by K. M. Shea
“There’s a spell. It was used by an elven warrior king,” Nymue said.
“You know it?” Merlin asked.
Nymue nodded. “After inspecting the spell that pulled her back in time, I looked for one that could send her forward. I thought she would ask me about it, but she never did, so I chose not to tell her.”
“Hag,” Britt murmured. She would have insulted her further, but it was all she could say.
The hard lines of worry edging Nymue’s eyes softened long enough for the Lady of the Lake to smile at her. “Unfortunately, it’s a dangerous spell. It requires much magic—more than I have—and the last time it was used, four people were killed in the kickback.”
“If we’re careful, can we manage it?” Morgan asked.
Nymue raised an eyebrow. “We?”
“I’m helping you, of course.”
“As will I.” Ragnelle’s dark eyes were worried as she glanced down at Britt.
Britt was swinging in and out of the murky waters of consciousness. She could hear their conversation, but none of it was really settling in her mind. She hurt too much, and the numbness of sleep was a siren call she was having a hard time resisting.
“Even with the three of us, I’m not certain we’ll have enough power,” Nymue said, her voice tight. “If we send out a call the faerie folk of the area might hear, but we’re running out of time—”
“I’ll help. I’ll do anything,” Merlin said. “Take every drop of my magic if you have to. Just…save her,” he pleaded.
Merlin’s voice was the last thing Britt truly heard. After that, things started to grow fuzzy.
Pain exploded when they pulled the arrow from her shoulder, but she could barely tell when they stripped her chain mail off her, leaving her in linen underclothes.
When they gingerly picked her up to move her, Britt swooned and lost consciousness. When she came too, she was floating on water. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but all she could make out were hazy shapes.
She knew Merlin still held her hand, though. She felt his strong grip on her fingers. Water splashed as people moved around her, and the area was filled with light.
What’s happening? Britt’s eyes fluttered as she tried to think straight, but her thoughts wouldn’t obey, and it took too much effort to keep breathing.
“Merlin…it’s time.”
Merlin squeezed Britt’s hand, then slipped his fingers from hers, and she was left alone.
No…Merlin!
Light was everywhere, and every pore of her body screamed as she was flooded with what felt like bottled lightning.
When the crackling fizz of the magic left, Britt could make out the hazy shapes of gravestones.
“Oh my gosh, Britt!”
“What happened? She just grabbed the sword—why is she bleeding like that?”
“How do we call 911?”
“Pardon me—I have a cellular phone. I shall call an ambulance service for your friend!”
So tired…
“Britt, hang in there! Britt!”
Britt closed her eyes, and everything went black.
Chapter 13
A New Realm
Britt groggily opened her eyes, frowning at the sharp, sterile smell of the air. She blinked, and it took her a few moments—full minutes, really—to realize she was in a hospital bed.
The room was done up in an uninspiring shade of off-white. After being gone for so long, the plastic smell of upholstery was a sharp scent to Britt’s nose, and the cotton sheets felt odd.
Where am I?
“She’s awake!”
“Britt!”
Three girls scrambled around Britt’s bed, their eyes wide with worry.
It took Britt several seconds to place them, as it had been years since she last saw Grace, Amber, and Lyssa—the three friends she had embarked on her England tour with before she touched the Sword in the Stone and was pulled back through time.
Than that must mean…I’m back?
“What happened to you?” Lyssa asked.
“We saw you get struck by lightning, but it was too bright to see what happened to you. When the light faded, your clothes had changed, and you had that big bloody wound.…” Amber trailed off, and bit her lip.
“The doctors told us lightning couldn’t hurt you like that.” Grace pointed to Britt’s heavily bandaged shoulder. “They said it looks like you’d been stabbed.”
For a moment, Britt wondered if all of Camelot and her adventures in medieval Britain had been a coma-induced dream. But that was impossible. She could still feel the bruising on her arm from where the Roman soldier had clubbed her, and her butt was sore from all the riding. Above all, the memory of Merlin letting go of her hand was far too real to be a dream.
Britt rubbed her head, still trying to adjust and puzzle through what had happened. “How long have I been out of it?”
Amber offered Britt a styrofoam cup filled with water. “About a day. They kept you unconscious for the surgery.”
“I wonder what happened to that really hot guy who called the ambulance for us,” Grace said.
“I’m more curious to figure out what happened to the sword,” Lyssa said.
Britt, who had been sucking down the water, coughed and choked. “What did you say?”
Lyssa exchanged looks with their other friends. “The sword we were posing with for our pictures…it’s gone.”
Britt dropped her cup of tasteless water and fell back against the pillows of her bed. Gone. The Sword in the Stone was gone. Of course it would be; she’d pulled the sword from the stone and left it in the church in London.
But that meant…she was here in modern times and had no way to return to medieval England, to return to the Knights of the Round Table, to return to Merlin.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to think. Finally, she was back in modern times! She would get to see her sister and her mother! But…the loss of Camelot and everything she had known roared like a black hole in her heart.
There were so many people who meant the world to her, and she would never see them again. Ector, Kay, Gawain…and Merlin, they were lost to her.
Tears flooded Britt’s eyes, and she sobbed as she realized the life she had embraced and the people who meant so much to her were gone. Forever.
“Britt, are you okay?”
“Does something hurt? Lyssa, go get one of the doctors!”
Britt shook her head, but she couldn’t stop crying as the despair continued to build in her heart. Tears dribbled from her eyes, and her sobs made the stitching of her shoulder wound pull uncomfortably. But she didn’t care.
Britt’s life as King Arthur—King of Britain and ruler of Camelot—was over.
Britt kicked off her shoes as she entered her apartment, pinching her smart phone between her ear and shoulder as she rummaged around in her purse. “No, I haven’t been in a fight with any of my friends. Why?”
“You’ve just been a little despondent since you took that trip to England.” Her mother must’ve had her cell phone on speaker, for her voice sounded tinny.
“It was a tiring trip,” Britt said.
“But it was over a month ago,” her mother pointed out.
Britt fell silent—she knew better than to bring up her shoulder injury and use it as an excuse. (When she first received word of Britt’s “accident,” Britt’s mother had flipped. If anyone ever mentioned the injury in her presence, she frequently went off on a tirade, verbally abusing the police for being unable to figure out what happened to Britt.)
“I’m just concerned about you, honey,” her mother said.
“I’m perfectly healthy. There’s no need to worry.” Britt sprinkled some food in her goldfish’s aquarium. “I just need some time to recover.”
“If you say so…. Oh! I was going to tell you about this nice boy I met! You should meet him for coffee sometime, he—”
“No,” Britt said, louder and with more force than necessary. She winced. “
Sorry, Mom. I’m not really up for dating right now. I should go, but thanks for calling!”
“Of course, sweetie! I’m sorry; I know I shouldn’t be poking my nose in your business, but I’m just worried. I love you. You know that, right?”
“I know, mom. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine…eventually.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Love you, Mom. Bye!” Britt sighed as she ended the call and braced herself on her kitchenette counter.
She curled her hands into fists and shook her head, trying to ignore the tears that stung her eyes.
She thought losing her modern life when she went to medieval England was bad, but this was far worse. Back in Britain, Britt could talk to Merlin, Kay, and Ector about her old life. But here, no one even knew what had happened to her. If she told them, they’d think she was insane! After her weird, unexplained “accident” in England, they wouldn’t hesitate to hospitalize her.
So Britt quietly carried her despair and loss alone.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. She missed everyone—her foster family, Bedivere, Pellinore, Gawain, Ywain, Morgan, Nymue, even Lancelot, and especially…“Merlin,” she whispered.
Her apartment was silent, and the roaring darkness of loss threatened to devour her. “No.” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t want me to lose myself. I have to keep going.”
Britt’s phone buzzed, then whistled when she received a text from her next-door neighbor, Issie.
Are you up for laundry tonight? I have a knitting pattern I want to show you.
Britt’s lips quirked in a sad smile. Seemingly since her trip to England, her neighbor had taken up knitting with a fanatical passion. But, unfortunately, she wouldn’t have the time to meet up with her.
Sorry, can’t make it. Thanks for the invite though!
The text sent, Britt tossed her phone on the kitchen counter, then padded into her room, rummaging around in her closet until she unearthed a carry-on suitcase.
She hadn’t told her mother yet—though she had told her sister as soon as she received the offer—but she had been invited with a few other members of her sword hall to give several demonstrations and clinics in Europe on medieval swordsmanship.
In truth, she needed to look for a full-time job. But Britt’s work with her sword hall had become comforting on a completely new level since she returned. So, she was going.
“I can’t just survive; I have to thrive. I can’t let them down.” She began sorting through her clothes, taking what she would need for her trip.
Thankfully, her sword hall would not be going to Britain. Britt had been avoiding thinking of Britain ever since she had gotten back and had the chance to read up on old King Arthur legends.
None of it was encouraging. Lancelot and Guinevere were still recorded as an adulterous pair, and Mordred was credited with killing Arthur and taking over Camelot. According to history, Merlin had been done in by Vivien, and Gawain, Griflet, Kay, Percival, and all the other knights were killed with the downfall of Camelot.
Britt’s greatest hope, however, is that the legends were just that, legends, and not based on historical fact. (Besides, nowhere had she been able to find even a hint that someone suspected Arthur had been a woman. That had to mean something!)
“You are too concerned with the legends of the future.” Merlin’s words that he’d spoken to Britt from so long ago echoed in her mind. They were an unpleasant mix of a soothing balm and a gaping reminder that she would never see the Merlin she loved again.
Tears blurred her vision, and she shook her head again. Mustering her courage, she sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself to focus on packing.
“Make your stance a little wider when on defense. It will make you harder to move and better able to parry blows,” Britt instructed. She leaned against a wall as she watched the teenagers who were assigned to the defense role shuffle their feet.
“Your goal is to keep your center of balance in your core. If it’s too low or too high, your opponent will be able to grapple with you and knock you over easier,” she continued.
Her phone chimed, signaling she received a new email. She ignored it and stared at her temporary students who had shown up for the clinic.
“Arthurs, I’ll take over for you. You’re on break,” one of Britt’s friends from her sword hall called.
Britt waved to him and weaved out of the demonstration room, muffling the clang of sword leads when she closed the door behind herself.
Several months had passed since Britt started giving demonstrations in Europe. Since then, she had traveled with several other members of her sword hall around the world giving clinics in technique.
The jobs didn’t pay much, but her plane tickets, hotel rooms, and food were always covered, and Britt enjoyed it.
They had been in the states the last few weeks, which gave Britt enough time to work on her resume and send it out to a couple of nonprofit organizations. After a lot of deliberation, Britt had realized that the time in ancient Britain had changed her for the better. She still longed to help people, as she had as King Arthur. So, she decided she would like a career path that focused on nonprofit companies.
Britt slipped into the small room they had been lent to store their gear that also served as a snack station. She still missed everyone from Camelot with an ache that wouldn’t dull, but at least now she wasn’t reduced to tears every time she remembered them. (Constantly moving from place to place had helped significantly.)
She grabbed a bottle of water, an apple, and a cookie, then plopped down in an overstuffed chair. She bit into her apple, then gave in to her curiosity and checked her email, furrowing her eyebrows when she saw she’d received an email from a company named Avalon with the subject of “interview inquiry.”
She didn’t remember applying to a company called Avalon, but she selected the email and read it over anyway. It was chock-full of the typical spiel—mentioning the company had seen her resume on various job websites, promising they felt she was a perfect fit for their organization, and so on—and finished with an offer for a job interview with one of the company recruiters—John Wayne.
The email was so nice, it had to be a scam.
Britt highlighted it, intending to delete it, then paused.
Avalon…Where have I heard that?
After taking another bite out of her apple, a quick internet search revealed the company was, in fact, not-for-profit.
It had launched out of the blue approximately three years ago, pouring massive amounts of money into water purification for developing countries, self-defense courses for girls in inner cities, an entrepreneur mentorship program, and building multiple schools in developing nations.
Apparently, it was well respected, though there was little information on it besides the news articles and government agencies that praised the company for their philanthropy.
Britt finished her apple, then shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like I’ve got any other job offers.” Switching gears, she responded back that she would love to have an interview with John Wayne.
Perhaps, if she was lucky, her day as a wandering swordswoman would soon be finished.
Britt tried to discreetly fix her dress pants so the hemline sat properly as she waited for her interview with the Avalon recruiters.
She had arrived early and was pretending to relax on the leather couch as she waited for the recruiter to come for her. In her phone interview—which oddly hadn’t been with John Wayne, who had first contacted her—the recruiter had mentioned she had been sought out for a management position. Britt suspected it was probably for one of their self-defense courses for girls, though she was a little curious why they would want a sword instructor for that.
She fiddled with the folder that held her resume and tried not to gape too badly. The Avalon building was a work of art with its wood-paneled ceiling, floor-to-ceiling windows, and gorgeous chandeliers.
Britt was staring at a painting of a lake, which
seemed oddly familiar, when her cell phone buzzed. She fumbled with it, switching it to silent mode, then checked her messages.
Her sister had sent her a text: Cleaning out my old bedroom at Mom’s place—check out what I found!
Attached was an image of Britt at her very first sword hall. She was tiny—she couldn’t have been older than seven or eight—and she was lined up with the handful of kids who were in her swordsmanship class. She could see half of a man as he stepped out of the frame—her instructor—and bolted to the wall behind the kids were several dozen different swords.
Britt smiled fondly at the copied image, which was a little blurry and tinted yellow from the bright flash. She swiveled her phone so she could enlarge the photo, and when she zoomed in on herself, her heart stopped.
Behind her seven-year-old self was one of the many swords. But this one, Britt recognized. “Excalibur?”
She stared at the photo, hardly daring to believe it could be true. Excalibur had survived for centuries?
Her heart pounded in her ears, and she barely heard when a woman dressed in a business suit called, “Miss Arthurs?”
Though Britt wanted to scream with exuberance, she forced herself to focus. “Yes, that’s me.” She snatched up her folder and stood with a smile.
The woman returned the smile and gestured up the hallway. “This way, please.”
Britt followed her into an elevator, up to the top floor of the building. It seemed like a weird place to house HR, but Britt was too giddy with the realization that Excalibur might still be around to question the company’s logic.
“I’m glad we are able to arrange an interview,” the woman said.
Britt snapped herself out of her gleeful haze. “Yes, thank you for this opportunity.”
The recruiter laughed as elevator doors dinged and rolled open. “Indeed, it is we who should be thanking you!” She led the way down the hallway. “They are quite eager to meet you.”
“You are too kind.” Britt paused as the meaning of the woman’s words finally caught up with her. “…I’m sorry, did you say they?”
