Avalon

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “My specialty is underwater mapping,” explained Claudia, “and from what I’ve seen so far, I think I can say with a high degree of certainty that Llyonesse was extensively populated at some time in the past, and we are in fact standing on a site of ancient habitation. Unfortunately, the most comprehensive patterning is still underwater at the present time. Until we can begin excavations, we cannot say precisely what we’re looking at.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Dr. Fuller, “we have good reason to be hopeful.” She bent down and retrieved a large wooden box from beneath the table. Handing the box to Nicholas, she reached inside. “One of the exploratory trenches turned up this fragment.”

  She brought out a slender, curved bit of reddish stone.

  “Incredible!” enthused Jenny. “May I?” She took the bit of pottery in her hands and turned it over reverently. “Hand turned — and look: there is still some decoration along the rim. Oh, this is wonderful.”

  “There is more where that came from,” announced Nicholas. “We found five more pieces just this morning. They are still in situ and we will be bringing them up shortly.”

  Jenny cradled the smooth fragment in the palm of her hand; being a potter herself, she could almost feel the way the clay had been worked by the hand that had shaped it long ago. It formed for her a strong connection with the past: she saw in her mind’s eye a large, low-sided bowl decorated with dolphins and fish. “Where did you say you found them?”

  “Just here.” Nicholas pointed at the model, indicating the cliff face roughly halfway down the sheer slope where Llyonesse met the sea. “We have to rappel down there, so it’s not easy work — but I can tell you it’s pretty darn exciting. I was working down there earlier today, and —”

  That clenched it for Jenny. “Could I see it, please?”

  “You mean take you there, Ma’am?” Nicholas hesitated and looked to his superior.

  “It is a fairly strenuous descent, as Dr. Wiles has indicated,” began Dr. Fuller.

  “I’ve done plenty of rock climbing,” Jenny assured them. “If you wouldn’t mind showing me, I’d love to see it.”

  “But of course, Your Majesty,” answered Dr. Fuller. “We’d be honored to show you — if you don’t mind getting dirty. It’s pretty muddy down there, and the surface is fairly rough.”

  James added his endorsement of Jenny’s climbing skills, and it was settled. The necessary gear was quickly assembled — a dry suit and inflatable life vest, climbing boots, and a bag of tools — and the royal party was conducted out across the compound and up the long, rising slope to the edge of the escarpment.

  “This is why we use harnesses,” Dr. Fuller explained as they approached the steeply angled slope. She introduced them to a bearded young man in a faded black tee shirt, identifying him as the excavation supervisor, who began explaining the system of winches and cables used for the dig.

  A number of iron bars had been driven into crevices in the rock to anchor a crude stanchion of scaffolding pipe; more scaffolding was erected in a configuration which projected out over the edge of the cliff like two great fishing poles — an image aided by the fact that positioned at the bottom of each pole was an electric winch with nylon climbing rope. Three smaller hand winches held other ropes which passed through a plate with a roller bar and disappeared over the cliff side.

  Jenny stepped forward and looked over the edge to see a sharply inclined plane, about the angle of a fast ski jump, slanting away to the water washing restlessly around the heaps of broken rock slicing up out of the sea perhaps a hundred and fifty feet or so below. The cliff face itself, mostly rock and hardened sediment, was crisscrossed with the low humps of buried walls.

  James stepped beside her, taking her arm as she gazed over the edge. “Are you sure you want to go down there?” he asked. “It’s a long, rough slide to the bottom.”

  “It’ll be a doddle,” she said. “All the same, I’ll wait for the harness, thanks.”

  Retreating from the edge, they stepped back and rejoined Embries, Rhys, and Dr. Fuller, who were talking to the excavation supervisor. Two Special Branch agents kept a close but respectful distance; one of them was speaking softly into a tiny microphone attached to his lapel.

  “Eventually, of course, the entire site will be thoroughly excavated,” the supervisor was saying. “For now, a few exploratory trenches is about all we can manage because of the difficulty in reaching the area. Still, the fact that we’re finding artifacts already indicates an exceptionally rich field for study.”

  “We may soon be able to establish a date from the samples found so far,” Dr. Fuller added. “I hope to have a preliminary estimate by the end of the summer.”

  Nicholas arrived with a blue jumpsuit and the necessary harness — identical to the one he was now wearing: an all-body affair made of heavy nylon strapping and titanium fasteners much the same as hang gliders and sky divers used. As Rhys examined the harness, one of the security agents stepped forward and said, “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but you aren’t thinking of going down there, are you?”

  “I am,” replied Jenny, shoving her arms into the sleeves of the blue coverall.

  “The risk, Your Highness. I’ll have to ask you to reconsider,” began the agent.

  Jenny stopped him. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we, Richard?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Fine,” the Queen replied, zipping up the jumpsuit. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll put on my harness now.”

  As Jennifer shrugged into the nylon straps of the harness, the Special Branch agent appealed to the King. “Your concern is duly noted,” James told him, a small amused smile touching his lips. “Believe me, the Queen is fully able to take care of herself.”

  At a nod from Jenny, Nicholas took the rope from the winch at the base of the second pole. “If you would allow me, Ma’am,” he said, and attached the titanium spring clip on the end of the rope to the ring on the chest strap of the harness.

  Rhys expertly tightened the various straps, and double-checked the fasteners before giving her the all clear. He settled himself at the controls of the winch. “Ready when you are, Your Majesty,” he called.

  Jenny, eager to begin, stepped quickly to the edge and leaned backward. The rope tightened. “Lower away!”

  Rhys eased back the red-handled lever on the winch; the motor engaged and the rope began sliding smoothly through the pulley, and Jenny started walking backward down the face of the cliff.

  Behind them, Embries and Dr. Fuller, deep in conversation, moved off with Claudia to see a new excavation begun just that morning. Rhys, operating the winch, let the rope unwind slowly, allowing jenny to abseil down the sheer rock face.

  “Ready,” announced Nicholas. He stepped to the edge, turned, and called, “Lower away.” The excavation supervisor settled at the controls of the second winch, pulled the red lever back, and Nicholas disappeared over the edge.

  James knelt to watch as the two walked backward down the steep incline of the slope. He gazed down at the restless wash of the water on the rocks far below. Gulls circled and dived, working the rocks for small fish. Further out, two boats chuntered slowly by — one of them a police launch — and a third, obviously anchored a little way from the cliff, bobbed in the swell. The keening cry of the ever-wheeling gulls, the low groan of the winches, the far-off burbling of the boat engines, and the drone of the generators in the compound filled the air with a drowsy sound.

  The sun was hot, and he was beginning to get a headache from the glare of the sun off the water, and wishing he’d brought some dark glasses.

  The boat engines dwindled, and James watched as a diver emerged from the cabin of the anchored boat, threw out the anchor, and began arranging something on the deck. Due to the angle and distance, he could not see what was happening, but guessed the fellow was preparing for a dive.

  Jenny and Nicholas had reached the excavation site, a trenchlike pit dug into the cliff face. The place
was marked with a number of red-and-white beams — grid sticks, used for measurement in photographs; some of them had white flags attached to help give some indication of the wind’s force and direction.

  Reaching the excavation area, Jenny waved and called for Rhys to stop the winch. James relayed the message and watched as she dropped into the trench and unclipped the line. Nicholas likewise called for the winch to stop and eased himself into the excavation trench beside the Queen.

  The two pulled tools from the bags at their belts.

  James looked away and called to the supervisor, “You haven’t got a spare hat, have you?”

  “No problem, Your Majesty,” replied the archaeologist. “I’ll be right back.”

  When James turned back, Jenny and Nicholas were hunkered down in the trench. He could only see the backs of their heads and shoulders as they began scraping away the impacted sediment with trowels. Out on the sea below them, the boat rocked in the waves; the lone skipper was nowhere to be seen.

  The supervisor returned with the hat, and James joined him and Rhys at the winch rig. As they began to talk, James felt the back of his neck begin to tingle as the fiosachd quickened. He looked around, trying to find the source. He saw Embries and Dr. Fuller near one of the huts, talking to a group of researchers. Moving to the edge of the cliff, he looked down.

  “Something wrong, sir?” asked Rhys.

  At first James saw nothing unusual — Jenny and Nicholas were still in the trench, digging away; the boat still rocked in the waves a little way off — but as his eye swept back towards the dig site, he noticed a shape in the water. It was difficult to see; the sun’s fierce glare on the surface of the water had obscured it the first time. But as he looked, the shape resolved into human form as the diver rose from the depths and swam to the near rocks.

  When the diver climbed up out of the water and began ascending the steeply angled slope, the fiosachd sent a shock of recognition through him…

  He spun around and shouted for Rhys. “It’s Moira!” he hollered. “She’s going for Jenny!”

  “Who?” wondered the dig supervisor, ambling nearer.

  “I’m going down there,” James shouted, taking hold of the nearest rope as Rhys came flying to the cliff top. “Try to get their attention.”

  Seizing the loose rope, the King began walking backward down the steeply angled slope. His shoes were slick, and he slipped, banging his knee hard; righting himself, he pushed away from the slope, and kept going.

  Rhys shouted to alert the security men, then grabbed the second rope and started down. Jenny, in the excavation trench far below, was enraptured. Under Nicholas’ expert direction, she had succeeded in freeing two more fragments of ancient pottery from the layer of soil under excavation. Scraping carefully with the edge of her trowel, she was tracing the outline of a third piece, larger than any retrieved so far, when she heard a cry from the slope above and glanced up to see James dangling on a rope partway down the cliff face, with Rhys right behind him.

  Above them, the faces of two Special Agents, fierce with concentration, appeared over the cliff top. The security men were shouting and pointing.

  what on earth? she wondered. As she straightened for a better look, a shadow passed over her, and she heard a grating footstep on the rock. She turned instinctively towards the sound and saw the silver shimmer of a metal object arcing through the air. In the same instant, Nicholas groaned and collapsed at her feet in the trench, the top of his head peeled back, showing bloody bone beneath a loose-flapping scalp.

  Jenny sensed a movement above and behind her and dropped to her knees. The silver object sliced the air just inches from her head — accompanied this time by a grunt of effort that ended in a shriek as her unseen assailant leaped upon her.

  Jenny felt hands on her throat, and her head was driven down against the side of the trench. Doubled over, her attacker on her back, she felt her chest compressed and she could not breathe. The hands tightened on her throat, and her lungs began to burn. She could not speak or cry out.

  Blood-red mist gathered before her eyes. She knew she was just seconds away from blacking out.

  Forcing her hands under her chest, Jenny got her feet under her, gave out a groan, and pushed away from the side of the trench. She landed on top of her attacker, and felt the hands loosen their grip. She rolled, squirming onto her stomach, and came face-to-face with the woman she had last seen on the Glenshee road the night of her wedding.

  The left side of her face and neck was shriveled, the scarred skin mottled and slick, bearing the livid bloom of a savage burn. Her hair was darker now, and cut mannishly short, and she was wearing a black wet suit, but Jenny would have recognized her anywhere.

  “You!” she gasped. She saw again the snow-covered ravine lit by the flames of the burning wreck, and any fear she felt was swiftly engulfed by the surge of anger at what the woman had tried to do to James.

  Moira loosed a wild scream and drove her hands into Jenny’s face.

  Jenny kicked free, landed on her back, half on top of the unconscious Nicholas. Moira, spitting mad, shouted something and leaped at her once more. Jenny managed to get a foot up and drove her heel into Moira’s knee, pushing the leg back. She crashed down on her elbow and came up swinging. She was bleeding from a cut to her forehead, but the silver object was in her hand again. This time Jenny saw it clearly — it was a stainless steel diving knife with a wicked, serrated edge. The blade glinted hard in the light, and Jenny scrambled backwards over Nicholas’ inert body.

  Moira, triumph in her eyes, dived forward with the knife. Jenny lashed out with her foot and connected solidly with Moira’s chin. Her jaw snapped shut with a teeth-shattering crack, and she pitched sideways against the back of the trench. Somehow, she held on to the knife. Gathering her feet beneath her, Moira scrambled closer, the knife glinting in her hand.

  There came a shout from the slope above the trench. Moira glanced up to see James and Rhys on ropes above her, half sliding, half skidding down the sheer cliff face. Above them, the two security men, guns in their hands, were shouting for Moira to throw down her weapon and move away.

  Jenny saw her attacker look away, and rolled to her feet. As she made to stand, her hand closed on the trowel Nicholas had been using. As Moira’s eyes swung back to her prey, Jenny lunged forward, swinging the trowel with all her might.

  The sharp-edged tool caught Moira under the arm and gouged a ragged hole in her wet suit up across one breast to her collarbone. Blood gushed crimson from the wound and she staggered back. Jenny seized the advantage and drove in on her. Moira tried to fend her off with the knife, but Jenny knocked it aside with the trowel, nearly severing Moira’s fingers with it.

  The knife went spinning from Moira’s grasp. It flew up out of the trench and Moira lunged after it, throwing herself half out of the excavation trench as the blade went skittering down the slope just out of reach.

  Jenny saw Moira’s body arch away, and dived for her assailant. Stiffening her arms, she struck Moira in the small of the back. Unbalanced, Moira flipped up over the edge of the trench. She slid forward on her stomach and snatched up the knife; gathering her feet under her, she turned toward Jenny once more.

  This time, Jenny was ready. As Moira turned and stood, she pulled one of the metal grid sticks from the soft earth and swung it with all her might, sweeping Moira’s feet from under her.

  “No!” she screamed. Tumbling backward, she struck the sharply angled slope, slewed sideways, and started to slide. She tried to flatten herself to the rock to slow her descent. “Exis gorim fortis!” she cried, scrabbling for a handhold.

  Her hands flailed, fingernails scratching. But the bare stone did not yield and the angle dropped away beneath her. Sliding faster, gaining momentum, she struck a rocky outcrop and was pitched into the air.

  Moira screamed again — a hissing, spitting sound like that of an enraged cat — and Jenny watched her sail out in a graceful arc as she plunged down and down onto the w
ave-washed rocks far below.

  James was there beside her as the echo of Moira’s final, defiant scream faded into the startled cry of the frightened gulls. “It’s over,” he said, gathering her into his arms. “She’s gone.”

  Embries stood at the summit, surveying the scene below. He and Dr. Fuller had been alerted by the shouts of security personnel, who were now swarming all around the scene, alternately chattering into their microphones, listening to their earpieces, and desperately assuring the royal couple that everything was now under control once more.

  Within moments a police cruiser had reached the rocks, and Embries watched in stony silence as Moira’s battered body was dragged limp and lifeless onto the boat. As the launch bobbed on the ocean swells, Embries raised a hand to his eyes as if to shield them from the sun and whispered, “Good-bye, Morgian.”

  Epilogue

  As James extended his hand to pull her up beside him on the cliff top, Jenny heard him say her name, and the world seemed to take a peculiar sideways lurch. In that instant, everything was changed. She saw her husband not as the man she knew but as a stranger dressed in a leather cuirass studded with tiny iron rings. His hair was long, and bleached by long hours on horseback in the sun; he wore it in a gold-clasped braid at the side of his head. A whitewashed shield was slung over his shoulder, and a well-used sword hung at his hip. He was leaning on the haft of the longest spear she had ever seen.

  A wide band in the shape of a serpentine, tail-swallowing dragon gleamed on his upper arm, and a thick golden torc encircled his throat. His cloak was purple, the color of the emperors of old, and it was folded on his shoulder and secured with a brooch shaped like a winged dragon. He was watching her, his lips curved in a smile of pride and admiration.

  Rhys stood a little way off, resting his arms on the iron rim of a large oval shield which had been whitewashed and painted with the sign of the cross. A great hunting horn hung from a strap across his chest, and the blade of his spear was whetted to a keen brilliance.