The Endless Knot Read Free Page B

had to dismiss Professor Nettleton’s better judgment. He would just have to accept my decision.
    The grove was silent, the light dim, as we stepped within the leafy sanctuary. Tegid wasted not a moment, but began marking out a circle on the ground with the end of his staff. He walked backwards in a sunwise circle, chanting in a voice solemn and low. I did not hear what he said—it was in the Dark Tongue of the Derwyddi, the Taran Tafod.
    Standing next to Nettles, my mind teemed with accusation, guilt, and self-righteous indignation—I was the king! I had built this place! Who had the right to stay here if not me?—I could not make myself say the words. I stood in seething silence and watched Tegid prepare our departure.
    Upon completing the simple ceremony, the bard stepped from the circle he had inscribed and turned to us. “All is ready.” He looked at me as he spoke. I saw sorrow in his gaze, but he spoke no word of farewell. The parting was too painful for him.
    The professor took a step toward the circle, but I remained rooted to my place. When he sensed me lagging behind, Nettleton looked back over his shoulder. Seeing that I had made not the slightest move to join him, he said, “Come, Lewis.”
    â€œI am not going with you,” I said dully. It was not what I had planned to say, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
    â€œLewis!” he challenged, turning on me. “Think what you are doing.”
    â€œI cannot leave like this, Nettles. It is too soon.”
    He took my arm, gripping it tightly. “Lewis, listen to me. Listen very carefully. If you love Albion, then you must leave. If you stay, you can only bring about the destruction of all you have saved. You must see that. I have told you: It is permitted no man—”
    I cut him off. “I will take that risk, Nettles.”
    â€œThe risk is not yours to take!” he charged, his voice explosive in the silence of the grove. Exasperated, he blinked his eyes behind his round glasses. “Think what you are doing, Lewis. You have achieved the impossible. Your work here is finished. Do not negate all the good you have done. I beg you, Lewis, to reconsider.”
    â€œIt is the time-between-times,” Tegid said softly.
    â€œI am staying,” I muttered bluntly. “If you are going, you had better leave now.”
    Seeing that he could not move me, he turned away in frustration and stepped quickly into the circle. At once, his body seemed to fade and grow smaller, as if he were entering a long tunnel. “Say your farewells, Lewis,” he urged desperately, “and come as soon as you can. I will wait for you.”
    â€œFarewell, my friend!” called Tegid.
    â€œPlease, for the sake of all you hold dear, do not put it off too long!” Nettleton called, his voice already dwindling away. His image rippled as if he were standing behind a sheet of water. The rims of his glasses glinted as he turned away, and then he vanished, his words hanging in the still air as a quickly fading warning.
    Tegid came to stand beside me. “Well, brother,” I said, “it would seem you must endure my presence a little longer.”
    The bard gazed into the now-empty circle. He seemed to be peering into the emptiness of the nether realm, his features dark and his eyes remote. I thought he would not speak, but then he lifted his staff. “Before Albion is One,” he said, his voice hard with certainty, “the Hero Feat must be performed and Silver Hand must reign.”
    The words were from Banfáith’s prophecy, and, as he reminded me from time to time, they had yet to prove false. Having delivered himself of this pronouncement, he turned to me. “The choice is made.”
    â€œWhat if I made the wrong choice?”
    â€œI can always send you back,” he replied, and I could sense his relief. Tegid had not wanted to see me leave any more than I had