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Death by drowning, Tommy Oliver reflected, was totally unfair.
In the space of something like five years, he had survived hundreds of battles with an astonishing variety of monsters, aliens, and killer robots. He had escaped at least half a dozen arch-villains with designs on world domination in general and his own destruction in particular. And the number of enemy foot soldiers he’d taken out in hand to hand (and hand to foot, and foot to foot) combat – including the squadron of TyrannoDrones he’d just left behind – was sufficiently large to be both impossible to calculate and ridiculous by any rational standard.
The trouble was, the island he’d just left wasn’t there anymore, having blown itself to smithereens mere moments after Tommy had thrown himself off a cliff into the ocean. By rights, in fact, he ought to have died at least three or four times between then and now – vaporized by the heat being thrown off by the volcanic activity, pulped by the accompanying shock wave, pummeled by flying debris, boiled by ocean waters superheated by the rising magma.
Instead, he was floating in warm but not steaming waters surprisingly free of volcanic rubble, and as far as he could tell, there weren’t any other land masses or watercraft to be seen in any direction between himself and the horizon. Which was interesting, now that Tommy thought of it. While the former island had been isolated, the maps he and Dr. Mercer had used to reach it had shown a handful of smaller ones scattered in its vicinity – and close enough, given the direction Tommy’s leap had taken him, that at least one or two should have been visible from his current location.
It was, Tommy considered, possible that the current cataclysm had taken some of the other nearby islands down with their larger neighbor – though in that case, the surrounding waters should be warmer and grittier than they were. If that wasn’t the case, there was just one other explanation…and while it wasn’t especially rational, well, rational was a word one didn’t hear very often after an improbably long career as a Power Ranger.
“Oh, well,” he said aloud, “not dead yet.” With a few minutes of careful effort, he shrugged out of his jacket, rearranging it into an extremely makeshift life preserver. That done, he relaxed into a more horizontal floating position, closed his eyes, and began to alter his breathing. Meditation might not get him rescued, but just now, he’d settle for a few hours’ rest – in what he sincerely hoped were waters relatively free of sharks.
He was sufficiently tired from the extended fight with the TyrannoDrones that meditation turned into full-on sleep in very short order. As a result, Tommy utterly failed to notice the narrow wooden skiff that rose out of the water underneath him, scooped him neatly into itself, and then proceeded to drift smoothly into the curiously compact fogbank that had risen up some distance to the east.
Once it had swallowed the skiff, the fogbank receded and vanished, blown lightly but swiftly to shreds by the prevailing tropical breezes. Of the skiff, the island, or any evidence of recent geological catastrophe, there was no sign.
#
The first thing Tommy’s senses registered as his eyes snapped open was that he was dry.
“Alive, check. Clothes –” He paused, his glance taking in stone walls and floor, sturdy but skillfully carved wood furniture, and what appeared to be hand-made bedclothes, rugs, and decorative hangings. His jacket, shirt, and pants were draped over a wooden rack placed near a wide hearth at the far end of the bedroom, with the remains of a fire visible in the fireplace proper. The contents of his pockets had been heaped, not very neatly, on a table to one side of the room.
“Clothes, check. Gear—”
Before he could swing himself out of the old-fashioned wooden bed to look through his possessions, the room’s door opened and a tall, silver-haired woman strode in, followed by a much younger girl carrying a bed-tray with a well-laden platter of food atop it.
“Rested, are you?” the older woman inquired, clearly pleased. “We weren’t sure how long you’d been adrift – or, truth be told, where you’ve come from. We don’t generally get castaways here, at least not by plain chance.”
Tommy sat up, keeping the covers arranged, so that her companion could set the tray in place across the bed. “I think that makes us even,” he said, “because if this is really a medieval castle, it can’t be anywhere within a thousand miles of where Dino Island used to be.”
His hostess smiled thinly. “I don’t know about ‘medieval’,” she replied, “but this castle has been here for longer than any mortal on Earth has been alive. Welcome, young man. My name is Katharine, and it seems Avalon itself has chosen to bring you here.”
“Avalon?” Tommy’s hand had been halfway to the food tray, fingers aimed at a pear wedge glistening with juice, but now it froze in mid-reach. “As in, King Arthur, Excalibur, all that?”
Katharine nodded. “Once, though no longer,” she said. “Arthur is awake, he has reclaimed Excalibur, and is even now abroad in your world on a new quest. But he was asleep in this very castle when I and mine came here, long ago indeed by mortal time. Now we dwell here as allies of Oberon, Lord of Faerie and his lady Titania.”
“Oberon. And. Titania.” Tommy took a deep breath. By nature he was far more comfortable with science than with anything resembling magic, but he had seen more than enough of the impossible made real during his Ranger years to convince him that magic – however illogical – was a part of the reality that made things like Dragonzords possible. “Check.” He took another breath, collected the pear, and bit into it.
“Indeed,” said Katharine, with a look that acknowledged his mixed emotions. “Your arrival, I fear, presents something of a mystery. It is – unusual, if not entirely unprecedented, for Avalon to draw in a mortal with no prior experience or knowledge of magic.”
By the time Katharine finished the sentence, Tommy had disposed of the pear and was considering how to deal with portions of ham, cheese, and bread that clearly hadn’t been designed for sandwich assembly. “Maybe not that unusual,” he told her. “By most people’s standards, I’ve been hip-deep in what might as well be magic for years – but nearly all of it has nuts-and-bolts high tech attached. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Power Rangers or the Morphin Grid?”
Katharine blinked. “I have not. But then, with rare exceptions we of Avalon take scant note of the wider world. We’re by no means ignorant of human science – Titania herself has become something of an expert – but there’s little call for it here.”
“I can see that.” Tommy picked up a knife from the bed-tray and began slicing bite-sized chunks of protein onto a plate. “I imagine it’s pretty quiet, then.”
“For the most part, yes,” his hostess said. “Avalon is a sanctuary; that is its nature. Even Oberon’s children usually visit only if summoned, and such calls are rare.”
Tommy didn’t reply at once, concentrating instead on his food. Only after he’d washed down several bites of his meal with nearly half a tankard of excellent apple cider (freshly pressed, not the hard kind), did he pause to make another quick study of his surroundings. The chamber’s windows were high and narrow, but angled so that a good deal of sunlight shone down into the room. “You said Avalon itself brought me here – how does that work exactly?”
Katharine lifted one hand and sighed softly. “That is its own mystery,” she said. “For the most part, the skiffs come and go of their own accord. When we have need, one is waiting at water’s edge, takes its passengers where that need requires, and returns when the errand is done.”
“That’s – convenient,” said Tommy. “And in my case?”
“I can only guess,” Katharine told him. “The skiff that brought you washed itself well up onto the shore. Ophelia saw the great wave, knew that none of us were out, and landed to see who or what we had been brought.”
Tommy’s eyebrows rose sharply upward. “Landed?”
Katharine nodded. “She and her kin are gargoyles, and the reason we came to Avalon – it is a long and complex tale.”
Only a lifetime of training kept Tommy from dropping the eating-knife at the mention of gargoyles. “I’m sure it is,” he said. “I gather you don’t get many visitors.”
His hostess nodded again. “That is true. And those who do arrive rarely – I ever – do so by accident.”
Interesting. Tommy turned his attention back to his food for a few moments. On one hand, it’s nice to know the universe wants to keep me around. And there’s definitely power here. But it’s not any kind of power I’ve run into before – and that’s more than a little scary.
“Yes, well,” he said aloud, “so what happens next?”
Katharine smiled. “That is for you – and for Avalon – to decide. For the moment, you’re our guest, and you are welcome to remain until you are properly recovered from your—” she paused, eyeing him thoughtfully, “recent experiences.”
Tommy couldn’t keep himself from chuckling. “Yeah, there’s a story there,” he admitted. “I was part of a research team working on dinosaur DNA experiments, things kind of got out of control, and we had to get away in one heck of a hurry. The whole island went BOOM! right after I jumped, which should mean anything dangerous went with it.”
“And your fellow…scientists?” Katharine inquired.
“No way to know,” Tommy told her. “The support people were off-island on a supply run, but Smitty and Doc Mercer and I all scattered when things went south. I hope they got away.” I really do. But God only knows how they’d have done it.
Katharine regarded him sympathetically. “You’ll need time to heal, in body and in spirit.”
“I appreciate that. I do have a few folks who’ll be worrying, though. Is there any way—”
“I fear not,” his hostess replied. “My husband travels to Manhattan once a year; we have – friends there who keep us somewhat informed of worldly affairs. Tom would gladly bear a message for you, but his next visit is some months away.”
Tommy sighed. Kat will be worried sick. “If I’m still here by then, I’ll take him up on that.”
The look Katharine gave him was gentle. “Then we will wait and see.”
#
He was never certain afterward just how long he’d spent on Avalon, as each day blended quietly into the next. His physical injuries – such as they were – healed in fairly short order, and he remained astonished at just how little damage he’d taken in the course of his escape from Dino Island.
The Avalon Clan, as they called themselves, welcomed his presence warmly enough, and before long Tommy found himself giving lessons in various martial arts to several of its younger human members. One or two of the young gargoyles were interested, too, but it proved difficult for Tommy to adapt his lessons to suit their unique physiology.
It was emotional recovery that proved elusive. Dinosaurs and TyrannoDrones kept turning up in his dreams, and though he spent a good deal of time attempting to calm himself via meditation, he found he couldn’t dismiss them entirely. Nor could he fully dismiss thoughts of *his* Kat from his unconscious mind, although that set of dreams was less troubling; her dream-self might be worrying about him, but she didn’t seem to be drowning in grief.
Then, late one afternoon, the gargoyle called Ophelia swooped down from the sky, interrupting an afternoon lesson in jiu-jitsu. “There is,” she reported, “a skiff on the beach.”
Tommy straightened and gave her an inquiring look. “O-kay,” he said, stretching the word out. “And?”
“This was in it,” Ophelia told him, and handed him a wooden box. He opened its hinged lid, revealing velvet cushioning with several not quite fist-sized openings in it, and a scroll tied with a fragile-looking ribbon in a recessed compartment in the cover.
“Are those not,” asked Ophelia, pointing a single claw at the design carved into the lid, “several of those creatures you call dinosaurs?”
Tommy closed the box again and looked – Ophelia’s hand had obscured the images until he’d taken the box from her. Ohhhh, shit.
He swallowed, just managing not to swear out loud. “Yes – yes, they are. Pterodactyl, triceratops, and tyrannosaurus to be exact.”
Ophelia nodded gravely. “As I thought, then.”
“Am I at least allowed time to pack?” Tommy inquired, as Katharine walked up to join them.
Katharine gave him an amused smile. “Of course,” she said. “We are not such poor hosts as that. There will be dinner and even breakfast, though ‘tis best to rise early for the latter. It is not Avalon’s habit to send its guests away unprepared.”
And so there was. The Avalon Clan pressed a variety of small gifts on Tommy that evening, and his final night on Avalon was the first in weeks wholly uninterrupted by dreams.
In the morning, both Katharine and Tom walked with him to the beach, and Tommy eyed the narrow, flat-bottomed skiff skeptically as Tom handed him a well-filled pack of supplies. “That’s – awfully small for the high seas, isn’t it?”
“It is sturdier than it appears,” Katharine said, amused, “and Avalon’s magic protects it. You should be safe enough.”
Tommy shrugged. “If you say so – but how the hell do I navigate this thing? I mean, if Avalon’s not on any map, I don’t even have a starting point to work from!”
“Not to worry,” said Katharine. “Make for open water, then watch for fogbanks – they are Avalon’s guideposts.”
“If you say so,” Tommy replied. “And I suppose Avalon has some idea of where I want to go?”
At that, Katharine and Tom exchanged a glance, both clearly repressing laughter. Katharine was first to recover her breath. “Oh, Tommy,” she told him, “Avalon doesn’t take you where you want to go. It sends you where you need to be.”
Tommy stared at her for a long moment, then threw back his head and laughed out loud. “You have no idea,” he said, “how much that sounds like a couple of my old teachers. All right, then, I suppose I’d better get going.” He pushed the skiff out into the water, picked up its steering-pole, and carefully stepped in. “Thanks for everything!” he called over his shoulder as he set the skiff properly into motion.
#
A night and a day later, a trip through a thoroughly improbable fogbank led him to a beach that was clearly attached to a temperate-zone coastline as opposed to a largish island. Tommy landed a few minutes past local sunset, gathered up his gear, and stepped out of the skiff.
Where you need to be, she said. Okay, but why here? And where is here?
He pushed the skiff, now empty save for its steering-pole, back where the tide could catch it. Then, just as he turned away from the water, a light breeze blew a sheet of newsprint past his face.
Instinctively, he reached up and caught the paper in one hand, his eye drawn at once to the one display-sized notice on the sheet of classified ads.
Reefside Public Schools
Now Hiring Teachers
K-8 – General, Language Arts, Music
**High School – Science, Civics**
Credentialing Assistance Available
Tommy laughed out loud again. All right, obviously this place is about to get its very own Power Rangers team – but what do they need me for?
It took all of fifteen seconds for an answer to pop into his head. Oh, God – or as Alpha would say, ay-yi-yi. Do NOT tell me I’m supposed to be the Zordon for the next generation.
He waited three full minutes, but the universe stubbornly refused to send any additional signals.
Oh, all right then – but I’m going to need some serious help.
A three-second flicker of wind caused the newspaper page in his hand to flutter. He turned it over, and another small display ad caught his eye:
Hayley’s Cyberspace Café
Wi-Fi • Gaming • Web Access
Full Menu • Open Late
More specifically, it was the photo of the café’s owner seated at a fully tricked-out gaming computer that drew his attention. That can’t be – no, it totally is. Thank you, universe – but boy, will she be surprised when I show up on her doorstep. Tommy finally allowed himself to smile as he began to follow the path up from the beach to the nearby roadside, where a sign pointed the way to Reefside.