This only further delighted Lancelot. “That is a shame.”
“We should be finished by supper,” Merlin said, putting an end to the conversation.
Gawain stared, fixated on Merlin’s hand—but no … Vera could see he held a glass vial. He adjusted so that his fingers covered it, drawing Gawain’s attention up as the elder mage delicately tilted his head toward the door.
“Of course,” Gawain said quickly, his chair’s feet raking across the floor as he scuttled from his seat, a rectangular plank of wood clutched in one hand. Vera had only noticed it because she’d thought it was a cellphone at first glance. It was exactly the right size. But he tucked whatever it was into his robe’s pocket and strode out the door without so much as a greeting nor a goodbye to Vera. She wasn’t sure he’d noticed she was there at all.
“He’s a good lad,” Merlin said. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I’ll have to think of what to tell him about you soon. He’s uncannily perceptive.”
“Oh yes,” Lancelot piped in, comfortably twiddling his thumbs in Merlin’s seat. “Really has a knack for nuance, that one.”
Merlin wasn’t any more pleased about Lancelot’s presence than Gawain had been. Their dynamic was that of a toddler who could smell the annoyance of his caretaker and who would now prey upon that weakness mercilessly.
He chuckled when Merlin snatched the closed book and turned away.
Stop! Vera mouthed in exasperation, though she smiled, too. She was nervous. His mischief was a welcome distraction.
Merlin led them over to the bathing pool in the darkest corner of his study. It was larger than it appeared from a distance and eerily the shape of a coffin. “We’ll be trying an enhanced form of sensory deprivation,” Merlin said.
“To, like, put me in a trance?” Vera asked.
“It serves that function and then some. With the aid of magic through a potion, your regular brain function will be nearly stilled. It lets the unconscious part of your mind take control.”
“How does she come out of it?” Lancelot asked as he inspected the tub and ran his fingers across the water’s surface. It was a good question. Being stuck in her unconscious mind would be its own form of hell.
“Mostly, it will take its course,” Merlin said, “but we can also set a limit, and I can pull her back if we go over.”
“And this will definitely work?” Vera asked.
Merlin quested his head back and forth. “It is the less invasive option. I don’t believe the block on your mind has been adequately loosened. This should help. I can’t say for certain that it will reveal a memory from your life before, but it will reveal something of your unconscious mind. At the very least, it will be a step in the right direction.”
Fear rippled through Vera. There were many things tucked away that she’d rather not touch, but her drive to recover Guinevere’s memories was stronger. She stole a glance at Lancelot. He’d stopped cracking jokes and stared at her with a tight smile and a furrowed brow. If he was here, she’d be fine.
“All right,” she said.
Merlin procured a heavy white gown that reminded Vera of a choir robe. She didn’t hesitate when she asked Lancelot to loosen the cords of her dress (though Merlin pursed his lips and minutely shook his head) before stepping around a privacy barrier to change. When she returned, Merlin passed her the small bottle and a thick, black loop of fabric.
“When you’re ready to get in, drink all of this. You’ll have about fifteen seconds before conscious thought fades. It should be enough time to safely get in the water, lie back, and put your eye mask on. Once you’ve drunk the potion, neither of us can touch you or the effects will be negated. I am ready when you are.”
Lancelot gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Bottoms up, love,” he said as he knelt down next to the basin.
Vera stared at the palm-sized vial of clear liquid in her hand. It was less than a shot of liquor, so she took a deep breath and threw it back as if it were vodka. There was no smell—no flavor, though her throat went numb as the liquid slid down it.
She climbed into the comfortably warm waters and pulled the blindfold over her eyes as she lay back. The water held her weightless, with her feet hovering above the tub’s bottom and only her face above the surface.
“The salt and potion I’ve added to the water might feel strange,” Merlin said. The sensation that rose over Vera’s skin prickled pleasantly. She heard the mage’s words as if from a long way off, and as she drifted further away, a last conscious thought occurred to her. She heard words, the same words, every time she fell asleep. It had started with her journey back to this time and happened daily, but she could never remember them even a moment later … like a rubber eraser scrubbed them away as soon as she heard them, leaving only a smudge of dust, the sole hint that they’d been said at all. And there they were.
“Ishau mar domibaru.”
Vera’s thoughts grew hazy, sense and fantasy bleeding into one. And the words were gone. And all the world was darkness.
Until it wasn’t.
Vera was barefoot in a field. She felt the prick of pebbles and the scratch of dry grass beneath her toes. There were low mountains in the distance, and between her and the mountains, a river’s tributary, and closer, a field rich with spindly yellow flowers as tall as her knees. Hundreds of them. They waved at her as they swayed back and forth. She heard the babbling river and felt the breeze kissing her cheek. The sweet smell of life springing from the dirt was vivid, but there was a second note of rancid rot.
And the sound changed.
It started softer than the water’s friendly ruckus but stood out because the two noises were at odds. It grew louder and louder until Vera could hardly hear the river anymore.
