Excalibur Rising (27 page)

     He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the shelter of the trees and began to climb.  Although he could see the flare of torches above him, he could find no trace of the path that the villagers had followed.  Jenny tightened her grip on his neck into a stranglehold as he stumbled through thick undergrowth, tripping on rock and roots.  Eventually he had to put her down on the ground.
     “We have to crawl,” he said.  “I can’t see where I’m going and I don’t want to fall and drop you.”
     He unwound her arms from their death grip around his neck, and pointed upwards.
     “Stay with me,” he said.
     “Are you really him?” she asked in wide-eyed awe.
     Poor kid, he thought, she’s terrified.  She’s probably hoping this is a nightmare. 
     “It’s really him,” said Michael’s voice from the darkness.  “It’s him, Jenny.  He’s going to look after us.  Just do what he says.”
     “Good boy,” said Ryan. 
      He turned one last time to look down into the valley.  The fires were dying and sending out more smoke than flame. The combatants were no more than dark shadows moving through the choking fog. 
     He moved on up the hillside encouraging the children with his voice, and reaching out to touch them and make sure they were with him.  At long last his hands told him that he was on a smooth path.  He rose hesitantly to his feet remaining stooped over to make himself a smaller target.  He groped for Jenny’s hand and clasped it in his own. Then he found Michael’s hand, and the three of them broke into a stumbling run.  He knew they needed to be away before the fighting below had come to an end, and already the sounds of battle were diminishing. The battle cries faded into silence replaced with groans and screams, and the sound of horses’ hooves beating a retreat.
     So who had won, he asked himself.  Were Bors and Mordricus lying injured among the smoldering ruins of the village, or were they on horseback pursuing the raiders? 
We can’t win and we can’t lose, but we still fight.
  That’s what Mordricus had said to him. What did that mean?  The fight he had just witnessed was no illusion. The fire and smoke were real. The cinders from the fire had burned when they touched his hands. The roof of the longhouse had collapsed, and surely he and the children would have been dead if he had stayed inside. 
     Perhaps Bors and Mordricus would believe that they had indeed remained inside, in which case no one would be looking for them.  The thought comforted him as he continued to climb, gaining ground on the retreating villagers. If they thought him dead, then maybe they wouldn’t come looking for him.
     He reached the top of the ridge.  Finding the gate was going to be tricky.  He slipped his hand into his pocket and grasped his talisman, the red stone that acted as a key to open the door to his own world.  In the daylight he had been able to see the mist and the shifting of reality that marked the entrance, but what would he find in the dark?  Would he have to wait for daylight?  More importantly, how would he get the children free?  He would have to break up the Glastonbury cross and give the children a piece each.
     A shower of sparks shot up from the village as another roof collapsed.  For a moment the path was illuminated and he could make out the shapes of the trees and the bushes, and one patch of total darkness.  Was that it, he asked himself.  Was that the gate? Could it be that simple?  He needed to find a heavy rock.  Something he could use to smash the talisman into smaller pieces.  He stepped off the path.
     Someone or something grasped and clawed at him from the shelter of the bushes.  Michael’s hand was snatched away and then Jenny’s.  All three of them were being pulled backwards, away from the gate.  Ryan groped around for the children, keeping his eyes fixed on the patch of darkness, determined not to lose sight of their escape route.
      From the heart of the darkness came a low, rumbling, growl and the gate began to change shape.  It was moving towards him.  He was wrong.  Whatever this was, it was not the gate into his own world.
     He scrabbled backwards as the darkness moved towards him. Hands grasped at him and guided him.  A rough, work worn hand closed over his own hand, and a voice hissed in his ear. “Shhh.”
     “What the ___” Ryan exclaimed but his question was cut off by a hand over his mouth. The hand tasted of earth and dirt. 
     Again the whisper in his ear, “Shhh.”.
     The darkness was forming a shape, something tall that moved towards him on two legs, but not a man, most definitely not a man. 
     Now he could see Jenny and Michael, their pajamas flashing white, as they were being carried away through the bushes.  For a moment he was alone with the menacing shape, and then he turned and ran blindly, following Jenny and Michael.  Behind him something crashed through the woods snapping off branches as it moved, and the threatening growl came from close behind him. 
     He felt hot breath on his neck, and then lights appeared ahead of him, the dancing flames of dozens of torches.  By the flickering light he could see that the children were being carried in the arms of ragged peasants.  As they retreated other peasants ran beside them brandishing torches.
      The menacing darkness halted revealing its shape by the light of the torches. It was a shape beyond Ryan’s understanding, a creature that stood on two legs and spread its wings as though it were an enormous bird.  The head that tossed and growled and challenged the flames was the head of a great beast with red eyes reflecting the firelight.
      The creature moved forward again. Ahead of him Ryan saw a rectangle of brightness. Light streamed from the door of a building.  The peasants danced backwards jabbing their torches at the approaching menace.  He saw Jenny and Michael carried inside and then rough hands grabbed him and hurried him forward. As he stumbled inside the building, the door slammed shut. 
     A great weight crashed into the door from outside, and the growling ceased, replaced by outraged shrieks.  Instinctively he staggered backwards, but the door held.  The creature battered futilely against the barricade, slamming its weight repeatedly into the door.  Inside the building the peasants were silent, holding their torches aloft to illuminate the door as it shivered under the onslaught. 
     Ryan had no idea how many times the creature hurled itself against the door, but finally the attack was over.  The creature gave one last howl of frustration and the battering ceased.
     “Factum est.”
     Ryan turned away from the door.  Someone had spoken to him in Latin.
     “Pax tibi.  Sit laus Deo.”
     Yes, definitely Latin, the ecclesiastical Latin of the early church.  Latin as it would have been spoken in the Dark Ages.
     “Venite.”
     The words were familiar.  He had heard those words muttered in tiny incense infused churches throughout Europe, where people clung to the old ways and prayed in the old language. The translation came easily.
“Come and sit.  It will be over soon, and they will come for you.”
     The man before him was lit by the flickering flames of crude torch.  He was a small man in a rough brown robe.  His hair was shaved into a monk’s tonsure and a plain wooden cross hung around his neck.
      “Who are you?”  The Latin words came easily to Ryan’s tongue but, uncertain of his pronunciation, he asked again emphasizing different syllables.
     “I understand you,” said the monk, “but I am surprised that you understand me.  Does the mother church still use our tongue?”
     “The mother church uses…no, well the Vatican…,” Ryan stuttered and then, “Who the hell are you?”
      “Brother Anselm,” said the monk.
     “What was that thing?” Ryan asked.
     “A griffin,” said Anselm.  Apparently the name was the same in English as in Latin.
     “Really, truly, a griffin?” Ryan asked. “I didn’t think they were real”
     “Here they are real,” said Anselm, “but perhaps not so in your world.  Did you truly come through the gate?”
     “Yes,” said Ryan, still thinking about the reality of the huge winged beast.  “The place I came from is called Griffinwood.”
     “The griffin guards this gate,” said Anselm. “The name must have been given by a traveler long ago, one who passed from here into your world, perhaps one of the Knights of the Grail.”
     “So you know about our world?” Ryan asked.
     “I am aware of the gate, but I have never passed through. At one time all of the gates were guarded by Merlin’s creatures, but now only the griffin remains and he is a creature of the night.  We of common blood may not pass through the gate; only those of royal blood may come and go as they wish, although I have heard that the maidens from the lake once traveled into your world.”
     “Have you seen one of these … er … maidens of the lake today?” Ryan asked, thinking of Violet and Elaine.
     The priest shook his head. “No,” he said. “We saw Bors, the lord of this village come through early in the morning with these two children that you are now returning, and then you came just as the light was fading.  You were fortunate that it was not yet dark.”
     Very fortunate, Ryan thought, remembering the hulking shape of the griffin.  He had arrived at sunset. A few minutes later and he would have been food for the guardian beast.  But, if Violet and Elaine had not been seen entering this gate, where had they gone?  Now that he was here, and Albion was a violent reality to him, he knew he should never have let Violet go alone with nothing but the waiflike Elaine for company.  His lust for treasure had overcome even common decency.  Violet was ill equipped to cope with almost every aspect of daily life, and yet he had cast her adrift without a second thought.
     “Is there another gate that the maidens could have used?” he asked.
      “I know little of the maidens,” said Anselm.  “They practice the old religion and their magic is dying.  I am of the order of Perceval who brought us the religion of the Christ.  This is my chapel.”
      He lifted the torch higher drawing Ryan’s gaze away from the stout oak doors and towards the stone altar where the peasants had now congregated.  Some people were still standing, but many were on the knees with their heads bowed before the carved wooden cross.
      “This is a church?” said Ryan. “This is a Christian church?”
      “Yes,” said Brother Anselm. “I have the honor to be a missionary to these people.  Our congregation is small, and we cannot grow until the king returns.  Nothing can change until the king returns.  When the war is over, we will grow and the magic of Merlin will be nothing but a memory.  Avilion will return to the mists, and Albion will be at peace.”  He paused, and then raised his eyes heavenwards. “God willing,” he added.
     Jenny tugged at Ryan’s hand.
     “What was that monster?” she asked. 
      What, he wondered, was the matter with him?  Had he lost every shred of humanity?  First he had sent his partner into the unknown without a second thought, and now he had managed to forget that he was the de facto guardian of two very frightened children who regarded him as a hero.
      Ryan knelt down so that he was on a level with Jenny’s terrified face. “That thing was a griffin,” he said, “but it’s gone now and it won’t be coming back. We’re perfectly safe now.  We’re in a church and these people will look after us.”
     “It must be hard for the children to understand,” said Brother Anselm. “I was surprised that the lord of the village brought them here, but I see that you have come to take them home.  It is a good thing.   Our world is so violent, but I imagine that your world is peaceful.”
     “No”, said Ryan, “I wouldn’t describe it as peaceful.”
     “But your world is Christian?” asked Brother Anselm.
      “No,” said Ryan again, “I wouldn’t say that either.”
      “How can that be?” asked Anselm. “The Knights of the Grail brought the message of peace from your world.  We are all waiting now for the king to return and for the war to end, so that we may be at peace.”
     “What if he doesn’t return?” said Ryan.
     “He must,” said Anselm, “there is no other way.”
      He turned his head towards the door. “You will not be able to leave here tonight, the creature still prowls, and the warriors still fight. “
      “Will Mordricus win tonight’s battle?” Ryan asked.
      The little monk shrugged his shoulders. “It matters not,” he said, “there is no winning or losing, only the endless war.”
      “But surely, if people are killed …”
      “They are replaced by others,” said Anselm. “If Mordricus is killed, he has sons to replace him. They are kept safe until they are needed.  Nothing changes. If this village is lost, another will be won.”
      “But that’s pointless and terrible,” said Ryan.
      “We wait for the return of Arthur and the last great battle,” said Anselm. “This should have been over many centuries ago.  Arthur was grievously wounded, but because of Merlin, he did not die.  Perhaps there are those who know why he has not returned, but it is not known to us.”  He sighed. “We are weary of waiting,” he said.
     “I imagine you would be,” said Ryan.
     “The children look tired,” said Anselm.  “I will find you a place for you all to rest until morning.  At this time of year the nights are short.”
     Ryan was struck by the fact that Anselm showed no curiosity as to why two little children should have been brought through the gate, or why they were now being returned.  Apparently security for the little missionary was secured by minding his own business and asking no questions.
      Ryan glanced at his watch and saw that it had stopped working. 
     “Is that a device from your world?” Anselm asked.
     “It tells me the time.”
     “It is of no use here,” said Anselm.  “I will wake you when it is safe to leave.”
     He led Ryan through the crowd around the altar and into a small, windowless room set off to the right of the altar.  Ryan looked at the straw mattress and threadbare blanket spread on the bare floor.
     “This is your room,” he said.
     “I will not sleep tonight,” said Anselm.  “It is best you stay here.  Do not go out among the people, they will ask too many questions, and you ll have no answers.”
     Ryan glanced at his useless watch again. In this world it was no more than a piece of jewelry, and not as valuable as his only other important possession, the Glastonbury cross that had brought him through the gate.
     He settled Michael and Jenny together on the monk’s lumpy straw pallet.