Cavall in Camelot #1

by Audrey Mackaman

  “You can?”

  “If anyone can sniff out a fay,” Anwen said, “it’s Edelm.”

  Edelm sighed through his jowls. “I shall try my best.” He took a few steps and raised his head again. His nostrils flared and his whole nose wrinkled up as he sniffed. Then he did a quarter turn and sniffed in that direction. He turned again before Cavall saw a spark light up his aged eyes. “This way,” he announced.

  Anwen and Cavall followed behind as Edelm took off through the undergrowth. There wasn’t any real path to speak of, but Edelm plowed ahead at a good speed for a dog his age.

  Beams of moonlight bathed the forest in a silvery-blue light. Through the whipping of the wind and tree branches as he dashed through the woods, Cavall swore he could hear whispers, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Between the trees, the will-o’-the-wisps continued to blink.

  Anwen lifted her head. “I smell water.”

  They burst upon a clearing. He didn’t know if it was the same one from before. The trees and rocks were different, but there was a lake, luminescent with moonlight glittering off its surface. How many lakes could there be in this forest? This had to be the right one.

  He walked to the edge of the lake, where the ground was soft and spongy and the grass gave way to reeds and moss. Anwen and Edelm hung back. Cavall could feel the uncertainty rippling from them like waves on the water. It was strange how two dogs who had so fearlessly jumped into a raging river not an hour earlier were now frightened of a still lake.

  Cavall waded in up to his knees and lowered his nose to the water. “Vivian,” he called. “It’s me, Cavall. I need your help.”

  His bark echoed back to him from across the water. It gradually faded away and silence descended.

  “Where is she?” Anwen asked, head darting every which way, as if expecting an ambush.

  “I don’t know,” Cavall answered nervously. What if she wasn’t here? Or what if she was and just didn’t want to talk to him? He whimpered. “Vivian,” he called again. “We need to talk to you. Arthur’s in danger and he needs your help.”

  Overhead, a great bird shrieked. A falcon flapped its wings as it took off from a high tree.

  Far out beyond the reeds, the water rose up in a bulge and moved toward the shore. A large animal broke from the surface. From the way it moved, it seemed to be a horse. Cavall’s heart swelled. Vivian had first emerged from the lake this way, riding on a large, black horse.

  As the shape drew nearer though, plodding persistently toward them, Cavall realized there was no rider and that this was not the same creature Vivian had been riding. It moved like a horse, yes, but not like any horse Cavall had ever met. It was pitch-black, with glowing eyes that pierced through the darkness. The mane that hung from its neck was both rough and sleek, like seaweed. Ridges stood up along its nose, like the gills of a fish. And perhaps most alarmingly of all, sharp teeth glistened and protruded from the creature’s mouth.

  Cavall took a few steps back as it came closer.

  “Do you know Vivian, the Lady of the Lake?” he asked as bravely as he could.

  The terrifying horse waded onto the shore and shook out its mossy seaweed mane. Its hooves were enormous, and yet they left no prints in the grass. Its nostrils flared and it turned its glowing gaze toward Cavall.

  “Please,” Cavall tried again. “I need to speak with Vivian.”

  “She sent me,” the horse said, breathing heavily through its nose. When it opened its mouth to speak, he could see that the sharp teeth went all the way back.

  “Oh,” Cavall said. He looked back to Anwen and Edelm, but they were frozen. “Uh, I’m Cavall . . .”

  “We’ve met,” the horse interrupted. “Though you saw me in my daylight form.”

  Cavall squinted and cocked his head. “Meinir?”

  “Ah, you remember my name,” she said.

  “Forgive me. I didn’t recognize you. You look . . .”

  “A little different by night.” She nodded her great head. Water droplets spilled from her mane. “Vivian did explain that I was a kelpie, yes? A fay horse.”

  “We’re looking for a fay to guide us into the Dreaming,” Cavall explained.

  “That’s why Vivian sent me,” Meinir said. “I can take you into the Dreaming faster than she could.”

  “You can?” Cavall’s tail thumped hopefully. “Good. We don’t have any time to waste. Arthur’s asleep right now, and I’m sure his nightmare has already started.” He turned to Anwen and Edelm, who still hadn’t moved. “It’s all right. She’s a friend and she’s going to help us get into the Dreaming.”

  Anwen crept closer. “She won’t hurt us?”

  “No, no. I met her when I met Vivian.” He swiveled his head back to the kelpie. “You didn’t speak very much then.”

  “I speak when I need to.”

  “This is Meinir,” he said as Anwen finally came close enough to introduce them. “Meinir, this is Anwen. And that, back there, is Edelm.”

  Edelm stepped forward boldly to stand right beside Cavall. He held his head high to meet Meinir’s eyes. “You can get us into the Dreaming?” he asked.

  “I can.”

  “Can you get us back out again?” Anwen demanded.

  Meinir pawed at the ground with one large hoof. “I offer no guarantees. The Dreaming is a place of the mind, shaped by the mind of the dreamer, though any visitors with a strong enough will can influence the dream as well. The fay who has invaded your friend’s dream is a powerful Night Mare indeed, and you will be vulnerable once you enter.” She turned her head and said, almost to herself, “Terribly vulnerable.”

  “How?” Cavall asked.

  “The Night Mare seeks to destroy those in its path. For the dreamer, it seeks to destroy the mind. For any visitors, well . . . you will have your physical form, and the Night Mare will seek to destroy that as well.” She shook her head. “Terribly vulnerable.”

  “Tell us what we have to do,” Cavall said but then looked to the other two dogs. He had made up his mind long before this point, but perhaps he shouldn’t say “we.” He had no right to speak for his friends.

  But Edelm nodded, his face hardened with resolve.

  “We’re with you,” Anwen said. “Into the Dreaming and back, even if we have to follow a fay horse.”

  Meinir’s eyes flashed in approval, and she walked up to the dry ground. Water trailed behind her. Her tail was also made of seaweed, and it glistened against her dark fur. Her hooves still didn’t leave indents, but they did leave something else—glowing hoofprint shapes, like the wax stamps people used on letters. They were faintly blue.

  “Follow the trail I leave,” Meinir explained, nodding to the hoofprints. “Stay between them. If you wander outside, you’ll never make it through the veil into the Dreaming.”

  Cavall nodded. He could do that.

  “And try to keep up with me,” she continued. “I will be running at top speed.” She eyed Edelm skeptically. “I cannot slow down for you, old one. If you think you will be unable to keep up, I suggest you stay behind.”

  “I will keep up,” Edelm said.

  Meinir’s large nostrils flared as she snorted in response. “Very well.” She reared up on her hind legs with a whinny. Her black fur flashed in the moonlight. Then she took off into the woods, her hooves shredding the grass behind her. “This way, dogs!”

  Cavall shook off his shock. He dashed after the kelpie, which startled Anwen and Edelm out of their stupor as well. The three dogs gave chase, Cavall in the lead. When he glanced behind him, Anwen and Edelm ran nearly shoulder to shoulder.

  Meinir seemed to float above the forest floor, weaving effortlessly in and out of the trees. Her glowing hoofprints were the only proof that she was running and not, in fact, gliding. The prints were just wide enough apart that Cavall didn’t have to worry about veering outside of them if he ran in a straight line, but when he spared a glance at his friends, Anwen and Edelm were struggling to stay shoulder to
shoulder and within the bounds.

  “Anwen!” Edelm cried out.

  Cavall whirled in time to grab her by the scruff of her neck before she fell outside the path Meinir had set. Meinir hadn’t said exactly what would happen if they left the path, but he remembered Luwella’s stories about people becoming lost for years and years in between worlds.

  Now that he had slowed down, Cavall saw that the forest around them had become darker and more indistinct. There was no moonlight, only the glowing hoof marks and the little fay lights still blinking from behind the trees. Was that what had distracted Anwen? Edelm had said not to look at them. And in any case, Meinir got farther and farther away the longer they paused, and the fay lights became brighter and more inviting.

  “Come on,” Cavall said. “We have to keep moving.” He did not want to lose track of Meinir.

  They continued running, and eventually the fay lights dimmed while Meinir’s hoofprints grew brighter. The ground underfoot blurred as the textures ran together to make the path smooth and flat.

  At first, Cavall thought this might be because they were running so very fast to catch up to Meinir, but when he looked up, the forest had disappeared into a black void. They seemed to be running along a glass bridge in the middle of complete darkness. The prints continued to glow, like beacons showing the way.

  Up ahead, a great, glowing circle of light appeared, and Meinir headed straight toward it. They caught up with Meinir, close enough that the flapping of her tail and mane sprinkled Cavall in the face with loose drops of lake water. With no time to hesitate, they passed through the circle of light together and plunged from darkness into a thick, roiling mist.

  Cavall kept running, even though he could no longer see Meinir in front of him or his friends behind him. Even when he could barely make out his nose at the end of his snout, the blue glow of the hoofprint path guided him onward.

  Sounds began to filter in through the mists. Metal clanging against metal. People shouting. The trampling of feet. A coppery smell filled Cavall’s nose, and he recognized it at once—human blood. He scrunched his nose up, but the scent cloyed at his nostrils. And the screaming was becoming louder and louder the closer they got.

  He bent his head down and kept running, hoping to block out the smells and sounds. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the mist lifted and he found himself on the great, grassy field leading up to the castle. Had Meinir simply brought them back the way they’d come? No, because now there were people lying about on the field in bloodied armor, some moaning, others completely silent and unmoving. Banners on broken poles rustled in the faint wind, and crows swooped in to land on them.

  Cavall looked around in panic. What had happened here?

  Meinir was no longer running, so Cavall came to a stop. Anwen nearly smacked into him from behind. Edelm stood next to him, appearing similarly confused and horrified. “What is this?” he asked. “These people . . . there was a battle here.”

  Cavall knew what a battle was. He’d seen the pictures in the hallways, but he hadn’t realized battles were so horrible. Why would anyone want to have a picture of this in their castle?

  Meinir circled around and came to stand in front of them. Her breath appeared in steamy puffs from her nostrils. Her large, glassy eyes showed no reflection from the horrible scene around them.

  “Welcome to the Dreaming,” she said.

  Chapter 16

  “THIS IS THE DREAMING?” CAVALL ASKED.

  Meinir stomped her hoof and snorted. “I’ve brought you where you wanted to go.”

  “How do we know this is Arthur’s dream?” Anwen spoke up.

  “I suppose you’ll have to trust me.” Meinir shook out her mane and sprayed them all with droplets of water. “I’ve been traveling the Dreaming since before any of you were born. Before any of your people were born. There are thousands upon thousands of dreamers in the Dreaming, but if anyone can find a specific dream among them, it’s me.”

  “I trust her,” Cavall said.

  “Then I, too, shall trust her,” Edelm said.

  “M-me, too,” Anwen stammered, looking at Edelm.

  “It’s true,” Meinir said. “I have brought you straight into King Arthur’s corner of the Dreaming. The images you are seeing now are straight from his nightmares.”

  “This is what Arthur has been dreaming?” No wonder he screamed out in his sleep. But where was Arthur in the midst of all of this? “We need to find him and the Night Mare that’s causing this.”

  “I can’t help you there,” Meinir said. “I’ve shown you the way in, but I can’t do more than that. A kelpie cannot fight a Night Mare.”

  “You’re not really being that helpful,” Anwen said.

  “No,” Cavall countered. “She brought us this far. That’s more than we could have done on our own.” He turned to Meinir and bowed to her, the way he’d seen her do to Vivian. It probably didn’t come off as elegantly as he would have liked, but he hoped she understood what he meant. “Thank you, Meinir. And thank Vivian as well.”

  Meinir stood silent for a moment. Was she secretly laughing at him? Finally, she nodded. “You’re quite the unusual dog, Cavall. Very . . . humble.”

  “Is that good?”

  “Very good,” she said. “Not every dog would thank a horse, let alone a fay.” She tossed her seaweed mane. “You have until sunrise to find the source of the dream and vanquish it. When the sun rises, our ability to move between the Dreaming and the waking world vanishes. If you do not vanquish the creature before then . . . you will disappear along with the dream into the ether of the Dreaming.”

  “Then let us vanquish it,” Edelm said. “Before the sun rises.”

  Anwen turned to Cavall with a determined set to her jaw. “I’m willing to bet that if we find Arthur, we’ll find the source of the nightmare. Do you think you can track him down?”

  Cavall looked around the battlefield. There were so many people. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “But I suppose I won’t know until I try.” He lifted his nose to the wind, but he could only smell blood. He walked a few paces one way and tried again, to no avail. He walked a few paces the other direction, and this time, when he sniffed, he caught the faintest hint of his person. It was hard to make out, like someone talking to you from another room, but he’d know that smell anywhere. “I’ve got it,” he announced.

  Meinir whinnied. “I wish you good luck, dogs.”

  “Thank you again, Meinir,” Cavall said.

  She gave him a knowing look, then trotted off into the mists. Cavall spared a moment to watch her go, hoping she could make it back to the forest on her own. A ring of light, like the one that had brought them here, opened, and her silhouette disappeared into it.

  He turned back to his companions. “This way.”

  He led them across the field toward the castle. The towers that had stood tall on that first day, welcoming Cavall to his new home, now slumped forward on their stony foundations, threatening to fall over at any moment. The gates were open, but not from the inside as they normally were during the day. Something had twisted the bars and splintered the wood. Something very large. Cavall worried about what could have happened to the friendly guards who had been posted there before.

  They climbed through the ruined front gates. Arthur’s scent was getting stronger, so Cavall knew they were headed in the right direction. He led them back the way they’d come on their hunt, following the path through the courtyard. They entered the castle through one of the side doors, which had also been broken open.

  Silence reigned as they climbed the stairs that led to the great hall and the rooms beyond. Everywhere they went was empty. Cavall didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He had a feeling he knew where the scent would lead them, though. His suspicions were confirmed when they found themselves at the entrance to the room where the Round Table lay.

  The doors had been torn off their hinges and thrown to the floor here as well. W
ith Edelm and Anwen by his side, he entered to see a strange sight.

  The knights sat at the Round Table, but there was something wrong with them. There was no noise, no raucous laughter or friendly banter. No clatter of plates and goblets. No call for everyone to settle down. No one spoke; no one moved. They all just stared straight ahead. There was something else not quite right. They looked washed out somehow, like faded versions of themselves.

  Arthur sat at his chair, slumped back, staring down into his lap. “Why will none of you speak to me?” he asked.

  Cavall crept closer as Arthur stood and walked behind Lancelot’s chair.

  “Lancelot, my old friend,” he said, “why won’t you even look at me? Have you all written me off?”

  Lancelot didn’t respond, and instead faded so much that Cavall could see straight through him.

  Arthur gripped the back of his chair. “Lancelot?”

  Lancelot faded away altogether, leaving only an empty chair behind him.

  Arthur’s eyes widened. He pulled the chair out, patted the seat, felt around, but obviously there was no sign of Lancelot. “Lancelot?” he called again. His voice sounded very small and afraid. “Lancelot, where have you gone?” With wide eyes, he turned to the next chair, where Sir Ector sat. “Father?”

  Like Lancelot, Ector did not respond.

  Arthur ran to him and grabbed his shoulders, only to meet with thin air as Ector, too, faded away. “Father!” He ran around the table as one by one the knights disappeared. “Bedivere! Lucan!” Always, they vanished a split second before he could reach them. “Percival! Gwain!”

  Cavall stood rooted in place, unsure of what to do.

  Finally, Arthur came full circle to the last chair in line. Mordred’s chair. “Mordred!” He wrapped his arms around Mordred, but came away empty-handed. Mordred was gone. All the knights were gone. Arthur leaned on the table. “It’s all my fault,” he sobbed. “If I’d known the king from across the sea had set his sights on Camelot. If I’d been ready for the attack. If I’d been a better king . . .”