Sword Stone Table Read online

  A VINTAGE BOOKS ORIGINAL, JULY 2021

  Introduction and compilation copyright © 2021 by Swapna Krishna and Jenn Northington

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Vintage Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York, and distributed in Canada by Penguin Random House Canada Limited, Toronto.

  Vintage and colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Due to limitations of space, this page–this page constitutes an extension of this copyright page.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Krishna, Swapna, editor. | Northington, Jenn, editor.

  Title: Sword stone table : old legends, new voices / edited by Swapna Krishna & Jenn Northington.

  Description: A Vintage Books original edition. | New York : Vintage Books, 2021.

  Identifiers: lccn 2020047488 (print) | lccn 2020047489 (ebook)

  Subjects: lcsh: Arthurian romances—Adaptations. | gsafd: Short stories.

  Classification: lcc pn6120.95.a84 S95 2021 (print) | lcc pn6120.95.a84 (ebook) | ddc 808.80351—dc23

  lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2020047488

  Vintage Books Trade Paperback ISBN 9780593081891

  Ebook ISBN 9780593081907

  Cover design and illustration by Perry De La Vega

  www.vintagebooks.com

  ep_prh_5.7.0_c0_r0

  For Dev, who is the reason I get out of bed every morning. It’s not a car, but I hope you’ll love this when you’re old enough.

  —Swapna Krishna

  For my parents, the original nerds, who understood that books were as necessary to me as air.

  —Jenn Northington

  Contents

  Introduction by Swapna Krishna

  & Jenn Northington

  ONCE

  The Once and Future Qadi

  Ausma Zehanat Khan

  Passing Fair and Young

  Roshani Chokshi

  How, after Long Fighting, Galehaut Was Overcome by Lancelot Yet Was Not Slain and Made Great Speed to Yield to Friendship; Or, Galehaut, the Knight of the Forfeit

  Daniel M. Lavery

  I Being Young and Foolish

  Nisi Shawl

  The Bladesmith Queen

  Sarah MacLean

  Do, By All Due Means

  Sive Doyle

  PRESENT

  Mayday

  Maria Dahvana Headley

  Heartbeat

  Waubgeshig Rice

  Jack and Brad and the Magician

  Anthony Rapp

  The Quay Stone

  S. Zainab Williams

  Black Diamond

  Alex Segura

  Flat White

  Jessica Plummer

  Once (Them) & Future (Us)

  Preeti Chhibber

  FUTURE

  A Shadow in Amber

  Silvia Moreno-Garcia

  White Hempen Sleeves

  Ken Liu

  Little Green Men

  Alexander Chee

  Acknowledgments

  About the Editors

  About the Contributors

  Permissions Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Swapna Krishna & Jenn Northington

  It was the summer of 2018, and we were sitting in Swapna’s living room. Swapna was pregnant with her first baby, and Jenn was bursting with an idea for an anthology. “Where are the gender-bent Arthur stories?” Jenn asked. “The race-bent retellings, the queered ones?”

  We couldn’t easily find them—and we thought it just might be possible that not only did other people want them but also there were folks out there ready to write them, or who maybe already had.

  As this collection came together over the past few years (it’s hard to believe we’ve been working on it for so long!), it’s been exciting to discover the published stories we missed and to see that we weren’t alone—there’s been a renaissance of “bent” Arthur retellings that we devoured. Even more electrifying for us are the authors who said yes when we asked, then proceeded to write stories that have blown our minds, knocked our socks off, and made our hearts grow too many sizes to count.

  Each writer puts their own unique spin on a bit of Arthurian legend. One of the unexpected joys of editing has been watching the resonances develop among them, especially when none of the writers really knew what anyone else was working on except for barest details (character, general time frame, maybe genre). These stories have cousins and siblings the authors aren’t even aware of.

  ONCE

  Roshani Chokshi and Sarah MacLean deliver atmospheric stories heavy with longing and bursting with romance, albeit in very different ways, both giving voice to strong women we’ve fallen in love with. Ausma Zehanat Khan and Nisi Shawl bring the wider world to Camelot in ways that blur its boundaries and elevate the storytelling to something larger and more global. And Daniel Lavery and Sive Doyle make us laugh, make us cry, and give us two queer couples that absolutely deserve to be canon.

  PRESENT

  Then there’s Maria Dahvana Headley, who finds the Arthurian overtones of a muckraker in late-nineteenth-century America. Waubgeshig Rice and Alex Segura both incorporate baseball into their reimagined Arthur but in very different ways: in one, a pickup game on a reservation leads to an amazing discovery; in the other, a washed-up minor-league player finds help where he least expects it. Anthony Rapp finds magic in the throes of the AIDS crisis, while S. Zainab Williams explores that intangible search for belonging through a lonely girl in Singapore. Jessica Plummer and Preeti Chhibber both consider how it might look if a legend made itself known in modern life—with very different consequences.

  FUTURE

  No Arthurian collection would be complete without a look forward, and Silvia Moreno-Garcia brings us to a near-future Mexico City in a story both eerie and prescient. Ken Liu takes us even farther out, into a universe in which identity shifts from one moment to the next…but past mistakes can haunt you forever. A little closer to home is Alexander Chee’s story, set on our neighboring planet and contemplating public versus private personas, secrets, and games.

  * * *

  This collection has been a privilege and a joy to curate and has shown us just how much room there is to play. We hope that you’ll enjoy these stories as much as we do, and that these stories are merely the tip of the iceberg for inclusive Arthurian fiction. Everyone deserves to see themselves on the page, and even if you don’t find your specific identity within these stories, perhaps you’ll see some small part of yourself inside these characters and these old, and yet entirely new, legends.

  ONCE

  The Once and Future Qadi

  Ausma Zehanat Khan

  The Qadi was sitting on his prayer rug at his ease when the summons came from Camelot. Even to consider it a summons was a matter of insult, Ayaan thought, but the Qadi from Cordoba, who had grown to renown in Seville, had survived many skirmishes by refusing to respond to the needling of his pride. And patience, after all, was a much-valued quality in a jurist. Now the Qadi turned his well-shaped head up to the moon and waited for Ayaan to place the message in his hand. A man who had once studied with the masters of the Great Library of Cordoba would h
ave no difficulty interpreting the intricate script of the Franks.

  He tapped the scroll against his knee, his knuckles rubbing lightly across his beard.

  “It is an honor, Qadi, to be invited to the court of the Franks. To ask you to adjudicate in the matter of his queen’s fidelity is a sign of utmost esteem.”

  The Qadi grimaced. “When the invitation itself is an insult to his queen?”

  The scribe shrugged, an easy gesture that rolled his shoulders. “These Franks think of honor differently to us. Perhaps their women matter less.”

  The Qadi rose to his feet with the limber movements of a man who had performed thousands of prayers during his travels, equally at home on a mat spread out on the desert sands or under the white-and-gold cupola of the great Mezquita.

  “Yet they pen such pretty odes in tribute to their maids. Their chivalry is coy. This accusation against the queen Guinevere is bold.”

  He gave the scroll back to Ayaan, who asked, “Will you refuse the request, Qadi Yusuf?”

  Ayaan knew the Qadi as an exacting mentor. Now he put his scribe to the test. “Tell me, Ayaan, what would be the consequences of either acceptance or refusal?”

  A leaping light came into Ayaan’s eyes. He was sharp and capable, ambitious to a fault—qualities he knew the Qadi valued. He cleared his throat, giving his answer with no pretense of humility.

  “King Arthur extends a great honor by asking you to adjudicate on a matter concerning his queen. This means he knows your name by repute and respects your judgment more than the jurists of his court. Perhaps he trusts in your discretion. Perhaps matters have become so inflamed with respect to his wife that he feels ill at ease with his court. Or perhaps the jurist whose opinion would be sought is away on a Crusade assailing our Holy Lands.”

  “Ah.” A wry sound. “More a Christian knight than a jurist, then.”

  “Much like yourself, Qadi.” Ayaan was not above a little flattery. “Knight and jurist both.”

  “Theirs is a curious court, their religion encompassing more than just the doctrine of Christ. They are poised between their pagan ancestors and their belief in a man’s divinity. They have no notion of our faith—how would they contend with a jurist from Qurtaba, whose rulings are rooted in his creed?”

  “Such matters are beyond my knowledge, Qadi. I assume your renown extends to Camelot, though the court may be of a world and time apart.”

  “Then you advise me to accept the invitation.”

  Ayaan glanced at his mentor with caution. “To refuse would disgrace the reputation of our people. They would call our courage into question. And before these lordly knights?” He shook his head, his tawny curls dancing. “Yet, Qadi, to accept carries its own penalties when you consider you would be judging a matter of great personal import—the honor and fidelity of a queen. This king may not be well disposed toward us, as even by posing the question, he shames this Guinevere. He will be relying on your discretion, and I do not think he will like it.”

  The Qadi laughed: a rich, warm sound that lingered on the air.

  “So there is no choice I could make that would be sufficient.”

  “Qadi, your judgment has always been sound. I defer to your wisdom.”

  The Qadi ran a hand over his own dense, dark curls, and Ayaan took a moment to appreciate his patron’s beauty. In the Qadi, all the manly graces were combined. His lineage was distinguished, his bravery keen—though he’d proved fonder of the library than of interminable and frivolous battles. He was a polymath, learned in languages, jurisprudence, theology, astronomy, and medicine, and of greatest delight to the caliphal court at Seville, he was a skilled executioner of the famous ring songs of al-Andalus. His Arabic was thick and rich, curling around the tongue, roughly, giddily beautiful, his use of language the headiest of elixirs.

  He was an ornament of the Almohad caliphate—he could lull a listener with the rhythms of his voice, then spear them with his intellect, a sport he reserved for his equals, showing mercy to lesser mortals. Perhaps he was at times remote, lost in contemplation, but like his noble forebears, his judgment was tempered by consideration. He was a great favorite of the Caliph as a man who could be trusted not to curry favor. Though his attitudes were sometimes unpopular, he spoke trenchantly of the incursions of the Franks and the looming reconquest of Iberia. There was danger in such fearless honesty, but the Qadi feared only his Creator.

  Ayaan thought again how fortunate he was to be taken on as the Qadi’s apprentice. Consider the adventures they had shared traveling these Christian lands. And now think of the chance. To meet these knights of Camelot whose legend had far surpassed their deeds, and to lay his untutored eyes upon this queen of the Franks.

  He let his eyelids droop, afraid that too much eagerness would decide the matter for the judge.

  But the Qadi had begun his preparations for travel.

  “Come,” he said to Ayaan. “If they do us honor, we should honor them in turn.”

  * * *

  —

  Yusuf brought his open palm to his chest with a slight inclination of his head. The aging king received him with a greeting of matching civility. He stood tall and proud, his hair flaring silver against the backdrop of a window cased in stone, the green country rising behind him, a ribbon of purest blue dashing a swift path north. A beautiful land, this. Cool and refreshing to the eye, with mists of rain veiling the keep in layers of solitude.

  King Arthur, with his regal head and lucid, visionary eyes, had asked to meet with the Qadi privately, Ayaan borne away by a group of chattering interpreters. For himself, Yusuf spoke the tongue of the Franks with a cultured accent. Now, observing the king, he could think of no means to broach the subject of the summons, though he could see the pain behind the effortless diplomacy.

  The king bade him sit. Yusuf placed his jeweled sword to one side. He felt an unwilling respect for this king. Though Arthur had no personal guard, he had not insisted that Yusuf give up his weapons. Saying little, the king offered every courtesy.

  “This is a matter of some delicacy. I have not accused the queen of wrongdoing, but the charge was made before the entire court, and I am at a loss to answer it.” He paused. “There is a…coolness…between the queen and myself as a result.”

  Yusuf caught movement in the antechamber: a glimpse of long fair hair flowing over a gown that enclosed a delicate frame. The king noticed his inattention.

  “The queen,” he murmured. “She refuses to be set aside.”

  “It is a great thing to be the queen of a noble king who resides in the heart of his people. Difficult, I imagine, to relinquish.”

  The king became still, a curious tilt to his head. “You think her affection insincere? You have yet to meet her.”

  “It seems to me it is you who doubt her devotion. What happened to make this so, for all lands have heard the tale of the love between King Arthur and his queen?”

  The king sighed, a stately lion in the winter of his years, a crown of thorns on his brow.

  “She is uncommonly beautiful,” he said, “and many of my knights are taken with her, though I have paid it little mind. I gave her a pin of some value—a swan studded with gemstones.” He sounded impatient with himself. “When I did not see her wearing it, I asked her to pin it to her gown.” His steady gaze dropped to the table. “One of her ladies produced it, and when I asked how she had come across it, the maid was stricken into silence. I turned to find the stony eyes of the queen dark upon her lady, so I asked the maid to speak.”

  Yusuf waited, his head angled to keep the flitting shadow in the antechamber within the limits of his vision.

  “In the presence of my court, the maid claimed to have found the pin in Sir Lancelot’s bed. The queen denies it, of course.”

  The movement in the antechamber halted. Yusuf kept his eyes on the king.

  �
��And who did you believe—queen or maid?”

  The king evaded an answer. “Lancelot went down on his knees before the entire court to swear his fealty to me. Never would he hurt me, I thought. For I have loved him like a brother.”

  Yusuf allowed the silence to expand, pitying the king’s disillusion. Though he thought it telling that the deeper injury had been caused by the knight rather than the faithless queen.

  And finally the king admitted, “Lancelot is comely beyond the reckoning of any of the knights of my court. He is much admired, a regard he is little loath to return. I cannot deny his blood runs hot.”

  In what Yusuf guessed was an uncharacteristic gesture, the proud king touched his tongue to his lips, seeking to relieve their dryness.

  “I had thought his love for the queen was chaste, but there were other witnesses to the discovery of my lady’s brooch. And the queen herself can offer no explanation.”

  “Cannot or will not?” Yusuf was conscious of those delicate footsteps, the quietly listening ears.

  The king straightened his back. He rose from his chair, and Yusuf did the same.

  “You will see for yourself when you meet her. If she has a fault, it lies in her pride. She will not grace me with an answer to the charge.”

  “The charge of infidelity. The charge of congress with your knight.”

  For a moment a fine rage flared in the old king’s eyes, and Yusuf felt a stab of satisfaction. He wanted the king to fight, to hold his proud head high. This air of defeat was premature and would earn his courtiers’ contempt.

  The king turned his head away from the shadow in the other room. “I hope your inquiry will put an end to this speculation.”

  “No matter how things turn out?”

  He witnessed the majesty of Camelot’s king in Arthur’s dignified reply.

  “It would hurt me to know, but rumor and suspicion are tearing this court apart.” The king watched as Yusuf sheathed his jeweled sword at his hip. “Can you get at the truth?”