Forward
Years ago now, me, my mom, and my brother were huge fans of the book seriesOtherlandby Tad Williams.At the time, only the first three books were out, and we talked and talked and talked about them while we waited eagerly for the last book to come out.It's one of my fondest memories, nerding about those books with my mom and brother.To this day it remains one of the best cyberpunk series I've ever read.
When I started writing this book, it was in small measure a love letter to that series that remains so dear to me.As of the writing of this forward, though, I have gone no contact with my parents because they have chosen Trump and MAGA.It's been hard, admitting they are not who I thought, and maybe never were.All my good memories are tainted, and it's hard to see them past the bad memories, the fights, the hurt.
So this book remains a love letter toOtherlandand my fondness for it, to the magic that Tad Williams wove that lives in my heart decades later.But it's also now something of a farewell to the days, and the family, I will never have again.
Here's to the hope that better days will come again for all of us.
Megan
Sacrifice
537 CE, Battle of Camlann
Lancelot clutched a hand to his side as he trudged through the blood-soaked battlefield.Far in the distance he could see Maleagant's forces prowling for survivors to finish off.There wasn't much time.He'd discarded what he could of his armor to draw less attention, but the moment they came close enough, they'd still recognize him.
He continued on, following the gentle summons that had found him as he lay bleeding.Everyone else was dead, even Galehaut, but if he thought about his beloved lying with a lance through his chest, eyes wide with shock and pain, Lancelot would lose the last of his strength.
Lancelot could have done more.But he'd feared using the full might of his power because after a point, water could not be controlled.If he'd brought masses of water to Camlann, it would have destroyed everyone.
But now everyone was dead anyway.So maybe he should have done it.
Too late now.
So he didn't think about that or anything else, only focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trudging along until he came to a large boulder off to one side.Rounding it, one hand dragging along it for balance, leaving trails of blood, he finally spied Merlin sitting against the far side, shielded by the way the boulder curved, creating a small nook.
Lancelot dropped down in front of him."We should have won."
"Maleagant—" Merlin broke off coughing, blood soaking into his glove."There was foul magic here.We never stood a chance.I know you're probably wondering if you should have—" He coughed again."It wouldn't have made a difference.So rest easy on that.This is not a price I thought he'd pay.Fool me."He coughed again, and swayed as though he would soon pass out and never wake again."I can— I can fix things, after a fashion.The cost will be great, though, and I do not know at what time or place my machinations will come to pass."
Lancelot's head spun, vision blackening at the edges."I don't understand what you're saying, but you know I'll agree.Whatever it takes to keep him from winning.The world won't survive his victory."
"Rebirth," Merlin said hoarsely."I cannot see much.A time far in the future.A world that exists, but does not exist.Phantoms that are people, but are not people.The spell will cost me, but he will be bound, and the final victory yet to be determined."
"Do it," Lancelot said fiercely."I will help you pay the price.Whatever it takes.Anything is better than that foul bastard claiming Camelot and from there, everything else."
Merlin grunted and reached beneath his tunic to draw out the pendant he always wore.A triskelion, carved from a branch of an ancient, powerful oak tree deep in the woods where Merlin had lived alone for years and years, earning him the name by which people still called him: Merlin of the Wild.
Power is strongest in threes, Merlin had always said, and the triskelion was the mark of him and his sisters in magic, the court of three who advised and protected Arthur.Until Maleagant and his terrible magic had torn everything apart.
With great effort, Merlin yanked the pendant off his neck, snapping the chain that had held it in place.It glowed with the dark green light of his magic, and then slowly turned blood red."Grip it," he gasped out.
Lancelot obeyed, and hissed as the pendant began to drain him, magic and life and soul.
Merlin's eyes glowed with the same eerie red as he chanted words that turned Lancelot hot and cold all at once, chills running down his spine like frozen fingers.Lancelot slumped forward, sprawling across Merlin with his head on Merlin's shoulder, their struggling breaths mingling.If he'd had his choice, he'd have died alongside Galehaut, but beside one of his oldest and dearest friends wasn't a bad way to go either.
"You will be the first," Merlin whispered, voice increasingly raspy."Only you can wake the rest of us.You will find me first.After that, we'll wake the others.Find the lake.Then the sword.There will be a fight.I will be there, but I won't know it.Wake me.That is when it will all begin aga…"
Lancelot whispered that he would do all Merlin asked, even as he felt his friend breathe his last, and the words were lost to a crack of thunder that followed him into the final dark.
The White Knight
Lance's eyes snapped open, and he stared blearily at the stacks of folders and papers in front of him, smelling of must and dust.He'd fallen asleep.Again.During work.What was wrong with him lately?Normally he couldn't fall asleep no matter what he did, but lately it took everything he had to stay awake.
Thankfully, his job was the most boring one in the world.As an archivist in the city tax office, all he did was handle hardcopy, day in and day out.Open mail, log everything, file.Pull records.Put records away.Repair damaged documents, retype many of them.So on and so forth, ad nauseum unto eternity.
Boring as it was, he'd never fallen asleep before, except for one time when he'd come in badly hungover.
