The look on Brynn’s face indicated he didn’t even understand the questions, never mind wonder about the answers.
Merlin sighed and dropped that line of thought. “Excalibur is more than just a sword. It does other things. And the war will come again. And both sides will want it. And men like me”—Merlin nodded, acknowledging his role in recent events—“will try to use Excalibur also as a symbol. But it is more than a symbol. It has a purpose, a very critical purpose. It is a critical piece, one of several, in a very ancient puzzle.”
Brynn waited, listening.
“I am here to make amends,” Merlin said.
“And how will you do that?”
“Excalibur must be hidden better than this place.”
“I do not—” Brynn began, but Merlin slammed the butt of his staff onto the stone floor.
“Listen to me, Brynn. The sword must be hidden. Since it was brought out, those who you watch now know where it is. We — I— awakened those better left sleeping and they sent forth their Shadows to do war to try to gain the sword and the Grail. Both were hidden for many generations but now this place is no longer safe. You know that or else you would not have sent away the Grail.”
“How do you know this?”
“Watchers are so ignorant. I was ignorant, but I have traveled far and seen much. Have you even read some of the papers you guard so closely below? That is what I spent my time doing while I was here.”
“I have read those scrolls I can,” Brynn argued.
“And the ones you can’t read? The ones written in the ancient runes?”
“None can read them.”
“I could and can.”
“And what do they say?” Brynn asked, interested in spite of himself.
“The decision that demanded that our sole function be merely to watch what transpired was made by a vote at the first Gathering of Watchers. And it was not unanimous. There were those who thought watching wasn’t enough and action needed to be taken. That man would be best off if we continued to fight for freedom from the ‘gods’ and their minions.”
“But the vote was to watch,” Brynn said simply. “It is the rule of our order.”
Merlin sighed in frustration. “But it was a decision made by men. And we are men. We get to change it.”
Brynn shook his head. “The order would never change that. And there has not been a Gathering in memory.”
“You are ignorant,” Merlin said.
“What will you do with the sword?” Brynn turned the subject from things he knew nothing of.
“Take it — and the sheath that contains it — far from here. And hide it well in a place where men — and those who pretend to be men — cannot easily get to it.”
“There is no reason for me to believe you,” Brynn said as he turned back toward the doorway.
“I was wrong.”
Brynn paused.
Merlin continued. “We should not get involved with these creatures and their war among themselves. We do not have the power for that.”
“And?” Brynn demanded. “That is the Watcher’s credo. To watch. Not to act. Which you violated.”
“And that is wrong also,” Merlin said. “We must not just watch. We must act. But not in the way I did, trying to imitate these creatures, allying with one side of the other. I thought Arthur—” He shook his head. “I was misled, as the priests of old were. We must keep ourselves separate. Completely separate. And fight them when we have to and when we can do so with a chance of victory.”
“What does that have to do with the sword?” Brynn asked.
“It is a thing each side needs in order to win civil war,” Merlin said. “And now they know of this place and it is easily accessible. That is why Excalibur must be removed. It must not be found by Aspasia’s Shadow or Artad’s followers or others, even more evil, who would seek to destroy it.”
Brynn’s face paled. “The Ancient Enemy?”
Merlin nodded.
“I thought that was just a myth made up by the priests. As the Christians have their Satan opposing their God.”
“There is always some truth in every myth,” Merlin said.
Brynn ran a hand through his beard, obviously shaken.
“You say it is the rule of the Watchers to only watch,” Merlin said. “Then how did Excalibur and the Grail come here in the first place?”
“They have traveled far over the ages. Joseph of Arimathea brought them here for safekeeping from Jerusalem.”
“And did he not violate the rules of our order by doing so?”
Brynn reluctantly nodded.
“Then let me right that wrong and remove them from here. Then you can go back to watching.”
“Excalibur is safe now,” Brynn said with little conviction. “I know that—”
Merlin cut him off. “They came here to retrieve Arthur’s ka, didn’t they?”
Brynn slowly nodded. “Yes. The Ones Who Wait.”
“Then they know this place. They will be back.”
“It is what I fear,” Brynn admitted.
“They can always find the sword here,” Merlin said, “but I can put it in a place that will be difficult, if not impossible for them or any others to find and bring back.”
Brynn frowned. “Where?”
“On the roof of the world.”
“Where is this roof?”
“Do not concern yourself with that.” Merlin smiled. “You have nothing to fear if the sword isn’t here.”
This last bit of logic finally came home to rest with the Watcher. “Come.” Brynn indicated for Merlin to follow him.
Stonehenge was abandoned. Where the wicker man had been, there was only cold ash with a smattering of blackened bone. The Druids had gone back to the hills, hiding from the brigands who now roamed the land, and ekingout a living from the countryside. So it had been for centuries, so it continued. The stones had seen many invaders, many worshippers. And they would see more in the future.
The sky was gray and a light rain was falling, blown about by a stiff breeze. In the middle of the megalithic arrangement, the outline of the doorway reappeared on the left standing stone of the center pair. It slid open and one person appeared garbed in black robes. Noting the rain, the figure pulled back her hood. She resembled the woman that had first entered, but fifty years younger. Instead of age withered flesh, her face was smooth and pink. Her hair was coal black. She turned her face upward, allowing the rain to fall on it. The falling water mixed with the rivulet of tears on her face.
Donnchadh had tried and failed as she had feared. Gwalcmai was truly dead. After all the years they had been together. She reached back into the stone and pulled the litter out with the old body tied to it.
Reluctantly, she stepped out of the entryway, dragging the litter, and the door closed behind her, then disappeared. She slowly walked through the stones, onto the plain, pulling his body. She passed the site of the wicker man, sparing it not even a glance, and continued. When she reached a small ridge, just before she was out of sight of Stonehenge, she turned and looked back.
It was dusk and the rain had ceased. She could see the stones in the distance. She felt very, very alone, a slight figure in the midst of a huge plain. She went to a lone oak tree, its branches withered and worn. It was like a living sentinel overlooking the stones. Using a wooden spade, the woman dug into the dirt, carving out a grave. It took her the entire night to get deep enough.
As the first rays of the sun tentatively probed above the eastern horizon, she climbed out of the hole. Her robe was dirty, her dark hair matted with mud, the fresh skin on her palms blistered from the labor.
She took her husband and slid him into the hole she had made. Her hand rested on his cheek for many long minutes before she reluctantly climbed out of the grave. She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the small broken amulet. She stared at it for a while, then reached inside her robe and retrieved a chain holding a similar object, this one undamaged. She added the damaged one to the chain around her neck and held it for a moment, tracing the lines. Then she looked down at her husband and spoke in their native tongue.