Sword

by Realm Lovejoy

  I shudder at the thought. I’m a sitting duck here for sure.

  “I doubt they’d be so kind,” I counter. “I committed high treason. I’d be tortured to death.”

  Arthur’s breath catches. “And your only fear is not finding Avalon?”

  It’s hard to explain. Of course I’m afraid of being caught, but at the same time I feel a strange calm on this lake. Perhaps I’m just denying the doom that’s ahead of me.

  “Do you feel any magic yet?” I ask. “Maybe we’re close to Avalon.”

  “The only thing I feel is cold.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I wish I could have packed better things. But I didn’t know this whole mess would happen.”

  So here we are in the darkness, completely hopeless. Will we eventually hit land? Hours pass and I have to pace my rowing. My arms feel like they’re on fire. Arthur snores from his corner. The world turns a bluish color, threatening of dawn. My heartbeat begins to quicken. I can hear the hum of the helicopter in the distance.

  “Dammit,” I curse at the sky.

  I try not to think of bullets raining down on me. I take a deep breath. I’ve got to look for land, quick. The world gets lighter, but I can’t find the shoreline. It’s as if we’re in the middle of a void. Everything is twilight-colored. I look around in panic. How far am I from shore? The helicopter comes closer and I tense up, afraid to be struck by a sudden bullet. I can’t even see the water below the boat. Slowly, I realize that a blanket of thick fog surrounds us. The helicopter moves away.

  I exhale and shake with sudden relief. As the daylight seeps through the fog, the lake looks ghostly and milky. It becomes silent and the air is deathly still. A chill runs through me. The feeling reminds me of radio antennae that’s tuning into a channel by moving the rod just so. It’s an antsy, agitated feeling that catches on brief snags of familiarity. I remember the Henge, how it gave me a serene and eerie feeling. The visions I had at the Henge come to me. How I stood over an injured Arthur. How I took Arthur to Excalibur. I shiver, realizing that the visions may be true—and I didn’t even know I was following what it foretold because it came so naturally to me. Perhaps it’s time I trust magic.

  I stop rowing and put the oars down at the bottom of the boat. Cupping my hands together, I form a tiny flame, only a few centimeters tall so that we can’t be spotted through the fog. The fire drifts in front of me so that it’s floating in midair. The tip of the flame sways and leans away from me to the left, although there is no breeze. Grabbing the oars, I row full speed toward the direction the light pointed toward. Arthur slowly flutters his eyes open. He stretches and then inspects the fog around us with fear before settling his gaze on my lone flame.

  “What are you doing?” Arthur questions.

  “I’m listening to magic.”

  Out of the fog, something dark juts out. As I near, the ghostly figure becomes more visible. A rock. Then more rocks beyond. A tree manifests with branches splayed like scary fingers. A shore appears on the very far left. However, the flame does not guide me to the shore. Though I question my magic, I decide to keep listening to it and move away from the land.

  “Why are you rowing away from the shore?” Arthur asks with panic.

  I ignore Arthur’s question and keep rowing. We come upon a tall rocky bluff with no shore and a crown of jagged cliffs.

  As we near, I make out a cave near the base of the wall—as unwelcoming as the bleakness inside a skull. I row into the shadowy opening, making Arthur curse nervously with fear. I allow the flame to grow brighter so that it can illuminate our surroundings. The fire reminds me of the symbol of Maven—the lantern that lights the king’s path. Arthur, however, is not trusting the direction I have chosen: he implores me to turn back, whispering and hissing with increased agitation the farther we go. Sounds of water are amplified inside, and I can’t hear Arthur’s protests anymore. The water inside the cave dips downward, like a waterslide. There’s no turning back now. We pick up speed, my hair whipping over my face. In the distance, I hear a waterfall. We come to a fork. One way leads toward a lighted opening, the other, to more darkness. The flame points to the shadows. Gritting my teeth, I steer the boat toward the unknown as the current pulls us in. The waterfall grows louder.

  Is this what I get for listening to magic instead of reason? If the waterfall is dangerous—which seems to be the case, judging by the roar—the boat may break and we’ll have to swim. The problem: Arthur can’t swim.

  “Arthur,” I shout. “Hold on to me.”

  “No,” Arthur says.

  “Dammit, Arthur—”

  As I yell at him we reach the point where the water thunders below. Judging by the sound, the drop is farther than I anticipated. Arthur looks behind me, his eyes turning to big orbs, and screams.

  We fall over the edge, immediately losing the boat beneath us.

  I lunge for Arthur but cannot reach him.

  Cold water crashes into my body, knocking the breath out of me. The boat is either gone or destroyed. Like a stone, I plunge into the water before I start floating back up like a cork. This is worse than any wave that’s crashed into me in the Celtic Sea. I break water and cough, gasping for air. I look around for Arthur in the dark cave.

  No. Arthur!

  Facing my palm toward the cave’s ceiling, I create the biggest flame midair I can muster and then dive back under. The firelight illuminates my surroundings, but not deep in the depths where I hope Arthur didn’t sink. I swim around in panic. Why come this far and lose him like this? Was I truly unworthy of guiding Arthur? I swim frantically. All I see are bubbles in the murky water.

  Then a shadow. I swim at it full speed and grab on to the figure. I break above the surface again, wheezing for air just as my body scrapes against gravel. Land? Keeping a firm grip on Arthur, I swim toward the unfriendly shore we’ve arrived at. An opening on the other side dimly lights the terrain. I drag myself across the rocks, my knees scraping on the surface. I cough as I put my hands under Arthur’s armpits and drag him up the shore. Arthur is blue. He’s not breathing. I slap him on the face.

  “Arthur!” I scream. “Arthur!”

  I administer CPR—the rough idea I have of how it’s performed. I push on his chest and then exhale into his mouth. I fight shivers as I touch his cold skin and motionless body. Arthur, come on! I exhale into him again.

  Then he coughs.

  Weakly, he turns over and throws up water. I make a cry of joy.

  It takes several minutes to get the water out of his lungs and then he stares into the new cavern we’ve arrived at.

  “How dare you…,” he wheezes.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know that there’d be a…”

  “Where is… this place…?”

  “I don’t know. We’re in a cave.”

  “We’re trapped,” he says bleakly. “There’s no going back now. Why’d you do this?” He turns to me with fierce eyes. “What have you done?”

  He pushes himself off the ground, nearly falling over. I move to help him but he roughly shoves me away. “Because of you I almost drowned! And now I’m trapped in this cave forever! Because of you the entire line of Pendragon is finished! It’s over for Camelot. All because you wanted to find Avalon. You wanted to be Maven.”

  “Wait, Arthur…”

  “You tricked me! All along, you planned to go somewhere where we’d never be found, didn’t you?”

  I rush after him as he stomps away from me, toward the light where the cave opens up to the sky. Beyond the rocks, more shallow water. A few rays from the sun stream through the cavern ceiling, revealing foliage. Arthur kicks something on the ground. It rolls across the sand. A red apple. I run over to him as he marches toward a slope covered in greenery. Above us, small trees sway from the breeze coming through the openings. Red apples glint. Could it be?

  “Is this Avalon?” I wonder aloud.

  As we go farther in, the plants b
ecome more abundant. Wildflowers dot the hill. The wind carries scents of nectar and apples. More sunlight shines through. This place is like a secret garden hidden inside the earth.

  “This is Avalon,” I exclaim, convinced.

  Arthur looks back at me. “Who cares,” he says.

  “What?”

  “Who cares if it’s Avalon!” he snaps, flushing with anger. “We’re trapped on this stupid island that’s connected to a one-way cave! What are we supposed to do? I don’t want to live here alone with you for the rest of my life!”

  “Why don’t you relax?” I yell back, finally losing my patience. “Why don’t you use your brain once in a while? Huh? If Avalon was a one-way place, how did the past kings and Mavens get back to Camelot?”

  “I don’t know! This could be Avalon. It might not be! It doesn’t matter! I don’t want to be here!”

  Arthur storms off swearing. I tentatively trail him. As frustrating as he is, I can’t blame him for his hysterics. He’s been a sheltered prince all his life and now he’s in the dangerous wilderness against his will, nearly losing his life.

  Sunlight filters through the gently rustling leaves. Butterflies in rich amber colors flutter past. As I walk forward, I hear water trickling between rocks. The air is slightly cool but pleasant, like the crispness of early morning. Nestled amidst knitted foliage is an array of stone structures. As I approach, I see that the stones were once a building with archways. A temple, perhaps. Most of the temple is crumbled and overtaken with ivy. One of the walls has writings carved in, too moss-covered to read. I can make out artwork depicting flowers and what appears to be a sword. Is Excalibur in this temple? Above it, a grail with sunrays is coming out of the top. I brush my hand against the rough surface of the carved grail as if I’d feel something by doing so, but nothing. I walk around the temple, hoping to bump into a sword standing in stone. I only see rocks and more plants. I move out of the temple to find Arthur.

  I spot him close by on a hill underneath apple trees. He lies on his side on the grass, facing away from me. I sit by him, picking an apple from the ground. I bite into it—it’s sweet and tart, a concentrated flavor.

  I place my bitten apple by Arthur and then lie down next to him. He eventually picks it up to eat it. I then lie on my side and stare out at the still, shallow lake across from me that harbors other small islands. The exhaustion from rowing all night finally catches up to me. My lids grow heavy. I drift into deep sleep.

  Sounds of splashing wake me.

  I jolt and sit upright. Arthur isn’t next to me.

  He’s in the water. Panicking, I push myself off the grass and run to the sandy shore.

  “Arthur! Are you okay?”

  Arthur thrashes in the water, looking like he’s attempting to swim.

  His clothes lay rumpled on the shore.

  “Are you bathing?” I ask.

  “I’m swimming,” Arthur replies. “I taught myself while you were snoring like a chainsaw.”

  I try not to laugh. “I can show you a better form than doggie paddling…”

  “I’m not doggie paddling.” Arthur stands up, revealing his boxers. I look away. “What’s wrong with you?” he shouts. “Never seen a pair of boxers before?”

  I grimace. “Come back to the shore, before you drown again.”

  “I’m swimming out.”

  “Don’t make me jump in there.”

  Arthur clumsily turns away, splashing wildly as he does so.

  “Move your limbs more gracefully,” I call out. “Relax a bit or you’ll tire out and drown.”

  Arthur adjusts his swimming to be less frantic and continues to move away from me.

  Grumbling, I take a seat on a rock and pull off my jeans and sweatshirt so that I’m just in underwear and a tank top. I walk into the water. Arthur turns around and stares at me.

  “Whoa,” he says. “Is that why Lancelot fancies you? I caught him checking you out at the ceremony.”

  “What?” I demand, swimming across the water to him.

  “Does Lancelot like you for your body?”

  “Shut up!” I snap, splashing Arthur just as I approach him.

  Arthur backs away. “I can’t see any other reason why anyone’d ever like you.”

  “I shouldn’t have saved you!”

  I dive at him and push him into the water. Arthur surfaces and spits water out. He then ducks under the water and swims away from me. He pokes his head out and takes a breath.

  “That wasn’t bad,” I say. “Maybe you really can swim.”

  The fog crawls over the water again.

  “Why are you out here anyway?” I ask, following him.

  “I don’t know. I just felt like swimming.”

  “You’ve never tried to do anything on your own except for that time you opened a can of food.”

  “It’s my only chance to swim, I guess. If we do ever make it back, Father won’t let me go near the pool.”

  “We shouldn’t swim so far out,” I say as the fog conceals the shore behind us. “We’ll lose our way back to shore. Arthur…”

  Arthur ignores me and continues to swim out. We go all the way to the other side of the small island that was in front of us. Still sore from rowing, I begin to feel heavy.

  “I’m getting tuckered out,” I gasp. “Come on, let’s go back. We need to get back on land and find Excalibur, then we can try to get you back to Camelot.”

  Arthur seems strangely calm and entranced. He keeps going. I don’t know if it’s the fog or the silence or how the lake seems like a still sheet of glass. It’s the kind of lake that you’d think a dead body might be in. Fear tingles in my veins.

  “Arthur!” I swim up to him. “I’m serious. It’s time to go back.”

  The water gets colder, causing my arms to prickle with bumps. If a fish touches me in this creepy place, I’ll probably lose it and scream.

  Then through the fog, a shadowy figure looms. I gasp and lunge, grabbing Arthur’s shoulder to keep him away from the mysterious silhouette.

  “Who’s there?” I shout.

  Who’d be all the way out here?

  The fog parts.

  The figure gleams, reflecting light.

  It’s not a figure.

  We gasp as a metal form comes into clear view.

  A sword. The blade is embedded into something jutting out of the water. I reach to touch the surface of the object. A stone.

  A sword stands in stone.

  Chapter 10

  Arthur and I tread water, staring at the Sword for what seems like minutes. A part of the silver-colored sword is corroded with age though the ornate designs of ivy are still visible on the handle. Some plants that grow on the rocks have crawled up the dull blade. There is a dark red stone on the hilt, which is caked with mud, no longer shiny.

  Tears sting my eyes. “I don’t believe it,” I whisper.

  The vision at the Henge when I was a child. It was true. I did bring Arthur to Excalibur. At the time, I didn’t know it was possible for me to bring Arthur here without becoming Maven.

  Arthur takes in a shaky breath. “I can’t believe this…”

  We babble on about our disbelief for another minute. I let go of Arthur’s hand.

  “Well, go on,” I say to him. “Go touch the sword.”

  “What if nothing happens?” Arthur whispers. “I don’t want to…”

  “Come on. Are you kidding? What an opportunity to touch the sword that Pendragon the First himself bled onto and left his blessing.”

  “I want you to do it with me.”

  “Oh no,” I say. “The honor is for the future king.”

  Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t deserve it. I didn’t even do any of the work to find it.”

  “That’s not the point,” I exclaim. “And you did find this. You led me to this sword. You learned to swim and found it yourself. You do have special power within you.”

  A
rthur is still shaking his head. “I know that you think I’m special because of my ancestors… but I’ve never done anything great in my life.”

  I grab Arthur by the shoulders. “Arthur—it’s not about what you’ve done, it’s about what you’ll do. Okay? Trust me. You’ve got to take your destiny.”

  “Okay, but I’m not doing this without you. Come on. It’s not going to bite you.”

  Arthur climbs onto the stone and waits for me. He stands behind the sword and looks at me with more respect in his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

  I nervously laugh and follow him hesitantly onto the rock, feeling conscious of my minimally dressed state. I brush the wet tangles of hair from my face, shivering.

  “Okay,” I say. “The Prince goes first.”

  “What’s the matter?” Arthur asks. “You’re pale as a sheet. I’ve seen you kidnap me. Now you’re afraid?”

  I don’t know why I feel so uneasy. I shift my legs, studying the blue veins in my feet. “Arthur, just do it.”

  Arthur abruptly grabs my hand and pushes it onto the hilt of the sword. I gasp as my skin meets the cold metal.

  An electric-like sensation crawls through the bones of my hands. I yelp. I’m not meant to touch this sword. I feel as if I’ll be punished by Pendragon the First himself.

  When I look next to me, Arthur is no longer there.

  “Arthur?” I shout.

  The blue lake becomes red. Bright, searing red, like fresh blood. The color spreading from where I stand at high speed. I gasp, reminded of the terrible vision at the Henge. I try to let go of the sword, but my hand will not move. It’s as if my fingers are stuck.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper at the air. “I wasn’t supposed to touch the sword.”

  The lake begins to move and cyclone around me. The water turning to scarlet flames. Within the flames, a dark figure emerges.

  The Black Knight King, Pendragon the First. He is clad in armor that is shiny and midnight-colored. His face is hidden behind his helmet. He looks the same as he did when I saw him at the Henge.