Once & Future (Once & Future #1)(18)

“Hey, that thing on your arm looks cool,” Kay said. “Let me wear it.”

She dodged Kay’s unsubtle grab. Merlin had never seen a Kay-and-Arthur pair act so much like true siblings. It was… refreshing, really. Ari patted the fitted and oiled scales of the pauldron, then drew Excalibur from the sheath on her back—another gift of the Lionel market. “At least she fits in,” Ari said, staring at the sword with the sort of approval Merlin wished she would point at him.

“Yes,” Kay said. “That’s what I’m worried about. How your sword feels.” He stomped around, facing Merlin. “It’s new-face time.”

“Pardon?” Merlin asked.

“We have new clothes,” Kay said, slowing his explanation to an insulting trot. “Now give us new faces so Mercer won’t be able to pick us out of the crowds.”

“My magic isn’t boundless,” Merlin said.

“What exactly can it do?” Ari asked, sitting down on the stone wall of the courtyard, one knee up, casual in a way that made it clear she cared far too much about the answer.

Merlin put on his best all-knowing voice, dry and authoritative as the pages of an old tome. “I have the ability to warp existing physical realities. My magic can be drained, of course. Which means that after flying from Earth to moon, creating a lightning bolt, and making extra Kays, I’m a tad exhausted.” He hummed again, and a small pink lizard appeared in his palm.

“Aw, cute,” Lam said, patting the lizard with a finger.

Merlin’s lips pinched. “I was trying to make a dragon.” He shook his head, the lizard disappearing in a puff as Lam drew back. “That’s the other bit. My magic is temporal, which means that anything I create has to be sustained by me.”

“Sorry, Kay,” Ari said, slapping him in the blouse. “No permanent face replacements.”

Lam winked at Ari. “We shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up for trading that one in.”

“We’ll just have to fight off Mercer the old-fashioned way.” She leaped to standing on the stone wall and took a few practice stabs at the air. Light streamed along Excalibur’s blade and her long hair, which she’d freed from its ties. Even if she hadn’t been covered in golden rays, she would have looked heroic to Merlin. Arthur always looked most like a storybook hero before he had to face the true darkness of the cycle.

“Let’s begin our training,” he said nervously, trumpets lighting the air. It took him a moment to realize that the trumpets were not just in his head but thundering across the village grounds.

“Two hours to the tournament,” Lam said, interpreting the horns.

“Hours, truly? I’ve even heard you mention years,” Merlin noted. “Are these not time constructs of Earth?”

“Old Earth calendar,” Kay said, fighting with the laces on his period-appropriate boots. “It’s the standard on most planets and in space.”

“And you all speak English,” Merlin said. “Mighty interesting surprise there.” Ari pointed her sword at Merlin and spouted a string of words he didn’t quite catch, in a language he was only somewhat familiar with. “And you speak Arabic, apparently.”

“I speak Ketchan,” Ari corrected.

“We’re speaking Mercer, dude,” Lam said.

“Beg your pardon?”

“This language is called Mercer.”

Merlin leveled his British shoulders. “It is not. Or at least it was not.”

“Ketch is the only planet that’s been able to hold on to their culture. We speak Mercer because that’s the only language Mercer lets us access,” Lam said, darkly. “Which is supposedly unifying.”

“What a business, this Mercer. To co-opt cultures like a fish swallowing smaller fish…” Merlin shivered. “I don’t like it.” He glanced up at the spot where Ari had been sitting a moment ago. “Where did Ari go?”

“She’s tricky,” Kay said. “Impulsive. Impossible. And definitely not interested in your ‘training.’”

Merlin hauled himself up and over the stone wall, falling down on the other side. Ari was disappearing between two buildings in the distance, and he followed her. He caught up with her behind what appeared to be horse stables. She stood, facing a blank corner, taking a picture with her watch. “Have you stumbled into a fond memory?”

“No,” Ari said, whipping around. “An annoying one.”

“I know your strength. It is a dedication to absolute truth. Quite Arthurian.”

“Quit it with the Arthur stuff, will you?” Ari was taller—and possibly a touch older—than Merlin. But none of that changed what he needed to tell her. Merlin took a deep breath.

“You are the forty-second reincarnation of King Arthur.” He kept going, ignoring the sharp cut of her doubting eyes. “You can wield Excalibur. Only Arthur can do that. The Lady of the Lake forged that sword for a hero. You are that hero, Ari. Or at least, you’re the latest version.”

Ari continued to stare.

“I won’t lie,” Merlin said. “This bit usually goes better… and you’re usually younger.” Most boys secretly believed they should be heroes: the stories told them so. Thus, when Merlin came along and delivered the destined news, he was usually greeted with something between nervous excitement and ecstasy. Arthur 2 had cried. Arthur 27 had cried. Most of the Arthurs in between had at least thanked him. Ari was blinking at Merlin like he was a flickering lightbulb. “This universe needs help, Ari! Mercer is clearly cancerous, and people are suffering. King Arthur is destined to defeat threats to peace and unite all of mankind.”