"Guen," I say carefully, not wanting to upset her, "I know a lot has happened. Do you have any idea what you want to do now?"
"I do not know," she wails, tears slipping down her pale cheeks. "Perhaps 'twould have been better had I died at the stake. I have nowhere to go. When you are gone I will have no one." She wipes her tears away with a dirty hand, the grime streaking across her face. She looks more like a homeless waif than a queen. But still beautiful. Innocent.
Anger stirs inside me as I think about all that's happened. About how everyone got it all wrong. Throughout history this sweet, vulnerable girl will be known as a slut who betrayed her husband for a dashing knight. I wonder, when and if I get back to the twenty-first century, whether I should write a tell-all book. Disguise it as fiction if I have to—to let people know the true story behind the infamous love triangle that, if you count me, is actually more of a square.
"What about Avalon?" I suggest. "Won't they take you back? You love it there."
Guen shakes her head. "My going there would endanger them all. I do not want to introduce violence into their peaceful world." She sighs deeply. "A convent may take me in, but I do not desire to live out my days with those who deny themselves all the pleasures of being a woman. 'Twould be a living death."
I try to think, then mentally smack myself upside the head when the most obvious idea in the world comes to me. "Duh!" I say. "I can't believe I didn't think of this. Why don't you come back to the twenty-first century with me?"
Guen looks at me, her eyes wide. "D'you think…?"
"Yeah, that'd be great!" I exclaim, scrambling to my feet. "I've been wishing you could come back with me anyway, but of course I knew you had a life here and stuff. But now that you don't, there's nothing stopping you."
Her face falls. "If I come back with you, I will never see Arthur again."
"That's true, but, Guen, chances are you won't anyway." I hate to break it to her, but I'm going the tough-love route here. "And anyway, don't you believe in reincarnation?" I add, remembering Arthur's speech. "That if lovers are joined in one life they will find each other in the next?"
"Yes, but—"
"So I bet you have a good chance of running into the twenty-first-century version of your husband. How cool would that be?"
Her eyes light up, and I know I've sold her on the idea.
Lancelot finishes tending to the horses and approaches. He motions for us to mount. "We must ride on, or we risk getting caught."
"Aye," agrees Guenevere, a smile shining through her tears, "Let us be off to Stonehenge."
Lancelot looks at her, then me. "So Your Majesty still plans to perform the spell to send Kat home?" he asks in a deliberately emotionless voice. It almost sounds as if he's hoping I'll miss the portal.
"Aye and myself with her," Guenevere tells him. "I have nothing left to keep me in Camelot. Better I start a new life than have mine end here."
"I see," Lancelot says quietly.
The queen scrunches her eyebrows in confusion. "But do you not travel with us, Sir Lancelot? I thought Kat said—"
"Things have changed," Lancelot interrupts. "I will accompany you to the portal, but that is as far as I go."
Guenevere glances over at me, confused. I shrug. What can I say? The last thing I want is for her to hear about Nimue's plan and freak out, as Lance did.
Lance. I look over at the knight as he boosts Guenevere up on his horse and then mounts himself. My heart feels like it's being torn in two, and I ache from my head to my toes. I wipe away the tears that seem determined to fall. I can't leave like this. Even if we can never be together, I can't let him go through life thinking I used him for personal gain. And now it looks like there's not going to be much of a chance to talk things through.
Suddenly an idea comes to me—hits me like a ton of bricks, actually.
I will stay.
Sure, I'll still go to Stonehenge and let Guen open the portal. But at the last moment, I won't jump. I'll let it close forever. A grand, dramatic gesture to show Lancelot that I mean it when I say I love him. That he means more to me than some stupid millennium. And once he forgives me, then he, Guen and I can gallop off into the sunset. Go back to Lancelot's home county of Little Britain or something and live happily ever after. Maybe even get Arthur to come join us so Guen can have her true love back. After all, the chances of him keeping his kingdom at this point are slim to none.
It's the perfect plan. I only hope it works.
* * *
The rain picks up. Lightning streaks across the sky, followed by earth-shaking thunder—the kind Gucci likes to hide under my bed from, whimpering. I feel like doing a little whimpering myself, but there's no time. On and on the horses press into the rain-soaked night. The drops bang against my face with such intensity I'm afraid I'll end up bruised. The wind whips my hair into a Medusa-like tangle.
Summer solstice indeed. More like monsoon solstice, if you ask me.
"This is it!" Lancelot cries. I can barely hear him over the storm. But I can see his hand, pointing to the top of a hill before us. And I can see the familiar stone structure standing tall and true.
Stonehenge. The gateway. Home.
I hear noises behind us and whirl around. In the distance, I can see flickering torches. The knights. They've found us!
"Hurry!" I cry, urging on my horse. "They're almost here." My heart pounds in my chest, and blood roars in my ears as we gallop to the top of the hill.
I slide off my horse and look back. The torches are closer. We've got only a few minutes then they'll be here.
"Guen, we've got to hurry!"
The queen dismounts, her eyes wild and wide. "I am not sure if I can—"
"There is no time for talk," Lancelot interrupts, his eyes not wavering from the approaching army.
"I understand," Guenevere says. She turns to the Stonehenge and begins her incantation. "Solstice en hirum au callibar…"
The torches are closer now—so close I can see the men who hold them in their grimy fists. It's an angry mob, determined to kill Lancelot. To kill the queen. Me, too, probably, if I stand in their way. I turn to Guenevere. Her eyes are closed in concentration. Her voice quavers as she speaks the words.
"…arruliam de tona los garillium…"
Lancelot places a hand on my shoulder. "They are here," he says, softly stating the obvious. "She will not have time to finish."
I turn to him, panicked. This was not at all how I wanted my big sacrifice drama to play out. "But she has to!" I cry.
Lancelot nods, distracted. Then he squares his shoulders and draws his sword. He looks powerful, breathtaking, wielding the mighty blade. A true hero. "Make sure she keeps her concentration. I will hold them off."
Wait! I don't mind him looking like a hero, but this is not the time for him to act like one! I grab his arm, a futile attempt to hold him back, as panic engulfs me. "No!" I cry. "There's too many of them. You'll die!"
He turns back, his troubled, fierce gaze grabbing me and not letting go. I feel my body tremble into a near faint, my heart banging against my rib cage.
"There is no other way. Better they kill me, and you two escape."
"No!" I shake my head, my lips tasting the tears that spill down my cheeks. "You don't understand! I'm not going to leave you. I refuse." I take a deep breath, swallow down my sobs, and continue. "You told me once that no matter what, you would always choose me. Well, I choose you. The time period doesn't matter. Wherever, whenever I am doesn't make any difference. I choose you." I break down, sobbing. "I choose you."
Lancelot suddenly grabs the back of my neck, fiercely pulling me toward him and planting a hot, rough kiss on my mouth. His lips are demanding, fierce, but I can feel his tears splashing onto my cheeks. For a moment, there is nothing else. No past, no future, no time, no place. Just him and me. Together. One. Nothing matters except his touch.
"Kat," he murmurs. "I am so sorry I doubted you."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you the
truth," I sob. "I ruined everything."
"No. 'Tis my stubbornness that caused you this grief," he insists. "I want to be with you above anything."
"Then I'll stay."
"No." He shakes his head. "The current situation here is perilous at best. At this point, 'twould be far better to journey to your world."
I nod slowly. He's right, of course. But before I can answer, an angry voice cuts through the moment.
"There they are! After them, men!"
We break apart. Looking down the hill, I see the mob has found us. They raise their weapons: swords, arrows, clubs. It's like that big battle in Lord of the Rings. We're totally outnumbered. And unfortunately, we have no Gandalf the Great or fighting trees to save us.
"Damn it!" I cry. "What are we going to do?"
"When the portal opens, jump through," Lancelot instructs. "I will join you when I can."
"No! I can't go without you. What if you don't make it?"
He kisses me on the forehead. "Trust me, Kat. Our destiny is written in the stars. How can a little thing like time keep us apart?"
He kisses me again, a hard, desperate kiss against my lips, then pulls away, running down the hill to meet the mob. I watch him with a dead, sick feeling inside.
"Please stay safe," I murmur, tears and rain streaming down my cheeks.
I turn back to Guen. She's still incanting, her face white and tense, almost old-looking. Her voice has taken on a new quality, no longer musical, no longer girlish. The voice of the priestess she never got to be.
Lightning strikes the center of Stonehenge, illuminating each stone pillar. But instead of sparking a fire, it creates a strange circular doorway in the center of the circle, seemingly made of light itself. I release the breath I didn't know I was holding.
The portal. Will this really lead me back home?
Guenevere opens her eyes and looks at the circle, then at me. "This is it," she says in a reverent whisper. "The doorway to your world."
I step into the circle, my pulse pounding, my hands shaking. I take one last look behind me. I can see the fight has commenced between Lancelot and the gang of men. Can I leave him? Maybe I should—
"Kat!" Guenevere grabs me by the hand. "We must go. Now!"
I feel like my insides are being ripped out. "But Lance!"
"He would want you to. You know that."
"Yeah, well, he can be a chauvinistic idiot sometimes!" I cry, breaking free of her hold. I dash out of the circle and scream down the hill, "Lancelot! Come now!"
I watch as he slashes at Mordred, cutting him down where he stands. As the prince distracts the mob by screaming bloody murder, Lancelot takes the opportunity to climb back up the hill. I look back at the portal. Its brilliance is already fading. How long will it hold?
"Guenevere, go now!" I cry. She opens her mouth to protest, but I put out my hands and shove her through. She stumbles, disappearing into the swirling blue mist.
I turn back to Lancelot. "Hurry!" I cry.
He almost reaches me. But suddenly he falls, screaming in pain. The dying Mordred's well-aimed arrow has pierced him in the back. I run over and grab him, dragging him with all my might toward the portal. I feel the way that woman who lifted up the truck to save her son must have felt, my adrenaline giving me superhuman strength. I'm sure that any minute I'm going to get one of those arrows right in the heart, and it will all be over.
But call it destiny, fate, or just damn good luck—I make it to the portal. Pulling Lancelot into my arms, I stumble through, our bodies disappearing in the swirling sea of light.
We made it. But will Lancelot be all right?
EPILOGUE
The low-battery beep of my cell phone startles me into consciousness. I slowly open one eye, then another. Are we home?
I sit up. The landscape is dark. I fumble around in my purse until I find my lighter and flick it on. The quick glow reveals Guenevere and Lancelot lying beside me on the grass, both still unconscious. Nothing else is in sight except a vacant, grassy field.
We made it. But where are we? Are we on the fairgrounds I left from? Perhaps some time has passed, the fair moved on? Will my car still be there? I pick up my cell phone, but the battery completely gives out before I can place a call. Damn.
Then I remember: Lancelot is hurt. I flick the lighter once again and examine the spot on his back where the arrow pierced his flesh. It's still there. Evidently time does not heal all wounds. It looks bad, too. Is he going to be okay? I swallow back my sobs. It would be just my luck to get him back to the future, only to have him die. I've got to find him a hospital.
"Mmmm." I hear Guenevere moan as she regains consciousness. "Are we here?" she asks sleepily.
"I guess so," I say. "Though I'm not exactly sure where." It feels so weird to be back. Surreal, I guess. Like I'm a visitor to my own world.
"Is Lancelot here?" Guen asks. "Did he make it?"
"Yeah, but he's unconscious. And badly hurt. We've got to get him to a hospital," I tell her. At least he can get some good old-fashioned twenty-first-century healing. If we were still in medieval times, we'd be doomed. "Damn Mordred and his arrow."
"It's strange." Guenevere sniffs. "I can't believe that my Arthur is dead. That he died a thousand years ago. I wonder if he triumphed over Mordred's mutiny or died the day we left. I guess it makes no difference now." She sighs deeply. "I miss him already."
"Oh, Guen, I'm sorry," I say, feeling out her hand and giving it a squeeze. Poor thing.
After consoling her, I turn back to Lancelot. What are we going to do? We can't move him. And we can't leave him here and head out into the pitch-darkness. We might never find him again. Damn the cell phone battery! Maybe there are some houses around. If I yell real loud…
"Help!" I cry at the top of my lungs. "Someone please help us!"
Guenevere touches me on the arm. "What if someone evil hears you? A marauding bandit or such?"
"Nah, we're in twenty-first-century upstate New York. There are no marauding bandits here," I assure her before starting my loud plea again.
About five minutes later I'm totally hoarse from yelling. No one's come. Lancelot's still bleeding. Worried, I rip off a section of my gown and press it against his wound, trying to stop the blood flow.
"Stay with me, Lance," I murmur in his ear. "I need you. Please."
"Look!" Guenevere cries. "A light approaches."
I look up. Sure enough, a bright halogen flashlight flashes toward us. Rescued! I stand up and wave my arms in the air. "Over here!" I cry.
The light brightens as it approaches, and I'm blinded, so I can't see the person behind it. But who cares who it is? We're saved!
"What in bleeding hell are you doing out here?" asks an English-accented male voice. I shield my eyes as his light shines in my face.
"Thank God you're here," I say, pointing to Lancelot. "He's hurt. Do you have a car? Can you get us to a hospital? Or call an ambulance maybe?"
"Don't be daft. He doesn't need a hospital," says the voice, after the man flashes the light onto Lancelot's back. "I can fix him myself."
"You can?" I ask, rubbing my eyes. "Are you a doctor or something?"
"Nah. But it's only a flesh wound," the man says. "A child could heal him."
With the light focused on Lancelot, my vision somewhat returns, and I can see our rescuer. He's a tall, good-looking blond man, probably in his mid-thirties, wearing a very oddly cut silver suit—something you'd see in a couture show but never on a real-life person. Is he for real?
"Are they having a medieval fair around here somewhere?" the man asks after looking at our clothing. Ha! And here I am thinking his outfit is weird. We must look like total freaks.
"Yeah," I say, not knowing how else to explain. "Um, battle re-creation. Lance here got hurt. Where are we anyway? We're kind of lost."
"On my land. About five miles outside Poughkeepsie."
Ah, so we did come back to the same area I'd left from. Phew. I was a little worried
when I heard the English accent. But we're not too far from home at all. If I can't find my car, I'll call a cab. Sure, it'll be expensive but totally worth it. I'm exhausted and just want to collapse onto my own bed and sleep for about a year.
But my relief is short-lived as the man pulls a strange object from his pocket. It looks kind of like one of those Star Trek communicators. He presses it against Lance's wound and pushes down on a button. A red laser light shoots out.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demand. Great, the first person we meet back in the twenty-first century is a total nutball. Guen's going to get the totally wrong impression.
He looks up at me. "Surely you've seen a gamma reconstruction wand before. I can't imagine you got insurance to plan your medieval re-creation without one on hand."
Uh-oh! I'm getting a bad feeling here. Especially as I watch Lancelot's wound shrink and disappear under the red laser. Could Guen's spell have worked too well? Could we have…
The man turns off the gamma recon-whatever and touches Lancelot on the shoulder. "Hey, mate, wake up."
Lancelot stirs and sits up. My heart swells with love as I forget our situation for a moment. He's going to be all right—that's all that really matters. I reach over and hug him.
"I thought I'd lost you," I cry, overjoyed. He hugs me back and kisses me on the forehead.
"Did we make it?" he asks in a weak voice. "Are we in the twenty-first century?"
"Twenty-first century?" the man exclaims. "Oy, mate, were you hit on the head as well?"
"What?" I cry, suddenly shivering with fear. What the hell is going on here? "Please tell us, sir. Who are you? And, um, when are we?"
"Oh, I get ya. Still role-playing," the man concludes with a chuckle. "Well, luv, I don't want to burst your medieval bubble, but since you asked, I'll tell you. It's the year 2116." He holds out his hand. "And I'm Arthur, CEO of Camelot-dot-com."
Oh, man. Beam me up, Scotty. Here we go again.
* * * * *
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