Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)

by Donna Hosie

  “Speed, sire,” interrupted Gawain. “The Saxons will be upon us soon.”

  Arthur nodded with a blaze of fierce intensity across his sun-bleached face. I had never seen him so pumped up, and he can get quite hysterical before a Taekwondo tournament. Bedivere and Gareth took the lead as we ran for our lives. The castle was shaking. Its foundations sprinkled us with hard black icing, as explosions rocked the battlements above. Screams and jeers joined in one continuous stereo of noise.

  On through the tunnels we ran. Up and down, left and right. A circle of daylight expanded rapidly as we approached the exit. Bedivere and Gareth charged out; their swords firmly held between their hands. I was the last to leave the tunnel, and the cool fresh air swept over me as I exited. It was instant relief.

  The explosions over Camelot were grinding into the stone. It sounded like a screaming animal. Camelot was alive and in pain. I turned to the eastern wall and saw blue flames devouring the castle.

  Mordred and the druids of Gore had arrived.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Inquisition

  All eyes turned to Arthur. It suddenly occurred to me that this incredible group of knights, who had battled time itself to rescue Arthur and keep me alive, were now expecting him to take charge.

  And the thought filled me with dread.

  This is where it would all turn upside down. This was the moment when my brother would be revealed as a fraud. Back in the light of day, Bedivere and the others would realise they had come all this way for an eighteen-year-old math student and his sister.

  As my stomach churned and perspiration started to soak my neckline, my only instinct was to grab Arthur’s hand and run for it.

  “Who else came with you?” asked Arthur quietly. His words did little to break the tension. I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or the boys.

  “Sirs Tristram, Talan, and Archibald are at the eastern drawbridge,” replied Bedivere, assuming Arthur had addressed him. “They were to create a diversion whilst we entered from the western tunnels. Sir Percivale and Sir Ronan ride with the court of Caerleon. More are travelling from the shores of Brittany and down from the north. Mordred and the Gorians are low in number, Arthur. Their magic is formidable, but we cut many of them down when we rescued Natasha. We can take them and the Saxons.”

  “They had to rescue you?” asked Arthur, although he didn’t look at me as he spoke. He had not moved his eyes from the battlements of Camelot.

  “Sir Gareth, Sir David and I will go and find the others,” said Bedivere, and he turned to leave.

  “Bedivere,” called Arthur.

  “Sire?”

  Arthur walked over to Bedivere. He was still wearing his jeans and t-shirt: the same clothes he had disappeared in. The colours had faded, and the cloth had been torn in several places, revealing tanned freckled flesh that was bruised and scraped. He didn’t look like royalty. He looked like someone in need of disinfecting.

  “Thank you,” said Arthur, and even with his back to me, the emotion in his words was clear. His voice cracked.

  “You told me you would come again,” replied Bedivere, taking Arthur’s arm in his hand. “I never wavered in my loyalty to you, or the court of Camelot.”

  “I’m not thanking you for that, Bedivere,” said Arthur, and he turned to look at me. “I’m thanking you for keeping my sister alive.”

  Now all eyes were on me. I could feel the burning that was spreading like a pink pox across my cheeks and down my neck. Being the centre of attention was something I dreaded in any circumstance. It was like a teacher calling on you in assembly when you didn’t know the answer.

  “I will never render a greater deed than the oath I swore to protect her,” replied Bedivere, and he smiled at me in a way that made my chest and stomach swap places. “We will return with Sirs Tristram, Talan and Archibald. Come, Sir David, Sir Gareth. Our fellow knights are in need of our assistance.”

  “Close your eyes, Arthur.”

  “What?”

  “Close your eyes. You owe me a few seconds.”

  “Titch, why do I need to close my eyes?”

  “Because I don’t want you to see this.” I threw myself into Bedivere’s arms and spread my mouth across his warm lips. He held me tightly, as his stubble scraped my face. I could hear Arthur spluttering and choking behind me, but I didn’t care. My fingers wound into Bedivere’s hair. Was it normal to want someone this much? To be blissfully happy and yet terrified out of your wits at the same time?

  “Find Talan and Tristram, but don’t stop for Archibald. Just come back to me, okay.”

  Bedivere stroked my face; he was tracing my freckles. Memorising them. My cheek was brushed one last time with his lips, and then he turned and ran. Gareth and David followed in a bird-like formation, faithfully flanking Bedivere on either side with their swords drawn.

  My heart had never felt more alive, and yet my brain knew how vulnerable it now was. It needed distracting.

  “Gaheris, Gawain, are you able to move further to the eastern side?” I asked, deliberately ignoring my brother, who appeared to be having a seizure.

  “Yes, m’lady,” replied Gaheris. The rescued knight seemed to be in much better health than his younger brother, although I noticed several of the nails were missing from his bloodied fingers.

  “We have food and water with the horses. We’ll head back there first.”

  I turned to my brother, who was doing a great impression of the Edvard Munch painting, The Scream. His mouth was open, his eyes wide, and his hands were on either side of his face.

  “For heavens sake, Arthur, pull yourself together. You’re supposed to be their king.”

  Arthur opened and shut his mouth like a goldfish.

  “You…and Bedivere?” he stuttered. “You…and…Bedivere?”

  “Yes, me and Bedivere. You told me to trust him, and so I did.”

  The colour returned to Arthur’s face – and didn’t stop. He started to turn purple.

  “I told you to trust him, not shove your tongue down his throat.”

  “Well, that is rich coming from you. Do you see this mark on my face,” I jabbed at my left cheek, “and this one, and how about this one on my forehead? Do you know how I got them? Your batshit crazy girlfriend, that’s how.”

  “What?”

  “Your girlfriend, Samantha - who wouldn’t know loyalty if it paid her in cash and condoms - has joined forces with Mordred, and do you know how she celebrated? By kidnapping and then torturing me with a magical, blue flappy thing that she conjured in her hands, that’s how.”

  Arthur turned to Gawain.

  “Has she hit her head again?”

  I thumped him.

  “My head has been hit several more times, no thanks to you,” I yelled. “In the past week I’ve been attacked by humpbacked dwarves on wolves, my nose is barely attached to my face anymore, and I’ve seen a girl who could have been my first real friend carried off by a dragon and then eaten for breakfast. And don’t get me started on Mordred and the druids of Gore. I’ve been a punchbag, the bullseye for a swarm of wasps, and my arse is still red raw from all the horseback riding.”

  “And yet you still managed to find time to roll in the hay with Bedivere,” shouted Arthur, tugging several rogue strands of straw from my hair. He wasn’t gentle.

  “What is your problem?” I screamed back, inches from Arthur’s face. “And do you mind telling me how you even know him? We all know you like to lord it over the rest of us minions, but pretending to be King Arthur is taking it to the extreme, don’t you think?”

  But just when I thought he was going to yell another insult, Arthur closed his eyes to the world, scrunched up his face and exhaled a long exhausted sigh. The tension between us suddenly deflated like the air from a balloon. It was very unsatisfying. Fighting was the distraction I needed, and I was starting to crave it.

  It was then, as I watched Arthur’s face start to crumple, that I realised he wasn’t angr
y about me and Bedivere, and I wasn’t cross because of Slurpy. We were furious with each other because we had been so scared. Past, present and future no longer held any meaning. The death of our little Patrick had left such an enormous void. If Arthur and I lost each other now, that hole would become a chasm. I felt the presence of another Roth. A little, giggling figure, running away in blue. We both felt him. Suddenly there were three people in this picture. Yet all three of us were still one thousand years away from existing.

  To the eastern walls, the battle continued. Now the earth was vibrating like a taut drum skin. In the distance the cavalry had arrived to take on the druids and Saxons. Yet Arthur and I were still on the periphery – safe – with just our thoughts consumed by pain.

  “I know I’ve been here before, Titch,” said Arthur, quietly confirming my own suspicions. “I can see it all. The smell of this place reminds me of home. Not Avalon Cottage,” he quickly added as I made to interrupt him, “but somewhere else. An island in the mist.”

  “This is insane, Arthur.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not real though.”

  “You aren’t King Arthur.”

  “But I could be.”

  “How did you even get here? We searched for hours after you disappeared.”

  “I followed the rabbit. It led me to the tomb you fell in, but when I got there it was empty. I was about to climb out when I was attacked. I couldn’t see who or what was in there with me, but something placed a rag over my mouth. It was soaked in a drug because I knew I was going to pass out before it happened. I thought this is it. This was how I was going to die.”

  “It must have been the Saxons. It’s scary to think of them so close to our house. What if they had come through the opening?”

  “That’s the weird thing though,” said Arthur quietly. “It didn’t feel like a man who had his hands around my neck and mouth. They were too small, too thin. I know it sounds crazy, but I thought it was a woman. A bloody strong one.”

  Arthur and I stood in silence. There was only one woman who could hold that much power.

  Nimue.

  I thought back to the image I saw at my bedroom window as Slurpy and I were leaving Avalon Cottage.

  Someone who didn’t belong there.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Sammy is with Mordred, you say?”

  “I just hope she stays alive long enough for you to chuck her first.”

  “So what did you say to Sammy to make her run off and leave you?” asked Arthur wearily.

  “Excuse me?” I spluttered.

  “You must have done something to upset her.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even want her to help look for you in the first place, but she insisted on coming anyway, and a right pain in the neck she’s been since the beginning. Only now she can roll her eyes into the back of her head, and she has become fluent in mumbo-jumbo.”

  Now it was my turn to appeal to Gawain, who along with his brother, was scarring tracks into the terracotta dirt with a knife. They were attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  “Can you help me out here?” I asked. “Can you tell your beloved King Arthur exactly what Mordred and the Gorians did to the Solsbury Hill monastery? Oh, and by the way,” I added, jabbing my brother in the stomach with my finger, “you’ll have to get used to calling her another name from now on, because the moron is now calling herself Morgana.”

  I kicked Gawain’s boot as a sign of encouragement.

  “I’m not sure I understood all of Lady Natasha’s words, sire,” said Gawain, “but it is a terrible truth that the sanctuary of Solsbury Hill was besieged by dark magic, not two nights ago.”

  “And did you see Sammy there?”

  “Not…technically.”

  “Then you can’t prove Sammy did anything.”

  I cried out with frustration. I may have stamped my foot like a child. How could Arthur look at my bruised and battered face and still defend that witch?

  “You’re such a hypocrite.”

  “And yet again you’re calling dogs with your voice, Titch.”

  “I hate you.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Yes I do. I should have left you here to rot. You have the nerve to question me and Bedivere, and yet you’re quite happy to take the side of a mental nutcase over me.”

  Tears were pricking my eyelids. I had seen this coming, hadn’t I? I was the stupid little sister, coming along for the ride, while the big-boobed gazelle in hot pants could do no wrong.

  “I just want to talk to my girlfriend and hear her side of the story,” replied Arthur. He placed a placatory hand on my elbow, but I shrugged him away. I had come all this way, through time and death, and yet my brother refused to see what was in front of his face. I tried so hard not to cry. I attempted to fill my mind with boring images, like men playing cricket and chemistry symbols, but it was no good. Within moments, my shoulders were heaving and tears, dirt and snot merged into one gloopy waterfall down my face.

  Arthur wisely left me alone. Instead he went to talk with Gawain and Gaheris. Camelot continued to scream and groan as the blue flames crackled over the walls, while the bellowing cries of Saxons brandishing spears and swords, gusted through the air. It had become a three-way battle: Saxons, Gorians and the knights led by Sir Percivale. Somewhere in the heaving mass of bodies were Bedivere, Tristram, Gareth, Talan and David: five strangers who had become my friends and so much more.

  A hungry sense of sickness that had nothing to do with food started to swell in my stomach. It was longing. I needed Bedivere. I wasn’t complete without him. There must be no more standing on the edge. We – I – had to help them all.

  In the corner of my eye I saw the blue vision again. I knew if I turned my head for a better look, it would disappear, so I strained my tear-filled eyes to the right in an attempt to see him better.

  A little boy was pointing to the distant battle.

  I knew what had to happen next. I pulled myself away from the ghost of Patrick and turned to Arthur, who looked older and more serious than I had ever seen him. We weren’t safe at all, and we both knew it.

  “It is time to reclaim your sword, Arthur.”

  I hic-cupped as a wind-chime voice sang through the trees. There was no rigor mortis of fear, no flapping of arms, or screaming with shock.

  Because this time I was expecting her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Sword in the Stone Table

  Nimue floated towards us. Her pale blue dress rippled around her body, as the ends of her long hair danced around her face. She looked like a silk flag playing in the wind.

  Gawain and Gaheris fell to their knees; their heads bowed towards the ground. I glanced at Arthur, wondering what his reaction would be to this beautiful vision.

  Yet again, the surprise would be mine.

  “We meet once more, Arthur,” said Nimue, with a beguiling smile. “It has been too long.”

  My brother bowed his head and then grinned; Nimue got the expensive-teeth smile that was reserved for pretty girls.

  “Hello, Nimue.”

  “You know her?”

  Arthur nodded, and those pearly white teeth of his did not fade away. From the look on his face, my brother knew Nimue well. Very well indeed.

  “For crying out loud,” I cried, “are you telling me Nimue is another one of your girlfriends? You know, if you were a girl, people would call you a slut.”

  “It’s not like that, Titch.”

  He walked over to Nimue, knelt on one knee and kissed a large diamond ring on her slim middle finger. At least I thought it was a diamond. It was big, oval and sparkled like glitter.

  “Your sword is waiting for you, Arthur,” said Nimue softly. “It has been waiting for a very long time.”

  “It was you that brought me here, wasn’t it?” asked Arthur. He had risen to his feet and was now inches away from Nimue. Their heads were so close that the merest tremor in the earth
would have brought them together, in a way that would make Slurpy Morgana very unhappy. Starlight twinkled around them. A disgusting, painful image stabbed into my head. Was Nimue responsible for what happened to Mr. Rochester? Was that how she managed to get Arthur back into her world?

  “I did not hand you over to Balvidore lightly, Arthur. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good, and it was the only way to unite the Great Halls of Logres and beyond,” said Nimue, and her flirtatious attitude towards my brother suddenly changed. Even the buttermilk shading of her skin appeared to tan. My anger with her increased as she continued to speak.

  “Return to the Round Table and reclaim what is yours, what is ours. Balvidore will be waiting, and the others who are intent on wickedness will also stake your trail. There are many who are prepared to die to stop glory returning to Logres. Now you must make a sacrifice, Arthur.”

  “Hang on a second,” I interrupted, stepping forward. “What do you mean he has to make a sacrifice? He never asked for any of this, and if I find out you were the one who murdered my rabbit...”

  But Nimue ignored me. Her deep blue eyes didn’t even register my existence. They were reserved for Arthur alone.

  “What about my sister?” asked Arthur. “I can’t risk taking her with me.”

  “Natasha’s future is now linked to that of another, Arthur,” replied Nimue. She stretched out her hand and caressed my brother’s face. The facets of her diamond ring shone, and I blinked as the brightness forced my eyes away. Gawain and Gaheris were still kneeling, but their faces were stunned. I wasn’t sure they were hearing any of this. They looked drugged.

  Arthur leant forward and kissed Nimue gently on the lips. As they parted, Nimue dissolved into the air. The leaves on the ground rapidly twisted up, trapped in a wind funnel, like a mini tornado. When they fell back to the earth, they were ripped apart with just the veined skeleton remaining.

  What did she mean about my future and Arthur’s sacrifice? I didn’t like the way she was so quick to deal out judgment and punishment on others. We knew she had trapped the kingdom of Logres in an ageing sleep, and she had just confirmed it was her that had given Arthur over to the Saxons. I also suspected she was the one who had killed my baby rabbit.