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| The Merlin Factor. Chapter Eighteen. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 17 2015, 08:51 PM (111 Views) | |
| crow | Dec 17 2015, 08:51 PM Post #1 |
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The Merlin Factor. Chapter Eighteen. Part Four: Homecoming. Rescue. The Cruise Ship "Viking Princess". South of the North Pacific High, 1990. He called her softly, cautiously, so as not to alarm her. She could not hear him, so each succeeding call was slightly louder and more insistent than the last. She began to stir. "...Daphne? ...Daphne?" "Mmm. Who's there?" Sleepy, unwilling to wake. "Come, Daphne. Someone in is danger. There is one who needs your help. Come..." Daphne rose. Slowly. Uncertainly. She looked down at the receding form of her sleeping body and gasped in alarm. "Do not fear, Daphne. All is well. Your body sleeps, and now you can come." He offered his arm and she took it, smiling, intrigued with this unlikely event. He led her up to the warm, starry night and waited as she paused to admire its beauty. It was a nice night, he conceded. Beautiful and silent. Not a trace of smoke or chemical. Pure. "Come, Daphne. We must not linger. There is little time." As they walked the heavens, arm in arm, she inspected him, curious as to who he might be that she would simply embark upon such an excursion with him. After all, she was not that sort of woman. Still, she was strangely excited at this encounter. Maybe it was He? Mmmm. You never knew... "May I enquire, Sir, as to your name?" Her voice was formal, but not from any aloofness. It simply was her mode of speaking, taught to her by the life she had led. "Forgive me, Madame. I am known as Merlin. Jacques Merlin. At your service, Madame." He bowed deeply, thrilling her with his respectful, easy charm before smiling and resuming their celestial walk. "Where do you lead me, Jacques Merlin? And with such urgency... Might I be allowed to know?" "But of course, Madame. There is, not far from 'ere, one who is in need of your assistance. He is, I fear, close to death this very moment. There was reason to 'urry, otherwise I would 'ave never taken such liberty." She nodded. She was a practical woman. It was enough for her. They descended towards the strangely still waters of the deep Pacific, towards a graceful little craft that bobbed all alone in a frame far too big to do it justice. The frail craft held a lone occupant, evidently, even in the dim light, close to death. "'e is very tired. Very sick. You mus' do your best for 'im, Madame. It is for you an' you alone to deliver 'im." She leaned over the emaciated form, stroking the flaccid, sun-dried skin, noting how his mouth sagged wide open but held not a trace of moisture. It came to her that she knew this being. Had known him forever. Love filled her heart and brightened her. A tear ran down her cheek as she rose, straightened and turned to the dark stranger. Who seemed, suddenly, not such a stranger after all. Seemed curiously like the frail form in the little boat... "I thank you, Jacques Merlin. He is very much in need, this poor fellow. We must go. We must go now." He took her hand, smiling still, contentment flooding through him. She was the link to the circle. She had come, as she had always had to. All she had needed was a little guidance. It would be fine now. Everything would be all right. They stepped quickly back the way they had come, admiring the great tranquil immenseness of this nameless place so far from land, leaving the one who clung so weakly yet so bravely to the still-glowing ember of his life. ***** She awoke frowning, a sense of sharp urgency picking at her thoughts. What a strange dream. How incredibly real. She thrust mental fingers deep beneath the cloudy surface of that other world, the one she travelled to, sometimes, in the dead of night, clutching at something slippery, eager to escape her questing thoughts. A boat? Where? She tried again. It seemed very important that she catch it now, before it slipped away for good. A boy? A man that looked like a boy. Almost. A man that seemed both young, yet gnarled and wrinkled as an old, dried apple. Danger. Urgency. It wriggled in her grasp and she pulled it, like a mackerel, dripping from its hiding place. There! She dressed hurriedly, breathlessly, slipping from her room and up through the maze of corridors and stairwells of the sleeping ship, to the bridge. "You must stop the ship!" Anxious faces, tired but wary, turned to stare at her as she burst into their inner sanctum, unannounced. "I beg your pardon, Ma'am?" A white-clad officer, young and blushing, blocked her path. "The ship! You must stop it! Now!" She suddenly felt like a fool. They would think her insane. Drunk. Another silly woman looking for mystique on the Captain's bridge. "Ah - that is something that requires the Captain's order, Ma'am. If you would care to come back in the morning..." "No! You must stop the ship now! Right this minute, do you hear?" There was no time for this! She was becoming angry at this young, self-conscious fool. He didn't take her seriously, it was clear. She thought hard. Fast. Racing through the ways she might get them to listen to her wishes. "Man overboard!" She almost screamed it. "There's a man in the water! Quick! Stop the ship!" That was different. The frozen bridge-crew gaped, glanced at each other and burst into frenzied, practiced activity, pressing buttons, calling into intercoms, pulling levers and generally moving into high gear. A siren wailed overhead, bells rang out in the dark, tearing the downy covers from the perfect, summer's night. Emergency! Urgent! Alert! She knew a moment of terror. My God! All of this was based on a dream. What if she were wrong? The humiliation! Oh God! The moment passed and she left it behind her, turning and leaving the bridge to step quickly over to the ship's rail. The hull and superstructure chattered and vibrated as the mighty engines went astern. Voices were coming, growing, louder and louder. The slumbering vessel was bursting into excited life like an anthill kicked by some mischievous child. She fervently hoped she had been right. Searchlights lanced into dazzling life, probing the outer darkness, seeking, seeking... "Miss Hanworth?" She turned, worried, her identity discovered. "Ah - Miss Hanworth, is it?" The young, self-conscious fool. She nodded, trembling. Oh dear. "When exactly did it happen? We - that is - we need to know where to begin our search. Do you know who it was?" What to tell them? What to say? Oh, why had she done it? How incredibly absurd of her. Oh dear... A cry echoed from the bow. Incredulous. Frantic. "Man in the water! Dead afore the bow!" Searchlights swung to stab briefly around before coming to rest on a tiny, bobbing boat, pinned like a butterfly to a cork board by the millions of candlepower directed at it. Dead ahead. "Oh shit! Hard a port, Cox!" The officer was screaming. "Ahead half starboard! Full astern port! Jesus, man! Turn her! Turn her, for Christ's sake!" The stately vessel heeled over further than she had since her sea trials, staggering around under opposed screws and full helm. Things crashed to the decks. Smoke poured from the streamlined stacks. Shouts echoed from below. Almost immediately an alarm-filled voice boomed out over the ship's public-address system that there was no cause for alarm... She felt her hair stand up on end. Her skin crawled. She fell to her knees and cried like she'd never cried in her life, overcome at this unbelievable thing she'd done. "Thank God!" she whispered over and over. "Oh, thank God!" The red-faced young officer stared at her, frowning. In front of the ship? He had to know... "Miss Hanworth! Did anybody fall overboard from the ship?" She sobbed and shook, looking up at him through her tears. She shook her head until he understood. He helped her up and eased her back onto the bridge, helping her onto the leather-upholstered couch in the Captain's day cabin; he would want to speak with her about this. He shook his head disbelievingly. He'd just glimpsed something that should have been impossible. Incomprehensible. How in the world could she have known? The great white liner finally came to a standstill almost a mile beyond the tiny dory. Caught in the searchlights, somehow the minuscule craft had not capsized in the liner's great wake. The most sea-worthy of boats, the dory. It had simply had to be a dory... The bridge officers conversed excitedly, in awestruck tones. It was incredible. If the woman had not slowed the ship and caused the searchlights to be manned, they would have run it down. And they never would have known. The insignificant shattering of tiny, matchwood strakes against the rushing, armored mountain of a blind and sleeping ship. A mouse under the foot of a sleep-walking elephant. So very, very close. Overhead... He chuckled. Amused. What incredible chaos he had caused! Oh, how he loved to mess with things! Still, he reasoned, the job was done. That was it. Good-bye, little Davey. Good-bye Johnny. Good-bye. Safe now. More than safe. Fulfilled. He flitted away over the waves, just above them, creating for himself a little tune. Something about how the man who dares to brave his death is the man who finds his dreams. He sang it to himself, improving on it with every new attempt. He didn't mention women. There was no need. For women are that part of men that make men truly Men. How strange, he reflected, that so many didn't know it. Half-creatures. Separate. Wanting it all for themselves alone, and ending up with nothing. "Good luck, mon vieux," he called. "I wish you well. If my 'at were 'ere, I'd raise it now, for the courage you 'ave shown." Higher and higher, he climbed. Dissipating. Spreading. His reason ended, at least for now. There would be others, he knew, in the final instants before he thinned too much for thought. Others who would come, seeking themselves, on this vast and lonely place-of-finding. They would call him, without knowing that they called. They would give him form. Whatever form they felt most comfortable with. And he would guide them, once again, as was his purpose. It was only natural, he chuckled. To be created out of need. For after all, had he not said the very words himself? Is there any creature anywhere that does not yearn to be needed? A wraith. A shadow. Lighter than air. A wisp of knowing, fading, fading... Merlin. ***** England: Gunton Park, Norfolk, 1990. Marion stirred in her sleep. She had been dozing in the warm sunlight, by the open window, half a world away. Her eyes flickered open and she saw the bird again, perched lightly upon the window-ledge, peering intently in at her. Merlin! She did not move, hardly daring to breathe. A thought formed in her mind. Crystal-clear. Pure. "It is done." She saw Daphne - a smiling, radiant Daphne - running through fields of emerald-green, towards a man upon a white horse. Armored in shining silver, a jewelled sword at his side. The man was so familiar! As he cantered closer, she became Daphne, saw through Daphne's eyes, and suddenly she knew... "He is coming! Dear God, he is coming..." The little falcon cocked its head to one side, screeched a falcon's screech, and launched himself off into the sky, wings blurring, speeding away to far, ancient woods... Marion sat, unmoving, enchanted, tears filling her ancient eyes, running down her cheeks to fall, like gentle rain upon her warm, soft breasts. ***** Edited by crow, Jun 2 2018, 12:56 PM.
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| "Squawk!" said the crow, and then made space. | |
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7:11 AM Jul 11