Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  I stood slowly, my legs wobbly from all I had endured. As I moved, every joint hurt, every bruise cried out for attention, but it was nothing compared to what I had endured at Malegant’s hand. Imogen, who had been helping Sobian divide up their supplies for the journey home, helped me dress.

  Before I could ask where Lancelot had gone, the steady clomp of hooves broke the silence, and I froze, fearing we had been discovered.

  Peace, Imogen signed. ‘Tis only Lancelot.

  “You’re up early,” I said by way of greeting as he entered.

  “I wanted to be at the village before dawn in case any of Malegant’s spies remain. The last thing we need is to alert them of our plans or our method of travel.”

  “Lancelot, I know you want to use this steed to carry me back to Camelot, but I cannot ask Imogen to walk that distance. I would like her and Sobian to go on ahead of us and be the messengers of good tidings to Arthur. We can follow.”

  “But there is only one horse. Sobian sold hers in order to be able to stay in town while we formulated a plan to rescue you. You cannot expect to walk all that way. You are wounded and, forgive me, not in your strongest form.”

  “That has never stopped me before. I will not ride while someone I owe my life to walks.”

  Not long after, we were saddling the horse and giving Imogen instructions. She didn’t want to ride on ahead of us and was still protesting through a series of emphatic gestures, but we insisted.

  “Arthur needs to be told we are well,” Lancelot insisted. “I set out with Arthur, Merlin, Kay, and Sobian after Merlin told us of his horrifying nightmare. We were split up during a storm, so the others likely don’t even know Sobian and I are alive, much less that we found Guinevere. She and I will be traveling slowly and resting frequently. The sooner Arthur can be made aware, the sooner he can send guards to accompany us the rest of the way.”

  “Take this.” I slipped the gold-and-sapphire ring off my finger. “Arthur gave me this and will recognize it. It is my signal to him that I am alive and have truly sent you.”

  But I cannot speak to him, she signed, her eyes huge with fear and anxiety. How will I pass on your message?

  “I can understand you,” Sobian spoke up.

  “You can?”

  Sobian grinned. “I understand all manner of hand signals. I was a spy, remember? Do you think I never impersonated a priestess? I had to be authentic or risk being found out.”

  I stared at her incredulously. Was there no end to this woman’s abilities?

  “Well then,” I said to Imogen, “it sounds like Sobian will be your translator and guide.” I hugged her. “I know you are scared, and you have already done more for me than I could ever ask of a dozen people, but I need you to do this one last favor for me. When this is all over, I promise you can retire in any way you like. You are welcome at court if you choose, but if not, name your desire and we will fulfill it.”

  She nodded. The journey will give me time to grieve my children in peace. I will do as you wish.

  Lancelot secured her pack, which was loaded with all the provisions she would need should she somehow be separated from Sobian. “You know the directions?”

  Imogen nodded.

  “Good. May the gods guide your path.”

  I squeezed Imogen’s hand. “Thank you for all you have done.”

  She smiled. Don’t thank me yet. We both still have a long journey ahead.

  After saying farewell to Diarmad, Lancelot and I headed east, our backs to the progress of the sun. It was about noon on a cold but pleasant day. We would not get far before nightfall, but at least it would put distance between us and the ruined tower. I wanted to be as far from there as quickly as possible.

  Our first two days of travel passed without incident, the air growing colder as we neared higher ground. We were fortunate to find shelter in farmsteads, but soon we would not be so lucky. The snow-covered hills of Dartmoor had to be crossed before we reached the safety of the southern terminus of Fosse Way and the road back to Cadbury.

  On the third day, we set out to conquer the passes. Had we been on horseback, the journey would only have taken two days at most, but on foot, we faced a trip of at least three times that length.

  “What do you feel?” Lancelot asked.

  Eyes closed, I searched the energy of the earth and sky. “Nothing. We will have good weather for at least the next two days. Beyond that, I cannot say.” I opened my eyes. “This isn’t an exact skill, you know.”

  He laughed. “But a helpful one. I wish I’d had you on my past journeys. You would have saved me many cold, wet nights.”

  We walked in silence for a while, the ground underfoot sloping steadily upward and the vegetation scarce. Soon there was no path, only wide crags and fissures in the rock, which Lancelot navigated as though he was following a map.

  “How do you know this area so well?” I asked.

  “I don’t. But I traveled it once before, looking for you.” He smiled. “Arthur has done everything in his power to try to find you. When you were discovered missing and Gareth was found dead—”

  My hand flew to my mouth. “Gareth is dead?”

  “Yes. I suppose you would not know. The Samhain revelers said he was stabbed in a fight, right in the middle of the crowd. But it was a mortal wound; no one could have saved him.”

  “But Gareth was guarding me. There was no fight. Surely I would have known. Unless. . .” The words needed not be spoken. I was certain to the marrow of my bones that Malegant had done this. That was how he’d ensured I was alone and ripe for the picking.

  Lancelot cleared his throat. “As soon as we realized you were gone, Arthur launched the biggest search party the country has ever seen. Men and women from all over Britain looked for you in every part of the country. We knew whoever had taken you couldn’t have gotten far, but we decided to search everywhere. Merchants and trading caravans had their wagons inspected at every major crossing, and every boat that sailed from our ports was searched before being allowed to weigh anchor. He really did all he could.”

  I tried to fight the pain welling up inside me. All those resources, all those plans, and yet. . . my mind flashed through months of torment, submission, and pain. Tears overflowed before I could stop them. When I could speak, my voice was strained. “Why was this place so difficult to find? Why did it take so long?”

  Why didn’t you find me sooner? Why didn’t Arthur come for me himself? Those were the questions I really wanted to ask.

  Lancelot stopped. He picked up a stick and sketched a crude map in the snow. “Cadbury is that stone over there.” He pointed at a rock sticking out of the snow about three arms’ lengths away. “This area is open plain, and these are the mountains we are in now.” He gestured to each with his stick. “You were here.” He drew a circle surrounded by a wavy-lined lake and mountains like spear points. “We were not even aware this area was habitable. That is why no one looked there.”

  He looked at me, his soft, caring blue eyes seeking forgiveness. I nodded, relieved to be able to genuinely give it.

  He took my arm, and we continued walking as he spoke. “It was only after Merlin’s dream that we had specific guidance on where to look. He used some kind of crystal to guide us—until the storm. Worst storm I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been trapped in many. It was two nights after the eclipse. We had just made it through the narrowest pass in these hills when the sky darkened far too fast for a normal sunset. The air took on the tang of metal, and the wind blew fiercely then suddenly stopped. We knew we had to seek shelter and fast, but there was nowhere to hide. Before we could make a plan, the rain fell in large, heavy drops. We made it to the outskirts of the forest before the hail came too. Lightning flashed all around us, chasing us wherever we went. That’s when Sobian and I became separated from the rest.”

  I thought back. Two days after t
he eclipse. What exactly had Aine’s dark power shown her? Was it possible she could have known? That she could have directed the storm to keep them away? She was certainly in control of powers that should only have belonged to a trained priestess. But if that was the case, then why had Malegant left me alone? Perhaps he had not known help was coming or Aine had not realized her plan was not completely successful.

  The path became so slippery with ice Lancelot and I had to hold on to one another to stay upright.

  After a while, he looked at the sky. “We should find a place to spend the night.”

  Eventually, we came upon a cave. After ensuring it wasn’t currently occupied by a slumbering bear, Lancelot rousted the bats from its roof. I will never forget their squeaking and the ghostly shiver of their wings as they winged past me to find a new place to haunt. Warrior or no, I cowered in fear until I was certain they were gone. We spent the night slumbering amid our fur-lined cloaks with only a tiny fire to keep us warm. In the still, small hours of the night, Lancelot embraced me in his sleep, his touch igniting the wound in my shoulder. I recoiled, his touch and the sudden pain bringing back vivid memories of Malegant. A small cry escaped my lips as I scrambled to my feet, shaking and desperate to be more than an arm’s length away from him.

  “What is it?” He looked up, still partially asleep, confused.

  I couldn’t speak. I tried to catch my breath, which was coming in ragged gasps, but could not. I doubled over. My chest was caving in. I couldn’t breathe. It was as though fear was smothering me.

  “Guinevere? Are you ill?”

  I couldn’t stop shaking. My mind kept replaying the same memories—Malegant breaking my fingers, beating me, raping me, tearing my flesh to ribbons. Tears made hot rivers down my cheeks in the cold night air.

  I must have looked to him like a feral beast because Lancelot spoke to me in the same soothing tone he used on unbroken colts. “Everything is fine. I mean you no harm. You are safe, Guinevere.”

  My heart was pounding in my head, but at the sound of my name, the rushing thoughts slowed a little. I could understand where I was but not yet why.

  He must have noticed the effect because he tried again. “Guinevere, look at me. No one will harm you.”

  I met his eyes, and my heart began to slow.

  “That’s it. It’s me, Lancelot—your champion. I am sworn to the Goddess in all her names to protect you, remember? I am here to take you home.”

  Slowly, my chest muscles relaxed, and I gasped in a few deep breaths. I was beginning to remember who I was, where, and why.

  Lancelot reached out his hand. “Come to me, Guinevere. You will be safe. I swear it.”

  Hesitantly, I took a small step forward. My arm moved without conscious command to him. When our fingertips touched, I did not flinch but rather relaxed into his warmth.

  Lancelot held my hand gently and slowly led me back to where we had bedded down. “I will not hurt you, but we will be warmer if we are close together. If you do not wish to touch, at least let us share our cloaks.”

  I allowed him to cover us both, our bodies nearly touching. Soon my eyelids grew heavy again, and darkness descended to take all the memories away.

  The next morning, we woke to a light snowfall. After breaking our fast on a brace of squirrels caught in Lancelot’s traps, we set out on what we hoped would be the last leg of our journey through the mountains. After that, we should have been able to take the Roman roads back to Cadbury. We walked in tense silence for a while, trying not to slip on the uneven, rocky terrain. Neither of us acknowledged what had taken place last night.

  Finally, Lancelot said, “Guinevere, I know this is beyond the bounds of my role as your champion, but what did Male—”

  I whirled on him. “Do not say his name. He is dead. It is over.”

  “But Arthur must be told. Do you wish to tell him yourself what happened, or shall I relay it? Which would be easier for you?”

  I stopped. “Why need he know? Is it not bad enough that one of us is haunted by the memories? Why should I so burden him?” I didn’t want to tell him anything, say anything. If I voiced my experiences, there would be no denying them. They would be real and irrefutable. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.

  “You need to tell someone. You’ll never be free until you do. I swear on all the gods and the Lady of the Lake who raised me that I will repeat what you tell me only to the king.”

  I fought him for a while, but eventually, as the sky grew lighter and the sun traversed the sky behind a bank of darkening clouds that began to shed tiny flakes, I told him everything, starting with caring for Camille and Llew all the way through learning Imogen’s identity and our plans to escape. As much as I wanted to edit my experience and keep the worst from him, I forced the words through my lips. By the time my story was complete, I could barely stand. Reliving it was nearly as bad as going through it the first time.

  The snow was falling harder, piling up around our ankles and hampering our progress. On Lancelot’s advice, we had each taken a stout stick from a pine tree to use as a walking staff. I was grateful for the support.

  We rounded a bend, and I gasped in wonder. Before us, the land plummeted to a deep chasm with only a small ledge hugging the eastern face of the foothills. The hills dropped off sharply to a void of rock and ice, small scrub trees growing defiantly here and there from fissures in its smooth face. Far below, a gray-and-white-capped river flowed, its roaring current only the slightest whisper to our ears. On the far side, the sun was beginning to set behind foothills identical to the ones we had just traversed, where trees promised to lead to level land if one only kept walking long enough. Directly ahead, across the gorge, the ledge widened to accommodate a small stand of fir trees and a tiny cabin.

  “There.” Lancelot pointed at the house. “That is where we will rest this night.”

  “Will we have to cross the chasm?” I asked tremulously, memories of the crude bridge at the tower still far too fresh in my mind.

  “No, if we keep to the ledge, it should take us there.”

  “Good.” My teeth chattered as much with fear as cold.

  Lancelot led the way, testing each step with his staff before making it, clearly uncertain whether or not to trust his sight as to which parts of the snow-packed ground were solid and which were not. We were purposefully silent, knowing what the slightest noise could do at this elevation when the snows were heavy and their pack unreliable.

  The cabin was in sight when the rumbling began. Instinctively, we looked up then at each other. We hadn’t made a sound. But someone had.

  “Someone else is here,” I said, spine prickling, ears fully alert like a hound.

  It came again—a regular crunch, crunch, crunch—growing steadily closer, but because of the echoes of the gorge, I couldn’t tell if it was in front of or behind us. I drew my sword.

  The mountain grumbled again, shaking the ground beneath us.

  Lancelot picked up a rock and threw it across the path ahead. It bounced off a tree trunk, clattering to the ground. Not a moment later, an arrow whizzed past us and lodged in the earth where the rock had fallen.

  “It’s a trap,” I whispered.

  Lancelot nodded, looking around. “There are likely men behind us, so we cannot turn back, but I don’t see a viable way around either.”

  We charged forward, running at top speed to evade any additional archers, and narrowly missed a rope strung across the pass. Once over it, Lancelot tripped it as we hugged the trees on opposite sides of the trail. A net rose out of the snow, closing over nothing. Lancelot cut it down and slung the mesh over his shoulder.

  The sound drew out our attackers. They emerged from the trees—the archer, another man, and a golden-haired woman—confident in their trap. Lancelot was able to dispatch the archer before the others assumed a defensive stance.

  My mout
h dropped open as I found myself facing Aine—who I’d thought was dead—and more surprisingly, Diarmad.

  They took advantage of our shock by charging. Aine came at me as though to tackle me but then shoved me to the right, nearly sending me skittering over the ledge. Thanks be to the goddess Druantia I caught a bowed branch of pine in time to stop my slide. I scrambled to my feet, and Aine swung at my head with her wicked axe. I ducked and weaved so that I was behind her. She turned before I could land a blow, but I was now too close for her massive weapon to be of much use. She turned it and slammed the pole into my ribs, knocking me back, but I was inside her guard again before she could swing.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Lancelot struggling with Diarmad, each knowing the other’s fighting techniques, skills, and weaknesses.

  I decided to try to distract Aine to break her concentration. “How did you get ahead of us, Aine? Why follow us all this way?”

  She panted, “I know these mountains better than your knight. You killed my brother, so I will take your life. But not before ransoming you for all your puny hide is worth.”

  So she didn’t plan to kill me, at least not yet. That certainly changed the tenor of this fight. I relaxed a little, working to disarm her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lancelot bring Diarmad to his knees and ensnare him in the net he had salvaged.

  Aine must have seen it too, for she turned and, with a feral war cry, swung at Lancelot. He dove out of the way but not quite in time. Her axe bit into his thigh. Lancelot crumpled, momentarily defenseless. Struggling to regain his footing, he threw a handful of snow at Aine, hoping to blind her, but she avoided it and raised her axe to deliver the fatal blow.

  I screamed and lunged for her, but Diarmad wriggled his way out of the net and came at Lancelot at the same time. In a split-second decision, I changed the arc of my blade and swung at Diarmad instead, ripping a hole in his gut. His blade too made deadly contact, but not with Lancelot. His final act was to save Lancelot by driving his sword into Aine’s throat. She gurgled in surprise, dropped her axe, and fell, her blood staining the snow a bright crimson.