Song of the Sword

by Edward Willett

  He gaped at her. “What happened to you?”

  She jerked her T-shirt back down. “Don’t you ever knock?” she snarled.

  “You left the bathroom door open.”

  “I didn’t know you were here. Now get out.”

  He didn’t budge. “You’re soaked. Wascana Lake, from the smell of it. Fall in?”

  “None of your business.” She pointed to the door. “Get out!”

  “All right, all right.” He backed up, and she slammed the door in his face. He put his mouth close to the door. “Ariane put up a fight, eh?”

  The door opened again so suddenly he jumped back. “You shut up about her!” Felicia’s voice shook and her green eyes blazed in her pale face. He’d never seen her so angry. “You don’t mention her. And you don’t talk to her. If I catch you –”

  “You’re dripping all over the carpet,” Wally pointed out.

  Felicia told him to do something to himself that would have shocked Ms. Carson into a dead faint, then slammed the door again. A moment later he heard water running in the shower.

  Wally returned to his homework and the TV, but couldn’t pay attention to either. Instead, he stared into a corner of the room at nothing in particular. Felicia had gone after Ariane. Felicia had come back bruised, and as wet and furious as a half-drowned cat.

  The conclusion was inescapable. Somehow – he had no idea how – Ariane had gotten the better of his sister.

  He grinned. The more he learned about Ariane, the more he liked her.

  The fact that he and she had a magical quest to complete was just gravy.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The White Ford

  By the time Ariane got home to Wallace Street, she was more exhausted than she could remember ever having been in her life. Her determination to explore her strange new power and think seriously about how she could use it to fulfill the Lady’s quest – and use it to find her mother – had given way to an even stronger determination to go straight to bed.

  Nevertheless, for some reason the College Avenue intersection drew her tired attention. She stared at it, frowning. For a moment, nothing moved. Then a white Ford Focus turned the corner. It drove slowly past her, and as it passed, she caught a glimpse of its driver, a middle-aged man with a graying beard and ponytail. He didn’t see her – he was looking at something in the passenger seat. The car continued down the street and turned left at the next intersection.

  Ariane stared after it. She’d never seen that car in the neighbourhood before. There was nothing particularly odd about that. The driver could be visiting someone. He could have been looking down at a map in the driver’s seat. But still, something about the car and the driver felt wrong in a way Ariane couldn’t quite put her finger on. The Lady’s power, warning me about something?

  She shook her head. Most likely, Aunt Phyllis’s paranoia about prowlers was starting to rub off on her.

  Pulling her house key from her pocket, she walked by the tipsy garden gnome and back up the front steps she had dashed down in fury just an hour ago. The outer door was unlocked, and she stepped into the little entryway. But she paused before unlocking the inner door, gathering her strength to confront her aunt yet again.

  She knew she needed to talk to Aunt Phyllis, to smooth things over, but right now what she needed most was sleep. She would have to convince her aunt to put off their heart-to-heart until tomorrow. Wouldn’t it be better to talk after they had both had a good night’s sleep? Silently composing her argument in her head, Ariane took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and opened it.

  No one called out to her. In fact, she could hear nothing but the muttering voice of some CBC commentator on the radio.

  Ariane crept forward and looked through the French doors into the living room. Aunt Phyllis sat in her favourite chair, head thrown back, face slack and mouth slightly open. For a horrible moment, Ariane thought she was dead, that their argument had triggered a heart attack or a stroke. Then she saw Aunt Phyllis’s chest rising and falling. She must have dozed off waiting for me to come home.

  Sleep had smoothed some of the lines in Aunt Phyllis’s face, and Ariane could see a hint of her mother’s features there – a strong enough hint that her breath caught in her throat. “Mom,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

  The moment passed. The woman in the chair was just Aunt Phyllis: a small, vulnerable woman, trying to do her best in a horribly difficult situation. Ashamed of her earlier outburst, and resolving to put things right in the morning, Ariane pulled a pink and green flowered afghan from the couch, spread it over her aunt, and then tiptoed up to her room.

  She spotted Pendragon asleep on her bed just as she was about to close the door, so she left it open a crack to keep the cat from waking her up in the middle of the night scratching to be let out. She pulled her dirty clothes out of the shopping bag and stuffed them down the laundry chute. The leather jacket was a write-off, but she couldn’t quite bear to throw it away yet; instead, she tossed it over her desk chair. She stripped off the clothes she had borrowed from Felicia, wadded them into a lump and kicked them into a corner, then tugged on her warmest flannel pajamas and climbed into bed, careful not to disturb Pendragon.

  She was so exhausted she expected the night to zip by in deep, dreamless slumber. And with Pendragon’s solid little body providing a comforting warm lump against her back, she fell asleep almost instantly.

  But in the middle of the night, she dreamed a new dream...

  A lake the color of copper. The sun a blood-red ball, low in a sky thick with smoke and fog. Fires burning up and down the shore. Red-tinged water lapping red-tinged mud, and in the mud, the broken bodies of men: slashed, dismembered, disemboweled, headless. Wind moaning through barren trees and dying men moaning in the mire.

  Out of the mist lurched a man in chain mail, white tunic torn, armour, clothes, face, long golden hair and thick blond beard splattered with mud and blood. More blood welled over the fingers of his left hand, pressed tightly to a wound in his side. His right arm dragged a sword that gleamed silver and gold even in the dim, hellish light.

  The wounded man staggered through the churned mud, weaving through and stepping over the bodies of men and horses, until his feet splattered water. He took a deep breath, then another, then drew himself up and turned. He spun once, twice, three times, and the third time released the sword, falling to his knees as the blade hurtled out over the lake.

  It flew an impossibly long distance, as though something in the lake were pulling it. But Ariane could no longer see the scene on the shore. She was suddenly underwater, rising toward the surface. Her arm, clad in white damask filigreed with silver and studded with pearls, reached into the cold air. The sword whirled toward her, flashing in the light. Her fingers closed around the red leather and fine gold wire that wrapped the hilt, and she drew the blade into the water. She sank into green-tinged darkness, holding the sword at arm’s length, but even as the light faded, the sword gleamed silver and gold, as brightly as if the noonday sun shone upon it.

  Ariane woke with her heart racing. She lay in the darkness for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then sat up. The light from the hallway no longer shone through the crack in the door. Aunt Phyllis must have gone to bed.

  She recognized the dream from her library research. The wounded man must have been Gawain, or Bevidere, or whatever his name had really been, the last of Arthur’s knights left standing after Mordred dealt the King his deathblow at the battle of Camlann. At the King’s command, he had thrown Excalibur into the water, returning it to the Lady of the Lake.

  My ancestor, Ariane thought. She remembered the blast of black muddy water rolling Felicia across the parking lot like a rag doll. And now me.

  But something else was tugging at her mind, a strange sensation, almost like an itch. Something’s happening outside...

  Unable to help herself, she went to the window and peered through the blinds.

  The white Ford Focus was parked across the st
reet. A vivid blue glow filled the front seat, and against the glow, she saw the dark silhouette of the ponytailed man.

  Pendragon hissed, and Ariane looked down to see the cat standing in the windowsill, back arched, every hair standing on end, glaring at the blue-lit car with shining green eyes.

  The glow vanished. A moment later the Focus’s lights illuminated the empty street, and it drove away.

  Pendragon sat down and began to lick himself furiously, flattening his ruffled fur. Ariane watched the car’s taillights dwindle toward College Avenue, then turn left. The driver didn’t bother signalling. Someone knows, she thought. Someone knows I’ve seen the Lady.

  And she could think of only one someone who it could be: Merlin. Was that ponytailed figure in the front seat the ancient wizard himself?

  In a Ford Focus? she thought, bemused. Wouldn’t he at least go for a...a Jaguar? Or maybe that car James Bond drives – an Aston Martin?

  She shivered despite her flannel pajamas and went back to bed, pulling the covers up over her head as she had when she was little and thought monsters lurked in her closet. For a long time she lay awake, listening to her own heartbeat, wondering about the man in the car and what would happen next...but she was worn out from the day’s events, and, slowly, she slipped back into sleep, where no new dreams troubled her.

  When she woke up and pushed away the covers, she saw sunlight falling on the spruce tree in the front yard. She’d slept late: this time of year the sun didn’t reach the spruce until ten-thirty or eleven in the morning. She could hear the faint sound of radio voices downstairs. Aunt Phyllis was up and about.

  First things first. She took off her pajamas, belted on her dressing gown, and made her way to the bathroom. She hesitated for just a moment before washing her hands, afraid of what might happen when she touched the water, but the only result was her hands got wet. She soaped, rinsed and dried them, then started the shower. Again, she hesitated before stepping into it, but again, nothing happened.

  Has the power left me?

  But – no. She could feel it, coiled deep inside her, ready to spring to life. And she knew, somehow, that now she was in control. She exerted a small portion of that power, and the water curved away from her body, forming a curtain of falling droplets around her. She relaxed her control, and the water streamed down her skin again. She repeated the exercise, marvelling at the sheer impossibility of it. I wonder what else I can do? For the first time, she almost relished the thought of finding out. She finished her shower and got dressed, then took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

  Aunt Phyllis was loading the dishwasher, her back to the door. She had just lifted a coffee mug from the sink when Ariane stepped into the kitchen. The floor creaked beneath her weight. Aunt Phyllis froze. Then, without turning around, she finished putting the mug in the dishwasher and reached for a dirty plate.

  “Aunt Phyllis.” The words came out in a croak. Ariane cleared her throat and tried again. “Aunt Phyllis?”

  Aunt Phyllis stilled, but didn’t turn. “Yes, Ariane?”

  “I...I want to apologize, Aunt Phyllis. For arguing with you. I didn’t mean what I said. I know you love me, I know you love Mom, I just...it’s been...it’s been a rough few days.”

  Aunt Phyllis looked around at last. Her eyes glistened. “A rough few months, you mean,” she said in a low voice. “I’m sorry too, Ariane. I never should have suggested your mother wouldn’t be proud of you. I know she would. But Ariane, fighting...”

  “I know.” Ariane still didn’t want to tell Aunt Phyllis why she had hit Shania. “I’m sorry. She said something that set me off, and I...”

  Aunt Phyllis smiled a little. “You have the Forsythe temper, that’s all. I have it too. Which is why I lost it last night.”

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “Will you forgive me?”

  They had spoken at the same instant. Ariane and her aunt looked at each other and laughed.

  “Come here.” Aunt Phyllis opened her arms.

  Ariane went to her, meeting her aunt’s hug with one of her own. She closed her eyes and for a moment allowed herself to imagine she was hugging her mother again. You’re never too old to need a hug, her mother had said to her once when Ariane was heartbroken over some stupid boy. She squeezed Aunt Phyllis a little tighter. That had been just before her mom disappeared.

  They let go and smiled at each other shyly. “Am I still grounded?” Ariane asked hesitantly. “I know I deserve it, but it won’t happen again...”

  Aunt Phyllis’s eyes narrowed, and Ariane thought she knew what was coming. But her aunt surprised her. “We’ll call it a suspended sentence. Any more fighting this school year, and this grounding gets added to the one you deserve for the new incident. But stay out of trouble, and the sentence won’t be carried out.”

  “Fair enough.” Ariane took a huge breath, feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “What’s for breakfast? I’m starved!”

  “Cold cereal, I’m afraid.” Aunt Phyllis closed the dishwasher door. “And you’ll have to fix it yourself. I’m due at a Friends of the Library meeting downtown in half an hour. Then some of us are going for lunch, and after that I’ve got a lot of errands to run – I probably won’t be back until dinner time.” She took her car keys from a hook by the door leading to the back porch. “Put your dishes in the dishwasher and run it when you’re done breakfast, won’t you, sweetie? And don’t forget to clean your room! I’ll see you later.”

  She grabbed her coat from a peg and stepped onto the back porch. Pendragon slipped inside as she opened the door. “Mrrrr?” he said, rubbing her ankle. “Mrrow!”

  Aunt Phyllis scratched him behind the ears. “Too cold for you, old man?” she said. “Ariane, can you make sure he’s got food? He went out first thing this morning – I don’t think he’s eaten yet.”

  “Will do,” Ariane said. As if he understood, Pendragon came in and gave her ankles a quick polish in turn. She watched Aunt Phyllis go down the back walk and enter the garage. A moment later she heard her ancient Oldsmobile driving away.

  Feeling much, much happier than when she’d run out of the house the previous evening, Ariane fed Pendragon, ate her Shreddies, drank a large glass of orange juice, and then ran upstairs to her room. She owed someone else an apology too.

  She had a Facebook account that she almost never used, and after all the crap she’d gone through at every school she’d attended in the past couple of years, she was too wary to leave her profile public. But she was willing to bet Wally had no such qualms. Ariane did a quick search and a moment later, his friendly, homely face was grinning at her from the screen.

  She clicked Message, and typed, I’m sorry I ran out like that. What happened when Felicia came home? Email or call, don’t Facebook. Here’s my email address and phone number. Whatever you do, don’t let Flish get hold of them...although maybe I deserve it after leaving that mess in her room. I hope she didn’t blame you.... She added her contact information, then got up from the computer.

  She didn’t even make it to the door before a bell-like tone announced new mail.

  Wally probably lives at his computer on weekends, she thought, returning to her desk. She opened the message.

  Thanks for nothing, she read. When I said you could borrow Felicia’s clothes, I didn’t expect you to trash her room! OF COURSE she blamed me for it! She went postal on my butt. You’re lucky I’m not a grease spot on the kitchen floor.

  I don’t know what she and her fellow hags were up to last night, but she came in wetter and muddier than you and I were, and with a big ugly bruise on her chest. She’s lucky Mom and Dad weren’t home or she’d be a grease spot on the kitchen floor.

  Ariane didn’t bother trying to suppress her smile of satisfaction.

  We’ve got to talk. But don’t call. Stick to email. I don’t want Felicia to know anything about this.

  Wally.

  Ariane clicked REPLY. I’m home. She typed in her ad
dress. Come see me. Call first. She clicked SEND, then went to her bookshelf and pulled out an old children’s book: The Adventures of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. She lay back on her bed, intending to bone up some more on the legends she seemed to have become a part of somehow.

  The sound of the doorbell playing the first six bars of “God Save the Queen” woke her. Something sharp was digging into her side. She had dozed off while reading and rolled over onto the book. She grimaced at the pain. Then, “God save our gracious Queen...” started up again, and she hopped to her feet and ran downstairs.

  “Coming!” she shouted. Just to be safe, though, she looked out through the peephole in the door before she opened it.

  Wally stood on the porch. He leaned in toward the peephole – which had a most alarming effect on her view of his face – gave her a lopsided grin, and said, “May I come in?”

  Ariane unlocked the door and opened it wide. “Did you try to call?” she said as he stepped past her into the hall. “I didn’t hear the phone...”

  “I didn’t call. I didn’t want my darling sister to hear me talking to you.” His grin turned into a frown. “I really did think she’d kill me when she saw what you’d done to her room. And I really thought she’d kill you. But when she came in last night, it looked like you’d gotten the better of her. So what happened? Give!”

  “I’ll tell you the whole story,” Ariane promised. “Come into the living room and sit down. You want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  Ariane used the time it took to pull two Diet Cokes from the refrigerator to debate how much she would tell Wally. There were parts of it, mostly the parts where Felicia and her friends were trying to strip her in the parking lot, that she’d just as soon gloss over. Especially with a boy.

  He doesn’t need to know everything, she told herself as she took the Cokes into the living room. So as she started describing what had happened, she didn’t intend to tell him much. Except...

  ...except, it felt so good to be able to talk to someone about it. Someone who had also seen the Lady of the Lake. Someone who wouldn’t think she was crazy. Even if that someone was Wally. And so, in the end, she told him everything, even the embarrassing parts.