She put her hand on Brynn’s shoulder, knowing he would most likely be dead before she returned. “Remember your oath.”
On Mars, deep under Cydonia, Aspasia and his closest followers lay down in the black tubes that awaited them. Overall, Aspasia felt he had done well. He had weathered Artad’s initial assault and extracted a truce from his former and present enemy.
As the lid closed on him and left him in darkness, Aspasia drifted off to the deep sleep knowing that there would come a time of reckoning. He had ceded Earth to Artad, but there would be a day when he returned. Meanwhile, there was always his Shadow on Earth to deal with things.
In China, Artad had not settled on a natural resting place, but used his saucers and their tractor beams to erect a mountain over three hundred feet high that would one day be called Qian-Ling by the locals. He burrowed deep into the ground, surrounding his refuge with traps.
He also prepared his own contingencies. First, he prepared his own Shadow, set in a chamber near the top of the mountain. He loaded his own essence into a ka and placed it in the machine. He set no timer, but rather linked the console to a guardian computer that monitored the outside world. He would allow the machine to make the decision to awaken the Shadow, then the Shadow could make the decision whether to awaken him.
As a redundancy to the computer monitoring, he also prepared creatures that could walk the surface of the planet and, with some slight disguise, pass among the humans. His scientists generated two dozen Airlia-Human clones. Ones Who Wait. They were given regeneration tubes and sent forth to keep an eye on Artad’s side of the truce. They were sent to a base hidden in a mountain in Africa.
Artad then set his guardian computer and went into the deep sleep, confident that when he awoke the issue of whether the Swarm had reported this planet would be resolved. Then it would be time to deal with Aspasia.
Donnchadh held Gwalcmai in a last embrace. They stood between the two tubes in their spaceship, preparing to go into the deep sleep. Their bodies were young — fresh out of the tubes. It was always a disorienting experience to see her mate so young after spending years growing old with him. She had enough vanity, though, to appreciate her slender, smooth body and the feel of his hands on her.
“We are in no rush,” she told Gwalcmai.
He laughed, a rumble deep in his chest. “Really?”
“The tubes can wait for a little while,” Donnchadh affirmed.
“How little is a little while?” Gwalcmai asked as he lifted her off her feet with a tight embrace and his lips hovered just above hers.
“However long we wish.”
VIII
Were things different?
That was the question running through Donnchadh’s mind as she pressed her medallion against the inner lock for the door in the standing stone. It slid open and Gwalcmai, as was his way, stepped past her and into the open, sword in hand.
Donnchadh followed. Into rain. Which was to be expected. What did surprise her were the new standing stones flanking the three original ones. Just as large as those she and Gwalcmai had emplaced. They both stared at the stones for several minutes in silence as the rain drizzled down, soaking their clothes.
“How could—” Gwalcmai began, but then stopped, at a loss for words.
Donnchadh smiled. “Humans. We are very innovative. I don’t know how these stones were brought here or stood upright, but they did it. The ones we’ve come to help.”
Gwalcmai frowned. “They are just stones.”
Donnchadh slapped her hand against the stone they had just come out of. “How did you get this here?”
“You know—”
“How did we get these here?” she pressed.
“We used the ship and the tractor beam and—”
“Do they have ships and tractor beams?”
“No. I don’t think they could,” Gwalcmai amended. “Not enough time has passed.”
“So how did they get them here?”
Gwalcmai shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I,” Donnchadh said. “But they did. I take great hope from that.” She slapped Gwalcmai on the shoulder. “Let’s find out what’s changed.”
Avalon was different also. There was a rudimentary stone wall around the entrance stone on top of the tor. There was also another wall, about four feet high and loosely mortared, running around the outer perimeter of the tor’s top. Donnchadh placed her medallion in the correct place and the stone on top of Avalon slid aside. She stood still for several seconds, listening. She smiled when she heard footsteps echoing up the stairwell. A glow appeared, coming closer.
“Who are you?” the man holding the torch demanded, a rusty sword held in one shaking hand. He was old and stooped. All his teeth were missing and his left eye twitched uncontrollably.
Donnchadh held up her medallion. “I am of the Wedjat.”
The man’s eyes opened wide. “That is the medallion of the head of the order. But”—he fumbled for words—“it is said the head of our order disappeared many, many years ago.”
“My name is Donnchadh. And this is Gwalcmai,” she added, indicating her partner.
“But that is the name of the founders. Of the leaders of the First Gathering.”
“Have there been other Gatherings?” Donnchadh asked. The second one had been sparsely attended, with only four of the original Wedjat and three offspring representing their fathers. Their information had been as scant as the representation. That had led to Donnchadh’s and Gwalcmai’s decision to go back to Stonehenge and deep sleep for an extended period of time.
The man was confused and Donnchadh realized she had gone too fast with him. She lowered the medallion. “And your name is?”
“I am Brynn, the Wedjat of Avalon.”
Donnchadh smiled. “As was named the first Wedjat of Avalon. And as we are named after the leaders of the First Gathering.”
Brynn tried to process this. While he was working it over, Gwalcmai stepped forward. “May we come in? The rain is cold.”
“Yes, yes,” Brynn said. “Come, come. I do not have much to offer you,” he warned.
They entered, shutting the door behind them. They followed Brynn down the stairs until they came to the landing. He opened the door with his own medallion and they entered the crystal cavern. They went along the side to the next tunnel and followed it to the chamber at the end.
Things were different there. A wooden rack was along one wall and it was full of rolled-up papers. A large desk sat in the center of the room with a stool in front of it. Writing implements were on the desk along with scrolls of blank parchment. There was a small grille providing scant air and copious dark smoke that was trying to find its way out the small hole in the back of the rooms. The place smelled primarily of smoke with an underlying staleness.
Brynn indicated they should sit on a wooden cot covered with a threadbare blanket. “Please.”
Donnchadh sat down to please the old man, but Gwalcmai prowled about the chamber.
“Do you have a report to make?” Brynn asked.
“Others come here to render reports?” Donnchadh asked.
“Not many,” Brynn said. “Not many. Three in my lifetime. Two were sons sent by their fathers on the long journey to see this place where it all began. But it is difficult to travel and the world is large. I’ve also received twelve written reports over the years that come via traders and others. Not many, according to my father, who told me of his father’s time here. And of the times before then.”
“The Airlia?” Gwalcmai brusquely asked.
“They sleep still,” Brynn said. “Except in Egypt.”