“But, uh, Duke of Britain?” Loch said, glancing apologetically at Spirit and shrugging. “That’s the same thing, right?”
Vivian shook her head. “Britain had more kings than—than Justin Bieber has fangirls. But it had no true king—High King—because for generations none of the White Mare’s daughters had chosen to wed.”
“I thought Arthur married Guinevere,” Burke said, frowning as if he suspected Vivian of trying to trick him.
“He did,” Vivian said impatiently. “Guinevere was the White Mare’s Daughter, and only marriage to her could confer the High Kingship. Arthur waited years, refusing to marry, and at last his patience was rewarded, for in the darkest hour of his battle against the Saxons, Guinevere came to him on the battlefield, bringing with her the white horses of Britain. The tide was turned, Arthur won the victory, and The Merlin came to Camelot to make the wedding. Mordred knew he could not conceal his true nature from The Merlin, nor could he hope—now—to be named Arthur’s royal heir. He spoke fair words—as they said in those days—and went far from the court.”
“I know how this story goes,” Loch said impatiently.
“No, you don’t. That’s the trouble,” Vivian answered immediately. “Arthur wasn’t king because he won a lot of fights. He was king because he was Guinevere’s husband, and whoever her husband was would be High King. Mordred meant to marry her, and that meant she must break her marriage to Arthur and choose another husband. Choose him.”
Spirit listened impatiently. All of this was ancient history—literally. No matter what the details were, they knew how it ended: with Mordred locked up in an oak tree, and the Round Table doomed to be reborn over and over until Mordred was dead. She opened her mouth to protest. Vivian smirked, as if she’d heard Spirit’s every thought. Spirit flushed, and forced herself to stay silent. But if she doesn’t start telling us something useful soon, I’m going to—
“Years passed,” Vivian went on, as if she didn’t notice Spirit’s impatience. “Acting in secret, Mordred stripped Arthur of his true knights and advisors. Lancelot was tricked into leaving Camelot. The Merlin was imprisoned in an enchanted oak. By then Arthur knew the shape of his doom, but he could see no way to prevent it—he might hold Britain, but both he and the White Mare’s Daughter could die as easily as any other. But Guinevere told him he could prevail by seeming to fall to Mordred’s treachery, and together they formed a plan. Before all the Court, he named her faithless and banished her—so all believed—to Glastonbury Abbey. But she went to Avalon instead, and there she gathered an army that could fight Mordred with sorcery.”
Spirit fidgeted. None of this seemed particularly important now. And no matter how much Vivian said it was the unknown story of Camelot, it all seemed very familiar. Had she dreamed this? Or read it? Either way, she did know how Vivian’s tale ended. Arthur dead, Mordred fled, and Guinevere chases him until she catches him. Tell me something I don’t know. With a real effort, she kept herself from tapping her foot and tried to pay attention.
Finally her frustration became too much. “And Merlin imprisoned him in Gallows Oak because Mordred couldn’t be killed,” she blurted. “But Mordred did something to Merlin. And Guinevere said she and her army would keep watch over Mordred and his allies forever. And that’s where the Reincarnates—the Shadow Knights and the Grail Knights—come from. How does this help us now?”
Burke looked toward her in surprise, but Vivian seemed to have expected Spirit’s outburst. “The spell Mordred cast bound The Merlin’s spirit to his flesh until the end of time. He would never be reborn,” Vivian said.
“But that was centuries ago—and Merlin isn’t dead,” Spirit protested, when Vivian didn’t say anything else.
“Yes,” Vivian said. “Mordred’s spell struck true, but The Merlin was more powerful than he had dreamed. If The Merlin would not be reborn, neither would he die. Centuries passed. The Merlin became a wraith, a spirit. The ancient Gifts we once took for granted passed out of common keeping, and he could not make himself known to anyone. Until a few decades ago.” She smiled as if she was about to tell them an unfunny joke. “First ARPANET, then NIPRNET, then NSFNET … electrical pulses, binary code, something he could influence to give himself a voice again.”
“You are not saying that Merlin has taken over the Internet,” Addie said flatly. “You really aren’t.”
Even Loch was speechless.
“Not ‘taken over,’” Vivian said. “He speaks through it.”
“Oh, that—that’s completely different,” Loch said, sounding as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or start yelling. “That’s completely reasonable. Of course there’s a dead Druid in the Internet. It explains everything.”
“The ghost in the machine,” Addie said. She gave a blurt of laughter and looked horrified.
They looked at each other. Loch looked incredulous, Addie looked shocked, Burke actually looked irritated. Spirit had no idea what expression was on her own face, but she felt … boggled. Even finding out magic was real hadn’t been this much of a shock. Merlin was a computer program. It was a cliché and unbelievable at the same time.
“Well,” Burke said after a very long pause. “I guess it isn’t any weirder than being in the middle of a battle between Merlin and Mordred surrounded by a bunch of reincarnated Arthurian knights.”
Loch stared at him in pained disbelief. Burke shrugged.
“So Mordred takes over a biker and Merlin takes over the Internet and our side is losing?” Loch asked.
“Not ‘taken over,’” Vivian repeated irritably. “He—”
“Is.… Can I talk to him?” Spirit finally asked.
“I was waiting for somebody to grow a brain,” Vivian muttered. She went over to the bank of computers and began flipping switches. Lights came on, and the room was filled with a low whooshing hum.
It sounds like it’s going to blow up. Or break, Spirit thought.
“Planning to start World War Last?” Loch asked.
“There aren’t any missiles here and I don’t have the launch codes anyway. But I do have Internet.”
It took a while for the equipment to warm up, but when it did, letters appeared on both of the CRT screens.
HELLO SPIRIT. I AM GLAD YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS ARRIVED SAFELY. WE HAVE MUCH WORK TO DO.
Spirit had stood up when Vivian came over. Now Vivian gestured brusquely toward the seat she’d vacated. “He can see us, but he can’t hear us. You’ll have to type to talk to him.”
Spirit sat down and turned to face the monitor. A green cursor blinked like a heartbeat. She poised her fingers over the keys, hesitating. Despite everything—despite Oakhurst’s lessons in paranoia—she believed this was QUERCUS. She’d trusted him before, and she’d trust him now. But what could she say?
The keyboard was large and awkward—it took pressure to strike the keys, and they clicked loudly as she did. HELLO, QUERCUS, she typed.
Suddenly it was all too much for her. She burst into tears, choking back sobs and shaking her head to clear away the tears she wouldn’t stop to wipe away.
MUIRIN IS DEAD AND SHE DIED TO PROTECT US, AND DOC MAC IS DEAD AND WE KNOW WHAT MORDRED’S PLANNING NOW AND WE HAVE TO STOP HIM AND I DON’T KNOW HOW
Words appeared on the screen beneath hers.
I HAVE PREPARED FOR THIS BATTLE FOR MANY YEARS. NOW YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS MUST FIGHT ONCE AGAIN. WEAPONS HAVE BEEN PREPARED FOR YOU, AND FOR THIS DAY. YOU MUST SEEK THEM OUT. VIVIAN WILL HELP YOU.
She scrubbed at her eyes, trying to stop crying. He was asking the impossible. They were all there was? Four teenagers against the hosts of Hell?
Burke put an arm across her shoulders, and silently offered a handkerchief. She wiped her face and blew her nose. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. It doesn’t matter if we can’t win. We’ll be dead when Mordred starts his war whether we fight back now or not. So we might as well die trying to stop him.
She swallowed hard and typed: TELL US WHAT WE NEED TO DO.
<
br /> There was a pause, as if the mind on the other side of the screen was considering.
REST NOW.
The words—his and hers—disappeared from the screen, leaving only the blinking green cursor.
The others had gathered around Spirit as she typed, watching the screen. She looked up. Addie’s eyes were wet with tears and Loch looked miserable.
“I never backed off from a fight just because I didn’t think I could win,” Burke said slowly, but Spirit could tell he was troubled.
“I don’t think we have much choice,” Loch said. He sounded strained—angry. He’s come to the same conclusion I have, Spirit thought. Refusing to fight won’t save us.
“Why this?” Addie demanded. “Why us? There are only four of us—Breakthrough has hundreds of people! How can he possibly think we can win?”
“Because you’re special,” Vivian said mockingly, and none of them could tell whether she meant it as a joke. “And the ‘weapons’ Merlin’s talking about are pretty powerful. That’s why he had to hide them. If he hadn’t, Mordred would’ve found them a long time ago. Not even he knows where they are now.”
“Oh, great. To avert the end of the world we have to go on a treasure hunt first?” Loch snapped.
It hurt to smile, but Spirit did anyway. She could always count on Loch to be indignant about things that were just plain terrifying—and come right out with what everyone was thinking and didn’t want to say.
“Welcome to my world,” Vivian said dryly. “But right now, you need to get some sleep—and out of those stupid clothes. I’ll show you to your spacious accommodations.”
TWO
Vivian pointed things out as she led them down the hall—kitchen, toilets, showers, something she called a “ready room.” The bedroom was a little smaller than the outer room, and contained two sets of bunk beds. There was a big schoolroom-type clock on the wall, and the speakers for the old PA system—rusty now—were tucked up in the corners of the ceiling. The room had no door, just a curtain you could pull across the doorway. There were footlockers at the foot of each bed.
“Clothes,” Vivian said, pointing. “You should be able to find something that fits. Even you, big guy. Sleep well.”
She walked out. Spirit felt overwhelmed, numb. Too tired to feel anything, really. Except maybe a little relief, because at least they were presumably safe enough to sleep. After a moment, Addie walked over and pulled the curtain shut.
“Well, this sucks,” Loch said comprehensively, sticking his hands in his pockets. His formal clothes, rumpled as they were, looked completely out of place here. “I thought we were joining the Rebel Alliance. Turns out we are the Rebel Alliance.”
“Yeah, well, no matter how bad it is, it’s got to be better than being at Oakhurst right now,” Burke said. He opened the nearer of the two footlockers. Spirit didn’t know what she’d expected to see—uniforms?—but instead it was filled with regular clothes. There were several small plastic bags on top. He tossed one to Loch and began pulling out clothes, holding them up to check the sizes.
“All the comforts of home,” Loch said, opening the bag and brandishing a toothbrush. “If your home happens to be a minimum security prison, of course.”
“You’ll notice I didn’t get an answer to my question,” Addie said, going over to the other chest and rummaging through it. “We aren’t— We aren’t superheroes. And I don’t think I trust that— That Vivian.”
Spirit sat down on one of the bunks. At least it had sheets and blankets, and she wasn’t going to have to worry about creepy crawlies in them. You couldn’t say as much for that motel. “We’re pretty much out of choices,” she said wearily, her shoulders sagging. “How would we feel knowing we could do something to— To fix things— And we didn’t?”
“Well, gosh,” Loch said poisonously, “I guess we’d all feel pretty bad about that, Spirit. But at least it wouldn’t be for long. Six weeks from now Mordred starts World War Three. And I’m betting wherever this is, it’s a first strike zone.”
“Yeah,” Burke said meditatively, ignoring the sarcasm. He tossed a sweatshirt and a pair of pants up to the top bunk, unrolled a pair of white sweat socks to check the size, and added them to the pile. “A lot of the silos in the old ‘missile fields’ are decommissioned, but not all of them. And there’s a couple of military bases in this area. First strike zone.”
“But.… I thought Mordred was going to launch the missiles here,” Addie said. She handed Loch a bundle of clothing and held up a worn pink sweater, grimacing. “You know—at us, this country. So why would it matter if our own missiles were being fired and landing here?”
“Doesn’t matter, because this stuff is set up so that when there’s a bird in the air, everyone goes berserk,” Burke said simply. “Once any of them hits—anywhere—everybody’s going to be pointing fingers. And the fingers are going to be pushing buttons.”
“Maybe somebody should mention that to Mordred,” Loch said. Burke just snorted.
But Spirit’s thoughts had moved sluggishly on. “QUER—Merlin said ‘again,’” Spirit said. “He said we must fight once again.” She looked up at Burke, at Addie and Loch.
“And now for that new hit reality show, Guess Which Arthurian Character You Used To Be,” Loch said in fulsome tones. “Because if you still think we aren’t all Reincarnates, you clearly don’t get out much.”
“I don’t want to be somebody else!” Addie wailed. She slammed the lid of the chest and sat down on it.
“Maybe we aren’t,” Spirit said, though she didn’t really believe it herself. “Maybe it’s like me not having magic at Oakhurst—maybe we’ve been picked because we aren’t Reincarnates.”
“I wish,” Loch said, sighing. “My idea of fun isn’t riding around looking for something to hit with a big sword. And I’m not sure those guys ever did anything else. And, gee, swords versus SMGs? Guess who wins.”
“Actually,” Burke said, “we’ve got a bigger problem than that.”
“Oh, bring it,” Addie said, waving her hand.
“Sweatpants,” Burke said, holding several pairs up.
“Sweatpants are our problem?” Loch asked.
“No. Sweatpants to sleep in,” Burke said, tossing one set at Loch. “It’s cold down here. Our problem is this: can Merlin still do magic now that he’s in the computer? And if he can’t—and if we’re Reincarnates—how do we get our memories back? Without our memories, I’m not sure we can do anything at all.”
“Burke!” Spirit said, in automatic protest. She ran her hands through her hair, her head spinning with too many questions and no answers at all. It was actually making her feel sick, and her head was starting to pound. “I just— I’m so tired.…” She didn’t want to think about any of this right now. She thought Loch was right, and they were all Reincarnates, and the thought of having somebody else’s life stuffed into her mind … how would that not be like dying? And how would it help?
“I’m sorry,” Burke said contritely. “I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”
“Oh, Vivian will probably have an answer,” Addie said, acidly. She got up and opened the chest again. “But right now I’m getting out of this stupid dress. And I wish I was a Fire Witch, because I’d like to burn it.”
She turned and walked out, her arms full of clothes.
“These look about your size,” Burke said, handing Spirit a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. “I guess right now we do what Vivian says. If she’s been hiding from Mordred as long as she says she has, she can’t be stupid.”
“No,” Spirit said, wrapping her arms around the bundle of cloth. The items were old and worn, bringing back memories of Goodwill expeditions with her family, but they smelled clean. “I don’t think she’s stupid. I’m just wondering if she’s crazy.”
* * *
They’d gone one by one to the bathroom to change and to brush their teeth. Spirit thought it was a little weird sleeping in the same room with Burke and Loch, even though the
sweatshirts and sweatpants covered all of them more thoroughly than the gym clothes she’d seen both boys in a thousand times. When Loch shut off the lights, the darkness seemed absolute until her eyes adjusted, then she could see a faint glow of light through the door curtain. Burke and Loch took the top bunks, she and Addie had the bottom ones.
Spirit was so tired she ached, and her head was still throbbing, but she didn’t think she could possibly sleep.
“Goodnight, John Boy,” Loch said suddenly.
“I can’t believe you ever watched that show,” Addie said.
“Hey, when you’ve spent as many days in random hotel rooms as I have, you become a connoisseur of stupid Seventies television,” Loch answered.
“Yeah, whatever,” Burke said. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
And in the silence that followed, somehow Spirit did.
* * *
The wind was cold, whipping her hair and pulling her cloak away from her shoulders. She could smell the coming winter on the air.
I’m dreaming, Spirit thought. She struggled to open her eyes—not to wake up, but to take control of her dream. Lucid dreaming was one of the many things they taught at Oakhurst. It interlocked with many of the Schools and Gifts, but you could do it even if you didn’t have magic.
Why didn’t I ever try this before? she thought. I’ve had this dream before. I know I have.
In the way of dreams, she knew what was around her—open land, grass and morning sunlight—but she couldn’t see it. She struggled to open her eyes and see what was around her, but the only thing that changed was what she could hear. Over the rustling of the wind, she heard a woman’s voice shouting for her to hurry, to awake, the battle was joined and it was almost too late.…
Victories Page 3
