First Knight

by Ines Johnson

  “Arthur?” she called out.

  “Stay back,” came his low, animalistic growl.

  “Come here.”

  “Morgan, do as you’re told.”

  “Seriously? If this is how this relationship is going to start, I foresee many problems.”

  Strong arms grabbed her from behind. She was pulled inside taut muscles, enveloped in a spicy scent. She didn’t jump or jerk away. She was already coming to know his touch, his smell, the feel of him.

  “Foresee problems?” Arthur said into the cone of her ear. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for a century. But right now, you’re going to mind what I tell you and stay put.”

  Arthur tucked Morgan into a tree. He leaned forward, his face nearly upon hers. There was no obstruction between them. The air was free and clear.

  Morgan leaned in. Arthur held her back. His throat worked and his gaze stayed glued to her lower lip. He ducked in for the quickest, most unsatisfying peck … on her cheek.

  “Seriously?” she said.

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  Morgan opened her mouth to protest, but he was already beyond her reach. Walking backward toward the moon; moonwalking. Swaggering in the moonlight was a better description.

  “Be a good girl,” he called. “Stay put.”

  Morgan was too hypnotized by the sway of his hips, the power of his thighs, the broadness of his shoulders to protest the command.

  Arthur grinned, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. He winked and then turned, coming face to face with the hart.

  The magnificent stag stood just twenty yards away from them. Its white coat shined like a star in the night. A cloud of hot air streamed from his flaring nostrils. It pawed one hoof at the ground like a bull preparing to charge.

  Arthur brandished his sword. He held it across his body like a red cape. All was still as man and beast took their marks for the dance, only waiting for their cue.

  Morgan didn’t hear the battle hymn start. She felt as though she were thrown in the midst of a tenor’s aria as Arthur’s boots stomped the ground and the hart’s hooves split the earth. When knight met stag, the crescendo was loud enough to silence the stars.

  The light of impact was so brilliant that Morgan had to shield her eyes. It took precious long seconds for the beams to dim before she could unshield her eyes.

  When she did, she saw a gruesome scene. Arthur lay on the ground. Blood covered his chest where his wound had reopened.

  Morgan rushed to his side. He lay unresponsive on the forest bed. She used her hands to press at the wound, but the blood continued.

  Her brain worked. She knew he was losing too much blood and if it continued there wouldn’t be enough to keep his heart beating. She knew it outside of logical fact because she felt her own heartbeat slowing down.

  Morgan needed to get help, and soon. But the time it would take her to get to the castle were precious moments that would certainly leave him dead. She didn’t have the strength to carry or drag him. Even technology failed her when she looked at her uncharged phone.

  For the second time tonight, she was left helpless and impudent. She wanted to scream. She wanted to pound at the cold earth. A stream of heat hitting her cheek had her lifting her head.

  The hart loomed over her. Its dark eyes intent. It’s bared teeth grinding as it took steady steps toward her.

  Excalibur protruded from the hart’s side. The wound struck true but not in a place that would quickly end the stag’s life. And it was very clear what the magical beast was intent on doing in its final moments.

  Too bad Morgan wouldn’t go down without a fight. She was a Galahad girl, after all. They never did what was expected.

  She looked around for options; rocks, branches, weeds, a dead cell phone, her heels. Before she could complete her inventory of tools of destruction, her gaze was drawn to the hart’s huffs of breath coming through its flaring nostrils.

  The clouds of air sparkled. In fact, they weren’t clouds at all. They were spheres; round, globular masses with colors circling within their orbit. Morgan stood, taking a step forward to get a closer look.

  With each breath, she saw constellations form. When the mist left the hart’s nose it began as a red blast, that turned to a yellow mass, and finally a white mist before disappearing. Next a purple puff, to a blue fog, and a pink vapor. In the space of seconds, galaxies came to life and died in the hart’s exhalations.

  She needed to get closer. Something urged her closer. Looking up, she met the hart’s gaze again. The menace had evaporated and was replaced with discernment.

  Morgan knew the look well. It was the same look she saw when she looked into little Annora Godfrey’s eyes when she explained atomic structure. Annora’s eyes would light up with the new knowledge. Just as Morgan’s eyes would light anytime someone showed her something new. And now, looking into the glassy eyes of a magical stag, Morgan saw a kindred spirit.

  The hart bowed his head so that Morgan could see clearly into his eyes. What she saw took her breath away. In the light of the hart’s eyes she saw long and intertwining strings, all gathered in a loose ball of connections.

  The hart stepped forward, giving her an even closer look. She felt the tension in his haunches as a thickening trickle of blood left the spot where the blade was embedded in his flesh. Morgan knew instinctively that it craved her understanding. That understanding came swiftly and nearly overwhelmed her.

  The hart allowed her a window into its inner being. Bright balls of light swirled in what looked like chaos, but Morgan saw form. She saw the formation of hydrogen with its singular proton and orbiting electron. The bright balls of light continued adding to the orbit.

  There went phosphorous with its fifteen bright balls of protons gathered at the center of fifteen swirling lights of electrons. After a while, tungsten burned bright with its seventy-four protons bulging in the middle of seventy-four lapping electrons.

  The lights continued piling on and on. This was the Periodic Table of Elements as no one had ever seen it before. There was a pregnant pause as ninety-two protons filled the nucleus of uranium, what once was thought the last naturally occurring element. After uranium, scientists had begun synthesizing elements, creating them in labs. Morgan held her breath, wondering what the hart would show her of the next line on the Periodic Table.

  She wanted to laugh at what the hart showed her next. The human scientists had the right of it after all. Inside the hart’s eyes, she witnessed the bright lights of atoms crashing together to form new bonds. With the heat of the hart’s magic, the bonds held.

  One hundred nineteen protons, all held together in a perfect union with the magical magnetism of the hart. Like ingredients put in a pot to come to a brewing blend, add a little fire and the bond held. Like magic.

  Exactly like magic.

  Morgan had found it. Element 119 was magic. It made perfect sense. Magic and science converged to form something new.

  “Morgan?”

  Arthur’s voice was feeble and weak. She turned to see him struggling to his feet, reaching out to her, readying to protect her even through his mortal wound.

  Blood poured from his chest, spilling all the elements inside him. She had to stop it. To reinforce his bonds. Morgan turned to the hart.

  The hart huffed, as though it were put out by the plea that had yet to leave Morgan’s lips. It took another step closer to her. Behind Morgan, she heard Arthur shouting, pleading with her to back away.

  Instead of listening to him, she listened to her logical mind. The math was on her side in this. A second later, she confirmed that she was right.

  The hart lifted its head until Morgan’s hand rested on the ruff of its heart. Morgan was no stranger to the outdoors and the animals found there, but the hart’s flesh was not the firm sinew of any stag she’d ever encountered on the grounds of Camelot. Her hand went straight through flesh, blood, and muscle to meet with … She had no idea what.

  It was war
m. A burning furnace. A funneling tornado.

  Just like magic.

  She felt the same heat engulf her free hand; warm fire that tugged at her like a determined storm. Arthur.

  It all took the space of a heartbeat. She knew because a second later she was being yanked into Arthur’s arms. His eyes wide with fear.

  “Morgan?”

  Morgan’s face came against his bare chest. His bare, healed, chest. The blood was gone. The skin reknit, with only scar tissue to mark the spot.

  Morgan pressed her lips to Arthur’s skin. She felt his heartbeat answer her with a strong thump. Then she was being yanked forcibly away from him.

  “Why would you do something like that?” he growled at her. “Will you never mind what I tell you?”

  “Um, I just saved your life.” She placed her hand on his chest.

  He glared down at her fingers. Then his darkened features brightened into awareness. Slowly, he unfurled her fingers from his chest.

  “The hart and I saved your life,” said Morgan. “He showed me how. He showed me what I’ve been looking for. He showed me how to form the missing element. I was right. It’s not the blast. It’s in the residual effects. That’s what holds things together.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Arthur said.

  Morgan didn’t try to explain it. You had to see it to believe it. The hart brought things together that wouldn’t normally stick.

  Skin torn asunder. Flowers in the winter time. Morgan, the feminist scientist, and Arthur, the valiant knight.

  “It’s done,” said Arthur. “The hart is dead.”

  Like all radioactive elements, the hart’s life was impermanent. When it showed its true nature, it went out in a burst of light. Looking down, Morgan saw that there was nothing left of the hart but his antlers.

  “It’s not dead,” said Morgan. “Energy never dies. It can’t be destroyed. It just takes a different form. No, that’s not right. It went to another realm of—”

  But she didn’t get to finish the sentence. Arthur captured her lips in a searing kiss. His mouth on hers warmed her in a way the hart never could. The bursts of light behind her eyes paled in comparison to what the hart had shown her, to anything she’d seen under a magnifying glass. The chemical reaction between her and Arthur would power a city, or raze it to the ground with its force.

  “You said ‘yes’ earlier,” he said when he pulled away.

  “Hoping I’ll take it back now?”

  “You’ll never get another opportunity. We’re out of the experimental phase. You and I are now a fact.”

  “I can accept that conclusion.”

  21

  Morgan’s hand was warm in his, as though the hart’s magic still connected them. Arthur had nearly lost his life mere hours ago when he’d tried to murder the beast.

  His homicidal instincts were not for the notoriety that came with felling the hart. Arthur had wanted to run the stag through for cockblocking him. He’d felt certain that once the stag was dead, this thing between himself and Morgan would be validated. Wasn’t karma funny?

  He’d been falling into darkness after colliding with the hart. The pain of the impact had pulled him under swiftly and efficiently like a tidal of darkness. But he’d managed to surface one last time, and when he did, he flailed to keep his head above water.

  Morgan had knelt before the hart. The beast had been ready to strike. But then it didn’t.

  Arthur had watched as the hart’s entire countenance changed as it regarded Morgan. Annoyance washed from its eyes. Its gaze brightened with surprise. It had appeared as though a smile kicked up the corner of the stag’s muzzle. And finally, it lowered its head, in surrender, or maybe in reverence, to her.

  It was the same trek Arthur had taken with the confounding woman. And just like Arthur, the hart had taken the necessary steps toward her to allow himself to be wrapped around her finger. Something had transferred between woman and beast and that thing brought Arthur back to life and foiled his plans.

  He’d attempted to prove that the hart was not between them. Instead, it was the hart that brought them inextricably back together.

  Tingles flared up Arthur’s arm as Morgan’s thumb brushed the fleshy part of his wrist. The softness of her body pressed into his side turned him hard. The small sigh that escaped her perfect lips coiled him tight. Anymore contact and he’d spring an embarrassing leak.

  He was operating on no sleep, a desire fogged brain, and the adrenalin of nearly dying twice in one day and it left him haggard. Yet he wouldn’t trade a second of it if it brought him to this place with Morgan standing beside him.

  Luckily, the fierceness in her gaze eclipsed the lukewarm reception they were currently receiving in the Great Hall. They’d arrived moments ago after lingering in the forest prior to breakfast being served. The entire town was present as Arthur made their happy announcement.

  The clatter of silverware on porcelain plates halted. Conversations muted. A sea of faces turned respectfully toward them. Silence continued to reign as heads tilted and swiveled as though they were waiting for him to say something more.

  “Did she actually accept him this time?” said a voice.

  It was a child’s voice. Arthur knew because he heard a hush that only a mother could give. He found the face of little Giles Fletcher.

  The kid looked indignantly at the finger covering his mother’s lips that had been used to shush him. Arthur couldn’t be upset. It was a perfectly valid question.

  “Yes,” Morgan answered. “I accepted Arthur’s proposal for the great honor that it is.”

  Morgan punctuated her statement with a squeeze of his hand. Another flare of liquid energy shot through Arthur’s system, just like it had last night when his life essence had poured out of him. She’d managed to pour the hart’s essence into his body and heal him, make him whole, a new man.

  “Did he get down on his knee again?” asked Annora Godfrey.

  “Better,” grinned Morgan. “He formatted the proposal as a logical equation that led to an inevitable conclusion.”

  Annora sighed, placing her hand over her heart. Gwin chuckled, ducking her head which didn’t mute the sound. Everyone else looked around baffled.

  “I thought she was a lesbian,” someone said in a hoarse whisper.

  “What’s a thespian?” asked little Giles.

  “An actress,” answered his mother.

  “You’re a lucky man.” Lance approached Arthur, hand outstretched.

  Arthur looked at the man’s open palm. He knew what it meant. It was more than congratulations. It was an I’m sorry for not having your back while a magical beast charged us both.

  From Arthur, it was an I should’ve considered how my decision might affect your future happiness.

  Then came a Yeah, that was a dick move.

  Followed by a Don’t forget, I was nearly gutted for you, asshole.

  And finally, a So, we’re cool?

  And lastly, a Yeah, we’re good.

  With a grunt and a manly nod, the two men squashed their beef.

  “To the happy couple.” Lance raised his goblet of orange juice. The fruity beverage sloshed over the sides of the cup as it went high into the air.

  Applause was a trickle through the tables spread out in the hall. Percy and Tristan stood, raising their goblets and a resounding cheer. This was echoed by the young ones scattered throughout the bunch. The young couple who Arthur had forced into engagement stood next, arms entwined as they raised their glasses. And finally, the adults joined in, and doubt auto-tuned into true good wishes before the raucous cheering died down to normal a boisterous volume.

  Arthur turned from the crowd to look down at Morgan, his intended bride. He was certain a light shone between them. The thing growing and pulsing like a living entity. Bright and grasping as a new babe searching for its first taste of succor.

  Only to have it tugged away from him. Arthur held firm to Morgan’s hand as a crowd of wo
men swooped in, cooing over her and trying to tug her attention away.

  “Congratulations, my dear,” said one. “You’ve finally got your man after all this waiting.”

  Morgan shook her head, dark locks swaying back and forth to draw a clear line. Before she could get out any denial, more women swarmed in.

  “There’s much to discuss about the wedding,” said one. “It’s going to be a grand affair.”

  “Oh, it can be something simple.” Morgan looked to Arthur for support. Her fingers pressed into his more firmly as the women continued to tug at her.

  “Nonsense. It’s been too long since Camelot’s had a grand wedding.”

  “There will be lots for you to plan, my dear.”

  “Have you told your mother yet?”

  Gwynfhar Galahad was safely tucked away in Florida at a castle stronghold near Disney World. She had been a force to be reckoned with a century ago when she’d set her sights on her two girls marrying the Pendragon boys. She’d come away one and zero. She would be thrilled that her record would now be undefeated.

  Morgan’s grip went slack at the mention of her mother. That allowed the women to get a hold of her. “Save me,” she pleaded. “You promised to protect me from harm.”

  Arthur looked between his intended and the crowd of biddies. Magical harts, dragons, trolls, he’d step in front of any of them for her. The town women? He’d shove her in front of them to save himself in a heartbeat.

  Arthur let his intended bride go and waved as she was carted away as a sacrifice. Her blue gaze flashed murder at him. He chuckled at the threat.

  Taking one of the many empty seats, he found himself surrounded by his knights. He’d have to start filling those vacant seats soon. But it could wait until after the wedding.

  “Any news on the Templars?” said Arthur.

  “This is your time of celebration,” said Tristan. “You won the hart hunt.”

  “Technically Morgan did. She’s the one that brought the stag down.” They’d brought the stag’s rack back to the castle. The antlers would be mounted in a place of honor, but the honor would be Morgan’s. “Now, I need to know she’s safe.”