Merlin stood over a reassembled wyvern skeleton in her workshop, assessing her workmanship. Cross-referenced against all she knew of anatomy, she examined the placement of each bone from nose to tail of the reconstructed creature. She was squinting at its ribcage—had she misplaced that piece of costal cartilage?—when she heard the scrape of an unexpected foot upon her doorstep.
"Lady Merlin- oh! Lady Merlin, we brought you something!" Elizabeth Liones' muffled voice became clear and loud when the door swung open of its own accord to admit her.
Merlin turned from her bench to face her guests. Elizabeth fussed over human-size Diane, who hefted a massive package in one arm with apparent ease. At Merlin's direction, she set it down on the center table with a solid thump.
"What is that?"
Elizabeth giggled. "You'll see!" She bent over the package to pick apart the knotted twine that secured the paper wrapping. Diane wandered the workshop silently, arms folded behind her back as she looked around.
"What's this?" she asked, standing up on her toes to peer into Merlin's cauldron. With a weary not-quite sigh, Merlin hooked two fingers in her collar and tugged the girl away.
"Most likely toxic. I can open it myself with magic, you know," she added, turning toward Elizabeth, who gasped.
"No, no, you can't! Let us surprise you, it is a gift after all! Besides, I've almost- there. Lady Diane, will you do the honors?" She stepped back from the table with a gesture to the parcel.
"We found it in the market!" she explained as Diane unveiled the book within the wrapper. Unmarked and unembellished, the thing looked as old as it did heavy. "There was an antique dealer I'd never seen before."
"Most of it was boring. No magic," Diane elaborated. "But this seemed cool! ACK!" She gave the leatherbound cover a hearty slap and a cloud of dust enveloped her. Merlin couldn't suppress her small chuckle.
"I see. Thank you for bringing it to me. Now if you don't mind, I do have work to finish."
"Everyone is home at the Boar Hat tonight, Lady Merlin. I'm sure everyone would love to see you," Elizabeth said as Merlin shooed her out. The door swung shut between them, cutting off any would-be reply. That suited Merlin fine; she would make no commitments she was unlikely to keep.
The book sat still on the table. She looked it over, checked it for enchantments. Nothing. Ancient and heavy as the tome seemed, that's all it was. Almost entirely uninteresting. Almost.
Curiosity got the better of her. She set aside the concoction sloshing in her copper pot and moved the book into its place. With great care not to cause damage or trip any curses, she eased the creaky cover open and leafed through.
Brittle parchment rustled as she turned each page. Decades, no, centuries saturated the parchment leaves, curling the ragged edges into ripples. Smooth, white surfaces yellowed and bent like the sand of a shallow sea. Her fingertips ghosted over the outline of a… Well, what was it, really? Warp and weather blurred the former illustration to a shapeless umber stain. It almost looked like old blood. Memories flashed across her vision unbidden.
She drew a slow breath, scolding herself with a gentle shake of her head. How long had it been since that horrible moment? Centuries. Too many decades to count since she'd dropped to her knees beside the crusted bloodstain, scrabbling against clay baked solid by thunder and flame. Dry stalks hinted at the field that once sprawled there, the swaying grass reduced to scorched stubble. It pricked her knees as she dug. Blind through her tears, her fingers finally caught against wood in the dirt. Earth-stained hands lifted the trinket aloft. A pendant carved from hickory, set with a tawny gemstone. She recognized it; in fact, she'd helped Meliodas pick the gift out for Sissy. This too was splashed with brown blood.
It was true, then. They were dead. She cried through the dust on her cheeks, and her teardrops fell to the parched earth brown.
Merlin lifted her fingers from where they lingered on the bleeding ink. Unlike the muddled drawing, her memories of back then remained sharp and clearly etched. She took a deep breath of air that smelled of paper and leftover magic, not smoke and heartbreak. Her brother and sister had died there— then returned to live another day. Recalling that painful moment was unproductive. It didn't matter. She didn't want to feel it.
With a deep, centering breath, she forced herself to re-focus on the book.
If the illustration was inscrutable, perhaps the text offered some illumination. The ancient letters swooped and curled in a calligraphy used generations ago. Good riddance to it; she could hardly read through the flourishes.
'One often finds themselves feeling isolated at one point or another, whether by a long journey's distance or the small disruptions of everyday life. Our hearth grows cold, the sky itself dark, and we hear the wind's rattle against our eaves.' Who knew the air itself could make such a sound—mournful wailing a backdrop to the rattle of loose timber. Ash coated the path between the towers like a pewter sea; the wind picked it up, shifting its ripples back and forth until her barefoot tracks were only soft impressions in the waves. Clouds of smoke obscured the sun to cast the world in sepia as she picked her way through the ruins of the great stone towers.
She did not comprehend the urge that brought her to Belialuin, nor how she felt now that she stood in its remains. For all that she once longed to prove herself, to earn her accolades as a scholar, not a weapon, its destruction hadn't brought her any pain. Even the outline of a person scorched against the building didn't faze her. Only the hollow feeling in her gut kept Merlin moving forward, seeking something she wouldn't be able to name until she found it.
To her left, the library. One of the only buildings left erect; the rest reduced to lifeless stacks of granite rubble. Its once-orange door crumbled beneath her touch when she pushed it open, leaving her palm streaked with char. Here the roof remained intact, but it had trapped the smoke and toxic air inside. Several long-dead wisemen slumped against the wall together. They never allowed her into their sanctum of knowledge but of course they chose to die here. She couldn't bring herself to hate the heap of corpses. With a snap of her fingers, they vanished, leaving only lighter patches on the sandstone shelves. Leaving her alone.
On second thought… She snapped again and almost toppled from the sudden weight of fabric in her arms. Laboriously, dwarfed as she was by the robes meant for a grown man, she draped the edge across her chest and sighed. Blood and smoke and the things that came out of a man when he died saturated the wool, turning the indigo she'd always coveted to mud. She let it fall into a rumpled pile on the floor, disappointed. The scrolls were still in good condition if a bit sooty on their outsides. Clean, sand-colored paper whispered against itself as she unrolled it from the polished oak dowel.
Her stomach's growl sounded loud as a beast in the hollow silence. In a cave a hundred nights ago, she'd looked up in alarmed embarrassment over the noise. Meliodas had snickered.
"I think it's done," he said, brushing nothing off his deer-colored trousers as he stood. He stirred the pot once, then again with a focused expression. By the third turn he seemed satisfied and slopped a ladleful on a wooden plate.
Merlin took her dinner from him with pursed lips. Even in the dim firelight, the taupe mush was… unappealing. A cramp and a growl from her stomach reminded her how little she cared. She spooned the meal into her mouth with a grimace. It tasted like dirt—dirt spiced with a little bit of old socks. A retch rose in her throat, but then she glanced up. Meliodas' eyes gleamed with warmth, their green gone hazel in the deep yellow firelight. Terrible as his boiled oats tasted, he asked nothing in return from her. It was a kindness not even her father had shown her.
She jerked to alertness, returning once again from ages-old memories that consumed her before she noticed their approach. The old book still lay open to the inkstain. Merlin blinked against sudden dryness in her eyes.
Bronze evening light now filtered through the high windows of her workshop, splashing the mottled riverstone walls with warmth. How long had she wandered the trails of her thoughts? Those were paths she had not tread in decades.
Even today, she felt no grief for Belialuin. Not even for her father. After all, there was not much to mourn: she spent her childhood isolated and confined, a precious resource to train and exploit. Yet she never developed hatred for them either. When it came to her own beginnings, she had always felt as she did now about them: empty. Like a dead field parched to apathy, growing neither sorrow nor fury. She felt vacant. Why?
Another knock, this one timid as a mouse, sounded at her workshop's door. Merlin shook the past out of her thoughts and straightened from her hunch over the wooden workbench."Coming!"
With the sun sinking into the hills, Escanor's waning form didn't quite fill the doorway. The dusk splashed gold across the planes of his tanned skin and cast his ginger hair in russet. At this hour, they were nearly of a height.
"I, uhh, I brought a snack for you." He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke and ducked his head, dropping his eyes to the seam between the in- and out-of-doors. "I know y-you like them when you're, erm, when you're researching."
"That was thoughtful of you."
She stifled a laugh at his hasty glance upward, at the flash of delight in his eyes before they shuttered with embarrassment and snapped back down to earth. It never failed to amuse her how flustered he became in her presence.
He fumbled through the pockets of his coffee-stained apron to produce a fist-size sack, which he thrust toward her cupped in both hands. She took it by its neck and pulled it open. An assortment of nuts sat nestled in the burlap folds interspersed by lumps of chocolate. And there, tucked beneath a fat pecan—
"You included raisins!"
Silhouetted against the sunset at his back, Escanor's blush deepened his honey colored skin to chestnut.
"Yes, I- heh, I saw that you favor them so I, w-well, I added some."
"They can be difficult to find at the market."
"Ah, well, anything for you Merli- Lady Merlin. Um." He shuffled his loafers in the dirt outside her doorstep. "I-It's nearly nighttime—I'm sure you know that, of course. Erm… the o-others are starting their, um, evening fun. I- or rather, the Captain! The Captain was wondering after you. I imagine he thought you might, ah, like to join us- them- him."
She hesitated, but they both anticipated her response.
"Actually, Elizabeth and Diane brought me an interesting text that has captivated my attention for the evening. Pass on my condolences to the Captain." Of course a fascinating book beat just about any company; she felt sure few would understand better than Escanor. "Thank you for telling me, though," she added, not just as a nicety.
"A-anytime, Lady Merlin!"
He fumbled to tuck a stray hair back from his face and knocked his glasses off his nose with a cry of alarm. He all but dove for them as they fell, only just catching the wire on his fingertips a hand's breadth from the ground. When he straightened up, he jammed the frames back over his red-flushed ears forcefully, his entire body rigid.
"Ohhh, t-that was p-perfectly embarrassing, I'm s-so sorry Lady Merlin I-" He flushed an even darker shade and thrust his arms straight at his sides, fists clenched. "Um, p-please enjoy your book and, er, y-your evening, Lady M-Merlin."
"I will, Escanor. Thank you."
When she could no longer hear his receding footsteps, she shook a handful of the snack into her palm to eat. Rich flavors filled her mouth, warmth and fat and the savory tang of raisins, wrapped by a bare hint of brown sugar. The faint whiff of molasses sweet evoked a memory she'd not recalled in years, but one she smiled at and closed her eyes to savor.
Despite the blustering wind outside, the kitchens of the Camelot castle had been warm. Snow had drifted against the shuttered windows, but the earth and wooden walls kept the chill out well. She stood over a small Arthur, not long before his childhood growth spurt, as he did his best to bake gingerbread.
It visibly took all his strength to heft the brown-paper sack off the countertop and tip the opening toward his mixing bowl.
"And a hundred fifty grams of- oh no!" The top of the sack leaned forward almost in slow motion at first, then all at once dumped its brown-sugar contents in their entirety. The sudden loss of weight nearly sent Arthur into a tumble too, but he balanced himself with a gasp.
As soon as he stood even on his feet Arthur froze, gaping at the small mountain burying his batter in the bowl. Merlin stared in similar astonishment until she registered his reaction: little mouth open in confusion, totally uncertain how on earth this happened or how he was to fix it, and his child's arms clutching to his chest the half of the bag that still held anything while the rest draped limp over his shirtsleeves. The corner of her lip quirked up. His wide eyes slid over to hers.
"Um…"
Amusement bubbled up from her chest, at first just enough for a small chuckle, but one that quickly expanded into a laugh. Relief bloomed on Arthur's face as he giggled too. They laughed together until their cheeks and stomachs ached.
When time came to clean, they found the sugar everywhere: strewn across the table, in their hair, tucked within their clothing's folds, and any other spot they could discover in the kitchen. She made Arthur sweep and mop the floor by hand, as magic shortcuts were bad for discipline, while she brushed the taller surfaces off. She shook out the recipe book, scattering honey-brown grains from between its pages. Truly, the stuff was everywhere.
As she moved to put the book away, she scanned it once again to note the baking time. Where was that instruction again? The lengthy anecdotes these bakers wrote before their recipes were such a bother—
In her workshop in Liones eight years later, the realization struck her all at once: the book Elizabeth brought her was no compendium of ancient knowledge. That cumbersome script she so struggled to read through… she skimmed to the end of the paragraph. Squinting through the excess of curlicues she read the bottom of the page:
'In these moments, when the timbers of our lodging seem to leech warmth and comfort rather than give it, little soothes better than this family recipe, which has bolstered hearts for generations.
First, mix 250g of flour with 130g of sugar.'
It was a cookbook. A very old one, but a cookbook nonetheless.
She rocked back on her heels with a mild sigh that belied the amused curl of her mouth. How absurd that it appeared so valuable. The irony of her comrades purchasing such a thing for her when she couldn't cook to save her life did not escape her. She shelved the cookbook and the recollections it dredged up, one more faded leather cover among dozens on the wall. \
With her earlier work scrapped and her mind obviously a-wander, as it had been all day, perhaps… perhaps an evening of merriment would do her good. She glanced around her workshop, eyeing the organized clutter for any reason to stay. There was none to be found: everything was in its place, and no half-finished experiments tempted her attention.
A brush of her palm down the face of the door locked it against intruders as she left for the bar.
Entering the Boar Hat was like coming near a hearth in a cold chamber. The cool night was unable to penetrate the warm and noisy dining room, bathed in golden lamplight. Bodies filled the barstools and tables: a myriad of townsfolk shoulder to shoulder with Holy Knights and the Seven Deadly Sins in their midst, being rowdy.
"Merlin!" Meliodas shouted buoyantly, slinging a careless arm over Ban's shoulder and sloshing his stein of dark beer to the floor in the process. He couldn't possibly be drunk, but he played the part very well. Ban grinned up at her from underneath the Captain's embrace.
"Started thinking you weren't gonna make it~" he drawled. "Ya missed dinner. Hungry?"
He extricated himself from Meliodas and led the way to the bar, where he ducked behind the counter for the kitchen. Brass pots and pans flashed in his hands. Out of nowhere—she hardly saw him touch the plate—he slid a loaf of warm bread in front of her. She pulled pieces off and took a deep breath. Hops and alcohol undercut by the rich scent of cedarwood barrels, the odd, nutty-smelling oil Meliodas used to scrub his tables to a shine. Beer in a mug, whiskey in a glass. Food stains on the counter and wood logs in a hearth, the raucous sound of jolly laughter and the lingering scents of roast chicken and chocolate and bread.
It felt busy and comfortable, suffused with warmth and life.
For the moment, so was she.
Beautiful cover illustration provided by Melissa ( /suraelis on Twitter, /foxsinofelaine on Tumblr). Used here with permission. Full-size versions available on my Tumblr blog /derieri.
SPECTRUM Zine accumulated over $500 in donations for the Okra Project, a nonprofit benefitting Black Trans youth. Visit /spectrumnntzine on Twitter or Tumblr to see more artwork and writing from the zine.
Please never forget that you have infinite opportunities to help others, no matter what your talents are.