by Donna Hosie
“I’ll let you go if you promise not to try anything stupid,” said the Welsh voice of Slurpy.
“When my brother finds out what you’ve done to me…”
“I didn’t do anything,” said Slurpy, “but I’m sure Arthur will be fascinated to hear about your little adventure with knives. Stabbing someone, tsk tsk. Now that’s serious, even more awful than killing your baby rabbit, you murdering little freak.”
I had never hated anyone so much in my entire life, and that was saying something.
The hood was pulled off my head, and I coughed up the lungful of fibres that I had inhaled.
We were in a large tepee that had been made out of scaly red leather. In the centre was a small fire of blue flame, miniature versions of the ones that had exploded around the Solsbury Hill monastery. Now that disgusting piece of cloth had been removed from my nostrils, I could smell sweet toffee once more. The unnatural flames were warm, and I started to feel light-headed again, with a sensation that I knew had nothing to do with the fact I had been knocked out. It was hallucinogenic. It reminded me of the boy with the giraffe tongue.
“You look hideous,” said Slurpy. She was sitting crossed-legged near the flapping entrance to the tent. Her eyes flickered between me and her nails. There were strange henna tattoos on her hands.
“I didn’t have time to tart myself up like you.”
“I wouldn’t speak to me like that if you know what’s good for you.” Slurpy’s top lip curled.
“What are you going to do, bitch me to death?”
Slurpy rose to her full height and arched her neck back. She was dressed in skin-tight black leggings, with a black fitted tunic over the top. The front was laced, but left a gap of pale white flesh for its entire length. It was on back to front, and deliberately so. Slurpy wasn’t wearing underwear. Dark blue jewels, set in thick gold, were draped around her neck. I would never admit it, but she looked quite stunning - in a medieval, high-class hooker kind of way.
Then she started to mutter in a deep voice that sounded alien, not even male. The tendons in her throat stood to attention. Now it was my turn to giggle. Slurpy had finally gone insane. It was either that, or she was stoned.
Then her head snapped forward and I screamed. Slurpy’s eyes had gone completely white. She clapped her hands together. A tiny ball of blue flame zapped away from the fire in the centre of the tepee, and hovered above her interlocked fingers.
And she had the nerve to call me a freak.
I started to panic. My arms and legs were still tied, and I was in so much pain from the beating. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to run very far, even if I had the chance.
Surrender was the only option.
“Okay, point proven,” I yelled. “Just stop, Sammy. You’re freaking me out.”
I shuddered. Saying her cute hamster name was just wrong, even if I was on the verge of being turned into one by magic.
But Slurpy was on a different planet. She totally ignored me, as her milky white eyes remained firmly in place. The ball of blue fire started to twist and stretch in her hands. Wings slowly unfurled from its centre, and a spiked tail snaked from one end, as Slurpy manipulated the shape with her fingers.
The blue flame dragon then opened its mouth and yawned.
“Sammy, stop,” I yelled again. “Think of Arthur. Think of home.”
“I am home,” she replied, in a voice that was at least five registers lower than her normal one.
Unable to move, I waited, sweating as my bonds magically tightened of their own accord. The fire-breathing dragon that had been moulded between her fingers started to twitch, as its wings slowly moved up and down in time with her fingers. Slurpy was like a puppet master, carefully manipulating a magical marionette with invisible strings.
“Sammy…”
She clicked her fingers and uttered a single word.
“Alathincidere.”
It was the size of a small bat, but I was unprepared for how quickly it moved. The blue dragon disappeared from Slurpy’s hands, and then just as quickly reappeared inches from my face. I screamed in terror as it flapped around my face. There was no escape from it. Even after I buried my face into the dirt, the razor-sharp wings beat against my hair and ears. With every flap that connected, I felt a sharp sting, like a paper cut.
“Enough, Morgana.”
The slashing immediately stopped, but the pain remained. My eyes were filled with grit from the ground, and the tiny cuts that now criss-crossed my face stung, as if someone had poured nail polish remover over them.
Two blurred figures were in front of me, but I couldn’t see more than their outline. The curvy one was clearly Slurpy, but the other was taller and broader. A male.
“Aqualente.”
I gasped with relief as cold water was poured over my face.
“Don’t look so concerned, Mordred,” purred Slurpy. The normal voice was back. “She isn’t hurt, and I’ve been desperate to practice that little charm ever since you showed it to me. Or would you prefer it if I practised on one of the others?”
“You are still in the realm of transition, Morgana. If you are going to conjure the flame, then at least do it in the open. I am rather partial to this tent. The dragon took an age to slay.”
They both laughed, and then the man strode forward. Through my blurred vision I saw the glint of a curved silver blade. It reminded me of the unhappy moon from the night before. Cold steel was placed against my throat.
“If you want to stay alive, Lady Natasha, then heed my command. I will unbind your hands and feet, and treat you like a maiden of the court of Arthur, but if you try to escape, then my Lady Morgana will not be so forgiving. Do you yield?”
I nodded. I was too terrified to speak.
I was released from the bonds and the pain swamped me. My nose throbbed continuously, while my tongue was drawn like a magnet to a back tooth that had been knocked loose by the blow to my face. As the circulation returned to my left side, I saw that my knuckles were split and bleeding. As for my ribs and stomach, I felt like I had been used as a block of wood in one of Arthur’s Taekwondo lessons.
A rough wet cloth was then scraped over my face. I yelped as it connected with my sore nose.
“My apologies, Lady Natasha,” said the man. “I do not have the gentle gift of healing.”
I could focus on him now as the water had removed most of the dirt from my swollen eyes. He was very tall, with muscular legs and arms. His trousers were the colour of charcoal, and his tight fitting tunic reminded me of a jar of mustard. Long blonde hair fell around his face in straight panels, and his head was crowned with a circular silver piece of jewellery. His large eyes were like blue-green marbles, and his features were razor-sharp; his cheekbones alone could have sliced though metal. For a homicidal maniac, he was pretty damn hot.
“Leave her with me, Mordred,” said Morgana sullenly. “You have more important things to plan, like how to get us to Camelot before those idiot knights realise what we now have in our possession.”
Mordred glowered at Slurpy.
“Watch your tongue, Morgana. The Knights of the Round Table are not to be insulted in such a manner.”
She looked at me and scowled. Despite the pain in my mouth, I grinned. I was more than happy to watch Her Slurpyness dragged down a peg or two. Her humiliation was worth the pain that was probably coming my way.
And it did. Slurpy threw back her head again and her eyes rolled. I cringed. It was like watching a horror movie. She snapped her fingers, and spoke aloud in that freaky deep voice.
“Punctumlispa.”
Several tiny black shapes materialised at the top of the tepee. I didn’t need eyes to tell me what they were, because the rapid buzzing in my ears was clue enough.
“What the hell are you doing?” I screamed, as the wasps dive-bombed like a squadron of acrobatic airplanes.
“Melasubsisto,” barked Mordred. The wasps disappeared in a puff of lazy black and yellow smoke.
<
br /> “You are draining the fun out of my life, Mordred.” Slurpy fluttered her eyelashes, and for one horrific moment I thought she was going to snog him. Thankfully Mordred didn’t seem that interested. After cancelling out Slurpy’s bit of hocus-pocus, he snapped his fingers. The flap to the entrance pulled back and a dwarf appeared. He was about three and a half feet tall, with thick brown hair that looked like a badly made wig, and he had the biggest nose I had ever seen in my life.
“Food for our guest, Byron,” instructed Mordred.
Byron didn’t say a word, he just scowled. His forehead creased in thick folds of skin like a pug dog. He had a sack with him that was nearly as big as he was. The dwarf rummaged inside it, and threw me a chunk of bread, and some watery-looking cheese that fell apart in mid-flight.
“Yonder way lies the great castle of Camelot, Lady Natasha,” said Mordred, kneeling at my side. “You will accompany us now.”
“The second Bedivere, Tristram and the others see you, you know you’re a dead man, don’t you.”
Byron barked a sarcastic laugh. It seemed to please Mordred, who looked at the dwarf fondly, like he was a child.
“Balvidore and the Saxon scullions will smote down all in their path, and will glory in their destruction,” said Mordred, with a thin, twisted smile. “Well, those that endured the battle at the abbey of course.”
I stopped eating and threw the tasteless chunk onto the ground. A cold shot of adrenaline raced through my veins once more. I had seen bodies lying amongst the fiery rubble of the Solsbury Hill monastery, but for some reason it had never occurred to me that any of my knights were among the dead.
But what about David? What had happened to the young fifteen-year-old apprentice knight? He had been with me on the stairs, but then I had pushed past the white maidens and had run on. The wall had collapsed. It had blocked my way back down. I hadn’t given it a second thought at the time, but what if he had remained on the steps when the enormous slabs fell down?
And what of Gareth and Gawain? The gentle knight would never have left his younger brother. Did they get out too, or would the choking magical fumes have proved too much? My over-active imagination pictured the scene with horrific realism. Two twitching bodies sprawled across the floor as they fought for air.
Then there was Talan, who had disappeared with the singing monks. What had happened to him? And Tristram?
The name that I couldn’t even consider pushed past all of the others.
Bedivere. Not Bedivere.
In the end he had chosen me. When the walls were under attack, Bedivere didn’t rush to Lady Fleur’s side. He came to find me. He tried to save me.
“I see I have given you much to think about, Lady Natasha,” said Mordred softly.
I looked into his eyes, and made a silent vow to myself to cause him as much pain as he was now causing me. He bowed to me, then to Slurpy, and slid from the tent like a snake. He was quickly followed by Byron, who cast one last scowl at me before he waddled away, dragging the sack behind him.
“What are you doing with these people?”
“I met Mordred on the outskirts of that castle, the one they called Caerleon,” she replied. “I stole a horse, although I had no idea where I was going. I just wanted to get away from you and the other two ginger freaks. And I really can’t believe my luck. Mordred has been quite the teacher.”
She moved closer towards me; her movements were dance-like.
“You’ve completely forgotten about Arthur, haven’t you?”
“Your brother is the only thing that matters to me,” she hissed back, “but if I have to play in this bizarre show, then I’m going to do it on my own terms.”
“Meaning?”
Slurpy crouched down beside me; I caught a mouthful of her long dark hair as she flicked it over her shoulder. Why was her hair not greasy? Mine felt dirty enough to fry chips in.
“Mordred has shown me things that would make even your freaky piggy eyes spin in their sockets, little girl,” she crowed. “He thinks I’m special. He says I’ve been here before, and he’s right. It wasn’t some stupid school trip or a book. This is all too easy for it to be new. I’m special.”
“You know Mordred was the one who cut down King Arthur in the tales, don’t you? You’re ganging up with someone who wants my brother dead. Even when they realise he isn’t who they think he is, do you think these gory druids will just let us go when this is over?”
“There is one thing that I am sure of,” said Slurpy slowly. “Once we get to Arthur, I won’t need you, and neither will Mordred. I think it’s called collateral damage.”
“Arthur will kill you if you hurt me.”
“But how will he know?”
Slurpy started to laugh as she arched her head back. Her eyes were already rolling.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Falls of Merlin
I wasn’t sure if I slept because I couldn’t remember dreaming.
I was still in the tepee, sprawled across the damp ground. My riding clothes were torn and bloodied. I didn’t need Eve and a copper plate to show me that I was battered, bruised and probably puffed up like a reality television star who had overdosed on plastic surgery.
My thoughts stayed with Eve as I slowly pulled my aching body up from the dirt. I exhaled guilt. She wouldn’t have been there if not for me. I hoped she hadn’t suffered, and that when the end came, it had been quick. My mind wandered back to the castle of Caerleon and the maid who had seen to Slurpy on that first night. My first impression was that she and Eve had been related. Sisters probably.
Would the maid know that Eve had been amongst those killed in the first attack? I didn’t even know the sister’s name, but she would certainly be added to the growing list of people who hated my guts.
Once the swaying and nausea had stopped playing with my mind, I made a quick note of my injuries. Discounting my face, the worst pain was just above my stomach. I pulled up my tunic and looked at my skin. Pale and not very interesting had turned into black tinged with purple. As I gingerly felt around each separate rib bone, I counted two that were painful enough to be counted as broken, or at best, fractured.
The physician, Robert of Dawes, would have pain-killers. I needed him as much as he needed me now.
Did Mordred know about Sir Percivale and the travelling court of Caerleon? They were armed, and in far greater number than the splinter group of knights that had gone to Solsbury Hill. The thought unexpectedly cheered me up. We weren’t doomed yet. The battle for Camelot was quickly approaching from all sides, and could prove the perfect distraction while I searched for Arthur.
I peeked out through a gap in the tepee and counted at least seven more tents, although the others were made from a thick cotton-like fabric, and not dragon hide. The druids had made camp next to a towering cliff. The dark craggy rocks rose like jagged skyscrapers into the sky.
I stuck my head further out of the flap. Without the thick scales acting as a barrier, I found I could hear water. It was not the gentle sound of waves lapping against a beach, but the torrential gushing of millions of gallons falling into an open space. A waterfall.
I scanned the perimeter of the camp again. No Mordred, no hooded druids, and best of all, no psychotic Slurpy. Just a few tethered goats that looked thoroughly bored.
There was nothing sharp and silver to arm myself with, but I picked up a long thick stick from a burnt-out fire, just in case. Slowly and very quietly, I stepped out into the daylight. My throat was dry and as coarse as sandpaper. I desperately needed to find water, and if I could take a shower at the same time, then even better.
The ease with which I walked out of the druid camp was unsettling. Anticipation brings with it a unique sense of dread as your body reacts to every sound, magnifying it a thousand fold into the spectre of something dangerous. My eyes were constantly searching the lush green landscape for the colour blue, and the inevitability of pain that came with it.
I followed the rock face and t
he deafening sound, and found my waterfall. Judging by the noise, I had been expecting something grandiose of Niagara-type proportions, but it was much smaller and elegant.
A jutting lip in the cliff was the starting line. A narrow span of water splashed down at least ten metres into a frothing, bubbling pool. The water was clear, but it sparkled with a green sheen as it reflected the colour of the overhanging bushes, that clung to the dark rock like fluffy clown wigs.
Pockets of tall reeds lined the pool, which was the same size as a public swimming bath. As I nervously stepped over the slippery rocks, a bushy-tailed squirrel suddenly popped out in front of me. It was grey, with inquisitive black eyes. I had never thought of squirrels as being particularly hairy before, but this little fellow had a long collection of fur under its mouth, just like a beard. It rose up on its back legs with its paws resting on its pale grey belly. It wasn’t scared of me in the slightest.
The squirrel turned tail and bounded up the nearest tree trunk in a circular motion, but I sensed it continued to watch me as I pulled off my tattered trousers and slowly lowered my legs into the freezing water. Scooping up mouthfuls of water with my hands, I drank until my thirst was gone. Then I washed my lower body, taking care not to fall in.
The sun was still too weak to dry clothes, and so I decided against washing mine. My long tunic covered my thighs, and I left my legs bare. I was in no rush to put my filthy trousers back on and contaminate the only part of me that was now clean.
Lulled into a false sense of security by the hypnotic cycle of the waterfall, I soon forgot about my kidnappers. I was back in the middle of nowhere. Alone and in pain. It was routine now.
Then the echo of a wind chime rustled through the reeds.
“Not all in Logres get to see the sacred Falls of Merlin.”
Taken by surprise, I lurched forward. My arms flailed like windmill sails, but it wasn’t enough to stop my body from toppling headfirst into the pool. I somersaulted several times as a strong undercurrent dragged me further down into its depths. My lungs burned as I swallowed freezing water. Slimy weeds groped at my legs like tentacles as I struggled in the invisible tide. As I continued to battle with gravity, my bare feet connected with a smooth rock, and I propelled myself back up to the surface. Spluttering and coughing, I broke through to fresh air, and with a weak pain-filled breaststroke, I kicked and dragged myself to the edge of the pool.