Lois Bujold: Irresistible Forces

But when at last they walked out of the forest and saw the wooded hill rising before them, surrounded by a ring of grassy lowlands, and Merlin sank down as if in prayer, murmuring in a language neither he nor Marian understood, Robin knew more was at work than fancy or folly.

From his knees, Merlin said, "Avalon."

Robin started. "No!"

"It was an island," Merlin persisted. "Look, you, and see how it might have been. The shore here, the water there — and the isle beyond."

Robin looked upon it. An expanse of land stretched before him, and a high hill above it, swelling out of turf. There was no water, no shore, nothing to cross save grass.

"It is much changed," said Merlin, "but not so very altered that a man of my begetting may not recognize it."

A man of his begetting. A chill prickled Robin's spine.

Marian gazed upon the hill. "Women ruled there."

"For time out of mind," Merlin agreed. "It was the goddess's place, and that of her servants. Men were occasionally tolerated but never truly welcomed."

"You?" she asked.

His tone was dry. "Tolerated."

"And the sword?" Robin inquired.

Merlin seemed to have drifted away from them. "There is a grave upon the island," he said. "A man sleeps in it. But also an ideal. He and others embodied — and yet embody — it. The sword is there." He looked at Robin. "Come nightfall, you and the goddess's daughter must climb what is now a hill, but once was an island."

Marian's brows rose. "Goddess's daughter?"

"In your blood," he answered. "In your bones. But those who remain will attempt to stop you regardless." He smiled as they exchanged a concerned glance. "Just as the sheriff attempts to stop you from robbing the wealthy and poaching the king's deer."

That put it in perspective. Robin sighed. "What do you want us to do?"

"Find the sword," Merlin answered. "I am known there, even by the stones that outlive us all; I cannot go. It is for you to do."

"I am a man," Robin said. "Will I be — what did you say? Tolerated?"

Merlin inclined his head in Marian's direction. "Because of her, yes."

Marian's tone was implacable. "We go nowhere, and do nothing, without knowing what we may expect."

"Resistance," Merlin told her.

Suspicious, Robin inquired, "What kind of resistance?"

The enchanter spread his hands. "That I cannot say. It may take many forms."

Robin remained suspicious. "But you will not accompany us."

Merlin shook his head. "If I go, the task cannot be completed. And it must be, for Arthur's sake and the welfare of Britain."

Robin laughed. "You have a way with words, Myrddyn Emrys. Perhaps that is the secret of your sorcery. You convince others to do the work for you."

Merlin said, "So long as the work is done, it matters not who has the doing of it."

Marian continued to gaze upon the hill. "How will we know to find the sword? Is it standing up from a stone?"

Robin's laughter rang out. The enchanter was mystified, until the story was explained. Merlin frowned. "It was not like that at all. There was no such drama. It was—"

Marian halted him with a raised hand. "Please. Let it remain as we know it. Tales and legends are akin to food when there is little hope in a poor man's life."

Merlin's smile twitched. "This is as much as I know: The grave and the sword are on the isle. Where, I cannot say."

It felt like a challenge. Or even, after all, a quest. Marian looked at Robin. "The moon will be full tonight. Shall we go a'hunting?"

He put out a hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes, smiling. "Let us make a new legend."

Moonlight lay on the land as Marian and Robin crossed the grass Merlin claimed had once been a lake. She wondered if it might possibly be true, as its appearance was so different from that of the forest behind them and the hill before. There were no great oaks, beeches, and alders, no tangle of foliage, no stone outcroppings. Merely grasslands, hollowed out of the earth.

A faint wind blew, teasing at their hair. Robin's was awash with moonlight, nearly silver-white. The metal of his brigandine glowed and sparked. The light was kind to his face, for all his expression was serious; she wanted abruptly to stop him, to kiss him, to vow again how much she loved him, but something in the night suggested such behavior would be unwelcome. She felt urgency well up into a desire to find the sword for Merlin and return to him as soon as possible. Nothing in her wished to tarry.

Beside her, Robin shuddered. He felt her glance and smiled ruefully. "Someone walked over my grave."

Fear sent a frisson through her. "Say no such thing. Not here."

He glanced around, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Perhaps not," he agreed.

Before them lay the first incline of the hill, a ragged seam of stone curving into the darkness, and a terrace of grass above it. Here vegetation began, clumps spreading inward, ascending the hill. The trees stood higher yet, forming a crown around the summit. She and Robin climbed steadily upward, until he stopped short just as they entered the outer fringe of trees.

The look on his face startled her. "What is it?"

"I am not supposed to be here." He worked his shoulders as if they prickled with chill. "Merlin was right — men are not wanted. But—" He broke off, feeling gingerly at the cut on his head.

"But?" she prodded.

"But I in particular am not wanted. Or so it feels." He studied his fingers. "Bleeding again."

"Let me see." She moved around to his other side, turning his head into the moonlight. "A little, yes…" She peeled hair away, saw where fresh blood welled. Moment by moment it ran faster, thicker, until even her fingers could not stop it. "Perhaps we should turn back."

Robin's expression was odd. "He said there would be resistance."

Marian frowned as she drew her meat-knife and commenced cutting a strip from her tunic. "You believe you are bleeding again because of that?"

"I believe that on a night such as this, it may be possible." He winced. "And the ache is returning."

"Bend your head." Marian tied the cloth around his head. "Do you believe what he says? That there even is a sword, and if we find it, it may guard England?"

Robin sighed, fingering the knot she had tied in the makeshift bandage. "I am not certain what I believe. But if there is truth to it…" He shrugged. "What harm if we try?"

"An aching head."

"Ah, well, I daresay I can stand that." Robin looked at the vanguard of trees springing up around them. "The stories say Arthur was taken away by nine queens and given secret burial rites. If this is Avalon— what remains of it, in any case — it is possible his grave is here. And what else is there to do but bury the king's sword with the king's body?"

"Give it to his son," Marian answered promptly. "Save that no one of Arthur's court would wish to see a bastard, a patricide, carrying it."

"Merlin was not there when Arthur died," Robin went on thoughtfully. "He may have meant to give it back to the lake on Arthur's death, but if the women of Avalon took it away with the body—"

"— they would have brought it here." Marian gazed up the hill to where the trees thickened, choked with undergrowth. "But all of it is merely a story…"

"Is it?" Robin asked. "Stories are changed over time, embellished the way Alan embellishes his ballads, but what if the kernel is true? What if that man back there, whom we witnessed come out of a tree no matter how much we wish to deny it, truly is Merlin?"

"Then Arthur's grave is up there."

"And the sword," Robin said. "Excalibur" He reached out a hand to her. "Shall we find it?"

Marian put her own in his. "Alan would make a fine ballad of this."

Robin's teeth gleamed in a wide grin. "Oh, that he would! He would have us being beset on all sides by unseen enemies, battling evil spirits, making our way up a hill that crawled with the shades of long-dead men."