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

by Donna Hosie

  “BEDIVERE, NO. GET BACK, ARTHUR.”

  But they were hypnotised.

  The Ddraig unfurled and shook out its wings, and rose onto its muscular legs. With a continuous trail of smoke leading from its nostrils, the Ddraig stalked across the ground towards the two figures walking towards it.

  Fear and memories of Eve were the drivers I needed, and my legs pushed down hard into the dying grass. I reached Arthur and Bedivere; they were no more than twenty feet away from the beast. Pushing my brother to the ground, I screamed and charged at the Ddraig, which reared on its hind legs and sent a blast of crimson fire over my head. The heat blast sent me tumbling to the ground, and I dropped the sword as I threw my arms up to protect myself.

  A figure fell down on top of me.

  “Stay down,” croaked Bedivere, his gruff voice even deeper than normal. “This is Arthur’s quest.”

  “QUEST!” I screamed from beneath Bedivere. “Have you all gone crazy? Have you forgotten what that Ddraig did to the travelling court of Caerleon? It tried to kill me. It did kill Eve.”

  “That was the white Ddraig, Natasha,” said Bedivere patiently, but stubbornly refusing to shift his body from on top of mine. “The white Ddraig is the creature of the Saxon barbarians. The red Ddraig is Arthur’s standard.”

  “You’ve lost your minds.”

  I was wriggling and squirming underneath Bedivere’s body, and the panic I felt was only increasing with the heat now radiating above my head.

  “Please help my brother, Bedivere,” I begged, close to tears.

  “Look, Natasha,” whispered Bedivere, shifting his weight. I squeezed my head out through a gap underneath his armpit, and saw the Ddraig bending down in front of Arthur. The creature was lowering its front two legs, which collapsed backwards at the bony knee joint.

  But instead of swallowing Arthur whole, or roasting him where he stood, the red Ddraig bowed to my brother.

  It bowed to my brother!

  My jaw hit the ground.

  A sword called Excalibur, one hundred and forty Knights of the Round Table, and now a red dragon at his service.

  Arthur was going to be absolutely impossible to live with now.

  Chapter Eleven

  An Old Friend – and a New One

  “Just don’t talk to me.”

  “But how cool is this?”

  “I said don’t talk to me.”

  “But Titch…”

  “What part of don’t talk to me do you not understand?”

  “But it’s a dragon, Titch.”

  “I’m not listening to you.” I stuck my fingers in my ears. “La la la la la.”

  “You can la la all you like, little sis, but I’m still the one with a dragon.”

  The Ddraig – which was a baby according to Bedivere and Gareth – was now curled up on the scorched ground like an overgrown, smoking red dog. Its forked tongue, which was as black as its eyes, flicked out from beneath its long, sharp teeth, and its eyelids did not shut from top to bottom, but were instead two dark screens that met halfway, like the shutter on a camera. Those jet black eyes did not leave Arthur once.

  Why could no one understand why I was FREAKING out?

  “Lady Natasha, may I ask why you are so aggrieved by Arthur answering the call of the red Ddraig?” asked Gareth.

  “Because the last time Arthur followed an animal, he ended up being drugged and dragged into the dungeons of Camelot,” I replied, “and now he’s doing it again, only the animals are getting even bigger.”

  The Ddraig seemed to know I was talking about it, because it raised its long snout into the air and snorted.

  “And may I remind you all,” I added in a loud voice, “if this is a baby, then mummy dragon and daddy dragon are probably close behind, eyeing up the six idiots who are going to be breakfast in a few minutes. And I’m telling you all now, I can outrun the lot of you, and I won’t be stopping.”

  “Ddraig’s are solitary creatures,” replied Tristram. “You have nothing to fear, Lady Natasha.”

  “Sir Tristram is correct,” said Bedivere. “Once a Ddraig can fly, it will abandon the nest to seek out its own. The sires of the king’s Ddraig will not threaten us.”

  Bedivere wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. “You must be tired, my love.”

  “Absolutely knackered,” I replied, collapsing against his chest. “And when is the sun going to come up properly? It’s still so dark.”

  “It will get no lighter than this, Natasha,” said Bedivere, staring up into the muddy-looking sky. “Not now.”

  “We must hope that the rains stay away until we reach the horses,” added Gareth. “If the rivers rise, then we cannot hope to reach Camelot in good time.”

  “Is this what you meant by the darkness covering Logres?”

  Gareth nodded. “The darkness is destroying the land, but now it infects the living too. Neighbour is turning against neighbour; farmer against farmer. Fear affects people in many ways, Lady Natasha, but nothing is worse than the fear for one’s own survival, for the survival of family. Sickness and famine will come to Logres if this evil magic is not undone, and famine is more costly than ten battles in human lives.”

  “So who is creating the darkness?” I asked. “Nimue or this Merlin?”

  “That is the truth that Arthur must uncover.”

  I stared into the sky. There was a thick layer of something denser than cloud pushing down on the world. The longer I stared, the more claustrophobic it felt, like odourless smoke silently suffocating everything that lived.

  “How is Arthur supposed to know what to do,” I whispered to Bedivere.

  “He will know.”

  But as I looked over at my brother, I wasn’t so sure. Last year he had battled with the knights to remove the Saxons from Camelot, and he was able to use his martial arts training to pretty good effect – after I had saved his ass from the dungeons first, of course. Yet this was something totally different. This was magic, something so powerful it could change the elements.

  How would Arthur know what to do this time? We didn’t even know who the good guy was.

  And you know his mind is elsewhere, said my inner voice. Until Arthur finds her, he’ll be a liability.

  Samantha Scholes-Morgan a.k.a Slurpy Sammy a.k.a Morgana of Gore. If that witch was now in Logres, then it was a safe bet that her ability to do magic was back as well. Perhaps Nimue and Slurpy Morgana could battle each other with the blue flame and stay out of our way.

  Or perhaps they would team up to destroy the one person they both hated right now?

  What a mess. By picking up a stupid little acorn and unlocking Merlin from some enchanted prison, I had managed to forge a double act that not only hated my guts, but could actually roast my guts from the inside out if they wanted to with a click of their fingers.

  I felt a nudge in my back.

  “You were miles away there, Titch. What were you thinking about?”

  “Your girlfriend, if you must know.”

  “She’s here, isn’t she? I can feel it.”

  “I hope not.”

  “She is, and I’ve got a plan,” said my brother rather animatedly, mistaking my comment for concern. He opened up his backpack and pulled out his cell phone.

  “You won’t get reception here, Arthur. Cell phones won’t be invented for another thousand years.”

  “I know that, smartass,” replied Arthur. He looked down at the screen and started scrolling through the gallery.

  Arthur walked over to the Ddraig with the cell phone held up high. The creature immediately rose in a fluid motion; its four claws sank into the scorched earth as it steadied itself.

  “What deed is Arthur requesting of the Ddraig?” asked Bedivere. His hand was on the back of my neck; I don’t think he realised he was gently rubbing it, but he was, and I liked it.

  “Unless I’m very much mistaken, and I really don’t think I am, my brother is now under the impression that the Ddraig is actu
ally a tracker dog,” I replied. “He’s showing it a picture of his girlfriend.”

  And sure enough, the Ddraig’s tail rose vertically into the air, as its scaly red wings started to flap. A funnel of wind, clouded by dirt, started to rise up in a column. I pulled down the sleeve of my jacket and covered my mouth with it.

  “Find her,” shouted Arthur.

  With a deep roar from its engorged belly, the baby Ddraig took off into the sky, where it was swallowed in seconds by the unnatural black fog.

  “What on earth made you think of doing that?”

  “I’ve done it before – a long time ago,” replied Arthur, with a glassy vacant expression on his face, “only last time it was a painting. I know that sounds crazy, but I remember, somehow. And it will work, you just wait.”

  “You know, the dragon might eat her.”

  Wishful thinking.

  “Are we going to get these horses, then?” said Arthur to Tristram, ignoring me.

  “Yes, sire. They are not far.”

  “You haven’t left them tied up all this time?” I said to Bedivere, as we walked hand in hand away from the Falls of Merlin.

  “Our steeds are being well cared for by an old friend,” replied Bedivere, with a glint in his eye. “One I am sure you will be happy to see again, my Natasha.”

  I took one last look behind me as towering trees closed in around us. My mind took a mental snapshot of the falls, and a shiver spread across my back and shoulders. It was a sign, a premonition. I knew the future because I had seen it, lived it. The Falls of Merlin did not exist in our time, under any name.

  Something catastrophic was going to happen to this place. I could feel it.

  Time dissolves when you aren’t clock watching. I did that back in my time: clock watching. Willing the red flashing pixels or the minute hand to go faster, as I wished away my life.

  Yet Logres, even under an ominous shadow, was different. Time was irrelevant. Hours, days, months didn’t matter anymore. I would eat when hungry; I would sleep when tired.

  So, I took one last glance at the expensive Swiss gold watch my parents had bought me or - as it turned out - my father’s executive assistant had bought. I unclasped it, and then threw it into the brown ferns which carpeted the forest floor.

  I didn’t need time anymore.

  “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked Bedivere.

  “I will not declare our destination, Natasha,” said Bedivere, with a lopsided smirk. Was he picking up on some of my brother’s habits?

  “Why?”

  “For I wish to see the joy on your face. It warms my heart to see your smile.”

  I started racking my brains. Who in this time did I know that would make me happy? I thought back to Caerleon and immediately thought of Eve. My stomach lurched. Was she alive?

  No, said my inner voice. You saw Eve as you passed through the Vale of Avalon. The dead allowed you to leave – this time.

  I thought on. Well, I guess Lord Percivale had quite liked me, but being reunited with him wouldn’t exactly send me into spasms of deep joy. I had never met his comatose wife, Lady Matilda, so it couldn’t be her. There was the other maid who had helped Slurpy on our first night at Caerleon, but as I had indirectly led to the death of her sister, she would probably be writing out her application form to the “We Hate Natasha Roth” sorority that Nimue and Slurpy were forming.

  “Give me a clue?”

  Bedivere stayed silent. The path we were walking along started to widen as the trees thinned out.

  “It’s not Robert of Dawes, is it?” I exclaimed. “Don’t tell me that idiot doctor has fallen back in time – again?”

  “We’re back in time, Titch,” called Arthur from near the front. “Does that make us idiots too?”

  “Speak for yourself, loser,” I yelled back. “I’m here by choice, what’s your excuse?”

  Arthur was laughing away, but more from the look on David’s face than anything.

  “Is it acceptable in the other time, sire, for women of the court to be so…such…”

  “Spirited is the word you seek, Sir David,” called Bedivere.

  “Pain in the ass is another way of saying it,” added my brother.

  “Bite me, your highness,” I yelled again. “I can always arrange for a Saxon sleepover while you’re here.”

  Arthur and I carried on insulting each other until we came out through the forest onto a hilly area that should have been green, but instead was yellow and withered. Even in winter it looked as though the landscape was infected with disease. There was no colour of life anywhere. We were at the summit, looking down. There was a strange smell in the air, which made me gag.

  Beyond another small dying mound was a thin plume of grey smoke, twisting feebly into the air. It was far too small to be an outside fire, or even Arthur’s new pet tracker dog. It was smoke from a chimney.

  We walked towards it, and as the ground lowered, a small circular stone building came into view. The smoke was coming out of the very centre of a conical roof. Another building, like a barn, had been added to the main stone house. As we got closer, I could see the stones were lodged into place by splatters of mud and straw.

  Chickens! There were chickens everywhere: by the door, on the ground, in water troughs and even on the thatch roof.

  I must have squealed because everyone turned around to stare at me.

  “I don’t like things that flap,” I said, gritting my front teeth together.

  “Fowl won’t harm you,” whispered Bedivere, but I noticed he had his free hand clasped around his belt. He was clutching at his knife.

  “Fowl by name and foul by nature,” I hissed, as one fat, feathered fiend squawked and flapped its orange and brown wings in an uncontrolled fit.

  Arthur was on the verge of a hernia, he was laughing so much. I was hoping it would pop out, right there and then. He could mock - Arthur had a mortal fear of the Muppets.

  Then an ugly little figure appeared from behind the square extension. He was leading a white horse with worn-looking reins.

  “BYRON,” I screamed, and I ran towards the dwarf who had saved my life more times than I cared to remember the previous year.

  “Humph,” was the muffled reply, as I threw myself down to his level and crushed him into my jacket.

  Several other horses came into view, all of which were being led by a female. She was a lot taller than Bryon, although several inches shorter than me, and she had beautiful blonde hair that fell past her hips. Her eyes were very similar to Byron’s: large and grey-blue in colour. She didn’t have his large nose though, or his wrinkled, pug dog skin.

  “Can’t…breathe…”

  I let go of the struggling Byron as the knights were reunited with their horses. He immediately bowed to my brother.

  “Welcome to my home, sire. I am your servant,” said Byron, in his cackling, deep voice.

  “Good to see you again, Byron,” replied Arthur, amused by the greeting. “I never did get the chance to thank you properly for helping my sister get away from Mordred.”

  “Lady Natasha did not need my assistance. Her aim is as lethal as the kick from a horse,” replied Byron, and for some reason he rubbed his back. The woman – who I had presumed was Bryon’s wife – cackled with laughter.

  Bryon scowled, and as I had remembered, the folds of skin on his forehead creased inwards.

  “Sire, may I introduce you to my sister,” he said, with a half-hearted wave of his hand. “She is as troublesome to me as no doubt Lady Natasha is to you.”

  Byron’s sister walked over to Arthur.

  “Forgive my brother his lack of grace, sire. The oaf wouldn’t know common courtesy if it sat on that ugly face of his,” she said.

  “Not another one,” muttered David.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Arthur, sticking out his hand and giving the expensive-pretty girl-teeth smile. “I’m Arthur, and this is my sister, Natasha.”

  “Oh, I
know who you are,” replied the sister, with a wink. “We’ve been waiting.”

  Byron was still scowling.

  “My sister,” he said. “Guinevere.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Burnings

  This was just too perfect for words. Arthur had finally met his Guinevere. Now all we needed was a Lancelot to show up and the myth would be complete.

  Perhaps one of the chickens is called Lancelot?

  “You came back to us?” said Byron.

  “Of course,” I replied, with a smile.

  Byron didn’t look that happy, in fact he looked very ill. He had a number of small weeping sores around his neck, and his eyes were red and watery. He turned to Bedivere.

  “Was it wise, bringing Lady Natasha back to these lands?”

  “Her place is at the court of Camelot, Byron. Her place is with me.”

  Byron sniffed the air like a dog.

  “These are dark times, Sir Bedivere. The smell of fear lingers in the air, touching the sanity of all. It is a constant presence now, and it won’t be long before we too can hear the screams that accompany the fire.” Byron glanced at me. “There is no one who is safe now, especially those who...” Byron wasn’t even subtle this time; he just jerked his thumb towards me.

  Bedivere made a sudden grab for my hand.

  “They would not dare touch the sister of the king.”

  “Fear turns any man into a coward, if that fear bores deep enough, Sir Bedivere.”

  Guinevere had cooked up eggs and some fatty-looking meat, that may have been from a pig, or a very large toad, I wasn’t sure. Still a vegetarian by choice, I ate some solid bread that probably doubled as roof insulator, dipped in the runny yellow yoke of several eggs. To my horror, the chickens were allowed a free run inside the circular building, and I was certain they sensed my growing panic, as they flapped and screeched with increasing volume.

  The knights wolfed down everything that was put in front of them. Arthur, on the other hand, was looking rather green as he forced down an egg. Like me, he was a vegetarian, but he was also the fussiest eater on the planet, and he lived off peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when he could. Very occasionally, Arthur would eat something healthy, like a bowl of pasta, but that was usually before a martial arts tournament, and I was pretty sure they didn’t serve pasta in medieval England – not just yet.