The Seven Swords

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

  Lance and Artie shared a glance.

  They were in trouble.

  The giant pointed its club at the rapier in Lance’s belt and said with a rumbling, gravely voice, “C’est le mien!”

  No one needed a translator to know that he had just said, “That’s mine!”

  “No it isn’t!” Lance barked. “It’s mine now!”

  The giant didn’t like this. He smashed his club on the ground, shaking the entire room. He was about to charge Lance when Bedevere slipped into the crypt’s inner chamber, said, “Phantoma!” and grabbed the giant with his magical arm, stopping him dead in his tracks.

  The monster twisted and roared and tried to pull away but went nowhere. He swiped at the invisible arm to no effect. If anything, the strength of Bedevere’s grasp just got stronger.

  “Way to go, Beddy!” Kay barked.

  “It’s not fully charged,” Bedevere yelled desperately. “We’ve got about thirty seconds! Run, sire!”

  Artie, Kay, and Lance kicked into high gear, but as they skirted the giant, he swung violently with his club and caught Artie and Kay across their chests.

  Their new graphene shirts saved them from being killed by the club’s spikes, but they still went flying and it still hurt like all get-out. They hit the back wall, and both slid to the floor in a heap. Several of Artie’s ribs broke but were instantly mended by Excalibur’s scabbard. He looked at his sister; she was breathing but totally knocked out. He grabbed Cleomede and Rhongomyniad and called Lance over to help with Kay. Artie quickly removed the scabbard from his back and strapped it onto her, just to be safe.

  The giant turned again to Bedevere, who could tell from the look in the giant’s eyes that he’d had about enough of the Black Knight and his fancy ghost arm. Bedevere let go, deactivated the arm, and was about to jump out of harm’s way when the giant grabbed his stump and squeezed. The magical metal ring that contained the phantom arm was all that prevented his stump from being crushed like a wad of paper. The giant pulled his club to his side and then thrust it forward, its thick, rusty spikes headed right for Bedevere, who reflexively shut his eyes.

  This was it.

  But then the lights flickered. Bedevere cautiously opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with Artie, the shiny point of Rhongomyniad parked right over Bedevere’s chest. Artie’s face was gnarled with wrath, and he was putting his full weight on the spear, which was doing nothing to Bedevere’s graphene T-shirt.

  Realizing they’d switched back to the nice Mont-Saint-Michel in France, Artie recoiled and said, “Oh! Sorry, Beddy!”

  Bedevere pushed Rhongomyniad off his chest and said, “No worries, sire. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “Uh, Artie?” Lance called, Kay slumped over his shoulder. “We have some new friends.”

  The giant was gone, but in the main chamber of the crypt there were now several people speaking loudly in French.

  Not just people.

  Cops.

  Artie lowered the points of Cleomede and Rhongomy-niad and told the cops that everything was okay, that he and his friends were just leaving.

  But the cops weren’t having any of it.

  While this was going on, Bedevere ushered the others to the door that led to the stairs back to the cistern. They were just about to sneak through it when Bedevere said, “Oh!” and stopped cold.

  Three more policemen, holding pistols, blocked the way.

  More shouting in French. The policemen were scared, and very confused, by what they were faced with.

  Artie repeated as calmly as he could that they just wanted to leave.

  Kay moaned as the police moved closer, boxing them in even more.

  The youngest-looking cop, who also happened to be the largest, was very upset. His face was red and agitated, and he stepped forward brandishing his pistol, demanding in French that they put down their weapons.

  Lance understood perfectly. He’d been in plenty of tense situations on both ends of a gun and knew that the best path was the one of least resistance. “Artie,” he advised, “let’s just put our things down and do what they say.”

  “Screw that!” Erik cried, shaking Gram in the air for emphasis.

  Which wasn’t smart.

  The nervous cop jumped back and fired three deafening shots. Two missed, but the third hit Bedevere in the chest. The graphene shirt and the armor underneath stopped the bullet, but it still knocked him down. He hit his head on the wall and collapsed in the doorway, out cold.

  Artie again tried to calm the police, but since he was still armed with a broadsword and a spear, it wasn’t very convincing. The two police officers nearest Artie raised their guns and prepared to fire.

  Artie had to do something. Against his better judgment, Artie lunged forward and sliced the muzzle off the nearest gun with Cleomede. But he couldn’t reach the next one quickly enough. The cop fired, and the bullet headed right for Erik Erikssen’s head.

  He would have died had the lights not flickered and the cops disappeared.

  Artie and crew had shifted back to the bad Mont-Saint-Michel.

  Considering how crappy things were going at the good Mont-Saint-Michel, this was actually an improvement.

  Artie held his finger to his lips. Lance froze. Erik, realizing that he wasn’t about to be shot, relaxed.

  “Agh!” the giant exclaimed from the inner chamber of the crypt. “Où? Où? Où est l’épée? Où vont-ils?”

  “He wants to know where we are,” Artie mouthed.

  Using hand signals, he got Erik to take Kay from Lance. Erik was a little embarrassed to be carrying Kay Kingfisher, but he had to. Lance then quietly hoisted Bedevere over his shoulders. Artie slid Cleomede into Excalibur’s sheath on Kay’s back and picked up the Black Knight’s claymore.

  They heard the giant’s club drag across the floor, and then he popped his gruesome head through the nearest set of pillars and screamed, “Je vais vous manger!”

  Artie didn’t want to be eaten. “Go!” he yelled to his knights.

  They took off as fast as they could, making it down one flight of stairs before they heard the giant say, “Je vous entends!”

  “It can hear us,” Artie translated as they stumbled onto the landing that led to the cistern.

  Which, it turned out, was now literally overflowing with rats. Artie kicked a few rats to the side as he scooted next to Erik and peered into the little room. The drain that led to the forest, and their escape, was only ten feet away.

  All they had to do was walk across a floor made of rodents.

  Artie took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He stepped into the cistern and sank to his knees. Innumerable rats nibbled at his shins and calves. He fought back a wave of nausea and ushered his friends across the rat floor. First Erik and Kay, then Lance and Bedevere.

  The giant’s huge, rank face came into view in the hall just as Artie headed for the drain.

  Erik and Kay were in. Lance had put Bedevere in and was pushing him along. Artie leaped next to the drain as the giant’s hand strained forward through the doorway; it swung back and forth and grasped at the air blindly.

  “Get in here, kid!” Lance screamed. Artie clambered into the drain just as the giant obliterated the doorway with his club. Then the giant vaulted into the cistern and crashed into the pool of rats like a huge kid landing in a ball pit, sending rats flying in every direction.

  Artie and Lance were struggling to pull Bedevere to safety when the giant rammed his head into the drain and caught Bedevere’s leg in his mouth. He bit down just as Lance and Artie gave Bedevere’s shoulders a hard pull.

  A horrible tearing and crunching sound came, as Artie wailed, “No!” He couldn’t bear it: the Black Knight had just lost another limb in service to Artie Kingfisher!

  “C’mon, dude!” Lance yelled as he finally yanked the bleeding Bedevere to safety. Then he unslung his bow and nocked an arrow. “Here’s to a short life!” he yelled, and let it fly. It went into the giant’s
mouth and struck deep in the back of his throat.

  The giant’s eyes bugged out of his head. Artie ordered everyone down and out of the drain. Before leaving, Artie turned and faced the horrible creature as it sputtered and let out a last gurgle of air. Finally something that passed for silence filled Artie’s ears.

  The giant was dead.

  The group hastily pushed down the damp stone tube, Artie and Lance taking extra care with Bedevere, not wanting to injure him further. They emerged from the drain, which was set in a high stone wall, in a copse of poplars. Artie grabbed the backpack from Kay, who was coming around, and dropped next to a moaning Bedevere, who lay across the ground, his head cradled in Lance’s lap.

  “His femoral artery is shot,” Lance said desperately.

  “W-what’s happening?” Kay asked, her arm draped over Erik’s shoulders.

  “Bedevere’s hurt,” Erik said in shock. Gram had prepared him to fight, but not to see such a grievous wound.

  Lance leaned over the leg stump. “He’s gonna bleed out, dude!”

  “No he’s not!” Artie said defiantly. He rooted through the infinite backpack and grabbed the rope, a warming elixir, and a healing potion. He pulled the scabbard off Kay’s back and tied it to Bedevere’s side. Then Artie poured the potions down the Black Knight’s throat.

  They waited a few moments.

  “Why isn’t the scabbard working?” Erik asked desperately. “I thought it was supposed to heal anything!”

  Artie didn’t look up as he said, “I don’t know. Maybe if he’d been wearing it when the giant bit him, it would have been better.”

  “Look!” Kay said.

  Some of Bedevere’s torn flesh began to stretch and seal, and the blood stopped flowing. The color in Bedevere’s face returned. His breathing became less shallow.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Kay asked, showing no ill effects from being knocked out.

  “I think so,” Artie said, “but we need Merlin to work on him. Let’s find this crossover point, open it, and get the heck out of here. Erik, go look down there,” he said, pointing past the poplars toward the sea. “Kay, help me look over here. Lance, you stay with Beddy, all right?”

  “Got it,” Lance said.

  They fanned out and searched the ground, poking the soil with the ends of their weapons. As they left the group of trees, the sea came into view. It smelled putrid and rank. Merlin had said this was a forest, but he’d been wrong. It was a barren wasteland, ravaged by axes and fire.

  “This place is awful,” Erik yelled from down the hill.

  “Any sign of the crossover stone?” Artie asked, silently acknowledging that it was pretty hellhole-ish.

  “Not yet,” Erik said.

  “Whoa,” Kay breathed.

  Artie turned to his sister. She was looking up, not down. He followed her gaze, and his heart skipped a beat.

  Soaring above them was the castle they’d seen in the picture—kind of. This wasn’t the lovely-if-imposing French tourist attraction, but a forbidding horror-story fortress rooted in a dark recess of the Otherworld. It had the same arches and towers and spires as the one in the photo, but its gray stone was blackened by years of neglect. A large fire burned at the wall’s highest point, and a murder of crows took off in front of this, silhouetted against the blaze like dark confetti.

  Artie let out a whistle. Erik, coming up behind them, was just as impressed. “Seriously. That thing’s no joke.”

  Artie looked back to the ground. “Enough. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  A bank of dark clouds rolled in, carpeting the sky overhead as they resumed searching. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed.

  Finally Artie stopped next to a large boulder and said a little uncertainly, “Kay—you ever feel like Merlin’s holding out on us?”

  “Huh?” Kay said absently.

  “I think it’s weird he doesn’t come with us on these quests. It’s not like he’s trapped in the invisible tower anymore. He would be a big help on these things, right? Being a wizard and all? I guess what I’m asking is, do you think we’re, like, expendable to him?”

  Kay frowned. Artie pushed some pebbles around with the end of his spear. “You’re not saying we shouldn’t trust him, are you?” Kay asked.

  “I don’t know. I mean, Tom agrees with him—goes along with everything he says—and I trust Tom completely.”

  “Me too,” Kay said.

  “But Merlin is supposed to be my wizard, right? I know I’m just a kid, but I’m the top dog here. I feel like we’re the ones helping him, not the other way around. I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like we’re being taken advantage of—Bedevere just lost a freaking leg—and it’s starting to piss me off!”

  Kay had never seen Artie like this before. “All right,” she said soothingly, “we’ll talk to him when we get back. I’m with you, Art.”

  A loud and unexpected clap of thunder rocked the air. Artie jumped and his spear fell to the ground. When he bent to pick it up, he said, “Well, lookie here.” Kay leaned over Artie’s shoulder and saw one of the crossover stones lying in the dirt.

  Artie called the other knights and they gathered around. He located the other stone and got out the pommel. This time Kay anchored one side while Artie did his thing on the other.

  “Lunae lumen!” he commanded.

  As before, the pommel swirled with a blue glow, and a beam of light shot from it, arcing over and into the crossover stones. Then a gossamer curtain dropped down, and when it touched the ground, a shock wave of silence shot out in all directions. They’d opened the crossover of Mont-Saint-Michel.

  Artie stepped away from the portal. “I’m not going to bother going through. It’s open and that’s good enough for me.” He looked at Lance, the moaning Bedevere slung over his shoulder, and said, “You ready to go to the court-in-exile?”

  The archer nodded.

  “Lunae lumen,” Artie said wearily to the pommel, and a moongate slid open. Lance hustled through, carrying their fallen knight. Erik followed. Artie took a deep breath as Kay slumped against her brother. “We’re never coming back here,” he said definitively.

  “Good,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

  Side by side, they stepped through and were gone.

  18 - IN WHICH BEDEVERE IS PATCHED UP

  Lance carefully placed Bedevere on the round table. Bercilak ordered the court-in-exile’s three servant trolls to fetch warm water, linens, and bandages. Artie put an emergency call in to Merlin.

  He paced as the iPad rang and rang. No answer. He disconnected and tried again. Nothing. He disconnected and tried again. Third time had to be the charm.

  After two minutes Merlin finally accepted, and his tattooed face flickered onto the screen. “What is it?” he asked impatiently. Pushed onto his forehead was a silver eye mask with the words Let Sleeping Wizards Lie embroidered on it in a purple, flowing script.

  Artie lost it. He flipped to the iPad’s other camera so Merlin could see Bedevere. “That’s what it is, Merlin. Bedevere’s lost another limb.” Then Artie caught Merlin rolling his eyes. “Merlin—did you just roll your eyes at me?”

  “What? Of course not, sire.”

  “Yes you did,” Artie said loudly as the other knights turned in his direction. “Don’t ever let me catch you doing that again,” he ordered, sounding more like an adult than he ever had in his life.

  “Now wait one minute. I am Merlin; I won’t be spoken to like that by a . . . a . . .”

  “A child?” Artie asked, finishing the wizard’s obvious train of thought.

  “Well . . . ”

  Artie seethed. “You’re the one who brought us here, Merlin. You’re the one who keeps telling me I’m king. You’re the one we helped, for Pete’s sake. You—Merlin, the greatest wizard ever—are the one who sent us into that horrible giant’s lair, and you are the one who is going to haul his butt over here right now and fix up my friend.”

  “I will not be spoken t
o—”

  “Yes you will. I am your king. Start acting like it.”

  Everyone was speechless—except for Bercilak, who said so quietly that only they could hear, “You tell that Wilt Chamberlain!”

  Merlin pulled the sleep mask from his head and said, “Yes, sire. Of course, sire. Right away, sire.”

  “Good,” Artie said. “And don’t patronize me either.” He slid his finger across the screen and ended the chat without saying good-bye.

  He stared at the iPad for a few moments. “Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” Artie asked his knights, who still looked startled by his outburst.

  “No,” Kay said after a pause. “He was being a real turd.”

  “No kidding.” Artie walked up to the table. “How you doing, Beddy?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, sire,” Bedevere answered bravely.

  “He’s stable,” Lance said. “But he needs blood.”

  “Or some of Merlin’s magic healing,” Kay said. “I hope you didn’t make him too mad, Art. We still need him, you know?”

  “Well, he needs us too, last I checked,” Artie said. “I’m getting tired of putting our necks on the line for him. Seriously, when’s he going to fight? Aren’t wizards supposed to, like, throw down every now and then? Like in video games?”

  Before they could discuss it anymore, a moongate opened and Merlin stepped into the court-in-exile carrying his plain canvas bag, which held all his gear, and his owl-headed cane. He was hunched over, and his stride was a little creaky as he made his way to Bedevere.

  An awkward silence descended on the group as the wizard inspected Bedevere’s latest wound. Finally he turned to Artie and said wearily, “I’m sorry, Artie. Making the blackouts for Fenland has been very taxing. That’s why I was sleeping while you were at Mont-Saint-Michel.” He paused before saying, “It’s so important that I defeat Morgaine. . . .”

  He seemed to mean it, but Artie couldn’t help but wonder: Weren’t they fighting for so much more than that? I mean, hello, Qwon! And the Seven Swords! Not to mention the whole thing about sangrealite being a form of clean energy and all!