Chapter 36
The sleek hull of Oberon’s sailboat sliced through the water at a speed that would have astonished the crew of the Petrel. He guided it west, through the straits, with Stella making constant adjustments to the complicated arrangement of spars, sails and rigging. Well before mid-morning, they were sailing north into open sea.
While the faerie brother and sister held their craft on course, their four passengers looked back at the coastline of Brynn’s new home until there was nothing but a stripe on the horizon.
Darin squeezed Shayla’s hand. “I’ll miss your little brother.”
“Yes—and my mother too. But at least they are safe. We have all of us lost someone.”
Darin felt a stab in his heart as he thought of his father, slain in battle. He glanced across at Etaine and Broderic. His mother’s eyes were calm and sad as she stared out across the waters, while the look of resignation on Broderic’s face made him seem another person, so characteristic had his expression of cheerful determination been of old.
“Broderic, my friend,” said Darin, pointing at the battered leather case on the deck. “I think it’s time we honoured young Brynn’s request and heaved that thing overboard.”
Broderic nodded and helped Darin carry the heavy axe to the side of the boat.
“So here’s an end to the Old Law,” he said. “Long live the New!”
They swung the great case back and forth between them three times and then flung it with all their strength over the side. Everyone watched as it arced through the air. The waves had scarcely closed over it when the glistening forms of two dolphins shot vertically out of the sea, to hang there suspended for a moment, water cascading off their backs. Then the magnificent creatures plunged after the great axe and disappeared from view.
“The prophecy is fulfilled,” breathed Darin.
Once the Ariel was safely on course, the voyagers sat in a circle around Oberon as he stood at the wheel. He told them first that he hoped to reach their destination, the island of Avalon, by nightfall the following day. Then, with some help from Stella, he tried again to explain the extraordinary nature of the quest on which they were embarked.
The enormity of the disaster that had occurred with Arthur’s defeat was such that Darin, since he had heard of it, was left with an all-pervading sense of unreality. He guessed it was the same for all of them. They had hardly spoken of it amongst themselves; the time for that would come, but, for now, salvation lay in throwing themselves recklessly into this new adventure. When he heard Oberon say they were going to a world that was both like and unlike this one, it seemed to him they would just be exchanging one unreality for another; this was something he found curiously easy to accept.
From what he gathered, the mysterious change between what Oberon referred to as two universes of alternative possibility would occur on the island of Avalon. Afterwards, there would be a boat, brought there by some faerie friend of Oberon’s, and they would sail north. Once on dry land, they would continue their way through places with strange names like Aragon and France until they came to the sea again. On the other side of this sea lay England, a country they would recognize as their own. Oberon would see they were provided with horses and Broderic was to sing his songs about Arthur and his knights at all the courts and castles they passed on their way. Oberon assured them they would be welcomed and rewarded wherever they went; the knights and ladies they would find there were hungry for tales of chivalry, love and adventure.
Oberon painted a picture of a world quite similar to their own, but more divided. Rulers of small kingdoms, barons and knights were constantly warring with one another throughout the whole western world, but recently a powerful religious leader had persuaded them to stop their fighting in order to unite in a great expedition to the city of Jerusalem, far away in the east. Oberon was of the opinion that these rough warriors would derive more benefit from tales of Arthur’s knights, with their codes of honour and courtly love, than they would from the religious fanaticism instilled into them in order to send them off plundering foreign lands. Broderic would be the one to spread these tales and Darin, the last man to be knighted by King Arthur, would be a living example of true chivalry to all who met him.
Darin was quite clear about what he must do. He must reach this England Oberon had told them about. There, he would offer his services to the local ruler and use his knightly skills to win wealth and the right to hold lands of his own, where he would settle with Shayla and his mother and start a family. He thought of the bag of gold coins Arthur had given them. Would gold be of value in the new world they were headed for?
He looked around him. At least we will be together, he thought.
One of the many features of the Ariel that would have won Brynn’s admiration was the sunken cabin amidships, fitted out with four comfortable bunk beds. As night fell, first Shayla and then Darin’s mother climbed down the steps to sleep. Oberon, seemingly tireless, was still at the wheel. Stella leaned on the side of the boat while Darin and Broderic sat on the deck between them.
“I’ve been wondering about something Sultan al-Din said,” said Broderic. “When he heard that Morgan was siding with Mordred against Arthur, he muttered something about love turning to hatred.”
“She did not always hate Arthur,” said Stella. “They were lovers, once. I saw her bent over his bloodied corpse on the field of battle, wailing and tearing out her hair.”
Darin grunted. “But she was largely to blame for his death, surely.”
“Ah, Darin. Love, hatred, jealousy, regret—hers is not a happy lot. She took his body to the island where she dwells with a group of maidens, her pupils. There they mourn over him.”
Broderic looked at Oberon. “I’ve been thinking hard about how I might turn all the stories I remember into song. To begin with, how can I make my audience listen to tales about a king they have never heard of?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Oberon said. “We must present him as a hero from the past. There are stories already in circulation amongst the folk you are going to meet about a great warrior who once defended them against barbarian invasions. Tell them Arthur was that hero and the Knights of the Round Table were his warriors—then they’ll listen!”
Darin studied the tall faerie at the wheel, with the night breeze whipping back his long cloak, his eager face lifted to the stars as he spoke, steering them all towards their destiny. Oberon’s obvious passion caught hold of his heart. He was right, of course—the noble company Arthur had formed around him, the trials and adventures each of his knights had faced, all this was the stuff of story fit to inspire and elevate the souls of men. Ah, but what a senseless ending! He bowed his head as the memory of the calamity that had befallen them came flooding back. His father gone, Arthur gone, the whole shining realm plunged into darkness and chaos.
It was then, even as despair threatened to overwhelm him, that the idea was born. He put his hand on Broderic’s arm.
“Perhaps you should weave a message of hope into your songs, use your art to temper the final grim chapter. We are none of us certain what happens to us when we come to die. If life itself ends on a note of uncertainty, perhaps a good story should do the same.”
Oberon looked at him intently. “What are you getting at?”
“Maybe there could be a hint of doubt as to whether Arthur really did die of his wounds in that last battle. Perhaps Morgan used her arts to heal him. Stella, what did you say was the name of the island she took him to?”
“I didn’t,” said Stella. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“And the island we’re headed for now, Oberon—what did you say it was called?”
“I don’t know what name the mortals use,” replied Oberon, “but Stella and I call it Avalon. It’s the name of an island from our old home, which was destroyed long, long ago. My father and I used to sail out there on a boat just like this one.”
“So be it. Avalon is a fin
e, other-worldly name for the enchanted island where Arthur waits, free from the ravages of time, ready to return when his people need him most.”
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Oberon, his eyes alight. “And, sister! Is it not wonderful that a name from home should live on in story and legend?”
“Wonderful,” echoed Stella, “but not as wonderful as the change all this has wrought in you.” She smiled at Darin. “I haven’t seen my brother so enthusiastic about anything in centuries.”
Broderic was on his feet. “Darin, you’ve got it,” he said. “Exactly what I needed—I can feel the songs taking shape inside me. And Oberon, thank you. This is the mission I was born for.” He turned and started towards the hatch. “Now I must sleep on it. Goodnight, everyone.”
When he was halfway down the stair to the cabin, Broderic looked back at them in the moonlight. “All is not lost,” he said and disappeared below deck.
Oberon turned triumphant eyes on Darin and Stella. “Nothing is lost!” he proclaimed.
Keepers of the Western Forest Page 36