Willett brings great energy, clarity, and excitement to every page.

Robert J. Sawyer

SHARDS OF EXCALIBUR BOOK 1

SONG of the SWORD

Shards of Excalibur: Song of the Sword Text 2010 Edward Willett All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Lobster Press. Published by Lobster Press 1620 Sherbrooke Street West, Suites C & D Montral, Qubec H3H 1C9 Tel. (514) 904-1100 Fax (514) 904-1101 www.lobsterpress.com Publisher: Alison Fripp Editor: Mahak Jain Editorial Assistants: Katherine Mason & Stephanie Campbell Proofreader: Camilia Kahrizi Cover Illustration: Allen Douglas Graphic Design & Production: Tammy Desnoyers Production Assistant: Elena Blanco Molen We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Willett, Edward, 1959Song of the sword / by Edward Willett. (Shards of Excalibur ; bk. 1) ISBN 978-1-897550-90-8 I. Title. II. Series: Willett, Edward, 1959- . Shards of Excalibur ; bk. 1. PS8595.I5424S65 2010 jC813'.54 C2010-901474-X

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Printed and bound in Canada.

Text is printed on Rolland Enviro 100 Book, 100% recycled post-consumer fibre.

This book is dedicated to my daughter, Alice, who is finally old enough to start reading the strange stuff I write.

Edward Willett

Acknowledgements

My thanks to my friends Kathy Tyers and Sharon Eisbrenner, who as the first readers of this manuscript provided encouragement and suggestions; to my tireless editor, Mahak Jain, and her assistant, Katherine Mason; to my agent, Ethan Ellenberg; and finally, and as always, to my wife, Margaret Anne, for sharing me with my computer.

SHARDS OF EXCALIBUR BOOK 1

SONG of the SWORD

EDWARD WILLETT

CHAPTER 1
Second Sight
As the final bell rang on the Thursday of her first week
at yet another school, Ariane closed the copy of Macbeth shed been reading, stood up, and had a vision. The image burst into her brain like the flash of a camera, momentarily blocking out all sight of Mrs. Muirheads tenth grade classroom. Four girls, older than her. Seniors. Waiting by her locker. The image faded, leaving only the sense of warning that had accompanied it. She looked around for somebody she could walk with, but all the other students had abandoned the classroom the moment the bell rang, like rats fleeing a sinking ship. She barely knew them anyway. For a moment, she considered leaving her coat in her locker and slipping out the schools back door, but only for a moment. It might be her first week of school, but it was the fifth week of the school year: early October. The walk home would be chilly. Besides, they had to be faced sooner or later. Might as well make it
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- EDWARD WILLETT now, at the beginning of the year. Maybe theyll get it out of their systems and leave me alone. Not that they had ever left her alone in any of the other schools Ariane had attended in the last two years. But on the other hand, avoiding them and there was always a them hadnt worked either. And besides, Ariane didnt like to run away. So she gathered her books, said Good-bye to Mrs. Muirhead, and headed for her locker as usual. She heard whispers as she turned the corner by the library the kind of whispers that carry from a stage to the back row of an auditorium. They wanted her to hear them, Ariane thought. They probably thought it would be more fun if she knew what was coming. Of course, in her case, shed known what was coming for several minutes. Her first premonition, two years ago just after her mother disappeared had freaked her out. Now she caught a small glimpse of the immediate future every couple of weeks and had begun to take it for granted. But it wasnt as if her premonitions did her any good. They hadnt helped her find her mother, for instance. She stopped for a moment by the library door as though studying something on the bulletin board. In reality, she was taking sidelong looks at the four girls loitering by her locker. They looked just as they had in
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- SONG OF THE SWORD her vision. She didnt know any of their names yet, but she didnt need to. Shed met their type before. The pretty girl with the shiny, black, waist-length hair was the leader of the pack: petty, vicious, interested mainly in boys, clothes, and lousy music. There was one or more than one in every school, and they always took an instant dislike to Ariane. She wasnt sure why probably because she wouldnt put up with any of their alpha-female crap. It couldnt be because they saw her as a rival. She wasnt goodlooking enough for that, and besides, she had about as much interest in high school boys as she did in bathroom fungus. Less, actually: scientifically, she found fungus fascinating. That one, the blonde giving Ariane a toothy smile, like a feral dog smelling blood, would be the lieutenant, the second-in-command. Pretty, but careful not to be as pretty as the leader. She was the real brains of the clique and its enforcer, making sure the leaders plans were carried out ... and planting her own ideas in the invitingly empty space between the leaders ears. The other two were mere hangers-on, ciphers who would latch on to anyone who promised parties and boys. They could be ignored when they were on their own, but were dangerous in the company of their leaders. Ariane registered them and the roles they played
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- EDWARD WILLETT in about a minute. She glanced at the library door. She could still flee into it ... but no. Get it over with, she thought. She turned and walked into firing range. Youre in my way, she said. Throw them off-guard. Dont you have anything better to do after school? Well hang around wherever we like, the leader growled. Youre Ariane Forsythe, right? The new girl. Ariane raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. Amazing, she said. I wouldve expected you to be too hungover to hear them introduce me over the P.A. She stepped around the leader to reach her locker. Tucking her books under one arm, she twirled the locks dial, turning her back to the other girls so they couldnt see the combination. She hoped they also couldnt see her shoulders tense beneath the old leather motorcycle jacket she wore over her black T-shirt. Would the attack be purely verbal, or ...? Somebody hit her books. They cascaded across the floor, along with her pencil case and calculator. Ariane resisted the urge to pick everything up right away. Kneeling would make her too vulnerable. Instead she turned and spoke in an even, calm voice. What was that for? What was what for? parroted the leader. You dropped your books, Airy-Anne. That was pretty clumsy,
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- SONG OF THE SWORD Airy-Anne. Ariane sighed. You can take some girls out of kindergarten, but you cant take kindergarten out of some girls. She folded her arms, leaned against the locker next to hers, and stared at the leader. She met her eyes for a moment, then glanced at the blonde lieutenant. Arent you going to pick up your stuff? said the lieutenant. Eventually. But it would be rude to bend over while were chatting. I wouldnt want you to think I was mooning you. The lieutenant looked surprised then angry. Ariane wasnt following their script. I think you should pick it up. She stepped forward, and Arianes pencil case crunched under her gold-sandaled foot. Someone could step on something. Only someone clumsy, stupid, blind or all three. Ariane didnt budge. Standing, she could deflect a physical attack. If she bent down, shed be flat on her face a second later. The lieutenants eyes narrowed. Youre pretty full of yourself. Yeah, said the leader, taking charge again now they were back on familiar turf. She kicked Arianes trigonometry book down the hall. Pretty full of yourself
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- EDWARD WILLETT for a foster brat. Despite herself, Ariane felt her face heat up. Im not in a foster home. I live with my aunt. Same diff. The leader slammed Arianes locker shut, the door just missing Arianes ear. Ariane flinched. I heard about you, Airy-Anne. Most kids go into foster homes because their parents cant take care of them. But not you. Your dad ran out on you before you were born. Then, two years ago, your mom ran out on you. You must have done something pretty bad to The leaders head slammed into the lockers as Ariane lunged at her. A moment later they were rolling on the floor, Ariane fighting in cold silence, the leader screaming obscenities. Ariane got in two good punches and a satisfying slap before the lieutenant and the other two girls hauled her off their leader and pinned her arms behind her. Even so, she struggled and kicked, trying to land another blow. The leaders face, vividly marked by a white hand print, contorted with fury as she climbed to her feet. Thatll cost you, you Whats going on here? boomed a male voice. The girls holding Ariane released her so suddenly she stumbled forward and fell at the feet of Mr. Stanton, the vice-principal. He pulled her up, but his eyes were on the leader. Who hit you, Shania? To Arianes surprise, Shania didnt accuse her. Nor
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- SONG OF THE SWORD did the lieutenant. Apparently they considered tattling to teachers unethical. But not at all to Arianes surprise nor, she suspected, to Shanias one of the other girls spoke up right away. Ariane did it, Mr. Stanton. She just slapped Shania for no reason at all! Is that true, Ariane? Mr. Stanton turned his blue eyes on her. He was young for a vice-principal, early 30s maybe, and good-looking, too, in a weightliftingly jockish sort of way. I hit her. But not for no reason. Oh? And what reason did you have? Ariane didnt reply. She wouldnt tattle either, not if Shania wasnt saying anything. And Shania wasnt. But Ariane suddenly realized that Shania didnt have to say anything. She was looking at Mr. Stanton, and when he turned her way, she ... simpered. Until that moment, it was a word Ariane had read in books, but never seen in action. Shania was tall and ... well-developed. And she was wearing a low-cut, form-fitting sleeveless blouse and tight, hip-riding jeans that would have gotten her arrested if they were slung any lower. A green jewel twinkled in her exposed belly button. Ariane didnt have a chance. We were just talking, Mr. Stanton. Shanias
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- EDWARD WILLETT talking-to-the-vice-principal voice was considerably deeper and breathier than her swearing-at-Ariane voice. I asked her about her family, and she flipped out. Hmmm. Mr. Stantons gaze lingered on Shania just a second longer than was absolutely necessary, then he looked at Ariane. Ariane? Ariane looked at the floor. Shania had insulted her, but she had started the fight. She should have known better. She did know better. New kids didnt do that sort of thing. Not unless they wanted their whole school year to be a nightmare. Mr. Stanton sighed. Youd better come with me to the office, Ariane. You girls clear out. The quartet left, murmuring. Just before disappearing around the corner, Shania shot a farewell look at Ariane, a look full of triumph and threat. Its gonna be a hell of a year, Ariane thought. Mr. Stanton watched her gather her fallen books and put them in her locker, then led her through the deserted hallways to the office. As they walked, he lectured the empty air in front of him, never even glancing at Ariane. I know youve had some ... family difficulties, but this school has a zero-tolerance policy toward fighting. There are consequences. Im suspended.
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- SONG OF THE SWORD Im afraid its automatic. Three days for a first offense. A week for a second. Third time, automatic expulsion. He stopped so suddenly Ariane almost ran into him. What is it, Wally? I forgot to get you to sign my excuse note, sir, said a boys voice, though Ariane couldnt see anyone from behind Mr. Stanton. She stepped to the side and saw a skinny kid who looked like he belonged in middle school, not high school. His shock of red hair appeared as though hed cut it in the dark with a pair of pinking shears, and his blue T-shirt bore the words BEAM ME UP,
SCOTTY, THERES NO INTELLIGENT LIFE DOWN HERE in stark

white letters. A dirty tensor bandage was wrapped around his left wrist. Mr. Stanton sighed. Refresh my memory, Wally. What excuse note is that? The one excusing me from gym tomorrow. On account of my sprained wrist. Mr. Stanton took the proffered note. How did you sprain your wrist again? He fished in his pocket for a pen, but Wally beat him to it. The one he held up flashed a red and blue light, like a police car in miniature. Fencing, sir. As in the sport or the farm chore? Wally grinned. It transformed his face from merely plain to spectacularly ugly. Funny, sir! The sport.
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- EDWARD WILLETT What were you fencing with? Broadswords? Mr. Stanton placed the paper Wally had given him against the wall and scrawled his name. Epe, but it wasnt a sword that did it. I tripped and fell. Wally looked at Ariane and grinned even wider, and she had her second premonition of the afternoon, not a vision this time, just a sudden, certain feeling. Im going to be seeing a lot more of Wally. She groaned inwardly. Oh, great. Thats all I need, to fall in with the school geek brigade. Fencing? Who fences in the twenty-first century? Stanton handed Wally the signed note and the blinking pen. I take it, then, we wont be seeing you on the Canadian Olympic team any time soon? Wally laughed. No, sir, I dont think so. He tucked the note into the right pocket of his jeans and the pen into the left. Thank you, sir. He gave Ariane another frightening grin before he dashed away. She didnt usually have two premonitions on the same day. Maybe the second one wouldnt pan out. God, I hope so. No running in the halls! Mr. Stanton shouted, and Wally slowed to a walk but Ariane heard him break into a run again the moment he disappeared around a corner. That boy will be lucky to make it to twenty, Mr. Stanton said. Every time I see him hes wearing a
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- SONG OF THE SWORD bandage or a cast. Clumsiest kid Ive ever ... He stopped, as though suddenly realizing that commenting on another students gracefulness, or lack of it, wasnt proper vice-principalish behavior. Well. Lets finish up with you, shall we?

Walter Michael Arthur Knight the Third, better known at Oscana Collegiate as Wally (by those few who admitted to knowing him at all) knew perfectly well he wasnt supposed to run in the halls. But he also knew that his sister, Felicia, and her coven (as he thought of them) were lurking somewhere in those same halls, and he wanted to get out of the building before Wally! The all-too-familiar voice caught him just as freedom came into sight. Ten yards down the hall, daylight streamed through the mesh-covered windows on either side of the double-door exit. For a moment he considered ignoring his sisters clarion call and sprinting for it, but his escape would only be temporary they lived in the same house, after all. Worse, their parents were away again and Mrs. Carson, who looked after them during their parents many absences, thought Felicia walked on water. Wally
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- EDWARD WILLETT she treated more like pond-bottom slime. As long as Felicia didnt do anything to Wally that left a stain on the carpet, Mrs. Carson wouldnt intervene. So he skidded to a halt and turned to look in the direction of the voice. As hed feared, the whole coven was there: Felicia, her best friend Shania (She Whose Long Shiny Black Hair Must Be Worshipped), and the other two, whose names Wally was a little vague on. Britney and Tanis, maybe? No, that wasnt right ... Hi, Flish, he said. She hated it when he called her that. Shut up. She pulled her arms out of the red and blue backpack she wore and handed it to him. Take this home. Wally held up his tensor-bandaged arm. Hello? Sprained wrist? Actually, it didnt hurt anymore, but it had gotten him out of gym class. It probably wouldnt get him out of this, though. He was right. Do what youre told! Felicia snapped. Shania laughed. For the first time, Wally noticed the bright red mark on her cheek and put two and two together. The new girl sends her love, Shania. I saw her in the hall a minute ago. Shania stopped laughing. That witch! Takes one to know one, Wally thought, but he wasnt suicidal enough to say that out loud. Felicias
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- SONG OF THE SWORD glare already promised retribution later. Better cut my losses. He took the proffered backpack. When will you be home? he said. Mrs. Carson will want to When I feel like it, Felicia said. Tell the old hag Im studying at Shanias house. Without your books? Felicias glare went from merely shooting daggers at him to firing whole swords. All right, all right, Im gone. He slung the heavy backpack over one shoulder and headed for the door. So the new girl stood up to the coven, he thought as he trudged home. And left a mark on Shania. He grinned. Now that sounds like someone worth getting to know!

Mr. Stanton ushered Ariane through the door of the school office and pointed her to a chair worn to greasy smoothness by years of fidgety teen butts. Have a seat. I have to prepare a letter for you to take home to your par ... um, guardian. Ariane watched Mr. Stanton move behind the long counter and disappear through another door into his own office. She twisted around to look up at the clock above her head. Great. Shed be half an hour late getting home, at least. Aunt Phyllis would have something to
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- EDWARD WILLETT say about that. Aunt Phyllis might have gray hair and stand barely five feet tall, but she was no pushover, and shed made it clear to Ariane from the moment shed moved in that she expected rules to be obeyed and would tolerate no nonsense. Worse, Aunt Phyllis had an overactive imagination. If Im very late shell be convinced Ive been raped or murdered or run away with someone I met in an Internet chat room. Ariane felt a pang of guilt. She couldnt blame Aunt Phyllis for worrying about her ... or for being strict. Aunt Phyllis was her mothers elder sister and her only living relative, but shed been in the hospital recovering from surgery when Arianes mother had disappeared. Ariane had gone through two foster homes her unhappiness matched only by that of the foster parents who had to deal with her before Aunt Phyllis finally felt she could take her in. Between Aunt Phylliss guilt over that and her grief over the disappearance of her little sister, her overprotectiveness was understandable. But still stifling, annoying, and, considering Ariane was fifteen years old and capable of looking after herself, more than a little insulting. A laser printer on the counter whirred to life and spat out a piece of paper. Ariane snorted. Capable of looking after myself? Oh, yeah, Ive sure proved that
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- SONG OF THE SWORD today, havent I? Mr. Stanton emerged, retrieved the piece of paper, pulled a ballpoint from a canister of pens next to the printer, and signed the document with the same overdone flourish hed used on Wallys excuse note. This letter explains that youve been suspended for three days for fighting. This is Thursday, so that means you return to school on Wednesday. After that, youll have supervised detention for a week one hour after school, in the library, every day. He folded the letter and tucked it inside an envelope he pulled from under the counter. He licked and sealed the envelope, then came around the counter and held it out to her. This has to be signed by both you and your guardian and brought back to the office next Wednesday before you go to class. And dont think you can just skip off to the mall every day and not tell your aunt. Ill be phoning her tomorrow morning. I know the drill. Ariane took the letter and shoved it into the inside pocket of her leather jacket. Is that all? Thats all. Mr. Stanton frowned. Ariane, youre not off to a very good start here at Oscana. I hope this helps you straighten up and fly right. Ariane turned her back on him and left without a word. Aunt Phylliss house was only two blocks east and
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- EDWARD WILLETT one block south of the school. Huge elms stood guard over the street and muttered to themselves in the prairie wind like senior citizens complaining about rheumatism. Although, Ariane thought as she walked beneath them, the trees were more likely to be grumbling about the Dutch elm disease stalking the Regina countryside. An old spruce towered above Aunt Phylliss front yard, scratching at the sky with its needles. At its base a red, green, and blue garden gnome, leaning at the same angle as the tower of Pisa, tipsily watched over the crumbling walk leading up to Aunt Phylliss door. Like most of the houses in this older part of the city, Aunt Phylliss was tall and narrow. Ariane had never understood why the early city planners had made the lots so skinny. Maybe the plains were so vast and intimidating the early citizens of Regina felt the need to huddle close to their neighbors. In any event, there was barely room to walk between Aunt Phylliss house and the houses on either side. While the neighbors houses had been renovated recently, Aunt Phylliss had not. Its white stucco walls and green trim badly needed painting, its yard hadnt been mowed since July, and the lilac bushes on either side of the gray concrete porch had gone so long without pruning that they completely obscured the
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- SONG OF THE SWORD front windows. The house had a neglected, absentminded look, reminding Ariane of a homeless man with a scraggly beard the kind that talks to himself. It wasnt that Aunt Phyllis didnt care about her houses appearance. She just had zero interest in yard work Ariane took after her in that respect and she didnt have the money to hire a house painter or a gardener. Formerly a secretary for the provincial department of social services, Aunt Phyllis had taken early retirement at age fifty to devote herself to various non-profit community organizations. She lived off her pension, her savings, and the modest annual income provided by the interest on the small inheritance her father, Arianes grandfather, had left for her. Ariane had already pulled the schools letter from her coat, but now she tucked it away again. Aunt Phyllis doesnt need this aggravation tonight. The school will phone her tomorrow. Thats soon enough. She climbed the porch and used her key to let herself in. As she unlocked the inner door and stepped into the hallway, the doors hinges squawked like a chicken being strangled. Is that you, Ariane? Aunt Phylliss voice came through the open French doors to Arianes right. To her left, a staircase led to a small landing, where it turned and continued to the upstairs hall. Directly ahead, a
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- EDWARD WILLETT swinging door led to a tiny green and white kitchen. Ariane looked up the stairs, thinking longingly of the sanctuary of her room, but then sighed and replied, Yes, Aunt Phyllis. She stepped through the French doors into the living room, where too many small, dark paintings jostled for space on the beige-papered wall, and too much overstuffed furniture jostled for space on the beige-carpeted floor. Every piece of furniture boasted a unique flowered pattern in a unique color scheme each uniquely ugly. Aunt Phyllis was sitting in her favorite armchair, holding a newspaper. Where were you? she said. I was beginning to worry. Aunt Phyllis was small petite, she said. Her gray hair swirled dramatically around her head and only the iron grip of a prodigious amount of hairspray kept it immobile. In her neatly-pressed pink slacks, white blouse, and pink jacket, she looked like shed just returned from an 80s-themed party, even though as far as Ariane knew she hadnt left the house all day. (You never know when someone will drop by, shed said once. Or when youll have a stroke and have to be taken to hospital on a stretcher. I dont want those paramedics to think Im a slob.) I had to talk to a teacher about something after school, Ariane said. It wasnt exactly a lie. About what? Aunt Phyllis said, neatly folding her
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- SONG OF THE SWORD paper and placing it on the round brass-topped table next to her chair. Ariane shrugged. Just ... how Im getting along. Stuff like that. Checking up on the new kid, I guess. Hmmm. Aunt Phyllis didnt sound entirely convinced, but she didnt pursue the matter. Well, at least youre here. Lets get dinner on the table. The rest of the evening passed normally. They ate dinner shepherds pie, green peas, and spinach salad. Ariane cleared the table and started the dishwasher. They watched an episode of Are You Being Served?, an old British sitcom Aunt Phyllis was addicted to and which Ariane tolerated. Ariane started the science fiction novel shed bought over the weekend. She didnt mention her suspension from school, and she didnt show the letter to Aunt Phyllis. At about ten oclock Aunt Phyllis went to her room. Ariane followed her up the stairs a few moments later, but didnt go to bed right away. Instead she lay on her dark blue bedspread reading and listening to music on her MP3 player. It was close to midnight before she pulled out the ear buds and changed into her favorite pajamas: the pink ones covered with cartoons of cows wearing tutus. Seeing herself in the bathroom mirror, she grinned. Wouldnt Shania love to get a look at these! she thought. She turned on the water and
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- EDWARD WILLETT plunged her hands into it and the bathroom vanished. Ariane stood on the shore of a lake. Cool air pressed the thin fabric of a filmy white gown against her body. Cold water lapped her bare feet. The sun beat down on wind-ruffled water that shattered the reflected light into a million shards of eye-hurting brilliance. The water began to bubble. Foam and spray leaped into the air and then the blade of a sword emerged, point thrusting toward the cloudless sky. Sunlight flashed along its polished length. Higher and higher it rose, until its hilt burst from the lake, gripped by a hand as white as carved marble. Drops of water fell from it like liquid diamonds ... ... and then, with a sudden, dizzying shift of perspective, Ariane found herself beneath the waves, looking up at the sword, and realized the hand was her own. Abruptly, Ariane returned to the bathroom. Her hands were still under the faucet, and her blue eyes stared at her from the mirror, stark against her white face and dark brown hair. She jerked back from the sink as though the lukewarm water had burned her. What the ...? Shed gotten used to sort of her occasional premonitions. But that ... that had been something completely different.
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- SONG OF THE SWORD She touched the water with her right index finger, then put her whole hand into the stream again, but nothing happened. Maybe Ive been reading too much fantasy and scifi. Shaking her head, she prepared to brush her teeth. But in the back of her mind, she remembered overhearing her mom, just before she disappeared, complaining to Aunt Phyllis on the phone about vivid daydreams, and remembered the terror shed felt, worrying that her mother might have a brain tumor. Could the same thing be happening to her? She shook her head again, harder, as though she could fling the thought away like a dog shedding water. It was just a daydream. Nothing else. Ive got a lot on my mind. She went to bed, but tossed and turned for an hour. Finally she sat up, flicked on her bedside lamp, and set her alarm clock for an hour earlier than usual. She didnt want to have to tell Aunt Phyllis in the morning why she wasnt going to school. Let the school break the news to her. Ariane could explain later what had really happened. She turned off the light, lay down again, and finally drifted to sleep. When the alarm shrilled in the morning, she was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep. She forced
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- EDWARD WILLETT herself to crawl out of bed and stagger to the shower instead. Her brain was still so fogged with sleep that she didnt even think about the previous nights vision as she slipped under the spray of hot water. The water touched her skin, and Ariane was standing upright in a turquoise lake. Beneath her feet was nothing but water, but it supported her weight as surely as stone or earth. Though her head was submerged, she didnt need to struggle to breathe. Her filmy gown billowed around her but didnt drag her down. At arms length over her head she held a sword, the blade in the open air, her hand holding the hilt just above the surface of the water. She could feel icy rivulets, dripping from the blade, running over her fingers and wrist. She heard a creak and splash: a boat was moving toward her, a lone man pulling at the oars. The rippling surface of the water distorted his face and figure. He stopped rowing. The boat slid closer. He leaned over the gunwale, reaching for the sword. His fingers brushed hers as he took the hilt from her, and at his touch Ariane returned to the shower, and to the water cascading from her shoulders, down her back and legs. Shuddering, she twisted the tap closed, then stood
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- SONG OF THE SWORD dripping while her mind raced. One hallucination she could rationalize as a daydream, stress, tiredness but two? Am I sick? Am I going crazy? She couldnt ask Aunt Phyllis that. Not yet. But she couldnt bring herself to resume her shower. She dried, dressed, pulled on her old motorcycle jacket, and headed downstairs. Scary visions or not, she still wanted to be out of the house before Aunt Phyllis woke up. The hinges on the front door shrieked when she tugged it open. Ariane held her breath and waited to see if the noise had woken her aunt, but she didnt hear anything. She relaxed, then jumped when something small and black darted through the door and over her feet. Pendragon! she said, much louder than shed intended. Mrrrow? The black cat wound himself around her ankles, then trotted toward the kitchen and looked back expectantly. Mrrree? Youll just have to wait until Aunt Phyllis is up! Ariane whispered. Which shell be any minute if I dont get out of here! Was that the creak of an upstairs floorboard? Ariane darted into the entryway, pulling the inside door shut behind her. The outside door was unlatched, which
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- EDWARD WILLETT was how Pendragon had managed to get in and give her an early morning heart attack. She went out, then turned and gave the outside door a good hard shove. It closed with a thump, just as Ariane heard Aunt Phylliss voice calling out a query. She turned and fled, running until she was safely down the street and out of sight of Aunt Phylliss bedroom window. Slowing to a walk, she continued north to College Avenue, then turned west. She passed Oscana Collegiate and kept going without even glancing at it. Yeah, thatll show it, she thought. Then she laughed, amused as she often was, by her silliness. Its just a building, dummy. And the trees lining the sidewalk were just trees, but when she glanced up, their interlocking branches made her think of skeletal hands joining bony fingers. Too much imagination. It was Aunt Phylliss favorite Ariane-specific criticism. Maybe it runs in the family, Ariane thought, remembering that just yesterday shed been complaining to herself about her aunts overactive imagination. You spend too much time in your imagination, Ariane, Aunt Phyllis had told her more than once. You need to spend more time dealing with the real world. And maybe she was right ... Arianes overactive imagination was always leaking into the real world. Why else would she have imagined herself holding up
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- SONG OF THE SWORD a sword from beneath a lake? Too much imagination. Old university buildings made of red brick and Tyndall stone loomed in the mist ahead of her like Gothic castles, complete with battlemented towers. There you go again! That buildings a movie soundstage now. Its hardly likely to be haunted. She walked south, behind the old buildings, through parking lots and broad grass lawns, toward Wascana Lake. The mist thickened as she approached the water, but she didnt mind the cold and damp. In fact, she liked it. She supposed this was the difference between Aunt Phylliss imagination and her own. Aunt Phyllis had no trouble imagining all the things that could have happened to Ariane if she were a few minutes late coming home from school. But that was because Aunt Phylliss imagination fed on TV news and lurid newspaper headlines. Whereas Arianes ... Arianes fed on this. The lake stretched out before her, the pewtercolored water fading away into a thick blanket of fog after only a few yards. She could be in any place, any time. That mist might hide a ruined castle, a drowned city, a giant iceberg, a pirate ship, a submarine, or a hideous monster. Aunt Phyllis would have told her to stop being silly. Ariane knew the tiny lake contained
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- EDWARD WILLETT nothing but a few small islands. The largest, Willow Island, no more than thirty or forty yards from where she stood, was a favorite picnic spot. And although a grand building did indeed dominate the far side of the lake, it wasnt a castle or a drowned city: it was the Saskatchewan Legislative Building, a hang-out for politicians and lobbyists, not princes and wizards. Several good-sized boulders lined the shore where Ariane stood, just at the end of a small parking lot. She sat down on one and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them and gazing into the fog. She loved Aunt Phyllis, she supposed. And she knew she ought to be grateful to her aunt for agreeing to take care of her after her mothers disappearance ... Her breath caught in her throat. Grief leaped out of hiding and seized her heart in its cold, black claws, and, for a moment, more than just mist blurred her vision. And in that instant, Ariane heard two things: From behind her, the sound of a bicycle skidding to a halt. In front of her, rising from the lake, a strange chanting. And then the mist began to glow.

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