by Mari Mancusi
Without waiting for her stepmother's reply, she burst up the rest of stairs, taking them two at a time. She could feel Cammy's pitying eyes burning a hole in her back as she reached the landing. Just what she needed to make her already stellar afternoon even better.
After a moment, she could hear her stepmother's sigh, followed by her clomping footsteps as she made her way to the front door, stepping out and pulling it shut behind her. At least she didn't follow Sophie upstairs to try to say something comforting. That would have brought her to her breaking point.
Entering her bedroom, Sophie threw herself down on her bed, grabbing the ratty stuffed bear off her pillow and hugging it to her chest. She thought about calling Stu, but then remembered they were sort of in a fight. Over the stupid dance, of all things. She wished she had never even heard of it at this point.
Dropping the bear, she rolled to her side, grabbing a silver framed photo off her nightstand. It was a portrait of her mother and father, taken at some kind of charity ball years before. Her mother looked so beautiful, in a long but simple silver gown. And her dad looked dashing in his tux. The two of them were ignoring the camera, gazing instead into each other's eyes, as if promising each other a happily ever after.
It was a beautiful picture. But it had been an empty promise. Mainly because five years ago, Sophie's mother had vanished without a trace and no one had heard from her since.
Sophie would never forget the last time she saw her. She'd been nine years old, curled up asleep in this very bed, when she'd felt a hand on her shoulder. She'd opened her eyes to find her mother leaning over her, her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears.
“Mom?” she'd asked, a little frightened.
“I'm sorry,” her mother said in a choked voice. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing. It's just that I have to go, my darling. And I don't know when I'll be able to come back to you.”
Now Sophie was wide-awake. “But why?” she asked, her heart pounding.
Her mother gave her a rueful smile. “I have to go save the world” was what Sophie thought she said, in a voice so low it was scarcely a whisper. And then she kissed her daughter's forehead, hushing her back to sleep. When Sophie awoke the next morning, she wasn't sure if it had been a dream. But she liked to think it wasn't—that her mother was really out there, somewhere, saving the world.
Her father had eventually remarried, trying his best to move on and give Sophie another mother figure in her life. But when he looked at Sophie sometimes, she saw his eyes mist, and she knew he could never truly forget his beautiful bride. Sophie wanted to be angry at her mother for leaving, but somehow she knew, deep inside, that she hadn't had a choice. Otherwise she would have never left her only daughter and husband behind. She had to believe that, at least.
She traced the photo longingly with a finger, then set it back on the nightstand, rolling over to the other side of the bed and reaching for her cell phone, deciding to call Stu and apologize. She had to admit, she'd been kind of a jerk earlier. She'd just been so taken aback by the idea that he would be interested in some girl. She'd never even considered the idea of Stu with a girlfriend. He just seemed so uninterested in anything that wasn't videogame related. And he barely hung out with anyone but her. How did he even meet this girl? And how come he never told her about it? The idea bugged her more than she wanted to admit.
Before she could dial, her phone started ringing. She smiled. Of course. Stu had an uncanny knack for that kind of thing.
“Hey,” she said into the receiver.
“Hey yourself,” he replied.
They both fell silent. Okay . . . awkward. Sophie realized it was up to her to make the first move. “Listen, I—”
“About before—” Stu broke in at the same time.
They laughed and the tension broke between them. “Seriously, Stu,” she said, “I acted like a jerk. I'm sorry. If you want to go to the dance, you should go to the dance. Who knows, it might even be fun.”
He sighed. “Yeah, sure. Fun.”
Sophie picked at a loose thread on her mother's old quilt, wondering what was going on with her best friend. Who was this girl, who had gotten him so worked up? And why couldn't he just tell her? After all, they'd never had any secrets before. At least none that she knew of . . .
She frowned. Would things between them change if he started going out with this new girl? Would he suddenly be too busy hanging out with her to meet up online for their nightly gaming sessions? Would the girl start to get jealous of their close friendship—and tell Stu he wasn't allowed to hang out with Sophie anymore?
Would Stu stop being her friend?
She suddenly felt cold. If Stu let his new girlfriend walk all over him like that, then he was an idiot. He needed to stand up to her and tell her that Sophie came first in his life, no matter what. And if he didn't? Well, she wasn't sure she wanted to be friends with him anymore anyway.
“Um, Sophie?” Stu broke in over the line. “Are you still there?”
Oh. She blushed, coming back to earth. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just . . . thinking.”
“Look Sophie, I was wondering if—”
But the chime of another call cut him off. “Hang on,” she said, pulling the phone from her ear and checking the caller ID. Her father, calling from his business trip in London. “Sorry,” she said, returning the phone to her ear. “It's Dad, overseas. I got to take this.”
“Okay, sure,” Stu replied, sounding strangely disappointed. It was then she realized he'd been in the middle of asking her something when the call had interrupted.
“Wait, what were you saying?” she asked. “Quick before I have to switch over.”
There was silence on the other end. The phone chimed a second time.
“Stu? What were you saying?” she asked again, not wanting to be rude, but not wanting to miss a chance to talk to her dad, after not seeing him all week.
“Um, never mind. I'll um, ask you at lunch tomorrow.”
“Okay, cool,” she said, feeling good about that. Lunch tomorrow. Just like normal. Maybe this girlfriend thing wouldn't be such a big deal after all. “May the Merlin be with you,” she added, quoting their favorite Camelot's Honor sign-off.
Stu chuckled. “And also with you,” he replied softly.
Switching over to her dad, Sophie snuggled back into her bed, against her stuffed bear, trying to tell herself everything would be okay. Girl or no girl, it was still Stu, after all. Her best friend in the world. And that would never change.
Chapter 6
“There you are,” Merlin exclaimed, popping his white bearded head through the bushes, suspicious eyes leveling on Arthur. “What are you doing out here? And, more importantly, what”—his gaze roved to Guinevere, his mouth twisting into a disapproving frown—”is she doing here?”
Arthur gave Guinevere an apologetic look. For some reason he could not understand, his mentor had taken an extreme disliking to his friendship with the princess, even though he had never met her before. He was constantly telling him the girl was trouble and that Arthur was better off to forget all about her, for the good of everyone involved. Which seemed ridiculous to Arthur. If anything, his friendship with Guinevere had helped him survive over the years and given him the only joy he had ever known. She was sweet, noble, brave, and true. And if there was something Merlin knew about her that Arthur didn't, well, he couldn't imagine what it could be.
“We had to hide out from some errant knights,” he declared, stepping in front of the princess protectively. He'd defend her to the death, even from his very own teacher, if need be. “I figured they wouldn't dare come looking here.”
He watched, in relief, as Merlin’s shoulders relaxed at his words, his watery old eyes dancing with mirth. He knew, as well as anyone, how ignoble the knights of this realm could be. “Very well,” he replied. “Come inside. I've whipped up a very lovely pea soup and . . . “
The magicia
n trailed off, his smile fading as his eyes focused on something behind them. Arthur turned around slowly, his heart fluttering as he wondered what it could be. His eyes widened as they fell upon the scene.
The once calm waters of the well were now bubbling fiercely like a boiling cauldron, gushing over the well's stone sides. Mist rose from the depths, flooding the shores in waves. Merlin pushed past Arthur and Guinevere, peering down into the well, ignoring the water splashing onto his robes, his face a portrait of confusion. Then he looked back at Arthur, meeting his eyes with a furious look on his face.
“Did you try to use the Well of Dreams?” he demanded.
Arthur knew better than that. The Well of Dreams was no ordinary well to draw water from, but a magical vessel designed to allow Merlin to view the future. It was dangerous, his teacher had told him, and he had forbidden Arthur to ever look into its depths. Of course, Arthur had been more than happy to obey. After all, he had no desire to catch even a glimpse of his surely pitiful future. A long, lonely life with no hope for advancement. Guinevere married to another man. He'd had to live it soon enough; no need to get a sneak peak.
To his left, he caught Guinevere opening her mouth to speak—to admit to what she'd dropped into the well. But Arthur realized suddenly that he couldn't let her take the blame. After all, he'd been the one messing around, causing her to drop the scabbard to begin with. And Merlin would likely take things easier on him than her.
He had to protect her. It was the chivalrous thing to do.
“I dropped a scabbard into the well,” he replied stoutly. From the corner of his eye, he could see Guinevere's questioning stare, but he forced his gaze straight ahead, meeting his mentor's eyes with his own. “One I found in the Crystal Cave.”
Merlin stared at him, disbelief clear on his face. “A scabbard,” he repeated, his normally confident voice croaking in a mixture of fury and fear. Arthur swallowed hard. “You don't happen to mean the jeweled scabbard that was sitting on my workbench, now do you?”
Arthur stole a glance at Guinevere. Her white face gave him all the answer he needed to know. “Yes, that is the one,” he replied uneasily. He'd never seen his teacher so distraught before and it scared him to the bone. “Why? Is it really valuable?”
“Valuable?” Merlin repeated with a scoffing laugh. “Valuable?” He shook his head slowly while drawing in a deep breath. Then he turned to his pupil. “Arthur, that scabbard has the power to change the very history of this world.”
Oh dear. Arthur let out a breath, staring down into the well, his stomach swimming with nausea. “Well, don't worry, I can go get it,” he informed his teacher, realizing what he had to do. “You could turn me into a fish or a sea turtle, perhaps. I could dive down into the well and find the scabbard. Then you can turn me into a bird and I can fly it back up.” Merlin had taught him the power of shape shifting as part of their lessons. He even had a special magical powder that could transform a man into any animal he wished to be. It was pretty fun and maybe would prove useful now. He just hoped the scabbard hadn't gotten damaged by the water.
But to his surprise, his teacher shook his head. “As you know,” he said, his voice grave, “the Well of Dreams is no ordinary vessel. It serves as a portal to other times. Anything or anyone dropped into its depths will be transported instantly before ever touching the bottom.” The magician paced the ground, like a cat in a cage. “The scabbard is no longer in our world, my boy. And no fish or turtle could ever hope to bring it back.”
“Well, then where is it?” Guinevere piped in, her own voice quavering, her face white. “If not down in the well?”
Merlin stopped pacing, looking down at her with a suspicious glare. As if he knew all too well her involvement in this tragedy. “To the twenty-first century,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Suburban Massachusetts to be precise.”
Arthur and Guinevere exchanged surprised looks. This was not what they'd been expecting to hear.
“The twenty-first century,” Arthur repeated, just to make sure he'd heard right. “You mean like the future?”
“I mean exactly the future.” Merlin nodded glumly. “Before you arrived, I'd conjured up a time portal to stream some wireless DSL for my Internet connection. It seemed like a good idea at the time . . . “
“DSL?” Arthur repeated doubtfully.
Merlin waved him off. “Never mind. The point is, your timing couldn't have been worse. The Companion will be here at any moment to retrieve the scabbard and bring it to this afternoon's tournament. I do not know what her mistress, the Lady of the Lake, will do to me if she learns of its current fate.” He shuddered.
“Wait!” Guinevere cried, her eyes lighting up. “You're bringing the Pendragon scabbard to the tournament?” she asked. “Does this mean you believe someone will pull the sword from the stone today? Will we be getting a new high king?”
Merlin gave her a nervous look, as if he'd said too much. But before she could press him, a tall woman astride a giant black horse stepped into the clearing, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere. She was dressed in plain white robes from head to toe, her waist encircled by a simple silver chain. She slid off her horse and stepped toward them. Though she was largely unadorned, she radiated a beauty and glory that had Arthur and Guinevere shaking.
“A Companion!” Guinevere hissed at Arthur. “Drop to your knee.”
Arthur complied with no question. He'd never seen one of the Lady of the Lake's maidens before, but he'd heard many tales. They were warrior priestesses, serving and protecting the land. Descendents of the goddess of war, known as the Morrigan, who long ago brought victory to Britain over the invading Roman Empire.
In other words, no one you wanted to mess with . . . or accidentally disrespect. Or, you know, lose the priceless artifact they were sent to retrieve.
The Companion had long blond hair and true blue eyes and a face so ageless Arthur couldn't tell if she had lived a mere twenty summers or eighty. He watched, terrified, as she approached Merlin.
“M'lady,” Merlin said, bowing low. “We are honored by your visit.”
“I cannot stay long,” she told him. “There is still much to do. But I assume everything is in place for this afternoon?”
Arthur dared steal a peek from his prostrate position and realized she was staring at him. He felt his face heat under her intense gaze. Was she wondering why a lowly peasant boy like himself was wasting the legendary Merlin's time? If only she knew the rest of it. Would Merlin sell him out for the loss of the scabbard?
But his teacher only nodded. “We are ready,” he told her. “Today is a great and glorious day and one we have been waiting on a long time. Finally the prophecy shall come to pass.”
Guinevere gave Arthur an excited look. He knew what she was thinking. Could someone finally be able to pull the sword from the stone? This very afternoon? Could they have a new high king before the day was out? It was a thrilling idea, to say the least. He only hoped this new king—whoever he was—would be just and good. He didn't think the kingdom could take an Agravaine type.
“Very well,” said the Companion. “Then give me the scabbard and I shall be on my way.”
Merlin winced, but only for a moment, then masked his face again. “Actually, there's been a change in plans,” he informed her smoothly. As if he wasn't lying through his teeth to a woman who could strike him down with one word. “I am going to be bringing the scabbard to the ceremony myself.”
The Companion's serene smile dipped into a frown. “That was not what we agreed to. You were only to keep the scabbard long enough to re-enchant it. The Lady wishes to be the one to gift the new king with his scabbard and sword.”
“And she will!” Merlin exclaimed. “I'll give it to her the second I get to the castle. There's just one more thing I must do to . . . make it even more powerful.”
The Companion was silent for a moment, pursing her lips. “Very well,” she said at last. “I will let the Lady know. But I can assure you, she will
not be pleased.”
“She will be pleased soon enough!” Merlin assured her. “When she sees what this new and improved scabbard can do.” He beamed at her with a confident whiskered grin. “Now, my dear, you've come all this way. Why don't you spend a moment at the well? I've got it all dialed in, just for you.” He put a fatherly arm on her shoulder.
The Companion stiffened and Arthur thought he caught a shadow of longing cross her elegant face. “I shouldn't tarry,” she hedged. “I must get back to my lady. There is much to do.”
“Would your lady begrudge you one moment of joy on this most joyous of days?” Merlin cajoled. “After all, you do not get to pass through this way often.”
“You are right.” The Companion walked slowly over to the well, but her face betrayed her eagerness. “Just a small glimpse . . . “ Arthur and Guinevere watched as she peered into its depths. Hopefully the scabbard wouldn't pick that moment to bob to the surface. That would be a bit awkward, to say the least.
A moment later, a wistful smile spread across the Companion's face. It was as if whatever the well was showing her was both happy and sad. A moment later, she sighed deeply, forcing herself to straighten and turn away.
“Thank you,” she said, bowing low to Merlin. “You are right. It is a vision I don't get to see often enough and one I love well.”
Merlin gave her a rueful smile and patted her on the back. “The Well of Dreams is always here for you when you need it,” he told her. “But now I must ask a favor of you as well.”
“Anything, m'lord.”
“Will you escort this young lady back to the castle on your way to Avalon?” he asked, pointing to Guinevere. “She has been gone some time and I am sure her father has missed her by now.”
Guinevere frowned. “I don't think that—” But Merlin's sharp look shot her down. She sighed, then followed the Companion to her horse.
“Bye, Arthur,” she said, giving him an apologetic shrug. He gave her a small wave, wishing they could have just a moment together alone to talk. But Merlin was evidently eager to be rid of the princess. And Arthur was in enough hot water already; he knew better than to protest.
