Pellinore stares on.
“It’s decided then,” Merlin says. “We don’t have time to waste over small details. Arthur is in grave danger. We need two of the best magic users to get him back. Now that that’s clear… let’s embark immediately. We’ll need a week’s worth of survival gear and a helicopter ready within the hour.”
Lancelot echoes the order into his phone.
Vivian is white as a sheet as she stares into space. She is seeing horrors that I cannot. She knows more than anybody how dangerous the quest is. She slowly rises from the chair and looks over her shoulder at us. “While the details are being prepared, we’ll meet in the Relic Keepers’ office.”
Chapter 11
The Relic Keepers’ office is cold and gray. We enter a hall with stone floors and lined with podiums showcasing historical items behind glass casings.
Vivian turns to me. “Wait here. I’m going to brief Merlin on the details.”
“Shouldn’t I be briefed too?” I ask.
“Merlin is responsible for the mission,” she says with her usual icy voice.
Bitterly I watch Merlin follow Vivian into a meeting room with opaque walls. I can only see their silhouettes. Vivian gestures aggressively, her shouts muffled behind the glass. I stray away from them, not wanting to watch their heated meeting.
I walk down a dim hall toward an open room full of books. I hear pages rustling. Beneath the shelves, an old man in a wheelchair is going through a heavy book.
“Mr. Fisher King Pelles?” I inquire, approaching.
He turns to me, squinting as if he can’t make out who I am. Slowly recognition crosses his face.
“Morgan,” he says. “I’ve heard the news.”
I avert my eyes. He reminds me of Grandfather, which may be why he was my favorite teacher in Arthur’s Round—and why I’m feeling guilty. I don’t want to know what he thinks of all the news regarding my crime.
When I face him again, Fisher doesn’t look at me with judgment but instead with a solemn regard.
“I never imagined the day would come when they’d send out such a young girl again,” he says.
“Again?” I ask.
“My daughter was chosen for a mission too, you know.”
I nod, remembering. “Yes. The Grail Guardian. Is she protecting the Grail now?”
Fisher cocks his head, looking toward the gray scenery outside. “It’s hard to say what she’s doing. They could have sent her to the middle of a desert for all I know. Pendragon’s Order is difficult to understand, as I’m sure you’ve experienced.”
“They told me where they’re sending me. Did you hear about that?”
“Sarras,” Fisher says. “Ms. Dyonas sent me the message. In fact, I’ve been there before as the former Grail Guardian.” He clenches his fist over his bandaged leg. “It was when I was your age. I’ve never been the same since.”
Alarmed to see Fisher in pain, I kneel on the ground and place my hand on his. “What happened while you were at Sarras?”
“I was assigned to protect the Grail. I trekked through some of the darkest forests I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know where I was. Out of the shadows, a creature stalked me. It was something like a wolf, but I can’t be sure. It lunged out and bit me here.” He pats his leg.
I hold in my breath waiting for him to continue. I always wondered how he got his wound. Guinevere said she sensed something terrible about it.
“The bleeding wound never healed. It was some cursed beast—the Questing Beast—protecting the Grail.”
“The Questing Beast?”
“Yes, ancient texts mention beasts created from blood magic.”
My eyes widen. It’s hard to imagine something so fantastical, yet Fisher is not one to exaggerate.
“What happened next?” I ask.
“I was wounded and on the ground. I was sure the creature was going to eat me alive. But an icicle shot through the air and killed the beast. Hector de Maris saved me.”
My grandfather!
“What was Hector doing there?”
“He was sent to investigate the docking of strange boats on the shores of Sarras. We still never found out who the intruders were. While Hector was busy helping me out of the woods, the trespassers must have left.” Fisher lets out a sigh. He hunches over and tightens his grip on my hand. “It’s a terrible past of mine. I never made it to the Grail. For years I wasn’t there to protect it. I returned a failure and became a Relic Keeper.”
I feel the weight of his burden in the dark room and over his old body. Fisher saw me the same way I see him now. He saw a girl crumbling with the idea of failure.
“You’re not a failure,” I say. “You did your best, and it wasn’t your path to be a Grail Guardian. Instead, you became a brilliant Relic Keeper. The books you wrote were on my nightstand every night. I pored through them, fascinated by Camelot and all the mythologies associated with it. You stoked my dreams and inspired me to learn more. While I was in Camelot, you were kind and offered me wisdom. Is there anything greater than being kind and influencing other people to become better? I think that’s more noble than guarding an old cup.”
Fisher smiles at me, the skin around his eyes crinkling. The sight warms me, reminding me what it feels like to be around family. Will I ever be able to sit with Father like this again?
“When did you become so wise, Morgan?” he asks teasingly. “And what about you? Do you think you’re a failure?”
“I don’t know what I am,” I answer honestly. “I certainly haven’t been kind or influenced other people in a great way. Quite the opposite, actually. I brought a lot of people down. I’ve a long way to go before I can become someone like you. When I look at you though, I wonder if I’ll get there one day.”
“You most definitely will,” Fisher says, squeezing my hand. “I’ve always known it.” His face saddens. “Be careful on Sarras. Always be on your guard. Stay away from dark places. Keep Merlin by your side, always.”
I nod. “I’ll do my best.”
Two people emerge from the hallway. Vivian and Merlin call out to me, impatient, as if they’ve been searching for me for a while.
I get up and smile at Fisher.
He holds my hand tighter for a moment before letting go. “The curse of a wound that never heals,” he says, “should stay in the realm of Sarras. A wound that never heals shouldn’t exist anywhere else. Especially not in the heart.”
I glance at him and see in his stone-gray eyes that he knows me. He knows who I am. He called me Morgause when he first met me. I shiver as Vivian pulls at my sleeve.
His words repeat in my head: A wound that never heals shouldn’t exist anywhere else. Especially not in the heart.
“Morgan!” she snaps. “We’re kind of in a hurry here?”
She escorts Merlin and me to the elevator. Her eyes are red and puffy as she avoids looking at us. She rummages in the pocket of her blazer.
“Before I forget,” she says and pulls out a necklace.
My mother’s necklace that she took while I was in prison.
I hold my hand out. The gold pendant falls into my fingers.
“I kept it for you,” Vivian says. “I think you might need whatever you can get to survive this trip.”
“Thanks,” I rasp, shocked. “But why? Why did you keep it for me?”
“I meant to keep it for myself,” Vivian replies. “But once I touched the necklace, I felt sorry for you.”
The elevators open. We step through.
“Why did you feel sorry for me?” I ask.
Vivian shakes her head with a blank expression as the elevator doors close.
Prior to going up to the top of the tower, we stop by Merlin’s office where our equipment and clothes are waiting. Two simple backpacks and folded clothes are on the top of his desk. Not having time to fuss around, we change right there. I peel out of my Gray Knight uniform with my back to Merlin and can hear him ta
king off his expensive suit.
The jeans I pull on are grayed and tight, and the hoodie is very worn, a faded black color. Next I pull on a pair of sneakers.
“Ready?” Merlin calls.
When I turn he’s also in jeans and a sweatshirt. He looks like a normal college student in casual clothes. His brow furrows when he sees me.
“I guess Vivian donated her old clothes to you,” he says.
No wonder they’re so damned tight. I feel around in the pocket of my sweatshirt. There’s a couple of hairbands in there and an old pack of gum.
We slip our backpacks over our shoulders and continue our journey to the roof.
The helicopter is roaring full force on the tarmac of King’s Tower. It’s surreal: Merlin and I facing the monster helicopter that’s conjuring a storm around us. We are about to go on a mission. Who would have thought it? And is it a good idea? We are two forces that oppose each other and attract disasters.
Lancelot stands in front of the helicopter, standing straight.
He looks at Merlin first. “I don’t think you’ll need much coaching, considering Ms. Le Fay is an expert trekker and is attuned with Royal Relics.”
Merlin nods. “That’s why she’s here. Please remove her fire bands.”
Lancelot bows briefly and then walks over to me, keeping his eyes diverted from mine. He takes a thin key from his pocket. I hold my wrists out. He unlocks the fire bands, holding my hand steady. His touch is cold and too gentle as if he’s afraid to touch me. After the last band clicks open, he takes them both away. My spirit instantly feels lighter when my wrists are freed. I only hope that I still remember how to make fire properly.
Lancelot finally looks into my eyes, and I see his wordless apologies. I don’t want him to dare utter that he’s sorry. I’m tempted to turn and climb into the helicopter. Instead, I salute him dutifully.
“Come back safe,” he says with desperation in his voice.
“Sir.”
“Morgan, I’m—”
“I’m a soldier,” I cut in. “I know what that means. I’m ready to go.”
Lancelot nods, still defeated in his expression. “My crew will surround Sarras. Send us a message if there’s any trouble.”
I nod, salute him again, and turn.
Lancelot grabs me by the arm, forcing me to look at him.
“Sir Lancelot,” I warn shakily. “If you apologize, it will be insult—”
“Come back alive,” he begs.
I manage to curl my lips in a sad attempt to comfort him. “Your wishes are duly noted… Sir.”
I head to the helicopter. Merlin has already gone in without me noticing. He looks out the window at me before looking away, his chin in his hand.
Chapter 12
As the helicopter lifts off and Camelot falls farther away, Merlin unfolds a roll of paper over his lap and examines it, his brows scrunching together. I’m sitting on the other side of the seat with plenty of space stretching between us. I glance over at him with careful curiosity.
“Is that a scroll?” I ask.
Merlin nods. “The Grail Scroll.”
“Can I read it after you’re done?”
I’m surprised and slightly disgusted by my politeness. Of course I should read the Scroll. This is my mission too.
“Yeah,” Merlin says. “You can read it now. I can’t make sense of it.”
He leans over to hand me the Scroll and then immediately turns away to look out the window.
I read the Scroll:
Under shadows, through the trees
Follow where the blood runs thick
Newly shed, scentless
The maiden spread the red in prayer
Mad in the Waste Land
Here the blood darkens and reeks of death
Go where the corpses lie
After peak of brilliant carmine
Seek the dark, where the falsely bred lurk
Where barking echoes between the rocks
Crows cry
And the creatures are forever starved
Wounds never to shut
Seek the Castle of Crows
The only light pours from a cup
Where blood flows eternally
It’s as abstract as the Sword Scroll and contains similar references to blood—only this has a darker tone. I can’t make much of the Scroll yet and can only hope that my intuition will kick in once we land on Sarras.
I peer out the window. The sea stretches below us, gray as a dead man’s skin.
Eventually we come upon a large island, the shores rocky and the majority of the terrain covered in a dense forest. It’s protected by Pendragon’s Order and untouched by man.
We land on the bleak shore.
As I step out of the helicopter, it feels like I’m in a dream, walking onto the surface of the moon. The chilled ocean air and the briny scent of rotting kelp snaps me back to reality. The pilot says a few words to us, and I have difficulty hearing him over the roar of the waves. Something about launching a flare into the sky when we have completed our mission.
As soon as the helicopter is gone, I feel vulnerable, like a mere speck in a vast, unoccupied world. I look around the desolate landscape of sharp crags. Having Merlin standing beside me increases my unease and discomfort.
“We’ll head in?” Merlin asks loudly over the sound of waves. The tide is rising behind us.
He points to the forest beyond the rocks.
I nod.
We climb across the land, trying not to stumble.
By the time we step into the wild foliage, I’m already shivering. I grab a large branch from the ground and begin pushing away the thorny brambles in our path with it. Merlin observes me, then picks up a branch to do the same.
“The Scroll says to follow a fresh trail of blood,” I say.
“Doesn’t help,” Merlin replies as he pushes a bush out of the way. “It must mean something else.”
“The land is described as being dark with crows and brambles.”
“Hmm.” Merlin hums as he glances up at crows flittering across branches. “It’s kind of like that here.”
We march on into the thickets.
As night falls we continue, using the moonlight to help guide us. The darkness seems to weigh down upon me. My body and mind are crumpling under the weight of pressure—a pressure to be able to find Arthur.
I have no clue where we’re going.
When dawn illuminates the woods again, the air is chilled and fresh. The bottoms of our jeans are stained with dew. We stumble into a meadow. Weak sunlight reaches the sparse field of wild poppies that dot the ground with red. I pluck one from the dirt.
“These are just opening,” I say. “Do you think this is the trail of fresh blood?”
Merlin scratches his head. “I suppose some believe poppies symbolize spilled blood. It’s everywhere though. There’s no clear path.”
We march across the meadow. Some of the poppies grow into the thickets of the wood.
We walk around the perimeter of the clearing. My stomach rumbles, not having eaten. The lack of sleep is starting to make me dizzy.
Suddenly a stench hits me. Rotting meat. My mouth sours and I nearly buckle over, losing my appetite.
“What is that?” I say, looking into the darkness of the forest.
Merlin covers his nose with his sleeve. “A dead animal.”
Flies buzz around the bushes.
I know that we have to inspect the source of the smell. I try not to think about the possibility of a dead Arthur in the thickets. The sight would shred my heart into a million pieces.
We rush toward the scent, fighting the urge to gag.
Beyond a torn bramble, we see guts streaming about. Flies swarm. I recoil in disgust. We follow the entrails.
A splayed animal, small, with fur—a rat, perhaps. Merlin walks to it and crouches down.
“The heart
was eaten,” Merlin says, crinkling his face. He hurriedly walks away from it.
I see a flash of red in the thickets. “Look,” I say, pointing.
Like holiday tinsel, a sinewy strand of guts or muscle hangs on a pine branch.
“Another kill,” Merlin says. “Let’s follow this trail of gore. It seems to go with the Scroll’s description.”
Hesitantly I move forward. We continue to see more of the mutilated animal’s innards strewn throughout the forest.
“There’s something out here eating hearts,” Merlin mutters with disgust. “Lots of hearts. Maybe a fox?”
“A fox with a big appetite,” I say, recalling the beast Fisher spoke of.
The forest grows darker. Everything is eerily quiet. Next to me, a bush rustles. Merlin grabs my wrist suddenly, pulling me back. He raises his hand, prepared to inflect magic.
A squirrel jumps out of the bush.
Merlin eases his grip on me, but there is a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Merlin swallows. “I didn’t want to tell you so that it didn’t scare you, but Vivian said beasts roam the deep parts of Sarras.”
“I know,” I say. “Fisher told me.”
“Be on guard.”
Merlin pauses by a tree, the sweat now dripping off his nose. He suddenly lurches forward and vomits.
I hurry to his side. “Are you all right? Are the corpses making you sick?”
Merlin clutches his stomach. “I… I ate some berries that I picked while we were walking. To keep my energy up.”
I swear out loud. “Why didn’t you ask me about them? I would have known if they were poisonous!”
Merlin keeps heaving.
“We need to work together to save Arthur,” I remind him, making my tone gentler. “I’m going to look for some herbs to ease your nausea. Drink as much water as possible. I’ll be back.”
I march around gathering herbs, fuming at Merlin’s carelessness and pride. Along the way, I gather edible berries to eat—ones that aren’t poisonous.
When I get back, I instruct Merlin to chew the herbs. We both eat the berries to sustain us. Merlin, however, is still pale and shivering. He’d be no match against Mordred in his state.
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