Arthur's shoulders hunched, making him seem even smaller than he was.
"It will find you again," the magician whispered as he positioned the dagger.
"We'll see about that," Dry Lips said, squaring his shoulders.
Lugh lowered his eyes, and Taliesin knew what the soldier felt. Lugh had been beside the King on that last, terrible day. He had watched with horror as Mordred's sword flew past him with its own evil will. For all their courage, the knights would not be able to stop that blade.
"Yes," Aubrey agreed, "we'll see." With a quick, practiced motion, he let the dagger fly.
"Get down!" Hal shouted. Arthur crouched. Following the trajectory of the dagger, every one of the knights expanded his chest, hoping to be the one the blade struck instead of the boy.
Zack was the only one who saw the sudden swoop of the weapon in the air, careening suddenly so low that it would pass between the knights' legs, directly to where Arthur was.
"Arthur!" he screamed, throwing himself to the street. As he hit the pavement at the knights' feet, the dagger struck him squarely in the chest.
His eyes opened wide in reflex, then slowly began to close. Kate rushed to his side, shrieking as she pulled the knife from his body. "Help! Someone help him!" She cradled his head in her lap, her tears falling on his face. "Oh, Zack, please don’t die! I love you, I love you so much… Medic! Where's the ambulance?" she screamed into the wall of smoke Aubrey had created. But group was completely enclosed. All the others—the reporters, the police, the emergency crews—were somewhere beyond the barrier of dark magic, unable to reach them.
"Shh," Zack said, lightly resting his hand over hers. "It's all right."
Arthur crawled out from behind the knights' legs. "You saved my life," he said.
Zack smiled. "Then you believe me?" A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
"Yes," Arthur whispered. “I misjudged you. Forgive me, my friend.”
Hal grabbed the boy's collar. "Get back here," he said.
"No." Arthur wrenched away from him. Aubrey was walking toward them, his eyes blazing with anger and madness. The boy walked out into the now-empty street to meet him.
"Highness!" the knights rushed forward, but Arthur stopped them with a gesture.
"Enough of you have died for me," he said. "I'm done hiding."
Taliesin held his breath.
"Bravo!" Aubrey clapped his hands together as he sauntered forward. "How brave you are. We'll all tell our children about you." He splayed out his fingers, and two sharp blades appeared in each of his hands. "Are you ready to fight me, Arthur?" he whispered, flicking his wrists.
The boy stopped. "I'm ready," he said.
Aubrey tapped his cheek with one of the long blades growing from his hands. "Dear, dear," he said with mock concern. "I can't help but think it's not quite fair this way. Perhaps you should have a weapon." He looked up suddenly. "Of course! Would you like your sword? I found it, you know."
"It wouldn't do you any good."
"Yes, that's true," he said with a sigh. "Perhaps it will serve you better." From around his waist he tugged at a small pouch suspended there by a black silk cord until it snapped, then threw the pouch at Arthur's feet. "Here it is," he said smoothly. "Or what's left of it. It didn't travel well."
The boy emptied the contents of the pouch into his hand and examined the dull bits of melted metal. "Excalibur," he whispered.
"Well, now I suppose we might as well begin," Aubrey said. He crouched down on all fours. From deep in his throat rose an inhuman growl. Before he leaped, Hal rushed forward, head down, arms extended.
A fireball shot out of Aubrey's mouth. It blazed through the air toward Hal, hitting him in the belly. With a scream Hal flew backward under its weight, landing on the pavement with a thud, his clothes scorched.
"By the gods, he's a demon!" Dry Lips rasped. Launcelot crossed himself.
"Anyone else want to try?" Aubrey asked, moving his head in spasms from side to side.
"Don't move, any of you!" Arthur snapped.
The magician beckoned to him, blinking his eyes lazily. "Come, boy. I'm hungry." He pointed to the dagger that lay on the silent street beside Zack, and it moved to his bidding. The blood-slick blade snaked along the pavement, then flew into his hand.
In answer, Arthur held up the pieces of the broken sword.
Aubrey laughed. "What are you going to fight me with? Marbles?"
The boy gazed steadily at him. "Faith," he said softly.
Moonlight struck the desecrated pieces of the ancient weapon. For a moment they sparkled like water. Then, while Aubrey rushed at him, the scraps of metal in the boy's hand danced upward into the shape of a shimmering cross of gold and steel, the living sword Excalibur, raised for battle.
"Go back where you belong!" Arthur commanded. "There is no place for you among us. Go!"
In the sky, a bolt of lightning shot down to touch the great sword. It shimmered, incandescent and perfect, the glow of its magic surrounding Arthur like a nimbus. He was the heart of the fire, and Excalibur its soul.
The magician sprang, Mordred's dagger pulsing in his grip. Then, with a shriek, he was lifted up high off the ground as if he were suspended on strings.
"I will not go back!" Aubrey screamed as he struggled in the air, his spindly legs jerking like an insect caught in a spider's web. A formless cloud, darker than the starless night, engulfed his flailing body. "Not there! Not again!" His voice sounded thin and flat. He grew smaller with each terrified breath. "I will not..."
Then he was gone.
The void that had swallowed him spun and collapsed in on itself, creating a wind tunnel on the street below. The wall of smoke Aubrey had created blew away in the sudden gust. With a sound like popcorn, the glass in the surrounding buildings cracked. Suddenly the street was filled with the noise of wailing sirens, snarled traffic, and screaming bystanders. Lights from the television crews smashed against the walls, and the vehicles parked on the street careened willy-nilly. Swept off their feet, the people at the scene rolled like dandelion puffs into the gutters and alleyways. The debris from the magicians' coven swirled overhead, planks and stone and crumbled mortar, leaving in its place only a flat expanse of earth blown clean by the wind.
In another moment, the cloud dissipated as unexpectedly as it had come. Through it all only Arthur had remained standing, the glow from Excalibur radiating into the night.
From the faraway dot where the void had taken Aubrey Katsuleris, an object bright as a comet tumbled through the blackness of the sky. Grasping the sword in one hand, Arthur held out the other, palm up, to receive this gift from the unknown places.
With infinite gentleness it gave itself into his possession: the cup of eternal life, the gift not even the vacuum of the dark gods could keep from its master.
Arthur knelt beside Zack. He was still alive. Kate had gone for the paramedics, who had been blown down the street along with the ambulance they’d come in. Two of them were running toward Zack now, while a third was maneuvering the ambulance through traffic.
Zack's eyelids fluttered weakly as he tried to focus. "I saw what you did," he said in a harsh rasp. His tongue was covered with blood. "You... you were an agent of God."
"So were you," Arthur said, placing the cup in Zack's hands. He held his fingers over Zack's as its power coursed through them both.
"Oh," Zack whispered. Tears filled his eyes as the wound in his chest closed and healed without a mark. "The Grail. It's real. The magic was real."
Kate arrived with the paramedics, who could find not even a scratch on Zack's body. "You always believed," she said, sobbing into his arms. "I thought you were a fool for believing, but you were the only one who saw the truth."
Zack stood up, the precious Grail cradled in his hands. He held it out to Arthur.
"I think you should keep it," the boy said.
Merlin's eyebrows rose in consternation. "Arthur—"
"This will b
e the beginning of my work," he said. He turned back to Zack. "You'll know what to do with it better than I would."
"But... but…" Zack looked at the object in his hands. "The Grail... "
Arthur closed Zack's hands around it. "Be strong," he said softly, repeating Beatrice's words to him. "Do good. Bring honor to your soul."
"Honor... yes. Yes, I'll try. I promise you, I'll try."
Hal came up behind the boy. "I think we'd better get out of here," he said. Down the street, the reporters were scrambling to their feet, racing to get their equipment. At his signal, the knights mounted their motorcycles.
"Wait!" Taliesin loped over. "Where in blazes are you going?"
"Somewhere on Long Island," Hal said. "We've got to take these bikes back. They were sort of... borrowed."
Arthur slipped his hand in Beatrice's. "And then we've got to get Bea home." He smiled shyly at her. "Unless you'd like to stay with us."
She pressed her lips together. "Arthur, you're the best friend I've ever had. My whole life has changed since I've known you, and I'd love to ride with you and your friends..." She blinked away tears. "But I think Mr. Taliesin needs me," she whispered in his ear.
"The old man? He doesn't need anyone. He's a... well..."
"I know,” she said gently. “He's probably the only one of his kind alive. Can you imagine how lonely he must be?"
Arthur stared at the ground. "I never thought about that. I suppose I could stay—"
"You know you can't," she said. "But I can." She kissed his cheek. He blushed furiously. "I'll miss you, Arthur."
"You'll see me again."
"Yes, I'm sure I will." She turned to Taliesin with a happy sigh. "It's settled, then. I'll stay with the old man."
"Old man?" Taliesin repeated, bristling. "Allow me to inform you, Beatrice—"
"I'm sorry. I meant elderly. That sounds more polite, don't you think? Oh, we'll have lots of adventures together!"
"We'll have nothing of the sort. Hal, tell this person—"
"I'll make cookies for you and see that you don't forget things, and you can teach me how to walk through fences, the way you did when we first came to New York. Do you suppose if I concentrated very hard, I could learn to walk through rock?"
"I'll take her back to England," Taliesin said, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Immediately."
Arthur smiled. "Would you do one more thing for me?"
"Of course, Majesty."
"Take the sword."
"The sword?" Taliesin asked incredulously. "But—"
"Please. I'm only thirteen years old. Which is why I'm asking you to take Excalibur back where it belongs." Arthur placed the sword flat across his forearm and offered it to Taliesin.
"I should have known it couldn't be destroyed," the old man said, accepting it.
Hal shouted over the din of the revving motorcycles. “Maybe not, but the cops’ll grab it if you let them.” He saluted the old men, then motioned for Arthur to climb on the Harley behind him. “Let’s go, kid,” he said.
Half a block away, the news vans were rolling through the tangle of emergency vehicles. Alongside them ran a flock of reporters, their microphones already extended.
Beatrice wriggled with excitement. "I think they want to interview us!" she exclaimed. "Goodness, where shall we begin? With Arthur, I suppose. Only how does one explain to Americans that they have a king? Particularly since he's still in the eighth grade... Oh, dear, are you feeling all right, Mr. Taliesin?"
The old man sucked in his breath and covered the girl's mouth with both hands. Then, just as the reporters reached them, the two of them faded like an old photograph and then disappeared into thin air.
"Did you get that?" one of the journalists screamed. "Is the tape rolling?"
"I told you, damn it, nothing's working. That wind shorted out all the electronics."
"What about them? Talk to the guys on the motorcycles. They must have seen it."
"The kid's there, too. Hey, you!"
Hal jumped on the gas. With a roar, the twelve knights tore down the street, leaving the press and the police and the fire fighters to sort things out for themselves.
"Where'd Taliesin go?" Arthur shouted over the noise of the engines when they stopped for a traffic light.
Hal gave him a telling look. "Wherever he wants."
The boy grinned. The old man would find them in his own time. Meanwhile, he and Hal would have their hands full looking after the knights.
They were such good men, Arthur thought. Kay, Gawain, Bedwyr sitting tall in the saddle of his mount, Lugh with his spiked helmet, Fairhands the standard bearer, who had tied a red-and-white neckerchief he'd found along the side of the road to the sissy pole behind his seat, Tristan, Agravaine, Dry Lips, crafty Curoi MacDaire... Good men, valiant and true, the Companions of the Round Table at last restored to their former glory.
But it was Launcelot he had missed the most. Launcelot, who had thrown away his life after leaving Camelot because he had not been able to bear the shame of having abandoned his King. Arthur had deserved to lose him, of course—even then, the King had understood that with perfect clarity—but Launcelot had never forgiven himself. He had waited through sixteen centuries to atone for what he perceived to have been a great sin.
Now, at last, he would have his chance. He would stay with Arthur to the end of his days, and they would both be better for it.
When the light changed, he nodded to Launcelot to take the lead. The knight obeyed, snaking through the crush of traffic and speeding past the other knights to turn onto the big avenue leading north, out of the city. North, toward forests and vineyards and the wild sea, where a man could find all manner of marvels.
The motorcycles raced into the wind. It was all good country out there.
Epilogue
Merlin sat beside the stone in the thicket. He was worn out. It had taken some very tricky magic to get Excalibur into the boulder. People always assumed such things were easy for a wizard, but they weren’t, he thought crankily. Magic was damned hard.
He laughed out loud. People assumed! Why, it was just like the old days, when everyone he encountered feared that he would turn them into toads. Since the incident in New York, he had become quite famous. His picture—hideously unflattering, unfortunately, as it showed him lying unconscious on Arthur's lap, with the knights on their knees around them—had appeared in nearly every magazine and newspaper in print. Evidently it was the only photograph available, as most of the photographers' equipment had been destroyed during the windstorm.
Pundits on the subject of wizardry, and there were apparently a number of them, wrote all manner of opinions about his spectacular disappearance, ranging from outraged cries of fakery to treacly tracts of adoration.
But that was nothing compared with what they were saying about Arthur. His speech about the future of the world had gone viral on the Internet. And no one could forget the sight of the boy handing over the great sword—a sword that had seemed to appear out of nowhere after the black cloud and the madman who created it disappeared—to Taliesin.
A few had even guessed Excalibur's location. That was why it had taken Merlin so long to get around to bringing it back. For weeks after Arthur's dazzling introduction to the world through television, fanatics of all stripes had come snooping around Cadbury Tor—and every other place that claimed to be the site of Camelot, if what he read was true—looking for the sword in the stone. Taliesin wondered what these silly people would do if they found it. Would they bring tanks and demolition balls to try to break it up again? Or did they believe that somehow one of them would actually manage to pull it out, to take Arthur's place?
Human beings, he decided, were quite ridiculous.
It took the fools a long time to go back to their own business. One particularly persistent woman came every day for several months, much of the time encumbered by plaster casts on her limbs. Merlin was beginning to think she would pitch a tent on the Tor and take up permane
nt residence with an intravenous drip to sustain her, but at last even she decided to look elsewhere for her heart's desire.
Finally, after nearly a year, the wizard was able to bury Excalibur firmly and seamlessly inside a solid granite boulder that was taller and wider than most men. Then he placed some other good-sized rocks around it and covered the whole business with an acre of brush and thorn.
Soon the curious would forget entirely about the sword, and perhaps about the boy-king in whose hands it had magically appeared. Sensational though the events of that midsummer night in New York City had been, they paled beside the lurid artifice that made up the daily fare of modern man. These were not the Middle Ages. People nowadays were accustomed to the bizarre. Every supermarket carried a variety of chronicles detailing encounters with alien beings and sightings of popular musicians ostensibly risen from the dead.
Arthur's work would not be easy.
But it had begun. Zack married Kate, and together they had scraped together enough money for a new Center. The facility, located on ninety acres of rambling grassland in upstate New York, had already become a mecca of healing and spiritual renewal for people of all religions from all over the world.
When Taliesin last spoke with Zack, more than five thousand people were coming each day to drink the curative water from a spring beside the Center's main building. Wisely, Zack had encased the cup in concrete and then submerged it at the deepest part of the spring, beneath the building itself, so that no one—not even himself—would be tempted to use it for his own purposes. The water was available to all without charge. For this alone, Taliesin had come to regard Zack as even more of a rarity than either himself or Arthur.
"They'll learn," Zack had said. "It'll just take people a while to accept the idea that not everyone wants to cheat them or hurt them."
"There are still some nasty sorts around," the old man had suggested.
"Oh, I know that," Zack said, laughing. "But I'll take my chances."
Yes, he would. Arthur had chosen wisely.
In keeping with the all-encompassing nature of his enterprise, Zack had not insisted on calling his new creation the Center for Cosmic Consciousness. Instead, it was named the Rasheesh Shanipati Center, for the brilliant physician whose groundbreaking work on the continued existence of the soul after death was changing mankind's entire concept of existence.
The Broken Sword Page 38