Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)

by Donna Hosie

  The first chime was dull, muffled. The second was slightly clearer, as flakes of decrepit rust started to peel back its layers. The third was louder still, metal on metal. Four rings, five. As the ancient bell started to toll its message, the floor started to vibrate once more. Six peals, then seven. Suddenly the world was filled with the sound of baritone bell chimes. I had never heard anything like it. So deep, so powerful. A sound to wake the dead.

  “What are you doing?” cried Slurpy, grabbing her purple backpack. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

  I started to laugh. Crazy, maniacal joy burst from my lungs as the frayed rope slid up through my hands. I caught the end and yanked it down hard again. I felt more alive than I had done in years. I could hear the words of the bell singing its message:

  “Sleepers of the cave awaken, for glory has come to the Kingdom of Logres once more.”

  Huge shards of earth were now splintering from the dirt ceiling, raining down on us as the bell chimed louder and louder.

  “Titch, we have to get out of here now,” screamed Slurpy. “The roof is going to collapse.”

  If she had called me anything other than by my nickname, I’m sure I would have remained. In fact I think that was the first time Slurpy had ever used it - normally I was it, freak or her - but the sound of Arthur’s pet name brought me back to my senses with a sudden thud.

  Arthur. I needed to find my brother.

  The circular bell chamber had another exit, the same size and shape as the tunnel we had entered from. In single file we ran for our lives, as the earth roof collapsed with a roar behind us.

  And still the grandfather of bells continued to ring.

  We turned another bend and saw daylight. The dirt walls ahead of us were crumbling, as the noise induced quake continued to shake the foundations of the earth. With our shirts wrapped over our mouths, we threw ourselves into the blue sky. As we rolled down a grassy verge, the tunnel entrance belched out an enormous plume of terracotta dust and dirt, as the way back collapsed.

  The earth stopped shaking, and eventually we stopped rolling.

  Chapter Six

  Five Strangers

  I opened my eyes and stared into the red sky. Eventually the dust and dirt settled and the blue returned. The sky was cloudless, and the small sun hovered high above.

  All of the wind had been knocked out of my lungs, and a painful stabbing gripped my sides. My first thought was that I had broken several ribs in the fall, but as my breathing steadied, the pain dissolved.

  I pushed myself up onto my elbows and looked over to Slurpy. Her eyes were closed, and a thin trickle of blood was leaking from her nose. I rolled over and crawled towards her.

  “Sammy, wake up.”

  “It was a bad dream, wasn’t it,” she groaned. “Please tell me that was all a nightmare.”

  Well, at least she was alive. I didn’t reply, and instead went searching for her backpack. My throat was clogged with dirt that needed dislodging and Slurpy had soda. Not that I needed the sugar rush, I was still shaking with raw shock.

  After a few minutes searching, I found the backpack under a blackberry bush. Thick swollen fruit hung from the branches, like miniature bunches of grapes. I popped several into my mouth and squished them against the roof of my mouth with my tongue. The delicious sweetness slowly trickled down my throat. It was time for lunch: ten Jaffa cakes, two cans of Red Bull and about six pounds of wild blackberries.

  By the time Slurpy had accepted the fact that this was not a nightmare and had opened her eyes, I was on the verge of puking.

  “So what do we do now?” asked Slurpy spitefully, wiping the blood away from her face with her sleeve.

  I shrugged. “We find Arthur.”

  “You don’t think a better idea would be to try and find our way back to the cottage and the police? My mum and dad are going to go mad when I come home looking like this.”

  I doubted whether my parents would even notice I was gone, but there was too much sugar rushing around my brain to attempt a conversation with Little Miss Slurpy-Snarkey-Pants. I looked down at my digital watch. It was still blinking, and the date still read September 21. With wobbly legs, I turned my back to Slurpy and attempted to climb back up the green hill we had rolled down.

  The grass was lush and long. It was the perfect tool in my attempt to reach the summit. Bent double, I grabbed handful after handful and used it to pull myself skyward. With green streaked hands, I reached the top in no time at all.

  The panoramic view over the valley was stunning, just like a picture postcard. Undulating mountain ranges dominated the distance. Each one covered in towering dark pines. Despite the fact that the sun was high in the sky, pockets of thick mist remained at lower ground, most of which were scattered around several small islands situated in a huge blue lake that was a mirror copy of the sky above. Green grass lined the shore, which was also carpeted with rugs of yellow, purple and pink flowers. It reminded me of the patchwork quilt on my bed back at Avalon Cottage.

  A clean fresh smell like laundry liquid filled the air. The sound of singing birds occasionally broke the silence, but for all intents and purposes, at that moment in time, I was the only person alive in paradise.

  And then Slurpy arrived at the summit to remind me I wasn’t.

  “Where the hell are we?” she asked bluntly.

  I continued looking around the unfamiliar landscape. I had lived in the middle of nowhere for less than six months, and so I wasn’t concerned that I didn’t immediately recognise any landmarks. What did become worrying was the fact that Slurpy didn’t know where we were either.

  “You must recognise something,” I said, after a short argument in which she called me “a freak” at least three times, and I called her “a dense piece of wood” twice.

  “I’m telling you I have never seen this place before,” snarled Slurpy, her top lip curling like an angry dog. “Those mountains and this valley do not exist near our village.”

  “We live in Wales,” I cried with exasperation, “there’s nothing in Wales but mountains and valleys.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “I’m calling you stupid.”

  That was the prelude to another, slightly longer, argument, in which she called me “a freak” at least twelve times, and I called her “a colossal waste of space with the brain matter of an amoeba” once.

  My insult was worth extra points though. It had more syllables.

  Slurpy pulled out her mobile phone and held it into the air.

  “There’s no reception,” she muttered under her breath, adding a few swear words in the process.

  My eyes were continually being drawn to the enormous lake and the mist-hidden islands which were dotted around its rippling mass. I shuddered, despite the heat. I would not be fooled by the duplicitous calm of the water. I knew better. A voice whispered in my head, but for once, it wasn’t mine.

  “…travel onwards until you find the knight you met before. Be forewarned though, for he has changed and he may not see either of you for what you are, or what you will become…”

  “What did you say?” snapped Slurpy.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Yes you did. You were mumbling about the night changing.”

  My head had started throbbing. I rubbed at my temples as I came down from the sugar rush. I was on the verge of repeating Nimue’s words, but the thought of arguing with Slurpy again was exhausting.

  Self-preservation and Arthur were all that mattered now.

  “I think we should head towards the lake,” I said. “If we walk the perimeter, then we may find a track that leads away. It would be better to do that than go through the woods. We’ll definitely get lost if we stay in the trees.”

  Slurpy nodded, although she wasn’t happy. Her bottom lip was stuck out, and her shoulders were slumped. It was really hot, far warmer than when we had left Avalon Cottage, and so by the time we had trampled back down the hill and made our way
to the water, both Slurpy and I had tied our shirts around our waists. As my sweatshirt was already there, the question, “does my bum look big in this?” really didn’t need asking. From the back I must have looked like a sumo wrestler with all that padding.

  The closer we got to the lake, the colder the air became, despite the best efforts of the sun’s rays to cook us alive. The sound of wind chimes floated through the bluebells, which rocked gently from side to side as Slurpy and I trudged through the ankle-length undergrowth. The movement of the flowers was ominous. There wasn’t any wind for a start.

  After an hour of silent walking, we came to an exposed area of shoreline. The green grass and pockets of flowers fell away to reveal golden, gritty sand and perfectly round, grey pebbles. The water of the lake was utterly still, as if made of glass. Several bare tree stumps stuck out of the ground like thumbs. A small boat was tied to one of the stumps by a short piece of rope. The barge was made of wood with curved edges, although the bow was raised far higher, with one single piece of wood planed to a point.

  Be brave, said my inner voice. Nothing is going to happen if you just walk into the water up to your ankles, which by the way are swelling up like table legs, Little Miss Cankles.

  “Fancy a paddle?” I asked Slurpy. “I could do with soaking my feet, they’re killing me.”

  “You paddle, if you want,” she replied. “I’ll keep lookout. This place is giving me the creeps.”

  Slurpy had a strange abstract glaze over her face. Her nose and forehead were wrinkled, like she was thinking - something that clearly took a lot of effort.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, not really caring.

  “This place,” replied Slurpy slowly. “It seems familiar. I think I’ve been here before, but I can’t remember when.”

  That was a positive sign, I thought, and it was a feeling I had started to have myself, the closer we got to the lake. I had been here before, I was certain of it.

  I slipped off my sneakers. Off came my sweaty white socks, and then I rolled up the bottom of my black skinny jeans. They were so tight I could barely raise them above my calves. And my inner voice could go to hell because I did not have cankles! I turned around to check on Slurpy, but she was now lost in her own little nicotine-enhanced world. Her idea of keeping lookout went no further than her smokes.

  The water of the lake was ice-cold. It was painful at first, and I scrunched up my face as I waded in. I didn’t want to go further than a few inches. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t swim, because I could. My father had forced twice-weekly lessons on Arthur and I for years, and no amount of begging or pleading made him change his mind. Yet the fact I could swim four hundred metres in less than ten minutes did little to remove my absolute belief that even the most inviting stretch of water was dangerous.

  My body adapted slowly to the shocking cold temperature of the water. I could feel the sensation of sliding sand beneath my toes. I felt like I was on a tightrope. One more step, I would still be safe taking one more step. I closed my eyes, tilted my head back and inhaled deeply, as I allowed the water to massage my aches away.

  But true fear doesn’t go away that easily.

  Then I heard the whispers. Voices. Male.

  My eyes sprang open. I staggered, as the bank of sand gave way beneath my bare feet.

  “Sammy,” I screamed. “Sammy.”

  My jeans were soaked to my knees as I splashed clumsily out of the water to my brother’s girlfriend.

  “It’s the voices. They’re here.”

  “I know,” whispered Slurpy, trembling. Her cigarette had fallen from her fingertips, and was now lying an inch from my bare right foot.

  “You heard them too?”

  Slurpy shook her head, and pointed away from the lake towards the wood, where five males were standing staring at us.

  “I don’t need to hear them. I can see them.”

  Five sets of mistrusting eyes were fixed upon the two of us. I suddenly felt very vulnerable without shoes on my feet.

  All five of the strangers were dressed in tight fitting trousers and smock-like tunics: the kind pregnant women wear. The colours of their clothes were earthy: browns, creams and various shades of green. They all wore dusty, laced leather boots, and two were wearing long cloaks, which were fastened at the neck by silver clasps.

  More worrying than their strange outfits was the fact that every single one of them was armed.

  Two of the males carried long spears in their right hands. Another two had a sword at their side.

  The fifth person, who I assumed was their gang leader, had broken away and was several paces in front of them. A sword was clasped tightly in his left hand, glinting under the sun. Its sharp point was aimed directly at Slurpy and me.

  “Who are you?” said the stranger. The first thing I noticed was his accent. My mother and father would have called it common; I just thought it was gruff, like his voice box was lined with gravel. The second thought I had was that he possessed the greenest eyes I had ever seen. The kind that are wasted on a boy because they are so pretty.

  “My name is Natasha, and this is Slurpy…I mean, this is Samantha,” I replied, in a barely audible whisper. The growl that came from SS was louder.

  “Caution, Sir Bedivere,” called another male. “I do not see fair maidens abroad. They could be witches. Their words laced with evil magic.”

  “What are you doing near the shores of the lake?” asked the green-eyed stranger. “What is your business here, and whom do you travel with?”

  Despite his appearance: long, straggly chestnut hair, and a stubbly beard that made me want to itch, I had the impression the male was younger than he looked. His face was lined and weary, and he was clearly in need of a shower or ten, but those eyes sparkled like fizzing limes.

  “We are looking for my brother,” I replied slowly, but my carefully considered words were suddenly interrupted by the mouth on long legs standing next to me.

  “And we are with at least one hundred armed men,” yelled Slurpy, “and they are looking for us now, as well as Arthur, so you had better leave us alone, or the Foreign Office will hang you for treason or something.”

  “You idiot,” I screamed, as the manner of the five strangers went from cautious observing to rapid movement. They span around, and those who had not drawn swords quickly did so. The cold sound of metal swords being drawn from scabbards burrowed deep into my bones. The one called Bedivere rushed forward and grabbed Slurpy around the wrist. She cried out in pain as he twisted her arm.

  “What do you know of Arthur?” he cried. “Speak now, witch, before I remove your head.”

  Arthur had always told me that if someone attacked, the best chance of survival was fighting back, so I jumped onto the stranger’s back and secured my arms around his neck. Squeezing tightly, I wrapped my legs around his body and started to scream.

  “HELP, HELP US. ANYBODY.”

  “Hold the dark haired witch, Sir Gareth,” choked the male, as he struggled to release me from his throat. “Sir Tristram, help me with this she-devil.”

  Despite scratching, spitting, kicking and thumping for all we were worth, Slurpy and I were no match for the five strangers. They dragged us to two trees, where we were bound and gagged.

  “In all my days as a knight, I have never seen anything like this,” gasped the one called Tristram. He was holding a rag to his bloody mouth, and I was still holding several strands of his curly blonde hair in my hand.

  “We should kill them, Sir Bedivere,” said another gravely. “Evil times have swept these lands. Our quest to find Arthur will be made all the more perilous if we do not deal out swift justice to enemies of Logres.”

  But both Slurpy and I had started to make frantic gestures at the sound of Arthur’s name, and Bedivere appeared to realise this. Despite the dirty cloth that had been forced into my mouth, I started to choke out the name of my brother.

  “This she-devil is familiar,” said Bedivere to the one called Tristram
. “I have seen her before, I am certain of it.” He approached me, and pulled the gag from my mouth with a hard tug. “You have one chance to save your lives,” he said in a cold, harsh tone. “What do you know of Arthur?”

  “He’s my brother,” I choked. “He’s gone missing and we’re searching for him. We met a lady called Nimue, and she told me to ring a bell and awaken the sleepers.” I looked desperately at Slurpy, trying to remember any detail, however ridiculous, that might save us.

  “The Lady of the Lake came to you?” snorted Tristram with derision. A little bubble of blood burst at the corner of his mouth.

  “Yes,” I cried. “We only want to find Arthur. I’m his sister, and this is his girlfriend. We love him and we need him to come home. That’s all we want.”

  I started to sob. Uncontrolled spasms of pain bounced through my chest and into my shoulders. The fear and worry of the past week finally beached itself in my heart. It felt so heavy I couldn’t breathe. Arthur was all I had left, and I had failed him completely.

  “Release them,” ordered Bedivere. “We will take them with us. If they speak the truth, then the others will be rallying.”

  “And if they lie?” asked Tristram.

  Bedivere shrugged, as if it was of little consequence.

  “Then we will kill them.”

  Chapter Seven

  Dwarf-Riders

  Our plan to find Arthur was not going to plan.

  Slurpy stayed silent as we trudged through the wood, guarded on all sides by four of the strangers. The light started to fail as we walked away from the lake, and the temperature plummeted even further. Our kidnappers allowed us to put our shirts and sweaters back on, but my feet were numb with the cold, and I could see the tips of my fingers were turning a strange shade of violet.

  The five strangers rarely spoke to us, although they kept a constant watch on our movements. Slurpy’s bag had been taken from her at the shore and its contents confiscated by the blonde one called Tristram. He kept everything as evidence and threw the bag into the water. It had bubbled up like a flotation device and then sunk quickly, as if dragged down by something hidden under the water.