Area 51: The Legend (20 page)

“I do not believe you,” Kaji said simply. “Still, killing you will solve nothing, and in reality you have little choice now but to rule as a man. And there is doubt in your mind now. Perhaps that is all I can do here. Doubt is the seed from which one day may grow independence. The ability to think for ourselves. We have been lied to many times, by the Gods, by the priests. We must make our own truth.”

With that, Kaji turned and disappeared down the ladder. He made his way along the processional path, the guards keeping their distance, recognizing the cloak of Asim, the high priest, second only to the Pharaoh himself. Kaji maintained the strange gait of the priest until he reached the Lower Temple. Then he went by the priest’s path to the nearby Nile, where a small boat waited, manned by a young man who wore the medallion of the Watchers.

Set in the boat was a wooden box, three and a half feet long. The young man swung the top of the box open. Kaji placed the sheathed sword into the box, then closed the lid. He then handed the tube holding his report to the man. The boat slipped away into the night to make its long journey to deliver the report and sword.

Excalibur disappeared into darkness.

1,500 B.C.:
STONEHENGE

There was no flashing light as Donnchadh opened the top to her tube. She checked the timer and learned that one thousand years—as planned— had passed since she had gone into the deep sleep. The deck was still cold to her feet and she quickly dressed as Gwalcmai once more was slower to rise. She had the computer online by the time he was dressed.

“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.

“We should go back to the ship,” Donnchadh whispered to him. “I can cure you there.”

Gwalcmai laughed, the sound more a rasp coming through his tortured throat. “I can’t make it. If the fever breaks, then yes. We go. But—” He tried to get up, but his muscles had no energy. He collapsed back on the cot, soaked in sweat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Donnchadh said. She wrapped her arms around her partner. Across the chamber, Dag-Brynn was watching.

“I could help you take him wherever you need to go. To your ship.”

Donnchadh sadly shook her head. “No. It’s all right.”

Dag-Brynn came over and looked down. “The village across the way. Many died twenty years ago. Something killed them all. They had the chill and the fever. I had to send my family away. Many miles away. My wife and daughter died.”

Donnchadh had assumed her partner had caught a cold from swimming in the water, but now she had to wonder— had someone poisoned the lake? But what could last in the water that long? During the Revolution, the Airlia had not hesitated to use biological weapons against the humans. Millions had died as a result.

It didn’t matter. She could not take Dag-Brynn to the _Fynbar _. And in this condition she could not get Gwalcmaithere on her own. The trip would surely kill him. His only chance was to ride this out here.

She sat next to Gwalcmai for hours. Sometime in the middle of the night he began raving in their native tongue, causing Dag-Brynn to cast some curious glances their way. Donnchadh put cold compresses on her partner’s forehead, trying to keep the temperature down. She tried to rehydrate him with a broth using the deer and springwater.

None of it worked.

Just before dawn, Gwalcmai sat bolt upright and called out their son’s name. Then he slumped back, the life fading from his eyes.

Donnchadh reached up and carefully closed her husband’s eyelids. She bowed her head for several moments, then reached inside his tunic and removed his
ka
.

“I am very sorry.” Dag-Brynn was standing just behind her.

“Will you help me bury him?”

“Of course. Where?”

“On the top of the tor,” Donnchadh said. “His spirit can help guard this place.”

They were at sea for four days before Gwalcmai finally asked their destination.

“Giza.”

Gwalcmai nodded. “I expected as much.” The trading ship they were on was hugging the coast of Europe, moving around it toward the Mediterranean. He was quiet for a few minutes, then asked: “And when we get there?”

“I have been thinking,” Donnchadh said. Since traveling back to their ship and implanting Gwalcmai’s memories and personality in the
ka
into the body in stasis, she had been considering their next move. Since Gwalcmai had no memories of the most recent trip to Avalon, and she had been the one to read the scrolls, she had taken full responsibility for planning their next actions. Which, of course, was pretty much the norm for them since they had been together.

Gwalcmai waited quietly, something he was not good at. His unusual silence grated on her. They normally regenerated at the same time. She found that there was a certain indefinable distance between them ever since leaving the ship. Her current body was young, only the equivalent of late twenties, but Gwalcmai appeared to have just passed the threshold into manhood.

“Things here are not the same as they were on our world,” she finally said. “We have made the situation different. The Great Civil War has made everything very different.”

Gwalcmai barely nodded, indicating his agreement.

“Both sides sleep,” Donnchadh continued, “and have their minions skirmishing. The key for the Master Guardian is under our control. Their headquarters on this planet at Atlantis is gone. Their communications array on Mars is destroyed and they are out of contact with their empire. All these are things we had to do at great cost early in our war against the Airlia on our planet.”

Gwalcmai nodded once more. “We took out the communications array first. That cost us many good God-killers. And it was only the first stage of the war.”

Donnchadh stayed quiet, staring over the wooden railing at the shoreline passing by.

“So.” Gwalcmai finally spoke. “You are saying the war has progressed far already, even though these humans are not even close to being able to challenge the Airlia with their technology.”

“Yes.”

Gwalcmai rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. “It is still too soon.”

“Not if—” Donnchadh began, but then fell silent.

“Not if what?”

She pulled out the scepter they had brought with them to the planet so many years ago. “Not if we procure the Grail and use it. Create an army of immortals.”

Gwalcmai did not immediately object, which she found interesting. But after several minutes of mulling it over, he shook his head. “It still would not work. We do not have the weaponry to challenge the Airlia. We may make an army of immortals, but all it will bring about is great suffering for those transformed. They will die and come back to life constantly. A terrible fate. And the immortality has conditions—we learned how to kill the Airlia and I am certain they will know how to kill our immortals.” Gwalcmai paused. “But—I do think it would be wise for us to try to get the Grail under our control, as we have had Excalibur removed from Giza. It will prevent the Airlia from using it on their minions.”