by Vox Day
Holli smiled, and it wasn’t an entirely nice smile. “I guess he just couldn’t think of anyone who would make better werewolf bait.”
Chapter 27
A Dagger Sheathed
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
the moon, their mistress, had expir’d before;
the winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,
and the clouds perish’d; darkness had no need
of aid from them—she was the universe.
—Lord Byron, Darkness
Three weeks later, they were driving up the A23 from Brighton in the MGB that Holli had insisted they rent. Khasar had put up a brief resistance, arguing in favor of a more anonymous Vauxhall, but the combination of Holli’s pleading and the fortuitous appearance of some morning sunshine had worn him down. Now he was sitting on top of the convertible’s stowed roof, basking in the all-too-rare English sun and letting his long, leonine locks dance wildly in the wind. He was invisible to mortal eyes, of course, and he’d told Holli to stay in sextus as well, as they drove north from Tintagel Castle, back towards London.
“You know what’s the one thing that blows about these old cars,” said Derek, shouting to be heard over the onrushing wind. He was delighted to be back looking normal again, as Khasar had decided no one was looking for him now. “No cruise control! My right leg is cramping like crazy!”
“So, let me drive,” Holli shouted back. “Come on, Khasar, please?”
The archon shook his head and pointed to the stick shift. “You can drive if you tell me what that’s for.”
“It’s the automatic.”
“No dice, blondie,” Derek laughed. “Let’s just stop for some petrol, and I’ll shake it off.”
Khasar pointed to the fuel gauge, though only Holli could see him. “We’ve still got half a tank. Suck it up, old chap. Petrol, indeed!”
Holli laughed as Derek muttered something under his breath and twisted in his seat, trying to stretch out his leg. “We’ve tried Glastonbury, Cadbury, West Camel, and we’ve spent the last ten days checking out every tiny little village in Cornwall. Why didn’t we just stop there before, before we went down to the south?”
“Because I was in a hurry to get to Glastonbury. That’s where all the legends and histories pointed. Since he was buried there, I really thought we’d at least be able to find some solid clues about the sword there.”
Holli sighed. Glastonbury had been a huge disappointment. Not only was there not a single Divine angel there who’d been present during Arthurian times, but it had become a significant Fallen stronghold, so much so that they’d barely escaped with their cover intact. Even worse, at some point in the past fifteen hundred years, all of the trees in the area had been cut down, so they’d wasted a day wandering through the wooded swamps and quizzing dryads before their activity had attracted attention of the local Fallen prince, who sent a small force to chase them out.
“I still don’t see why we didn’t just return this and take the train. It makes me nervous, driving on the wrong side of the road like this.”
“Did you see any train stations at most of the places we stopped?” Khasar asked. She frowned. He had a point there. “There you go, then.”
Holli fumbled through the sheaf of papers that Derek had printed out. They’d spent hours at the Internet cafe, then, when Khasar had rejoined them after a fruitless quest in search of Puck’s possible whereabouts, spent the next six days rummaging through the British Library. During a few much-needed breaks, Khasar had also taken them to see Big Ben, the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace, so Holli took comfort in the thought that even if they failed and England was swept away by a wave of Fallen-inspired devastation, at least she could say that the trip hadn’t been a complete waste. But almost a month had passed now, and they were fast running out of time.
As if to remind himself of the seriousness of their quest, Khasar had ordered Derek to stop by seashore, near Brighton. There he transformed into the winged lion that Holli had first known and carried Derek far out over the Channel, while Holli, not entirely comfortable about not having any land underneath her as she flew, accompanied them. The waters were grey and rough, but far more worrisome was the dark and teeming shadows that were massing on the continental side. They stayed far out to sea, wary of the great, four-winged demons that were patrolling the European coast.
“Diavelina’s army,” Khasar explained unnecessarily.
They were too far off to see exactly what made up her forces, much less who was leading them, but it was clear that Moloch’s daughter was not planning a minor, token effort. To Holli’s unschooled eyes, it looked as if she was planning to sweep over the whole world. The army of the demon princess looked like a huge black tumor, swelling and boiling, just waiting to burst and vomit forth its evil.
“They don’t need boats, either,” said Derek, in awe of the fearsome army. “It’s almost like watching a herd of locusts on Discovery, just buzzing and hopping and waiting for the first one to leap up into the air and set them all off.”
“They will devour all before them,” agreed Khasar.
“Can anything stop them?”
“Michael could defeat them with the Host, of course, but we never interfere directly in battles between the Fallen. If we did, we would do nothing else, so great is the hatred amongst them. The world is still in darkness, not until the Son of Man returns will it be entirely freed of its bonds and the shadows shattered once and for all.”
“But what about Oberon? What can he do? Why is he so important?”
“He can rally the spirits of old Albion to fight for him. The Mad One will fight alone, except for his slaves and hangers-on. There are few among the Fallen who would lift a finger to defend him. Most will accept Diavelina, however grudgingly, for they no longer care much who holds their chains.”
“But can Oberon even win? Against that?” The dark mass seemed to seethe with barely repressed rage mixed with hunger. It was a sheer and unrepentant evil the likes of which she had never seen, not even on Rahab.
The golden muzzle turned towards her, the blue eyes uncharacteristically dark. “I don’t know,” the archon admitted. “I hope so.”
They had flown back towards the English coast in somber silence, all three of them lost in thought and sobered by what they had seen.
But that was many miles, or rather, kilometers, behind them now. The sun was bright, the top was down, the radio was cranked, and in the circumstances, it was inevitable that the sense of doom soon passed. Sevesham was only another 35 minutes away, although Derek nearly ended the quest for the sword, at least for the two mortal participants, when, after exiting the motorway, he turned directly into the grill of an oncoming BMW. Fortunately, the startled driver had the wit to swerve wide; his outraged honk was drowned out by Khasar’s yelling at Derek to be more careful. Holli had to fly to catch up with them; she’d shifted without thinking about it and literally jumped out of her seat. It was a good thing she’d gone quintus and so was invisible, otherwise the poor BMW driver might have had a heart attack.
They ate lunch at a pub which claimed to be more than three hundred years old. Holli believed it too, as neither the decor nor the menu appeared to have changed in all that time. The elderly waitress merely blinked uncomprehendingly at her request for a salad, and she was forced to make do with a roast beef sandwich like the others. Khasar, as was his habit now, assumed mortal form in order to join them openly.
Fallen were thin on the ground, which surprised Holli until Khasar pointed out that demons, like mortals, were drawn to the alluring lights of London just forty miles to the south. Only the most conscientious Tempters hung around here more than they needed to, and while the usual horde of petty evils were infesting the village, spreading disease, malice and the usual unpleasantries, they were of next to no concern to a guardian, much less an archon.
They had no sooner begun to walk in the crumbling stone entrance when an angel appeared in front of them, pointing
his sword at Khasar.
“We are not so far gone that you may think to tread here, demon.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Khasar, astonished and clearly having forgotten that he was wearing his brutal tempter’s Aspect. “Oh, yes, of course! Do forgive me. Like yourself, faithful servant, I am in service to the Most High God, albeit in disguise for the nonce.”
For a moment, the horned image was replaced by that of a noble, lion-headed angel. The monastery’s guard put up his sword and bowed. “I must ask your pardon in return, my lord Archon, if I have given offense.”
“None at all, to be sure. The mistake was mine.”
“What’s going on?” whispered Derek.
“Khasar forgot to turn off the bad guy look.”
“Figures,” Derek shook his head, disgusted.
Following Khasar’s revelation, they were received in friendly, if puzzled, manner by the remaining Divine who guarded the village’s lone stronghold, an ancient monastery that was mostly abandoned. Derek was left to cool his heels in a chilly, stone-floored room where the sole splash of color was a small television displaying Sky News. His displeasure at being left behind was assuaged somewhat by discovery that the monks had 150 stations of digital satellite. They left him with the remote, flipping rapidly through MTV videos and what seemed like an endless supply of soccer games.
Jami would dig it here, thought Holli with a momentary pang of homesickness. This was the longest she’d ever been away from her twin and she missed her, although she doggedly refused to let herself think about her family, and especially her father. Only when she prayed for him, once in the morning, once again at night, did she allow herself to think about what they were all going through now. She wondered if they missed her; was it really possible for the angels to convince them that something had been planned for months in advance when none of them had known anything about it until she was already gone?
“Greetings, Archon,” said the weedy-looking archangel who received them in what must have been the meeting hall. He was thin, almost gaunt, and was attended by seven angels who didn’t look much healthier than their lord. “This is a most unusual pleasure. What brings you to this embattled outpost?”
“Embattled?” Khasar spread his hands. “I see no signs of war here. I was remarking to… ah, my companion here, that is to say, the angel Holliel, that the Fallen appear to have left this town largely alone. Surely that is a compliment to your steadfastness here.”
The angel coughed. It was a disturbing, hacking cough that sounded as if it was ripping apart his insides. “We are but the remnant, Khasar. The battle for England’s soul has been lost. For one hundred years we fought long and hard, but the evil tide was too much this time. There was no Arthur, no Alfred, not even a Canute. Though it shames me to say it, there was nothing for it but to retreat behind these walls and hope for the best. Mostly, the local Fallen ignore us, for even when we sally forth, the indifference of these mortals denies us succor. An army travels on its belly, archon, and there is no faith here on which to feed.”
“You’re not saying that this is all you have here?” Khasar was aghast. “Six angels to defend a stronghold?”
“There are two others, but aye, there are only eight who remain. And to think we have come to this pass in a land that once shone amongst the darkness of the nations like a torch in the night, the nation that brought the Living Word to every corner of the globe. I have heard the rumors. Soon, Diavelina will stretch forth her hand and this land shall fall into darkness until the King comes back. But we shall stay true until the end, never fear. We may be resigned to our fate, but we do not despair.”
Diavelina hasn’t won yet, Holly wanted to say. It was hard to even look at the angel, he was so terribly sad! She looked at Khasar, but the archon shook his head. Their mission was too important to share it with a few downtrodden angels, especially if the only purpose was to cheer them up.
“I rejoice to hear it.” Holli couldn’t tell if Khasar was being sarcastic or not. “As for us, our purpose is simple enough. We seek word of the sword Excalibur.”
“That blessed weapon once borne by Arthurus?”
“The very same,” answered Khasar, glancing significantly at Holli. “We have traveled to Glastonbury and across Devon and Cornwall, but the Fallen princes are not exactly forthcoming and it seems that most of the spirits of the land are either too young or have lost their memories.”
The gaunt archangel grimaced. “Or they have been drawn into the web of the Fallen. Also, I must tell you that there was a terrible harrowing here among the Fallen when the Mad One first came into these Isles, and the last century has seen a great exodus among our kind, to say nothing of those who were struck down by the legions. However, I imagine I can help you put an end to your search, as I can tell you precisely where you will find this famous sword, Excalibur, or Caliburn, as it is more properly named.”
“You can?” exclaimed Holli.
“To be sure. I was there when Arthurus fell. For you see, I was his Guardian. Oh, it was a dark day indeed that he fell to the traitor’s sword. A veritable spawn of the Deceiver himself, that Mordred. The place is not far from here, it is but an afternoon’s walk, if you are so minded.”
“I’m afraid not,” Khasar said. “Our quest for the sword is rather urgent.”
“So, you were a guardian angel?” Holli couldn’t help asking.
“Much like yourself, as a matter of fact.” The archangel smiled at her, then sighed. “You must not think that I was always as you see me now. Like these rocks, I have been worn down by the weight of time. Arthurus, his star did not burn long, but it burned brightly indeed!”
He glanced at the archon. “We fought many battles in those days, my lord. The Fallen were not so sly, nor circumspect. Blade to black-fire blade we met them, and we turned them back, again and again. That last army, the traitor’s, was accompanied by two legions and led by Lord Heleroth, one of Prince Azarel’s captains. I crossed swords with Heleroth myself; he struck me down, but not before I ran my blade through his shoulder.”
The archangel’s voice trailed off and he stared into the distance, his eyes looking past them towards a centuries-old battle that only he could see. Then he blinked, and cleared his throat.
“In any event, it was for naught. Though I failed, Prince Michael nevertheless saw fit to promote me and gave me charge of this place. And so you find me now. Are you sure you don’t wish to see the battlefield?”
“Very sure,” Khasar said. “But you said you know where the sword is?”
The archangel nodded sadly. “Well, never mind. I understand completely. If you would like, I will take you to Lady Nimue’s lake myself. I fear the sword’s keeper may have grown somewhat feral after all this time; Nimue is long gone and I must admit, I have been somewhat remiss in maintaining our old acquaintance. I do not know if I have visited him even once this century. He is a fearsome creature, but his spirit is pure. If he knows me, there should be no problem at all.”
And if he doesn’t? Holli wanted to ask. She glanced at Khasar. The archon was pretending to look pleased, but something about his expression suggested that he was thinking exactly the same thing.
Chapter 28
The Lady’s Looking Glass
Arthur, turning to his knights, fought ever in the foremost press until his horse was slain before him. At that, king lot rode furiously at him and smote him down; but rising straightaway, and being set again on horseback, he drew his sword Excalibur that he had gained by Merlin from the Lady of the Lake, which, shining brightly as the light of thirsty torches, dazzled the eyes of his enemies.
—Sir James Knowles, King Arthur and His Knights
If the lord archangel of Sevesham monastery was surprised to know that Derek, a mortal, was involved with their quest, he was too polite to show it. He did not blink an eye as Khasar switched back to his tempter’s guise, and he refused Holli’s offer of the passenger seat in the MGB, preferring instead to fly high
above the car. Khasar accompanied him, providing them with air cover of sorts.
“So, check this out,” she told Derek as she filled him in on the particulars of the meeting. “He was actually King Arthur’s guardian angel!”
“Really? That’s so cool. Did you ask him what Arthur was like, or anything?”
“I didn’t dare! I was mostly trying to keep my mouth shut, I didn’t want anyone to figure out that I’m not really an angel.”
Derek nodded approvingly. “That’s smart. It’s too bad, though. Maybe we can get him to tell us some stories tonight. Man, think how cool that would be, to know what really happened at Mount Badon and stuff?”
“Where?” Holli looked at him blankly, not that he could see her.
“You don’t read anything except Cosmo, do you.”
“That is so not true!” she protested vehemently. “I even subscribe to InStyle!”
“Oh, sorry, my mistake.”
He was such a jerk. Holli stuck out her tongue at him. Hey, if you were invisible, might as well take advantage of it. She looked up at the angels flying overhead and started. The archangel was looking down at her, and pointing to the right.
“Hey, at the next turn, take a right.”
“Right it is.”
They made a few more turns, and after about twenty more minutes of driving, Derek parked the MGB on the gravel shoulder in what appeared to be the complete middle of nowhere.
“How can we only be an hour or so from London,” he marveled. “There’s like, nothing here.”
“There’s some sheep over there.” Holli pointed to a flock that was grazing in a valley below them, forgetting he couldn’t see her. “And that must be the lake!”
“And the Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur!” Derek intoned in a solemn voice.
“What’s that?”
“That is why I am your king—oh, never mind. You’re hopeless.”
“You’re so one to talk.”
