Avalon (20 page)

They turned and walked together from the chapel and into the narrow street. As they moved along the ancient pathway, the fortress and its buildings began to melt away. The walls and rooftops glistened, and then slowly faded, growing more and more transparent, until they could see through them to the hills beyond. The first rays of sunlight touched the phantom structures, whereupon they dispersed altogether, leaving the two men standing on the grass-covered mound in the light of a glorious winter morning.

Gone were the walls and buildings, gone the ancient thatched hall and stout timber gates — everything asleep beneath the thick green turf. Caer Lial was but a scattering of low, grass-covered mounds and ditches once more. The walls were toppled, the streets broken and sunk, the fine kingly hall crumbled, and the handsome banner nothing but a handful of dust. Grass covered everything, hiding house and granary, church and hall alike; patches of swiftly dissipating mist hung where warriors had once walked.

The Wise Emrys, too, had resumed his former guise, becoming once more the slender whitehaired man of imperious bearing. Gone was the wolf skin and torc of gold, gone the dark mane of hair and the checkered Celtic cloak and silver brooch, the tall boots of fine soft leather. But even as James beheld the change, he saw, faint as a faded line on parchment, the tiny blue spiral tattoo on Embries’ right cheek just below his eye.

And then that, too, was gone, and James felt a stab of sorrow.

They walked across the mounded ruin of the ancient fortress and out through the nonexistent gates. On the plain below, James saw the fire, and Rhys was waiting there. Joining him, James was pleasantly surprised to discover that the pilot had a breakfast of grilled sausages and porridge ready for them.

At their approach, Rhys took the pot from the fire and poured out the oat porridge into three big bowls sitting on a low aluminum camp table. He dropped a knob of butter into each bowl, splashed cream over the top, and handed them around as they sat before the fire.

Suddenly ravenous, James began to spoon the good hot oatmeal down. Meanwhile, Rhys collected sizzling sausages from a spit beside the flame, put these on plates, to which he added big chunks of fresh chewy bread. He passed them out, and the three settled down to eat. James felt as if it had been years since he’d had a hot meal. He devoured the porridge and scraped the bowl clean, then started on the bread and sausage, tearing the bread with his hands. There was coffee, too, black and hot, and served in thick ceramic mugs.

James finished first and, putting his plate aside, sat holding his mug of coffee, feeling full and happy, and, for the first time in a long time, completely at peace with the world.

Glancing at Embries who was chewing thoughtfully, he asked, “How long have you known?”

“I have always known,” replied the bard without looking up.

“Truly?”

He nodded, still staring into the flames. “You cannot imagine how long I have waited for this day.”

“You mean you aren’t behind all this, orchestrating it, making it happen?”

He turned his face towards James at last. “It is not so simple as that,” he replied. “Sometimes, I wish it were.”

“But you knew,” James insisted, trying to make sense of it. “You knew from the beginning where to look for me, where to find me.”

“Knowledge is a slippery thing,” Embries replied. “I knew Arthur would return, yes. I have always known that. But I did not know it would be
you
. Let us say, I
hoped
— with a very great and confident hope — that it would be you. Until a few days ago, I was not certain.”

“I don’t understand. If you knew about me from the beginning, why the lack of certainty?”

Embries paused, considering how to explain. “Suppose,” he said after a moment, “that you knew someone in a foreign country had determined to send you a valuable gift — more valuable than anything you can imagine. That much you knew beyond all doubt. The trouble is, you didn’t know when they would send it, or how long it would take to arrive. You didn’t even know what form it might take. That being the case, what would you do?”

“I don’t know. Take up fishing, I suppose — to have something to do while I was waiting for it to show up.”

“No,” corrected Embries. “What you would do, in fact, is spend every waking moment getting ready. Considering the immense value of the gift, you would make certain that every detail was in place, so that when the gift finally arrived, you could protect it properly.”

“So that’s what you’ve been doing? Arranging all the details?”

“I have been toiling away,” he agreed, “making preparations so that when the gift finally arrived all would be ready and in good order.”

“The photo I found,” James said. “It was taken years ago — after a day’s hunting on the estate. You were with the Duke’s shooting party. You must have been checking up on me even then.”

“I have, from time to time, found it necessary to ‘check up’ on you, as you say.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps you remember the time when you were on a school trip to the Maritime Museum in Aberdeen, and you and two other young chaps got separated from your group down by the docks. You were wandering around the waterfront, lost, frantic, because it was getting late. You knew the bus was supposed to be leaving, and you were growing a little panicky.” He smiled at the memory.

“I remember,” James told him. That had happened over twenty years ago — he must have been seven or eight at the time and had not given it a thought since.

“Perhaps you remember also the old gentleman who stopped to give you directions.”

“He not only gave us directions. He got a policeman along to take us to the bus in his panda car with the siren going.”

“Yes, I believe he did.”

“That was you?”

“As I say,” he shrugged, “I was making certain everything remained in good order — in case you turned out to be the one I was looking for.”

James thought back to other times in his childhood when he felt someone was watching over him… probably someone was. “There have been other times, too.”

“Several, in fact. Yes.”

James glanced at Rhys who, although he had not said anything, appeared to know exactly what they were talking about. “I assume Rhys knows about all this — about who I am.”

“Oh, yes, he knows. I could not have managed without his help.”

Rhys smiled, and poured more coffee into his mug. “I have only known for a couple years,” he said. “I’m glad we don’t have to keep it a secret from you any longer.”

“I saw you up there,” James told him, indicating the fortress mound behind him. “You were one of my warriors.”

“The Dragon Flight,” said Rhys. He shrugged. “At least that’s what Embries tells me. I can’t say I remember it myself.”

Glancing around at Embries, James asked, “Who else knows?”

“One or two others: Collins from Royal Heritage, of course, and Donald and Caroline.” He made a deprecatory gesture with his hands. “Sherlock Holmes had his Irregulars, and I have mine. Some know more than others, but you need have no fear. They are all tried and true, I can assure you.”

Overcome by the complex wonder of it, James shook his head. “Incredible. Absolutely incredible.”

“Eventually, I suspect everything will become completely clear,” Embries replied. “You will remember more, as I say. Don’t try to force it. Just relax and accept what is given in its time.”

He held James with his eyes, his expression wise and compassionate. “Before we came here, I told you that you must choose — whether to accept your destiny or turn aside.”

“I followed you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he replied. “But now that you have glimpsed something of the shape of that destiny, I must ask you again.” He rose to his feet. “Rise, Arthur.”

James stood, and Embries put his hands on his shoulders.

“Are you ready to take the throne of Britain?” he asked. “Will you assume your duties as the sovereign King of your country?”

“I will.”

Embries smiled. “Here is where it begins.” Cupping a hand to James’ neck, he embraced him once and then held him at arm’s length. “You’ll never know how long I have waited for this day.”

The flight back to Blair Morven was swift and uneventful. Though exhausted in every nerve and sinew, James could not sleep. The most profound event of his life had occurred — an incident of unrivaled consequence — and he was reeling. It felt as if he had been strapped to a rocket engine and flown to the stars and back. Head, heart, hands — everything: even the soft ground beneath his feet — pulsed and tingled with singular vitality.

Although he did not fully comprehend what it all meant — the deepest significance would elude him yet a little longer — he knew deep in his bones that he had passed beyond some boundary normally closed to human beings and walked awhile in another realm of existence.

As the chopper sped northward, he sat in the thrumming cocoon of sound and watched the green hills and spidery lines of roads far below. Gazing idly at the landscape sliding smoothly by below, his mind was on Caer Lial and the multitude of feelings awakened there.

How
, he wondered,
could I even begin to explain what has happened to me? Have I lived before? Or has the spirit of a previous age been born in me somehow? Or is there some other even more fantastic explanation
?

James had never set much store in reincarnation — the endless return of souls to bodies for the tedious expiation of sins committed in previous lives. The human soul was not a glass bottle to be relentlessly recycled time and time again. One chance was all anyone got — that is what he believed. One chance, and one chance only, so you had to do your best, you had to make it count.

But if not reincarnation, then what?

James didn’t know. All he could say was that he lost nothing in the transaction, only gained. His perspective on life had changed, and he now viewed the world from a slightly different angle, but his personality — the part of him he knew to be himself — had not altered. Insofar as he could tell, he was still the same person he’d always been. Only now he remembered… what?

What, after all, did he really remember?

A few hazy images, brief snatches of faces, the reassuring sound of another name falling on his ear. Not much, in actual fact.

Yet, and yet, the sense that he had at last come home remained strong in him. That, and the perception of recognition filled him with a powerful conviction: he
knew
who he had been and where he had lived. He remembered Caer Lial and the people there because they were in some way part of himself.

He could no more explain how this could be than he could define why a star-dusted sky filled him with such knee-weakening awe, or why the sight of geese flying across the moor sent an arrow of bittersweet longing through his heart, or why the taste of wild raspberries always made him smile.

If not for the strong sense of familiarity, of things remembered, the strangeness of the experience might have overwhelmed him completely. What had happened was strange, passing strange and going a long way towards bizarre; there was no denying that. At the same time, he felt a distinct
rightness
to the experience that reassured him in the face of what could only be logically described as a particularly outlandish hallucination.

There was no logical, rational way to account for this. Even to say he had experienced a vision or hallucination brought on by stress, or sleep deprivation, merely begged the question. A fellow too long without sleep might see pink polka-dotted dragons, but he didn’t see the faces of people he knew in another life.

But it wasn’t
another
life, James argued with himself, it was this one, this
same
life. This same life, only in another time.

He did not know how to explain it any better than to say that he felt as if an awareness had awakened inside him after a long, long sleep. Whatever it was, this newly wakened consciousness was also part of him — as much a part of himself as his arms and legs or his sense of humor. By some power or powers unknown, an essential part of him had awakened and returned to consciousness. He was not changed. Far from it! He was simply more himself. Like a child who has finally grown enough to wear his father’s boots, he was at last big enough to assume his father’s throne.

Embries had promised that it would all make sense. James trusted him instinctively. Perhaps Embries’ presence gave him the only assurance he had that he was not losing his grip on sanity. Perhaps because he had no other choice if he was going to survive the ordeal ahead, James believed him when Embries said he would remember, and it would all make sense.

Rhys’ voice in the headset stirred James from his reverie. “Prepare for landing.”

James looked down and saw the white square of Glen Slugain Lodge coming into view beyond the tops of the pines. A moment later, the Tempest floated down, gently bumping to rest on the lawn. As he unstrapped himself and climbed from the helicopter, James wondered what would happen next.

After he and Embries walked clear of the blades, Rhys revved the engine and took off once more. “He’ll be back in a little while,” Embries remarked. “He’s just gone to refuel.”

When the Tempest was out of sight, the two of them walked to the house, where they discovered a much-agitated Cal waiting at the kitchen table. The look of relief on his face brought James up short. “I might have known you would be together,” Cal said. “I don’t mind telling you I was getting worried.”

“It’s all right, Calum,” Embries replied. “I should have left a message for you.”

“No harm done,” said Cal. “But I was this close to calling out the bloodhounds.” He looked from one to the other of them expectantly. “Well, where do we start?”

“First,” said Embries, clapping a hand to Calum’s shoulder, “I think we must get our friend here married.”

Of all the things he might have said, that was the last thing James expected to hear. “Married!”

“You have no objection, do you?”

“Not in principle, but I —” James stumbled, “I mean, a guy likes to plan these things in his own way.”