“Musta had enough of the Flames on his turf and decided to fight back,” said Gal. A finger of white light reached out from the Incendi line, and one of Big Billy’s men collapsed to the stage.
“The Incendi are too many,” said Lance, wishing he was on that stage fighting alongside the little man from Isle. “It is a battle he cannot win.”
Merl turned away from the carnage on the screen. “And when he falls, the Archive will be lost. Morgan promised a Lighting, and she’s going to deliver. But it won’t stop there. When she finds out the final page has been taken, her vengeance will be swift and terrible.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Arti.
“The only thing we can do,” replied Merl. “We get away while there’s still time, and we keep running—for the rest of our lives.”
The voice on the vidlink was triumphant: “Your beloved CEO is safe and sound, praise the Corporation, and a search of the area is underway for any other insurgents involved in this evening’s attack. Don’t miss a moment as the spectacle unfolds. A picture is worth a thousand words. Show, don’t tell. You are the Corporation!”
CHAPTER 28
“Gwen is still up there,” said Lance. “I must go back for her.”
“She went to look for my parents,” added Arti. “I’m going with him.”
“And wherever Arti goes, I go,” said Gal. “That’s the deal.”
Merl blew out a long breath, watching the action streaming across the vidlink screen. The violent stand-off was still underway on the hilltop stage. A dozen men with lighters stood shoulder to shoulder, fighting off wave after wave of armed troopers. Another of the defenders fell, and the protective ring around the Archive weakened. More Incendi were arriving, and lines of them were forming on the crest of the hill.
Merl knew this might be their only chance to get away, their best hope of evading capture. It was a big world, and they could hide from Morgan Fay and her henchman. But how could he argue with such bravery, such honor? The youngsters had sworn an oath with Gwen and would not abandon her or those she risked her life to save.
Neither would he.
“Then let’s go get her,” he said, slamming his gloved hand down on the severed page resting atop the Grail Tome, waiting for them to join him in the oath.
Gal was first to reach across the round table, adding her splinted fingers to his. This time Merl approved, smiling at the intrepid twelve-year-old. “The book is our shield,” he said, including her in the pledge.
Lance placed his hand gently atop Gal’s. “The pen is our sword.”
As before, Arti added her hand last, but this time there was no reluctance, no doubt.
“The ink is our blood.”
The moment Arti spoke the words, a sphere of amber light enveloped their stacked hands, binding them to the torn page and the damaged tome beneath it. The glowing ball’s hold was so strong that it locked their arms together making it impossible to pull away. At the same time, Arti noticed a sliver of light peeking out of the wooden box containing Excalibri. As suddenly as it began, the golden aura collapsed, releasing them.
“What was that?” asked Lance, rubbing his tingling fingers.
“I have no idea,” said Merl, dumbfounded. He was studying his own hand, “It was some form of energy.”
“It was like before,” said Arti, “when I wrote the names on the table. The light, I mean. The pen was glowing, too. I think the oath triggered it.”
While Arti was offering her theory, Gal was squinting down at where their hands had been, at the sheet of paper she had torn from the back of Morgan Fay’s book. “Holy crap!” she yelled. “Look!”
It was nothing short of a miracle. The page was no longer separate from the Grail Tome below it. It was connected to the charred book’s binding, perfectly melded as if they had always been together.
“Amazing,” said Merl, gently tugging at its edge. “It’s joined. It’s actually joined.” He rubbed a gloved finger along the newly formed seam, mumbling to himself.
Then, as if a pail of cold water had been thrown on him, the old librarian frantically waved for Lance to rise, scrambling out of the booth behind him. He looked fretfully at the vidlink still showing the action on the castle grounds. The coverage was now being broadcast in split screen. On one side, another of Big Billy’s men collapsed on the stage in front of the Archive’s pyre. On the other, illuminated by the powerful spotlights aimed down from the castle walls, an overhead shot showed Incendi troopers advancing down the hill toward the chain link fence and the forest of naked trees beyond it. The chomping sound of a helicopter could be heard in the distance.
“Change of plans,” barked Merl. “The tome has given us a chance to end this—here and now. You must wield Excalibri, Arti, before the Incendi get to us. The final page,” he nodded at the book in front of her, “is waiting.”
“But I still don’t know what to write,” protested Arti, eyes darting from Merl to the vidlink to the newly restored page.
“Forged together in truth, the pen and the will are one,” said Merl. “I don’t know what that ‘truth’ is, but for some reason the book chose you. It’s time to find out why.”
Lance shrugged off his leather jacket, ignoring the stab of pain in his shoulder. “I’ll do everything I can to stop them, Arti. To give you time.” Before following Merl outside, he added, “Do this for your family. For Gwen.”
Arti’s heart was racing, and her mouth was dry. She reached for the restored page, gently turning it over, relieved that the magical bond held. Lifting Excalibri, Arti assumed the writing position, gingerly flipping back the well’s ornate lid. Dipping the pen in the ink, she held it over the sphere, her hand shaking.
Her eyes were drawn back to the vidlink on the counter. Flashing across its screen was a shot of two vehicles parked in a forest clearing. As she watched the camera pan across the scene, light streamed in through the motorhome’s windows, and the buzzing sound of the helicopter grew louder. “An insurgent camp has been located,” said the voice on the vidlink. “The Incendi forces are closing in on it…”
“That’s us!” shouted Gal. She leaned over the table and peered up through the window across from them, searching for the chopper.
The picture switched again, tracking three people at the bottom of the grassy slope running toward the forest. One of them fell and was helped up by the other two. “There are suspects fleeing the castle grounds,” announced the voice. “They won’t get far.” The camera zoomed in on them, capturing their desperate attempt to escape.
Arti almost fell off the bench. “Mom and Dad!” she cried. “And Gwen!”
The shot widened, revealing a tall trooper in pursuit. He moved with an uneven gait, as if laboring to stay on his feet. Even so, he was gaining on them.
“Mordred!” hissed Gal. “He ain’t dead!” She looked down at the tome’s blank page and pleaded with Arti, “You gotta hurry up and write it before he catches them!”
Fighting a tide of panic, Arti clenched her jaw, gripping Excalibri tight in her fist, trying to make it come to life, knowing she held the fate of her family and friends in her hand. Mordred and the Incendi were coming, every second counted; if she couldn’t do her part now, they were doomed. She begged the pen to obey, but it ignored her plea.
Arti glowered at Excalibri, tortured by its refusal to answer her. “Why won’t you work?” she yelled. “You knew Gal would bring me the page, so let me write it!”
The thought rose like an island out of a sea of despair.
Arti glanced at the first cryptic words Excalibri had written on the table: Siegea Perilisi. The pen had been right about Gal; it knew she would be the one to steal the page from Morgan Fay. So it had to be right about the rest of them, reasoned Arti; the names the pen had given all the Book Knights must be true. Even mine, she thought, realizing how blessed she had been to share a place at the round table with such remarkable people. People who really cared about her. True friends.
F
orged together in truth, the pen and the will are one.
“The pen’s been trying to tell me all along what I want the future to be. What my will is.” Arti could barely contain her excitement. “You,” she said, getting a bewildered look from Gal. “Us. The Book Knights. We’re the future I want.”
Excalibri came to life in her hand, a warm glow emanating from its poles—the tiny pommel and ink-covered tip—and from the ends of the miniature guard resting across Arti’s closed fist. It was the same light that had filled the motorhome when it wrote the names on the table, the same energy that just a short time ago transplanted the final page to the damaged Grail Tome.
Arti lowered Excalibri to the page, concentrating on each name the pen had inscribed on the round table, starting with the one across from her: Merlini Sagia.
She closed her eyes thinking about how much the old librarian cherished books and knowledge, how he had devoted his life to protecting the written word, the many years he had searched for Arti in the hope of stopping Morgan Fay’s madness.
It worked.
Excalibri glowed brightly in her hand and started to travel across the page, leaving an inky trail in its wake. The Old Ferencian script curled and flowed as it transcribed Arti’s will in perfectly formed letters, translating the message in her mind.
There will be wisdom, those who will not forget the past. They will treasure and share knowledge for the better of all.
Gal didn’t know what the words meant, but she sat silently in her place at the table, watching intently as Arti wrote them, making sure not to distract her.
Arti focused on the next name, Lancea Coraggia, and the pen continued on its path.
There will be courage, those who will protect the weak. They will fight only when they must, and always with honor.
Gweneath Justea.
There will be justice, those who refuse to give in to prejudice and fear. They will seek what is right at all costs.
Siegea Perilisi.
There will be those who answer the call when all hope is lost, honest and faithful friends, loyal to the end.
Artia Bendi.
With the fealty of others will come freedom, friendship, and love, to be cherished forever.
Arti paused, holding the pen over a narrow ribbon of white at the bottom of the page. She knew she wasn’t done, that there was still one thing left to say. She thought about Morgan Fay and the Corporation, Mordred and his Incendi. History could not be allowed to repeat itself—not under her watch. She smiled as Excalibri agreed, glowing brightly in her hand, and she lowered its point gently to the page.
And shared by all, the power of words shall vanquish its enemies.
At the instant Arti finished the sentence and lifted Excalibri from the paper, everything went quiet, and the light streaming in through the motorhome’s window went off, as if someone hit a switch.
“Did…you do that?” asked Gal.
“I’m not sure,” said Arti, stunned by the sudden change. She placed Excalibri back in its case, setting it down hastily beside the ink well. In that moment of looking away, the words she’d just written on the Grail Tome’s final page vanished.
“Everything I wrote is gone!” Arti gasped, running her fingers across the page. “It’s all gone!” She rotated the book so Gal could see, then started flipping back through its broad pages. “The whole chapter’s blank. All of it.”
Gal leaned over the tome and with her good eye noticed a tiny fragment of ink materializing at the top of The History’s first page. “It’s startin’ over,” she said, pointing a splinted finger at the budding mark. “It musta worked. It’s back at the beginnin’.”
“I think you’re right,” whispered Arti. She looked at the counter where the vidlink had been sitting. Like the words in The History, the device was gone.
Gal let loose a blissful hoot and was rewarded with a sharp twinge of pain in her head. Arti wasn’t ready to join the celebration. Not yet. A minute ago her parents and Gwen had been running for their lives from Mordred. She prayed she’d written the page in time to save them.
Outside, Merl and Lance noted the sudden absence of noise and light around them, and the abrupt disappearance of the helicopter overhead. They nearly collapsed with relief, knowing it could only mean one thing.
“She did it!” said Lance.
“Yes,” agreed Merl, with a deep sigh of relief. “The final page has been written.”
A branch cracked, and Merl aimed his flashlight into the gloom. A figure emerged from the trees, pushing away a sapling’s drooping limb, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the bright beam.
The old librarian’s voice caught in his throat. “Gwen? Is that you?”
“Yes,” she replied, out of breath. “Lance? Arti? Did they make it back?”
“We made it,” said Lance, running to meet her. “Are you alright?”
Gwen nodded, still panting. “Mordred isn’t dead. A minute ago, he was right behind us. But then it got dark and quiet, and he was…gone. Just…gone.” She shook her head, looking for an explanation. “How’s that possible?”
Whatever method of deception Mordred had used to mask his death in the tower, Lance made it clear he wasn’t worried, that this time he was certain the man in black wasn’t coming back.
“We won’t see the Incendi again,” he explained, looking gleefully at the motorhome’s window. “Gal brought Arti the page. She just finished writing it.”
Gwen’s elation bubbled out in a slew of questions. “But how did she…and where was the…and when did it—”
“All in good time,” said Merl, interrupting her. “You said ‘us’.” He looked past Gwen at the trees. “Is someone with you?”
The door to the motorhome opened, and the weak light from within spilled out into the clearing. Arti and Gal had rejoiced when they’d heard Gwen’s voice and realized she was okay. As Arti helped Gal down the steps and steadied her against the side of the vehicle, she awaited the answer to Merl’s question.
“Yes,” said Gwen, and the smile she offered Arti made her spirit soar. “There’s a couple of people real eager to see you.”
Gwen turned back to the trees, and two forms emerged from the shadows behind her, holding on to one another as they approached. Though she’d been steadying Gal, it was Arti who staggered when she saw the faces of her mother and father enter the light. Her legs suddenly felt heavy, and she was worried she was going to faint.
“Arti!” they cried, rushing to embrace their daughter.
“We thought we lost you,” said her mother, weeping. Joy colored her thin face as she madly hugged and kissed Arti’s forehead and cheeks.
Arti’s father wrapped his arms around both of them, eyes tightly clenched with emotion. He’d aged a great deal in two months, not knowing if his family would ever be together again. “But you came for us,” he said. “Gwen told us what you did. We’re so proud of you.”
“I had help,” said Arti, finding her voice, happily imprisoned in her parents’ arms. “That’s Merl,” she nodded. “He’s a librarian, and he knows magic. And that’s Lance. He’s a real Knight of Maren from Ference.” Arti’s parents smiled appreciatively at each of them, knowing the debt that was owed could not be paid.
“You’ve already met Gwen,” said Arti. The look she gave the beautiful young woman said more than her words: “She’s…amazing.”
“And you must be Gal,” said Arti’s mother, smiling warmly at the girl standing quietly by herself. “Gwen told us you’re Arti’s best friend.”
Gal leaned bashfully against the wall of the motorhome. She tilted back her lucky cap to answer, but Arti beat her to it.
“She’s not my best friend.” Gal frowned at the denial, a lump forming in her throat. A smiled curled Arti’s lips. “She’s a whole lot more than that. She’s family.”
Gal gritted her teeth to keep from crying. It might have worked if Arti’s father hadn’t knelt in front of her, gently taking her hand in his. “I always
wanted another daughter,” he said.
Arti reached for the only words that could capture the power of this moment, the only ending that seemed right.
“And they lived happily ever after.”
EPILOGUE
Far away from Arti Penderhagen’s triumph in Main, a young man weaved his way through a forest on the Island of Maren, cradling a book in one arm, holding a lamp with the other. The night sky draped the naked tree tops like a black shroud, and he shivered in the cold damp of the Ferencian fall. Covered with wet leaves, the old stone path was difficult to follow, but his eagerness to complete his task and return to a heaping pot of stew in the warm castle kitchen kept his feet moving.
As a junior member of the Order of Librarians, Tomas was duty-bound to honor his elder’s wishes, but his devotion to Vivian de Lac went far beyond the obligations of rank. She had been his teacher, his mentor, the one who had lifted him from the poverty of ignorance, offering him a life rich with knowledge. A life with a future.
And though books were Tomas’s passion, he felt uneasy carrying this one, so ominous was its reputation. According to the library records, it hadn’t been opened for centuries. When he’d asked Vivian why, her answer was both frank and frightening: “To keep what’s inside from getting out.”
The tome’s appearance and title only added to its malevolent reputation. Vertical bars were embossed on its black vellum cover, and a thick leather strap sewn into its back wrapped around the rough-edged pages, secured by a sturdy silver lock fastened to the book’s face. The yellow letters above the lock had faded over the centuries, but he could still make out the Old Ferencian script: Guardea di Almi. The Souls’ Keep.
Where the path ended at the base of a granite escarpment, he located an iron gate pressed against the rock face and hidden by a thick curtain of leafless vines. Setting the lamp and book down, he cleared away enough of the woody shoots to access the rusty padlock that kept the gate closed. Removing a pitted key from his pocket, he inserted it in the device and turned it, relieved to see the old lock’s shackle release. Ancient hinges moaned as Tomas wrenched the gate open, but it only swung a short distance before getting snagged on the thick undergrowth. Retrieving the lamp and tome, he slipped through the narrow gap.
The Book Knights Page 22