Arthur

Chapter Thirty-one

I followed Arthur up a flight of roughly hewn stone stairs, and found myself in what had once been a church, except there was no roof and most of the four walls had crumbled.

Arthur paused just inside the abbey entrance and seemed to be looking for something. He suddenly said, "Ah ha!" and strode into a dark corner and came back with, of all things, a common garden rake.

I wasn't sure a common garden rake was "Ah ha" worthy, but it seemed to excite the once and future king. At any rate, he leaned the garden tool against a stone wall and did something that should have surprised me, but didn't. Arthur lifted his foot and stepped down hard on the rake, snapping off its metal teeth. Now the rake was nothing more than a long wooden pole with a broken end. Marion moved over to my side and we watched together as Arthur next brought the wooden pole crashing down over his uplifted knee. Now the broken pole was two smaller broken poles.

I whispered to Marion, "Do you have any idea what he's doing?"

"No clue," she whispered back.

"Is there a chance he's completely lost it?"

She frowned at me, the severe look in her eyes somehow reflecting whatever light there was in the cloud-filled late evening sky, which was damn little. Obviously, she didn't like me questioning her man.

Now holding a shaft in each hand, Arthur turned to us and raised them high. He knocked the poles together once, twice, and by the third time, twin flames appeared, burning furiously along the upper halves. What had once been a common garden rake was now two not-so-common torches. He handed one to me.

"Godfire," he said casually. "Will burn forever, if you so desire."

"And who wouldn't?" I said.

He grinned and the three of us proceeded deeper into the damaged church. The wind poured through the open roof and whipped our torches into a frenzy. Shadows skip-jumped around us, and something scurried over the floor nearby. In the near distance, I heard the distinct sounds of galloping horses.

They're coming.

We pushed on and soon came upon a raised platform made of huge stone blocks.

"The high altar," said Marion. Her breathing, I noticed, was sounding raspier and raspier. Indeed, she was also looking frail, hunched, and far older than her years. My heart broke seeing her like this.

And that's when something snapped inside me. Still holding the torch, I grabbed Arthur by his shoulders and yanked him around to face me. "You call yourself a master, and yet you do nothing to help your friend, Marion. She is dying. Her breaths are numbered and yet you snap your fingers and create fire like a Vegas magician. Why don't you snap your fingers and heal her lungs, godammit?"

Arthur said nothing, did nothing. He only looked at me patiently, his eyes impossibly wide in the torchlight, his irises seemingly on fire themselves. Marion touched my shoulder lightly behind me, her breathing harder than ever.

"He never called himself a master," said Marion. "I did. Whether or not he is a master, I do not know. I think he is, and that's enough for me."

"Are you a master?" I asked him. I did not release his shoulders.

"I still have much to learn," said Arthur calmly, watching me closely, his eyes searching my face.

I turned to Marion. "Why do you call him a master?"

"A master is a highly evolved being who's lived many lives - sometimes many hundreds of lives. A master has, in fact, mastered the art of living, the art of being, and has raised his vibration to the highest possible level; nirvana, as some would call it. A master is one who knows God on a very personal level, and one who can, and does, perform miracles, but only if such miracles are for the highest good of those around him."

"Highest good?" I asked, confused. Arthur was still silently searching my face with his eyes. I sensed his powerful love for me.

"Yes, our highest good," said Marion. "Meaning, that which is for your soul's ultimate benefit. Some of us are aware of our highest good. Others are not. Arthur, I believe, is not only aware of his own highest good, but the highest good of those around him."

I looked at her. "And it is your highest good to not be healed?"

"I don't know," said Marion quietly. "Maybe it is, maybe it's not."

"She has the power to heal herself," said Arthur, speaking now for the first time. Still, he did not take his eyes off me. "We all have the power to heal ourselves, James. We all have the power to perform miracles. You and I," said Arthur, reaching up and gently taking hold of my hand and removing it from his shoulder, "are the same. We are not different. We are both loved equally by God. We are both, in fact, of God. God lives in both us. God is always there, waiting for you to come back to Him."

"And why did I leave Him?"

"To experience not knowing Him."

"But now it's time to come back?" I asked.

"That is only for you to decide, James."

I took in some air. "Still, why don't you heal Marion?"

The sound of approaching horses was very loud now. I could even hear the shouts and grunts of men.

"I have not asked him to, James," said Marion.

I turned to her, stunned. "Why not?"

Arthur cast his eyes away from me and looked up toward the sky. It had begun to rain. Also, a black shadow passed beneath the clouds, its massive underbelly catching some of Glastonbury's ambient light. The dragon was back.

"Is she supposed to die?" I asked Arthur, spinning on him again. "Answer me, godammit!"

"God never damns. God only loves," said Arthur. "And her soul's path is neither for me nor you to decide. Only Marion and God know what's best for her."

"She's suffocating to death," I said. "To death. Why would she not want to be healed?"

"Death is not permanent, my friend. Death is just the end of this cycle, and the beginning of another."

"Well, I don't want her cycle to end."

"Sometimes, such things are out of - "

"Heal her, dammit!" I jumped back and raised my sword, pointing the tip at Arthur's throat. "Please," I said, my voice cracking. The heavy sword was surprisingly steady in my hand. "Heal her."

"James, no!" said Marion. "Please, it's okay."

"It's not okay, Marion. He can help you. Instead, he's letting you die."

Arthur just stood before me, holding his torch in one hand and Excalibur in the other. Probably not the best idea to draw one's weapon against someone holding what might be the world's most magical sword. Especially since I knew next to nothing about what I was doing.

But I didn't give a damn.

Arthur's sword remained pointing down, although it seemed to have awakened somehow, pulsating in his hand as if it sensed danger to its owner. I continued holding my sword out before me, the sword somehow lighter than I remembered. I knew I had no intention of using it on Arthur, but I was royally pissed off.

"James, no one's letting me die. If I am to be healed it must be on my terms. It must be my decision, my doing. Not the actions of someone else. Especially not the violent actions of someone else."

"That doesn't make sense, Marion. Maybe God sent Arthur to heal you, and you are refusing - "

Marion was now breathing harder than ever, her every breath rattling in her lungs as if something had broken loose inside her.

"I have been angry with God for a long, long time, James. I have cursed God. I have hated God for allowing this to happen to me. I am only just now coming to peace with everything, forgiving and loving again. I still have much to learn. I need to grow. I am not there yet. I am beginning to understand that I might have attracted this illness to myself. I am learning to deal with that realization."

"I don't understand," I said.

"It's okay if you don't understand, James. I understand, and it's my journey. Not yours. But thank you for caring. I appreciate it more than you know."

I dropped the point of the sword and hung my head down. What the hell had come over me? Now, from beyond the church walls, I heard guttural commands being shouted.

"I'm sorry," I said to no one in particular.

Arthur stepped around Marion and came over to me. I looked up, suddenly ashamed. He sheathed his sword in his hammer loop and threw his arms around me. Hard. He hugged me tighter than I'd ever been hugged in my life. Love emanated from him in wave after powerful wave. Love like a father. Love like my greatest friend.

Lord, what was going on with me?

"Why didn't you protect yourself?" I asked, speaking into his ear. He smelled of sweat and soil, and of life and vitality.

"I was going to give you my life," he said. "If you wanted it."

"No. I wanted you to understand. I wanted you to help her."

"Forcing someone to help is never the way, my friend. Violence is never the answer."

"But we are carrying swords," I said, pulling away from him. "We just fought a battle in the street, for God's sake."

"That wasn't violence, James."

"What was it then?"

His eyes gleamed brightly. "That was fun."

"You're making fun of me." I said.

"Yes and no. Yes, there is an acceptable time for violence. Sometimes one must go to war, to have peace. Do you understand this concept?"

I nodded; I did.

"But solve your differences with kindness," he said.

"I don't want her to die," I said.

Arthur turned and looked at Marion for a heartbeat or two. There were tears in his eyes. "I don't either, my friend. More than you know."

I took a deep breath. "So you were going to give your life to me?"

"Of course," he said. "You have given your life to me, James. More than once."

"I don't understand."

"It's okay if you don't understand everything now. There is much to learn. But now, though, can we put all this behind us and get some work done?"

I nodded.

"Come," he said. "Then we must hurry!"

Chapter Thirty-two

The rain, cold and persistent, drove straight down through the roofless church as lightning flickered over the nearby hills. That is, I hoped it was lightning. Thunder followed a few seconds later. That is, I hoped it was thunder. Either way, the ground seemed to shake and the broken walls of the church rattled.

Not to mention I was cold as hell.

Cold as Heaven, I thought, catching myself. Was Heaven ever cold, anyway? Or too hot? Or was it always just right?

Focus, James.

Right.

With Excalibur hanging haphazardly from his hammer loop, Arthur stood on the platform, hands on his hips, frowning. In all, we were a motley crew. Well, except for Marion. Somehow, she still managed to look ravishingly beautiful, even in the wavering torchlight.

"It's around here somewhere," he said again.

"What's around here?" I asked again.

Through the broken, open entrance, I could see perhaps twenty men gathering outside the church, many with their own torches.

Probably didn't have cool Godfire torches, though.

Focus, James.

Right.

Anyway, the men seemed to be milling about, as if waiting for someone or for some sort of command. I adjusted my own grip on my broadsword.

"The entrance," said Arthur.

"The entrance to what?"

"The Underworld," he said patiently, and stopped before a flat, massive stone in the center of the raised platform. "Here," he said.

"Doesn't look like much of an entrance, Arthur," I said.

"Exactly," he said. "No one suspects it."

"Does Merlin know of it?"

"Of course," said Arthur. "He helped me seal the doorway, of course."

"Yes, of course. Silly of me to ask. Here's another obvious question: If Merlin knows where the doorway is, then why did he wait until now to open it?"

"Two reasons," said Arthur. "First, he has always been one to make a dramatic entrance."

Arthur knelt down, blew dust away and ran a finger along the seam of the fitted boulder's edge.

"And the second?" I prompted.

He looked up at me from the floor, torchlight flickering in his round eyes. He grinned.

"He needs you, of course."