Chapter Two

"So tell me about this Gillian chick," Pete said as he and Clark walked through the hall at Smallville High.

"She seems nice," Clark answered. "She's smart. British. Cute."

"Do you mean cute as in, you know, cute, or cute as in hot?"

"I don't know… I guess she's pretty hot. She looks sort of like Jessica Simpson, only smart."

Pete looked at him as though he were dense. "So she's smart, British, and looks like Jessica Simpson. And you're wondering if you should go for it because…?"

Clark hesitated. "I don't know that she's interested in me."

"Well, does she act like it? Is she sending signals?"

"Maybe… she's very friendly, but she seems to act that way with everyone."

"Does she ever hint that she wants to spend any time with you, you know, one-on-one?"

Clark thought for a moment. "She did ask to join my group for a class project, but that could just be because everyone else already was in a group."

"Did you ever ask her if she wanted to do anything one-on-one?"

"I was going to, but we got interrupted… she was telling me about this project her father's involved in… they're excavating this medieval castle in England, and they found all these artifacts. It's really cool."

"Yeah, yeah." Pete dismissed the subject, apparently deeming it far less interesting than Gillian. "So I take it you never actually asked her?"

"No, but since we're doing the project together, I figured she'd have plenty of opportunities to tell me about it."

Pete nodded. "Smart move. Work the class project. So what else? Does she touch you a lot?"

"I suppose… but she might just be trying to get my attention."

Pete shook his head. "Man, for someone who gets so many girls, you sure are dense when it comes to women."

"Hey, you know how women are," Clark defended himself. "They're like calculus. You think you've got them figured out, then you act on it only to realize that you still have no idea what the hell is going on."

"Well, you have a point," Pete acknowledged, "but you'd think you'd be able to tell if she's interested."

"I know she likes me, as a friend if nothing else," Clark said. "But even if she was interested, she wouldn't go out with a high school guy. She's in college."

"So?" Pete countered. "Chicks dig younger men. Look at Demi and Ashton."

"That's different."

"Uh-huh." Pete's expression told him he wasn't buying a word of it. "I think you're just looking for an excuse."

"Now why would I do that?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Clark suddenly developed an intense interest in a row of lockers. "It's just that… I don't know if I'm really that into her. I mean, she's cute and I like her, but I get the feeling that if we did go out it would be just having fun, you know?"

"So?" was Pete's response. "Not every date has to be about finding your soul mate." When he didn't get a reply he continued, "Look, I know the thing with Lana was intense. I understand about having a hard time moving on and all. But not every girl is Lana Lang. I think that 'just having fun'might be what you need right now."

Clark didn't look entirely convinced. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right. So, are you going to see Gillian this afternoon?"

"Yeah, to work on the project. But I have to give Lana a ride to the college."

"Wait a minute—Lana's in your group?"

"Yeah… didn't I tell you that?"

Pete shook his head. "Were you trippin' when you picked your group or what? I've gotta hand it to you, you've got a talent for getting yourself into scrapes that is unparalleled by anyone I've seen."

"Gee, thanks," Clark said sarcastically.

"Hey, if you're the one who orchestrated this brilliant plan, I've got no sympathy. I suggest you wait till after the project to make your move. That way, if she shoots you down, at least you won't have to see her every day."

"True," Clark acknowledged. His friend's advice seemed perfectly sound. But in real life it was far more complicated than that. He didn't blame Pete for thinking he was crazy for doing a project with both Lana and Gillian. What had he been thinking? But it was too late for regrets. He had thought he just needed to get through the project, sort out his feelings for Lana and Gillian, and decide where to go from there. But maybe he was going about it all wrong. No matter how long he spent trying to figure out the thing with Lana, he knew he never would. Maybe he was wrong about trying to stay friends. As long as he was around her, there would always be that something, that undercurrent that seemed to make a mockery out of any semblance of casual friendship. Truthfully, it would be as natural as coming home to take her in his arms and kiss her as if their breakup had just been a bad dream. But he knew that if he did do that, he'd be in for a rude awakening.

We were never right for each other, he concluded glumly. Someone had to put their ill-fated romance out of its misery.

In the locker room, guys often joked that the easiest way to get over one girl was to get over another one. Crude, but there might've been a grain of truth to it. Gillian might not be his soul mate, but she was fun, and they might be good together. In time, the feelings would fade and Lana would be just another beautiful girl.

Or so he liked to think.

---

Clark met Lana in the parking lot after school. He spotted her instantly, trained by his many years of nursing an unrequited crush. But then, it could also be because whenever she appeared, some instinctive part of him seemed to sense her, and everything and everyone else became irrelevant. He leaned against his truck, squinting in the sunlight and watching as she bounded down the steps toward him.

"Thanks for the ride, Clark," she said when she reached him, hefting her heavy backpack over the seat.

"Let me take that." He took the backpack and groaned. "Jeez, what's in this thing?"

"I wasn't sure what to bring, so I brought everything."

Clark made a show of laboring to lift the backpack over the seat, although in truth it might as well have been filled with feathers. Except for the short time he'd lost his powers, he really didn't have any sense of how strong a "normal" guy was. Most of the time he just tried to guess.

He started the ignition. "Oh, I love this song!" Lana exclaimed, turning up the volume. "Do you remember, it was playing…" Her voice trailed off.

He remembered, all to well. "That time after the homecoming dance, at lookout point…"

She just nodded. A long, awkward silence stretched between them. After a moment he changed the station.

"What's that?" he asked, noticing the small shopping back she held in her lap.

"It's kind of interesting story," she replied, clearly grateful for the change of subject. "My great aunt Lily sent it to me, only a few days before she died. It came to Nell's house the other day. It looks like some kind of tapestry. Apparently it's been passed down for generations."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear about your aunt."

Lana peered outside the window. "I hardly knew her. She'd been living in England as long as I can remember. That's why I thought it was odd she left this tapestry to me, of all people. But she never had any daughters, so I guess it makes sense. Still, I wish she'd sent it to me earlier, so I could have contacted her about it. I would've liked to know more about it. She sent a note, but it doesn't say much."

"Hmm," Clark said. "How old do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure, but it looks really old. Chloe thought it might be from the Middle Ages. Aunt Lily didn't say how far back it went."

"The Middle Ages, eh?" An idea came to him. "Are you going to show it to Gillian? Maybe she could tell you something about it."

At the mention of Gillian, Lana seemed to clam up. "I thought I'd bring it with us, you know, do some research in the library or something. But I suppose if Gillian's willing to help, I can't turn her down."

"She's super-smart when it comes to all things medieval. Look at her Dad."

"Yup, I'm sure he trained her well." Lana started fidgeting with the handle of the shopping bag. "But the project is our first priority. I wouldn't want to distract her."

"I bet she'd be fascinated with that tapestry."

"I bet," Lana muttered.

They arrived at the university then, and Clark stopped to show the parking attendant his temporary parking permit. The subject temporarily lapsed as they walked to the quad, making meaningless small talk. For the first time he noticed what she was wearing—a fuzzy pink sweater and jeans so low-cut he wondered if she'd bought them while she'd been under the influence of the Nicodemus flower. Not that he was complaining. A small strip of tanned, flat midriff was visible between the waistband of the jeans and the sweater, which for some reason he found more tempting than if she'd been wearing a bikini. Apparently he wasn't the only one to notice. Lana seemed blissfully unaware of the stares she attracted from all the college boys. Clark tried to ignore the surge of hot temper that swelled in him. but he couldn't help but send a murderous look in the direction of a group of leering sweatshirt-clad frat boys.

His attention was soon diverted however, by the spectacle in the quad. A group of students were gathered in a tight circle, cheering and whistling at the two people in its middle. The group immediately stood out in that many of them were dressed in tunics, hose, and various other forms of medieval garb. Others wore normal street clothes, but didn't seem to think it the least bit odd that they were standing with people who apparently thought they were extras in Lord of the Rings.

Intrigued, Clark and Lana maneuvered their way through the crowd, wondering what all the fuss was about. They soon found out. Two boys were engaged in a spirited fencing match, one of them of average height and build, the other slightly shorter and lankier. To Clark's surprise, he saw that the smaller boy had gained the advantage. The boy struck and parried ruthlessly, driving his opponent further back and forcing errors on his part. Finally, he sensed a split-second hesitation on his opponent's part and lunged, catching his sword and twisting, effectively disarming him. Clark heard Lana gasp as metal flashed through the air and came to a trembling stop in front of the defeated boy's throat. The victor smiled triumphantly. "You're dead, Jason, dear."

The boy named Jason held up his hands, but he was grinning. "So I am. Say we make it two out of three?"

The other boy shook his head. "I don't think so. You're buying me a bitter at the campus pub, and don't try to get out of it."

Wait a minute—that voice sounded strikingly familiar! And when the tunic and hose-clad boy lowered his hood, the gleaming golden braid and distinctly feminine features betrayed his—or should he say her—true identity.

"An excellent match, Jason," Gillian said, touching him gently, and undeniably flirtatiously, on the arm, in much the same way she'd touched Clark in class the other day. But strangely, he found he felt more amused than jealous. Gillian was something else!

"Is there anything she doesn't do?" Clark murmured.

"Why am I not surprised?" was Lana's response, and he could have sworn he caught a mocking edge to her voice.

Gillian noticed them standing on the sidelines and waved, breaking into a wide grin. "Hey, you guys made it!"

"Yup," Clark said, returning her smile. "That was some match, Gillian. I didn't know you could fence like that!"

Gillian smiled modestly. "I've been fencing since high school. I love it."

"I could tell. So is that what the Anachronism Society does? Re-enact medieval stuff?"

"Basically," Gillian answered. "We have jousting tournaments, too. In fact, I'm learning to joust. Only problem is, I'm the only girl and smaller than most of the guys, so I had to have a special lance made for me. It's a bit lighter, but one day I'm going to use the same lance as the boys. I've got to prove that we birds can hold our own, right, Lana?"

"Right." Lana smiled stiffly.

"You two are welcome to join in," Gillian offered. "We have fencing lessons every Friday afternoon, all levels."

"Actually, that sounds kind of fun," Clark commented.

"I bet you'd be good. I tend to be quicker because I'm small and slim, but I'm sure you'd make up for it in strength." She eyed his broad shoulders and well-muscled arms.

Lana retained an absolutely deadpan expression.

Clark squirmed under Gillian's gaze. He wasn't sure why, if it was because she made him nervous or because Lana was right there. "I'll think about it."

"Well, not to be a wet blanket here but we've got a project to do," Lana jumped in. "Shall we head to the library?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Gillian agreed. "I've a couple of ideas for sources and I thought I'd run them by you first. But I must admit nothing's really grabbed me yet."

"Well, I'm afraid we know about as much about medieval lit as we know about fencing," Clark confessed. "Oh, which reminds me. Lana has something she wants to show you."

Lana shot him a dark look, but he barely had time to wonder about it before she produced the tapestry. "I thought since you know a lot about the Middle Ages, you might be able to tell me something about this. My great aunt left it to me."

Openly curious, Gillian peered at the tapestry. Her odd-colored eyes widened as she looked it over, running her fingers carefully, reverently along the fabric. "This is amazing… wherever did your great aunt get it?"

"I don't know. She said it's been passed down through the family for generations, but she doesn't know how far back it goes."

"Look at the detail… these gold threads… I'm willing to bet this is no replica. If it really is medieval, it's got to be priceless. However is it in such good shape?"

Lana shrugged. "Don't ask me. I have no clue."

"Judging by the costumes on these people, I'd say it's late twelfth, perhaps early thirteenth century," Gillian deduced. "This is your standard medieval story of chivalry…so sad and tragic."

"I know," Lana agreed. The tapestry contained a short series of frames, like a medieval comic book. The first frame showed a knight wooing a lady. Next, the knight and lady were seen escaping from a burning castle. The third frame showed the knight facing an opponent, the lady watching in horror as they fought over her. In the final frame, the lady knelt over the still body of her lover, a lone blue tear flowing from her eye.

"Did you notice that it's unfinished?" Gillian asked. She indicated the raw edge below the last frame. "I wonder what happened to whoever made it."

"I guess we'll never know."

"Do you mind if I show this to my father?" Gillian questioned. "He'll go crazy if it's what I think it is."

Lana shrugged. "If you think he'll be able to tell us something about it."

They set out for Moore Hall. The English department offices were located on the third floor, and Gillian bounded up the stairs so fast you'd think she was in a race. The door to Professor Arden's office was open, and the three of them filed in together. The room looked every bit the typical English professor's office, from the shelves stuffed with fat tomes to the desk covered with stacks of students' papers. All sorts of art and photography adorned the walls, from reproductions of brightly-colored, cartoonish medieval paintings to photographs of castles and other European architecture. The professor's other décor also included political cartoons and Far Side strips, not surprising given his dry, witty sense of humor.

Clark noticed several photos of what appeared to be the same castle, and was struck by how magnificent the structure was. It looked like something straight out of a medieval fantasy epic. It rose like a massive, gray stone sentry from the verdant landscape, surrounded by lush green forest and a placid, silvery moat.

Accompanying the photos was a rough illustration of the castle as it must have appeared in its day. During class, the professor had given the students a crash course on Castle 101, so Clark recognized much of the architectural features. The castle was shaped roughly like a rectangle, with an outer defense wall easily as thick as the office was wide. The drawbridge passed under this wall and through a gatehouse, flanked by two towers. Murder holes in the wall enabled defenders to fire arrows at invaders or to dump pots of boiling oil on them. If invaders somehow managed to make it past this wall, they would cross the outer bailey to the inner defense wall, which was every bit as thick and formidable as the outside one. The only way into the inner bailey was via an archway, which could be sealed off with a thick wood portcullis. Inside this inner wall stood the chapel and the keep, where the lord and his family resided. The Great Hall was also located there, a sort of all-purpose room where the castle's occupants took their meals and where the lord entertained guests. The Great Hall was where the lord could show off his wealth and prowess, and was often the most lavishly decorated room in the castle.

Outside the castle's walls lay a village. Little remained of it in the recent photographs, but according to the professor's illustration, it was once quite large and bustling. This place must've been really something in its day, Clark reflected. If only there were some way to open a portal into the past and see what it really looked like. But alas, no one would ever be able to know that. The closest they could come would be through the hard work of historians, reconstructing what hundreds of years had time to erase.

"Ah, Gillain, Mr. Kent, Miss Lang," the professor greeted them, looking up from the fat volume he had been perusing. "What brings you here?"

"Lana has something to show you." Gillian stepped aside as Lana handed the professor the tapestry.

Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes widened considerably. "Where did you get this?"

Lana gave him a brief rundown of how she'd come to acquire the tapestry.

"My goodness, Miss Lang… are you aware of the value of this tapestry? If historians ever got their hands on it…"

"So it's real?" she asked.

"Either that, or a damn good replica. But I'd bet my last dollar it's the real thing. I can't tell when it was made, but it definitely looks medieval. The costumes on the people appear to be from the twelfth or thirteenth century, but you can't really tell from that. It could have been made later and depicted a story that happened in the past. I'm afraid the only way to tell for sure is by carbon dating. If you really want to know when this tapestry was made, I could send it to Langdon and have it analyzed."

Lana was surprised by the professor's generosity. "Wow… you would really do that for me?"

"Well, I do admit to a slight ulterior motive." The professor regarded her wryly. "I noticed right away that this tapestry is very similar to some other tapestries we found at the site. It's quite possible it was done by the same artist."

Lana's eyes widened. "So you're saying it could've been made by one of my ancestors?"

"It's a possibility—a very narrow possibility. But I wouldn't get my hopes up. It would be next to impossible to track anyone's lineage that far back, and besides, your ancestor could've come upon it in any number of ways. I can't even be sure it's connected to Langdon at all. However, the story it depicts sounds very similar to one we came across in our research."

"Yes, I remember that!" Gillian spoke up excitedly. "I'm kind of unclear on the details, but it came to mind when I first saw he tapestry."

"So what is the story?" Lana wanted to know. "Would it be too much trouble to tell us, Dr. Arden?"

"Certainly not. I wish all my students took such interest in the Langdon project." The professor gestured toward the photos Clark had been looking at earlier. "Have a seat, you two. It's going to be a long one."