Meeting of Two Worlds.

Meagan was sorry she did not have pen and paper to take notes. The knights took her on a tour of the garrison, and regaled her with stories of their exploits. There had been Sarmatian artifacts found about the Wall in previous digs, but it had been speculation why they had been there. Now she knew. A thought struck her. “Is there really a Round Table? Legend speaks of it.”



“Does it?” Gawain nodded. “Oh yes, there is a round table. Why they would speak of a table, I cannot understand.”



“It was symbolic,” she replied.



“All men equal with no head or foot of the table to give weight to leader or follower,” Dagonet suddenly spoke.



“Yes!” she beamed at him, and realized just how big he was since he stood by her side.



“Then this should interest you.” Lancelot opened a door, and gave a small bow, his dark eyes never leaving her face.



Curious she entered the room, and came to a halt. It was huge, and the center was cut out so a large metal brazier could help to light the room. With wonder she moved forward, running her hands along the stone walls, the chairs, and the table. She touched everything she could, hungry for the feel of a room that had been as mythological as the men behind her.



The knights watched, entranced, the way her hands stroked at the table, the way her fingers caressed the decorations about the room, and the dreamy-eyed and pleasured look of her eyes. Her lips were softly parted, and they could tell her breathing was a slightly more rapid than normal. Her cheeks were flushed, and at one point she leaned over the table to peer inside the cutout center, providing them with a tantalizing view of a firm behind encased in tight breeches of a material they did not recognize.



“If someone does not stop her soon I may come,” Bors muttered, unable to tear his eyes from her behind.



Forcing himself to break the spell Lancelot cleared his throat and glanced at his fellow knights. Most of the others simply stared, eyes wide, and licking their lips as though ready for a feast. Tristan’s head was tilted, one arched brow the only show of emotion on his face. Taking the several long strides needed to reach the woman, Lancelot took her arm and made her straighten. He did not want to have aroused knights fighting to see who would be the one to tumble her in the hay of the stables.



“Come,” he told her, flushing slightly at the hoarse lust in his own voice. “There is more to see.”



“Care to see the stables?” Galahad hurriedly offered.



Before she could reply Lancelot shot the man a glare. “Were you wise you would say no.”



“Why?”



“I’m afraid you… That is to say, you…” What was wrong with him? Why could he not simply and bluntly tell her that her admiration of the room had made every man in this room horny? Well, perhaps not Tristan…



“Because should any of us get you near a pile of hay you’d be on your back faster than Tristan here could shoot an arrow into a Woad heart,” Bors bluntly replied with a smirk.



Meagan flamed.

………………………………………



They were in the stables. She wasn’t certain if the kickboxing she had been doing for four years to stay limber and in shape would be of any help against these men, but she had wanted to see their destriers. A little afraid of the war-trained animals she kept her distance, admiring how the men easily went up to them and cooed while stroking an elegant neck or flank.



“They’re beautiful,” she admitted.



“Will you not come nearer?” Galahad asked. He was stroking his horse’s velvety nose. “They usually will not let a stranger near if you approach with one of us they will let you touch them.”



Her eyes widened slightly in uncertainty, her teeth gritting for a second, and finally she rotated her shoulders to ease the tenseness and neared Galahad. “They’re so big. Are they trained to kill?”



“Of course,” he casually replied. “They are not simply a beast to ride, but are weapons, and friends.” Taking her hand he put her palm under the animal’s nose. It snorted and sniffed, and Galahad moved closer to her. “There is no reason to fear,” he whispered.



“Not the horse, at least, but Galahad is a whole different matter!”



The knights laughed, and Galahad shot Bors a glower. “Yes, careful,” Gawain added. “He may be pretty in looks, but his motives are never pretty.”



“And you are no better,” Galahad shot to his best friend. “None of you are.” He met Meagan’s gaze. “That is our way. We work hard, and we play hard. We kill, and we often need to wash away the stink of the blood with the sweet smell of a woman.”



He had blue eyes, and they were locked onto hers. He had such a baby face that she had thought the legends of his piety were real, but this Galahad had eyes that devoured. “Does it have a name?”



“Does what have a name?” he asked, not releasing her gaze.



“Your horse,” she told him.



They were interrupted by screams. Each knight stiffened and rushed out. Meagan rushed after them. “What is it?” She realized what a stupid question that was as soon as the words left her mouth. How would they know? They had been in the stables with her.



A Roman soldier ran by. “The shadows! The shadows attack!”



Dagonet twirled and caught Meagan by the arms. “You must leave. We will take you to the veil, and you will go across.”



“What? Why?” She was shaking her head and tried to break from his grip, but his fingers tightened, and nearly bruised her skin.



“Throw her over your shoulder, Dag, and carry her!” Bors now held small curved weapons in each hand, the blades sharp and glistening in the light of the torches.



Meagan tried to pull back, but the tall knight easily lifted her as though she weighed no more than a sac of grain, and settled her upon his broad shoulder. “Not yet! Oh please, not yet! I would learn so much more!”



Her cries went ignored. The rough knights circled about Dagonet, and together they moved deliberately and dangerously towards the spot where Lancelot and she had first appeared. “Wait!” Gawain shouted, holding both arms out to halt their progress. He glanced about, scowling darkly. “Something is amiss.”



Dagonet could feel her, tensed and waiting, upon his shoulder. Her hands clutched at the waist of his breeches. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.



More screams sounded. Meagan’s head snapped up. “Goddess, no! That sounded like…”



“Bloody hell,” Bors spat. “The shadows have crossed the veil.”



Dagonet nearly dropped her when she furiously struggled. “I have to get out there!” she screeched.



She was fighting so much she had half slid off his shoulder, her hands nearly touching the ground, and Dagonet’s teeth gritted as he struggled to keep hold of her. “Do not be a fool, woman! The shadows are not to be taken lightly. Many souls have been lost to them.” With a mumbled curse he let her fall, careful to catch her one ankle so she could not be badly hurt. Crouching down he glared at her where she lay all twisted up with fiery curls fallen into her eyes. “If you would go beyond the veil and give your soul up to evil then so be it, but what good will that do to those who you would save if you also are taken?”



Batting curls from her face she turned tormented blue eyes up to him. “Can they be saved?”



“We do not know,” Gawain truthfully replied. “We do not know how to fight them. They are shadows, and will not fall to our weapons.”



“Then how will I help my friends? Those are my students, people I am responsible for! I can’t just let them… be taken!”



“Even if you would go across you cannot,” Lancelot interrupted. “He motioned to the veil. “It is blocked.”



Dagonet had released her ankle, and Meagan pushed to her feet and ran for the veil. It was like looking through a warped window, the scene on the other side distorted and unclear. Strong arms caught her around the waist just before she could touch it, and held her back. “No, I have to…”



Galahad put his lips near her ear. “It is blocked.”



“Please,” she moaned low to him. “Please, I can’t stand their screams.”



From the veil a dark tendril of smoky shadow crept outwards, reaching for her. Galahad leapt back, still holding onto her, and the tendril turned to a large clawed hand that swiped at the air, catching at nothing. Meagan felt the knight’s arms tighten more about her, nearly cutting off her supply of air, but at the moment she did not care. The smoky shadow receded slowly, but she was not fooled. The deep and cold evil of it still lingered, and beyond it the screams still tore through the night.



Two other knights rushed forward, grabbed Galahad by the tunic, and dragged him back while he still held onto Meagan. She was weeping now, and when his arms slowly loosened she turned onto her side, curled into a ball, and continued to weep as the screams were finally silenced.



Arthur neared at a hurried clip, sword drawn, and face set in cold determination. “Report!”



“The shadows crossed the veil,” Bors replied.



Arthur’s green eyes pierced the barrier between worlds. “They have never crossed before this night.”



Meagan stiffened where she lay. Her bout of crying had weakened her, and she hated how she had let the tears overcome her. “What are you saying?” she gasped, voice raw, and pushed to a sitting position.



Arthur pointedly ignored her. “Were any this side of the veil taken?”



“Not that we can yet tell,” Gawain told him.



Struggling to her feet, Meagan pushed curls out of her eyes. “What did you mean?” When Arthur still did not reply she caught his arm in both hands and pushed into his way so he had to see her. “What did you mean?”



“Lady…” Impatience running thin he tried to move her.



“Answer me!” she shouted. Her eyes suddenly widened, and let him go as though he had burned her, backing away a step or two. “You blame me!”



“Never before now could they cross,” Arthur finally let go of his anger. “Though the veil was thin their evil was always kept at bay, but tonight you invited the dead to cross, and cross they did. And any souls nearby will be taken. They will feed and grow stronger, and when they return two worlds will have suffered for your carelessness. Oh yes, I blame you. All actions have consequences, and you blindly play with the domain of God and believe that no harm can come of it. Now their souls are lost, and it is your sin that they are so.”



“Arthur…” Lancelot had never heard the man speak so cruelly to a woman before. “The Old Ways honor the dead…”



“Perhaps the Old Ways are wrong,” Arthur snapped. After a second he shook his head. “I am sorry. I never questioned your faith, but perhaps that was a mistake on my part.” Twirling he marched away.



Meagan bristled, and finally broke into a run after the man that had shaped countless legends. “Let me tell you about your faith, Arthur…”



“You know nothing…”



“On the contrary,” she spat, interrupting him. “I know more than you ever will. I know centuries of what your faith has done. The people it has killed in the name of God. The innocent souls it has condemned without proof or second thought because the people wielding that faith said it was ‘ordained by God.’ Would you like to hear the horrors? Would you like to know the atrocities committed in the name of your God?”



“My faith never condemned a man of another faith, but yours does. To this day, my day, faiths battle for supremacy and control of humanity. All in the name of God. They know no tolerance. They believe they are the saviors of all souls, and will enforce their views by any means possible. Have your knights, or the people here, ever forced their beliefs upon you? Do you truly want to tell me that you and your faith are superior to us?”



His gaze fell and slowly moved up her person to her face. “My God is merciful…”



“Perhaps,” she nodded. “But he allows clergy and men and women to commit atrocities in His name. Your scriptures say the meek shall inherit the earth, but the strong wield a sword in His name and kill the meek. My faith was nearly eradicated. We hid, we served in secret, and even today we are still called worshipers of evil. Will you tell me that your men, and these people worship evil because their faith is pagan?”



A heavy sigh escaped her. “I won’t say I’m blameless, but it was not my faith. My celebration of Samhain was to honor the dead, not to let evil cross the veil. I can’t be blamed for the intent of evil. If it had been you who had done something to honor someone or something, and evil had taken advantage would you really think it was all your fault?”



“People will die,” he told her. “Souls will be taken. Can you truly dismiss that?”



“I never said I dismissed it,” she shot at him, frustrated by his stubbornness. “Look, this is getting us nowhere. We have to figure out what the shadows are, and how to destroy them.”



A snort escaped him. “I wish you luck. We have lost knights to the shadows when attempting to battle them. No weapon will harm them.” Even as he said the words she began to pace, her sharp white teeth chewing worriedly at the pad of her thumb. He could not help watching her.



“Every faith believes there is a way to destroy evil.” She dropped her hand, scowling into the dark. “There has to be a way to stop this evil.”



“Find it or not they are across the veil,” he told her. “Should they not return before sunrise they will remain there.”



“But they aren’t the only ones who can cross,” she reminded him. “I’ve never seen anything like these shadows before. I wonder if there’s anything about them in my books?”



“You read?” Arthur was startled that a woman could read. “Do you know your numbers?”



“I read, know numbers, and know several languages. I also know many histories and geography. I can even read a map,” she told him. “In my time women are educated. It is law that everyone have a chance at a basic education.”



“Are people equal?” he eagerly asked her. “What of Rome? Or this island?”



Would telling him hurt the future? He was already dead. But would his soul suffer for how the world had turned out? Many times she had believed that despite the lack of technology the past had been simpler, and much better. “The world is a very different place,” she hedged.



He frowned, not liking her reply. “Has it all been for naught? Have we been for naught?”



There was such pain in his voice, as well as in his green eyes, that she wanted to reach out and hold him. Arthur turned away, and she caught his arm, but this time her touch was much gentler. Moving to stand before him she shook her head. “It’s such a complicated thing the world I come from. But one thing you have to know. The legend of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table are known worldwide, and have given hope to people for centuries. Do you understand that? There are two saviors rumored to return to save humanity; Jesus, and King Arthur.”



He scoffed, half turning away from her, but did not hesitate when she caught his face in both hands and made him look at her. “Many things have failed over time, but you and your knights are one of the few that haven’t. You have no idea what you’ve done for humanity. I wish I could make you see it, the medieval fairs where people dress in costumes of knights and kings and courtiers to relive these times. Or the shops that sell replicas of…” She paused, arching a brow, and stepped back to look down at his sword. “It wouldn’t happen to be called Excalibur, would it?”