His smile is mysterious.
I narrow my eyes. “Oh my god,really?”
“He is a mage, Cary. They never die.” He rolls his eyes. “They just get more verbose.”
I look around wildly as if Merlin might pop up. “So, where is he?”
“Wandering. He roams the world. He is like me in that he finds humans fascinating, but why wouldn’t he? His best friend was one.”
“Arthur?”
He nods. “Merlin waits for him to wake, and then they will roister and play again.” He sets his hand on my neck, his fingers playing with my curls. “I will tell you more of them if you're interested at another time.”
“I’d love that.”
His smile brightens like the flaring of a candle before it gutters out. “But we have work to do.” He ushers me into the cave.
I look around curiously. The walls are sandstone and the floor is made of sand and crushed shells like the beach. Unlike many caves, it smells fresh and clean.
There’s a pool of water in the floor’s centre, the turquoise colour glowing strangely and sending lights across the ceiling so the whole cave looks as if it’s in motion.
“Pilgrims came for that water,” Sigurd says as I step closer to it. “It had the power to heal. Hardly surprising, as it has Mer magic in it.”
“Can I touch it?” I ask longingly.
He gives me a crooked smile. “Better not today.”
“Oh my god, why? Will it burn me?”
“There is no bottom to that pool of water. Anyone who fell in would fall forever. The day is stormy and the Mer’s mood even more. So, we shall not tempt fate and the vagaries of the Mer mood.” I gulp and step back, and he catches my hand. “You are safe with me, yes?” I nod, and he smiles.
There’s a faint glimmer of purple light on a far wall. The source seems to be coming from an old painting hanging there.
“That’s not something you usually see in a cave. Why has no one nicked it?” I ask.
“Humans cannot see it, and magical creatures would not risk the wrath of the Mer.”
“How old is it?” I ask curiously, stepping nearer, the shell-rich sand crunching under my feet.
“Rather old.”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. It’s a painting of the beach outside, the strokes sure, and although faded by time, there’s a familiar charm to it that I recognise.
“Oh my god.Youdid this.”
“How did you know?”
I gaze up at the painting. “I just knew.” I wince at the paucity of the answer, but Sigurd only looks at me with a small smile of pleasure. “You okay?”
He nods, and stepping forward, he hovers his hand over the painting.
His eyes darken and his smile fades as he steps back to me and takes my hand. “This is the entrance to the land of the Mer. You must take care in this land, Cary. Never leave the path.”
“Like Red Riding Hood?” My laughter fades when he doesn’t respond to the teasing.
“Exactly like her. Fairy tales and myths contain an element of truth that humans often overlook. Just like the myth of Orpheus in the underworld.” His eyes sharpen. “I will not lose you as he did with Eurydice, so have a care to every move you make and every word that comes out of your mouth. The Mer are fierce and fickle. They can be enchanted by you one second, and seek your destruction the next, all because of something as simple as the wind changing.”
“I’ll let you do the talking,” I say quickly.
