Shades of Atlantis (17 page)

Wow, you have so many books! I exclaimed.

I like to read.

You’ve read all these? I asked in wonder, trailing my fingertips across the spines of some of the books and walking the length of the room.

One or two I still have to get to, he answered casually.

I blushed, genuinely stunned. When could one person find time to read so many books? It wasn’t only the number of books, it was the range of subjects geography, history, philosophy, literature, witchcraft, cookery, poetry, myths, and legends. It made me feel a little inadequate standing with Caleb at my side, his hand locked around my waist. I blew out air though pursed lips. So you have read all of these but one or two?

Maybe three, he laughed, then kissed my forehead.

You’ve really got the whole package, don’t you? I commented bleakly.

I was a bit put out. Really, he had it all looks, money, charisma, intelligence what exactly was I supposed to bring to the table? What could I possibly have to offer?

Caleb ran his finger lightly over my creased forehead, his touch making me tingle all over. I do now. He smiled. This is not that impressive, really.

Says you, I pouted, staring into his sparkling eyes.

One side of his lips twitched. You are more special to me than all of this, than anything I own. You have me hypnotized. I grimaced, making Caleb roll his eyes. Some of these are from my childhood, he explained waving his hand over the books. My father taught me that no book contains the full story, so if I found something I wanted to know about, I would find more books on the same subject to get a fuller picture. He smiled teasingly. This part of my collection took a long time to build.

This part, I squealed. I had only read a fraction of what Caleb had; what was I doing with my time? Haven’t you ever heard of the Internet? I offered sarcastically, trying in vain to cover my embarrassment.

Caleb smirked and let go of my waist to step onto one of the ladders and retrieve a black leather-bound book with faded gold writing on the spine.

He held it in one hand as he searched along the lower shelves for something else. His lips formed a straight line while he searched.

Ah ha! he exclaimed as he pulled a newer looking paperback book from the shelf. It looked like a reference book or a school text. These two books, he told me, holding one book in either hand, tell different stories about the same thing. In order to establish the full picture, you need to have all the information.

I scowled for a moment. What if all the information isn’t readily available? I muttered wryly, not necessarily referring to books.

Caleb sighed wearily and inclined his head to the door, a silent instruction to leave the room. I wrinkled my nose in exasperation and turned to walk out the door ahead of him. I waited for Caleb in the living room and followed him to the couch, sitting close beside him.

Maybe you haven’t worked out the right questions to ask, he said reluctantly, in answer to my last question. Or maybe it’s not in your interest to know. Somehow that felt like a warning, and I sensed Caleb’s mood was about to darken.

Tell me about the books. I smiled brightly.

It had the desired effect, and Caleb’s mood lightened immediately. He leaned to kiss my cheek close to my ear, and my heart missed several beats.

This one. He placed the newer book on the sofa beside him and opened the older one carefully, turning the fragile pages until he came to a colored illustration of a sword. It was a long broad sword, like something from me-dieval times, surrounded by stars and set against a blue-black background.

The hilt of the sword had an intricate design of metal inlaid with what looked like roses and knots winding around it, but not protruding from the metal so it wouldn’t interfere with the bearer’s grip in fact, it would probably aid it. The shaft of the sword didn’t appear to be metal at all; it looked like pure white light. Rays were coming off it, lighting the night sky around the sword to illustrate its brightness. Underneath at the bottom of the page were the words, ClaÌomh Solais. The page opposite was filled with words in a writing I didn’t recognize.

This book is about Irish legends. It’s from the fourteenth century, illustrated by Irish monks, and has been in my family a long time; it’s actually my father’s and was his father’s before him. He normally takes better care of it than I. This sword, the Sword of Nandu or the Sword of Light, he ran his finger over the sword in the picture, was forged in a magical fire by the goddess Brigid, daughter of the god-king Dagda and wife of Bres. It was a wedding gift to Bres from Brigid and her people. Caleb snorted as if the idea was repugnant to him and then continued. The sword itself was said to be indestructible, and once drawn from its scabbard in battle, no man could resist it. The scabbard protected the wearer from death, and no injury would prove fatal to him. Whoever wielded the sword was invincible.

What metal glows like that? I asked curiously.

Caleb smiled; it clearly pleased him that I was taking an interest in the story he was telling. Magic. He raised an eyebrow as if he was letting me in on a secret.

I giggled and wrapped my hands around his arm, resting my head on his shoulder. I remembered reading how even the oil on fingers could damage old pages, but Caleb didn’t seem too worried.

When Brigid made the sword, he continued, a piece of herself became part of it, as it does with all artists. Because she was a goddess, it made the sword extraordinary.

I nodded against his shoulder, enjoying breathing the fragrant scent that was uniquely him rising from his skin.

Even the light had its purpose, he said. It blinded whoever fought against it. They didn’t stand a chance even before the sword struck them down. The story goes that when Brigid realized the full power it possessed, she wanted to destroy it, but she didn’t know how. So she waited until Bres was asleep, stole the sword, and fled to Europe where she was killed, but not before she hid the sword, afraid her people’s enemies would use it against

But, I cut in, finding a flaw in his story, if the bearer couldn’t be defeated, why would she need to do that?

Caleb stared down at the picture with a wistful expression. I wondered if I’d said something to upset him. He closed his eyes lost in reflection. I lifted my hand to his face and turned him to me. His eyes opened, but he was still far away. It was obvious he was lost in thought, and it made my heart ache for him. Finally, his eyes cleared and he started to speak again as if nothing had happened.

Of course you’re right, he said, but as it turned out, Bres was a traitor to his own people.

How?

That’s another story completely. He smiled.

I scowled up at him.

I will tell you that story too, Caleb conceded, but not today. I tried to relax my expression so he wouldn’t see my irritation. I’d agreed not to push him, but I wasn’t sure how that applied to fiction.

Back to the story, he went on, his voice making butterflies flutter in my stomach. Bres didn’t find the sword; it only reappeared years later. Caleb closed the book and picked up the large square paperback he had also taken out, swapping them over and placing the leather book on the ottoman. He flicked through the pages and eventually opened the book wide. Here. He offered it to me.

I unwound my hands from his arm and took the book, laying it across my lap. It lay opened to a picture of a sword almost identical to the last.

The only differences were in the artist’s style, and the fact that the sword’s name wasn’t written below it.

And? I asked, still in the dark about the epiphany I was obviously supposed to be having, judging by the way Caleb was gazing at me knowingly.

He grinned and closed the book on my lap, and my eyes widened slightly.

The title read The Legends of Arthur and Merlin.

It’s a tourist book I picked up in England some years ago. It contains copies of illustrations from as far back as the fourteenth and fifteenth century.

Are you saying Arthur was one of these god people? I gasped, flicking through the pages of the book.

No, of course not. Caleb laughed like the concept was ridiculous.

Merlin was.

I wrinkled my nose skeptically. Oh, okay —

His laughter stopped short, and his lips pressed into a hard line as he searched through the pages of the book he had just taken from me, finding the picture of the sword again.

Look, Caleb said, his jaw clenched as though he were forcing himself to get through this whether he wanted to or not. He pointed down at the illustration, jabbing sharply at the glossy page. Both swords were said to emanate light, both were said to be indestructible to any known forces, and both battle scabbards were said to protect the bearer, so why not?

Is this what you do? I joked, glancing at the picture again. Are you one of those guys who dress up and go online to play Dungeons and Dragons? Caleb took the book from me and slammed it shut between his palms with a thud. Never mind, he grumbled darkly.

It bothered him that I dismissed his theories so easily. I didn’t know anything about ancient relics, so for all I knew he was probably right about the two swords being the same. But at the very least, I could listen to him talk about a subject he was obviously passionate about.

I placed my hand tentatively on his forearm. I’m sorry. Please tell me more.

No, he barked.

Please, Caleb, I pleaded. I really want to hear the rest. I really did, because for me to have triggered such a strong reaction, there must be more to this story. Maybe it was an analogy, or maybe he was trying to tell me something else completely, but I was pretty sure he had a reason for making me listen to all this. Please, I begged again, gazing up at him sweetly from under my eyelashes.

He grimaced at me before sighing. Okay. He was almost as defenseless against my pleading tone as I was against his. That was good to know.

So how did the sword get in the stone?

Caleb pursed his lips and studied my expression. Merlin placed it there. I narrowed my eyes. So you’re saying Merlin really did exist and that he was a god?

He was an earthly descendant of a god, yes. Some books tell of his birth, that he was born after his mother had an encounter with a being that resembled a human but was in fact not. Some even say his father was a demon.

A demon! Soul mates, heaven, and now demons.

He wasn’t a demon, he scoffed. And his mother wasn’t human. My breath caught. I didn’t believe in the boogieman as a child or read fairytales, even if I’d found my own Prince Charming. Caleb, this all goes a bit over my head, I admitted. I gestured, waving my hand over the book.

I’ve never heard any of this stuff before not that it’s not interesting! I hastened to assure him. It’s just that you take it all so seriously, almost like you think it’s real and I

Caleb blinked and stared at me. The puzzled look on his face was enough to stop me speaking in mid-sentence. Almost like I think it’s real? he said blankly. What else would it be?

I laughed uncomfortably. See, that’s what I mean, I said, trying to keep my tone light. I didn’t want to offend him if he was really into this mythology stuff. You say things like that, but you have to let me catch up.

I don’t know anything about ancient swords, and obviously I don’t believe in magic. Nobody believes in that anymore — I trailed off, feeling stupid.

I should just let this go. Who cared if he was obsessed with some old sword that didn’t exist? Everyone had a hobby of some sort.

Caleb looked at me incredulously. You don’t believe in magic?

No, I mumbled, twisting on the sofa to look at him. He pushed away from me and stalked across the room to look out the window. His shoulders were tense, but his back was to me so I couldn’t see his face.

There have always been mysteries, since the dawning of time — Things that no human has been able to explain, he said. Magic isn’t all about spel’s and potions. How do you explain us? All of the billions of people floating around on the planet, how do you explain how you and I found each other? I went over to him and pressed my forehead to his back, slipping my hands under his arms and around his chest. His heart pounded against my hand. I inhaled deeply, taking his scent into me.

I can’t, I admitted. I couldn’t begin to explain how my feelings for Caleb continued to grow the longer I spent around him or why I couldn’t stand to be even a few feet away from him.

He lifted one arm and with the other pulled me around to his chest and held me tightly. Well, then, try and have a little faith. His voice was persuasive, though he paused for a brief moment, and then sighed sadly.

I pulled back and looked up to him, tracing my fingertip over the soft shape of his full lips. It made my heart jump, and I smiled. Caleb smiled too, his eyes lighting up.

You have to finish the story, I said, trying to show him that I really was trying to keep up. If you don’t, it would be like watching the beginning of a movie and never finding out how it ends. He laughed at my comparison. I’m sure you’ve already heard the story of Merlin.

Not the way you tell it, I offered brightly, a compensation for interrupting him.