Sword

by Realm Lovejoy

  “We’ll leave her here,” I finally say. “I’m sure she’ll make it back okay.”

  “Wow,” Arthur says. “You’re going to let her live?”

  “I’m not coldhearted,” I defend. “Neither is Vivian. If she really wanted me dead, she had plenty of opportunities to stab me in the back. I think she was hesitant.”

  “I don’t get it. She did try to kill you…”

  “Human beings are complicated,” I explain. “The subconscious governs our minds. It’s not always clear what our intentions are until we are confronted. She came here to save you,” I lie. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Arthur says.

  “But don’t mention this to anyone in Camelot.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’ll be punished for failing,” I say. “You don’t want this nice lady who tried to save you to get punished, do you?”

  Arthur shakes his head.

  “And,” I add, “she might say you knocked her out. That will get you in big trouble, won’t it?”

  Arthur pales. “I—I didn’t mean to. I just freaked out. It was an accident.”

  “I’m surprised you’d want to save me.”

  We go back to the boat to push at it toward the lake. Arthur pauses midpush.

  “Uh, Morgan…”

  “Yes?” I ask, continuing to pull the boat across the sand.

  “Shouldn’t you stay here? You’ll be dead once we get out.”

  “No, there’s no way you can make it out alone.”

  “I can do it,” Arthur says.

  “You need my fire magic.”

  Arthur looks down at his hands with knitted brows. “If only I could use magic.”

  He glares into his palm, willing something to happen.

  “It takes patience,” I assure. “Now let’s go.”

  We drag the boat onto the water and hop in. I position the oars, ready to paddle.

  “Well, what if…” Arthur begins. He scratches his arm, looking across the shore where Vivian is. “What if we stayed here for a while? Until the knights leave?”

  I start rowing. “They’re not going to leave.”

  “We could stay for weeks. There’s plenty of fresh water and fruit.”

  “You belong in Camelot,” I say firmly.

  I glance back at Vivian before the fog conceals her. Perhaps it was soft of me to let her live if she is capable of harming Arthur. But at the end of the day, I am soft. I can’t kill Vivian—I can’t. That’s the end of the story and I’m not going to think twice about it.

  I paddle on through the fog for what feels like an hour. Arthur hugs himself as he stares blankly ahead. Then he breaks the silence.

  “Morgan, we have to go back to Avalon.”

  I keep paddling. “Why?”

  “They’ll kill you.”

  “We both already knew that for a long time now. Look, Avalon serves as the beginning of your journey, not the end. Your destiny is at Camelot.”

  “You don’t get it,” Arthur says with frustration. “You think I have some kind of grand ‘destiny.’ When I go back to Camelot, I’ll be studying away each day, my face buried in a book, being lectured at. I’ll try to sneak off to play video games. The only people who will speak to me are professors and politicians. I will be this stuffy robot—not the King you’re imagining. It was nice of you to take me to Excalibur, but you see I’m just a normal boy in the end. I’m forced to wear a mask as King Pendragon. I wasn’t really worth your time and effort and certainly not worth your life.”

  I frown. “It pains me, Arthur. How little self-esteem you have. Haven’t your parents raised you to believe in yourself?”

  Arthur looks away. “My parents don’t care about me.”

  “I’m sure they’re worried sick about you right now.”

  “I know exactly what’ll happen when I return. My father will give me a slap on the face for being stupid enough to be kidnapped, and my mother will be screaming at me for weeks. What’s wrong with you anyway? Why do you make all these assumptions about me and my parents?”

  “You’re right,” I say, sighing. “I am making assumptions and I’m sorry for it. But, Arthur, I am not going to be around much longer to keep reminding you that you create your own future. Will you remember my words? Every time you feel bored, will you remember me?”

  “Yes,” Arthur says.

  “That’s all I ask for.”

  “Well,” Arthur begins, still squirming. “What if I told them it was my idea? And you were just obeying my orders to take me to Excalibur?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing you say will work. I’ve taken you out of Camelot and that’s illegal whether you told me to or not.”

  “What if I said you were trying to save me?”

  I smile at the thought. “They’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “Don’t you have any proof that I was in danger?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  Arthur tilts his head suspiciously. “You’re trying to protect someone, aren’t you? You don’t want to point your finger at the foe.”

  I pause in my rowing, off guard. He is more perceptive than he seems. I try to resume rowing casually, hoping Arthur didn’t notice my surprise. Of course I’m protecting Merlin. It might be the right thing to do to accuse him of being a Luminary publicly, but I don’t have the heart to do it. If for some reason they found out I’m right, Merlin would be tortured and executed. How can I risk getting him hurt like that? He saved my life. In the end, I care about him.

  “If someone is evil,” Arthur says, “why wouldn’t you confess?”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” I say. “It’s not black and white. I couldn’t tell you who’s the villain and who’s the hero in Camelot. It’s something you’ll find out for yourself as king, and it will be up to you to fight against the enemies. I have to warn you though, be careful whom you trust. You never know who’s a Luminary within Camelot, just like we didn’t know Ganeida was a Luminary. I advise you to be especially cautious around magic users who try to get you in an isolated position. Never go anywhere without your bodyguard and knights around. Be wary of Mordred.”

  “Mordred?” Arthur repeats.

  “There’s something off about him,” I say.

  “He’s weird,” Arthur agrees. “Of course I can’t say that to Father, though. He’ll get extremely angry. My father respects Mordred more than anybody else.”

  “Just be careful. Ask Merlin to get your magic skills honed as soon as possible.” I smile a little sadly at the thought of Merlin. “You’re in good hands, Arthur.”

  I row on as the fog curtains around us. Each stroke of the oar in the water brings me closer to death. Morbidly I begin to think about the things that I want to happen before I die.

  “Can I ask a favor of you?” I ask Arthur.

  He nods.

  “Will you tell Merlin and Lancelot that I meant no ill will toward them?”

  “You mean that you’re sorry?”

  “I’m not sorry for what I had to do. Just tell them that what I did wasn’t a personal attack on them. Do you understand? I’d ask you to pass on some words to my father too, but I know you’re royalty and have no access to my father.”

  Arthur straightens up. “I can try! What do you want me to say to your father?”

  Arthur’s genuine offer warms my heart. Perhaps there’s a kind guy underneath his spoiled exterior after all. There is hope yet.

  “His name is Gorlois le Fay. Tell him that it wasn’t his fault and that he did nothing wrong. He was a great father. It’s just me. I had to listen to my heart. Tell him I said that I love him.”

  “Okay, I will do my best to contact him. It might have to be through a letter. Father doesn’t allow me to talk to anybody.”

  I nod. “I appreciate any effort.”

  “As a matter of fact, you’re the first person my age I really got to talk to at length,” Arthur sa
ys almost to himself as he studies the lake again.

  The mist begins to clear as we hit another rocky wall. A cave opening appears and I paddle through the narrow passage, letting the fire guide me out, this time going against the direction it points toward.

  I row for what seems like hours. Arthur fidgets with his hands. I can practically feel his anxiety from across the boat.

  “I can swim the rest of the way,” Arthur says.

  “It’s too late,” I say, motioning toward the parting mist.

  A sandy shore comes into view. Arthur stands up, making the boat rock.

  “Arthur!” I exclaim.

  Arthur jumps into the water. He swims ahead and turns toward me. “Get out of here! Go!”

  I paddle on. “I’m not going until I make sure you’re safe.”

  “You’re crazy. Get out of here!”

  Arthur swims to shore with me following him. We come upon the gray, depressing land, the wild dark forest behind it. I get off the boat, stepping into the water and dragging the boat onto the sand. Arthur stands by me, dripping wet.

  “Go now, Morgan.”

  “I’m not leaving you in the wild.”

  Luminaries could be in this forest after all, waiting to pounce on Arthur.

  “What are you going to do?” Arthur asks, nearly crying. “Personally hand me over to the knights?”

  “I’ve got no choice, since you don’t seem to have the magic to defend yourself yet. Come on, let’s keep walking.”

  As we trek away from the boat, a gunshot cracks.

  Chapter 12

  My heart goes still as I look around the forest. Arthur moves closer to me. Another gunshot causes us to flinch, the shot echoing. Arthur steps in front of me, holding his arms out.

  “Cease fire,” he cries into the cluster of trees ahead of us.

  “Arthur,” I shout. “Step away.” I hold on to his shoulders, trying to push him. “It’s okay. They’re here to take you home.”

  Arthur ignores me, shrugging away from my grasp. “Cease fire!”

  Bullets spray the sand and we yelp. There’s movement throughout the forest.

  They’re coming.

  My heart thunders in my ears.

  “Prince Arthur,” an amplified voice shouts from the shadows. “Step toward the forest.”

  I push gently at Arthur’s back. “Do what they say. Go.”

  Arthur shakes his head. “If I step away, they’ll shoot you.”

  “I promise they won’t,” I say. “They won’t kill me here. They’ll want me tried for high treason.”

  Arthur turns to me, gritting his teeth before shaking his head again. “No.”

  “Arthur, please.” I don’t want him to see what will happen to me. “Please go to them.”

  Tears streak down Arthur’s dirtied cheeks. “I can’t do it.”

  Behind Arthur’s head, I see gray uniforms slinking between the trees. Dozens of Gray Knights pour out from the hedges, aiming silver guns at me, flashing in the light. Two knights, Agravain and Gawain, make their way carefully toward us. Agravain keeps his gun trained on me as Gawain moves to Arthur.

  “Stay back!” Arthur commands them.

  They ignore him, keeping their eyes on me.

  Gawain flashes me a brief look of sorrow before he rushes at Arthur and grabs him at lightning speed, pulling the Prince away from me. I dare not move as Agravain and many other knights have their guns aimed at my head.

  Arthur cries and struggles in Gawain’s grasp. “Don’t! Please don’t hurt her!”

  Just as I look at Arthur, Agravain takes the opportunity to run at me. Before I can turn to defend myself, he hits my cheek with the butt of his gun. I fall to the sand, barely catching my fall with my hand. Defensively, I raise my other hand to shield myself from the next blow.

  “I said STOP!” Arthur roars.

  Grimacing, I look back up at Arthur who is still fighting in Gawain’s arms.

  Arthur flings his arm out, a pushing motion with his hand toward Agravain.

  Agravain flies back, his spine slamming into the ground, the gun flying out of his hand. Sand scatters in the air like an explosion from his landing. Flinching, I shut my eyes and turn as sand hits my skin, stinging sharply like microscopic bullets. I wipe the sand off my face, panting.

  So Arthur inherited his grandfather’s magic rather than his father’s. A wind user. A really deadly wind user, which is something I’ve never seen before. He used wind so strong it pushed back a fully grown man.

  Agravain moans and rubs his back. I glance at Arthur.

  “Arthur,” I say, smiling through my pain. “You do have magic.”

  With magic so powerful, Arthur can defend himself. He won’t need me anymore. And now he’s safely back in Camelot’s hands, no longer at risk of being alone and attacked by the Luminaries.

  My mission is accomplished.

  A sense of peace should come to me. I believe it does come to me at a deeper level—too deep to feel beneath my animal instincts to live. For as long as possible, I must remain stoic for Arthur.

  Arthur is about to say something to me, but he starts screaming again as Gawain drags him away. A knight rushes to Arthur, gets a syringe out, and plunges the needle into Arthur’s neck. Arthur staggers to the ground as knights pull his unconscious body away.

  They came prepared to sedate him? Did they anticipate that he might attack them?

  As Arthur disappears into the forest, adrenaline surges through me. I have an urge to run after him to make sure he is okay. I stand back up.

  The knights train their guns on me, keeping me in place. Another knight comes out of the thickets. Blond hair. Tall.

  Lancelot.

  He also has his gun aimed at me. His eyes are sharper than they’ve ever been.

  “Le Fay,” he shouts coldly with his commanding voice. “You are surrounded. Surrender now.”

  I study his face. He is professional, hiding any emotions he may have. He’ll shoot. Somehow the idea that Lancelot will harm me gives me a spark of bravery to fight.

  I put my arms up in a sign of mock surrender—since having my hands up only makes my weapon deadlier.

  “Put your arms down,” Lancelot bellows, knowingly. “Lace your fingers together. NOW.”

  Instead of obeying him, I point my palms toward the knights, using the multiple-focus trick I learned during the Magic Target Test and the metal warming technique I used to escape from King’s Hall.

  The knights all scream at once, dropping their scalding guns and rubbing their burnt palms. Lancelot grimaces, nearly letting go of his gun—but he doesn’t. He withstands the pain. Despite my desire to dominate the knights enough to scare them, I’m horrified to see Lancelot’s injury, which is about to become lethal.

  “Let go of the gun!” I shout. “You’ll lose your hand!”

  Sweat pours down Lancelot’s face as he keeps his shaking gun on me. I swallow, realizing that he will shoot me, even if his hand burns to cinders. He blinks the perspiration out of his eyes, looking at me. Fear ripples down my spine. As the High Knight, his priority is to end my life.

  In that one moment, memories flash through my mind—meeting Lancelot for the first time in the cafeteria. You’re going to shoot me, Lancelot?

  Lancelot breaks into a scream.

  He lets go of the gun, gripping his wrist, panting with agony.

  I tremble and pull a breath into my empty lungs. I break into nervous laughter. “You couldn’t do it.”

  Lancelot grimaces as he cradles his hand. He stares at his gun on the ground. Whether his hardened eyes hold defeat or courage I cannot tell. And I won’t find out.

  He glares at me.

  “Good-bye, sir,” I say, holding my hand to my lips and then motioning my hand out, willing fire to form. “I kind of liked you sometimes.”

  I summon fire in front of me. The heat from the fire comforts me as it grows from one end of t
he lake to the other, stretching out like a protective fence between the knights and me. Here, the UK’s finest army is useless against me—just one girl. However, right now I am neither brave nor even entirely confident. Through the writhing energy of fear, my only intent is to survive.

  The firewall in front of me grows taller, obscuring Lancelot and the knights.

  Now, I must run.

  The protective firewall burns behind me. I summon more energy, making the wall extend farther across the shores to slow down the knights. I dash to the docked boat. I must make my way back to Avalon where I’ll have no choice but to live as a hermit.

  I push the boat toward the water, a sad feeling stabbing into my heart, causing me to shiver. There is strong magic in the air—magic tinged with deep sorrow.

  “Hold on,” a voice says from behind the flames.

  I whip around and eye the wall of fire in front of me.

  The voice is near but how can anyone approach this searing barrier without getting burned? The firewall sways, weakened by something. The flames stretch outward as if hit by a draft. Then the wall splits apart, fizzling—the gap widening like a doorway.

  I stop breathing as a figure approaches the opening. Graceful and focused movement. Blond hair like dark ash. My heartbeat quickens.

  Merlin steps through the parted flames effortlessly. The fire seems to wilt near him, as if he’s made out of ice.

  He stands in front of my firewall as it closes behind him. He’s in dirtied jeans and a sweatshirt. His sneakers are worn out and torn. How long has he been searching for me? The knights must have brought magic users with them as backup.

  “You’re here,” I say nervously.

  I’ve seen Merlin in various states of fatigue and stress, but nothing compares to how he looks now. His eyes are sunken and reddened as if he hardly slept.

  “Of course,” he says, eyeing me carefully, but also with pity. “But why, Morgan? Why did you do it?”

  The look of pity. Always. It was the one thing I dreaded most about the possibility of seeing him again.