The Undead Queen of Camelot

by M. L. Bullock

  He is not himself… Gareth’s words came back to me, but I refused to acknowledge them. Gareth did not know what I knew. That Lancelot, like me, had been reborn. Time moved very slowly here; only a few months had passed after my death as Arthur Pendragon, killed on the battlefield in Mormount against Morgan’s army. But I had been reborn in another time, as had Lancelot. I had not quite been myself either until I passed through the portal for the first time, and then everything came back to me. I had fewer scars, as Gareth also noted, but I could handle Excalibur with the same grace as before. Perhaps that was the difference. I could not say, but passing through the portal clearly had not been enough to bring Lancelot back. Not fully.

  But there must be something that would trigger that for him. Something that would cause him to remember. He remembered Guinevere, and how much he loved her, that I believed. There were times when he wanted to speak about it, but I would not allow that.

  The lake lapped at the shore gently. The waters were clear here, but in the center of the lake, toward the tiny island that housed the Lady of the Lake, they were dark. I had been there before, so very long ago. I could hear the brushing wings of an owl nearby and the creature’s soft call. Yes, she knew we were here. There was no doubt about that.

  I could see smoke from a fire burning in the Lady’s humble home, but there were no other signs of life. Usually, there were young women dressed in blue and Strong Men, the men who served the Lady, large and brutish, patrolling the shores. I could see no boats on the island, nothing to ferry us to her. All other times when I visited, a boat would be waiting for me, as if she knew I was coming, but not today. And she did know we were coming—that could only mean I was not welcome. I did not carry Excalibur with me today. It was in Gareth’s care, and I knew that he would give his life, if necessary, to keep it safe. I quickly thought about something else because as I recalled, the Lady Vivian could read one’s mind as easily as I could read written letters.

  “This lady, she lives there? That is a very small place,” Lancelot said. “She can help me? Maybe we should call her?”

  “No, we should not call her. She knows we are here. We must wait and be patient.” My friend did not seem to know the truth, that the Lady of the Lake was in no hurry to reunite with him. Like Igraine, she had lost her son on the battlefield. And perhaps like Igraine, she did not believe that Lancelot was himself either. That would be a mistake, Lady Vivian. He is your son!

  We waited until near dusk; the lake was only a half-day’s ride from Camelot. How strange to see it so still, so dark. The place used to be full of light and laughter. There were no blue-clad acolytes on the shores of Avalon this day. That disturbed me; indeed, it did more than disturb. With each passing moment, I got the sense that we were in danger. This had been a bad idea. I watched as the owl flew across the lake and was about to suggest to Lancelot that we leave when I heard the sound of moving waters.

  As I turned around, I was surprised to see Vivian standing on the shore, her gray gown swirling about her as if she had floated here. I saw no boat, and none of her legendary Strong Men accompanied her. It was as if she just appeared here. She walked toward me in purposeful strides, her face a mask of calm and determination.

  “You are here, but Excalibur is not. Why have you come?”

  Vivian was a small woman, and she had aged considerably since last I had seen her. Her tanned skin bore many wrinkles now. It was as if all of Camelot had been frozen in time, except Vivian. She sniffed indignantly at my observations. I stupidly forgot that she could hear my mind.

  “Give me the sword, Arthur. Give me back what is mine!”

  Lancelot stepped beside me. “How dare you speak to the king in such a manner! Who are you to demand the sword?” Lancelot spoke rashly, but then again, he did not remember the truth. The truth of who he was—of who Vivian was—or how I had received the sword.

  Vivian raised her hand as if she wanted to scratch Lancelot’s face, but she did not strike him. Instead, she said one word, in a language I did not understand. Lancelot’s breath caught and his eyes fluttered as he fell to his knees, his face the picture of agony. My squire hovered close, but I waved him back. I could not predict what Vivian would do next. She had never been predictable, but once she had been kind. Not anymore.

  “I have returned to Camelot as king, Vivian. You yourself proclaimed me the Once and Future King, and Merlin was by your side. Have you forgotten your own prophecy, Lady?”

  Lancelot wept beside me but staggered to his feet to stand next to me.

  “I know what I said. It is you who have forgotten your promises, King Arthur. You who have betrayed all of Avalon. You have forgotten us, left us to vanish into obscurity. The Fog of Memory encroaches on our sunny shores each day a little more, a little longer. It is only by my magic that you are here now, not swallowed in the fog.”

  “How can this be, Vivian? How have I failed you?”

  “The sword—it should have been returned to me, but Guinevere thought to keep it for herself. You and your wife have betrayed us all. Now give it to me so that we may disappear forever.”

  Her voice felt like ice water being poured down my back. I had never heard such a sad thing. But I was not going to yield the sword to Vivian. Excalibur is mine by right. My father held it, I hold it, and someday…no, Lochlon is gone. But maybe he too will return.

  “He will not return. His soul has left this realm and has gone forever. Lochlon will only be once-born. It was his fate. Now, return the sword to me, or I will take it by force.”

  “No, Lady. I cannot return the sword to you. It still calls my name. It does not serve you.”

  “It does not serve you either, King Arthur. It serves Guinevere, as you well know. Is it your desire to place the Undead Queen on the throne? Imagine what Camelot would become if she were allowed to rule as she is! Or do you not care for your people, Arthur? Guinevere will do as she always has and bring ruination to everyone around her. Even my own son.”

  Lancelot glowered at her but did not speak. His hand was on my shoulder now. “Let us go from this place, Arthur. See? The fog is rolling in, and if we do not leave now, we may never find our way out of it.”

  “I will return here in the morning, when the sun rises, Arthur. You will bring me the sword, or I shall come after it. And I will come with all of Avalon.” Vivian waved her hand, and suddenly I saw what I could not see before: the two Strong Men and the cloaked acolyte who waited for her in the flat boat. I could not see the young woman’s face, nor did I want to.

  Vivian stepped into the boat as we climbed on our horses. “I shall see you at sunrise, Arthur.” The acolyte rose and pushed the boat away from the shore with a thick stick. I could hear the soft paddling of the Strong Men as Vivian disappeared into the rising fog.

  Lancelot and I did not speak as we rode hard for Camelot. What should have taken us half a day took us only a few hours. I called for Gareth, who came immediately, his face etched with worry. Especially when he saw Lancelot.

  “Do not worry, Gareth. I am myself again,” Lancelot said in greeting.

  “Thank God for that,” Gareth replied as he hugged him like a brother.

  “Come now, knights. Gather all knights to the Hall of the Round Table. We must speak of serious matters. Vivian wants Excalibur, but I am not of a mind to give it to her.”

  “There are few knights here, Arthur. But there are many squires, including Marcus.”

  “I understand,” I said with a grin. “Perhaps it is time we welcome new faces to the Round Table. Let us have a knighting, Gareth. Select six young men, only the worthiest, to meet me in the Great Hall. But do so quickly. I am sure they had hoped for a feast worthy of any knight, but it is not to be. Vivian will come, and we must be ready.”

  Camelot hummed with activity for the next few hours. Lancelot disappeared from my presence, but it did not take long to find him again. From my window, I could see him riding, and he had donned his armor, t
he silver armor, the Armor Renowned. He was ready for battle. At least I would have Lancelot by my side.

  But I could not help but long for my queen. She was the missing part of my heart. My love and my light. Or she had been. Now she was a monster. Vivian had called her the Undead Queen. Dead or undead, Guinevere would always be the queen of my heart.

  Guinevere, where are you?

  Chapter Seven—Guinevere

  “Nimue! Are you there? I know that you are! Reach for my hand, Nimue!” I said as I tossed the wood to the side. The rickety shed fell over with a dull thud, and I could see Nimue’s pale hands shaking with hunger. Was she trying to starve herself to death? And how foolish to get caught in the sun! I wanted to scold her but did not, as she was my only companion. The pain in my stomach worsened, and I fell to my knees and muffled a scream. Never in all these years had I suffered such pain. In fact, I had been quite impervious to such things.

  Nimue crawled out of her makeshift grave. She looked a sight with her pale, dirty hair and even paler skin. If a human were to see her like this, they would certainly detect that she was not normal. Not human at all. But then again, my glittering eyes weren’t exactly normal for humans. At least I had gone to the trouble of dressing like a modern woman while Nimue preferred her long gowns and ridiculously impractical sleeves.

  “Igraine cursed you, my queen. It is but a minor curse, though it is painful.”

  “How could she curse one who is already cursed?” I asked as I clutched my stomach. The need to vomit overwhelmed me, but nothing came out. I fell back in the dirt. “Is he dead? Did you kill him, Nimue? You must go look.”

  “I will, Guinevere. Stay here.”

  “I cannot think that I shall be going anywhere, Nimue. It took all my strength to come to you.”

  “Try to remain quiet. There are homes nearby, including Morrison’s.” I rolled on my side and waited for her to return. When she did, she said, “He is dead, Guinevere. Burned completely. I let the sun burn him.”

  “You took a great risk, Nimue. You risked your life to avoid killing him.”

  “But I did kill him. Let us not argue. I need to break this curse.” She sniffed the air. “I think…yes. Just wait. This will be a minor working, and I think I can find everything I need here.”

  “You have to take me back.” I could hear dogs barking in the distance, determined dogs that were on the trail of something. Could they be looking for Tom Morrison? What horrible luck. But my pleas fell on empty air because Nimue was gone. I heard twigs breaking behind me; the dogs were barking still and coming closer. Any moment, they would find me, subdue me, and then what? Would I die finally by being torn to bits by a pack of dogs? What an incredibly suitable end! To die torn to pieces by dogs like evil Queen Jezebel who had been thrown from the tower.

  “Here, I have everything. Put your arm around me, Guinevere.”

  “We will have to fly, Nimue.” I wept as I struggled with the pain. Oh, the horrible pain. Surely this was worse than any death!

  “We will move very fast. Hold on to me!”

  The dogs were entering the clearing; I could see flashlights and hear men yelling at one another. They would find us if we did not hurry.

  I closed my eyes, and Nimue ran with me through the dense woods. We moved so quickly that I felt as if we were floating. The leaves crunched beneath our feet as Nimue and I ran. By the time we reached the edge of the forest, she was practically carrying me. I thought of Arthur and Lancelot, their faces hovering before me. I wasn’t thinking clearly at all. The old question remained, who did I love? Who would I die for, if it came to that?

  “It is Igraine’s curse, Guinevere. I will undo it—it is a minor working but a powerful one.”

  We entered the house, and Nimue raced down the stairs with me. I briefly got the sensation that we were not alone, but the sickness and the pain distracted me.

  “Lie down in your kistvaen, Guinevere. Let me do my work.”

  Nimue helped me lie down, and I clutched my stomach and tried to keep from screaming. My mind was bombarded with images of Arthur and Lancelot, only they were not pleasant images. They hated me now. They growled at me. They demanded to know the truth. I cried out to them, “No! Go away!”

  Nimue whispered as she placed stones on my body. “Open your mouth, Guinevere. Open your mouth and hold this on your tongue.” I did as she asked although it was a struggle to do so. The pain had left my stomach but now fixed its evil on my mind. Oh, the hurt was great. Nimue whispered and chanted, and I felt the stones warm on my body through my black clothing.

  And then it was broken. The spell or whatever it was had been broken. Nimue crumpled on the floor. I heard the door open at the top of the stairs and immediately sensed Abigail Lightfoot’s presence. At least she had the courtesy not to invade my privacy.

  “Jane?”

  “I am here, Abigail. I will come up to you soon.”

  “Okay,” her soft voice called, and I heard her step away.

  “Who is that?” Nimue asked fearfully.

  Oh, Nimue. You look a fright, my friend.

  “It is a friend. The only friend I have besides you, Nimue. Thank you for breaking the curse. I hope it has not come at a great cost to you. I would not wish that. Not at all.”

  Nimue held my hand and smiled wanly. “And here I thought I was your only friend. It is good to know that you do not kill everyone around you.” I knew that was an attempt at humor, but it did not humor me. Still, I did not argue with her.

  She continued in a soft but resolute voice, “Guinevere, we have to go back. We have to return to Camelot. Vivian will come for the sword, you know that. She will come, and she will take it, even if it means killing Arthur.”

  “Vivian would not kill Arthur. She loves him.”

  Nimue shook her head sadly as she rose slowly to her feet and dusted herself off. “Vivian has no love left in her. She is very much changed, Guin. Very much changed indeed. She would have killed me if it had not been for Merlin. Avalon is disappearing; the place has been forgotten. The Old Ways have been forgotten and Vivian along with them. She loses power daily, but she will not retreat without the cup and the sword. She has the cup. Galahad delivered it to her, remember?”

  I did remember hearing the news that Lancelot’s son had died, but before his death, he had given the cup to Vivian to be held in safekeeping. But the idea that she would kill Arthur…that seemed impossible, for she had loved him a great deal once upon a time.

  “But to go to Camelot like this…it is not safe. Not for the people we swore to protect, Nimue. Not for Arthur. I would not be a help to him. If they knew what I was, the people would rise up against him. I am sorry, but I cannot go.”

  “Then you may as well kill him yourself, for the king and his sword are one. He is married to the sword,” Nimue said in a sad whisper.

  The memory of my wedding day came to mind. The feel of my cool wedding dress, the spark when I kissed the sword, smiling at my shining husband dressed in green and gold. No, Nimue. You are wrong. We are both married to the sword. He is Pendragon by blood; I am Pendragon by covenant.

  Nimue gasped in surprise at my thoughts, but I did not speak about it aloud. There were some mysteries that should not ever be spoken. Not even in the darkest of nights. “We must feed. We must take blood, Nimue. Imagine hunting in Camelot…I could not do that. In this world, there are many evildoers; it is easy to survive here.”

  “You love Arthur, I know this. You love him well. You have proven that again and again. Now you must do it once more. For whether we live or die, Arthur must be king. To change that reality, to remove him as king, as we would do if we failed to uphold him and his right to carry Excalibur, we assure that this world will be much worse. These realities exist separately, but they are all connected.”

  “You sound like John Faraday, Nimue.” I paced the floor of the room and swept my loose hair out of my face with my hand. I felt better, but now th
e hunger had returned. I did not need to feed tonight. I could live with the minor discomfort of hunger.

  “Arthur needs you, my queen.” Nimue surprised me by kneeling in front of me. It had been a long time since anyone had knelt before me. How could I say no to Nimue? She had been my friend when everyone else had abandoned me. And she was right, as she always was.

  “Very well, but we must do so quickly. We will need cloaks to shield us, Nimue. Can you open the portal? Do you need blood?”

  She kissed my cheek affectionately. “No, I am strong enough. I will find us coverings just in case we step into the sunlight. What about your friend?”

  “I will tell her goodbye. We should leave within the hour. It will take time to make our way to Camelot from the portal.” I trembled at the idea of returning to the city which I loved. Camelot was more than a castle or a fortress. It was a place that I loved. I knew the people who lived there, and they had been my family as well. The Roundtrees, the red-haired Barrows. The Winters family…their first names escaped me, yet I could see them with their black hair, father and sons, hammering blades in the heat of the blacksmith shop. So many faces. You have no time for this, Guinevere.

  I hurried up the steps and went in search of Abigail Lightfoot. The older woman was where I expected to find her, in the library. She had the Ladner book in her hands, but her expression worried me.

  “Are you well?”

  “I am well. How did you find your book? If you would like to keep it longer, you may.”

  Abigail sat in the leather chair, and I sat across the table from her. She turned on the lamp, and I felt that she was examining me. I was as I always was—my eyes were glittering, and my skin was pale—but she knew this about me. Abigail had always known, but she never said a word about my strangeness. I wondered why, and not for the first time. She liked to study me, but then again, she was a scholar. She studied everything and everyone.

  “I am going away now, Abigail. I doubt that I shall return.”