Grail

by Realm Lovejoy

  “Short break,” I say, looking up at the darkening sky.

  “No,” Merlin says. “We’ve got to keep going.”

  “Yes, but we also can’t be weak when we face Mordred. Let’s take a short breather. Eat and close our eyes a bit. You’ll hopefully feel better soon.”

  As the world darkens, it occurs to me that I should make a small fire in midair. It’s been so long since I’ve used magic that a part of me wonders if I still have that power.

  Focusing, I shut out the world around me. I point my palm forward and envision heat coming off my hand. The fire curls into the air in an instant as if I never stopped using magic. I could have cried at the sight. The familiar warm sensation still tingles in my veins.

  Merlin leans against the tree, looking into my fire bleakly. In the moment, he reminds me of the drawing I made of him while I was in prison: Merlin immortalized in a tree. He is as distant to me now as he was as a drawing on the wall.

  I realize then that he has barely looked at me ever since he named me the knight to accompany him on this journey. Sitting across from him, I feel silently hated. I imagine he hates the way I look, the way I talk, the way I breathe. The berries I picked are next to him, uneaten. He’s not even close enough to my fire to warm himself.

  “Merlin?” I ask him across the fire. “You need to come closer to be warm.”

  Merlin tiredly curls against the tree, shutting his eyes. He’s asleep—or so he appears.

  This is my creation—Merlin and the tree on the prison wall. I forced him to turn himself away from me. I didn’t mean to make him—us—this way.

  Swallowing, I look up, counting the stars I can make out above the branches.

  One. Two. Three.

  Too many mistakes.

  Chapter 13

  Merlin shakes me awake. I start, looking around frantically. My fire is no longer in the air. The sky is still dark, but lighting slowly into a blue color.

  “I dozed off,” Merlin says. “Damn it. I’m okay now. I promise. We have to keep moving.”

  We march into the darker part of the forest. Tree branches spread like spider webs above our heads. We continue following the trail of dead animals. The whole forest smells like damp earth laced with the scent of must and coppery blood, like the shadowed place beneath rocks. Eventually, a fog surrounds us and the foliage begins to thin out. Within hours the landscape becomes barren with only dry brambles.

  “There are no crows here,” I say. “What if we’re nowhere near Corbenic?”

  Merlin shakes his head, taking in the gloomy setting. “Corbenic lies in the Waste Land. If this isn’t the Waste Land, I don’t know what is.”

  He’s right. It’s desolate and deathly.

  We come across footprints stamped in the soil. I halt and immediately inspect them. There are three different impressions.

  “Is there someone else with them?” I ask.

  “Must be. They all appear to be walking normally, which is good news for Arthur, I hope. He’s well enough to walk.”

  I let out a breath, relieved that Arthur seems to be alive.

  The prints fade as more sharp boulders appear. They’re large as houses. Another dead animal—a crumpled rat—lies against one of the stones.

  “Do you suppose this is the correct trail of blood?” Merlin asks. “It seems a bit random, you know. Like how can the animals be killed along the way toward the Grail?”

  “Because the creatures responsible for this carnage surround the Grail.”

  “Yes, but how do we get to the Grail? You know what I mean? We can’t wander around in circles in the general area.” Merlin lets out a sigh of frustration. “I thought you were good at finding Royal Relics.”

  I eye Merlin warily. “It’s difficult to explain the process. But a lot of it has to do with intuition. We need to be observant and open to possibilities. I’m sorry I can’t offer a better piece of advice, but it’s just the nature of Pendragon’s blood magic.”

  Merlin nods grimly, though I’m not sure I’ve completely convinced him. We trudge on.

  We arrive at a shadowy opening—a jagged cave. A stench wafts through the air.

  “The smell is coming from there,” I say. “I’m going in.”

  Merlin grabs my shoulder. “No, you stay here. I’ll inspect it first.”

  “I’m the one with light,” I say, smiling at him. “You wait here.”

  “I’ve got a flare I can use.”

  “Merlin, you’re the Maven. I’m the knight. It’s my job to put your safety above mine. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Merlin’s eyes narrow. “Cut it out. We’re not at the Round Table anymore. I don’t give a damn about labels and roles. I’m not letting you walk into danger.”

  He’s still the good guy I used to know. He can be so stubborn, so strong, so good. The only way I’ve ever been able to change him was through evil. I see this now, and I see it’s inevitable. Evil is the only way to get Merlin to back down. I know that the cave is dangerous. It’d be foolish for both of us to endanger ourselves and even more foolish to get Merlin, in his current weakened state, in there.

  “I thought you learned,” I say, “not to care about me anymore.”

  Merlin’s face falls, and I know I’ve hit him. He’ll never know that I hurt him to protect him—and I can understand why. It’s a mind-bending thing to do to someone.

  With resolution, I bring my hand up, conjuring a flame. I walk into the cave opening leaving Merlin behind in his depression.

  Inside the cave, it’s pitch-black where my light can’t reach. The illumination reveals tiny skeletons of all sorts of animals. As I walk in deeper, I hear a hissing sound. A snake?

  Ahead of me two dots appear. They look like two yellow moons. They flicker green then back to yellow. A growl.

  I make the flame bigger in order to see the creature. It’s white with leopard-like spots on its fur. Before I can inspect it further, the beast lunges. Recalling Fisher’s story about his wound, I jump out of the way with all my might.

  Sharp claws cut through the sleeve of my sweatshirt and slice open the skin of my right arm. A wound that never heals.

  Grimacing, I shoot fire at it. The beast hisses. The illumination reveals the Questing Beast with its sharp snout and wolf-like muzzle covered in scales, like a snake. Its neck is longer than a wolf’s, and its legs are hare-like. The beast bares its sharp, long teeth and barks menacingly, its vocalization powerful as it reverberates through the caverns.

  Pain burns in my arm. I conjure flames in my palms and launch them at the beast with a scream.

  The beast effortlessly leaps out of the way of the blast. As soon as it lands on its springy feet, it’s in the air again, this time coming directly at me. I bring my hands up to prepare fire—but it’s too late.

  My back slams the hard ground. Claws cover both my shoulders, pinning me down. The snout—wet, cold, and reeking of death is centimeters from my face—drool soaking my neck. I make my hands grow hot with fire and push onto the beast’s breast. It roars as it backs off slightly, its paws still pressing down on my shoulders.

  An icicle whizzes through the air.

  It strikes the beast in the neck, right below its ear. The beast makes an earsplitting cry and slumps onto the ground. The whole cavern trembles when it hits the floor.

  “Are you all right?” Merlin shouts, running behind me. “I heard the beast from outside.”

  “Yeah,” I reply, gripping my hurt arm.

  I float off a large flame, illuminating our surroundings. Merlin inspects the dead beast, his eyes wide with terror.

  “What on earth is this?” he mutters.

  “Must be the work of very dark blood magic,” I say. “My mother had these books about old pagan stuff. I remember this one page because I liked the picture of weird creatures. I believe this is a chimaera created through blood magic that only Pendragon the First was capable of. Looks like he used a wolf as
the base, perhaps, and added a reptile. I think I’ve seen a lizard before with spots like these.”

  “The Grail was obviously very important for him to protect,” Merlin says. “We can’t let Mordred get ahold of it. He passed through here.” Merlin points at the beast’s burnt fur that I’m studying. “Unless you did this.”

  “It’s hard to know,” I say, standing up. “But if he passed through, that’s bad news. Let’s keep going. The beast was protecting the entrance. The Grail has to be near.”

  “Be careful, there could be more of these creatures.”

  As we begin walking, Merlin looks around warily at all the tiny bones scattered over the ground. His eyes fall to my arm. Blood stains my sleeve bright red.

  Chapter 14

  Merlin gasps and inspects the blood on my sleeve. He immediately takes off his backpack to rummage for the first aid kit. Once he’s got the salve out, he comes back to tend my wound.

  He rolls up my sleeve, and I mentally prepare for pain, yet I feel nothing.

  “Where’s the cut?” Merlin asks, staring down at the blood covering my forearm.

  Grimacing, I inspect the area. No injury is visible. I wipe the fresh blood off my arm. I blink. The skin is pristine. I touch my flesh, checking if it’s real. It is.

  “There’s no injury,” I say, shocked. “I know I had one earlier.”

  How is it that my cut is gone while Fisher’s wound never healed?

  “The Questing Beast,” Merlin says. “Perhaps Pendragon’s bloodline has an immunity against his own creation?”

  My heart quickens its beat. I’m not sure if my eyes are playing tricks on me. My blood seems alive somehow. I blink.

  “Merlin,” I blurt out. “Look.”

  Merlin glances at my arm. The blood is rippling slightly as if being pushed by a strong gust of wind. Merlin grasps my arm, holding it steady as he studies it.

  The blood glides across my skin and through the air toward the deeper end of the cave.

  “Follow the trail of blood,” Merlin murmurs. “Your blood, apparently.”

  I recall my fire guiding me toward Avalon. Arthur finding Excalibur on his own. Blood magic once again is working from within to guide us.

  “We have to go in deeper,” I say.

  We continue our trek into the dark cavern until we reach a chasm. The bottom of the ravine is pitch-black. The gap could fit a house. On the other side, a rope bridge dangles uselessly from the cliff. The rope and planks of wood are charred.

  “Looks like Mordred destroyed our path,” I say angrily. “How are we going to cross this thing?”

  Merlin brings his palm out in front of him.

  Ice forms across the gap like molten glass, slowly reaching the other side.

  “There,” Merlin says as if it’s simple.

  But I know it’s not as easy as he makes it out to be. Ice takes a tremendous amount of energy to create and maintain.

  He walks across it at a steady pace. He looks straight ahead with focus and patiently makes it to the other side.

  I am less confident about walking on ice, as thick as it may be. I slowly take a step. As I walk across it, my heartbeat amplifies. I hear a faint crack. Ahead, Merlin is studying my feet intently. He’s working hard to maintain the ice.

  “Merlin, I think this is going to break. You’re still weak from the poisoning.”

  “Come on, Morgan!” he exclaims. “Hurry.”

  The ice pops like an ice cube hitting water. My head goes light.

  Merlin reaches his hand out. “Hold on to me.”

  His calm eyes instantly change to panic as he steps onto the ice. Merlin walks carefully toward me until he’s close enough to grab my hand and slowly pull me along.

  The surface crackles again. I stumble. It’s breaking. As soon as Merlin is near the terrain, I push him forward to save him. He stumbles onto the ground just as the bridge crumbles from underneath me.

  The ice crashes into the void below. Merlin grabs hold of my arms as I dangle over the edge.

  He grunts, barely able to keep his hold on me. “Morgan, I need you to pull yourself up.”

  He lifts me enough to get my elbows onto the cliff. Gritting my teeth, I engage all the muscles in my body and pull myself forward. Merlin slides his hands under my armpits to lift me the rest of the way up. My knees hit the ground as I collide into his chest, panting. Under my cheek, I feel his lungs expanding and contracting rapidly. Once we catch our breath, Merlin lets go.

  “Let’s keep moving,” he says.

  He helps me stand up, and we move forward. Merlin’s breathing is still labored as we trek through the cave that seems to go on and on forever.

  Eventually we come across another bluff, this one looking toward a forest landscape. The bleak light blinds us as we glance around.

  “I thought we were headed the right way,” I say, frustrated.

  Merlin wipes damp bangs out of his eyes, inspecting the sprawling vista. He points. “That cliff looks strange, doesn’t it?”

  I squint. “Why is it strange?”

  “I could still be poisoned and hallucinating… but it looks like it has windows.”

  The rock has small jagged openings dotting it, as if windows had been carved into the cliff’s side. Something disturbs the forest, and a gust of crows flutter through the air cawing and screeching their coarse cries.

  “That’s it,” I say. “The openings look like they’ve been shaped by man. It must be it. It must be Corbenic, the Castle of Crows.”

  By the bluff we find a downward rocky trail. Seeing no other way to reach Corbenic, we hike down the side, watching our step down the steep hill. Merlin nearly loses his footing several times. Once we get to the bottom, we walk yet again up the steep cliff toward what we believe to be Corbenic.

  The castle we come upon has wickedly pointed tops and high oval windows that are primitively shaped. Archways are dilapidated with age. Crows flit to and fro from the openings.

  One of the birds perches on a thorny branch and tilts its head, studying us. Ahead, there’s a large entry into the castle. We walk through. To the right, a grand staircase made of stone. Merlin wanders to the center of the room first, looking around, gaping.

  Before I can study the area further, something cold and metal presses against my skull. I freeze.

  A gun.

  “Merlin,” I blurt out in panic.

  Merlin turns with his palm out, ready to strike the attacker. When he sees the assailant behind me, he simply lowers his arm, jaw hanging open.

  The gun clicks.

  “Hold it,” the voice says behind my ear. “Try anything and I pull the trigger.”

  A woman’s voice.

  Chapter 15

  I’ve never heard this woman’s voice before. Could she be a cabin dweller who illegally resides on Sarras? Or could she be… her?

  “Don’t harm her,” Merlin says, pulling his Maven badge out of his pocket. “We’ve the legal right to be here.”

  “What is that?” the lady demands.

  “It’s the Maven badge.”

  “I mean, why do you have it? You don’t look like Mordred to me.”

  “Mordred is no longer Maven. King Uther is dead.”

  The gun barrel slowly moves away from my head.

  “Let me see that,” the lady says.

  She walks forward, away from me.

  Her head is a shock of golden curls cascading down to just below the shoulder blades. She wears torn-up jeans and a sweat-stained tank top. Her demeanor is mature though she appears young—perhaps around five years older than me.

  Merlin hands her his badge. As she inspects it, Merlin explains to her the events that led up to King Uther’s accidental death. The lady pales as he finishes the story.

  “Is everyone else all right?” the lady asks.

  “Yes,” Merlin assures. “I understand your shock. After all, you’ve been isolated from the world
for years, isn’t that right, Elaine?”

  So it is her. The statue of the fountain lady swims through my mind.

  “You’re the Grail Guardian?” I ask her.

  Elaine turns to face me and nods. I see then that there is a glow about her. Her eyes are otherworldly, deerlike and amber-colored.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” I say. “We’re here because of King Arthur. He—”

  Merlin holds his hand up for me to be silent.

  “Elaine,” he says gently. “We need your help.”

  With the voice of a saint, Merlin patiently explains to her our situation. Of course, any stranger would trust Merlin over me.

  Elaine stares at him in silence for a while. She then turns around. “Follow me. If he is here, I’ll be able to spot him. I can tell you this much, nobody has passed through this castle.”

  We follow her through the stone archway, which looks abstractly gothic. Inside is a vast room completely overtaken by ivy and moss. Beams of light cut through the shadows from the stone openings. Toward the back is a steep set of spiral stairs. Elaine walks toward it stepping over puddles and foliage. Above us I hear wings fluttering. Blackness scatters—crows cawing their raucously harrowing songs as they weave through the air. Hundreds of crows pass through from window to window. A wind whistles through a crack somewhere.

  “You live here?” I remark with disbelief and pity.

  “Yes.”

  Elaine ascends crude, steep stairs. Ivy grows along the banisters. We pass a window nearly consumed by a tree growing into the opening. As I climb next to Elaine, she stares at me openly.

  “I didn’t know Uther had another child,” she remarks.

  I halt, bewildered. “What makes you say that?”

  “I can sense his blood,” she replies simply. “That’s why I can detect Royal Relics.”

  We are still paused on the stairs. Her stare makes me nervous even though she has warm, golden-brown eyes. She reaches out and touches my necklace.

  “Where did you get this?” she asks.

  “It belonged to my mother,” I say.