The Indigo King (21 page)

“There’s a chance this will all change, you know,” Jack pointed out. “That’s what we’re trying to do, anyway.”

Hank glanced over his shoulder at the rising clouds of smoke that were darkening an already blackened sky, then up at the haloed sun that was nearly in full eclipse. “I always remain hopeful, but in this case, I think the game’s already been called,” he said bleakly. “If this isn’t the end of the world, it’s a damn good imitation. And at this point, I think all I can do is try to stay at the edges of the chaos, and record what I can, before …” He let the words trail off.

“Can’t you go back?” Hugo implored. “With the watch?”

“The what?” asked Hank. “I don’t even know how I got here, much less how I’m going to get home.”

“The watch,” Hugo repeated. “The one that Sam Clemens gave you, that allows you to travel in time.”

Hank looked at the professor as if he were crazy, then chuckled wryly. “I’d say you were losing your marbles, if we weren’t where we are. If, by some miracle, you ever come across one of those watches, let me know, will you?”

Hugo turned and looked pointedly at John, who opened up the bag he was carrying. “Maybe you can find it yourself,” John said, removing the Serendipity Box and handing it to Hugo, who handed it to Hank. “Open that and tell us what you see.”

Obediently Hank lifted the lid and smiled in confused surprise. “You’ve been having me on the whole time, haven’t you?” he asked as he took out the small silver pocket watch that was inside the box. “What does the dragon represent?”

“Hope,” said John. “It represents hope.”

“How does it work?”

John shook his head. “I don’t know. But we were told—by you, actually—that it will let you travel in time.”

“There’s a note underneath,” Hank said. “It reads, ‘Midnight takes you back.’”

“The rest is up to you, it seems,” said Hugo, clapping Hank on the shoulder. “Remember us to Sam, won’t you?”

“Verne,” Jack said suddenly. “That’s what we need to ask of you, Hank. Remember us to Jules Verne.”

“Okay,” Hank agreed, still uncertain of what he was being asked or expected to do. “How do I contact him?”

“I think you’ll see him when you leave this place,” Jack told him, “in another time. Just remember to tell him when and where you got the watch, and from whom.”

“I will,” said Hank, tapping the dials. “What happens when I turn it to mid—”

Hank vanished.

“That’s that, boys,” Hugo said, dusting off his hands. “I think he’s going where he needs to go, and now, so must we.”

He sat in the bow of the boat, which then pulled away from the cluttered shallows and into the swiftly flowing water at the middle of the river.

“So we’re on an actual Crusade, then?” Chaz said. “Your Charles would have loved this, wouldn’t he?”

“He would, absolutely,” said John.

The small boat, which John had dubbed the
Scarlet Dragon
, operated in exactly the way they had hoped. In only a few minutes, the smoke in the air had turned to fog, and it clouded thickly around the craft and its passengers.

Moments passed, and the fog began to thin, then clear completely, and they were sailing in open waters, far from any shore. “Extraordinary,” Hugo breathed, looking around at the horizon. “It’s like we’ve come into another world entirely.”

“Not entirely,” Jack said, pointing at the sky. The sun above was still eclipsed and hadn’t changed. “Avalon lies on the transition line between our world and the Archipelago, so we won’t have to completely cross the frontier. But,” he added tensely, “if this doesn’t work, that may not matter.”

Within a few hours, the familiar outlines of the island of Avalon appeared on the western horizon. The sky was already dark enough that they could barely make out the thunderheads beyond that marked the true line of the Frontier—the boundary that protected the Archipelago of Dreams.

As the
Scarlet Dragon
approached, it became evident that this was not entirely the island John and Jack knew. Their Avalon was almost abandoned. Only the three who were one, the witches known as the Morgaine, lived there, with an occasional guest, and were guarded by a succession of old knights. While this Avalon appeared similarly empty, the buildings were not in ruins, as they were in the Caretakers’ time. The temples, all Greek, were whole and untouched by time or man.

The shore was clean and afforded an easy landing on the beach in front of them. They pulled the
Scarlet Dragon
up onto the sand, then turned to decide where to go.

“We should be wary,” John cautioned. “The Green Knight of this time would not know us, and he won’t be as feeble as Darnay, nor as stupid as Magwich.”

They approached the centermost temple, but no one greeted them, no knight, no squire. “Well,” Jack declared, “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

In defiance of Jack’s statement, the torches along the walls suddenly blazed into life, and a chill wind swept through the courtyard.

The companions instinctively backed toward a group of the white marble columns for cover and scanned the buildings to see if they were still alone.

They were not.

From the north a regal woman appeared, hair bound up in the classical Greek manner, underneath a silver circlet. She was dressed in a flowing gown of gossamer silk, with a golden belt that matched her sandals, and walked with the assurance of someone who wielded great power. She strode to the center of the courtyard and stepped up to a dais, where she sat on an elegantly sculpted bench.

From the south another woman had appeared, just as beautiful as the first, but whose countenance shone with a terrible power. Her long, beautiful hair reached nearly to the floor, and she carried a broad golden bowl. Barefoot, she walked to the dais, where she stood next to the other woman. Both faced the companions.

“I am Circe,” the standing woman said, “and we have allowed you here on Avallo because you have come bearing the sign of the Pendragon.”

“The boat,” Jack whispered. “She means the Dragonship.”

“Where’s the other one?” John whispered back. “There should be three.”

“Speak,” Circe commanded. “Tell us why you have come here and what it is that you wish.”

The companions turned to John, deferring to his authority as the Caveo Principia. He gulped and stepped forward. The Morgaine were unpredictable and usually played games. There was no reason to expect things to be different now, in the past. But what question to ask?

“We’ve come seeking the beginning of the men called Myrddyn and Madoc,” said John.

Circe smiled, but it seemed to John—incredibly—that the other, who must be Calypso, actually winced, then blushed.

“Their beginning,” Circe said, “is known to us. They began as all men did, and with the same potential. But they forgot how to choose.”

“Forgot how to choose what?” asked John.

“How to choose,” Circe answered sternly, as if John were a bit stupid. “They forgot that choosing is always an option. There is always a choice to be made.”

“Why are you here?” John said. “On Avalon? I know that your island is called Aiaia.”

Circe bowed her head. “It is. And hers was Ogygia, before she came here,” she said, indicating Calypso. “We came here to the temple of Diana, which was erected by Brutus, to await our children’s return.”

“This is the island,” Jack interjected. “This is where they wrecked the
Argo
.”

Again Circe bowed her head. “Brutus built the temple with those who escaped from broken Troy, before he went to the isle of giants, called Albion, to build a kingdom of his own. No man, save for one, an old fisherman, ever returned to this island until Myrddyn and Madoc were exiled here.”

“The fisherman was the one who helped Anaximander rescue them,” said John.

“He was,” said Circe. “Odysseus was a vain and fickle man, but unlike Iason, he always returned to watch over his children.”

“I wanted to ask about the
Red Dragon
…,” Jack began.

“Too many questions!” Circe exclaimed. “Enough!”

“I’m getting a good idea which of them turns into Cul,” Jack whispered.

“What is it you wish of the Pandora?” Circe demanded again. “Speak.”

“We come seeking the Grail,” Hugo said. “The Holy Grail.”

John swore silently and threw a helpless glance at Jack. Hugo was not accustomed to dealing with the witches; he didn’t understand how they responded to direct statements like that.

“At last,” Calypso said. “A plainspoken man.”

Circe held up the golden bowl. “Choose,” she said. “The Cup of Albion, or the bloodline of Aramathea.”

“The cup?” John whispered. “That’s not a bowl. It’s the cup of the giant Brutus slew.”

“The bloodline of Aramathea,” Jack mused. “That’s what we thought of as well. Both have ties to Britain, and to the heritage of Arthur. But I don’t know what to choose.”

“Don’t look at me,” Chaz said, paging furiously through the Little Whatsit. “I can’t even take a guess.”

“Let me,” Hugo offered, stepping forward. “I choose the bloodline,” he said with no hesitation.

Circe and Calypso nodded at each other, and a third woman, plainer than the others but still lovely, came up the steps behind them to take her place on the dais.

“Are … are you … ?” Hugo said hesitantly. “Are you the Grail?”

“Gwynhfar,” the woman replied, bowing her head. “I am called Gwynhfar.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Good Knight

I have seen you before
, haven’t I?” John said gently.

“Yes,” said Gwynhfar, glancing at him. “Once, long ago, in a faraway place.”

“Alexandria,” Jack said, realizing who she was. “You were the girl with Madoc, in the Grail chamber.”

“Are you really a descendant of …,” Hugo began. “Are you truly of the Holy Blood?”

“Five generations ago, my ancestor was put to death,” Gwynhfar said. “He died at the hands of the Romans, who could not bear to see their own beliefs supplanted by those he left in his wake as he traveled, teaching. And so when he returned home, they killed him. And soon after, many who followed him. So my great-great-great-granduncle Joseph gathered the family together and fled the land of our birth for a new world.

“But,” she continued, “the beliefs and practices of the old world still held sway there, and it was not safe for us to remain. All who were descended from the great Teacher were eventually killed, save for myself and Uncle Joseph. So he arranged for me to be taken to the one place where I would be guarded, where all the great scholars of the world had come together. A place where new beliefs might be forged and fought for.”

“And even there, in the library itself, you were not protected,” Jack murmured.

Gwynhfar nodded. “There were those who would use me, and what I represented, to further their own aims.”

“So when Madoc forced himself on you …,” Jack began.

Gwynhfar looked at him in confusion. This meant nothing to her. “Forced?”

“What I mean to say,” Jack tried again, “is that when you were, uh, attacked in Alexandria by Madoc, and he violated you—”

“You misunderstand,” Gwynhfar interrupted. “I was not attacked. I was not … violated. Not by Madoc. How can you say that I was?”

Jack looked at the others, now clearly confused himself. “But we thought … When Meridian spoke of his brother betraying the Grail …”

“You are mistaken,” Gwynhfar said coldly.

“But we were there,” Jack said cautiously, with a quick glance at John. “We saw you with Madoc and heard you scream as you fled the library.” He extended his hands, trying to understand. “Meridian defended your honor!”

Gwynhfar snorted derisively. “You assume, and conjecture, and misread everything,” she said. “You would have been completely inadequate as my Caretakers.”

“We do have our moments,” John said, not sure if his own words were a defense or an admission. “Please, tell us what really happened.”

Gwynhfar stepped down from the dais to get closer to them. She was shorter than all of them save Hugo, and surprisingly delicate.

“Meridian and Madoc were there as two of my Caretakers,” she began, “but once Meridian discovered who I was, and why I was valued, he lost interest … mostly,” she added. “His interest in the library had more to do with the objects gathered there, such as the Cup of Albion and the Horn of Bran Galed.”

“Old Magic artifacts,” said Jack. “But not the New World treasures, like the Lance of Longinus or …”

“The Sangreal,” Gwynhfar finished. “Except for uses more common.”

Her meaning dawned over the companions. “So when Ptolemy said Meridian had tried to take the Grail …,” John began.

“He tried to take from me, against my will,” Gwynhfar explained, “that which I freely shared with Madoc, whom I loved, and who loved me in return.”

“And we believed he was evil,” Jack said dully. “We sided with Meridian and helped to Bind his brother. And Madoc was the good one all along.”

“Y’ mean he might have been,” said Chaz, “if we hadn’t come along an’ mucked him up.”

“Both of my sons have made poor choices,” Calypso clarified. “Both were exiled from the Archipelago. But of the two, Madoc was the one with a spirit.”

“Soul,” John said quietly. “She means soul.”

“What is the difference?” Calypso asked, hearing the word John spoke. “It is the breath of the gods in him. It is his life. It is himself.”

“Spirit, breath, wind,” Jack intoned. “My God, John, what have we done?”

“We need to do our duty now,” replied John. “We are the Caretakers of the Archipelago.” He turned to Gwynhfar. “We need you to come with us. Something terrible has happened, and only you can help us.”

She shook her head. “I am of the Archipelago now. The island of Avallo is as far as I will go toward the world that was.”

“We should have brought him with us,” said Chaz. “Is there time t’ go back?”

John shook his head. “It’s been too long already,” he said, noting the eclipsed sun. “Every moment takes us farther into the Winterland. And we may never be able to reverse it if we don’t do it now.”

“I must stay,” said Gwynhfar, “but the Holy Blood might be taken back with you, to do what must be done.”

“You want us to take your blood?” asked Hugo.

“No,” she said with a faint smile, “I want you to take my child.”

Gwynhfar turned and walked between Circe and Calypso, gesturing for the companions to follow.

They walked out of the temple and down a long procession of steps that ended up splitting into two separate paths. The one to the left followed the ridge of sharp cliffs that rose above the western side of the island. Jack and John looked at each other and grinned in recognition. That path led to the cave where they were most familiar with seeing the Morgaine, and where they would one day meet the distant heir to Arthur’s throne. If Arthur might still have heirs, that was.

The path to the right dropped sharply down to a pebbled beach, where a number of rusted weapons and tools were scattered in the sand.

There ahead of them, watching through an old iron grate half-buried in the sand, was a young girl. She was auburn-haired, with wide green eyes and a face that bespoke innocence. She was playing with an assemblage of gears that resembled the insides of a watch.

Gwynhfar walked to the girl, who stood and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ve brought you some visitors,” said Gwynhfar. She introduced the companions one by one, and the girl nodded and smiled at each of them in turn.

“And what is your name, my dear young lady?” asked John. “How are you called?”

Gwynhfar answered instead, shaking her head. “She has never been named. Her father has never seen her or spoken her name. So she has waited to choose her own name.”

On impulse more than anything else, Hugo reached inside his jacket and removed the indigo rose he’d been given by the Serendipity Box. He looked to Gwynhfar, who gave him a curious look in return, then nodded, and he turned and gave the flower to the girl.

“It’s called a rose,” he said mildly. “I … I think I brought it for you. Will you come with us? Will you come, and help us?”

The girl nodded. “May I give you a thimble?” she asked, and kissed him on the cheek before he could reply. “Thank you for my name. I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”

“It’s a flower, not a name,” Hugo stammered, still blushing from the kiss.

“A thimble might be a kiss, a flower might be a name, and a dragon might be a ship,” said Gwynhfar. “Sometimes things are simply what we need them to be. And sometimes things are not what we expect.”

She turned and walked up the steps, expecting the others to follow. Her daughter and Hugo went behind her, then Jack and Chaz.

John was about to follow, when he caught sight of a movement farther down the beach. He stopped and looked more closely, then realized it was an old fisherman, bent over his nets.

The fisherman saw John and lifted an arm to wave. John waved back, then trotted up the steps to catch up to the others. “He always returned to watch over his children,” he murmured. “That’s the way to do it, old-timer.”

Back in the temple of Diana, the companions stood with the enchantresses, Gwynhfar, and the girl.

“Thank you,” John began. “We cannot express what this will mean to the world that you are helping us.”

“Your gratitude is not necessary,” Circe said. “It is a fair exchange, in the manner of the old ways.”

Exchange?
John thought wildly.
What exchange?
He’d forgotten that the Morgaine rarely gave anything freely; they usually expected something in return. But they had brought nothing with them except …

“You don’t mean to take our boat, do you?” John said. “We need it to—”

“Not the Dragonship,” said Circe. “It has not the value.”

“Then what?” asked Jack. “What is it you want?”

“Blood for blood, a life for a life,” Circe said simply. “It is the Old Magic, and it is the Law. If the child is to leave Avalon, then one of you must stay.”

“You’re going to sacrifice one of us?” Hugo gulped.

“No one will be sacrificed.” Calypso sighed. “But he who stays will be expected to serve, as our daughter will serve in the Summer Country.”

“The Green Knight,” Jack said suddenly. “They mean for one of us to become the Green Knight.”

John understood. That was why they hadn’t seen one of the familiar guardians of the island. There had been no guardian, not until this point in time. And one of them would have to stay behind and take up the mantle, if they were going to have the chance to save Arthur.

Chaz stepped forward. “I can do this. I want to do this.”

Jack shook his head. “No,” he said flatly. “You don’t realize what you’re offering, Chaz.”

“I know one of us has t’ stay,” reasoned Chaz. “What else do I need t’ know? You two are real Caretakers. You have t’ go back. And rescuing Hugo was part of the reason you’ve done all this t’ begin with. I’m the only one who
can
stay.”

“We’ll find another way,” John began. “There must be another way, Chaz!”

“Blood for blood, a life for a life,” Circe repeated. “There is no other way.”

“I’ve been wondering all along,” Chaz said slowly, eyes downcast, “if maybe things back in Albion might have been different, if I had only been more like Charles instead of Chaz, then. We’re not that different now, he and I, I think.”

“Chaz,” said Jack, “you can’t hold yourself responsible. The Winter King was centuries old before you were even born. He had thousands and thousands of minions at his command. Against all that, what can one—”

“What can one man do?” Chaz asked, looking up at Jack with a grin. “Is that what you were going to say, Jack? I’ve been wondering that myself. Especially with things I’ve been reading in the Little Whatsit. And it seems that one man, in the right place, an’ at th’ right time, can do an awful lot. And I could have, and didn’t. Not when it meant the most.”

He was talking about Bert, John realized. Since the last passage from Sanctuary, they hadn’t mentioned the death of the old traveler, but now he understood that it had weighed as heavily on Chaz as it had on him or Jack, and perhaps more so.

“Besides,” Chaz went on, “in’t all of what we’re doing based on one man, anyway? This ‘Christ’ everyone’s been going on about? He was just one man, wasn’t he?”

“That’s different,” Jack replied. “That was … well, a mythology. A real mythology, based on a real person, but you can’t use that story as a reason for choosing to sacrifice yourself in this way.”

“And why not?” Chaz shot back, annoyed. “Isn’t that why we come all this way, to this island? T’ find the Holy Blood who are his children?

“You say it’s just a mythology, a story,” Chaz continued, “but here we are anyway, centuries later, pinning all our hopes for the future of the entire world on whether or not this girl is his kin, and carries his blood. And maybe she is, and maybe she isn’t—but what else are stories for, ’cept t’ learn from, and improve yourself? T’ learn t’ do th’ right thing?”

“Because the story is
mythical
,” Jack retorted. “There probably
was
a man called Jesus Christ, and he probably
was
crucified. But all the value of that sacrifice came from the mythology that sprang up around it, and maybe the whole reason that there is power in his bloodline is because people have chosen to believe in it—not because of the value of the literal event itself.”

“What’s the difference?”

Jack started to reply—then realized he couldn’t. Not that he didn’t want to, but because he really had no way to answer the question.

Chaz stepped over to Jack and put his hands on his shoulders. “If I do this,” Chaz went on, his voice low, “it will be literal, not mythical. Only you, those here with me, will ever know the literal truth of the choice I’m making. But maybe, in time, my friends will make a story out of it, and it might even become a myth. And others can learn from my example, the way I’ve learned from the ones I’ve read about, and seen, and become friends with.”

Jack met Chaz’s eyes and realized that his unlikely ally had indeed become a friend. “You realize,” he said, struggling to voice the words, “what we’re trying probably won’t work, right, Chaz? We’re taking this child to a battlefield to resurrect a dead man who may or may not have been the rightful king. And there’s no way of knowing if it will work.”

“That’s where—what did you call it, John? Faith? That’s where faith comes in, doesn’t it?” Chaz said. “You have t’ admit, it sounds familiar … sacrifices, and bringing someone back t’ life … Even if it doesn’t work, it’ll be a great story. Just don’t forget me, hey?”