Buried Read online

  “Time for a game?” Gary rubs his hands together. “You’ll see, youngster, I have a few tricks up my sleeve today.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” I grin at him and he chuckles.

  “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Gary tends to favor his knights while playing, but my piece of choice is the bishop―always sliding in at an unpredictable angle and catching other players off guard. No doubt, Gary has some slick moves from long practice, but to me they are easy to predict. Sometimes, I let him get close to checking my king, but never allow my defeat entirely. His strands clearly show his thrill at almost beating me, and he never dissolves into disappointment. He adores the challenge.

  “Do you have big plans for tonight, young man?” Gary says after capturing my rook.

  “Quiet night in, I expect. Alejandro moved out, so quieter than usual.”

  “A good kid, that one. Hold onto your friends, Merry. They make life worth living, have your back when you’re down.” He slaps my shoulder with a guffaw. “Give you someone to drink with.”

  I grin.

  “No doubt.”

  “I’m just saying, don’t let your new friendship with Alejandro fade just because he’s living in a different apartment. Good people don’t come into your life every day, after all. Why do you think I put up with the missus?” He laughs. “She’s good people, and worth the occasional nagging into my deaf ear.”

  “You’re right,” I say, and move my bishop. “I’ll call Alejandro tomorrow. Checkmate.”

  “What?” Gary peers at the board then nods in approval. “Dang it, you’re right. After I got your queen, I thought for sure I had it in the bag. Good game, Merry.”

  CHAPTER VI

  Dreaming

  I sink onto the dry dirt before a crackling campfire and sigh with contentment. It has been a pleasantly dry stretch of summer lately, and it is comfortable to be able to lounge by the fire without damp boots and a damper cloak. Sounds of the men preparing food drift through the night air, and the forest is dotted with fires surrounded by glowing faces. Gareth hands me a stick skewered with charred chunks of meat.

  “Dinner for you, Merlin,” he says with an amiable smile. “I hope you enjoy it. Game was hard to come by this afternoon, but a rat valiantly gave his life to be your supper.”

  I take the stick and tear off some meat with my teeth then chew thoughtfully until I swallow. Arthur looks nauseated beside Gawaine as he holds a half-eaten skewer of meat.

  “Nice try, Gareth. But I’ve eaten enough rat to know it when I taste it.” I grin at him. “Rat’s not bad, only too chewy for my liking. I much prefer rabbit.” I hold up the stick in salute.

  Gareth throws back his close-cropped blond head with a guffaw that splits his broad face in a wide smile.

  “The joke was too good to pass up. I didn’t expect you to be a rat-eater.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “But it’s truly rabbit?” Arthur says with an attempt at joviality, although he eyes his meat with distrust. I point my skewer at him.

  “There’s your joke’s payoff, Gareth. Go on, Arthur, meat is meat. It wouldn’t hurt your soft lord’s stomach to experience a little rat.”

  “Soft, am I?” Arthur’s eyes flash with amused indignation. “I’ll remember that the next time you need saving from a sword in your side.”

  “Are you still harping on about that? Yes, I am eternally grateful that you watch my back in battle.” I take another bite and speak through my mouthful. “But keep bringing it up and I’ll have to remind you of all the battles that I’ve watched yours.”

  “And you two would be nowhere without me,” Gawaine adds with a smug pat on his massive chest.

  “If we’re all finished measuring our swords,” says Gareth. “Mine’s the largest, by the way―can anyone tell me when we’re expecting to arrive at the villa?”

  “Can’t wait to reintroduce your sword to your wife, I suppose,” I say. Gawaine snorts, but Arthur answers Gareth’s question.

  “If we push hard, we should be there by sunset. I’m sure your children will be happy to see you also.” He smiles at Gareth, whose eyes light up at the thought, but there is an air of sadness around Arthur that likely only I can see. He and Guinevere have been married for years, and never once has Guinevere shown signs of being with child. Arthur rarely speaks of it, but I know it pains him. They have asked me to examine their lauvan for problems, but I cannot find anything clearly wrong. Sometimes nothing can be done, even by me. I try to lighten his mood with a jest.

  “It’s a good thing the little runts are yours and not mine,” I say. Gareth’s twins are hardly runts, and instead take after their father in size. “I can’t imagine being tied down with a pair of ankle-nibblers.”

  Gareth chuckles, taking no offense to my ribbing. He’s the most good-natured man I’ve ever met.

  “Nor tied down to one woman, it would seem.”

  “There’s something to be said for having a good woman waiting for you at the end of a long campaign,” Gawaine adds. His own wife is a recent development, but Gawaine has wasted no time in giving her a round belly to match her apple cheeks.

  “You’ll find her one day,” Gareth says, strangely solemn. “She’ll make you, Merlin.”

  I wave him off.

  “One woman? Forever? I’ll believe it when I meet her. Until then…” I grin.

  There is a scuffling and shouts from the edge of our encampment. We all tense, but whatever occurred appears to be subdued. Moments later, Arthur’s eyes narrow as two sentries approach our fire, a stranger clutched between them.

  “My lord Arthur,” says one of our men. “We were on sentry duty and caught this intruder. Might be a spy.” He shakes the central man’s arm for emphasis. The man cringes, his eyes fearful under a mop of dark hair. He glances at each of us in turn, but his gaze stops at my face. He jerks as if scalded and would back away if the guards didn’t have a firm grip on his arms. I glance at Arthur, who looks as confused as me at the man’s reaction.

  “Do you know me?” I ask him. He avoids my gaze.

  “I know of you, lord Merlin. The stories say―” He gulps.

  “Tell me more.” I lean back on my hands. “I do love a good story. How does my reputation precede me?”

  “Your sorcery is well-known,” he mumbles to his boots. His knees are actually trembling. I feel Gareth, Arthur, and Gawaine glance at each other. They all know of my abilities, but for the sake of the guards, I feign ignorance.

  “I wish I did have sorcery, because I could force you to tell us who you were spying for, and why. Then I could change you into a frog.” Arthur turns his face away to hide his smile. I’ve done that very thing to him in the past. “But since it isn’t true, I’ll let you tell your story to lord Arthur. But, don’t forget, there are ways other than sorcery to make you talk.”

  The man grows even more pale but turns when Arthur speaks.

  “Who do you work for? You don’t look Saxon.”

  “I won’t tell you anything,” he squeaks out. He glances at me again. I grin and flex my fingers threateningly. Gareth smothers his laugh in a cough.

  “All right!” the man blurts out. “The Lady Morgan sent me. She needs to know where you are, so you don’t thwart her plans.”

  “Which are?” Arthur says with a patient air.

  “She means to attack the Saxon settlement at the border of Caer-Magnis.”

  “They’re part of the truce,” Arthur says with frustration. “How many times must I fix Morgan’s mistakes?”

  “You should have seized her lands when her husband Idris died, years ago,” I say.

  “I made the right decision at the time, but now I wonder.” Arthur sighs then signals the guards to take the spy away. “Shackle him. We’ll take him with us. And alert the men that we’re going to Caer-Magnis first.”

  The guards depart. Gareth’s shoulders slump.

  “So close,” he murmurs.r />
  CHAPTER VII

  I’ve been pacing around the room, listening to the discussion of my students. Some conversations have been blisteringly dull, others shine with concealed insight, like uncut diamonds. At the front, I wait for them to quiet down. It takes only a few seconds―they all have half an eye on me, waiting for my direction. Having command of a room is a handy skill.

  “What have you discussed?” I ask the hushed room. “How does the poem Beowulf treat Grendel’s mother? Michael.”

  They hate it when I choose someone instead of letting the most forward volunteer. That’s part of the fun. They stay on their toes this way. Michael looks resigned as he opens his mouth.

  “She’s one of the three monsters that Beowulf has to defeat. The poem describes her as a hag who dragged the hero down to her creepy cave, where he has to fight her to win.”

  “Yes, that’s how she is described in the text. I’m looking for interpretation of how the poem portrays her. Kristal?”

  A young woman on the side crinkles her nose in irritation at being called, but she gamely offers her thoughts.

  “Well, she’s clearly a murdering monster, but the only reason she did it was in revenge. Beowulf did just kill her son. The poem doesn’t really empathize, though. It’s all about Beowulf and the battles.”

  “Indeed. It pays to look at the villain’s motivations. Even if their actions don’t justify their means, deeper understanding can be obtained from that analysis. All right, that’s enough for today.” The class begins to scrape back chairs and pull out backpacks, but I raise my hand, and everyone stills. “I recommend you jot down the gist of your discussions. They will come in useful for your next paper.”

  I drop my hand and the class resumes its noisy departure. Once the first few students barge out of the door, another figure slips inside. My frown of confusion changes to one of annoyance. What is Anna Green doing at my place of work? She sees me at the Potestas headquarters often enough, and she knows where I live. She doesn’t need to seek me out here.

  Anna is dressed in skin-tight jeans and an alluring blouse that pretends to be demure while it clings to her curves. She has paired the outfit with heels and a knowing smile, and sashays to the front of the class. The eyes of my students follow her with curiosity.

  “Merry,” Anna says when she reaches me. “How are you?”

  I give her a hard look.

  “Why are you here, Anna?”

  She pouts.

  “You’ll give me a complex. I’m not that repulsive, am I?” She gives the nearby Michael a sideways glance and smiles. He ducks his head and scurries past, embarrassed to be caught looking. I sigh.

  “Spit it out.”

  “Fine,” she says, but without real rancor. “I was told to bring you this.”

  She pulls out a wristband of leather that she had somehow squeezed into her jeans’ pocket. It is embedded with a deep maroon garnet, and it is thick with lauvan, all earth ones. Their brown strands intertwine slowly, some silvery brown, some the black of freshly-turned loam, some the living brown of a tree trunk.

  Anna holds it out to me, but I don’t take it immediately.

  “Who told you? Why are you giving me―” I look around the room, but all my students have left. “An amulet? Will it do something to me?”

  “So suspicious. Nothing will happen to you, I promise.”

  Anna shakes the wristband in my direction with impatience, and I gingerly take it between two fingers. The earth lauvan meet my own questing strands, but do not engage in any worrying way.

  “See? It’s fine,” she says. “We were given instructions to give you a way to contact the spirit world. Apparently, you’re special.” She winks at me. “But I knew that already. I don’t know how it will work, but they said you would figure it out.”

  “Who are they?” Is there someone else behind Potestas, more than March?

  “The spirits, of course.” Anna looks puzzled at my confusion. “They didn’t give us many details. Do you know why they want to talk? I’m dying to know.”

  I shake my head slowly, but it’s a lie. I’m this son they search for. And now, maybe, I have a chance to find out more answers, contact the spirits on my terms. Will they be more forthcoming now that they have provided me this line of communication? Will I find out who this “successor” is?

  “Sorry, I’m stumped.” I hold out the wristband for a better look. “I suppose it has a sort of rustic charm. Do you think it’s my style?”

  Anna sighs with exasperation.

  “Your talents are wasted on you. Honestly, Merry. I can’t wait to join with my spirit. Then I’ll show you how to live.” She backs away, shaking her head. “Good luck, Merry. I hope you know more than you let on.”

  Anna turns and saunters away. I watch her curvy backside exit the room as a matter of course, but as soon as she leaves my attention is fully on the wristband. Am I ready to talk to the spirits?

  I am ready.

  I stare at the wristband. How can I contact the spirits? Certainly not in this classroom, where any curious student can spy on me muttering, seemingly to myself. My office is little better, as the walls are paper thin, and I don’t wish to alert my colleagues to my strange behavior.

  It must be now, though. I can’t wait another moment. This is my chance to take control of my dealings with the spirits, these mysterious beings who promise so many answers to questions I’ve asked for centuries. Over and over in the past few weeks I’ve come tantalizingly close to answers, but always at the spirits’ behest. I want the control for once.

  I have no more classes today, so I shove the wristband into my pocket and head for the door. I need somewhere quiet and private. I have a sense that outdoors will help―Anna contacted her fire spirits for the volcano at Wallerton in a park―so I jog away from campus into the nearby woodland.

  It’s a breezy day, but I’m still sweating lightly after ten minutes along woodchip-lined trails. The space beneath the coniferous trees is dim and cool, and I pass only two other joggers. They eye me with bemusement as I run past in slacks and buttoned shirt.

  At a thick patch of Oregon grape bush, I leave the path. There is enough cover that I can hide behind a cluster of trees and not be seen. Once ensconced between three close firs and a patch of shoulder-height ferns, I pull out the wristband and twist it slowly in my hands.

  Now what? How do I go about contacting the spirits? And, most importantly, how do I do so while keeping control over myself?

  Anna said I would know what to do. The spirits know of my abilities with the lauvan, but what do they think I know?

  I let my lauvan prod and poke the serenely swirling earth lauvan. The chocolate brown of my strands blends in with the many different earth tones that surround the wristband.

  The earth lauvan respond. They wrap around mine gently but firmly, and I feel pressure on my fingertips. I grip the wristband more securely and watch in fascination as the earth strands multiply. They bloom from their perch on the leather to cover my hands, my arms, my torso, entwining with my own. I am still and tense, barely breathing. What is happening? Can I escape if I need to? Do I want to?

  As suddenly as they boiled forth, they retreat to the wristband and leave me with a lingering tingle on my skin. But instead of calming down to swirl once more around the leather, they twist up in a mass level with my head. Two long bulges extend on either side, and a gap forms near the top, above where the lauvan narrow. I am forcibly reminded of the spirit forms that visited Anna back in Wallerton, the ones that were shaped like crude approximations of humans. The gap―mouth―opens wider.

  “Greetings, son of earth.” The spirit-shape’s voice is gravely and deep. My eyes widen with shock, although I keep the wristband held out with steady hands to support the spirit.

  “Greetings,” I reply hoarsely. What does it mean, calling me a “son of earth?” That I’m human, I suppose. That must be how the spirits refer to us. I clear my throat. “Thank you for coming. I have so
many questions.”

  “Indeed.” The spirit doesn’t say more. The silence stretches for a moment, while earth strands tickle my own.

  “Yes, right.” My mind whirls with questions. What do I ask first? “Why did you tell Anna to give me the amulet? Why did you want me to contact you? Who is the person you work for, this successor of my father? What do you know about my father?”

  The spirit waits until I pause for breath.

  “You have many questions, son of earth. You know little of your heritage, must less than we supposed. These answers are best supplied by the successor. But our comrade is not able to speak with you now. Once the ritual is complete, and we walk among you, the successor will tell you all.”

  My jaw clenches. How long must I wait? I don’t want to sit down for a cozy chat with this “successor.” I want answers.

  “Give me the basics. We can hash out the details later.”

  The mouth gap widens in a smile.

  “All in good time. The successor wished for a simpler way of contacting you that did not involve rending the earth, hence, this amulet. You are stronger than we supposed, and that interests the successor. But first, we must ask you this: where do your loyalties lie?”

  I frown. What does loyalty mean to a spirit? Is there a battle that I’m unaware of? My first thought is loyalty to the long-dead Arthur, or to my beautiful wives, but I doubt either of those answers would make sense to the spirits.

  “I suppose I’m loyal to myself. There is only ever me, in the long-run.”

  The mass of lauvan that acts as the spirit’s head nods briskly, as if it approves of that answer.

  “And do you know why you can see the elements?” the spirit asks in its hoarse voice. “You can see my current form, for example. That is a rare ability.”

  “No,” I breathe. “No, I have never known how I can.”

  “We can tell you,” the spirit states simply. “But we want your help first. The ritual must take place. Help us come to Earth, and we will tell you everything.”

  There it is, the answers I’ve searched for my whole life, dangling like a fruit on a tree, just out of reach. It would be so easy to let the ritual happen. All I have to do is to stop trying to thwart March, and she will carry on with her preparations. The ritual could happen within days, and I wouldn’t have to lift a finger. And then―then, I might solve the greatest mystery of my life. And who knows what possibilities will be in my grasp then? What powers might I have? Could I find out where human lauvan go when the body dies? Could I change a lover’s threads, so they could stay with me forevermore?