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His face was fading and his voice was growing fainter.
“And then I took Bernard Samson’s head and mounted it on a steel pike. I placed his head at the entrance to my keep, where the carrion fed upon it, where the crows feasted on his eyes and tongue. And so you see we have indeed come full circle, Mr. Kropp. The time has come for our parting. The time has come for you to leave me and join your father.”
And with that he slammed the Sword all the way into my body, up to the hilt, and I heard the cloak rip as the tip passed out through my back and bit into the stone wall behind me as easily as if the rock were sand.
Mogart let go and backed away. His smile came back.
“Now,” he said. “Die, Alfred Kropp.”
I’ll never be sure, but I think when he said that, I did.
50
I saw some things after I died.
First, I was floating near the cave’s roof, looking down at myself impaled against the wall. Mogart had both hands wrapped around the hilt of the Sword, pulling with all his strength, his face contorted with the effort. His roars of rage and frustration echoed against the walls of the cavern.
He pulled and pulled, but he couldn’t pull the Sword from the stone.
He staggered backwards, then turned and found the two-foot dagger he had dropped when he dived for the Sword. I guess he was going to cut my body away from the Sword because you can’t get much leverage against a human body— it’s too soft—and then that faded.
There was silence, and then the sound the wind makes whispering through leaves.
Suddenly, I was sitting beside Mom’s bed in the hospital and she was saying, Take it away. Please take the pain away.
I couldn’t take that, so I turned away and Uncle Farrell was on the sofa and the Sword was in his gut, and I watched as he pulled it out and held it toward me. Take it, Al. Take it away.
I turned away from Uncle Farrell, and Bernard Samson, my father, was beside me, saying, They are part of an ancient and secret Order, bound by a sacred vow to keep safe the Sword until its Master comes to claim it.
I turned again, and saw Bennacio. I heard us speak, but it was more lik
e I was remembering hearing us speak.
Who is the master if Arthur’s dead?
The master is the one who claims it.
And who would that be?
The master of the Sword.
Then Bennacio turned away and I was sad to see him turn away, because I think I missed him most of all.
Then I saw the Lady in White sitting beneath the yew tree, and I felt no wind, but her dark hair was flowing behind her and the folds of her white robe were rippling like waves.
She didn’t look at me as I stopped under the tree beside her. Her cheeks were wet.
“Am I dead?” I asked.
Do you wish to be?
“I think so. I’m awfully tired.” More than anything, I wanted to lie down with my head in her lap and feel her stroke my brow.
A tear rolled down her cheek and I said, “Please don’t. It’s not like I didn’t try. From the beginning I did what anybody asked. Uncle Farrell asked me to help him get the Sword, and I did. Bennacio asked me to help him get it back, and I did. Mogart asked me to bring it to him, and I did. But every time I did what they asked, somebody got killed. Uncle Farrell, Bennacio, and now Natalia. So, you see, Lady, there’s nobody left now. Nobody left for to me help and nobody left to die because I tried. There’s no reason for me to go back.”
I turned away because I couldn’t bear to see her cry. She was still there, only I couldn’t see her, but I could see the memory of her and the memory of the yew and the long grasses and the glittering shards like teeth in the slag heap below. And, over my head, the butterflies.
The hour has come. Do you remember, now, Alfred Kropp, what has been forgotten?
