I gazed around the boat. I wasn’t sure where SJ was, but I knew what she was doing. She said she was going to try and find a private place to call Dorothy on her Mark Two. Like Arthur until today, the heroine from The Wizard of Oz was stranded in Neverland as a result of a mortal wound that prevented her from going home to the Emerald City. She currently lived with the Lost Boys and Girls and acted as their official “Mother.”
SJ wanted to update Dorothy, as well as the Lost Boys and Girls, about Peter and Arthur’s rescue. With any luck, we’d survive the day and I could eventually return to Neverland and heal her like I had the king. Then I could reunite her with Ozma.
Ozma was the rightful ruler of Oz, but as mentioned she was currently imprisoned in Rampart’s castle, trapped in suspended animation. According to Dorothy she’d gone missing a while back, but according to Rampart, Oz’s current ruler Julian—Ozma’s older brother and the Wizard of Oz—knew where she was and had chosen to leave her there. I felt a little bitterness stir inside me at the thought.
When my friends and I had met Julian on our journey, he’d seemed so sorrowful about losing his sister. But I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised this was an act. If my own brother had taught me anything, it was that a person could seem caring and genuine on the outside, but secretly be a monster within.
“I got you a hot chocolate and something called a meatball sub,” Blue said, handing me a to-go cup and a paper bag slick with grease.
“Thanks,” I replied, realizing I was famished.
Ormé gestured for Andrea to follow her. “Come on, A. I got you some food too. The other girls and I found an empty cabin below deck and we’re going to do a last minute strategy call with Gwenivere over the Mark Two.” Ormé turned to me. “Morgan called while we were waiting for our order. Jason, Daniel, and his girlfriend reconnected with them forty minutes ago in the Forest of Mists.”
“That’s great!” I said, relieved our friends had made it. “But—” Ormé cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Before you ask, no, Merlin hasn’t shown up yet.”
I closed my mouth. That had been my question. During our trek today we’d exchanged much exposition and I’d told everyone about my recent encounter with the famous wizard. I still couldn’t believe I’d met him. For decades, Merlin had used his mighty Pure Magic power of invisibility, mastery of potions, and potent dreams of the future to become a strong force for good in Camelot.
Yet, despite this, and the fact that he’d helped Daniel and me, I didn’t care for the guy. In the brief time I’d spent with Merlin, I’d found him to be unpredictable, calculating, and secretive. Thanks to his much more developed Pure Magic dreams of the future, he seemed to know a lot about me. And he’d proven to be quite adept at using his knowledge of the future to manipulate situations and people (myself in particular) to serve his desired outcomes.
As a girl who’d never been fond of authority, or people trying to control her, this made our relationship delicate.
Still, he was a very powerful wizard, so when our paths crossed, Daniel and I invited him to help Gwenivere’s army overthrow Rampart. Unfortunately, while the wizard assured us that his primary purpose in life was the well-being of Arthur’s royal family and Camelot as a whole, he hadn’t committed to joining us. He’d said he would meet us if the “other forces” he’d foreseen coming didn’t capture him first and use him for some nefarious purpose related to the Vicennalia Aurora as his dreams had warned.
Although Merlin made me uncomfortable, I hoped he was on his way and just running late. For one, he’d be a great ally in the fight ahead. Two, if he didn’t make it that meant he’d been captured. There were already so many elements working against us that I dreaded to imagine why our enemies wanted him. I didn’t like knowing there was an extra factor out there I couldn’t anticipate.
“The Gwenivere Brigade girls who’ve infiltrated Rampart’s forces will change into their usual robes for the attack. The rest of our allies joining us from across the land will be wearing navy blue armor, unlike Rampart’s black-armored knights,” Ormé continued. “Gwenivere and her external assault team are going to attack the main gate at exactly half past five.”
My eyes widened. “That’s only twenty minutes from now,” I said. “They’re not going to wait for us?”
“The plan has been set for some time. It would be too risky to change it now. We can act as reinforcements—a second wave of the siege, if you will.”
“Not a bad idea.” Blue said. “Though I don’t like the thought of our friends going into battle without us.”
“They’ll be fine,” Ormé assured her. “After tonight, we’ll all be fine.”
“You’re pretty optimistic,” I commented.
“It’s hard not to be,” Ormé replied. “We are about to take back our realm and our rightful king has come home.”
“How has no one recognized Arthur, by the way?” I said, looking around the crowded ship. “Because of Neverland’s magic he hasn’t even aged a day since the last time he was here.”
“Would you recognize someone who is supposed to have died seven years ago?” Ormé responded.
“I suppose not,” I admitted.
“Anyway, it’s not as though a lot of people outside the citadel have actually met King Arthur in person,” Ormé continued. “Now if they caught a look at the birthmark on his arm that he has hidden beneath his sleeve, that’d be a different story.”
“His birthmark?” Blue repeated.
“You know, the Pendragon Mark,” Ormé said. She pointed at a mast that was flying the Camelot flag—navy with golden accents at the corners that matched the shining cross in the center. The cross had a ten-pointed star in the top right quadrant that glistened in the sun at this angle, making it look like a jewel.
“The cross with the ten-pointed star,” Andrea clarified. “Those who have Pendragon blood have this birthmark on the underside of their left forearm. That’s why the symbol is on our realm’s flag.”
“Ohhh.” I stared at the flag as understanding finally clicked into place. “I saw that mark on Arthur’s arm once and have been wondering about the correlation ever since we came to Camelot. Given that it was Arthur’s birthmark, I couldn’t understand why Rampart would keep it on his flags.”
“Arthur and Rampart both have the birthmark,” Andrea responded. “They are the only ones alive who do. Rampart’s brother and their father Mordred had it, but they’re both dead now. And since Arthur and Gwenivere’s only son died a long time ago, Arthur and Rampart are the last Pendragons.”
“Hold on . . .” Blue crinkled her nose. She was having a fairytale history nerd moment. The girl was one of the most well-read students at school and relished fairytale research the way ducks reveled in water. “Arthur and Gwenivere never had any children.”
“Not true,” Ormé replied. “But no one likes to talk about it. It’s not in any of our history books. And the information has never been shared with the masses, let alone the storytellers who come to our realm to document Camelot. But Queen Gwenivere and King Arthur had a son almost twenty years ago.”
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“Merlin prophesied that another Pendragon would one day destroy King Arthur. A rebel heretic group kidnapped the child when he was barely six months old, presumably to train and brainwash him for the task. Knights pursued them from the city to the shore of this very lake. It was stormy that night, and the captors’ boat went down. The entire crew drowned, including the child. The body was never recovered. I suspect the king and queen never fully recovered either.”
“That’s terrible,” Blue gasped.
“Hence why no one talks about it,” Ormé replied. “In the end, of course, King Arthur was still destroyed by a Pendragon. Nobody knew that Morgause had an affair with King Uther Pendragon and bore his son Mordred. When Mordred defeated King Arthur in battle, Merlin’s prediction came true. King Arthur’s son was never the one of the prophecy. He died for nothing.”
The glittering lake was a stark contrast to the darkness of Ormé’s story. I imagined somewhere in its depths lay the wreckage of the boat she’d described, and whatever remained of the people who’d been on it.
“Anyway . . .” Ormé said sadly, taking a deep breath. “Like I said, the Brigade is going to have a last-minute call with the queen. We’ll meet you guys in a bit. Let’s go, Andrea.”
Andrea nodded and started to follow.
“Wait, Ormé,” I said. She pivoted back. “Are you going to tell Gwenivere that Arthur is with us?”
“I already talked to the king about it,” Ormé replied. “He and I agreed not to. Our queen needs to be completely focused on the attack. If we told her now, it would only distract her.”
“So when we show up at the citadel, he’s just going to go over to her and say ‘Hey, Gwen, I’m back’?”
“Something like that,” Ormé said with a slight laugh.
She and Andrea disappeared into the crowd, leaving Blue and me alone. We ate in silence. The meatball sub was warm and juicy. When we’d both finished, I tossed the bags in the trash then clutched the to-go cup with both hands as I leaned out over the railing, feeling the cold, dry air on my face.
For a moment I was somewhere else. I remembered leaning against the railing of a boat called The Seabeagle. My friends and I were on Earth, leaving Bermuda and about to cross into a wormhole that led back to Book. On the other side of that portal I had known enemies were waiting for me and a battle was imminent. Now I was on my way to meet more enemies. The setting was different, and I was different, but the steely, steady feeling inside of me was the same. I knew what had to be done, and I was not going to run from it.
Even if there was no coming back.
I’d already used a lot of magic today. Did I have enough left to resurrect myself if I was killed? Maybe. Every time I’d recently called up my abilities. I had done incredible things. But the more power I unleashed, the weaker I felt afterward. The recovery time may have been a lot quicker, but that pain and weakness immediately following was a clear warning of the fine line I was walking. Merlin had drilled into me that I was not invincible and did not have an unlimited supply of power. If I used too much of my normal reserve, Magic Exhaustion would kick in and my abilities would shut off. And if I somehow kept pushing past that exhaustion, Magic Burn Out would kill me permanently.
It was a dangerous balance, yet my hunger to use even more power was growing. I could feel it burning inside. Painful yet calming. The Aurora made my magic call to me with greater fervor. It did not care if I had human limitations; it was strong and getting stronger. And it was daring me to test myself.
“SJ was too hard on you,” Blue said suddenly.
I cleared my throat and turned to her. “SJ’s always hard on me. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“I don’t agree with what she said when we escaped the Temple of Malbona. She doesn’t understand what you’re going through.”
“And you do?”
I bit my lip and glanced away. The words had come out blunter than I’d intended.
“No,” Blue admitted. “Maybe not in terms of your magic. I can’t imagine what it must be like to hold so much power and have to fight to control it all the time. But I get the dilemma about taking life. It’s harder for you, I know, because you’re a princess and were raised a certain way. But the first time I ever killed someone . . .”
Blue’s eyes glazed over. I couldn’t tell if it was sadness or shame, but the memory that flashed across her mind must have been weighty.
“It was in Alderon,” Blue said, “when SJ, Jason, and I were traveling together. I never told you. I try not to think about it because killing bad guys now doesn’t seem like a big deal. But that first one . . . It’s hard, Crisa. After you cross that line, you are never the same. Something inside of you turns cold and mechanical. I don’t think it is a bad thing. Antagonists sometimes deserve to die. And as protagonists and protectors of what’s good, the duty to see that they die often falls to us. But that logic doesn’t make it any easier. And with you—a person whose heart will always have to struggle harder against darkness and corruption because of your magic—I can sympathize with the moral struggle you face.”
“I’m not sure I believe that you truly do,” I said carefully. “You told me we should’ve killed Alex, Blue. In Neverland, when antagonists attacked the Lost Boys and Girls camp, you said it would’ve been smarter to kill my brother while we had the chance because enemies don’t stay down for long.”
“I did,” Blue said. “And I’m sorry. Not because I didn’t mean it, but because it wasn’t fair to put that on you. Not when you have the Malice Line and your Pure Magic to worry about. I can kill a bad guy without thinking twice about it. But every time you go down that road, it’s dangerous. After seeing firsthand how you physically reacted to taking life in the temple, well, I think SJ was wrong to be so hard on you about it. But I agree with the point she was making. You can’t kill, Crisa. Not because it’s not right, but because it’s too risky. Whether it’s by using magic or a blade, if you take a life I feel like it won’t be something you can just shrug off like other heroes can. I think it will only cause you more and more pain until you snap and you won’t be able to be you anymore.”
I sighed and looked out at the water again. “I know,” I said, finally admitting it to myself. “But I’m not sure I’ll always have the luxury to avoid it.”
Deciding my stance on the morality of taking life had been a big issue in my storyline for a while. I liked to think this choice was mine and mine alone: if I decided to kill an antagonist that was my prerogative. But because of my Pure Magic, I feared deep down that even if I wanted to destroy a bad guy, I shouldn’t because the effect it would have on me would be much worse.
I hated thinking that way. If I accepted this outlook, it meant that deciding my stance on taking life wouldn’t matter.
And yet, I couldn’t believe this was true. I had to keep making choices that put the greater good above my own good like I had in the temple. Every choice had a ripple, and looking at the grand scheme of things, I would prefer to suffer the consequences myself than have them hurt innocents or the people I cared for. For this reason alone my stance on taking life—and the actions I took in regard to it—had to matter. I could set my path however I saw fit, whether it courted self-destruction or not. And at the end of the day, I was sure that whatever way I ended up defining my morality, I wasn’t going to do it under influence of being afraid for myself. I would do it under the compulsion I felt to serve others and what was right.
I took a swig of my hot chocolate, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and faced my friend. “Blue, do you have faith in me?”
Blue blinked twice. “Of course I do.”
“Then have faith that when the time comes—whether I find the need to take life or spare it—I’ll do what’s right. And that I’ll always be me, no matter what happens.”
The moment hung between us. Then I put my hand on Blue’s shoulder and nodded. “I’m going to go find Arthur.”
I walked away and didn’t look back. I was already aware of the danger I was in. Playing with fire was hard enough; having my closest friends try to micromanage it didn’t help.
With SJ occupied, Blue unintentionally stressing me out, and Ormé and company busy making plans, I thought Arthur and Peter might be my best bet for distraction. I liked Arthur. I wasn’t sure if we were official friends—it was hard to consider someone so much older, wiser, and more awesome than you a friend—but I liked him, and he’d always believed in me.
I made my way below deck, trying to keep my head down. On the second level of the ferry I passed a section of small cabins and spotted SJ inside one. She was scribbling in a tiny lavender journal. I decided not to go in. I didn’t want to bother her any more than I wanted her to bother me with more lecturing.
Eventually I found the gift shop on the lowermost level of the boa
t and ducked between beige silk curtains through a narrow doorway. It was hard to tell how big the shop was, as the aisleways were tight, but kept going and going. The place was packed with stuff. There were shelves with Camelot citadel snow globes, key chains, and magnets. I spotted Rampart bobble heads, action figure knights, and navy throw blankets with the Pendragon Mark.
Further within the shop were less traditional items. There was a whole glass case filled with bottled herbs and potions. A bookshelf with stuffed spiders the size of dachshunds sat in one corner. Spinning racks contained clothes, breastplates, and various leather goods. Overhead, fishing nets strung from the ceiling held large, leather-bound trunks. Their weight caused the nets to hang only a foot above my head in some places. I worried what would happen if these ropes ever withered with age and snapped beneath the weight. Any poor sods making a purchase would surely get killed in the avalanche.
Soon I came across a small wooden counter with a cash register. A petite woman stood behind it. She was barely four feet tall and had long, gray hair held back with sparkling silver clips. A black arm brace covered her left forearm and she had a hook for a right hand. I considered asking her if she knew Captain Hook, but that was probably an insensitive question.
“See something you like?” the little woman asked. “Perhaps a nice King Rampart decorative wall hanging?”
Yeah, next time I need a new dartboard.
“No, thank you. I’m actually looking for some friends of mine. A boy about twelve and a blond man with blue eyes?”
“Oh, yes,” the little woman came around the counter and beckoned me to follow her. “The boy went to get some hot chocolate, I believe. Your other friend is in the changing area trying on some new clothes. Follow me.” She waddled up the skinny aisle.
We arrived at the back of the gift shop where there was a small circular clearing. Books and old magazines had been stacked in ten-foot-tall columns against the wall. At the center of the clearing hung a bright lantern that dangled at the end of a thick chain. It caused the magazine towers to cast sizeable shadows. A single stool with a crimson velvet cushion sat in one corner opposite a curtained-off stall no bigger than a shower.
Crisanta Knight: The Lost King Page 8
