Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle)

by Danielle Martin Williams

  I couldn’t help but smile at the excitement that rose in his voice as he spoke. He stopped, quickly inspecting our surroundings before continuing our path uphill.

  “Then what?” I prompted impatiently.

  He smiled. “Well, the next morn Lucan arrived, spitting mad. He bellowed all day and night for Arthur to open the gates, but Arthur would not come, infuriating him all the more. Imagine him being locked out of his own castle!” He put a hand up to his jaw, holding it for a moment while he chuckled at the memory.

  “By the following morning, Lucan was ready to have each of our heads upon sticks, so finally Artos went to meet him. He stood high upon the turret as it were his own castle, yawned as though he were nothing but bored, and innocently asked why he had been disrupting us all night.” His wicked smile spread wider across his face. “Lucan was enraged, but Arthur was not close to being done. After a heated argument, he proceeded to set fire to piles hay, telling Lucan it is his castle that he is being burned. You should have heard the things Lucan said.” He grinned, laughing to himself again, liking it far more than he should. “And he was so afraid of his precious palace being destroyed that he finally heeded to Arthur’s demands, giving us a hundred of his men for our war band and finally swore his fealty to Arthur, all without a single drop of blood.”

  The inner edges of his eyebrows went upward in an expression I had not seen before, and for the first time his whole face appeared innocent. “He was only fifteen Katarina, fifteen years old and he tricked an old king who thought himself higher than the rest.” He shook his head in awe. “It was a great game,” he said with a laugh, “and Arthur played it well. He is going to be the greatest king there ever was.” The smile stayed big, and I could see how pure his love for Arthur was, and in this moment I knew I had it right the first time: there was no way he could be wicked.

  The trudge up the hillside was difficult. Most parts were steep and rocky, and for a long time I remained quiet as I focused on careful footing and tried to ignore the throbbing ache in my leg muscles as we hiked on.

  “Well, there it is,” he said huskily, pointing ahead as we reached the top. “Tintigal.”

  I stared down the hillside to a small rundown village that sat in front of a large domineering castle surrounded by large rocky cliffs that provided the only protection against the fearless ocean that angrily crashed against its barrier.

  His lips twisted to the side in disapproval, as he looked me up and down. “I will have to find a dress for you, or else they will think you to be a sorceress of sorts.”

  I looked down, forgetting my jeans and tank top would certainly be a giveaway that I didn’t belong in this world.

  “Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed, remembering the contents in my bag. I swung it off my back and pulled out the beautiful burgundy dress Stacey had given me.

  His jaw shifted to left, as he stared at me intently, long enough to make me glance away uncomfortably.

  He crossed his arms, keeping his unwavering glare on me. “What kind of girl are you?” he asked quietly and very seriously.

  “W-what do you mean?” I stammered, feeling more uncomfortable than I thought humanly possible.

  He huffed out a breath. “Well, you had the power to free me from a curse in which nobody for hundreds of years could, you climb trees as a boy would,” his eyebrow rose higher, “and now you magically have a dress in that… pack.” He gestured toward my black backpack.

  “No, it’s not magic,” I started quickly. “I have a project on this time period. That’s why I was in the museum. That’s how I found you. As for the dress, my friend gave it to me for the project.”

  He didn’t take his impenetrable glare off me, and he didn’t speak for some time.

  “I’m not a witch,” I whispered.

  “Then why are you so nervous?” he asked darkly.

  “Because… because you are sort of… terrifying,” I mumbled slowly.

  The right side of his mouth curled up into an iniquitous grin, and his eyes were dark. He stepped closer to me, deliberately slow, until our faces were only inches apart. I gulped, as my heart beat irregularly, no longer sure if it was from fear or excitement. My cheek tingled as he leaned in putting his lips close to my ear.

  “So you are scared of me,” he whispered. It was frightening but perversely sexy.

  “S-sometimes…” I admitted, trembling slightly.

  “And now?” he prompted, pulling away slightly but keeping his face awkwardly close to mine.

  “Yes,” I choked out, darting my eyes away from the callous green eyes staring into my soul and realizing I had been wrong about thinking I wouldn’t be scared of him again.

  His eyes changed instantly, as he laughed and stepped back from me. “Fear gives your enemies power, Katarina,” he said sternly with his eyes still dancing, “if you must feel it at least attempt to hide it.”

  “But you said I should fear you,” I mumbled, feeling like two different people rolled into one, part of me relieved at the distance and the other yearning for the closeness again. He really did play an atrocious game.

  “You should,” he agreed quietly, staring into nothingness and leaving me all the more confused. Then his bright eyes snapped back to mine coming out of his momentary stupor. “What means you by project?” he asked suddenly sincere, as he sat on one of the many tree stumps that surrounded the edge of the forest, resting his elbows on his knees. I was beginning to wonder if he was bipolar or had some multiple personality disorder, although it was most likely that he just had some twisted sense of humor, clearly amused at putting fear into people.

  I plopped down in front of him, feeling suddenly tired. “It’s for my school. We are learning about this time period, and we have to present artifacts and information on it.”

  He lowered an eyebrow. “You are a little old for schooling, are you not?”

  I laughed. “It’s not like that anymore. Most people go to school until they are in their mid-twenties or if they want they’ll even go for longer than that.”

  He lifted both eyebrows high. “Why would one ever want to do that?”

  “People do it because the higher education you have the better job you will have.”

  “You mean like a trade?”

  “Yes, sort of.”

  He shook his head, not quite comprehending. “And what is your trade?”

  “I’m a… a waitress,” I admitted embarrassedly.

  “A what?” He scrunched his nose up.

  “Like a server.” I flinched at how horrible it sounded.

  His eyes widened. “Like a servant?”

  “Not a servant, I am free to come and go as I please but I just bring food and drinks to people, but they pay me…” There was no point in explaining it. It sounded pathetic.

  He grabbed a leaf off a branch that hung close to him and began ripping it apart as he gave me a long look. “A girl like you should not be serving.”

  I blushed, taking it as a compliment. “Well, I’m going to school to get a better job than that. I want to be a journalist.” I winced again, realizing he would have no idea what that meant. “It’s someone who tells people of events that happened, like a scribe I suppose.”

  He nodded, letting a small smile crawl up his face. “Will you tell people of this?”

  “I think they would have me committed.” I glanced at his blank face. “Uh, they would think I had gone mad.”

  He laughed, throwing the shredded leaf to the ground.

  “Nobody really believes in magic where I’m from.”

  He looked at me sideways. “And where are you from?”

  “I’m from America… it hasn’t been discovered yet, at least not by your people.”

  His eyes widened. “So I have traveled all the way to a land that has not yet been discovered.” He smiled looking impressed, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how easily amused he was with the idea. “Not so scary now?” he asked me, tilting his head again as if he was talking to a child.


  “Not at this precise moment,” I joked, melting at this momentarily adorable persona.

  He smiled his marvelous crooked smile at me, revealing those perfect straight white teeth. It was one that was playful, not condescending or malicious or even arrogant, and I decided it was my favorite.

  “How many summers are you?” he asked with genuine interest.

  “I’m eighteen, but I will be nineteen soon. What about you?”

  He scratched his head. “Twenty,” he said as he looked off, the playfulness fading.

  In many ways he seemed much older than twenty. He stood up, instantly looking bored, and I couldn’t help noticing he did a rather good job at avoiding questions about himself.

  “We need to move on. You should probably change into the dress,” he added, lips curling into amusement.

  “Okay,” I said, standing as well.

  Proving that he was a decent being, he turned his back to me, walking a few feet away. I changed out of my clothes and stuffed them into the backpack grateful Stacey bought such a beautiful gown; who would have known it would come in so handy. I slid the dress over my head, admiring the way it fit. Then my stomach somersaulted at the realization I needed someone to tie it in the back.

  “I… um, I need a little bit of help,” I said weakly.

  He turned around, glanced at me, and then gave me his wicked half grin. I instantly felt self-conscious and wrapped my arms around myself as though it would hide me from his view.

  “What?” I hissed.

  His eyes jerked back up to meet mine. “Nothing,” he said quickly. A little too quickly. I frowned.

  “Could you just tie the back?” I said a little more harshly than I had intended.

  He walked closer to me and tied the laces in seconds. I turned back around to the same grin, like he had some inside joke he was unwilling to share.

  “I know. I look ridiculous,” I pouted, feeling rather disheartened.

  He chuckled darkly. “No, I am just not used to tying dresses up,” he said with a smirk, which for reasons unknown, suddenly sent a small stab of jealousy in the pit of my stomach. “You look to be a fair lady of nobility,” he added with a mock bow, winking before he turned his back to me and led the way into the village. And even though his little poke bothered me, I couldn’t help the crimson blush that crept up to my cheeks at the compliment. I grabbed my backpack and hurried after him.

  Chapter Five: Face of Gold

  “See that son.” He spoke so firmly, it was difficult to tell if he was in a decent mood or not. He grabbed his arm roughly and moved the boy in front of him, yanking his head upwards. The little boy glanced up to the infinite stars that made their home in the sky.

  His father pointed to the brightest star to the north. “That is the leader, the brightest star in the sky,” he said proudly, then he pointed to the cluster to the right, “and those are his protectors. Protectors are the most important, son, because they keep the king safe.”

  The father looked back to the bright star, but the little boy kept his gaze on the cluster.

  “The great ones find their place in the stars,” his father said, barely above a whisper.

  Intrigued, the little boy turned around to look at him. His face seemed kinder, and for a moment, he forgot to be afraid. He turned back to the cluster; the protectors seemed brave and fearless, and they were not alone like the leader was. He let a small smile play at his lips. One day he would be brave and fearless too, and if he was great, maybe, just maybe, he would belong up there with them.

  I wasn’t capable of seeing every pair of eyes in the center of the village, but the ones I could see were all glued to Brendelon, each set widened in awe accompanied with mouths slightly hanging open. I briefly wondered if my face looked like that sometimes too. His beauty really was breathtaking.

  He acted as if he were the king himself, strutting through the entrance to the castle where large golden banners embroidered with a large back sun and lion waved in the wind. He stopped in front of a short, skinny castle servant, kicking mud off of his boots. “Tell Your Majesty, Sir Brendelon wishes to speak to him,” he said curtly, not even looking at the man.

  The servant mumbled a nervous agreement before scurrying off to find his king.

  A salty ocean breeze blew past us sending a small chill down my spine despite the hot weather, and it reminded me of home. Brendelon folded his muscular arms across his chest, looking very bored but deep in thought. He began to chew on his thumbnail until he glanced down at the backpack, and his eyes went wide.

  “Why are you carrying that?” he hissed.

  I looked down. “I didn’t know where to put it.”

  He yanked it out of my hands and quickly slung it over his shoulders, hiding it with the dark cape that was fastened to the back of his armor.

  Soon, the servant came scurrying back to us. “This way,

  Sire,” he mumbled, not making eye contact.

  We entered a large room lined with magnificent tapestries of different shades of purple and gold, filled with elegant sculptures in the corners and a large beautifully carved wooden table in the center, lined with a black and gold table runner with tall candles burning brightly at each end. With his back to us, a tall man with broad shoulders stood looking out a window. He was dressed in beautiful silks and velvets, riveted with so many details there was no denying his royal status. Sitting at a smaller table to the right in a large plush chair was a beautiful woman with porcelain white skin and long straight auburn hair. Beside her was a very handsome man, in his late forties or early fifties, with hair as black as Brendelon’s but streaked with gray on the sides. They both looked tall and majestic, dressed in fine silks, and I guessed them for royalty as well.

  The large man turned to face us, and I barely caught myself from leaping backwards at the grotesque golden mask that covered his face. It was eerie; the nose and chin came down into a long point, the mouth shaped like it was screaming, and two holes for his eyes that were so small only the beady black pupils could be seen.

  “Prince Brendelon,” he greeted with a muffled, raspy voice.

  “King Mordegrant.” He nodded at him then turned to the couple at the table. “King Lot, Queen Margause.”

  They greeted him in return, but their expressions were guarded, like dolls who sat beautifully and perfectly still.

  “Who is this lovely lady accompanying you?” Mordegrant asked, nodding his pointy chin in my direction.

  “Her name is Katarina,” he said, behaving almost as if I was not even there. “I am returning her to Caerleon,” he continued sharply, crossing his arms over his chest, giving me the feeling as though he were a lion guarding its prey.

  Mordegrant seemed to take the hint. “And to what do we owe such a gracious occasion of having your presence bestowed upon us?”

  I couldn’t help but feel that the tone was mocking, but perhaps it was only because he appeared to look as though he were a finely dressed court jester rather than a king.

  “I am in need of two horses,” he said bluntly.

  “In need of two horses?” His voice sounded confused. He paused for a moment, tilting his head as though examining the knight beside me, and then turned his mask to Lot, who only raised his eyebrows an infinitesimal amount to the woman, but otherwise kept a very fortified expression. “How did you come about here?”

  Brendelon rolled his eyes slightly, and I felt worrisome that he would act so impolite in front of two kings and a queen. “We walked. Our horses were lost in a field southeast from here.”

  “Lost your horses?” he repeated again. This time the tone was gruffer than the last, sneering along the border of disgust. “To have a horse requires great—”

  “They were taken by a troll,” Brendelon interrupted rudely. “I took its life, but it was too late to recover them.”

  I saw Mordegrant’s hands squeeze into tight fists behind his back as he took a moment—probably as to not lose his temper—and I didn’t
blame him. Brendelon was hardly behaving as one should to a king. “So Cadvic’s champion slays a troll,” he said derisively.

  Brendelon dropped his arms and lowered an eyebrow; confusion washed over his once arrogant expression.

  “Were any other effects lost?”

  “No…” Brendelon replied slowly.

  “Good.” He clasped his hands together in front of him and paced again. “My men reported that Cadvic was rather impressed with your skills, especially considering you have never competed in the youth tournaments,” he continued, before looking up to the knight, who was now drowning in perplexity. He crossed his bulky arms over his silk garments lined with rich furs on the openings. “You are coming from Cadvic’s tournament, are you not?”

  He shifted on his feet, eyebrows burrowing further together. “Cadvic’s tournament?” he sputtered.

  “Yes…” Mordegrant said seeming irritated, but it was difficult to decipher without seeing facial expressions.

  Brendelon grasped the curl above his right ear, averting his eyes to different places on the floor as though concentrating.

  Mordegrant took what appeared to be a hostile step forward. I cowered backwards, not sure what he was thinking without seeing his face, but then he waved his hand absently. “Never mind, you need two horses do you?” he asked, becoming quite impatient all of a sudden, as he once again began pacing around the elegant room. Lot took a slow drink out of a beautiful jeweled cup keeping his dark eyes on Mordegrant, but did not seem to be concerned in the slightest.