“I swear it, my lord. If we survive this day.”
“You will survive, Gawain. You are a mighty man with a good heart. You will survive.”
“Merlin,” Arthur called out, but then he coughed up blood from the effort. “This body is failing. Do you have any last words for me, before I go?”
Merlin suddenly sat up straight and looked around.
“‘This body,’” the wizard repeated. “What a fool I’ve been. ‘The once and future king,’ you are. Where is Galahad?” he yelled.
Galahad was, at that moment, fighting off three Saxon swordsmen who were trying to steal his horse.
“There is a bronze medallion in Galahad’s saddlebag,” the wizard said to Gawain. “Bring it to me quickly.”
Gawain ran off to find the object, and Merlin knelt again next to Arthur.
“I cannot save you in this world,” Merlin said. “Your body is broken beyond my skill to repair. But I know another world that desperately needs you, Arthur. A world where the same forces are in a pitched battle. I may be able to send you there.”
“But what of you?” Arthur asked. “Will you come with me?”
“I will send you in my place, Arthur, and you will live in the body I possess in that world.”
“I don’t know that world, Merlin. What will I do without my chief counselor?”
“You will rule, my king,” he said, and then turned as Gawain knelt down with the medallion. “This, Arthur. This is the purpose of my life. I know that now. I was a fool to try to change the past. But perhaps I can save the future.”
Arthur had closed his eyes, and Gawain thought that he was already gone.
“Arthur, can you hear me?” Merlin said, but the king didn’t respond.
“Well, there’s no time to waste. Keep these vermin off me another minute or two, Gawain, and perhaps we can save the king, and the future of mankind.”
Merlin set the medallion on Arthur’s forehead, pressed both hands on top of it, and then started to chant.
The battle raged around them. There were heavy losses on both sides, and news that both Arthur and Mordred had fallen quickly spread through the armies. Some men quit the field, while others fought on in a bloody rage. A few of Arthur’s knights continued to guard his body, while his other captains organized what men they could and fought the Saxons where they might.
When evening fell, the remains of both armies saw that there would be no victory that day, and they quit the field. But Arthur’s dead body was born away with great lamentation.
* * *
Paul Atubo awoke in a hospital room, so weak that he could barely move.
“Where am I?” he croaked through parched lips.
“You’re in hospital,” Ian replied. “You’ve been unconscious for more than a week. The police found you in that house, along with some woman. You were almost dead when they found you.”
“Marianne,” Paul croaked again.
“Don’t speak,” Ian said. “Here, drink just a sip of this.” He moved a small paper box of apple juice so that Paul could reach the straw with his lips.
“They found her just like they found you. You were both in some sort of coma. Marianne came out of it yesterday, but she was delirious. I heard her screams, Paul. She sounded like she’d gone mad. What happened in that house?”
“Horrible things,” Paul said, closing his eyes. “Unspeakable things. But I must go to her and see that she’s okay.”
“You’re doing nothing of the sort,” Ian said. “First, you’re too weak to move, and second, you’re not getting out of this bed until you make a proper confession. Father has been waiting for you to wake up. I’ll go get him in a minute. But first, I have to know. What were you doing there?”
Paul lay still with his eyes closed. Tears started to form in the corners of his eyes, and then to freely roll down his face.
“Okay, you don’t need to tell me,” Ian said. “I’ll send the priest. And Paul, don’t ever scare me like that again.”
* * *
“Professor Anthony,” a strong voice called at the front of the house. The fireman beat on the front door for several minutes while two police officers walked around the house to check the back yard and the other entrances.
The fireman kept calling and knocking until the officers returned to the front, then he pulled out a large crowbar. There was a thud as he rammed it into the crack between the door and the jam, and then a splintering sound as he forced the door open.
In a couple minutes they had searched every room.
“There’s no one here,” the fireman said, “but I’d swear someone had just been in that bed. It was still warm.”
THE END
* * *
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If you’re interested in other books by Greg Krehbiel, please visit http://crowhill-publishing.com
About the Author
Greg Krehbiel is a happily married father of five wonderful children. He’s had a distinguished career in professional publishing, including lengthy gigs in editorial, product development, IT and tech development, marketing, and audio and web conferencing. He has a degree in Geology and studied theology as preparation for ministry — then thought better of it. He’s a home brewer (beer, wine and mead), an occasional jogger, an avid writer, and enjoys camping and fishing. You can contact Greg directly at [email protected].
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