There are screams all around. People dying, hidden in the fire. I flinch as the flames near me.
“Help!” I shout at the King.
The firestorm rages as bloodcurdling yells escape from the various victims in the fire.
Is this punishment? Is the King mad at me?
Pendragon the First stands there, just watching me through the visor of his helmet.
I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Another knight appears, this one wearing armor with gilded trims. The High Knight at the time—Aurelius—is on a white horse, eyeing the King. In his hand is a spear. He makes the horse lunge toward the King at lightning speed through the flames. He plunges his spear through Pendragon the First’s armor. I yelp with shock. The High Knight attacking his king?
Next, a large rock slams into Pendragon the First, crashing into his armor with the sound of a car being smashed.
I scream in terror. “King Pendragon!”
More rocks the size of boulders hurtle at him from all angles. Blood arcs in the air. I cry, trying to tear myself away from the sword so that I can save him.
Another figure steps out of the flames. Old man Nacien, Pendragon the First’s Maven and the only earth user. The same man I saw at the Henge. He looks slightly younger, his shoulders not as rounded and his face not as wrinkled. He points his wooden cane at Pendragon the First. The rocks obey his command. Crushing the King, again and again.
“Stop!” I yell. “What are you doing? You’re his Maven!”
They react as if I’m not there.
The fire ceases slowly, revealing a barren land of black ash. Pendragon the First lies in a crumpled pile of broken and bloody armor, the spear still embedded in him. Nacien walks to the King’s scabbard that’s been separated from him during the struggle. Nacien pulls a sword from it. Excalibur.
Nacien walks over to Pendragon the First with the sword. “My dear Pendragon,” Nacien says, weeping as he looks down at the fallen king. “With the last of your magic, bless this sword, as you wished.”
Nacien hefts the sword above Pendragon the First and drives it into the King’s heart.
I scream. “No!”
Why did the Maven kill his king? I thought Pendragon the First died during battle. Is this just a nightmare or a real event that happened?
Nacien doesn’t let go of the sword as he sobs. “Now I understand why you chose me as Maven. As promised, I will create the most honorable grave for you.”
Pendragon the First’s grave, Henge.
Nacien pulls the bloody sword out of Pendragon’s body. He looks at one of the stones he killed Pendragon with and throws the sword upward. It stops in midair above the stone, points down, and thrusts into the rock.
I shudder, realizing I am standing on one of the rocks that crushed Pendragon the First and my hand is clasped around the blade that took his last heartbeat.
“There you will stay for all eternity,” Nacien says.
A woman appears from the shadows of the burnt trees. Astolat, the Grail Guardian, wearing a white robe. She looks like a ghost floating across the gray land. She holds a golden grail in her hands. With the cup, she kneels over Pendragon the First’s body, gathering his blood into the grail. Her snow white hand is stained red.
I recoil, nauseated. What is she doing? What are they all doing to the King?
Nacien then turns to me.
“Future king,” he says. “Your power is great. You carry the potential to both protect your kingdom and to destroy it. By touching Excalibur you swear to control your own destiny and the destiny of this land.”
A shiver runs through me. He must be speaking to Arthur—not to me.
I shake my head at Nacien, unable to articulate that I’m not the one he should be speaking to.
Nacien raises his hand at me. “Dear king—I am always with you.”
Tears stream out of his eyes. Slowly, the desolate land of cold dust dissolves back to the lake. He and the hellish scene fade out.
I am sobbing when the foggy lake comes into view again. The whiteness of the scene seems blinding and suffocating—as lonely as the surface of the moon. Finally, I am able to let go of the sword and nearly fall back. Arthur is on my right again. He is not crying, though he is pale and appears in shock, his hand still on the sword.
“What was that?” Arthur whispers hoarsely. “I just had the most terrible vision, worse than any horror film.”
“It wasn’t just a vision,” I say, clearing my throat. “It seemed to be an actual event in the past.”
“What?” Arthur looks at me. “What are you talking about? You couldn’t have had the same vision. You’re a commoner. My father said that only a Pendragon receives vision through Excalibur. Even Mavens who were curious and touched the sword never experienced anything magical.”
He’s got a point, but I definitely had a vision. “I think since we both touched the sword, it may have confused the magic.”
Arthur still looks skeptical. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“How are you so calm?” I say gesturing at the sword. “You should be heartbroken to see your ancestor die.”
Arthur rubs his forehead. “I do feel sick. But Father warned me of the vision beforehand. He said it was a bunch of horrific nonsense, and I should get over it as soon as I can.”
“Nonsense?” I repeat. “That wasn’t nonsense! It was a real event.”
“A long, long time ago,” Arthur counters. “It was back in the barbaric ages. Anyway, I don’t feel very magical.” Arthur puts his hands out as if willing for some kind of force to come out. He looks down at his palms with disappointment. “See? Nothing. I have no magic. I am the end of Pendragon.”
“Don’t say that. It takes patience.”
We climb down the rock and jump back into the water, swimming away as the fog closes in on us again. Though Arthur remains quiet, he has an expression of weariness, as if he’s hiked up a mountain. His eyes are haggard and it makes him look years older. If one were to meet him for the first time, they’d assume he has seen many horrors. Arthur denies any change from touching the sword, but he definitely seems to have taken some emotional and physical toll from the experience.
I look back at the sword. For a second, I see a pale woman with long hair next to it. My heart skips a beat. Nimue, the Lady of the Lake? With her long, flowing hair, she has an eerie resemblance to Vivian. Her eyes are sad as she looks past me, at Arthur. Then her translucent figure slowly dips into the water. Her hand goes in last as if to say good-bye. I narrow my eyes at the fog, wondering if I’m seeing things now that I’m light-headed.
My attention shifts back to Arthur who’s swimming ahead. I notice a dark tattoo—a rather huge tattoo—across Arthur’s back. I blink several times and then swim close to him to make out the shape. Black dragon wings. I recall what Fisher explained to me at the Maven Ceremony and the poem from the scroll: Wings will rise on your back.
I gasp. “Arthur! You have Pendragon’s Blessing on your back.”
Arthur stops swimming and stands on the rocks below as he tries to look behind himself. “Really? Ah, I guess I can’t see it. Does it look cool?”
“Yeah.”
Arthur cracks a smile. “Too bad I can’t walk around shirtless at Camelot so everyone can see it.”
I can’t help but shakily laugh as we swim toward shore.
Once on dry land, we pull the rest of our clothes back on.
“I can’t believe we actually reached Excalibur,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “It’s crazy.”
“You’ll be ready for your future coronation,” I say.
It occurs to me that I’ll never get to see Arthur’s Coronation Ceremony. Sorrow overcomes me thinking about the many things I’ll miss in life from this point on.
Arthur pushes his wet bangs away from his face. “Now you’ll take me back, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course. Let’s figure out how we’re going to get
out of here.”
I zip my hoodie up, put on my backpack, and shove my hands in my pockets to try to warm up. We trek along the shores.
“There wouldn’t be another boat here, would there?” Arthur wonders aloud.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “A Maven would have taken the boat back.”
Arthur hums as he scans the shoreline. “I heard that Relic Keepers come here sometimes. I think they help set things up for the Maven.”
Arthur wanders into a rocky area where the water smells mustier. He disappears between two stones.
“Hey,” he calls out.
I climb over the rough terrain to him.
Arthur stands in front of something. Nestled between the rocks is a wooden boat, similar to the one we arrived in. This one looks newer than the last one. There are two oars neatly tucked inside of it.
“See,” Arthur says. “The Relic Keepers must have made this.”
Dread fills me as I eye the boat that will take me toward Camelot, where I’m a wanted criminal.
“Great,” I say lightly, hiding my hesitance. “Now we just have to figure a way out of this maze of lakes, rivers, and caves.”
“Just go the opposite of your flame’s direction.”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Good thinking.”
We lift up the boat together and carry it toward the sand, carefully stepping over the rocks.
Once we place the boat on the shore, Arthur beams and then his smile falters as he studies the boat. “Did you really risk your life to take me to Excalibur safely? I don’t understand a lot of things, like why you didn’t think Merlin would have been able to do the same for me. I wonder if you were really a good person all this time.”
There’s a deep amount of doubt in his voice. I don’t blame him for finding my intentions hard to believe.
“Merlin would have been able to take you here, but he would have been ambushed by the Luminaries.” I get down on one knee with my hand over my heart. “I serve you, Prince Arthur. I meant that and still do.”
Arthur studies my face intently before I bow. I stare at our footprints on the sandy shore. One is a small shoe print, smaller than either of our feet. I gasp and abruptly get off the sand, whipping around.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks.
“Be on your guard,” I whisper. “Somebody is here.”
Arthur laughs. “How? Nobody could have followed us.”
“This isn’t just anybody,” I say, glaring into the forest that surrounds us. “But someone extraordinary.” I take a few steps toward the woods. “Come out!” I shout. “I know you’re here!”
Something whizzes past my shoulder, brushing my skin. A stinging sensation shoots up my shoulder. I groan, covering the wound with my hand. When I look down, there’s blood on my hand.
An icicle has cut through the cloth of my sweatshirt.
Chapter 11
Arthur screams next to me. “What was that?”
“Stay back!” I holler at him.
From the thickets, a black-clad figure emerges and walks toward us. A female—very slender and tall. Her silvery blond hair is tied up in a knot above her face that shows not a trace of makeup. Her eyes match the bleak lake. Her normally darkened brows—shaped into wicked arcs—are transparent and shapeless.
I gape. “Vivian.”
Vivian drops her backpack onto the sand. “For a second, you didn’t recognize me, huh?”
Her voice is still the same. Very high, taunting. Everyone’s childhood bully—the playground queen.
She’s dressed in black tights, hiking boots, and a tight top. She smiles a dangerously cold smile. “You thought I was a prissy girl that never set foot in the woods.”
So she faked helplessness in the woods in her Wilderness Survival test. And she never revealed to Camelot that she has the ability to make ice, like Merlin and Maleagant. But why hide her talent?
My breath quickens. “What are you doing here? Who’s with you?”
“I’m here alone,” Vivian replies. “I was sent here by the order of Camelot.”
“Liar,” I snap. “You were assigned to be a Relic Keeper. Camelot would’ve never chosen you to track me. They would’ve chosen a senior Black Knight.”
“You can believe what you want.”
“How did you get here?”
She must have seen the replacement scroll Merlin received. But if she is a Luminary, why did she choose to come alone?
Vivian shrugs. “Being a Relic Keeper gives me access to some very useful information. But I wouldn’t be worrying about details like that if I were you. Knights will surround the lake that guards Avalon any minute, if they haven’t already. The moment you step foot outside of here, you’re dead.”
Nausea washes through me, but I try to keep standing strong, ignoring the pain in my shoulder. “How did you find this place?” I ask again.
“It would have been impossible,” Vivian admits. “There is perpetual fog that guards Avalon and there’s a complex labyrinth of caverns. Not even the knights can get here. I couldn’t have found it without trailing you.”
“You trailed me,” I say carefully. “Rather than waiting for me to be caught. There is only one reason for your action.”
Vivian’s smile stiffens. I know that logically, with Arthur missing, there’d be a race to find him. Camelot wanting to secure Arthur’s safety. The Luminaries wanting to get to Arthur before Camelot, to kill him while they can. There are two parties in Fortunate Forest on the hunt for Arthur, among them, perhaps Merlin, the mysterious one who sits on the fence between two sides.
So is Vivian here to kill Arthur? I can’t think of another explanation as to why she is here alone. But if she wants Arthur dead, why did she help me save him when Ganeida attacked?
“What the hell do you want?” I ask her coldly. “If the knights are going to get me, why are you here? For glory? You want to be the one that catches the evil Morgan le Fay?”
“Glory?” She laughs bitterly. “Of course only a self-absorbed person like you can come up with simple motivations.” Vivian turns to Arthur. “Stay back, Your Highness! I will save you.”
Arthur stares at her, wide-eyed and frozen with confusion and fear on his face.
“Well,” Arthur says, looking at me nervously. “How about I go back with Vivian? And you stay here, Morgan… where you’ll be safe.”
“No,” I say.
There are tears in Arthur’s voice. “But you said—you promised—that I can go back to Camelot.”
“I’m keeping my word,” I say firmly, not taking my eyes off Vivian.
Vivian brings her hand out. An icicle forms in front of her. She runs at me.
As I jump out of her way she whips her other arm around, shooting out another icicle. It plunges into my right calf. I scream and instinctively lunge a fireball at her. For a second, I’m horrified that it’s going to burn her face but it evaporates in front of her. She hurls more icicles at me. I roll away from them, the icicles staking into the sand. I leap back up to my feet.
I hurtle more fireballs her way.
“Dammit, Vivian!” I scream. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The fireballs poof in a cloud of smoke, killed by her magic. She’s strong. Stronger than I ever imagined. Perhaps she’s as skilled as Merlin.
Vivian’s expression grows more venomous—her lips drawn down and her eyes blank. She is panting. My nerves prickle as I realize that she’s conjuring dark magic within her.
“Morgan,” she says somberly through her labored breathing. “You must give Arthur to me. Then you can live. It will help everyone. Me, you, Arthur, and Merlin. Do what’s right, for once.”
“I can’t,” I say. “I don’t trust you.”
Vivian throws her hands up. A ball of water forms above her. She launches it at me.
A waterball?
After all her dark conjuring, I’m shocked that she created a mere waterball. But
I should have dodged it.
It splashes onto my face. The coating of water blurs my vision. I drop to the sand, rolling, choking on the water, unable to breathe. Liquid rips into my lungs. No matter how I thrash around, the water won’t come off. My head is completely engulfed in water that’s held in place by Vivian’s magic.
My vision dims. I’m going to die.
Vivian, why murder me? Why?
The waterball suddenly shatters, splashing down onto the sand below me.
I gasp for air, my lungs burning. As I cough and wheeze, I abruptly turn around, preparing for another attack.
Vivian is lying face first in the sand. I jolt upright, alarmed.
Arthur is behind her, holding a wooden oar in his hand.
“Arthur,” I choke. I take another drag of oxygen. “What happened?”
Arthur trembles. “I—I didn’t mean to…”
“You knocked her out?”
“I just hit her over the head,” Arthur explains. “Not too hard.”
“Shit,” I curse. I crawl over to Vivian quickly.
“I didn’t hit her too hard,” Arthur repeats, nearly crying.
I continue to swear under my breath as my heart hammers in my chest. Don’t be dead, Vivian. I check her pulse.
Still alive.
I exhale with relief and flip her over onto her back. She looks so human, lying there with sand all over her. Flaws on her skin are visible in the bleak light. I’m used to seeing her looking like a plastic doll.
“Who the hell are you?” I mutter.
I lift up her black shirt, revealing her pale stomach. Around her navel, the tattoo of the sunrays, same as Maleagant. So she is a Luminary.
“Why?” I ask her unconscious figure as I lower her shirt back over her stomach.
She’s so young and talented. She seems to have everything. Yet she is somehow in a dark web.
Arthur peers over me. “Why are you interested in her tattoo?”
“She’s… uh…” I stall, not sure how to explain this to Arthur. At first my hesitance is abstract to me, but as I think about the consequences, it becomes obvious why Arthur should not know. If Arthur tells his father that Vivian is a Luminary, she will definitely be tortured in unimaginably horrible ways and receive the death sentence for high treason. She’s a young girl and I don’t know the full story behind her attack. In the end, I refuse to have blood on my hands.
Sword Page 9
