by Peter Roman
But in the morning it always faded away, and we woke cursing our fate on the cold ground beside our dead fires.
When I asked Gawain what the dream meant over breakfast one day, he shook his head.
“Once it meant the future to us,” he said. “It was the dream Arthur shared with us of the kingdom he meant to build. But no more. It can never be anything but a dream now.”
“What changed?” I asked.
“Excalibur,” he said, spitting on the ground and glaring at Arthur’s tent.
“What of it?” I asked.
“The blade has stolen his soul,” Gawain said. “It cares nothing for Camelot. It only cares for blood. And so it leads us from battle to battle and won’t let us rest. There’s not enough blood in the world to satisfy it. We destroy the world instead of building a new one. Camelot can never be anything but a dream while Arthur wields Excalibur.”
His words made me think of Judas again. Not only the civilizations he had ruined over the ages, but also my own quest to find him. For while I was no longer obsessed with finding out who I once may have been, I was still driven by the need to find out why I’d woken up in Christ’s body. I needed to understand what Judas had done, to understand the purpose of my very existence. I needed to find a reason to the madness.
“So get rid of the sword,” I suggested. “I’ll take it off your hands.” Perhaps it would help me in the hunt for Judas. And if not, I knew a few kings with actual kingdoms who’d pay a pretty price for a weapon like that.
Gawain shook his head and looked down at the ground.
“It is not so easy,” he said. “The sword is his until he dies. That is the promise Merlin made to Arthur when he gave him the blade. But it is also the curse he laid upon Arthur. We just didn’t know it at the time. He cannot be rid of the sword.”
“Who is Merlin?” I asked.
“A magicker,” Percival said, pausing as he walked by to relieve himself in the woods. “He came to us when we were burying Cador after the battle with those damned dwarves. He told Arthur he had a weapon so powerful that none of the knights need ever die again. A fang of the dragon, forged into a sword by one of the old gods, back in one of the ages before the new gods stole the world away from them.” He shook his head. “Better we had all died than taken Excalibur from him, as we did. It is no gift.”
“Well, then we should find this Merlin character and force him to take the sword back,” I said. I had to admit the dream of Camelot appealed to me. I wouldn’t have minded seeing it become real. “And it sounds like he might know where this dragon is that we’re seeking.”
Gawain and Percival looked at each other but said nothing.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I will see Merlin again,” Arthur said, limping out of his tent. “He promised me as much. He said he would take Excalibur back from me the day I died.” And now it was Percival’s turn to spit on the ground.
“This sounds like a real deal with the devil you’ve made,” I said.
Arthur shook his head. “Even the devil would keep his distance from Excalibur,” he said. A fish splashed in the stream, and the sword turned in his hand toward it.
I shrugged. “Well, there’s an easy solution to all of this,” I said. And now they all looked at me. I swear even Excalibur pointed my way.
“Let’s kill Arthur,” I said. And then, in case they misunderstood me, I explained my plan.
So we broke camp and rode for several days, to Stonehenge. Back then, it wasn’t a safe, sterile tourist zone like it’s become now. It was a dangerous, wild area with strange creatures found nowhere else in the world. It was one of those places where there really was magic in the world, before those things that used magic were killed off or learned to hide themselves.
It was also a graveyard. It was where kings and knights were buried. And before them warriors and chieftains. If there were any brave enough to take their bodies there and bury them anyway. That was a quest unto itself in those days. But nothing was foolish enough to attack us as we rode there. I guess it was apparent that we were a band of desperate men who had nothing to lose. Or maybe all the things that were hidden in the mist out there could sense Excalibur.
We reached Stonehenge in the early evening, and by the time we’d set up camp amid those rocks, night had fallen. We set up a large fire in the centre of the circle and huddled around it for warmth. The cold of the night pressed in on us anyway, and the mist crept right up to the edge of the stones.
We built a funeral pyre and laid out Arthur on it, Excalibur clasped to chest. The sword kept shifting this way and that, like it was struggling to reach one or another of us. Perhaps all of us.
We piled wood under the pyre but didn’t light it. Instead, we honoured Arthur. We took turns telling the others what a great man he had been.
Gawain told the tale of how Arthur had rescued him from the Green Knight, a man cursed to forever re-enact his own murder in a forgotten castle deep in a forgotten land. Gawain had wandered into the castle while hunting and become trapped, and forced to take part in the drama. He played the part of the murderer, cutting off the Green Knight’s head night after night with an axe, and being slain by the beheaded knight in return, only to wake from the dead the following day in a bed in the castle to repeat the same thing. Until Arthur had walked into the middle of one of the murder feasts and lopped off the head of the knight with Excalibur, slaying him once and for all.
Tristan told the tale of how Arthur had rescued him from the ghost of Isolde, his past lover, who followed him around the land and rode him at night like a banshee. Arthur had sat by Tristan’s side as he slept, and when Isolde came drifting out of the woods he’d touched that blade to her. In the morning there was nothing but a pile of bones on the ground, and she bothered Tristan no more.
Galahad told the tale of how Arthur had helped him hunt down the druid that had entombed him, who had hidden himself among the forest animals by taking their shapes. The druid had tried to flee as a deer but Galahad’s arrow had brought it down. When the druid transformed into a bear as Galahad approached, Arthur had touched his blade to the beast and drawn all the magic out of it, until it was just a man again.
And around the circle we went, until everyone had told a tale but me. I was silent once again, for Arthur had not yet saved me. I looked around the stones and out into the night pressing in on us, but no one stepped out of the darkness. Merlin, if he was out there, was not fooled.
Arthur had the same idea. He sighed and climbed down from his pyre. “It’s no use,” he said. “The magicker no doubt can sense that I’m still alive.” And the others swore and broke out their flagons of mead.
“You likely tell the truth,” I said. “But we have one hope left.” And I drew my sword and ran him through.
Excalibur reacted almost instantly, hurling his arm up to parry the blow. But I was expecting the sword to do something, so I’d thrown some grace into my strike to speed it along. By the time Excalibur hit my sword to knock it aside, I’d already buried the business end in Arthur.
He didn’t cry out, but Excalibur did. It screamed, which I found interesting. I’ve heard swords make plenty of noises before, but never that. And then Arthur’s men screamed and drew their own swords.
Arthur stared at me, and then slumped to his knees. He planted Excalibur point first in the ground and slumped against the blade. And that’s where he died.
“Say your last rites, betrayer,” Gawain said, his blade against my throat, “for we will not say them for you.”
“Let’s just all calm down and wait a minute,” I said.
“Wait for what?” Percival said, approaching me with a look of murder in his eyes that I’d seen too many times in my lives.
“I believe he wants you to wait for me,” a new voice said. It belonged to an old man who walked into our camp out of the mist, wearing black robes and leaning on a staff as blac
k as Excalibur. His face was scarred with a hundred different burns, and where he should have had hair he had tattoos of strange symbols I’d never seen before.
“Merlin!” the others spat and drew back from him. I sighed and relaxed a little. I hadn’t been able to come up with a backup plan in case this hadn’t worked, so I was glad to see him.
Merlin shuffled over to Arthur and stared down at him, then grunted. “So, he is finally dead,” he said.
“He will not be the only one to die this night,” Galahad said, coming over to Percival’s side with his weapon drawn.
“And who has done the terrible deed?” Merlin asked, looking at me. And I knew I had him when he kept on looking.
I put my sword to his throat. I ignored Gawain’s sword, which was still at my throat. It was that kind of scene.
“Where is the dragon?” I asked him.
“Now, what would you want with the dragon?” he asked. The way he said it made it sound like he was talking only to me, and not the others.
“The dragon has the Grail,” I said. “We would have the Grail.”
He smiled a little. “The Grail holds no answers for you,” he said.
“The dragon,” I said, prodding him with the sword.
He studied me a few seconds longer, then shrugged a little.
“The dragon hides in the impossible places,” he said. “If you want to meet it, then you must find a way to draw it into the world of the real.”
“And how do we do that, magicker?” Percival demanded.
Merlin cast a glance at him.
“You must offer it something equally impossible,” he said. “Something it will covet.”
“Like me,” I said. Merlin looked back at me but didn’t say anything. His expression was all the answer I needed though.
So I ran him through too.
None of the others tried to stop me, not that they could have anyway. They just stared in confusion.
No blood came from Merlin’s wound, only dust. And when he cried out in pain, more dust spilled from his mouth.
“I am not the dragon, fool!” he said.
“No,” I said. “You are Judas.”
He just stared at me for a moment, more dust trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Then he chuckled. “How did you know?” he asked in that voice made of a thousand voices.
I tried not to let my relief show. I hadn’t actually been certain. This could have been awkward.
“It was what the others told me,” I said, twisting the blade hard enough to make him cry out again. He dropped to his knees as the knights stared. I have no problem admitting I thoroughly enjoyed his pain. “Giving Arthur a gift that would ensure Camelot never comes to be. A weapon from the age of the older gods. This is just like Rome, isn’t it? You want Camelot to fall before it’s even been built. You don’t want humanity to have something that perfect.”
He grinned through the pain at me. “And Camelot has fallen, hasn’t it?” he said. “It has died with Arthur. It could have been but it never will be.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, straight-faced. “Arthur isn’t dead.”
“I felt you slay him. . . .” Judas said, looking over at Arthur slumped against Excalibur still. And all the knights looked at their dead king as well.
I waved my hand and resurrected Arthur. It was a showy move, and it took most of my remaining grace, but it was only fair because, as Judas pointed out, I had killed Arthur. But he was dead no more.
Arthur gasped for breath as he looked around himself. And then he saw Merlin and rose to his feet.
“Magicker!” he hissed.
And now the others stepped back and stared at me. I couldn’t really blame them. But this wasn’t the time or place to explain things.
“Arthur still lives,” I said to Judas. “And so does the dream of Camelot.”
Judas looked back at me. “Very well,” he said. “If you want the dragon, you shall have it. Hic verum gradale,” he whispered, and mist came out of his mouth now when he spoke.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I am calling the dragon,” Judas said and laughed, and coils of fog rolled out of his mouth and wrapped around me.
Now that I finally had him, I fully intended to force him into telling me the truth about my past, and why he had done what he had done to me. But I knew that was going to take time. In fact, I wanted it to take time. I wanted to draw it out. So I had to take care of the immediate problem first and then enjoy myself with Judas later.
“What is the dragon?” I asked. I looked around the mist as the other knights formed into a circle, backs against each other. Strange sounds came out of the mist. Moaning and shrieking noises. And a low rumble. As if something large was stirring.
“It is your nightmares and despair made real,” Judas said. “Among other things.”
And then the city I’d seen in my dreams formed out of the fog around me. It was as if I were suddenly in a city of Heaven. Beautiful, crystalline towers disappearing into the mist overhead. Statues of smiling men and women in the squares, and ornately carved fountains. Perfectly formed cobblestones under our feet. Trees with branches bent heavy with fruit. A smell of baking bread in the air.
“Camelot!” Arthur cried.
“It is where the dragon has hidden itself,” Judas said, laughing even though he was still on his knees, still on my sword. “In the impossible.”
And then Gareth screamed, and we turned to see a pack of bears dragging him off. They were made of the mist itself. We started forward to help him, but then more things came out of the mist. A skeleton with an axe attacked Percival. A huge dog with three heads lunged at Tristan. A woman with worms at her breasts reached for Gawain. They were all mist.
“Now we are truly in the belly of the beast,” Judas said, and I knew from his words that somehow all of these things were the dragon.
A young man in black armour stepped out of the mist and raised a black sword at Arthur. The sword looked like the twin of Excalibur.
“Prepare yourself to die,” he said. “Father.”
Arthur stared at him. “What madness is this?” he said. “I have no son.”
“In Camelot you do,” the youth said. “But I would have no father.” He lashed out at Arthur, who parried with Excalibur, and the blades shrieked as they touched. Then the mist grew so thick we couldn’t see each other. I could only hear the sounds of battle, and the screams.
Once again, it was just Judas and me.
“All right, the dragon is my nightmares and despair,” I said. “How do I kill it?”
Judas shook his head at me.
“When you fight the dragon, you are fighting yourself,” he said. “There can be no victory in that. That’s why it is the dragon and not some other beast.”
I twisted the blade in him again, just to hear him scream. I did wish it didn’t sound so much like a joyous scream.
“Why?” I said.
“Why destroy Camelot?” Judas said. “Because it would have ushered in a new age of light to keep the darkness at bay. It would have redeemed you.” He spat dust at me. “But none of you are worthy of redemption. You belong to the darkness, not the light. I’m simply keeping you in your place, as I have done so many times before.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said since Rome,” I said, “and I think you’re full of shit.”
Now he looked a little less joyous.
“I don’t think you’re trying to keep us where we belong,” I said. “I think you’re trying to keep us from where we belong. We’re not beasts who dream of blood and anarchy. We dream of Camelot. And before that we dreamed of Rome, and before that the Garden. And before that maybe we dreamed of other places that lifted us out of the mud and shadows. Because if we ever manage to build a place like that, then your time is done. I’ve seen Camelot, and I know
there’s no room for something like you in it. You’ll fade into dust just like the rest of your kind, whatever they were. The blood and mud is where you belong, not us.”
I shoved the blade down into the ground, pinning him. Like he’d once pinned me. It didn’t feel as good as I’d hoped it would, but we were just getting started.
“This time the blood and mud is where you’re going to stay,” I said.
“Who says I’m even here?” Judas said, somehow impossibly smiling again. “How do you know I’m not just another dream of the dragon?”
I paused. He made the sort of point only a trickster could make. I looked around but there was no one else to help me figure out what was real and what wasn’t here. I was lost in nothingness.
I thought about killing Judas quickly. I certainly wanted him dead, before he had a chance to escape again. But I couldn’t kill him yet. Not until he told me what I wanted to know about myself. Before I could get to work on him for that information, though, a massive serpent’s head formed out of the mist in front of me, and I no longer had a choice.
I ripped the sword from Judas and his scream was lost in the cry of the dragon as it lunged at me. I slashed part of its face off, but it only melted away. And those jaws snapped shut on me.
What to say of being swallowed by the dragon? It burned and it choked and it seared and it smothered and everything else you can think of. I tried to swing my sword again but the mist pressed in on me like a solid thing, preventing me from moving. I really was in the belly of the beast now, or I would be shortly. I screamed—not in pain or fear, but in rage at being so close to Judas and then having this happen.
But the screaming kept up after I’d run out of breath. The very air around me came apart in a scream and I fell to the ground. At Arthur’s feet. The screaming continued without a break, and I realized it was coming from Excalibur in his hand. The blade was clean but Arthur was drenched in blood. Some of it leaking out of the holes in his armour where he had been run through.
