Sword

by Realm Lovejoy

Keys crash against the prison bars. I jolt up. Merlin explodes into my cell. He isn’t in his usual suit. He’s in sweatpants, a hoodie, and an old pair of sneakers. He smells like the night air, like he walked for a long time through the cold. Droplets hang from his bangs as he pushes them away.

  “Morgan,” he cries. “You must plead insanity! You can’t let them make me execute you. You can’t!”

  He crouches in front of the bed and takes my hands in his. His touch sends shockwaves through me and I realize I haven’t had physical contact in a long time. His cold fingers cage over mine.

  “Merlin,” I say slowly. “To claim insanity is to give up on myself and everything I worked for. It surrenders my own belief in myself, which is the only thing Camelot can’t take away from me. When I die and Arthur remembers me, I want him to see someone who was true to herself.”

  “You can say that now,” Merlin says, holding my hands even tighter. “But none of those thoughts will go through your head when you’re dying. Your mind will be busy clawing to stay alive. You can’t do this to me. You can’t. Even if it’s not for yourself, you couldn’t possibly do this to me. Could you? I’d never be the same. The day will haunt me until I die. Do you have any empathy for me?”

  “I do. And I’m sorry.”

  “You won’t even consider it? Not even for a few seconds?” Merlin lets go of my hands. “You’re selfish.”

  He stands and turns away, facing the prison bars. The hall light causes his shadow to stretch across the floor. I’ve never seen Merlin lose his patience so quickly. How can I blame him?

  “I know it seems selfish,” I say. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be in my place. You have the whole world ahead of you. I have nothing—only my truth. You’re asking me to give up the one thing I have now—the one thing I will ever have. Let me ask you the same question. Do you have empathy for me?”

  “I knew you’d be difficult,” Merlin says with a measured tone, digging his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “I hate that you turn me into a cruel person.”

  He turns back to me, his eyes stony. He takes pieces of papers out of his pockets. “Look at these.”

  He reveals photos. One is of Father, sitting by the Camelot fence, hunched over. He’s lost a lot of weight. His eyes have no light in them. Unspeakable pain cracks through.

  Tears blur my vision. “Don’t show these to me.”

  “Think about your father,” Merlin says. “He has been outside the gates of Camelot day and night. He holds a sign that says ‘Free Morgan le Fay.’”

  “Don’t talk about my father!” I snap, getting up from my bed. “Don’t you dare!”

  “I will speak of him!” Merlin yells back. “It’s not fair to the people who love you—they’re constantly shunned by you.”

  “That’s not true,” I retort. “I care deeply about them and you know it. I can’t bear the pain of seeing them suffer for me. Don’t you understand?”

  “What about Guinevere?” he says, showing me another photo. “Have you ever seen her cry?” A photo of Guinevere kneeling in prayer, her face flooded with tears. “She is in the Grail Room from morning until night, every day, praying to Pendragon the First so that you’ll live.”

  Guinevere never stopped believing in me.

  I grab the pillow from my bed and throw it at Merlin. “Enough!”

  “Don’t bother,” a smooth, deep voice cuts in.

  Mordred approaches the bars of the cell, startling us. He is in his business attire. He gazes at us coolly with tired eyes. In his hand is a paper cup. Even from where I stand, I can smell the bitterness of dark coffee.

  “Mordred,” Merlin says bitterly. “I am speaking with Ms. Le Fay in private.”

  “You’re my apprentice,” Mordred says. “You must understand that executing those who commit high treason is a part of your duty to Camelot.”

  “I don’t need a reminder of my duties,” Merlin says coldly.

  “Is that so? You are supposed to wear your badge when you enter Camelot. Showing up here without it shows that you are visiting prison with personal interest.”

  “I forgot it,” Merlin says. “I didn’t do it to be rebellious. Anyway, please, leave us alone.”

  “Don’t lose your role,” Mordred warns. “This woman is not worth that. Why bother reasoning with her? You cannot reason with a monster. Morgan le Fay understands neither logic nor reason. She is the fire she uses—unstoppable and destructive.”

  I lunge at the bars. Mordred backs away effortlessly just as I nearly claw his eyes out.

  Mordred smiles at my outstretched hand before he turns away. “You see, Mr. Ambrosius. Morgan le Fay is a caged beast. She can only be beaten or killed—she won’t obey.” Mordred glances back at Merlin. “You’re a smart young man with a promising future—better off without this toxic woman. Consider this execution to be your initiation as Maven. Execute her and walk away. Forget about it. It’s what I did with Morgause.”

  “Mordred!” I shout as he walks down the hall. I try to shake the bars. “Damn you! Damn you!” I sob and sink to the floor, still holding on to the bars.

  “Morgan,” Merlin whispers behind me. “Don’t pay attention to him. Listen to what I’m saying. If you love your father… if you love Guinevere… and if you love me, even a bit… you won’t do this to us.”

  Merlin. Guinevere. Father.

  “It’s not fair, Merlin.”

  “Do you remember the pain you felt when Morgause was executed? Can you inflict the same pain on others when you know best of all that it’s pain that will never go away?”

  “Please leave me.”

  “You said your father is Sir Gorlois. You use his name to strengthen yourself while he suffers outside. Can you let him lose his only child like this?”

  “You’re the cruelest person I’ve ever met…”

  Tears continue to flow thickly from my eyes. I can’t get rid of the image of Father from my mind. Is he outside the gates this very moment? He must be freezing judging by how cold Merlin’s hands were when he took mine. He’s old. He could get sick.

  “What’s it like outside?” I ask through my tears.

  “It’s raining heavily.”

  I imagine the rain beating down on Father. And it’s this little detail that forces out the most important decision in my life.

  “I’ll do it,” I hear myself say. “I’ll plead insanity.”

  Merlin grabs me from behind, stumbling down to embrace me clumsily. I wince as his knees smash against my ribs before my wet face drowns in his sweatshirt. “Morgan!” he exhales. “Thank you. Thank you. You won’t regret this. I promise.”

  The trial bustles with the usual solemn and bleak energy as people settle in their seats with unsmiling faces. Inside I feel dead. I walk to the stand, escorted by knights. It’s the first time I’m speaking in court.

  I keep my head held high as various people look at me with hard gazes. As I take the stand, all I see are eyes—judging and disgusted. It’s strange for me to stand erect when I’m about to claim insanity—that all this time, I had no control of myself.

  Enid beams at me. She was ecstatic when I told her that I’d follow her plan.

  The judge asks me to speak.

  “Good day, Your Honor,” I begin and my voice wavers. “I would like to amend my plea to the court to not guilty by reason of insanity.”

  The judge nods. “Your amendment is granted.”

  My heart begins to beat so hard that I feel like I might fall over. I take a breath as I study the crowd. Hope lights in Merlin’s eyes as he looks at me. He gives me an encouraging nod. My attention doesn’t linger on him. I see everyone else looking at me with pity, as if they know my insanity plea is a lie and that I’m a pathetic person for faking it. Above the crowd hangs the portrait of the royal family. Prince Arthur looks at me with his painted, motionless eyes. The same painting that was in my dorm when I first got to Arthur’s Round. I rem
ember bowing to the painting and the passion I felt for magic user rights and for all of Camelot.

  I was told I’m a Pendragon, but I still feel like I’m Morgan le Fay, as I always have been.

  My breath quickens.

  “Well?” the judge urges.

  I didn’t realize I was leaning forward on the stand, practically keeling over. I take in a gulp of air and straighten up. “I was… I was never insane,” I say clearly. “I swear on Pendragon that I speak the truth and that I will not tell a lie—not even to save my own life.”

  The crowd murmurs. Merlin’s face falls. Enid scowls before she slams her fist onto the table.

  The judge strikes the gavel multiple times and orders me to be silent. Merlin pales and I’m afraid he’s going to get sick or faint. Knights come toward me. Enid slumps in her chair in defeat.

  I continue quickly. “I am aware of the consequence that I am to be punished by death. I won’t fight against the law. But know this. I willed everything with crystal clarity—from the very first day I stepped forward to try out for Arthur’s Round and the moment I kidnapped Prince Arthur—I was completely sane.”

  I smile sadly at Merlin, but his eyes are filled with terror and shock. Everyone mirrors his expression.

  I’m so sorry. I couldn’t do it. But I will keep a part of my promise… that I won’t let you execute me.

  I look away from Merlin, to the portrait of Prince Arthur above the exit door.

  “Long live King Arthur,” I say.

  The knights grab my arms. Shutting my eyes, I will the fire inside of me, aiming my hands at my heart. I haven’t been able to use fire since my capture. The coal of energy—hot as embers—wells up within. I will burn myself to cinders. The last they see of me will be my charred bones. It’s the only way for me to go.

  Good-bye, Father… Guinevere… Arthur…

  Good-bye, Merlin. I’m sorry for this but at least you won’t have to do it.

  My prison garb is ablaze.

  “No!” Merlin screams.

  He leaps onto the table and holds his arms out.

  Ice cold slams into me, throwing me off the stand. I hit the floor as water drenches me. The knights by my side also fall over.

  No, Merlin. Let me go.

  Hands grab me, lifting me. People are screaming hysterically. Knights have their guns out. Water continues to spread across the floor. The smell of burnt fabric is in the air.

  As I get dragged away, the judge strikes his gavel and shouts. “For the charges against the defendant A through C, I declare the defendant… guilty. The defendant will be sentenced to death by the hands of Mr. Ambrosius on April 30, Saturday, eight o’clock in the morning. The King and Prince shall watch the execution and receive closure to this tragic case. Adjourned.”

  April. One month away.

  “No!” Merlin shouts.

  He gets off the table. The judge gets smaller as I’m dragged away. Chaos swarms the court. Merlin stands in the puddle of water. Tears flow down his face. He points at me.

  “Liar!” Merlin cries. “You monster! I’ll never forgive you for this!”

  You should have let me die. I was trying to save you. My throat is in knots and the words won’t come out.

  The knights push me out of the courtroom.

  All I hear is Merlin’s screams:

  “I’ll never EVER forgive you! You ruined my life… YOU RUINED MY LIFE!”

  Outside the court is pure frenzy as reporters try to get close to me with mics. The cameras are flashing. People are screaming over each other. I glance into one camera we encounter.

  “To everyone who followed me,” I shout into the camera as the knights struggle to drag me away. I think of Father, Guinevere, and Arthur. “Who believed in me despite the odds. Thank you. I’ll be okay. I am okay.”

  Good-bye, Father.

  The crowd boos and the knights finally shove me into the car, slamming the door shut.

  Chapter 17

  I’m put in the same maximum-security confinement and am reminded by knights that if I try to start a fire, all that will get me is a good soaking from the high-pressure sprinkler.

  It’s cruel how they schedule death a month away. I’m trapped in my concrete room, pacing constantly and punching at the walls until my knuckles bleed. The image of Merlin’s anger won’t leave my mind. I don’t know if I imagined it or if it was real, but there seemed to be pure hatred in his eyes, and whether or not it’s imagined, it turned my heart to stone. I know that what he hates is that he has to kill me, but I still can’t help but wonder, did I push him over the edge? What if he really does hate me now? I can’t live with that and I especially can’t die with that.

  The news of my execution must have been broadcast by now. The citizens who want me dead probably revised their signs from Burn the Witch to Drown the Witch, now that Merlin is executing me. I imagine some people are cheering, maybe even celebrating with champagne. Some, like Guinevere and Father, are devastated. I’d do anything to write them a single note.

  A dull thud sounds behind me. I whip around. There is a small box on the floor. I inspect it. A box of chalk. I move to the bars to see who made the delivery. The person has already left the hall, but I thought I saw black hair. Mordred? But why would he give me a “gift”?

  On the wall, I write to Father, Guinevere, Arthur, and Merlin: I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I hope you remember me as your friend (or daughter). I’m at peace with my actions. My words become repetitive and the more I write, the more it seems childish and meaningless. I start to draw instead, which is something I’ve never had any interest in. I cover every single crack in the wall, scribbling abstract symbols, labyrinths into my mind, which is now spiraling into real insanity. I recall strange symbols Mother used to draw on the walls of our cabin. Did she feel trapped in the lonely cabin?

  The knights, of course, notice my mystery gift but don’t take it away. Perhaps they have a speck of mercy, after all. They even allow me to use the prison shower.

  Merlin left a hole in my heart, much of which was his, I realize. I miss him in an aching, maddening kind of way. His soothing voice and calm eyes that eased the tempest inside of me. His scent that lingered around him, like the forest. With the colored chalk, I begin to draw Fortunate Forest.

  Merlin, please, visit me. Please.

  Each day, I light a tree on fire with a red chalk. The countdown to my funeral.

  I remember the tale Vivian told in Dartmoor Forest. Of Nimue entrapping her lover Nacien forever inside a rock, from which a tree sprang. I draw Merlin inside one of the trees. My drawing is horrible. It looks like a sleeping face on the trunk of the tree, but I feel better when I look at it as if I’ve entrapped him in my heart forever.

  Instead of our last terrible encounter, I preserve the memory of when we were happy. Dinner at Father’s house. Our lunch on the rooftop of Study Tower. Even the simplest moments that I didn’t think anything of stand out like paradise. Us walking down the halls in Camelot, talking about nothing. Yet there was a lot of potential in those moments. Any second, we could have gotten closer.

  Days pass, though it’s hard to say how many.

  A knight comes up to the bars and asks what I want for my last meal. The words “last meal” blow a hole through my stomach. I’m dying tomorrow. I tell him nothing, but I’m given a ham sandwich, soda, and potato salad, which I don’t touch and leave by the door until the knight takes it away.

  I believe it’s nighttime because the lights in the hallway dim.

  The trees on my walls are all lit afire. Brick red, carmine, lemon yellow, and orange. Though I have prepared for this moment, my brain is still animal, plotting a dash out of prison as soon as the knights fetch me. I have wild fantasies of running out into the foggy grounds of Camelot and escaping over the stone wall. I grab a piece of black chalk and go down on my knees, scribbling furiously. I draw a black circle—an escape hole, or my coffin hole.

>   Shoes clack down the hall—a familiar sound, though I’m not sure why it sounds familiar.

  Merlin? Hope perks me up.

  A figure approaches the bars. Tall and square. My heart skips a beat.

  “Hello, Sir Lancelot,” I say, lowering my chalk.

  Lancelot carefully opens the door and then shuts it, locking it behind him. His face is hard, his eyes wary. His arm is no longer in a cast. I see the pink and red scars around his palm. He looks at the graffiti on my walls with disturbance.

  “Are you taking me to death row?” I ask nervously.

  “No,” he says and clears his throat. “I can’t sleep. I’ve been thinking of you alone here. It’s a shame they don’t let you see your father before…” He trails off.

  “It’s better this way,” I say sadly. “He wouldn’t recognize me anymore.”

  Lancelot moves closer to the wall to study the trees on fire. All of them are lit now, except for Merlin’s tree.

  “You didn’t have to visit me,” I say. “I know it’s… unpleasant.”

  Lancelot touches a fiery tree. His shoulders shake. I hear his sob, which is amplified against the empty prison walls. Fear shoots down my spine. To think that I’d ever see Sir Lancelot cry.

  “Please don’t do that,” I plead.

  It reminds me of everyone else who might be crying now. Father protesting my death outside. Guinevere praying for a miracle. Arthur lying awake in bed, dreading the morning where they’ll force him to watch me die. Merlin… I can’t even imagine what Merlin is going through.

  “I promise I’ll be okay,” I say to Lancelot, but also to everyone who is thinking of me right now.

  Lancelot suddenly punches the wall. The bang echoes through the prison.

  “Dammit, Le Fay,” Lancelot snaps. “It’s all my fault. I couldn’t stand to visit you. It was too painful.”

  “Nothing was your fault. What you said in court was true. There was no way you could have foreseen what was about to happen.”

  Lancelot shakes his head. “I was weak. The Maven Ceremony brought back unpleasant memories for me. You caught me at a bad time. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for everything.”