Spear of Destiny (Misadventures of Loren Book 1)

by Ines Johnson

  "Loren, you have to undo it," said Gawain.

  But I didn't know how. So far all I'd been able to do with magic was make things go boom. I didn't know how to reel it back in.

  "Loren, don't do anything but what you were told," said Arthur from the other side of the invisible shield. "Keep the shield up. Protect the people."

  The man stood proud in the face of a weapon that would rend him mutilated at best, dead at worst. He stared down at Erwen who, although tall, barely came up to Arthur's shoulder. Her sea green eyes were wild with triumph at her great catch.

  The other priestesses clustered in a huddle. Their circle was broken. Their one and only weapon against magic had turned to dust, though the blue powder was sprinkled all over their faces and robes like they were coming from a fairy-dusted rave.

  Ruith stood beside Merlin with her kohl on the good eye to match the eye I'd blackened. It worked for her. What can I say, she did sinister well.

  Merlin looked the worst for the wear. His body was hunched over. It looked as though he'd lost a good clump of the gray hair that had barely covered his head.

  My gaze went back to Arthur. Would this be the great warrior's fate once Erwen sliced and diced him with that spear?

  "Erwen, Merly's not looking so great." Thalia came up to stand beside a hunched Merlin. "I think he might need a doctor."

  "He doesn't need a doctor, you nit," said Ruith. "He's dying.

  "And his brother is about to join him," said Erwen.

  "Oh, no," said Thalia. "No, no, no. I'm not comfortable with killing. We voted; cure, not kill."

  Thalia turned around to face the other priestesses. Not a single one of them had the same wildfire in their eyes as Erwen and Ruith. But neither did a single one of them speak up.

  Merlin's spine straightened slightly as his gaze locked with his brother's. I didn't have a sibling so I didn't understand the silent communication that passed between the two men. It didn't matter. There wasn't anything that Merlin could do. There wasn't anything that any of us could do. Because of me.

  I raised my hand to pound against the wall of a mess that I'd created. But unlike Lance who'd met a solid obstruction, my hand went straight through. In fact, my whole body went through. I'd packed a good bit of force into my angry fist and, when I didn't meet any resistance, I stumbled through.

  My feet did a couple hop steps. My arms windmilled as I fought to keep my balance. And praise all that was holy, I stayed on my feet and didn't land on my ass when I came face to face with my adolescent tormentors.

  I had the urge to do that heel-click-arm-raise thing did gymnasts did at the end of their routine. I certainly had everyone's attentions on me after my little performance. But no one was happy at my arrival.

  Behind me, the knights pushed and pressed and tried to shoulder their way out of the shield. But there was no give. I suppose since it was my magic, I could pass through it.

  And so here I was, on the wrong side of a barrier, with my arch nemesis, who had a weapon of mass destruction angled at the strongest man I knew. All I could think was one thing…

  It was hero time!

  I just needed to figure out how to save the day.

  "Loren, go back inside," commanded Arthur. "That's an order." His hands were down. His shoulders tensed. His brows bunched in concentration as he bore into Erwen. I didn't see how she could stand his steely glare.

  "I would follow your command," I said. "But unfortunately, you're not the boss of me."

  "The people need you to hold the shield."

  True. But they needed Arthur as their leader. These people had embraced me, literally. But they'd thrived before me and they would after me. Together, with all their collective energy focused, they could hold that shield. I was an anomaly, an outsider. Again, literally.

  I stood apart from the town, apart from the knights, apart from the villainous clique. But I knew what I had to do.

  I turned to Erwen. "You want to get rid of magic, right? Well, he has little compared to me. I'm full of it."

  "You are full of it, Van Ass," hissed Ruith.

  "Oh, grow up and listen to someone with common sense, and a far superior fashion sense than you. That shield won't last long, and when it does come down, chivalry will be dead. You'll have five, angry knights gunning for you, along with a couple hundred witches, squires, and former-knights. Exactly how did you plan to get out of here with an entire town of magical kind on your tail?"

  Ruith's lip twitched. Erwen held her hand steady, the blade still at Arthur's throat. The other priestesses began whispering to each other, some turned their gaze toward the path away from the castle.

  "So, here's what we're going to do," I continued. "You're going to trade me for him. You take me and my magic prisoner. But when you off with my head, that shield will likely drop and all those men and the people in the town will come after you. So, I suggest we walk out of here and you do the whole sacrificing thing once we're out of town. Deal?"

  "No."

  The growl didn't just come from Arthur. It came from each of the knights. Though I'm not sure if Geraint's voice was amongst the chorus. I couldn't see him. The voices of dissent weren't just male, they were feminine and adolescent and old.

  My thoughts scattered and I couldn't think straight at the show of dissent at my sacrifice. I felt swaddled, rooted, supported. It was the most amazing experience of my life and I was grateful. I was also determined.

  The truth is, I didn't want to die. But I'd already done it before. I'd been brought back and given a second life, and in a short time, I'd gotten everything I'd never dared to dream of. I got a family. I'd been surrounded by hot men who knew how to handle their swords. And best of all, if I had to go out, I'd go down as a bad ass, heroic martyr.

  They would write poems about me. Loren the Great. It would be an epic poem because so many things rhymed with Loren. Actually, no. There weren't any good rhyming words for my name.

  I didn't need magic to take down these women. I still had my sword in my bag, and unlike Thalia, I had no problems with violence. By the looks of the cluster of priestesses standing off to the side and inching away from the scene, it looked like only the two in front of me had a thirst for a witch's blood. They could be easy pickings if I got them to perp walk me out of town.

  "Well, that's a really swell offer, Van Ass," said Erwen. "But I don't see why I can't just kill him now and take you with us."

  Before I could open my mouth to offer a reason I didn't have, Erwen raised the spear. Then everything went into slow motion.

  I saw the glint of the blade as it rose up towards the pale disk of the moon. I knew that if that blade came down it would not only end Arthur's life, it would completely ruin my selfless effigy.

  I needed to act fast. But I didn't know what to do? I only had a second to make a plan.

  I still had my magic. Maybe I could blast the spear out of Erwen's hand? But I didn't have much control over my magic and it might wind up slicing Arthur. That would not cast me in a heroic light.

  I could whip out my sword and block Erwen's strike. But I had to cast that idea aside. I was fast with my weapon, but not that fast. She'd have the spear in Arthur's flesh by the time I pulled out my blade. That would leave me looking like a lame fool.

  Maybe I could levitate again? I could turn my body toward Erwen and launch myself at her. True, the spear might then pierce me instead. But I had been prepared to take that eventuality by becoming her hostage.

  It would be brave. It would be ballsy. It would be bold.

  My mind made up, I turned my body towards Erwen. But she wasn't there. She was on the ground. With Merlin on top of her.

  I stood, dumbfounded, trying to puzzle out what had just happened?

  Had the previous villain of this story just cock-blocked my grand gesture?

  Erwen rolled Merlin off her. Blood stained her robes and her empty hand. It was clear to see that it wasn't her blood. Merlin had taken the spear to his body for a s
econd time, this time on the other side of his torso. By the speed at which his tunic darkened, I could tell it wasn't good.

  But I didn't have time to feel sympathy for the devil. Erwen's hands were empty. The spear had rolled off to the side. Near Ruith.

  Ruith's dark gaze caught mine. Evil glossed her lips as she sneered. It would be a race to see who could claim the weapon first.

  Ruith and I moved at the same time. She was closer to the spear than I was. But I was faster. Unfortunately, not fast enough.

  Ruith's fingers were nearly around the weapon. But before she could close her grasp, her body was yanked back. Her face did a comical transformation, morphing from triumph to confusion as she was jerked up into the air.

  I snatched up the spear, but I couldn't perform a victory dance. Wrapped around Ruith's waist was what could only be described as a tentacle. The monstrous arm came from the moat. And it wasn't alone. Another tentacle reached out and ensnared Erwen's sandaled foot. It yanked her up into the air as well.

  Erwen dangled upside down. The damn hypocrite wasn't wearing any underwear. But I had no time to feel any vindication. Screams broke out amongst the priestesses as they watched the display. I clutched the spear with one hand and reached for my sword with the other.

  The women scattered, running full sprint for the path towards town. Sisterhood went in the air with Erwen and Ruith. It was every woman for herself.

  The monstrous arms yanked Erwen and Ruith down into the moat. There was a gurgling sound as their bodies were submerged. The silence that followed was eerie.

  "What the hell was that?" I finally managed.

  "I went for backup, like you said."

  I turned to the side to see Viviane propped up on the bank. She smiled proudly. She also had Erwen's sandal in her hand. But when she caught me looking at it, she hid it behind her back.

  I twisted the hard-won weapons in my hand as I looked down at the water witch. Technically, Vivi's decision to go get help was my idea. So, the credit for the sea monster showing up in the nick of time should go to me. Which meant that I saved the day and should receive the cheering and, hopefully, knighting.

  "Loren," Arthur shouted from behind me.

  I turned to face him, prepping myself for some shoulder-hoisting. But Arthur's hands were otherwise occupied. He cradled Merlin's limp body in his arms.

  "You need to get that shield down," he said. "We need to get him inside."

  Behind Arthur, the townsfolk had gathered at the edge of my shield. They all pushed and prodded against the invisible wall. No one cheered. Many eyes were fixed on Merlin's lifeless body.

  I'm certain the puzzlement showed on my face as I looked at the man who had started all of the drama, the man who had led his brother and the knights into a trap in Sarras, the man who had attempted to drain the life out of his wife.

  Arthur's chin rose defiantly, his gray eyes reflected granite. "He's still family."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "Where did you come up with such an idea?" said Gwin.

  "A story I read," I said.

  "Do you think it will work?" Vivi asked.

  We sat at the bank on the side of the moat. Gwin and I had gotten Viviane out of her white nightgown and put her in a lavender shift dress that complimented her ghostly pale skin. Vivi had balked at the pastel and opted, instead, for a bright gold color that made her look like a jaundiced seahorse. But we let her and her bedraggled sense of fashion slide when the water witch couldn't stop smiling at herself in a hand mirror. And now she would complement the deathly outfit with blood-red shoes.

  We all held a pair of Manolo Blahniks between us. The three of us chanted, funneling the magic of the ley line into the heeled slippers hoping to make a transformation.

  The air heated around us, the atmosphere pulsing with power. We got the hint that the spell was fully baked when the shoes left our joined hands and began floating. Gwin reached up and captured the levitating shoes and then turned to the wide-eyed water witch.

  "You ready, Viviane?" Gwin asked.

  "My friends call me Vivi. You can call me that too, if you want."

  "Are you ready, Vivi?" asked Gwin.

  Vivi nodded her head enthusiastically. I almost wasn't certain if her excitement was for the shoes, the possibility of walking, or having another friend stand by her.

  Vivi's sat on the moat, but her feet dangled in the water. She took a deep breath as she lifted first one and then her other leg out of the stream. Gwin slipped a shoe on Vivi's right foot, while I slipped one on the left. Then together, we helped her come to standing.

  It was like teaching someone how to ride a bike. And Vivi started without the training wheels of flats. The Manolo's were five inches, but she insisted. Honestly, I would've too. They were killer shoes.

  For the first twenty minutes, it was a comedy of errors as Vivi fell down, got up, wobbled her knees and windmilled her arms. But not once did she give up. And finally, she got the hang of it.

  "I'm standing. I'm standing on my own two feet."

  And then, of course, she fell down. But she made the choice to get back up and start again. And then again.

  We left her on the drawbridge an hour later. She continued to practice walking in the magical shoes, determined to make it from one side of the bridge to the other without falling. It would likely take her all night.

  "I was gonna go check on Morgan before dinner," I said. "You coming?"

  "No, I'm going to check on Merlin."

  Gwin's smile, which only moments ago had been filled with real happiness and joy, turned wary and defensive. Merlin was now in Morgan's sickbed in the infirmary. The second wound he'd sustained from the Spear of Destiny was a terminal one. There was nothing that could be done for him, except to keep him comfortable as he transitioned. Every day since he'd been brought inside, Gwin was his constant companion.

  Many of the townsfolk had come to Merlin's bed to pay their respects. As I watched each victim offer compassion to the villain, I couldn't hide my contempt and confusion. It seemed the only people who stewed about this turn of events were me, Morgan, and Lance. So, in response to Gwin's announcement, I simply gave her hand a squeeze and headed in the opposite direction.

  Peeking inside Morgan's bedroom, I saw the dark-haired woman lying in bed with her head bent over a thick text that sat in her covered lap. She turned a page with one hand and reached out with her other. Her gaze stayed fixed on the book as her fingers traced the lines of text. After a moment, her brow furrowed and she frowned.

  She looked up and over at her outstretched hand. She looked at her empty palm in confusion, and then she looked at the nightstand. On the stand sat a glass of water. Morgan looked from her hand to the glass.

  She shut the textbook. She flexed her hand. Her brow creased and her lips screwed in concentration. She opened her hand again. The glass of water didn't budge.

  Slowly, Morgan's empty hand lowered. Her eyes closed and she sighed.

  My eyes stung with guilty tears. Thickness spread through the back of my throat, but another apology couldn't make its way out. I shifted my weight to turn out of the room when a floorboard creaked.

  Morgan's eyes shot open. When she saw me, her face transformed from despair to delight. But the change was so forced it gave her whiplash and she slumped back against the headboard.

  "Hey, Loren. I didn't see you there." Her bright smile reminded me of her sister's fake hostess smile. "I hear Viviane's taken her first few steps today?"

  I nodded, coming into the room. Just as I'd held my tongue with her sister, I decided not to broach the subject of Morgan's loss of power again. In this aspect, not speaking our truths, we were just like every other dysfunctional family out there.

  "There's nothing like a great pair of shoes to transform a woman," I said, the same fake, bright smile on my face. "Just look at Cinderella. Or Elphaba."

  "El-who?"

  "You know; the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz."

  "
Oh. I never knew that was her name. Just the direction. But now, maybe we'll go see the Broadway play when I'm better. Since I'm not a witch anymore, Arthur has no reason to keep me here."

  I tried to hold onto my smile, but I was out of practice with fake family gibberish. "Morgan, I'm so sorry."

  But she shook her head. Her smile this time was less fake and more enthused. "Are you kidding? I got exactly what I wanted. I can go to college now. Not online, but a real college with dorms and fraternities and keggers."

  She turned to look at the glass of water on her nightstand and shrugged.

  "Honestly, living without magic will take some getting used to," she continued. "But if losing my power is what was necessary to get to my dreams, I'll take it. Please stop with the guilt trip, cuz. I'm over here drinking lemonade. Metaphorically."

  She reached out and I came into her arms for a hug. She'd felt empty when we'd come back from the Tor. But now I felt a hum of life in her. That jolt made me believe her.

  "Go on or you'll be late for dinner. I hear Igraine's making your favorite." She gagged and shuddered. Then she leaned over and reached for the glass of water and opened the text back up.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I headed down to the Great Hall. I could smell all manner of good medieval foods as I approached the doors. I also heard all manner of revelry inside.

  Having been alone or with just one or two people most of my life, I had originally balked at the idea of existing in such a large tribe of noisy, overbearing, fiercely loyal, and unfailingly caring people. But I'd gotten over it.

  My steps picked up to know what Igraine had mixed up in her pots. I'd planned to eat the main meal with the squires and talk medieval sports and their favorite picks for the next World Cup. When dessert came around, I planned to flit off to sit with Gwin and a few of the other witches my age, relatively speaking since everyone was at least fifty calendar years older than me. Then I'd head off to bed in my own room and rest, wake up, ride my magical horse, handle my squire duties, and do it all again.