The Indigo King - James A. Owen [101]
“He’s not going to hurt her, is he?” Hugo asked, eyeing the Lawgiver.
“I don’t think so,” Jack said, holding him back. “Watch.”
Taliesin touched Rose’s hand with the black staff, and the runes flared briefly with eldritch light. She looked at her hand and saw the small cut across her palm.
Rose marked both of Arthur’s cheeks with the blood from her hand, tracing the line of the bones to his chin. Then, reverently, she laid both of her hands on his head, closed her eyes, and began to speak.
By light’s power driven
For need of right
I restore thee
I restore thee
By blood bound
By honor given
I restore thee
I restore thee
For life and light and protection proffered
From blood and will my life is offered
I restore thee
I restore thee.
Rose removed her hands from his head and crumpled to the ground. Hugo rushed forward and caught her, but the others had no time to react to what happened next.
There was a pause, as if the world had stopped.
No sound, no movement. Even the constant rumble of the battle outside had ceased. The stillness was everywhere, and everywhen. And then, overhead, the dark circle eclipsing the sun shifted. The light on the edge of the sun brightened, then rays burst forth, striking directly below in the center of the castle, on the ancient table made of stone, which was carved with the runes of the Old Magic.
Suddenly, impossibly, Arthur raised his hand and reached into the light. Then he sat up, swung his legs off the table, and rose to his feet.
The High King, Arthur Pendragon, was alive.
Part Six
The Silver Throne
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Fallen
A tall stack of bound manuscripts tottered, then fell, setting off a chain reaction in the small writing chamber Geoffrey kept on the topmost level of the church.
In seconds, the pages he’d been working on were swept away in a tidal wave of aged leather and the decaying writings of monks long dead.
Geoffrey sat on the floor and sighed. This was becoming a more and more frequent occurrence. He’d gotten into the habit of acquiring old books and manuscripts in his younger days, at the upswing of the twelfth century. But now, at its midpoint, he was beginning to grow weary at the futility of it all.
He reached for the nearest tome and smiled as he realized what it was. Nestor’s Primary Chronicle. One of the first and greatest of the world histories. Not complete, by any means, and certainly slanted toward the Slavic, but indispensable nonetheless. After all, few chronicles ever attempted to begin as far back as the pharaohs, or even the Deluge. Even his own works were meager contributions to his own library compared to Nestor’s works, dealing as they did with the histories of the lineage of Britain’s kings, and of the great enchanter and philosopher Myrddyn.
Geoffrey had only just begun to clean up the disaster when he heard a knocking at the door downstairs. He quickly made his way down the stairs, but when he opened the door, no one was there.
Instead he found a parchment rose, which had strange markings on the petals, and a roll of paper, cream-colored and tied with a cord. It was addressed to him. Cautiously he unrolled it and read what was written inside.
He blinked at the rose and the strangeness of the message, then read it again, then a third time.
Quickly he shut the door and hurried back up to his study, where he tossed the rolled paper into the embers of his fireplace, then stoked the coals until it caught fire. He stood and watched it until it was nothing but ash.
“Is this a dream?” Arthur asked. “It must be, because Merlin’s War Leader is here and seems to have been weeping over me.”
“He was Bound,” John said, “by Merlin.”
Taliesin knelt and took Arthur’s hand. “You are the true High King, the true Arthur.”
“Bound?” asked Arthur. “As in Old Magic?”
“Yes,” said Hugo. “He’s been Bound all along, ever since the tournament.”
“The tournament,” Arthur said wonderingly. “That’s where I met you two before, isn’t it? You met Archimedes and me at Grandfather Oak and helped me find my