The Book of Mordred

by Vivian Vande Velde

  Alayna was finally able to take her eyes off Halbert, and now she watched without comment as Morgana's shoulders shook with loud sobs.

  "This isn't yours?" Kiera asked, nodding toward the wizard, her confidence shaken but not broken.

  Morgana shook her head, her face still behind her hands.

  Kiera considered. Perhaps. It was hard to insist the woman was a liar in the face of her tears. The fact that she cast spells to make herself appear young and beautiful proved nothing. "You may come with my mother and me, then, if you wish."

  Morgana grabbed her arm. "Oh, no, please! Just give me a moment. You don't know the things I've seen: Dead men. Pillagers slitting the throats of the wounded. Scavenger animals..." She covered her face again and shook her head. "Please be patient with me. I'm sorry."

  Alayna glanced at Kiera. She had always had to work at being patient with helplessness. "Really..." she told Morgana.

  From the direction in which Kiera had been headed came the clash of swords.

  "I'm sorry," Morgana wailed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

  But Alayna also had heard the fighting. Eyes flashing, she turned toward Morgana.

  Kiera stepped backwards.

  Once again Morgana's hand whipped out to hold onto her, but this time Kiera noticed that the hands, as well as the face, were perfectly dry—no tears at all. "There's a looter there," Morgana said in a frightened voice, "with a knife."

  Kiera hit her hand. "Let go of me."

  Morgana's fingers tightened. Her left hand scrabbled for a hold on Kiera's dress at the waist. "If you'll only just stay—" she pleaded.

  "Mordred!" Kiera screamed. She pulled Morgana's wrist in front of her mouth and bit.

  Morgana slapped her, but had to release her hand to do so. Kiera twirled around. She felt the fingers of Morgana's left hand dig into her side, trying for a more secure hold.

  "Let go of her!" Alayna shouted, prying at the fingers.

  Suddenly freed, Kiera staggered several steps backwards.

  Alayna grappled with Morgana, and both fell to the ground.

  Kiera turned and ran.

  Before her, shadow shapes fought; behind, she could hear footsteps—her mother's, Morgana's, or Halbert's, she didn't turn to check. Suddenly she broke through the mist.

  Mordred and Arthur fought in a clearing as totally devoid of mist as the woods had been. Neither seemed aware of her. Both had their visors up—a calculated risk that weighed exposure against the ability to breathe—indicating they had been at it for a while already. For the moment their swords were locked.

  Mordred forced in closer, twisting upwards. Metal scraped against metal. Mordred pushed Arthur backwards. Arthur put one foot back to steady himself, then swung his sword, Excalibur, in and up. But Mordred had already begun his own swing, a wide one that left him open, but gave him deadly momentum.

  "Mordred!" Kiera screamed. "Don't!"

  The sound rebounded off the walls of surrounding mist.

  Slowly, in dream-time, Mordred looked up—distracted from Arthur—and turned toward her, his gray eyes wide and startled, perhaps searching for some secondary threat. And settled on the illusion of Halbert that had broken through the mist beside her.

  Slowly, in dream-time, the point of Arthur's sword continued its swing. Kiera saw Arthur set his teeth, start to shift his point of balance, try to hold back the force of the blow. Her scream continued to reverberate off the inside surfaces of her skull.

  And then the moment ended.

  Arthur's sword pierced Mordred's armor, angled up under his rib cage. The follow-through from Mordred's aborted swing caught Arthur, flat-edged but powerfully, against the side of his helmet.

  Both men staggered. Arthur dropped to his knees. Mordred had his hand to his side, and blood ran through the fingers, down the sword he still clutched.

  Kiera looked on helplessly.

  Behind her, Alayna broke through the mist. Seeing Mordred standing, Arthur on the ground, she gasped, "Arthur!" and she ran to help the King, to pull off his helmet.

  That left Mordred. Kiera stepped toward him, but before she reached him, his sword dropped, and he followed, landing hard on his knees. The arm of his black armor was slick with blood.

  She tried to pry his fingers from his side, but he was bent over. "I cant breathe." He gasped for breath, sounding close to panic.

  The mist quivered, almost closed in on them, then she felt Morgana's hands steadying her own. For a moment, she almost went for the other woman's throat; but together they got the helmet off and Mordred gulped at the air.

  "Mordred," Morgana said, "give me the ring." She had twigs and pieces of leaves in her disheveled hair, and the sleeve of her gown was split at the shoulder from her struggle with Alayna.

  "No," Kiera warned.

  Breathing hard, Mordred took all this in, and said nothing.

  "I can't hold the mist back from us much longer—Vivien's magic is stronger than mine. You know she is on Arthur's side. She doesn't care if we lose you in the mist and you bleed to death. Mordred, trust me. I just want the ring to get rid of this fog so we can get help for you."

  "Mordred," Kiera said. "That was just an image of Halbert you saw." The wizard was finally gone. "Morgana created him. And she released that snake of hers on purpose—she wanted the battle. Don't trust her."

  Morgana's eyes flashed. But she said very calmly, "Silly child. You have misinterpreted everything."

  Mordred shifted his gaze from one to the other. He took his hand away from his side, wincing, and pulled off his gauntlets. His right hand was sticky with blood, and Kiera averted her eyes. Morgana bit her lip, saying nothing. Mordred closed his eyes, curling his fingers into a fist around Nimue's ring.

  Kiera felt the tingle in her hand again, all the way to her elbow. There was an audible fffftt! and the mist was gone.

  Mordred sucked in his breath. The effort had obviously hurt. He coughed, bringing up blood, and her own chest ached.

  "See," Morgana said. "I told you to give it to me."

  He looked up sharply, then turned to see how Arthur fared.

  Alayna had him sitting, with his knees drawn up, and his head resting on them. The bandage that had been wrapped around his head after his earlier fall had fresh blood on it. He lifted his incredibly pale face and looked around them, at the carnage the mist had hidden. He held his hands up, palms out. "Enough, Mordred," he said, between puffing for air. "Enough." He held his sword out, hilt first; but Mordred, unable to stand or reach, made a dismissive gesture. Arthur let his arm drop.

  "Let me take that off," Kiera said, reaching to unfasten the breastplate.

  "No," Mordred said. Then, more steadily, "No."

  Arthur took Alayna's fluttering hands into his own to still them. "Just one too many knocks on the head," he told her, and hushed her when she started to protest as he got to his feet.

  Careful, Kiera wished him. Oh, be careful.

  Unable to prevent him, Alayna helped support the King as he staggered to where his son knelt. "I am sorry," Arthur said, easing heavily to his knees. "I saw you look away, but I couldn't stop the swing."

  "Chivalry." Mordred said the word with amused disdain.

  Arthur gave an apologetic shrug. "Still. I didn't mean it. A stray blow, a lucky shot." He had to lean closer to hear Mordred's whisper.

  "Bad block."

  Arthur gingerly moved himself into a sitting position. "Well, yes," he said. "That too."

  Mordred had his hand to his chest. Even without the helmet, he still seemed to be having trouble catching his breath.

  Behind them, there was a scrape of metal.

  "Put it down, Bedivere," Arthur said wearily. "I have already surrendered."

  Bedivere stepped forward, staring at the five of them incredulously.

  Morgana flashed a dazzling smile at him.

  Bedivere backed away with a hurried sign of the Cross and an expression that was all too familiar to Kiera. He sheathed his sword, then thre
w himself to his knees at Arthur's feet.

  Arthur put his hand out. "Gently, Bedivere," he said. "We tried. We did try."

  Bedivere shook his head. "Sire—"

  "No," Arthur said. "Bedivere." He put his hands on Bedivere's shoulders. "It is over." He shook his head, and echoed more slowly, "It is over." Then he looked up and said, "If Mordred agrees, though I offered him my sword, I have a debt to pay."

  Bedivere's eyes slid to the doubled-over Mordred.

  Arthur tugged on Bedivere's shoulder, forcing his attention. "Years ago, when I was first made King, Merlin brought me here." Arthur looked around. "There." He nodded. "Just beyond those trees. There is a lake below, and within that lake, though none can find it lest the Ladies that dwell there wish it so, is the island of Avalon. When I was a young man, Merlin brought me here. And a hand ... draped in white silk ... rose from the water, holding Excalibur."

  Arthur closed his eyes, almost smiling at the memory. On reopening them, he seemed to have trouble focusing and blinked repeatedly. "Excalibur was mine on loan," he said, "as was Britain. And it must be returned."

  "My Lord," Bedivere said, and shook his head helplessly.

  "Take the sword," Arthur told him. "Throw it in the water."

  Bedivere bit his lip. "My Lord," he said again. But this time he picked up the sword and headed in the direction Arthur had indicated.

  "How touching," Morgana said. "I just love sentimental endings, don't you, Kiera? If we're lucky, they'll live long enough for everybody to hug and kiss and be friends again."

  A familiar voice spoke from behind. "Be still, Morgan," it said gently, "or I shall see to it that you look your true age."

  Kiera turned to see the aged Lady of the Lake walking toward them.

  "Vivien," Kiera whispered.

  Morgana shrugged to show her indifference to Vivien's threat—but did not speak.

  The Lady of the Lake, Nimue's grandmother, glanced at Kiera, gave a polite nod, then turned her attention to Arthur.

  Alayna's look of near panic quickly turned to a defiant tilt of the head, but through it all she remained where she was, at Arthur's side.

  Vivien spared her half a glance, then ran her wrinkled hands over the King's face, over his shoulders and chest. Then she took his face in her hands, giving the impression of mother and child, and she told him, "It is time. You must come to Avalon now."

  Alayna looked at Kiera, who was remembering what Nimue had said about the ancient and dying Merlin: He was dying. Together we wove a spell and he sleeps safe in Avalon.

  "No," Morgana said.

  Vivien turned toward her.

  "You promised Mordred," Morgana said.

  Vivien's eyes narrowed.

  "I have you," Morgana gloated. "And you know it. Last night, when you were trying to persude him not to fight with Arthur. Remember? Remember?" Her bright eyes momentarily lit on Mordred. She said to Vivien, "You tried to tempt him with Avalon. 'If you change your mind,' you said. 'Whenever you choose,' you said. Same promise you made to me twenty years ago. You just wanted to get us out of the way, but we take you up on your offer. Now."

  Kiera looked at Vivien expectantly. But, "No," the Lady said. "You can't all fit in the boat at once. Two at the most."

  "Ooooh," Morgana purred. "Rotten luck, Arthur."

  "He needs the healing powers of Avalon," Vivien protested.

  "You have always told me I did, too." Morgana smiled sweetly. "You told me I had a dried and shriveled old heart."

  "You do," Vivien acknowledged. "But you can wait."

  "But I do not choose to," Morgana said. "And you gave me that option. As you gave it to Mordred. Whenever you choose," she repeated.

  "No," said Mordred between teeth clenched in pain. "No, I have not asked to go."

  Kiera tightened her grip on his arm. Alayna looked at him in surprise.

  "You'll die." Morgana said it coldly.

  "This is not as bad as it looks," Mordred said.

  "Oh, but it is," Morgana assured him brightly.

  "Mordred," Arthur said, also surprised.

  No, Kiera tried to say, but nothing came out. Why was it always a choice between Arthur and Mordred?

  "What would I do in Avalon?" Mordred shook his head. "Enough," he whispered, an echo of his father. "Enough."

  Arthur shook his head weakly, looking as though he would pitch forward onto his face without Alayna's support.

  "Arthur." Vivien forced his chin up, to look into his eyes. "Come with me to the boat."

  "Wait," Arthur said.

  Wait? Kiera thought. Was Morgana the only one who wanted to go? Kiera turned to follow Arthur's gaze and saw Bedivere was returning.

  "You did as I told you?" Arthur asked him.

  Bedivere nodded morosely.

  "And what did you see?"

  "What did I see?" The knight's eyes shifted.

  Arthur ran his hand over his blow. "Bedivere, throw the sword into the lake."

  "Waves," Bedivere said hurriedly. "Wind." He shrugged, still not meeting Arthur's eyes.

  Arthur stared at him without a word.

  Bedivere finally looked up. "My Lord, Excalibur in the hands of your successor could hold this country together—"

  "What successor?" Arthur demanded. "What survivors, Bedivere? Throw the sword into the lake."

  Bedivere backed off in the direction in which Arthur pointed. "My Lord," he whispered once again, then turned and ran.

  Arthur leaned back, breathing hard.

  "It is time," Vivien urged him yet again. "It is past time. Morgan..."

  Morgana folded her arms, refusing to give up her place in the boat, perhaps yet hoping that Mordred would change his mind.

  Vivien set her jaw. "All right then, Morgan, at least you can help me. Alayna,"—Alayna looked startled, that the Lady of the Lake would know who she was—"try to make Sir Mordred as comfortable as possible until I return."

  Morgana looked at each of them angrily, but there was nothing she could do to make the situation any worse.

  "Mordred," Arthur said, but when Vivien and Alayna and Morgana lifted him to his feet, he swayed dizzily, and his head hung limply.

  "I will come back for you as soon as I can," Vivien promised Mordred.

  "Spare yourself the effort," Morgana said. "He'll be dead by then."

  "Enjoy your stay in Avalon," Mordred said to his aunt, but his eyes were closed, and there was blood at the corner of his mouth.

  Morgana flung her black hair over her shoulder and turned her back on them.

  Vivien studied Mordred for a moment, then Kiera. "I will be back as soon as I can," she repeated.

  But Kiera feared that Morgana was right in this: It would be too late.

  The old woman put her arm around Arthur and—with her on one side and Morgana on the other—they started walking.

  Alayna said to Mordred, "Let me take a look at that wound."

  Mordred shook his head.

  She reached to unfasten his armor, but he flinched. "Just ... leave it," he whispered.

  Kiera looked helplessly in the direction Vivien had gone. Hurry, she thought. Please hurry.

  "Come," Mordred said, "let us find Bedivere."

  "No," Kiera and her mother said, in horror at the thought of his moving.

  Alayna tightened her grip on his arm. "Mordred..."

  "In the end," he said, "it will make no difference." He got to his feet, breathing hard, and that looked as though it would be the finish of it. But then he started walking, not down and toward the shore where Vivien had landed her boat, which—were he determined to walk—was the sensible direction, but up toward the bluff that overlooked the lake.

  Kiera followed, despite the hopelessness of it all.

  Alayna gave a cry of exasperation, then hurried to catch up.

  CHAPTER 20

  When they got to the top of the hill, Mordred sat down heavily.

  Bedivere was still there, looking out over the water.

&nbs
p; It was windy up here, and Kiera had to hold her hair back from her face. She could make out the boat, and the other side of the water, but there was no sign of an island.

  Bedivere, still not looking at them, said, "I saw a hand."

  Alayna glanced at Mordred, trying to gauge whether he believed such a thing could be true.

  Tonelessly, Bedivere said, "It caught the sword. Waved it three times. And then disappeared." He finally looked at them, for a long moment. "Where is the King?"

  Mordred nodded toward the lake. "They took him in the boat."

  Bedivere asked, "What boat?"

  Kiera looked again at the lake, as did Mordred and Alayna, and then they looked at each other.

  Nothing.

  The only sounds were the waves and the cries of gulls.

  The wind continued to whip their hair.

  Bedivere sighed. He turned to the lake again. "Now what am I supposed to do?" he asked softly. Again he sighed, then slowly, without waiting for an answer, he started down the hill.

  Mordred leaned back against a large rock. He seemed to be having trouble staying awake, and that was something Kiera had seen before in mortally wounded men.

  She knelt beside him and took his hand, sticky as it was with blood. "Don't die, Mordred," she whispered.

  He squeezed her hand, but kept his eyes closed.

  At her words, Alayna had turned from the still lake and now knelt at his other side and looked at Kiera helplessly.

  "Mordred." Kiera put her hand on his shoulder and shook him until he opened his eyes. "Please. We need you. My mother and I need you."

  He was looking at her. He may even have forgotten that Alayna was there, too. "Since when," he asked, "has your mother ever needed anybody?"

  "That's not fair," Kiera said, looking beyond him to the hurt on her mother's face.

  Alayna's hand, resting on his leg, twitched; but he wouldn't have felt it through the armor. She said, "I have always loved you."

  Mordred looked up sharply, but the sudden move must have hurt—Kiera saw it on his face before he put his head down to his knees. Bent over, he shook his head, but reached for Alayna's hand. "You..." he started, but then choked off a cry of pain and pulled away from both of them, keeping his face averted.