The Undead Queen of Camelot
Page 10
And I was once more standing in the sunlight.
Epilogue—Alwen
“Sing us the song again, Grandmother. Sing to us the song of Guinevere, the Shining Queen of Camelot,” Scylla whimpered as she rocked back and forth. “I am not sleepy at all.”
I patted her head and pinched her cheek playfully. “You say you are not sleepy, but your eyes tell another story, Scylla. See, Circe has already climbed into bed. Why should you be the naughty one?” Scylla poked out her bottom lip and climbed up on the stool to get into her bed. My bones cracked as I rose from my seat by the fire. I tucked my grandchildren into their warm bed and stirred the fire. I would sing to them; I always sang them to sleep. I did this every night without fail, not merely for entertainment but because I wanted them to remember. I wanted them to know the story of their great-grandmother so that they could tell it to their children someday.
The story must continue. The truth must be known. In the distance, I heard a horn blowing. One rarely heard such horns anymore. I wondered briefly what occasion would have called for such an instrument. Once, when Camelot shone like the sun, when the golden city of Arthur Pendragon was a beacon of peace and hope to all who laid eyes upon it, the horns blew to signal the arrival and departure of the king.
But alas, my father had passed from this world long ago, and now I was an old woman. Camelot remained, but the place now bore only a trace of its former glory. Yes, that was the last time I had heard the sound. Who then would depart or arrive this night? There were no Pendragons left save myself and my grandchildren. Even my daughter had died not long after the birth of Circe. We were cared for and honored by the new royal family, but we were a dying breed. A dying house.
The horn blew again softly and then faded. I heard Circe whimper in her bed. It was a sure sign that she heard the sound too, although I was certain that she would not know the meaning of it.
“Grandmother, sing to us,” Scylla insisted as she snuggled up to her sister. How much they looked like my own mother. It was shocking, really; it was as if she bore them herself. Both girls had bright red hair that grew in soft ringlets and framed their sweet faces beautifully. Yes, they had their father’s eyes, but all else was Pendragon. Especially their stubbornness. I laughed when the girls would thrust their chins up in defiance of any suggestion they didn’t agree with, like going to bed at the appropriate times. They were two little night owls.
Oh, the owls. Why should I think of those evil messengers this night? I listened again but heard no other horns, nothing except the usual sounds of horses in the courtyard of Camelot. Servants walked up and down the halls, but no one bothered us. I’d sent Henna away earlier. She was my faithful servant, but at times she wearied me. Especially lately. I longed to be alone with my memories, my own thoughts. And I would be soon, as soon as the two children went to sleep. I looked forward to drifting off to my dream world. My mother dwelled there, and sometimes I would see my father too. I longed for those days of old and missed my brother, Lochlon. It bothered me that he had not returned to Camelot. But then again, I had learned a lot in the long years that had passed. Not all were twice-born, not all of us returned. Would I return? I hoped not. I hoped that when I died, I would drift away and join my family in that golden dream world. Maybe then I would see Lochlon.
“Sleep now, girls. I will sing for you but only once. Your grandmother’s bones are tired tonight. I need my rest too.” I sat on the side of the bed as the girls smiled happily and closed their eyes, huddling under the quilt.
Shining Queen of Camelot,
Come sit upon your throne.
Let justice roll like thunder,
And let your voice be known.
Shining Queen of Camelot,
Return to your bright home!
I don’t know what came over me, but tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t sing this song. Not tonight. Why did I miss her so this moment? She had been gone so long, so very long.
“Grandmother? Are you okay?” Scylla’s voice broke the silence.
“Yes, but I am tired, dear child. No more songs tonight.”
“Good night, Grandmother,” Scylla whispered as I wiped my face with my wrinkled hands.
I slowly lifted my tired body from the side of their bed and went to my own bed. I eased onto the mattress, old and lumpy like me. I was sure Henna would be happy to replace it for me, but I was stubborn and did not want to discard it. I had loved my husband on that mattress. I had given birth in that bed. No, it would do for me.
With aching hands, I pulled the quilt up and covered my body. Why did it feel so cold now? The fire was nice and bright, but the cold had seeped into my bones and would not leave me. That happened frequently lately, but this cold seemed much more intense. I rubbed my feet together to try to warm them. It did not help.
Once again, I heard the horn blowing. Yes, it was the horn of my childhood. Again I wondered who would blow the horn at this hour. And there were no more Pendragons. Except my grandchildren and me.
Sleep came easily to me. How tired I felt. How very tired, down to the depths of my soul. I stepped into the dream easily enough. Mother was plucking apples from the tree, and in the distance, at the top of the hill, I could see Lochlon waving his wooden sword about just as he liked to do when he was merely a boy. I could best him effortlessly, but Mother discouraged me often.
“You are gifted in many things, Alwen. Your brother is gifted in just one thing. Let him have it.”
Yes, there was Lochlon! He waved at me. Somewhere nearby, Father was talking to Merlin. I knew Merlin’s voice like I knew my father’s. He was like a grandfather to me, a strange yet caring grandfather.
“Alwen, what took you so long?” Mother held out her skirts and showed me her collection of golden apples. I reached for one with a smile. Could this be real? The apple felt real, and Mother’s skin appeared bright and lovely. Just as it did before she became the Undead Queen of Camelot.
Yes, once she had been real. Living. Loving.
“This is a pleasant dream, Mother.” I took a bite from the apple. I would enjoy this dream as long as I could.
“Please, Alwen, help me collect apples. I want to make your father a pie.” Mother smiled down at me as she plucked apples from the higher branches.
“Let me climb up there, Mother. I am good at climbing,” I said as I realized I had a child’s hands again. A child’s body. And oh, how I loved to climb! I kicked off my shoes and raced toward the tree as Mother’s gentle laugh welcomed my help.
“Be careful, Alwen. Just grab those there.”
“Yes, Mother!” I answered as I quickly began to scale the tree. It was so easy to do. So easy now. I did not hurt, and my feet were not cold. My hands did not ache.
I scampered out onto the branch and reached for the apples. I plucked them, and Mother caught them easily. The last apple was just beyond my reach, but I was determined. I could not disappoint Mother. As I reached, I lost my grip on the branch.
Before I knew it, I was falling from the branch, falling to the ground. Would I break my head? I closed my eyes and waited for the expected pain. It did not come.
Suddenly, I fell into familiar arms.
“Father!” I said as I opened my eyes. “I fell!”
“Yes, but I caught you. You’re safe now, Alwen.”
I put my arms around his neck, marveling that I was young again. As young as Circe and Scylla.
“How did you know I would be here, Father? How did you know?” I hugged him so tightly that I thought he would complain, but he did not. I wanted to cry, but all I could do was laugh. Laugh for joy!
“I heard the horn, Alwen Pendragon. I heard the horn and knew you would come, Princess of Camelot.”
“I never want to leave, Father. Please don’t let me go.”
“You will not leave us again, Alwen. You are home now.”
My mind briefly turned to Scylla and Circe, but I knew they would be well. I knew i
t. They did not need me anymore. Then Mother was with us, and Lochlon was running down the hill toward us.
Finally, we would be together. And we would never again part.
At least not for a while. I heard Mother’s voice in my head. She rubbed my cheek with the back of her hand, and Father set my feet on the ground. With my hair blowing behind me, I ran toward Lochlon. And as he scooped me up and swung me around, I knew I was where I should be.
Always and forever.
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About the Author
Author of the best-selling Seven Sisters series and the Desert Queen series, M.L. Bullock has been storytelling since she was a child. A student of archaeology, she loves weaving stories that feature her favorite historical characters—including Nefertiti. She currently lives on the Gulf Coast with her family but travels frequently to explore the southern states she loves so much.
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