Children of Avalon

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Children of Avalon Page 63

by Meredith Bond


  Piers and Peter started laughing. “With the basin?” Piers said.

  “Why not the chamber pot?” Peter asked, giggling.

  Matthias turned pink. “That would have been dumb. The basin was bigger and heavier.”

  “And then you just walked out?” I asked. I didn’t care what he used to knock Patric senseless.

  “Well, no, I snuck out,” Matthias said, “keeping to the shadows and alcoves.”

  “And then he found me in the courtyard,” Aron added.

  “I knew Aron would bring me here to you,” Matthias finished, looking right at me.

  Thomas caught my eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

  Matthias was lying. I didn’t know about which part—knocking out Patric or knowing that Aron would bring him back here. But there definitely was something funny, something not right about his story.

  I turned to see what Sir Dagonet thought of it. For once he wasn’t smiling and his brow was furrowed. He didn’t believe Matthias’s story either.

  “So what have you all been up to?” Matthias asked, during a pause in the conversation.

  “Oh, you know, just waiting here, trying to figure out how to free you,” Thomas answered carefully.

  Scai disappeared for moment. When she reappeared, she shrugged saying, “There’s no one near by.”

  She must have zipped around the perimeter of our camp looking to see if Matthias had been followed.

  “What was that?” Peter asked.

  “Nothing,” I answered quickly.

  “So what was your plan?” Matthias asked, oblivious to what Scai had said.

  “Aron was going to sneak in and see if he couldn’t find you,” Piers answered.

  “Well, I knew where he was being held, thanks to Scai,” Aron pointed out.

  “Did you see anything else? Look for anything else while you were there?” Matthias asked Scai.

  “No. I was only looking for you,” she answered readily enough.

  “And that’s all? What about Nimuë?” my little brother asked.

  “What about her?” I said, turning back to him.

  “Can you tell us what she’s up to, son?” Sir Dagonet asked.

  Matthias shook his head. “I don’t know anything. She kept me locked in a room and didn’t come visit. I only saw Patric. But I thought you all were going to go after her or something?”

  “You were our biggest concern,” Peter said. “And now that you’re back, we can eat!”

  That made everyone laugh and relax. We all stepped back away from Matthias and settled down near the pile of wood, which would be our campfire. I gave it a spark of magic, setting a few of the lower sticks alight.

  “You didn’t speak to anyone at all, Matthias? And Nimuë never spoke to you?” I asked him after we’d all settled down.

  “No,” Matthias said, tearing off a piece of bread from the loaf Peter had handed him. “And you guys haven’t made any plans? You haven’t thought about how you’re going to get Lady Nimuë? I thought that’s what you were here to do."

  “Just going to wing it, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said. He was the only one who hadn’t sat down. In fact, he was pacing back and forth behind me.

  I turned around and looked closely at him. “Are you all right, sir?”

  “Yes, yes, fine, fine.”

  “Is it the nectere, sir?” Scai asked.

  “The what?” Matthias asked, looking at us.

  I swallowed, not happy that Scai had revealed this little bit of information. Nimuë didn’t know we had this conduit to her emotions. I imagined she would soon, though—as soon as Matthias got back to her. I had no doubt in my mind now that he would be going back.

  Scai looked at me and then Sir Dagonet, clearly realizing she’d just said something she shouldn’t have.

  Sir Dagonet gave a shrug. “Nectere. I’m wearing a bracelet that’s connected to Nimuë. I can feel whatever strong emotions she’s feeling.”

  Matthias’ eyes went wide.

  “Really?” Peter asked.

  “How does that work?” Piers echoed.

  “I’ve heard of necteres. Didn’t our parents share them?” James asked Thomas.

  “I believe they might have, but I’m not certain,” our brother answered.

  “Is a nectere something physical you have, sir?” Aron asked, looking back and forth trying to follow the conversation. “You’ve been saying that it’s been affecting you, but I don’t know what it is exactly.”

  “It’s a piece of jewelry—a ring or a bracelet usually—that two people who are married exchange. It’s magical so that the wearer can feel the emotions of the person who gave it to them, to understand them better and bring the two people closer,” Scai explained.

  Aron had taken our talk about the nectere in stride ever since we’d left Holme, but I could tell he was just as curious about it as my brothers, if not more so, since he’d seen what it could do to Sir Dagonet.

  “Makes a marriage stronger,” Sir Dagonet said.

  “How did you get a nectere connected to Nimuë, sir?” was Aron’s logical question.

  “Merlin,” the old knight answered succinctly. He seemed to be becoming more and more agitated.

  “Merlin gave one to Lady Nimuë,” I explained. “Before she imprisoned him in the tree, he took it off and gave it to Sir Dagonet. When we last fought with Nimuë, she touched it accidentally and re-activated it.”

  “So you can feel everything she feels?” Thomas asked.

  “Just her strong emotions, wot?” Sir Dagonet answered, clearly sweating now as he tried to keep control of whatever emotions were running through Lady Nimuë—and therefore him.

  “What’s she feeling now?” Piers asked.

  Sir Dagonet spun around and in two quick steps pulled Piers from where he’d been sitting between Matthias and Peter. With his hand gripping my brother by his throat he growled, “How do you think she’s feeling?”

  Matthias jumped up and slammed down hard on Sir Dagonet’s arm, forcing him to release Piers.

  The old knight turned on him but stopped just as he was about to hit him.

  The thought that he was coming to his senses burned through my mind, but he just turned his attack back on to Piers instead. Now it was clearer than ever that Nimuë was using Matthias.

  Peter and James each grabbed one of Sir Dagonet’s arms before he could attack Piers once again. But it was the clanging sound of swords engaging which told us that this wasn’t the only fight being fought just at this moment.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “They must have just gotten here,” Scai said, as we watched Patric try to defend himself from Dylan’s attack. “They weren’t here just a few minutes ago when I checked.”

  There was no way to know how long they’d been here, although it couldn’t have been too long since Dylan’s horse was still very nearby.

  “Why are you here?” Dylan asked, even as he continued his attack, forcing Patric to step back again and again.

  “Following Lady Nimuë’s orders, naturally. Really, Dylan, you can be…” He didn’t get to finish that thought but instead ducked around a tree in order to make an attempt at escaping Dylan’s onslaught.

  “What I want to know is what Lady Nimuë is doing with the Vallen she’s captured, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said, watching the fight closely, his hand on the hilt of his own sword. The old knight must have gotten a hold of his—or rather, Nimuë’s—emotions. James and Peter still stood on either side of him, though, just in case.

  “Answer him,” Dylan directed his foster brother. He slowed down his attack to let Patric speak.

  Patric just shook his head. Dylan picked up his pace and the aggressiveness of his attack again. “Answer him!”

  Patric ran around another tree, but Dylan wouldn’t let him get away that easily, and neither would anyone else. Thomas and Aron ran around to stand behind Patric to make sure he had nowhere else to go. Scai and I took up positions on either side
of the two fighting men, careful to stay out of the way of their flying swords, but close enough to let Patric know that he was in a bad position.

  His eyes shifted around. “She’s building an army,” he answered, still trying to parry Dylan’s attacks. “A Vallen army. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  Shock burned through me. An army? What would she be doing with an army? Why would she need one? I turned to Scai to voice my questions when Matthias, who had been standing next to me, suddenly took off running in the direction of the castle.

  “Where’s he going?” Peter said, as Matthias sprinted away.

  “To report to Lady Nimuë?” Thomas offered.

  “Back to Nimuë,” Scai said at nearly the same time.

  Patric paused, looking from Thomas to Scai. He clearly didn’t like either possibility. “This has been really fun, Dylan, and I’d love to stay and play some more, but duty calls.” Smashing through the wall of my brothers, he took off after Matthias.

  I started to follow, but James caught my arm. “No point, Bridget,” he said.

  “What do you mean? Patric’s going to—”

  “We don’t know if Matthias is running away from Nimuë or back to her. We don’t know if Patric is meaning to catch him or join him, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet explained.

  “Well, no, but we’re not going to find out if we don’t go after them,” I argued.

  “What would Nimuë want with a Vallen army?” Dylan asked no one in particular. He was a little winded from his fight and still staring off in the direction Matthias and Patric had run, but clearly his mind was still stuck on what Patric had said.

  “When we were on Avalon, I read that Nimuë has spent her whole life trying to undermine Lady Morgan. Could it have something to do with that?” Scai said.

  “You read that?” Peter asked.

  “Yes, I spent a good deal of my time reading about Lady Nimuë to get a better understanding of her,” Scai explained.

  “Scai can read,” Dylan began.

  “And it seems like it’s a really useful skill,” I finished. It had never occurred to me that she wasn’t just wasting her time with all that reading. But now I was glad that she had.

  “Planning on taking over Avalon, wot?” Sir Dagonet asked.

  “No.” Dylan turned towards Scai. “I met with the king and he seems to be completely under her sway, answering by rote any questions regarding Father du Lac in an odd monotone. His words sounded like something Lady Nimuë had put into his mind, rather than his own thoughts.”

  “What are you getting at, Dylan?” Thomas asked.

  “She’s planning on taking over Britain?” Scai asked, shock laden through her words.

  Dylan nodded. “It sounds that way, doesn’t it?”

  “A Vallen army…” Sir Dagonet began.

  “To take over Britain?” I finished for him.

  “Once she has the chalice and our power,” Scai added, “she could be invincible. She could take over anything, do anything.”

  “Oh, my God!” “Are you serious?” The twins Peter and Piers said in unison.

  Chills ran down my spine and I gave an involuntary shudder—but it wasn’t the thought of Nimuë taking over Britain that made me feel that way. There was something else. Something was wrong, very wrong. The only other time I’d felt this way was when Nimuë had driven off with Matthias still in the back of the wagon.

  Matthias!

  “Matthias is in danger… or hurt!” The words blurted from me.

  Everyone turned to stare at me.

  “What are you feeling, Bridget?” Sir Dagonet asked carefully.

  “Cold. I’m feeling intense cold,” I answered. I turned towards him. “The only other time I’ve felt this way was when Lady Nimuë drove off with Matthias in the back of that wagon. That time it faded pretty quickly, but I’m feeling that same cold once again.”

  “And you think it means that he’s in danger?” James asked.

  I nodded.

  “Then lets go,” Peter said, beginning to move in the direction of the castle.

  “Safer if you four stay here,” Sir Dagonet said. “In fact, I’ll stay with you. All of us won’t be able to get onto the castle grounds. Those three can, wot, wot? We’d best leave it to them.”

  Thomas frowned but agreed. “He’s right.”

  Dylan grabbed his horse and swung himself up, then held out a hand.

  “I’ll run with the wind and meet you there,” Scai said before disappearing.

  I grabbed Dylan’s hand and let him pull me up behind him. Within a moment we were galloping at breakneck speed through the woods toward the castle.

  <><><>

  Nimuë stood on the shore, watching the waves lick the sand. Over two hundred years of anger was slowly rebuilding within her. From the moment Morgan had been born she had been better than Nimuë. She was the perfect little baby. The darling of the family. She had showed magical promise before she could even walk. All five of their older siblings had oohed and aahhed and cooed over baby Morgan. They had known she would be special. They had known she would be powerful.

  Only Nimuë had hated her for it.

  Again and again, Nimuë had tried to rein in her little sister. She had tried to teach her modesty. That she did not always have to be so perfect. So right. So wonderful.

  And yet she was, and Nimuë hated her even more.

  Morgan was given everything. Beauty. Power. Avalon. And the people. The Vallen. They were hers and always had been—from the time she was old enough to lead them, they had followed her no matter what Nimuë said or did. And Morgan had grown and developed into a beneficent ruler, kindly allowing her people to grow and explore while always reminding them of their first duty—to do no harm. To help others. To use their gifts for the betterment…

  “Gah!” Nimuë shouted. It was nonsense. All of it. The Vallen had power. They were better than the ordinary people here on the mainland. “We should rule them as is our right!” she shouted to sea.

  And she would. She would rule all of the ordinary people. If Morgan wanted her little island, then let her have it. Nimuë did not need Avalon. No one needed Avalon, or Morgan, anymore.

  Morgan accepted that the world was moving forward? Well, then let the world move forward without her. Without Avalon.

  Nimuë raised her hand, summoning the boat that would take her to Avalon for the very last time.

  Within minutes it appeared at the shore where she stood. The priestess of the mist bowed low to her as Nimuë boarded. She stood at her helm as the little man rowed, propelling the boat further from the shore. But just as the magical mist of Avalon appeared before them at the call of the priestess, Nimuë stood.

  In one fluid movement, she blasted the boat with the strongest burst of magic she could summon, then shot into the sky in the form of bird. Circling the sea where the boat had been just a moment ago, she now saw nothing but an oar floating, bobbing in the waves.

  They were gone. The priestess and the boatman. Sunk under the unforgiving water.

  She circled the area once more. Never in her life had Nimuë killed anyone. She had imprisoned them. She had threatened them. But never had she taken a life.

  And now she had taken two.

  If she could have wept, she would have. They had been innocents, doing their jobs. But they were pawns. Pawns which had to be sacrificed. Now no one but the strongest Vallen could swim as a fish or fly as a bird could get off or on the island.

  Without a further thought, Nimuë flapped her wings and headed for her lake. She would be the last person to ever arrive on the magical isle of Avalon. Quite likely the last to ever leave it as well.

  Chapter Twenty

  There was something going on at the castle when we arrived—no one was guarding the bridge that provided access over yet another moat from the center of the city. Dylan and I dismounted and met Scai, who was waiting for us just outside the gate.

  “I didn’t go in, but I could have. The
re’s no one there,” she said, indicating the doorway.

  “Well, lets find out why not,” Dylan said, striding through.

  The outer bailey was empty, so we went further in.

  As we walked through the gate to the inner courtyard shouts of laughter greeted us. There was a large group of men standing around in a circle watching something they found amusing.

  “Oh, come now, it’s not that hard!” some man shouted into the circle.

  “Lift it up! Give it a go!” Others shouted, giving more encouragement.

  As we approached, there was a clang of metal hitting metal, as if two people were having a sword fight, but perhaps a half-hearted one? It was too slow for it to be a real fight.

  The three of us exchanged confused looks and then headed around the circle to see if we could catch a glimpse of what the men were watching.

  Dylan used his height to find a sparser section and shoved his way in. Scai and I followed on his heels.

  When I saw what the men were watching and laughing at, I nearly vomited. Matthias, my little brother, was standing in the center of the circle, a sword clutched in his hands, facing Patric. Sweat poured down his face, despite the cool of the day, and his eyes were wide with terror.

  Patric had a slight smile on his face, except it wasn’t a smile of happiness or mirth but one of cruelty. The smile of a predator toying with its prey. And that was exactly what he was doing, much to the enjoyment of the men all around us.

  Fury roared within me as Patric lifted his sword negligently and smacked it against the one in Matthias’s hands. My brother’s sword wobbled, but he gripped it harder and kept from dropping it. He was visibly shaking, though, and didn’t seem able to put up much of a fight at all.

  “Attack him, Matthias! Hit him. It doesn’t matter how, just hit him!” I shouted.

  My brother’s eyes shot to me, widening even further in horror. But he seemed to steel himself. He widened his stance. Just as a few of the knights turned to me, perhaps wondering what a girl was doing here, he brought himself to life and went on the attack.

  He swung the sword at Patric. Then swung it again and again. Sometimes he swung it erratically, missing Patric all together, but sometimes he actually forced Patric to defend himself. The crowd began to appreciate the fight in earnest. Knights called out for Patric to defend himself. Some even shouted encouragement to Matthias.

 

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