Legend

by Robert Doherty

  However, it was not the wounds to his body, or even his death, that frightened her. It was the damage to an artifact he wore on a chain around his neck, underneath the armor. It was shaped in the form of two hands and arms with no body spread upward in worship.

  A mighty blow had smashed through the armor and severed the artifact in half. A tremor passed through her body at the sight, and tears she had held in for the week of travel burst forth. An earthquake of fear and sorrow threatened to overwhelm her. She could hear the chanting and see the flickering fire to the north and knew she did not have time to wallow in her pain before the Druids came here to worship what they could not comprehend.

  She ran her hands lightly over the surface of the left upright stone, searching. After a moment, she found what she was looking for and pressed her right hand against the spot she had located.

  For a moment it seemed as if even the chanting of the Druids and the screams of the dying halted. All was still. Then the outline of a door appeared in the stone. It slid open. She unhooked the litter from the horse and grabbed the two poles. With effort almost beyond the capability of her aged body, she pulled it into the darkness beyond. Freed of its burden and smelling the foul air, the horse bolted away into the darkness. The door immediately shut behind them, the outline disappeared, and all was as it had been.

  AVALON

  Merlin slowly rowed across the placid water toward the tor. The bottom of the boat grated onto a pebbled beach. He stowed the oars, tied the boat off to a stunted tree, then made his way up the track that wound its way up the hill. He walked as if carrying a great burden, stoop-shouldered and with stiff legs, but all he had in his hands was a long staff of polished wood which he leaned on to aid his climb. His face was hidden in the shadow of an overhanging hood, but a white beard poked out at the bottom.

  When he reached the top, he paused, taking in the shattered stone of the abbey. Then he looked all about, at the country that surrounded the lake. Nothing moved under an overcast sky. It was as if the land had been swept clear of man and beast. A gust of cold wind caused the man to pull his robe tighter around his body. Ever since the great battle of Camlann the land had appeared bleak and cold.

  He walked to the abbey and through a doorway. The interior was open to the sky, the floor littered with stone blocks from the collapsed roof. With a gnarled hand Merlin reached into the neck of his robe and retrieved a medallion. On the surface of the metal was the image of an eye. He placed it against the front of the small altar where there was an indentation of similar shape. He held the medallion there for several moments, then removed it, sliding it back inside his robe.

  He rubbed his hands together as he waited. He started as a door swung open in the wall of the abbey and a figure stepped through, cloaked in brown. He too wore a hood, which he pulled back revealing a lined face adn silver hair. His eyes widened as he recognized the man by the altar.

  “Myrddin!”

  The old man wearily smiled. “I have not been called that in a long time, Brynn. At the court of Arthur the King they called me Merlin.”

  “So I have heard,” Brynn said.

  Merlin looked about. “They would have brought Arthur here.”

  “He died right there,” Brynn pointed toward the nearest stone wall of the abbey.

  “And Excalibur?”

  “No sorrow?” Brynn folded his arms across his chest. “No sign of grief for the death of your king?”

  “I knew he was dead,” Merlin said. “I have grieved in private.”

  “I doubt it.”

  Merlin straightened, drawing himself up, and despite his worn condition, Brynn took a step backward.

  “I did what I did for the land, for the people.”

  “It did not work,” Brynn noted.

  “It was better than hiding in a cave with old papers,” Merlin snapped.

  “Was it?” Brynn didn’t wait for an answer. “The land is worse off than it was. Many have died. The Grail was almost lost. The sword too. It is good that you don’t consider yourself one of us any longer. You betrayed our order.”

  “I went beyond our order as must be done at times.” Merlin stamped his foot on the tor impatiently. “Our order has watched since the time of Atlantis. We once worshipped the ‘Gods.’ And when they fought among themselves, many of our people died and Atlantis was destroyed, the survivors scattered. I talked with Arthur many times—he was a Shadow of one of these creatures. He knew much of the great truth.”

  “ ‘The great truth’?”

  “What do we know?” Merlin asked Brynn. “Do we know where the ‘Gods’ came from? Why they are here?”

  The look on Brynn’s face indicated he didn’t even understand the questions, never mind wonder about the answers.

  Merlin sighed and dropped that line of thought. “Excalibur is more than just a sword. It does other things. And the war will come again. And both sides will want it. And men like me”—Merlin nodded, acknowledging his role in recent events—“will try to use Excalibur also as a symbol. But it is more than a symbol. It has a purpose, a very critical purpose. It is a critical piece, one of several, in a very ancient puzzle.”

  Brynn waited, listening.

  “I am here to make amends,” Merlin said.

  “And how will you do that?”

  “Excalibur must be hidden better than this place.”

  “I do not—” Brynn began, but Merlin slammed the butt of his staff onto the stone floor.

  “Listen to me, Brynn. The sword must be hidden. Since it was brought out, those who you watch now know where it is. We—I— awakened those better left sleeping and they sent forth their Shadows to do war to try to gain the sword and the Grail. Both were hidden for many generations but now this place is no longer safe. You know that or else you would not have sent away the Grail.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Watchers are so ignorant. I was ignorant, but I have traveled far and seen much. Have you even read some of the papers you guard so closely below? That is what I spent my time doing while I was here.”

  “I have read those scrolls I can,” Brynn argued.

  “And the ones you can’t read? The ones written in the ancient runes?”

  “None can read them.”

  “I could and can.”

  “And what do they say?” Brynn asked, interested in spite of himself.

  “The decision that demanded that our sole function be merely to watch what transpired was made by a vote at the first Gathering of Watchers. And it was not unanimous. There were those who thought watching wasn’t enough and action needed to be taken. That man would be best off if we continued to fight for freedom from the ‘gods’ and their minions.”

  “But the vote was to watch,” Brynn said simply. “It is the rule of our order.”

  Merlin sighed in frustration. “But it was a decision made by men. And we are men. We get to change it.”

  Brynn shook his head. “The order would never change that. And there has not been a Gathering in memory.”

  “You are ignorant,” Merlin said.

  “What will you do with the sword?” Brynn turned the subject from things he knew nothing of.

  “Take it—and the sheath that contains it—far from here. And hide it well in a place where men—and those who pretend to be men—cannot easily get to it.”

  “There is no reason for me to believe you,” Brynn said as he turned back toward the doorway.

  “I was wrong.”

  Brynn paused.

  Merlin continued. “We should not get involved with these creatures and their war among themselves. We do not have the power for that.”

  “And?” Brynn demanded. “That is the Watcher’s credo. To watch. Not to act. Which you violated.”

  “And that is wrong also,” Merlin said. “We must not just watch. We must act. But not in the way I did, trying to imitate these creatures, allying with one side of the other. I thought Arthur—” He shook his head. “I was mi
sled, as the priests of old were. We must keep ourselves separate. Completely separate. And fight them when we have to and when we can do so with a chance of victory.”

  “What does that have to do with the sword?” Brynn asked.

  “It is a thing each side needs in order to win civil war,” Merlin said. “And now they know of this place and it is easily accessible. That is why Excalibur must be removed. It must not be found by Aspasia’s Shadow or Artad’s followers or others, even more evil, who would seek to destroy it.”

  Brynn’s face paled. “The Ancient Enemy?”

  Merlin nodded.

  “I thought that was just a myth made up by the priests. As the Christians have their Satan opposing their God.”

  “There is always some truth in every myth,” Merlin said.

  Brynn ran a hand through his beard, obviously shaken.

  “You say it is the rule of the Watchers to only watch,” Merlin said. “Then how did Excalibur and the Grail come here in the first place?”

  “They have traveled far over the ages. Joseph of Arimathea brought them here for safekeeping from Jerusalem.”

  “And did he not violate the rules of our order by doing so?”

  Brynn reluctantly nodded.

  “Then let me right that wrong and remove them from here. Then you can go back to watching.”

  “Excalibur is safe now,” Brynn said with little conviction. “I know that—”

  Merlin cut him off. “They came here to retrieve Arthur’s ka, didn’t they?”

  Brynn slowly nodded. “Yes. The Ones Who Wait.”

  “Then they know this place. They will be back.”

  “It is what I fear,” Brynn admitted.

  “They can always find the sword here,” Merlin said, “but I can put it in a place that will be difficult, if not impossible for them or any others to find and bring back.”

  Brynn frowned. “Where?”

  “On the roof of the world.”

  “Where is this roof?”

  “Do not concern yourself with that.” Merlin smiled. “You have nothing to fear if the sword isn’t here.”

  This last bit of logic finally came home to rest with the Watcher. “Come.” Brynn indicated for Merlin to follow him.

  STONEHENGE

  Stonehenge was abandoned. Where the wicker man had been, there was only cold ash with a smattering of blackened bone. The Druids had gone back to the hills, hiding from the brigands who now roamed the land, and ekingout a living from the countryside. So it had been for centuries, so it continued. The stones had seen many invaders, many worshippers. And they would see more in the future.

  The sky was gray and a light rain was falling, blown about by a stiff breeze. In the middle of the megalithic arrangement, the outline of the doorway reappeared on the left standing stone of the center pair. It slid open and one person appeared garbed in black robes. Noting the rain, the figure pulled back her hood. She resembled the woman that had first entered, but fifty years younger. Instead of age withered flesh, her face was smooth and pink. Her hair was coal black. She turned her face upward, allowing the rain to fall on it. The falling water mixed with the rivulet of tears on her face.

  Donnchadh had tried and failed as she had feared. Gwalcmai was truly dead. After all the years they had been together. She reached back into the stone and pulled the litter out with the old body tied to it.

  Reluctantly, she stepped out of the entryway, dragging the litter, and the door closed behind her, then disappeared. She slowly walked through the stones, onto the plain, pulling his body. She passed the site of the wicker man, sparing it not even a glance, and continued. When she reached a small ridge, just before she was out of sight of Stonehenge, she turned and looked back.

  It was dusk and the rain had ceased. She could see the stones in the distance. She felt very, very alone, a slight figure in the midst of a huge plain. She went to a lone oak tree, its branches withered and worn. It was like a living sentinel overlooking the stones. Using a wooden spade, the woman dug into the dirt, carving out a grave. It took her the entire night to get deep enough.

  As the first rays of the sun tentatively probed above the eastern horizon, she climbed out of the hole. Her robe was dirty, her dark hair matted with mud, the fresh skin on her palms blistered from the labor.

  She took her husband and slid him into the hole she had made. Her hand rested on his cheek for many long minutes before she reluctantly climbed out of the grave. She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the small broken amulet. She stared at it for a while, then reached inside her robe and retrieved a chain holding a similar object, this one undamaged. She added the damaged one to the chain around her neck and held it for a moment, tracing the lines. Then she looked down at her husband and spoke in their native tongue.

  “Ten thousand years. I loved you every day of those many years. And I will remember and love you for the next ten thousand.”

  With tears streaming down her face, Donnchadh threw the first spadeful of dirt into the grave. After an hour she was done. Then she turned to the south for one last task.

  Merlin held up his hand and his small party of Watchers halted. A golden craft came racing in low to the ground, directly toward them. Several of the Watchers cried out in alarm and threw themselves to the ground. The craft landed directly in front of them. A hatch on the top opened and two people—a man and a woman—got out along with a third party—someone who was not human. Both humans were armed with long spears and walked down the slope of the craft to the ground, while the alien remained on top.

  “I will take the Grail,” the woman said as she came to a halt less than a meter away from Merlin. The spear was held in a manner that while not directly threatening, came close.

  Merlin hesitated.

  “If you do not give it to me, you will die, and I will have it anyway. And you will give me the sword.”

  “No.”

  The woman lowered the spear until the point was almost touching Merlin’s chest. “Give me the Grail and Excalibur.”

  There was a cry of alarm from behind the woman. She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. Donnchadh was on top of the bouncer, a sword held against the neck of the Airlia. “We will keep the sword,” she called out. “You may take the Grail back to Giza and put it in the Hall of Records.”

  The Ones Who Wait did nothing. Donnchadh pressed the sword into the Airlia’s neck.

  “Do as she requests,” the Airlia called out in its native tongue.

  “Give them the Grail,” Donnchadh ordered Merlin.

  The sorcerer handed over the Grail, still wrapped in the white cloth. Donnchadh held her place as they came back and climbed inside the ship. Then she removed the blade and quickly made her way down the side, joining Merlin. The bouncer lifted and flew away to the south.

  “Will they come for me again?” Merlin asked her.

  Donnchadh watched as the ship disappeared in the distance. “They might, but I don’t think so.” She turned to him. “Do as I ordered—take the sword to the roof of the world.”

  GIZA

  The bouncer approached in darkness. It came to a hover near the Great Pyramid and the Airlia and one of the Ones Who Wait exited, the latter helping the wounded alien. They entered the Roads of Rostau and wove their way to the Hall of Records. The Airlia used the scepter to open the Hall and the Grail was placed inside.

  They retraced their steps, the Airlia moving even more slowly. As they exited the Great Pyramid, the Airlia collapsed, its energy spent now that it had accomplished its task. The One Who Waits carried it into the craft.

  As the bouncer raced south over Africa, the Airlia died. Arriving at Ngorongoro, they landed the saucer in the crater near the lake and buried the Airlia with the scepter. Then they re-entered the base and went back to doing what they did best: Waiting.

  A.D. 535: MOUNT EVEREST

  It took six years. From his original company of six, there were only two of Merlin’s companions left alive. And th
ey were now slowly dying with him.

  They were close to the top of the mountain. They had gone as high as they could go, but their dedication could only carry them so far against the cold, the lack of oxygen and mountain. They lay huddled together on a narrow ledge on the side of the mountain. Slowly one of the Watchers stopped shivering, then the other, as life seeped out of their bodies. Merlin was the last to go, his hands tightly gripping the sword he had carried around the world and up the mountain.

  When he died, there was the slightest trace of a smile on his blue lips. He had, for once, succeeded.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ROBERT DOHERTY is a pseudonym for a bestselling writer of military suspense novels. He is a West Point graduate and served as a Special Forces A-Team leader before writing full-time. He is also the author of The Rock, Area 51, Area 51: The Reply, Area 51: The Mission, Area 51: The Sphinx, Area 51: The Grail, Area 51: Excalibur, Area 51: Nosferatu, Psychic Warrior, and Psychic Warrior: Project Aura. For more information go to www.BobMayer.org

  Also from Robert Doherty

  AREA 51

  AREA 51: THE REPLY

  AREA 51: THE MISSION

  AREA 51: THE SPHINX

  AREA 51: THE GRAIL

  AREA 51: EXCALIBUR

  AREA 51: THE TRUTH

  AREA 51: NOSFERATU

  AREA 51: THE ROCK

  PSYCHIC WARRIOR

  PSYCHIC WARRIOR: PROJECT AURA

  AVAILABLE FROM DELL

  AREA 51: LEGEND

  A Dell Book / April 2004

  Published by

  Bantam Dell

  A Division of Random House, Inc.

  New York, New York

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2004 by Robert Doherty