The Ring of Morgana (The Children of Camelot)

by Donna Hosie

  I don’t know what to say or do, and so I hug Queen Guinevere.

  “How did you know?” I whisper.

  “Know what?”

  “That I liked looking out over trees.”

  Queen Guinevere runs her fingers through my long dark hair and strokes my face with such tenderness in her eyes it’s like she’s been waiting for this moment forever.

  “Because your father never stops talking about you, Lady Mila,” she replies. “For all the prosperity and peace he has brought to these lands, you and Lady Lilly are his greatest triumph.”

  The view from the window is suddenly more appealing. The door closes softly. I hope she’s gone. I don’t want Queen Guinevere to see me cry.

  After stuffing my face with roast chicken, boiled potatoes and warm bread, I fall asleep. I dream that I’m swimming on my back in a crystal blue lake. The sky is red, but it doesn’t scare me. The heat feels pleasantly warm on my skin. I can hear Rustin calling, but I’m not concerned about him seeing me, even though I’m swimming naked, because he can’t see this place.

  And then I see him, standing on the shore. Blue flames are twisting around his hands. Melehan smiles as something pulls me down under the water.

  I gasp and sit upright. I’m wearing a cotton white gown and my hair is damp and tied up in pieces of cloth. I smell of lavender and roses. I check my blunt, ragged nails which were filthy with dirt, but are now clean and pale pink.

  I can’t remember having a bath or shower. So why do I feel like I’ve just had one?

  A desperate urge to see Rustin overwhelms me. I need to feel normal.

  As my bare feet touch the cold stone floor there are three heavy raps on the door.

  “Come in,” I call, before I remember I’m dressed like the orphan Annie.

  “Don’t come in, Rustin,” I scream, but it’s too late.

  And it isn’t Rustin. It’s Melehan.

  He bows and then straightens, pulling down on his black tunic as he stretches his broad shoulders back. He’s wearing black tight-fitting pants and cracked leather boots that are dark grey in colour. Around his waist is a low-slung belt with a white-handled blade attached to it.

  “I am sorry to disturb you, Lady Mila,” he says in a deep voice. “There had been no sound from your room for a while and I wanted to ensure your wellbeing.”

  “How long have I been asleep?” I ask.

  “The sun is already starting its descent,” replies Melehan.

  That means I’ve been out for the count for hours.

  “Where’s Rustin? Aren’t you supposed to be looking after him?” I ask.

  “He said he could not rest. I went to find him clothes befitting a visiting lord, but when I returned, he was gone.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be looking for him?”

  “I will, m’lady,” replies Melehan. “Now that I see you are safe. Forgive my impertinence.”

  He turns to leave, and takes two steps towards the enormous wooden door, but I can see that he’s stalling.

  “May I beg a question of you, Lady Mila?” he asks, his back still facing me. There is a slight wave to his shoulder length blonde hair that isn’t visible from the front.

  “You can ask. I’m not sure I have any answers. Not in this place.”

  “It’s just...it’s just I have never met anyone of my age before who could muster it,” says Melehan softly. He turns ninety degrees and his piercing dark irises, framed by the slightest hint of blue around the edge, bore into me.

  “What do you mean?” I pull one of the satin bed covers over my legs. A sudden chill has caused them to pucker up.

  “A conduit of the flame,” replies Melehan.

  “A what of the what?”

  “I saw it surrounding you in the forest, when you met with my guardian, Sir Gareth. And then again, on the stairs. We both felt it. We both saw it.”

  “That was just static.”

  My throat has run dry. Is this why the people in that village attacked me? Could they see something surrounding me that I can’t see? They called me a witch.

  “I beg your forgiveness once more, Lady Mila,” says Melehan quickly, and I can hear the desperation in his voice. He stumbles forward and drops to one knee by the edge of the bed. I shuffle back and pull the covers up even further.

  “I am the bastard son of Sir Mordred. My mother died before I could walk – or so I’ve been told. I have felt different to those around me ever since I could remember. People fear me because of my father’s reputation and because my mother was a Gorian druid. The blue flame is something I have hidden well, for if my secret were to be uncovered, I would be banished from the court of Camelot. The Gorians are feared and live in secrecy. I have had no one of my age to talk to. No one to share this with, until you arrived, Lady Mila.”

  “It was just static,” I repeat dumbly.

  Melehan has gone white. His face was flushed as he was speaking, but now I can see I have let him down because the colour has drained away. I feel guilty, but I can’t deal with any of this right now. Things are happening to me and I’m not sure I’m even conscious of them occurring. And after what happened with Lilly and the ring...

  The ring. Melehan said he was the son of Mordred. Weren’t Mordred and Morgana allies in the myths or something? Crap. I wish Rustin were here. He would know. I don’t believe for a second that my mother is Morgana - she’s my mum - but Melehan might know something about the ring, or at least the legend behind it and where it might be now.

  “Wait, Melehan,” I call. He’s reached the door; his pale white hand is already on the cast-iron latch.

  “M’lady?” His voice rises at the end.

  “Do you know anything about the Ring of Morgana?”

  Even though he has his back to me, I can see the twitch on either side of his face. He’s smiling.

  Then the door opens without warning and Melehan gives a startled cry of pain as it crashes into his face. Rustin rushes through, but the excited beam on his face falls as he sees me, on the bed, dressed in a nightshirt, and Melehan standing by the door.

  “What’s going on?” ask Rustin. He says the words so quickly that I don’t think Melehan understands Rustin’s strong Welsh accent.

  “Nothing,” I reply defensively.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

  “I shall take my leave, Lady Mila,” says Melehan, side-stepping Rustin. “I remain your devoted servant during your stay here.”

  Rustin shuts the door with more force than is required. He turns on me before the echo of the thud has faded.

  “Why was he in here?”

  “He was checking that I was okay.”

  “And he needs to do that with you wearing your...your...what the hell are you wearing, Mila? And what have you done to your hair? You look like Medusa with decapitated snakes all over your head.”

  “Shut up, Rustin. And where have you been?” I shout back. “Melehan said you had disappeared. You said you wouldn’t leave me.”

  “I went for a walk,” replies Rustin. “I’m too pumped to sleep, and you were out for the count. I could hear you snoring halfway down the tower.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I breathe heavily.”

  “In the same way a fighter jet purrs on take-off.”

  “Have you just come in here to insult me?”

  “I was coming in here to tell you what I had seen. I was going to show you. But if you would prefer to hang out with six foot would-be knights.”

  “You’re just pissed off because he’s taller than you.”

  I know it’s nasty, but the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. It has the desired effect though and shuts Rustin up.

  “Everyone is taller than me, Mila,” he says quietly. “I just didn’t think you were the kind of girl to let a boy you don’t know into your bedroom, that’s all.”

  Rustin knows me better than anyone, other than Katie, but if she had said
something like that I don’t think it would have hurt as much. It serves me right. I hurt him first. I need to win back his trust.

  “Rustin, wait.”

  “I don’t want to fight, Mila. Especially with you.”

  “Neither do I, and I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out because I need to tell someone. Can you keep a secret, Rustin?”

  “You know I can.”

  He means the kiss. Our kiss. He didn’t tell anyone, although part of me wishes he had, if only to make it mean something. But it didn’t. It was just two friends fooling around, and I need to get over it.

  “I think this place has messed with me in the same way that the ring has messed with Lilly,” I whisper, afraid that the medieval walls have ears. I pull back the blanket and lower my feet back onto the cold stone floor. With my arms raised, I stretch my fingers out. They look like uncooked sausages.

  “What do you mean?” asks Rustin, slowly walking towards the bed. “Your hand isn’t ageing again, is it?”

  I shake my head. “There was fire, purple fire. It happened as I was riding here, and then again on the stairs. It was like I had some kind of electrical power coming out of my fingers.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t static?” asks Rustin. He sits down on the edge of the bed and I notice a square bulge in the front pocket of his hooded sweater. “I overheard people in the corridor saying that a storm was in the air.”

  “That’s what I said to Melehan,” I reply, still looking at my fingers. “He saw it too. It happened when he touched my hand.”

  Rustin’s mood suddenly changes again. He leaps off the bed and runs his fingers through his hair, but he does it so roughly and quickly that it’s left sticking up all over the place.

  “Why was he touching your hand?”

  “He was helping me up the steps, Rustin.”

  “And he was just helping you wake up just then, I suppose?”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “You’re my problem, Mila. You’re always my problem.”

  I’m too dumbstruck to say or do anything. Rustin is acting totally out of character, and totally out of order. As he lifts the latch and opens the door, he pulls a small wooden box from his sweater pocket. Without a word, he sets it down on a small square table beneath the window.

  “I saw this and thought you would like it,” he says quietly. “It has a drawing of your dad on it.”

  And then my best friend leaves me too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Child of the Gorians

  What is wrong with me? I don’t alienate people this quickly back home. I’m fairly popular at school, and even though I hate it, my teachers don’t give me the kind of grief they reserve for people like Rustin. My life was sane, structured. And while I’ve never thought of myself as the centre of the universe, I always felt confident of my place in it.

  But everything I knew and understood has been ripped away from me. I didn’t ask for any of this to happen. I wouldn’t have ever imagined something like this could happen.

  So now I have a choice: to sit back and be passive and wait for fate to claim me like it seemed to claim my mother, or I can start owning this destiny that has been forced down upon me.

  The first thing I do is get dressed. My bag is at the end of my bed, but the only things I take out of it are my toothbrush, toothpaste and hairbrush. I always feel better when my teeth are clean. That’s something I inherited from dad as well. He’s obsessed with teeth.

  If I’m going to fit into this strange land, then I need to look the part. I will not allow anyone to call me a witch again. So the clothes I brought with me stay hidden in the bag. I find that someone has left clothes my exact size in a large freestanding wooden cabinet in the corner of the bedroom. I change my underwear and then slip on some moss coloured pants, which suck in my stomach and lift my butt, and a floaty white shirt that has pretty, albeit uneven-shaped, buttons down the front. My boots don’t look out of place here and so I slip those back on after changing my socks. There’s no mirror, but I’m confident I won’t stand out like a huge pulsing zit anymore.

  My old socks stink and so I shove them under my bed covers. I don’t want a maid finding them and passing out from the shock. I’ll wash them in hot water the next time I take a bath – presuming I’m conscious the next time I have one.

  It’s time to explore this strange new world. I’ve always wanted to travel, and this is as extreme as it gets. I have to take control. I will take control.

  Rustin is sitting on the floor outside my room. He looks at me sheepishly as I step over his legs. He’s changed too into black pants and a brown tunic. It suits him, although he has his sweater tied around his waist. Rustin isn’t ready to give up on the 21st century just yet either.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Mila,” he says.

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “This place is incredible, but it’s all messing with my head. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up at any minute. That it’s all a dream.”

  “Me too. Only I think it’s a bit of a nightmare.”

  We hug it out. Because we’re almost the same height, I can rest my chin on his shoulder. We used to hug a lot when we were little. Then we stopped because it was embarrassing and a bit eww, but in the past year, we’ve started doing it again.

  I like hugging Rustin. I liked kissing him too.

  “They’ll fix your sister,” says Rustin; he’s stroking my hair.

  “It’s my fault, Rustin. If only I had put the ring back in the wardrobe when Lilly asked me.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mila.”

  We continue to hug it out. I know one of us is going to have to pull away first, and I don’t want it to be him, so I do.

  We descend the winding staircase in silence. I don’t think either of us knows where we’re going, but as my maids and Melehan have disappeared into the darkness now covering the castle, it looks like Rustin and I are on our own.

  “I tried my cell phone earlier,” says Rustin. “Didn’t work. My watch has stopped too.”

  I hadn’t even thought to try.

  “Where do you want to go?” I ask.

  Rustin shrugs. “We could try and find your aunt. She might tell us what’s going on.”

  We continue walking along musty-smelling corridors. Flickering candles and flaming torches light the way. Now the sun has set, it’s freezing. My shirt offers no protection whatsoever from the wind that whistles down every corridor. Rustin notices me shivering and pulls his sweater from his waist, but I want to fit in and so I shake my head. I daren’t speak because I’ll probably bite through my tongue, my teeth are chattering so wildly.

  Rustin has sussed me out already.

  “Mila, you’ll get hypothermia. Just put it on.”

  “I’ll find...a...cloak...or...something.”

  “You can’t camouflage yourself away, Mila. People are going to look at you whether you’re dressed in their style of clothes or ours. You’re the king’s daughter. A princess.”

  I shake my head and almost dislocate my neck in the process. I’m now so cold that every inch of me is aching.

  “It’s toasty warm,” says Rustin in a mocking voice. “Hmmmm, just feel that fleece. Knitted from baby lambs that have been rubbed in cream.”

  “Shut...up.”

  Rustin opens his mouth to bait me some more, and then stops. He flings out an arm as a barrier as the wind hitches up. It feels like sharp teeth are biting at my skin.

  “Who’s there?” calls Rustin.

  The corridor we’ve walked into is quite short in length. I think it’s a connecting corridor between two main ones. There are two wooden doors to our right, and several panels of long curtains to our left. All are pulled across to their full width. They’re moving. Not fluttering like the wind has caught them, but slowly in waves, as if something or someone is hiding behind them. There are four sconces on the walls containing flaming torches, but as Rustin calls out, they start to extinguish by themsel
ves.

  “I think we should move away,” I whisper. The cold that had been plundering my body has gone. Now I feel hot – too hot. Heat is rising through my chest and up my neck. I can feel it pulsing out of my face.

  Rustin grabs my hand and we start to back away. As the final torch on the wall extinguishes, we are plunged into impenetrable darkness.

  “Ow,” cries Rustin. “What the hell, Mila.”

  He yanks his hand away from mine, and suddenly I can see him again, bathed in a purple glow.

  Flames are slowly twisting and turning around my hands. A heavy, aching sensation is pulling at my neck, just like it did when I was riding into Camelot. My head is being dragged backwards. The sensation is overwhelming. I can’t fight it. I don’t want to fight it.

  White light blinds me. I can’t see anything but a dazzling open space with no colour, and no darkness.

  “Faxoria.”

  I can feel my mouth and tongue moving, but the voice isn’t mine. My arms and hands are prickling from my shoulders down to my fingertips, but it doesn’t hurt.

  It feels normal.

  I slump forward, gasping for breath. The white light has gone and I’m still in the short corridor. Two of the torches are flaming again, not with red flame, but with purple. I feel light-headed and spaced out, but also exhilarated and pumped with adrenaline. The smell is no longer acrid, but sweet-smelling, like melted toffee.

  “You are one of us,” says a deep voice. “I knew it.”

  Melehan is standing behind me. His arms are filled with large books and rolled-up scrolls.

  Rustin is swearing his head off, and he’s not pretending to be quiet about it. His back is flush against the wall and his head is snapping from left to right. He’s looking from the purple flames to my hands.

  “That’s not static,” he yells between swear words. “Holy crap, Mila. You can do magic.”

  “What did I do?” I ask, still panting. I’m starting to hyperventilate. I feel enclosed, as if the walls are slowly moving in on me.

  “You said something in a weird language and purple flames shot out of your fingers,” cries Rustin. “Your voice was deeper than mine. No wonder those villagers thought you were a witch.”