The Spirit of Nimue (The Return to Camelot #3)

by Donna Hosie

  “And then?” I asked, trying so hard not to laugh.

  “Well, it wasn’t just a ruin anymore. There was a chapel, and there were these monk chappies. And Benji was nowhere to be seen. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, to be honest with you. Mystical, you know. Spiritual.”

  I could hear the music again. It was still faint, like it was coming through muffled speakers.

  My heart was thumping against my ribs. The hairs on the back on my neck were stretching. A gallon of deodorant would not have been able to stop the perspiration that was sweating out of every pore.

  Because the music I could hear was music from the Glastonbury Festival. From my time, my old time, my future time.

  “Can anyone else hear that?” I asked.

  Bedivere, Tristram, Gareth, David and Lucan all shook their heads, but Guinevere whispered, “Lady Natasha, there is a strange noise on the wind.”

  “There was something else, as well,” said Lance. “It’s silly, but then all of this is rather silly, isn’t it?”

  “What’s silly?” I asked absent-mindedly. I wasn’t listening to Lance anymore. Guinevere was right, there was something else, someone else out there. Someone was calling.

  I felt calloused fingers looping through mine.

  “Trust your own judgment, Natasha,” said Bedivere quietly. “What do we do? Where do we go?”

  “What else were you going to say, Lance?”

  “Well, there was a flat stone, at the bottom of the Tor. It had writing on it, but then I went back today, and it wasn’t there anymore.”

  “The stone had gone?” asked Guinevere.

  “Not the stone, but the writing on it,” replied Lance, smiling at her. “And I wouldn’t have even mentioned it, but perhaps you’ll understand it because you said your brother is called Arthur, just like the king.”

  “What did the writing say?”

  “It was quite worn, but I think it said something like We are here Arthur and there was another word that looked like Tiz or Tick.”

  “Where is this stone?”

  “It’s down the bottom, near those trees.”

  We ran down the Tor. Momentum got the better of Lance and he tumbled down the final terraces.

  “It’s over there,” said Lance, pointing with one hand as he picked grass out of his hair with the other, “but as I said, the stone is blank now, and quite a bit bigger. I’m not even sure it’s the same one.”

  A slab of dark grey stone, exactly the same as the Round Table, was embedded in the first of the seven tiers of the mound. It was completely smooth. And I could still hear someone calling, but it was fuzzy, like an out-of-tune radio.

  “Are you certain this was the stone upon which you saw the message in your time?” asked Tristram. He and David were the only knights with us. Bedivere, Gareth and Lucan were jogging down the path, and they were still several terraces above us. Tristram and David had run down the same way as me. I made a mental note to stop taking the shorter but harder route. I had to stop embarrassing Bedivere.

  “Well, like I said, the stone I saw the message on was much smaller, and mostly covered by grass. Indeed, I wouldn’t have even seen it if I hadn’t slipped and bashed the old head on it. Left quite a lump.”

  “What are you thinking, Lady Natasha?” asked Tristram.

  “I need a knife.”

  “I say,” cried Lance. “No need for that...”

  “I’m not going to hurt you, you idiot. I’m going to leave the message.”

  “But it’s already been left,” replied Lance.

  “In your old time, yes – but not yet in this time.”

  Tristram – my trusty weapons provider – gave me a knife. The silver blade was thick at the base, but tapered to a sharp point. The handle was a dull black colour, and I could see the imprint of finger pressure points embedded in the leather strapping.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Guinevere.

  “Stay here and leave the message. I am going to search for the source of the music.”

  “What music?” asked Tristram and David.

  “I can hear the music, Guinevere,” said Lance. “I would be happy to come with you. I might find Benji. I bet the old dog took some of his happy pills again and clean forgot about me.”

  Guinevere looped her arm through Lance’s as they started to walk towards a line of trees. The music definitely seemed to be coming from that direction, but I had an unnerving feeling that they were going the wrong way. I could feel something invisible pulling me skywards. It wanted me to go back up to the chapel.

  “What did Lance say the message on the stone read?” The stone was warm to the touch, although the sun hadn’t been up for more than an hour.

  “We are here Arthur,” said Tristram. “And I believe the loving name the king deferred upon you is the other word.” He knelt down beside me and took the dagger from my hand.

  “Allow me to write it, Lady Natasha. I understand what it is you are hoping for and I can score the stone deeper than you. The message will last longer. For a thousand years, m’lady, if required.”

  And I knew that Tristram, the one knight that I had disliked in the beginning, was now the one who could see inside my head. And he understood. He had waited, bided his time, and now he trusted me.

  I looked up the grassy mound of the Tor to see where Bedivere was. He, Gareth and Lucan were on the second terrace from the bottom. They were laughing at something Gareth had just said because he was gesticulating with his hands, pushing them away as they jabbed at him with their elbows.

  But then I heard two very distinct voices. One was yelling a single word; the other was singing. My head snapped towards the direction of Guinevere and Lance, but they were deep in conversation with their heads almost touching. The voices were not coming from them.

  I looked to Tristram, who was still carefully gouging the message into the stone tablet, and David, who was watching him carefully. Their mouths were pursed with concentration.

  The two monks were still standing at the top of the Tor. They were looking directly at me. One had cocked his head to the right, like a quizzical dog.

  And then I saw a shadow, a distorted blanket of black, stretching across the entrance to the church.

  The voices calling me pitched higher.

  I started pulling on the grass as I climbed back up the seven terraces. Bedivere, Gareth and Lucan stopped walking and laughing. My heart was bouncing between my mouth and my stomach. Either that or it had swelled to the size of a beach ball. Bedivere broke away from Gareth and Lucan. He had also seen the strange shadow.

  Every terrace I climbed moved me closer to the church, and in turn, to the voices, which were becoming clearer and louder. I could make out the accent of the singer now. It was definitely Irish.

  “The Edge of Glory.” Another Lady Gaga song.

  I could hear panting breath behind me. Lucan was chasing my trail. As I turned around, I saw an object moving in the sky. It was too big to be a bird, and it was the same colour as Lance’s skinny jeans.

  I had never been so happy to see something that flapped.

  Lucan was still chasing after me. My guess was that Bedivere had asked him to follow, knowing he would not reach me in time, but Bedivere had nothing to worry about. I wasn’t going to leave him; I would never leave him.

  So when I reached the top of the Tor, I turned around, and very deliberately kissed the engagement ring I now wore. Actions are always better than words, and yelling I love you seemed so...seemed so...dramatic.

  Be dramatic: Byron’s last words. My heart was pounding. I could feel the pulse of blood throbbing in my temples.

  “I LOVE YOU.”

  Bedivere smiled. A gorgeous, wide smile that lit up his whole face, igniting his eyes with small green flames. He was my past, present and future.

  As was another.

  “ARTHUR!” I screamed.

  “TITCH!”

  I started running. I’ve always been good at running
.

  THE END

  The Spirit of Nimue

  Copyright: Donna Hosie

  Published: 2013

  The right of Donna Hosie to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  About the Author and The Return to Camelot Trilogy

  Donna Hosie is an English writer currently living in Australia. She blogs at Musings of a Penniless Writer and has written extensively for the Harry Potter fandom.

  Titles in The Return to Camelot Trilogy

  Searching for Arthur

  The Fire of Merlin

  The Spirit of Nimue