Free Earth's Magic by Pamela F. Service Page A

left the room.

D ISCOVERIES
    M erlin stormed out of the manor and into the darkened streets. He ignored Heather’s voice calling behind him. He didn’t want her understanding just now. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think.
    Think? What was there to think? Somehow he was expected to determine not only where this battle
would
take place but where it
should
. He had to choose. Was there any place in Britain where the advantage would be on Arthur’s side? No, that wasn’t the way to approach this. Creatures like Morgan and her allies could appear anywhere, could sully anything. Then was there some “cosmically right” place for this battle to happen, someplace that only he, being half Eldritch and half mortal, could determine?
    He walked on and on, his staff angrily jabbing the ground with every step. These and other thoughts bounced fruitlessly around in his head. He lost track of where he was and didn’t care. Somewhere on the snow-spattered barren fells, somewhere climbing mountains and crossing valleys. The battle could take place here or there or anywhere. How was he to know?
    For one brief moment, he was suddenly aware of his surroundings. He was on the crest of a rocky, windswept hill whensuddenly the ground gave way. In a shower of dirt and rock, he was falling. Falling into darkness.
    When he opened his eyes again, he sensed a long time had passed. He saw only darkness. And then eyes. Two large, pale eyes. The eyes were atop a small, thin body, so white it was almost translucent. And it glowed. It was that faint light, and the light from other bodies slowly gathering around, that allowed him to see at all.
    “Who … what are you?” he croaked, dust clogging his throat.
    “What are we?” the first creature spat. “You know us. You ‘normal’ humans see us, though you choose not to.”
    “Muties?”
    “Your term, not ours. Some of us use it; some do not. We are
survivors
. Our ancestors fought horrible death and overcame it. But to those whose ancestors had it easier, we are ugly,
deformed, outcast!”
    Merlin cringed against this wave of hostility. It wasn’t
his
fault. His ancestors hadn’t even known the Devastation. Still, he’d been brought again into this world, and he’d accepted it. Perhaps he was at fault for this shunning behavior as much as anyone, he realized heavily.
    “But surely there are differences,” he said, trying to rationalize. “You speak and think very well, but others … don’t. Some mut—survivors … are more like animals now.”
    “So, is it their fault? Should they be punished for it? You ‘normals’ are so arrogant. You think you are so much better than your ancestors because you survived without their technology. But you haven’t abandoned their thinking—the thinking that nearly destroyed the world. You pride yourself that you are mastering magic again, but beware. If you do not burrow down andgrab hold of its roots, magic will master you—as technology once did.”
    Merlin was shaken. What this person said had the weight of truth about it but also the reek of arrogance. He was feeling angry now as well as guilty.
    “You talk about arrogance, but aren’t you the same? You live down here obviously in some kind of working society. You are intelligent, you think things through—then why don’t you assert yourselves? If you demanded your place, there are many who would give it to you.”
    “And many who would not. And there would be more war, hatred, and death. No, our world here suits us now, and we’ve grown to suit it. Besides, we are closer here to the essentials. To the root of things. To the Earth. That’s what you, even those who profess a touch of magic, have lost.”
    Merlin couldn’t tell if this comment was pointed at him or people in general. “Do you know … who I am?”
    The glowing man sniffed. “We’ve seen you around the court of that king.”
    “I am one who ‘professes a touch of magic.’”
    “Then use it to get out of