Mykonos 8/16

[flypaw]

|Masterpost|Part Seven|

Part Three: The New World

Camelot.

October 3500

Merlin returned to consciousness slowly. His eyes remained shut – he was in too much pain to even consider opening them – but his hearing filtered back to his brain and Merlin began to understand what was going on around him.

Someone was walking close to him and, judging by the noise their feet made against the ground, Merlin would hazard a guess that the ground was hard and probably man-made. This meant that he couldn’t be at the druid camps, or even out in the refugee’s home, and a slight spark of terror rose in Merlin’s chest.

He remembered then; remembered being shot by the Picking gun, falling down into unconsciousness and whisked away to the New World. He’d clearly been taken to whatever facility they used to draw the magic from people, plugged into the machine, feelers against his head and his hands.

Merlin didn’t dare try to search for his magic, afraid of what it could do. It had betrayed him before (and how odd was it to think of his magic having a life of its own… except it did, it had a life and had chosen to ignore Merlin’s wishes) and he didn’t trust it any longer. If his magic bubbled over now, that would be it. Even though everything seemed hopeless, Merlin still had a chance of surviving this.

After all, he was awake, wasn’t he? He was willing to bet that not many others had woken after being placed down here, so he had to keep a low profile.

As Merlin became ever more aware of what was going on, he realised that he was alone aside from one other person, a guard perhaps? They were sealed off in a room, more of a booth or a cubicle really, completely enclosed and alone.

This could be his chance, Merlin realised. If he could overpower whoever was in the cubicle with him, switch their places even, and then he could escape. The only reason it hadn’t been done before was likely to be because no one had strong enough magic, and Merlin knew he had to get out of here sooner or later. Every passing minute he spent here was a minute he was placing himself in further danger, and Merlin needed to keep as low a profile as possible.

There was an odd sound, like a door being hurled upwards amongst a whirl of technology, and then silence. It took a moment to realise that the guard, for lack of knowing who they really were, had left the cubicle.

Merlin took his chance and opened his eyes. It hurt, both moving just that tiny amount and adjusting to the glaring lights that surrounded him, but he was glad for it, able to finally see what he’d only been able to imagine before.

The cubicle was a little longer than the table he was laid on and a little wider than a desk, pushed to the back of the room. Wires shot out from the wall the desk was pressed against, connecting to Merlin’s hand and forehead, clearly the feelers that would suck his magic from him.

There was another machine too, a small box that was clipped onto the edge of the table. It connected to Merlin’s wrist with a wrap-around cuff, beeping in time with his heart and monitoring his vital signs.

Tentatively, Merlin shifted his weight until he sat up, feet dangling off the edge of the table. He pried the end of the cuff off, unwrapping it from his wrist and lingering a moment, afraid the machine would set off an alarm, before he dropped the monitoring device on the cold table.

No alarm sounded and Merlin relaxed a little, taking in a shaky breath. He took another look around, looking for anything to give him a clue as to where he was, and he noticed a floor plan on the wall, showing routes on how to evacuate the area.

It looked as though the facilities spanned several layers of the tower, almost at the very base. There wasn’t much detail on the overview of the whole tower on the evacuation plan, and the segment that it drew out in more detail was only just enough to suffice. He’d been told that the dragon was at the base of the Tower, under the Picking section, so all Merlin had to do was find a way down and he could work from there.

The plans showed that the facilities were divided onto levels, though Merlin couldn’t say what determined the levels. He was on the central level, with only one other floor beneath Merlin and the rest of the Tower.

He scanned the other desk in the room, looking for any paperwork or, well, anything of use, but it was devoid of anything useful, bare save for one of the guns they’d use to sedate Merlin and the others.

And suddenly, Merlin had a plan. He hadn’t wanted to risk using his magic, but if it had come to that then he would have, simply because he needed out. But now that he’d found the gun, he’d be able to stun the guard and switch their positions.

It wasn’t something Merlin wanted to do, but the past months had changed and hardened him. He wasn’t just the hardy boy from an Island anymore, but he’d grown into a man with the potential to change the world, quite literally. He still didn’t fully believe he was the kind of person who deserved prophesies and greatness, but there was too much at stake to not do anything. His magic wanted him alive, at any rate, so what harm could it do to try and help?

It wasn’t as if he had anything else anymore. A life with the druids would have been the only thing that might have made Merlin change his mind, stay hidden away from the world, but that had been ripped away by his mistakes.

Everything had been of Merlin’s own making. Will and his mother had been taken from him because he’d blindly thought that they’d all be able to survive the seas, that his magic would have been able to save them all just because he’d connected with the ocean for a moment, because it was new to him again. And Mordred had run because Merlin had failed, failed so hard to protect him even after all the promises. Gaius had been taken because he’d tried to help Merlin, even after Merlin had ignored his advice again and again.

But Merlin could put things right. Or at least try, because there was nothing else for him now. Everyone he cared about had been taken or placed their hopes in him to right the wrongs of this world. It was almost too much, but Merlin had to find a way to do it, he had to.

It was a while before the guard came back, but Merlin was lying sedately on the table, stun gun tucked between the cool metal of the table and the dirtied t-shirt he was still wearing, covered in bog muck and dried mud. He waited patiently, knowing that he only had one shot at this and that it had to go right.

A crackled voice came through on some sort of communication device, but Merlin couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Right, got that,” the guard said, a male voice, so Merlin was in luck there. At least he wouldn’t have to squeeze into whatever a woman might have been wearing. “This one’s results should be at the lab now; they just need to be cross referenced to see if he has any relatives in the magic-bank.”

There was a muffled laugh on both sides, and Merlin fought down his anger, trying not to spike faster vital signs.

“Should be done soon. For some reason the boss wanted them double checked.” There was a pause, and then, “mm, I’m not sure whether it’s because the Lab cocked up the tests or this one’s a bit more interesting, maybe he’s a runaway from a noble family or something.”

Merlin’s breathing was shallow and knew that he had to get out of there as soon as he could. Whatever had happened, they were looking over his results (results for what?) again and with more scrutiny. Whatever that meant, it wasn’t good for Merlin’s prospects.

“Look, I have to run another tester before we can hook him up so I’ll speak to you later, yeah?” there was another muffled reply before a beep, the communication device switching off as the guard turned back to face Merlin.

“Poor sod you,” he muttered, stepping beside Merlin and looking at the vital monitor. “Still, could be worse. You could have been shot, looking at you I’m thinking you’re one of the monster children lot.”

The Wild Children he had to mean, the children that they shot at for fun when there was nothing else to do. Merlin suddenly didn’t feel as regretful for what he was about to do and he waited, just until the guard was rearranging the feeler on his head.

Merlin had never shot a gun before, but he’d been on the receiving end and knew the damage wasn’t pretty. Whatever the guard had said, it hadn’t made it easier to press the muzzle of the gun against his side, sending an electrical pulse through his body and knocking him into unconsciousness.

Trying not to look at how the man’s limbs spasmed, Merlin ripped the feelers and the vital checker from his body, hopping off of the table fully. He didn’t have too much time; anyone could turn up at any time after all, so he just had to work as quickly as possible.

The first to go was the man’s over-clothes. The guard wore a dark grey, one-piece suit, zipped up with a thick utility belt splitting his body segments. It was easy to strip the clothes and slip them over his own, zipping the ensemble up and clipping the belt around his waist.

Over the months, Merlin had lost a lot of weight. While he’d hardly been on the heavier side before, always having been a skinny child, the belt slipped down his hips now, showing that what little fat he’d had on him before had been starved off during his time in the New World. He had to use the buckle to rip a new hole in the belt, looping it around his waist and clipping it shut.

Next came the shoes. It turned out that the man had slightly smaller feet, but Merlin needed the shoes. Besides, blisters were favourable to death and Merlin needed to hurry.

His last task was to haul the man onto the table and clip him up to the machines. Merlin didn’t know if they monitored the activity in this cubicle, but even so, it would delay the guard when he woke so that Merlin could be away and a distant memory.

Lifting the guard onto the table was hard work, and Merlin was panting by the time he straightened, arms aching. He hadn’t had to do manual labour for a long time, aside from walking out on the moors, and it felt strange to finally see how much he’d changed. Back on Ealdor, Merlin had worked his whole life, stretched his physical capabilities and built them up. Now, in this land of myths and shining futures, he was fading, losing everything that had been Merlin and creating Emrys, a man of magic.

As a last thought, Merlin slipped the stunning gun into his belt, glancing around the room to check that everything was in order. He spared a last glance at the guard, in plain clothing and looking so normal that Merlin felt a twinge of horror at what he was doing, before he moved to the door. He ignored the panel of buttons at the side, instead opting to wrench the handle down and exit, heart in throat and head held high, determined to look as though he belonged.

There was no one out in the corridor. It was cold and dark, the only light coming from yellowing bulbs placed strategically against the cubicle sides. The aisle Merlin was on stretched almost endlessly with cubicles placed a few paces apart from each other, stretching out to all sides. There had to be at least one hundred in each rows, and Merlin didn’t even want to think about how many rows this level contained, let alone the other levels.

Merlin walked forwards, slightly-too-small boots clipping against the ground. He tried not to act as though he didn’t belong, but Merlin couldn’t help but look around, jumping at every slight creak or groan that the Tower gave.

The noises clearly weren’t just natural structural problems. It was why Nimueh drained the power of the people, though she no doubt used part of the power for her own gains. But the fact was, Camelot was crumbling from the bottom up and unless Merlin could find something to do, all those people in their New World were going to die, falling to the ground like the birds had whenever it was their time to die, though Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he had seen that. Birds were more of a myth than a reality nowadays, as with so many things.

The walk to the side of the level was slow, but when he reached it, the area was mercifully empty. There was a door – automatic, though it had a manual lever just like the door back in the cubicle. This time, Merlin pressed a button to the side, watching with delight as the door shot up of its own accord.

He wasn’t exactly a stranger to the wonders and mysteries of the world, but Merlin had never lived in a technological world. Seeing a door rush up because of it was amazing, if a little crude when thinking of the logistics. This world, no matter how cruel, would be amazing, Merlin could feel it.

The area he stepped into looked to be a central column, reaching up high to the tips of the Tower, probably the only entrance to Camelot. There were side steps, leading to the support towers, where the Pickings came through, marched through evidently before being deposited on which ever level they fitted best.

And then there was the rest of the column that stretched down, stairs visible, curling around the central lift mechanism that undoubtedly everyone else would use but Merlin. He had a choice; he could go up to Camelot right away, or he could face the creature that had called him, speak to the dragon that had spoken to him over miles and miles of ocean.

The dragon he had upturned his life for.

The choice wasn’t a hard one, and Merlin walked to the door that would gain him access to the stairwell, the stairs pristine and oddly out of place compare to the rest of the Tower.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked for, but the stairs continued to spiral down lazily, doors appearing every now and again that would lead off to emergency evacuation areas or the level that had been below Merlin’s cubicle. Every time he neared such a door, his heart beat wildly in his chest, hoping that no one would open them, electronically or otherwise, and – thankfully – no one did.

For the first time, Merlin was completely alone. He’d never experience this kind of alone before, even when he’d first been washed up on the shores of the New World. At least then there had been the uncertainty of whether anyone else had survived, and Merlin had met Mordred. Back then, he’d at least had company, be it from a child who hadn’t talked, until the mass of refugees.

And though Merlin had been alone in the camp, he’d also been surrounded by life and people. They had been noisy, smelly and horrific at times, but they’d all been so alive and so brilliant because they’d made it that far.

In the Tower, putting one foot in front of the other down the stairs, Merlin was alone. There was no life around him, not really. The people in the cubicles were sedated and the guards cared little for what they had to do. It was just a job for them and while a few may object, they still carried on with their jobs. In his principles and goals, he was alone.

The stairs changed as Merlin continued down, as did the air. Before, on the levels that housed the Pickings, the air had been chilled and somewhat fresh. As Merlin ventured lower, though, the air grew warmer, thicker, as though the earth wanted to suffocate itself, choke up until it died, ignoring what humanity had done to its magic and lustre.

The stairs gave way, eventually, to a rocky and pitted cliff face. There were clumps of rocks, clearly where steps used to be, so Merlin followed their trail. He continued on down, eyes searching for any sign of the real dragon, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

The climb grew ever increasingly difficult, and Merlin stopped more frequently, searching for the right place to hold on.

The rock face was slippery and the stones grazed along Merlin's palms as he meandered across, seeking a safe foothold. There was a jut of rock a little way from his shin and, with a bit of effort, he'd be able to land safely on the rock before continuing to climb down, seeking his dragon.

It was this time, in his borrowed uniform, still smelling of the bog and caked in mud with Ygraine’s kiss and hopes resting on his cheek, that Merlin had time to think. He was safe, to a degree, down here, safe from people as he drew further into the ground, wondering how long ago he’d passed sea level or even if he had at all.

What was he doing? Putting all ridiculous prophecies and pleas for help aside, what was he actually doing out here? So far from home and truly alone now, there wasn't anything else that he could go back to now, but why had they all even bothered to leave?

Merlin wasn't born of the Skies. He was part of the Ocean, born on a scrap of land and catering to the whims of an uncertain sea. He shouldn't be here, in Camelot of all places, tucked away in the clouds and yet climbing down the main tower, clinging desperately in hope he didn't slip and break his neck. The most climbing he'd done in Ealdor was up to fix the shingles on the roof, but look at him now!

It was ridiculous and maybe a few months ago he could have left, drifted away on a little boat to fade away to nothingness, a memory on the sea, a ghost (like so many) lost on the ocean.

Everything had changed though. He’d grown, away from his family and friends, forged a new life in the druid camp and made promises. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t explicitly said the promises, but for every child and adult that had lost someone to the Pickings, Merlin had promised to find them.

He was far from being alone. Even though they weren’t with him, Merlin still had Hunith, Will, Gaius, Mordred and even Ygraine. There was the dragon too, though he'd only seen the projection of the creature. The dragon that had called to him, over miles of ocean, to plea for his help, crying out that Camelot was dying and he needed help.

But that was enough now. There was no use thinking about what he could have done, what could have been. This was his life and there were people out there, his friends, who needed him.

The air around him seemed to balloon suddenly, a great wave of heat belting into the air. Merlin froze on the rock, his foot skittering down slightly and knocking a stone free. The stone didn’t fall into the empty cavern, but instead clattered onto a ledge, showing Merlin that he’d reached a vantage point. There was another rush of warm air, before Merlin’s world tilted once more, as he set his eyes on the huge, golden eye of the dragon.

"How small for a destiny so great," a voice commented, wracking through Merlin's very bones.

Merlin turned, letting go of the hold he’d maintained on the wall and looking at the dragon, heart sinking. It was massive, head bigger than any of the livestock on Ealdor, and stocky. Its eyes were golden and huge, staring openly at Merlin as he realised, with a sinking heart, that this wasn’t his dragon.

This dragon – the Great Dragon, the last of its kind – wasn’t his dragon. Did that mean there was another, a dragon that had managed to escape the slaughter, whenever it happened? Had he just awakened from a slumber and noticed that his friend, his kin, was trapped and needed Merlin’s help?

Or was his dragon a ghost, lost in an old magic circle of Stones. It was entirely possible, Merlin supposed, that his dragon was just a memory locked away in the sentient magic the Obsidians possessed, but the thought sent a chill through his core.

What if he’d come all this way for a ghost? It was as good as a dead end. The Great Dragon couldn’t help him, chained as he was by a thick, metal collar and chain, and Merlin couldn’t do this alone.

“You are but one half of a whole,” the dragon said dryly, as if it knew exactly what Merlin was thinking. “But you are not quite ready to meet your destiny.”

He sat back on the rocks he’d been standing on, head coming level to Merlin’s eye line now. There was no denying that he was a magnificent creature, and Merlin ignored the bubble of hope that rose in his chest to take in the dragon fully.

His father had known this dragon. For a short time at least, but Balinor had been trained to deal with dragons. He’d studied them inside and out, known every flaw and every perfection. He’d trained so that he’d be able to speak to this dragon as an equal, but Merlin didn’t have that time.

“My father was a Dragonlord,” Merlin said, voice hoarse. “But I don’t know anything about you,” he admitted, wanting someone to be able to take the strain off, even just for a moment. The dragon could be the one with all the answers for now, even if it was the wrong one.

“I shouldn’t think you do,” the dragon replied, shuffling on its perch and sending a few rocks skittering down. Another burst of warm air rose and Merlin lowered himself to the ground, sitting down gratefully.

“But you still carry your father’s blood and his power.” The dragon tilted his head, looking at Merlin curiously. “The Dragonlords are dwindling,” he continued. “It took five of them to renew the Old Magic placed on me, and they come down more frequently too.”

Merlin looked up, unsure what the dragon wanted him to say.

“Every month now,” he rumbled on, giving a huge sigh. “And the Old Magic is warming the earth; no doubt you can feel it returning.”

Trust the dragon to be half-mad, Merlin thought. All he wanted was straight answers and instead the creature was talking about the earth and the spells cast on him.

“You’d do well to listen to me,” the dragon continued, still intently staring at Merlin. “Because what I say might change your very destiny.”

That caught Merlin’s full attention, and he tilted his head, waiting for the dragon to explain.

“Do you know where you are?” the dragon asked, his tone familiar, as if he and Merlin had known each other for a very long time.

“Camelot,” Merlin replied easily. And then added, “The base of the Tower.”

The dragon shook his head, jaw splitting into a terrifying smile. “Not just the base of the Tower, young warlock,” it grinned. “We’re in the earth itself; buried down with the last of the Land, down in the dark and the warmth of the earth’s core… though that is much further still.”

Merlin took his eyes from the dragon, looking all around them. The ledge they were on was the only one of its kind, jutting out over darkness that led further into the earth. There was nothing different about this land than that on Ealdor, or even in the Wastelands, aside from that it was rocky. Merlin had thought that it would have been different, that he’d have been able to feel if it was the old earth, from way back before the floods. This, though, was just like any other land, ordinary and plain.

“You were caught,” the dragon said in the gloom, letting out another sigh. “Can you reach your magic?”

Trying, Merlin shook his head. “But it did that back in the Wastelands, to protect me.”

“I have no doubt that it did, but it’s blocked at the moment. When they caught you,” he said, inching forwards and closer to Merlin. “They used something to block your magic until they were happy that you were clean and safe to draw from.”

That would explain the tests, at least. Maybe his amount of power hadn’t shown up on them and the tests that had had to be re-ordered were simply because he had relatives in Camelot, people who would have made a fuss if they knew about him. People who would have missed him, in other words, and who would have made too big a fuss if they found out than what could be controlled and buried back into hiding.

“Here,” the dragon offered, bringing a huge talon closer to Merlin. “I’ll release you from the block.”

It happened with a rush and Merlin gasped as his magic tingled, suddenly free and alive. Another rush came, this time from outside of his body, the magic of the earth, the magic that told Merlin this was different, that this was what the land felt like before the Flood and before the people had twisted magic for their own gain. He could feel the earth moving, feel the memories it contained and, most of all, feel the mighty presence of the dragon.

“We’re kin,” Merlin said, looking at the dragon in shock, but feeling the bond between them pulse as clear as day.

The dragon inclined his head, “We are, and our bond is stronger than any I’ve felt for centuries.”

Merlin wanted to shake his head, but he couldn’t deny it. He could feel their connection and knew that no others even came close. He wasn’t alone, never would be so long as the dragon lived.

“I’m Kilgharrah,” the dragon rumbled, drawing his talon back under Merlin’s ledge to rest back on his crop of rocks. “And the legends speak of you as Emrys, but that is not all you are, is it?”

It was slightly shocking to hear the dragon say that. Since he had discovered (or rediscovered, really) his magic, all Merlin had been told was that he had to become this great person, someone who could save them all. The druids had told him that he was Emrys, the one that would save them all, but the dragon was different. Kilgharrah saw past all of that, saw Merlin for who he really was and that he was far more than just someone called upon to undo the damage Nimueh and her forbearers had caused.

“I’m Merlin,” he said, tired. The rush the magic had given him dropped suddenly, leaving him boneless and weary. The only comfort came from the dragon’s presence and the warm gusts of air drifting up from below them.

“What is that?” Merlin asked, nodding his head down into the gloom below them.

“My fire,” Kilgharrah said simply. “The magic within me burns and the only way I can stop it from destroying me completely is to use my fire.”

Merlin nodded slowly. The restrictions that Nimueh and the other sorcerers of Camelot placed on the dragon meant that his magic, the natural magic he’d been born with, couldn’t connect and fuse with the earth magic.

Usually it wouldn’t be such a problem, but the dragon – like Merlin – was a creature of magic, born with it running through his veins like blood. The spells that kept Kilgharrah’s magic synchronising the stones were raging against the earth magic, digging into his very soul and tearing him apart.

“You channel it into your fire,” Merlin said softly, suddenly understanding Kilgharrah’s pain. He could almost feel it echo in his own body, the struggle for power that the magic inside of the dragon had raged for years.

“A dragon’s flame is an odd thing,” Kilgharrah said, snorting lightly as he turned his head to the side. “It is the primary source that a dragon uses to channel its magic, mingling with its breath.”

Merlin absorbed the information, nodding slightly. Kilgharrah ducked his head away from the ledge and Merlin craned his neck to watch the dragon flex his neck, let loose a roar of fire from his maw, lighting up the area around them in beautiful oranges and yellows.

The fire curled down the rest of the chasm, revealing multiple ledges and rock formations jutting out. They had to be near the bottom of the Tower by now, with the amount that Merlin had climbed and how long he’d been walking. His legs ached and his feet had blisters, from pressing to the too-small shoes he’d stolen from the guard.

The fire died out eventually, hitting rocks far down where Merlin couldn’t quite see, vague splashes of yellow and shadow hitting the rocks and pooling up, letting loose more gusts of warm air.

“But you didn’t come down here to learn about the dragons of old, did you?” Kilgharrah asked, bringing his head back up to Merlin’s level. Merlin shook his head.

“There was another dragon,” he began. “I saw him through the Obsidians and I thought that he was, well, you.”

For a moment, Kilgharrah looked taken aback, before his eyes flickered up and he hummed in consideration, lifting one of his legs so that he could point a talon at Merlin.

“Not everything in Camelot is what it first appears,” he said and Merlin’s heart sank a little more. Were there more secrets? Ones that he hadn’t uncovered and that neither Gaius nor Ygraine had found out?

“The dragon you saw was most likely a figure conjured up by the New World technology. People in that world can take on whatever form they so please when they navigate through their New World maze.” Kilgharrah snorted again, a puff of air blowing Merlin’s hair back from his face.

“It’s not such a far cry for someone with talent to switch from the maze and connect to the Stone Circle. In principle, it’s easy; just find the right codes and pathways and you’re through. Most people aren’t aware of the circle and, when they are, don’t want to stand in the way of Nimueh.” The dragon’s lip curled in a smile. “Perhaps that will tell you more about your dragon.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “No, that doesn’t tell me anything,” he said indignantly, tired of people skirting around answers. Was it so hard for someone to give him a straight answer for once?

“There’s also one more thing that you should know,” Kilgharrah said, curling the words, drawing Merlin back in. “They stole people precious to you, didn’t they?”

Nodding, Merlin un-tucked his legs, kneeling so that he could shuffle closer. Small stones bit into his knees, but he ignored them. Kilgharrah was connected to the Obsidians after all so he’d know about the people connected to Merlin.

“One of them has ties to Camelot!” Kilgharrah said gleefully, turning an amused stare in Merlin’s direction. “I wondered what had become of him when he was banished, though I never expected to sense him again.”

“Ygraine was with him too,” Merlin put in, wondering how the dragon would react. It was nothing remarkable, just a raised, scaly eyebrow before he carried on.

“And a child? I can feel your magic on him.” There was something close to distain in Kilgharrah’s tone and Merlin asked him why, unafraid to challenge a dragon so.

“Why?” he repeated, looking at Merlin in amusement. “Because he has the potential to bring about your downfall.” The dragon drew his head back a little, a serious look in his eyes. “There will be a choice and, depending on which course of action you take, the druid boy will bring the downfall of Camelot and destroy any hope you have of uniting Albion.”

Merlin shook his head. It couldn’t be true; Mordred was just a child after all.

“But that’s only if I choose the wrong thing?” Merlin insisted, needing to know the answer,

“There is no wrong or right Merlin,” Kilgharrah drawled, smoke curling from his nostrils as he snorted. “Only what is and what isn’t, and it will come to you as a choice.”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin shuffled back until he was sitting down again. It was slightly uncomfortable, but his knees had been aching from the position he’d been in, legs tingling from lack of blood.

“There’s also another,” Kilgharrah said, and Merlin looked at him sharply.

“No, it was just Gaius and Mordred,” he replied in slight confusion. “No one else,” he repeated, heart hammering. What if they’d caught Ygraine too?

“Your magic is powerful,” Kilgharrah commented, “And you are someone who is guided by their emotions. No doubt Gaius told you about your connection with the Old Magic, and how the waters wanted you to survive… but did he tell you the rest?”

Merlin’s heart leapt in his chest, not wanting to gather hope, but failing. Could it be…? Was the dragon saying what Merlin thought he was?

“You have enough power to simply wish something and have it done at your bidding. Why should you think that this was any different?” Kilgharrah bent his head forward again, bringing his head closer than it had ever been to Merlin, so close that he could see every scale on the dragon’s skin.

“They have your mother,” he said calmly, bringing Merlin’s world crashing down around him. “Your magic was strong enough to pull her through the sea alive, but they snatched her before you had a chance to find her.”

His breathing was shallow, and it felt as though Merlin was using every inch of his strength not to fall over. What Kilgharrah was saying… how could it be true?

“How…” he began, hardly forming it as a question as the though snapped off, lost in the scream of his mind. His mother was alive, hurt and trapped, but she was alive.

“I’ve already explained that your magic is strong and yes, it’s true that the Old Magic wants to be used by you, and will use you if it has to, but you have a talent. Your talent was rare even in the golden ages of magic, few mortals ever possessing such a gift.” Kilgharrah widened his eyes a little, pupils boring deep into Merlin.

“You need to understand that you are powerful. You contain more magic than anyone I can remember, and you have the potential to turn the magic at the very core of the earth if you so wished to.” Merlin wasn’t quite listening, mind still reeling over what Kilgharrah had shared before.

“Merlin,” the dragon hissed, and Merlin turned to him, eyes wide in surprise at Kilgharrah’s tone. “When I say that you are the only one who can save us, I mean it. When you make your choice, the option you must take will be one that only you can complete, and complete it you must, no matter what the cost.”

He drew his head back at that, finished with whatever wisdom he’d supposedly imparted.

“But my mother,” Merlin said weakly, knowing the answer before he’d finished speaking.

Realistically, Merlin couldn’t save Hunith first. Where could they go? It would be dangerous enough for Merlin to risk everything by himself, and with magic, let alone drag someone else into it. In the even something went wrong, Merlin could at least protect himself, but he couldn’t risk something happening to his mother, not after everything they’d been through (everything that was his fault).

“You know the answer,” Kilgharrah said solemnly. “And I understand. I watched my kin die at the hands of humans until I was the last one. I couldn’t save my friends and family, but you can save yours, and more.”

Merlin tilted his head down, closing his eyes. He could feel Kilgharrah’s pain and knew that he had to do everything he could in order to stop it happening to himself. He wouldn’t let Nimueh take away any one he loved, and he had a chance to restore so many lives.

“How do I get into Camelot?” he asked slowly, almost wishing that Kilgharrah wouldn’t give him an answer, just so that he could go back to sleep and forget the world, just for a while.

The dragon did answer though. “The central stairs will lead you right up to the city gates. There should be identification cards in your stolen suit somewhere.” He also seemed to pre-empt Merlin’s question, “They’re electronical and there aren’t any image recognition issues with it. No one expects a guard to be switched for someone with magic, after all.”

There was a wry curl to the dragon’s lips that Merlin couldn’t help but copy.

“When you are in the city, you need to find your dragon,” Kilgharrah said simply, shifting on his mound of rocks, sending more skittering down into the darkness. He almost looked as though he was preparing to leave, but that couldn’t be right.

“How do I do that?” Merlin asked and he realised that, yes, the dragon was preparing to leave.

“Wait,” he said, standing hurriedly. “What are you doing?”

There was no reply except a swoosh of leathery wings, the dragon hurling his massive frame off of the ledge and down between the rock formations, the clink of his chain the only sound left in the darkness.

Merlin stood there for a while, trying to wrap his head around everything. It was an impossible task, though, so he sat down on the ground again, mind full of memories of his mother. He remembered how she would wake him with a smile, the way she’d chase him down to the village when he was younger, all the happier memories and the ones he’d never have again unless he did something to save her, to save all of them.

He didn’t know how he was going to find his dragon (person, Merlin had to correct himself, and he tried not to think about what kind of person was waiting for him), but Merlin had a larger goal to surpass before all of that. He had to get to the gates of Camelot, and though Kilgharrah had assured him he would be okay with the identification cards, it was a frightening prospect.

He took a deep breath, knowing that he had to move onwards. He could try to sleep down here, but any sleep he got would be fitful, at best, and he’d wake in an even worse condition than he was in now. So he made upwards, trailing along the path he had taken down, a slope at the edge of the ledge his route.

From the very start, Merlin knew that he’d have to get into Camelot at some point. Even before they’d set off from Ealdor, he’d known that if they got there, they’d enter the city. Of course back then, he hadn’t expected that he’d be sneaking into Camelot with a stolen identity, but Merlin had learnt by now that things changed.

The walk back to the Picking levels was slow and hard work. Merlin’s feet ached with every step and he was almost one hundred per cent sure that his feet were bleeding by now. There were definitely blisters, Merlin thought as he wriggled his toes, wincing, and large ones at that.

At some point during the journey, Merlin stopped on the rocky steps and leant his head against the wall. He needed a rest, and that was exactly what he did. It was uncomfortable, but Merlin managed to get a little amount of sleep, hunched over awkwardly. When he woke, he continued on, past the rocks and the earth and up to the white staircase.

He paused when he reached the first level that stored people from the Pickings, but knew he couldn’t linger. He needed to stay as unknown as he could, and that meant he had to avoid people as much as possible. Merlin would be back, though, and he vowed as much to the people locked away in cubicles, promising that he’d save them all.

The stairs began to spiral more tightly, less effort in terms of distance, but they began to make Merlin feel wobbly. It was hard work too, walking up as they coiled, so Merlin stepped out of the white door that led to the third level of the Pickings, closing his eyes for a moment.

The panels that separated the staircase from the main halls were a type of plastic – or perhaps glass – and Merlin risked looking at them, trying to gauge how awful he looked. He was probably still mud-smeared, stinking of the bog, and too skinny in his stolen clothes.

He sighed, turning away from the plastic and reaching a hand for the door to the stairwell again, when the electronic whoosh of a door sounded behind him, and Merlin froze.

“You’re not taking the stairs are you, mate?” a voice asked and Merlin turned around slowly, heart attempting to leap through his mouth.

He chuckled nervously, looking at the other uniformed guard. “Thought it might be a good way to get fit, you know?”

The guard looked at him oddly, moving a leg back slightly and shifting his weight. The door shut behind him, and there was only the one guard, so Merlin knew that he would be able to take him down if he had to. He didn’t want to though, and it would be a good way to test whether he’d fit in in Camelot.

“Get fit? Why would you want to do that?” he asked in confusion, taking a step towards Merlin.

Merlin had always been a fast thinker, able to spin up stories in no time on Ealdor, so this was no different. Lying was a second nature to him, or had to become one now at least, and the words slipped easily from Merlin’s lips.

“Down in the Wastelands,” he drawled, forcing a grin. “The Wild Children, if one of them puts up a chase I want to be in range of it.”

The words went against everything Merlin believed, what he’d experienced, but the guard broke into a smile, closing the space between them to slap Merlin on the back.

“Oh, I like you,” he said. His nose twitched, as if he could smell where Merlin had been, but he made no comment, perhaps not wanting to offend his new friend. Well, that was what Merlin hoped at least, for if this was what people in the New World smelt like, he’d rather not go at all.

“What’s your name then?” the guard asked, stepping back from Merlin.

“Will,” Merlin blurted out, blood running cold as he said the name. The guard didn’t seem to notice, holding a hand out for Merlin to shake, as Merlin wondered if Will had survived. Kilgharrah had said his magic was strong enough to reach out to those he loved, what if Will had survived too? Obviously he hadn’t been Picked, but he could have been in the swarm of refugees, tucked away from Merlin somewhere he hadn’t been able to find him.

“The name’s Jarl,” the man replied, shaking Merlin’s hand before jutting his head over to the second door on the plastic-glass wall. “The shuttle’s ready to leave, no point in carrying on with your fitness programme now it’s here.”

Jarl led the way over to the door, swiping a card he slipped from his pocket. The door opened to the shuttle, a long pod-type contraption, completely different to what Merlin had expected. For one, there weren’t any seats, just a rail that wrapped around the entire shuttle. For another, the walls of the shuttle was made of the clear plastic, strong yet utterly frightening if you’d never been in any electronical transportation before, let alone a see-through shuttle that would take them up to Camelot.

Merlin stepped inside, trying to listen to Jarl prattle on about his day’s work and not freak out. He gripped the bar at the edge as soon as he could, shooting Jarl a slightly-nervous chuckle, hoping it was an appropriate point in the conversation. The man wasn’t paying any attention to Merlin, lounging against the opposite side to Merlin and still talking about something or other.

“You going up all the way?” he asked and Merlin only just managed to tear his wide eyes away from looking back at the open door, wondering what Jarl would do if he just ran for it and walked up the rest of the way.

“Um,” Merlin began, his throbbing feet reminding him of one good reason for not walking the rest of the way. “Yes,” he recovered, bobbing his head and offering Jarl another smile. “Yes I am.”

There was a lapse in the conversation then, but Jarl didn’t seem suspicious. In fact, he seemed fine with everything that Merlin had said, past the initial moment of uncertainty, but it looked as though Merlin had secured his identity to Jarl when he’d mentioned wanting to kill the Urchins.

An odd beep sounded and the door to the shuttle closed. Merlin tensed, purposefully avoiding looking at Jarl, and he steeled himself, preparing for… well whatever would happen.

The shuttle made a whirling noise before it began to creep upwards, Merlin felt his whole body sag, unused to the feeling of moving up in this way, before he got it back under control, just as the shuttle picked up speed.

Risking a glance over to Jarl, Merlin noticed that the man was simply looking out the window, completely unconcerned with everything else. Merlin wished he was able to have that attitude, but he was fine for now looking at the grey-coloured floor, knowing that if he risked a look anywhere else then he’d most likely throw up.

The journey upwards wasn’t what Merlin had expected. From the looks of the chute they were travelling up, Merlin had assumed ridiculous speeds and people crammed together. What he had got, though, was a simple pod shape travelling up at a normal pace (it still felt odd, and Merlin’s stomach churned nevertheless), with just the two of them. There were no stops on the way up, and Merlin even managed to look out of the window for a moment, just before the shuttle slowed and came to a stop.

The scenery around them hadn’t changed and if Merlin hadn’t known for sure that they’d travelled then he’d simply have said that they went in a circle, returning to the platform level they’d left.

A ding sounded, the door opened and Jarl ushered Merlin out. It revealed a light-grey coloured corridor, white walls curling round to form the circle of the Tower, and a simple electronically-controlled door.

“Are you on shift tomorrow?” Jarl asked suddenly, bringing out his electronic card again and making to swipe it at the door. Merlin’s fingers fumbled through the pockets of his stolen uniform, searching for the cards, and he pulled out a plain wallet, thankfully devoid of pictures or other mementoes that might have given him away.

“Yes,” Merlin replied to the question, though he answered with a lilt in his voice, as if he was phrasing it as a question. Thankfully, Jarl wasn’t the sort to pick up on it and he simple nodded with a gruff smile.

“Maybe one day you can take me out to the Wastelands and we can snag a few of the runts,” Jarl said with a dirty laugh, leading them through the door.

Merlin clutched his identification cards and tried not to let his reaction show as they walked through, into a wide area. A few other people were milling about, talking to one another or busy with, well, whatever it was the people in Camelot were busy with, but they weren’t what had literally taken Merlin’s breath away.

Before them, there was a huge archway, jutting out from the ground. It looked to be made from the same material as the tower – a pearly-grey stone – and from the archway hung a wrought iron grid, a few doorway shapes bitten into the metal where it touched the ground.

While he couldn’t see what was behind it, Merlin knew that Camelot was just a gate away, so close and finally, after everything, real. No one seemed to notice his stumble, and Merlin knew that he just had to knuckle on and get through this, find somewhere he could be alone to really experience Camelot and let it flow through his body.

They crossed the space between the door to the shuttle and the gate, Merlin wrenching his eyes from the huge structure to track what Jarl was doing. The man moved into one of the doorframes, inserting one of his cards into a slot at the side and the door opened, splitting down the middle. He spared a glance at Merlin, bobbing his head, before he was gone, lost to the electric pulse of Camelot.

Merlin took a deep breath. Beyond the door lay his destiny, something that had apparently been prophesised for thousands of years, and Merlin could feel his magic tingle under his skin, unafraid to let itself known any longer.

As he’d seen Jarl do, Merlin stepped into one of the doorways. It was a slight arch carved out of the dark iron of the gate and there were only two flaws, the slot for the card and the slight slit in the door for the seal.

With trembling hands, Merlin slid one of the cards out of the wallet, pressing it into the slot, the black line facing down and the shape of a dragon on the front. A tiny, red light showed up above the slot and Merlin’s anticipation grew as he brought the wallet back out in front of him, switching the cards.

No one stood behind him, but even so Merlin was wary that he couldn’t spend too long in here. If he looked as though he didn’t know what he was doing, he’d be spotted in an instant. It would be worse than just being Picked, for he’d impersonated a guard, switched places back in the cubicle, and that was sure to be some kind of offence against the monarchy. Not to mention the fact that Merlin had escaped the cubicle, knew what Nimueh and the rulers were doing to thousands of innocents. If they discovered Merlin, they’d know how much of a threat he was, so it couldn’t be an option.

Trying another one of the cards, Merlin clenched his jaw as he slotted it in, the red light flashing obnoxiously. His palms were beginning to sweat now, and the next card was slightly slippery as he pushed it in.

Merlin held his breath as the machine read whatever it needed to with a click, and the light went green. Relief flooded Merlin and it was with great effort that he walked through the now-open doors and didn’t simply collapse on the floor.

To say that Camelot was what Merlin had dreamt would be a lie. It was nothing like he’d imagined, but then again he wasn’t sure if this could be counted as being in Camelot just yet. There was a line of open-backed shuttles, large enough just for one person at a time, and people all around Merlin (apparently there was another gate somewhere, possibly more than one) were climbing into the vehicles.

Following suit, Merlin tucked his legs into the little shuttle, sitting down on the padded seat. He only just managed to withhold a groan at how comfortable this little pod was, before a light flashed up on the panel before him, a red colour, then yellow and then green.

As soon as the green light faded, the pod jolted forwards, apparently on some kind of track or a line. Merlin’s shuttle peeled off away from the line of empty shuttles, falling into place between other people evidently headed for Camelot.

The line picked up speed and started moving up, curling around as if they were headed back to the central tunnel he had travelled up with Jarl. They didn’t end up going back on themselves though, instead moving through to another platform, the pods slowing down in speed again until they fell neatly nose-to-tail, people clambering out of them and onto the platforms.

Merlin followed suit, clambering up from his shuttle and following the people absently. The platform was enclosed in a high-ceilinged, white-washed metal building, so it was only when he stepped out of that that Merlin saw Camelot in all its glory.

The station was raised slightly, almost as if it were on a hill. It gave Merlin a sweeping view of Camelot, slightly sunken lower where it had dipped due to the magic, or maybe it was always like that. Either way, it looked like a picture from one of Merlin’s books.

A huge palace stood in the centre of the city, looking both out of place and perfect where it sat. It wasn’t metallic or gleaming, like most of the other tall buildings, but it drew attention regardless. Around the palace stood odd structures, some tall and thin and others stout, but the hum of activity and electricity feeding the land was undeniable. Merlin could feel the tingle where he stood, looking out at the land from up on a hill, standing alone outside a station.

Someone pushed into him, bumping his shoulder roughly. Merlin snapped from his gawping, hoping that no one had noticed him, and realised that everyone else was moving over to yet another shuttle. If his feet hadn’t have been so sore, Merlin would have asked why none of them bothered to build pathways anywhere, but they were aching badly, so Merlin simply complied with the fact that he was in the New World now, and they evidently did things differently here.

This shuttle was a little more familiar to Merlin. He’d seen images of old cars and buses, even seen wreckages of a few before they’d been ripped apart for scrap, and while this shuttle was longer and thinner than any bus he’d seen, it had wheels and looked as though it was going to save the same purpose.

It was a long journey, considering that all the people on board had to take this route from Camelot to the Picking levels almost every day, well, from what Merlin gathered from Jarl’s question at least. And though it wasn’t a gruelling trip, Camelot was supposed to be a technological haven, full of fast solutions to every problem. Merlin had expected teleports or something, though he supposed they would have burnt up a lot more electricity and therefore needed more magic than this transportation.

When he stepped off of the bus-shuttle, Merlin was completely submerged in Camelot. He’d chosen to get off as soon as he could and had been thrown into the outcrops of Camelot, the sparser area.

Here, it echoed the Wastelands in the fact that there were people, but they were forgotten people, living not in luxury, but just scraping by. Their homes were small, a few with things that needed to be fixed, and still clearly belonging to Camelot. The people, when Merlin saw them, were wide eyed and had dark shadows under their eyes, skinny and pale. These people knew how to work, maybe had been some of the last let into Camelot, and had scraped by, not part of the utopia they had thought they were reaching for.

Merlin followed the trail that the shuttle had taken, a pristine road made of grey slate-like material. Tracks had been dug into the ground and it was evidently this that the bus ran along, controlled and precise.

The city changed around Merlin, transforming from a mismatch of Old World and New into the true Sky City Merlin had always seen in pictures or heard about in whispered stories. There were structured buildings all around, some curved over in almost impossible shapes and others simple and squared, but they all had one thing in common. They were made from shiny materials, gleaming from lights all around.

Merlin’s eyes hurt, though he couldn’t say whether it was because of the electronic glare that surrounded him or whether it was purely due to tiredness. He hoped it was the latter, as he’d be spending a lot of time here now and he couldn’t put up with a constant headache. This world was different and Merlin needed to be able to adjust if he was ever going to find his dragon.
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|Part Nine|