Viv had seen her only once, and that in a vision, but she immediately knew that chiseled face, those dark mad eyes. Morgan le Fay was tall and white, her black hair tangled and unkempt, her face stern and perfect and cold. She wore a thin silver circlet on her forehead, and nothing else: her naked body was covered only by hundreds of butterflies crawling over her skin, their jewel-colored wings opening and closing in flashes of living fire.
In her left hand, lightly, Morgan held Excalibur.
“Morgan,” said Viv, and drew her shattered sword. She added, almost unwillingly: “Your Majesty.” In this place, it was impossible to deny Morgan’s power.
“Lady Viveka,” said the Queen, unmoving. Neither her face nor her voice carried a trace of emotion.
“You have something that’s mine,” Viv said. “I want it back.”
“No,” Morgan said calmly. “This sword has vexed me and mine for a very long time. It cannot be unmade, not yet, but in my hands it can sleep—and you, young Lady of the Lake, will never trouble us again. You will die here, and Caledfwlch will not pass to another: the chain will be broken, and we will be free to act as we will.”
As she spoke, Viv saw a flicker of movement: Noah, keeping to the cover of the trees, had crept around to spring at Morgan from behind. He raised his quarterstaff—
—and it licked out wooden branches, growing from the main shaft of wood with impossible speed, twisting and forking like lightning, each one exploding with green buds. Unseeing or uncaring, Noah swung the living staff down two-handed—
—and the green leaves flamed into red, into yellow, and then, in the space of the downswing, they turned brittle and dry and skirled away in a sudden whirlwind of dead leaves and bark. Noah was left with empty hands, and the crackle of windswept leaves faded into the surrounding trees. Morgan, untouched, turned her head and lifted Excalibur.
“No,” Viv cried, and lunged forward with her broken blade. “You don’t touch him!”
Morgan glanced back at her and twitched her arm. Excalibur flashed, and Viv’s broken katana was knocked from her hand. Her palm smarted with pain, bringing tears to her eyes.
Morgan moved again, and the blade was at Viv’s throat. She froze, and saw that Noah too had gone motionless. Morgan gazed at her without expression.
“Mortal lives,” said the fairy Queen. “So brief.”
Viv stared down the straight length of patterned Damascus steel (impossible for Arthur’s time, Noah had said; the wrong shape, the wrong metal) and understood that Morgan would kill her in the next moment. The water in her eyes spilled over, slid down her cheek, and fell to the ground, where it would seep through the earth to rejoin the wellspring of Avalon, the source of all waters, the Lake of which she was a sacred guardian.
And in that moment, Viv understood.
It happened as a rush of fire, igniting in her navel and sweeping up her spine, spreading across her scalp—enlightenment, the fire of insight. Knowledge poured through her in a stormy torrent. Wind and water, sword and lake: she knew, she understood. She looked Morgan in the eyes and she smiled.
“That’s not Excalibur,” she said.
Morgan blinked. The edge of the blade wavered against Viv’s throat. She reached up and pushed it away: and Morgan let it happen. It was only metal now.
Viv held up the Swiss army knife. “This,” she said carefully, investing every word with belief and will and meaning, “is Excalibur.”
And again—but this time at her command—power rushed up, through the soles of her feet, electrifying her body and surging out through her palms, to collect finally into the little mass-produced blade. Viv staggered in the aftermath of the surge: her vision swam, and she swayed on her feet. But the hand grasping the penknife never wavered. Excalibur, moving on its own, kept her grip steady. The knife was Excalibur now, in every way that mattered.
Morgan’s mouth twisted, the first expression to touch her pale face. “So,” she said. “You’ve finally discovered the true power of the sword.”
Viv took a deep breath and steadied her footing. “Noah knew it first,” she said. “That,” she nodded at the blade Morgan held, “can’t be the first Excalibur; it was forged in much later times.” Morgan held still as she spoke, so she went on, explaining it for Noah’s benefit. “And the stories of the sword go so far back, as far back as we can trace. Different names, different places—different swords. But the same idea. Piper said it, and I thought I understood, but I didn’t. The sword isn’t magical as a thing. It’s magical as an idea. That’s what the other Lady meant, when she told me: The sword is precious, but the scabbard is more precious. What kind of scabbard holds an idea?” She took a deep breath. “Only a mind, a human mind. I am the scabbard. Excalibur is what I make it.”
“Human minds, human thought,” Morgan said, her voice distant and chill. “Drawing lines. Dividing light from dark. Reason from faith. Civilization from the wilds. Pushing us, the older ones, the wild ones, always back. Always farther into the shadows. Your sword obeys the service of light and reason and order. But it is of the darkness and the wild magic, it is of our kind, just as you humans were once of the wild beasts and the primordial chaos. You cannot hold us back forever.”
“We’ve let you in too far already,” Noah said hoarsely. His empty hands were balled into fists. “I’ve seen what you do, how you prey on us. You have an advantage because nobody believes in you anymore. You use us.”
“Yes,” said Viv. “We’ve seen how and what you hunt. Now the hunt has come to you.” She stepped forward, holding the little penknife—Excalibur—steady before her. Her house keys jingled from its hilt.
Morgan tilted her beautiful head. “So be it,” she said. “You have the strength to hold Caledfwlch. But let us see if you have the skill to wield it.”
A cloud of small purple butterflies took flight from her arm as Morgan lifted the Damascened blade—the sword that was now only a sword—and swung with what seemed terrible strength. She was faster than thought. But Viv’s little knife moved to meet her strike, Excalibur guiding her hand with exquisite precision. Knife met sword-edge at the exact angle and velocity necessary to deflect the strike.
Viv felt the force of it reverberating in her very bones, a painful echo all down her arm and shoulder. But Morgan’s sword swung heavily away.
Viv pivoted in, striking for the Queen’s throat, but she overshot—she was used to handling a much heavier blade, and the Swiss army knife was like a feather in her hand. Morgan stepped back in a fluid motion and regrouped for another strike.
“Back, back, back!” Noah shouted at her from the cover of trees, and Viv obeyed him, instinctively retreating in the swordsman’s step that gave ground without ever crossing her feet. Morgan’s sword lashed out like a scythe in the space where she had been.
“Reach,” Noah said urgently, “ she still has reach on you, Viv; remember how I beat the Green Knight. You can’t win while she has that kind of reach, not if she’s halfway competent.”
Viv kept retreating, circling backwards around the clearing. Morgan followed with unhurried grace, slashing the ancient blade from side to side. “I think she’s more than competent,” Viv said, “but I’ve got Excalibur.”
“It’s not going to work,” Noah said, desperately.
The fairy Queen smiled, a fleeting twist of the mouth that disturbed her blank beauty and then was gone. A gleam of light from the sword, and she had moved—she was closer now, and the sword was raised. It was as if she had paused only so Viv could see, and be afraid.
Viv planted her feet, steadied her sweaty grip on the knife, and stood her ground.
Over Morgan’s shoulder, Viv could see Noah casting about for any weapon. He scooped up two handfuls of dirt and dried leaves.
“Don’t—” Viv started, but speech was too slow. Noah rushed in, and when Morgan whirled to face him he threw both handfuls of dirt at her face.
Viv pitched herself forward, as soon as Morgan’s back was turned, dread curling in the pit of her belly. But she could not beat that inhuman speed.
The clods of earth landed on Morgan’s hair and face, and pattered down around her. A small cloud of butterflies took flight, exposing the white skin of her throat and shoulders. Her sword flashed again. Noah was on the ground, crying out in pain, there was blood—
—and Viv had her arm wrapped around Morgan from behind, her knife at that pale throat.
The black-haired woman turned her chin, fractionally, and Viv stared for a second into the mad glittering eyes of the fairy Queen.
She chose to kill. It happened on a level she did not consciously control, but mind and body and magical blade were all as one—moving together to place the knife into position, to secure her grip, and to slash the blade with enough force to slit Morgan’s throat. She was ready to do it.
“Wait,” said Morgan harshly, and Viv paused, the knife arrested a hairsbreadth from its fulfillment. Excalibur wanted to complete the strike; her bruised sword-arm ached with the effort of holding back the blade. “Wait. We can bargain.”
Viv’s eyes flashed to Noah. He was pushing up from the ground—he had been cut across the face, but he was regaining his feet. He must have stumbled when the sword slashed his cheek. It didn’t look serious, after all.
Excalibur pulled at her. Viv held the knife back, but barely. “I don’t want anything you have to offer,” she said.
“Are you so sure?” asked Morgan. “Think on what I have given you already. I have revealed to you the face of your champion, and own true love. I have given you a precious gift. I could give you more.”
“I want you gone from my world,” said Viv. “That’s all I want.”
“I have done you no harm,” said Morgan. “Think on that.”
“Not,” said Viv, “for lack of trying.” Her voice wavered a bit as she said it, but the knife did not.
“I have been testing you,” said Morgan, “as is my right, when a new Lady takes up her blade. Think on it. I could have done so much, had your downfall truly been my aim. But as I say, I have done you no harm.”
Viv gritted her teeth. “You’ve harmed people in my city. Children. That harms me.”
“I have not,” Morgan said, her voice distant and chill as ever. “I take nothing that you would miss, unless it is to protect. That last one, the boy—if you had not fought me for him, he would be fully alive now, and happy, eating of my orchards. And do we not give you our children in return? Children of the heart, children of the mind—poetry, art, inspiration, genius. We give your city its magic.” She moved a hand, and one of the butterflies crawling on her arm took wing. “These are my unborn children,” she said. “Would you like brilliance? A gift for song, or grace to melt the hearts of men? I can give that to you.”
The butterfly—a black-winged one, with spots of vivid turquoise on its wings—fluttered near Viv’s ear. She shook her head impatiently and it drifted away. “What do you mean, protect the children?” she demanded. “Protect them from what?”
“Not every power in your city is under my command,” Morgan said serenely. “There are rebels and renegades; independent powers; and many, many threats that come from your own kind. Mortals harming mortals. I intercede where I can.”
“What about the redcaps?” Viv ground out. “Didn’t you set those on me?”
Morgan made another slight gesture with her hand, this time one of dismissal. “Only after you had made war on us.”
“That isn’t true,” Viv said, “they were spying on me before I even got Excalibur.”
“I was keeping an eye on you. I knew why you had come and I wanted to know what sort of Lady you would be.”
“They attacked me out of the blue from the subway that night.”
“Ah.” Morgan tilted her head. Excalibur kept itself pressed to her throat; it remained all Viv could do to hold it back. “That was a mistake,” the Queen said. “I sent them after another: you were only in the way.”
“Convenient,” said Viv.
“Yes,” Morgan agreed. “But not for me.”
Viv stared into the Queen’s fathomless eyes for a long moment. It was on her lips to ask: Who then? But she thought she knew.
What if? she thought, directing it to Excalibur. She didn’t know whether the magic of it could truly hear and understand, but it seemed to be able to share knowledge with her, so she thought it might. What if we’ve been tricked? What if Morgan is not our true enemy?
Excalibur shuddered in her hand, sending another throb of pain up her arm. The knife had its target, and intended to strike: Viv fought it, and fought herself, because she was not at all sure that her decision was the right one. But it was her decision to make. She was the scabbard for Excalibur, but she did not want to be its tool.
“All right,” she said, after the inward struggle. “Here’s the bargain. You and your people don’t hunt in my city, you don’t take anyone or anything from San Francisco so long as I am here to guard it.”
“And for your part of the bargain?” Morgan inquired, calmly.
“This sword—knife—whatever: it wants to kill you,” Viv bit out. “Take this deal, or I let it. That’s it. Give me your word.”
Morgan eyed her, but Viv could not read anything behind her austere beauty. “Arrogant mortal,” she said at last. “Caledfwlch will be your undoing.”
“Give me your word,” Viv said, again.
“You’ll regret this,” said Morgan matter-of-factly. “We have woven our glamour into the fabric of your city, given you many dreams of wealth and power, glory and fame, dreams of incessant reinvention. When the dream ends, you will find the waking hard.”
“I don’t care!” Viv cried, her voice trembling with the effort of controlling Excalibur. “Don’t you get it? I don’t care! Whatever gifts you’ve given, the price is too high. I don’t know how you take these ‘unborn children’ of yours, but I know you steal them. My guess is that you steal the idea of children from the people it belongs to. Give me your word that the thefts will end.”
“I swear,” said Morgan with icy clarity, “that neither I nor any who owe me fealty will take anything from the mortals of San Francisco, not body nor thought nor substance of will, so long as you are guardian there. And nor,” she added vindictively, “will we give.”
Viv dropped the blade. As soon as it left Morgan’s throat, Excalibur stopped fighting her; the knife went limp in her hand, as light as any other keychain. Her arm throbbed with pain. “Fine,” she gritted out. “Then we’re done. But I came for this”—she reached out with her left hand to take the sword from Morgan’s grasp—“so I’m leaving with it.”
Morgan surrendered the sword without a struggle. “It’s nothing now,” she said coldly.
“Well,” Viv said, “it’s still old. And pretty.” She sheathed the sword in her scabbard. Then she went to pick up what remained of Duane’s katana. As she did so, Noah moved over to stand by her side. And Morgan stood perfectly still, only her dark eyes tracking Viv’s movements. The butterflies on her skin crawled over each other in constant rippling motion, but she herself might have been carved of ice.
“You’ll never return here,” the Queen said finally. “Three times, and no more, is the rule for any mortal.”
“That’s just fine,” Viv said. “Send me a postcard.”
“You bluff,” said Morgan, “but in your dreams you will remember the things here that were beautiful. When you wake, remember also the things that were perilous. For Avalon may still come to you.”
“I’ll remember,” Viv said, wearily. “Goodbye, Morgan. Your Majesty.”
“Viv,” Noah said softly, “how do we get home?”
Viv cast her eyes over the clearing, lingering on the pool of dark water at its center. “I think,” she answered, “that we’ll go jump down a well.”
They went hand in hand, Noah holding the katana and Viv gripping Excalibur. They closed their eyes and jumped into the dark water together. Viv visualized the Sword Bridge as they left the ground. It came easily to her mind this time, and though her feet splashed into cold water, it was only a moment before she felt land beneath them.
She opened her eyes. She and Noah were standing, hand in hand, in the middle of a puddle, in a dark tunnel lit with florescent bulbs. There was light behind her, and light in front: but the light in front was getting brighter, and the tunnel echoed with a dull roar.
“Train!” Viv yelled. “That’s a train! Come on!”
They scrambled for the side of the tunnel, clambering up on the safety walkway only seconds before the MUNI train roared past. Viv thought she saw a startled face flash by in a window. What they must look like, she thought: Noah in his bloodied Robin Hood tunic, and she a tattered princess covered in scratches and grime.
“Let’s go,” she said, “before someone calls the police.”
They edged down the walkway, and at the end of it found themselves emerging into the Castro Street station. It was filled with people, most of them in suits, carrying newspapers and cups of coffee. They stared openly as Viv and Noah walked out of the tunnel. Noah squeezed her hand, and Viv lifted her chin and swept through them. They made room for her, but she thought that was probably because of the smell.
Then she stopped dead, staring up at the electronic sign that identified arriving trains. It was, currently, showing the time. In red LED letters, it flashed: 9:10 AM.
“Ohmigosh,” Viv said. “It’s Monday morning. We’re late for work.”