“You’re kidding – there are so many things to see here!” I said, and then with a sudden inspiration, I asked her, “Do you want me to show you what I see?”
I smiled and held out an encouraging hand, but she didn’t respond – she was studying my horse, then, despite her visible hesitation, she looked back at me and nodded.
“Are you afraid of Lightning?” I asked.
I decided to introduce them by first guiding her toward the stallion’s head. He lowered his soft, moist muzzle and in lieu of greeting, rubbed the palm of her hand with his slightly dilated nostrils. Melora smiled and relaxed, thanking him by complimenting him sweetly and caressing his neck.
I helped her mount Lightning, got up behind her and took off at a gallop. She smelled like lemon and honeysuckle. Her brunette hair tickled my face, and I smiled every time I heard her trilling laugh. We were slowing down at the edge of the woods when I heard what resembled a bellow, so I sent a thought to my horse to stop moving.
Before us were several does surrounding two large stags, judging each other and preparing for battle, heads lowered and ready to charge.
I felt Melora holding her breath. The male to the right charged first, and their enormous antlers smashed together with such a deafening noise, resonating throughout the forest, that frightened birds flew up from their perches to the safety of the open sky.
“Why are they fighting?” Melora whispered.
“It’s for the females,” I said with a chuckle. “They fight to show them who’s the stronger of the two.”
“Well, the does seem totally uninterested in the combat,” she retorted.
“Don’t believe it. They’ll take the winner, as they want the strongest one to sire their descendants.”
“Because you know all about females?” Melora teased me.
I groaned in response.
Then we heard a cracking sound. One of the deer had broken its antler. He abandoned the struggle and loped into the thick undergrowth, pursued by the other stag, who was bellowing victoriously.
Suddenly he detected us. He pivoted on his heels and faced us, his fourteen-branched antlers proudly raised, foam coming from his mouth and nostrils. He glowered at us, furious and menacing. Melora was terrified.
“Go on, go away!” I ordered the animal mentally, holding his stare.
After a moment’s hesitation, it turned around and trotted away obediently. Of course, Melora was not aware of my intervention.
“Oh, that was close!” she said, trembling.
“Yeah, that was close,” I agreed, a hint of mockery in my voice.
We continued our promenade at a slow walk. I showed her plants here and there, and commented on them, and as she seemed attentive, I did the same for the animals. Her interest pleased me. We returned to the clearing finally and dismounted.
She looked at me with her face glowing, and cried,
“That was really cute!”
I was puzzled, not understanding exactly what she meant.
She blushed and rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“OK, I know I make mistakes but English is not my maternal language. It’s not easy for me!”
“I know,” I said calmly, trying to keep a straight face.
She became gentle again, and raising her extraordinary eyes to mine, she said, “I meant, that was a beautiful day.”
Captivated by her eyes, I tried to find words, but failed, so I remained silent. I held her glance though, and a sort of complicity was born between us.
“I’ll be here the whole week,” she said. “If you want, we could meet here again tomorrow?”
I nodded, still unable to pronounce a word, then got back into the saddle and spurred my horse. I gave him the bridle and took off without looking back.
I wandered through the forest until dinnertime, feeling lighthearted. I thought about Melora and affectionately recalled her little mistakes in English. She seemed so vulnerable despite her assertive character.
We saw each other every day that week and every time she visited Comper. She often came to the castle, too. At Viviane’s request, Galahad chose a docile mare for her to ride on our frequent outings, but when Melora showed a natural bent for horseback riding, she presented her with a beautiful bay mare.
We got along well together and became very close, even if we often bickered. I never spoke to her about my gifts, but I used them frequently to show off, to Eirian and Deryn’s disgust. I knew it was wrong to use magic for useless or personal aims but I couldn’t help myself. That is, until the day Lucila got angry.
We’d left very early that morning for a ride. Melora wanted to watch the first rays of the sun lighting up the world. The tree branches shading the paths filtered the delicate golden rays, making the whole atmosphere fairy-like, and as our horses walked slowly through the fertile green tunnels, the forest began to awaken with sweet birdsong.
We entered a little clearing, where Melora surprised some white butterflies fluttering from flower to flower as they were opening, vivified by the morning’s dew and sunlight. She dismounted to observe them more closely. Seeing how delighted she was, I got an idea.
At my request, the butterflies all flew up together, thousands of them, some circling around her and then softly landing on her outstretched hands, her shoulders and her hair. Others fluttered above her gracefully. She marveled at the scene, and her exclamations of joy echoed in my ears gratifyingly.
It’s difficult to explain, but my feeling when I saw that glow in her silvery eyes with the lake-green specks was incredibly precious. Why did I feel this desire to protect her and make her happy? I didn’t know. I was an only child, so most likely it was the absence of brothers and sisters provoking that emotion.
After accompanying Melora home, I took the path back to the castle. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice Lucila at the side of the path, evidently waiting for me. When our eyes met, I suddenly understood why Eirian and Deryn were so uneasy at any thought of opposing her. She was angry. A chill went down my spine as I dismounted, pretending to look relaxed.
Lucila, who continually changed appearance, had decided to appear as a fairly young woman that day, about the same age as my mother, undoubtedly to make an impression on me, and I have to admit she succeeded.
“Hello, Lucila!” I called out heartily to hide my nervousness.
Her eyes flashed an unnatural orange color, and not bothering to reply to my polite greeting, she plowed into me: “Nature was not created to obey your caprices! You have to respect her and take only what is necessary!”
“I understand that,” I assured her airily, trying to minimize the facts. “I didn’t do anything bad. I just wanted to –”
“No, you understand nothing!” she snapped.
Around us, the wind gusted up, the sky became dark, and a throbbing silence fell in the forest. I stood there dumbly, mouth hanging open before Lucila’s rage.
“Follow me,” she ordered.
I was not in the least inclined to argue, and I followed her docilely to the clearing where Melora and I had been a short while ago.
What I saw left me speechless. The delicate white butterflies covered the lush, green grass like a snowy carpet. They were all dead, and to my horror, I saw the few butterflies still alive weakly flapping their wings. I turned to Lucila in a panic.
“Is this my fault?” I said, feeling strangled with emotion. “I don’t understand…”
“You exhausted them prematurely. Their lifespan is but a few days, maybe a week, and you used them to play with…”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” I babbled. “Now I understand what you and Grandmother meant when you told me about consequences –I promise I’ll never abuse my powers again.”
She seemed to be satisfied with my apology, for her eyes had returned to their pretty hazel color.
“You must make use of nature with wisdom and love, because the power she gives you comes with a price. You must respect her!”
I hu
mbly agreed, and the next instant, she had vanished.
The following month seemed terribly dull. Melora was gone and I missed her. Fortunately, training every day with Galahad took up a good part of my time, and after our afternoon sessions, I often met with Eirian and Deryn, who always had something new to show me or to tell me.
One day, taking my usual road to find them, I felt a presence. Rustling leaves in a bushy area nearby confirmed my intuition. Lightning heard it too, and he swiveled his ears back and forth, slowed his pace and whinnied to caution me.
“I felt it too, my friend. Thanks.”
The birds stopped singing and a dead silence fell. I was on the alert. Then the attack came. A dark shape rushed me, knocked me to the ground and then immediately disappeared. I jumped to my feet and unsheathed my knife, regretting that I didn’t have my sword with me. I was trying to see where my adversary was when I was attacked again, from the rear, and I stumbled forward and fell. Using my momentum, I rolled into a somersault and back onto my feet, peering all around to see where the next assault would come from.
Suddenly, a half-human, half-dog creature leaped on me, howling. Extremely ugly, it had a bald, greenish snout, and although it wasn’t more than three feet high, its tail swayed menacingly and its sharp-clawed hands held a small blade resembling a machete. I figured I could easily master the gnome-like thing, but then another one erupted from the bushes, then a third one.
Taken by surprise, I was at a real disadvantage. Lightning sidled up close to me and reared up to frighten them, kicking hard at any who tried to approach. For they were pouring out from every direction now! At least a dozen, and more kept coming. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a raven observing the scene. My survival instincts kicking in, I asked the bird to go find Galahad, hoping he would arrive in time, but for now I had to stay concentrated if I wanted to live.
I dodged their blows, hitting and stabbing when they came within arm’s length. A whinny of pain from Lightning froze my blood. Wounded on the thigh by one of the beastly creature’s knives, he fell onto his side with a heavy thud, but just as the assailant lifted his knife to finish him off, I threw myself on it and killed it. Saving my friend distracted my attention, though, and I felt a burning pain in my left arm. I fell on my knees and twisted around, slicing my knife through the air horizontally. A slight gargle could be heard when my blade slit the monster’s throat.
I had to face the truth, however – they were too numerous and I was surrounded.
Right then, Galahad broke through their circle with drawn sword and a shout of rage, immediately decapitating the creature closest to me. He tossed me my sword, which I caught with both hands, and we took positions back to back, keyed up and ready to fight. His presence reassured me. The gnomes glared at us, vexed. The game had changed, but they attacked anyway, still sure of victory…
It was a scene of utter carnage. We knocked their teeth down their throats; we killed them all to the very last one. After resting a second to catch our breath, Galahad noticed the cut on my arm.
“You’re hurt! We better get back to the castle.”
He sheathed his weapon and called his horse.
“You fought well,” he said, patting me on the back. “I’m proud of you!”
“But what are those creatures?” I asked him, curious.
“Kobolds. They live in the forest, hidden in caves. They’re extremely pugnacious, but they never attack without a reason, and since they knew who you were, they must have gotten a good sum of money to attack.”
He cast a disdainful look at the cadavers. “They’ll never get a chance to spend it now.”
A feeble nicker, full of pain, brought me back to reality, and I rushed over to Lightning and kneeled down next to him. He looked at me with his eyes rolling wildly in agony and fear.
I softly murmured in his ear to reassure him, and caressing his neck tenderly. “You were so brave, my friend. You protected me, and I’m grateful to you for that.”
I placed one hand flat on the ground and the other on the ugly cut across his croup. Closing my eyes, I concentrated on him, and at the same time, sought the energy of the tree closest to us. The wound closed. Lightning propped himself up onto his forelegs and lurched to his feet, then set his forehead against mine to thank me and show his love. Galahad looked at me with respect.
As soon as we got home, Viviane called Gliton to come look at my wound, but there was nothing to treat – the skin had already begun healing over.
I listened to my grandmother discussing the event with Galahad.
“They’re far too close,” she fulminated. “You have to set up closer surveillance. Broceliande and Comper must remain secure places!”
“They all know of Gabriel’s existence now,” he replied. “Morgana must have asked her supporters to kill him, and they’re ready for anything, so I’ve asked Percival and Bohort to come and lend us a hand.”
“Good. I’m counting on you.”
Then she started mumbling to herself, “Training such a large number of kobolds would have required someone highly influential…”
She looked at Galahad again and exclaimed, “I’m going to make an inquiry – I want to know who’s behind this! I won’t accept any attacks on our family.”
Her handsome face expressed the same coldly determined look it wore in my visions, and I couldn’t help shivering.
Forgetting my presence, they discussed their ideas on the best ways to protect me. According to my ancestor, I was far too important to put my life at risk again.
“Grandma…”
She didn’t react, still deep in conversation with Galahad. After three attempts, I decided to change tactics, and called out, “Viviane!”
At that, she turned to me, surprised and attentive.
“I know that taking Avalon back from Mordred is important for you all,” I said. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you, but I don’t know if I can be that person you expect me to be. I don’t want to be king! I never asked for these powers!”
I was overwhelmed by the weight of these responsibilities and I didn’t want them.
Viviane replied, “You need to help our people win their kingdom back, but I never said you would be king.”
“But I thought we had to remove Mordred from the throne,” I said, feeling confused.
“That’s right, but you are not heir to the throne.”
“That’s a relief,” I said with a sigh. “But who is it then? Isn’t Arthur’s son dead?”
Then I remembered my vision, and the little bundle that Merlin was holding, in my dreams. I waited for Viviane’s answer, but she put me off, saying, “You’ll know soon enough. Now what I’d like to know is why you didn’t use your magic against those ugly midgets. You could have been killed!”
“I don’t know… It didn’t enter my mind. I thought to defend myself physically, like any normal person.”
“But you’re not normal!” my grandmother pointed out. “Enormous power lies in you, and you have to use it to defend yourself, to defend us! Those aren’t the last creatures to cross your path – there will be more. You have to put your confidence in magic!”
“But I fought well!”
“That’s true, and I’m proud of you,” she said, gazing at me with her blue eyes, and hesitatingly, awkwardly, she set her hands on my shoulders.
“I would hate to see anything happen to you,” she whispered, then she abruptly left the room.
The next day, my wound had almost disappeared – only a fine white line remained. Gliton was duly impressed, and I was able to continue with my lessons and activities.
Melora had arrived the night before, and my absence that day surprised her. When she arrived at the castle to inquire about me, I found a plausible excuse to give her, simply that I was feeling slightly ill.
She spent the whole day with me, making jokes, reading and listening to me play the piano. My grandmother watched us benevolently but rather oddly – I couldn’t ident
ify a certain gleam in her eye, but I could see the anxiety, a combination that left me perplexed.
Melora filled up on Miss Bridget’s delicious cakes at teatime, then went home. Viviane set down her teacup and in a low, deceptively airy voice, she confided to me, “I’m happy to see you two becoming so intimate. I didn’t realize you knew each other so well.”
She gave me an inquisitive look and waited for my response.
“We come across each other pretty often while riding in the forest,” I explained. “She’s agreeable company.”
For some reason, I was trying to keep my tone as detached as possible. Viviane pursed her lips and fixed me with that penetrating stare of hers.
“It’s true you don’t have many friends your own age here, but that’s going to change – school starts soon, and you’ll make a lot of friends at Cambridge.”
“Why do I have to go so far away?”
“Myrddin liked going to Cambridge to see his childhood friend Benoit, a priest who settled there after leaving Avalon. His church was built in 1050, even before Cambridge University. It’s in the center of the village at present.”
“Ah, I understand now. You suspect that Grandfather left some clues about his book of spells?”
“No, as he was taken with the madness well before that time. But maybe he confided some of his secrets to his friend. He had great confidence in him, and by then he was already wary of me – one of the effects of his illness. If there’s someone who knew anything, it was Benoit.”
“Was?”
“He was assassinated in 1867 while building St John’s College Chapel. Of course, no one had any idea that he was the same Benoit who had been the founder of St Bene’t church in the year 1000.”
“Hmmn… That’s not going to make things very easy.”
“That’s why I’d like you to research it while you’re there studying. I’ve contributed large amounts of money to maintain that university, to keep the oldest buildings in good condition. I’ve invested a fortune in order to guard our only chance at reopening the passage one day, but, that said, Cambridge is still one of the best universities in the world! I wouldn’t have chosen any other school.”
Heirs of Avalon: The passage Page 5
