Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

“It seems like everyone knew that but me.”

They leaned against the wall like vagrants, out of sight of the cemetery. Waiting was hard, when she knew how close her father was, and what might happen to him before she could help.

She said, “When did you wake up? I mean—when did you know it was time to return?”

He looked to the distance, where her own gaze had lingered a moment before. “It happened slowly, I think. I was injured when I went to sleep. I’m still not sure how long ago that was. When I woke, they—the ladies who healed me and made me young again—told me that much had changed. I lived in the world again for a time, to learn the new ways. I was in a village in Wales. A modern version of the place where I grew up. Then Merlin came. Then I knew my destiny.”

He spoke with the simple clarity of a mystic whose world-view was uncluttered, whose path was set in a perfect line. In the midst of all this talk of magic and destiny, she wondered if there was room for a person behind the legend. If Arthur was a person—or an archetype.

“It must be hard. Not having a choice. What if you wanted to stay in the village? Get married, have kids. Be normal.”

He smiled wryly and shook his head. “I’ve learned something: What many of us call destiny is really our own instinct. We know what is right, but we don’t want to admit it, especially if what is right will lead to our own death. We call it destiny so we don’t have to accept responsibility for making those decisions. Human instinct is stronger than anyone will admit.”

“Do you miss them? Guinevere, Lancelot. The others.”

“That life—it was another life. It seems like a dream now. I slept so long, everything before waking was a dream. I would prefer to remember it as a dream, I think.”

“Hey, look.” Evie touched his arm and pointed to the cemetery.

Hera and one of her henchman—the young one whom Alex had called Robin—were leaving, walking to the edge of the grounds and presumably beyond. Another minion, a polished man in a suit and trench coat, walked back to the sedan. Alex, hands shoved in his pockets, walked with him.

Alex and the other man were with her father now.

“I like these odds a little better,” Arthur said.

With a hiss of air and shimmer of heat in front of her, Merlin appeared. Evie flinched, startled, as if a television had flashed to life nearby.

“Arthur, I think you can fetch Mr. Walker yourself,” he said before her heartbeat had calmed down. “I’ll follow the others and delay them if I can.”

“Agreed. My lady, wait for us here.”

Before she could argue, they were across the road, Arthur moving at a jog, as if to battle.

Alex might have told Hera where to find them, and told her that Arthur and Merlin were with her. Hera was probably looking for Evie, and she’d set a trap for the others. Or maybe this really was their chance.

In either case, if things went badly, she could still give Hera the apple, use that to bribe her father free. She touched the shaped gold in her pocket, warm against her fingers. For the fairest.

As a cat seated under the bumper, Hera listened to the Greek try to start a conversation with the Wanderer.

He leaned on the car, near the window where Frank Walker sat. The Wanderer stood nearby, his arms crossed.

“What did she promise you to get you to join her?” the Greek said.

“Perhaps I was just curious.”

“Thought you could learn a few tricks?”

“No. Not many left to learn at my age.”

“You’re old?”

“Relatively.”

“How old?”

“I met Christ.”

Conversationally, the Greek said, “I saw him once, preaching at a village near Tyre.”

“He was a good preacher.”

“And a hell of a wizard.”

“Yes.”

There was a pause; then the Greek said, “Your friend in there doesn’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” the old man grumbled through the closed window.

“No,” said the Greek. “I think you look ill. Are you sure you don’t want to step out and get some air?”

The Wanderer said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Hera wished she could see. This was turning into quite the little show. Perhaps she’d make herself a sparrow next time.

“No,” Frank said, his voice thoughtful. “He’s right. It’s a little stuffy in here. Do I look pale?”

“A bit,” said Alex.

“I might be nauseated.”

“Come on, I’m not a fool,” the Wanderer said.

“Nor do I take you for one, which is why I think you’ll allow this fellow to vomit outside the car rather than inside.”

Hera couldn’t believe it. The Wanderer was actually going to fall prey to the charade.

The car door opened. Footsteps crunched on gravel as someone climbed out of the car.

Hera emerged from under the bumper, a gray cat racing around the Greek. She padded to a stop in front of the Wanderer, who held Frank Walker by the arm, outside the car. Out of her hiding place, she spotted a hulking warrior running toward the car.

She made herself whole and human and, crossing her arms, regarded the three men. “That will be quite enough,” she said.

________

Evie saw a startling flash of light, and the cat who’d made a dash along the driveway became Hera. She stood only a pace or two away from Alex and her father, who’d been leaving the car.

Alex had a plan. He’d been trying to get her father out of the car. He really had been trying to help.

Arthur shielded his eyes and slid to a stop. Merlin had disappeared. The other man sprang at Alex, who fell back, slamming against the gravel drive, and rolled, slipping out of his attacker’s wrestling grasp. Arthur drew his sword and lunged forward as if to run again, but he didn’t move. He stood like a statue, balanced on the balls of his feet, frozen. Hera pointed at him. Her power was stronger than the ancient king’s will.

They needed Merlin now. If Evie shouted, maybe he’d hear and come running. Unless the others found a way to stop him, too.

Alex’s attacker recovered quickly, with enough speed to grab Alex from behind and wrap his arm around his neck. Alex thrashed, struggling to break free. Her father sat in the car, gripping the edge of the door, looking bewildered.

So much for the distraction—they’d missed their chance. Evie had her ransom payment. She could end this.

She knew this corner of the cemetery because she’d visited here every time she’d returned to Hopes Fort over the last five years. She knew the grave markers here without looking at them. Irving and Amelia Walker, her father’s great-grandparents. Frank’s grandparents, her grandparents. Then Emma Doyle Walker. She walked across the dead grass like she was walking to visit her mother’s grave, like she knew where she was going and what she was doing, like this was any other walk. She reached the road leading to where the car was parked before any of them noticed her.

Alex, fighting the grip his opponent held him in, saw her first. He stopped struggling, which made his captor pause to look, and in moments, their attention drew the others.

“Evie, go back!” Arthur said through clenched teeth. His body trembled, fighting against the invisible grip that held it.

Hera stepped forward to meet her. Evie stopped ten paces or so away, before she came too close. Hera followed her lead, maintaining enough distance between them that they had to raise their voices to hear each other.

“Did you bring it?” Hera said. She wore high-heeled boots on the gravel drive, and her balance never wavered. Did she use magic to achieve her beauty and poise, or was she just that elegant?

“Yes.” Evie felt scruffy in her coat and jeans. But she had something Hera wanted. She had to remember that.