“Mum, it’s impossible! This doesn’t make sense. You’ve got to know this doesn’t make sense.”
Allison nodded, her eyes wide. “It doesn’t. It really doesn’t. At first, I didn’t believe it either. Merlin had to show us—”
“Merlin?” Vera croaked.
This seemed as good a time as any to throw back the rest of her whiskey. She choked on it and hastily wiped the escaped dribble from the corner of her mouth.
“Ah, yes.” The man cocked his head to one side and raised a finger. “That would be me.”
Vera leaned back as she took him in. “You don’t look like Merlin.”
“Oh?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “It’s my hair, isn’t it?”
“A bit,” Vera said as she breathed a laugh. She’d have pictured a long silver beard and not his dark, manicured facial hair with only glimmers of grey through it. Vera thought better of saying that she’d have expected someone claiming to be Merlin to be far older, too.
“I try not to dabble too deeply in knowledge of your time, but I’m well enough acquainted to know that my name is rather familiar in your legends. They have gotten little else about me correct.” He offered both hands, palms up in front of him. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, but I thought it would only hinder our conversation.”
Vera shook her head. This was madness.
“It was only after Merlin showed us that we believed any of it,” Allison said. “Your father and I thought he’d kidnapped you at first. I was ready to ring the police when—”
“He showed you … magic, or showed you time travel?” Vera asked.
“Magic.” It was Merlin who answered. “Proving to someone you’re from the past is considerably harder than you might imagine. I can tell you many things about our time that your history books have gotten wrong, but my word proves nothing.”
Vera eyed him skeptically but spoke to her mother. “What did he show you?”
“He,” Allison shrugged sheepishly and turned her glass in her fingers, “he turned water into wine.”
“You’re kidding,” Vera said. “Like Jesus?”
Allison let out a short laugh and nodded.
“And what will you show me, Merlin?” Vera said, a sharp emphasis on his name.
Merlin cast his eyes down, grinning at his hands. She thought she heard a snort of laughter. But he sobered and grew focused. Without moving or answering, the lights went out in the entire room. Though the sun hovered in the sky, its light didn’t fully penetrate the front window. The pub took on a heavy darkness. Merlin held his hand out, palm up, and a glowing orb formed millimeters above his fingers. At first, Vera thought it was white, then she saw the edges were black, and in some moments blue. But at the center, she saw a vision.
She couldn’t place if the orb projected an image in her mind or if it played like a film inside the ball of swirling light. Vera saw herself clearly there. It was her face and body, but she wore a medieval gown, deep green with gold trim. Her eyes were dark even as she smiled. It was a grim expression Vera recognized, one she herself had worn on trying days. The ball faded from Merlin’s hand, and the lights flickered back to normal around them.
Vera blinked and shivered. “Fuck.” She exhaled the word more than saying it. There wasn’t any way around it. That was magic. And, though she had no memory of being in that place, that had been her in the orb. No, not her. It couldn’t be her. But … it was certainly someone exactly like her, down to the expression.
“Am I her clone?” Vera asked, grasping to make sense of it.
“No. That was you. You are her. That,” Merlin looked pointedly at his now empty hand where the ball had been, “is your body—everything about you before I reverted you to an earlier life stage.”
“But why?” Vera asked in exasperation. She’d never even liked Arthurian legends—though she’d attributed her annoyance with them to her father’s obsession with consuming every film, book, and show on the matter, an obsession which now made more sense. She knew that the legend was about Arthur and his knights, not Guinevere. Why would the king’s wife have any vital role—
Vera’s lips parted with dawning dread. “Was she supposed to have his child?” The notion was a vise grip on her throat. She wouldn’t do it. She’d sooner fight the wizard and die than be some time-traveling broodmare.
“It’s nothing like that,” Merlin said emphatically. “That’s not the way succession works for us. Magic chooses the king, not blood. Whether or not you decide to have any children will be your choice.”
“What is it, then?” Vera asked. “What is she supposed to do that’s so important?”
“It’s not she. It’s you. You bore witness to an act that is draining magic from the kingdom. You were the sole witness. It is not a matter of if it will destroy our world; it is when. And your memories are our only chance of fixing it.”
“You need me to remember what she saw?”
Merlin stared at her, considering it. He seemed like he was choosing his words carefully. “You need to remember everything.”
