Emma rubbed her eyes again.
“That’s certainly…interesting.” she said. “But I think I got the hang of it now. I just need to be careful about what I think. But tell me something, John-a-Doors, is this the only way my power works?”
“What precisely do you want to do with your power?” John-a-Doors asked.
“So far, I’ve only seen random ghosts in Fairy. Is there a way I can be more precise in my viewing? Say that there’s a specific ghost I want to find, the ghost of a girl named Alice Anderson.”
“That would be simple. As before, just will it, and it will be.”
Emma closed her eyes. She thought the words of her wish so clearly and precisely they appeared as words within her mind. SHOW ME THE GHOST OF ALICE ANDERSON.
Alice was the daughter of the woman who made the mediocre tea Emma wished was sweeter.
Emma braced herself as her sight was again pulled across an infinite gulf to show her Corbenic, but this time her gaze was drawn to a young woman in a sundress, her dark hair long and wild. She napped beneath one of the oaks that grew on Corbenic’s ramparts, bare arms and legs cushioned by soft, green moss.
Emma found it easier going in and out of the vision. It wasn’t so shocking when one was prepared for it.
She smiled at John-a-Doors. “She was in Corbenic!”
“It is a common place for ghosts.”
“She looked so comfortable and carefree. This is marvelous…simply marvelous!” Emma said, and she wasn’t just referring to what she saw. Her parents would be overjoyed to know their child lived in a castle-garden, or was it more properly a garden-castle? Either way, it was paradise. Emma had only told them Alice was in a bright, warm place with beautiful flowers. The reality was so much better. This would be great news for them to hear. They would be thankful. Sweeter tea would be the least they would be convinced to part with in exchange for the news…
…Maybe she would go all in now that she was a real fairy woman? She wouldn’t be like those Blackwall seance girls, no, they bilked their clients for everything they were worth, but if she was really showing the living the dead now, why shouldn’t she ask for…say around twenty pounds? That would sure go some ways to helping her get that dress she always wanted…
But wait! A crafty thought entered into her mind. If her clients couldn’t see into Fairy along with her…then what was the point? The truth had just as much weight as a lie in that case, and Emma Quinn was not the type of woman to appreciate the truth for the sake of being true.
“John-a-Doors, I have another question.”
“I am here to answer all your questions. Please ask.”
“Is it possible for me to share my visions with others? Can others see what I see?”
“Ms. Quinn, you should be able to answer that question by now. Again, it is a matter of your will. Will it, and it will be done.”
Emma looked down at the floor. DISPLAY SALLY MCNEIL, she thought.
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The wood of the floor peeled back to reveal a forest of ancient, wise trees. Their branches intertwined together and formed a thick canopy of dark green leaves that hid the sun and shaded the ground below in cool, refreshing darkness. Their massive roots stretched into and out of the ground like stone serpents and sitting on one of these roots was a woman with long red hair clad in a simple, rustic tunic colored green. She slept peacefully, unafraid of the wilderness around her.
“What is this forest?” Emma asked.
“It is Broceliande.” John-a-Doors explained. “Merlin’s forest.”
“Merlin, you say?”
“Yes. It was where he placed the tip of his tower.”
“The tip?”
“Most of it was buried deep beneath the ground. His father was an Unseelie courtier, you see, a great gnome, to be precise. It gave him a preference for dark, enclosed spaces. It also gave him a violent streak of madness, but that’s neither here nor there.”
‘I had always thought that Merlin was wise.”
“He was as wise as he was mad, though his wisdom was constant and his madness fleeting.”
SHOW ME THE TOWER OF MERLIN, Emma thought.
The imagery on the floor shifted to show a black stone obelisk standing stern above a grove of wildflowers.
“That’s Merlin’s tower?” Emma asked. “It’s so…plain.”
“It’s not Merlin’s tower because it’s a tower. It’s Merlin’s tower because of what Merlin kept inside it.”
“How is one even supposed to enter it? There’s no door, or even a window.”
“Was there a door in your wall before I came in?”
“Ah. I see your point.”
SHOW ME THE UNDERGROUND PORTION OF MERLIN’S TOWER, Emma thought.
But this time, the image on the floor didn’t change.
John-a-Doors read the surprise on Emma’s face.
“Remember propriety, Ms. Quinn. Just because you can see into Fairy doesn’t mean that you can see into Fairy’s guarded secrets.”
“Oh! Oh of course! I’m sorry, did I just do something wrong in trying to look at the rest of the tower? You didn’t tell me I couldn’t!”
“No. You would have done something wrong had you actually seen inside it, but there’s no penalty for merely bumping into a telepathic wall. Rabbits are killed when they’re found inside the garden wall, not outside.”
“That’s…quite the metaphor, John-a-Doors. But tell me, why is Merlin’s tower sealed from viewing? Does he still live there? Is he still mad?”
“No, he no longer lives in his tower and no, he is no longer mad. His madness was cured during the 17th century. So great was the enlightenment he gained with the extinguishing of his madness that it caused a great flourishing of ideas in Fairy--and perhaps in your own world, but that is a matter of dispute. What is beyond dispute, however, is that Merlin purged away his madness while inside his tree.”
“His…tree?”
John-a-Doors shook his head. “Lord, what fools these mortals be…” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t they teach you the Arthurian histories in school?”
“I suppose in the finer ones they do along with Latin and what not, but I was the daughter of a coal miner, so I only learned a little grammar.”
“That is such a sadness.” John-a-Doors shook his head slowly. “Arthur determined the future for not only my race, but your own. His stories should be told to every child. Oh, you humans, you forget so easily why you pass down your own stories…but I digress, Ms. Quinn. Long, long ago, towards the twilight of Camelot, Merlin began to fall into one of his mad fits. The kingdom was teetering on the brink. Mordred was raising an army to depose Arthur--you do know who Mordred was, do you not?”
“Of course I know who Mordred was!” Emma snapped. “It’s not as if I’m entirely ignorant of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.
Emma suddenly made an expression of surprise--and she just as quickly hid it. She was surprised that she had spoken to the fairy psychopomp as she did.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” Emma exclaimed.
“No need, no need. You are correct, you are not entirely ignorant of Arthurian history. But allow me to elucidate the parts you are wholly ignorant of. When Merlin began to succumb to his madness his apprentice Vivian sealed him inside a tree, for his safety and the safety of others. But the mind of Merlin, however, was too great to be bound to a simple tree. It expanded, through the roots, through the grass, through nearby trees--and now Broceliande is Merlin, and Merlin Broceliande. When Arthur's domain was taken up into Fairy, Broceliande went with it. They couldn’t leave Merlin behind, after all. An insane forest is a dangerous forest. They called Broceliande the Forest Sauvage for a very good reason.”
“I can see that Merlin the man and Merlin the forest have come a long way. It looks so peaceful. I’m envious of Sally McNeil. I’m sure her parents will be overjoyed to know that their daughter lives in such a storied environment.”
“Broceliande is today known as the Forest Sagesse. Merlin was always a teacher at heart, and so he remains a teacher. Beings come from all throughout Fairy--and beyond--to sit in the shade of Broceliande and listen to the murmurs of wise Merlin blow through the leaves. I myself have been tutored by Merlin.”
“Oh! So Ms. McNeil is a scholar, now? That’s wonderful, simply wonderful!”
Emma clapped her hands. The power she had was so delightful.