“Anything?” Gwalcmai asked as he sat next to her. He shivered. “We should have picked a warmer place to put the ship.”
Donnchadh ignored the comment. “Nothing intercepted from the guardians.”
“At least the Swarm hasn’t returned,” Gwalcmai said.
“Not for a harvest,” Donnchadh agreed.
Gwalcmai got to his feet and went to where his cloak and sword were hung. “I suppose we must go to Avalon.” He picked up the sword. “Do you think the Watcher is still there?”
“I hope so.” Donnchadh got her own cloak. “We shall soon find out.”
The town on the shore across from Avalon was deserted. And had been for a long time, to judge by the degraded condition of the few buildings that were still standing. There were no boats on the shoreline and the two stood in the light rain for several minutes looking up at the top of the tor. The tip was wreathed in mist but they could see that a stone building had been erected on the very top.
“I could build a boat,” Gwalcmai said.
“We have time, but not that much time.” Donnchadh moved off to the right, circling the island. “There.” She pointed at a clump of bushes. Tucked behind them, they could see glimpses of a small rowboat.
“It’s on the other side,” Gwalcmai noted.
“Would you rather build a boat or swim over and get that one?” Donnchadh asked.
“You could swim,” Gwalcmai suggested. “Or we both could.”
Donnchadh simply stared at him, waiting. Gwalcmai muttered something to himself as he stripped off his armor. Clad only in a loin wrap, he approached the dark water, shaking his shoulders from the chill. Gwalcmai let out a deep breath, then dived into the water. With powerful strokes, he made his way across the lake to the base of the tor. He emerged from the water, shaking it from him like a big dog. His long dark hair flew to and fro. He grabbed the rowboat, slid it into the water, and jumped on board. He paddled furiously, trying to stay warm, and was back across the lake in just a minute.
Donnchadh waited while he tried to dry himself and got dressed. They both got in the boat and rowed across to Avalon, where they made their way up the winding track to the top. The stone entry was enclosed in a small temple built of rock. A thick door barred entry into the temple. When Gwalcmai tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge. However, the thatch top of the temple had long ago fallen in, so he was able to climb up the eight-foot wall and go over, jumping down inside. He unbarred the door, letting Donnchadh in.
The space was small, less than four meters square. The entry stone was centered. Donnchadh placed her medallion against it in the appropriate spot, and the stone slid down, then to the side, allowing them access to the stairs below. Gwalcmai drew his sword and entered first. Donnchadh unsheathed her dagger and followed, closing the entrance behind them. The Airlia glow lines still provided illumination after all these years and they went down into the bowels of Avalon. When they entered the crystal cavern, both paused as they saw Excalibur, inside its sheath, encased in the stone.
“So, they got it out of Egypt and brought it here,” Donnchadh said.
“Yes, we did.”
Both spun about as a young man holding a bow, arrow notched and string pulled back, edged into the cave. “Who are you?”
Donnchadh carefully reached for the medallion around her neck and held it out. “I am of the Wedjat.”
“Just because you have that,” the young man said, “does not mean you are a Watcher.
“I am of the order,” Donnchadh said in the Airlia tongue.
A frown crossed the young man’s face. “That is the old tongue. I have learned a little. But not enough to talk or understand what you just said.” Still, he did not lessen the tension on the bow. “That also does not mean you are of the order. You could be a Guide or One Who Waits.”
“My name is Donnchadh. This is Gwalcmai.”
The young man took a step back. “I have read of those names. Many, many years ago a man and a woman came here and they bore those names. Are you descended from them?”
“Yes,” Donnchadh said. “We are not Guides or Ones Who Wait. If we were, you would be dead already. We have traveled far to be here.”
Slowly he lowered the bow. “I am Dag-Brynn, Watcher of Avalon.”
“Greetings, Dag-Brynn, Watcher of Avalon,” Donnchadh said as she extended her hand.
“From where do you come?” Dag-Brynn asked as he shook her hand. “Where do you watch?”
“We are journeyers,” Donnchadh said. “We travel from Watcher to Watcher.”
“I have never heard of that,” Dag-Brynn said. “But there is much I do not know.”
“What of the Airlia?” Donnchadh asked.
Dag-Brynn shrugged. “As far as I know, they sleep still.”
“And in Egypt?” Donnchadh pressed.
“They are dead.”
“Some were killed long ago,” Donnchadh said, “but the rest went into the deep sleep.”
“And Vampyr killed them while they slept,” Dag-Brynn said. “The report from the Watcher of Giza concerning this came here many, many years ago.”
“Vampyr? One of the Undead?” Donnchadh was surprised at this turn of events. She vaguely remembered that name.
“So it was written.”
“Who rules in Egypt?” Gwalcmai asked.
“The Pharaohs still rule. It is a mighty kingdom and has conquered many of its neighbors.”
“The Grail?” Donnchadh asked.
“As far as the Watcher of Giza knows and last reported,” Dag-Brynn said, “it is still inside the Ark, hidden in the Hall of Records, deep along the Roads of Rostau. But it was well before my time since we have last heard from Giza.”
He said the words as if reciting something he had memorized, but it appeared he had little idea what the words meant. Gwalcmai coughed, wrapping his muscular arms tight aroundhis upper body. “I hate this chill. Let us do what we need and get going.”
“Let us see the records,” Donnchadh said, pointing toward the entrance to the room where all reports were stored.
Donnchadh learned little more from reading the scrolls. The Watchers still existed, but the reports came to Avalon infrequently. The last from Giza was over two hundred years old. The last from China, from the Qian-Ling Watcher, had come to Avalon five hundred years previously. It told of strange creatures populating the area — spawn of the Undead. Donnchadh assumed one of those they had freed from underneath Giza must have made his way there— or else the Airlia in the mountain had produced them. Since then, nothing. Some of the Watchers had not reported in for millennia. That might be because the line had failed in places, or because there was no way to get the messages across the oceans. Some of the reports were in languages she didn’t recognize.
After reading what she could, Donnchadh sat still for several hours while Gwalcmai went hunting with Dag-Brynn. By the time they returned with a stag, she had made her decisions. They butchered the stag, preparing some of it for immediate consumption, and Gwalcmai cured the rest for the journey he anticipated they would make. He asked no questions, for which Donnchadh was grateful.
As she began to read again, though, his cough grew worse. Dag-Brynn built up the fire in the small room, the smoke going up through a crack in the ceiling, but Gwalcmai could not warm up. When she put her hand on his forehead, she could feel the heat. She had Dag-Brynn gather all the blankets he had and she wrapped her partner in them. But the fever grew worse.
“I should have built the boat,” Gwalcmai said. “Time is the only thing we have plenty of.”
“Yes, you should have,” Donnchadh agreed. “That was my mistake.”
Gwalcmai shook so hard that Dag-Brynn had to help her hold him on the small cot next to the fire. When the shivering subsided, Gwalcmai’s face was bathed in sweat. His eyes were slightly unfocused.