Rise Of The Mermaid Queen: Mermaids and Merliens, #3

By Shaka Bry

Where Mercadia ends, Camelot begins.

 

With Mezzy's world on the brink of collapse, a group of weary souls is transported to King Arthur's court. To return home, they must help the legendary sorcerer Merlin retrieve his celestial powers from Viviane, the Lady of the Lake.

 

Amidst knightly jousts and wicked magic, Jonah and Mezzy might just make it out of Camelot alive. But will their budding affections deconstruct epic fantasy, rewrite cherished folklore, and destroy any hope of a promising future?

 

Across oceans and multiple timelines, every person on Earth is about to learn the dark secrets of the deep.

 

The mermaids and merliens are surfacing...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryon Cahill
• Release date: May 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201653910

Book preview

1

VIVIANE

Ineedn’t ask where we’re going. I know the way.

In my mind, I’ve lived every second of this morning a hundred thousand times, maybe more. When you’re first let in on the ultimate secret—that the universe is predetermined—that truth can be a razor edged pill to swallow. It takes time, but eventually, you submit to Fate’s will, and follow her regimented flow.

Because yes, Fate is as female as the goddess who made us. No man could ever conceive of the diabolical nature of the cosmos, nor the wheel which turns it.

The day Merlin showed me his crystal globe, I saw a vision of what would become his undeniable undoing. My future self’s participation in it all was hardly surprising. I’ve been around long enough to cause my own share of mischief. I can recognize when another like-minded soul seeks to use my impish inclinations toward their selfish goal. The only shocking twist was that he sought to use me, not for any selfish gain, but to help him die.

One unfortunate downside of knowing what’s coming is, when the present catches up to you, the aftershock of the inevitable event can knock you right out of your knickers. I agreed to help him, but only because I loved him.

I love him still.

And though he claimed he never wanted to die, his demise was written on Eternity’s eye. The crazy old sorcerer was plucky like that. He needed (needs) me to fulfill his destiny. And who am I to stand in the universe’s way?

I’ve been careful these past months. I’ve taught my mind not to stray. Reality is still reality. This path is to be Merlin’s end, not mine. I am to carry on without him—to go forward, honoring his memory with my life. No matter the incredible abilities I’m about to receive, I must never get ahead of myself. He has warned me again and again of the raw power of his power.

Now that we’re on the final path to Merlin’s doom, I feel Fate’s icy hand pressing against my back. It’s as if she’s nervous I might seek to change her will. I have no intentions of doing so. I don’t think I do, anyway. It would be futile to dare try. I know my place here. I know what I am and what I am about to be. But no one says I have to like it.

Merlin leads me through the thick of Broceliande Forest. He’s taking his pending death in stride. Long, casual strides reveal he is unafraid, perhaps even eager to carry out the day’s deed. Could it be he’s had his fill of immortality? Is he ready to get on with his afterlife, to go in bliss, wherever Fate may take him?

We’re about halfway between Camelot and Avalon when we come upon the rock of ages. How fitting this should be the place—here at the very spot where we first proved our ground-bound love to one another. Prior to that glorious sun-smitten afternoon, we restricted our awkward, unsatisfying trysts to the watery depths of the lake.

In three thousand years, he was the only human I invited beneath my tepid surface. Our relationship (if you could call it a relationship), strange as it was, was predicated on mutual respect. I offered the promise to carry on his legacy—to keep England progressing—and he vowed to bestow upon me all else. His sorcery, his unparalleled control of space, time, matter, and anti-matter will be mine by lunch. Though I can’t imagine I’ll be very hungry. My stomach is in knots over what I must do.

Before I met Merlin, I never perceived myself as one who would journey beyond the safety of the lake. It was my home, my sanctuary, my world. But he spun such inspired tales of life on land. He recounted battles and festivals in the same light! How humans could slaughter each other one morning and dance through the night!

I don’t do his stories justice. He is convincing as the starling’s mimicking call. I fell hard for his middling charm. How much of it was an act? He knew all along he would find me, woo me, and make me his puppet for his killing. So how true was his heart?

Here, at this very rock where I will end him, we once held each other, and gave ourselves over to one another. Was it all a lie?

Despite what I must do, I know I have a heart. I know because I feel it begging for me to defeat Fate, against all odds. That’s just the thing of it though, Heart. There has yet to be a spell that can counter Fate. Were I to try, Fate would push me back in the direction she’s always wanted. Or she might drop a tree on me, just for a laugh, robbing me of any chance I may have of taking the place of the world’s most accomplished sorcerer. No, I will not tempt Fate. Merlin’s warned me plenty on that subject.

Contrary to how history will no doubt remember me, I do care deeply for him. My feelings, at least, are real. Merlin taught me everything that was ever worth knowing about the fine arts of wizardry and charm—two potions that don’t mix well together in others, but can extrapolate entire universes when used wisely.

Prior to meeting Merlin, my powers were restricted to that of the illusory. The lake, most of this forest, and all of Avalon were but a mirage to any human who might stumble upon it. Any human, that was, until Merlin.

Over the years, he’s discussed every trick of his—how to spiral time and walk through centuries past and future; how to speak to the animals and listen to the breeze; how to sort through molecules and split open the world, pulling out ancient, mystical energies to bend them to your will. He illuminated me on how to create anti-matter, and how one could, potentially, use its properties to create monsters. The practical and the impractical were set on Merlin’s professorial table. Of course, I could never use these learned magics on my own, not before he was gone. Not until he passed them to me.

When the long days of learning were complete, we enjoyed each others’ company, in every sense of the phrase. He considered me his equal. And I did the same. Merlin continually reminded me that the day was coming when the tables would turn. I would be the one taking his place. I would be the one standing here at this rock, mere moments away from Fate’s bloody blade bringing his swift end, along with my undeserved inheritance.

I don’t want it, I tell him, rising to the occasion of the present. We stand divided, marking the spot where Merlin’s lifelong vision has always led him. There is no room for argument. But I will argue the last of his breaths away, anyway.

Viviane. His voice plays gentle on my already high-strung emotions. We have been over this.

And over this and over this and over this, yes, I say. I am quicker to roll my eyes than the boulder. I won’t do it. Not at this price.

"This is the only way to free you of this fantasy world. You should walk the real world, Viviane. You are bigger than your lake, bigger than Avalon, bigger than this forest, bigger than even Camelot."

You make me out to be a beast. I cannot help but smile. Even now, I enjoy playing coy.

My powers, transferred to you, will set you free, he tells for the millionth time. My sacrifice, your continuation. That is how it was always meant to be. My time is up here. Yours is about to begin.

None of what you had at Camelot, with Arthur, none of it is mine.

It is all yours, Viviane. I’ve cast a spell over all of England. When you return, they will accept you as my successor.

Nothing about his plan ever sat right with me. Why does he want so badly to die? Does he care nothing for what we have?

You never cared for me, I scathe him.

Viviane, I adore you. Why else would I be giving you the keys to the realm?

"But England is not my realm. My place is here, in Avalon. I am the Lady of the Lake. I never should have left."

Your place is with the boy you raised, he stabs. He’s a man now, Viviane. Yet in many ways, still a boy at heart. He needs his mother more than ever.

I am not his mother.

You were the only mother he ever had. You prepared him well for his path.

Which is what, exactly? I ask him. Though I know he could never see beyond this day, I also know Merlin’s traveled far into the future. Surely there must be some history of this time, this land, these close confidants of the crown?

You may forge your own way together, Merlin says. In Camelot.

Clusters of dirt and bulky pebbles chunk their way down the hillside, rolling down the great boulder blocking the cave. One weighty stone clunks Merlin on the head, not by accident, but doing no actual damage. I may not have Merlin’s secrets of the universe yet, but I’ve always enjoyed my own powers, mild though they be.

I am not his mother, I reiterate, feeling the need to feel every pain of this task, and then some. I’m not even human.

He steps to me.

What you’re feeling now is what it means to be human.

Not wanting to kill you? Is that all it takes? I won’t be able to stall forever. So help me, I can try.

Viviane, I can read your thoughts as they are written on the contours of your darling face. I have placed no spell on you, not ever. Though I will, if that is what it takes for you to do what must be done.

Why? I yell, and a few sparrows take wing from their nestled hiding place in the trees. Why do you want to die so badly?

I want to live, Viviane! I want to stay here with you and grow old and/or young together. Whichever we would choose, we might have it, and for all of eternity. But it’s not up to me. I’ve lived so many lives backward and forward, inside and out. My time is up and you are the one—you were always the one—who must end me.

He turns, waves his hand at the boulder in an unassuming manner, and the heavy rock moves out of place effortlessly.

I’m going now. But you must seal the rock behind me. I cannot… not after I give you this.

My love stretches his arms, shoots out a flavorful batch of wonder, and fills me with his light and gifts. At once, I am charged with the stuff of Merlin.

Oh, I say. This is like nothing I’ve been taught. He’s been harboring the best part for last. With the power coursing through me, I now understand how incredibly difficult it must be for him to give it all up. He had everything, and now it is mine. All. Mine.

I am changing.

Are you all right? he asks. Unsteady, he wobbles and holds himself to the rock with one hand.

Never better, I say with a grin. Endless possibilities unravel inside me. Why be Lady of the Lake, a mirage of a place where a handful of fae flit about, shrouded in sheer boredom, when I could rule all of England, having humans bow before me.

What is this evil sensation within? Make it stop!

Viviane, control. Pull back. Remember your lessons!

I know this internal sea change is drastic. But it’s long overdue. A goddess can only stew in her own lack of initiative for so long.

Now, I am invincible, I whisper to the wind.

Merlin takes a cautious step forward. Don’t let it get to your head, Viv—

Oh no you don’t, I tell him, ticking my finger back and forth like a pendulum. Merlin’s own blue sparks (mine now!) dance upon my knuckles. I watch them, am awed by them, wondering what they might do under my control.

Viviane, he says. You trained for this. This is it. This is everything.

Yes, well… times change.

I concentrate all my thought upon Merlin and watch as the blue sparks blast him backward and hold him there, inanimate inside the cave.

Merl— I screech a sorrowful syllable, swallowing the rest. His face is frozen in a mask of sadness—as if, in his final moment, he saw his entire life’s trajectory had been misread.

I cannot stand to look at him any longer. A reflection of my betrayal is caught in his woeful eyes.

You made me do this! I shout so loud a pair of nearby oaks part and splinter. The four halves crash, and I direct them, full speed at the boulder. The sheer power of my voice blows the entrance closed as the trees shatter against it. You wanted this!

Merlin is sealed. It is not enough.

I wriggle my hands around each other, forming a garnishing spell out of dust. Upon the rock of Merlin’s captivity, I create an unbreakable door and lock it with a materialized golden key. I take the key and hurl it high and far, off into the clouds. I’ve a feeling it might not come down until it is half a world away.

I’ve always thought this moment would bear more sorrow, shame, and remorse. Instead, my lousy, changed heart pumps with excitement.

Who am I?

I sit atop the hill where the closure meets soil. Not six feet below where I press my cheek to the knoll, my love’s body rests. He is under there, quiet.

Had he been born into this world with my name stuck on his lips? The genesis of his foresight is not as terribly intriguing as the very fact that he went along with it, all the way to the end. But he did not foresee my true character being what it is. Was that a trick of his crystal globe? Did the solid portent withhold that vital information in order to allow Merlin’s self-acquiescence to manifest? If so, to what end?

The end is crystal clear—I am to rule not only Camelot or England, but the entire world, and beyond. The prophecy was written in Fate’s craggy scrawl from before time began. Now, at long last, I am here.

Thank you, Merlin.

After all that he’s done for me, I can’t just leave him in there to starve, freeze, or asphyxiate to death. I know the stubborn fool all too well. Despite all he has said, he will always want more.

I tap my bare foot against the rock. The boulder is too thick for any sound to pass through. And yet, I muse.

Can you hear me, Merlin? I ask, expecting no reply. I will give you the option, my love. But you’re going to have to fight for it.

Defeat Fate.

I kick the unmovable rock beneath me with a quarter of my might. The kick is hard enough to send a dull echo through the surrounding forest. A few more twittering sparrows take notice, then continue along with their sparrow-like ways.

I close my eyes and say a slight spell. Did Merlin teach me this one? Or am I omniscient now?

Insta ymortal toonalum, I chant. Middluh shun grah!

The boulder remains in place, but I’ve added a touch of originality to Merlin’s whereabouts.

Golden mist seeps forth from my fingertips. It creeps its way into crevices. Inside, a wet fog will consume him. It is the only gift (other than myself) I’ve ever given him. He will be immediately transported to a faraway, nonexistent space. There, he will be alone. It is just as I assume he’s always wanted. Merlin never was the sociable type.

His powers will last just long enough for him to make the most of his new existence—for whatever that means to him. If he truly loves me as he said he did (repeatedly), then maybe he’ll conjure a doppelgänger of my form. If he does, he can love it, torture it, use it as a slave. What do I care? It wouldn’t be me. I only hope he can find some peace. For he’s going to need it.

I’ve sprinkled in a dose of his immortality for the ride. That too will wear off someday. When it does, when he begins to age once more, his world will turn black around him. And there Merlin will, at long last, cease to be.

Lest you can will yourself out and return to me, dear.

My heart beats a little faster. It’s in there. I can feel it. It beats for you, love.

I must forget you now. I must leave you. I’ve got a son to reunite with, a king to needle, and a kingdom to make mine.

This will be the start.

I walk away from him. For now and forever.

I pray you find contentment for however long your truncated eternity shall last. Bless you, Merlin.

I blow a kiss to his grave and head back to Camelot. I am changed. I am whole. I am Eternity. I am sorceress supreme, soon to be a new shade of queen, with goddess status pending in the shadows.

2

JONAH

E asy guy, I begin and end.

Emrys stands, shaking saturation from his limbs. If not for the copper aura illuminating his stay-firm, pointy hat, I’d be inclined to believe we were eaten by the void. The dim light around his head grows brighter, turning a shade of vivid auburn as he stretches his bones, creaks his neck, and lets loose a pained gasp for the ages.

He considers us—Mezzy and I—as if we are gnats in his stew.

Don’t. Speak.

I open my mouth to disobey, but with a casual wave of his hand, Emrys clamps my talk hole shut. Beside me, Mezzy struggles to scream, managing only noiseless vocal thrusts.

Stay calm. I convey the easing sentiment with my eyes. Everything’s going to be all right.

Bean’s been knocked unconscious upon our entry into this dank place. He coos like a little lamb in his sleep. Must be nice.

I will deal with you three momentarily, Emrys says. Putting his ear to a slimy rock wall, he listens hard, as do I. I can’t figure if my supercharged half-merlien hearing powers have abandoned me, or if this cave blocks all sound.

I don’t think she’s out there, he says. Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, I’m back.

Woo hoo woo hoo calloo calloo! he sings, lifting his robe and splashing an exuberant jig in an ankle-deep puddle.

I don’t see the point in keeping his clothes out of the wetness. We’re all soaked to the bone, anyway.

Bean’s coos suddenly turn violent, and he emits a snore that startles and wakes him to our harsh reality. He sits up, mouth shut tight by magic, just like ours (which makes me wonder how he got the snore out), and watches as Emrys completes his sprightly romp.

Mm mmm! I grunt. Despite sounding like what I’ve witnessed is scrum-diddly-umptious, I am actually appalled.

Emrys takes one of those slow turns only the wickedest of movie villains can pull off. He holds his staff tight in the palm of his hand. He’s considering blasting us to the moon, I imagine. But then he coughs and stumbles. The light from his staff glows less bright, and he struggles to hold himself up.

No, he says.

An itch or a facial twitch diverts his attention. He knocks his right temple hard with the heel of his free hand, as if trying to shake loose some pesky Mercadian water from his ears. That could very well be, considering the wave that put all other waves to shame assaulted him, just prior to arriving here… wherever here is.

Mezmerelda, he says. His tone is astonished, changed. His voice is not his voice. I can see you. Where are you? Where are we? Are we still in here?

Gnnn! Mezzy struggles.

We’re trapped in Emrys’ head! You have to—

Just as I recognize the voice coming from the sorcerer’s mouth is Maya’s, it changes.

Let me try, sister, a new speaker speaks. He sounds like Petra. I may be able to control the old coot’s movements, as Cragg did.

Slowly, Emrys’ hand lifts, holding his staff to his eye. At the tip, a blue light flickers.

I’m going to try again, Emrys says in Petra’s voice.

Quickly! Princess Sherry shrieks. It’s awfully busy in there.

Surprising all present and accounted for, Bean leaps up, quite impressively, and delivers a solid uppercut to the sorcerer’s jaw. The aged merlien stumbles backward and nails his head against rock. The double jolt was just what he needed to regain his own consciousness.

He straightens, appearing taller than I remember him to be in Mercadia. The auburn light outlining his body changes swiftly to a light blue that complements his robe.

Over to the side, against the slick rock wall, three bodies rise to their feet.

Hello Maya, Sherry, Petra. We’ll deal with you later as well, Emrys tells the Mercadian royal family.

Nnnnn! Bean tries, realizing only now he’s lost the ability to speak. It distracts him from delivering a second attack, allowing Emrys the opportunity to roll up his sleeves, whisper a spell, and force a massive boulder behind him to shift in place.

You added a little extra, did you Viviane? That was hardly necessary.

Emrys squints in the dark. Using the light from his staff, he reveals the outline of a locked door inside the rock.

Enough with all these locked doors! he declares, then blasts a tremendous bolt of energy at the boulder. The obstruction must be a thousand pounds if it’s an ounce, but Emrys’ superior magic slides the heavy weight effortlessly, allowing sunlight from the outside world to shine in. He mumbles more words, and the boulder drops outward with a bang. Dirt and leaves ploomf in every direction.

For the second time since we’ve arrived in this dismal setting, the light from Emrys staff peters out. The old merlien raps it with his palm, but nothing happens.

No enchantment can hold me, he says in triumph.

Nnnnn! Bean struggles again.

Petra, full of his own beans, charges Emrys while the sorcerer’s attention is focused on his failing magic stick. Petra’s spur-of-the-moment decision to jump and deliver a drop kick doesn’t land well. Emrys spins on his heels and roughly alters Petra’s flight pattern. Who would have guessed such an older dude could be so agile? Petra’s body soars out the open boulder hole, crash landing on the