The Spirit of Nimue (The Return to Camelot #3)

by Donna Hosie

  “So you seek revenge?” snarled Bedivere. “Well, I place warning on you now, Merlin. You lay so much as an ageing finger on Natasha, and you will have to tear my remaining limbs from my body to stop me coming for you.”

  Merlin threw his head back and the deep chimes of bells vibrated through the tent. Angharad shuddered in my hand; I couldn’t recall drawing it.

  “You were always my favourite knight, Sir Bedivere,” said Merlin. “And the sister of the king has blinded you with the heart, as well. I see, in you, so much of my younger self.”

  The sorcerer took a step back; he was now shadowed.

  “I do not seek revenge, Sir Bedivere,” continued Merlin. “I do not need to. There will be no enchanted sleep, and my counsel will still be offered to whoever leads the Knights of the Round Table, now the king is no more.”

  “You speak of the king as if he is dead, Merlin,” said David quietly.

  I shuddered and felt the tingling of goosebumps across my skin. Arthur wasn’t dead. I would know if he was dead. Slurpy was the queen from hell, but she would never hurt my brother, or Mila. It was me she had apologised to – it was me she had hurt.

  “He is dead to you all now,” said Merlin spitefully. “Arthur will not return to Logres a third time. The connections between this time and his have been severed by stone.” Merlin stared down his crooked nose at me, and all I wanted to do was punch it hard and bend it across his sneering face.

  “You set events in motion, Natasha, Lady Knight of the Round Table. You have dictated events without even realising it. You are special, you were always special, but that can be a curse as much as a blessing. I do not need to place an enchanted sleep over Logres, or turn the skies black with fear. Arthur will not return because of you, and that is my revenge.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Sadness of Sir Gareth

  Another morning arrived, and the words of a bitter old man were still ringing in my ears. The distance between me and my brother seemed even bigger. Knights were working in shifts at the collapsed tunnel entrance, but for every bucket of rock and soil removed, another two fell down to replace them.

  Merlin had disappeared. We knew he would be back. His ego wouldn’t be able to keep him away from the Round Table for long. I kept expecting to see a funnel of wind or flame, but the sorcerer’s last act – for now – had been to blame me for what had happened. He was going to let me stew in my own guilt.

  And he was a good cook because it was working.

  Bedivere and Guinevere tried to keep me busy, but I knew that at some point we were going to have to make a decision. The court had travelled with supplies for a baptism. What they got instead was a wake. Soon there would only be enough food for the journey back to Camelot.

  I didn’t want to leave. The falls were in ruins. The waters had flooded the eastern plains, but what really upset me was the thought that the second I started to walk away, my tenuous link to Arthur and Talan would be gone forever.

  Lucan brought me breakfast in bed: mushy oats that looked like cat puke. I didn’t touch it, although I thanked him. I just wasn’t hungry. The knights didn’t break the fast until lunchtime, but Bedivere had lost so much weight I forced it down him.

  “You will make a...” Lucan flushed with embarrassment and clammed shut. It was okay. I knew what he was going to say.

  You will make a wonderful mother.

  Well, that wasn’t going to happen now, but it was so low down my list I didn’t care. How could I mourn the loss of what I never had in the first place? One day it might upset me – but not this day.

  “What news this morn from the remains of the falls?” asked Bedivere of his brother. Lucan had managed the night shift and he was covered in white dust. I think half of it had gone in Bedivere’s porridge.

  “No change,” replied Lucan wearily. He flopped down onto the pile of blankets that Bedivere and I had slept on. “There is dark magic at work there. I would swear on our father’s house that the ruins replenish. It is as if they glory in their destruction.”

  “Has the Ddraig been seen?” I asked.

  Arthur’s pet dragon had flown away the moment Slurpy had exploded the entrance to the tunnel. I hadn’t seen it, but Lucan had said that it had left a trail of burning trees as it went. A group of knights, led by his weird cousin Griflet, had gone to hunt it down. It was me who had had the idea. I thought that the Ddraig was probably looking for Arthur.

  I was quite smart in a crisis. Now I just needed to learn how to not cause the crisis in the first place.

  “Alas, the red Ddraig of the king has not been sighted,” replied Lucan. He stretched out his arms and jiggled his shoulders; he was making himself comfortable.

  “I think your brother needs some sleep,” I said to Bedivere.

  “What the brother needs is his sister-to-be to wed his brother. The heavens know we need some welcoming news,” said Lucan.

  “Then you will need to wed a fine maiden yourself, Sir Lucan,” replied Bedivere. “For there will be no wedding between Natasha and I – not until the king is here to witness.”

  And that was the moment I lost it. Completely lost it. Tears and sobs and snot lost it. The kind of breakdown where you lose control and everything hurts and you know you look stupid and ugly but you just don’t give a crap because you’ve lost it.

  Bedivere got me so completely. I didn’t have to say anything – he just knew. It was like he was in my head, but he wouldn’t add to the noise. If anything he took the bedlam away. Bedivere gave me peace and hope, and because of that I lost it.

  Eventually Lucan fell asleep. Even the sound of my hiccups didn’t bother him, and they were louder than my crying. Bedivere fell asleep as well – I think Taliesin was now drugging him – and so I left them snoring to go and wash the blood and filth off my body.

  I crept silently around the edge of the camp. People were already starting to pack up. It pissed me off. I knew they needed to get back to Camelot, but it was too soon. Arthur had turned into a memory already.

  “There is one fall left standing, Lady Natasha,” said a voice behind me. It was Gareth. “Would you like me to show you the way? It is a fair walk, but you can bathe and rest there in private. I will stand guard and ensure you are not disturbed.”

  “Thanks, Gareth.”

  We walked away from the camp and headed in the direction of the sun, which was burning brightly in the cloudless sky. We stayed silent, but it wasn’t awkward. Gareth was lost in his thoughts, and I tried to hold on to mine.

  What was Arthur doing now? Had my parents found out they were grandparents? Hell, I would have loved to have seen the look on their faces at that news. But somehow, when I pictured it, I didn’t see them freaking out. I could see my mother looking at Mila and falling in love. A second chance to get it right. A reason to live for the future, instead of dying because of the past.

  My imagination started to run riot. I could see Talan doing karaoke on a Sunday night down the pub. He would wander around the network of tunnels that made up the London Underground - lost - but completely blissful about it.

  I kept seeing images of them having fun together. Anything to prove to myself that they weren’t hurt - or worse. Somewhere we couldn’t get to them.

  A tall cliff loomed up in front of us. The landscape looked familiar. It was. This was the same place that Mordred and the Gorians had taken me to after their attack on the Solsbury Hill monastery.

  And I had seen Arthur’s image in a nearby pool. He had been trapped in the dungeons of Camelot, but I had still seen him, grinning away.

  My legs started to move faster. A walk became a jog, which became a run. Gareth tried to keep up, but no one could outrun me. I pushed my way through waist-high reeds and found the elegant little fall.

  I was giddy. The crystal clear water was perfect. Completely untouched by the devastation of the rest of the falls. The hanging green bushes were even larger than I remembered. They draped down the length of the rocks
like long wigs. Pretty pink and white flowers trailed down on delicate stems.

  I reached the edge of the clear water and fell onto my knees. I looked over and saw my own disgusting reflection staring back at me. Why my own image was such a shock I didn’t understand. Everyone else was covered in white dust with cuts and bruises everywhere, so why wouldn’t I be? My hair was clumped together in thick dreadlocks. Not even 21st century shampoo and conditioner would get that muck out.

  Nimue said the last time that I had to will it. That I wasn’t trying hard enough. Well, she was gone, trapped inside a ring, but I did it anyway. Closing my eyes, I willed Arthur’s name across the darkness.

  “Lady Natasha, what is it?”

  My fingers slid through the surface, breaking up my reflection.

  “It’s nothing, Gareth. I just thought...”

  Gareth sat down beside me; he leaned back and peered over the edge.

  “You were hoping to see Arthur?”

  “I’ve seen him in this water before, but that was Nimue’s work. I was hoping this would be another Pool of Sidus.”

  Gareth let his fingers trail through the water. His knuckles seemed too big for his fingers. They had clearly been broken at some point and never mended properly.

  “May I ask you a question, Lady Natasha?”

  “If you want.”

  “Whom did you see in the Pool of Sidus?”

  “I saw Bedivere.”

  Gareth nodded. “Of course. It was a foolish question. I should have known. Did you know that Sir Bedivere gazed into the pool last winter?”

  “I asked him if he had, but he wouldn’t answer.”

  “He saw you, of course. He could barely bring himself to look away. It was all he had left, until we went through the falls and found you again. You make him blissfully happy, Lady Natasha.”

  “Not as happy as he makes me.”

  “I looked into the pool as well, although I saved my moment for when my brother knights were all sleeping. I did not want them to bear witness to my heart.”

  I knew who Gareth had seen in the pool before he said it. I think I had always suspected; Arthur certainly had.

  “You are not the only one in Logres who sees Sir Bedivere in the Pool of Sidus,” added Gareth quietly.

  “I know,” I said, and I reached out and took his hand in mine.

  “You should despise me, Lady Natasha.”

  “Why on earth would I hate you? You – more than anyone here – has had my back since day one.”

  “May I speak freely to you, Lady Natasha? It is such a burden at times, unrequited love. I cannot even speak of it to Sir Bedivere. His discomfiture would break me.”

  “You’re his best friend, Gareth. Does he know?”

  Gareth nodded. He wouldn’t look at me. His eyes were fixed on his own reflection in the water.

  “I am not ashamed of who I am, Lady Natasha, and I am blessed to have brother knights who do not judge. Sir Bedivere and I have known each other many winters, and I have only wanted his happiness. I know I will never have his love, not in the way you do.”

  “You could find someone.”

  But Gareth’s eyes were glistening with tears.

  “My father has arranged a betrothal for me. My brothers, Sir Agravaine and Sir Gawain, know it is not my will or want, but if my father decrees it, then I will carry through, for him. Yet it fills my heart with sadness, Lady Natasha. Sadness for the young maiden who will spend the rest of her days living an untruth, and sadness for myself, for I will never have a lover who looks at me in the way that you look at Sir Bedivere.”

  I didn’t know what to say. If I had had more friends – any friends – then I could have given Gareth advice. I had sat through English classes and been distracted to oblivion by the airheads who would rather discuss dicks instead of Dickens. They all had an opinion, just on nothing that mattered.

  But perhaps stuff like that did matter. I had never been able to understand what my brother had seen in Slurpy, other than the obvious. Arthur was tall and good at sport and popular, and while his hair made him look like the scarecrow out of The Wizard of Oz, he was good-looking enough to get any girl he wanted.

  But he had wanted her.

  No one had ever really wanted me before. Giraffe-tongue boy in New York certainly didn’t count. He had been so drugged up he would have thrown himself on anything with a pulse.

  But Bedivere had wanted me. Even after all the crazy, he still wanted me.

  I had never been through the unrequited-love thing. It was breaking Gareth’s heart, and instead of hating me for taking what he wanted, Gareth had looked after me. I thought back to the confrontation with Archibald. He had called me a bitch in heat. I still felt sick to think about it even now. Gareth could have stayed in the shadows and let Archibald take me down – but it was Gareth who had come between us and saved me.

  “I’m so sorry, Gareth,” I whispered; we were still holding hands. My instincts were telling me to hug him. That’s what the girls at school did when they gave advice. They hugged it out afterwards.

  Why was I so crap at this?

  “I knew you would understand. You are a noble lady with a wondrous heart,” said Gareth, “and at least my sadness is tempered by the knowledge that I have the friendship of you and Sir Bedivere. But I am being selfish, claiming your time when you must want to be alone to grieve your loss.”

  There was a rustle and a snapping sound behind us. Gareth jumped to his feet. His nails scratched my skin, leaving a white thin trail along my arm. The scratch marks stopped at the blackened scar left by Mordred.

  “Lady Natasha, your arm,” cried Gareth, but he wasn’t referring to the scratches left by his nails, because tiny bumps were starting to bubble up under my skin. They were blood red, like blisters.

  “I see you have found a new object for your affections, Lady Natasha,” drawled Mordred, “but then I hear Sir Bedivere is less of a man now than before.” The knight stepped out from behind a tree, the same tree that Merlin the squirrel had hidden up. He had a long sword in one hand, and a rectangular shield with a red Ddraig in the other.

  Gareth reached down to his boot and pulled out a short dagger with a white bone handle; he was trembling with rage. I was just trembling because neither of us had brought our swords. We had a single dagger between us and a knight who was armed with more than just a long sharp blade.

  “Bedivere is more of a man than you’ll ever be,” I shouted back. I was trying to stay calm because I knew that Gareth and I had to act on our wits, and not the red mist that was descending on both of us.

  Mordred just stared with a one-sided smirk on his face. He had grown even more muscular since I had last seen him, but his blonde hair was much shorter, like a modern-day Ivy League buzz cut. I wasn’t used to seeing anyone in this time with short hair. In dark green clothes, Mordred looked like a soldier.

  And that made him look even more dangerous.

  “Run, Lady Natasha,” said Gareth through gritted teeth. “Run back to the camp and forewarn the knights. I will deal with this treacherous dog.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” I replied, scratching at my arm with my jagged nails. There was a burning sensation all the way up to the elbow. The blisters were still bubbling up, and my forearm now looked as if the skin had been stripped back to the muscle. There wasn’t a patch of pale pink skin anywhere; it was all blood-red, like tissue and muscle. Just the sight of it made my stomach heave.

  “Lady Natasha would not get far, Sir Gareth,” drawled Mordred, taking two steps towards us. “In case you have failed to notice, I am armed with my sword and you are not. It is like placing a cow next to a Ddraig and expecting it to live.”

  “I will kill you,” spat Gareth.

  Mordred started to spin the shield in his hand. The painted Ddraig was blurring so quickly it looked like a red circle. Mordred’s eyes rolled in his head and the dragon changed colour.

  It became pale blue.

  “Get
down,” I screamed, pulling Gareth to his right as Mordred thrust the shield out by the length of his arm. The miniature Ddraig burst from the metal in a ball of blue flame and flew at us.

  But Gareth rolled across the ground towards Mordred, who was still blinded by his own magic. As the small blue Ddraig dived at me, Gareth made an upward stabbing motion. His dagger went into the one gap in Mordred’s chain mail, straight into the pit of his underarm.

  The Ddraig became vapour. I ran towards Mordred and Gareth, and charged the shield with my shoulder, knocking Mordred to his knees. The white bone handle was still sticking out. I pulled it. Blood gushed out over my fingers.

  Mordred’s eyes were open, disbelieving. He hadn’t expected Gareth to charge, to risk his life against such overwhelming armoury. Mordred was still holding his sword, and he swung it in an arc through thin air, hoping to strike Gareth’s legs. The knight jumped like a frog, with his knees bent and apart. When Gareth landed, he kicked Mordred in the face and then twice in the chest.

  “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” said Mordred, gurgling on the blood that was now filling his mouth. “Lady Natasha, you ally yourself with cowards and cretins. Sir Bedivere released his claim on you, you know. As I cut him through in the dungeons of Camelot, he told me to take you for my own wants. That I should let him live in exchange for you.”

  He laughed, but his teeth were soaked in blood. Mordred looked like something out of a horror movie.

  Gareth let out a cry that came from deep inside. “You lie. I was there. I saw with my own eyes your cowardice. Sir Bedivere never made such a declaration. YOU LIE.”