He stood up abruptly, stiff with shock. Of utter disbelief.
Marian smiled through her tears. 'Take it up, Robin. Excalibur was never meant for a woman's hands, any more than Avalon was meant for a man.'
But for a long time he stood atop the hill, moonlight bleaching his hair, and did not touch it.
Smiling, Marian rose. In her hands she carried the other sword, the blade that knew its home in the sheath at Robin's hip. She began to walk away, back to the trees cloaking the shoulders of Avalon's crown.
'Marian.'
She held her silence. When he joined her, when he came down the hill to walk beside her through the trees to the shore on the verge of grass, not water, he carried Arthur's sword.
The enchanter saw it in their faces as they came up out of the grasslands below the hill. He had seen it many times before, hundreds of years before, in those who served Arthur: the acknowledgment that they were a part of something greater than any man might name, though he could not explain it. Goddess-touched, god-touched, God- touched; the name did not matter. What mattered was that they had, this night, become a part of the tapestry others long before Merlin had begun to weave. A tapestry made of living threads, dyed in the blood of the Sacrifice.
He smiled. The Nazarene, too, had been a Sacrifice.
He waited in silence as they came up to him. Marian carried Robin's sword. The other, the one Merlin himself had been given by the Lady, rested in the hands of a man who would have, had he been born in an earlier time, aided Arthur with all the loyalty in his soul.
Well. He aided him now.
Merlin smiled. 'It is well done.'
Robin's expression was solemn. 'What would you have of us now?'
'Your part is finished,' Merlin answered. 'This is for me to do.' He took the great sword from Robin, held it almost reverently. 'In the morning, you will go back to Sherwood, to the life you have made. I thank you both for your time, and your aid. I promise you this much in recompense, because I have seen it: You will not die for years and years. No one so petty as the Sheriff of Nottingham will cause your deaths; time will take its toll. But where I go now, I go alone.'
'To the lake?' Marian asked.
'We could follow you,' Robin threatened mildly.
Merlin laughed. 'But you are there already.'
He turned then, put his back to them, took three steps away from them. Even as he heard each begin to ask what it was he did, he sent the sword spinning into the air. Moonlight sparked and glinted. Not meant to fly, eventually the weapon came down. It struck the ground soundlessly, too far for them to hear.
'Now,' Merlin murmured.
Beneath the sword, the earth opened. From it swelled water, bursting free to spill out onto the grasslands between forest and hill. Satisfied, Merlin watched as it ran and ran, as it filled and filled, more rapidly than a man could clearly see, until at last the water stilled. Lapping at his feet were the wavelets of a lake. Floating upon the waters, shrouded in mist and moonlight, was the isle of Avalon.
'Lady,' Merlin said, 'I give it back to you. I give
After a moment he turned to them both. He marked the pallor of their faces, the stillness of their bodies, the blood upon their flesh. Smiling, he stepped close. He set each hand to the backs of their skulls, and, such as it was in him to do, blessed them both even as he healed their hurts.
Robin said, baffled, 'It was on Avalon already.'
Merlin nodded. 'The women safeguarded it, not knowing it was the Lady who entrusted it to me until Arthur came of age. But it was never of earth. It was for no one to keep, not even the well intentioned.'
'Why us?' Marian asked. 'Why not you?'
'In the old ways, the old days, a woman ruled. But never alone. She had a consort. She made the Great Marriage. And it was sealed with blood.' He smiled at them both. 'The times have changed. No need for the consort to die, but the blood of the Great Marriage remains sacred. I had none to offer.' He saw the frowns in their eyes, the uneasiness with the idea of ancient rituals. 'Go home,' he said gently. 'You have served Britain well. She will not fail for time out of mind.'
Tears stood in Marian's eyes. 'What about you?'
'The same,' he answered. 'I go. This is not my time. This is not my place. I belong — elsewhere.'
'Where
Merlin smiled. He indicated a shadow upon the water, stretching out from the island. 'They are sending a boat for me.'
'But — you said you were not wanted there,' Marian said.
'I am tolerated,' Merlin answered, 'now and again.' He looked over their heads at the forest beyond. 'Make a bed among the trees. There is an oak grove there that will serve you well — and I promise there are no faces in the trees, nor captive enchanters.'
They were reluctant to leave but did as he bade, slowly walking away. He watched the man reach out for the woman's hand; watched the woman reach out for the man's. Their fingers entwined, then locked, and they walked together toward the trees.
The boat bumped quietly against the shore. Dark shapes were in it, shrouded in such a way he could see no faces. He stepped into the boat, found his balance, nodded. The boat began to move.
Merlin looked back at the shore. In the moonlight he saw them, and then they stepped into darkness, became shadows in the wood.
He turned away and took his seat in the boat. He stripped off the circlet, the ring, and the dragon brooch. Without regret, he tossed them over the side into the water. Payment rendered.
For want of conversation, he said to the wraiths of Avalon, 'They will be legend themselves one day. Just as Arthur is.'
Then the mists came down around him as Avalon disappeared, and the Lady took him home.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Lois McMaster Bujold was born in Columbus, Ohio, in 1949; she now lives in Mnneapolis. She began reading science fiction at age nine. Romances came later, when in her early twenties she discovered Georgette Heyer. She started writing for professional publication in 1982, a goal achieved in 1986 with the release of her first three science fiction novels. Bujold went on to write the Nebula-winning
Mary Jo Putney is a prolific
