by Dan Wingreen
This time, Aidan did hit the carriage next to him when he jerked the wheel.
"Keep your eyes on the bloody road, ya fuckin' menace!" Eallair tightly grasped any part of the carriage he could.
"Wh-what?" Aidan sputtered after getting the carriage back under control and frantically looking around to make sure no cops were chasing them down. The other car had slammed on its brakes, and Aidan sped up before its driver could get out and throw a spell at him. He completely ignored Eallair's admonishment and the way his accent thickened when he was scared. "What did you say?"
"The road! Watch the bloody road! I've never seen someone who could almost kill himself twice because he couldn't drive in a straight fuckin’ line!"
"Not that," Aidan snapped, although there wasn't much heat behind it. He was still too shocked at what he thought he heard to care that he was being yelled at. "The other… Did you say Arthur? As in King Arthur?"
Eallair didn't answer at first; he just watched Aidan warily. "Yes," he said dragging the word out. He tensed up, as if he was expecting another collision. After a few uneventful seconds, he relaxed and released the death grip he had on the few parts of the carriage he could hold onto. When he spoke again, he was calm, and the hint of self-satisfaction was back in his voice. "Yes, I did. Turn left at the next light."
Aidan made the turn, absently noting that they were headed back towards the Wizards' Quarter now.
He was still trying to wrap his head around what he was hearing. Eallair couldn't possibly be serious. Of course not. Liar, remember? But he seemed so…cocky about it. And if he was lying about the scroll, then what else could possibly be on it that was worth a one-man assault on a building full of trained DMS agents?
Aidan shook his head. He had no idea what to think. It would be easier to believe the government did have directions to their torture rooms in the front lobby than someone had actually found the tomb of King Arthur. People had been searching for it for almost two thousand years. Wars had been fought because one country or another had thought their neighbor was hiding it and preventing him from waking like the legends said.
Ever since the entire population of the world had gained the ability to use magic, just over a thousand years before, all the old superstitions and religions had mostly died out. How could anyone believe in a god or gods when even the dirtiest peasant could recreate divine powers and miracles in their mud huts? In a world that had lost its faith, the only thing people believed in were Arthur, the greatest king who ever lived, and Merlin, the world's first real sorcerer. In Camelot, the perfect kingdom, the first place in history where sorcerers were welcomed instead of burned, and Avalon, the birthplace of magic.
It helped that the ruins of Camelot had been found centuries ago; the same with Avalon, the latter being a completely dead island and, strangely, the only place in the world where there was no magic at all. They'd even found Merlin's remains buried in a cave somewhere in Britannia, his bones still blackened from the deadly fire of Nivian the Betrayer.
But no one had ever found Arthur or his grave. Some people took that as proof he was already awake, working in secret to rebuild Camelot and bring the world into a new golden age. To finally get rid of the wizards and necromancers and siphons—or turn them into sorcerers so they could be normal, depending on who was asked.
Aidan had never really believed any of that. Sure, he believed in Arthur and the legends that said he would rise again when the world was in its most dire hour, but he'd never thought things were bad enough for Arthur to truly be needed. That, until he was, his resting place would stay secret and safe and he would stay lost.
But, if Arthur’s resting place truly had been found, maybe Aidan was wrong. Maybe the world was worse off than he thought…
If he believed Eallair. Which he didn't.
Still…
"Prove it," Aidan said, shakily. "Let me see the scroll."
Eallair scoffed. "Not while you're driving."
That almost caused another wheel jerk incident. He was actually going to let him see it?
It-it's probably in some language I can't read. Or it's in some kind of code that could mean anything. There's no way the location of King freaking Arthur is spelled out in plain Britannic on a piece of paper that was just sitting around in the records room of a random DMS building in a dime a dozen west coast city.
Right?
Aidan pulled into the first parking lot he could.
"All right." He turned to Eallair. "Let me see."
He smirked and handed the scroll to Aidan. "Be careful with it."
Aidan bit back a sharp reply about not being a clumsy idiot and gingerly took the papers. There were several sheets, all filled completely from top to bottom with small, cramped handwriting. In Britannic. His hands shook slightly as he held the first one up to read but he had no idea if he was scared that it wouldn't be true, or that it would.
He took a deep breath and started from the top.
April the 17th, 1781
It has been almost a month since I first set foot on this infernal ship, and I am firmly convinced that I shan't live to see the finish of this voyage. If the pirates and the stress do not kill me, the constant rocking and moving of this floating wooden box shall. I have been informed, repeatedly, that as soon as I acquire something called "sea legs" the sickness should cease being a problem, but since it has been several weeks and I still lose most of every meal over the side of the ship, I can only conclude that I have been egregiously lied to.
The snickers of the so-called crew directed at me every time I am forced to endure their presence seems to confirm this. If there is ever a person that contrives a way for healing magic to work against sea sickness, I shall devote the remainder of my days to worshipping at their feet and…
"What is this?" Aidan asked, confused.
"It's a log," Eallair said. "From the person that was watching over Arthur's sarcophagus while it was being transported to the States. He isn't exactly the quickest at getting to the point, though. Here, read from here."
He pointed to a spot about halfway down the second sheet. Aidan gave him a skeptical look, but continued reading mid-sentence.
…attacks by savages have thankfully been rare, and wagons, while singularly incapable of offering anything even remotely comparable to comfort, at least do not make me long for death. We reached our destination just after noon the day before yesterday and only just, as of an hour ago, completed interring the sarcophagus.
Protections identical to the ones used in the tomb in Rome have been placed, although I sincerely doubt they shall ever be necessary. The remoteness of Ohio, and the seeming complete disinterest of the savages who remain in the area, renders it an absolute surety that it will never be discovered, accidentally or by design. To that end, I have also, of course, disposed of everyone who accompanied me to the site and burned the wagons, but I must reiterate my objection to this course of action, as I am now required to ride back to Philadelphia on a horse. Alone.
The inane chatter of laborers and wagoners is at least a distraction from the interminable drudgery of plains and mountains. Thankfully, I have been assured that moving the sarcophagus shall not be necessary again in my lifetime, if ever again, and for that I am immeasurably thankful. I will, of course, provide detailed directions to the site at the end of this report before I send it off with the supposedly spelled pigeon.
I do not understand how a pigeon can be spelled to carry several full-sized sheets of vellum, and my sea sickness remains an unsolvable mystery, but at least the location of the once and future king shall not be lost if I perish during my return. Not that I expect any problems, especially since I am being met by a representative from the Office of Magic and Sorcery upon arrival at the halfway point of my journey.
I would question this also, since the secrecy of my mission prevents anyone from accompanying me on the most dangerous part of my return, lest they also need be disposed of, but since I shall be grateful for the company,
I will not make an issue of it. As I can currently think of nothing else that needs to be included at this time, I shall close with a detailed description of the route to the site and send off my report.
Upon leaving Philadelphia, cross the Schuylkill River and immediately head west along—
The rest of the scroll described, in almost painful detail, how to get from the capital of the United States to a cave in eastern Ohio. Aidan read the entire thing, looking for any indication he was being tricked. He couldn't find any. He didn't exactly know if the directions were accurate, but he'd never been farther east than Phoenix, so that wasn't saying much. Everything else…it never actually mentioned Arthur by name, but there were several references to a sarcophagus and tombs, and "the once and future king" was how people referred to Arthur, especially during the time this was supposedly written.
No, not supposedly. The paper is old. The ink is old. This was definitely written over two hundred years ago.
Aidan was officially out of excuses.
It's real!
Aidan almost threw the scroll away from him like it was on fire. He was holding a real Arthurian—memento? Artifact?—thing. He shouldn't be touching it. It should be behind glass in a museum. It should… Oh fuck. I'm touching something written by someone who actually saw King Arthur's coffin.
He shoved the scroll at Eallair. He didn't trust himself with it anymore. He'd destroy it somehow, or get it dirty…or something. It needed to be in safe hands.
And Eallair's hands are safe?
"I have a bunch of them," Eallair said as he rolled the scroll up and put it back in the case. "From dozens of different people, dating back to just after Arthur died. Someone found him, then he was shipped around the world for over fifteen hundred years until he ended up here in America. I've been following his path more than half my life. Every time I found a new page or scroll or record, it led to a place that he hadn't been for a long time, and eventually I'd find another and another, until I came here. This is the last one."
"H-h-how do you know?" Aidan asked.
"A few years ago I found a book in a DMS records room in Florida. It were burned up—don't look at me like that; I didn't burn it—but in the bits that were still readable, there was a part that said that the king was still in Ohio and there were no plans to move him. It was written four years ago. There's a better’n good chance he's still there. And now I know exactly how to get to him."
Aidan swallowed. Could it really be true? Could King Arthur really be in some cave in Ohio, of all places?
"Why in Florida?" Aidan asked. "The book, I mean. Why was it there and not here with the scroll?"
"It's always been spread out," Eallair said. "The information about him, I mean. Easier to keep anyone from findin’ him if you don't keep it all in one place. I've found references to Arthur all over the world, spread across government buildings in every country he's been hidden in."
"Why not just keep them in Philadelphia?" Aidan pressed. "Or whatever the capitals of these other countries are? You'd think they'd put them in the most secure place possible. And why hide Arthur in Ohio? Why hide him at all? Why—" Aidan cut himself off. He was getting too worked up, too excited.
Eallair grinned. "Good questions."
"And the answers?" Aidan asked impatiently.
"No idea why they hid him," he answered cheerfully. "But the rest? Same basic reasons. If you have something you wanna keep secret, something you don't want anyone to figure out or even know it's there to be figured out, you don't hide it where everyone else is gonna come looking for the rest of your secrets. You hide them in places no one's ever gonna look for anything more important than a few local records about murder and torture."
Aidan scowled at him for bringing that up again, but he didn't bother arguing. The rest of what he said made a crazy kind of sense. Except for one thing. "Why not just destroy any mention of where he's buried, if they wanted to keep it a secret?"
"In case they need him," Eallair said simply. "I've no idea why he was taken in the first place, or by who, but he's here now, and accordin’ to this scroll, and the fact that it was hidden in a DMS building, the government knows. Or at least somebody high up does. If somethin’ ever happens; if, say, people start to realize the government ain’t exactly what they thought it was and start a bit of resistance, maybe even a rebellion or two, how effective would it be for Arthur to suddenly make a miraculous return from the dead as the savior of the status quo just when things are lookin’ their worst? You people already put up with so much, what more would you gladly accept if you thought King Arthur approved of it?"
Aidan paused. There was something in what Eallair said, in the way he said it, that set off an alarm inside Aidan's head. "And…when you find him…what are you going to do with him?" he asked.
Eallair grinned again, but there was a hard edge to it. An edge that made Aidan's stomach twist. "I'm gonna wake him up."
Aidan's eyes widened. "Y-you can't just wake him up."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Be-because you can't! King Arthur isn't a puppy you can just wake up and play with. He's…he's…King Arthur! He's supposed to wake up when the world needs him the most. To save us—"
"And you think you don't need saving now?" Eallair cut in.
"From what?" Aidan asked.
"The government? The DMS? Any one of a hundred injustices you face in a single day and don't even realize it? Take your pick."
Aidan blinked rapidly, completely unable to believe what he was hearing. "You're going to wake him up to help you with your terrorist bullshit?"
"You surely love flingin’ that word around," Eallair snapped. "But do you have any idea what it actually means? Terrorist? Bah! If you question the government, you're a terrorist. If you think things can be better than they are, you're a terrorist. If you talk back to a cop who's about to torture some innocent, naive little wizard, you're a terrorist."
"Yes! You're a terrorist because of all that," Aidan yelled back.
"So, you'd have rather I'd let those two cops burn you and steal your license then?"
"Don't turn this around and try to make it about me," Aidan said, completely forgetting to argue that they weren't cops. "You're talking about waking up King Arthur, King fucking Arthur, to help you, what? Steal things? Blow up some buildings?"
"No," Eallair said. His voice was low and hard. "I'm going to wake him up so he can help me take down the government, the whole bloody thing, and replace it with something better."
Aidan blinked. Then blinked again. It was about all he could do; every other bodily function was stalled out as his brain used all its available resources to try and figure out if he'd really just heard someone say what he thought Eallair had said. In the end, it was the look in his eye that convinced Aidan he'd heard him right. Eallair's eyes practically burned with determination and purpose, so much so, Aidan thought he'd catch fire if he looked into them for more than an instant.
But he didn't look away.
"Why?" he asked finally. It was really the only question he could ask to a statement that crazy.
"Why, he asks," Eallair muttered, shaking his head in frustration. "You don't even see it. None of you do. The poison of it all, infectin’ your whole lives, keepin’ you from bein’ what you’re meant to be, takin’ away rights you don't even know you should have."
"What does that mean?" Aidan cut in. "Rights? Poison? Do you even have any idea what you're saying?"
Eallair laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Do you? That's the real question. You scoff when I say you have rights, but do you even have any idea what I'm talking about?"
Aidan opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off before he had a chance to say anything.
"Life. Freedom. Bein’ able to walk outside without a bloody piece of paper without worryin’ about being killed for it. Bein’ able to defend yourself, even if the government’s the thing what you’re defendin’ from. Bein’ able to choose your own path, based on
what you want and not on what some bureaucrat in some office thinks you should do. Those are rights. Basic things every single human on the planet should have from birth, but you? You just…well I can't even say you gave them up, because none of you lot ever even knew they were there to be given up."
Now it was Aidan's turn to shake his head in frustration. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought similar things before. Nobody liked Wizard Licenses, but everyone knew why they were necessary. Wizards were dangerous and there needed to be a way to make sure none of them stupidly tried to experiment with their wild magic. But defending against the government? That was ridiculous. No one who followed the law needed to defend themselves from the government.
Tell that to Beer Gut and Barnes…
Aidan refused to follow that line of thought any further.
Which only left the ability to choose…
He stamped down on that thought as well, crushed it under a mental boot heel. Out of everything Eallair had said, that one was the most seductive. How many times had Aidan sat at his boring, mindless job and wished he was somewhere else? But he'd been taught since birth that just because something sounded better, didn't mean it was. That just because something would be good for him personally, didn't mean it was good for everybody. And then, when he manifested as a wizard, those lessons were reinforced tenfold.
"And what about what's best for everyone?" Aidan asked. "What if everybody decided that they wanted to be a-a…lawyer! Or a police officer? Who would be a janitor? Or a trash burner? Or a farmer? If no one says 'no, you can't be that, we already have too much of that, you need to be this', how would any necessary job that no one wanted to do ever get done?"
"You're jumping to extremes—"
"And saying you want to destroy the government isn't extreme?" Aidan shouted.
Eallair rolled his eyes. "I dunno why I didn't see that comin’ a mile away."