Children of Avalon

by Meredith Bond

  “You heard me speaking to that woman?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  Dylan’s mouth formed a slash across his face. “How dare you eavesdrop on my conversation with her? You had no right to do that.”

  My mouth dropped open. “But I told you what was wrong, why she was there crying.”

  “Yes, but then you should have left. You seem to have no concept of privacy,” he said, before turning and walking away from me.

  “Why are you so angry?”

  Dylan spun back around. “Because you listened in on a conversation that you had no business hearing.”

  “But...I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want me to hear your conversation. It wasn’t private. And I do know when not to listen,” I retorted, stinging from his angry words. “But this didn’t seem to be a time when I shouldn’t.”

  “Well, it was,” he said. He turned away, but didn’t move. Instead, he muttered, “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone what I did.”

  “Why? And who would I tell?”

  Dylan turned back around. “I don’t know. Sir Dagonet, or anyone. I don’t like people to know...” he stopped.

  “To know what? That you help others?” I didn’t know what to think of this.

  “Yes.”

  “How did you help her, by the way?” I couldn’t help asking. The only thing that I could make out was that he had said a few very kind words, but the woman seemed extraordinarily relieved for just that.

  Dylan shrugged and looked off toward the stream. “If I touch someone, I can—I can project feelings into people. I can make them angry or calm. It’s a rather powerful ability.”

  “Yes, it certainly is,” I concurred, amazed that anyone could have a power like that. “So, you just made her feel calm and happier?”

  “Yes...” Dylan paused and looked me directly in the eye. “You won’t tell anyone that I did this,” he said firmly.

  I heard the words in my mind as well as normally—and then I felt the oddest sensation. It was as if I knew that even if I wanted to tell anyone of Dylan’s ability, I wouldn’t be able to. The information was locked in my mind.

  “What, what did you just...?” I asked, suddenly feeling panicked.

  “I’m sorry,” he shrugged, not looking at all repentant. “I put a suggestion into your mind.”

  “A suggestion? What does that mean?”

  “Well, although it’s called a suggestion, it’s really a command. Now, even if you try to tell someone about my ability, you won’t be able to.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I can feel that. Can you remove it?”

  “I can. But I don’t want to.”

  I opened my mouth, so angry I barely speak. “What? What do you mean, you don’t want to? You can’t just go around putting locks in people’s minds! That’s not right.”

  “I know, but sometimes it’s necessary to do that. It ensures that others don’t give away your secrets. I don’t do it often, I assure you.”

  “But you should never do it. It’s wrong.”

  “It’s necessary.”

  “No. It’s never necessary to impose your will on a person in this way.” I was beginning to panic. The magic Dylan had put into my mind was snaking itself down, slowly winding its way around my throat, choking me.

  Closing my eyes, I forced myself to calm down. Taking a few deep breaths, I slowed my rapidly beating heart. And then I attacked my problem—this “suggestion” that Dylan had put into my mind. It was like a lock, but like a lock it could be pried open. I did just that, prying the suggestion out of my mind. The lock burst, and in the same shot of energy I projected into Dylan’s mind, “You will never do that to me again!”

  Dylan’s mouth dropped open, but I didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. I spun around and returned to Sir Dagonet, who sat facing the river a short distance away.

  Still furious, I took my bag from where it was strapped to his horse and threw it onto the ground next to where he was sitting.

  Sir Dagonet jumped. “Hobnobbit! I lost it.”

  “Lost what?” I asked, dropping down onto the ground next to my bag.

  “The fish. I had nearly lured it onto my hook and now it’s gone.”

  “Oh.” I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs.

  Sir Dagonet narrowed his eyes at me. “I say, something’s wrong. You’re strung tighter than a string on a long bow. What is it that’s got you ready to snap?”

  I tried not to smile at Sir Dagonet’s colorful analogy. I glanced behind me to see if Dylan was there. He wasn’t, so I told the knight all that had just passed. I noted with satisfaction that his eyebrows went up a notch when I told him about the “suggestion” Dylan had put into my mind. They went up another notch when I told him that I had broken it.

  What I didn’t see was Dylan coming up behind me while I talked. I only realized that he was there when Sir Dagonet looked up and said, “Why didn’t you want Scai to tell anyone that you’d helped that woman?”

  I twisted around and looked up into Dylan’s scowling face.

  “Because knights aren’t supposed to make people feel better. I’m sure you know that,” he replied, biting out his words in his anger.

  Sir Dagonet looked perplexed for a moment. “And who told you that?”

  Dylan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why, my foster–brother... when he beat me for comforting a woman from our local village.”

  Sir Dagonet just shook his head and gave Dylan a sad smile. “Well, he was wrong, don’t you know? It’s a knight’s duty to save the damsels in distress, whether it be physically or emotionally. Did your foster–father never tell you that?”

  “No,” Dylan said. “He left most of my training to his eldest son.”

  “You weren’t raised by your own parents?” I couldn’t help but ask. Was he, too, abandoned by his parents? Was that the connection I felt with him?

  Dylan and Sir Dagonet turned to look at me, and then Dylan answered, “No. From the time I was seven I lived with a foster family whose duty it was to train me to be a knight.”

  Oh. A slight feeling of disappointment wafted through me. I brushed it out immediately, knowing it was wrong.

  Sir Dagonet nodded in agreement with Dylan. “That’s right. Boys from noble families are sent to another nobleman’s home to be trained, don’t you know. Weaponry, horsemanship, how to care for armor, all that a knight needs to know, wot? In return, the boy works as a page for his foster family—only fair. At thirteen, he becomes a squire to a knight in the household and completes his training until eighteen or so when he is knighted himself.”

  Dylan nodded and then added, “I was also taught to read, write, and work with numbers. My foster–mother taught me how to use my powers.”

  “Excellent, wot!” Sir Dagonet approved.

  “You were trained to use your powers?” The words blurted out of my mouth as I was engulfed by jealousy. Not only hadn’t he been abandoned by his family, they had made sure he had everything he needed. Everything.

  Dylan raised his eyebrows—could he sense how jealous I was? “Yes. My parents deliberately chose my foster family knowing that they would be able to teach me to be both a powerful Vallen and a knight.”

  “Clever, wot?” Sir Dagonet said, nodding his head in approval.

  I shoved my unkind feelings out of my mind. “Have you seen your parents since they sent you to live with this foster family?” I asked, thinking of how lonely I had been growing up without my own parents.

  But my question seemed to catch Dylan off guard. He thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “I’ve seen my father a few times. He came for visits and to check on my progress.”

  “Not your mother?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “She died at my birth,” Dylan said, without a touch of emotion to his voice.

  My heart wept for him, but I was relieved that his father had taken some interest. I was sure that I was taking Dylan’s experiences
too much to heart, so I pushed them out of my mind and asked about the other thing that had sparked my curiosity. “So your father knew that you were a powerful Vallen, even when you were as young as seven?”

  “Oh, yes. I think he knew even before I was born that I would be,” Dylan said offhandedly.

  “What? How?”

  Dylan suddenly looked a little wary. “I, er...I don’t know.”

  He was lying! I didn’t know how I knew that without being able to see his thoughts, but I was certain of it. I looked to Sir Dagonet to see his response, but his face was set in its usual light smile.

  I was certain Dylan wouldn’t be so careless as to reveal anything further, so I turned the conversation back to where it had begun. “So you are a knight, then?”

  Dylan’s scowl returned. “No. I was made squire to my foster–brother, but he’s enjoyed my services so much that even after over five years of service as his squire he still seems to be in no hurry to have me made a knight.”

  “Oh, I say, that’s not right,” Sir Dagonet exclaimed.

  “No. That’s why I left his service and have struck out on my own.”

  Sir Dagonet tsked. “A sad case. Not trained to care and then taken advantage of.”

  Dylan just shrugged. “I’ve always had to fight for what I felt to be my right. Nothing’s changed, and I can’t imagine it’s going to in the future. That’s just the way life is.”

  A small smile tugged up one corner of Sir Dagonet’s mouth and his old twinkle shone in his eyes. “In the days of the round table, knights always had to fight for what was right. We fought for ourselves, for others, and naturally, for King Arthur. That’s what knights do, don’t you know? We fight to protect the weak and make sure the strong don’t overpower them and take advantage of their position.”

  “We? You speak, sir, as if you were one of those Knights of the Round Table,” Dylan said, his voice laden with amusement and incredulity.

  “Oh!” Sir Dagonet looked flustered for a moment. “No, no.” He forced out a laugh. “No, I meant even today, we knights have to fight for what is right, wot, wot?”

  Dylan looked at the old man with narrowing eyes. “Sir Dagonet.”

  “Eh?”

  “Wasn’t there a Sir Dagonet who was one of the original knights of King Arthur’s round table?”

  “Oh, er...” Sir Dagonet began, his fingers seemed to crawl up the left sleeve of his tunic and play with something there.

  “He was the jester, the fool, if I remember correctly.”

  Sir Dagonet’s cheeks turned pink, and his fidgeting fingers fiddled around his left wrist. “Not a fool! I say. I, er, he was as brave and strong as any of them. And, er, quite handsome, too, from what I’ve heard.” He paused to preen a bit. “I was named after him. He’s, er, my ancestor, don’t you know. Yes, my, er, great–great grandfather or something of the sort.”

  “Really? That must be thrilling, knowing that you’re descended from one of the greatest knights this land has ever seen,” I said.

  Sir Dagonet’s face flushed a deeper shade, but this time with pleasure. “Oh yes. Yes. Quite thrilling.”

  <><><>

  Later that night, I went over the events of the evening again and again in my mind. I just couldn’t figure out if Dylan was a good person or not. I could feel that I was attracted to him, but I worried that, perhaps, I should not be. I couldn’t help but wonder what Father would make of him. I’d always gone to him for advice on how to deal with people. Now I just missed him immensely.

  I was absolutely certain I needed to watch and be wary of Dylan, even after he had been so kind to that woman. Now that I knew he could affect one’s emotions, I didn’t trust him not to fool with mine. I had to learn to block out other magic—fast.

  The following day, the road turned away from the river and the forest closed in on us once more. I was becoming reconciled to my feeling of claustrophobia when Dylan began behaving as skittishly as I felt. Suddenly, his pace picked up and Sir Dagonet’s poor horse did all that he could to keep up. Considering that he had two passengers instead of just the one, it seemed a little unfair.

  Against my better judgment, I suggested that night that I ride with Dylan to give Sir Dagonet’s horse a break for a day or two. What I hadn’t realized when I made the suggestion was how different it would be to ride behind a man nearly my own age as compared to the grandfatherly Sir Dagonet. Suddenly, I found all of my worries about my attraction to Dylan turned into a reality.

  Dylan’s strong, muscled shoulders blocked my view of the road ahead. He was much taller and broader than Sir Dagonet. When I held on to Dylan it wasn’t the cool metal of his armor that I felt under his tunic, as he had none. Instead, his shoulders were warm and I could feel the movement of his muscles underneath his clothing as he controlled his horse with skill. It gave me an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I found myself rather tongue–tied. The following day, I was just as happy to return to the easy comfort of Sir Dagonet and didn’t even think of riding with Dylan for a second day for fear of allowing my attraction to grow.

  On the third day after we had left the side of the river, I began to thirst as if I hadn’t seen water in a month. Our water skins were just about empty, and so far we had yet to come across even the smallest trickle of a stream. The forest was nothing but unrelenting trees towering over us and encroaching into the roadway. Even the sun was barred from entry into the forest, except for the occasional shaft of light that forced its way through the thick foliage.

  As the third day came to a close, my head was spinning with thirst. My mouth was dry and my lips cracked. I had been unable to eat even a bite of my bread that morning, it just crumbled to dust in my mouth, and now I was ready to drop with fatigue and hunger.

  With effort, I kept my head upright, resisting the urge to rest it against Sir Dagonet’s broad metal back. He, too, was sagging in his saddle and seemed to be doing almost as poorly as I. Dylan too looked wan but managed to keep his head up and his back straight even through the relentless dryness.

  We endured another full day of this, but that night Dylan began to speak of turning back.

  “No!” I cried, my voice so parched it was hoarse. “There is nothing that will make me turn back,” I continued, moderating my tone just a touch.

  I looked to Sir Dagonet for backup. As exhausted and dehydrated as I, he still nodded his head. “We’ll go on and hopefully come across some water or a village somewhere up ahead, wot?” His voice was weak, but, thankfully, just as determined as my own.

  “You may turn back if you wish,” I told Dylan.

  “No. If you go on, then I shall as well,” he replied with resignation. “But I think it is a mistake.”

  We drained the last few drops from our water skins the following day, and I nearly cried as we did so. If we didn’t find water soon... but, no, I wouldn’t even think of it. We would find water. It was just up ahead.

  I convinced myself of this and did my best to convince the men as well.

  It was with a jump and a burst of excitement that I greeted the crack of lightning and roll of thunder that tumbled toward us near the close of that day.

  I couldn’t resist the urge to throw back my head and open my mouth to catch the first of the fat raindrops that fell from sky. Within moments, I was cleansed of the dust that had caked itself onto every available surface of my body.

  Oh, it felt so good! So cool and refreshing.

  I opened my arms wide and welcomed the rain. It continued throughout the day and the following night. It rained until the road we were following became a river, treacherous to navigate with its unseen dangers of pit holes and rocks for our horses to stumble over.

  As the cold rain drenched us all, I pulled out my shawl, but it was no protection against the water that pelted us constantly.

  Sir Dagonet shivered in his suit of armor. The metal did nothing to protect him. The rain worked its way into every nook and gap and soaked him to the skin as thoro
ughly as Dylan and me. Indeed, he could barely move after a few hours because of the rust that was beginning to stiffen the joints of his armor. Luckily, he wore only the top half, carrying the leg plates strapped to his horse’s side. So while his legs were free, his body and arms were becoming stiff as a board.

  But there wasn’t anything to be done for the old man—not until we reached Gloucester, the first city we would come to across the English border.

  Chapter Twelve

  Father du Lac moved smoothly through the crowded audience chamber. Many of the richly dressed noblemen stopped and stared; others bowed their heads in greeting. He nodded here and there to acquaintances, men he had known over the years—many of whom had sought out his advice on how to deal with the king or had pleaded with him speak to His Majesty on their behalf. Yes, he held a rather important position in this court and everyone knew it. It was one of du Lac’s little pleasures.

  “Father, how wonderful to see you!” A voice came from behind him, swiftly followed by a clap on his shoulder.

  Father du Lac turned and found Lord Lefevre smiling brightly at him. “My lord,” du Lac said, with gentle enthusiasm as he bowed his head in greeting. If there was any nobleman he would have wanted to meet this afternoon, it would have been Lord Lefevre.

  “It is quite a crowd today, isn’t it? It’s because of the pope’s emissary, I suppose,” Lefevre said. The fellow was tall, but he still had to crane his neck above the crowd to see the dais where the king and the bishop sat side–by–side.

  “I hope you and your family are well?” du Lac asked.

  “Indeed, thank you, Father,” Lord Lefevre said, turning his attention back to the priest.

  “And everything in Gloucester?”

  “Very well. In fact, I have come to report as much to the king,” he said. It was clear his lordship was quite proud of the fact that he was bringing such good news in these difficult times.

  “Excellent. I am glad to hear of this, as, I am sure, His Majesty will be.” Du Lac paused for a moment and then added a little more quietly, “I may be traveling to Gloucester some time soon. I am glad to hear that all is well there.”