by Peter David
Gilgamesh, however, was not smiling. “I find arguments over self-determination amusing . . . coming from one who was once a monarch.”
Arthur shrugged. “As I said . . . things change.”
“Not all things. Self-determination can be overrated.” He paused for a heartbeat, and Arthur sensed in that pause a world of danger, but then he simply shrugged and said, “However, that is not the question before us at the moment, is it? Sandoval . . . the reasons for your actions are intriguing . . . but they remain simply reasons, rather than excuses. Pendragon . . . ask your mate to step forward.”
“I . . . believe her to be capable of doing so without my requesting it,” Arthur said. He was not ecstatic; who knew what Gilgamesh was planning? Nevertheless, Gwen stepped forward.
Gilgamesh smiled once his attention was focused upon her. “You are a toothsome little thing. So tell me, woman . . . what would you have me do with this individual? You are the one sinned against. You are the one he assaulted. Vengeance is yours.”
“Is it?” she asked. She did not sound especially pleased about it.
Miss Basil moved away from Gilgamesh’s side, toward Gwen, not seeming to walk so much as slither as much as a human being—or someone shaped like a human being—could manage. “Do not downplay the joys of vengeance, my dear. Your husband understands it quite well. I gave him the choice of either having you restored to health or having vengeance upon his wife’s assailant. He chose vengeance. He chose to rid the world of a terrorist rather than to bring you back to life. His priorities are quite interesting, don’t you think?”
Arthur’s blood ran cold, and he saw that Gwen was staring at him, her eyes unreadable. “You never said she offered a choice. Is that true?” she asked, knowing that he would answer honestly.
“Yes.” He didn’t endeavor to make excuses for his reasoning. He simply responded in the affirmative.
She took that in a moment, considered it, and then nodded. “Good,” she said.
Miss Basil looked as if she’d sunk her teeth into rancid meat. “Good?”
“Yes, good.” Her face filled with affection for Arthur. “Here I’d been so upset with Arthur for resigning because of me. I thought it was selfish. But placing the needs of the world above my needs by trying to have Sandoval disposed of . . . that’s the unselfish man that I’ve known and loved. If he didn’t place what he saw as the requirements of the people above his own needs, I doubt I’d have been able to recognize him anymore.” And as relief flooded through Arthur, she continued, “However . . . there’s a time and place for everything. There are people in various countries who are at war because someone’s great-great-great-great grandfather killed a cow belonging to someone else’s great-great-great-great grandfather, and they still haven’t gotten over it. People expend so much energy figuring out so many innovative ways to kill each other, punish each other, hurt each other . . . but not to forgive each other. Even religion, which should be only about that, gets distorted into providing excuses for creative punishment, and if you’re not of the ‘right’ religion, forgiveness can’t be yours no matter what you do. So . . . Arnim Sandoval,” she said, her voice steady, her chin upraised, “I forgive you.”
Sandoval’s face paled.
Steadily, one delicate step at a time, Gwen approached him as she said, “I forgive you your assault on me. It’s over. It’s done.” And she extended a hand. “I grieve for your loss. But now it ends.”
“Yes. Yes . . . you are right,” said Arnim Sandoval . . .
... and leaped at Gwen’s throat.
Arthur moved toward them, as did Percival, but quicker still was Enkidu, and he was upon Sandoval and grabbed him by the back, and twisted so quickly that even before Arthur had taken two steps, Sandoval was now across the room, having slammed into the far wall and sunk to the ground with a dazed expression. “Ow,” he said in a distant manner.
“That,” Gilgamesh said to Sandoval with an air of disappointment, “was wholly unnecessary.”
“Or wholly appropriate,” Miss Basil countered. She walked over to Sandoval and helped him to his feet. Her solicitousness for the terrorist struck Arthur as extraordinarily odd. It wasn’t as with one lover for another. More . . . maternal, in its perverse way. “Arnim, at least, has not lost sight of the fact that this woman is responsible for the violation of our privacy and threat to our security. Specifically, the helicopter that came in overhead and began snapping photographs of us.”
“That is a serious problem,” acknowledged Gilgamesh, his face clouding over. “Do we know for certain that she is the cause?”
“Gwen is here because her husband brought her here. But the helicopter,” and Miss Basil’s eyes glittered, “was because she brought them here.” And she pointed straight at Nellie Porter.
Arthur, befuddled, looked from Miss Basil to Nellie. “What is she going on about, Nellie?”
Nellie tried to shake her head, but her gaze was locked with Miss Basil’s. “No-nothing. She’s . . . I dunno what she’s talking about . . .”
“Oh, really,” replied Miss Basil, and—taking her hand off Sandoval, who had managed to steady himself—she began to approach Nellie. “I think you do. I think you know what I’m talking about and much, much more.” Her gaze seemed to bore right into Nellie, carving her up.
“Get away from her,” Merlin said angrily, “or—”
“Or what? You’ll make obscene gestures? You’re not exactly at full strength, Merlin, but the same can’t be said of me. Besides, all I’m interested in is the truth. I thought that’s all any of you seekers of goodness and light were interested in.” She continued to advance. “You have no idea, Nellie Porter, what I’m capable of. No idea how completely and thoroughly I can burrow into every innermost recess of your soul. You can speak now of your own volition, or what’s left of you can speak when I’ve forced it from you.”
“That’s enough!” shouted Arthur, starting to reach for his sword.
“Enkidu!” Gilgamesh called out, and the beast-man was upon Arthur with that same inhuman speed, but Arthur managed to twist down and away, sliding from the creature’s grasp before he could fully get a hold upon him, and then Excalibur was clear and shining and its song sliced through the air with the same purity as its blade. Enkidu froze where he was, watching warily, his eyes flashing with caution but also controlled excitement.
And that was when Nellie Porter, legs trembling so violently that she could barely stand, suddenly began to sob. Gwen went to her, holding her, and she said, “It’s all right . . . you don’t have to listen to any of—”
“He came because of me! He’s dead because of me!”
The admission stunned everyone present, with the exception of Miss Basil, who simply smiled in such a display of self-satisfaction that Arthur had never so desperately wanted to cave in the face of a female in his life. But his attention was split between that desire and the need to hear just what it was that Nellie was talking about.
Gwen was looking at her, trying to comprehend. “Nellie . . . I don’t understand . . . how . . . why was—”
Nellie couldn’t face her. She stared down and away from her, trying not to tremble. “I was feeding him stories from time to time. Okay? Nothing threatening national security or anything like that . . . hell, I probably didn’t even know anything that threatened national security. And I told him about this whole thing. I didn’t think it would work.” Now she did look up at Gwen, desperate pleading in her voice. “I mean, they told me about the whole Grail thing, but I didn’t really, really believe it, y’know? I just . . . I figured it was like some faith healing thing, like terminal patients going to South America where some faker pulls chicken guts out of their stomachs. So I . . . I told Baumann where we were going, the destination. And he must have rented a copter or called in a favor or something, and . . . and . . .”
“But . . .” Gwen clearly couldn’t comprehend. “But why?”
“He was blackmailing me, okay? Can’t we leave
it at that?”
“No, Nellie, we cannot,” Arthur said, moving toward her, his voice stern. “This is a gargantuan breach of trust you’re informing us of. What could he have known that was so terrible?”
“Sir, please . . .”
“Tell me!” Arthur said heatedly.
It was Ron who intervened. “Arthur, leave it be.”
“Ron, this is none of—”
“Leave it be.”
Arthur was taken aback. There was something in Ron’s expression, something that indicated . . . Arthur didn’t know what it indicated. There was an unspoken warning there, and even though he was certain Ron didn’t know any more than he did about what was going on, there was nevertheless something there that said, Don’t ask. You don’t want to know. You really, truly don’t want to know.
He weighed the possibilities, the impulse to keep pushing until he knew exactly what was going on. He looked to Merlin, inscrutable, and Gwen, who was still having trouble coping with the loss of trust in a woman whom she had trusted implicitly. And his own inner voice said, This is not the time.
“All right,” he said finally.
“Pendragon,” said a chiding, surprised Gilgamesh, leaning back in his throne and looking for all the world like a Roman Caesar enjoying a ripping good day watching gladiators have a go at one another. “You don’t intend to simply leave it there, do you?”
“Yes, I intend to do just that,” said Arthur. “Furthermore, I . . .”
He paused and noticed for the first time that the people of the island were watching him. That was interesting, because initially their gazes were completely fixated upon Gilgamesh. It hadn’t mattered who was talking at any given moment; Gilgamesh remained their focus. But Arthur began to realize that slowly, person by person, attention had been drifting away from Gilgamesh over to Arthur. He didn’t know why that would be, but he had some suspicions. He also suspected, judging by Gilgamesh’s gradual change in manner, that Gilgamesh was noticing it as well, and the High King did not seem particularly pleased about it.
“Furthermore,” Arthur continued, keeping his voice carefully subdued, “while fingers are being pointed this way and that, I think we should not lose sight of the fact that you, High King, killed two people without so much as a second thought.”
“What of it?”
“What of it? It was a helicopter pilot and a reporter. They were not attacking you. They were simply two people doing their job—”
“As I, too, did my job, and you would be well advised to watch your tone. I could not simply allow them to fly away from here, knowing what is on this island.”
“Isn’t it a bit late to be worrying about that?” asked Percival. “What about the VTOL that dropped us off here. The pilot of that vehicle knows. He’s going to be coming back for us in . . .”
And then his voice trailed off.
Gilgamesh was slowly shaking his head.
A chill gripped Arthur’s spine.
“What is it?” said Gwen. “What’s wrong? What’s . . . ?”
Merlin looked toward Miss Basil. “You did it, didn’t you? You killed the pilot. Crashed the vehicle.”
“He crashed it himself. I merely went along for the ride down,” she said.
“Oh, my God,” whispered Ron, who looked as if the world was lurching about him. “Oh, my God . . .”
“You bitch,” Arthur snarled. He had not resheathed Excalibur, and the blade hovered threateningly up and down. “How dare you . . .”
“How dare she?” demanded Gilgamesh, and now he was on his feet and his voice filled the room like thunder. “What she did, she did at my instruction, Pendragon, and how dare you judge her or, by extension, me. I am High King here, the king of ancient legend. Basiliskos is the Little King, as the Greeks called her, the king of legendary creatures. And you are Arthur Pendragon, king of modern legend. We three kings are not to be judged by the laws and rules of others! We are above such considerations! We are laws unto ourselves!”
“Careful what you say, Arthur,” murmured Merlin.
“You’re insane!” Arthur told Gilgamesh.
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Good, well played, you handled that perfectly.”
THE HIGH KING slowly descends from his throne. He walks down the small set of stairs that lead from the raised platform to the floor, and he does not seem to get any shorter as he descends them.
He pulls his scimitar from his sheath. It makes a glorious noise as it emerges.
“For centuries,” he says as he stares at his reflection in the curved, gleaming blade, “I wandered the earth. I saw cities that I built with my own hands crumble to dust. Saw every individual I loved taken from me. I, who once feared death more than any other creature on the face of the earth, discovered the heritage that aged me so slowly that I was virtually immortal, and grew to curse it, and myself. Older I became, and older still, bent and weaker, but still did not die, and then . . . I came upon the Grail. It was in its incarnation as the land, but I knew it for what it was, and I took it and cherished it and drank from it, and because of my divine nature, it made me young and whole again. And then I mastered it and convinced it to transform itself into its incarnation as a sword. With it, I descended into the underworld, and I fought past the gidim, the spirits of the dead, and I fought past the demons, the offspring of Arali, and I confronted Ereskigal and Nergal, the queen and king of the underworld, and I took this sword from him as well, this very sword, and with blades in either hand I demanded that he restore Enkidu to me, for I could bear to be alone no longer. And Enkidu, who was unfairly and untimely ripped from me by the gods An, Enki, and Utu, was restored to me. I keep Nergal’s sword to this day, to prove to all my mastery of death. And then I came here, found this island, transformed the Grail into the land, and followers came, in small numbers, selectively, but they came, and I rule over them all. And with all that I have experienced, all that I have accomplished, you think that your pathetic labels of sanity and insanity apply to me? If I am insane . . . then the gods are insane.”
And the upstart who calls himself Arthur Pendragon looks defiantly at Gilgamesh and says, “That is not an unlikely possibility.”
Gilgamesh hears this and laughs bitterly, although the truth of it pricks at him. Then he extends his sword, and calls out, “A Determination has been made!”
No one responds.
This confuses him. Usually the people immediately chant “Determination!” with such a pronouncement. Instead, this time there is dead silence, and even a few looks of confusion and even regret. “A Determination!” he shouts once more, and this time they pick up their cue and begin to chant, “Determination,” although it sounds to him a bit halfhearted.
“Arthur Pendragon,” Gilgamesh says loudly, “you are too well known to the outside world. I see that now. Your disappearance will raise too many questions, and others may endeavor to seek you out. You and the man and woman with you called Nellie and Ron must leave. A small craft will be provided you, and you will depart.”
Percival says with great vehemence, “It is unlikely they would survive such a trip in an open vessel, High King. That I did was nothing short of miraculous, and due only to my nigh-immortal nature . . .”
“Give me time,” Merlin assures Gilgamesh, “a week . . . two . . . and I will be recovered enough to transport us away.”
“It must be done immediately,” Gilgamesh tells them. “As for the one called Gwen . . . she may remain.”
Gwen laughs in amazement at that. She has a lovely laugh. Gilgamesh will like this one once he has made her his. “But . . . Arthur is my husband. I don’t want to be without him. If he leaves, so do I.”
“Then you will collapse and very likely die.”
This information stuns them. He likes the look of shock on their faces.
“What?” Arthur says.
“She will collapse and she will die,” he repeats. “She cannot depart this land.”
“Of course,” says Percival, the tr
uth of the matter dawning upon him. “Unlike drinking from the Grail, its restorative powers as the land only exist while one stands upon it. Should one depart the land . . . the restoration dissipates, as it did with Joshua.”
“Leave her behind, Pendragon. She will live forever here. What greater gift can you give her than that?”
Pendragon steps forward. Gilgamesh watches the point of the sword. Arthur Pendragon is not wielding it in a threatening manner, at least not yet, but the blade is almost hypnotic in its beauty. Gilgamesh finds himself desirous of that sword as well, but one thing at a time.
“You say this is your island. You say that you are in charge of it. You have asked me to leave. You speak as one who believes he is very much in control of the situation . . . of the people . . . of me.”
“I am,” the High King tells him confidently.
Slowly Arthur shakes his head. “That may be what you say. But Excalibur knows differently. And because it does . . . I know differently. It knows the fear that eats at you like a cancer. The terror of death, which has so consumed you that you have isolated yourself, put yourself into this prison of an island, surrounded yourself with worshipers, pretended that you are more than what you are.”
“I have no need to be more than I am to deal with you,” the High King says in an airy voice, “since I am already far more than you.”
“No. You are far less. Because I do not depend upon worship to survive. You do. If you cannot live without pretension, you cannot live at all, but you are afraid to face the alternative. You have lost sight, Gilgamesh, of what a hero should be . . . provided you ever knew that to begin with.”
Arnim Sandoval, listening and taking it all in, appears less than impressed. “What would you know of it? You, sitting safely in your White House, ordering bombers to drop explosives upon your enemies thousands of miles away. Do you think that requires the actions of a hero?”
“Does blowing up innocent people?” Percival counters.
