by Donna Hosie
“Is my brother’s body safe from harm?” asked Guinevere quietly.
“We three buried Byron in the woods, Guinevere,” replied David. “When this is over and the battle won, he will be afforded a place at Camelot, where the brave and noble have their final resting place.”
“Thank you, Sir David.” Guinevere sniffed, and wiped her eyes with a finger that was swollen and bloodied.
“Are you recovered, Sir Gareth?” asked Tristram. “Arthur is not far from here, gathering with the Knights of the Round Table, to bring this darkness to an end, once and for all.”
“I am eager to fight. What is the news, Sir Tristram? Long have the noble deeds of the court of Camelot been silent to my ears,” said Gareth.
“The Lady of the Lake now counsels Arthur,” replied Tristram, and he gave me a glance. “The Knights of the Round Table are gathering to smite down the magician Merlin, and end the darkness that has trapped the kingdom of Logres.”
“Since when has Merlin been a foe to Arthur?” asked Gareth quietly. “The magician’s quarrel must surely be with Nimue after his entrapment?”
“I think she’s lying to my brother.”
Everyone turned to stare at me.
“Lady Natasha, you believe the Lady of the Lake is deceiving the king?” asked Gareth. “Pray, what leads you to make such a declaration?”
Guinevere took my hand and gave it a tight squeeze.
“My brother died for you and for the knights he called his friends,” she said softly. “Withhold nothing from us. You owe Byron that.”
Byron wasn’t the only one. I finally owed my little brother the truth as well.
“Arthur and I had another brother. His name was Patrick, and he died when he was little. He drowned...drowned in a river...” Saying it out loud was worse than I ever imagined. I had never explained Patrick’s death in full to anyone before. Not my mother, father, the police, not even to Arthur, and now I was trying to account to a group of people I had known for less than a year. “...Patrick drowned because...because I pushed him into the water. It was an accident. I mean, I meant to push him, but I never, ever meant for him to hurt himself, let alone die. Patrick’s death has haunted me and my family ever since, and I’ve always believed that I was the only one responsible, but Merlin took me back to it. I saw it all again, and this time I could hear singing. Merlin showed me exactly what happened, and it was her – Nimue. She was there, in the river, and she took Patrick. I could hear her singing that he was hers. I should never have pushed him, but my father was there and he almost saved him. He would have done, but Nimue dragged Patrick away.”
“How do you know that what Merlin showed you was the veritable truth?” asked Guinevere.
“I believe Merlin because of all the other things that Nimue has done. It was Nimue that killed my baby rabbit and gouged out its eyes. It was Nimue who gave Arthur to Balvidore last year, just to get all of the knights to Camelot after the enchanted sleep was lifted – she even admitted it to Arthur. She attacked me in my own house back in my time. And don’t forget, it was Nimue who put the enchantment on Merlin and trapped him and put Logres into a sleep to begin with.”
“These are strong words, Lady Natasha,” replied Gareth. “Are you saying them with your head or your heart?”
“Both – I guess. Merlin isn’t responsible for the darkness. I know Nimue says it’s him, but it isn’t. She wants to be the most important person in Arthur’s life, and that means getting rid of everyone else she sees as a threat: Merlin, me, and I bet she will go after Slur…Sam…Morgana...or whatever the hell her name is these days. I understand all of this now. Merlin took Arthur’s girlfriend to protect her and the baby, and he changed time to speed things up. He knows Nimue is coming after him with Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table by her side. We have to get to Arthur. We have to stop him...”
I stopped. The sound of wind chimes was echoing throughout the barn. And I wasn’t the only one who could hear them, either. Tristram, Gareth, David and Guinevere were all looking up into the burnt eaves.
Straw and dust and stone started to swirl around our feet, as the sound of the wind chimes grew louder.
“What is this?” asked David. He and Tristram withdrew their swords. I pulled out my own knife and grabbed Guinevere by the arm, dragging her behind me.
“She’s coming,” I replied. “Nimue is coming.”
“Guinevere, can you get horses for yourself, Sir Gareth and Lady Natasha?” said Tristram. “We must not tarry here. We must ride hard and true to Arthur. The king must be told he is being guided into a trap.”
“You believe me?”
“Unconditionally, Lady Natasha.”
The beams across what was left of the barn ceiling started to rattle and shake, showering us in rotten pieces of wood. We started to stumble towards the exit, but two large pieces of the timber frame fell in front of us, like a large letter X, blocking the way.
The chimes were getting louder and louder, but there was nothing musical about the sound. It was too brittle, angry.
Run, Natasha, Lady Knight of the Round Table, said a voice, deep inside my head. As Merlin spoke, several streaks of brilliant red, like fire, flashed across my vision.
Run, Natasha, Lady Knight of the Round Table, said his voice again. I will shadow your footsteps and keep you from harm until we meet once more.
“We have to get out of here now,” I cried. “Merlin will stop Nimue from following us.”
“How do you know that?” yelled Guinevere; Tristram was helping her climb through a gap in the beams.
“Because he just told me. Now run.”
The bells and wind chimes continued to battle, as the foundations of the barn started to crumble. We had reached the horses when there was a rumble, like thunder, and what was left of the burnt barn crashed down to the ground in a spray of splinters.
“Witches,” cried the bearded man. His hysteria was contagious as several more villagers appeared in the darkness. We didn’t need the light from the sun to show us that they were armed with spears, pitchforks and scythes.
“Tristram, take Gareth,” I yelled. “David, you take Guinevere.”
“But what about...”
I cut Gareth off mid-sentence. “Just get on the horses and I’ll run. Wait for me after a couple of miles, okay?”
“Lady Natasha...”
“Shut up, Tristram, and just do as I say. They won’t be able to catch me.”
Tristram helped Gareth onto his horse; David did the same with Guinevere.
I started running. I’ve always been good at running. I could hear the villagers coming after me. The sound of their bloodlust was getting higher and higher as the mob mentality took control of their senses and fear. They screamed they were going to hang me, burn me, slice out my heart and quarter my limbs from my body. The heavy thump of objects being thrown echoed in the darkness, but I knew they would never catch me. My eyes were already acclimatised to the darkness, and I was young and fit. They were neither.
Eventually their voices fell back, and I was left with nothing but the sound of the wind in my ears. The imprint of Merlin’s fire had left strange white markings across my pupils, which wriggled like images of bacteria under a microscope. I continued running in the direction the knights and Guinevere had gone, and it wasn’t long before I heard their voices calling for me, guiding me in the darkness.
I found them all next to a shallow stream. The horses were all standing in the water and were drinking deeply; they made funny slurping noises as they dipped their long noses into the shallows. It reminded me of Slurpy trying to eat Arthur’s face off back at Avalon Cottage. Then that reminded me of my mother and father.
“Are you crying?” whispered Guinevere.
I shook my head.
“Just tired, that’s all.”
I let the tears dry naturally on my face as we moved away. I couldn’t understand why I was so upset. I didn’t miss my old life, but there was a hollow feel
ing in my chest. After unburdening the truth about Patrick, I thought the guilt that had sat inside me for nine years would go away, but I just felt empty. I couldn’t get my mum and dad out of my head. Quick images flashed inside my brain: mum screaming for me; dad looking at the television cameras and asking for help; mum and dad on a beach sipping cocktails with umbrellas...
This was stupid. My parents hated sand. We had never had a beach holiday. These images were fake.
“I need to get to my brother now,” I said, turning to Tristram, “but there are five of us and only two horses. What are we going to do?”
“How far to the travelling court of Camelot?” asked Guinevere.
“If there was no darkness, I would say we could be there before the sun sets,” replied Tristram. “Alas, with one walking amongst us, it will take longer.”
“Then you must all go on without me,” said Guinevere. “I will find my way there on foot.”
Tristram, Gareth and David immediately started to argue back, which made me smile. They were all so different from boys of my age and world. But Guinevere was right. I needed Tristram and David with me to confront Arthur about Nimue and the danger they were all in, and Gareth was still so ill he would never make the journey on foot.
“In my time we have these communication things called cell phones,” I said to Guinevere. “I wish we had them now. I’d be able to talk to you, even if we were miles apart.”
“I will find you,” said Guinevere smiling. “You’re all I have left now.”
We hugged, and I felt the emptiness in my chest lift slightly.
“I must protest...”
“David, shut up and get on your horse,” I said. “We’re going now, but we’ll leave all of our supplies with Guinevere – and she’ll need a sword or knife, as well. David, you take Gareth, and I’ll go with Tristram. Don’t wait, and don’t stop for anything.”
David was still protesting about honour and duty and maidens in distress as we galloped away. I looked back over my shoulder, but Guinevere had already been swallowed by the darkness.
Tristram and I lost sight of Gareth and David not long after. Tristram rode his horse into the ground, and my thighs and arms felt lined with concrete by the time we arrived at the travelling court of Camelot. It reminded me of the enactment that Arthur, Slurpy and I had gone to. There were hundreds of tents fixed into the ground. Several were flapping, as if a strong wind had picked up, but there was nothing in the air, except a heavy feeling of dampness that made breathing difficult.
Tristram and I dismounted.
“Where is Arthur?”
My mouth may have been searching for my brother – again – but my eyes were looking for someone else.
As Tristram and I walked through the camp, several other knights called out to welcome us. They all seemed to know who I was, which was very strange.
“Hail, Sir Tristram,” called one very tall knight with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. “Your return is most welcome, especially with such a valuable gift for the king.”
“Excuse me? A gift for the king?”
“Sir Lionel,” replied Tristram. “May I introduce the king’s sister, Lady Natasha.”
“Am I to be wrapped up in a bow, or something?”
Lionel bowed. “I meant no offence, Lady Natasha. I merely meant to state that Arthur will be most delighted to see your safe return. Although, I believe, there is another who will be even gladder.”
“Is Bedivere here?”
“We are expecting his return. He was on a quest to the Falls of Merlin with Sir Lucan, Sir Talan and Sir Alymere.”
“Sir Lionel, may I ask a favour?” said Tristram. “Sir David is approaching on horseback with Sir Gareth who is ailing. There is also the fair maiden Guinevere, sister to the dwarf Byron. She is on foot, and alone in the darkness. She has a brave heart, but I warrant she will welcome a knight’s service.”
“I will lead the quest myself,” replied Lionel. He slammed his fist into his chest, and saluted Tristram with a quick nod. He bowed to me and then ran off, calling strange names to his side.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
The knights parted like curtains and went down on one knee, as Arthur came running towards me. I was privileged, I was getting the expensive-teeth smile.
“Miss me?” Arthur crushed me in a bear hug.
“At least you aren’t wearing a crown.”
“They seriously tried to get me to wear one,” whispered Arthur into my ear, “but I knew you would take the piss out of me forever if I did. Where the bloody hell have you been, Titch? Bedivere and I have been going out of our minds trying to find you.”
“I’m fine, honestly, although my backside is killing me from all the horseback riding.”
“And I’m not sure I needed to know that, little sis.”
“Look, Arthur, we need to talk. Urgently. Away from the camp.”
“I know, but first, have you seen Sammy? Nimue said that she was with that bastard Merlin.”
I didn’t have time to get into an argument with Arthur about his girlfriend. I had to get him away from Nimue. Even though I hated Slurpy with every bone in my body for what she had done to Byron, I would have to keep the details to myself. For now.
“Sammy is fine, although she’s the size of an elephant, and making the noise of one as well. Merlin was just trying to protect her, Arthur.”
“Does he still have her?”
I shook my head. “Byron got us away...but he died, Arthur.”
“Shit.” Arthur’s head fell back. “Shit, shit, shit. I asked him to go get you both, Titch.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” I had to clench my back teeth to stop myself from blaming Slurpy.
“Where’s Sammy?”
“Tristram found me on the edge of the Gorians’ camp. Sammy...Sammy went another way.”
“So she could be with Mordred?”
“She’ll be fine, Arthur. Trust me. Now listen, I have to tell you about Nimue.”
“What about Nimue?”
“Is she here?”
“No, Nimue has been gone for over a day. She was getting worried about something, but she wouldn’t tell me what. She hasn’t been herself. She’s even moodier than you, which is saying something.”
“Good, because you’re walking into a battle on the wrong side, Arthur. It isn’t Merlin who has done this to Logres, it’s Nimue. She killed Mr. Rochester; we know she drugged you and gave you to Balvidore...no, listen to me...” Arthur had made to interrupt me, but I slapped my hand across his mouth. “...I don’t lie, Arthur. You know I don’t lie. You have to listen to me, and you have to believe me. Merlin was just trying to keep Sammy and the baby safe. I spent time with them, and I trust him. He could have killed us at any moment, but he didn’t touch us. You’ve forgotten that Nimue tried to strangle me back in our time. She is responsible for all of this, the darkness, the terror, the burnings...all of it. Please believe me. You have to take Merlin’s side, because Nimue is dangerous in ways I haven’t got time to explain now.”
“We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” said Arthur quietly. “In this time, I mean. I feel like I already know what I’m supposed to do, but it’s only when I stop too long to think, that it gets confusing.”
I nodded. “You already know she can’t be trusted, don’t you? You remember the shadows in the water too – the ones when Patrick died. She was there, Arthur. You have to break this connection you have with her.”
We locked eyes. There was a trust between Arthur and me that nothing, and no one, could understand or break. Not our parents, not Slurpy, not even Bedivere. We would always argue and fight, but we would never lie to each other.
Slowly, Arthur nodded.
The skin around my throat suddenly burned with the sensation of frozen ice, as a long high-pitched cry screamed all around us. Anything that was made of metal started to twist and buckle. A long flame of orange fire then streaked across the sky. It was s
o bright against the darkness that my eyes started to water. Arthur ducked and pulled me down with him. All around us, knights were running for their weapons, as the wind started to gust. Several tents were picked up and sucked into the fire.
The screaming was at such a pitch I could feel my eardrums vibrating with pain. I stuck my fingers into my ears, and buried my head into the ground.
“Merlin is coming,” I screamed to Tristram. “You have to stop Nimue from getting to Arthur.”
“Knights of the Round Table,” bellowed Tristram. “Protect your king.”
The wind was buffeting against their bodies, but one by one, knights started crawling across the dead grass towards me and Arthur. I looked up, and saw another, thicker streak of fire, flame across the sky. It started to rain. It was like someone had turned a tap on above our heads. Water gushed down from the black clouds, quickly turning the hard ground into a muddy quagmire. Then more fire, as the sky exploded into mushroom clouds of flame. Knights and young boys pulled down on the reins of the rearing horses.
But the screaming was lowering in tone. Now it was more like the groan of a person in pain.
“Come on, Merlin,” I called. “Come on, you’re beating her. Arthur believes us, he believes me.”
The skin around my neck burned again, but it was weaker than before.
“The sky, look at the sky.”
The cry was being repeated all around the camp. Arthur and I both looked to the heavens. The fire was spreading, but it was diluting in colour. Orange became red which became pink. The darkness was lifting and the rain was easing.
Pink became yellow. A bell rang out.
“You chose well, Arthur,” said Merlin.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Camp Camelot
The old man was standing in front of us. He clutched his crooked staff between gnarled fingers that looked like cracked white sausages. The staff was glowing and radiating with intense heat. Everything about Merlin looked bent, broken and burnt, from his back which leaned too far forward, to his nose which curved way too much to the right. He smelt like singed hair.
