Sorry, Father. I wanted to give his car back.
Sweat pours down my face as I dig my heels into the dirt and shove the car. As I slam my body into it, it finally rolls over the edge and into the lake with a loud splash. Father will be more devastated to learn that I’ve kidnapped the Prince than at the disappearance of his car. Guilt threatens to strangle me. A part of me says that I can’t do this—I can’t make it to Avalon. I remind myself that imprisonment waits for me in the real world, ever since I pushed Arthur onto the floor.
I’m in the wilderness with no car and have only one choice—walk forward. I’m no longer ever able to erase the disappointment my father will feel. Accept it.
I turn to Arthur. “Let’s go.”
Arthur shakes his head violently, backing away. He’s pale down to his lips.
I run at him and grab him roughly by the arm, dragging him toward the path into the forest.
Arthur resists, nearly falling backward. “No, no. I want to go back.”
“You want to stay here?” I demand. “Because there is no going back until you cooperate with me.”
“I’m not supposed to die,” Arthur blabbers hysterically. “I’m the last—”
“You will not die,” I snap impatiently. “I won’t hurt you. We are just going for a very long walk. At the end of our journey, I will take you back.”
Arthur rocks back and forth. “You’re crazy. You’re crazy…”
Dammit. Stop wasting time! I grab his wrist, making my hand hot enough to scald. Arthur shrieks.
“Let me revise,” I say in the coldest voice I can muster. “I will harm you if you don’t cooperate.”
Arthur stops crying. “Please let me go.”
I let go and he stares at his reddened wrist with fear before shakily walking beside me. Leaves and bushes rustle loudly as we stray from the path and into the unfriendly brambles that scratch at our skins. Arthur doesn’t stop crying. I don’t blame him.
Here I am in sneakers and a red dress, dragging along a crying teen in a suit through the woods. It all seems like a strange nightmare.
Buzzing sounds. I tense. Helicopters. I cover my mouth as if they could see my very breath through the trees. Dogs will be released in the forest. We have to move fast.
In a matter of hours, everything is changing. Britain is rippling with terror. Within one split second of panic, I’ve become the worst criminal in the history of the UK.
Chapter 07
For hours we march through the darkness of the forest, getting a new cut from a branch or bramble every minute. Helicopters roar above, still not spotting us in the dark woods. Sometimes they get close but they eventually drift off. When will they start dispatching dogs and knights into the woods? If Merlin hasn’t announced the absence of the Scroll yet, it’s possible they have not yet connected the quest to Excalibur with Arthur’s disappearance. It’s also possible they have not yet anticipated how far he is from home.
Arthur looks toward the sky with harrowed eyes. “Why are they moving away?” he cries, waving his arms. “I’m here!”
“Shhh,” I hiss.
We must move as far as we can while it’s dark. When dawn creeps through, there’s a higher chance of us being spotted.
“They’ll find me,” Arthur chokes as he stumbles forward. “No matter where you try to take me.”
“You’re right. I don’t see why they wouldn’t find us, eventually.”
It’s just a matter of elongating the time between now and my unavoidable capture.
Arthur wipes away his tears with muddy hands. In the moonlight, I can see dark smears on his face. “You’ll be dead,” he sputters. “You must be a real idiot.”
I ignore him and look up at the moon that’s unfortunately very bright tonight. I’ve got to lose this red dress.
“Let’s rest,” I say. “I need to change clothes.”
He eyes me warily. He knows he has nowhere to run. I rummage through my backpack and get out my spare jeans and sweatshirt, socks, and sneakers.
“These clothes are for you,” I say. “Put them on.”
Arthur shakes his head. “I’m not changing in front of you.”
“I have to make sure you don’t hide bits of your clothes somewhere. Go on.”
“I’m a prince,” he shouts. “I never put my own clothes on.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I lash out. “Use your head and put those clothes on. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“You’re a pervert.”
“If I were a pervert—which I’m not, by the way—I would not choose you.”
Arthur curses as he takes his torn blazer, button-up shirt, slacks, and dress shoes off. He changes into the jeans and sweatshirt, which seem to fit him okay, though are a bit small.
“What do you want?” he says, nervously adjusting his clothes. “Money? Or are you just sick?”
A part of me wants to answer his question honestly, but there’s too much to do before sunrise. The explanation will have to wait. I grab his fancy clothes and shoes. “I’ll be burying these. Now, I’m going to change. Turn around.”
He does as he’s told. I change into my own set of comfortable clothes. Next I bury my red dress and Arthur’s attire with a small folding shovel I brought. I cover the disturbed earth with leaves.
Guiding Arthur, I march toward the sound of water and we come upon a glen. I drag Arthur into the knee-deep, cold water with me. He yelps. I pull him out of the water and then walk forward for a while and backtrack to the water again. I push him back in.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he snaps.
“Got to throw off the dogs,” I explain.
I remember how the dogs found Mother in the woods after her “crime.” It was easy for them. I’ve got to slow them down.
We walk through the stream, which causes Arthur to start crying and chatter his teeth. Before we exit, I instruct him to step on rocks to get out, and that if he leaves a print on the soft dirt, I’ll hurt him. He obeys.
The dawn begins to color the sky blue.
“We’ll stay put for a sec,” I instruct. “Let’s sit.”
Arthur clumsily seats himself, nearly falling over. His clothes are still damp like mine. He hugs his middle and hunches over, trembling. I sit across from him and fish into my backpack, getting the Scroll out.
Arthur looks up. “That’s Melvin’s!”
I wince. “Merlin. Your Maven’s name is Merlin. And yes. The Scroll belongs to him.”
“Why would you steal it?” Arthur demands with disgust and contempt.
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m taking you to Avalon.”
Arthur continues to gape at the Scroll with disbelief. “Why would you want to take me to Avalon? It’d make more sense if you were after money or if you were some anti-Pendragon extremist. But to take me to Avalon? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“I knew you wouldn’t get it,” I say. “I’m doing this to keep you safe from the Luminaries.”
“That’s the knights’ and the Maven’s job,” Arthur snaps. “My security is none of your business!”
“Oh yeah? Where were the knights and Merlin when Ganeida attacked you? Where were they when I knocked you out?”
“Is this how all criminals think?” Arthur exclaims. “They think they’re doing something just? Can’t you see? The only one endangering me is YOU! You nearly murdered me. You forced me into your car. You made me walk into these woods. You are the bad guy.”
He has a point. I take a breath. “I get it. Maybe you will never know that I helped you. Probably nobody will ever understand. But Ganeida’s attack was only the beginning. There is more to come and I’m going to stop it.”
Arthur simply stares at me as if I’m mad. Sighing, I pop open the case and tip it over to get the Scroll out. I unroll it. There’s enough morning light for me to read. No pictures. Just really old script under the instruction that Avalon lies in Fortunate For
est:
Pendragon the First was smote with Excalibur
The prosperous soil swallowed the king
Trees flourished in this island of mystery
His son traveled deep into Fortunate Forest
Lost in the cruel embrace of trees
An old hermit sprang forth, holding light
Saying to him, let me be your sage
Heed caution to bird cries
The whispering of the trees
Listen to your blood
The creek murmur
The wind sigh
Submit to your fate
Like an old body, giving in to soil
Go into the dark
Allow the mist to devour you
Through the course of your blood
You will find yourself in the isle of Avalon
Where scarlet apples glisten
Carmine as his blood
But this knowledge is not forbidden
This apple, you must bite
Unto you, his blood passes, forever
And wings will rise on your back
I narrow my eyes at the paper. It’s just an old poem. How are these abstract strings of words supposed to help me find Avalon? I grimace as I realize that the Scroll was not meant to be understood by itself. A Relic Keeper was probably assigned to go over the Scroll with Merlin. Of course, that’s why they’d hand over such a document with no security to Merlin. I should have anticipated this. I growl as I clutch the paper, refraining from the urge to rip it to shreds. Arthur looks at me, alarmed by my reaction.
Calming myself, I make attempts to read every other word, and then read every second word in each line, and various other methods to try to decipher the Scroll. But it seems abstract as if it has no intention of being decoded. I groan.
“Do you understand the old language?” I ask Arthur sharply.
“No,” Arthur rasps. “That’s the Relic Keeper’s responsibility.”
I hold the Scroll open for Arthur to see. “Read this.”
Arthur reads the cryptic poem and shakes his head. “It’s just a poem.”
“It can’t be,” I say. “It’s written as if you’re the one who’s supposed to know where Avalon is. It says to listen to your blood.”
Arthur looks away, frowning. “I told you. I don’t know anything about Avalon or Excalibur. There are other people hired in Camelot to deal with that stuff.”
“Well, do you at least have like a hunch or… anything?”
Arthur sighs with agitation. He seems to truly be clueless, yet the Scroll indicates that he is the key to the riddle.
“Just so you know,” I say, “the faster we find Avalon, the faster we’ll get you back to Camelot.”
“I wish I knew,” Arthur snaps. “I want to go home. And I want to touch Excalibur so that I’ll have the power to kill you!”
I put the Scroll back into my pocket. If we do find Excalibur that could very well be my end, which I’d prefer over getting arrested and executed.
“Fantastic,” I say. “Keep up that spirit. Now we’re going to switch things up. I’ll follow you.”
“What?” Arthur cries as I yank him up by the arm. “I’ll just be wandering in circles.”
“Come on. We’ve got to at least try. You might have a special attraction to Avalon.”
Arthur grudgingly marches in front of me, taking the path of least resistance, which is tough to find in this wild forest. I order him to walk faster and we continue on through brambles and climb over fallen logs.
As we make our way through the untamed trees, I wonder how Merlin would have handled taking Arthur through this forest. He didn’t do well on his outdoor survival test. I can’t imagine Merlin navigating this wilderness, and I doubt he’d get along with Arthur any better than me.
We walk for hours. I think about Camelot, what everyone is doing now. I imagine the scenario after my departure. Lancelot walking out of the bathroom, angry that I ditched him. Him looking around for Arthur. When he is nowhere to be found, he demands a lockdown. As knights search the grounds, Lancelot asks to see the security camera videos of the grounds and parking lot. Once he sees that I’m the only one who left, after disbelief and terror, he calls a nationwide alarm. For one terrible moment, only Lancelot knows the truth. Then everyone does. Immediately, my Arthur’s Round ID photo will be aired on all television stations worldwide. Posters will be printed and plastered everywhere. Wanted: Morgan le Fay. Guinevere, Tristan, and Isolde will gape at the posters, unable to conceive why. By then Merlin will have noticed his Scroll gone. He’ll be angry. Very angry. But the news won’t end in Camelot—it will travel quickly across the globe. That part hurts the worst because my father will learn of my crime. Father will see my face on TV. He won’t believe what everyone is saying. He won’t be able to wrap his head around the fact that I’d truly kidnap the Prince. Sorrow stings me thinking that after all Father has done, things ended this way. I hope he knows that this is not his fault.
The day slowly goes by as we march tiredly. Crows caw, causing me to jump. Tree branches are wilder than they were before, obscuring the sky with knotted fingers. Déjà vu floods through me.
I have a feeling as if I’ve been here before.
Arthur pushes aside another bush. As I squeeze past it, I catch sight of a tree with scratched-up bark. I pause. It looks like a knife caused the mark. A symbol of a hexagram. Shivers run up my arms.
“Hold on, Arthur,” I say. “Follow me.”
I duck under a branch and burrow through a plot of tall grass. I climb over a fallen tree and push past more branches. I know this place.
I come across a thick wall of vegetation that blocks my way. I touch its mossy surface. “This is no rock. It’s a wall.”
I walk around it, Arthur following me hesitantly. I see an open, old door swinging on rusted hinges—the caved-in opening of rotted wood. Plants consume the cabin. The stench of decaying wood permeates the air. Some of the wood is black—burned. My insides ice over.
It’s as if I stumbled into my own nightmare.
“I used to live here,” I whisper with disbelief.
Arthur looks at me as if I’m insane. He frowns hard, shutting his eyes. “You are crazy. There’s no way you lived here before.” He sighs tiredly and leans on a rock outside the house. “I want to go home.”
I don’t blame him for thinking I’m insane. How’s it possible that I’ve somehow landed where I used to live out in the middle of nowhere? It can’t be a mere coincidence.
Leaving Arthur, I step into the old house Mother built. I was too young to know what forest I lived in ten years ago. It never occurred to me that I lived in Fortunate Forest.
Inside, a bird flies out of the house through a broken window. Cobwebs and dust glint in the sunlight. An iron stove is blanketed in ashes. As I take another step, moths scatter into the air like spirits. Swallowing, I inspect the corner where Lot burned to death. His charred bones are not in sight. Instead of bones, there’s a large pit where the fire burned through the wood. My fire.
The place makes my skin crawl. I immediately want to run away. Reason keeps me frozen here. This place will give us short-term shelter while the sun is out.
“We’ll rest here,” I call behind me.
Arthur cautiously steps in.
“You must be hungry,” I say.
I scan the floor as memories seep into me. There used to be a pantry here. I feel around the old wooden slats with the toe of my sneakers. I hit a hinge and lift it. Inside are old cans and jars of food. I take out a can of broth—the label barely readable—and heat it with magic through my touch. Getting out Father’s knife, I cut the lid open and hand it to Arthur.
“I need a spoon,” Arthur says.
“Just drink it out of the can.”
Arthur frowns but drinks down the broth ravenously. Next, I open a can for myself. We lie on the moss-covered floor to sleep.
Arthur passes out immediately, snoring and whimpering. I watch him carefully, making sure he’s in a deep sleep before venturing away from him. I haven’t been in this house since I was a child. Now that I’m older, can I find out why Mother lived here in secret?
I walk to the opened door that leads to Mother’s room, my heart thumping loudly in my ears. Inside her room is chaos. Furniture is tipped over. Tattered clothes are scattered across the floor. The knights—or someone—must have done a thorough search of this place. I start when a spider dangles from a web, precariously close to my head, before it scurries back up into the ceiling. The wall is covered with odd symbols that Mother drew. Flashbacks of her singing in this room. Her anger when I walked in while she was facing this very wall. She hurriedly tucked a piece of paper into the wall. I touch where her hand was and feel around the wooden surface and find a plank with a small hole. I dig my nails in and pull at it. The plank pops out. Stench of mildew overwhelms me as I peer in. A piece of paper wrapped in plastic. I pull out the musty sheet of yellowed paper and turn it over to inspect the contents.
I recoil and gasp loudly as if I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
A copy of the Sword Scroll.
I back into the pile of old clothes. A rat scampers out from beneath it, causing me to yelp. I breathe fast, trying not to fall over from shock and dizziness.
Mother was looking for Avalon too?
My heart thunders in my ears. There’s something deeper going on. There has to be.
Mother worked as a Relic Keeper. Perhaps she stole the document from Camelot and ran away. But why would anyone besides the Pendragons have an interest in Avalon? She had nothing to gain there. If I could solve the reason for her quest, I feel as if I’d find all the answers to my questions about my past.
Sword Page 6
