The Fire of Merlin (The Return to Camelot #2)

by Donna Hosie

  “It will be an honour,” replied Gareth, as Bedivere let go of my right elbow and beckoned to Arthur to follow him. I watched Slurpy’s face as the two of them walked away from us. Her pale skin had a mottled look to it, but it wasn’t like a blush, it was more cream coloured, like a marble statue. She was still wearing a lot of eye make-up, but ever since Arthur and I had moved to London, Slurpy had moved away from the garish purple make-up, and was instead wearing charcoal colours that she had smudged around the edges. If I ever wore my make-up like that, I would just look like I had been beaten up, but Slurpy managed to look quite cool, and a lot older than seventeen. There was something else different about her as well, that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  We had reached the stands. David was in the distance, but we could see from his animated actions that he was not impressed with the choice of lances he was being offered. As Gareth took off his dark brown cloak and placed it on the plastic seat for me to sit on, a booming voice came over the tannoy. Tristram, Gareth and Talan immediately pulled out their swords and whirled around, looking for the source.

  “Idiots,” hissed Slurpy, but she was stunned as many in the crowd started to clap, clearly thinking this was part of the tournament.

  “’Bout time there were some hot knights here,” called a blonde, who seriously needed to get her roots touched up. She stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. “You can point your sword in my direction anytime, darlin’.”

  My head was still buzzing, like a swarm of bees was trying to get out, but I quickly grabbed Gareth and Talan and hauled them back onto the seats.

  “It’s a loudspeaker,” I explained, pointing to the tannoy. “It means people can make their voices louder.”

  “Lady Natasha,” said Talan in awe, “you did not speak of the magic in your land and time.”

  And then the realisation hit me. I had fallen into a magical, mythical time and adapted quite well, if you discount the blue flame that had almost blown my head off, the white Ddraig that had tried to eat me, a Saxon warlord who had held a knife to my throat, and the deranged knight who had actually succeeded in filleting me. Now it was the knights’ turn to explore another land and time. This was going to be as strange and terrifying for them, as fire and war had been to me.

  Slurpy seemed to know what I was thinking, because she slid into the seat behind me and hissed into my ear.

  “They won’t last a day if a loudspeaker scares them. Soon they’ll be gone, and you’ll end up slitting your wrists in despair. I’ll lend you a razor, if you like.”

  Hatred surged through every inch of me. What did my brother see in this creature? Arthur had said it himself, he knew hundreds of girls, and in my opinion, any one of them would be preferable to Slurpy.

  “Sirs, ladies and ye olde peasant folk,” announced the voice over the tannoy. “Pray put your hands together and welcome Sir David of Starston to the joust.”

  David had chosen a huge chestnut coloured horse covered in purple and yellow tack. As the tannoy announced his name, David reared his horse onto its hind legs. He saluted the crowd, which exploded into cheers, the loudest of which came from Tristram, Gareth and Talan. I stole a look at David’s competitor who had his metal visor up. He looked rather confident, and was shaking his head with a one-sided grin on his long face.

  In the distance I could see a middle-aged man, who looked horribly like my father, running towards David with a helmet and armour. He was yelling something about health and safety regulations.

  “Pray, what is that fool doing?” asked Tristram.

  It was too late. An armourless David had already kicked into his horse, and it was thundering along the ground. David gripped the lance in his left hand.

  “Oooh, he’s so brave,” cried the fake blonde behind me. “Come on, gorgeous, kill the bastard.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh, as Tristram, Gareth and Talan all turned around in slow motion to gaze with open mouths at the woman who was baying for blood, with language that would have made my mother pass out.

  “You’re missing David’s big moment,” I shouted, as the lances were locked into a horizontal position by both riders.

  There was a shattering metallic sound; an explosion of splintering wood; the crowd roared its approval and the earth stopped vibrating as the thundering hooves slowed down to a trot. David raised what was left of his lance into the air, and then bent forward to stroke his horse’s neck. The fake blonde was now screaming out exactly what she wanted to do to Sir David of Starston, which was totally gross seeing as he was younger than me.

  Tristram and Talan jumped from their seats and ran across the arena towards their friend. Neither of them stopped to help the fallen 21st century knight, who was struggling to get up from the ground because of all the armour he was wearing. He was lucky that David’s lance appeared to be made out of nothing more substantial than balsa wood. Anything stronger, and he would have been skewered like a corn dog.

  I craned my neck around the stands to see if Bedivere and Arthur had seen David’s victory, but they were standing far back and were deep in conversation. Both of them looked very serious, but then they seemed to become aware that I was watching them as they both glanced over to me and smiled. As I gazed back at Bedivere, my stomach flipped and flopped like the pancakes Arthur had cooked a few days beforehand for Shrove Tuesday. Neither I nor my mother had managed more than a mouthful.

  “I feared Sir Bedivere’s heart would break after you departed Logres, Lady Natasha,” said Gareth quietly.

  I looked over my shoulder, and saw Gareth was still standing next to me. He wasn’t looking at Tristram and Talan, who had now hoisted the victorious David onto their shoulders and were showing him off to the adoring crowd. Instead, Gareth’s small eyes were fixed on Bedivere and Arthur. He had a sad, wistful look on his face, one that I had seen him make a number of times in Logres.

  “He could not speak such was his grief,” continued Gareth. “We vowed to do all within our power to help him find you again, but with every passing cycle of the moon, Sir Bedivere fell deeper into misery.”

  “How did you find us again?”

  “Sir Bedivere had a vision. We were resting near the outskirts of the Falls of Merlin when a darkness came over the weak winter sun. I am ashamed to say I cowered, for I thought it was the end of all days: a punishment for allowing Arthur to leave again.”

  “Why were you near the Falls of Merlin?”

  “Sir Bedivere had found your fallen jewel there, after the attack on Solsbury by Sir Mordred and the druids of Gore. So he was retracing your journey, striving to find another token belonging to you. We found Sir Bedivere one night, walking whilst sleeping. Once he had revived, he told us he had seen the long lost magician, Merlin. Merlin had told Sir Bedivere that the enchantment laid over him by Lady Nimue could now be broken, that the heart of Arthur had passed into another realm with a seed to continue the line.”

  “Seed? Do you mean my acorn?”

  “It would appear so,” smiled Gareth. “We walked through the Falls of Merlin, and the earthen path led us to this strange land. It was Sir Tristram who saw the knights and maidens preparing for the tournament, and so we waited for our quarry.”

  “Your quarry?”

  Gareth laughed. “Why, you and Arthur, Lady Natasha.”

  I blushed, but it wasn’t because I was embarrassed.

  “Do you think Bedivere is telling Arthur about the darkness now?”

  “I am certain of it.”

  “Do we need to go back to your time?”

  “Lady Nimue and Merlin cannot be permitted to battle,” replied Gareth gravely. “They are too powerful. Whilst their quarrel endures, the land of Logres will suffer enormous hardship. Darkness, fire and water will destroy all.”

  “But whose side is Arthur supposed to be on?” I asked. I knew the legend: that Merlin was a trusted advisor to the cuckolded king of the myth; a magician that Nimue had imprisoned for eternity.

  �
��That is for the king to decide.”

  “Whose side are you on, Gareth?”

  “I stand by my king.”

  I looked over to Slurpy. She must have got indigestion because she was rubbing her stomach, which was padded out by a quilted black jacket with a fur-lined hood. Yet another cigarette was in her mouth. In the distance, someone, somewhere, was blowing a hunting horn.

  “Arthur has been known to make mistakes, you know,” I called to Gareth, but he was no longer listening. Bedivere and Arthur had beckoned him over, and I was alone once more, with only the singing wind to hear me.

  Chapter Three

  A Different Kind of Battle

  The organisers of the Medieval Enactment of the Infamous Battle of Breguoin – as written in fancy gold lettering on the flyer – could never have imagined in their wildest dreams who was among them. To be honest, I think they would have all had strokes if they had known. Encouraged by David’s demolition of his opponent in the joust, the other four knights quickly decided they wanted a go as well, and by the end of the day, the drooling groupies following them outnumbered the knights ten to one.

  And that was just the guys.

  Gareth and Talan ran out of arrows as they obliterated the bullseye in the archery contest. Then they decided they would test themselves by aiming for moving objects in the sky. I had to stop them after people started complaining about the amount of dead pigeons falling on top of their heads, although why anyone would bother phoning the RSPCA for disease-ridden birds was beyond me.

  Meanwhile, Bedivere and Tristram were eyeing the combat ring with a hungry gleam that could only mean extreme pain to anyone stupid enough to challenge them.

  “This sword is a work of art,” said a ginger bearded man, who was dressed in red woollen tights and a long purple tunic covered in gold stars. He held Bedivere’s sword in his hands, and slowly turned it to admire the long blade from every angle.

  “Drudwyn has been my trusty friend through many a battle,” said Bedivere smiling. It took me a moment to realise Bedivere was talking about his sword, and not another knight.

  “Were you at Agincourt last year, mate?” asked the bearded man, handing the silver-banded hilt back to Bedivere. “You look familiar.”

  Bedivere shook his head. “There was only one battle of worth in recent times,” he replied, smiling at me. “The day we smote down the heathen Saxons, and took back Camelot for our king.”

  “Blimey, I didn’t know about that one, and me and the wife go to most of the enactments in these parts. Do you have a webpage?”

  Bedivere was becoming confused. “Who is this webbed page he speaks of?”

  “Ah, staying in character I see,” said the man, smiling with approval. “I like it. See, that’s why your lot are proving such a success today.” He turned to his wife, who was dressed like Mother Teresa in a long blue gown with a white headdress. “Maggie, I told you we should stay in character for the whole day.”

  “Yeah, ‘coz not staying in character is why you fail, you fat lump,” replied his wife.

  I pulled Bedivere away, trying not to laugh.

  “The people of your land are very strange,” said Bedivere.

  “And does that include me?” I reached up on my tip-toes and kissed his stubbly cheek.

  “Ah, but you are a rare jewel indeed, my Natasha.”

  “Then go kick their strange asses, my lord.”

  “I will need a favor from my lady to take into the ring with me, lest I die in combat.”

  There was no way he was being serious. I had seen Bedivere take down scores of Saxon warriors and barely break a sweat. He was as likely to die in combat here as I was of becoming Prom Queen, but I was now having way too much fun to not play along, and it had been so long since I had had reason to smile, let alone laugh.

  “You may take my glove, Sir Bedivere,” I said in a haughty voice, pulling off one of my tatty, black fingerless gloves which had a big hole in it, “but take care, as it is very precious to me.”

  “Then by my life or death, it will be returned to your person undamaged, fair lady.”

  Bedivere leapt sideways over the barrier, and walked into the centre of the muddy combat ring. I suddenly became aware I was getting rather hot and sweaty, even though it was freezing cold. Was it normal for being in love to play around with your body thermostat like this? My mother often complained of being too hot or too cold, but she certainly wasn’t in love with anybody, unless you counted Mr. Valium of course.

  “I am Sir Bedivere, a Knight of the Round Table,” announced Bedivere to the watching crowd. “Who here challenges me?”

  “I challenge thee,” called a voice. Sir Tristram, his blonde curly hair bouncing on his head, bounded over the barrier and stared down Bedivere, who was prowling around the ring like a big cat about to pounce.

  “Take heed, Sir Tristram,” he called. “I will strike my hardest at even the bravest of men.”

  “Not if I smite you down first, Sir Bedivere,” replied Tristram, and the slice of metal against metal was soon crashing through the air like musical cymbals.

  As soon as the spectators realised there was a real fight on, they ran in their droves to hang over the side of the wooden combat ring. The panting breath from both Bedivere and Tristram smoked like steam as they fought. Tristram was using the power of both his arms as he clutched the hilt of his sword with two hands, but Bedivere was more nimble, and while he fought with just his left hand, he used his right side to balance his weight.

  Talan and David soon joined me. I couldn’t see Gareth, or my brother; I didn’t care where Slurpy was. Hopefully she had been mistaken for a hog and was slowly being roasted over a spit with an apple in her enormous mouth.

  Back in the ring it was Tristram who appeared to be gaining the upper hand in the fight. His sword had smashed down onto Bedivere’s several times in quick succession, and my guy was now crouched with one knee sinking into the squelching mud.

  “Come on, Bedivere,” I screamed.

  “Victory is yours, Sir Tristram,” yelled David; I punched him on the arm.

  “I sing for both noble knights,” said Talan quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender.

  But just when I - and everyone else - thought Bedivere beaten, he swerved to his left, span his entire body around in the mud, and upended Tristram behind the knees with an outstretched leg. I screamed and clapped my hands together as Tristram fell onto his back. Bedivere stood astride him with his sword pointing down, the sharp point balancing an inch away from Tristram’s bobbing throat.

  “Do you yield?”

  Tristram arched his head back to see where his sword was, but Bedivere had kicked the red-banded hilt away, and it was now lying rather forlornly in the oozing dark grey mud - much like its owner.

  “I yield.”

  Bedivere held out his hand and pulled Tristram to his feet. The spectators shouted and cheered as Tristram raised Bedivere’s hand into the sky.

  I nudged Talan in the ribs with my elbow. “That’s my man.”

  “Of that there is no doubt, Lady Natasha.”

  We found Arthur and Slurpy not long afterwards. I think they had been arguing again because Arthur was white as a sheet. He kept rubbing at his eyes and temples. It was a sign he was stressing out over something major, because he only ever did that before a Taekwondo tournament.

  Whatever Bedivere had said to him must have seriously spooked him.

  Gareth appeared not long after, looking rather sheepish. He had been eating in one of the food tents, and now had tomato ketchup stains down his grey tunic.

  “Had your fill of the feast yet, Sir Gareth?” mocked David, who was in a confident mood after another three wins at the joust.

  “Never in all my days have I tasted anything as magnificent as…hot dogs,” replied Gareth, smacking his lips together. “Come knights of Camelot. Tonight we shall all dine like kings.”

  And with that I lost my boyfriend and his mates to a burger bar in a
green and white striped tent.

  Arthur was sitting at a white plastic table. He was alone and deep in thought.

  “This has been the best day ever!”

  “Glad you came then?” His voice was rather melancholy.

  “So what happens now?”

  “Everything changes, Titch.”

  I crossed my arms on the damp table and placed my head across them.

  “Can we go back?”

  I meant Logres, not our new home in London, and Arthur knew that. He slowly exhaled. His summer tan had faded through the winter, and even his freckles appeared dull. My brother looked older and more exhausted than I had ever seen him.

  “I’m in deep shit, Titch.”

  “But this can’t possibly be as bad as before,” I replied, reaching over and laying my hand on his. It was stone cold. “Now we know there are other paths in time between this world and theirs, we can just keep travelling between the two. We’ll go back, Nimue and this Merlin can be sorted out, we’ll stay for a couple of months, and then come back here to visit mum and dad to keep them happy for a few days – it’ll be perfect. Our secret.”

  Even though I hadn’t said anything to Arthur, I was planning everything in my head already. It would be like living abroad, and as the daughter of a diplomat who had lived in more houses than years I had been alive, it wasn’t as though I couldn’t cope with that. Only now I had hope, because now I would have one true home where I could keep my heart and dreams.

  “I’m not talking about Camelot or any of that,” said Arthur slowly. He ran his fingers through his scruffy blonde hair.

  “Then what?”

  For a brief moment I thought my brother was going to confide in me about what was worrying him, but as quickly as he opened his mouth to speak, he closed it again.

  “We’ll have to take them all home with us, for a couple of days at least,” said Arthur, changing the subject. “It’s going to be difficult, because they aren’t used to our time, but you and I can’t just disappear again. It’ll kill mum.”