Sorcerer's Vendetta (The Secret of Zanalon) (17 page)

And then she remembered that she was the one who had killed him.

She screamed again in remorse that crushed her soul. There was no time in this place of despair, alone. She had not escaped hell after all. It was nothing more than the terrible tragedy of knowing that she had, as Hafgan, lost herself in hatred, she had traded her love for empty vengeance.
The one you kill is the one you love most. It is always and forever the one you love most.

“
Merlin ... Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she whispered, kissing his cheek, his lips, desperately cherishing the trace of warmth he still held in the echo of life.

It could have been years that she stayed there, holding his body and still alone, and yet it could have been only a moment. That was the truth of eternity. Hell was in her mind, her destitute heart, in this instant that stretched forever desolate.

But there was someone who brought it to a merciful end.

Vaguely she felt the soft pressure of a slim hand on her shoulder as she held him; she heard the quiet voice. Morgana was her angel, breaking through the cyclone of hell to bring her home.

"An it could be different ... An there be aught I could do. Poor dear. Don' be blamin' yerself. 'Twas 'is own commitment that brought 'im this fate. Merlin will not be forgotten. An there be aught I can do, I shall. Return, child, to where it all began for thee ..."

And then she was alone, in the awful, rushing nothingness. Through the spectral flow of energy, all and emptiness, she was aware only of the agony.

Merlin …

Rachel opened her eyes to mist and faded dreamy sunlight, dawn streaming through the opening above in the ancient tree and through the split entrance. Her body ached, the skin on her face felt tight with dried tears. She was lying with her head cradled on her arm. Her arm rested on the low pedestal of ...

The statue.

For a second she wondered if she had dreamt everything, dreamt Merlin, until she glanced down. She was still wearing only his cloak.

Her eyes traveled up slowly, until she looked up into the stone face, marred by hatred. She remembered her first thought, looking into that face.
Bitterness, loneliness …
It hurt.

Then she remembered what had happened when she touched him. Hope flickered.
Maybe we've been given a second chance, somehow.

She reached out to clasp his cold, booted calf.  Nothing happened.

Her chest hurt as she heaved in a burning breath, her vision shimmered humid and hot rain coursed down her cheeks.

"It's only stone." It was a woman's voice, behind her.

Rachel drew a startled breath and whipped around, bracing her back against the pedestal, holding on to the feet of the statue with one arm, the other wrapped around herself.

The beautiful red-headed woman of Merlin's keep stood before her. Concern grew on her face as she met Rachel's tear-brimmed eyes.

"Oh, dear, don't cry," she said, shaking her head and stepping closer. She knelt before Rachel, reached out and touched her lightly at her elbow.

Rachel found something familiar in the gesture, looked into her eyes and recognized the sympathy there. Recognized ...

"Morgana!" she whispered.

Morgana only smiled, ruefully. "It's so good to see you, child," she said. "I go by Amber Morgan, though, now." Her smile took on a hint of mischief. "Morgan, A. to some institutions," she added, with a wink.

Rachel blinked.

"But how ...?"

"Shhhhh ... you know," she said, glancing up at the statue. "He made it possible. It was the least I could do, to be here on your return."

Rachel took a swipe at her eyes and bit her lip, her mind swamped with questions.  "My return? What time is it?"

The lady patted her hand. "It is the morning after. Last night the two of you surprised me in my home. What used to be my home, that is," She snorted softly. "What a bloody disaster that could have been! Though I suppose it was meant to happen that way after all."

"Meant to ... The morning after?" she said, then nodded over her shoulder. "Then, how did this get here?"

Morgana stood. "It's a gift. To help you clear your name."

Rachel sniffled, dropped her eyes. She didn't mean to sound ungrateful but the day when that was important to her seemed an eternity ago. Her voice was dull when she answered, tired to the bone. "Thanks."

"It was nothing.  Not even my idea.  So no need to thank
me
," Morgana replied with a half smile, reaching to help Rachel to her feet, then heading out of the strange shelter.

Rachel pulled the cloak close about her. "I need to find my clothes," she murmured as she followed the other woman through the opening in the ancient tree guardian, out into the misty morning sunlight. Then she paused, giving the woman a double take. Something about the way she had said that, with emphasis on the word, "me."

If not her, who?

She froze, staring at Morgana. Suddenly something shifted in her mind, something that had fluttered at the edge of her consciousness, and now it settled into place. The man at the keep that she and Merlin had seen, thinking him to be Hafgan –  he had looked like Merlin. Rachel dropped her gaze and her mind took off in intuitive leaps.

What if he
had
been Merlin?

After his death, reborn. Such a strong soul, retaining much of the same appearance. That was the missing piece. Merlin had duplicated himself, creating a loop in time. One soul caught inside a vessel of stone, riding the river of time relentlessly to the moment when he would be revived, the other soul freed in death to be reborn.

Merlin had thought his doppelganger to be unconscious within the healing orb. But what if that other's soul had returned to merge with his first self when Merlin revived from the statue, leaving him in something like a coma?

What happened when they came face to face?

Rachel remembered.

...an he could have stolen my very soul ...

It would have been a disaster of paradox if Merlin had been drawn into his second self.

Rachel snapped her head up to look at Morgana.

Morgana caught the astonished look in her eyes and gave her a wide grin. "An there be aught I can do, child," she whispered.

Then, a voice came from behind her. A man's voice.

"Rachel."

Merlin's voice.

"Thank
him
," Morgana said, glancing over Rachel's shoulder. Rachel spun to look.

He was standing with his back to a tree, one foot crossed in front of the other, his light jacket pushed back and his thumbs tucked in jeans pockets. His black hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Rachel had no doubt she was looking at a bright young college professor, even before Morgana spoke again, "introducing" him.

"Thank Professor Rollin Ambrose. But, of course, you know his true name."

Rollin...?

A smile spread slowly across her face.
Merlin has become a
teacher.

Over one forearm was slung her denim dress and her shoes hung from two fingers. Her clothes. Such ordinary objects held such meaning, confirmed her theory of soul merging.

He knows what only Merlin and I ...

She stared at the shoes dangling from his fingers. Her gaze shifted to the strong, strangely familiar hand that held the shoes.

He remembers. He was there...

Heat flushed through Rachel's cheeks and descended through her as she remembered, as much with her body as her mind. Rachel found herself suddenly overcome, her breath coming in sudden gasps. An explosion of joy rippled out from her, she could feel herself shining, could almost see it.

“Rollin!” She ran to him, stopping just short of pouncing on him and pinning him to the tree. Slowly she reached up and touched his face. “Merlin...?” she whispered. Her gaze met shining, azure eyes.

Merlin's eyes.

And yet not. He was slightly different; this was a man without the weight of a century and a half of bitter loneliness at his brow. In his eyes was only the brightness of hope and an eternity of love.

Rollin Ambrose, soulnamed Merlin, nodded. He laughed with that same joy she had felt in seeing him, dropped her shoes and reached out to stroke her hair. Gently, he pulled her closer, drawing her in to a kiss of spirits reunited. Rachel melted as his warm lips touched hers, soul-merging sweetness that promised forever. When he broke the kiss it was only to enfold her body closer in an eternal embrace, to nuzzle gently by her ear.

"I found thee," he whispered.

 
* * *

I hope you enjoyed this novel, the first in the series I have planned for the modern Merlin. If you did, please, please, please, rate and review it. Your ratings make the difference between success and failure, whether I continue to write or  give up and go back to bed. It's my first completed novel, so even if you think it needs improvement, your thoughts are more than welcome. I am happy to take your advice and go back to rework it by your suggestions.

About the Author:

First off– don't worry, it's not over!  I'm currently working on a sequel to Sorcerer's Vendetta, but I have another series I am also working on, the Shadow Sun series, and
the first is out and already available.

Shadow Son: Earthbound (Shadow Sun series)

I have enjoyed reading and writing fantasy stories since my aunt, Robin Larsen, co-author with her husband, Stephen, of “A Fire in the Mind: The Life of Joseph Campbell,” gave me C.S. Lewis's “The Chronicles of Narnia,” when I was still reading picture books. “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” was my first experience with a full length novel.  I fell in love.

Fantasy and Magick are in my blood.  My son is named after  a character in J.R.R Tolkien's “Lord of the Rings.”  I have green eyes and I'm pretty sure somewhere in my ancestry there's an elf somewhere. 

In this world, I'm a former literary agent from an agency named after my sister, Ginger, who actually married a Rogers.  So, we were blessed with the name Ginger Rogers Literary Agency.  I also do editing for other would-be writers and ghostwriting for other wouldn't-be writers who have a story stuck in their heads and no time to tell it.

I've also published several articles both under my name and under a pseudonym for an international interfaith magazine, Tikkun.

Please, feel free to contact me at
[email protected]
!  I'd love to hear from you! Or just come make friends with me on Facebook – I'm Sarah Simrill Ray.  (Simrill is derived from De Summerville, our elven family name.  Apparently one of our ancestors was a horse thief elf and had to escape to the New World.)