by Donna Hosie
“Come with me,” I pleaded to Bedivere, as another, stronger electrical surge pulsed through my arm. Without waiting for a reply, I started running.
It was bad enough trying to run with an injured leg, but running with an injured leg while looking like a cucumber was even worse. My dress was so tight I couldn’t move my feet more than a few inches off the ground.
Use Angharad.
With the delicacy and accuracy of a much smaller knife, my sword sliced through the fabric on both sides. Now I could run. Pain juddered down my injured leg. I could feel my kneecap going into heat-filled spasms.
“Go to the sorcerer, Natasha,” said Bedivere. “I will head straight to the dungeons.”
“Why the call, Sir Bedivere?” called a voice.
“Because I trust her,” was Bedivere’s reply.
I saw Gareth run after him. Guinevere went with me. She had done exactly the same to her dress, which now flapped around her ankles in two long panels.
I had to rely on the voice in my head to show me the way. Gwenddydd took us left, left again, and then a quick right. We flew down a long corridor, which was lined with stained-glass windows. I now understood the feeling of familiarity I had with this castle, with Logres. They weren’t my memories, they had been Gwenddydd’s all along.
Through the double doors. That is the Great Hall.
Guinevere reached it first. She pushed one of the doors, and the ragged seam of her dress caught on a protruding bent nail. The fabric ripped with a zipper-like noise. Guinevere grabbed the ends and just ripped it off, baring her legs below the knees.
Merlin was already waiting for us. The bulbous tip of his staff was blazing with white heat.
“Dark magic is at work within the walls of Camelot,” he bellowed.
“Gwenddydd said it was Mordred. Bedivere and Gareth have gone down to the dungeons. We have to help them.”
“Lady Guinevere, rally as many knights as you can. I must go to the outer battlements,” said Merlin.
“Why can’t you just do your magic thing and disappear to the dungeons now,” I yelled. “You can stop Mordred in seconds.”
“It is man’s nature to be reactive,” replied Merlin, “but I am no man – I am so much more than that. My powers will be required elsewhere for the greater good.”
“What is happening?” asked Guinevere. “Are the Gorians attacking?”
“It is the Lady of the Lake,” replied Merlin, “and she has brought her most potent weapon with her.”
Water.
“What can the Lady of the Lake do, though?” asked Guinevere. “We are in a castle high up on the hill. She cannot hurt us with water here.”
But I knew what she was going to do.
“She’s going to flood the dungeons,” I cried. “Bedivere is heading straight into a trap.”
I started running.
Gwenddydd, do you know your way to the dungeons? I thought.
Only too well.
Show me.
Unfortunately, my request reawakened memories that I didn’t want to share. As my legs followed Gwenddydd’s way, my head shared her humiliation as she relived the enchanted guards and knights dragging her through the glistening black corridors of Camelot. They were dragging her by the hair, kicking and cursing her as a witch. One guard, with his opaque white eyes flickering wildly, threw her down onto the stone and waved a blazing torch in front of her face. I could feel the heat burning my lashes; my eyes were streaming.
Then fire became water.
“BEDIVERE.”
The narrow stairwell leading down was flooded with foaming water. It looked toxic: an unnatural green with oily rainbow clouds shimmering on the surface.
“There has to be another way down, Gwenddydd.”
Electricity surged through my arm again. A deep boom rocked the castle.
“What’s happening?”
My brother is draining away the water.
“Why can’t he just do a spell or something? He’s going to bring down the walls.”
Merlin controls fire and the earth, but he is not equal to Nimue when it comes to bending water to his will. The Lady of the Lake knows this, which is why she is extracting Sir Mordred through the sewers, like the other rats.
“What does she want with Mordred?”
“Lady Natasha, to whom are you speaking?”
Tristram, Talan, David, Lucan and Guinevere were standing directly behind me. All five were soaking wet.
“We can’t get down this way,” I cried, ignoring their confused stares.
“The passage to the northern walls is filled with water as well,” shouted Talan.
This is the east wing of the castle. There is another way.
“Follow me,” I yelled. Gwenddydd was showing me a route through a trapdoor under several barrels.
My injured leg was screaming in pain, but back we ran, through the corridors, up steps and down steps, through the hall where the feast had now stopped. Knights were calling to arms, and people were screaming as Merlin continued to rock the foundations of Camelot.
“Lady Natasha, where are you taking us?” asked David.
“There’s a trapdoor in the kitchens, through the floor.”
“I was not aware of such a place,” called Talan.
“Titch.” Arthur was now running alongside Lucan. “What is that madman doing out there?”
“Nimue is attacking Camelot with the river. She has flooded the dungeons and is taking Mordred out through the tunnels,” I called back. “Merlin is trying to drain away the water before everyone below us drowns – but Bedivere and Gareth are down there.”
We had reached the kitchens. Talan and David barged through the doors, sending several women sprawling onto their backs. Trays filled with food and jugs flew into the air.
“Move those barrels,” ordered Tristram, and he, David and Lucan immediately started dragging wooden barrels, the size of washing machines, towards a huge table that was in the centre of the room. The barrels were filled with flour, and what looked to be congealed fat.
“No point in asking how you know this, Titch?” asked Arthur, but he was the first to the trapdoor, and the first one down the steps that led into darkness.
“SIR BEDIVERE...SIR GARETH...” cried Lucan. “Brother, can you hear me?”
Several bodies were lying in a corner, spreadeagled and dripping wet. Talan shone a blazing torch from the kitchen over them; their dead eyes were bulging in their sockets.
“I do not know these men,” whispered Talan.
“Then we’ll deal with them after we’ve found Bedivere and Gareth,” replied Arthur urgently. “Titch, I want you and Gwen to stay here. You’ll be able to get out quick if the river rises again.”
“No. We will remain with you, sire,” replied Guinevere. “Or as Lady Natasha would say, bite me.”
And she ran down the tunnel first. I was right behind her. Talan and the torch came next. Our shadows stretched out in front of us. Our voices magnified in the enclosed space, as we called for Bedivere and Gareth. My terror increased with every step. Where was he? He wouldn’t stay silent if he heard me calling.
The doors to the dungeons had been torn from their hinges. We came across three more bodies, pale and bloated. The smell of seaweed was so strong it made my eyes sting. All three men were smeared in watery blood.
“These guards were felled before they drowned,” said Tristram. He was bending over the bodies. All had had their throats slit from ear to ear. Tristram made the sign of the cross on his chest.
“Sir Mordred is gone,” said David.
But I didn’t care about Mordred, or even the dead guards.
Because Bedivere was gone as well.
Chapter Nine
Four Eyes
The Knights of the Round Table didn’t have to be asked to go looking for Bedivere and Gareth. They just did it. Guinevere and I went too, sticking together like sisters.
Everyone kept praising me for being so calm, but
what else was I supposed to do? If I stopped for a second to imagine the worst, that Bedivere had drowned in the tunnels like the others, then I would lose it completely.
“They are alive until my eyes tell me otherwise,” said Tristram. “Do not lose faith, Lady Natasha. We found Sir Gareth once. We will find them both once more.”
Merlin had blown several diamond-shaped holes into the lower sections of the castle. The flood from Nimue had drained out of these, and it was here the search was concentrated. Arthur was leading one party; Lucan another; and Tristram the third. The ground was thick and sticky with mud and jagged debris that looked like glistening black crystals. David gave me his gloves. It was only when I looked down at my hands that I realised they were covered in blood. The battle scars of Camelot were tearing my hands to shreds, and yet I felt nothing but a sharp, stabbing pain in the pit of my chest.
“The flood was caused by magic,” I said to Guinevere. “So even though the guards died, it doesn’t mean Bedivere and Gareth did as well, does it?”
“No. No. And thrice no,” replied Guinevere determinedly. We had changed back into long pants, laced boots and belted tunics, and she was using her new-found freedom to clamber over boulders ahead of me.
“The Lady of the Lake freed Sir Mordred as she has no other allies now,” added David. “She would have wanted him alive. If Sir Bedivere and Sir Gareth were with him, then I believe all three would have endured the flood.”
Behind us, Merlin was standing on a raised rock, with both arms outstretched. His staff was glowing with a pulsing crimson fire once more.
“What is the sorcerer doing?” asked Guinevere.
“He is placing Camelot under his protection. The Lady of the Lake will not be able to use her magic here ever again.”
“It’s a bit late for that now,” I snapped, swearing loudly as my injured leg scraped along a sharp piece of rock that was spiking out of the ground. “Why didn’t Merlin do that days ago when he first got here?”
A cry went out from the blast area furthest to our left. Arthur’s search party had found something.
“What is it?” I cried. “Arthur, have you found them?”
A knight - someone tall I had been introduced to before, but for the life of me couldn’t remember - was holding up a piece of torn red cloth. The remains of a cloak. A knight’s cloak.
“Titch, get here quick,” yelled Arthur. “Is this Bedivere’s?”
Ignoring the jagged edges of the rocks, I stumbled through the sticky mud towards Arthur. Talan was already with him; Lucan reached them next. They passed the remains of the cloak between them, examining it carefully.
“It is my brother’s, Lady Natasha,” said Lucan in a voice that was breaking.
“How do you know? It could be anybody’s.”
But then I saw the tiny glistening pinprick of light, and my legs buckled. Bedivere had attached my earring to his red ceremonial cloak. I hadn’t noticed. I had been too busy looking at his eyes.
“It doesn’t mean he’s dead, Titch,” said Arthur, and he grabbed hold of me as I started to sob into his shoulder.
“What are your orders, sire?”
“I want them both found,” ordered Arthur, “and I want everyone in the castle and grounds looking. Search every room, search through the tunnels and dungeons again. Tristram, Talan, Lucan and Agravaine, I want you spreading out north, south, east and west. If you find anything at all, you bring it to me.”
The men started to shout orders and names to each other. It was like listening to teams being picked for school sports.
“Sire, I would like to stay with Sir Tristram if I may,” said Guinevere. She had her hand on my back, and was gently moving it up and down to comfort me. “I am not as gifted in healing as others, but I have some skill. I nursed Sir Gareth back to health after he was tortured by Sir Mordred. They may need my assistance once more.”
“Great idea, Gwen,” said Arthur. “In fact, physicians should be sent out with each team, just in case. Get Taliesin to organise that. He may be old, but he loves Bedivere. Never shuts up about him.”
Arthur wrapped his arms even tighter around me and whispered, “Reminds me of someone else I know.”
“I told him to come with me,” I sobbed. “This is my fault. It’s just like Patrick all over again.”
“No it isn’t, Titch,” replied Arthur. “None of this was ever your fault. It’s her, it’s Nimue. And we’ll make her pay, Titch. We’ll put a stop to her, once and for all.”
“She brought us back here, Arthur. What if this isn’t the worst thing she does to us?”
Arthur pushed me away from his body and grabbed my shoulders. He seemed very tall to me at that moment, or was grief just shrinking me?
“I will make Merlin do every spell known to wizard-kind to protect us from now on, Titch. We have hundreds of knights who would do the Macarena if I ordered them, and we have each other. Never, ever forget that. I promise you, we will find Bedivere and Gareth, and then we will rid Logres of Nimue and Mordred for good.”
“If she has hurt him...”
“Don’t, Titch.”
“I swear I’ll kill her.”
“DON’T, TITCH. This isn’t make-believe, this is real, and we get the bad and evil with the good and great. Now I want you to stay here. I need to check on Sammy and Mila. Sam wasn’t feeling very well, and so she went for a lie down. I’ll be straight back to look for Bedivere, I promise.”
Sniffing, I nodded. I wiped my nose on my sleeve. Then, as Arthur was moving away, I remembered that Slurpy had been missing from the feast, just before everything went to hell.
It was too much of a coincidence. Slurpy Morgana disappears from the feast that was supposed to be her glorious introduction. No chance. Back in Wales she would go to every party within a fifty mile radius.
She had something to do with this, I was sure of it.
“Wait, Arthur – I’ll come with you,” I called.
My brother beamed as I clambered over the rocks towards him. Guinevere gave me a queer stare, as if to ask, what are you doing?
“Thanks, Titch,” said Arthur, mistaking my wanting to go with him for concern. “I really appreciate this. Sammy’s feeling a bit out of it since she had Mila. She could do with some friends around her.”
I’m not her friend, and I never will be, I thought. And if Guinevere ever finds out what Slurpy did to Byron...
But ever the diplomat’s daughter, I kept quiet. I didn’t want to stress my brother out even more. Arthur was trying to keep two worlds from two different times together. I wouldn’t have wanted to be in his place for anything.
Everyone we passed on the way bowed and curtsied. It didn’t make me feel important anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing other than finding Bedivere and Gareth alive.
“How are you getting on with Merlin’s sister inside your head?” asked Arthur quietly, as we started to climb a wide set of black stone stairs. “Is it better, now you know there’s a reason for the voices?”
“I still feel like a freak.”
“You were never a freak, Titch.”
“Gwenddydd says she will leave me if I help her.”
“Help her do what exactly?”
“She wants to crush the spirit of Nimue – at least those were her words.”
“I’m not having you put in danger.”
I gave a short sarcastic laugh. “Are you kidding me? When haven’t I been in danger?”
“And yet you want to stay here?”
“I want to stay with the people, Arthur. The place is just geography, the time just history. People make life worth living.”
We came to a large door, hinged with thick black iron brackets. Rune symbols had been scored into the wood. Arthur knocked twice and pushed it open.
The bedroom had three small latticed windows, two of which were open. A huge four-poster bed, with dark green hangings and burgundy tassels, was pushed up against the furthest wall. There was a round table with j
ewelled bottles and boxes, and a large wooden cabinet. A small fireplace had been excavated into the wall. The embers were slowly dying, and provided the only light in the room.
There was a large crib as well, covered in white lace fabric. Arthur grinned, and walked straight over to it.
Mila was asleep. Her tiny arms were stretched upwards. I couldn’t see her fingers because her fists were clenched. Her veined eyelids flickered quickly, as if she were having a dream.
“Don’t pick her up,” whined a Welsh voice. “She’s only just gone to sleep.”
Slurpy appeared from behind a screen. She had changed out of her party dress and was wearing a white shirt and nothing else. Her long black hair fell around her shoulders in straight panels. Then she stopped and stared at me, but it wasn’t her usual contemptuous stare. She appeared confused.
“What have you done to your eyes?” she said warily.
“She’s been crying, Sam,” replied Arthur. “Bedivere is still missing.”
But for the first time ever, Slurpy was looking at me as if she were scared. She was backing away from me, shaking her head.
“You’ve done something to your eyes. They look weird.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“There’s nothing wrong with her eyes, Sam.”
“She has four eyes.”
“And she’s on drugs,” I mumbled, rubbing my temples. What was I doing here? I should be searching for Bedivere.
She can see me.
“She cannot see you. You’re in my head.”
“Titch...”
“Bloody freak is at it again.”
“That’s enough, Sammy.”
Yet again I had answered Gwenddydd aloud by mistake. Arthur knew she was in there, but Slurpy had no idea. She must have thought I was talking to myself.
She can see me, Natasha.
“Keep her away from my baby,” screamed Slurpy. Mila had started to wail. “She’s always been a weird little freak. Everyone at school hated her, half of them were scared of her...”
“Shut your mouth, Sammy,” yelled Arthur. “I’m not having you talking to my sister like that.”
“I’m the freak, am I?” I shouted back. “What about you, you evil witch? All of the knights know you can do black magic here. Tristram and David saw what you did to Byron. Sucking the life out of him and then using his magic to attack us. And now your baby can do it as well.” I turned to Arthur who had gone white. “That’s why I ran out of the tent, Arthur, because I saw blue flames at Mila’s fingertips. Merlin will tell you. So will Tristram and David.”