Chapter Three: Departure from Avalon
Arthur was soaked by the time he scraped himself up onto the shores of the Lake of Avalon. Merlin was fine, given that he wasn't weighed down by fifty pounds of armor and a sword in his belt. They crested the hill side by side and set foot onto the dark black path which turned out to be surprisingly sturdy. The king wasn't sure what he'd expected.
"What is this?" Arthur asked Merlin when the sorcerer seemed to pay it no mind.
"Asphalt." The young servant replied. His blue-gray gaze was fixed up ahead as it always was when he was more focused on his own thoughts than what Arthur had to say—which was often. After all, He was like a swan, apparently. Arthur's heart sank when he realized that the ageless Merlin probably didn't remember that conversation. How much of their time together had the sorcerer forgotten?
The air still smelled foul to Arthur. He tried not to breathe but the stench wasn't clearing away so he allowed it into his lungs with a sneer. He was about to ask his companion about it when he turned to find Merlin's eyes already on him.
"What now?" Arthur asked, only pretending to be irritated.
"Nothing." Merlin looked away, clearly a bit embarrassed.
"Still can't believe I'm here?" Arthur joked, but he immediately wished he could take it back. How long had it been for his friend? Had Merlin been alone for so long that he really was having trouble excepting Arthur's presence?
Merlin smiled, seeming unfazed by Arthur's thoughtless statement. They made their way down what was clearly a road aimed right toward the town Arthur had noticed the day before. The sun was rising behind it, painting every wall and roof and giant house shadow-black. As they passed by the strange wagon sticking out of the water, Arthur eyed it curiously.
It wasn't like any cart he'd ever seen—but that was to be expected. It had wheels made of some sort of black, foul smelling substance and its hull was constructed entirely of gleaming metal.
Arthur already knew it was a stupid question but he asked anyway.
"Where do they hook the horses to this wagon?" He asked.
Merlin laughed, but choked it back, realizing that Arthur really didn't know.
"It's called a car. It runs on its own. It doesn't have horses." The sorcerer said neutrally.
Arthur made sure to shoot him his most skeptical glare.
"I thought you said mankind had forgotten about magic." They kept walking.
Merlin smiled and replied in a cocky voice, "It's not magic, Arthur, its engineering."
The king was still uncertain. He peered over his shoulder at the reeking monstrosity. "How does it work then?"
Merlin didn't try to hide his laughter this time. "That would take a long time to explain." His answer was simple, and they left the subject for the time being.
"Don't you need a weapon?" Arthur asked, immediately wanting to hit himself for it. He was never going to get used to Merlin's abilities—even though technically he'd known for centuries.
The warlock just gave him a sheepish smile—the kind that sent Arthur's head spinning for reasons he didn't understand. The boy already knew Arthur had realized his mistake.
By the time they'd reached the heart of what was apparently a "small town", Arthur felt breathless and overstimulated. Everything he saw didn't make any sense when Merlin did his best to explain it. They'd come across plenty more of those "self-running wagons", some pulled to the side of the road while others had been abandoned in the streets—with their doors still hanging wide open. Peering through storefront windows of clear glass, Arthur made not of the clothing he saw on giant, white-faced dolls. He was instantly glad that the village seemed void of people given that his full body armor would have certainly stood out in comparison to the light, brightly colored fabrics that seemed to show way more skin than Arthur was used to. And he had thought Merlin's clothes were strange.
"Every house here is massive." Arthur stated the obvious, "There must be a dozen rooms in each one. How many families share these?"
"One." Merlin stated plainly. "Sometimes it's just one person on their own."
Arthur laughed before realizing that Merlin wasn't joking. "Is everyone in this age as rich as a king?"
Merlin shrugged, "In some ways—but these people were middle class."
"What's middle class?" Arthur asked, hoping he didn't look like a lost child as he gazed around in awe at the unfamiliar world.
Merlin chuckled, "you and I are going to have to sit down and have a long talk soon."
Arthur groaned audibly. "I'm looking forward to it already."
Suddenly there was a loud crack from a nearby patch of trees. Merlin turned in a flash, his hands at the ready. Arthur could practically see his friend's heart racing.
"What?!" Arthur hissed, unsheathing his sword with that oh-so-sweet sound of steel rubbing against leather.
"Nothing," Merlin turned with an apologetic look, "probably just an animal."
Arthur narrowed his eyes at the sorcerer. "Merlin," He said softly but sternly, "Are we in danger here?"
"I don't know." Merlin's reply was sincere. "I haven't seen any of them in the area for a while."
"And they'd kill us?" Arthur asked, "Why?"
"I don't know. Because we're human and we're their enemy?"
Arthur glanced around. Suddenly the village seemed less like another world and more like the ruins he'd walked through time and time again—abandoned, and still hanging with an eerie atmosphere of death and danger. He kept his sword out as they walked.
"Here." Merlin said as they came to a stop in front of one building in particular. Arthur didn't know what was special about it—he also didn't know why the words "Food Lion" hung in giant metal letters above the windows, but he could safely assume it had something to do with food.
They crossed an enormous clearing of the tarry black substance that the roads were made of. The plain was strewn with "cars" in all different shapes and sizes. Apparently the entire population of Albion had been in one place—if everyone rode around in one of those self-propelled chariots.
As they approached the storefront, two panes of unbelievably smooth glass slid open on their own, letting out a blast of cool air. Arthur jumped back.
"Did you do that?" He turned to the young sorcerer.
Merlin pursed his lips, clearly fighting back a smile and said "nope."
Arthur rolled his eyes—they weren't in any danger if Merlin was still so calm, and now he was just getting sick of the servant messing with him.
Merlin read his mind again, "No really, Arthur." The boy chuckled, "They do that on their own."
"Just like the cars?" Arthur said skeptically.
"Just like the cars." The sorcerer repeated with a stifled grin.
Arthur's cheeks burned. He hated feeling so out of control. He'd never felt so dependent on another person in his life—and Merlin was being smug about it too, which just heated him up even more.
Inside the building the air was cool—surprisingly so actually. Arthur was done asking question that weren't going to get answered though, so he kept his mouth shut. That is—until Merlin flipped a massive switch on the wall behind a counter and the darkened chamber flooded with light.
It was awful, unnatural white light, brighter than the sun, and it stopped Arthur in his tracks.
"Wha—" Arthur stammered. He had watched Merlin closely this time and the boy's irises had certainly not flared.
"Electricity." Merlin replied. There was that little grin again. "Pretty much everything runs on it."
All Arthur could think was magic—or sorcery of some sort.
"It's not magic, it's engineering." Merlin answered his unuttered question.
"Electricity. Like lightning." Arthur stated, hoping he didn't look as lost as he felt.
"Sort of." Merlin smiled—a genuine smile, not a smug one. "It's not important right now. What's important is finding food."
"That shouldn't be a problem." Arthur turned to the chamber. Shelf after metal shelf created a catacomb of colorful packages and shining floors.
"It's already been picked through." said Merlin as they stepped deeper into the maze. "Pretty much everybody who was in town was here before us."
Arthur sheathed his sword and walked deeper into the store. There was a section filled with fruits and vegetables—that was obvious—but everything else was tightly sealed in smooth, waxy feeling packages and containers. Arthur found it hard to believe that any of these things actually contained food.
"Most of this fruit is rotten by now." Merlin called from an isle over, "But there's still some good stuff. Look for things in cans."
Cans, cans… Arthur thought. What the hell is he talking about?
Merlin appeared at the end of the isle. "Sorry." He said, "I keep forgetting what we had in medieval times."
"The medieval tim—" Arthur stopped. He was done sounding like an idiot child.
Merlin gave him a kind look, sending another rush of warmth through Arthur's limbs.
"It's your first day." Merlin's voice was vaguely reassuring, "It's been thousands of years."
Arthur didn't respond. He wasn't in the mood to talk about his feelings—in fact, he wasn't in the mood to do much other than find something to eat. He was suddenly aware of the biting hunger knowing at him from the inside of his stomach. He hadn't had anything to eat in centuries.
Merlin walked ahead of Arthur, scanning the shelves for something that was still edible. The king watched him, mentally thanking him for everything the servant was doing for him. That was the thing—it was 2013, Merlin had no reason to still be serving Arthur. He had no reason to still be here.
His companion's words played in his head as if it were yesterday rather than lifetimes ago.
I was born to be your servant…
But they both knew that Merlin was hardly a servant. He was Arthur's friend—and the only person he had left.
Arthur swallowed hard before he asked, "Will they hurt you?"
"What?" Merlin turned around, that familiar look of warm curiosity in his eyes. Every hour they spent together it seemed Arthur was having more and more trouble hiding his fondness for the young sorcerer.
"Will they hurt you? You know, since you've—" Arthur swallowed, "even though you've got magic?"
"They've tried before." Merlin shrugged, "Maybe they know I'm not on their side."
There was a pause before Merlin continued.
"It's never been about Magic versus non-magic. It's about people versus the things that want to hurt them."
Before long, the king had learned was a "tin can" was, and was helping his companion stuff "plastic water bottles" into a backpack. He'd had his fill of the last of the good carrots and apples in the store.
"Here." Merlin came to sit beside him, their backs were up against the cold metal of the shelves—not that Arthur could tell through his armor. Their shoulders were nearly touching as the young sorcerer reached over and handed him an open bag of a hundred thin little wafers. Arthur reached in and grabbed ahold of one of the yellowish mouthfuls, eyeing it suspiciously. It crumbled in his grasp.
Merlin laughed, "They're going to go bad soon anyways so we might as well eat them instead of going through our canned food faster than we need to."
Arthur reached in and grabbed another, gently this time. Whatever these little crisps were they clearly were not meant to be held by metal gauntlets. He placed the unfamiliar food hesitantly onto his tongue.
He spat it out almost instantly—like he'd run his tongue across broken glass.
"That tastes like a salt-lick." He hissed, trying to get the taste out of his mouth.
"It's just potato chip you prat." Merlin's blue-gray eyes were alive with amusement. For a moment Arthur didn't reply, rather, he found himself matching the servant's gaze, holding it for far too long…
He was about to reply when a commotion rang out from the front of the chamber. Arthur was on his feet in an instant, unsheathing his sword. Merlin followed quickly behind him, just like old times.
As the front door came into view, their eyes fell on the figures illuminated by the unnatural light.
The creatures. Something like human but with dead eyes and like they'd been through the ringer. According to Merlin they didn't tire or eat—they were just carcasses of adrenalin and rage, not looking for food or wandering the land like animals—but hunting in packs for sport.
Hunting for people.
There were ten of them, peering back and forth at one another. Each toted a bladed weapon—mostly unfamiliar to Arthur aside from a sword and a butcher-knife. Something about the predatory way they stalked into the light made the king's blood run cold.
"Get back," Merlin hissed, "we need to find another way out."
Arthur flicked a glance over his shoulder, but when he looked back toward the monsters he realized they were too late.
The beast's eyes were on them.