Part Twelve

"I don’t think we were dead. I don’t know what happened." She sighed, stretching to relieve the kinks that knotted her muscles. "Okay, we’ll call it a dream, for lack of a better name. A dream we both claim to share. We both recall the same general idea, anyway. So what else did the dream tell us?"

"Find the child who never grows old, then take the night train and climb the mountain to destiny. Once you translate, you’ll need to seek the book that holds the key." Her companion intoned the words through a voice muffled by weariness. "We’ve pinned down the child, the train, and the mountain to Destiny. Something about translation, then the book that holds the key."

"Well the book doesn’t hold the key," she replied. "The book is what we’re looking for, isn’t it?"

Nigel sat up, blinking. "Is it?" He was paler than normal and his already-thin face was drawn. It had been a rough day for him, and Sydney was reminded that it was more than their travels and long hours. He’d also been to the doctor’s office with an injury. While it wasn’t life-threatening, it was wear and tear on his system. He was probably hurting again, too, she reminded herself.

"I assume so. We’re looking for Merlin’s journal." Then again, he’d ignored her when she suggested he go home.

"What if we’re not?" he countered, tilting his head to one side. His fingers drummed against the hard plastic seat and his mouth twisted to one side with the shift in his concentration. "What if the journal is only the means to another end?"

"What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, the exhaustion giving way to rising excitement. "If Merlin’s journal truly exists, imagine what it might contain. I mean, we’re talking about a 13th century magician in a world where performing magic was as valid as cooking a meal or riding a horse. Who’s to say what we might find?"

Go to Part Thirteen.

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