by Amy Cross
"Nice sword," says a voice from nearby.
Arthur turns to see a man standing in the shadows of a nearby building, watching intently.
"I'll give you a good price for such a magnificent weapon," the man continues. "Three gold coins. How'd you like to earn so much money?"
"It's not for sale," Arthur says.
"Everything's for sale," the man says, stepping out of the shadows. He has dark eyes and a seemingly-permanent, thoughtful smile. "All that matters is whether or now we can reach a good price."
"It's not for sale," Arthur says again, hurrying along. As he walks, he can hear that the man is following him.
"Where'd you get something like that, anyway?" the man asks. "Little kid like you shouldn't be carrying around a great big sword like that."
Arthur just keeps walking, hoping that the man will get bored soon. But as he turns a corner, Arthur feels the man's hand fall onto his shoulder. Turning, he raises the sword in anger, pointing it straight towards the man's face.
"Hang on!" the man says, stepping back with a slight smile on his face. "No need to get tetchy. I was just asking a simple question. A simple answer will suffice."
"It's none of your business," Arthur says. "Leave me alone or I'll..." He pauses, realizing that he's not entirely sure what he might do to the man if he's forced to defend himself.
"Alright, kid," the man says, backing away a little further. "I was just being friendly. No need to get all funny about it."
Arthur turns and hurries away. Desperately hoping that the sword will lead him to its rightful owner, he finds himself running from street to street without any hint of where he should be going. He feels completely lost, abandoned by whatever power exists in the sword.
"Boo!" shouts a voice from behind suddenly. Arthur spins around just in time to see the man swing a punch directly at his face. Falling backwards, Arthur clatters to the ground, but despite the force of impact he makes certain that the sword stays in his hand. "Come on, kid," the man says, standing over him. "I'll give you a silver coin for that nice shiny bit of metal. It's the best offer you're going to get."
Arthur picks himself up. For a moment, he considers selling the sword to the man. After all, if the sword is trying to make its way to its rightful owner, Arthur considers the possibility that it's the sword itself that is engineering this encounter; perhaps the sword wants to be taken by this man.
"Just give me the sword," the man says, reaching out to grab it from Arthur's hand. In a moment of blind rage, Arthur lashes out at the man, slicing the sword straight into his torso. The man immediately falls back against the wall, blood pouring from his body, and a moment later he collapses dead to the ground. Arthur stands above him, holding the blood-soaked sword and trying to work out exactly what happened. He hadn't intended to kill the man, or even to hurt him, yet somehow he'd ended up lashing out. It was as if the sword had chosen to kill the man, and Arthur had been given no choice but to go along with the plan.
For a moment, Arthur feels compelled to drop the sword and run. He wants nothing more to do with it. But another compulsion soon washes over him, one that tells him to take the sword somewhere safe, somewhere he'll be able to practice. He doesn't know what this urge means, but he takes one final look at the man's dead body before turning and running. When he gets back into the wilderness, he stops and looks at the sword, seeing the blood-red stain on its blade. He tries to wipe the blood away, but it seems to have become ingrained in the metal. For the first time, Arthur starts to believe that maybe the sword was meant for him after all.
Jess
Today.
"I'm a werewolf, you're a werewolf," Darla says, turning to Duncan, "and you're a werewolf. We're all werewolves. Come on, seriously. You know how hard it is to kill us. Did you really think you'd seen the back of me?" She pauses, apparently surprised by our reactions. I guess she thought she'd be able to just stroll back in, explain her survival with a few little jokes, and carry on as if nothing had really happened. "Seriously?" she says, staring at us both. "Well damn it, now I'm offended. I thought you had more faith in me."
I still can't say anything. It's just too shocking to see Darla standing here. The last time I saw her was back on the Scottish estate, when she sacrificed herself to save a young wolf while the humans were attacking. The humans had vaporizer machines that they were using to kill as many werewolves as possible, and I saw Darla being fed into the machine. I saw it with my own eyes. There's no doubt, no possibility that something else happened. She's dead. As dead as can be. This can't be happening. People don't just come back to life like this.
"It took a while to find you," she says. "I've been following your trail for ages. I even came into that big library to try and catch up to you, but things got complicated and I decided it'd be best to wait until you came out again. You two move so fast. By the time I caught up with you each time, I'd just find that you'd already got moving to your next location." She pauses. "What's wrong?" she adds, staring straight at me. "You don't seem very pleased to see me."
"I am," I say, cautiously. The truth is, it took me a while to get over Darla's death. Now that she's back, there's a part of me that wants to run towards her and hug her, but there's also a part of me that's scared she'd just vanish in a puff of smoke. I'm not quite ready to accept that she's alive, because I don't know if I can handle it if this turns out to be an illusion. I turn to Duncan. "Thoughts?"
"Very interesting," he says, his eyes fixed on Darla. "I don't often see werewolves die, but when it happens, they usually stay dead. We're tough creatures, but we're not immortal, and we're not miracle-workers. I've seen a lot of things, but I've never seen someone come back from the dead before. Death, when it happens, tends to be final, otherwise it's not really death, is it?"
"I bet you're wondering how I pulled it off," she says, stepping towards us. She's got this self-satisfied grin plastered across her face, as if she's really pleased with herself. "Well -"
"Stay back!" Duncan says, forcing her to stop while she's a few paces away. "No offense, but I'm still not quite sure what you are."
"Worried I'm a zombie?" she asks.
"Among other things," he replies.
"I'm me," she says earnestly. "The vaporizer was good, but not quite good enough. It buzzed me up into little pieces, so it took quite a while for my body to heal. I woke up months later, and I had no idea what had happened. When I went to see the rest of the pack, Robin told me what had happened and that you two had left. I wasn't sure what to think at first. I kind of felt like you should have waited around to see if I made it, but I guess you were pretty certain I was dead." She grins. "Sorry about that. I really got you going, huh?"
"You really did," Duncan says, but I can see that he's not convinced. Duncan has a way of taking crazy things in his stride, but this time he's definitely suspicious.
"The thing is," Darla continues, "I know what's going on. I've got my ear to the ground, and I heard that you were sent to find Excalibur. Things are dangerous. There's some kind of dark force massing on the Scottish estate. I don't know what it is, but it's huge. It threatens everything. We need to get back there and fight it. We can use Excalibur. It might be our only hope. That's why I came to find you."
"It is, huh?" Duncan replies. He pauses, clearly trying to work out what's happening. Suddenly, he smiles. "Well that's great!" He steps forward and shakes her hand. "Glad to have you onboard, Darla. We've missed you." He turns to me. "Haven't we missed her?" he says. "Tell her, Jess. Tell her how glad you are to have her back with us."
"I'm glad," I say cautiously.
"The gang's all here!" Duncan continues, stepping forward and hugging her. "This really improves our chances of success. Now we've got Darla, we can start moving forward." He turns to me. "Don't you agree, Jess?"
"I guess so," I say, still not sure whether I share Duncan's enthusiasm.
"It's okay," Darla says, smiling as she looks at me. "I understand why you're being careful. I wou
ld be too, in your position." There are tears in her eyes. "If it's any consolation, when I went into the vaporizer, I really thought I was going to die. I didn't think there was any way out. And then, when I found I'd survived, it was as if everything made sense." She pauses. "That wolf cub I saved. Did he survive?"
Duncan nods. "As far as I know, he's growing up happily on the estate."
"That's all I wanted," she says. "I just saw the poor little creature and knew that I had to protect such an innocent life. I thought I was sacrificing myself so he could live. But I survived. I probably didn't deserve to come back, but I did."
Duncan starts walking around her, as if he wants to get a view from every angle. "It's good that you understand," he says. "Obviously we're very, very happy to see you again, Darla, even if your explanation of how you survived the vaporizer is somewhat difficult to believe."
"You know me," she says, smiling. "I'm tenacious. It took me a while to un-mince myself, but here I am." She looks at me. "I hope you can accept me, in time. I've missed you, Jess. I'd like to come with you to help you find Excalibur."
"We've found it," Duncan says, "or didn't you notice the big sword in my hand?"
"I didn't," she says. "Congratulations. Now what?"
"Now we have to hide it," he continues. "Somewhere better. Somewhere no-one can possibly find it this time. Any ideas?"
"I'll leave it to you to decide," she says. "But I'm here to offer any assistance I can."
I turn to Duncan. "Can I speak to you for a moment?" I ask. "Alone?"
"I'll be over here," Darla says, removing herself from the clearing so that Duncan and I can be alone.
"You don't seem ecstatic," Duncan says, smiling but with a look of concern in his eyes.
"This doesn't feel right," I say. "I want Darla to be alive, I really do, but I know she's dead. I saw it happen." I pause. "Tell me it's possible that she could have survived."
"It's not possible," he replies, looking concerned. "No-one survived those vaporizers. It's just not possible in any way that Darla could still be alive." He pauses. "But she's here, isn't she?"
"People don't come back from the dead, do they?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "If they do, it means they weren't really dead to begin with. And she was dead. Lots of werewolves were vaporized that day, and they all stayed dead. And now here she is. Have you noticed the way she talks? It's slightly awkward. Slightly mannered."
"She must be a ghost," I say.
Duncan frowns. "Do you really believe in ghosts? And why now?" He glances over at Darla, who is far enough away that she won't be able to hear us. "Something else doesn't make sense. She said Robin told her we'd left, but Robin died not long after Darla. There's no way he could have told her anything." He pauses. "Also, she's wearing the same clothes she was wearing when she died. Exactly the same clothes."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"It means..." He pauses. "Well, it suggests that her appearance is being mined from our own memories. Someone's reaching into our minds and pulling out our last image of Darla, and using it to reconstruct her right before our eyes."
I feel my heart sink a little. Although I'd been forcing myself to remember that this couldn't really be Darla, there was a tiny part of me that had started to embrace the hope. "It's definitely not her, is it?" I say.
"Definitely not," he replies, "but reconstructions of dead people don't usually just appear like this. Someone has done this, and they've done it for a reason. They want to trick us into think Darla's alive, but it won't work. We're onto them. They left too many little mistakes. Thankfully they didn't do a very good job. Plus, we're not very gullible."
"Speak for yourself," I say.
"We have to go along with it for now," Duncan says.
"No," I say. "We have to get rid of her."
Duncan shakes his head. " First, I don't think that's possible. Second, I'm fairly sure we can give her the slip later on, when we need to. And third, I want to know who's sent her and why. Someone has managed to use our memories of Darla against us, to reach into us and create a perfect reconstruction of everything about her."
"But you touched her," I say. "She's real."
"She felt real," he continues. "A little cold, maybe, but definitely solid. So she's not just a hallucination. There's something walking about that wants us to think it's Darla."
I pause. "Is there any way it could be?" I ask. "I mean, even if it's artificial, could something have somehow brought back her mind and -"
"No," Duncan says firmly. "Don't allow yourself to start thinking about that. Darla's dead. This is little more than a heated up zombie. It's not her body, and it's not her mind, even if she really thinks she's Darla. Someone has sent her to mess with us, and the only way we can deal with it is to let her think we've been fooled and keep an eye on what she does. Can you deal with that?"
I nod. "I don't like it," I say, "but I guess if it's all we can do, I'll have to."
"The big question," Duncan adds, "is who's behind this." He turns to Darla. "Come on, Corpse Face. Let's get going!"
Darla smiles as she rejoins us. "Is that your new nickname for me?"
"Yep," Duncan says. "It's not often we get to hang out with someone we thought was dead." He pauses. "To be completely honest with you, Darla, Jess and I have been talking and we're still not entirely convinced about you. I hope you understand that given the sensitivity of the journey we're on, we can't just accept what you say and assume that you're telling the truth."
"If you did," Darla says, "I'd be really worried. You'd have to be insane. It's better like this. I have to earn your trust again. I can do that. Just give me a chance."
"Okay," I say. The crazy thing is, it's as if this... thing... really believes that she's Darla. I know it's probably all part of the illusion, but it's even got Darla's facial expressions copied perfectly. Before this happened, I would have assumed that there'd be some hint in her eyes that would tell me it's not really her, but the reconstruction is completely convincing. So much so, in fact, that I feel sorry for her.
"We'd better get going," Duncan says. "It'll be night soon, and we'll need a place to rest."
We start walking. Duncan and Darla talk a little, but I hang behind, listening to them. There's something I really don't like about the way this fake Darla has just walked into our lives. The idea that someone would do this is kind of gross. I spent a long time pushing my guilt over Darla's death to the back of my mind; after all, I should have found some way to save her. Now there's this fake Darla to remind me every second of every day waking moment that she died. Hopefully soon we can get rid of her for good. But Darla was a good friend? Am I going to be forced to watch her die again?
1,780 years ago
"It's time," says the knight, standing in the passageway. He knows he should not interrupt his king, but it's gone midnight and the army is growing restless. Picked by a show of hands, the knight has been sent to speak to the king, to tell him that they must launch their attack now if they are to launch it at all. "My Lord -"
"I know," Arthur says. "I know you're right. We must fight one more time." Weary and tired of all the bloodshed, Arthur holds Excalibur and tries to summon the strength to go into battle again. It has been twenty years since he and the sword first came together, and in that time they have fought more enemies than Arthur could possibly remember. The sword itself is stained red with the blood of men from all across Europe. Tonight, they face their final battle, and it is far from their greatest. Yet Arthur is filled with foreboding, and he feels certain that the cost of victory this time around will be far greater than usual.
"It is commonly agreed among the men," says the knight, "that it would be far better to attack at night, by moon-light, rather than to wait until morning."
"I know!" Arthur says firmly. "Yet I do not give the order. Why not?"
The knight stares at him, unsure as to whether he is expected to give an answer.
"I must speak to the See
r," Arthur says finally.
"There is no time," says the knight.
"It will take but a moment," Arthur says, pushing past him and hurrying along the stone corridor until he reaches the spiral staircase that will take him down to the dungeon. He turns to the knight. "Tell the men that I will return within twenty minutes. Tell them to be ready to charge. To fight, to die, and to win." He hurries down the steps, finally emerging in the dungeon.
Walking towards the cage, he stands in silence for a moment.
"Well, old man?" he says. "What name would you like me to call you today?"
There is no answer. The figure in the cage sits hunched, his face hidden from view.
"It has been many years since last I came down here," Arthur continues. "My face is older. Let me see the lines on your own face, so that I may see how the years have treated you."
"Oh," says the figure in the cage, standing up. "Not so bad." He smiles as he faces Arthur. "But yeah, you're right. You look pretty gnarly."
Arthur's eyes widen in surprise. "You have not aged a day!" he exclaims.
"Well, that's what happens sometimes," the prisoner says. "I mean, it's not like I'm living the high life in here, is it? No drink, no pretty ladies. Skin care, though, that's something I've managing to really keep on top of."
"Silence!" Arthur shouts.
"Ooh," says the prisoner, stepping back and grinning. "Fearsome."
"Tell me what will happen when this battle is over," Arthur says.
"No idea," the prisoner replies. "I keep telling you, I can't see the future when it comes to individuals, I'm just very good at guessing. And if I had to guess right now, not that I would want to, but if you insisted, which I can see by the look in your eyes you -"
