by J. J. Green
She figured the smile she gave when he saw her must have been half-hearted, for he reacted by asking her if something was wrong.
“Not something, some things. Many things are very wrong, and I don’t know what I can do about any of them.”
“I’m sorry, Taylan.”
“Thanks.” She slumped into a chair sideways and hung her arm over the back. “How are things with you? I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you’re feeling. That fast-learning program seems intense, and have you recovered from all that time you spent in the cave? Though, honestly, apart from looking a bit tired, you look amazing.”
“All that time I spent in the cave,” he repeated. “How long is that, in your estimation?”
“Um, about three thousand five hundred, give or take a hundred or so years. Didn’t Wright tell you, or what we know about you? I suppose not. I told him who I thought you were—who you are—but he doesn’t believe me.”
“Three and a half thousand years?” Arthur gave a short laugh. “This dream is extraordinary. I hope I remember the details when I wake.”
“Er, Your Majesty, you aren’t dreaming. This is real life. It’s just that a long time passed before we needed you again.”
Not that it mattered that King Arthur was back. Everything had gone to hell, and she didn’t think there was anything he or anyone else could do to put it all right again.
“Of course this place is real to you, dream creature. How could it be otherwise? This is your world I have created in my mind. And it is a wonderful world. All I’ve seen has been astounding, and I know there is much more for me to explore. I only hope I don’t wake soon. I am astonished I could invent such marvelous ideas.”
Taylan sighed. “Is there anything I could do, anything that could happen, that would convince you that you aren’t dreaming?”
“I don’t know. It’s interesting that you want to persuade me of it.”
She wondered if it was important that he didn’t understand he’d been revived in a future far distant from his own time, or if not understanding was better. Perhaps his mind was protecting itself because acknowledging the truth would make him insane.
“Arthur...Can I call you that? It feels weird to address you by your proper title.”
“In this imaginary realm, it is acceptable. In my waking days, I don’t enjoy the formalities of my position, so your familiar attitude is welcome.”
She liked him more and more. “Arthur, what was it like living in your world? I’ve heard so many stories about it and about you, but I don’t know how true they are. No written accounts survive from your time; the earliest mention we have of you was recorded hundreds of years after your death—or, rather, your entombment in the mountain. And then later writers rewrote the stories, changing them and embellishing them, injecting their own ideas and values. No one really knows who you are or what you represent anymore, and plenty of people believe you never existed.” She thought of Wright, who, even though he’d heard the words from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, refused to accept it.
“Hm, what’s it like living in my world?” Arthur looked down at the cat on his lap. Boots was sound asleep, totally unimpressed by the fact he was lying on an ancient monarch. “I’m not sure how to answer. Your world is very different, in many ways. For one thing, if we want to bathe, we must draw the water from a well, spring, or stream. Here, it appears miraculously, and it’s hot without any need for a fire, unless perhaps the fire is somewhere else? The clothes you wear are very soft and comfortable, and so is this bed. I don’t think I’ve slept anywhere so comfortable in my entire life. I could sleep on this bed forever.” He smiled and stroked his beard as he thought. “It is a...it’s a peaceful world. I like it. But I would like to go outside. I’m curious to see the country around this castle.”
“A peaceful world?” Taylan asked. “What makes you say that?” She couldn’t imagine anywhere less peaceful than a military starship, but, on the other hand, he hadn’t seen her or anyone else suited up, and he might not have understood what was going on when the Valiant had taken part in the recent battle.
“No one carries a sword or dagger. Even for your weapons training, you only use staves. You can kill with them. I’ve seen it done. But it’s hard. It makes me think you don’t really want to hurt each other.”
“Oh...” She put a hand over her mouth and chuckled. It was ridiculous, but it made complete sense. Arthur didn’t have a clue about any of the pulse weapons he’d seen in the equipment store. He’d also missed the blunt knives, though she doubted that would have altered his misunderstanding.
He had so much to learn about his new environment. She felt sad, realizing the many ugly surprises he had in store.
Where to start? He’d asked about going outside, so it was as she’d suspected—he didn’t know he was in space. But showing him that could be a huge shock to his system, despite his belief he was dreaming. She could introduce him to the idea of modern military warfare, however. It would be something he could relate to. “I have something to show you, if you can wait a minute.”
She left him and jogged to the nearest armory, where she ‘borrowed’ a suit of armor and a pulse rifle. She would get into trouble if anyone found out, but in the current state of anarchy, she didn’t think punishing her would be a high priority.
When she returned to Arthur’s cabin, she made sure to carry her helmet and not wear it so he could know it was her.
The light of recognition came on in his eyes the minute she entered the room. He understood instantly what she was wearing, and he was interested in examining both the suit and her helmet. She activated the HUD and put the helmet on his head. The look of amazement on his face was entertaining, though he couldn’t possibly understand what any of the display meant.
Next, she showed him the pulse rifle and explained as best she could how it worked, but she didn’t think he grasped even the basics of its operation. That was only to be expected: In his time, the only energy source was fire. In the end, she guessed he might think of it as a kind of flamethrower.
“I knew you were a knight the moment we began to fight,” Arthur said. “Your skills are excellent. I had no idea women could fight so well. I wish you were real. I would include you in my company in a heartbeat. I would make a new company, in fact, of elite female knights. You could train them.”
“I am...” She didn’t bother completing her sentence.
She was getting hot in her suit without the aircon activated, and she didn’t have much more to tell him about it that he would understand. “I’m going to take these back,” she said.
When she returned to the cabin, Arthur was sitting down, poring over the interface set into the tabletop, sweeping it with his fingertips. She peered over his shoulder. He was looking at pictures of Earth. Maybe Wright had been trying to find out where he came from. “Are we in one of these places?” he asked. “Would you show me which one?”
“No, sorry, but I’ll explain where we are later.” She sat on his bunk. It actually was really comfortable, more so than any other rack she’d slept on in her time in the Royal Marines. Wright must have arranged for a soft mattress to be placed on it. The major was far nicer than he liked to pretend.
“Do you mind if I lie down?”
“I don’t mind at all, Taylan.”
She turned over his pillow to be polite, and then rested her head on it. “Tell me more about your time, Arthur. I mean, your knights and what you did. My dad used to tell me stories about you.”
“My knights? They are a group of virtuous and valiant men. It is very difficult to be admitted to my table. As well as being skilled in the military arts, you must be loyal, just, honorable, and faithful at all times. You must swear to protect the weak, poor, and vulnerable, and be prepared to give your life to uphold these values. Why do you ask? Isn’t this what is expected of you and your fellow knights?”
Taylan considered for a while before replying, “I used to think so, but now I’m not s
o sure.”
“That’s a great pity.”
“Yes, it is.” A familiar, deep sadness and longing came over her, and she felt very far from home. “Do you know any stories, Arthur?”
“I know many, but I’m no storyteller.”
“Could you tell me one anyway?”
He smiled indulgently. “You are a strange dream creature. Very well.” He cleared his throat. “There was once a very noble and perfect knight...”
Taylan didn’t think she’d ever heard the tale he began to tell her. It must have been one that hadn’t survived to reach the ears of the first person to record the history of King Arthur. Nevertheless, she found she couldn’t stay awake to listen to it. Her eyes prickled with tiredness, and her eyelids grew heavy. Soon, with the soft voice of King Arthur droning in her ears, she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Forty
Kala was in full regalia, from her headdress down to her embroidered deerskin slippers. Others might have found the Dwyr’s costume uncomfortable and unwieldy, and so did she, but the downsides were outweighed by the thrill she experienced whenever she wore it. Power seemed to course through her, power and another feeling she had no single word to describe—she felt as though she could do mysterious, impossible things, as if she could tap into a second layer of reality and perform feats that the ignorant would call magic.
There had been times when she’d believed she might have really succeeded in reaching that dark layer beneath the surface that others perceived as reality. The night of Perran’s conception was one such time. That dark evening in the oak grove, more than mere seed had been deposited inside her. Something else had entered her, and later it had entered the embryo that would become her son. There was something otherworldly about him, something perhaps not quite human.
She had also felt herself touching the other side of the abyss when she had reached out to Ua Talman when she’d needed him as an ally, seducing him with her mind, bending him to her persuasion. She couldn’t prove it, and he would never admit it to her, but something told her she’d achieved her goal.
Now, though she thought she’d been successful at manipulating Lorcan, she would not be attempting the same task again. She had no more need for him. The BA had finally fallen, and all their remaining lands would soon be hers. The main opposition to the EAC was vanquished.
It was time to celebrate.
Novak had suggested the site for the festival. Like all Earth Awareness rituals, it would be held outdoors and far from artificial constructions. The commander had found a suitable place on the outskirts of a forest, and a conveyance was awaiting to take Kala there.
She walked out of the bedroom where she’d dressed and descended the carpeted stairs to the first floor. The posthumous King Frederick’s mansion had proven a convenient and luxurious abode since the invasion of Jamaica, even though the place sometimes reminded her of the sniveling brat. She’d sent for Perran to join her there, hoping his presence would help dispel the unpleasant memory of the deceased BA monarch.
Outside, a limousine was waiting that would take her the paved distance to the site before she would transfer to an off road vehicle to complete the journey.
Her stomach churned with excitement.
SHE ARRIVED AT THE victory celebration site three hours after sunset. Novak had chosen well. The ground was wooded, but the trees were not so thick that they obscured the view badly. By moving around, everyone would see the main spectacle. In the darkness, many figures moved. The area was thronged with attendees.
Kala wasn’t so interested in the opening event. It was what came after that would make the evening fun for her. However, everyone would expect tradition to be followed, so she couldn’t skip it.
A cheer went up as the EAC troops and auxiliaries noticed she’d arrived. Kala couldn’t deny she did like the general adulation. What leader of a spiritual organization did not? But she knew it didn’t drive her. She was no fake. She believed in what she did with every fiber of her being, probably more so than anyone else present, more than anyone on the planet.
The sea of men and women parted in two waves, moving to her left and right and creating a path for her to follow across the trampled grass.
She set off, slowly and gracefully, careful not to move unevenly and make her headdress wobble. At the end of the path, a structure could be seen in the torchlight. It stood about five meters tall and two meters across at its widest point. Four legs supported a central, egg-shaped chamber. All was constructed from interlaced, slim branches and twigs, like a wicker basket but more open.
As she got closer, she could see the figures of two men inside. Their forms were black against the general darkness, and they were sitting down together, perhaps clutching each other. Kala couldn’t tell in the gloom.
She knew their names: Hennessy and Montague. According to her source, they were the engineers of the military coup, the final distraction and additional weakness that had spurred her to launch her attack. If the BA had anyone to blame for their defeat, it was probably these two. Consequently, despite the few local inhabitants who had so far resisted her attempts at extermination, she doubted anyone would be along to save them. Just in case she was wrong, she’d stationed guards around the perimeter of the site.
“Dwyr Orr!” shouted a voice from the natural cage.
One of the prisoners had spotted her.
“Please,” he called. “Please let us out of here. We haven’t drunk or eaten a thing for two days. This is inhumane treatment, contravening the rules of legitimate warfare. We are your captives, but you must treat us fairly and attend to our basic needs.”
“This is outrageous behavior,” said a second voice from the cage. “We demand to be released and taken to a normal prison. Then, you must contact our families, who will pay a large ransom for our return. You may name your price, Dwyr. It will be yours.”
She halted near the base of the structure, smirking. What a pair of idiots. As if she had any desire or need for money. They didn’t remotely understand her or the EAC and had clearly never tried. Safely ensconced in bubbles all their lives, they’d never had any interest for anything except what would bring them more fame and riches.
With these two in control, it was no wonder the Alliance had fallen. It had never stood a chance.
She faced her people. A hush fell upon them.
“I am the wind on the sea
I am the wave on the shore
I am the oak in the forest
I am the eagle on the mountain
I am the lightning in the storm
I am the blossom on the tree
I am a wolf in the winter
I am a salmon in the river
I am a spring on the plain
I am the word of power
I am the spear in battle
I am the bringer of fire
Who spreads light in the gloaming?
Who can tell the ages of the stars?
Who can tell where the dead live again?”
A soft sigh as if a collective breath had been held and let out came from the audience.
She turned to face the captives. Staring up at them, she blindly held out a hand.
The handle of a torch was placed in it.
“Dwyr,” called the first man who had spoken, “what are you doing? Didn’t you hear what my friend said? We demand to be released. We insist upon it, in fact.”
She strode the final few steps to one of the four legs.
“What are you doing?” the second voice echoed the first, fear raising his intonation to a squeak. “Look, if you’re trying to scare us, you’ve succeeded. We’ll tell you anything you want to know. Anything. We would have anyway. There’s no need for...Oh my god!”
Kala had bent down and held the torch to the woven branches that made up the leg. After two days in the Jamaican sun, the wood had dried out fairly well. The flames quickly took hold and licked up the strut toward the central cage.
“Christ, no!” one of th
e men screamed. “You can’t, you can’t...Help! Let me out!” The speaker began to scale the inside of the egg and quickly reached the top, but he could go no farther. He continued to shout and plead, madly reaching through the gaps and trying to pull them apart.
The other man also hollered and cried, and then began to cough.
Fire was spreading across the bottom of the cage. The noise of it entwined with the men’s cries of agony.
Kala turned and lifted her hands high in the air.
The crowd roared.
Now it was time for the real celebration to begin.
Over the last two days, the city and country had been scoured for wine, spirits, beer, and luxury foods, and the festival organizers had brought all that had been found out to the woods. There would be far more than those chosen to attend could possibly consume, but that was the entire point. It was a celebration of excess, a festival of mutual thanks from the participants to the Earth, and the Earth to them for her glorification.
And it wasn’t only food and drink that were to be indulged in to excess.
A while after the drinking had begun, Kala felt an arm slide around her waist, and a hand took her chin to turn it toward questing lips. She kissed the person back. Was it Novak, or someone else? She couldn’t tell, and she really didn’t care. Another hand slid up her back and then around her front, feeling for her breasts.
Her headdress slipped from her head and fell to the ground. She felt more hands. They grabbed her. They were lifting her up and carrying her away, away from the bright torches and into the dark spaces between the trees. More hands were already tugging at her clothes.
At her first celebration as the new Dwyr, she’d been scared of this part, frightened that someone would hurt her. She hadn’t understood then what she understood now: She was theirs, sacred, precious, to be cherished and revered. She could never come to any harm, not from her devotees nor any other living being.
