by Donna Hosie
We continued to walk in double file along the pavement: Bedivere and Arthur took the lead; then Tristram and Gareth followed; David staggered by himself, and then Talan and I brought up the rear. I was ready to run like the wind should Talan make a bolt for it, but his inquisitive urges seemed to have been satisfied for now, and he trotted along beside me quite happily, humming away to himself without a care in the world.
Our tall, white Georgian house loomed up in front of us. The narrow windows looked like dark eyes watching the world. The square was quiet, except for the muffled barking of a dog from within one of the houses. I walked around the knights. They had formed an arc in the road, facing the house front.
“My castle,” announced Arthur theatrically.
“You had better introduce them when we get inside,” I whispered. “Mum is less likely to freak out if they’re your friends.”
“True,” he replied. “Mum would freak out more if you actually turned up with some friends.”
Arthur got a punch on the arm for that.
I let Arthur do all the talking once we were inside the house. Our mother took it quite well, but judging by her bloodshot eyes and the lipstick-stained, crystal glass that was on the table, I think she may have had more to drink than David. He introduced Bedivere, Tristram, Gareth, Talan and David as old friends who he hadn’t seen for a while.
It wasn’t a lie.
The knights’ swords were still in Arthur’s car, but as soon as we said we were going to listen to some music, Arthur ducked out, and with Bedivere’s help, managed to get the swords back inside and upstairs without our mother noticing.
Our father – naturally – wasn’t there. I had given up caring about what country required his undivided attention these days.
Slurpy was waiting; she was lying down on Arthur’s big brass bed. She had stripped down to her low rise jeans and a short pink t-shirt. It had been ages since I had seen her without a big jumper or jacket on, and I was surprised at how much bigger she looked, especially around her chest. Had she had a boob job?
Arthur bent down, brushed her long dark hair away from her pale face and kissed her.
“They’re not sleeping in here, Arthur,” whined Slurpy.
The knights ignored her. They were all too busy prowling around the room, picking up CDs and DVDs and books and Arthur’s Taekwondo trophies like they were magical objects.
“It’s a big house, Sammy,” replied Arthur, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “We’ll find them somewhere to bunk down for a couple of days.”
“Bedivere can sleep in my room,” I said sheepishly.
Arthur didn’t respond. From the thunderous look on his face, his back teeth had locked his jaw into place.
“Lady Samantha, you have our word that we will not remain in your land and time for long,” said Bedivere gravely. “We must return to Logres before the moon wanes once more.”
“And I suppose you intend to take my Arthur,” she snapped back. It wasn’t a question.
“Camelot needs its king,” said Gareth.
“Then I’m coming as well,” replied Slurpy.
“No you aren’t,” I said immediately. There was no way in a thousand years I was going to let that witch go back.
“Arthur isn’t going anywhere without me,” said Slurpy, reaching out for his hand, “especially now.”
I yelped as I felt a hot pinch against my right butt cheek. The acorn from Logres was burning again.
“Why is it doing that today?” I asked, pulling the seed out of my back pocket. I placed it on the cream carpeted floor of Arthur’s enormous bedroom. “It’s never burnt me before. It’s never done anything before.”
“Where did you find it again, Titch?” asked Arthur, bending down low to look at it. He was sweating.
“By the Falls of Merlin. This weird little bearded squirrel dropped it. I swear it was watching me.”
“Acorns don’t have eyes,” said Slurpy.
“I was talking about the squirrel,” I replied through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes at Arthur. How on earth could he continue to date someone so stupid? Wood was less dense.
Tristram and Talan were pushing the buttons on Arthur’s large stereo system. The pounding thump of bass erupted from the speakers, which made David jump back in fright. He toppled over Arthur’s weights, which had been left on the carpet.
“It is so warm in this dwelling,” said Bedivere, “but how can it be so? Even the uncursed sun is forsaken at this hour.” He unclasped his cloak and let it drop to the ground. I could see his collarbone and the contours of his chest. The urge to kiss his neck pushed past the image of the waterfall, and the hairy little rodent protecting it.
Arthur prodded me with his boot.
“Will you stop drooling on my carpet,” he snarled.
“I bet there are worse things on your carpet than my drool.”
“The two of you cross many words often,” said David. “Are the women in this time always so stubborn, Arthur?”
“The women in my time have to keep the men in their place because they’re all so stupid,” I replied tartly.
Bedivere was laughing in the corner; his green eyes flashed across the room at me.
I turned to my brother. “Can you defer, oh king of my world, any decisions or plans about how we are going to get back to Camelot until the morning? I want to show Bedivere my bedroom.”
“You aren’t showing Bedivere anything.”
But it was too late. Leaving the acorn on the carpet, I jumped to my feet, grabbed Bedivere’s hand and pulled him from the room. Up another flight of narrow stairs, and we reached the top floor of the house: my prison with bars for the last two months.
“I do not wish to displease Arthur,” said Bedivere, as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Leave Arthur to me,” I said softly, touching Bedivere’s moist lips with my fingers.
“And your lady mother?”
“Can you just shut up and kiss me now that we’re alone?”
Bedivere did. We fell through my bedroom door with a clatter, sending a pile of CD cases cascading onto the floor. A shower of dust exploded upwards. The cleaner my mother employed could only manage one flight of stairs in the house, and so if I wanted my room clean, I had to do it myself. I wasn’t very good at it.
“I had all but given up to hope that I would ever see you again,” whispered Bedivere.
We fell onto my single bed. I hooked my leg over Bedivere’s and climbed on top of him. His warm hands searched the skin on my back, and then slowly moved around my waist to my tummy. I instinctively sucked it in. As Bedivere’s calloused fingers reached the long scar below my ribs, he pulled away.
“May I see?” he asked softly.
I nodded, as a lump lodged in my throat. The surgeons had done the best they could, but by the time we made it back to our time, the wound caused by Archibald’s knife had become infected. They told me afterwards they had to cut away some of the surrounding tissue. It wasn’t as hideous as it had been several months ago, all inflamed and raw pink like undercooked meat, but I wasn’t going to be wearing a bikini any day soon. It looked like a pale pink crescent moon now, complete with bumpy craters.
“It’s ugly,” I whispered, worried by what Bedivere would think now that I was damaged, but I kneeled on the bed and slowly pulled up my jumper anyway.
I stared up at my ceiling for several long seconds as Bedivere didn’t say a word. I could hear the sharp intake of breath though, as he saw the end result of my own attempt at chivalry.
And then I felt his mouth touch the tender skin.
I didn’t have a lock on my bedroom door. Arthur did, but my request for one had been refused by my parents. They were quite happy to bar my windows, but heaven forbid I should be allowed to stop people barging in.
And barge in they did.
Thankfully, the wooden stairs and creaking boards of the top floor were the alarm we needed, and Bedivere and I hastily rearranged our cloth
es just in time. Seconds later, Arthur, Tristram, Gareth, Talan and David flew through the door, crunching the fallen CD cases into the carpet. The sound of splintering, cracking plastic set my teeth on edge.
“Mum said the guys can sleep in the two spare rooms tonight,” said Arthur. “All of them,” he said, with added emphasis for my benefit.
“And where is your girlfriend sleeping, may I ask?”
“With me.”
“So why can’t my boyfriend sleep in my room?”
Bedivere moved himself between Arthur and me.
“I will rest where Arthur requests, Natasha,” he said, “but I fear I will not sleep. I can sense a shadow and fear coming ever closer.”
Arthur looked triumphant, and so I swore at him. The knights wished me a good night’s rest, and I was left alone – again. It was quite remarkable how, even with a house full of people, I managed to find myself back in solitary confinement by night.
Tossing and turning, I could hear the low muttering of voices coming from across the hall, but I knew Bedivere wouldn’t leave the other knights now. I tried to make out what they were saying, but their whisperings were too low. Occasionally one of them would laugh, but I didn’t recognise Bedivere’s gruff voice.
I was curled up under my patchwork quilt, with thick white socks on my feet to keep away the cold. Outside, the screams of emergency vehicles became the night’s soundtrack. An amber glow from a street lamp made strange shadows on the wall. The shadows were moving. I plumped my pillow and curled my knees up to my chest. I would have to shave my legs tomorrow, I thought, as I clutched at my stubbly shins.
I felt the lids of my eyes getting heavier and heavier. The light from outside was changing as my lids lowered. It was becoming darker, almost blue in colour.
I heard a creak outside on the wooden floorboards. It was probably my mother checking that the monotonous creaks from Arthur’s brass bed weren’t being repeated by mine.
The door slowly opened, and even though it was dark, I could see the outline of my mother in the doorway. She had changed into her nightdress because her silhouette was long and lean.
She glided across the carpet. What was she doing? She wasn’t seriously going to kiss me goodnight? How much had she had to drink?
My mother bent down over me, and hovered in the haze of the blue light.
Only it wasn’t my mother.
As I screamed, an ice cold hand wrapped its long fingers around my throat. A waterfall of hair smothered my face, as the point of something long and glistening pressed at my forehead. The pungent smell of lilies filled my nostrils. A paralysis gripped me; I couldn’t move my legs or arms. Fear, like that I had experienced with Balvidore and the Saxons the previous year, crushed down on me.
The door crashed open. It was still dark and I was still screaming. By the time Arthur and my mother arrived to restore order, my bedroom was trashed. My books and schoolwork and cuddly toys were strewn over the floor.
“What has happened in here, Natasha?” cried my mother.
“Lady Natasha was screaming, m’lady,” replied a blushing Gareth. “We hurried to aid her.”
“Another nightmare, Titch?”
My limbs were shaking. Goose pimples had erupted all over my body, although I was sweating like I had run a short distance very fast. I looked to my mum, who had a strange, glazed expression on her face. She was watching Bedivere as he stroked hair away from my damp face. I was crying, although I couldn’t remember starting to.
“She was here, Arthur.” My voice was strange, but definitely mine. I could taste bitterness. I still sensed the pressure point from the icicle-shaped dagger that had been pressing against my forehead.
“Who was here?” asked Bedivere in a low voice.
“No one was here,” said Arthur. “It was just a nightmare. Mum and Sammy are the only two other women in the house, and Sammy’s still sleeping, or at least she was.”
I clung to Bedivere.
“Don’t go,” I whispered, as everyone, assuming I had experienced nothing worse than a nightmare, made to leave my trashed bedroom.
Bedivere looked at Arthur and then my mother. She nodded once, and took a step towards me, as if to touch me, but then changed her mind and turned. As she reached the door, almost as an apology, she asked, “Would you like some hot chocolate, Natasha?”
“No - thank you.”
“Arthur’s right, it was just another one of your nightmares.”
The light was extinguished and everyone left, leaving Bedivere and me in the weak glow of the amber street light. The blue haze had disappeared.
“Don’t let me go,” I begged Bedivere, as he pulled the quilt over me.
“Never again. Of that you have my word.”
But I knew that even Bedivere wouldn’t be able to fight off the magical power of Nimue. She knew where I was, and she was coming for me.
Chapter Six
The Beggar
When I woke up the next morning, I felt more exhausted than I had ever done in my life. Bedivere was sitting in a corner; his legs were bent up, with his sword between his knees. His beautiful green eyes were open, but he wasn’t looking at anything solid; he seemed to be reflecting back into the past. He looked lost.
Bedivere wants to go home, whispered my inner voice.
The paralysis of the night terror had left my limbs in agony. I didn’t stir under the covers, but Bedivere must have noticed the change in my breathing, because he placed his sword onto the carpet and crawled over to me.
“How long have you been sitting in the corner?”
“A while.”
“I didn’t keep you awake, did I?”
I was so used to Bedivere being the perfect gentleman, I expected him to deny I made any noise, other than the sound of a harp being gently plucked while I slept, but to my chagrin, Bedivere laughed.
“Oh no,” I groaned, burying my face into the pillow. “Arthur’s right. I snore like a hog on heroin.”
My boyfriend was still laughing.
“I know not this heroine of whom you speak, or why a hog would be resting on her, but I welcome any sound that comes from your lips, Natasha. It tells me you are alive.”
I desperately wanted to kiss him, but I was far too conscious of my morning breath. I knew it was silly. In Logres I hadn’t brushed my teeth properly for weeks, and, for most of my time there, I had been covered in blood and dirt and other muck I didn’t want to think too much about. Yet my hygiene seemed to matter more in this time, because I had no excuse. Toothpaste and shampoo were just across the hall. I swivelled my aching legs out of the bed, and rubbed the sleepy dust out of my eyes.
“Your neck!” exclaimed Bedivere suddenly. “Natasha!”
There was a long oval-shaped mirror on the wall of my bedroom; the surround was covered in seashells. I looked in it, and gasped at the sight in front of me.
Five long thin marks were burnt into my pale skin. They couldn’t have been bruises because they were dark red in colour, and the skin around the marks was already blistering.
“Get Arthur.”
Without a word, Bedivere ran from the room. I could hear his heavy footsteps pounding down the wooden stairs. Moments later, his footsteps were joined by several more as he returned with Arthur and Gareth.
“Look,” I said, showing my brother my neck. “Do you believe me now?”
“Titch, you look as if you’ve been throttled,” cried Arthur.
“It was Nimue. I told you, she was here in the room last night.”
Bedivere and Gareth swapped looks.
“But you didn’t say it was Nimue,” exclaimed Arthur.
“Yes I did.”
“Lady Natasha, you said she was here. You did not utter the name of the Lady of the Lake,” said Gareth softly. He took a couple of steps towards me. “May I be permitted to look?” he asked, reaching up to touch my throat. I nodded.
“She has been burnt by magic,” said Gareth, examining my throat. “I have see
n this before. It is the mark of a sorcerer’s anger.”
“Our passage back to Logres is now the more urgent, Arthur,” said Bedivere. He looked stricken, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly. “We cannot delay a moment longer. We have brought the darkness with us.”
“But why Titch?” asked Arthur. “Why would Nimue try and hurt my sister? It doesn’t make sense.”
“The acorn,” I replied. “Somehow, by bringing that back with me, I’ve unlocked whatever spell was keeping Merlin trapped. Perhaps Nimue was looking for it?”
“Where is the acorn now?” asked Gareth.
“I left it in Arthur’s room last night,” I replied.
There was a second’s hesitation, and then the four of us ran.
Arthur reached the door of his bedroom first; he had jumped the last four steps of the stairs in one leap. The vibrations of our urgency bounced along the first floor landing, sending a vase of dried flowers crashing to the floor.
“SAMMY,” yelled Arthur. “SAM.”
Arthur’s bedroom was empty.
“What’s going on, Arthur?” cried a deep voice from the doorway. It was my father. His moustache was bristling with annoyance. It appeared we had just woken him up, which meant he and mum were probably sleeping in separate beds, as the main bedroom was on the ground floor.
“When did you get back?”
“Late last night,” replied my father; he didn’t look at me.
“Where’s Sammy?” cried Arthur.
“Where’s my acorn?” I said, falling to my hands and knees to fingertip-search Arthur’s cluttered floor.
Bedivere and Gareth were as concerned as me about the missing link to Logres, and they also fell to the carpet, and began searching amongst the clothes and sneakers and grass-stained sports gear that, judging by the smell, should have been washed months ago.
Tristram and Talan then appeared.
“Is Sammy downstairs?”
