The Seven Swords

by Nils Johnson-Shelton

  Dred stepped closer to Morgaine. “Please, Mum, give me another chance. Let me use his own sword against him!”

  Morgaine’s eyes went wide. “Use Excalibur? You? I wouldn’t let you within fifty feet of that sword now. Besides, how smart do you think that would be, letting him get so close to his weapon? He’d take it from you, and you’d be in pieces before you could count to two.”

  Dred slumped. “All right, maybe you’re right. But give me another chance. Please,” he pleaded.

  Morgaine spun away in disgust. “Proxies!” she spit.

  “What’s that, Mum?” Dred asked.

  “Lavery, Twrch Trwyth—neither could stop him. My tornadoes nearly had him, but that damned Sylvanian dragon had to whisk him away. Now you—who were raised to be his equal!—you can’t stop him either.”

  “His equal?” Dred asked. This was the first time he’d ever heard anything like that. “Mum, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Oh—never mind,” Morgaine said, shaking her head like she was trying to rid her mind of unwanted thoughts. She waved her staff through the air in front of her son. “I’m just mad. Forget it,” she said softly.

  Dred felt a little queasy, and quite suddenly did forget what she’d just said about proxies and Lavery and monsters. And being the king’s equal.

  “You’re too dim to understand anyway,” Morgaine added in a dulcet tone.

  Dred stepped back, confusion covering his face. He remembered saying that he’d almost captured Artie, but . . . then what? Still angry, Dred clenched his teeth and said, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get him, Mum. I didn’t want to let you down.”

  Which was true.

  Morgaine said, “It’s okay, dear. So long as we have his sword and The Anguish, he can’t get to Avalon. Eventually, he will have to come to us. Now it’s clear I must be ready. You will never be. Come. Tell me what happened. It will be helpful,” Morgaine said, squeezing his arm.

  Dred hesitated but then followed her and told the story of how he’d fought and nearly captured King Artie Kingfisher. Morgaine didn’t say a word, and her silence made him angry. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt like she was toying with his feelings. Literally.

  Sometimes parents were really a pain in the butt.

  He finished as they came to her room. Morgaine turned to Dred and he could tell that he wasn’t going to be let in. He gathered his strength and said, “Can I ask a question, Mum?”

  “Of course, dear,” she said.

  “What’s wrong with Artie’s face? Is there a spell on my helmet that prevents me from seeing it?”

  Morgaine lowered her eyes. “Don’t concern yourself with that, pet. I mean it.”

  Dred wanted to ask more, but couldn’t. He knew when his mother was finished talking about something.

  “Leave me now, child. Go check on the prisoners.”

  “They need blankets,” Dred said quietly, remembering Qwon’s request. “It has been cold at night.”

  “Fine,” Morgaine said. “Give them blankets, but not tonight. I only need them for nine more nights anyway. Now go. I’m done with you for today.” She turned away, and then added, “I don’t need you anymore.”

  Dred stood there as his mother disappeared into her room, her final words ringing in his ears.

  As evening descended, a jarring screech reverberated around the portico.

  Qwon sat up quickly and was mildly startled when Shallot’s disembodied voice whispered in her ear, “Some-thing’s happened.”

  After a few minutes of silence, Qwon lay back on the grass. The sun was down, but an army of great, puffy clouds could still be seen as they marched across the twilit sky. She played that game of looking for shapes in them. She tried to force herself to see animals or famous buildings or cars or boats, but all she really saw was food: a fried egg, onion rings, a banana, a bunch of grapes.

  Man, she missed food.

  It was getting cold. She moved and huddled in a corner, pulling her knees to her chest. She really, really wanted a blanket.

  But Dred still hadn’t brought one.

  Breakfast was late the next morning. For whatever reason, the little door had remained shut, and no tray with porridge or water had appeared.

  Qwon waited in a patch of warm sun, letting the night’s cold melt away. Her eyes were closed and the sunlight made the inside of her eyelids glow like embers.

  Embers that could be used to grill hamburgers, zucchini, or hot dogs.

  Man, she missed food!

  Finally the door slid open. She lifted her head and looked down the length of her body as the tray was being pushed out.

  Something was different. Previously, Dred had used a stick to push the tray out. Today, he used his hand. His fingers lingered on the edge of the tray and even turned it a little bit, as if to put it in place.

  Qwon got up. And when she got close to the tray, Dred’s hand bent up and gave her a little wave!

  Qwon plopped onto her knees and said, “Hey.”

  Dred rested his hand back down, and then, as though he realized that he’d made a mistake, pulled it back quickly and shut the little door.

  “No, wait!” Qwon said, lunging forward. But it was too late.

  Not like she knew what she would have done with it, anyway. Was she going to hold it? That would’ve been weird. Slap it? No. Pull it toward her? Also no.

  Maybe she did want to hold it.

  Whatever. Being alone was doing funny things to her.

  She picked up the cup. Something was different with it too. It wasn’t tea. Something brown was floating on top of it. She brought it to her nose.

  It was apple cider! Hot apple cider!

  With cinnamon!

  Qwon slurped the liquid. It burned the tip of her tongue, but it was like a revelation. Memories of Christmas and ski trips to the Poconos crashed over her. She remembered her mom and dad when they were still together, and her grandfather and grandmother on vacation from Hawaii (she never could understand why someone would leave Hawaii to come to Pittsburgh in the winter, but they did). She remembered her grandfather’s strange and amazing stories of their ancestors.

  “Thanks, Dred. This is amazing.”

  And to her surprise, a muffled “You’re welcome” came through the wooden door.

  Bingo.

  The food door cracked open again. Qwon leaned over but couldn’t see anything on the other side.

  “There’s something under the porridge too,” Dred said. His voice was clearer, and Qwon could tell that he had lain down on the floor and put his mouth near the slot.

  It instantly occurred to Qwon how stupid Dred was being. If Shallot had wanted, she could have reappeared and thrust her staff quickly and violently through the little crack, crushing Dred’s face. Qwon desperately hoped Shallot wouldn’t do anything like that, because it would ruin whatever was happening.

  “What is it?” Qwon asked, picking up the bowl. She cautiously pulled the small spoon from inside her shirt.

  “Just look,” Dred said.

  Qwon pushed the porridge around and found two absolute treasures: a thick mass of melted chocolate and a soggy but well-cooked strip of bacon.

  She looked over her shoulder, as if Shallot might try to steal her treats. Then she dug into the bottom of the bowl, breaking the meat into smaller pieces, and scooped up a spoonful of chocolaty bacon.

  Ahhhhhh.

  That was more like it.

  She took another bite. And another. And another.

  “You like it?” Dred asked quietly.

  “Oh my god,” Qwon said with her mouth full. “I love it. Thank you.”

  “Slow down. Others watch you guys from time to time too.”

  Oh, right. In her excitement Qwon had momentarily forgotten she was a prisoner.

  She turned and slumped against the wall and faked nonchalance, even disgust. She covered the treats with porridge and ate slower.

  Qwon finished her cider and then everything in her bowl. She d
esperately wanted to lick it clean, like she had on her first day there, but thought that might draw attention.

  Finally she asked, “What was that awful noise I heard last night?”

  Dred didn’t answer. Instead he slid out another cup. It was full of water, and it even had an ice cube in it. The food door slid most of the way shut again.

  Qwon could barely believe it. “Dred,” she asked wryly, “are you going to ask me on a date or something?”

  Dred chuckled, but then he sighed. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  Qwon took a full sip of water. It was crisp and cold. “No kidding,” she said, and drank the rest greedily. Neither of them said anything for a while.

  “Have you seen that accursed fairy?” Dred finally asked.

  “No. She whispers insults to me now and then, and I smell her occasionally, but I never see her. You?”

  “No. They’re awful things, those fairies.”

  “Yeah,” Qwon pretended to agree. “I hope I never see her again.”

  More silence. Then, “That sound was my mother.”

  Qwon swallowed hard. “That was Morgaine?”

  “Uh-huh,” Dred said. “Or her sorceress’s staff at least.”

  “Wow. Was she pissed or something?”

  Dred didn’t answer and Qwon didn’t press him. She realized that as strange as this Otherworld place was, kids still probably fought with their parents.

  His silence persisted. A breeze pushed through the portico. Shallot, still invisible, whispered in her ear, “Ask about the king.”

  After a few moments Qwon whispered, “Dred, have you heard anything about Artie?”

  Dred hissed and said, “I’d rather not talk about him.”

  “So you have heard something?” Qwon asked a little too eagerly.

  Dred’s strange answer came almost too quickly: “By the fens, I hate her!”

  Then he slammed the little door shut.

  Qwon didn’t understand why, but she knew perfectly well who he was talking about.

  “Sorry if your mom’s bugging you,” she said, wondering if Dred was still there. “And thanks again.”

  She licked the spoon clean and slid it into her shirt. Then she stood and stretched and walked to the patch of sunlight that was now creeping across the inner yard of the portico.

  Free from hunger, she looked to the clouds again. And this time she saw a snake, a skyscraper, a motorcycle, even a perfect unicorn in midjump.

  That evening before bed, the food door slid open and Dred wordlessly pushed out a stack of blankets. Qwon stared at them for a few minutes before going to get them.

  While she did this, Shallot whispered from somewhere behind her, “It’s working. With luck we’ll be out of here before the new moon rises.”

  Qwon hoped Shallot was right.

  15 - IN WHICH MERLIN SENDS OVER A PRETTY SWEET CARE PACKAGE

  While Qwon was enjoying her surprise breakfast of porridge, bacon, and chocolate, Bercilak clanked through the great hall of the court-in-exile carrying a large wooden box. Everyone was at the round table having a big breakfast before heading off to Mont-Saint-Michel. Bercilak joined them and plopped the box down.

  “By the trees, Master Merlin packs a heavy crate. This just arrived for you, sire,” the green knight boomed.

  “Mind opening it, Bercy?” Artie asked.

  “Not at all.” He pulled his giant battle-ax over his shoulder, took a step back, and with a single swing cleanly took the top off the box. Bercilak stowed his weapon and began digging in the container, throwing a mixture of packing peanuts and wood shavings to the floor. A lot of the peanuts stuck to his hands and arms, charged by static electricity.

  “My, how I hate these silly things,” Bercilak said. “Such a pain to clean up.”

  “What’s in there, Bercy?” Kay asked.

  “Oh, of course. Let’s see.” He reached into the box and pulled out a case of Mountain Dew.

  “A case! No way! No one tell Kynder,” Kay whispered excitedly.

  “It’s cold too,” Bercilak said. “Don’t know how he did that. . . .”

  “Magic, right?” Erik asked.

  “Right,” Artie confirmed.

  “Ah, but look at this!” Bercilak said, heaving out a second case.

  “Two! Oh, man.” Kay sighed. “I love that Merlin. Bercy, toss a cold one over here, please.”

  Bercilak peeled open one of the cases and threw a can to Kay. Then he passed cans to everyone else and kept one for himself. He watched as they drank, all ahhhing with delight. Bercilak opened his, held it directly over his helmet, and poured in the entire contents.

  “Hmm,” he said. “I have to admit, it’s quite good. Tell me, Artie, from which mountain is this dew collected?”

  “Mount Pepsi, I think,” Artie answered seriously as Kay shot him a wink of approval.

  “Well, if I ever have the pleasure of visiting your side, I hope to visit Mount Pepsi and sample its dew alfresco,” Bercilak intoned.

  “That’d be great, Bercy. I’ll join you,” Artie said. “Anything else in there?”

  “Hmm . . . yes! A tube for Sir Lance, a small box for Sir Bedevere, and a soft paper package with a tag on it that says, ‘All.’”

  Bercilak handed out the packages. Lance opened his first. “Let’s see . . . three arrows and some kind of necklace with a nasty yellow tooth on it.” He turned the tube upside down and a tiny tag fell into his hand. He squinted at it and said, “Man, Merlin sure can write small.”

  “What’s it say?” Kay asked.

  “‘Three limitless arrows. Will travel any distance and always hit their mark. Use wisely.’ Wow,” Lance said as he tickled one of the arrows’ feather fletchings. He continued to read. “‘Tooth on necklace belonged to Sir Geoffrey Mallory, last rightful bearer of Orgulus. Wear this talisman and Orgulus will be yours.’ Sweet!” he said, and pulled the necklace over his head.

  “Sir Geoffrey Mallory, did you say?” Bercilak said.

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “I know of him. He was an inveterate rapscallion in his day. Got into tons of trouble. Master swordsman, of course, and a fairly able writer, if I recall.”

  “Cool,” Artie said. “What’s in yours, Beddy?”

  Bedevere tore open his package and pulled out a plain copper ring about seven inches across. Tied to this was another minute note. He read, “‘I present your phantom limb, Sir Bedevere. Will magically fit your stump. When activated (“Phantoma!”), it will conjure a superstrong, ghostlike arm that will last two minutes. Needs an hour to fully recharge, and will do so on its own.’ A phantom arm . . . ,” Bedevere wondered.

  “That’s awesome! Try it out!” Artie said.

  Bedevere rolled up his sleeve and pushed the ring onto his stump. As promised, it was a perfect fit. He moved what was left of his arm around, looking at the ring, and finally said, “Phantoma!”

  A hazy, barely visible appendage grew from his stump. Bedevere moved it through the air, turning it over. He ran his real hand over it and then swiped right through it. “Amazing,” Bedevere said.

  “Can you feel it?” Erik asked, his mouth full of eggs and bacon.

  “I can. It’s kind of like . . . like my old arm,” Bedevere lamented.

  “Sorry, Beddy,” Artie said.

  “Don’t worry about it, sire. Besides, it doesn’t feel exactly like my old arm. This one feels better. And it can’t be chopped off!”

  Bedevere grabbed the edge of the round table with the phantom limb—and then lifted the table clear off the ground!

  “By the trees!” Bercilak exclaimed. “I had to move that last year, and it took me a full hour to drag it ten feet! What a wonder! Wilt Chamberlain sure is a fancy wizard!”

  “So that leaves one more package, Art,” Erik said. “What’s in it?”

  Artie took the remaining gift from the table and tore it open as Kay peered over his shoulder.

  “Shirts?” she asked dubiously as she stared at the
package’s contents.

  Artie picked up the tiny note that sat on top of the clothes and read, “‘Special armored shirts depicting your respective coats of arms. Each contains three million bonded sheets of graphene, an experimental lattice of carbon that will not tear. Wonderful stuff. Try it!’”

  Kay passed them out. Blazoned across the front and back of each was a large, shield-shaped coat of arms. Artie’s was blue with three golden crowns; Bedevere’s was black with a red castle; Erik’s was blue with a yellow tree; Lance’s was red-and-white diagonal stripes crossed by a pair of black arrows; and Kay’s was blue with two white keys. There was one more, adorned by a white field with a red fist sticking up its thumb, which was for Thumb.

  They pulled the graphene shirts over whatever they were already wearing. Each fit perfectly. More magic, no doubt. They smoothed them over their bodies and checked each other out.

  “We look like a motley soccer team or something,” Artie said.

  “Who’s gonna try one?” Kay asked.

  Erik shrugged. “I will. Bercilak, would you do the honors?”

  “I’d be delighted to!” Bercilak said, removing his ax from his shoulder again.

  Erik held out the front of his shirt like he was going to catch something in it. Bercilak tried to cut it with the edge of his ax, but nothing happened. “Go ahead, give it a whack,” Erik said as he steadied himself.

  Bercilak held up his ax and brought it down hard. Erik teetered but didn’t fall as the shirt was knocked out of his hands. Then he held it up again and examined it.

  Nothing.

  Artie took his dagger and tried to punch a hole in his own shirt with its point.

  Also nothing.

  “Sweet,” Kay said.

  “I’ll say,” Artie agreed. “I might never take mine off!”

  Kay stuffed Thumb’s shirt into the infinite backpack and said, “Thank goodness for Merlin.”

  “Amen to that,” Lance said.

  “Kay, can you grab the iPad?” Artie asked. “I want to see what it says about Orgulus. Plus we need to get a bead on this Mont-Saint-Michel place so we can gate there.”

  “Roger that,” Kay said as she handed the tablet to her brother.