Peter’s head felt like it would burst, he had fallen to his knees as light and sound assaulted his eyes and ears. The ground which a second ago was so real and firm seemed to be tilting and turning under his feet. But the pain! Peter thought his brain was being sucked out through a straw. And then, just as quickly as it started, the terrible assaults upon his senses were gone and had instantly become a bad memory. Frightened by this unexpected occurrence, Peter called out for Percy, but heard no answer. Removing his hands from his eyes, Peter stood up slowly and looked for his companion, but he was nowhere to be seen. The scenery looked normal, as it had right before the pain started, but Peter was alone.
Seeing a weathered path a few meters away, Peter began to walk cautiously toward it, turning and searching for anything familiar. But the spot looked completely foreign until he noticed an outcrop of rock in the midst of the grassy field. That does look familiar. Peter walked over to the rocks and realized where he was; he had gone nowhere, this was the same outcrop of rocks that Percy had been sleeping next to when they first met. But apart from the rocks the land looked different; the trees from the world outside of Percy’s memory were all gone.
Starting back toward the path, Peter tried to keep his anxiety in check. Percy had told him a number of times that this was all a memory, so he had no reason to be afraid; people could neither see nor hurt him. He was like a ghost. Ahead on the path, perhaps two hundred meters, Peter saw someone sitting on a log - the blurred shape of a man. Stopping to try and tell if the person was Percy, he called out and waved at the figure. Rising from his seated position, the being turned toward Peter and began walking his way. Peter suddenly became alarmed, the person was definitely not Percy, but how could this figure hear him call out?
Peter fought the urge to run away, the imposing man was coming close and his image was becoming cleare. With a building dread, Peter finally recognized the man as the one he had seen the previous day, the man who called himself Merlin.
“Why are you here?” Peter heard the man say, he was only a few meters away now and had stopped walking.
“Why are you here?” The man asked again.
“You can see me?” Was the only response Peter could offer.
“Of course, why shouldn’t I be able to see you? You waved to me and called out.”
“But Percy said you could not see me, you’re just a memory.”
“More than a memory, I would think. Yes, more than a memory. Who is this Percy, boy?”
“Percy brought me here.” Peter was becoming flustered and panicky; this was not supposed to be happening. “He was telling me a story about Merlin…is that you? Then suddenly he was gone.”
The man looked menacing, tall and severe. His hair was full, long, and white. He carried a walking stick also, but apart from the stick and his robes he appeared to have nothing else. Peter saw that he was looking around and muttering under his breath, then he stopped and addressed Peter again.
“Percy is gone. What is your name?”
“Is...is he dead?” Real panic was starting to set in with Peter; nothing was the way it should be.
“What is your name?”
“My name is Peter. What happened to Percy?”
“He is gone. Why are you here, Peter?” When Peter didn’t answer, the old man repeated the question: “Why are you here?”
“I was, I mean, Percy was showing me part of The Story In The Runes, you know, the story about Merlin’s life.”
The man seemed to be digesting this piece of information, neither staring nor blinking, his eyes gazed to a spot about forty centimeters above Peter’s head. When he finally spoke again his voice took a more gentle tone. “I have only this about my life, Peter.”
“Merlin” pulled a large, ancient looking book from under his robe. It looked like the book Percy had pointed out to him in the second story. Merlin held the book out for Peter to see. As Peter touched the book, Merlin said loudly, “Meo Vito Declarat.” And the book opened on its own.
The first page was filled with many lines of unrecognizable letters, symbols, or words; Peter was not sure which, but none of them looked like English. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, the pages of the book started to turn as if a gust of wind were sending them away. When perhaps two hundred pages had gone by Merlin closed the book and put it back into his robe.
“That is the story of my life.” The old mage said as he sat down.
“Can I go back now, please? I think Percy needs to be with me.” Peter asked, hopefully.
“Percy can’t come here. You should not be here, either. Why are you here?”
“Stop asking me that, I’m here because Percy brought me here. Why’s that so hard to understand?” Getting annoyed at Merlin’s tiresome question, Peter began to think he should just walk away.
“You came to see my story?”
“Yes, but I want to go now.”
“You can’t go.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t I go?” Peter was almost yelling by this point, but he was unable to leave. What was holding me? Merlin’s eyes continued to look at Peter.
“Peter, you must stay. You asked of me my story and you must hear it.”
Wanting to say “no” and run away, Peter found that he was unable to move as long as he wanted to leave. The whole conversation sounded like it had been scripted and rehearsed. After a few minutes with no conversation, Peter stopped fighting and instantly realized that he was free again, but when he tried to move away his feet again froze in their tracks.
“You must stay and hear the story, Peter, that’s what you asked for.” Now Merlin’s tone was conversational and he appeared relaxed.
“Ok, can I go after the story?”
“Listen to the story first, Peter.”
“Fine! Read the bloody story so I can go.” Peter sat down hard on the grass, which earned him nothing for his outburst except a sore bum.
Then Merlin began.
“I don’t remember when it started, perhaps four thousand years before I came to this land, I was very young. I knew no mother, nor father; I was lost and wandered the streets of a small village. When the waters rose and flooded the village I sat on a rooftop looking at the dead animals and people drifting down the river. The waters receded, the people returned, and I spent more time in the village begging for scraps of food. After many months in the village I walked to a larger town far away, looking for food and shelter. It took me two weeks to walk to the town and the people there were just as unfriendly as the first one so I cursed them and walked on.”
“Following the river north, though I didn’t know the direction at that time, I would come across groups of travelers and merchants. In one of these caravans I met a man who fed me and clothed me and took me as a slave to do his work. I was happy for the first time that I could recall, I had food and shelter and others, wanderers like me. I stayed with these people for many years learning their ways. After six years the man, his name was Utbah, became violent, and hurt me, saying I was ‘myumbakumi.’ So I cursed Utbah and went my own way.”
“I was at a place with giant stone buildings when I came across another group of wanderers and asked if I could join them, offering work for food and shelter and protection. The master of this caravan was called Muhsin and he accepted my pledge and gave me my tasks. Again, I stayed with Muhsin for many years but was turned away in a far land because I was ‘myumbakumi,’ a word I had heard Utbah use when he talked about me. I cursed Muhsin and wandered in the desert.”
“The small villages in the desert would take me in then throw me out again, I was ‘myumbakumi’ to them. Some places I would stay for years and others for days. I would curse the places that threw me out.”
“I became aware of why I was ‘myumbakumi’ after seeing myself in a polished piece of metal. I was at least forty years old, but my reflection showed a child. It was normal to me but not to the people who saw me unchanged for many years. ’Myumbakumi’, they told me, meant I was strange or odd and I finally understood why. In this city I lived and hid, stealing food and making no friends. But I watched and saw people. I learned to blend into the crowds. I learned about life and death. And after living for seventy more years I realized that I was not dying; I was stuck in the body of a nine or ten year old child with sun bleached hair and dark, tanned skin. I cursed myself for my endless life.”
“I moved again, this time back to the great river I had known when I became aware of myself. The great cities I saw a hundred years before had changed little and I blended back into being a nobody. Living continued for a thousand years, traveling little but learning much. My only friends were the pests of the city; rats, snakes, cats, and dogs. Countless thousands died but I continued to live. I was tired of my existence and even tried to re-enter society, but it was harder than before. I had become wise and intelligent, two qualities that no child possessed. So the teachers and scribes threw me out and I cursed them.”
“I went to a mountain and lived there in solitude for another thousand years. My life was meaningless, my time was meaningless. I tried to kill myself but the feeble attempts did me no harm. I had learned a new concept: immortality, and I cursed it.”
“Traveling north again I passed more great cities. Traveling on the water I saw wondrous things, but even the storms that sank my boat could not kill me. I would wade ashore in distant lands and start over. I learned many different languages and eventually how to write, but I carried nothing with me so it was an unused skill for hundreds of years. Further to the north I walked until the cold lasted all year, then south again until the heat lasted all year. For another thousand years I walked throughout the world and cursed my existence.”
“Back in the land of the great river, after two thousand years, changes were finally taking place. I stayed for seven hundred years and watched the cities grow. I made my way into the courts by disguising myself as a royal ward, or an ambassador’s son. My language skills and knowledge of the world made me popular for a few years, then I would disappear for fifty years before coming back and influencing the leaders called ‘Pharaohs.’ They treated me with respect for the first time in my life and I taught them the ways of living and power. But after seven hundred years I moved on to watch for events of which I had heard rumors.”
“I walked for many years in the deserts and mountains of Persia. I learned the inadequate geography of the day and found the spots where I had lived for almost four thousand years now. I saw the places I had not visited and decided to travel again, for this was my life now. I spent many years in area called Palestina, watching events go by. The powerful Roman Empire conquered the land on their way to my first home in Egypt.”
“I moved through the lands call Syria, Cilicia, Lycia, Phrygia, Thracia, Macedonia, and Achaia. I searched for wise people and the powerful. Then I traveled to Dalmatia, Gallia, Italia, and to Rome itself, where the barbarism of the emperors disgusted me. Through Gallia and Hispania I walked the roads of the Rroman armies and marveled at the construction. I again traveled by sea to the land where I live now, known to the Romans as Britannia. It, too, was eventually conquered by the Romans and ‘civilized.’ I was now almost four thousand years old.”
Merlin closed the book and looked at Peter with sadness in his eyes. “Can you believe this story, Peter? Or is it too incredible?”
The story had come to Peter, not as a parent might read a book to their child, but as if it had been imprinted in his mind. He had heard the words, but he was also able to see and smell and feel and hear the events Merlin described. And even more than this, he remembered the story as if he had just experienced every event in person. But how to answer the question Merlin proposed?
“I think that I have to believe your story. I accepted wizards and witches and they’re no less crazy than this.”
Merlin smiled at Peter and pointed to the book. “There is much more, would you like to hear it?”
“Yes!” Peter replied with genuine enthusiasm. “But my parent will wonder where I’ve been and I have to find Percy.” At the mention of his friend’s name, Merlin’s face fell. Then he quietly told Peter.
“Peter, you can’t find Percy, he has...left us. I’m sorry.” There was sincere sorrow in his voice.
“He’s dead?”
“In your world, no, but he is close to death and can’t return.”
Peter’s enthusiasm with the story and his curiosity faded quickly with these words and he remembered what he had said before Merlin began the story. “I want to go home now, I’ve been gone hours. I listened to your story, please take me home.”
“Peter, you haven’t been gone hours.” Merlin said with a grave look on his face. “You’ve been gone months.”