Gates of Avalon: The Horn and the Sword

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Where to begin the tale? People will usually tell you to start at the beginning. But if you think about it, a story really doesn't have a beginning. Or an end. When you open a new book, you soon find yourself wondering how this action came to be. And when you close it for the last time, if it's a good book, you wonder what happens to the characters next.
Oh. Who am I? I have been known by many names, and in many lifetimes. Among my Kindred, I am Oberon, the Ard Righ. Of my mortal names... Well, that's a part of the story I'm here to tell you. Only the last mortal lifetime is relevant to this tale now, and that is where my tale begins for this telling.
I will begin my tale at the point where I began to notice that I was something more than just another mortal man. I was living under the name of Les Koenig, and leading a rather pleasant life. I lived in the Seattle area, in Washington State, known for it’s rivers and lakes, forests and mountains. I made a modest living as a writer, and filled out my income with a few speaking engagements. Not a bad life, as I say. My parents had both died while I was young. My mother passed away first after a bout with cancer. My father followed her within a year, and by my sophomore year at the University of Washington I was all alone. They had left me some money, not enough to think I was rich, but enough to let me actually live comfortably on my writer’s income.
It always seemed odd to me before all of this started that I was always well liked by people I would meet, yet I never seemed to let them get close. I’m the kind of guy people like and want to know better, but that remains distant. My girlfriends through high school and college all seemed to think I was aloof, passionate and fun to be with, but that my true heart was always held in reserve.
Even when I look at myself in the mirror, I would see a stranger, somehow. At the point this story begins I was in my mid thirties, and to my mind rather unremarkable in appearance. About average height, lanky athletic build, brown hair and eyes. I kept myself cleanshaven, and relatively healthy. My martial arts saw to the fitness. And my career as a novelist kept me open and gregarious with people I met. Nevertheless, I always felt my life was lacking something. And that feeling caused me to do things not normally considered safe or wise.
A good example of this was my habit of hiking and camping alone in the mountains. Even though there would people who would gladly travel with me, and of course it would have been smart to have at least one other person along in case of emergency, still I went alone. I’d leave my itinerary with a friend and at the closest ranger station, listen to their admonitions about safety, and then go my own way.
I would routinely spend at least one weekend a month hiking in the Cascade mountains. It seemed that I could never get enough fresh air and scenery. It was during one of these trips that my normal universe came to an end, and my greatest adventure began. I was on a week long excursion into the North Cascades. There'd been a peculiar restlessness in my routine of late, and I felt the need to get as far away from the city as possible.
With map and compass, I set out on un-marked trails. I carried a cell phone and a GPS unit in my pack, but I enjoyed the feeling of doing things the old way. There was a deep resonance in my spirit when I traveled this way, using map and compass and my own woodcraft, as though I had done this for hundreds of years. The very first day of this trip, I was struck by the abundance of wildlife visible in the forest. Normally, you have to have a fair level of woodcraft to see signs of life in the wild. Animals have learned to their sorrow that Man is not to be trusted. Thus, they have developed the instinct to stay clear of this noisy, and sometimes dangerous, intruder.
I was used to seeing several types of birds, and an occasional squirrel or two, but seldom anything else. I still remember being thrilled that I had managed to surprise a buck deer drinking at a stream one evening. Nothing prepared me for the experiences of this trip, however.
On the first day, I saw four or five rabbits, a dozen or so squirrels, and a veritable plethora of birds. There was even a deer or two, and even a few marmots once I reached higher elevations. I took this as a gift of nature, you know, just what the doctor ordered. On towards afternoon, I found myself entering a small, secluded valley. The tiny vale seemed to open from nowhere. One moment there was nothing but mountains, the next, the entrance to a hidden valley. Adventure ho! To boldly go... I stumbled over a root that I swear hadn't been there a moment before. Sometimes I have stupid feet. Time to pay attention to the business at hand, and that was to get into that valley and find a camp site for the night. If I liked it I could stay for a few days.
The terrain was rough and required a good deal of attention. And the trees! They seemed determined to keep me out. It was as if someone had set them to grow right there to keep stray hikers from going that way. It was this, added to the natural lay of the land, that had concealed the valley so well. I didn't care. I've always loved a challenge, and I’d be damned if I was going to give up on this one. I paused from time to time to make notes in my journal and record the GPS position of the trail (or lack of) that I was following.
There were several places where I was nearly obliged to pull out a knife and cut my way through, but I somehow felt that doing so would violate the sanctity of the place I was entering. You wouldn't use a knife to force your way into a church, at least not if you have any respect for the Unknown. So that meant that each branch had to be moved aside by hand. Every bramble carefully negotiated lest the thorns catch and cut.
Along the way, my GPS unit decided to start having issues. At first it was fine, giving me the coordinates and recording my waypoints without a problem. But later, as I got farther into the valley, the GPS unit started taking longer and longer to find a reading. On the fourth or fifth time this happened, I simply gave up on it. I would have enough data to find the entrance to valley again, which was what i cared about most. Weird, though, almost like it couldn’t find any satellite signals at all. I stored it away and kept going.
After a couple of hours, my mind was settled into the routine of the silent struggle. I actually fell forward on my knees when I finally reach the clearing that formed the center of the valley. As I sat there trying to get my breath, I had several mildly obscene thoughts about a virgin I had known being easier to get into than this valley had been. But as with any difficult venture, the reward for patience was great indeed.
My heart was beating quickly, and not just with the exertion. I was completely taken with the vista before me. It seemed to be a perfect, natural, amphitheater. If it had been carved in the native stone by a master sculptor, it could not have been more symmetrical. There was a stream trickling down the side of the dell, and into a silent pool. There was no outlet, so I figured that there was some underground passage that the water had carved. In the center of the pool was a single block of large grained granite. It was so well shaped that it seemed to have been carved, and yet there were no marks that I could see upon it's surface.
My eyes turned outward from the center, to see six more pieces of stone grouped in a circle. These were a dark basalt, and contrasted starkly with the vibrant green of the grass. And that grass, too, was strange. I've known people that would have killed for a lawn that perfect. It made me think of a fairy dancing green. A sudden shiver startled me. My mind quickly shifted elsewhere. All in all, I thought that it would make an excellent campsite for a couple of days.
Looking back, I think that I would never have stayed if I had noticed that the six stones were precisely equidistant from the center. Or that the stream entered the dell from the West. Or if I had noticed that the center stone had the look and feel of an altar. If I hadn't been so concerned with finding a nice quiet place to rest for a few days, I might have wondered what other people had found this place.
Found, and perhaps even used this place.

Several hours later, I was safely ensconced in my camp. I'd chosen a spot set back from the bowl, closer to the forest on the Eastern edge of the valley. From here, there was a pleasant view of the dell, with it's circle of stones. The sunset’s afterglow provided a warm gold glow over the area, even tinting the granite stone in the central pool with a red-gold fire.
I was sitting with my back to a tree, sipping on a cup of coffee. I’d been writing in my journal, making notes for a story and going through my thoughts about my journey while I waited for my dinner to cook. Once the light faded too far to comfortably write, the journal was stowed away and I fixed more coffee and something to eat. There was a small campfire crackling to my side. The best aroma in the world surrounded me, stew on an open fire and good fresh coffee. Life was good.
Halfway through my dinner, I heard a most unexpected noise. A wolf's howl. Now I had recently read that timber wolves had been sighted in the Cascades, but with so few of them around I certainly didn't think that I would get this close to one. Leaning back against the tree, I enjoyed the sibilance of that call. Okay, I'll admit that the hairs on the back of my neck strongly resembled steel wire, but I wasn't afraid. That was just a hereditary reaction to the call of the wild. You know, genetic memory.
I started thinking about doing a story about the wolves. Kind of a "Watership Down" for wolves. I was wondering if it would even sell. People can be very prejudiced when it comes to wolves. There are too many examples in our culture of the wolf playing the heavy. Like, ask Little Red Riding Hood if she wants to read a story about kind wolves. The howl came again, closer.
There was an answering call from another direction. Apparently there were enough wolves in the mountains to form a small hunting pack. I wasn't too worried. The chances of a wolf attacking a human are pretty slight, especially if there is plenty of other game to hunt.
On the other hand. I was alone. It wouldn't do any harm to lay some more wood on the fire. I had just set the third piece of firewood on the blaze, when I saw the eyes in the darkness. There was a large outcrop of granite overhanging my camp on the side opposite my seat. It was one of the reasons I had chosen this spot. If a storm came up while I was here, it should help to block some of the wind. It was on this outcrop that I now saw a pair of eyes watching me.
I don't know how long I stared into those eyes. They never once blinked or looked away. For all I knew, years came and went as I returned that gaze. Finally, I stood and walked to the far side of the fire. I hoped that with the fire to my back, my eyes might adjust enough to let me see what was watching me. I stood there a good ten minutes, peering into the night. Try as I might, I couldn't make out any detail surrounding those eyes. Reaching into my pocket, I withdrew a small flashlight I always carried on these trips. Never taking my eyes from those eyes, I shined the light upwards to fall on the top of the outcrop.
My beam revealed nothing. No eyes, nothing. Just cold grey stone, and the dark night sky beyond. I switched off the light. The eyes didn't return, so I went back to my place beside the fire. I didn't see those eyes again the rest of my stay. My only guess is that I was more strung out than I'd thought over the wolf howls earlier. Though they didn't return, those eyes haunted my dreams for many weeks to come. They never frightened me in my dreams. They were just there. Watching.
Settling back in my spot against the tree, I pulled my flute case out from my pack. The lid opened to reveal the softly glowing silver of my favorite instrument. I'd learned to play, sort of, when I was at school. Ever since, this flute had gone with me. The sound of long shivering notes on a flute never failed to put me in a better mood. My hands were shaking as I put the pieces together, the metal cool to my skin.
As I look back now, through all the darkness that comes between that time and now, that's the memory that comes most clear. The still night in the hidden valley, sending the clear notes winging into the night. The way the entire valley seemed to listen breathlessly. That was one of the best moments of my memory. Perhaps because it was the last free time before the storm began.
That first trip to the hidden valley was in the fall, just before the snows hit the higher elevations and the skiers and snow boarders claimed the mountains for their own. So it wasn't until the following spring that I would be able to get up that way again. The winter passed like many before. I spent most of my time at the computer, and even took time out from games to write a little. The idea about the wolves was continuously nipping (no pun intended) at the corners of my mind. But every time it came to the fore, I would see those eyes again and become distracted by a feeling that there was something important I should be doing. I just had no idea what that could be.
The eyes continued to haunt my dreams, but as I said before, not with fear. It's strange, I couldn't think of the eyes directly. They were just an image that appeared from time to time. Appeared, and was gone before my mind could come to bear on it.
I spent a lot of time cruising through the Public Market, buying a few groceries, and watching the crowd. This was one of my favorite pastimes when I was looking for a new book. There are few better places to see a broad spectrum of people in Seattle.
In early February, I noticed a small shop that sold art prints. It's funny, I must have walked right by it any number of times with only mild interest. Then came the day that I saw The Picture in the window. I was completely transfixed. People came and went, and still I stood there.
The print was of a great wolf laying at ease before a blasted stump. On the stump there was a bald eagle with it's wings partially open, as though it were about to fly. Both appeared to be staring straight into the eyes of the viewer. The colors seemed to be that of moonlight upon a mountain dell. All silver and grey, yet there were many colors implied by the monotones.
As I stood there, completely absorbed by the picture, I seemed to be hearing the echoes of many voices. They were coming from deep within me, that much I could tell. But as to what they were saying, I couldn’t say. They always seemed just out of reach. I felt that they contained some vastly important message, that they were all trying in vain to capture my attention. I was making some progress, when I realized that the voice I was concentrating on was beside me, not within.
"...She's a local. A real talent, wouldn't you agree?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said the artist is a local resident. Katherine Stuart, is one of our best selling artists. Especially that print. Of course that is the original there. We're quite proud that she trust us with it." The lady standing beside me was apparently the shop owner.
"A local artist, you say. She has a very unusual style."
"Well," she looked around. "Actually, I would have to say that I agree with you. Though officially, I'll deny I ever said that." We looked at each other, and laughed. I felt back in the real world after that. Easier to get a grip on things.
"Yes, I can't believe the impact this piece has on me. I think I'm just going to have to have it." She appeared surprised but very pleased. "Uh, would it be possible to purchase the original?"
If I'd thought that she looked startled before, I was mistaken. She went on to tell me that the work was available, but would be very expensive. I was still in somewhat of a daze, because I told her that price was no object.
We went into the shop to discuss the particulars. I emerged a short time later after consuming three cups of good coffee, and divesting myself of what would normally amount to three months living expenses. I had arranged for the painting to be delivered to my condo, that way I wouldn't have to entrust this new acquisition to the vagaries of my luck. I could just see myself carrying the painting through the crowd, and stumbling into someone, ripping the canvas. No thanks. I'll wait until someone with insurance takes the chances for me.
I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing at home. I drank a couple of beers and pretended not to be anticipating the arrival of the painting. I had put a set of disks in the CD changer, and kicked back with a good book.
I had come to the conclusion that I'd just read the same paragraph four time and still had no clue as to what it said, when the bell rang. I walked (ran) to the intercom, and pressed the button.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Koenig? Jensen Gallery, with your delivery sir."
"Please come right up, gentlemen." I pressed the release and opened the door so they'd see it when they got off the elevator.
I had a luxury condominium near the Public Market. This used to be a rather run down area. But there'd been a lot of new money pumped into the area, and one of the results was this building, and the others like it. It was beautiful, and new, and I sometimes hated it. But I did like living right there, and my place was very comfortable. It had a nice view of the waterfront and southward over the surrounding buildings. I had three bedrooms, kitchen, living room and large bath. One of the bedrooms was devoted to my computers and office equipment. The other was saved as a guest room though it was rarely used, and of course the master bedroom was mine.
The elevator chimed and opened to disgorge two men carrying the large canvas between them. They looked nervous, like they weren't too happy to be making a delivery, so I guessed that they didn't normally make house calls. Or maybe they just didn't like being responsible for something that expensive any more than I did.
"This way, gentlemen. Come on in."
"You Mr. Koenig?" The speaker was a typical delivery man, a bit large, walking as if his back was a bit sore, maybe a bit heavy, but not enough to be called fat. I guessed that if he took off his hat there’d be a bald spot. His partner was a younger man. Well, a kid really. Probably just out of school, maybe still in school. Tall and lanky, probably very strong and capable of moving just about anything. He didn’t look sore and tired, just a bit bored.
"Yes I am," I said as I held the door open for them. "If you'll take that up the hallway, and to the right, I'd be obliged." They followed my instructions, and were clearly using the opportunity to check out the surroundings. Evidently, they were not used to such living quarters. I brought up the rear of the procession, after closing the door.
"Where should we leave this, Mr. Koenig?"
"Les, please call me Les. And please leave the painting against the chair, there." I pointed out the place where I wanted the picture left. They left it against the chair, and started to unwrap it for me.
"No!" I paused, suddenly embarrassed at my outburst. "Please. I kinda want to unwrap it myself. This is a first for me, and I want to savor it as long as I can." They smiled and relaxed. Everyone understands the way a person feels when they get a new toy. "I've never bought a painting like this, certainly not this expensive."
"Surely Mr. Koenig..."
"Les."
"Les. Surely you've bought a lot of paintings. I mean, a famous writer like you must be quite well off." He broke off as he noticed my wry smile.
"Ah. So you've heard of me."
"Yeah. My wife reads quite a bit, and she has a particular liking for your work. Especially for that last one..."
"The Cold Times." I was absurdly pleased at this. I'm always rather insecure about releasing a new piece, and I had a strong feeling for that work. "Well, does she have a hard-cover copy?"
"Hell no. We... I can't afford to let her buy hardbacks that she'll read once then put on a shelf. No, she borrowed it from a friend." I walked over to my book shelf and took down a copy of the book in question. I put it on the dining room table and opened the cover. As I took out my pen, I looked back at the man.
"What's your wife's name?"
"Lorraine. Why?" I didn't answer until I'd finished writing. When I was done, I handed it to him. He opened the cover, and read the first page.
"'To Lorraine. Thanks for the vote of confidence, this copy is for you. Les Koenig.' You're giving her your copy?" I nodded. "Shit, Les. You're an alright guy. Thanks." I turned to his partner.
"Do you have anyone you want to give a copy to?"
"No sir..." His partner laughed, and broke in on him.
"Hell, Jim here reads your stuff all the time. Normally we don't send two men on a job like this, but he just had to meet you." I had to laugh right along with him. Jim stood there and blushed.
"Jim," I said after I'd caught my breath a little. "Is there a book that you'd like to have autographed?" Jim reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a paperback copy of my first book, Summer Moon.
"Well, sir. If you would sign this, I'd be quite happy."
"Jim, I'd be quite happy to sign that one if you want. But I would be even happier if you would let me sign a new hardcover edition for you."
"Hell yes! That'd be great!" We all laughed and I signed a new copy for him. I really do like making my fans happy. Especially on a one-to-one basis like this. It makes for great PR, and I believe that a writer of fiction can never have too much good karma. I didn't want to tell them that those were my last complimentary copies. In order to replace them for my collection, I would have to go to the book store like everyone else. Hey, it was worth it.
We chatted for a while. You know, all the usual stuff that a fan wants to ask their favorite author. I got a round of brews from the fridge, and we gathered around the living room to talk. All in all, it was quite pleasant. I've said before that I like to be around people, and I wasn't about to pass up this chance to feel like one of the guys.
We talked about basketball for a while. I mostly listened since I really don't know much about the game, only that I love to watch it played by great teams. They asked me, after a while, what sports I enjoyed. I replied that I mostly pursued solitary sports like archery, or worked out in the martial arts. That last part seemed to surprise them, and I just had to laugh.
We must have talked for the better part of an hour, but we finally wound down. Jim and Ron said that they had to get back to work, and I told them that I did too. I don't think they believed that I was going to work. Neither did I. I was just going to unwrap that painting, and enjoy it.
I was just settling back with another beer, trying to gather the courage to unwrap the canvas, when my doorbell rang again. Upon opening the door, I found myself face to face with a very lovely young woman. She stood about five-eight, and was rather slightly built. Overall, she gave the impression of a delicate flower. All beauty and elegance.
"May I help you?" Yep, that's me. One of the great romantic opening lines of all time. You'd think that an author could come up with something a little more original.
"Mr. Koenig? I'm Katherine Stewart. I believe you just purchased one of my paintings...?"
"Of course! Come in, come in...." Suddenly I had a terrible thought. "Say. Your not here to take it back, or something. Are you?" She laughed at my apparent fear.
"No, no. Its nothing like that."
"Then please come in. I haven't even taken the wrapping off yet. It's in the living room, off to your right, there." I closed the door, my mind was torn between wondering why she was here, and keeping a running appraisal of her form and movement,
"What a lovely home you have."
"Thank you. May I offer you something to drink, Mz. Stewart?"
"I'll have whatever you're having. And please, my friends call me Kat."
"Well, Kat. I was having a beer, but I also have a selection of more civilized refreshment, if you prefer." As I said this, I snagged a dish towel that had been draped over the back of one of the dining room chairs, and hung it over my arm. She seemed tolerantly amused at my cheesy waiter impression.
"A beer would be just fine." I went to fetch her one, and she continued. "You know, I'm really very sorry for arriving without any warning like this. But I just had to come and meet you. I met the delivery guys from the gallery as they were leaving, and they let me in the building. I hope that’s all right."
"Your not going to tell me that you're a fan, are you?" I had her beer in hand, along with a clean glass as I came back into the living room.
"Should I?" Kat sounded genuinely puzzled.
"Well, I haven't won a Pulitzer Prize for my work, but most people have at least seen my books." I was feeling a trifle hurt that she wasn't a fan of mine. On the other hand it was rather nice, too.
"You're an author? I didn't..." She was looking confused. "No. Mr. Koenig, I'm here because you're the first person ever to buy one of my originals." We just looked at each other for a moment. Then as the humor of the meeting set in, we started smiling. Then laughing, and all the ice melted. Now it seemed as though we were old friends. We sipped on our beers for a moment, until Kat couldn't stand it any longer.
"Mr. Koenig..."
"Katherine Stewart, if you call me 'Mr. Koenig' once more, I do believe that I will scream." She blushes very prettily, I thought. "Please. Call me Les."
"All right then, Les. Aren't you going to unwrap my painting?" Without another word, I put down my beer and picked-up the box knife that was waiting on the in table for just that purpose. I cut the strings, carefully set the knife back on an end table nearby, and then pulled back the paper to reveal the work of art that had brought us together.
We must have sat there for at least an hour, together on the couch, just gazing into the eyes of the wolf. We didn't speak. There was no need for words. But there must have been some other need. Some time later, Kat leaned in close to me and turned her face up toward mine. I took the hint and kissed her very lightly at first, and pulled away slightly. She smiled and completely melted me with her eyes. I don’t know who took things farther, but it really doesn’t matter. There were still no words. We had reached a perfect understanding of each other through silence. And was to be good for quite a while.

"Les? Are you ever going to hang my painting?" Kat called from the living room. She was standing in front of the picture, wearing nothing but one of my flannel shirts. The cup of coffee in her hands was the only evidence so far of the breakfast I was attempting to produce.
"Well, I had intended to hang it last night," I answered from the kitchen. "But something kinda came up." Kat giggled.
"You're telling me."
"Why don't we hang it after we partake of this wonderful repast I have conjured up?"
"What are we having? Wheaties and toast? I’ve heard about bachelor cooking." I could hear her smile all the way in the kitchen.
"Close," I replied. "Actually, this guy I know tells me that the way to really treat a woman right, is to serve Fruit Loops and orange juice for breakfast. And since I want to treat you right, that's what we're having." It's true. That's what he told me. Actually, he sings with a local band, and when he does "Treat Her Right" he frequently throws in a line about serving her Fruit Loops for breakfast.
"I think that if you gave me Fruit Loops for breakfast after last night, I'd walk out on you," she said. I tossed the box in the garbage, and swept the bowls into the sink. At the sound, Kat turned and came into the kitchen. When she saw the box of cereal in the trash, she looked shocked.
"You were serious...?" I tried to look like a little boy who'd been caught in the cookie jar. I succeeded for almost a minute, then burst out laughing.
"Actually, no." I stepped aside to show her the real plates sitting on the kitchen table. "We're having eggs and bacon, with hash browns on the side."
"I have to admit," she said once she'd stopped laughing. "You really had me going there for a minute, here I’ve been smelling a bunch of great breakfast smells, and you start talking about cereal. I thought I'd just spent the night with a crazy man."
"Who says you didn't? Well, I kept the Fruit Loops around the house in case I ever got the chance to pull that on someone. As long as that box has been in the cupboard, I don't know if they'd be edible or not."
"Hmmnnn. Slim pickings lately?" She smiled slyly.
"I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it may reflect poorly on my sex appeal. Besides. Do you really want to piss me off this morning?" She raised an eyebrow in question.
"Why, what would you do?"
"Well, for starters I could demand that you return that shirt immediately." Damned if she didn't start to unbutton it right there and then. I hate being called on a bluff, and said as much to her. Especially when it costs me my breakfast. On the other hand. The only thing that looked better than Kat in one of my shirts, was Kat taking off one of my shirts. I hate to admit it, but the breakfast got cold before we remembered what we were supposed to be doing in the kitchen. I needed to lose some weight anyway, I rationalized.
We didn't get to the picture until quite a while later. After we'd both showered (separately), and gotten dressed, and cleaned up a bit. I thought about what had happened between us while Kat was off in another part of the condo. I could hear her singing to herself, and the sound brought such a feeling of love that I had to think this over quite carefully.
We'd only just met, and I hardly knew anything about her, yet here we were playing house like we'd been together for years. Now, I know that it's possible for two people to click perfectly when they first meet. But I had never experienced that feeling myself.
There was a shadow of doubt in my heart. A doubt that said she was not the one for me. I would know in time exactly what that feeling meant. But for now, there was only warmth and newborn love in my heart, and a healthy dose of confusion.
I put aside my thoughts when Kat came into the kitchen and told me that she had to go out for awhile. She had that look that a woman can get, the one that says 'I have my own life, and if that hurts you, tough. Just don't get in my way.' Actually, I was relieved. I do not want a woman who has to be near me at every moment. If she doesn't have at least some independence, I don't have any. But there was a part of me that was very disappointed at the thought of her leaving.
"So, what's up this morning?"
"I just called my agent," she said. "She told me that I have a meeting with some gallery reps that are interested in doing a showing of my work."
"That's great! Is this a new gallery for you? Or have you shown there before?"
"It's a new one for me," the business exterior cracked a little. I could see that she really was rather excited about the prospect, and nervous about the meeting.
"Kat. When am I going to see you again?" I said it as nonchalantly as possible, keeping my voice even.
"Well," she started, and I thought uh-oh, here it comes. "I've got a very busy schedule. I think I can work you in sometime around..." She went through a great act of having to think it out.
"I think I can see you tonight," she smiled. "Would that be too long for you to wait?" I made a pretense of being put out.
"I don't know if I can wait that long...” I started to reach for her, and she backed away quickly.
"Now, Les... I really do have to go. At least for a while..." I laughed and let her go.
"I'm just teasing you," I said. "Actually, I have a class to teach this afternoon down at the dojo."
"I knew you were into martial arts, but I didn't know that you taught."
I explained that I taught a group of students for my sensei, my teacher, in return for my own lesson with him. Kat thought that was fair, and a good way to save money. I told her that it wasn't really to save money. I really enjoyed working with the young people in my class, and watching them develop was a real treat. Besides, teaching them the basics made it more difficult for me to forget them myself.
"So Where should I meet you this evening?" I asked her.
"My meeting is in Bellevue, and's going to last until three or so. I need to go by my apartment for a few things, then I guess I could come back here."
"I could pick you up after your meeting if you like. The dojo's on the Eastside, so I'll already be there."
"Okay. That Would be great," she said. She quickly wrote down the address of her meeting, then kissed me. "You're the sweetest man I've ever met, I'll see you at three." I just smiled and watched her walk out the door.

I got to the dojo early, and started warming up after changing. I liked this part of the morning, when I had the entire floor to myself. I could go through some of my katas without too many distractions. A kata is a series of movements that relay a particular type of defense, and the counter-attack to be used in self defense. Some of them are harsh, and even brutal in their abrupt moves, and powerful strikes. But others are like an exotic dance. Their moves are smooth and fluid.
These were the kata that I liked best. For their fluid grace was perfect for channeling the power of the spirit, and ridding the mind of distraction. And today I had a lot of distraction. I was having trouble concentrating because of my anticipation toward seeing Kat this evening.
I was trying to get through the kata that my master had just taught me the week before. He was going to test me on it today after class was out, and I just couldn't get it to flow properly. I had all the moves down, but they were too disjointed.
About then, some of the students started filing in. We went through the usual routine. I greeted each student, talked for a moment, then moved on to the next. They would start stretching and warming up, and when everyone was there, we'd begin. It was a very pleasant blend of casual friendship, and traditional respect. I was their friend, but I was also their sensei. From the time we bowed-in to begin the class, to the last bow at the end, I was the law. Its quite a responsibility to handle that well. I think that's why my master wanted me to teach in the first place.
The class lasted about two hours. By the end, my mind was totally on my karate. We ended the session, the students were pretty well tired out (so was I, but I'd never admit it in front of them). They headed out to shower and leave for home. I moved across the room to the place of a student, and knelt. I began the deep breathing exercises to replenish my strength and focus my ki.
When I felt centered, I started to visualize the patterns of my kata. Quietly, I rose to my feet and began the kata. I was attempting to keep it just as I had seen it mentally, but an image of an eagle with golden eyes kept intruding. Finally, I just let my mind go.
To this day, I do not remember what happened during the space of the next twenty minutes or so. My next awareness was of kneeling on the floor at the spot where I began. The whole kata could have been a dream, but for one thing. I now held a scabbarded sword in my left hand. I stared at the sword in wonder. I had never been taught much with the sword, only the one kata that every black belt must learn. But I hadn't performed that kata in over a year. My master was there, kneeling on the mats in the traditional place of teacher facing student.
He was speaking Japanese to me. Now, all of our students learn some Japanese in the course of their studies, and I was no different. But that was only to learn the commands, and traditional phrases. I couldn't really speak Japanese.
"Forgive me, master, but I do not understand." He looked at me very strangely for a moment.
"Ah. You must be coming out of it, then."
"Coming out of what?"
"Les," he said. "You may not believe this, but you just performed your kata flawlessly."
"That's great. I just wish I could remember doing it."
"You did more than that." He was still staring into my eyes as though checking to see if I were on drugs or something. "When I gave you a sword, you performed a kata that I have never seen. I did hear it described once, by my master, but it has been lost for over two hundred years." I was thunderstruck.
"I did what?"
"Hmmn. And then you went on to have a discussion with me in perfect Japanese. You told me that you were a warrior in the service of a great warlord," he looked kinda sheepish. "I thought you were putting me on, so I didn't pay much attention to the names. But little by little, I became convinced that you were somehow re-living something from another life.
"I think you were once a samurai warrior in the service of one of the greatest warlords of the time." I laughed.
"You're putting me on."
"Not even a little. I managed to start the video tape just as you began the sword kata. From that, we can re-learn the form. But how we can ever persuade anybody that it is the real thing, I just don't have a clue." He got up, and went to the video camera mounted to one side of the dojo. He hit the eject, and removed the tape.
"Here," he said. "Take this home, and watch it for yourself." I took the tape from his hand and stared at it in disbelief. "Oh. And by the way. Consider yourself a fourth degree black from now on. You passed your test."
We talked about it for another half-hour, then I realized what time it was getting to be. I explained that I had to leave to meet someone special. Sensei said he understood, and told me to relax this weekend and not to stress out over what had happened.
I thanked him, and ran for the showers. I was glad that none of ray students had seen that episode. It was going to be weird enough dealing with that myself, I didn't need a lot of college students analyzing the phenomenon.
I finished my shower as fast as I could, and got dressed. If I hurried I would be right on time to pick up Kat from her meeting. I saw my master still sitting in the dojo as I passed. I told him to have a good weekend. He raised a hand to acknowledge, but didn't move. I just smiled and kept going. I had to restrain myself to keep from burning rubber as I pulled my car out of the parking lot.
Sensei Martin Davis had seen many strange things accomplished with the force called ki. He knew that this energy, which arose from the perfect union of body, mind, and spirit, was what made it possible to break bricks and so on. He had trained in Japan, and had learned from great masters all the techniques he had passed on to his students. But he had never seen anything like what had just occurred.
He was meditating in the dojo after Les had left, going over everything that had happened. He was thinking, if Les had a hard time believing about the kata, how do I tell him that this sword is over three hundred years old? And how do I tell him that it isn't mine that it just appeared in his hand?
I really hope that he doesn't notice that fact on the video tape, because I started it earlier than I told him. I got almost all of his first kata on tape and was going to shut it off when the sword appeared, and he started that lost kata.
I think that the ghost of my beloved master would be quite pleased with what my student has accomplished. If only I knew how he'd done it. But there were no answer to be had on this day. Nor for a long time to come.

I got to the address that Kat'd given me, and found myself outside one of Bellevue's beautiful new buildings. That was the easy part. Finding a place to park was somewhat more difficult. And I though that parking was tough in Seattle.
I finally succeeded, and walked to the entrance of the building. I entered the lobby and looked around. This was the first time I'd been in this building, and I found myself quite impressed with the style. Trying to be nonchalant, I sauntered over to the directory. I was pretending to peruse the listings, but actually just trying to remember the name of Kat's agency, when a voice sounded from behind me.
"Perhaps I may help you find something? Maybe someone in particular?" The voice was warm, amused, beautiful, and definitely Kat's. I spoke without turning.
"Well... I'm looking for a very beautiful woman, medium height, brunette, with a thing for Fruit Loops." I turned to smile at her, and we both laughed. We embraced, then kissed briefly.
"I do hope that I may suffice to fill your needs, sir."
"I hope so also," I said. Kat smacked me for that one, so I decided not to push my luck. "I was really worried that I would miss you. I had a long lesson with my sensei."
"It must have gone well, you look as though you're in one piece," she said. "Is there any place I shouldn't touch you?"
"Only while we're in public. Once we're alone, you can touch me anywhere you want."
"That sounds like a challenge."
"Take it as you will," I answered, lifting my eyebrows and struggling not to smile.
"You're on." Kat put her arm around my waist and led me back to the door of the lobby. Once outside, I took over on the directions to the car.
We drove to her apartment, talking about her meeting. Her talking, anyway. I was silent for the most part, content to let her words wash over me. It struck me as funny that I could have an experience that was clearly paranormal, and now be driving along with Kat like nothing had happened at all.
The human mind is a strange and wonderful thing. Be damned if I can claim to understand how it works sometimes. I know that I had intended to tell her about what happened this morning. Then I thought that I'd really only known her a little over a day. What did I really know of her?
I knew that I felt very content being around Kat. I felt like we'd been lovers and friends for years, instead of one day. We seemed to be able to talk easily. That was something that any sensible person would cherish. I've known quite a few married couples that were happy with each other all their lives, but never learned to just talk to each other. Maybe this was just a case of being in the right place at the right time. We had both needed and wanted someone, and we'd found each other at just that time.
We were driving down I-405 while I was pondering this, and nodding at the appropriate places for Kat. A thought occurred to me. Humans are a lot like cars on a freeway. Sometimes they pass each other by, sometimes they travel the same direction. And, once in a while, they travel side by side. But the almost always part at some point down the road.
A very lucky few find each other time and again. Sometimes leading, other times following. Perhaps even staying together long after the darkness has fallen.
It always does come, you know. The darkness. It always comes after the light. The wise heart knows this. It also knows that just as surely as night falls, so the sun will rise again.
That night, I lay dreaming.
The night was growing darker, there were clouds coming in from the west. I stirred my meager fire to greater light. That's when I see them. The eyes that are staring out of the forest. I stand and walk to the edge of the fire's light. I can't really see what it is that is watching me, but I think its a wolf. A really big wolf.
There is a sound of rushing wind. A sound of far away voices and sounds of battle. Perhaps it is just the storm, but they seem to be calling to me. I stare into the eyes in the night, and I hear a voice telling me to come home. It says that the sword of the land must be raised again. The king that was, must be again. Come home.
Comehomecomehomecomehomecomehome.
I ran from the voice in my dream, suddenly afraid that if I answered it that it would change everything I’d ever known. Darting this way and that through tangled undergrowth, I was thrashing through tree limbs that seemed determined to catch and hold. There was a cracking discharge of lightning directly over my head. The thunder boomed all around me, making me feel as though I were inside the sound. A wolf howled, very close to me, and I screamed.
I awoke with a start. I had screamed in my dream, but did not know if I had when I woke up. It sounded as though there was quite a storm pelting the city outside. I looked beside me. Kat was still sleeping peacefully beside me. Good. I didn't cry out loud then. I shivered then. A cold had settled into my bones. I sat there feeling frightened, and confused, my pulse still racing.
I slid out of bed as gently as possible so as not to wake Kat. I was soaked with sweat and shivering in the sudden cold. I put on a robe and went out to the living room. I was able to find my way through the dark apartment by the city lights shining through the curtains. I don't know how long I stood by the windows overlooking Elliot Bay, watching the rain. I couldn't seem to think clearly about anything. I kept hearing that voice in the dream, the one that kept saying 'come home'.
Come home.
There it was, this time behind me. I spun to see who was there, and caught sight of two luminous green eyes hanging in the air about ten feet from me. I cried out softly. Just then there was a flash of lightning from the storm outside, and the strobe flash revealed the painting that Kat had done, the one that had brought us together.
My heart was racing. I took a shuddering gulp of air and forced myself to relax. There was another sudden burst of light, this one yellowed, and sustained. I drew breath to scream, then realized that it was only the living room lights. Kat was standing in the doorway of the living room. She'd apparently heard my cry, and come to see what was wrong. Seeing my reaction, she crossed quickly to hold me.
"What's wrong, Les?" For a moment I could only drink in the security of her embrace. Finally, I spoke. My voice was calmer.
"It was just a dream. I woke up from a nightmare, and came out here. Then my dream followed me." Kat pulled away, and looked into my eyes. Whatever she saw there must have given her cause for concern, because she pursued the matter.
"What kind of a dream? And I don’t understand, how could a dream follow you?"
"I'll... I'll tell you about it, but let's go back to bed. It's getting cold out here."
A little while later, propped up in bed, I told Kat all about my dream. She listened with polite interest for the most part. The attitude of someone who cares, but doesn't believe that there's anything to be concerned about. That is, until I told her about the wolf's eyes glowing.
I felt the tension shoot through her body. We were cuddled up beneath the blankets, our backs against the headboard. Kat had her head on my shoulder, I had my arm around her. Now, I withdrew my arm and sat up to look at her.
"What is it? Did I say something wrong?"
"No-o-o.... It's..."
"Come on, love. I told you mine." Nothing. Not even a chuckle. Whatever it was, it must really be bothering her.
"That happened to me, too." I waited for her to go on. "With the eyes, I mean. I normally don't paint things like that picture you have out there. Usually, I paint fantasy scenes for children's books, or wildlife scenes. Even landscapes.
"But, last fall, I had the same dream for several nights. A very beautiful lady came to me and told me that I should do this painting of a wolf and an eagle. She told me that I would meet the man who would buy it, and that we would love."
"And I bought it. And we fell in love? Is that what's wrong?"
"No!" She snuggled against me again. "What's wrong, is that she said we would love for a short time. Then you would go away. I'm afraid that you will go away, and now that I've found you, I don't want to let go." She was crying now, quietly so I wouldn't notice. But a tear fell upon my skin, giving her away.
"Katherine. Kat, look at me. We've been together for just over two days now, and I feel like we've loved each other for years. I've been fighting it like crazy, but I just can't get away from it. I do love you." She did look up then, tears were glistening on her cheeks. "I am not going to let go of you if I have anything to say about it." She smiled faintly.
"I love you, too. Even if we are crazy for falling so soon, I don't want it to stop." But the look in her eyes was still lightly accusatory. It said 'you'll go away and leave, and there's nothing I can do to stop it'.