Holy Grail
This is the first story I got published in English, in BFS Horizon n°14, the journal of the British Fantasy Society
I locked the shop and checked the front. The sign, Nim’s Cauldron, Souvenirs, Herbalism, Wicca and druidic equipment, was dripping with water. Rain and drizzle had been alternating for two days and a thick fog was roaming through St Renan. My street was empty. Most of the souvenir shops had closed by the end of October. Old Gérard was spending the bleak season in sunny Southern France. Bernadette had gone to work at her cousin’s bar in Paris. Cyril and Jonathan were treating themselves to a Yoga retreat in the Pyrénées. I was the only one left, but then, I was a desperately domestic girl. In my entire life, I had never strayed further than three hundred miles away from the place I was born. I like routine. I’ve had way too much excitement in my life. Besides, my business was seasonal. Samhain was coming and all the sorcerers, professionals or amateurs, needed supplies.
I returned to my flat two streets away. I turned on the kettle and the TV. The local news was on. On the screen, there was a massive tree lying in a forest, surrounded by firemen, policemen and a crowd of onlookers. The journalist was commenting:
“Weakened by the last storm, the oldest oak of Brocéliande Forest has fallen during an event organized by the Neodruidic association The Way of the Trees. Some legends claim it was more than one thousand three hundred years old and was the place where Merlin the Enchanter had been locked up by his lover, Nimue. A man was found crushed under the trunk and was transferred to Rennes’s Hospital. The environmental associations are blaming the authorities for not prohibiting the access to this tree which was attracting a lot of tourists…”
I stared at the screen. I was sure I had seen this place before. Then I shrugged. Over the years, I had seen all of Brittany. It was just that my memories were fading with time. Especially, the old ones. My memory was becoming like Gruyère cheese: full of holes. Maybe the human brain had only a limited space to store information, like a hard drive. Better, not to think about it. I made myself a nice herbal tea and sat down on the sofa to read the local newspaper.
Six weeks later, I was checking my accounts before sending them to the tax inspection. The year had been good. I could afford to treat myself to a holiday, but I wasn’t used to being idle. It’s hard to change after a few centuries. I was finishing September’s balance sheet while Leila, my new assistant, was serving the last customer of the day, Madame Leperrec, a bonesetter from a nearby village.
“So, ten ounces of mistletoe powder, two mandrake roots and one dram of henbane juice. Here we are, Madam.”
“Thank you. I am going to Tahiti for three months, to visit my daughter, so I need some supplies.”
“Tahiti? Wow! That’s fantastic!”
“Yeah… I’d rather be away for a little while.”
The good lady lowered her voice.
“There are rumours about a new witch in town. A very old one, very powerful… on a quest for revenge.”
Quest. Revenge. These two words are not part of the modern vocabulary. I raised my head to ask for more information, but she was already outside. We didn’t often see witches in Brittany nowadays and old? If she was magically immortal like me, I would know her. There aren’t that many of us. And revenge… revenge means chaos. My boring routine was important to me. I had to find out more.
I closed my accountancy book. Leila keeps on telling me that I should use a computer, but there are things I’m just too used to doing by hand. I love the little rituals which go with having a business, they’re so different from the hectic life I once had.
“So, where are you in your readings of the Emerald Table?” I asked Leila.
“It’s so hard!” she grumbled. “I prefer Le Morte d’Arthur…”
“I told you, it’s bullshit.”
“I know, but it’s romantic. By the way, what was the difference between a magician and a witch?”
“A magician was noble born. She offered her services to kings and lords. A witch was a commoner dealing with the plebeians.”
“OK. I would have thought…”
At that moment, the door flew open, and a man ran in. He shut it very quickly and, before I could open my mouth, locked it. He was a tall man in his thirties, with brown hair and a short beard. He looked around and froze when he saw me. I froze too. Where had I seen him before? Where had I seen those eyes, the colour of a storm? Time paused for a moment and… the door crashed, torn from its hinges. Two trolls burst in. Teeth were sticking out of their sluggish mouths, their misshaped noses twitched to sniff the wind, and their bulging eyes were bloodshot. The stranger ran to pick up a wizard’s staff from the shelf and vanished. As for myself, I was trying to recover from my astonishment. Gerda and Helga were running a guesthouse on the border of town. Two lovely girls, fans of Heavy Metal and who used to distill a fabulous aqvavit. They were usually helpful and very polite.
“Yum!” growled one of them.
“Meat!” whistled the other with her thick Scandinavian accent.
I got my senses back.
“Hi there, can you tell me what’s going on?”
“The man! He’s here! I can smell him!”
They would have already destroyed everything if the protective spells in my shop didn’t slow them down. However, that didn’t stop Helga from flipping over my herbal medicine rack as she was walking around the counter, whereas Gerda dropped my stack of wicca magazines while sniffing the floor. They looked slightly dazed. I couldn’t picture them being under the influence of any sort of drug. You would need a few kilos of the usual substances to have a slight effect a troll. A little bit bewitched, perhaps? But who, in our times, would put a spell on one of those creatures? Still, I thought I sensed the residue of a familiar magic on them. If only I could remember…
I reached into the pocket of my overalls, pulled out my crystal meditation ball and tossed it in the air. It spun above the two creatures who stopped to stare at it, their mouths wide open. Some saliva was trickling from Gerda’s lips and fell to the floor.
“What are you looking for, my friends?” I said, in a sweet voice.
“The man” she mumbled.
“Yes, food!” added her companion.
She waved her hand to grab the sphere, but instead, she hit the small shelf of Celtic amulets. It collapsed with a crash of glass and metal.
I swirled the crystal around, just a little out of their reach to lead them into the kitchen, where they would cause less damage.
“Now, tell me who has sent you.”
Helga frowned, but she kept her mouth open over her razor-sharp teeth.
“There was a text on my phone, this morning …”
“From whom?”
“Don’t know. It said to find the man and the vase. That the man will be delicious. We don’t eat humans usually, but this one…”
“Well done, you still have that touch!” said the man, reappearing in the middle of the shop.
He was speaking with an accent … an accent … Welsh and terribly old. I didn’t get a chance to elaborate. The sight of him was stronger than the hypnotic spell of the ball. The two creatures roared and rushed towards him, completely forgetting about me. Whoever he was, this man had overestimated my powers. He managed to trip one of the trolls through the kitchen door with the wizard staff. She blocked the path of the other creature who fell over her companion. My shop was becoming a battlefield. I had to use a radical solution. I raised my left hand and whispered a spell to my ring of power. Gerda and Helga froze in the middle of their move. As they were getting up, gravity took over and they fell heavily to the ground, staring blankly. The only way I could think to counter the hex holding them was a spell which erased their memories of the previous hours. Or days, weeks or months. Magic is an art, not an exact science.
“You and your amnesia spells…” whispered the man in Welsh from the corner where he had taken refuge.
Luckily my hearing was still good at my ripe old age. I glanced at him. What a strange thing to say to a woman who just saved your life! And for the sake of all the Gods, where have I seen him before? Obviously, he knew a thing or two about magic. He managed to make himself invisible and recognized the spell I used.
Gerda and Helga fidgeted on the ground before looking around, bewildered.
“Hey, Nim! What happened to your shop? It wasn't us, was it?”
“We weren’t THAT drunk, were we…?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll tell you later. What about going home for now? Don’t forget to put your human look back on before going out.”
“Ah… Oh, yes, sure. Hum… See you.”
Their features flattened, their skins thinned, their teeth retracted, and their warts disappeared. Two tall, blonde, tattooed girls studded with piercings went through what was left of my front door.
“That’s so cool!” cried Leila behind me. “Real Monsters! Awesome!”
I turned to the man:
“So, will you tell me what the hell is going on?”
“I am so sorry about everything” he said with a sweet voice. “My name is Myrddin Emrys.”
That was a bit of a pretentious name, I thought. His parents must have been big fans of their Celtic heritage.
“Have we ever met?”
There was a slight pause.
“Certainly not.”
So, what was he talking about, earlier?
“Was it just by chance that you landed in my shop, then?”
He hesitated, then plunged his hand in his pocket.
“No. I came to give you something back.”
He handed me a ring adorned with a roughly cut crystal. It was incredibly old. Sixth, seventh century maybe? There was nothing magical about it, but I could vaguely remember having it on my finger. What did I do with it? Did I sell it? Did I give it away? Lost it? Has someone stolen it from me? Anyway, it had no value to me anymore, but for an antique dealer it was a small fortune.
“If you know this ring was mine, you must know me.”
He scratched his chin.
“Who doesn’t know Nimue in our little magical world?”
“So, you came on purpose?”
“Not really. I knew that you had a shop in this town, but I didn’t know your address. I ended up being chased by the trolls and I felt an inexplicable pull in this direction. Your name was above the window. It is rather ucommon nowadays …”
Not very convincing, but I didn’t have any real arguments to oppose.
“Where did you find this ring?”
“A woman I loved gave it to me a long, long time ago, so that I would remember her.”
“So, you should keep it” I growled. “I don’t have any romantic memories attached to it. You, on the contrary …”
“Is it magical?” Leila cut in with her usual enthusiasm. “How does it work?”
She stumbled on a potion bottle.
“Shit! What a mess!”
She squatted and started picking up things from the floor.
“Leave it for now” I said. “We have a sorcerer problem to solve.”
“Which sorcerer?”
“The one who bewitched Sonia and Helga. I will not let people think that one can mess with Nimue’s friends and get away with it.”
Yes, I have a very primitive sense of friendship, protection and revenge. So what?
However, the man thought I meant something else.
“I am a friend, then?”
“I was talking about the trolls.”
There was a moment of silence.
“So” I said. “That’s enough for today. Let’s close the shop.”
“It will be my pleasure to come tomorrow and help to clean up the mess. What about a drink at the White Horse tonight?” the man said.
“Don’t you think you’ve caused me enough trouble? Either you tell me what you are doing here, or you leave!”
He did not answer. I went outside and scanned the empty street. The reflection of the Christmas lights was dancing in the puddles. A bus full of Chinese tourists was parked on the other side. They were getting out without a word, mobile phones in hand, their eyes staring blankly. Chinese tourists, in the back of beyond of Brittany, in an empty street at 8 p.m.
“Leila, run!”
Two middle-aged women opened their handbags and pulled out orbs the size of golf balls, dripping with thick magic. They threw them almost at the same time as I threw myself to the ground, an old reaction I didn’t think I had anymore. The air exploded above my head. Stinking magic, familiar magic. By the Holy Oak, I had met this magic before. Who sent them? Who was after me?
I jumped to my feet and ran up the street zigzagging, followed by a dozen balls. I ripped the amulet from my neck and threw it behind me, above my left shoulder. The scattering spell sent the projectiles in all directions except mine. They silently exploded, unleashing a magic as dark as the void.
I was about to turn the corner when something hit my back. Another spell, more vicious this time. It got into me, taking control of every part of my body, taking my breath away, throwing me down in a puddle. In response, old protective spells woke up under my skin and they all started to fight inside me like angry dragons. I was drowning in pain. A bottomless well of pain. I was unable to do anything. This time, I was going to die for good. And I didn’t even know why.
#
The pain once again. It was as if every muscle, every bone, every organ inside me was hammered, trampled, crushed by an army of furious gnomes. But at least, this meant… I was alive! After more than one thousand three hundred years, I still loved existence. I opened my eyes. Even that was painful. I was staring at a white ceiling, with a lamp in the shape of a chandelier and some trimmings. Something moved at the edge of my sight. I turned my head despite a terrible pain in my neck and found two storm-coloured eyes.
“What happened?”
He flashed a proud smile.
“I saved you and got you a shelter. Like a knight.”
Bad comparison: as a peasant’s daughter, I’ve always hated those guys.
“How?”
“I had a bit of faery dust in my pocket. So, I used a confusion spell. The good tourists didn’t know what to throw, how, where, when, or what they were even doing there. They finally decided to find a typical restaurant to get some crêpes. Then, I removed the destructive spell eating at you.”
This man was clearly not an amateur. But where have I seen him?
I clenched my teeth and sat up. It took me a few seconds, and I managed to moan only once.
“Where are we?”
“In my hotel room. We arrived about half an hour ago, invisible.”
“And Leila?”
“I sent her to the bar, to get some food.”
I sat up in the least painful position I could find and tried to gather my thoughts. First Madam Leperrec spoke about a witch, then this man and the trolls, then the tourists…
“I heard there was a witch in town looking for revenge. Has she got anything to do with you, by any chance?”
He sighed and stared at me for a few moments with a sorry look. Then he pulled up a chair, sat across from me and looked again into my eyes.
“You really don’t remember anything?”
I shook my head. However, this tone, this stare which reminded me of a lost puppy… it was so familiar…
“Nimue… You really don’t remember me?”
I had his name on the tip of my tongue … But I could not… I shook my head.
“Do you remember the Grail?”
“The Grail?”
“Yes, do you remember how it was?”
Yes, I could remember. Hard to forget. A bone cup, circled with gold, on a stem full of turquoises. So many tangles because of it. Even now, so many people talk nonsense about it.
“Of course.”
“Where is it?”
“The Grail?”
What sort of question was that?
“Am I supposed to know?”
“You were the last one to see it.”
“What?”
My head was spinning. Suddenly, some memories, some pictures, as vivid as if it was yesterday, started to come back. Childhood memories. Teenage memories. And him… Of course, …
“Merlin?”
“Do you remember me?”
How could I have forgotten having been in love with this flamboyant, charismatic and madly ambitious sorcerer? I dropped my head heavily in my hands.
“What do you remember?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know, lots of things, from my childhood, my teenage years, us together…”
“You don’t remember the Grail?”
The image of the meadow, in the forest, popped out of my memories. The oak tree wasn’t there yet. Merlin was in front of me, and I was holding the cup in my hand. He looked disturbed. I was scared. It was night. I needed to protect it… to hide it…
“I must have buried it by that oak tree which fell down a few weeks ago.”
His reaction took me by surprise: he jumped towards the door and opened it violently.
Behind, was standing a very pretty woman, dressed like a cleaner. Her face made my blood boil. I leapt to my feet and was ready to jump at her throat, even though I didn’t even know her name, but I managed to control myself.
She burst out laughing:
“The simplest techniques are always the best! Why use sorcery when you can listen through keyholes, darling?”
The next second, she turned into a whirlwind and flew out the window, followed by her sadistic laugh.
“She should not get it!”
Even before finishing his sentence, Merlin become a whirlwind too and followed her.
I fell back on the bed, my heart pounding. He left me. Once again. Right when I was starting to remember him. The bastard. I had loved him so much… For a minute, I tried to channel all the memories flowing into my head. I hardly heard the door open.
“Nimmy! You are awake! I wanted to call the ambulance, but this man said that you were in a magical coma …”
Leila literally jumped on me and hugged me. I cringed with pain.
“You don’t look well! Do you want something? A paracetamol?”
“Hum, Water. I’m thirsty.”
She ran into the bathroom and came back with a plastic glass full to the brim. I raised my hand to grab it…
That’s when I saw it.
The amnesia spell. It looked like a crystal ring, invisible on my right ring finger. The spells thrown at me had damaged it and made it visible. They had also made a big dent on it. Faint rays of lights were coming out of it. I tried to take it off. Impossible. Whoever made it was good. But who was it? I focused my senses. This texture … It felt like my own magic. I had put a giant amnesia spell on myself.
But at least, I could remember the Grail. And the girl dressed like a cleaner. Morgan. I knew I was going to see the bitch again. I struggled to get up. Somewhere in my shop, I had a restorative spell.
“Hey, Nim, where are you going? You are not fit to…”
I faced Leila, debating with myself. Despite her thick layer of ignorance and her deep aversion to reading, she had potential. She was my student. The one who was meant to replace me one day. The one I struggled to find for more than a thousand years. The one that might be in danger sometime… so I told her the truth.
“Do you remember the Grail?”
“Of course, the cup that collected the blood of Christ …”
“Forget this nonsense. A long time ago, at the end of what we now call the Neolithic, a sorcerer called Grail was living somewhere in the Middle East, between Uruk and Nippur. He was the one who discovered the principles of how magic works. He created some of the most ancient spells, and set up the basis of astrology, alchemy, divination and even writing. When he died, the priests or the sorcerers of that time, they were not making any distinction back then, took his skull and shaped it in a cup. Anybody who drank from this cup once, would become immortal. Anybody who drank twice would gain the knowledge of anything magic. Anybody who drank thrice would obtain a power equal to the power of Old Grail himself.”
“Hum…”
She gave me a puzzled look. Hard to see your beliefs in Arthurian legends and Indiana Jones’s movies swept away in a few sentences. But I didn’t have much time.
“Of course, everybody wanted that cup. So, it stayed hidden and protected by an immortal Guardian, wise enough not to do anything stupid with it. Modest enough not to desire the power of Old Grail. However, he got fed up. During his travels, he met Siddhartha Gautama, converted to his theories and yearned to reach the Nirvana. He decided to find a successor. Only, you don’t find a Guardian of the Grail that easily. He searched for centuries and centuries. That’s how he ended up in Brittany when I was a teenager. There, he met three potential candidates: Morgan, Merlin and me. At the time, we were druid’s apprentices and good friends. Morgan was the daughter of Gorlois of Tintagel, a great lord. Merlin claimed to be the son of an incubus, but everybody knew that his real father was Uther Pendragon. As for myself, I was an orphan, a simple peasant’s daughter, straight out her village. Finally, the old mage came one day to see me: he had made his choice; the new Guardian of the Grail, would be me. It was the wrong time, of course; the Christians were coming in masses and wanted it for the glory of their new god.
Anyway, he made me take two sips from the cup and taught me the magic of the Guardians of the Grail before leaving. But I was young, dumb and madly in love with Merlin. I could not bear the idea of living forever without him. I made him drink from the Grail too, and he became the greatest sorcerer the West had ever known, He became the star of Arthur’s court and travelled to Rome and Byzantium, while I was dealing with crop, animal and human diseases. Politics was not my thing. Each time after a stint away, Merlin came back to me, but I could see that in his mind he was growing more and more distant…”
I stopped. What happened, then? Did he leave me for a beautiful noblewoman? Did he do something truly horrible? Did I do something so terrible, shameful, dishonourable, that the pain pushed me to use the amnesia spell on myself? I was sure of one thing: Morgan was linked to it. This old witch in search of revenge could only be her. And of course, she wanted the Grail. Who didn’t? But the cup was not buried in the meadow, I remembered now.
“And then?” asked Leila, a bit stunned.
I shrugged.
“I can’t remember. But I know I have to fight Morgan tonight, in the Brocéliande Forest… Merlin is already there, without doubt …”
“What? Merlin? And… Morgan Le Fay?”
“Exactly. A battle between sorcerers, Harry Potter style. It has been more than twelve centuries since any of us fought with magic.”
“Why?”
“Because in real life, it would cause as much damage as an atomic bomb.”
#
I limped back to my shop. After two paracetamols and a restorative spell. I went to the kitchen, walking on broken glass, spilt potions and other substances. There, I recited the formula. The cupboard shifted, revealing the entry to my personal storeroom. Every wall was covered with shelves from floor to ceiling. All of them, full of spells, enchantments, charms, talismans and amulets of various shapes and sizes. Some were in sumptuous jewels, others in a stone, a piece of wood or a thimble. There were small statues, teeth, hair, rolled parchments in phylacteries and powders in tiny vials. A witch could amass quite a collection over more than ten centuries. There were even modern objects, like a watch or a lipstick. I grabbed my backpack and threw in a dozen marbles, an old oak branch, a black quartz ball and a baseball cap. Afterward, I opened the trap under the floor to find more ordinary weapons. What did I need? A Welsh bow was a bit bulky. Maybe a Viking axe? A francisque? A scramasaxe? While rummaging through my arsenal, I considered my problem again. “Okay, let’s look at the question from another angle, Nimue. Why would a brilliant young sorceress possessing a dodgy boyfriend with questionable acquaintances, put an amnesia spell on herself?”
#
The ground within a fifty meter radius around the oak tree looked like it had been carpet bombed, but neither Merlin nor Morgan were there. However, I quickly found them a little further away. The whole place stank of magic. In the middle of an overgrown field were the ruins of an old chapel covered in ivy and dead leaves. Nobody had cared to go past it for at least a hundred years. Before, there had stood a temple of the Brigids and before that, a dolmen, now buried under a few tons of dirt. In short, enough spiritual forces to allow a witch of some talent cook a few powerful spells.
I decided to go straight there. With my equipment, there was no chance that Morgan would not notice me. But still careful, I materialized about fifty meters away from the ruins, under the cover of vegetation. The moon was shining a ghostly light, just like in a horror movie. Leila would have loved it. I had a look around. Over the treetops, was hanging a bouncing spell, like an invisible shield. It would send back any spell I would throw. I had not remembered that this bitch was so good. It would be a tight game. I took a few steps towards the chapel. Morgan appeared on the steps, in front of the collapsed porch.
‘I know you’re there Nimue. I haven’t drank magic straight from the grail like you, but I searched it out from all over this world – and others! It may have taken centuries, but now I am stronger than both of you together!’And it took me even more time to get beyond all the illusion spells you placed around yourself to be impossible to find! But now, you two are just pathetic! Look at your great love!”
To her left, Merlin appeared in a cage like a fishing net made from filaments of pure magic. Sparks were trailing on the surface. My beloved wizard looked uncomfortable: the cage only allowed him to squat, and he had to be careful not to touch any of the walls: they could deliver the magic equivalent of a high intensity electric shock.
However, it was what Morgan said that shocked me most. I used illusion spells? Me? I had a hell of a lot to remember. But she did not give me a chance to think about it.
“If you don’t tell me where this bloody cup is, I’ll kill your lover.”
“A deal as old as mankind. So, kill him,” I replied without emotion.
“Your bluff is pathetic!”
“What bluff? Our story was a long time ago. Anyway, whether you kill him or not won’t change the problem.”
“What problem?”
“I have forgotten where the Grail is.”
Truth is an amazing weapon.
She burst out laughing:
“You always had a shitty sense of humour!”
I shrugged.
“Well, I’m glad you like it, because it’s the truth. I put an amnesia spell on myself, so I won’t be tempted to get that cup and use its powers. Now you can kill whoever you want, I can’t tell you where it is.”
And with that, I turned my back to her and started walking away, hands in my pockets. She didn’t expect that. I knew her so well; I could almost hear her thoughts running through her head.
« What if it was the truth? I would have done the same if I was in her shoes, wouldn’t I? »
“I forbid you to leave!” she screamed.
I turned around, my Colt 45 in hand and fired. She fell backwards, an expression of intense amazement on her face.
The problem with wizards, is that with their magic, they forget about everything else. Morgan was right: the simplest techniques are the best.
#
Two hours later, I was still undoing the net holding Merlin. The threads were tightly knitted in the worst mystic knots I had ever seen. One of them went through my protective glove. It would have cut my finger off if it wasn’t for the amnesia spell ring. The two objects filled with magic burned my hand. I shook it, screaming in pain. The crystal ring shattered into a dozen pieces. This first shock made me fall over. The second one knocked me so hard that I stayed on the floor. The memories came flooding back like an angry stream. The pictures. The feelings. The emotions. The thoughts.
After a few minutes, I sat up slowly feeling like I had been hit by a sledgehammer.
“Nimue? Are you OK?”
“Yes…”
“I thought the spell had knocked you out.”
“Me too.”
Bastard.
I felt like crying and shouting. The pain I felt was as bad as it was that night, thirteen centuries ago. Merlin. My love. Traitor.
I gave him immortality and knowledge. And then, Morgan came along, Beautiful, regal… She only had to hold out her hand and he fell in it like a ripe fruit. She wanted to be queen. To overthrow that stupid Arthur and sit on his throne. She promised Merlin he would be her king. Was he not the son of Uther Pendragon, just like Arthur? He would reign beside her. They would have riches and power like no one before. An empire more powerful than Byzantium or Rome. All the kings on Earth would bow to them. What a revenge for the bastard son of an illiterate kinglet and a peasant! He could have been the greatest wizard in the world, but he got cheated like an idiot. And he was blaming me for my lack of ambition! Morgan only needed one thing: the Grail. Its immortality. Its power.
Merlin moved in his cage. I met his gaze. He understood.
“You got your memory back? So, listen…”
I was not listening anymore, lost in my memories.
To find where I hid the cup was child’s play for him. One evening, he took it and brought it to Morgan in the Brocéliande Forest. Fortunately, he didn’t notice the mice which I asked to watch the place and they alerted me. I arrived as the bitch was taking the first sip out of the Grail. I snatched it from her. Seeing herself threatened, she turned into a magpie and fled. I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t think about chasing after her. As for Merlin, he started offering the convoluted explanations men usually give in these kinds of situations. I would have liked to kill him on the spot too, but I was unable to do it. I stuck him in one of the acorns on the ground and decided to wait until I could think more clearly. But the pain from the betrayal did not stop. It became unbearable. As for Morgan, she persuaded Arthur to send his knights, priests and sorcerers on a quest for the precious cup. They burned down my village and hunted me like a pack of rabid dogs. This is how I found the solution to my problems: the amnesia spell. I would not remember the pain. As for the Grail, it had caused more than enough trouble. I hid it once again and weaved around it the biggest spell I had ever done. Ever since, I have lived in peace. People wrote a lot about Arthur, Merlin and Morgan, but I managed to be forgotten.
“… Nimue? Nimue, do you hear me?”
I painfully raised my head:
“Yes, I hear you.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m thinking.”
And now, what? Arthur, his knights, priests and sorcerers were an old pile of dust. The Grail was still in its hiding place, but who needs magic nowadays? It was only Merlin and me.
“About the Grail…” he said.
He was talking too much, as usual. I was wrong. It was Merlin, me and my pain, still as strong as one thousand three hundred years ago. I still needed time. My gaze stopped on a willow shoot. This time, I’ll do an amnesia spell with limited duration and progressive release. I’ll have time to adjust and won’t be overwhelmed. I turned towards him:
“Sorry, darling, you are going back into a tree.”
I raised my hand to stop the flood of protest:
“This time, it will be a willow. It lives about fifty years. Not thirteen hundred. That way, I’ll have time to decide with a cool head what I will to do with you.”