by Julie Leung
Britta sighed, a sound full of wishes and melancholy. “We had to abandon our land and move to the coast. Papa became a fisherman. He’s terrible at it—could only net fistfuls of minnows. There was never enough food for my younger sisters. So when Morgan came to town, promising a new green land for us, I signed up for the cause without hesitation. I can’t handle a sword very well, but I can solve any type of word puzzle.”
“Did anything strange happen before the drought started?” Galahad asked. He wanted to see if any connection could be made to Morgan. “Were any animals acting weird?”
“For a while, we thought it was the weasels who were causing it,” Britta said. “Papa and the other men would set traps and go on hunting parties. But one day, they all disappeared, and the land didn’t get better.”
Galahad’s face paled as he realized the Saxon weasels may have just been escaping persecution themselves.
“What’s the matter?” Britta asked. “You look as if someone sneezed on your soufflé.”
“Oh, nothing,” Galahad said. “It must have been hard to deal with, leaving your family behind.”
“Morgan has promised she’ll send for them as soon as we figure out the Grail,” Britta said. “That’s why I work so hard.”
Silence hung in the air between them.
Finally, Britta said, “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
Britta left the library, and Galahad sank into his chair.
He’d been actively working against her this entire time, but maybe, once he figured out the Grail, he could negotiate with King Arthur on Britta’s behalf as well.
CHAPTER
26
There was another cave-in a few days later. The rebellion was lucky—only one tail was broken and some whiskers crumpled—but Calib worried that the next time they might not be so fortunate. He wished he had paid more attention in Sir Alric’s innovation lessons. As it was, Calib had been too interested in trying to prove himself as a swordsmouse to listen during the less glamorous parts of his training. As Camelot’s head engineer, Alric would have known how to dig tunnels that didn’t collapse. Maybe Cecily would remember something useful.
But when he checked the tunnel she’d been assigned to, she wasn’t there. The tips of his fur rose on end.
“Hi, Ginny,” Calib said, scurrying to where the chef-in-training was busy cutting up a pitiful parsnip. “Have you seen Cecily?”
“She just came by,” Ginny said. “She went that way.” She indicated with her nose a tunnel Calib had only gone down once before. After saying a quick thank-you, Calib headed that way.
Calib was sure she hadn’t been caught up in the cave-in, but he still wasn’t sure what Cecily had been up to with the food filching. She clearly knew something the others didn’t. He flew down the dark path, and even his sensitive eyes had a hard time adjusting to the light.
“Oof!” Calib ran into something solid, warm, and very furry.
“Calib!” Cecily exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing!” Calib retorted. “You’re stealing food from the kitchens! Cecily, how could you? If you’re hungry, you can have some of my—”
“Excuse me,” Cecily huffed, her pink nose becoming even more pink with anger. “Do you think I’m taking this food to feed myself?”
“I—” Calib stopped, his ears twitching. “No, I don’t really think that,” he admitted. “But I know you’re up to something. Please tell me.”
Cecily hesitated a moment, her ears twitching, before she finally nodded. “All right . . . but you have to promise to be quiet and listen to me. Got that?”
Calib nodded, and Cecily led them down the tunnel. It became shorter and narrower the farther they went. Here, in the heart of the mountains, the rock was dark and dense.
“Who could have done all this?” Calib asked, marveling at the smooth stone under his footpaws. The path had been worn down by many paws before him, and like so many hallways he’d encountered within the mountains, it branched off, with paths leading in seemingly random directions. Cecily had brought pieces of chalk to mark the walls so that they could keep track of where they had gone and which tunnels had already been explored. Judging by the tight walls and low ceilings, Calib could tell this rock must have been difficult to carve.
They came to another abandoned quarry, like the ones they had passed earlier. However, this one was much larger than the others. Cecily led him to a round room that looked like it once served as a mine shaft. It smelled of coal and . . .
Calib’s hackles rose. “Stop,” he whispered to Cecily. “I smell weasels!”
“Actually—” But before Cecily could finish whatever she was about to say, three weasels—all armed—appeared.
“Get back, scoundrels!” Calib’s fighting instincts kicked in. He dropped his food and picked up a pebble. He chucked the stone at the closest weasel—a brown, furry fellow with a white tuft on his chest. It whizzed by his ears and ricocheted off the wall, striking one of the two weasels behind him.
“Ow!” a voice yelped.
“Stop!”
Calib felt something tight around his paw and looked to see Cecily gripping him. “They’re not the enemy,” Cecily said firmly, then released him.
Calib looked at the three weasels more closely and saw that they looked no older than he. In fact, they were children. Calib felt a wash of guilt and embarrassment as he realized he’d struck a young weasel-maid.
“I fink he knockt out my toof,” the weasel-maid said, running a tongue over the top of her teeth.
“I’m so sorry,” Calib said, mortified.
“Thath all right.” She smiled, a gap where one of her teeth used to be. “I was thoo afraith thoo pull it outh.”
The foremost weasel sauntered forward.
“Some welcome from the hero of Camelot,” he said sarcastically. “Or should I say the dentist of Camelot?”
“You surprised me,” Calib protested. “And what sort of welcome do you expect as invaders to our land?”
“Ahem!” Cecily stepped between them. “Calib, this is Thomas Steepaw, and his siblings Rosy and Silas. I think you’ll want to hear what he has to say.”
“I doubt that,” Calib grumbled, giving Thomas a sideways glance.
“Thomas, tell Calib your story,” Cecily said.
“Are you sure he wants to hear it?” the weasel asked, glaring at Calib.
Cecily waved her paw dismissively. “Calib’s just being cheeseheaded right now. But he knows how to listen to creatures he thought were his enemies. He’s the one who united Camelot and the Darklings . . . isn’t that right, Calib?”
Calib felt as if his heart had been pinched. Shame flooded him. While the Saxons may not be Britons, they deserved to be heard. He nodded. “My apologies, Thomas. Please, tell me.”
“Very well,” Thomas said, and sat back on his haunches. “My siblings and I grew up in Saxony. I was studying to be a scholar, but then the famine struck. Something terrible happened to our crops back home. They all dried out and turned to dust in the field. There was not enough food to eat. I had to do something for my brothers and sisters, or they would starve.”
As if in response, a stomach growled loudly.
“I brought Jasper’s latest delivery,” Cecily said, rummaging in her satchel for some of the scraps Ginny had given her. The two younger kids nearly bowled Calib over to get to the food.
“Thank you,” Thomas said. “My poor parents didn’t survive the winter, and since I’m the oldest, I stopped my studies to take care of my brother and sister. One day, these weasels showed up in town, talking a big talk and recruiting others to join them in a journey to settle new lands. They promised food for the journey and money to start a new life. All we had to do was promise to work for them for a year. I immediately signed up, thinking I had solved our problems forever. Except . . .”
Thomas gestured to the place around them. “I didn’t realize what we were in for until w
e arrived. They were looking for labor in their war against Britain.”
Calib was horrified. He saw the shabby state of their clothes and how Rosy still clutched a doll made from bits of rope and a bead. How Silas ravenously munched on the parsnip, like he hadn’t eaten in a year.
“How long have you lived like this in the Iron Mountains?” he asked, voice hushed.
“I don’t know how long exactly; it’s hard to keep track without the sun, but we arrived shortly after what the Saxons have been calling the Battle of the Bear.”
“About seven months,” Calib whispered.
“Seven months,” Thomas repeated, his eyes widening. “It feels like longer.”
“Why hide away here?” Calib asked. “Why didn’t you join the rebellion?”
“The others don’t trust the Saxons,” Cecily explained. “Something about Merlin’s Mirror being broken.”
With a twist of guilt, Calib suddenly remembered that he had not told Leftie about Merlin’s Mirror yet. They had to get to Galahad as soon as possible to make sure another of Merlin’s treasures didn’t fall into the wrong hands.
“But don’t you see,” Cecily continued, “they deserve our help, just as much as the others. This problem with their food . . . This is Morgan’s doing. Her magic drained the crops in Saxony; it’s killing their land!”
Thomas bobbed his head. “It’ll start happening here too. The witch turns everything she touches to ashes, draining it of all life.”
Calib thought back to the burned-out trees that had been dotting the Darkling Woods since spring and nodded. Thomas’s words seemed to be the truth, but still . . .
“And you’re not causing cave-ins, right?” he asked.
Cecily glared at Calib, who quickly held up his paws. “Only needed to check.”
“No,” Thomas said with a dignified sniff. “Certainly not.”
“Actually,” Cecily said with one last scowl at Calib, “Thomas, Rosy, and Silas have been exploring tunnels back in this area. No exit yet,” Cecily said hurriedly, “but they did find some tunnels marked with old runes. I think they may have been made by the druids.”
“Druids,” Calib whispered, remembering the term from Sir Owen’s history lessons. “The mystic mice who helped build the giant stone circles throughout Britain?”
“Yes, and I think some of that stone came from here. See?” Cecily pointed to something marked on the ceiling above a tunnel that branched away from them. “If you go down that way, you’ll run into an old quarry.”
“Those rocks are boring,” Rosy piped up. “Silas and me like the sparkly ones, don’t we, Silas?”
“Yeah!” Silas said. “We have a rock collection. Do you wanna see?”
Cecily tousled the weasel’s fluff. “Maybe next time, but Calib and I best be getting back. We’ll be missed.”
“You should tell your story to Leftie,” he told Thomas. Even as he spoke the words out loud, determination straightened his spine. “I’ll vouch for you.”
Thomas wrinkled his snout. “I’m not sure. . . .”
Taking a few small steps toward the weasel, Calib tentatively reached out and patted the Saxon’s shoulder. The weasel’s fur was thick and soft, and even though Calib knew that Thomas, too, must emit the usual weasel musk, he realized that he hardly noticed the smell anymore. He had gotten used to it.
“You are incredibly brave,” Calib said. “And facing creatures you think are the enemy will prove that you’re braver than all the knights of the Round Table combined. You’ve already faced so much, but this isn’t the life you want for your brother and sister—or for yourself. Think about it?”
Thomas didn’t say anything, but he looked at Rosy and Silas, whose eyes were starting to drift shut now that hunger pains wouldn’t keep them awake. He turned to Calib. “Yes,” he said softly. “I promise. We’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER
27
Red’s relentless assaults showed no sign of stopping.
“Yield,” the larger boy panted through his faceplate. “You know I’ve got you beat.”
Galahad retreated across the flagstones of Morgan le Fay’s throne room. Red was trying to force him into a corner, and no matter which way Galahad turned, it seemed like Red was always one step ahead of him.
Red was a flurry of attacks: high left, high right, high right again, low right. Galahad barely got Excalibur in place to block the last one. Excalibur had always felt surprisingly light in his hands, but since he’d been in Morgan’s fortress, it seemed like the sword had become ten pounds heavier.
“Watch your back,” Red warned. Galahad had half turned his head before he realized it was a trick, but by then, it was too late. Red charged, slamming his shoulder into Galahad’s chest and knocking him backward. Galahad stumbled, trying to keep his balance, but it was a hopeless effort. He went crashing to the floor.
“You cheated!” Galahad shouted, furious.
“No such thing in a fight,” Red sneered. He looked very pleased with himself.
Galahad was sick of this. Every part of his body hurt, and he was no closer to besting Red. With a frustrated cry, he lashed out with Excalibur, catching Red in the shin. His smirk turned into a grimace of pain as he fell to his knees in a clash of metal.
“Enough.” Morgan was standing over them both. She held out the Grail, full to the brim with the same inky black liquid from before. “Drink from the Grail again and heal Red with Excalibur.”
Galahad sighed. He almost wished that Morgan would go back to letting Red pummel him. He was black-and-blue, and every muscle in his body ached, but at least he seemed to be making progress at sword fighting. With healing, however, he could not figure out what Morgan wanted him to accomplish with the Grail.
He pointed his sword back at Red and reached out with his mind toward one of the rosebushes surrounding the throne. Now, after many days of practice, he could easily sense the bush’s yearning for the sun.
Galahad tugged half-heartedly on the bush’s life, urging it to cooperate, but it resisted. It wanted to live. It pleaded with Galahad to let it live.
Feeling sickened, Galahad released. “I can’t do it.”
“What’s the point of keeping him around, Mother, if he can’t do anything you ask?” Red said. With his own flick of the wrist, one of the red blooms disintegrated into ash, and the cut on his shin healed. Only a few flecks of blood on the floor indicated that Galahad had ever injured Red.
Morgan pursed her lips, then gave a sharp nod. “Follow me. Both of you.”
Without waiting for a reply, Morgan stalked out of the throne room. Red sprang to his feet and hurried after his mother, throwing Galahad another sneer. Galahad sighed and followed.
A spiral staircase led down into the depths of the fortress. Galahad could hear Red’s heavy footsteps several turns below, but he could not see him. A quiet word from Morgan occasionally echoed up from even farther down the stairwell. Galahad tried to hurry, but he never seemed to get any closer.
The stones of the curved walls grew larger and more misshapen as they descended, as though the higher levels had been built one atop the other over many centuries. The steps grew wider and deeper, great slabs of stone piled into uneven ledges. After a while, the stone seemed more like a cave than a castle. The air felt thick, and the candles in their sconces struggled to push back the shadows.
Quite abruptly, the staircase ended. Galahad found himself in a vast cavern, though how vast he could not say since the ceiling and all but the nearest walls were lost in darkness. Morgan le Fay was holding a torch above her head; the only source of light. She was kneeling on a narrow wooden bridge that spanned an underground river, its current swift and white. Red stood to Galahad’s left, watching his mother.
Morgan was leaning out over the edge of bridge, perfectly still as she stared into the churning foam below. With no warning, she plunged her free arm into the black water. As she stood up, Galahad saw a pale-white carp wriggling in her hand.
&
nbsp; “To make something, you must first take something. To build a house, you must break the stone,” she said, gazing intently at the fish. It gasped and gaped, white eyes blind and bulging, its scales glistening in the torchlight. “That is power. If you tried to listen and accommodate every life and every thing, nothing would get done. Do you understand?”
Galahad’s mind flashed back to Father Walter’s first teaching: if someone hurts, you help, no matter peasant or king. Somehow, he didn’t think Morgan shared the same view.
“Do you feel this fish’s thoughts, Galahad?” Morgan asked.
Galahad nodded. With Excalibur at his side, he could sense the creature’s desperation.
“Tell me,” Morgan commanded.
“It’s afraid,” Galahad said slowly. “You’re hurting its fins, and the air burns its gills.”
Morgan bowed her head, looking almost contrite, and let go of the fish. Instead of splashing back into the river, it floated in the air, still gasping. Morgan turned her hand in a scooping gesture and siphoned some water off the surface of the river, forming a ball around the carp as it hovered. The fish stopped gasping and started swimming back and forth in the sphere. Galahad could feel its clammy sense of relief and confusion.
Red stepped to the river’s edge, watching the fish.
“I don’t know what it’s feeling,” Red said thoughtfully, “but it doesn’t matter. It was hatched down here in the dark; it will die in the dark. It could live an entire life that will have no meaning. But we can change that. We can use it to do something that actually makes a difference for us.”
“No!” Galahad cried, but he could feel Red already conjuring some spell.
The carp twisted, and Galahad felt its pain. He knew enough of Morgan’s magic to sense the carp’s life draining away as Red wrung it of its essence. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Galahad reached out with all of his crude magical skill. He did not know what to do; he just knew that if he did nothing, the fish would die to satisfy Red’s cruel whims. He couldn’t let that happen, so he reached out and stopped it.