Grail

by Realm Lovejoy

  Something shines brighter.

  It’s gold.

  On the stone pedestal… a golden cup.

  Chapter 18

  I blink, trying to be sure I’m not hallucinating.

  It’s certainly a grail. The metal is dulled with age, and a part of it is corroded and darkened.

  I take a few steps closer and peer into the cup. Inside, there’s water that has dripped in from the cavernous ceiling above. It smells like forgotten coins. I recall Vivian saying that the cup doesn’t hold any power unless there’s fresh Pendragon blood in it.

  What happens if I just touched it? Reaching out, I touch the metal surface, just barely.

  The dark water at the bottom of the cup becomes red. Blood—like the vision I saw at the Henge and when I touched Excalibur.

  I step back, afraid of what vision will come.

  The blood in the cup rises until it reaches the brim and pours over. It trickles down the stone pedestal. I study the blood as it seeps into the cracks in the rock.

  “He who seeks a new king,” a deep voice says.

  I look up startled. In front of me an armored man stands: Pendragon the First. He is still helmeted, just as I saw him in Avalon, but blood seeps out of a hole in the chest of this armor. To his left a woman stands, the first Grail Guardian, Astolat. Her hair is snowy, glowing in the dark cave.

  “May your choice be right,” he continues. “Many have touched this Grail…”

  Ghostly figures appear in flashes, all reaching toward the Grail, one by one. The last person… Grandfather. His ghost lingers. I try to touch his shoulder, but I only make contact with the air he’s projected onto. The outline vanishes.

  “Some hold the Grail out of curiosity. Some with intent to possess the royal blood magic. But they lacked the correct ingredient. To be king, another king must be defeated.”

  Pendragon reaches his gloved hand toward me, his fingers drenched in blood.

  “Bring me,” he says, “the blood of a king.”

  I back away. Pendragon the First and Astolat vanish.

  Even if his powers pass on to a new person, Pendragon the First still keeps the next successor in control to obey blood magic as we do today. In a way, Pendragon has assured that everything will always work according to his rules.

  Suddenly a sharp stabbing pain pierces my neck.

  I see bright red blood spatter into the gold cup. I cry out, turning quickly, and fall to the stone floor.

  Mordred stands with a knife dripping with my blood.

  He had been watching. He laughs, looking at the cup now stained red. Arthur is against the stone wall, staring with fear.

  “So you fulfilled your destiny after all,” Mordred says.

  He picks up the Grail. Mordred’s eyes go blank as he holds it. He’s experiencing a vision. He takes in a deep breath, and I see ecstasy flicker across his face. I clamber to my feet and lunge at him. The Grail clatters to the floor.

  In an instant, Mordred slaps me across the face and then holds me against the stone wall.

  “It’s too late, Le Fay,” he says. “I’ve touched the Grail.”

  He laughs again as if something was funny. I struggle against his grip, knowing that if I use fire he’ll use it right back. With my back against the wall, I’m at a disadvantage.

  “What are you laughing about?” I snap.

  Mordred takes a breath. “You were created for this very purpose.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  “Morgause seduced Uther,” Mordred continues, “so that she could bear his child. You can imagine why she wanted a royal child.”

  I struggle, not wanting to hear him.

  “How heartless is Morgause? You deny her evil even though you very well know what her plan was. She planned to murder you while you were a hopeless baby—to cut you open over the Grail.”

  I bite his hand. He clefts the space between us. Sharp pain stings my cheek. His hand holds me against the wall again.

  “That’s the only reason you were ever born.”

  “If that was her plan,” I pant, “then why didn’t she just hand me over to the Luminaries as an infant? I know why. My mother decided to protect me. She wanted me to reach Avalon to be able to fight against you.”

  Mordred presses his lips together, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He grasps his hands around my throat. “I want you to see for yourself that you are so weak I don’t even need fire to kill you.”

  His eyes go dark as he tightens his grip. I wheeze, no longer taking in air. Then he cries.

  His hands leave my throat. Air rushes back into my lungs. I gasp for air as Mordred crumples to the ground.

  Arthur stands behind Mordred’s figure with a rock in his hand. The image reminds me of when he knocked out Vivian in Avalon. Briefly his eyes meet mine.

  “Morgan,” Arthur says shakily. “What is he talking about? Are you…” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

  “I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” I say desperately. “But the Cabinet told me…”

  Mordred stirs below us, grunting.

  I shake my head. “Forget about it for now. Arthur… run!”

  Arthur merely stands there, still staring at me.

  “You’ll just get in my way!” I snap. “Go!”

  Turning his body, Mordred snarls and throws flames at Arthur. The force knocks Arthur flat onto his back. While Mordred is turned, I move away from the wall and lunge fire at him. He backs out of the way, leaping onto his feet. In a flash, his hand is out. Fire roars toward me. I bring my palms out to deflect it. The impact is too strong, and it flings me into the air, knocking me onto my back. Blue sparks disintegrate around me like lost fireflies.

  Mordred must have indeed powered up from touching the Grail. He comes toward me, smirking. He’s ready to burn me again. Alarm bells ring in my head. If my earlier defense didn’t work, what happens next? Mordred’s palm glows with new flames brewing.

  “Arthur!” I scream. “Get out of here!”

  Arthur is motionless on the floor.

  An icicle whistles through the air.

  Mordred grunts as it hits his shoulder. Hastily he reaches behind and pulls the icicle out. The ice shatters onto the ground.

  Merlin stands in the tunnel entrance, his palm out.

  “Stop with the charade,” Mordred tells Merlin. “We have accomplished what Lucius wanted all these years.”

  That name again.

  Merlin shakes his head. “I’m not with the Luminaries anymore.”

  Mordred shoots fire at him as Merlin raises a hand to shield himself. An icy wall forms in front of Merlin. It shatters violently as the fire hits its rigid surface. Scintillating shards glimmer in the air. Merlin is thrown back against the floor.

  This fight will take the two of us.

  I lunge another fireball at Mordred as Merlin gets back on his feet. I know that Mordred will easily cancel out my fire, so I bring both my palms out and blast a continued jet of fire onto him.

  “It’s no use,” Mordred says behind the roar of flames.

  He’s deflecting them all.

  Merlin runs to my side. “Morgan, will you burn my hand?”

  “What?” I grimace, trying to focus on strengthening my fire.

  I don’t know what Merlin is up to, but I know very well by now that he’s smart. I retire my left hand, still flaming, and reach toward Merlin’s outstretched hand. We clasp our hands together, fingers folded. Merlin’s hand is icy cold.

  Steam fizzles and bursts out of our hands, hissing. Shhhhhhhh…

  Fog surrounds us. My lone, floating flame in the corner is the only thing lighting the cave. Merlin holds on to my hand and guides me away from my position.

  “Merlin?” Mordred calls out from the clouds. “Where are you?”

  We back against the wall, moving toward his voice. I hope that Mordred will make a sound again, but he doesn’t. Merlin nods to me, then go
es in the opposite direction. I understand what Merlin wants. To ambush Mordred from opposite sides.

  Mordred’s silhouette appears. Faintly. I take the chance to shoot fire at him. Mordred launches fire in the opposite direction, illuminating the fog with blue light. He screams, but another yell drowns his. Merlin’s.

  The fog clears as Merlin’s magic is weakened.

  Merlin is crumpled on the cavern floor.

  “Merlin!” I scream.

  I run over to him. Merlin’s eyes move behind closed lids. He’s knocked out cold, the front of his sweatshirt charred. I rise to my feet in a hurry.

  Merlin and Arthur’s lives depend on me.

  Mordred spits toward Merlin. “I always knew you couldn’t be trusted. I’ve seen the weakness you’ve always had. You just want to please people—and that doesn’t foster true loyalty.”

  “He isn’t weak,” I shout, aiming my hand at Mordred. “He didn’t have to shed blood and touch a cup to get to where he is.”

  Mordred brings his hand out with a snarl. In a flash, the cavern blazes with lights. My magic against his.

  His blue flames are overcoming my red flames.

  Suddenly my flames grow fiercer, roaring, widening.

  I look behind me. Arthur is crouched on the floor, his palm aimed toward my fire. My hair whips forward by Arthur’s wind magic.

  For a second, pride fills my heart. I knew Arthur was a great magic user.

  “I’m proud of you, Arthur,” I say though he cannot hear me over the roar of wind and fire.

  Even with Arthur’s boost, my fire is not overtaking Mordred’s.

  The very bad news is that we’re in a cavern.

  If I attempt to overcome Mordred, we will all die, suffocated by flames in the narrow passageway. There’s only one way to fight.

  Briefly I increase my power enough to push Mordred back for a moment, then I move away from the flames that come toward me.

  Behind me, Arthur is slumped over, his cheek against the ground. He is passed out again. Exhausted.

  Stay there, Arthur.

  I take the opportunity to run farther into the cavern, away from Arthur.

  Mordred hollers after me. “Running away, Le Fay? This isn’t over until you’re dead.”

  Footsteps echo after me. Just as I wanted.

  Chapter 19

  I run and run, as fast and as far as I can, lighting my way with fire. My chest grows tight with exhaustion. At the next bend in the cavern, I trip over a rock and it sends me flying across the ground.

  Mordred’s blue light comes closer and closer.

  Mordred approaches. In his hand he holds two glimmering objects. My eyes widen. The Grail and… my necklace.

  “I knew this had blood magic,” Mordred says, holding up the broken necklace. “Vivian lied to me. Now that I have the power, I can experience the memory locked within this. But it’s nothing special. It turns out everything Morgause set out to do was useless. Do you care to experience the memory?”

  He knows that the memory will destroy me.

  I glare at him. “No. I’m done with the past.”

  He throws the necklace across the room, and it hits the cavern wall. He keeps his other hand tight on the Grail. I tense, prepared for the attack.

  Mordred points to me. From his finger flames burst forward, galloping toward me. I deflect, and the force slams against me. My back crashes into a rock. Stalactites above come loose and rain down, one of them grazing my forehead. I nearly topple over, my mind blanking for a second. Wincing, I rub the wound. Blood shimmers on my fingers.

  I won’t last long at this stage. I’m losing blood and energy.

  I pant and get up, but as I do so, Mordred blasts me again. Guarding myself, I snarl in frustration and helplessness. I’m wasting my energy on defensive magic. Somehow I must attack. I back toward the cliff. A violent river courses beneath it. The waters would crush me. On the other side is the only cavern exit where we traveled through.

  I aim my hands toward the stalactites above the exit. They fall, crashing down and piling over the exit.

  While Mordred can still escape by slowly pushing away the rubble, he won’t be able to exit easily. Jumping off the cliff into the river is not an option—it’s a death wish.

  Mordred looks behind him, confused as to what I’ve done.

  “You’re finished, Mordred,” I say. “You may have touched the Grail, but you’re still mortal. Once I use my full power, you will burn to cinders.”

  Mordred stares at me and thins his lips. “You will die too then,” he says.

  “Yes.”

  Merlin and Arthur can exit the cave safely. Mordred will be gone from this world. The Grail will be undamaged by the fire. The Grail Guardian can hide the Grail again. King Arthur will remain king. It’s the only way to end this.

  “I wonder,” Mordred says, “if you have it in you.”

  He brings his palms out, and cobalt blue flames gush forward. I hoist my hands up and bring out my red fire. The two meet in the middle, roaring. Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my wound. My heels dig into the ground. It takes all my might to push back Mordred’s power—like trying to hold a door closed and a monster is pushing at the other side. I’ve got to unleash my lethal energy to stop this. One. Two.

  It’s taking me too long to conjure the force.

  I remind myself of this fact: Since my fire is weaker than Mordred’s, the only way to win is to expand my fire to encompass the whole cave we’re trapped in.

  I buckle to my knees, dragging myself on the ground. I cry out, desperate to push back. My skin grows hot, scalding from heat.

  Fear. Hesitation.

  Why?

  I’m in the winning position. I’ve got this figured out. I can save Camelot. The UK. I can save everyone I love.

  Come on, Morgan.

  Panting, I grit my teeth, conjuring the fire inside me to do what I had failed to do when I was about to get sentenced to death. Like setting off a bomb, all it takes is a click inside of me.

  My arms shake. My spine begins to buckle. Below me, sweat trickles down along with my tears.

  Was Mordred right? That I can’t end my own life?

  My necklace glints below me. I free one hand and brush my bloodied fingertip to the surface.

  Give me strength, Mother.

  She was good at making me miserable. Perhaps the memory will send me to my death. It’s the least she could do. And anyway, wasn’t that why I was born? To die young in front of the Grail?

  I’m in the cabin again. Candles are glowing around the perimeter of the room. As if a ghost, I’m there.

  My five-year-old self is passed out on the wooden floor, my finger bleeding. Mother is sitting in front of me, holding the necklace. There’s blood in the middle of the locket. She closes it shut, then kneels down to weld the locket shut forever.

  “Through blood magic, Morgan,” Mother says, “I can talk to you. If you’re in danger, you’ll be able to see my message.”

  Her eyes are hooded as she looks down at the necklace. “By the time you get this message, I’ll be long gone. I don’t know if you’d mourn for me. I wasn’t a good mother. But if you do, I want you to know that death was my decision. We couldn’t live a normal life while I was around. I want you to know I’m at peace with it. I lived a full life.”

  My eyes burn. I want to yell at her, demanding to know why she birthed me, why she tried to be a part of the Luminaries. I know that she cannot hear me. This is just a vision she left behind. Yet I still scream it: Why? Why? Why?

  “With the way things are, you likely have many obstacles,” Mother says. “Many will try to take away your life. As a Pendragon, you are born with characteristics of a warrior ruler—ruthless to others and to yourself.” Mother looks up, her eyes as pale as mine—identical to mine. It stops my heart. “But Morgan… live. You are born to live. If you value your life, nothing can stop you.” Mother ra
ises her palm up in the air as if greeting a ghost. “Good-bye, my daughter.”

  Her words slice through me. Tears flow down my face like lava as the cabin scene whirls away like a shattering kaleidoscope.

  The vision flows out. I’m crouched and holding back Mordred’s fire as if not a second had passed. My hand is no longer on the necklace.

  Live, Mother said.

  But it’s not her words that make this clear in my mind.

  I… want to live.

  I want to know joy.

  I want to come out of this alive.

  Crying out, I stand and push more fire from my heart into my limbs. The flames roar louder. They grow brighter and brighter, like a sun. The light from my fire blinds me. It becomes a hot white color, faintly lavender, then blue-tinged. The fire is smaller but more powerful.

  Mordred screams as the flames push him back.

  I want to see the people I love again. I want to see him again.

  I want to tell Merlin how I feel.

  The searing white fire lands on Mordred. He snarls. I immediately stop, frightened of the fury of my own magic.

  Mordred thrashes on the ground, his clothes charred, his skin red.

  “What was that?” he screams.

  Though wounded, he is still clutching the Grail. His skin is blistered and bleeding. He wheezes.

  I step toward him. “Mordred, you’re finished.”

  “Give me what I gave your mother—a quick death.”

  I crouch next to him. “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t burn her alive… like you think. I put a hand to her face and took out her oxygen with fire magic so that she didn’t suffer. She was unconscious before she died.”

  “Why?”

  I recall the photo I found long ago during Arthur’s Round. Mother standing with Mordred and Maleagant.

  “Morgause was my friend,” Mordred says. “Best friend. We had dreams that burned bright.” Mordred glares at me, his eyelids red and puffy. “You destroyed our dream when you were born. I wasn’t cruel to her. I gave her peace in the end.” He takes a gulp of air. “You must do the same for me.”

  I hesitate. Mordred wouldn’t lie about something like this. He doesn’t like to show weakness. His eyes are distant, foggy. I owe it to him somehow. Slowly I bring my hand to his face to do as he asked.