertise their abilities. That is all we wished to know. Goodbye for the moment, Merlin.”

  “Wait,” I say with a mix of alarm and command filling my voice. “I want to ask you a few things. How do you know my name?”

  “We have found out many things about you but cannot tell you the source.”

  “Fine. It doesn’t matter.” I run my hand through my hair while I think of another question, bu
t there’s only one way I’ll get the answers I want.

  “Can I talk to the successor now?”

  “After the ceremony to bring us each within a human body. Once that is complete, the successor will speak with you. Until then, it is not possible.”

  I growl audibly. What’s the point of speaking to the spirits, of having a connection to this world beyond our own, if I can’t get answers from it? It’s time I try a little harder.

  My fingers grasp the nearest earth lauvan that surround my own and squeeze tightly. My eyes close and I send my thoughts into the strands, just as I do when I travel through the lauvan cables in my mind’s eye. I want to see if I can find spirits in the strands.

  There is nothing to see, but my mind feels a presence. It’s hard and solid, a block in my way, and I can’t move past it. Instead, I press against it. Flashes of sensation flit through my brain―the roar of a landslide, the unbelievable pressure of a diamond underground, the heat of molten magma at the earth’s core―and they fill every corner of my mind. My heart beats in a thunderous counterpoint. The sensations are so foreign, and yet fill me with pleasure and comfort all at once, as if my body finally feels what it has been missing.

  It lasts only a moment, then the solid presence in the lauvan flees beyond my reach. It leaves an emptiness that I don’t know how to fill. I open my eyes to a wall of dirt and unreactive earth lauvan. The spirit must have left. Did I startle it? Was it not expecting me to show such abilities? To date, I haven’t been able to show much strength in the face of the spirits, so they might not have anticipated that I would fight back one day.

  I must have connected with the spirit. Did I see its memories, or whatever passes for memories in the spirit world?

  But still, the spirits refuse contact with this mysterious successor, and the only way they will allow it is after Potestas members invite spirits to possess their bodies. I am very tempted to let Potestas complete their ceremony, if only so I can have my questions answered by this successor. I don’t know what the spirits intend in their human hosts. Could it be that bad? As for the Potestas members that will lose their bodies to these parasites, well, it is their choice. How far do I have to save people from themselves?

  I must try. They really don’t know what they’re doing and what the spirits truly intend.

  CHAPTER II

  It’s only been two days since I came back from my sea journey with March Feynman to find the grail in a shipwreck off the coast, the grail that will allow Potestas to bring the spirits to Earth, but it’s time I stopped procrastinating. I need to hide the grail somewhere Potestas will never find it.

  This sinkhole will accomplish that task. I try to turn every situation to my advantage, and today is no exception. The grail is hidden in my satchel, and barring keeping it on my person always, I need a hiding place for it. My apartment is out, as Potestas knows where it is and how to get in. Now that I understand how powerful their spirit connections are, even before the ceremony, I don’t trust any barrier I can devise. No, the grail must be hidden somewhere obscure.

  I take the grail out of my bag and admire its enameled bowl before I place it near my feet. If I can get out of here and fill the hole, the grail will be gone for good. Well, nothing is ever gone for good, but gone for long enough that Potestas won’t be able to profit from it.

  I look around the sinkhole and analyze it for exit strategies. The walls are sheer and crumbling, and the grassy lip of the hole is too far away to reach, even with outstretched arms. I dig my toe into the side for a foothold and am rewarded with a shoe full of dirt. I could transform back into a falcon, but there isn’t enough room for my wings to spread. Tree roots poke through the soil at intervals above my head, and I touch one. It’s thick and sturdy, with rough root hairs along its length.

  It’s time to see how much upper arm strength I’ve retained. I don’t swing a sword every day, now, but my body doesn’t forget very quickly. I grasp the root and haul myself up, then snatch at another root higher up. Up and over, my hands grab roots above my head until grass tickles my fingertips. The edge crumbles until I hold onto a large rock embedded in the ground and drag my body over the edge.

  I lay on the grass, winded and sweaty. When I catch my breath, I stand and survey the damage. My clothes are covered with dirt, and my fingers encounter huge clods of the stuff in my hair when I tousle it clean. My fingers run through the earth lauvan that accompany the dirt and attempt to pluck them away to remove the soil, but it’s very difficult to separate my own brown strands from the earth ones by sight. I try for a few minutes, then give up and dust my clothes off the best I can. I still look like I crawled out of a dustbowl, but it will have to do.

  I don’t often close gaping holes in the Earth, but I’d better figure it out before my hiding spot is noticed. I walk around the edge of the sinkhole, careful not to fall in, and bend down so my fingers can grasp any loose earth lauvan that they can touch. Once my circuit is complete, my hands are full of the silvery-brown strands. Slowly, relentlessly, I pull.

  The earth groans and shudders. I step back to avoid falling when the walls of the sinkhole churn and crumble. Dust fills the air and I press my nose and mouth into the crook of my arm to breathe through my shirt. A minute later, all that is left of the hole is a rough patch of bare dirt and a cloud of dust that drifts away in the light breeze.

  It’s a short walk to the shop, and besides a suspicious look from the repairman that lasts until I produce identification, the car pickup goes smoothly. I slide into the low seat of my Lotus with a contented sigh then point the nose toward my apartment.

  ***

  Voices emerge from my apartment door when I open it. Jen stands in front of the couch with an open duffel bag at her feet. Alejandro tosses clothes and shoes inside. Jen looks up at me with a smile.

  “Hi, Merry. What happened to you?” She eyes my dirty clothes with puzzlement.

  “I hid the grail. Potestas will keep their grubby hands off it now.” I look at the duffel bag. “What’s going on?”

  “Packing,” Alejandro says. He lobs a rolled sock into the bag like a basketball. “I can move into my new place today.”

  “Lucky it’s furnished,” says Jen. “You really don’t have much. I bought a few things to spruce up the place. They’re in my car.”

  Alejandro beams at Jen, and their lauvan connection shivers. Another two strands connect them at the words. I suppress a smile. They are in the sweet beginnings of a relationship, and it’s heartwarming to see.

  Then I consider what Alejandro’s move means to me, and my mood lowers. The apartment will be very quiet when he is gone. I’ve been alone too much in my life to enjoy the sensation. Alejandro must notice, because he turns to me.

  “Don’t worry, Merlo. I’ll be back more than you want me to be. Your fridge always has beer in it.”

  I laugh.

  “That’s how to win friends and influence people.”

  “And you’ll have more freedom,” Alejandro says. He grins at me. “I’m sure Minnie won’t mind.”

  “Don’t forget stuff in the bathroom, Alejandro,” says Jen.

  He moves down the hall, and I reflect on their relationship and my own with Minnie. Theirs is innocent in a way that mine can never be. I’ve seen too much, done too much, lost too much to dwell in sweet bliss. But Minnie and I are comfortable in a way that doesn’t happen very often. Are we too comfortable? I wonder. I don’t want to travel down that road, the road that Jen and Alejandro are barreling down. I don’t want to love right now. I don’t want to fall apart, to splinter into pieces.

  But it’s only a fling, a short dalliance with a lovely woman. I’m sure that’s all it is on my part. Next time I see Minnie, I will examine her lauvan closely to make sure she feels the same. I don’t want to cause her more hurt than is necessary. She deserves that consideration.

  “Anything new with you?” I ask Jen to banish my thoughts.

  “I visited my dad at his office yesterday. He j
ust sold off his security company that he bought before I was born.” Jen’s father is CEO of a multinational corporation, with footholds in numerous industries. It doesn’t surprise me that they own their own security company. “It doesn’t matter, really, except that my favorite guard is gone. Barty used to give me candies whenever I visited as a kid and tell me stories of his childhood in Hungary. And now he’s gone.” Jen shrugs. “It’s a little sad I didn’t get to say goodbye. The sale happened a few weeks ago, but I haven’t visited my dad at work in a while.”

  “Perhaps Barty is guarding a celebrity, or a treasure chest of gold doubloons,” I say to lighten Jen’s mood. “Keep Barty in your memory and imagine he’s doing more interesting things than guarding the front desk of an office building.”

  Jen purses her lips in thought.

  “Maybe security for a newly discovered tomb in Egypt. Or Aztec gold in the Yucatan.”

  “Exactly.”

  “In other news, I have more questions for you.”

  “You always do.” For the past three days, ever since she found out about my history, Jen has been asking me questions. She’ll have enough to write a book soon, at the rate she’s collecting information.

  “Where were you in eighteen eighty-three, when Krakatoa exploded?”

  Krakatoa, or Krakatau as it was known to the Indonesians at the time, was the largest volcanic eruption in written history.

  “I’d settled in Perth, Australia, for a time. I was part of the team that built the first telegraph line there, and it was such an odd little place, with such fantastic scenery, that I stayed for a while. The Western Australian gold rush provided extra entertainment. But Krakatoa―the incredible explosion that day, no one knew what the noise could possibly be. It was a few days later that the news finally made it to Perth.”