Beyond Camelot (the story) page 2

“Merlin,” he turned to the voice that cut his reverie It sounded so real that he was so sure, this time again, the great magician, had spoken to him.

“Ah, yes, Father John, you were so right then as you are now. The years have aged everything except your keenness, I see,” Merlin said as he stood so casually by the door, as if he just passed by and decided to chat.

“This is it then?” Abbot John asked even though he already knew the answer. “The night?”

“Yes my Dear Abbot,” Merlin said nodding. “Tonight is the night.”

“Then…then you are here to…?”

“To say goodbye to our Queen. And to ask for your service again.”

With that, the old abbot nodded and left the room.

Merlin walked toward the bed where the Queen lay so frail and fragile. Merlin stared at her gaunt face, trying to trace the beauty that caused a noble knight to betray his liege, and made a king die disgraced and betrayed. What would be have been of Camelot without this woman, Merlin wondered. But he did not hate her. He could never hate her. He, who had been given the gift of seeing the future, above all, knew that she, like Arthur and Lancelot, and even Uther before them, were mere pawns of the what shall be the destiny of the kingdom. They were all part of the past whose sole purpose was to pave way for the ultimate test of good against evil. And that time has finally come. On her deathbed shall begin the test upon those on the side of goodness and those who serve darkness. Then and only then there shall be a true destiny of the kingdom. So how could he hate her? How could he hate any of them with their frailties and follies, when they were mere innocent victims of fate?

(all rights reserved, copyright 2007, Carolyn Vicencio)