Sword

by Realm Lovejoy

  “Is that the criteria?” I demand, my voice breaking. “To see who can kill?” Fire grows behind my eyes. “You watched us for nine months just to see which one among us is a psychopath?”

  “You don’t have to be a psychopath to execute someone,” Lancelot replies. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Just let the whole damn thing go, all right? Get over it.”

  “Get over it? You endangered our lives through all the tests. We survived and continued to work hard. You expect us to not have any feelings over the whole trial and final selection?”

  Lancelot’s eyes widen. It occurs to me that he didn’t know that I knew that Camelot was behind the magical crimes. The fire that threatened Guinevere in the lab. The flood that nearly drowned me in the basement library.

  “What did you expect?” he says finally, his eyes glinting with annoyance. “You’re training to join the military. Did you think you’d get some cushy courses on history? You are totally unprepared for what you signed up for. Yes, those who serve Camelot may die. Some may even die while training. And when you work for the government, you have to do things you don’t always want to do or agree with. Is this a shock to you?”

  I cross my arms and shut my eyes. As awful as it is, Lancelot is right. I signed up for this and should get over my disappointment. But disappointment isn’t all I feel. I can’t stop worrying that, with the Luminaries becoming dangerously close to the Pendragons, this is only the beginning of something terrible. Unfortunately, I have no proof and if I bring this to Lancelot’s attention without anything to back it up, I will be tried for slander.

  “I can’t explain it,” I say slowly, my eyes still closed. “There’s something deeper than my personal failure that I’m feeling. If you have any respect for me, I ask that you give me space until I’m ready. I’m not in the best shape, as you can see.”

  When I open my eyes again, Lancelot is studying me. His gaze softens slightly. “I’ve seen worse things. Prisoners, wounded knights… You look like a princess compared to them, even in your messy state.”

  I narrow my eyes, studying the carpet below my feet again. “I’ve never looked like a princess. And you’re still comparing me to the prisoners and wounded knights.”

  I don’t like that he’s playing with me again. This whole visit could just be a part of his entertainment. Being depressed in and of itself is a blow to my confidence, but to have him standing in my private space with all my clothes strewn about and have him see me in my nightgown with my hair unwashed and my body reeking of old sweat… It’s all too much to take. I just want him out of here.

  I try to look him in the eye without glaring. “I’ll show up tomorrow, all right? But why tomorrow? It’s Friday, after all. It seems like I should start my training on Monday. Do I need to be prepared for something?”

  “Yes. I’ll even allow you to arrive as late as the evening. Tomorrow night is the celebration for Merlin, the Maven Ceremony. It’s a formal party in the Grail Room, and I expect you to be there, dressed nicely.”

  I clench my fists, feeling like I’ve been shoved off a cliff. “A celebration for Merlin,” I repeat in a measured tone. “Surely you have something more important for me to attend than a party.”

  “I want you at the party,” Lancelot says firmly. He shakes the envelope in front of me. “And I want you to read the contract you signed. Read it five times so that you get it. That’s your homework.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say hollowly.

  He gives me a condescending “cheer up” look. “You should thank me for making you go. You’ll likely only see the Maven Ceremony once in your lifetime. It’s the send-off for Merlin to take Prince Arthur to Excalibur.”

  Excalibur! Already? I lick my lower lip, disturbed.

  “Is that a good idea?” I blurt out. “To let him take the Prince into the forest so soon?”

  Lancelot tilts his head. “We know Merlin is capable of the task. Plus, knights accompany the Maven for most of the journey. The Maven and the Prince will be alone only briefly prior to finding Excalibur. Once a Pendragon touches the sword, he’s more powerful than any magic user. The knights will rejoin them shortly after.”

  But they’ll be alone briefly. Can Merlin be trusted with Arthur? Will he assist the Luminaries in Arthur’s assassination during the small window of time they’re alone? I find it hard to believe someone as kind as Merlin would do this, yet unease fills me. Lancelot’s description of Merlin rings loudly in my head, that he will put aside emotions and morals to obey orders. I recall Merlin killing Maleagant with one swift icicle, even pulling it out with his bare hands to ensure his death.

  “I see,” I say, not knowing what else to say.

  Even if I had proof of Merlin’s connection to the Luminaries, I wonder if I’d use it. The punishment for those who commit high treason is torture followed by death. Of course I cannot let Merlin go through that. Perhaps Lancelot is right. Maybe I am nice. I’m trapped between two actions—both of them wrong. To harm Merlin… or let harm come to Arthur. When I glance at Lancelot, he is studying me like he thinks I’ve gone mad, and it occurs to me I probably have a dark expression over my face.

  “Look,” Lancelot says, bowing his head slightly. “Before the final trial, I told you that I wanted you to not think of me as the High Knight behind closed doors. That maybe we could be friends. I’m not sure if what I thought at the time is possible, but for one minute, let me be an ordinary person interested in your well-being. You are too hard on yourself. You have a bright future, though you may not see it right now. I see it.” He puts his hand on his chest to emphasize his conviction.

  Seeing him friendlier makes me squirm—it’s somehow worse than when he’s being tough on me. I want to scream and run out of the room and over the hills.

  He walks closer to me and I’m afraid he’ll smell my sweat.

  “You’re tortured to hear this,” he says as if he can see through me. “I don’t know what happened to you in the past and what you’re suffering from, but if you could just trust me, I’ll prove to you that you’ll find a fulfilling career in Camelot.”

  Turning my head, I hold my thin gown closer against my chest, afraid that it’s not enough cover.

  “Please,” I say. “I appreciate your words, but you don’t understand—”

  There’s a knock at the open door. Father peers in.

  “Everything okay?” he asks sharply.

  He glances at me before eyeing Lancelot.

  “Everything is fine, sir,” Lancelot replies and steps away from me. “Good day, Ms. Le Fay. Glad we have an understanding.”

  I catch the questioning look Father gives Lancelot. For a second Lancelot looks insecure as he slumps his shoulders just a tiny bit. I realize then that Father intimidates Lancelot. Father was once a highly respected knight himself. Lancelot is still young after all, especially for the High Knight. Was there a time when Lancelot didn’t want to be a knight or even the High Knight? Did someone have to convince him to be one, just as he’s trying to convince me now?

  Lancelot gives me a curt nod as Father guides him out.

  “Apologies for the intrusion, sir,” Lancelot says.

  Father doesn’t look happy. “I understand your job. I once had to do similar tasks myself.”

  As I hear their footsteps recede, I am left to face dread. I don’t know what ideas will spring from my mind to deal with this conundrum. But I know whatever course of action I choose to take will be my worst and best idea—terrible and unstoppable, like a forest fire. I know this but cannot do anything about it, just as a drowning person cannot help but try to stay afloat to breathe. This is my attempt to take a breath before sinking. To push past that strong current that keeps me in one place.

  I take the statue of Astolat off my nightstand and hold on to her.

  “Please… please,” I whisper to her. “Don’t let me…”

  Don’t let me what?

  What am I afraid of doing?<
br />
  As my room darkens, the question haunts me.

  Chapter 03

  The autumn wind bats around the trees outside my window, mirroring the whirlwind of my mind. Anxious thoughts about going to the party and having to face everyone rip through me. I plan out my small talk: comment how it’s been so windy lately that I caught a cold; mention the TV shows I’ve watched while sick in bed. But I haven’t watched anything lately. What show should I bring up?

  Suddenly something like hail hits the window… but it can’t be hail since it’s not cold enough yet. I jolt up and push myself off the bed, running to the window, opening it, and peering into the darkness below. The tree shakes with fluttering leaves as the ocean whispers in the distance. A cold breeze brushes my face.

  “Morgan,” someone whispers from below.

  “Who are you?” I demand, squinting to try to see better.

  “Merlin,” the voice replies sheepishly, sounding especially small from below.

  Great. The last person I want to see.

  I frown. “If my father sees a boy outside my window at midnight, he’ll go berserk.”

  “Come down, please,” Merlin implores a little louder. His slight Welsh accent is a bit thicker when he’s upset. If I weren’t so infuriated with him, I would have thought it was cute. “I don’t want to wake your father by shouting up to you and throwing more pebbles.”

  Waking up my father is a whole other nightmare. Father will definitely assume Merlin came over to seduce me and will beat him to a pulp. Sighing, I back away from the window, grab my sweatshirt, put on a pair of slippers, and head downstairs.

  I shiver in the cold as I walk toward the back of the house where the garden is. My feet scuffle across the pebbled path. Merlin stands in a sweatshirt. He looks equally chilled, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. In the dim moonlight, his hair looks limp and shiny as if it’s been unwashed for days. My hair is equally unkempt.

  “Didn’t my father tell you I don’t want visitors?” I ask.

  Merlin shrinks a bit as he pulls away from a breeze. “I know,” he says, keeping his eyes on the ground. “But I have to warn you. Do you remember what I told you? That I think Ganeida’s people are after you?”

  Ganeida is still missing after she tried to burn the King and Prince to death with her fire magic during the final Magic Demonstration Test. I can still see her sly smile as she peered at me through her bangs in Arthur’s Round. And her tattoo—the Luminary symbol with the sunrays.

  “You mean the Luminaries?” I say bitterly. “Why would they be after me? The Maven was chosen. It’s not me. Why care about me anymore?”

  Merlin flinches at the mention of Maven. He kicks a pebble on the ground. “I’m just telling you what I heard. I’m not sure why they’re so interested in you. You must know by now that I only speak the truth. I knew about all the other attacks before you did. It’d be safer for you and your father if you left Cornwall.”

  He did know about the flood in the library that nearly drowned me and about Maleagant’s plan to attack me at the Henge. He has a point. There’s no reason to believe that Merlin is spewing nonsense. He has no ulterior motive to drive me out of Camelot anymore. Still, I’m more worried about the Pendragons than myself.

  “I can’t leave my home,” I protest.

  “But if you stay, they could attack you while you’re at home. What if your father got caught up in the fight? He can’t use magic.”

  The idea pricks a nerve in me. I can’t handle the thought of anything bad happening to Father. I shudder and cross my arms. “You are one of them. Aren’t you? You’re a Luminary.”

  Merlin looks away. “I don’t identify with them.”

  “If you are a Luminary, what’s going to happen to Prince Arthur when you take him to the woods to find Excalibur?”

  Merlin stares into the distance. “I’m not one of them. I know this much. The Luminaries… they plan to attack him during the quest.”

  My breath catches in my throat. “How do you know this then?”

  Merlin chews his lower lip as he studies our garden.

  “Oh, right,” I say. “Because either you were a Luminary or because the Luminaries are unaware that you’re not one of them. Am I right?” Merlin winces. I step toward him, my frown deepening. “Will Arthur have enough guards protecting him?”

  “During some of the journey, yes. However, per Camelot’s rule, he’ll be alone with me when we go to Avalon, where Excalibur is. That’s when they’ll attack. I won’t be able to fight them alone.”

  I resist the urge to shake him by the shoulders. “What’s your plan then?”

  Merlin’s expression darkens. “I don’t have a plan. It’s outside of my control. I’ve tried to convince Lancelot to equip Arthur with an army of Black Knights to Avalon, but he said it’s strictly against the Sacred Code. Only the Maven, select Relic Keepers, and Royals can step foot in Avalon.”

  “There has to be something that can be done,” I say with desperation. “If only I could go.”

  If only I were Maven. Sorrow pushes through my emptiness, like the ocean waves in the darkness behind me, invisible in the blackness, but whispering still.

  “I’d have you follow me,” Merlin says, “but I’ll be dropped off at an undisclosed location via helicopter where there’s no cell reception. The Luminaries who work at Camelot will be part of the process in setting up this journey. They’ll know where I’ll land and they’ll follow me. At this point I’m in the dark as to whom they’ve set up to track me so there’s nothing preventative I can do against them. They’re in the shadows, creating a web. And of course, I can’t leave my duty as Maven or else I’ll face the death penalty.”

  I kick at the gravel, frustrated with the helplessness of the situation. “Dammit.”

  Merlin swallows. “The point is, there’s nothing I can do now. They’re the invisible puppet masters. You can only do one thing, Morgan: run away. Be safe. I’ll do my best to protect Arthur in the meantime.”

  Shuddering, I briefly turn from the wind. “Running away doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “I know,” Merlin says. “Sometimes things are outside of your control. It’s not your fault.” His tone carries something heavy and his eyes look empty with the moon barely shining in them. My mood sinks as I imagine he’s talking about something more than the Luminaries: my loss—the Maven role.

  “Maybe this is good-bye,” he says. “If you follow my advice and run, I’ll never see you again.”

  I bite my lower lip. I haven’t seriously considered running away. It’d be too painful not to be around Father who has always been an anchor to me. But if what Merlin is saying is true, I definitely don’t want my father to be in danger, especially since he can’t use magic to defend himself. It won’t be easy to vanish. Saying good-bye will make Father hold tighter to me. I’ll have to leave in a way that seems ordinary to Father so that he won’t suspect that I’ve run off.

  “I’ll be at the party tomorrow,” I say.

  Shock crosses Merlin’s face. “Why on Earth would you?”

  “Lancelot is making me go.”

  Merlin gives me an angry look.

  “I should be the one who’s mad about it,” I say.

  “You’re the last person I’d want there,” Merlin admits. “It’s stressful enough as it is… and to have you glaring at me the whole time.”

  “I’m not that pitiful.”

  Merlin looks away with a dismissive look. “You’ve never liked me, Morgan—even when we were friends. I’ve come to terms with it. Maybe you should admit it too. I hoped to warn you for the last time and for us to have a somewhat peaceful good-bye, but as usual, I’m an optimistic fool.”

  Shocked by his unusual anger, I’m at a loss for words. Is what he’s saying true? That I’ve always disliked him? I’ve been jealous—but to use the word dislike seems ill fitting. There’s something deeper that hurts, but my mind is the greatest mys
tery to me. It seems easier to solve the mystery surrounding the Luminaries than the one of myself.

  Merlin takes a breath. “Wish me well, at least. I hope I can protect Arthur. If not, the party will be the last time you see me.”

  A chill seizes me. Before I can recover, Merlin storms past me, his feet crunching the pebbles underfoot. The night closes in on Merlin as he disappears into the darkness. Something heavy settles around me. His words echo in my mind.

  I try to push away the vision of Merlin and Arthur dead in the forest, their bodies amidst fallen leaves. And what am I supposed to do? Go about my life, unable to do anything about the danger closing in on them? It doesn’t sit right with me.

  As I sleep, I have nightmares of people in black skintight outfits, one of them Ganeida, breaking into the house and setting everything on fire with magic. My father’s screams echo in my mind.

  When I wake, my forehead is damp with sweat, but my room is as serene as it is every morning. Only the occasional cry of seagulls punctuates the sound of ocean waves. It looks like a normal morning, but today is the day I must return to Camelot for the party. And possibly even execute my own disappearance.

  On Monday I’ll be enrolled as a Black Knight, and I’m supposed to move back to Camelot for good. It’ll be best to run away tonight before the weekend even starts. After the party, instead of going back home, I could take off to another town.

  The day goes by in slow motion as I fill my backpack with things I may need: water bottle, toothbrush, soap, etc. I also pack camping supplies in case I need to stay in the woods. It reminds me of what I did as a child, a make-believe runaway scheme. I’d pack my backpack when I was mad at Father, not to actually run away, but to gain satisfaction just by the act of packing. It’s like that now, only I may really run away this time.

  The night crawls down the sky in purple tones as the scarlet sunset drowns in the Celtic Sea. It’s almost time.

  I draw a bath and wash myself slowly. It must take a long time for me to clean up, because the bath water is cold by the time I’m done. My fingers are wrinkled from being submerged. Mother used to say if you stay in the bath too long, you get “witch fingers.” I lean back, hold my breath, and sink into the water. My hair looms over my face like layers of tree branches. I used to look at the trees knitted above as Mother and I walked through the woods. My mother’s song. I can hear it in my mind again. She had a deep voice—the kind you’d expect a real witch to have.