The Third Magic Read Online Free PDF Page B

boy was in danger, that he hadn't told her about it so that the danger would not spread to her?
    No. No, of course she wouldn't believe that. All Emily would know was that she had given herself to a man who had left her without a word, and in the process abducted the child she had raised from infancy.
    "What do you think will happen to us, Hal?" Arthur asked so quietly that he was barely audible.
    After a long pause, Hal answered, "I don't know."
    "Taliesin wants to take me on a vision quest."
    "What for?"
    Arthur shrugged. "I suppose he wants me to see for myself."
    "See what?"
    "Who I was. Or will be. He says I need to know about my future." The ice cream in the dishes arrayed before them was melting rapidly in the August heat. "Hal?"
    Hal looked up.
    "If I... left…" Shyly he looked over to Hal to see his reaction, but the older man's face was carefully blank. "Not that I would, but if I did..."
    "Go on."
    "Could I change the way things are supposed to turn out?"
    Hal looked away. "Maybe," he said.
    "Is there such a thing as destiny?"
    "I'm not the guy to ask things like that."
    "Other people ... other people's lives turn out the way they do because of their own decisions."
    Hal nodded slightly. "I guess."
    "Then why don't I have any say about my own life?"
    Because we're special, Hal wanted to say. Because we came from another time, cryogenic masterpieces, except that it was our souls that got preserved, not our bodies. You were born to be King, and I was born to protect you, and that's all been decided by forces way beyond anything we can control. "Eat your ice cream," Hal said.
    Arthur ignored him, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. "I don't even know if it's real anymore."
    "What do you mean?"
    "All of it. This." He opened his hands. "I mean, sometimes I just don't know. It's all so weird that I wonder if the uncles even exist. If Taliesin exists. Even you. Maybe this is just some delusion of mine, and I've made you all up."
    "You wish," Hal said.
    Arthur tried to smile. "Yeah."
    He looked so fragile, Hal thought, as if he could fly apart into pieces like confetti. "Oh, Christ," he said, throwing down the ice cream scoop. He hugged the boy fiercely. "Nobody should have to live like this."
    "Just tell me it's real, and I'll believe you."
    "No," Hal said. "Because that won't mean anything." He held him at arm's length. "And don't ever believe anything just because someone tells you." He handed Arthur a spoon and a dish of ice cream and propelled him out of the kitchen. "Do what you've got to do, and don't tell me or anyone else," he said.
    "Sturgis!" Bedwyr exclaimed, leaping out of his chair, waving the magazine in his hand.
    He was so large and so loud that the other knights ceased their noisy guzzling of the half-melted ice cream and turned toward him in annoyance. A lone twang from Fairhands's autoharp disturbed the sudden silence.
    "Well, what is it?" Kay snapped. "Some sort of stinging bee?"
    "S turgis," Bedwyr repeated, grinning. "This!" He laid the magazine flat on the table and pointed to a two-page spread of a small-town street packed solid with bikers and their motorcycles. "The Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. A great tournament," he said solemnly. "It takes place over a week, and that week has begun."
    "A tourney," Launcelot said in wonder. "Is it a far journey?"
    "'Tis not even a day's ride," Bedwyr answered, his face flushed with excitement.
    Dry lips picked up the magazine and brought it close to his face. "The steeds appear to be most excellent," he said. All of the knights rode motorcycles now, thanks to Bedwyr's tutelage, and took as much pride in the appearance of their machines as they had in their mounts.
    "Steeds!" MacDaire exclaimed, laughing. "Are ye blind, man? Look at the women! I swear, this one's bare-breasted!"
    Lugh crowded next to Dry Lips to leer from behind black beetle brows, grunting in agreement.
    "And that!"
    Kay snatched the magazine out of Dry Lips's hands. "By Saint Patrick's smelly