The Ring of Morgana (The Children of Camelot)

by Donna Hosie

  His words suck the air from my lungs. Rustin is right. Of course he’s right. He’s the one person in this world I should be trusting, because I can’t trust myself anymore. Not after I nearly choked Joseph.

  “What’s happening to me?” I sob, throwing my arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry, Rustin. I’m so sorry. I won’t ever doubt you again.”

  “Yeah you will,” he replies, patting me on the back and digging his chin into my shoulder. His stubble scrapes across my cheek. “The second you stop doubting me is when I’ll really start to worry.”

  Freya and Jalaya are now standing a few yards away from us. Jalaya is covered in a thin film of dirt and moss, but she seems more alert than she did earlier. Her eyes are fixed on Rustin.

  “You saw a vision, did you not, Lady Mila?” asks Freya.

  “There was a woman, and she had the ring,” I reply. “The ring we need to cure my sister.”

  “Then you saw the Lady of the Lake,” says Freya, sighing. “This is ill news.”

  “Why?” I ask, still holding on to Rustin. “Does it mean Lilly is…worse?”

  I was going to say dead, but the word died on my tongue.

  “If the Lady of the Lake is appearing in visions, it means she is getting stronger,” replies Freya. “What did she say to you?”

  “Nothing, not really,” I reply, looking back towards the trees where she first appeared. Even though it was only a few minutes ago, the memory is fading away. “She was calling for my father, I think.”

  Freya looks over towards Joseph; I can’t see Melehan anywhere and that unsettles me. We need to stay together, we’re safer that way.

  “We are too low in number now, Joseph,” says Freya.

  “And the king is to blame,” replies the thick-set man with a surly sneer. “He may well have condemned his daughter to death by his actions.”

  “What do you mean too low in number, Freya?” I ask, resisting the overwhelming urge to throttle Joseph again. “You’ll still be able to train me, won’t you?”

  “It is not your training that is of concern now, Lady Mila,” replies the old woman. She blinks four times in quick succession. Her eyes are bulging and watery and thick folds of wrinkly skin hang below them like a Basset Hound.

  “Then what?”

  “If the Lady of the Lake has healed in the Vale of Avalon and taken corporeal form, we will not be able to overcome her to reclaim the ring.”

  A rush of wind cascades through the leaves of the evergreen trees, but it’s no normal breeze. We can see it, circling around us, high above. The grey coloured wind completes a circular circuit four times, and then leaves us in an eerie silence. Jalaya claps her scarred hands together and beams at Rustin.

  “We should carry on to the Vale of Avalon,” says Rustin, staring up. He catches a single bright green leaf that floats down. It lands directly on his hand, as if meant for him.

  “What did they say, artisan?” asks Jalaya.

  “They are no friend of the sorceress,” he replies. “There’s another way, even if she’s restored.”

  “You really are talking to the trees,” I say in awe.

  Rustin shrugs. Everyone is staring at him, but I know he hates being the centre of attention.

  “I don’t talk to them, I just listen,” he replies.

  “Did they say what this other way was? Did the trees say how to get the ring?”

  “No.”

  “Talk to them again, Rustin.”

  “I don’t talk to them, Mila. I listen,” he repeats. “But there’s another problem. They said the king was coming.”

  “Then we must leave,” says Jalaya excitedly. “For the artisan has much toil ahead.”

  “The artisan isn’t doing anything,” I say, giving myself an internal brain-slap for calling Rustin that, but the others ignore me. Jalaya slips her arm through Rustin’s and they walk a path through the trees that had previously changed and parted to show me the ghostly figure of the Lady of the Lake.

  “Where’s Melehan?” I ask Freya.

  “He will be back.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I know.”

  I have no one to roll my eyes at. In class, there’s always someone, usually Katie or Rustin, but here I’m supposedly someone important, and yet I’ve never felt more insignificant.

  “You are troubled, Lady Mila,” says Freya, as we follow the path trodden by Rustin and his new bestie.

  “What if I can’t get the ring, Freya? I can’t even start to make Lilly well again without that ring.”

  “The Ring of Morgana should never have been brought back to Logres,” she replies. “Ill news travels like the plague across this kingdom, and those with black hearts will now have heard of its return. I fear there will be others who wish to claim it for themselves. Yet you have me and the artisan on your side, and that could prove more use to you before the end than swords and axes. If anyone can claim that ring, it will be you, Lady Mila. We would have been stronger with the others, but alas, the Ddraig attack was unforeseen, for so much is changing.”

  “Why do my father and Merlin hate you?”

  “Because fear breeds hate and the king listens to many fearful voices. Your aunt suffered much at the hands of Morgana and Mordred. She may not even realise her words have meaning, but spoken for long enough, they will eventually enter the hearts and minds of even the wisest man and woman. Joseph believes it was the sorcerer that sent the Ddraig to find us, but I hear a different voice counselling the king.”

  “My aunt?”

  “And your uncle, Sir Bedivere. He is the wisest and bravest of knights, yet his mind is clouded by the enduring love he has for Lady Natasha.”

  “How do you know all of this?” I ask.

  Freya smiles and her cracked mouth splits revealing the deep pink flesh of her lips.

  “Camelot was my home for many a long hard winter, Lady Mila. Both before the enchanted sleep, and after. I knew your father before the battle of Camlann, and I tended to the wounds of many a knight in the battles that followed. I also tended other courts in the kingdom, including that of the House of Lindsey. It was there I met my husband who was a healer of great renown. We found each other late in life, and he was a source of great joy to me. His name was Taliesin. He never knew I was a practitioner of the blue flame, and he died not knowing. I foolishly tried to bring him back when he died, and I was tried as a Necromancer and found guilty by Merlin. Thankfully, my fate was…postponed.”

  “Because you escaped?”

  “Sir Bedivere helped me leave the castle,” replies Freya. “Taliesin raised your uncle in the House of Lindsey, and they shared a great bond. Sir Bedivere rescued me the night before my execution was due to be carried out, out of his loyalty and love for my husband. Sir Bedivere knows I live in the woods as he often smuggles food out to me. He will know that I have come for you, and he will be angry. Angry with me, but more angry with himself for not heeding the warning words of his wife. Your aunt was very young and did not want me burned as a Necromancer, but she wanted me banished from the kingdom. The blue flame of the Gorians had caused her much anguish.”

  “What did my mother and Mordred do to my aunt?”

  “Your mother was not herself when she returned reborn. The kingdom waited for your father for one thousand years, and he slipped on the crown as if he had never been away. Yet your mother suffered much. It was unfortunate that her fear was taken out on Lady Natasha. Sir Mordred was said to have desired Lady Natasha for his own. He stole her away, killing many souls along the way.”

  “But you’re a Gorian too?”

  “Like you, I am dangerous, Lady Mila. But that does not mean my heart is black.”

  “But Mordred’s heart was?”

  “It was corrupted.”

  “And my mother’s?”

  “Your mother salvaged her soul and heart and took them back to the other land,” replies Freya. Tears are leaking from her eyes, but I don’t think she’s cryi
ng. For the first time I realise she has no hair at all, not just on her head, but she has no eyebrows or eyelashes either.

  I think back to the castle. I saw my mother stretching her fingers and hands. I recognise the actions now. It’s what I do before the purple flame comes to me.

  “I think my mother is trying to do magic here again,” I say quietly.

  “Then we must all pray to hope that she does not succeed,” replies Freya.

  We have come to a large green field. Hundreds of sheep are grazing on the grass and newborn lambs are jumping and playing. In the distance, there’s a single wood and stone house. It’s two storeys high and the roof is neatly thatched.

  “What are your intentions, Joseph?” asks Freya, as Rustin, Jalaya and I line up alongside her. Melehan is still nowhere to be seen, but I have a sixth sense he isn’t far away. It makes me nervous though. I want him where I can see him. I want everyone where I can see them. We have to stay together.

  “I know the master here,” replies Joseph. “And he owes me a favour or four. We’ll get food, drink and horses. I’m not waiting around for that Ddraig to return. If we’re going to the Vale of Avalon, then we will get there tonight, and four legs are quicker than two.”

  “Horses – you’ve got to be kidding,” groans Rustin.

  “I do not like the beasts either,” says Jalaya. She pulls up the hood of her cloak to cover her scarred face. It’s quite warm for a spring day and the sky is still cloudless. The heat must hurt her burns.

  “Jalaya, come here,” I call, slipping my backpack off my shoulders.

  Nervously, the girl walks over to me, constantly looking back to Rustin for reassurance. I rummage around the toiletries and find a small tube of Aloe Vera. Very useful for friction burns, my aunt constantly tells me. Never leave home without it.

  I spread some on my fingers.

  “May I?” I ask, holding my hand close to Jalaya’s face.

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Definitely not,” I reply.

  She leans in to me, tentatively arching her scarred cheek towards my fingers. Gently, I dab the Aloe Vera over the burn. It’s about four inches long and about three quarters of an inch wide. It’s shaped like the letter S. It’s yellow and bumpy at the edges, but a reddish brown in the centre. The skin around it is stretched.

  “The artisan’s friend is good,” she says. “Thank you.”

  One random act of kindness every day. I don’t know why I just thought of it, but I’m starting to see this land in the same way as Rustin reveres the trees. There’s so much I don’t know about my family, but I like hearing about the good in them, like my uncle saving Freya. It makes me want to do the right thing. Jalaya seemed the best person at this moment to work it on. It makes me feel a fraction more decent than the person I’ve started to become. A person I don’t like. Someone like my mother was when she was here.

  “Any chance you could perform some of that purple hocus-pocus on me,” says Rustin. “Make me believe I can actually ride a horse without making a total tit of myself?”

  “Not even my powers are that great,” I reply. Rustin grins, and I feel better about myself already. I can be a decent person when I remember who I really am.

  “Melehan is coming,” says Jalaya, closing her eyes.

  About twenty yards to my left, Melehan steps out into the open green field. He has a brown sack, tied with black cord, thrown over his shoulder.

  “Where have you been?” asks Rustin suspiciously. I want to ask the same question, but I’m glad Rustin gets there before me. I’m drawn to Melehan. He was the only one who came after me when I left the camp, and he’s been looking out for me since I arrived.

  He’s also the second boy I’ve ever kissed.

  The trees rustle around us and Jalaya giggles. A shiver travels up and down my spine. The March sun is beating down on my face, but I feel cold and exposed all of a sudden.

  Melehan walks over, but he’s limping. His left leg is dragging slightly. I see a tear in the cloth of his black pants.

  “I had a debt to collect,” replies Melehan. “Why, did you miss my company?”

  He looks at me, and Jalaya giggles again.

  “What?” asks Rustin quietly, walking over to the nearest tree. He places a dirty hand flat against the trunk.

  Jalaya is now laughing. If I wasn’t so worried, I would welcome it. Her green eyes light up, and even the scar on her face appears less pronounced when she laughs.

  “The artisan’s friend has been enjoying the flesh,” she says, laughing again. She puts a scarred finger to her lips and makes a ssshhh sound. “The trees have eyes. The trees will tell.”

  “About these horses then,” I say loudly. “We should get down to that house, yes?”

  Freya and Joseph start walking, but Rustin, Melehan and Jalaya don’t move. Jalaya is watching me and I’m watching Rustin. I don’t know why Melehan isn’t walking with Freya and Joseph towards the house, and I don’t care. I just want Rustin to move away from the trees.

  Because I know they’re talking to him, and I have a horrible feeling I know what they’re saying.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mila’s Final Spell

  “Quickly,” calls Joseph. “Open ground means we are easier to see. If that Ddraig is following us, we will be roasted like fowl before we reach the house.”

  Rustin pulls his hand away from the tree. His movements are slow and heavy. He doesn’t look at me.

  I glare at the trees, willing something to show itself to me in the same way it shows itself to Rustin, but of course they remain upright and still, like guards on sentry duty.

  “He knows,” whispers Melehan in my ear.

  “Knows what?” I reply, not wanting to hear the answer.

  “Of what happened between the two of us by the waterfalls.”

  “Nothing happened between us.”

  “If that is your belief, that it was nothing, then why are you so concerned, Lady Mila?” replies Melehan quietly. “If there is nothing to worry about, you have nothing to fear.”

  With the last word, Melehan limps after Rustin and Jalaya. The redhead is positively skipping in the short grass; she hasn’t placed the hood of her cloak back over her head and seems to be enjoying having the sun on her face.

  I guess the Aloe Vera worked. Now I wonder what I’ve got in my backpack for boys who can talk to duplicitous trees.

  But with one more backward glance to the trees, I know I’m the only one to blame here. The trees weren’t duplicitous in telling Rustin what happened between me and Melehan. It was me for remaining quiet.

  I was never this confused about my friendship with Rustin back in the 21st century. Everything was so simple. Life was simple and stupid and straightforward. Here in Logres, every action has a meaning, and the consequences can be the difference between life and death. Rustin now has the determined look of someone who is planning something, and I don’t like it because it makes me scared.

  We don’t stay at the stone house for long. Joseph and Freya go inside and we hear laughter and then shouting and then things being thrown about and then more laughter. I sit at the edge of a small pond and watch the ripples ring out from the stones that Melehan throws in. Jalaya runs around finding small blocks of wood for Rustin. He starts whittling away at one, but there’s no delicacy to his knife movements. He scrapes away with an angry look on his face, and even Jalaya picks up on his mood and stops giving him new pieces after a while.

  Freya comes out of the house with milk, bread and chicken. We wolf down everything, tearing at the chicken like dogs. I can’t remember what it’s like to eat with a knife and fork anymore. The milk tastes creamy and heavy and settles uncomfortably in my stomach. As we ride off on three horses, I have to stop after a few minutes to throw up.

  Freya isn’t looking well. It’s more than age weariness. She has a yellow-tinge to her skin that’s becoming more pronounced with every passing minute. I’ve stopped asking for training, and sh
e doesn’t offer any. Trying to stop the urge to summon the purple flame is the only sense of self I have right now, and I have to stop wanting to do it in case it becomes an uncontrollable craving.

  But it’s hard. As I ride with Jalaya clinging on behind me, I keep watching my fingers for purple sparks. Will fear or bravado summon it next time? I know there will be a next time. It’s inevitable. I’ve seen the ring and I know who has it. I’m going to have to fight her, and all the Taekwondo training in the world isn’t going to help me now.

  Nerves are bubbling away in my stomach. It doesn’t mix well with sheep milk and it isn’t long before I’m throwing up again. Rustin holds back my hair and rubs my back, but he still won’t speak to me.

  “He’s scared of saying something he can’t take back, child,” says Freya softly. It’s getting dark but we’re only stopping for a few minutes for a medieval toilet break. I don’t know what Joseph has been eating, but judging from the smell that follows him when he eventually reappears, I think he’s deposited the rotting carcass of a baby Ddraig somewhere.

  “Better out than in,” says Joseph. He scratches his ass and burps. If there was anything left in my stomach to throw up again, I would. He’s so gross. I feel sorry for Freya, riding behind him, and the poor mangy-looking horse that’s bearing his weight and body odour. Then again, the horse that’s carrying Melehan and Rustin has really pulled the short straw. You could cut the tension between those two with Excalibur. Melehan is an excellent horse rider, and so Rustin is sitting behind him, but my best friend refuses to touch Melehan in any way, and I can see Rustin’s in real pain, sitting uncomfortably behind Melehan, holding on to the saddle.

  “Rustin, do you want to ride with me next?” I call, trying to make my voice high and jovial.

  “No thank you.”

  Three little words cut me down. Why is he being such an ass about this? So what if I kissed Melehan? Rustin needs to give me the chance to explain, but he moves away if I get to within five yards of him. He’s made his own restraining order against me, and he’s doing a very good job of enforcing it.