by Donna Hosie
“You can drop her, Talan,” says Auntie Titch, walking around the huge holly bush. She looks red in the face, like she’s been crying. “Mila, this next hour is going to be very, very strange, so I want you to know that I understand exactly what you’re going through and I am here, right by your side.”
“It’s my fault, Auntie Titch. Everything is my fault.”
But my aunt puts her arms around me and hugs me tightly. It would have been better if she had yelled. I can cope with aggression better than understanding. My stupid eyes start welling up with tears again.
“None of this is your fault, Mila. None of it. This is something I started, seventeen years ago.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” adds Rustin, sitting on the ground with a glazed expression on his face. “Why were these weirdos chasing Mila? How do I know she’s gonna be okay?”
He tries to move, but he’s still disorientated and he only crawls a few feet before collapsing again.
“Take him inside too,” instructs my aunt. “How hard did you hit him, Dagonet?”
“He felled me once. I was not going to stand idly by while he felled me again,” replies Dagonet.
I make a face at Rustin which Auntie Titch clearly sees because she whispers in my ear, “You’ll get used to the antiquated speech. It’s rather endearing and romantic.”
I don’t want anything endearing or romantic with any of them. I want to see my sister.
I’m enclosed in a diamond formation of figures: Auntie Titch and Talan on my left and right, Uncle Bed’s brother is in front, and the man called Dagonet is dragging Rustin along behind me. The six of us enter the house through the back door and traipse through to the living room which is at the front of the house. I can already start to feel myself burning up with an unnatural heat. Hot air rises, everyone knows that, but the heat in the cottage seems to be emanating down from the ceiling.
Then I step into the living room and see crimson fire, swirling around the coving and cornices. It’s a sea of red flame on the ceiling. I scream and immediately lower myself to the floor. Rustin cries out as well and falls on top of me.
“It’s okay, Mila, it won’t hurt you,” says my father softly. He’s standing next to the window, although the curtains have been pulled across, shutting out all of the light from outside, leaving the room bathed in an eerie red glow. My mother is standing next to him and she summons me to her with her fingers. I go immediately to her side and she protectively wraps both arms around me.
“Where’s Lilly?”
“There,” replies my mother with a jerk of her head.
In the corner of the room, just behind the living room door, is a tall figure. It’s either a freakishly tall old woman, or an old man with long grey hair. The person is wearing a grey cloak that skims the floor. Wispy vapour, just like the smoke I saw around my father and Rustin last night, is swirling around the person’s hands, which are moving from side to side, as if an imaginary piano is being played.
I can’t see my sister.
“I don’t see...”
“It’ll be okay,” whispers my mother; her long fingers are clasped tightly around my left arm. I don’t want to move from her side, but the heat and number of people in the room is starting to make me feel lightheaded and dizzy.
Auntie Titch and Uncle Bed walk into the room as well. The others wait outside in the hall. My mother’s hold on me intensifies. Her grip on my arm is so strong she’s hurting me.
Rustin is still sitting on the floor, gazing up at the fire-filled ceiling with wonder. I think the knock to the head has affected him quite badly because he’s swaying like he’s in a trance. The flames continue to swirl and dance around the light fittings, but there’s no smoke to choke us.
“It is as I thought,” says a deep voice suddenly. The cloaked figure turns around and it’s a very old man. He has a grey beard that reaches his chest and his eyes are dark and reflect the fire, giving them a deep red glow.
“What is?” replies my father. “We don’t have time for your riddles, Merlin. Can you save our daughter?”
“I cannot,” replies the old man. My mother screams and lurches forward, taking me with her.
“You have to do something?” she screams. “There must be someone.”
“Merlin, please,” begs my father. “I’ll do anything. Anything.”
But the old man is staring at me. Then he smiles, displaying the grossest set of teeth I have ever seen. They don’t look like teeth, they look like yellow stumps in his mouth. His saliva sticks to them, creating gooey gauze around his mouth.
“Lady Mila,” he says. “It has been too long.”
“You stay the hell away from my daughter,” cries my mother.
But something about the old man is familiar.
“It was you,” I say. “I saw you in the mirror last night.”
“What mirror?” asks Uncle Bed. “Merlin, you agreed there would be no contact with the king’s family.”
A deep chuckle escapes the old man’s mouth and my mother swears at him.
King? mouths Rustin. I shrug. I have no idea what any of them are talking about either.
“You need to tell Mila what’s going on,” interrupts Auntie Titch. “The poor girl looks like her head is going to explode.”
“I need to know what you’re going to do to help Lilly,” shouts my mother. “How did she find the ring outside? And why has the ring done this to her? I’ve worn it before and nothing like this happened.”
“There is only one in this time who could have awoken the dark magic that resides inside such an ancient jewel of Camelot,” says the old man, looking directly at me. “In this world, it is but a priceless heirloom. But to those born of Logres, especially those who are highborn to king and druid, it is a weapon. And it has been unleashed.”
“Mila,” says Rustin, edging closer to me. “What the hell is going on?”
“Mila,” asks Uncle Bed. “Have you worn or held the ring?”
I look down at my right hand. My nails are bitten to the quick and a thick vein spears out across the centre. It looks normal. My kind of normal. They wouldn’t know if I lied.
But I can’t.
“Yes,” I reply truthfully.
And all hell breaks loose.
Chapter Nine
One Thousand Years
Everyone starts screaming and shouting. My father is yelling at Talan, Lucan and Dagonet to leave immediately. My mother is calling Auntie Titch every name under the sun, and Uncle Bed is stuck between them like a referee.
Everyone is screaming and shouting. Apart from Rustin and I.
We’re now standing in the centre of the living room. I’ve only just noticed that all of the furniture has gone. Not pushed against the walls to make some space, or moved into the hallway. The sofas, the teeming bookcases, and even the television have all disappeared.
The old man is still watching me. I have a choice: to run for it while everyone else is distracted, or to stay and tell him what I’ve done. Lilly is lying supine on a raised platform. It has been covered with a thick red blanket which is embroidered with glistening gold thread. I don’t recognise it as one of ours. There is nothing in this room that is normal. Lilly’s long hair, normally the shade of the daffodils that dad manages to kill in the garden every spring, is pure white. Her eyes are closed and thin grey veins thread across them and down her sunken cheeks.
“What have I done to her?” I whisper, taking several steps closer.
“What the…” Rustin swears as he sees Lilly for the first time. “That’s what happened to your hand. Why didn’t she take the ring off? Why haven’t they taken her to a hospital?”
“How long did you wear the Ring of Morgana, Lady Mila?” asks the old man, interrupting Rustin’s stream of questions. The old man’s tone isn’t accusatory. He actually looks quite sad. His eyes are watery and look like the sea.
“I held it for several seconds,” I reply quietly,
hoping my mother and father can’t hear me. “It shrivelled my hand and arm, but it didn’t fix itself to me. And it’s all returned to normal. See.” I pull up the sleeve of my black jumper and show Merlin my arm.
I feel a hand on my back. It’s Auntie Titch.
“What happened to the ring, to the stone, when you held it?” she asks. “No one is blaming you, Mila. But we need to know everything before Lilly leaves.”
“Leaves? But where is she going?” I ask. “Are you taking her to the hospital?”
“I am taking her with me,” replies the old man, and he peers over my shoulder, as if he’s answering a question from someone else who hasn’t spoken yet. His wiry grey eyebrows are raised high into his liver-spotted forehead.
“If anything happens to her, I swear I will kill you.” My mother is standing in front of the fireplace. Everyone has stepped back from her. “And you are taking me as well, old man.”
“Sam…”
“Don’t you dare even try, Arthur,” she snaps. “I will not stay here while my daughters are taken back to your land of freaks.”
Daughters. As in plural. She means I’m going too. But where?
“A decision must be made now,” says Uncle Bed. “And once made, it cannot be undone.”
“And what about Rustin?” says Auntie Titch. “Do we take him?”
“Absolutely not,” replies my father. “He won’t say anything to anyone, and no one would believe him if he did talk. We’ll clean up his head and he can go home and keep his mouth shut.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Arthur,” says my aunt.
“Can the sorcerer make the boy forget?” asks Talan.
“Why stop there, Sir Talan,” says Lucan. “Perhaps we should remove his tongue, just to be sure.”
“Stop messing around, Lucan,” says Auntie Titch. Uncle Bed gives his brother a thin smile. “I have some experience with all of this, as you seem to forget.”
“He won’t say anything, Titch,” says my father.
“What makes you think I won’t say anything,” replies Rustin indignantly, shifting closer to me. “Magical flames and rings. And then you lot talk about Merlin and Camelot and, bloody hell, Mila, even your dad is called Arthur. You lot are ghosts aren’t you? This really is a haunted house. Only I can see you because I believe in it.”
“The boy has brains,” replies the old man. “Even if he is hopelessly lost. I like him.”
“The boy also placed himself in front of Lady Mila when we were giving chase in the woods, Arthur,” replies Dagonet. “He could be a worthy protector.”
“And I think Mila might want some company,” replies my aunt. “You know, someone normal.” The last word is emphasised for my mother’s benefit because Auntie Titch looks directly at her as she says it.
“I must take my leave now,” says Merlin. “I have the power to take the spare and the mother, or the spare and the heir. What is clear is that Lady Mila has unwittingly awoken the power of the ring. Only in Logres will we be able to undo the dark magic that still prevails. And for that, we will need both daughters of the king.”
All eyes are on my mother, and it’s she who moves first. Dressed in skinny black jeans, a dark green sweater that matches her eyes, and knee-high boots, she looks as if she’s strutting a catwalk. She knows everyone is watching her and there is something majestic about the way she walks, back straight, head held high.
“Call my daughter the spare again, old man, and I will show you who is the spare one around here,” she snarls, and she doesn’t even attempt to hide the spit that flies from her mouth as she speaks.
My mother takes my face in her freezing cold hands. “Trust your father and no one else, Mila,” she says quietly. “I promise you, we will get you home as soon as Lilly is better.”
My mother kisses my cheek and I feel a spark of static between us. She notices it too because her jaw drops, just for a second. Then she walks over to Merlin, who is wrapping my sister’s body in the red blanket.
“There’s nothing underneath it,” cries Rustin, pointing at the empty space beneath Lilly. “She was being levitated. That is so cool. You’re not ghosts, you’re magicians.”
“I like him very much,” says Merlin; he has Lilly, wrapped in the red blanket in his arms. “Although I would hope that their children gain their height from their mother. Kings should always be tall.”
“Lucan, do you have your sword?” asks my father. “Because I swear, Merlin, if you start thinking about the next line of succession while my youngest daughter is under some kind of evil spell, then I will run you through myself.”
“What’s he talking about?” asks Rustin.
I can’t speak. If I open my mouth I will puke.
The flames on the ceiling start to retract towards the corner of the room where Merlin and my mother are standing. My mother has taken Lilly from the old man and the tears are streaming silently down her slim face. Lilly isn’t the only one ageing because my mother looks gaunt and stressed. She doesn’t look at any of us as the flames wrap around the three of them in a swirling vortex. Her eyes are fixed solely on my sister. As they disappear, my mother mouths, I’m sorry.
And they’re gone.
“How the hell did that happen?” asks Rustin for the tenth time. “Seriously, Mila. Your family should have a stage show or something. You’d make millions.”
“He still isn’t quite getting it, is he?” says my aunt, with a sideways glance towards her husband.
“I have known you for eighteen winters, my beloved,” replies my uncle, wrapping his arm around her. “And still I do not believe it myself.”
“Bedivere,” says my aunt, her voice breaking. “This all reminds me of…”
My uncle kisses her gently. “I know,” he whispers.
“Mila, you need to go pack for a few days away,” says my father. “Rustin…if your mother is agreeable to your coming too, then…then…” He starts shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair. “Titch, this is a bad idea. A really bad idea.”
“Calm down, Arthur,” says his sister. “Logres is so much safer now than when we first went there.”
“But Sam…Sam and that ring, Titch.”
“She’s stronger now. And all of her concentration will be focused on Lilly. Trust me, Arthur. But we have to be pro-active and we have to take Mila. Having Rustin there will make it less daunting for her.”
“Bedivere?” asks my dad. “What do you think?”
“To taking the young man?” replies my uncle. “I have always believed that questions are better answered truthfully than left hanging for the crows to scavenge at. And I never disagree with my wife.”
I think it’s kinda sweet how my dad always goes to his younger sister for advice. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to have a little brother. Especially when Lilly is annoying me.
But now I feel nothing but guilt at ever having wished her away. I’d give anything, do anything, to make this right again. So much weird shit has happened in the past couple of days, I can’t even comprehend it anymore. If a red Welsh dragon walked up the gravel drive with a pizza delivery I wouldn’t question it.
All I know right now is that I don’t want to go through this alone.
“Will you come?” I whisper to Rustin.
“Try and stop me,” he whispers back, leaning in to my shoulder. I feel his fingers brush mine, and then he’s gone.
“Pack light, Rustin,” calls my dad as the front door slams. “I swear on the Round Table, this is going to be a disaster, Titch.”
Fifteen minutes later, I have my Taekwondo kit turned out on my bed, and the canvas bag I use for carrying my gear around is filled with clothes and toiletries. I still don’t know where we’re going, but Auntie Titch said to pack for English weather, which means jeans and tees and jumpers and every pair of socks I possess.
I go back down to the living room. The furniture is magically back. I must make a strange grunting sound because bot
h my dad and aunt look at me with strange smiles on their faces. They’ve been talking. I could hear them upstairs. They were talking about me. I heard my name at least a dozen times. I sit down on the floor and cross my arms and legs, like I’m back in primary school for reading time. Uncle Bed, Lucan, Talan and Dagonet have all gone. They’ve taken Auntie Titch’s hire car because I heard the gears crunching and the wheel spins while I was packing.
“Rustin thinks we’re ghosts or magicians, but that isn’t it at all, is it?” I say. “We’re special.”
“Mila, we have the best part of a day’s driving to get done. How about we tell you everything in the car?” suggests my aunt.
“Speaking of cars, is Talan okay driving your hire car back to Somerset?” asks my father, peering out of the window.
“Well, he hasn’t passed a driving test, but he’s pretty good,” replies my aunt. “Every time we travel back through he wants to practice, and if Bedivere is happy to get in a gleaming metal beast with him, then that’s something.”
My dad laughs. I don’t know how he can do that.
“Don’t look so worried, Mila,” says my aunt. “Everything will be fine.”
“Nothing about this is fine,” I reply. “Nothing.”
Dad holds out his hand and pulls me from the living room floor. He takes one long look around the room. His eyes linger for ages on the family portrait hanging on the wall. It was taken last year and I hate it because I had conjunctivitis and so my puffy, bloodshot eyes make me look as if I’m on drugs. My mother wanted me to wear a dress. I bought a powder blue strapless one and she freaked out. I ended up wearing black, but because the photographer didn’t get the lighting correct, I’m nothing more than a floating head in the shadows.
Lilly was nine and perfect. Long blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and huge dimples on both cheeks. She’s like a little doll. Fragile and breakable.
I think it’s her photograph that dad is concentrating on.
Why wasn’t I nicer to my little sister? I try and think of all the positive things I’ve done to help her, like kicking Natalie Waite’s ass over the lunch money stealing, but all I can see myself doing is being nasty to her. Like the time I laughed at her on the bus when she got gum in her hair; when I told mum on her when she hadn’t done her chores; even dumbass stuff like stealing her Christmas chocolates.
