A Magic King (13 page)

So what did they really do on Capitol Hill?

Daken shook his head. "Your words are strange to me. The Elven Lord studies magic. He has brought others here to help him increase his powers."

The light suddenly went on in Jane's mind. "So, this is a pacifist government, meaning no weapon play, no guns and bombs and stuff." She'd already noticed few people here carried even small daggers like hers. "But they study magic. And let me guess, there's probably a few people here who concentrate on aggressive, offensive spells."

Daken raised his eyebrows, and his eyes sparkled with appreciation. "For a fool, you are remarkably intelligent."

They resumed walking toward the oldest, most dilapidated structure while Jane looked around, trying to absorb the feel of the campus. Then Daken held open a door into the crumbling building.

Jane hesitated before entering. "Are you sure it's safe? This thing looks like it's about to come down around our ears."

Daken looked up as if noticing the old mortar and weather-beaten bricks for the first time. "Don't worry. This is the most well-protected building in the Elven Lord's realm."

"This one?" She glanced into the dark, gloomy hallway beyond the door. "Why?"

"Because of what is in here. Come. I'll show you."

She suppressed a growing sense of horror, mentally girded herself, and stepped in. As the door sealed behind them, Jane fought panic. She felt entombed in these walls, wrapped in the musty smells of age and disuse. She stepped forward. Her sneakers squished on the concrete floor, and the sound echoed in the darkness.

"This is weird," she said in a hoarse whisper. It was like entering a library long since abandoned. The feeling was sad, almost sick, definitely dead.

"This is the home of one of our oldest legends."

He guided her along a well-worn path down a dark hallway, sparsely lighted by an occasional candle.

"It is said," he continued, "an old soul hidden among the people will one day come here to open the door to vast knowledge. Every one who visits Bosuny comes here to see if they are the one to fulfill the prophesy."

A cold chill skated down Jane's spine, and she pushed herself into a false levity to counteract the oppressive feel of the building. "What, they show up expecting to whammo-presto find a key hidden on their body? Like King Arthur's sword in the stone?"

Daken shrugged. "I don't know. I have never been to this building. And I don't know this King Arthur."

She waved aside his regrettable ignorance of one of her favorite legends. "You've never been here? But I thought you said everyone comes here."

"My brother and parents have been here, but..." his words faded as they rounded a corner and arrived at a heavy metal door.

"But..." she prompted, a little awed by the sudden cloak of calm expectancy that settled around Daken. It was as though he were preparing himself for a great battle.

He glanced down at her, his lips quirking in his wry smile filled with self-mockery that she found so endearing. "The day I was born, my mother had a dream. She said I would fulfill the prophesy, but I wasn't to come here until I was of the age of majority."

"Until you were twenty-one?"

'Twenty-four. Two full cycles of years."

Jane did a swift calculation. "A cycle must be twelve years."

Daken nodded absently, his attention focused on his hand as he slowly placed his palm on the door.

"How old are you now, Daken?"

"Thirty-one." He glanced back at her, and Jane caught a flash of apprehension, almost nervousness. He turned back to the door. "I thought to do this with my parents beside me, but now..." His voice trailed off, and Jane suddenly realized this was a big moment for Daken.

It didn't matter that his mother's dream was probably induced by post-pregnancy hormones. Thirty-one years ago, she placed the burden of greatness on Daken, telling everyone her son would be their prophesized hero. And now fate had decreed he'd face his big moment alone.

Or almost alone. Jane was with him.

She sensed Daken gathering his courage and strength about him, and she knew he was about to push open the door. Jane had a sudden image of Daken, standing disappointed, maybe humiliated, if after thirty-one years of build-up, he went through the door and nothing happened.

She reached out, covering his hand with her own. "Daken, whatever happens, good or bad, right or wrong, I think you're already a pretty great king, not to mention a wonderful guy."

Daken's eyes were dark in the gloomy hallway, but even so, Jane saw the way they lightened, just a little, the gold flecks becoming more pronounced as he absorbed her comment.

He leaned down as she raised up. Their lips touched. It wasn't an intense kiss. It lasted less than a second. But in that brief touch, they communicated a wealth of love and support and thanks. Never had she felt a kiss so deeply or so simply.

He drew back, but their gazes continued to caress each other. Then a noise from down the hallway broke their communion. Jane turned to look. Although she saw nothing, she heard the outside door close with a ponderous thunk.

Someone was coming.

She glanced at Daken, and he nodded. He either went through the door now or did it with an audience. With kingly presence, he thrust open the dark metal door and stepped in. Jane followed, shadowing his right shoulder, ready to help in any way she could. It wasn't until she got a good look around that the chill in her spine settled with a sick thud in her stomach.

"Oh my God," she breathed.

Daken too looked around, his brow furrowed, his breathing shallow. "I don't understand," he whispered to her. "I don't understand any of it."

"I know," returned Jane. "Oh God, do I know."

Surrounding her in bits and pieces, with dust cloaking the parts until they were almost unrecognizable, was a Regency CX-537 mainframe computer and associated peripherals. It was the exact same unit Boston University library housed, and the same computer she'd spent the last five years of her life maintaining.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she groaned.

Daken glanced back at her, his mind still reeling from the totally incomprehensible chaos littering the room. He spared less than a second for her. But then, like a dog returning to his home, his sight was pulled back to her pale face as she stared with open-mouthed horror at the debris surrounding them.

"What do you see, Jane? Do you understand this?" He didn't want to believe it. He was the prophesied one, not this little moonling.

Her nod was slow, but it was like a hammer clubbing his heart. He grabbed her, twisting her toward him, shaking her until she finally looked at him.

"What do you mean, Jane? Do you know what this is?"

It took three tries before she could speak, but finally her voice came out, first as a squeak, but growing stronger with each word. "It's a... a Regency CX-537. A computer."

"I do not understand this word."

"A... a machine."

"And you can work this machine?"

She nodded again, her gaze darting around the room, spastically jerking from one strange object to another. "I... I don't know. I guess I can."

"Then you must help me."

"Help you?" Her thoughts were scattered. One thing was certain, they must put this machine back together.

"We must do this, Jane. It is my destiny. We must."

Her gaze finally settled, focusing on his face. "I can do it." She took a deep breath. "I can bring it up, Daken. That's not the problem. What I want to know is what it's doing here."

"This is the House of Prophesy."

She shook her head. "I don't care if this is the House of Oz. I want to know what a CX-537 is doing here. In this place. In this world." Her voice rose in near hysteria. Daken could feel the panic welling up within her. It pushed through his defenses, battering at his own focus like a rising tide of flood waters, beating against a retaining wall.

"Why, Daken? Why is it here?"

He shook her, first gently, then with increasing impatience as they fought her panic together.

"Jane! Listen to me. I don't understand your questions. I don't even understand your words. I don't have your answers."

"No. Of course you don't. You're just king of this nutso planet of my worst jumbled nightmares. We've got elves and dragons and living streams and magic sheep guts. Why not a CX-537? What's around the corner, Daken? A big white rabbit with a pocket watch? Oh God," she covered her mouth with her hands. "I really am insane, aren't I? This whole thing is a crazy delusion I've created. I'm living in a dream and everything," she said as she tried to twist out of his arms. "Everything. This room, this computer, even you," her wild eyes rolled back to him. "Even you, you aren't real. You're a computerized hero I've pulled into existence for my own living fantasy."

"Jane!" He tried shaking her again, but it didn't work. "Jane, you're not crazy. This is real." He brought her hands to his face. "I'm real."

"No. No, you're not." She shook her head, her movement jerky and abrupt. "You're my fantasy. Don't you see? Everyone wants a stud with a sword as their personal friend. I've even made you a king. And you proposed. Oh God. I'm crazy. I'm completely nuts. There's no other explanation. I wasn't transported in time and space. That's crazy. I'm crazy."

"No, Jane. No. You are as sane as I."

But she was beyond listening. She believed herself steeped in madness, and her belief made it true. In the end, he did the only thing he could think of. He framed her face and pulled her close for a deep kiss. As his mouth went to hers, as his tongue stroked and pushed at her lips, he drew on his strength. He brought forward his inner flame of healing, and he pushed it into her mind and body as he pushed himself into her mouth.

The waves of her panic still beat at them. He pictured them clearly in his mind's eye. He saw them swirling, seething against them, battering her defenses, her mind crumbling beneath their weight. But the water was no match to the searing heat of his flame. He burned within her, his healing light evaporating her panic as the noonday sun dries out a puddle.

Twice the waters swelled, threatening to bury them both. Twice he pushed them back, drying them at the source, healing her in her heart and soul. And in the end, he won.

They won.

He broke the kiss. He rolled his chin to her ear, his voice a soft whisper against her damp cheek.

"Jane, you are not insane. This is real."

"But—"

"Shhh. Listen to me. I don't have the answers you're seeking. I can't help you any more than I already have. But they can." He pulled her over to the scattered pieces, littered all over the floor like the dirty leavings of a ravaging hoard. "These things, these pieces of prophesy, put them together and then you'll know. This is the key to knowledge—"

"It's just a computer."

"And what is a computer?"

"It's a storehouse of information—" She cut off her words, then quickly stumbled into speech again. "Not like you think. Not like some wisdom of the ages. It's just information."

"Knowledge such as how it got here and what is its purpose?"

He saw the light dawn in her eyes. It was a good light, a healing glow that had been absent from her as long as he'd known her. Finally, he saw the madness fade from her mind as the healing light of purpose took over.

"I can make it work." She said the words as much for herself as for him as she looked down at the debris with a critical eye. "I will make it work."

With a sudden shock, he realized she was no longer a fool. The fear and confusion in her mind dissipated. It wasn't completely gone. The panic still lurked, waiting for her next moment of vulnerability. But for the first time since he'd revived her back in the meadow, she had her own flame, her own inner strength back.

Now she could heal herself.

He watched as she knelt down, methodically sorting through the things on the floor. Her short curls fell forward, partially obscuring her profile until she reached up and absently tucked them behind her ear. She was concentrating, her forehead actually smoothing out as she studied a piece of green board.

She was happy.

The thought struck him broadside. This must be what she did in her world, at her home. She must work with these cold metals and empty boards because he could feel how much peace these things gave her. Even in his arms, inflamed by passion, she had never been so content with herself.

It was a lowering thought that the woman he'd chosen for his wife preferred these... things to him. But then again, they had only started to explore the wonder that could be found with each other. And now, he thought with a sigh, now that she'd rediscovered her dark square stones and silver trails, would they ever get the chance to finish what they'd started earlier today?

They'd have to. He'd make her come back to him because he'd decided she would be his wife. She couldn't leave him now.

As he hunkered down beside her, he saw the intensity of her eyes and felt the weight of her concentration. Watching her, he suddenly doubted his ability to win her. Had he found his mate only to discover she was already lost to a bunch of boards and stones?