by Nicholas Ahlhelm
Times Square, New York City
April 12, 2008
As the other mystery men, all reacted in stunned shock, Lance turned to see his partner collapse to one knee. Sword looked sickly as he collapsed to one knee. The throng of humanity continued to move away from them, but something still seemed to affect Sword. Lance leaned down at his compatriot’s side.
“Art, what’s wrong?”
Sword looked up in to his friend’s eyes. Lance gasped at the sight of him. In the past few minutes, Sword seemed to have aged ten years or more. His face was far more haggard and rough than any nineteen-year-old, and his eyes were growing hazy.
“The spell,” Sword said. “Something is wrong with the Lady of the Lake’s spell.”
Lance nodded grimly. The Lady of the Lake gave them both their mystic weapons and powers. If something should go wrong with that magic, anything could be possible. “What do we do?”
“We must travel to Avalon, my friend. We have no other choice.”
“I understand.” Lance and Sword talked about Avalon in the past, but neither young hero ever actually traveled to the legendary resting place of Sword’s namesake. But Lance trusted his friend’s judgment. If Sword needed to make the trip to Avalon, Lance knew they needed to make the trip.
Lance placed Sword’s left arm over his shoulder and helped is ailing friend to his feet. “Can you walk?”
Sword nodded.
With but a thought, their armor and weapons vanished. Arthur Lake and Lance Larter made their way through the crowd. Lance knew they would need to get across the ocean anonymously, a feat almost impossible by air. They would need to reach the docks and pray this science fiction world still possessed ships to sneak aboard.
The walk was slow going. Arthur’s strength seemed to fail every few steps. But Lance kept him moving towards the southeastern end of Manhattan Island. It took a few frustrating hours, as they watched buses and taxis whiz past, for them to make it, but finally they found themselves in the harbor.
Among dozens of ships and hundreds of people all clearly knowledgeable of their path and goals, Lance felt utterly lost. He wasn’t used to a city this massive, and he sure wasn’t used to jumping ship. He didn’t know where to begin.
“Hey, over here.”
The voice came as a whisper, but somehow Lance heard it over the noises of the docks. It emanated from the shadows falling from a massive row of stacked metal cargo carriers, each easily big enough to carry five men. A tiny hand emerged from the shadows to gesture them to come towards it.
Lance looked to Arthur. Arthur only nodded. Lance pulled his friend towards the shadows.
As they approached, the figure came forward to meet them. Lance shook his head as he saw the young girl. She wore a plain skirt and blouse. Her platinum blond hair hung in two pony tails that framed a grim face unbecoming a child her age. From her looks, Lance doubted she was even ten. He couldn’t fathom why a young girl would even speak to them, let alone beckon them in to the shadows of the docks. Nor why a nine year old would even be alone here.
“It’s about time the two of you got here. I’ve been coming here for months, waiting for you to finally show up.”
Her words came with an air of wisdom unbecoming a child her age. Lance clenched his fist. With Sword, he remembered fights with numerous supernatural creatures that presented themselves as helpless innocents. The image of a small child, especially a young girl, seemed the ultimate move in the evil illusion playbook.
“Who are you and why did you call us here? Speak, before I must take action.”
“It seems not to matter when or where we meet, Du Lac. You always have a brazen demeanor, even towards those that mean you no harm. Yet it is you with the history of betrayal to your friends. I seek only to serve.”
Red and gold chainmail flashed in to existence around Lance’s body as his regular clothes vanished. The massive metal lance that gave him his name appeared in his free hand. He held it a few inches from the young girl’s throat.
“Enough games, creature. Show your true form so that I may run you through!”
The girl chuckled. “My true form? Dear Lancelot, it’s been quite a long time since I even remembered what a ‘true form’ might be. After centuries trapped in a bodiless state, it becomes easy to forget what such a thing might be. Not to mention, my days as a wise-cracking bum with magic powers. You may soon miss the forties, but I’m glad that Moe character is well in my past.”
Lance lowered his weapon slightly, but quickly brought it back in to guard position. “Merlin?”
The girl curtsied at the name. “Merlin Caledonensis Ambrosius at your service. It took you long enough, Du Lac. You were once quite a bit faster on the uptake.”
“What is this, Merlin? Why are you in the body of a little girl? Why are we here? What’s happening to Art?”
“I am still not sure how you did it, but you and Mister Lake somehow jumped seventy years in to the future. My current body is a subject we have little time for at the moment, as I must get you and Arthur to Avalon posthaste. Else, young Arthur might die and with him the future of all mankind.”
“Let’s go then.”
“Hold your breath then, Du Lac. Else you’ll find trans-dimensional apporation quite disconcerting.”
“Wait, wh—?”
The docks fell silent as the two heroes and the young girl vanished from sight.
*****
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Nicholas Ahlhelm is an avid writer as well as the editor and administrator of both Metahuman Press and Pulp Empire. Even with projects like Out For Vengeance, Living Legends, and Timeline appearing at MHP, he still finds time to write the webcomic Arc.