by Donna Hosie
Chapter Twenty-One
Think. Control. Believe
I don’t watch the trial of Jalaya. What’s the point? Her main defence witness is the person she attacked. I leave the Gorian druids and Rustin and walk through the forest. The sky is cloudless and the weak sun is on my left. As long as it stays there I won’t get lost. I just need to clear my head, and for that I need my own company.
Build them a church? How on earth is Rustin going to build them a church? I need to get him out of this mess. He’s brilliant, and I understand why he’s okay to the point of actually being happy about being seen as important - we all want that - but I think he’s conveniently forgetting how long it would take him to build a bloody church in the first place. This is one thousand years back in time. There are no cranes, no machines. It would all have to be done by hand. He’ll be here for years, decades. It took him a month to carve the chair he showed at the county show, because when it comes to working with wood, he’s a perfectionist.
He can’t do it.
I hear running water. My mouth is sticky and I could do with washing my face. Keeping the sun to my left, so I don’t lose my way, I follow the sound.
Long vines are hanging from the trees. They’re packed so tightly together they look like green curtains. Weaving my way through them, I come across a high rock wall that looks like stacked pieces of sliced bread. The stones aren’t black like the rocks that made Camelot, but they are dark, shimmering grey. The vines fall away and are replaced with thin trails of water, so fine they look like nets. The path is narrowing too. Spray from the fine waterfall splashes against my face. It’s cold, but deeply refreshing. I scrub the gunk out of the corner of my eyes and cup my hand, filling it with water. I take a sniff before drinking; it smells of apples.
It tastes of apples too.
I drink and drink until my stomach is full. It’s refreshing and satisfying. I walk on a little further and come to a set of steps, cleaved into the stone. The fine waterfalls are falling into a deep gorge to my right. The stones are layered all the way down. A small pool at the bottom froths and ripples as the water drops into it. Yellow leaves line the layers of rock like flat nuggets of gold. High above I can see the steps lead up to a bridge, made out of the same tightly-packed stone. It looks as if the bridge would take me above the height of the forest. It would be good to get my bearings. I might even see Camelot from here.
I start to climb the steps. My boots have no tread whatsoever and I stumble on the wet rock several times, grazing the palms of my hands as I fall forward onto the jagged stone.
But there’s more than just a view spurring me on now. I can hear wind chimes again. These sound far more delicate than the angry, blunt noise I heard at Avalon Cottage. These ones are pretty and melodic. They tug at me with invisible cords, warming my insides.
I reach the top of the steps and look down. There’s no movement at all behind me, which means either Jalaya’s farcical trial is still going on, or they haven’t noticed I’m no longer with them. Part of me doesn’t want to care, I could leave them all right now if I wanted to, but Freya is going to give me another lesson and there’s no way I can leave Rustin.
Build a church, I think to myself. Rustin’s lost his mind. And I don’t like the way he was smiling at Jalaya either. There’s something weird going on and I don’t like it.
The stone bridge across the gorge is short, only twenty feet at most. I wonder if it’s study enough to take my weight. I must have lost a few pounds since arriving in Camelot.
I wish I wasn’t so conscious of my size, but I have muscular legs from all of the Taekwondo training and an addiction to carbs. My mother may be stick-thin, but her diet of cigarettes and coffee isn’t exactly healthy.
This is a chance for a new me, I think to myself, as I inch across the bridge. Confident and not self-loathing. I will remind myself of the things I can do, not can’t.
“Lady Mila,” calls a voice from below. “What are you doing?”
It’s Melehan. He’s standing on the ridge, behind one of the delicate waterfalls. His whole body ripples as it’s distorted by the veil of water.
“I wanted to see above the tree line,” I call out, but as I do, my voice is replicated. It’s not an echo, it’s other voices, repeating my words.
“Lady Mila, do not move,” calls Melehan urgently.
Lady Mila, do not move.
Lady Mila, do not move.
Lady Mila, do not move.
The voices are child-like. They giggle as they repeat the words, over and over and over again. My head starts buzzing, like a swarm of bees are inside my skull. I start to edge back across the bridge, but it starts shaking.
“Melehan,” I scream. “What’s happening?”
What’s happening?
What’s happening?
Melehan. Melehan. Melehan.
The voices are multiplying. I fall down as the bridge continues to move. Momentum rocks me from side to side. Melehan has already reached the top of the steps. He slides down next to me and covers my body with his.
“Do not listen to them, Lady Mila,” he whispers, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my cheek. “They will bewitch you. Listen to me, talk to me.”
Listen to me.
Talk to me.
Listen to me.
Talk to me.
More giggles, and then a blood-curdling cry, followed by the same voice screaming my name.
I try and push Melehan off, but he’s now lying on top of me. His entire body is pinning me to the stones.
“THAT’S LILLY,” I scream. “MY SISTER, THEY HAVE MY SISTER.”
That’s Lilly.
They have my sister.
They have my sister.
Lilly screams again, and it’s like her cry of pain has wings. It rises and falls and swoops over me and Melehan. It stabs at me so I feel her pain too.
“It’s not your sister, Lady Mila,” says Melehan. He takes my face in his hands, holding it tightly. He’s wearing a large silver ring on his right hand and the band is digging in to my ear. His mouth is millimetres from mine. “Hear my voice, not theirs. They will not allow us to leave if we are listening to their vile chatter.”
“What are they? Where are they?” I cry. My body has gone into uncontrollable terrors. I can still feel pins stabbing at my exposed skin.
“They are woodland sprites,” replies Melehan. “But do not think of them. Many a traveller has fallen under their wickedness and thrown themselves into the gorge to escape their torment. And if the fall does not kill, the water does. Now speak to me, Lady Mila. Speak to me of home and hearth.”
Fall does not kill.
Water does.
Fall does not kill.
Water does.
The sprite’s laughter is getting higher, shriller. I hear Lilly scream again. Then a choking, gargling sound.
Water does. Water does.
“Help me, Melehan,” I sob. “They’re hurting Lilly.”
Melehan presses his mouth onto mine. At first, my eyes are wide open in shock, but then I feel the static electricity between us start to tingle. I close my eyes and concentrate on his warm lips, gently pressing mine. His head moves to the side as his hands move from the side of my face. Melehan’s long fingers wind into my hair. I can taste salt on his mouth, but it’s just my tears transferring between us.
I break away first by twisting my head away to the side. I’m still lying on my back against the rock and Melehan is still on top of me. His fingers trace a line down my cheek and across my jaw. My mouth is wet from more than just tears.
We stare at each other for an age. Melehan’s dark irises, circled by the slightest of blue rings, glisten with the reflection of the glittering grey rock. The only sound is the gentle splashing of the delicate waterfalls into the pool at the bottom of the gorge.
“Forgive me, Lady Mila,” says Melehan softly.
“You made them go away,” I whisper. My arms are still wrapped around
his back, pressing him down on top of me.
Melehan caresses my left cheek. My skin still stings from the sprites’ venomous words.
“I have desired to kiss you since I first saw you in the forest with my guardian and Sir Bedivere,” says Melehan. “You are truly the most beautiful maiden I have ever laid eyes on.”
He lowers his face to mine once more, and this time there are no woodland sprites to chase away.
“Where have you been?” asks Rustin, as Melehan and I arrive back at the camp.
“For a walk,” I reply. Rustin is sitting with Jalaya and two other Gorians. Both are female, although older. Quite the little harem Rustin has going on now, I think bitterly.
“What’s happened to your face?” he asks, standing up. Small daisy-like flowers fall from his lap. I roll my eyes.
“Nothing.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Yes there is. You’re monosyllabic, which isn’t exactly like you, Mila.”
I don’t know why I feel guilty about leaving Rustin, and I certainly don’t know why I feel guilty about kissing Melehan, but I do. And that just makes me mad at myself. I feel as if I’ve betrayed Rustin, but I’ve come back to the camp to find three girls have made him into some kind of flower God, and what’s worse, Rustin is clearly loving every second of it.
“Lady Mila,” calls Freya. “Are you ready to continue your training?”
“Yes,” I reply sharply. “And if you can teach me how to turn people into toads, then I’m a willing pupil.”
“What have I done now?” yells Rustin.
“Go back to your flower girls,” I say, turning my back to him and walking towards Freya. “I have work to do.”
Part of me wants Rustin to follow so we can continue arguing; part of me wants Rustin to follow and hug me. He does neither. I can hear the girls whispering behind me, and I know he’s gone back to them. Melehan doesn’t follow me either, and when I snatch a glimpse of him, he’s immersed in sharpening his dagger with a piece of black stone.
Freya reaches out and takes my chin between her bony fingers.
“Woodland sprites,” she says. It’s not a question. “You did well to break yourself free from their taunts, Lady Mila. Many a traveller has been driven to the point of madness by their sport.”
I glance over at Melehan again. He’s now having a shadow knife fight. His blade flashes with white fire as the sun reflects off every slashing motion.
“I got distracted,” I reply.
“Then it is just as well young Melehan knew how to take your mind away from the present, Lady Mila,” says Freya, laughing.
I can feel the prickling in my cheeks as I blush.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I whisper.
“I hold many secrets, Lady Mila,” replies Freya. “Yours will be one more of many through the ages and beyond. Now, let us continue your training. You recall the words I said to you?”
“Think. Control. Believe.”
“Indeed,” confirms Freya, taking my arm and leading me away from the main group. “It is all locked away inside you.” She taps my chest with her gnarled index finger. “Now you must learn to unlock the power you have been gifted with, because only then can you learn how to control it. The first step is to think. What do you wish to achieve? Then you must control your breathing, your thoughts. Banish the noise and control that one single thought. The final step is the most important. You must believe in yourself. Believe in your ability to see through the veil that blocks the mystical from the now.”
“Think. Control. Believe,” I repeat.
“Good,” says Freya. “Now I will not take your hand and I will not meld with you again. You alone must own and control your gift and your curse. And it is a curse, Lady Mila. You have two rivers of blood within you that are dangerous and powerful. It will now be your choices that determine how you wield this power.”
“I just want the ring so I can help cure Lilly,” I reply.
“Good,” says Freya. Her voice rising in pitch. “You have clarity of intent. This will help you think. All other distractions, especially of the flesh, must be vanquished.”
I shudder. How gross. I don’t need a sex education lesson from someone who is one step away from a skeleton.
But Freya laughs. “I was young once, Lady Mila. It is vanity of the young that they forget the old walked in their shoes first.”
“You need to stop doing that,” I say. “Reading my mind. It’s rude.”
Pressing her wrinkled hands together, as if in prayer, Freya nods and bows.
“I am sorry, Lady Mila,” she says humbly and sincerely. “I assured you I would meld with you no further, whether physically or of the senses. You have my word.”
“Apology accepted,” I reply. “Now, think, control, believe. I know what I want. I clear my mind. I believe in myself. Then what? How will the words come to me?”
“They are already within, Lady Mila,” replies Freya, now circling me. The hem of her long black cloak is impervious to the leaves and debris on the forest floor. As she continues to walk around me, I notice a dark circle forming on the ground.
“Think. Control. Believe.” I close my eyes. I know I can’t get the ring here, and so I’ll aim for something small. This is just a practice session - like Taekwondo. I’m learning a new form: a sequence of movements when put together create a result.
My eyes spring open. I see an image in my head.
“Rustin,” I call. “Do any of your new girlfriends have a sprig of holly?”
It’s Jalaya who places it in my hand. A short stem three inches in length, with five serrated green leaves edged in white. Three red berries cluster in the centre.
I close my eyes again and try to concentrate on what I want. It takes a while. Images of Rustin smiling at Jalaya, and then Melehan’s eyes, inches from mine, float across the darkness.
Holly. Avalon Cottage. Me and Lilly decorating the house for Christmas.
I can see my sister now. She’s smiling and singing. Her horrible little red sequin bag is glinting like tiny rubies under the multicoloured glow of the fairy lights. My mother and father are laughing. Auntie Titch and Uncle Bed are there too. My aunt is trying to get my uncle to eat Brussel sprouts. His face is screwed up and he’s accusing Auntie Titch of trying to poison him with vegetables of the devil.
This is the image I will hold onto. This is the image I will see again.
My fingers are tingling with fire. My neck doesn’t feel heavy, it senses the power. I know what I want to see, and I believe it.
I believe it.
“Incendal haudel poenarfu.”
I open my eyes at the sound of Rustin gasping. The sprig of holly is bathed in a sphere of purple flame.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, reaching out. His fingers gently touch mine.
“No.” And I start laughing, all petulant arguments with my best friend forgotten.
I did it. Not with help but completely by myself.
“She is ready,” calls Freya.
Then the world erupts in crimson fire and blistering heat.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A Declaration of War
At first I think it’s my fire and magic that’s gone wrong. Flames explode around us. People are screaming. The heat sears my skin; I can smell my long hair burning.
Rustin throws himself down on top of me as another long, searing flame sets fire to the tree tops. Cindered bark starts to rain down on us all like blackened hailstones.
“We aren’t under cover,” I scream. “Freya, we aren’t hidden.”
A sonorous roar explodes above our heads. The force of it flattens two trees to my left. A Gorian is smashed to the ground as the trunks land across his chest. He twitches for a couple of seconds and then doesn’t move again. He didn’t even have time to scream.
“Mila, we have to get away,” cries Rustin. “It’s your dad’s dragon. It’s the Gorians it’ll be attacking, not us.”<
br />
“We can’t just leave them,” I cry back, trying to make myself heard above the screams and the roars. “That dragon will burn everyone to a crisp. We have to make it stop.”
Melehan and Jalaya fall down next to us. Jalaya is shaking so violently at first I think she’s having a fit. Her mouth is foaming with white frothy saliva and her scarred hands are clenched into tight fists.
Rustin swears. “We have to stop that bloody dragon, Mila,” he yells. “You have to stop it.”
“Melehan, what do I do?”
Melehan’s back teeth are clenched. His dark eyes are watching the dragon as it continues to circle us, flame-throwing with indiscriminate aim at the panic-stricken camp.
“We can bring down the Ddraig,” he says. “You and I, together, Lady Mila.”
“I can’t kill it,” I cry, as another tree explodes, showering us with burning strips of bark. “I won’t kill it.”
“Mila,” yells Rustin. “If that dragon is here, does that mean your father is too?”
“Probably.”
“Then bring it down,” he cries. “He’ll find us and take us back to the castle. We can’t go back, not now.”
Rustin scrambles to his feet and drags Jalaya away from the burning trees. Her body is so stiff he looks as if he’s carrying a cardboard cut-out. Rustin is only trying to help her, but I can’t help the stab of jealousy in the lowest part of my abdomen.
He’s left me again.
No. Concentrate, Mila, I think. Melehan is now standing at my side. His long blonde hair is whipped back and forth across his face by the wind being generated by the dragon’s enormous wings. Every flap is like a heartbeat. I can feel it pressing down on top of me.
“Think. Control. Believe,” I say to Melehan. He nods, and presses his palms against mine.
“The spell will come to you, Lady Mila,” says Melehan. “Do not fight it.”
But the spell isn’t coming to me. I can feel my palms prickling, but I’m not sure if that sensation is from me or Melehan. Already I can see his head starting to arch back. His arms are shaking. But all I can think about is my dad and the amount of trouble I’m going to be in if I bring down his dragon from the sky. I’m no longer a princess of Camelot, or a child of the Gorians. I’m Mila Roth, daughter of Arthur Roth, and he is going to kill me.