by Candace Sams
“What was that?”
“He said he didn’t want to be on the hill tonight. He said that the old folks in the village were talking about ‘one of those moons rising’ and that ‘some of the farm animals were acting strange’. Those were his words.
Mac swallowed the last bit of his sandwich in a gulp, and automatically put his hand on the pommel of his sword. “You know what that means?”
She nodded as she turned to face him. “I know. Somehow, I’m not afraid. I thought I’d be scared, but I’m not. Whatever happens…we’re on the right side.”
“We are, Frankie!”
“I’m going to make sure everyone else has something to eat and a hot drink. Then, I want to talk to Scotty one more time.”
Mac moved toward her. “It wasn’t so long ago that you promised me a night to remember.”
“We’re about to get it, big guy!”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m talking about after the battle is over. I want that night with you.”
“If we’re still here in the morning, I’ll make good on my word. Okay?”
“Promise me, Frankie! Promise me you’ll be here in the morning.”
She blinked back tears. “I’ll give this fight all I’ve got. You promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” he whispered.
“If Merlin wasn’t lying…if he was telling the truth about my father being alive…my old man’s head is mine! I want to make sure that you, Scott, and everyone else on our side knows it. No interference. I don’t want any old fashioned chivalric crap where your or my brother are concerned.”
“Frankie —”
“I mean it, Little John. Will you promise me?”
“He won’t be the same man you knew.”
“I know. He’ll be worse!”
Mac lifted his sword. With the tip pointed toward the ground and the hilt positioned in front of his face, he made his oath. “I swear it. On my honor.”
She slowly smiled, firmly nodded, and mouth the words, “thank you”.
“Keep your head on, Frankie.”
“You too, big guy. It’s far too handsome a noggin to go rolling down this hill. If that happens, you’ll break my heart.”
Mac lowered his sword and leaned it against a nearby rock.
Frankie dropped the carryall, and they moved into each other’s embrace. The kiss they shared was every bit as hot as their first one; every bit as desperate and as long. Eventually, she broke the contact and backed away.
“See you at the bottom of the hill, big guy. And don’t let any of the spectral visions that are supposed to accompany this celestial event get in your way.”
With that, she turned and left.
Mac watched her until her retreating form was blocked by shrubbery and rocks. By now, she was on her speedy way to another hill, handing someone else a fried banana, peanut butter sandwich. Along with her food, she’d pass out the news of a Celtic Moon rising. That was the strange event that the gardener had warned Frankie about. He was sure that Garrett knew that moon was coming up, or he soon would. All the allies would be informed.
Perhaps most of them already knew. A deathly quiet settled in the hills suggesting that they did. That kind of news would spread like a virus.
He turned to look in the direction of Drury. It was the closest village to Bloodnight land.
Local people there should be safe. They wouldn’t go out in the dark if they believed a Celtic Moon was rising.
Though such a celestial event was rare and unpredictable, old farmers watched their livestock and knew, by the animals’ behavior, that something was wrong. For those who worked and loved the land, animals were the first forecasters of dangerous, otherworldly or even odd weather events.
Superstitions died hard in some places. If the younger denizens of the nearby villages didn’t believe in magical happenings, their grandparents and great grandparents did. If any of the younger people were tempted to venture out, their kin would most certainly pull them back inside their respective houses and cottages, even if they had to sit on them.
He took a deep breath and prepared for battle. Morgan LeFey would come this night, beneath the Celtic Moon, just as Garrett Bloodnight said she would. There was no doubt in his mind.
Frankie’s reference to spectral events had to do with Garrett’s description of the last time such a moon rose on the horizon. It hadn’t been that long ago. Both Garrett and Jean Long told everyone that, on the last night when such a strange and ethereal moon rose, they’d heard sounds of horses and clanging armor. Garrett had been tempted to join what he believed to be ghostly knights fighting for their king, out in the hills and beneath the light of a moon that lit the landscape like air raid lights.
Garrett only shared that strange and macabre information in case it happened again. As Sir Galahad’s descendant, and the man Morgan LeFey would have to fight off, Garrett had wanted everyone prepared for all contingencies. Even sounds coming from knightly ghosts.
If those spectral sounds arose from the darkness, their knowing might give them an advantage. If Morgan’s rogues heard those ghostly noises tonight, but hadn’t been told of them, the specters of the past might hopefully interfere with the enemy’s focus. Even if it did, that diversion wouldn’t last long. Morgan would use dark magic to make her minions fight like demons from hell.
The Brits and the Americans would be ready. They’d been waiting for this battle for centuries. No other countries had been asked to take up arms because of the deadly nature of this mission. With the largest populations of immortals, only Britain and American could afford to lose a few.
In some parts of the world, legally operating immortals were the only law enforcement available. In those places, every immortal was very precious. They were needed to hunt down dangerous rogues who could, in one evening, take out an entire, remote village. The queen understood this. Garrett Bloodnight understood it. Frankie understood it, and so did he. There would be no other allies coming to the hills this night.
Everyone here understood the stakes, and why they’d been summoned. They’d had the right to refuse, but all who’d been asked had accepted the challenge.
Now, here they were.
The battlefield, as he presumed it would be, lay down the slope and into a small valley. Beyond that, there was a tree line under which tall bushes and grasses grew. He knew in his heart, it was from the shadows beneath those trees that the enemy would emerge. Regarding this fact, his gut instinct was a real as everyone else’s. The level land between the trees and the hilltops was where the battle for Camelot had originated. A repeat of that conflict would take place on the same exact ground. Merlin’s prophecies had said so. Even if he wasn’t sure of the wizard’s information lately, all the other Ethereals agreed on that one point. And now, with news of a Celtic Moon rising, he and everyone on the allied side realized that this was the night they’d been waiting for. Morgan had once promised Merlin that she would return here, on a Celtic Moon night. This was that night. Her coming presence — the sensation of it — loomed like an open wound.
It all made perfect sense. Morgan LeFey was hoping for an exact rematch of a battle she’d won, even if the knights on her side later turned on her. She still desired a victory on ground considered sacred to all those involved.
For years, while he was still in his right mind, Merlin had repeatedly told everyone involved that if Morgan fought on this ground, and on the night of a Celtic Moon, she would be defeated. What Merlin hadn’t stated was the obvious. The conjurer’s prophecies could have been dead wrong. Magical predictions often were despite the other Ethereals’ insistence on this particular issue.
Mac silently counted the times that things hadn’t gone according to plan. First, Merlin hadn’t been able to prophesize two world wars. Second, Merlin hadn’t seen countless assassinations or natural disasters. Third, Merlin hadn’t been able to predict that one of the warriors here tonight — namely him — would fall in love with the woman leadin
g the American faction.
Yes, the wizard on the allied side had made mistakes. This battle still had to be fought. Without question, and despite Merlin’s false predictions in the past, Morgan LeFey was coming this night. He needed no magic to tell him so.
He drew in a deep breath.
Perhaps they would all be gone in the morning — Morgan, her minions, everyone on the allied side. They might all be dead. That was one of the possibilities that no one had ever mentioned. That the allies might or should win, no fight came without losses.
If that was the case, Her Majesty and the president of the United States still had immortals left. Someone from the queen’s staff would send Ethereals to magically dispose of bodies and decapitated heads. No one would know what happened here. That was one scenario.
The other was that Morgan won and marched across the British Isles, picking up more immortals, human criminals, and dissenters as she moved. If that happened, she wouldn’t stop until the magic she wielded enslaved everyone on the planet
A few months ago, he believed that maybe the death of all involved wasn’t so bad. Maybe the world needed to be rid of a lot of immortals, rogues, would-be tyrants and wizards looking to push the humans of this world one way or the other. As far as his survival was concerned, he’d lived a very long life. Immortals like him knew the chances they took when working for any government. Death was a daily consideration.
Now, however, things had changed. In these last weeks, he had someone to live for.
He wanted to rest in Frankie’s arms and, for a few nights at least, be just like anyone else in the world. He’d found new motivation in just being near her; the kind of motivation he hadn’t known in his whole life. She was the woman meant for him. He might have known her for a very short time as immortal life went, but living for centuries is what made him so sure about his feelings now. Like an idiot, he’d wasted time at the beginning, arguing and pushing her away. Even then his subconscious was recognizing the attraction.
He grabbed his sword and held it tighter.
“Be safe, Frankie. Find me in the morning, brave girl!”
* * *
Frankie walked over a low knoll where she knew her brother had asked to be assigned. His spot was right between the British and the American factions. He was the metaphorical dividing line in the long list of allied fighters.
She didn’t know whether his asking for that spot was symbolic, as a man who belonged in both the UK and had been born in the United States, or because he just like the view. It made no difference now.
“Coffee, Scott?”
As with Mac, her brother nodded. He kept his eyes on the hills straight in front of him.
“Do you remember when we used to play hide-and-seek in the garden, Sarah? Before the twins were born?”
She handed him his coffee and briefly put her carryall down to listen to whatever he might say. “I remember. That was a long, long time ago.”
“Father was a bastard even back then. We were too young to understand, but I think he was cheating on Mother all along. To some extent, we must have realized something was wrong, even at that young age. We spent a lot of time, as far away from our old man as we could get.”
“Doesn’t matter anymore, Scotty. Mom and the twins are gone, and have been for over a century. It’s you and me now.”
Scott sipped his coffee, then turned to face her. “I know you want to go after Dad. I won’t get in your way. He’s got it coming.”
“Thank you.”
“Just don’t let him get under your skin, Sarah. That’s assuming he’s among the enemy at all. Merlin was losing all rational thought when he told us about Dad. The old fart might have imagined that whole scenario. Our resident wizard went a bit too far to the dark side, and may never come back.”
“After tonight, we may might not, either.”
Scott put one hand on her cheek. “Whatever happens, I’m so glad to have been with you again. Nobody and nothing can take away these past weeks. I’ve seen the person you were meant to become. And…”
“Yeah?” she softly prompted.
“This is your era. Not back then. You didn’t fit into life in the 1900’s. You were meant to do greater things than the men of that time would allow.”
She blinked back tears and held her arms out for a hug. Scott embraced her for a long moment, then let her go.
“Sarah…if we win, nobody will likely ever know how great we were in this fight. If we lose…”
“Nobody will care.” She finished for him as she smiled broadly. “I’ll see you later, big brother. Swing steady.”
“You too, Sarah.”
With everyone having had at least something hot to drink and a sandwich to sustain massive amounts of calories immortals burned when fighting, there was nothing left to do except take up her assigned position in the hills. Everyone knew the time was tonight. They were whispering about it even as she’d approached, and offered one last hot beverage to each fighter present.
Everyone on the allied side now knew each other. In the heat of battle, the Americans and the British weren’t likely to mistake each other for the enemy. Morgan and her group of rogues would know each other as well. They’d likely show up with deadly flamboyance; with all the theatrics of a Shakespearian tragedy. They’d want to be known for who and what they were — killers.
Morgan would want to make a statement to the world, starting here and now. This was the same place she’d tried to take over Britain before. She’d want to be seen and recognized as a great power; as the next ruler of the realm. While she thought all the portents were on her side, Merlin and the Ethereals kept telling the allied fighters that they would win.
Who was right about being the victor? It was always a sad truth of life that being on the right side didn’t guarantee a win. Portents were one thing. Portents were changeable. Reality wasn’t.
Morgan LeFey had been forced into ignominy after Arthur’s death. Even Morgan couldn’t predict everything. However, Morgan wouldn’t let the mistakes back then be repeated now; not after centuries of positioning herself as a leader among rogues. She must have spent every defeat learning how to never be defeated again. Using the darkest magic, she’d never fight fair. That was what had everyone worried.
Everyone assumed that Morgan hadn’t yet gleaned Garrett’s Bloodnight’s lineage. Everyone assumed that, if she had, she’d have shown up to kill Garrett by now.
Either one of two things had happened. First, Merlin’s magic seemed to have protected that bit of knowledge from Morgan’s scrying efforts. Second, Morgan had found out but had withheld her anger so that she could find a way to thwart Merlin’s’ prophecy; the prophecy concerning her defeat. Either of those possibilities presented themselves. No one was willing to admit that Merlin could be wrong, just as he’d been wrong on other occasions.
At any rate, hiding Garrett’s heritage now was pointless. Having heard the news from several Ethereals in their ranks — Garrett was going to tell the hag leader on the enemy side just exactly who he was, right before the fighting started. If Morgan knew that the descendant of her son’s killer was on the battlefield, then nothing would change. If Morgan didn’t know, then she might do something desperate, out of anger. Any mistake she made, whether prompted by rage or miscalculation, might give the allies all the advantage they needed. No one was bargaining purely on Merlin’s prophecy of victory.
All the possible versions of this battle had been discussed. All the possible movements through the hills had been mapped, over and over. The allies still prepared for the implausible. Offering up the unbelievable was Morgan’s hallmark from past battles in history. She’d been living off surprise, shock, and the fear that she could put in human and immortal hearts. Always behind the shadows of some dictator or tyrant, she bolstered all efforts to defeat democracy and the free will of mankind. They had one advantage she did not. Ethereals were on the side of the allies. No Ethereal had ever been known to go rogue, or to use magic ina
ppropriately.
Sadly, she had no Ethereals to command since the president wouldn’t send those few the United States finally admitted they had. Why would he after learning of Merlin’s brush with dark magic. She had been the one to make that informative call to Washington. Having passed on the information concerning Merlin’s mental lapse, her superiors decided not to send more than the thirteen immortal warriors in total.
The reason why was logical.
Merlin’s descent into darkness, however brief it was, made his prophecies less reliable than usual. While some leeway had always been given to the wizard — because he’d been so very right at some critical junctures in history — no one could afford to give the man the benefit of the doubt in this instance. The battle was coming. All Ethereals felt it. If Merlin’s prophesizing stayed true, all would go well. Still, contingencies had to be made given Merlin’s threats to Mac, and their wizard’s sudden descent to the dark side of magic.
If Morgan won, Washington had to have a defensive immortal system for its own population. Neither America or the British could afford to put every immortal or Ethereal in one battle. They were all banking on winning with whoever was present, while simultaneously planning on how to defend against marauding magically driven rogues if the worst happened. They’d all put a plan B in place, given Merlin’s current state of mental imbalance.
As far as she was concerned, those present on the allied side were the best fighters to be had. They’d either win with what they had, or die leaving others to defend humanity.
Now, all the talk and planning was over. All the guessing as to Merlin’s genuineness was finished. They all waited.
Still, she wasn’t afraid. She sensed no fear in those surrounding her.
As twilight began to turn to darkness, wearing black leather clothing or camouflage gear proved to be of little use. She saw what everyone else did; what made everyone in the small towns and villages nearby want to stay inside.
Rising above her, looming like a colliding planet, was one of the biggest moons she’d ever seen in her life. That no one could explain why or when such a moon appeared, wasn’t so strange to her. If magic was involved, it followed that no one else in the world would see this full moon the same way they would.
