I put the paper back where I found it and search the room some more for other clues, but find nothing but clothes and toiletries. Any other documents she had must have been taken away.
My room is upstairs and I muster the courage to go there. My early childhood is nothing but a scary movie to me. Up rickety stairs, my room is shockingly empty. There’s a pile of old blankets on the floor where I slept. Mother’s shirts are scattered around. I remember then that I always wore Mother’s shirts that hung like a dress on me. I never had my own clothes and owned only one pair of shoes. Looking around the room, one would never think a child lived here. The emptiness of childhood in this room is exactly how I feel about my memory. Shuddering, I step away.
Downstairs, I walk back to Arthur’s sleeping figure. I sit across from him. My mind reels from the strange mystery of Mother. Though my memory has been fuzzy, now that I see this place again, I understand just how creepy and odd the whole living situation was. I can clearly perceive that I have no tender memories of Mother because there were none—not really. She was either angry with me or pretended I didn’t exist. The nicest she’d been was during my visit to her in prison before her execution.
I stare into the darkness, toward the pit where Lot burned to death. Lot ventured all the way into this forest to confront Mother because she cheated on him with my father? Now that I know how difficult the trek is, it seems unlikely that that was the sole reason. Something bigger happened then. Uneasiness fills me as I drift into sleep.
I dream of the shadows coming to life. Black fire. The smoky figure of Lot crawling out from the tongue of eellike flames. He screeches. Soon you’ll know what it’s like to die by fire.
I wake up screaming. Arthur starts and wails, mirroring my horror. I instinctively create a flame in midair to see my surroundings, expecting to see Lot’s ghost. Instead, Arthur has backed himself against the dilapidated wall, staring at me with wide eyes.
It’s as if I’ve had a brief bout of amnesia and am seeing Prince Arthur for the first time. He’s a pale kid—only a couple years younger than me—skinny and frail, and he’s eyeing me with terror.
Slowly, I remember that I have kidnapped the Prince.
I yell again, buckle over, and break into a sob.
What have I done? What happened to me several hours ago? What switched in my mind to think that this could possibly be a good idea?
Everything becomes clear. The helplessness of this quest. Unable to understand the Scroll or find Avalon. I won’t be able to take Arthur to Excalibur so that he can defend himself. I’ve ended my own life by bringing Arthur here. And how will I take Arthur back to Camelot where he belongs?
Am I just like Mother? A crazy witch on a quest with no consideration for other people’s feelings?
“I’m sorry,” I sob.
I still see Mother who used to live here. Her life was gone when my flames consumed Lot.
Something is broken within me.
Chapter 08
The next day I wake up feeling heavy and sore all over. Birds are singing. Arthur is surprisingly already up, standing in the light of dawn. He has an open can of peaches in one hand and a fork in the other. It all looks like a dream. I can hardly remember the events that happened at the party where this mess started. The fog of intentional amnesia seems familiar to me, as if I’ve forced myself to forget things before.
“Where did you get that fork?” I ask, my voice dreadfully hoarse.
Arthur points toward where the kitchen once was. “I got it from there.”
“You opened that can yourself?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
For some reason it takes me a few minutes to fully digest the idea that Arthur independently woke up and opened a can of food. I assumed he’d just wait for me to do that for him.
Arthur stares at me with disturbance over his expression. He doesn’t say anything as he sets the can down next to me with the fork in it. An offering for me? As he stares down at me with an indifferent gaze, he truly does look like a king.
I stand up abruptly, looking around in fear that he might have created a fire somewhere. Something to help the knights find us.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks. “Are you going crazy again?”
I relax my shoulders. There’s no way Arthur can start a fire—he has no means to. The only thing he could do is set up something reflective outside. In this dense forest, he’d have to climb a tree.
“Why’d you offer me food?” I ask slowly. “Aren’t I your enemy?”
“I need you to take me back to Camelot. Although you’re crazy, I have a feeling that you understand logic and reason. You see that your idea of magically finding Avalon isn’t going to happen, right? You’ve come to your senses.”
I nod with dread. “I can’t find it. But the Scroll implies that you can. Can we try walking again? Give me two more days. If we can’t find Avalon, I promise to take you back.”
Arthur scowls. “I want to go home now.”
I get down on one knee and put my palm to my chest. “I serve you, Prince Arthur. That I swear. I’ve only done what I’ve done to save you. The barbaric acts I committed were absolutely necessary to get you here. I’m sorrier than anyone else that I had to resort to kidnapping.”
Arthur narrows his eyes. “Do you realize you have the mind of a criminal? A psychopath?”
“I only want to save you. Don’t you remember? I saved you from Ganeida’s fire.”
Arthur winces at the mention of the attack. “Ah, so that was you? I thought you were stupid. Jumping in fire, unafraid of dying. For what? To save someone you don’t even know.”
He said something similar when I dragged him away from Ganeida’s fire. He asked why I saved him.
“You’re right,” I reply. “I don’t know you. It’s not even about you, personally. To me, you are not a boy named Arthur Pendragon—or even a person, or a prince. To me, and to the citizens of the world, you represent the UK, and the next several decades of our lives. You represent our peace and fair rights. You are far more important than you seem to understand. You come from a long line of successful kings and a tradition—Pendragon’s tradition—that has worked for us for centuries. If you were to pass away, someone else will be king or queen—and whether he is a better king or queen, we don’t know, but things could get bad for the country really fast and that’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”
Arthur’s eyes remain critical. “Many people do not care to think about the country. They just go about their simple lives. What makes you fanatical about politics?”
“Your Highness,” I say. “I told you about the Luminaries’ plan. It’s the truth. I want to make sure you’re safe in order to protect our kingdom. Once you touch Excalibur, I will take you back home.”
“How can I believe you’ll take me back to a place that will have you executed?”
“I signed the contract to join Camelot,” I say. “I signed away my life and I meant what I signed.”
I think of Sir Lancelot for a second, recalling the contract he waved about in my face.
“I can’t quite explain,” Arthur says. “But I feel sorry for you. I still can’t figure out why you’ve got a death wish. And anyway, how can you be sure that I’ll realize my magic when I touch Excalibur?”
“That’s what legends say. You of all people must know that.”
Arthur fidgets with the hem of his dirtied sweatshirt. “I just don’t believe that I was born with magic. If I had magic, wouldn’t I already feel it?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“Do not call me that here,” Arthur snaps. “You’ve no right to pose as a proper citizen!”
“As you wish, Arthur. Magic is triggered some time in the young adult years. It’s perfectly normal that you don’t feel magic yet.”
“I’m the only prince who never showed signs of magic by my age.”
I blink. Is that true? It’s not public knowledge
when a prince first uses magic.
“You will find out when you touch Excalibur—you’ll see,” I assure.
Arthur frowns, unconvinced. “Is it possible that the Pendragon blood has become diluted with time?”
“No,” I say loudly. “You shouldn’t ever question yourself!”
He scoffs. “Seems like that advice got you far. Too far.”
“Well, it’s all we have as humans, isn’t it? When we die all we see is the belief we have in ourselves. It’s the only thing you shouldn’t lose.”
“Your words will be tested when you face your death penalty…” Arthur trails off. “What is your name, anyway?”
I’ve never heard Arthur say my name, but the fact that he doesn’t know mine makes me gape. I thought even royalty would bother to remember the name of his lifesaver.
“Morgan le Fay,” I reply.
“Morgan. That’s an ugly name. It suits you. Now let’s stumble around some more in the woods until you can take me back to Camelot.”
He seems a little more confident now that he sees my willpower cracking. I scowl as I gather my backpack from the floor and follow him out of the rotten cabin. As we walk, I look behind at the cabin that’s hunched over and forgotten, slowly dissolving into the earth. Though it appears like its existence is losing against nature, I know this cabin will haunt me forever.
I turn my attention back to Arthur, trying to shrug off the anxiety. “I know you want to find Excalibur. You’re dying to find your power just as much as I am.”
“I told you,” Arthur says, pushing aside branches. “I’ve no idea how to find it. I’m not magical and I don’t sense or feel anything out here.”
In fact Arthur does wander in circles. Since he doesn’t have a sense of direction like I do, he doesn’t notice when we come across the same tree again. It does seem like Arthur is being truthful—that he’s unable to sense mystical powers. At least the backtracking isn’t entirely useless. It will help throw off the dogs.
Helicopters roar in the distance again. Arthur stumbles on a branch and then starts yelling for the helicopters to get him. He attempts to climb up a tree but falls back down and screams. I kneel and clap a hand over his mouth.
“Shhh. We had an agreement.”
Tears well up in Arthur’s eyes. He backs away from my hand. The sight of his fear makes me cringe. He saw my fire power at the final Magic Demonstration Test, after all. It makes sense a normal human would view me as someone that’s always loaded with ammunition.
A crow caws. I look up. The black bird sits on a branch with something red in its beak. It drops the red object to the ground. A rotted piece of apple, the red peel still shining over what’s left of it, lands next to me.
Red apples. The fruit should be ripe this time of year. I think back to the Scroll. The isle where red apples glisten…
I eye the direction the crows caw from.
“Come on.”
I grab Arthur’s arm and lift him up, dragging him along. This time I lead, following the crows.
“An island of apples,” I say to myself. “Of course. I need to find a lake.”
Once the drone of the helicopter subsides, I climb the nearest tree. It’s risky, but this is the easiest way for me to find water. Once I’m up high, I look out from between the branches. Endless stretches of trees go on and on, as far as the eyes can see. A slab of blue dots the distance. Helicopters buzz again. I duck down and quickly climb down the tree. As I get closer to the ground, the branch snaps beneath my feet. I fall and crash into the hard soil.
Arthur stares at me, stunned. I groan as pain rips up my right ankle, but I sit up, get out my backpack and fish out gauze to wrap up my ankle. Arthur looks around the woods for something. He comes back with a large stick.
“What’s that for?” I ask.
“A walking stick.”
I muster a smile as I get up. “Thank you, but I’m okay.”
Arthur mutters something and tosses the stick aside. He is conflicted, no doubt. I’m his enemy, yet he can’t survive without me.
“Come on,” I say. “I found water.”
I lead him toward the lake. We trample over moss-covered rocks and branches. Behind me, I hear twigs snap from a distance. I halt and look in the direction the sound is coming from. The forest is still. The birds are quiet. Is someone else here? I hope those sounds came from an animal—something besides dogs.
We hike on. The lake must be a lot farther away than it looked. My legs ache with each step. My mouth is parched. I begin to wonder if I am somehow going in the wrong direction.
After hours of hiking in the direction of the water, exhaustion sets in as we arrive at the shore of an eerily still lake that stretches on and reflects the color of the sky.
“Yes,” I say excitedly.
First things first. I scoop up some water with a glass bottle and sterilize it with my fire for us to drink.
“I don’t know why you’re so happy,” Arthur says after a gulp of water as he stares out bleakly into the lake. “Yeah, so you found a lake and Avalon is an island. So what? How are you going to get to this island?”
“We’ll go back to my mother’s—I mean—the burnt cabin, and then I’ll salvage nails and stuff to use and make a boat.”
“Do you know how to make a proper boat that will take us to the island without sinking?”
I think about it. “Well, I’ve got to try…”
“I am not going in your homemade boat. If I fall in the lake, I’m done for.”
I cock my head to the side. “You don’t know how to swim?”
“No. I’m not allowed to swim. My father said it’s too dangerous.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard the rumor that you aren’t allowed to swim.”
I sigh as I look at the lake again. Finding Avalon seems to be as hopeless as it was before finding the water. But how on Earth did the previous Mavens guide their prince to Avalon? Did they each have to build a boat?
“Walk time,” I announce and motion for Arthur to follow me.
We meander along the perimeter of the lake, staying near the tree line in fear of the helicopter coming out again and spotting us.
“What are we doing now?” Arthur moans, lazily following me.
As we walk, along the shore is a gnarly tree with tall grass around it. Beneath the tree something dark and long lies there, partially moss-covered.
“Voilà!” I cry.
“A log?” Arthur grumbles. “Are you going to carve it into a canoe?”
I move away the tall grass. “This is no log. It’s something a Maven or a Relic Keeper created.”
There, among the grass half-forgotten, lies a long and narrow boat with two oars.
Chapter 09
Arthur looks at the moss-freckled boat with fear in his eyes. “We’re going across the lake in that? I bet it’ll fall apart if I kick it.”
Arthur actually gives the boat a good whack with his foot, but it doesn’t budge. A spider crawls out from a crack to find a new hiding spot.
I bite my lower lip and hum. This is a great find but…
Once again, a helicopter hums in the distance.
“We’ll be easy to spot on the lake,” I say. “Might as well shoot fireworks into the sky. We’ll wait for nightfall here, under the tree.”
I clean the dead leaves out of the boat and put our spare clothes at the bottom to make padding. Arthur lies down in it and falls asleep within minutes. I keep an eye on him, not wanting to risk him sneaking away and signaling the helicopters to save him. My eyes grow heavy. Shaking off drowsiness, I watch the sky turn twilight. We’ll have to move as soon as it’s nighttime. Every minute is precious. The risk is that if we don’t find Avalon before sunrise, the dawn could reveal our boat and the helicopters will spot us.
Once the sky darkens all the way, I gently wake Arthur. He snorts before sleepily scrambling out, falling into the foliage.
“We’ve
got to get on the water as soon as possible,” I tell Arthur. “Come on.”
I pull at the boat, dragging it toward the shore. Having trouble seeing, I stumble on logs and rocks. It’s heavy, and the rough terrain doesn’t help. I pant heavily as I keep tugging at the boat.
“Will you help me?” I ask Arthur.
Arthur tiredly rubs his head. “Why should I?”
“Your chances of getting rescued are high if we’re out on the water. You want to go home, right?”
Arthur complies and pushes the boat, making it easier to guide toward the lake’s edge. Once we’re on sand, it’s easier to drag the boat, and finally my ankles touch the freezing water. I instruct Arthur to get in and he does, also getting wet in the process. Next I hop in, grabbing the moss-covered oars. I row the boat away from the shore.
We glide across the dark sheet of water that smells like wet stone. The night is quiet and the air crisp. I keep my eyes on the sky as the crescent moon above plays hide-and-seek among the clouds.
“Where did you learn to row a boat?” Arthur asks.
“I used to live in Tintagel,” I explain. “It’s a town by the sea. My father taught me there.”
“I know where Tintagel is,” Arthur says as if offended. “I’ve heard of it, anyway. I was born there, during my parent’s vacation. How do you know how to do so many things anyway? Is it common knowledge?”
“I had an unusual upbringing,” I say as I row. “I grew up in the forest prior to moving to Tintagel. Since I didn’t have any friends, I only had a few things to do for fun, and taking my father’s boat out to sea was one of the things I enjoyed doing.”
It’s so dark that I can barely see Arthur. How will I find Avalon in the middle of this blackness? Amidst the rhythmic sound of the oars dipping in water, I hear the sound of Arthur’s breathing. He might be crying again.
“Are you scared?” Arthur asks suddenly with a small voice.
“I’m afraid of not finding Avalon.”
“We’re far from shore. As soon as the sun rises, they’ll find you. The helicopters will come. Before Avalon is even close enough for you to look at, you’ll be dead by the hand of a sniper.”
Sword Page 7
