by Carol Oates
Without warning everything went very still and quiet…dead quiet, the kind of nothingness that left room only for thumping hearts and strained breathing. A barely perceptible shimmer remained over the pillar.
This can’t be good.
“They are coming,” the voices cautioned in unison.
In the next second, the pillar crashed downward as though whatever invisible force holding it up vanished.
“Get down!” I spun, sliding on the wet grass, and sprang in the direction of the others as a wall of cold water descended on us.
A few moments later, I groaned and pushed myself to my knees, sopping wet in a puddle of slimy mud.
“You okay?” Amanda asked, spluttering water. Her short hair was matted to her face and thick sludge smothered her clothes too. I nodded to Amanda as she pulled Emma to her feet.
Emma’s black makeup smeared over her cheeks, so with her bow in hand she looked like a fallen, masked superhero. As soon as Amanda let go, Emma went back to her knees, squelching her hands through the mess. She smiled and yanked out her arrow, wiping it on her already filthy jeans.
Guinevere sat on the ground cross-legged, squeezing excess water from her braid. Streaks of dirt lined her face and neck.
I staggered to my feet and went to her. “I guess I can’t tell the Fáidh what to do after all.”
Guinevere tilted her head back to look up at me. Despite her amber eyes shining with disappointment, she attempted a weary smile. “You tried, and you will always hold my gratitude for it. Thank you.”
“We should probably get out of here,” Amanda advised.
I held my hand out to Guinevere. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her gaze moved from my face to my offered hand. Hesitantly she reached out. Her cold, wet skin glided over mine, and I tugged her to her feet.
“Thank you,” she said again and sighed.
Emma tapped Amanda’s shoulder, her eyes fixed ahead of her. “Hey, guys.”
“Huh?” Amanda said.
Emma lifted her arm and pointed, bringing our attention to the water. Her eyebrows arched in astonishment. “We still have company.”
Chapter 18
Arthur Pendragon
THERE DIDN’T APPEAR to be an unlit light bulb on the property when our two cars got back. We drove straight into the garage—a converted stable near the main house. Still cold and filthy, stinking of sheep manure and lake water, we made our way inside the house.
John was first to thunder down the stairs when Emma and I walked through the door. The others weren’t far behind us. John wore sweats and hiking boots, his muscled arms exposed in a T-shirt.
“Where the hell have you been, Emma?” he exclaimed. “And you don’t even bring a phone?” John slapped a phone into her dirty hand. “What the hell was going on in your head? Or yours?” This he directed at me.
It reminded me that my phone was still in the glove compartment of the car. I hadn’t ever seen Guinevere with one, and I had no clue about Amanda’s. I winced at the vein pulsing at John’s temple. I presumed everyone would sleep through our little excursion. Triona and Annice came down the staircase, and Samuel emerged from the direction of the kitchen. They were all dressed as though they’d been out. The library door opened enough for Archú to bound through and slammed shut. The giant dog barked into the air and circled us before nuzzling his way under Emma’s free hand. The mutt whinnied for attention, and she scratched behind his ear to quiet him.
“It’s my fault—” I began.
“Eh, no,” Emma jumped in. Her lips pursed for an instant. “I can take responsibility for my decisions. Isn’t that what we’re doing in this family now?”
My eyes flickered to the side. I wasn’t anxious to involve myself in whatever she meant by that. I presumed it had something to do with my sister. John’s nostrils flared, and the muscles in his jaw worked in tandem.
“Emma,” he ground out before pausing to take a breath. “You are sixteen years old. If you want me to trust you, you really need to stop pulling this crap. First you run away from school, and now you disappear in the middle of the night. I thought someone had kidnapped you. There are people out there who tried to hurt—”
I opened my mouth to interject. Triona shot me a piercing glare from behind John and shook her head, warning me not to intercede. I expected I’d be in for some severe words myself later.
“I know that! I have a claw mark healing on my arm to prove it.” Emma’s cheeks tinged crimson, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the public chastising or anger. Her slim shoulders rose and fell in exaggerated movements. “I didn’t bring this on us. I’m just making the best of it.”
I grimaced, understanding why John was so upset. I didn’t think anyone would jump to the conclusion we’d been taken like Caleb. I guess I just didn’t really think at all. I was too busy trying to play the hero.
“They were talking about a minor earthquake on the news,” Samuel explained calmly. “Naturally we wondered how it could be a coincidence.”
Amanda cleared her throat to get our attention. Everyone turned to see her in the doorway with Guinevere. Between them stood Arthur Pendragon, slightly bewildered and frowning.
“Oh, yeah,” Emma said sarcastically and crossed her arms. “I forgot to mention we rescued King Arthur from Avalon. What did you do with your day?” She smirked back at John.
Arthur still wore his battle tunic on his tall broad frame, although Guinevere said it had been bloodied and torn the last time she saw it. He was younger than I expected too, with a sharp jawline and angled, symmetrical bone structure. Arthur’s short brown hair appeared to have been hacked rather than neatly cut, leaving it choppy and shorter around the back and sides than on top. With hair product and a pair of jeans, he’d have no problem walking down the street. I estimated him as very early twenties, although he carried an air of maturity far beyond his years. His clear blue eyes scanned each person before landing on Archú.
“Arthur, this is Samuel, Annice, Triona, and this is my brother, John.” Emma motioned to each person. “Everyone this is King Arthur of Camelot.”
“Just Arthur, I beg of you,” he added. “I am informed I have not been King Arthur in a very long time.”
Archú cocked his head to the side. His ears twitched, and he barked once before scuttling behind Emma and poking his black nose under her arm.
“Archú?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed dubiously. “Is it him?” he asked Guinevere while everyone looked on in stunned silence.
She smiled softly and nodded. Guinevere had been clinging to his arm since Arthur appeared from the lake dripping wet, strangely calm, with no recollection of how he got there. Like those of us who had been to Tír na nÓg, he had an awareness of being somewhere, but no idea what happened there.
He shifted, forcing Guinevere to move with him. Arthur chuckled and unwound her fingers from around his arm. He kissed her forehead. “I am not leaving you again.”
Guinevere bit her lip. I could see, even with his reassuring words, it was hard for her to release him. For him they’d been apart moments, for her it had been centuries.
“Archú, come here.” Arthur approached bit by bit, offering his hand.
The war hound retreated further behind Emma, leading me to wonder how he ever coped in battle.
“Archú, am I so unfamiliar to you now?” Arthur’s straight eyebrows pulled together. The hound inched his way forward, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. “That is it, boy. Come here.”
They met in the middle, and Archú placed his nose against the back of Arthur’s outstretched fingers. He sniffed and then licked Arthur’s fingers and palm. Seemingly confident this wasn’t a trick, the dog became bold and excitedly licked at Arthur’s face. Arthur laughed heartily, and Guinevere visibly relaxed her shoulders.
“Arthur?” Merlin had emerged from the library, leaning heavily on a black cane. A small part of me wondered if he didn’t just space out on purpose sometimes to avoid answering questions.
“Merlin.” Arthur grinned, wrangling the dog’s muzzle from his face.
The cane hit the marble floor with a clank, and Merlin closed the distance between them in a few short strides. The action took years off his façade of age. Archú obediently moved aside, and the two men embraced warmly. Merlin clapped Arthur on the back.
“I sought not to hope,” the magic man cried, his voice choking on each word. “I am sorry.”
As much as the scene was touching, we didn’t have the time to spend on reunions. “I hate to break up the party, but we have a pressing situation to discuss.”
Merlin backed away, scrubbing at his cheek.
“Of course,” Arthur agreed.
“And we have new information,” Joshua added, coming through the front door behind Amanda and Guinevere with Eila by his side.
Annice rushed past us and hugged Joshua. Triona walked over to them, followed by Samuel who embraced Eila.
“We are relieved to have you both here and safe,” he said, drawing back from her.
Joshua nodded a greeting to his father over Annice’s head and released her, turning his attention to Triona. He took both her hands, and she smiled uneasily, shuffling from one foot to another.
“Have you heard any more regarding Caleb?” Triona asked. Her chest stilled as though she held her breath for the response.
“There is news on Caleb,” Eila responded with a sad smile and cool eyes. “He is alive and held at an undisclosed location…for now.”
Chapter 19
The Devil You Know
“NOW WE ARE ACQUAINTED, we should pool our knowledge,” Samuel suggested to the hodgepodge of characters seated around the oblong oak table in the dining room.
Or was it a banquet hall? I wasn’t sure of the definition when it came to surroundings this grand. If only I didn’t stink of muck and lake water. The mud had begun to dry and itched in crevices I would rather not itch. Nevertheless, the setting—with paneled walls, tapestries, and chairs intricately carved to resemble twisted brambles—seemed fitting. A log fire blazed on the hearth beneath a coat of arms—two swords crossed behind a shield depicting an eagle, a lion, and a horse, the sum parts of the hippogryphs at the gate. Someone in John’s ancestry had a wicked sense of humor or a strong streak of eccentricity.
Samuel went on, “I think the first thing we need to address is Zeal.”
“And his followers,” Eila added. “I’m afraid the news we bring back is both good and bad.”
I knew next to nothing about Eila’s past, other than she used to be a Council member and her association with the Wallace family went back a long time. Perhaps that’s why she seemed more supernatural than the rest of us. We all had lives outside this mess, things that helped us blend into the human world. Even Joshua had been showing Caleb plans for a new restaurant near Oxford while they were in Camden. I couldn’t imagine Eila doing normal things like going for dinner and a movie or holding down a nine to five. She belonged in an Egyptian palace somewhere, taking milk baths while manservants in white tunics fanned her.
“Then why can’t I feel him?” Triona’s voice wavered on the question. It came out low and needy.
“It is clear your mate is held by the same powers that kept me from escaping. Most likely a jet stone prison. It is what I would do.” Merlin didn’t bother to hide his condescending tone.
“No, that isn’t clear,” I snapped and saw Arthur mouth a warning for him to behave.
“How can you be sure?” Triona pressed, leaning forward in her seat and resting her fingers on the edge of the table. She flinched, and her eyes darted to Eila, perhaps thinking about Eila’s ability to draw out the truth.
I wasn’t sure what to make of her reaction. Maybe she didn’t want the truth as much as she wanted reassurance everything would turn out fine.
Merlin paused before answering, taking a small breath. “Perhaps he is dead. I hope he lives. We are on an unknown path.”
Annice rubbed Triona’s back in a comforting gesture, although her own expression held little confidence. I frowned, wishing I had sat closer to Triona. My hand hung to my side, and Amanda reached down, wrapping her fingers around my index finger out of sight of the others. Sometimes she sensed what I needed before I knew I needed it. Even the simple touch of skin sent warmth through my body and made my blood quicken.
“We are sure Zeal isn’t hiding his plans any longer,” Joshua stated. He scratched his jaw, and his eyes traveled the length of the table. “In the last few hours we’ve gained more information than the last few days. He wants us aware of exactly what he’s up to. He’s taunting us.” His eyes met Triona’s directly. “I’m confident my brother is alive. What Zeal wants is too important to him not to keep a bargaining chip.” He settled back in his seat and scowled, his usual perfect posture forgotten when his shoulders slumped. “Unfortunately, Zeal has managed to amass quite the loyal following.”
“How many?” Arthur asked, surprising me. His arm lay extended on the table, and his body angled toward Joshua. His eyebrows pulled together, an expression of passionate interest mapped across his features.
This wasn’t his fight, yet he absorbed the details as though his life depended on them.
“More than we can fight,” Joshua answered. “Our kind are scared. All they’ve ever known is the Council, and they’ve existed in fear of their rule for as long as anyone can remember. Now there is something more powerful and unknown. Sometimes it’s a case of better the devil you know.”
“They’re afraid of us?” Triona exclaimed, horrified, echoing my thoughts. I swallowed an uncomfortable lump in my throat at the idea of an army of Guardians against us. I expected a few, but this sounded like much more than a few.
Eila smiled indulgently. “Please don’t take it personally.”
“If threatening my family and taking my mate aren’t personal, I really don’t know what is,” Triona said in a flat tone.
“So what do we do?” Guinevere asked. “If they fight with Zeal, they are the enemy.”
“No. They are frightened. We can’t kill our own kind. That has to be a last resort,” Triona responded, although her expression showed her lack of conviction.
“What else do we know about his plans?” This question came from John. He exuded a hunger similar to Arthur to conclude this situation.
I could relate. I was ready to squash Zeal like a bug. I didn’t relish the idea of killing the innocents caught up in his mind games. But we were at war, a war that began many generations ago, and those who chose to follow Zeal had identified their allegiance.
Eila spoke up. Her elegant poise gave the impression of mind-boggling calm. She had as much to lose as any of us. “Zeal wants the Philosopher’s Stone, and he took Caleb because he alleged Caleb knew the location. Rumor is we have the Stone in our possession. Make no doubt, Zeal will be coming for it.”
“They are coming,” I absently repeated the final words of the Fáidh. Several sets of eyes turned in my direction. “The ones who held Arthur warned us. I think it’s a logical assumption they meant Zeal. It would have been helpful if they’d said when.”
“A suggestion,” Merlin piped up, raising a finger in the air. Before continuing, he became distracted, slowly trailing his hand in front of his face until his eyes turned inward.
Guinevere pursed her lips and snapped her fingers at the end of his nose. Merlin jumped and looked around the table grinning broadly while we waited for his idea. He smoothed down his mercury hair and seemed vaguely confused as to why we were all staring at him.
“Your suggestion, Emrys,” Guinevere prompted, an irritated edge to her voice.
He wrinkled his nose as if sniffing at some foul stench, making the symbols carved in his skin shift. It was a moment before I realized it was probably us he smelled. “Oh, yes. Well, if I am correct in my thinking…”A few side eye glances were shared around the table at that comment. “The pretty one cannot sense her mate because he is being kept in a place with jet stone ab
sorbing his energy.”
“You’ve already said that,” Guinevere reminded him, although he ignored her and continued.
“I suggest we use her as advance warning.”
“I don’t follow.” Triona grimaced, confused.
“You will know as soon as they are on the move.”
Triona’s eyes brightened. “Do we have the Stone to offer in exchange?” She directed the question to Merlin.
Merlin nodded. “For quite some time now.”
I threaded my fingers through my hair and interjected with a sigh. “It’s not that simple, Triona. Believe me, I wish it were—”
She smacked her palms on the table in frustration. “Yes. It is that simple. We need to get Caleb back first, and then we can concentrate on stopping Zeal. Getting Caleb back safely must be our primary concern, and so it’s very simple.”
She looked at me with such betrayal in her eyes—my heart clenched in my chest.
“I understand Caleb isn’t your favorite person in the world. Trust me, you’ve made that acutely apparent.” Her tone held an edge hard enough to cut glass.
“That’s not what he means,” Annice explained in a pained whisper.
Triona fell silent, and her eyes tightened. It felt horrible to admit to myself, but relief shuddered through me. I didn’t want to be the one to deliver this particular blow.
Annice’s eyes settled on John and just as fast, darted away. She turned to Samuel, apparently needing encouragement. His lips flattened into a straight line, his eyebrows bunching over the bridge of his nose. He nodded once in a jerky motion. Annice inhaled sharply.
“Well someone better tell the rest of us what’s going on,” Emma demanded although a sick, pallid color had robbed her cheeks of any blood. Amanda squeezed my hand.
“Zeal wants more than the Elixir of Life from the Stone. He seeks to control the Riastradh—the battle frenzy, which as it turns out is a side effect of becoming the Philosopher’s Stone,” Annice told the table gravely.
