Once Upon a Quest

by Anthea Sharp

  Thus far they had seen nothing, heard nothing … even his sword was oddly quiet. He would have thought he’d be able to feel its hum of magick in a place like this.

  Arthur wasn’t sure how much more time had passed before Gwenevere pulled at his arm. “I must rest, I’m having trouble breathing.”

  Lancelot stopped, causing Arthur to slam into him.

  “We must rest.” Arthur kicked the ground, trying to find a place for her to sit. When he found nothing he advised her to lower to the ground and have a seat.

  Exhausted, the queen sat down. He couldn’t see her but he imagined her head was bowed forward; she would hate to show such a sign of weakness. Arthur knew her health was quickly deteriorating.

  After a short time they continued forward.

  Suddenly, a loud snarl stopped them in their tracks.

  No one spoke a word. It sounded like a beast of some sort, they could hear its breathing, very close.

  Both Arthur and Lancelot drew their swords.

  Arthur heard the slash of Lancelot’s sword when it came into contact with a sickening thud. A loud howl rang out, before the beast dropped to the ground. To be sure the animal was dead, Lancelot drove his sword down into the beast.

  “Move two feet to the right and then continue forward,” he instructed, his voice barely a whisper.

  “What was that?” Arthur asked, his voice low.

  “I have no idea,” Lancelot responded.

  “It sounded like a hell hound,” Gwenevere said, her voice a bit shaky.

  “What is a hell hound?” Arthur demanded.

  “Large beasts that guard the border of the Underworld.”

  Lancelot laughed. “Camelot may be a lot of things, but I don’t think it’s the entranceway to the Underworld.”

  “How would you know what a hell hound sounded like?” Arthur asked. There was much about his wife he did not know, it would seem.

  “They chased me as a child. I will not speak of it any more than that. We must move forward. This is a sign that we are close.”

  As usual, the queen was right. Before long they found themselves in front of the opening of a cave, but oddly they could see the opening, the Mist parted at the entranceway.

  “Please don’t tell me you think this is the doorway to the Underworld?” Lancelot’s voice was light, but the strain was evident on his face.

  “I have no idea,” Gwenevere whispered, “but we must enter, we’ve come this far.”

  “She’s right, and this time I lead.” Arthur strode in front of Lancelot into the cave, his sword drawn.

  The cave was long, cold, and wet, but at least they could somewhat see. Whatever was lighting the cave was unnatural.

  Just when Arthur thought the cave would lead nowhere, they saw a shimmering of light ahead. A rainbow of flashes danced in the air.

  Arthur turned to look at his wife. She was staring into the lights, the smile of a child lighting up her face.

  “What is it?” Lancelot asked, his eyes riveted on Gwenevere.

  “The Chalice is here.” Certainty filled her voice.

  “Where?” Arthur asked, glancing around. All he could see was the twinkling lights and a dreary cave.

  “You don’t see it?” She spoke in wonder.

  Arthur glanced at Lancelot with a raised brow. He shook his head; he couldn’t see it either.

  Gwenevere raised her hands toward the lights. As she reached her hands up, a bright flash of light filled the room. The air felt heavier; Arthur found himself sucking in a deep breath.

  What’s going on?

  Anything with magick was always over his head. True, he had Excalibur, but the sword had picked him.

  The temperature in the cave dropped to the degree that Arthur felt his teeth chatter.

  A black mist filled the room which swirled together to form a man. He was tall and slender; his face was pointed, his eyes black as night. “Lovely, Gwenevere, I see you heard my call.”

  She tilted her head. “Yes, my Lord, loud and clear.”

  “Very good. Your mother said you were wise.”

  “My mother?”

  “Many have made the sacrifice over the centuries to keep you alive. For some reason they believe you are needed on this dimension.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  Arthur watched his wife. She’d paled, her eyes were hollow, and she looked like she’d aged thirty years before his eyes. She was terrified, that much he could tell.

  “Everyone you’ve ever loved, they have given their life for yours. You don’t think immortality comes free, do you?”

  She gasped. “You don’t speak the truth.”

  “You know I do. Think of all the lives that have been lost … your parents, caretakers, lovers, teachers, the list goes on and on. The question tonight is: who is going to sacrifice themselves for you? Your husband or your lover?”

  Lancelot glanced over at Arthur.

  “Yes, brother, I know you’ve been sleeping with my wife.”

  Lancelot’s head dropped. “I’m sorry. I tried for years to fight it, but I could not. You know I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood, I never meant to cause you any pain.” He stepped forward. “I willingly give my life for the Queen of Camelot. I, too, believe her life is worth a thousand of mine.”

  Arthur’s mind was in turmoil; he wasn’t sure what he should do. The knight in him wanted to give his own life for hers, but the king in him wanted to remain to rule Camelot.

  “Very well, Arthur, take off his head.”

  Arthur’s heart stilled. “You’re out of your mind. You will give my wife the Chalice and you will allow all of us to walk out of here alive. There is no way I will kill him. I will kill you first.”

  Lancelot moved forward in front of Arthur. “Just do it. I’d rather die at your hand than from a hand of darkness. I know if you take my life I will wake up in Elysian Fields … who knows where I’ll go if he does it.”

  Arthur shook his head, “I can’t do it.” Without hesitation, Arthur handed Excalibur to Lancelot—then dropped to his knee and lowered his head. “Take my life, Lancelot. I’m ready to go to the afterlife. My wife has betrayed me with my only true friend, and I have done what I came here to do, we’ve brought peace to Camelot … Truth be told, I’m bored out of my mind in this world of peace. I’m ready to move onto something greater. I don’t have many years left in me and my wife will outlive me It’s time.”

  Lancelot took a step backward.

  Throwing his head back, the man in black laughed. “It seems you have found yourself loyal followings, my dear. Look at them arguing over who will die for you.” The Chalice appeared in his hands.

  Lancelot dropped his sword by his side. “It’s your life, you choose.”

  Gwenevere looked between the two men she loved and back at the man in black. “What if I choose neither?”

  He shrugged. “Then you shall perish, but it is not the will of the Gods, they will be displeased.”

  Gwenevere turned, her eyes locked on her husband, “I cannot make such a choice! I would rather die, than have either of you give your life for me.”

  “Nonsense, you heard the man, we do not wish to displease the gods.”

  Arthur’s heart swelled. No matter how angry he’d been with his wife, he had forgiven them both completely. He would harbor no grudge against them, how could one not love either of them?

  Next thing they knew, they heard a thump and gurgling.

  “No!” Arthur screamed, running to Lancelot. He dropped to his knees and pulled the sword out of his friend’s chest, pressing his hands down on the wound. “You fool, what did you do?”

  “I don’t deserve her,” were his final words, before his eyes stilled and he took his last breath.

  The dark man held out the Chalice to Gwenevere. She glanced within the Chalice then looked at the two men she’d loved on the ground.

  Surprising them all, she turned and walked toward them. Dropping to her knees, sh
e lowered the Chalice and dripped the liquid into the mouth of Lancelot. At first nothing happened, but then his eyes snapped open and he sucked in a deep breath.

  Arthur froze. His throat was tight and his heart pounded wildly in his chest. How could she? “You love him that much?”

  “As much as I know how to love.” She leaned forward, raising the Chalice to Arthur’s lips. He pushed her away. “Do you think I wish to live without you? Then you know me not.”

  “Please, Arthur, take this gift of my love. The two of you are all that is right in this world. The gods will forgive me.”

  The man in black stood back watching, but did not interfere.

  “Take the drink,” Arthur demanded. “It’s yours.”

  “No, my love, my time here is done, I must move on. I cannot continue to have others sacrifice themselves for me. I am not worthy, but the two of you …”

  “You don’t have much time,” the man in black said.

  “Please, Arthur, if you love me, drink it.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

  “I can’t do it. Drink it, Gwenevere, it’s yours.” He took a step forward, and his fingers touched the tears running down her face.

  “If you do not drink it, I will pour it out and we will all lose.”

  Arthur clenched his jaw. “Don’t make me do this.”

  “If you ever cared for me you will.”

  Grabbing the Chalice from his wife, Arthur tilted his head back and drank; a rush of warmth flooded his body. “There are you satisfied?”

  Her body sagged with relief. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The man in black grabbed the Chalice from Arthur.

  They all watched as the Chalice refilled with the liquid essence of life. “You have surprised us, my dear. Throughout the ages, the Chalice has been used for greed, but you sacrificed yourself for the men you love. It would seem the gods are most pleased with you. They have long awaited this day; you have just changed the history of the world. The three of you will remain within this dimension until there is peace across the lands, and then it will be up to you, if you decide to leave or stay. There will be a great many wars across the ages, it has been written it will be so, but when there seems to be no hope for humanity, we will come to your side and together the gods will return to their rightful place amongst men. Until then, you must do what you can to alter the course of faith. You must keep your identities hidden. Once your lifecycle at Camelot has come to a close, you must live in the shadows, and you must never part. The three of you have the power of the Trinity.”

  He handed the Chalice to Gwenevere. She glanced down at it, then at Arthur and Lancelot. Raising the Chalice to her lips, she drank deeply. “So be it.”

  She handed the Chalice back to the man in black. The darkness swirled around him once again and he was gone.

  Lancelot rose to his feet.

  The three of them stood staring at each other.

  Arthur’s lips quirked. “I guess this gives a whole new meaning to the term love triangle.”

  “That’s not funny,” Gwenevere snapped, but then she too grinned.

  Lancelot looked at both of them, before he also broke into a smile.

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this short story please find out more about Julia Crane on her website juliacrane.com or follow her on Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/yajuliacrane/

  We were asked to write a little bit about why we picked our particular fairytale.

  * * *

  I’ve always had a fascination with this time period as a child—the idea of knights and magick were always lingering in the back of my mind. And of course the hint of a love triangle between King Arthur, his wife, and his most trusted knight leaves room for many tales to be told. Maybe someday I will have the time to expand on this story and find out what path they are led down throughout the ages. Thank you for taking your time to read my portion of this amazing anthology.

  * * *

  Warm Wishes,

  Julia

  Part I

  Fear of Falling

  Shawntelle Madison

  Chapter 1

  Ireti

  * * *

  All griffin hatchlings fly when kicked out of the nest. When my nestmates and I were ousted from our birthplace, my brother and sisters glided along the jagged cliffs.

  I fell.

  One moment, I slept curled up beside my slightly older sister, Olufe, and in the next, my mother’s blood-red beak picked me up by the tail and hurled me out of the warmth of our feather down-filled nest. I plunged down the side of the mountain, shrieking and screaming while the other ten hatchlings soared above me. The face of the mountain rushed at me. The ice streaks and patches of evergreen trees grew larger and larger. More vivid in smoky grays and stark greens.

  The sunset-tinged earth was coming at me, and there was nothing I could do, but I refused to die head-first. I twisted my torso in time. First, my right leg hit a narrow cliff. Crunch. Pain seized my right limb and snatched my breath. Clouded my vision in red. Rocks, snow, and branches plummeted past me. I was falling faster and faster.

  Fly, Ireti, fly.

  I reached out with my claws—only finding the open air—even my smaller, gold-tipped wings, which should have captured the air and lifted me toward the eternal heavens, did nothing. Up here, the air was frigid and thin—only a griffin with strong wings could take flight.

  The end was coming before I’d experienced a beginning.

  “All the Awosanma hatchlings are called to the Wura Peak,” Mother had said to us. “Soon all of you will go there, find your true mate, and live as intended.”

  I’d never see the Wura Peak, a massive, singular mountain to the far north, often obscured with wispy clouds.

  I closed my eyes.

  Before I hit, something yanked hard on my leg and swung me upward. I glanced up to see Olufe. The wind screamed in my ears as we soared toward the sky.

  Even as a hatchling, Olufe’s golden wings, with their white tips, extended far wider than most. Her claws held me tight—almost piercing the furred flesh of my leg. My sister was a beautiful creature to behold, but no matter how hard she flapped her wings, we continued to descend. We were flying toward the east. Toward the setting sun.

  “No!” I conveyed to her via mindspeak, the Awosanma tongue without sounds. “Let me go! We’re going the wrong way.”

  She shrieked and her grip tightened to the point of pain. “No,” was her only reply.

  The other hatchlings continued north while a panic squeezed my chest. I wheezed. She still wouldn’t let me go. My gaze flicked to Wura Peak in the distance. My wings could never carry me there.

  All the stories our mother told us about our mating grounds faded away as the mountains turned to forest-green valleys. We were going too fast. Trees, rocks, structures all bled across my field of vision. Before we hit the treetops, another griffin swooped in to slow us down. My brother, Akin, grabbed us and we slammed into the trees.

  My head rammed against a tree trunk and my body flopped to the ground. As I slipped away to unconsciousness, I watched other hatchlings disappear toward Wura Mountain.

  * * *

  The forest floor was impossibly dark. Shadowy tree trunks resembled figures reaching for us. Why couldn’t I see as well anymore?

  I flexed my claws—only to find I now had delicate fleshy limbs. Soft skin replaced feathers and fur. I leaned my head up, only to have pain slither down my back.

  “Don’t move,” Olufe’s familiar voice said in mindspeak. Her weird “hand” touched my torso. “Your leg is broken.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” I replied.

  “We’re Ground-Walkers now. Whenever the Awosanma are near the ground at night, we take on a cursed form.” She removed leaves from my hair. “The Ground-Walkers cover their fragile skin with woven sheep wool and communicate using these strange mouths.”

  A groan floated near my left side. I craned my head to see Akin struggling upright onto two legs.
He wobbled, but managed to stand.

  Olufe continued—though her voice through mindspeak sounded constricted. “I’ve been here before, but only during the day.” As a stronger hatchling, Olufe had practiced flight.

  Now that Akin was up, the moonlight shined on his broad shoulders. So this was what a male Ground-Walker looked like. But there was something ethereal about his honeyed skin, his speckled hazelnut-tinted eyes, and the tight, light-brown ringlets cascading down his shoulders.

  Olufe turned to Akin as she gathered a thick branch from the moss-covered ground. “Why did you catch us?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have survived otherwise!” he sneered. “Why did you save her, anyway?”

  I flinched.

  Olufe’s eyes formed slits and golden eyes deepened to molten amber. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Look at her.” He sighed. “Not everyone is meant to survive the flight…to mate.”

  Olufe didn’t look at me, but I did. As a Ground-Walker, my shorter limbs were thinner and less muscled than theirs.

  My sister gathered two more branches and vines from the nearby trees. Using them, she fashioned a splint for my leg.

  “This will ensure the leg heals straight,” she reassured me with a smile. “Don’t try to move anymore.”

  The side of her mouth trembled though. Her eyes blinked rapidly, and she sucked in a deep breath. My chest tightened. Olufe never showed weakness.

  Akin ran his hands down his face then crouched. “Why now? Why did Mother push us to the sky so soon? We have at least until next spring.”

  The air down here was crisp. Wildflowers were in full bloom. Spring had arrived in the valley. We should’ve matured even more over the next year, but would I have grown enough for the arduous journey?

  Olufe shook her head. “There were others in the air—maybe our parents read the skies wrong…” Her voice drifted to a whisper. Water fell down her cheek.

  “Sister,” I murmured.