Victories (3 page)

At last Vivian turned down a narrow side road, and they could see they were approaching something that looked military.

And abandoned. There were faded and splintered
N
O
T
RESPASSING
signs everywhere. The only fence was a tangle of rusted barbed wire, and nothing was paved. Vivian drove through a gap in the coils and up to a cluster of tarpaper shacks that looked like they’d been deserted since before Spirit had been born: doors open or missing entirely, holes in the roof, siding stripped away to expose the framing beneath.

Spirit’s heart sank.
What if this is all some kind of … delusion? What if QUERCUS doesn’t exist? All I have to go on is the Ironkey, and Vivian could’ve made that. She could have been QUERCUS, too. There’s no way to know. And if she’s crazy, if this whole idea of taking out the Shadow Knights is just some kind of … fantasy.…

Vivian pulled up behind one of the shacks. “End of the line,” she said. When everyone was out of the van, she picked up a camo net hanging from the back of the shack and dragged the loose side over the van.

“Where are we?” Burke asked, looking around.

“Nebraska,” Vivian said. “I don’t suppose any of you know history, but a long time ago—before any of us was born—the US was expecting to go to war with Russia.”

“I
have
heard of the Cold War,” Loch said dryly.

“Then you know they figured on fighting it with missiles,” Vivian said. “Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles—ICBMs. They launched from silos. There were hundreds of them—thousands—all over the country. The areas they were located in were called ‘missile fields.’ About thirty years ago, they started decommissioning the missiles. They were obsolete. But there isn’t much you can do with a former missile silo.”

“Except call it home,” Burke said.

“Got it in one. Come on.”

She led them into the shack she’d parked behind. It was completely trashed—broken windows, holes in the roof, leaves, glass, and unidentifiable trash on the floor. There was an old steel desk in one corner, turned on its side. The linoleum floor had been ripped up in places, and underneath was a concrete slab. Addie held her skirt up carefully, and Spirit wished she was wearing something sturdier on her feet than sandals.

Vivian led them into the second room. It was dark—there were black plastic garbage bags taped over the windows—and in the middle was a large hole in the floor. It looked to Spirit like one of those big storm drains—the opening was more than three feet across, and there were steel rungs set into one side.

“Who wants to go first?” Vivian said.

“None of us,” Addie said fervently.

“I’ll go first,” Loch said. “You next,” he said to Addie. “Be careful in those shoes.”

Addie made a face.

Loch walked over and just jumped in. Spirit yelped in dismay until she saw he’d grabbed one of the rungs before he could fall. “There’s lights at the bottom,” he called up, then they heard the scraping of his shoes on the rungs as he climbed quickly down.

“Showoff,” Burke muttered. “I’ll lift you in,” he said to Addie.

Her face was grim, but she nodded. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, and lowered her carefully until she could grab the rungs. She looked up at him, nodded, and began to descend.

“Maybe you should go next,” Burke said to Vivian.

“Maybe I should stay up here to make sure you two don’t bolt,” Vivian said. Burke just shook his head and turned to Spirit. “Ready?” he asked.

She forced herself to nod. He picked her up and held her over the opening in the floor the way he had Addie. The sense of emptiness under her feet, the knowledge that Burke’s grip on her arms—and hers on his—was the only thing that kept her from falling—maybe to her death—was terrifying. She forced herself to let go and reach for one of the rungs in front of her. It was cold and a little slick under her hands. She kicked until she had her feet placed securely, took a deep breath, and Burke let go.

It’s just a ladder,
Spirit told herself.
You’ve climbed a lot of ladders.

But not blind, and not in the dark. She forced herself to feel for the next rung, and began her careful descent. When she’d gone down a few feet, the light from above was blocked as Burke followed her into the shaft, and a few seconds later she heard Loch call up that he’d reached the bottom.

It seemed like a long way down. When she got there, she saw the bottom of the shaft was lit by wire-covered lights on the walls. In the wall there was a metal door standing open. It looked like it belonged on a submarine. Loch and Addie were standing just inside.

“I know what this is,” Loch said, as she walked in. The room was fairly large—maybe twenty feet long—and the ceiling was so far up Spirit couldn’t see it clearly. “It’s a launch bunker. It’s where the missile crews would wait for orders to launch—see? There’s the computers and the monitors,” he said, pointing at a bank of equipment on one wall. It looked like something out of an ancient Science Fiction movie.

“Their regular tours were only twelve hours, but in the event of actual war they would’ve had to stay down here for days. So there’s a whole apartment down here.” Loch gestured toward a battered couch on the wall opposite the computers. On that wall there were two doorways that clearly led to other rooms.

There was no one else here.

“How is it you know these things?” Addie asked.

“I’m a guy,” Loch said, shrugging. “I thought it was kind of cool. You know, in an Armageddon, nuclear holocaust,
Planet of the Apes
way.”

There was a thump from outside, and Burke walked in. “Whoa,” he said, looking around.

“Best secret clubhouse ever,” Loch said, deadpan.

“I thought we were supposed to stop a war, not start one,” Burke answered.

“You are,” Vivian said. She pulled the metal door closed behind her. From the way she moved, it was heavy, but it moved silently. There was a wheel in the middle of it on the inside, just like in every submarine movie Spirit had ever seen.

“Where’s QUERCUS?” Spirit demanded. “We’re the only ones here, aren’t we?”

“I need to tell you a story,” Vivian said, not answering her directly. She pulled off her jacket and walked over to the couch.

“If this is some kind of trick.…” Burke rumbled threateningly.

“Why would I bother?” Vivian demanded angrily. “If I’d wanted you dead, all I’d have to do would be make one phone call while you were waiting for me to show up. I get that you don’t trust me—I spent two years at Oakhurst before I figured out what was going on. I know what it’s like.”

Spirit moved over to Burke and took his hand. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t believe this was a trap, not really, but when she’d decided to trust QUERCUS’s escape plan, she’d been counting on there being something more substantial at the end of it than an abandoned missile silo. Set against the resources of Oakhurst, of Breakthrough, this was … nothing.

“How did you find out?” Addie asked unexpectedly. “About Mordred, and … everything?”

“I’m a Water Witch like you,” Vivian answered. “One day several of us were practicing down at the pool. One of my teammates hit me with a waterspout. It knocked me off my feet. I fell into the pool, hitting my head on the way in. I pretty much drowned before someone pulled me out. And after that, I … remembered.”

“You’re a Reincarnate,” Spirit said.

“If I hadn’t been, I’d be dead,” Vivian said. “I’d known Mordred … before … but I didn’t recognize him at first. None of us do, I think, even after we remember. He isn’t a Reincarnate—Merlin’s spell made sure of that. But he possessed some biker named Kenny Hawking. That’s the body he’s wearing now.”

“That part we’d pieced together ourselves,” Addie said. “But—”

“Merlin? Spell?” Loch interrupted.

“Look, if I don’t tell this in order you’ll be even more confused than you are now. Long story short: I knew who
I
was, I figured out who
he
was, I ran like hell and went looking for Merlin. It helped that Mordred hadn’t gathered as many of his Shadow Knights as he has now. I wouldn’t have been able to escape if I’d had to do it today.”

Spirit shuddered. They’d only gotten away from Oakhurst with a lot of help, and being away from Oakhurst didn’t mean safe.

“And you found Merlin,” Spirit said. “QUERCUS. QUERCUS is Merlin, isn’t he?”

Vivian nodded. “Yes. But let me start at the beginning. It’s a long story. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Addie sat down on the couch beside Vivian. There were two chairs in front of the computer console. Loch took one, and Spirit took the other. Burke remained standing, his arms folded across his chest.

“You probably know something about King Arthur and Camelot and all that, but what you know isn’t the way it really was. There were two great Queens who ruled over the land: the
Bán Steud
and the
Cú Dubh.
”

“The White Mare and the Black Hound,” Addie said. Certainly Oakhurst had crammed their heads with enough languages that a little Gaelic wasn’t much of a stretch.

“Yes. In those days the Power ran hot and free in the pillars of the earth, and it was the birthright of many, and so Guinevere, the White Mare’s Daughter, and Morgause, the Black Hound, were both women of power. Britain was Guinevere’s by ancient right, and Morgause meant to take it from her.”

“Sounds like
Mists of Avalon
to me,” Loch said. “Where does Arthur come into it?”

“He was the brother of Morgause and the uncle of Mordred,” Vivian answered. “Morgause had always meant to rule Britain through either her brother or her son, but she lost Arthur to Belcadrus—to the army, you would say—and after a time he became
Diuc Bán Tir
, Duke of Britain. When Arthur passed beyond her influence, Morgause concentrated all her arts upon her son. Mordred became a black necromancer, steeped in the darkest sorceries, but his uncle knew nothing of this, because Mordred concealed his true nature, believing he would be named Arthur’s heir—as much as Arthur could have an heir, since he wasn’t king.”

“But, uh, Duke of Britain?” Loch said, glancing apologetically at Spirit and shrugging. “That’s the same thing, right?”

Vivian shook her head. “Britain had more kings than—than Justin Bieber has fangirls. But it had no true king—High King—because for generations none of the White Mare’s daughters had chosen to wed.”

“I thought Arthur married Guinevere,” Burke said, frowning as if he suspected Vivian of trying to trick him.

“He did,” Vivian said impatiently. “Guinevere was the White Mare’s Daughter, and only marriage to her could confer the High Kingship. Arthur waited years, refusing to marry, and at last his patience was rewarded, for in the darkest hour of his battle against the Saxons, Guinevere came to him on the battlefield, bringing with her the white horses of Britain. The tide was turned, Arthur won the victory, and The Merlin came to Camelot to make the wedding. Mordred knew he could not conceal his true nature from The Merlin, nor could he hope—now—to be named Arthur’s royal heir. He spoke fair words—as they said in those days—and went far from the court.”

“I know how this story goes,” Loch said impatiently.

“No, you don’t. That’s the trouble,” Vivian answered immediately. “Arthur wasn’t king because he won a lot of fights. He was king because he was Guinevere’s husband, and
whoever
her husband was would be High King. Mordred meant to marry her, and that meant she must break her marriage to Arthur and choose another husband. Choose
him.”

Spirit listened impatiently. All of this was ancient history—literally. No matter what the details were, they knew how it ended: with Mordred locked up in an oak tree, and the Round Table doomed to be reborn over and over until Mordred was dead. She opened her mouth to protest. Vivian smirked, as if she’d heard Spirit’s every thought. Spirit flushed, and forced herself to stay silent.
But if she doesn’t start telling us something useful soon, I’m going to
—

“Years passed,” Vivian went on, as if she didn’t notice Spirit’s impatience. “Acting in secret, Mordred stripped Arthur of his true knights and advisors. Lancelot was tricked into leaving Camelot. The Merlin was imprisoned in an enchanted oak. By then Arthur knew the shape of his doom, but he could see no way to prevent it—he might hold Britain, but both he and the White Mare’s Daughter could die as easily as any other. But Guinevere told him he could prevail by seeming to fall to Mordred’s treachery, and together they formed a plan. Before all the Court, he named her faithless and banished her—so all believed—to Glastonbury Abbey. But she went to Avalon instead, and there she gathered an army that could fight Mordred with sorcery.”

Spirit fidgeted. None of this seemed particularly important
now.
And no matter how much Vivian said it was the unknown story of Camelot, it all seemed very familiar. Had she dreamed this? Or read it? Either way, she
did
know how Vivian’s tale ended.
Arthur dead, Mordred fled, and Guinevere chases him until she catches him. Tell me something I don’t know.
With a real effort, she kept herself from tapping her foot and tried to pay attention.

Finally her frustration became too much. “And Merlin imprisoned him in Gallows Oak because Mordred couldn’t be killed,” she blurted. “But Mordred did something to Merlin. And Guinevere said she and her army would keep watch over Mordred and his allies forever. And that’s where the Reincarnates—the Shadow Knights and the Grail Knights—come from. How does this help us
now?”

Burke looked toward her in surprise, but Vivian seemed to have expected Spirit’s outburst. “The spell Mordred cast bound The Merlin’s spirit to his flesh until the end of time. He would never be reborn,” Vivian said.

“But that was centuries ago—and Merlin isn’t dead,” Spirit protested, when Vivian didn’t say anything else.

“Yes,” Vivian said. “Mordred’s spell struck true, but The Merlin was more powerful than he had dreamed. If The Merlin would not be reborn, neither would he die. Centuries passed. The Merlin became a wraith, a spirit. The ancient Gifts we once took for granted passed out of common keeping, and he could not make himself known to anyone. Until a few decades ago.” She smiled as if she was about to tell them an unfunny joke. “First ARPANET, then NIPRNET, then NSFNET … electrical pulses, binary code, something he could influence to give himself a voice again.”