Excalibur Rising (31 page)

     The grey was motionless, obstinate, and her intention was clear.  She was not going home without her companion.
     “You’d better not run off,” said Ryan, as he swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground.  He kept hold of the reins and the grey rolled her spirited brown eyes at him as if to say, “I could break free any time I want to.”
     “Yes, you could,” said Ryan, “but you won’t.”
     The black horse was held by a heavy rope halter tied to a sturdy young tree.  Rather than untie the stiff knot in the hemp rope, Ryan slipped the halter over her head.
     “Okay,” he said. He patted her muzzle and ran his hand along her boney sides. “Go home,” he said, “you’ve earned it.”
     The grey allowed Ryan to settle himself in the saddle before she set off at a slow trot.  The black trotted at her side.  Ryan looked behind him.  Surely someone would see them.
     He urged the grey forward with his knees feeling as though it would be somehow inhumane to actually kick her.  She was no longer just a horse. She had become something more, an extension of the mystery, a representative of Avilion.
     The grey settled into a slow canter, the black running alongside.  They veered from the path and made their way steadily upwards, and then down into a shallow valley where they were hidden from the army.  The two horses picked up speed, crossing the valley and climbing again, passing beyond the tree line and up onto a high rocky ridge.  They crested the ridge and Ryan caught a glimpse of a high mountain lake, inky black beneath the blue sky, with mists swirling across its ruffled surface. 
     The horses came down from the ridge at a wild gallop, Ryan clinging helplessly to the grey’s mane.  He sensed that she was no longer trying to throw him, but she was running with wild abandon.  Even the old and abused black horse seemed to have forgotten her hardships and was running with her tail and her mane flying in the breeze.
     Well, Ryan thought, looking at her as she streaked alongside him, if I have never done anything else good in my life, I’ve done this.
     The grey skidded to a halt on a pebbled beach beside the dark water.  Mist swirled around her feet.
     “Here?” Ryan asked.
     From out of the mist a hand reached up and grasped the reins.
     “Here,” a voice confirmed.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Violet
     The blue car was on fire. No one could possibly be alive inside, but Violet thought she saw someone moving around outside the vehicle.  Maybe Mandretti had survived.  A helicopter circled above the burning vehicle and lowered a rescuer on a rope.  Another helicopter hovered nearby.  The air was filled with the thump-thump of the rotors and the scream of the engines.  Acrid smoke from the burning car filled her nostrils, but she had no time to dwell on her situation.  Hands were pulling at her, dragging her through the passenger window of the limo, now lying on its side among the rocks.
     “Come on.  Hurry up.” She looked away from the helicopters and into the face of Freddie, the driver, who had his hands hooked under her arms and was heaving her upwards.
     “Seat belt,” she gasped.
     Freddie leaned in and released the seat belt and Violet collapsed sideways against Bors who was jammed beneath her and apparently unconscious.  He had slammed his head against the window, and dislodged his eye patch revealing a hideous scar and an empty eye socket.  Blood trickled from his ear.  This, she knew, did not speak well for Bors’ future health. 
     Without a second thought, Violet used Bors’ ribs and shoulder as a step to allow her to stand upright and squeeze her head and chest through the open window.  Freddie moved in again, pulling her out of the vehicle and dumping her like a beached porpoise on the rocky ground.
     She had no time to regain her breath, or ask a question, or even check to see if she was bleeding, before Elaine was pulling at her arms.
     “Get up, we have to go.”
     “Molly, Todd?”  Violet asked breathlessly as she scrambled to her feet.
     “I’m here,” said Todd.  “Molly’s not so good.  We’ll have to let them take her.”
     “Who?” said Violet.
     “Don’t know for sure,” said Todd.  “I assume it’s the police. There are helicopters everywhere.”
     “The sword?” said Violet.
     “I have it,” said Todd.
     “You?”
     “Yeah, me,” said Todd. 
     “Come on,” said Elaine.  “The boys are coming for us.”
     “What boys?”
     “Robby and Gavin, the ones who were here before,” said Elaine. “We told them to wait, and they waited.”
     The battered green Land Rover with Elaine’s faithful followers on board, was coming towards them, making light work of the hill and the rocks. 
     “Don’t let them see the sword,” said Violet.
     “Too late for secrets,” said Elaine. “We need all the help we can get.”
     A helicopter made a swooping circling dive down towards them as they scrambled across the hillside towards the Land Rover and a muffled voice boomed through megaphone. Violet interpreted the words as “Stay where you are” and kept moving.
     They came level with the Land Rover, driven by Gavin with Robby beside him, both of them red-faced with excitement and anxiety.
Even as the Land Rover juddered to a halt, Freddie was beside the driver, hauling him from his seat. 
     “Hey,” Gavin protested.
     “No time,” said Freddie, yanking Gavin aside and putting himself in the driver’s seat.  “Get in,” he said to Violet.
     She hesitated.  She had been unable to vault into the back of the vehicle before the crash, and stiff and sore as she now was, she knew her abilities had not improved. 
     “Get out,” said Freddie to Robby.  Despite the thrum of the helicopter rotors, the crackling of the megaphone, and the sparks and crackles from the burning car, Robby seemed to understand Freddie’s tone well enough to move with lightning speed out of the front seat. 
     Violet dropped down into the front passenger seat.  Elaine, in a flurry of blue skirts vaulted into the back seat, followed by Gavin and Robby, and then Todd, still grasping Excalibur, hurled himself into the back, landing on top of the two boys.
     “Don’t give them the sword, don’t let them touch it,” Elaine screamed.
     “Why not?” Violet asked, but if Elaine made any answer, she could not hear what it was.  The Land Rover appeared to have lost its muffler somewhere on the wild ride up the valley and its crackling exhaust drowned out even the sound of the helicopters.
    “Where?” Freddie screamed in Violet’s ear, and she realized that Freddie had no idea where they were or what they were about to do.
     She pointed to the river, wider now, but hopefully still shallow enough to be crossed.  As if to confirm her hopes, a herd of horses thundered along the river bank and then turned and splashed through the water.  Their hooves sent up clouds of spray, but they did not slow their wild gallop.  So, she thought,  if the river could be crossed by a galloping horse, surely it could be crossed by a Land Rover.
     As Freddie guided the Land Rover through the river, she watched the horses make their way up the steep hillside and disappear over the crest of the hill.
     So much, she thought, for the fear that the horses wouldn’t have the sense to get out of the way of the flood.  Elaine had said that they would not move, and she had said it with such confidence.  They were waiting, she said.  Apparently she was wrong, they were no longer waiting.
     Freddie cleared the stream and did his best to get the Land Rover up the steep hillside, but it soon foundered, stopped by massive rocks.
The helicopters were still hovering above the river and above the last vestiges of the burning blue car.  The pilot of one had come as close as he dared to the steep hillside, but he could come no closer. For the moment at least, Violet and her companions were beyond the reach of the law, but from here they would have to go on foot  And they would have to move fast, Violet thought, watching as the helicopters dropped down just inches from the ground and disgorged squads of helmeted and armed men.
     The helicopters lifted away, and in the momentary quiet, Violet could hear Elaine urging them on towards the waterfall.  They climbed in single file, Todd scrambling up ahead of Violet, agile despite the fact that he was holding the sword.
     Rowan waited for them beside the waterfall her face a mask of impatience. “Hurry,” she said.
     “We’re hurrying,” Violet said breathlessly. She felt someone push her from behind with large hands that grasped her backside and heaved her upwards.
     She turned to look behind her.
     “Freddie?”
     “Get a move on,” he said.
     The expression on his face was the expression of a man moving in a dream.  From the moment he had laid hands on the sword, Freddie had been a different man, a man on a mission.  Violet knew that the sword was still talking to him, and the fact that he had a firm hold of her buttocks was neither here nor there. All he wanted was for her to move her backside up the hill.
     They passed behind the waterfall, Robby and Gavin uttering cries of wonder, and Todd apparently speechless.
     “Light,” said Rowan, tapping Elaine impatiently with her carved staff.
Elaine was gasping for breath, her eyes wild, and her dress torn and mud stained.
     “Light,” said Rowan again.
     “I’m not sure if I can,” Elaine gasped.
     Rowan struck the girl hard across her face, and spoke fiercely in a language that Violet did not understand.  She could not understand the words, but she most certainly knew their meaning. Pull yourself together, girl, and give us light.
     Elaine waved her hand, and a faint light flickered, illuminating the path into the deepest recesses of the cave. 
     “You follow,” said Rowan to Violet. She tapped Robby, Gavin and Freddie with her cane. “You stay here,” she said, “and I will bring him to you.” 
     She turned her attention to Todd. “You,” she said, “will carry the sword.  It does not speak to you and you will not be torn by any past loyalties.  You are loyal only to the Lady Violet.”
     “Lady Violet?” queried Todd, raising his eyebrows and attempting to regain some of his usual insouciance.
     Rowan smacked him with her staff. “Come,” she said.
     Elaine had regained her breath, and the tunnel was now brightly lit, the sconces flaring as she ran ahead. 
     Rowan pushed Todd ahead of her. “Go now,” she said, “and awake the king.”

Marcus Ryan
     The grey mare stood still, her flanks trembling from the wild ride across the moor.  “Here?” Ryan asked again. This time no voice answered him from out of the mist, and the stranger’s hand was no longer on the reins, He sensed a presence close by, and detected shadow within the mist.  He urged the grey forward but she refused to move.
     “Okay,” he said, “apparently this is as far as you’re willing to bring me.”
     He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Now he was completely enveloped in the mist, seeing only the pebbles of the beach, and the solid shape of a large rock. A gentle tug of wind blew the mist aside for a moment and he saw the dark water of the lake.  As the misty white tendrils snaked across the rock, it seemed to him that the rock itself was moving. 
    “Look,” he said as vehemently as his limited Latin vocabulary would allow, “I don’t have time for this.  Whoever you are, just show yourself.  Are you another guardian?  Do I have to fight you?  I will if I have to.”
     He knew that his speech was nothing but bravado.  Whatever it was that was hiding in the mist was well beyond his ability to conquer.  Was it a griffin like the one he had encountered the night before?  Was it a dragon?  Mordricus had hinted at dragons.  Perhaps it was one of the other perils that featured so strongly in the stories of the Round Table.  It could be a demented knight able to fight without rest for days and nights on end, an enticing maiden who could administer a kiss of death, or a giant able to cross oceans in a single stride.  Presumably all of these creatures had once been created by Merlin to guard the gate to Britain and presumably none of them could be vanquished by throwing stones, the only weapons that appeared to be available on the inhospitable beach.
     “Would you truly fight me?”
     The rock had spoken.  Yes, the rock was moving and it was speaking.  What had appeared to be an outcrop now became a hand, with long gnarled fingers.  The grass at the base of the rock moved, and Ryann saw feet.  The cracks and crevices of the rock became long hair and a grey beard surrounding a face of immense age. 
     “I cannot move,” said the rock, “but if I chose to fight you, you would die.”
     Ryan tried to frame an answer, a resounding challenge that would let the rock monster know that, whatever the cost, he planned to get the better of this creature.  Come hell or high water, or dark, evil magic, he would carry his warning through the gate and Mordricus’ ambush would fail.
     “Do not,” said the rock, “waste your energy searching your mind for the language of the Carpenter’s church.  I can no longer fight against their god-man, but I will not speak their language.  My voice has long since passed from the land.  I speak only to your mind.”
     Ryan opened his mouth to answer, but the rock intruded on his mind again. “You have a mission,” it said.
     “Yes,” said Ryan.
     “Show me,” said the rock.
     “How?”
     “In your mind.”
     Ryan sent his mind back over the past few days. Professor Peacock dying in a pool of red wine, Carlton Lewis stabbed to death on a train, Barry Marshall attacked at the altar of his church, Violet, Elaine, Crispin Peacock, Mordricus….
     “Enough,” said the rock.  “I cannot bring back the dead.”
     “But,” said Ryan, “you can stop death.  You stopped Arthur from dying.”
     “Then you know who I am?” said the Rock.
     “Yes,” said Ryan. “You are Merlin.”
     “I am.”
      “And you are guarding this gate.”
      “I am,” said Merlin.  “I permitted this gate to remain open so that horses will be available to the king when he awakes, but too much time has passed.  I am at the last of my strength.  This pitiful creature that you see before you is all that remains of Arthur’s great magician.”
     “So you couldn’t fight me?” Ryan asked.
     “I could,” said Merlin, “but then I would have no strength left for the task ahead.”
      “But you’re not going to stop me?” said Ryan.
       “No.”  The rock appeared to shake its head.  The stone tendrils of beard shivered, the granite shoulders moved, and the rock grew slightly in height.
     Ryan heard the drumming of horses hooves.  Beyond the curtain of mist the horses were moving and coming closer.  They were all around him but still invisible.
     “Tell me of Mordricus,” said Merlin.
     Ryan thought about Mordricus and the way he had presented himself, a modern Englishman, heir to a great estate.
     “No,” said Merlin. “I care nothing for his life beyond the gate.  The sword is moving.”
     “Excalibur,” said Ryan, interrupting the thought. “Have they found it?”
     “It is found,” said Merlin. “We have no more time.  Tell me of the danger.”
      Ryan drew a mind picture for the magician.  He showed him the war party and its encampment along the ridge.  He showed him the sentries at the gate and then Mordricus himself, waiting like a spider at the center of its web for the unsuspecting Knights of the Round Table.
     “He will let the first ones pass,” said Merlin, “and he will wait for Arthur and Excalibur.  You are not mistaken. The gate will close, and the war will be over.”
      “That’s all that the people want,” Ryan said, feeling the need to speak for the peasants and their miserable conditions.
      “They will not prosper under any of the line of Mordred,” said Merlin.  “I know the evil of his conception, and the evil of his descendants.”
      “But Arthur is old.”
      The rock shook itself, and grew a couple more inches in height.  Now Ryan could see the outline of a robe, and feet in pointed slippers.
     “Do you wish to discuss the philosophy of royal succession, or do you wish to save the king and all of Albion with him?” Merlin roared.
      Ryan hesitated.
      “Do you wish to save Ariana’s daughter, the Lady Violet?” Merlin asked.
      Ryan was unable to shield his thoughts from the magician. The rock emitted a creaking groan that may have been a laugh.
     “Was ever a man so undecided?” said Merlin. “It was not that way when Arthur saw Guinevere, or,” he added, “when Guinevere saw Lancelot and that was a sad day for the kingdom.  I will make your decision for you.  You are not of Pendragon blood, but you will do well here.  I will permit you to pass, and I will keep the gate open for as long as my strength will last, although I warn you, it may not last for long.  When you return, I may be nothing more than another scattering of pebbles along this beach.”
      Ryan felt a gust of warm breath against his neck.  The grey mare had reappeared through the mist and was nudging him with her velvety nose.
He hauled himself back into the saddle.  Merlin, the great magician, was no more than a dark shape amid the encompassing mist, and the only true reality was the feel of the saddle beneath him, and stomping feet and tossing heads of the herd of horses that surrounded him.