The Ring of Morgana (The Children of Camelot)

by Donna Hosie

  Rustin becomes very quiet. The only time he makes a noise is when he falls asleep and starts snoring. When the procession stops to set up for another night outdoors, we are well away from villages and people. If I was paranoid about fitting in before, that was nothing compared to how I feel now. Everywhere I go, I feel eyes watching me. I know I’m being shadowed by my aunt and the knights, and they aren’t even subtle about it.

  I end up trying to sleep with Lilly in her carriage, but she has a night terror and wakes up screaming. My mother starts crying because she wants to go home and she and my father end up having the worst argument they’ve ever had. I’m more freaked out by my mother crying. I’ve seen her mad, I’ve seen her rage, and a few times I’ve seen her so apoplectic she could have a stroke, but I’ve never, ever seen her break down and sob before.

  It freaks my dad out too, but instead of dealing with it, he leaves her alone.

  So much has changed in a week.

  So much has changed in twenty four hours.

  I don’t know what the time is but it feels like it’s been dark forever. I go back to my own carriage to speak to Rustin, but he’s gone. I grab a black cloak and pull the hood over my head. More hair falls out, floating to the ground like black lengths of cotton.

  Even though it’s dark, I stay in the shadows. Several fires are blazing around the camp as knights keep watch. A couple of bare-chested men are wrestling, cheered on by others. In another area, next to the armoury, an animal is being roasted on a spit. My stomach rumbles.

  Next to a third fire, I find Rustin. He’s sitting with Jalaya; her head is resting on his shoulder as he carves at a small lump of wood with a short-bladed knife. They are talking, although neither is animated. They look so comfortable with one another that the rumbles in my stomach turn to stabs of pain. It physically hurts to see him with another girl. I think back to home, wherever that’s supposed to be now. I can’t remember ever seeing him get off with someone else. I know he has, because Katie is the gossip queen of our year and she tells me everything, but I’ve never seen it.

  Because he’s always with me.

  I’ve got Lilly back, but I think I’m going to lose my best friend.

  And the thought kills me.

  We arrive back in Camelot to trumpets and banners. The victorious return of King Arthur and the healed princess. My mother refuses to stand on the castle steps, but no one, least of all my father, tries to persuade her otherwise. The atmosphere between them is frosty, but at least they’re talking now.

  Lilly is frail, and her thin little legs need help climbing the steps, but no one is keeping her away. She laps it up, smiling and waving to the crowds. By her side is my father, proudly gazing down at his own little mini-me. Queen Guinevere has styled Lilly’s long silver hair into braids with white jewels and flowers. Lilly looks the part, a real princess. She glints in the spring sun like a diamond.

  I couldn’t be more out of place if I tried, and so I stand in the shadows once more. Day or night, the shadows are becoming more of a friend to me than Rustin. He sat up top with Talan for the rest of the journey. We haven’t fought or argued in any way, but things are changing between us.

  I think he’s saying goodbye.

  I walk with Melehan into the castle. His guardian, Gareth, and my uncle follow close behind. Melehan and I haven’t seen each other since the battle at the lake. I think he’s been avoiding me too, but for different reasons. Melehan has been exposed as a Gorian and is to be banished from the castle. He isn’t fighting it, and Uncle Bed is taking charge, making sure Melehan and Freya are cared for outside the castle walls.

  “It isn’t right,” I say quietly. “You belong here. I couldn’t have done what I did without you and Freya.”

  “We have accepted our fate, Lady Mila,” he replies in the same hushed tone. “I always knew this day would come, and it is a relief, to not exist under the blanket of secrets and lies anymore. I know my path now, and it is not here.”

  “How did you know to come and help me by the lake?” I ask. “That was your chance to leave without everyone finding out your secret.”

  “The trees spoke to the artisan. He told us what was happening. Joseph fled, but we turned back, taking the knights by surprise.”

  “Has anything been decided about Jalaya yet?” I ask.

  “She is to be afforded the protection of Camelot,” replies Melehan, coming to a stop. “Your companion, the artisan, requested it. His reward for coming to your aid. She will work in the kitchens. There are always many mouths to feed in the castle, less one now, of course.”

  He bows. “And now I take my leave, Lady Mila. Sirs Gareth and Bedivere are to take me to my chamber to collect my meagre belongings, and then they will escort me away from the castle. I hope we meet again one day.”

  “Thank you, Melehan,” I say. “For everything.”

  “Everything?” His dark eyes twinkle, and a slight smirk plays out on his face as his smile reveals more than words. I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  My uncle raises an eyebrow. Realisation dawns on Gareth as he catches up to speed.

  “I will be lucky to end the day with my head still attached to my shoulders should the king hear of this,” he says in a soft voice. “Melehan, it is time you left.”

  As he climbs the stairs, Melehan turns and calls to me.

  “Don’t forget who you are, Lady Mila. You are not just a child of Camelot. I know my path, and the artisan knows his. Do you know yours?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rustin’s Fate

  Lily takes to life in the court of Camelot with ease. She was born for the pretty dresses and being fussed over by maids, although no one pays her more attention than Queen Guinevere, who has absolutely fallen in love with my brave little sister. Lilly weakens easily though, and after a few days back, my mother has reached the end of her frayed nerves and is demanding to go back home.

  Surprisingly, Rustin is eager to leave too, but he doesn’t catch my eye when I try and talk to him, and he spends most of his time wandering the castle and grounds. He’s pulling away from me every day and I don’t know how to get him back.

  I’m packed and ready to leave, but now I’m going, I’m feeling rather melancholy. I want to go home, but I’m going to miss this room and this view. I’m going to miss the knights that treat me with such deference and respect. The thought of going back to school after the Easter holidays fills me with dread. If one teacher there tries to make a fool of Rustin, I swear I will bring down an Arthurian army on their heads.

  Only I can’t, because no one in the land of normal would believe a single word if I told them about this. Only Rustin will understand, and he can’t even bring himself to speak to me anymore, and I don’t understand why. What have I done? We were cool until the carriage ride back to Camelot. Then Rustin told me what the knights were saying - nonsense about me making Logres the greatest kingdom on the earth - and everything changed.

  Rustin told me I could just say no. Does he think I’ve made my choice already? Does he think I’m going to say yes?

  There’s a knock on my bedroom door. It’s my aunt.

  “Ready to go?” she asks.

  “I think so.”

  “Well, you and Rustin didn’t arrive with much,” she says with a smile.

  “Is Merlin going to magic my mum and Lilly home?”

  Auntie Titch gives me the look. The look that says are you serious?

  “I think your mother has finally done what no one else in Logres has ever been able to do, which is make Merlin take a holiday,” she replies. “He’s say he’s going away until she’s gone. He even used the phrase ‘doing my head in’, which was very amusing. Most of the knights thought his head was going to implode. It caused quite a panic.”

  “She’s not coping well with all of this, is she?”

  “Your mother never did, but more importantly, how are you coping with all of this?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

&n
bsp; “Your father is so proud of you, Mila, and so are Bedivere and I, but you should never have tried to deal with this alone. You should have told someone about the purple flame.”

  “I thought everyone would freak out,” I reply, picking at a loose silver thread hanging from the hem of my red tunic. “Melehan said people would come for me if they knew I was half-Gorian.”

  “Oh Mila,” says my aunt sighing. “We’ve always known you were half Gorian. I even saw your eyes turn white the first time I ever held you as a baby. This is our fault. All of it. Just promise me that you’ll trust us in the future. Family is more important to your father – and certainly your mother – than kingdoms and crowns. Secrets only end up hurting those we love. Which in this case, was you and Lilly. The most important people of all.”

  Something jars in my memory, jostling for prime position amongst all of the other crazy memories I’ll now hold forever.

  Secrets.

  “Auntie Titch, can I ask you something? Something really personal?”

  “You can always ask me anything at all, Mila. And I mean that,” she replies.

  “When Merlin was performing the counter-curse on Lilly, he put me in a kind of a trance. I don’t think I was dreaming, because I could hear everyone in the tent, but I saw something...strange. Someone was there with me. Someone I don’t think any of you could see.”

  My aunt bites down on the inside of her bottom lip. She’s in her mid thirties I think, only a year younger than my dad, but Logres and life haven’t been kind to her. Her hair is a darker blonde compared to my dad’s, and has strands of wiry grey running through it. Her skin is mottled with red blotches and her lips are constantly chapped.

  “Who was there with you, Mila?”

  I pause. Secrets make people unhappy. Patrick said that before he gave me the message. I have to tell someone, even if it’s not the right person, because then it isn’t a secret anymore, and I would rather speak to my aunt about this than my parents because she’ll understand.

  “There was a boy, a few years younger than Lilly. He looked like a first grader,” I say. “He said his name was...Patrick.”

  My aunt makes a sudden movement, as if she’s going to vomit. She doesn’t, but clutches at her chest instead.

  “It wasn’t your Patrick,” I say hurriedly, terrified my aunt is going to collapse. “He wasn’t two years old. The boy I saw was definitely older.”

  “What did he say?” she gasps.

  “He said ‘tell my sister she chose a good name. Tell my sister he is being loved until it’s her time’. Those were his exact words, but I don’t know who his sister is. I think I need to get this message to the right person, but I don’t know who. Can you help me?”

  But Auntie Titch has burst into tears. “Thank you, Mila,” she sobs. “Thank you.” She runs forward and hugs me, before rushing out of the room, calling for my uncle, leaving me clueless and the ghost of a little boy still haunting my memory.

  Queen Guinevere is waiting on the steps as we leave. There’s no fanfare or cheering crowds, just a few knights dressed in chain mail. The Queen curtsies to my father, kisses me and Lilly, and is completely ignored by my mother.

  “I will see you again soon, Lady Mila,” she says with another deep curtsey. “It will be a joy to have the two princesses of Camelot back within our castle walls again.”

  My mother stops ignoring Queen Guinevere and instead tells her exactly where to go, although I’m not sure modern swear words have the same effect here.

  “Ready to go home?” I say to Rustin, lightly punching him on the arm.

  “And where is home exactly?” he replies, but his eyes aren’t fixed on the castle, they’re drinking in the landscape and the woods beyond. A cold breeze ripples up my back, and as we set off, (my mother and Lilly in a coach; me, Rustin, my father, aunt and uncle on horseback), I swear I hear the trees groaning, as if they’re in pain.

  Three days and two nights pass. Rustin is becoming more like his old self the further we get from Camelot. I feel more like me too, even though all of our conversations are punctuated with references to crazy wizards and dragons.

  My mother and father are barely speaking though. I see my mother flex her fingers, and when nothing happens, she scowls in my direction, realising too late I’m watching her.

  We arrive at the Tor in darkness. Lilly is asleep. My father carries her skinny little body in his arms as we climb the green terraces of the bank leading up to the church. Amber coloured light is flickering inside the windows, but as we get closer, the night sky starts to get thicker, like black fog descending. Rustin grabs my hand.

  “Look behind you, Mila,” he says.

  But all I can see are shadows and more shadows.

  “We’re right behind you, Mila,” calls my aunt.

  “Walk straight and true, Rustin,” adds my uncle.

  No one shouts encouragement to my mother. It’s like she’s the ghost of someone who once lived. She won’t even touch Lilly.

  I dig my fingers into Rustin’s hand, leaving Logres just as we arrived, although our clothes are different and definitely not 21st century. As the black vortex swirls around our bodies, I am suddenly struck with the thought that my memory might be white-washed and I won’t remember any of this on the other side. I need to remember all of it: the good, the bad and the ugly. I did something good in this time. I helped save my sister. It’s only now I’m leaving Logres I realise that it’s changed me.

  And I don’t want to forget.

  We come through the entrance of the church into darkness, although not the same impenetrable darkness we left. This is modern darkness, with light pollution creating a faint orange haze on the horizon. The village is back, twinkling below us with activity. The church is gone, replaced with only the crumbling tower that time allowed to remain.

  “It’s over,” says my mother, sighing with relief. “Let’s go home.”

  She runs down the terraces of the Tor. My mother is home. I thought I would be too, but I feel empty, like I left something of me behind.

  We arrive back at Avalon Cottage after the longest and most uncomfortable car journey of my life. My father drives through the night with my mother sitting in the front passenger seat with Lilly asleep in her arms. The air-con unit is on full as my mother doesn’t want Lilly to overheat and get a night terror so soon after her ordeal. No one complains, but it means Uncle Bed, Rustin and I are sitting in the back seats, squished likes anchovies in a can, and Auntie Titch is sitting on Uncle Bed’s lap with her legs across me and Rustin.

  My mother said Auntie Titch should go on top because she’s the smallest. One hour back and already I’m getting jibes about my weight - or that’s how it seems. And so I’m squashed in the middle because Rustin’s nervous about sitting on Uncle Bed’s left, and he doesn’t want to hurt what’s left of Uncle Bed’s amputated arm.

  Give me the freedom of a horse any day. I think Uncle Bed would prefer that too. His skin has a jaundiced tinge to it. I spend the last hour of the car journey worried my uncle is going to puke on me.

  We drop Rustin off first. I climb out of the car, barely able to coordinate my arms and legs, which have locked into a sitting position. We walk around the corner so the others can’t see us. The first thing Rustin does is light up a cigarette. He offers me one and I shake my head. Normality has returned.

  “So I’ll see you down by the hang-out later?” I ask.

  Rustin stays silent. We just stare at each other. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “How can we just get on with our lives, Mila? After everything we’ve seen and done.”

  “Because that’s what we’re supposed to do,” I reply. “It’s what my father does.”

  “But he goes back.”

  An uncomfortable silence hangs around us. I thought I had my best friend back. Rustin may be here in Wales in body, but he’s not here in spirit.

  “You want to go back, don’t you?”

  “There’s n
othing for me here, Mila.”

  My stomach is churning up ice. I feel nauseous and faint. Panic is rising like a mushroom cloud in my chest.

  “What about Aidan and your friends? What about your woodwork? What about me? You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

  Rustin runs his fingers through his hair. Hell knows when he last washed it properly, it’s like concrete. At least he has hair. I’ll be going back to school bald at the rate mine is still breaking off.

  “I just liked being useful,” he whispers, his deep voice breaking. His chin has several blade nicks from where he tried to shave with a knife yesterday. There’s a piece of tissue attached to one. I pick it off and let my fingers trail down his face.

  “You always have been useful,” I say quietly. “You’re my best boyfriend.”

  And then his mouth is on mine. He pushes me back against the brick wall of his house as his hands cup my face. Desperately kissing him back, I move my arms around his back and tighten them around his muscular shoulders, securing him to me forever. My lips move around his with no grace or finesse. It’s like the four minute warning has gone off and we’re running out of time.

  My lips and chin feel like they’ve been exfoliated, but I replay the kiss over and over in the time it takes to drive to the cottage. My stomach tickles with a sensation that buzzes down my legs and up into my chest.

  My father unlocks the door. Avalon Cottage smells damp and musty. As I step into the hall, I see a small fragment of glass, glinting under the hall light. It’s from the mirror that smashed. I don’t know whether to pick it up and keep it, or pick it up and throw it away. Instead, I just flick it with my boot and watch it slide under the hall table.

  “Try and get some sleep, Mila,” says my mother, with a smile. She’s so happy to be back home, her relief pours out of her. She looks ten years younger again. The lines around her mouth are disappearing, as are the indents around her forehead. It’s probably because she’s stopped scowling and pouting.