Avalon: The Return of King Arthur

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  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.”

  Sixteen

  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 h
as 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.”

  “That opportunity has passed,” Embries replied firmly. He sat James down in one of the chairs. “Listen to me,” he said, growing solemn. “In two days we must return to London where you will announce your kingship. You will not get an easy ride. To speak plainly, this will be the most difficult and demanding thing you have ever done. The turmoil will be appalling, the outcry horrendous.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I am serious,” he snapped. “This announcement will set in motion a train of events that cannot be stopped once it has begun. You will need companionship, and you will need understanding; you will need the comfort of a woman. In short, you will need a wife and helpmate to share the burden.”

  “You old romantic,” James quipped.

  Embries pursed his lips. “I appreciate the fairer sex as much as any man alive,” he replied, “but the marriage I contemplate is a union of far greater essence than you comprehend. Listen” — he pulled out a chair and sat facing James — “once you assume the throne your life will no longer be your own. Everything you do, every move you make, every word you speak will be endlessly debated by the watching world.

  “Now, suppose that in a few years’ time you were to announce your intention to marry. That would make headlines on several continents. The whole nation would become embroiled in the decision. Who is this woman? Is she fit to be queen? Why should we accept her? Is she pretty enough? Has she got what it takes? Do we like her?”

  “It would still be my decision,” James maintained.

  “Of course,” granted Embries, “but think of it from the woman’s point of view. The media would inevitably get involved, and if, for whatever reason, they didn’t approve of your choice, they would propose alternatives. And the people would begin choosing between the candidates on offer. Should you ignore their nominee, your poor queen would forever be reviled and maligned. Her life would become a nightmare.”

  The way he said it made James think he was speaking from personal, not to say painful, experience. “You have seen this happen before,” he said.

  “I have indeed seen it happen before,” Embries confirmed. “And I do not want it to happen to you. Therefore, I strongly suggest that if you have any thoughts or inclination towards marriage, you must act without delay.” He regarded James hopefully. “Would I be wrong in thinking there was a young woman in your life at the moment?”

  It was Cal who answered. “There is,” he said. “Her name is Jenny — Jennifer Evans-Jones.”

  James glared at Cal with keen displeasure.

  “It’s true,” Cal insisted. “Everyone says you were made for each other, but you’re both too stubborn to admit it.”

  “I think I know my own —” James began, faltering to a stop as a miraculous change swept over Embries’ features.

  “Jennifer,” he whispered to himself. His serious expression was transformed into one of delight and rapture. He sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Of course… of course.”

  Both Calum and James stared at him. After a moment, James asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes! Yes, it must be,” he murmured, and James realized he was talking about somet
hing else. Then Embries opened his eyes, leaned forward eagerly, and said, “Will Jennifer marry you?”

  James frowned, recalling Sunday’s disaster.

  “Unfortunately,” Embries continued without waiting for an answer, “there will not be time for a gala wedding. We have but two days, remember. Do you think you can talk her into something, shall we say, a little less grand than she might have imagined?”

  “At the moment, I’m not sure I could even talk her into going to lunch with me,” replied James, and suddenly felt very tired. He stood abruptly. “But I’ll give it my undivided attention as soon as I’ve had some sleep.”

  “I’ll leave it to you,” said Embries. “Don’t put it off too long.”

  Seventeen

  Wilfred Collins arrived at the office a good twenty minutes earlier than usual, and was surprised to find the receptionist already at her desk. What is more, she was the wrong one.

  “Good morning,” he said genially. “I don’t think I know you.”

  “Good morning to you, Mr. Collins,” she replied in a low, dusky voice. He could not help noticing that her voice perfectly matched her radiant auburn hair. “My name is Moira. I’m afraid Emerald is ill today. So I’m filling in for her. The agency sent me.” She smiled, showing a generous mouth and fine white teeth.

  “Emerald sick? Oh, dear…” Unaccountably, Collins found himself staring at the young woman, and growing more disconcerted by the moment. “I, um, well… I mean, it isn’t like her at all. Nothing serious, I hope — with Emerald, I mean.”

  “I shouldn’t think so — probably just the flu. There’s a lot of it about just now.”

  She picked up a pencil and tapped it on the blotter. Her fingernails were long, and her nail polish was dark purple — the color of violets, or a bruise.