The Ring of Morgana (The Children of Camelot)

by Donna Hosie

  “How could you tell the bells were ringing because of the fire?”

  “There are warning bells for the enemies of Camelot and the king,” replies Melehan. “Each is different in length and sound, Lady Mila. The Gorians are feared even more than the Saxons, who are many in number but witless against the Knights of the Round Table. The bells tonight rang for longer than any other warning. Someone must have seen the purple flames and sent up the cry to call to arms.”

  “Do you think I should tell my dad?”

  “That it was you that created the fire? No, I do not,” replies Melehan softly. He sweeps a strand of long blonde hair away from his face. “Not yet. But I can take you to people who can show you how control it. You have a gift that could assist in the healing of your sister.”

  “What do you know about the Ring of Morgana?” I ask, lowering my fists. The tingling has gone. I stand straighter and slacken my jaw. I’ve been grinding my teeth together so hard my whole face aches.

  “It is a tale told to children now,” replies Melehan. He walks around the bed towards me, slowly. His dark eyes don’t leave mine. “Sixteen winters are said to have passed since the true love of the king, your lady mother, vanquished the spirit of the Lady of the Lake. Nimue was her name. She was a danger to those in Logres because of her unrequited love for the king. Your mother is believed to be Morgana reborn after the enchanted sleep.”

  “Enchanted sleep?”

  I sit down on the bed; Melehan slowly lowers himself down as well. Our knees are almost touching.

  “Nimue placed the kingdom of Logres under an enchanted sleep after the Battle of Camlann. I was but a babe in arms and cannot remember, but your father, the king found a way back. For one thousand years the kingdom slept. It awoke to the return of Arthur and Morgana.”

  “My mother and father?”

  Melehan nods and his body shifts so our knees are touching.

  “But what does this have to do with the ring?” I ask.

  Melehan picks up the book and passes it to me. His fingers brush mine and the spark is felt, not seen.

  “The ring in these drawings,” he says. “What colour is it?”

  “White,” I reply. “In every one.”

  “Yet the ring that cursed your sister was what colour?”

  “It was blue.”

  Melehan smiles. He already knew.

  “Nimue’s spirit was trapped inside the Ring of Morgana,” he says. “Your mother took it back into the other world, or so we were told, so never again could Nimue divide the kingdom. Merlin the sorcerer has remained counsellor to the king and Queen Guinevere. Yet whispers have grown stronger with every passing winter that Nimue would return.”

  Gossip. It doesn’t matter which time you live in, people will always bitch and gossip.

  “That doesn’t mean she will. Merlin said that this Nimue hadn’t possessed my sister.”

  “The ring has returned though, has it not?”

  “We don’t know where it is,” I reply. “But we have to find it if we’re to make Lilly well again.”

  “Then come with me, I beg of you,” says Melehan, and he curves his fingers around mine and holds my hand. I tense up, waiting for the purple fire and electrical shock, but there’s nothing. “Your coming was foretold, Lady Mila. That a child of the Gorian race would free our people. That she would be of royal birth and would be special. A conduit not of blue flame, but purple. A child who could control not just flame, but the lake of Avalon itself.”

  “But I can’t control the purple flame,” I reply, snatching my hand back. I don’t want to touch Melehan and run the risk of creating it once more. I never want to create it again.

  “Your mother was taught by my father,” says Melehan. “You can be taught too.” His voice is calm, measured. He reminds me of a school teacher.

  Melehan reminds me of my father.

  “Say I do come with you,” I reply. “And say I do learn how to use the flame. What has the lake of Avalon got to do with it? If it’s a lake, it’ll be filled with water. That’ll just put out the fire.”

  Melehan smiles. “The lake of Avalon surrounds the Vale, the most mystical of places in the kingdom of Logres. It is here that the Lady of the Lake dwelled. You say that the ring has gone. What if the ring that contains the spirit of Nimue has returned to the lake of Avalon?”

  I want to laugh at the utter absurdity of it all, and yet it also sounds so infuriatingly plausible. I’ve travelled through time, I’ve seen a dragon, and my fingers have unleashed something that could freak people out at a magic show. Perhaps opening my mind to the fantastical is the only way to cure Lilly and get back home.

  I look down at my fingers. No purple flame, just blood from the ragged cuticle I’ve pulled away. I could sit here and massacre my fingertips until the end of time, but every minute sat here doing nothing is another minute my sister continues to age.

  And she’s running out of time.

  “How long will it take to get to this Avalon place?” I ask. In my head I don’t see water; I see a little cottage surrounded by trees and whispering ghosts.

  “Three days.”

  “Rustin comes too.”

  “As you wish.”

  “You know my dad will go ballistic. He’ll probably chop off your head or something.”

  “He will have to catch us first, and if our quest is victorious, and your sister healed, then our treachery might be forgiven.”

  “Your people can really teach me how to do this?” I ask, nervously pulling on yet another raggedy cuticle.

  Melehan stands up and walks over to a shallow bowl that has been placed on top of an ornate carved dresser. He takes a small strip of white muslin cloth and soaks it. Then he brings it back to the bed and dabs away the blood from around my nails.

  “My people will teach you, Lady Mila. For you are my future. You are all our futures.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ghosts of the Forest

  It’s only when I see Melehan disappear through a concealed door that I realise he came into my bedroom without the guards seeing him. Without anyone seeing him. It should freak me out that a boy I barely know got into my bedroom, but I’m too exhausted to care. He didn’t hurt me. He wanted to help. And I think he can. I want to believe that he can help me, and more importantly, Lilly.

  The secret passage is also the perfect way for me to leave my bedroom without arousing suspicion from the guards out front. I just need to get Rustin in here and then we can make a getaway together.

  I can’t tell my father what I’m doing, but there’s an itch, an internal guilt itch, that keeps antagonising me, scratching at my conscience. I should tell someone. My parents are out of their minds already with worry about Lilly. They’ll have heart attacks if they think I’ve disappeared without a trace.

  There’s one person who will understand. One person who will stop my dad coming after me and Melehan with dragons and knights.

  Auntie Titch.

  She hasn’t told me her full story, but she seems to understand what I’m going through better than anyone. I know she’ll tell my father - she has to - but she’ll give me time.

  I tip the contents of my 21st century bag onto my bed – again. I’m getting good at packing at short notice, regardless of the century. I know I have paper and a pen in here somewhere. That was another thing I learnt from my father. Always have something to write with because it saves having to scrawl messages in your own blood.

  I thought he was making a sick joke when he said it. Now I’m not so sure.

  I write a quick message to Auntie Titch. There’s a writing tray on the table in the room. I recognise the cylinder stick of hard yellow beeswax because dad has one at home in his study. Placed next to it is a large, ugly ring with a flat round disc. The raised image on it is a dragon. My father has one of these back home too. It’s funny how much of this medieval world has already encroached on my own without me suspecting a thing. The tools are used for sealing letters
. I’ve even seen him do it.

  I roll up my hastily scribbled letter and seal it after holding the beeswax stick to a candle. The wax gets on my fingers and it doesn’t smell as nice as I think it should. Then I get a sudden flash of inspiration.

  I open the bedroom door. The two guards straighten up and pull out their swords. The sound of metal scraping on metal sets my teeth on edge.

  “I need you – both of you – to take this to my aunt,” I say in my most authoritative, bossy voice. “It’s very important.”

  “We are under orders of the king to not leave your chamber, m’lady,” replies one in an Irish accent that is very similar to Talan’s.

  “This is about my father,” I say. “But it’s for her eyes only. You know my aunt, Lady Natasha?”

  That was weird saying that, I think to myself. She’s been Auntie Titch ever since I could talk. When I think of ladies, I think of posh people in diamonds, pastel skirt suits and Jimmy Choos. Auntie Titch is the kind of person who thinks Jimmy Choo is a noise you make when you sneeze.

  “Our orders are clear, m’lady...”

  I don’t have time for this.

  “In that case, perhaps I should get my mother.”

  Result. I don’t even have to say her name. The effect of just mentioning “my mother” strikes fear into the faces of both guards. I don’t know whether to laugh or prolong their terror even more. What on earth did she do when she was here? Most people back home are scared of my mother too - my teachers certainly are - but here it’s downright terror.

  “I will take the message to Lady Natasha,” says the Irish guard. He has small, bloodshot, watery eyes.

  “I would like both of you to take it,” I reply. “One of you can wait at the bottom of the stairs and make sure it’s delivered. You’ll still be guarding me because no one will be able to get past you on such a small staircase. There could be Gorians about. It’s very important this letter reaches my aunt.”

  I smile in a way that I hope is innocent and coy.

  The guards swap nervous looks. The smaller of the two takes the sealed piece of paper and eyes it suspiciously, but their heavy footsteps echo down the stone steps as they acquiesce.

  I have just minutes. The second my aunt reads my message she’ll raise the alarm to try and stop me. The only reason I’m letting her know first is because I’m hoping she’ll be able to read between the lines. This isn’t self-serving or an act of defiance against my parents. This is me making a choice.

  I don’t bother knocking on Rustin’s door. I don’t have time, and the noise might alert the guard waiting at the bottom of the staircase. Thankfully, Rustin isn’t in the bath, or undressed, or doing something that I really don’t want to witness. He’s lying on the floor, half hidden under the bed, inspecting the wood.

  “Rustin, get up, now,” I hiss. “We have to go.”

  “OW!”

  He’s banged his head on the bed frame.

  “Quickly.” I start pulling on his feet, dragging him out. His body leaves a thick streak in the dust under the bed.

  “Mila, what the...”

  I clamp my hand over his mouth; my skin scrapes against the stubble already growing after one day. I’m literally straddling him.

  “Shut up and come with me now,” I whisper. “We don’t have much time.”

  Rustin’s eyes widen, but he nods. He’s still wearing the black pants and the brown tunic from this century. His black Converse sneakers from our century are covered in dust. Grabbing a rolled-up black blanket, he follows without question into my room.

  I head straight to the fireplace. Somewhere in the wooden panels is the door Melehan used. But where is it?

  “Mila, what are you doing?” asks Rustin.

  I’m pressing my fingers around each curved piece of wood.

  “There’s a secret passageway here. It’s our way out because we’re leaving.”

  Rustin starts tapping the wood.

  “You need a non-load bearing wall,” he whispers. “It’ll sound hollow.”

  Seconds later, he finds not just the wall, but the pressure point which makes a hidden door swing away from us. It’s small, less than three feet in height, and at first I think we’re going to have to crawl our way out of the castle, but after entering it and crawling a few more feet, it stretches into a dark, damp-smelling tunnel which we can both stand up in.

  The panel closes behind us automatically, momentarily plunging us into darkness. A torch bursts into life, filling the tunnel with a pale blue light.

  “Did you do that?” asks Rustin warily.

  “No.”

  “Where are we going, Mila?”

  “To cure Lilly.”

  “And something – and by something I mean magical blue fire – tells me this involves Melehan and those gory people your dad warned us to have nothing to do with.”

  “I’ll explain once we’re there,” I reply quietly. “But I think we should be quiet until we’re outside. People might hear us through the walls.”

  The slow, repetitive dripping of water on stone is the only sound that accompanies us as we wind our way down very steep steps, cleaved out of the castle structure. Keep calm, keep calm, I whisper to myself, as I’m reminded of the strange dreams that have continually haunted me over the years. The steps are uneven and slippery, and Rustin and I stumble several times as we follow the route. Darkness is horribly disorientating, and my legs soon start to ache with tension as my feet feel the way down. My fingers never leave the cold stone. By the time the passageway levels out, Rustin is wheezing like an old man.

  “You need to give up smoking,” I say.

  “You need to tell me what the hell we’re doing,” replies Rustin. Another blue torch springs to life, illuminating my best friend as he clutches his chest and tries to catch his breath.

  “Melehan came to see me,” I say. “He says there are people who can help train me to use this power I have. He thinks the ring that cursed my sister has the spirit of the Lady of the Lake in it, and it’s near her lake that we’ll find the ring.”

  Rustin looks as if he’s been asked to repeat school from Year One.

  “Are you insane?” he asks. “You’re going to let complete strangers train you to use a power you didn’t know you had, in order to defeat a curse that even Merlin can’t fix?”

  “That’s about the sum of it.”

  Rustin sighs. “Your dad is gonna kill you. No. Your dad is gonna kill me for not stopping you.”

  “Probably.”

  “And then what?” asks Rustin.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But Merlin said we need to find the ring in order to cure Lilly. It’s what I thought the second I saw it wasn’t on her finger anymore. And so that’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to learn how to use this magic and we’ll find the ring. Now do you want to go back, or will you help me?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  And I know I don’t.

  We walk on a little bit further. The tunnel is now lit with a silvery glow, but it’s even worse than going down stairs in darkness because now I can see the fact I’m in a tunnel. I start to panic. I thought the stairs would bring us out into the open, but we seem to be walking along a path that’s going downhill.

  We’re in an underground tunnel.

  Patches of sweat start to break out all over my body, and I mean everywhere, including places I didn’t think a person could sweat. I’m trying to steady my breathing, but black splodges, like paint splashes, are swimming across my vision. I know I’m moaning, but I can’t help it. I have no idea where I’m going or how long we’ll be in this tunnel. What if it collapses? What if there’s no end? What if it starts snaking off in different directions and we get lost with the rats?

  Rats. There are hundreds of them, scurrying up the walls and brazenly running across our shoes.

  “I think we should go back,” I gasp. “I can’t do this, Rustin.”

  “You’ve changed your tune,” says Rusti
n, gripping my waist with his arm. “Typical girl. Look, you’ll be fine, just lean into me and do as I say. Breathe in through your nose.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Breathe in through your nose, and out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

  Rustin’s voice rises and falls like a melodic chant. I concentrate on that and only that as he leads me though the tunnel. He constantly squeezes my side to reassure me, and only when I start to think that he’s pressing on my rolls of fat am I confident that I’m over the panic attack.

  A silver orb hangs in the tunnel ahead of us. Then I feel a cold breeze on my skin and sense we’re leaving the tunnel. And it’s not an orb, it’s the moon. The night sky is starless, but the moon is so bright the world looks as if it’s been dipped in silver paint.

  We come out into a forest clearing. Behind us is the castle of Camelot. Flickering flames light up the windows. I wonder which stained-glass image is my bedroom. I wonder whether Auntie Titch has told my father yet.

  “What’s that noise?” asks Rustin. He steps away from me and the forest floor crackles under his feet.

  I don’t have to strain my ears to hear. The trees are whispering and chanting. It’s exactly like the sound I heard from my bedroom, the same evening this all started.

  “Lady Mila. You came.”

  Melehan steps out from behind a thick tree trunk. His blonde hair is tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a cloak. A small leather bag is strapped across his chest.

  “And I’m clearly invisible,” mutters Rustin, unfolding the black blanket he’s been carrying. It’s also a cloak.

  How unprepared am I? The boys brought warm clothes and I brought my toothbrush.

  “You said you would take me to someone who could help,” I say.

  The chanting hitches up. My skin prickles, but I’m not sure if that’s because of the whispering trees or the cold March night.

  “I will,” replies Melehan. “We will go now. Did you tell anyone in the castle of your intentions?”