and decay—could not lift the sword again for a second swing. Even stepping closer into the soft light was an effort, and they saw that his face was deeply creased with age. Age, and something more…. “Speak,” the knight said, rasping. “Speak and be recognized.” Bert hurried forward and spoke for all three of them. “It’s just me, old friend—it’s Bert, and company.” A glint of recognition flashed in the knight’s eyes. He lowered his sword and lifted his head, peering at the intruders. It was plainly evident that the old sentinel was no danger. John, Jack, and Charles moved closer, but John was the first to realize what was odd about their assailant. “Your flesh,” he said, amazed. “It’s wood, isn’t it?” “Lads,” said Bert, who stepped aside and put a supporting arm around the old knight’s midriff, “I’d like you to meet the Green Knight. The Guardian of Avalon.” The Green Knight’s limbs and torso were hardwood—stout oaks and maples; his joints and face, soft, lined pine. His hair was a bird’s-nest tangle of bark and leafy twigs. When he spoke, it was with the creaking susurrations of an ancient willow swaying in a night breeze. “Forgive my hasty estimation,” he said to Jack. “If I had but known you were friend, I would not have tried to remove your head from your shoulders.” “He understands,” Bert interjected. “You were simply doing your job.” “You were French, if I am to judge by your accent,” said Jack. “Are French,” Charles said, underscoring the correction with a scowl at Jack. The knight responded with a deep, respectful bow. “A votre service, monsieur,” he said. “My strength, such as it is, is yours to command.” “Call me Charles—and thank you,” Charles said. “Charles?” the knight said with a spark of surprise in his eyes. “I was called as such, once upon a time, in another life.” “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Charles. “These are my friends, Jack…” “Hello,” said Jack, offering his hand, then examining it briefly after the knight took it in his barklike grip. “…and John,” finished Charles. “Ah,” said the knight. “The Caretaker.” John blinked back his surprise. “So Bert tells me,” he said. “But how would you have known?” “The Morgaine,” said the knight, as if that explained everything. “The Three Who Are One foretold your coming, and the dark troubles that are to follow.” In answer to the others’ questioning looks, Bert rubbed his chin and sighed. “This bodes ill,” he said, morose. “This bodes not well at all.” He turned to the Green Knight. “Take us to the Morgaine. We must know what they know—or at least, what they are willing to tell us.” “The Green Knights are compelled to service,” Bert said as they followed the knight’s lead and began walking counterclockwise around the perimeter of the island. “The first of them was a Crusader, who assumed the duty in exchange for a gift of great value. Others were summoned as a means of penance, or to avenge a wrongdoing. Of the twenty-five Guardians of Avalon that have served, only our friend here and one other have chosen to do so of their own will.” “I’ll not argue with you, old friend,” said the knight, nodding back at Bert, “but one might say I was as compelled as all the rest.” “How so?” asked Charles. “What year is it,” the knight asked in response, “back in the world?” “You refer to ‘the world’ as if it were a different place,” said Jack. “But it isn’t really, is it? After all, despite what Aven claims, we did set sail in the waters of London, and as far as my senses can tell, we never left them. Surely an ocean of the world is still an ocean of the world, regardless of the strange nature of some of the lands that reside upon it.” “Ah, my young friend, but this world is a different place,” said the knight. “The fields you know are those of Adam and Eve, and the children who followed. The fields we walk now are far, far older.” “It’s 1917,” Charles put in, answering the knight’s question. “Ah,” the knight sighed. “Has it truly been so long, then?” He sighed again, a deep, regretful sound. For a few moments they walked along in silence before he spoke again. “I chose to serve as Guardian of Avalon,” the knight began, “to repay a debt I could not otherwise settle. A place in Death’s realm had been reserved for me—and another man took it in my stead.” “A relative, perhaps?” asked John. “Or a close friend?” “He was an Englishman,” the knight said. “A commoner, of humble birth, and he sacrificed himself for a matter of principle. “I believed, having escaped my fate, that my life would be a happy one. But his sacrifice plagued me. I was restless, unsettled. My wife and daughter, delights both, brought me no joy, for I felt it was not I who had paid the price to live in their world. “Then, one day, I became acquainted with one of your predecessors—a Caretaker of the Geographica. And as I told him my story, he shared one in return: that of the last Green Knight, who had grown weary of the job, weary of guarding this place, and yet had seen no relief in the offing.” “Not much to guard here, is there?” said Jack, glancing around at the ruined heaps of stone they seemed to be constantly passing. “Someone obviously wasn’t up to the task.” “Jack!” Charles chided. “That’s quite rude.” “Sorry,” said Jack, reddening. “But, to be fair…” “No, the young man is right,” said the knight. “On the surface of things, it seems there is little here of value. But sometimes, it is not about guarding something of value that is important, but rather, being a valuable guard, so that when that thing comes along that needs guarding, there is no question.” “And did that thing ever come along?” asked John. But the knight did not reply; or if he did, it was lost to the wind rushing in from the west. The western side of the island was a stark contrast to the spot where the Indigo Dragon had landed. Steep, sharp crags of porous volcanic rock jutted up into the side of the hills from the pounding surf below. The spray of saltwater filled their nostrils and dampened their clothes. “This part of Avalon lies on the Frontier,” said Bert, gesturing to the thunderheads that lined the horizon. “The actual boundary of the Archipelago. Many a ship has been lost to the storms and tidal forces here.” The knight led them along a winding path worn through the scrubby grasses that had taken root among the riddled stone, at points coming dangerously close to the steep dropoff to their right. Ahead in the gloom, nestled within the crags, was the reddish glow of a fire. On it sat an immense black cauldron, around which were seated three old women who were chanting loudly as the group approached. “Witches,” breathed John. “The Morgaine,” the knight said, nodding. Each witch spoke in turn, as if singing a refrain. “By the pricking in my breast—” “They come o’er East, into the West—” “Though tempest bar and block the way—” “The Mapmaker’s heir shall seek the day—” “’gainst evil’s might, he will persist—” “To restore th’ power of Arthur’s throne—” “Twine Paralon with the World of men—” “If here be dragons once again.” Bert and the Green Knight exchanged curious glances. Had they overheard a prophecy? Or was it simple coincidence? “Boy!” the third witch screeched, having finished the chant. She wore a heavy cloak and cowl, and she
