Avalon High Part 19

I don't know what came over me. I had never done anything like this in my life-skipped cla.s.s, left school property without permission, gone to a teacher's apartment, stuck my foot in his door to keep him from shutting me out-that wasn't me. None of this was me. My heart was pounding, my palms slick with nervous sweat. I thought I might even be sick.

But I hadn't come all this way just to get sent home. This was something I had to do. I didn't know why.

Except maybe that I'd grown up in a house full of people who knew all the answers to the questions on Jeopardy! And now, finally, I wanted some answers of my own.

Mr. Morton looked down at my foot. He did seem surprised then. Surprised by my resourcefulness.

But he didn't try to fight me. He shrugged and said, "Suit yourself."

And turned away to continue what he'd been doing when I'd knocked. Which was packing.

He had his clothes spread out everywhere. But that wasn't what he was putting into the suitcases that lay scattered about the floor. He was filling those with books. Thick books, like the kind my dad is always bringing home from the university library. Most of them looked extremely old. I had no idea how Mr. Morton thought he was going to lift a single one of those suitcases once he'd finally managed to get them closed.

I looked at the suitcases. Then I looked at Mr. Morton, who was sorting through a pile of books he held in his arms. Some went into a suitcase. The others he just threw on the floor. It was clear he simply didn't care what happened to the things he was leaving behind.

"Well, what do you want?" Mr. Morton asked, still sorting. "I haven't got all day. I have a plane to catch."

"I can see that," I said. I lifted the book nearest me. Its t.i.tle wasn't even in English, but I recognized it, because my dad had it on his shelf back home in St. Paul. Le Morte d'Arthur. The Death of Arthur. Great. "Kind of a sudden trip, isn't it?"

"It isn't a trip," Mr. Morton said shortly. "I'm leaving town. For good."

"You are?" I glanced around at the room's furnishings, which were spa.r.s.e and fairly new, though not very expensive-looking. "Why?"

Mr. Morton flicked a single appraising glance at me. Then he went back to his sorting.

"If it's about your grade," he said, ignoring my question, "You shouldn't worry. Whoever they get to replace me will certainly give you an A. That proposal you handed in was actually very well written. You can clearly string two sentences together, which is a lot more than most of the little cretins at that school can do. You'll do just fine. Now please go. I've got a lot of things to do, and a very short time to get them done."

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Tahiti," he said, studying the spine of a book before tossing it into the suitcase in front of him.

"Tahiti?" I echoed. "That's kind of far."

He ignored the question, moving behind me to close the door I'd left open.

"I told you," he said, when the door was safely closed. He spoke in so terse and quiet a tone that I could barely hear him above the sound of the television, still blaring from the next room. "Your part in this is over. There's nothing more you can do...nothing more you're expected to do. Now be a good girl, Elaine, and go back to school."

"No." I moved a pile of books, then sat down in the s.p.a.ce I'd created on his sofa.

Mr. Morton blinked down at me as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard.

"Pardon me?" he said.

"No," I said. I sounded so adamant, I surprised even myself. Inwardly, of course, I was quaking. I had never disobeyed a direct order from a teacher-or any adult, really-before. I had no idea where these hidden reserves of courage were coming from, but I was very glad to find them so unexpectedly. "No, I'm not leaving. Not until you tell me what's going on. Why do you keep saying 'your part in this is over'? My part in what, exactly? And why are you trying to get out of here so fast? What are you afraid is going to happen, anyway?"

Mr. Morton sighed and said in a tired voice, "Please. Miss Harrison. Elaine. I haven't time for this. I have a plane to catch." He reached for the books I'd moved from the couch. I noticed for the first time that his hands were shaking.

I stared up at him, truly taken aback.

"Mr. Morton," I said, "what is it? What are you so afraid of? What are you running away from?"

"Miss Harrison." He sighed heavily. Then, as if he'd given the matter some thought, he said, "Your parents are here on a sabbatical, aren't they? They can take some time off from their research. Why don't you ask them if the three of you could take a trip? Somewhere far from the eastern seaboard. It would be best if you could leave at once." His gaze flicked toward the window, through which I could see clouds had obscured the bright afternoon sunlight. "The sooner the better."

Then he turned and added more books to the suitcase he was packing.

"Mr. Morton," I said carefully, "I'm sorry, but I think you need help. From a mental health professional."

He glanced at me over the rims of his gla.s.ses. "That's what you think, is it?" was all he said, and this with a note of indignation in his voice.

I didn't blame him for being offended. It wasn't really my place to say all this. Still, someone had to. The poor guy was completely bonkers. Not that he didn't have good reason to feel a little off-kilter about the whole thing. But still.

"I know all this stuff with Will and Lance and Jennifer seems kind of...coincidental," I went on. "But you're a teacher...an educator. You're supposed to use reason and intelligence. Surely you can't really believe in something as ridiculous as King Arthur being reincarnated."

"And that's why you came all the way here," Mr. Morton said. "To tell me what I believe in is ridiculous. You're worried about me, I suppose? Afraid I might be mad?"

"Well," I said, feeling bad about it, but knowing I had to be truthful. "Yes. I mean, I can see how someone-even someone who doesn't belong, you know, to this cult you belong to-"

He looked only mildly surprised to hear I knew about his little group. His tone was mild, too, as he rebuked me. "The Order of the Bear, Miss Harrison," he said, "is a fraternal order, not a cult."

"Whatever," I said. "I realize how someone like me, for instance, could look at all these coincidences-Will's parents; his name; the thing with Lance and Jennifer; Will's names for his dog and his boat. Stuff like that-and think to themselves, 'Hey, yeah. That's King Arthur, reincarnated.' But you know, there are important differences, too. Will's real mom isn't Jean-his real mom is dead. Marco is his stepbrother, not his half brother. And I am most certainly not the Lily Maid of Astolat. I couldn't fall in love with Lance if I tried. You're a teacher, Mr. Morton. You're supposed to be a rational thinker. How can a man like you believe in something so completely ridiculous as King Arthur rising from the dead-unless, of course, you really are nuts?"

He blinked. Just once.

Then he said, "Not 'believe,' Miss Harrison. Know. It's a fact. Arthur will be back. Is back. Only-" His expression darkened.

Then he seemed to shut down again.

"No. It's no good. You're better off not knowing," he said, shaking his head. "Knowledge...it can be dangerous. I sometimes...well, I wish I didn't know, most of the time."

"Try me," I said, folding my arms across my chest.

He stared at me for a minute.

Then he said, "Very well. You're an intelligent girl-at least you seemed to be, up until now. What if I were to tell you that my order-the Order of the Bear-is a secret society whose only function is to attempt to thwart the forces of evil that are keeping King Arthur from rising once again to power?"

"Um," I said. "I'd probably tell you that I already knew that. Also that there are medications you can take to prevent these kinds of paranoid delusions."

His expression grew sour. "We don't expect the man to just come popping up from his final resting place, Excalibur in hand. We are not simpletons, Miss Harrison. Like the monks in Tibet who search the world over for the next Dalai Lama, the members of the Order of the Bear look for potential Arthurs in each and every generation." He removed his gla.s.ses and began polishing the lenses with a handkerchief he'd taken from his back pocket. "When we find one we think might have a serious chance, we send a member of the Order to the boy's town, to observe him, generally in the guise of a teacher, like myself. Most of the time, these boys disappoint us. But every once in a while-such as in Will's case-the order is given reason to hope...."

He put his gla.s.ses back on and peered at me through the now shining lenses.

"And then it's just a matter of keeping the dark forces from destroying the boy's chances of reaching his potential."

"That's where you lose me," I said. "Dark forces? Mr. Morton, come on. What are you talking about? Darth Vader? Voldemort? Give me a break."

"Do you think what happened with Lancelot and the queen, all those years ago, was merely an affair?" Mr. Morton asked, sounding shocked by my naivete. "Because it was something far more insidious, and caused, not just by weakness of character on the part of those two, but by the strength of the forces against Arthur, who were looking to destroy him-not just his faith in himself, but his people's faith in him, as well. That was when Mordred-who is, and always will be, an agent of evil-moved in for the kill."

"Uh," I said, staring at him. I was having a little trouble digesting some of what he'd been telling me. Well, okay. All of what he'd been telling me. "Okay."

I must have sounded convincingly interested, since, encouraged, Mr. Morton went on.

"You know he was actually too late that first time. Mordred was, I mean. The Dark Ages died in spite of his-and evil's-best efforts, because Arthur had been on the throne long enough to lead his people out of them. And in the end, it wasn't Mordred who lived on through the annals of time as a good and just king, but his brother Arthur.

"But Mordred learned from that mistake," Mr. Morton continued. "And since that time, whenever Arthur has tried to rise again, Mordred has been there to stop him, earlier and earlier in the life cycle, so that the Light might never have any success at all. And so it will go, you see, Elaine, until the end of time...or until good finally triumphs over the darkness, once and for all, and Mordred is put to rest."

I cleared my throat.

The thing was, Mr. Morton seemed lucid enough. He seemed as sane as-well, my own father.

But what he was saying-what he and his "order" believed.... It was just nuts. No rational person could think that Will Wagner was the reincarnation of King Arthur. The thing with our names-and Cavall-aside.... Well, it just didn't make any sense.

And that wasn't all that didn't make sense.

"I don't understand," I said flatly. "If you really think Will is Arthur-and that's a pretty big if, mind you-why are you running away? Shouldn't you stay here to help him? Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the guy your order put here to protect him?"

Mr. Morton looked genuinely pained.

"There's no point now," he explained. "Once Guinevere leaves him, Arthur is vulnerable to whatever Mordred has in store for him. We've seen it happen time and time again, no matter what we've done to try to stop it. Mordred-with the help of the dark side, of course-will rise to power, as he has in so many different incarnations in the past. Think of the most diabolical political leaders in history, and you'll have a good idea what I'm talking about. All of them Mordred. And Arthur will...well."

"He'll what?" I asked him curiously.

"Well," Mr. Morton said, looking uncomfortable, "he'll die."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

And at the closing of the day

She loosed the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

"Die?" I stared at him in disbelief.

"Well," he said, having the grace, at last, to look faintly embarra.s.sed, "yes."

"But..." I could only seem to sit there and parrot what he'd just told me. "Die?"

"Yes, of course." Mr. Morton sounded a bit exasperated. "What did you think was going to happen, Elaine? Why do you think I'm leaving? You can hardly think I want to stay and watch it happen."

"But..." I just stared at him some more. I had heard some crazy stuff today. But this, by far, took the cake. "You mean Will? You think Will is going to die?"

"He has to," Mr. Morton said apologetically. "For Mordred-or in this case, Marco-to achieve his supremacy-"

"You think Marco's going to do something to Will?"

"I don't think so, Miss Harrison," Mr. Morton said calmly. "I know. Marco told me so himself in my cla.s.sroom last year, when I foolishly attempted-against orders, I might add-to reason with the boy. In the same way that you evidently do, I once had a difficult time believing any person could be entirely evil. I thought if I could only reach out to the young man, he might come around. I was proven wrong-quite painfully, I might add."

"When Marco attacked you," I said, putting two and two together and coming up with-well, more craziness. "And got kicked out of school."

"Precisely," Mr. Morton said. "I see now it was a fatal error on my part. Letting Marco know of the existence of the Order, and his preordained role in the next life cycle of Arthur, did not serve, as I thought it would, as a warning to him to guard against evil, but rather as an excuse for him to embrace it. Something along the lines of, 'Well, it's my destiny, anyway, so why fight it?'"

I could only blink at him. "So you told Marco that he's the reincarnation of Mordred?" I could only imagine how Marco must have taken the news. Derisive laughter would have been involved.

But also, apparently, violence. Against the messenger. And perhaps not undeserved.

"I am ashamed to admit that I did," Mr. Morton said. "Though I can't say that at the time, I was altogether certain he believed me. The fact that he recognized, however, that you are Elaine of Astolat seems to indicate that he's come around to the idea."

"I am not," I said slowly and angrily, "Elaine of Astolat."

Mr. Morton smiled sadly. "Funny. That's exactly what Marco said. Only in his case, he insisted he wasn't Mordred."

"He isn't Mordred," I said. I was outraged. Really. This had all gone way too far. "And you should have your teacher's license revoked for going around telling impressionable young students that they are reincarnations of mythical characters!"

Mr. Morton shook a finger at me. "Now, Elaine," he said. "You know perfectly well they aren't mythical."

I wanted to throw something. I couldn't believe I was even having this conversation.

"Fine," I said. "So they were real. Once. And yeah, Arthur really did exist. And let's just say, for the sake of argument, this whole reincarnation thing really could be possible. You warned Marco about it. Have you said anything about it to Will?"

"It won't do any good, Elaine," Mr. Morton said sadly. "As I said before, it's too late now, anyway. And members of the Order have tried in the past to warn the Bear of what was to befall him-just as I tried, unsuccessfully, to turn Marco to the Light-and it never did any good, in all his various incarnations. Most of the time, he didn't even believe us. And inevitably, the Dark rose up and defeated us...and him."

I blinked at him. "So if all this stuff is true, and what you and your order believe really is happening-Marco is going to kill Will, and you don't think it would do any good to maybe give Will a call and let him know?"