Quests for Glory

by Soman Chainani

  “How plebeian,” murmured Sophie.

  Says a girl whose father worked at the mill, Nicola thought, rolling her eyes.

  “Apparently it’s the only story that every child in Camelot knows,” Agatha was saying. “Luckily, when you read a story out loud, you remember most of it. It went something like this.”

  She raised her glowing finger and tendrils of gold magically streamed from its tip, dispersing like threads over Nicola’s head. . . .

  “Once upon a time, a beautiful new kingdom appeared at the edge of the sea,” said Agatha. “Only it had no king.”

  The golden threads morphed into majestic spires with rounded turrets. . . .

  “Every kingdom must have a king, so it waited for someone to take the throne. But to be king requires strength and cleverness, values rarely found in the same being. In the end, only two came forward to claim the crown. The Lion. And the Snake.”

  Each of the two rivals appeared out of Agatha’s glow, striking and slashing at each other.

  “No one knew how to decide between them, so a vote was held. Those who believed the new kingdom should be ruled with strength chose the Lion. Those who believed the new kingdom should be ruled with cleverness chose the Snake. Both drew an equal number of votes, the kingdom in perfect balance.”

  Between the Lion and the Snake, a third glowing outline appeared. . . .

  “And so the Eagle was brought in to make the final choice, since he flew high above and saw the world in a way no one else could. The Eagle asked each rival a single question: ‘If you were king, would the Eagle be subject to your rule?’

  “The Lion said yes. As long as the Eagle flew over his kingdom, he would receive his protection, but also be bound by his rule. The Snake said no. If he were king, the Eagle would be as free as he was before.”

  Slowly, the Lion’s phantom disappeared.

  “So the Eagle chose the Snake.”

  In a flash of glow, an army of hooded snakes descended on the Eagle—

  “That night, without protection, the eagles were attacked. The Snake and his minions hid in the trees, decimating the eagles before the Lion and his friends came to their rescue. Soon, the Lion caught the murderous Snake. As he prepared to kill it, however, the Snake warned him. . . .”

  The glowing serpent now had a voice:

  “You dare not kill a king. The Eagle chossssse me because he wanted freedom. He got that freedom. What happened after doesn’t change the Truth. The throne is mine. I am your king. Just because you do not like the Truth does not mean you can replacccce it with a Lie. And if you kill me, your new king will be a Lie. Kill me and I ssssshall return to take my crown. . . .”

  The Lion paused, glowing brighter, seemingly taking this in. . . .

  Then it tore apart the Snake.

  “The Snake’s warning was ignored. The Lion became King of Camelot and defender of all creatures. And to atone for his earlier mistake in choosing the Snake, the Eagle became the Lion’s loyal advisor from that day forward, defending the realm in case the Snake should ever return.”

  The shadows dissolved as Agatha’s fingerglow cooled.

  “And that’s how the kingdom of Camelot came to be,” Agatha finished.

  Nicola followed Agatha’s eyes to the Camelot crest painted on the table: Excalibur, flanked by two eagles.

  Only as she looked closer at the famous crest, Nicola saw something she hadn’t seen before. . . .

  The eagles had the bodies of lions.

  “Wouldn’t have ever thought of it again but clearly the Storian wants us to,” said Agatha. “The pen said the Snake has come to take down the Lion—”

  “Which means the Lion is the King of Camelot,” Sophie proclaimed proudly.

  Duh, thought Nicola.

  “And the Snake wants his crown back,” said Sophie. “And to take down the king.”

  Duhhhhh, Nicola scowled, seeing Agatha grow increasingly anxious.

  “Tedros is definitely the Lion,” said Sophie.

  “Yes, we know,” said Nicola impatiently. “What we don’t know is: Who is the Snake? And how do we catch him before he gets to Tedros?”

  “There’s another question. And it’s the reason we’re going to Avalon first,” said Agatha, meeting Nicola’s eyes. “If the Lion is Tedros and the Snake wants to take him down . . . then why hasn’t he gone after Tedros already? Why is he going after Tedros’ friends?”

  This time, even Nicola was quiet.

  Standing at the captain’s wheel, Nicola gazed out at the pink-and-gold sky, thin clouds knitted across it like snake scales. Agatha had gone to take a brief nap after commanding the Igraine to forge southeast and leaving Nicola on watch. But it’d been smooth sailing for the past few hours and Nicola was about to fall asleep too. Even Sophie’s mad mongoose had passed out, curled luxuriously around her ankle.

  Perhaps I should wake Agatha, Nicola thought.

  But the girl had sailed all night from Camelot, and from what the mongoose had told her, Agatha and Tedros had been having a rough time. Plus, Agatha had asked her to watch the ship—not Hester, not Anadil, not Willam—and Nicola felt honored. The other crew silently nodded when Agatha had made this decision, as if the first year had already earned her place.

  Just like that, Nicola’s bitterness about being on this boat was gone. Part of this was getting to meet Hort, of course. He’d even smiled at her in the galley. Maybe my letters didn’t put him off after all. . . .

  Suddenly she wasn’t tired anymore. She could sleep for the rest of her life when she made it back home.

  If she made it back, that is.

  In a fairy tale, someone always dies so the others can live, she worried, thinking of Tristan, Nicholas, Cinderella, and others brutally killed in the last fairy tale that the Storian wrote. Is that why the pen added her to this story? To sacrifice her?

  No way. She wasn’t going to die here. No matter what the Storian had planned, she’d get back home to Pa and they’d celebrate Christmas together. If only she could let him know she was safe in the meantime. Then she could make the most of her stay here without worry or guilt. But how to get a letter to Gavaldon? Sophie would know, wouldn’t she. . . . The one person she didn’t want to ask for favors.

  A flash of gold caught her attention and Nicola leaned over the wheel to see a chain hanging off it, carrying a small gold vial.

  The Quest Map.

  She’d seen Agatha and Sophie examining it earlier. Sophie had said something about Dovey fixing the map so it tracked quests accurately, before Agatha had borrowed it from Sophie to study it closer. She must have left the necklace here when she’d gone to nap. . . .

  Nicola glanced back towards the galley. Through the windows, she could see Willam and Bogden huddling over what looked like tarot cards, while the three witches were still in a secret meeting about how to find a School Master on this quest (she’d eavesdropped in the bathroom). No one was on the deck with her. And no one could see her if she inched behind one of the masts. . . .

  Remembering how Sophie and Agatha conjured the Quest Map, Nicola emptied the vial and watched the liquid gold suspend and congeal. Leaning into the map, she peered at a three-dimensional toy ship sailing towards Avalon, with Hester’s, Agatha’s, Sophie’s, Anadil’s, Hort’s, and Dot’s figurines aboard. There wasn’t one for Willam since he wasn’t a student, but there was one for Bogden and one for her, complete with a pink Ever’s dress and curly black hair. The crew’s names were bright blue, unlike the names in red scattered around the map. Was the Snake tampering with these red-lettered quests? And hadn’t the mongoose mentioned something about unrest in the kingdoms? Did the Snake have something to do with that too?

  The answers were waiting in Avalon.

  Instead of feeling scared, Nicola felt charged. There was danger ahead. But the idea that she was in a realm of adventure and magic and might meet more characters like Kiko, Merlin, or Guinevere . . . Her chest thumped faster. She wasn’t just some observer anymore,
reading a book while she stirred chowder at the pub. She was inside the book. And unlike other stories she’d read, this time she’d only find the ending by living through it.

  Nicola’s eyes shifted back to the toy Igraine, gliding across the map. It was millimeters away from Avalon. If the map was right, she would sight land any moment.

  “Barely a first year and they’ve made you Captain,” a voice said behind her.

  Nicola’s stomach dropped. Hort!

  She turned. “Barely a fourth year and they made you a professor,” she said, acting nonchalant.

  “It could be worse. I was supposed to teach Evers too,” said Hort. “But Professor Dovey put a stop to that.”

  He was in short black breeches, high black socks, and a long-sleeved white cotton shirt, the laces untied to reveal his muscular chest. His cheeks had a rosy glow as if he’d just scrubbed them and his black hair was wet and spiky. He smelled like clean laundry, which surprised her—from reading about him, she assumed he’d smell like wet rat or dead flowers. But instead, he smelled lovely . . . so either books got things wrong or Hort had cleaned up to talk to her. Both ideas were alarming.

  “You’re looking at me funny,” said Hort.

  “Oh, uh—” Nicola turned from him and collided loudly with the Quest Map, waking up Boobeshwar, who darted around as if he’d been fired out of a cannon. “Um, you had a fly in your hair. Shouldn’t you be checking on Sophie?”

  “Shouldn’t you be giving her back her Quest Map?” said Hort.

  “I found it like this,” said Nicola.

  “Spoken like a first year.”

  “Yet the Storian wrote me into this quest and not you,” said Nicola.

  “A feisty first year,” said Hort.

  “You have no idea,” said Nicola.

  Hort raised his brows.

  Nicola stared into his beautiful, velvet-brown eyes.

  “I would have answered your letters,” said Hort.

  “You read them? For real?” Nicola asked.

  “Yeah, but I thought they were pranks.”

  “Oh.”

  “I liked them, though.”

  “Everything you just said . . . you could have written back to me,” said Nicola.

  Hort blinked at her. “You’re not much of an Ever.”

  “Because I don’t look like a princess?” Nicola asked, hurt. “I mean, I know they all look a certain way—”

  “Because you’re better than a princess,” said Hort, moving closer to her. “And that uniform.”

  Nicola turned the color of her dress. “Well, seeing this is the only outfit I own at the moment and that I’m not going to be in the Woods very long . . .”

  Hort cocked his head.

  “I need to get home to my father,” Nicola explained, wishing she could lay her head on his shoulder. “Even if I wanted to stay . . . even if I had good reason . . .”

  “Your dad comes first,” said Hort definitively.

  Nicola sighed. He understands. Not just because Hort was a sensitive soul, but because from what Nicola had read, he’d been close to his dad too.

  “Is it weird meeting people you’ve read about?” he asked, as if sensing her thoughts. “Do you feel like you know me because you’ve read about me?”

  Nicola gazed at him. “I thought I did.”

  Hort went quiet for a moment.

  Then he said: “I don’t only like blond, skinny girls, you know.”

  Nicola’s legs turned to jelly.

  “That’s not for a student’s eyes,” a voice said—

  Sophie cut between Nicola and Hort, instantly shrinking the Quest Map into the vial and clasping it around her own neck. “Agatha should be more careful leaving a Dean’s property around. Hort, will you go wake her up?”

  “Actually, me and Nicola were—”

  “Thank you, darling,” Sophie said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Hurry off now.”

  Hort frowned and walked towards the galley, touching his kissed cheek. “Whole world’s gone mad . . . ,” Nicola heard him murmur.

  “I feel like we’ve started badly, Nicola,” said Sophie, facing her. “We’re going to have to work together and right now you and I are . . .” Sophie stopped because her mongoose had hopped onto Nicola’s shoulder. Sophie glared at him slit-eyed. “I don’t know whether it’s because you’ve read stories about me or because you keep insisting that we’ve met before—”

  “We have met,” Nicola said. “You wrote a review of my father’s pub in the town paper and said ‘if the nut crumble is any indication, it’s time Gavaldon moved on to more sophisticated cuisine.’”

  Sophie waved dismissively. “Well, I’m sorry if I insulted your father’s nuts—”

  “It was my nut crumble,” said Nicola. “I made it.”

  “And had I known that, I would have said it was delightful,” Sophie chimed. “In any case, you can return home as soon as our quest is finished and you’ll bake all the crumbles you like. But until then, I really do want us to be friends.”

  Nicola was stupefied. Whenever she’d read about Sophie, she’d always been frustrated that no one in the story stood up to her. But here she was in front of the girl, who was brazenly insulting her to her face, and all she could do was laugh.

  “See, that’s better,” Sophie cooed cozily. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that Professor Hort’s taken a liking to you. You two seem to be quite fond of each other. Naughty girl.”

  “Well, if you’re not interested in him, I certainly am,” said Nicola.

  “I see,” Sophie chuckled. Then like a switch had flipped, her face clouded over. “See, that’s the thing. To say something like that, and to a Dean no less, is highly inappropriate. Hort is a teacher and you are a student. It doesn’t matter that he’s hardly older than you and is as much of a ‘teacher’ as I am a horned troll. Anyone knows teachers can’t be chummy with students. Besides, Hort already chose his true love long ago and it’s not like she’s going anywhere, is she? So if I were you, I’d focus on helping us complete our quest and getting home to your dear father as soon as you can.”

  Nicola felt as if she’d been slapped.

  Sophie was already walking away. “Come, Boobeshwar. Mother has fresh nuts for you. . . .”

  This time the mongoose followed, its loyalty easily bought.

  Nicola watched them go, flurrying with emotions. For one thing, she knew from reading that the girl was a master manipulator. And yet, as much as she hated to admit it, Sophie was right: Nicola couldn’t stay in this world much longer, even if she wanted to . . . so despite the fact her dreamy fantasy hunk had just flirted with her, keeping her distance from Hort seemed both prudent and practical. . . .

  But there were bigger things to worry about right now. Because through the darkening sky, she heard the shriek of birds and saw the outline of tall, gray cliffs. . . .

  “Land ho!” she cried.

  The galley door flung open and she heard the crew running onto the deck—

  Nicola turned to them, framed by the foaming spray of waves, like a captain in a storybook. “Man your stations! Avalon ahead!”

  11

  AGATHA

  Stay with the Group

  It’s hard not to think of your true love when you’re wearing his clothes.

  But if Agatha thought about Tedros, she also had to think of a Snake who wanted to take him down . . . a Snake who didn’t yet have a name. . . .

  She could hear the crew crunching through snow—Sophie, Hort, Nicola, Bogden, Willam, the three witches—each armed with a weapon and following her dutifully even though Agatha didn’t have a clue where she was going.

  She’d been to Avalon Island before, but that was months ago, when Merlin was guiding them, the only person besides the King of Camelot to whom the Lady of the Lake’s castle would open. But now Agatha had no Merlin to open those castle gates nor the slightest idea how to even find the castle, since last time she’d been so busy fretting about Tedros
dumping her for Sophie that she hadn’t noticed the route.

  Not that there was a route to find anymore. Powdery snow matted the desolate shrubland and was still falling fast. There was no sun to guide them either, its afternoon light trapped behind a wall of gray. Shivering in her bandana, Agatha shoved her chapped hands deeper in Tedros’ brown leather jacket, which she’d worn over his cut-off breeches. Stupid me, she thought. She’d packed for summer even though her teacher Yuba had told them in Forest Groups that it was always winter in Avalon.

  Agatha plodded ahead gloomily. First she’d almost drowned her crew and now she was freezing them to death. Her quest was off to a rousing start.

  A whiff of Tedros’ minty scent came off her shirt.

  “This isn’t your quest. It’s mine,” his voice echoed.

  Maybe he’d been right. He was the one whose best friend was dead. He was the Lion in the Storian’s tale.

  So why am I here without him? Agatha thought.

  Because he’d insisted that a king couldn’t abandon his people. But that wasn’t the whole truth, of course. The truth was that she wanted him to stay behind. She wanted to keep him out of danger.

  Little had she known that a Snake might be coming for him.

  Agatha gritted her teeth. No matter what—or who—was ahead, she’d save her prince.

  This isn’t right, said a voice inside her. No one can save Tedros but himself.

  Agatha rolled her eyes. Didn’t princes save princesses all the time?

  This isn’t about boys and girls, the voice said. This is about destiny. This is about the truth. You’re only making his problems worse—

  Agatha squashed the voice down.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the Igraine, peeking behind the cliff rock where they’d anchored a couple miles off. Instinct told her she was going the right way. She plowed forward, snow coating her lashes, a dagger strapped to her back.

  Sophie accosted her in a voluminous white fur coat. “At first I was thinking a ‘Nanook of the North’ theme for your wedding, with faux tundra, penguin caterers, and Teddy in an ice-blue leotard. Now not so much.”

  Agatha didn’t smile.