by C. A. Gray
Isdemus nodded again. “Very good,” he said. “As long as Excalibur remains intact, it prevents the Shadow Lord from returning to the world of men. What you may not know, however, is that according to the same prophecy that predicted Arthur’s ascent, one day the sword will be found and broken. Then the Shadow Lord will return, more powerful than ever before. The only one who will be able to stop him will be one of King Arthur’s descendants, known as the Child of the Prophecy.” His eyes bored into Peter’s blue-green ones, with the exact same flecks of gold as those in the painting.
Peter began to shake his head very slowly, to clear it. He gestured at the painting and said, “That doesn’t prove anything.”
Isdemus leaned on the top of his staff and considered this for a moment. He decided to try a different approach. “If I understand what happened correctly, tonight you performed what many would call a miracle, saving your own life and those of your friends as well. You broke the rules, Peter.”
“Excuse me?” Peter blustered. “What rules?”
“The rules of the universe.” Isdemus regarded him thoughtfully, and sighed. “I’m sorry that there is no more straightforward way to have this conversation. I had honestly hoped that having heard the Legends all your life might prepare you, but it seems we shall still have to do this the hard way…”
Peter swallowed. He had already guessed this, but he still trembled as he asked, “So… so you’re saying that was your idea? Telling me the Legends all my life?”
“I was the one who instructed Bruce to tell them to you from your infancy, yes. Even if you believed them to be fairy tales, I hoped that their familiarity might ease the transition when you finally learned the truth.”
“So my dad is one of you, then,” Peter repeated numbly. “He’s a Watcher.”
Isdemus seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he admitted, “Yes, Bruce is a Watcher.” Before Peter could ask him more he pursed his lips and swept out of the gallery, leading the way back to the Great Hall. Peter followed mutely behind him, his mind’s eye still filled with the image of the young king.
When they reentered the Hall, Isdemus sat down and idly plucked two thick slices of bread from a platter and piled juicy slices of roast beef on top of them. Peter watched him, dimly aware that even though he didn’t feel like eating, his stomach told him that he was, in fact, ravenous.
As if reading his thoughts, Isdemus gestured to the platter and said, “Please,” with a small smile of invitation. Peter set about making his own sandwich automatically as his stomach growled, threatening to digest itself.
Isdemus chased the bite of sandwich with a gulp of cocoa and continued, “So, where were we? I believe we were discussing the rules of the universe. Along with the tales of your heritage, Bruce has done his best to instruct you regarding those rules, or at least as much as you could absorb.”
“You mean like the physical laws?” asked Peter weakly.
“Yes, that is what I mean. Those are the rules that you broke tonight: at least two and possibly three that I can think of. You broke the laws of gravity and entropy at least, and you might have altered time as well. I haven’t quite worked that one out yet.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Peter firmly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You can’t break the laws of gravity or entropy. They’re laws.”
“Ah. I see,” said Isdemus, smiling at him as a wizened grandfather might at an upstart young child.
“There has to be a scientific explanation for what happened tonight,” Peter insisted.
“There is. Would you like to hear it?”
Peter looked at him doubtfully, but nodded.
“Think of the universe as the surface of a pond, or... what are those odd little nets that kids jump on called again? The word escapes me.”
Peter stared at him blankly. “Trampolines?”
“Yes, yes, trampolines. Now, the trampoline cannot move itself, correct? The trampoline can only move if acted on by an outside force. But, let us suppose that somehow the trampoline did move. Anything sitting on top of the trampoline, not inside the fabric itself – in this case, the nimbi and the penumbra – would not only feel the vibrations, but could follow them to their origin, pinpointing the exact location of the jumper.”
“I do know a lot about String Theory, my dad tells me about his research every night,” said Peter. “That’s what you’re talking about, right?”
“Yes. But I am not quite as brilliant as you are, so you will have to indulge my metaphors,” said Isdemus. Peter couldn’t decide whether he was being condescending or not. “Now, until tonight, the trampoline has not moved since the dawn of time. So naturally, anyone sitting on top of the trampoline would be very curious to find out what made them bounce.”
Peter swallowed a bite of his sandwich without really tasting it. “So you’re saying that entire army of them showed up just because they were curious?”
“Not entirely, Peter. They have been waiting for you – both the penumbra and their Master. The Shadow Lord.”
Peter stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words. Then he shook his head in disbelief. “Waiting for me.”
Isdemus nodded patiently. “The Watchers are not the only ones who have been waiting for your birth all these years, Peter. But, we were at a great advantage, because in King Arthur’s day, the Shadow Lord did not know the second half of the prophecy. As you know, Arthur and his firstborn son Mordred struck one another dead at the Battle of Salisbury Plain, and from then on, the Shadow Lord believed that the line of the King was ended. They did not know that Arthur had another son. Thus, the Shadow Lord, and all the penumbra with him, believed that they had stopped you from ever being born.”
“Until tonight,” Peter said flatly. He felt very strange.
“Until tonight,” Isdemus confirmed.
There was the sound of a ticking of a clock somewhere behind them. Peter wondered that he hadn’t heard it before; it seemed so loud now. The fire had burned down to embers behind Isdemus, and he could tell from the columns of light filtering through the windows that the moon was high in the sky outside.
The buzz of white noise grew louder in Peter’s mind, and images came to him in flashes. He saw the silver Land Rover hanging over the windshield, the flashes of death in the images of the rainbow, and Kane’s contemptuous expression when he had first asked who he was. He saw the blond king in a homely robe, barely older than himself, looking back at him from the canvas with his own eyes, like a reflection in a mirror.
“Was he trying to kill us?” Peter said at last. “Kane?”
It took a moment for Isdemus to register the question. “I don’t know what he was trying to do,” he admitted at last, suddenly sounding very old and very tired. “I don’t believe he meant to kill you, though. He’s not as bad as all that. No, if I had to guess his motive, I think he was trying to prove that you are not the Child of the Prophecy after all.”
Peter started. “Is that in question, then?” he asked hopefully.
“Kane doubts it,” said Isdemus. His tone was evasive, and Peter caught it.
“But why does he doubt it?” Peter persisted. “He must have a reason!”
Isdemus looked away with a pained expression. Then he said, “I think that you have already had far too much for one day. I had better send for Gerald to take you to your room, and we can continue this tomorrow, once you have had some sleep.”
Peter ignored him. “Tell me the prophecy,” he demanded. “My dad never told me what it says…”
“Because I asked him not to,” said Isdemus firmly, and held up a hand. “You were too young to hear of such things. Now, I must ask you to trust me. You need rest – I doubt even you know how badly.”
Peter could see that there was no point in arguing. Suddenly Isdemus leaned forward and poured the last cup of the chamomile tea, though the liquid no longer steamed. He pushed the saucer towards Peter. After a moment’s hesitation, Peter took the sauce
r and slurped theatrically, hoping it sounded like he was actually swallowing. He dared not look at Isdemus’s face to see whether he noticed.
When he stood and turned around, Gerald was already in the doorway.
“Gerald, would you mind…?” Isdemus said.
Gerald bowed formally in acknowledgment. “Right this way, sir,” he said to Peter, and turned very precisely to lead Peter away.
“See you in the morning, Peter. Go and get your hundred and forty winks.”
Peter looked up sharply, and was surprised to see a hint of amusement in Isdemus’s eyes. His dad used that exact phrase before putting him to bed every night until he was about seven or eight. “If forty winks means a short sleep,” Bruce had explained, “then a hundred and forty ought to last the night!” Even now, he occasionally said it when they both happened to be in the same room at bed time.
Did even that come from Isdemus? Peter wondered with a pang.
Peter was grateful that Gerald walked swiftly and spoke little. They were off the main hallway now, climbing a winding spiral staircase, which seemed to have many adjacent, similar halls leading off it at each level. Here and there he saw other servants, and people he assumed must be other Watchers stopped to stare as they passed by. Other than a curt nod of his head, Gerald did not speak to any of them.
“Your friends are sleeping on the second floor,” Gerald said, pointing at the landing as they passed. “Servant’s quarters are in the basement. Isdemus’s chamber and office are adjacent, on the third floor. Here is the key to your room,” he said when they arrived, and handed Peter what looked like a brass skeleton key. “You should find everything laid out for you. The fire specialist wakes at 5 am to heat the water for the bath, so if you want to wash before that, I’m afraid it will be cold. You will find a dumbwaiter in the closet near the bed, and you can use it to alert me, should you discover anything you lack.”
“I’m sure it will be perfect,” said Peter, and faked a large yawn. “Thank you.”
Gerald arched one eyebrow at Peter, but he bowed again, and said, “Pleasant sleep, sir.”
“Good night, Gerald.”
Gerald disappeared around the corner. Peter tried his key in the door, stepped inside, and counted to ten. Then he pocketed the key and crept back out into the hallway.
Chapter 9
As soon as Peter turned around, he jumped and let out a cry.
“Lily!”
“Sorry!” she whispered quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was about to knock.”
When the surprise wore off, Peter said, “I didn’t think you’d really go to sleep without a fight. Have you been exploring all this time? What have you found out so far?”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t exploring, I was eavesdropping. There’s this spot in the servants’ quarters right next to the Great Hall where I could hear every word you said!”
Peter took a moment to let that sink in. When it did, he felt a flush of anger, and demanded, “You were spying on us?” He wasn’t sure why the idea bothered him so much. He couldn’t think of anything they’d said that he specifically wouldn’t have wanted her to know. But even though he and Isdemus had just met, their conversation had been very personal. They had discussed things Peter hadn’t talked about since he was a child. “You had no right –”
“Ex-cuse me?” Lily balked. “I had every right! I was almost killed twice tonight! Then, I was saved once by some kind of miracle that nobody bothered to explain, and subsequently attacked by a load of the very specters that everybody has been telling me don’t exist all my life! For the first time, I have tangible proof that I’m not crazy, and he thinks he can just send me to bed with no explanations?” Her eyes filled with angry tears and she wiped them away furiously before folding her arms over her chest. “You don’t know what it’s been like all these years, seeing things that are invisible to everybody else. I knew I wasn’t crazy, I knew it, but the rest of the world thought I was, and after a while even I started to wonder, you know? Then, tonight all of a sudden, there they were, completely solid and obvious to everybody. Then I find out there’s this place –” she gestured around her, “where apparently the Watchers have known about them all along, and I’m… furious they didn’t somehow find me and tell me and… and I’m so relieved I can hardly stand it, but at the same time it’s so horrible, I shouldn’t be relieved… and… and you have no idea what that’s like, so don’t you dare lecture me!” By now she was sobbing violently and trying to stop.
“Okay, okay!” Peter held up his hands in alarm. “I’m sorry! You’re right, he shouldn’t have sent you away. Will you just… calm down, please?”
Through her tears, Lily managed to roll her eyes and grunt. “You’re such a boy.”
“Well, it’s not like I ever had any sisters. I don’t know how to deal with – that!” he said, gesturing at her tear-stained face with a circular motion.
“I guess you’ve never had any girlfriends either.” She sighed roughly and stared down the hall to avoid looking at him, still trying to stop the flow of tears.
He scowled at her. “You don’t have to sound so certain about it.”
After a pause, Lily sniffed defiantly, “So where were you going, anyway?”
“I just wanted to figure out where we are,” said Peter, relieved to change the subject. “Kane said that the Grandfather Tree was a portal, which I can only assume is the same thing as a wormhole… never mind how that’s possible,” he added to himself under his breath. “We could be anywhere – in an alternate universe, for all we know.”
“An alternate universe? That’s ridiculous,” Lily scoffed, wiping her red nose.
“Right, because everything else that’s happened tonight has been so normal!” Peter retorted.
“Well, even if we are in an alternate universe, we’re still in England, at least.”
“How do you know?”
“Their accents sound Norfolk to me.”
Peter pursed his lips and thought about this. “Huh, good point,” he conceded. “So why were you sneaking around then, if you weren’t trying to figure out where we are?”
“I was coming to ask you something. You and Isdemus mentioned someone called the Shadow Lord. Who is he?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t really know much about him.”
“But you know more about him than I do,” she insisted. “Is he the leader of the specters or something?”
“The penumbra,” Peter corrected, looking over her shoulder and down the hallway distractedly. He ached to go exploring.
“Whatever,” she said, and brushed past Peter into his chamber. Peter stood frozen in the hallway for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he could just leave her there. At last he reluctantly followed her, since the alternative would risk a reprise of her ire.
She plopped down into a fat velvet armchair with wooden legs, and blinked up at him expectantly.
“Don’t you want to explore the castle?” Peter asked hopefully.
“Of course, but first I want to have some context to understand what I’m seeing.”
Peter sighed and felt a twinge of annoyance. Casting one more reluctant glance down the hallway, Peter resigned himself to the velvet chair opposite her. “Yes,” he said. “The Shadow Lord is the leader of the penumbra.”
“Is he one of them, then?”
“I… don’t know, actually,” Peter admitted, suddenly perplexed. “I don’t think so. I always had the impression that he was more powerful somehow, but I honestly never bothered to ask much about him. I just knew he was the Bad Guy, and when I was seven, that was all I really cared about.”
“Tell me what you do know then,” said Lily. “I mean the whole story, the way your dad told it to you. From the beginning!”
“I can’t tell it to you from the beginning, that’d take all night. There’s lots of superfluous bits about adventures of the Knights of the Round Table anyway –”
“Well, you can leave out the s
uperfluous bits then, and just tell me the highlights,” Lily said impatiently.
Peter paused and thought for a moment. It had been seven years since he heard the story, but up until then he had heard it almost every single night from his earliest memories. For many years afterwards, it haunted his dreams, even when he refused to think of it during his waking hours. He had little doubt that he could still recite the legends almost verbatim.
He closed his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Here goes.
“London was the original Roman settlement in 470 AD, but the Huns and Visigoths were attacking the Roman Empire, so Rome called their soldiers back home to fight. Some of them didn’t leave but married the native Celts instead, and after that they called themselves Britons.
“This Germanic group called the Saxons moved to Briton to get away from the Huns and Visigoths too, and the Saxons were constantly attacking the Britons. So, the Britons banded together for protection and picked a guy named Uther as their general. He was a great commander but he had a reputation for heavy drinking and… uh… philandering –”
“You mean he slept around,” said Lily.
“Yes, Lily, that’s what philandering means,” said Peter, annoyed with himself for blushing.
“I know, but it sounds so academic. Continue.”
“Anyway, after one battle, Uther saw this comet shaped like a dragon, and so he started calling himself ‘Pendragon,’ which means ‘son of a dragon –’”
“Ooh!” Lily interrupted. “That’s Arthur’s surname!”
“Yes, well spotted,” said Peter dryly. “Uther fell in love with this woman Igraine, who was already married to the Duke of Cornwall with a daughter named Morgan.”
“Morgan is bad,” Lily put in slowly, as if trying to remember.
“Yeah, but she comes in later. Anyway, Uther sieged Cornwall so he could seduce Igraine, and she got pregnant. She was humiliated that the kid wasn’t her husband’s, so she went into hiding until she gave birth. I guess her husband didn’t suspect anything because his army was busy fighting against Uther’s army that whole time. Anyway, Igraine sent the baby away. Right after that, Uther killed her husband in battle and married her. Then he sent Morgan to be raised by relatives in Cornwall, and he took Igraine to Northumbria and made her his queen.”