The Indigo King - James A. Owen [92]
John and Jack looked grimly at each other. There was nothing they could say.
“If I had not been summoned to the tournament by Taliesin,” Mordred continued, “I would have remained in exile. And your treachery”—he pointed at Hugo—“is what cost me the throne that was rightfully mine.”
He stepped over the spear, and all the companions reared back in trepidation. “I have a promise to keep,” Mordred said as he moved around the table, “and order to restore to the land that has been decimated. But when that is done, we shall have a reckoning of our own.”
With that, Mordred glanced upward at the sky, then turned and ran toward one of the great castle doors, where he disappeared.
As one, the companions looked up too. High above, the sun had reached its zenith—but instead of shining brightly, it was obscured by shadow and soon would be in full eclipse.
* * *
“Why didn’t he kill us?” Hugo asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but I’m certain he really, really wanted to.”
“I don’t think he can,” John answered. “Not here, in this place. And not after killing Arthur.” He looked up at the vanishing sun. “I think that’s what’s happening now. Mordred’s broken some law of the Old Magic.”
Outside, in the direction Mordred had gone, the din of battle rose. It meant the escalation of the war. Worse—if that was possible to imagine—it meant that the creation of the Winterland was closer than ever.
“We have to find a way to stop this!” Jack exclaimed.
“We will,” John said. “But first we’re going to take care of Arthur’s body. I’m not just leaving it here, uncovered.”
As John and Jack wrapped the body of Arthur and laid it in state on the stone table, Hank moved around to the doors, barricading them. “There,” he said, breathing hard from the effort. “No one’s going to be coming through. Not for a while, at least,” he added with a fearful glance at the ramparts, which were being sparsely defended by the king’s followers.
Hugo and Chaz sat in the grass, still numb from the events they’d just witnessed. “You know more about this Arthur fellow than I do,” Chaz said. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Certainly,” said Hugo.
“Is this the first time or the last time that Arthur was killed?”
Hugo’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand what you mean by ‘first time’ and ‘last time.’”
Chaz showed him some pages he’d dog-eared in the Little Whatsit. Hugo scanned the passages Chaz indicated, then frowned. Suddenly he sat upright, and his eyes widened in shock and realization.
“John! Jack!” Hugo shouted. “Come here!”
As the Caretakers approached, Hugo gestured to the book. “Here, Chaz!” he said excitedly. “Read them what you’ve found!”
“I’ve been trying t’ catch up,” Chaz explained. “The rest of you knew so much already about Arthur and Mordred and Merlin, that I’ve been reading up on them. Do you know if this is the first time, or the last time that Arthur was killed?”
“What’s the difference?” asked Jack, his tone skeptical. “He’s just dead.”
“Well, it says here that he might not have t’ be,” Chaz replied. “The Little Whatsit says that Arthur ruled on the Silver Throne for a hundred years before he died, but that he’d been killed once before—then restored to life.”
That got the Caretakers’ attention. “Does it say how he was restored?” John asked, trying not to get his hopes up.
Chaz nodded and quoted from the book. “It says that he was ‘saved to bring light back into a world of eternal darkness, by blood, by faith, and by the power of the Sangreal.’”
“The Holy Grail,” Hugo said breathlessly. “Arthur can be brought back by the Grail.”
“Is it true, John?” Hugo asked. “Does the Grail really exist?”
“I never saw it for myself,” John answered. “It disappeared from Alexandria while we were there. Merlin was supposed to have tried to steal it, but he claimed Mordred was the real thief. Then we found Mordred in the chamber, sleeping with one of the priestesses who tended the Grail itself, and that’s when Merlin Bound him. And the Grail vanished.”
Hugo