The Dreamweaver

by Nancy Joseph Peterson

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Return of the Knight

  The weavers room was just as dank and miserable as Emrys remembered. Perhaps even more so now that his life had new meaning and a vibrancy that was due to the love he’d found with Anna.

  First things first, he needed to discover if anyone had entered his old weavers room.

  Emrys unwound the ward he’d used as a trip-thread around his casting vat. He held his hands motionless as the invisible ward began to unravel, it’s thread-like strands re-entering his fingertips, tingling as they returned.

  Closing his eyes, Emrys accepted the wards memory, easily seeing beneath the deception of Nivane’s Charm of Making, and revealing the man who’s clothing he recognised from Anna’s apartment posing as Emrys; it was Acclon of Gaul.

  Emrys grimaced, Acclon had been one of his greatest foes, even more so than had Nivane. He’d been a champion from Gaul, and even a knight for a time in a court that was near and dear to Emrys heart. But his knighthood had been forfeit after his plot had been uncovered to steal Excalibur - a magickal sword that only bestowed itself on the purest of heart for the worthiest of battles. As well as that, Emrys grimly recalled, Acclon had been enchanted to love Morgan Le Fay, who’d been known in another time to Emrys as Nivane.

  This made the situation even more dire, if that was possible. Emrys swept a hand over his brow, if Nivane and Acclon were in league, Anna was in even greater danger, making his rescue of her even more urgent.

  Quickly moving across the room to a panel that he slid open to reveal a large cloudy crystal, Emrys summoned a dream tapestry. He may not be able to influence Nivane’s dreams, but he could still do so with Acclon’s he thought calmly.

  Capturing Emrys woman had been easy. Although he didn’t have the skill to move between dimensions on his own, Nivane had been able to use the small bell to create a portal that took him directly to Anna, and with his magickal disguise, she’d even run right into his arms!

  Acclon’s vow of chastity, until his true love was ready to again receive him, had made even the touch of another woman repulsive to him. Even as he’d noted that Anna’s beauty and femininity was at least equal to that of his true love’s — she was not her, and so he’d kept Anna’s soft body away from his. As well, the knowledge that she was Merlin’s woman made her as repulsive to him as was Merlin.

  He remembered Merlin well. Not only had he been his former lieges’ favourite, he had been his advisor and friend.

  As a Knight of the Round Table, Acclon had nearly worshiped his young King and had been as honourable a knight as any in the realm. Merlin, boy genius and wizard extraordinaire, had inspired his first truly dark emotion — jealousy.

  The knights Christian code of honour had demanded marriage before laying with a woman, and as marriage was forbidden to the Knights, chastity was the only option. Acclon had upheld it for years as he embraced his status as a roundtable knight and upholder of the laws of the kingdom.

  That was until he’d cast his eyes upon Morgan Le Fay.

  Her long amber coloured hair had caught his eye as she’d moved lithely between stalls at a market. Mesmerised, he’d approached, thinking she must be a vision as the silks she’d worn floated lovingly over her ample curves. Imagining her face could not possibly match the view he had from behind, he’d waited until she’d turned around. Acclon had gasped, her face was worthy of a goddess, her beauty the sort that caused poets to write, and painters to paint.

  He’d instantly been mesmerised, as her golden eyes had turned towards him, he’d literally fallen to her feet, pledging his love and eternal service on the spot.

  Acclon recalled her lilting laughter as she’d bade him to rise and accompany her to a nearby glade.

  He remembered how she’d stood in a ray of dusty sunlight, her hair casting a halo around her glowing face as she told him her name; Morgan Le Fay. He’d learned that Merlin had been her undoing, and as a result she’d been forced to turn to the dark druids for protection. Acclon’s earlier resentment of the Kings wizard had quickly turned to hatred as he listened to the evil Merlin had wrought upon his new beloved.

  Although he’d remained as one of the realm’s knights for a time after, he and Morgan had conspired to steal Excaliber - a powerful and magickal sword that oddly, she’d claimed originally had been in her safe-keeping.

  Unfortunately he’d been foiled in his plot, and ultimately defeated in the resulting battle by the very King he’d once loved.

  It was Morgan Le Fay who’d resurrected him from the battlefield, and the only part of Acclon that had remained dead was the goodness and light of his spirit. From that point onward his soul had become completely dark; he’d become a dark druid.

  Acclon had remained stoically by Morgan’s side as her beauty became corrupted and changed by her dark magicks, until was no longer recognisable as his ethereal Morgan Le Fay. She’d become Nivane to him many years ago and would remain so until she was restored to her former glory.

  Acclon stretched, his body exhausted from the transformation and his brief journey to another dimensional time.

  As he laid his head down for a brief rest, he tried to envision the beautiful face of Morgan Le Fay to send him off to sweet dreams.

  Drifting into that realm between sleep and consciousness, Acclon had a strange feeling.

  Images began to flit across his dream vision from long ago; his King, in his glory days once more, stood proud and regal upon a hill that overlooked his beloved Camelot. At his feet sat Guinevere, and in the sunny meadow beyond, the spring festival, Beli Mawr, was underway.

  In the main arena, Sir Acclon was jousting for the entertainment of the court on his favourite mount. He could feel his steeds powerful muscles as they bunched beneath his thighs and then released in an explosion of powerful forward momentum. Acclon held his javelin steady as he thundered forward towards his opponent, Sir Gawayne. At the last possible moment, Acclon lowered his weapon so that the padded tip struck Gawayne harmlessly in his solar plexus, effectively unseating him from his mount and temporarily winding him.

  Pulling up on his reigns, Acclon trotted his horse back to where his friend was trying to get to his feet and rubbing his chest in wonder. Acclon leapt from his saddle to offer a hand to Gawayne, who took it in good spirits. A wave from his Queen gave Acclon the reward he’d sought as her favourite in the competition.

  As he and Gawayne walked back to their tent, with their squires following leading their mounts, Gawayne turned to Acclon, “Your skills are ever improving, I don’t think I taught you that move.” he said as he clapped Acclon on his armoured shoulders.

  Acclon laughed, a good hearty sound unlike any that had come from his chest in a long while, “No, that was all mine — and I even pulled up a bit, wouldn’t want to hurt an old fellow like you would I?” He teased good-naturedly.

  As they entered the tent, the banquet that awaited them was spread out on heavily laden tables; barrels of ale, strong wheaten bread, roast boar, exotic fruits and even sweets made from jellies rolled in beet sugar.

  The other knights were relaxing on colourful cushions until their next display of knightliness called them onto the field. Their camaraderie felt good and right; like a warm sunny day after a very long and dark winter. Acclon was filled with longing and…love. He felt his heart swell with affection for the men in the tent, and the monarch that presided over the games outside.

  Filling his belly with the delicious food, and drinking tankards of ale with his friends, Acclon left the tent to go in search of … something.

  He wandered away from the festivities, seemingly without direction. As Acclon walked, he could feel the heat from the May sun on his armoured shoulders. He breathed in the Spring air scents of the Earth being reborn, the ground felt spongy beneath his booted feet, and the heady mixture of fresh ozone lifted his spirits.

  The world felt young, and for the first time in a long time, so did Acclon.

  Finally he happened upon a l
ake and feeling parched, Acclon knelt down at the waters edge. Cupping his hands, he drew the cool water into his mouth, suddenly slender pale arms reached out of the turquoise depths and pulled him into the deep water.

  Acclon struggled, but the weight of his armour and the momentum of the strong swimmer who held him securely, took him deeper and deeper into the lake.

  Oddly he found he was not gasping for breath, in fact, he didn’t seem to need to breathe. This lessened his fear considerably, but because he still was being held against his will and was unable to see his assailant, he struggled to free himself.

  Finally, their downward journey slowed and his captor released him. As Acclon floated to the bottom, he realised he’d been directed to stand on some sort of a raised dais.

  Before him was a beautiful, jewelled throne and upon the throne was … Morgan Le Fay! Wearing a regal gown of gossamer blue and holding a golden triton, she sat silently observing him.

  Acclon was overjoyed! He tried to move, but his feet seemed cemented where he stood, struggling helplessly, he could not get to her. He opened his mouth to speak, to beg her to help him — but no words would come from his water clogged throat.

  Her face was passive and perfect, watching his struggles, the blue-green hue cast by the water giving her skin the look of a perfect porcelain doll.

  She smiled, the rippling colours of the sunlit water casting shadows that lovingly caressed her beautiful face, “You, Sir Acclon are mine and have been so since I mesmerised you many years ago. Your soul is no longer your’s, your mind, your heart and spirit — all belong to me.” Her words drifted into his ears with a cold clarity.

  Although Acclon’s soul shivered at her icy words, he struggled to free himself, still wanting to kneel at her feet in supplication.

  She shifted slightly on her throne, and waved her triton, summoning a large iridescent bubble that showed an image of Acclon in a glade from long ago as he looked adoringly at her, she smiled cruelly, “My beauty cast a spell upon you, and you are now mine forever. My magick caused you to forget all that you previously loved, all that you held dear, all that you believed honourable — all was forfeit in your worship of me.”

  The icy truth of her watery voice chilled him to his soul, again he tried to speak but still his moving lips created no sound.

  “You did forsake your King and your God for me. You did wilfully dishonour your fellow Knights and code of honour, you turned your back upon the light and warmth of your land and fellows. All was forsaken in your love for me. I was, and am, your obsession, your one devotion … and your Goddess. In return for your love and devotion, I shall forsake you as you did others.”

  With her last word, Morgan Le Fay’s porcelain facade began to crack. Her mouth, set in a cruel line, fractured into pieces, her lips falling in splinters to the sandy bottom, her nose crumbled and was swept away with the current. Finally all of her porcelain-like skin had dissipated and was gone, revealing her true form.

  On the beautiful, jewel encrusted throne, sat a water nymph — a Naiad, with shimmering turquoise flesh and blue hair that waved in the current like seaweed. Her golden reptilian eyes squinted in amusement at Acclon’s horror stricken expression.

  “It is I, my darling Acclon - your Morgan Le Fay, Nivane or would you prefer to call me Viviane?” The creature laughed heartlessly, “You didn’t love me very well as old ugly Nivane, do you like this image of me better my love?” She turned giving him a view of her glossy scales, her hair floating like a watery cape around her shoulders. She smiled, coral coloured lips parting to reveal sharp, pointed white teeth.

  She rose gracefully from her throne, gliding effortlessly to Acclon. He struggled, desperate now to get away, away from the creature, away from his sickening future, away from the dark destiny he’d been tricked into choosing … and away from what he knew now as the truth.

  Swimming to hover before his face, she extended a split tongue from between her dagger like teeth, winding it around his neck as he gagged and flailed desperately at her with useless arms and fists slowed by the water, and weighed down by his heavy armour.

  As her tongue forced it’s way past his resisting lips and down his throat, Acclon voice returned as he screamed.

  Acclon awoke, his heart pounding, he was drenched in sweat, trembling violently, he took off his wet clothing. His throat constricting painfully as he turned to his mirror and saw the bloody marks on his throat from the Naiads rough tongue, confirming what he’d expected; it had been more than a dream. With shaking hands Acclon poured a tall goblet of wine, gulping it down in one swallow to help numb his throat and memory.

  “Merlin … the Dreamweaver, this was his work.” Acclon muttered as he poured water into a bowl to wash his wounds.

  Despite the fact that he knew Merlin had to be at the root of the creation of the dream, he also knew with equal certainty that what he’d been shown was true.

  He still resented Merlin, but begrudgingly Acclon acknowledged, as painful as it was, he’d needed to know the truth.

  Sitting down to steady his nerves and have another, much needed refill of wine, Acclon recalled the day he’d met Morgan Le Fay.

  The memories he now recalled had a newly heightened clarity, details that somehow he’d either chosen to ignore, or had been hidden from his memory by magick or drugs.

  The market had been crowded that day, Acclon had been one of the Knights assigned to protect the villagers as there’d been reports that a band of gypsies were causing trouble.

  He remembered the day being extremely hot, and made even more uncomfortable due to the sun’s reflection on his armour. As he’d walked through the market stalls, an old woman had taken pity upon him and offered him a cool drink. Acclon had accepted her kindness with gratitude, but now remembered feeling a little light headed shortly after, but had assumed at the time it was due to the heat of the afternoon.

  It wasn’t long after that he’d spotted her.

  Standing with her back to him, he remembered the rest of the world had seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of them in the heat of the afternoon.

  Time had seemed to slow unnaturally as she turned, her hair and the silks she wore flowing with her movements as though in water, not air. But at that moment, Acclon had not noticed anything other then her face, and from that point onward it had been all about her; her needs, her desires, her plans… and her orders.

  Acclon swept a hand over his damp brow as he remembered his friends begging him to go see Merlin, they’d told him they believed he’d been enchanted, so changed was his personality. But he’d not believed them, he’d thought they were jealous. That they’d wanted Morgan Le Fay for themselves, and were conspiring to take her from him. Now he remembered, with perfect clarity, who’d told him of their jealousy — Morgan Le Fay.

  Acclon’s tormented face broke, tears burning his eyes as he remembered even his King’s entreaty to get help, Arthur had actually begged him to allow Merlin to break the enchantment, but he hadn’t listened.

  And even worse, he’d believed her stories about the King’s caviler use of his Knights; that he cared nothing for them, regarding them as tools to be used and disposed of — that too had been Morgan Le Fay’s whispers in his ear.

  Acclon had followed Nivane, Morgan Le Fay, Viviane or whatever forms the Naiad had taken, through dimensions and ages, all in pursuit of her dark and selfish plans.

  And ironically, after all of that, it was Merlin that finally broke the enchantment with a simple dream, just as he could have ages earlier, if only Acclon had listened to the people who’d loved him and gone to him for help.

  He’d been a fool, and even knowing it was all due to a dark spell, his heart was still heavy with guilt and sorrow.

  Filled with regret and anger at himself, Acclon quickly dressed. He knew what he had to do. It was too late to repair the damage he’d done to his King and friends — but he could still right one wrong and repay Merlin at the same time.

  Strapping on
his old chainmaille and his now dull, rusty armour, Acclon walked purposefully to his cot. Feeling carefully under the mattress, he pulled out a bejewelled sword, he remembered the day he’d gone back to retrieve it from the lake where it had been thrown long ago, just after King Arthurs death in his final battle with the evil Mordred.

  The blade was not dull or rusted as Acclon’s armour had been, but shone with an unnatural light; its hilt encrusted with priceless gems it felt…alive in his grip. Acclon knew such a feeling was only granted by the magickal sword to warriors with the purest of hearts for the worthiest of battles. He smiled grimly, the purity of his heart was questionable, but the battle ahead was certainly worthy of such a sword.

  Acclon had kept it safely hidden thinking it would be the perfect gift for his beloved once she had been restored to him as Morgan Le Fay. He’d been physically unable present it to Nivane in her current condition. Maybe it had been due to a small fraction of knightly honour that had remained hidden within his soul, but no matter, he was now grateful for his deception, as he turned Excaliber in his grip and pushed it into the scabbard strapped to his side.