Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle)

by Danielle Martin Williams

  Brendelon set his jaw and glared at him, handing me the dog. I held him gently, as he whimpered still in pain, wishing Gawain would stop, but it was clear he was just beginning.

  He clapped a hand on Brendelon’s shoulder. “All this time we have been trying to keep you controlled and all we needed was a mangy broken mutt and a beautiful girl!” He roared again; Brendelon pushed his hand off his shoulder, crossing his arms. I saw Bedivere try to cover his smirk, and I decided they would all be lousy poker players.

  “Aw, why so angry, Bran? Where is the fight? Come now, I am getting bored inside these walls!” Gawain wrapped a bulky arm around Brendelon’s neck, unnaturally dwarfing him. Brendelon attempted to shove his arm off, but Gawain just tightened his grip. “Stop being so selfish Bran; let us see your soft side too.” He batted his eyelashes at Brendelon before pulling his head down into a headlock, messing up his hair with his hands. Brendelon shoved his weight into Gawain, tackling him onto the floor.

  “Ah, there is the Bran I know,” he laughed so uncontrollably that he really couldn’t wrestle against him. “You really are not much of a lady.”

  Brendelon rolled to an upper position and came down with a hard punch right in Gawain’s stomach; he hunched into a ball, the laughing muted for just a moment, and I saw the evil smile creep to Brendelon’s face; I suppose it was better than the scowl. Then he wrapped Gawain into headlock from behind, immobilizing Gawain’s legs with his own as he pulled back into a choking move.

  “I like my men a little stronger than this,” he joked in a high pitch voice. “You are a bit puny.”

  Gawain groaned, still hurting from the punch, but the smile was still on his lips. He put his hand up to Brendelon’s arm that was around his neck and rolled over pinning Brendelon to the ground with his weight, fighting against the choke.

  “Alright, alright,” Bedivere said, pulling them from each other. Gawain jumped to his feet and pulled Brendelon up with him effortlessly, still laughing.

  Arthur was standing off to the side with his arms crossed and an amused expression on his face. “Well, I am glad you two love birds are getting along,” he joked with a smile.

  Gawain strutted over to his cousin giving him a hard clap on the back, beaming brightly. “Let us feast!” he roared. “I am starved!”

  “You are always starved,” retorted Bedivere with a smile on his face, as the other spectators laughed and shuffled towards the large dining hall.

  Brendelon turned to me, and I smiled at the boyish grin on his face. “I’m going to put Chance in my room so he can rest,” I said, nestling my nose into his mangy fur.

  He nodded taking a quick glance back towards the dining hall. “Do not be gone too long. You do not want to miss one of Arthur’s feasts.” His eyes gleamed with mischief, as he flashed me his marvelous smile and jogged after his friends into the great hall.

  Chapter Eight: Stars in the Sky

  He laid in bed listening to his mother talk to the tall man who had come to visit. He liked the man because he sang nice songs and spoke with a kind voice, but most of all his eyes were not scary the way his father’s were.

  He had not seen much of his mother over the two fortnights that he laid bed-ridden. He missed her, not because she was kind, loving, or comforting, because she was none of those things, but he missed her because every small child yearns for the touch of a mother. But she hardly ever touched him, not even when he was good. No, she had only come to reprimand him for being so rotten and to remind him that he deserved all that he received, but at least she had come.

  “I cannot stand it anymore,” he heard his mother’s musical voice wail. “He is not like other children; he is wild, devious, and disobedient, and now that he drove Aylwin away, I am all alone,” she moaned, “What have I done to deserve this?”

  The little boy felt his stomach clench. Secretly, he had been happy when his father left, but her whimpering made him feel bad.

  He thought about picking her a flower. She had liked it when he picked her that pretty white flower. She had even smiled at him. She had a beautiful smile; it made her look even prettier than she already was, but she rarely smiled, and he figured that was probably because of him.

  “I hate him.” Her icy words cut through the air, freezing his thoughts. His breath caught in his throat, as tears welled in his eyes, quickly overflowing. He wiped them away angrily; he hated himself for crying, only babies cried. He was seven years old now; he had no business crying over words.

  “You do not know what you are saying,” the man said gently. “You certainly do not mean that. He is your son, of course you love him.”

  “A useless, disobedient, insignificant child is not worth loving. He is nothing but trouble. He ruins everything.”

  He grasped his hair, hating the pain her words caused; it was worse than what his father had done to him. At least he knew what to expect with his father, but her… she was nothing but a trickster. Her beauty lured people near, making them want to love her, but inside she was cold and ugly. He had always hated his father, in fact, he hated this whole place, and now, he decided he would hate her too.

  He wanted to run, run so far he would never have to look back, but the doctor had warned if he ever wanted to walk properly again, he would have to patiently wait for the bones to heal, and that had been the only reason he had remained confined to his feather-bed crypt because if he could not run, he might as well be dead.

  “Let me take him to Tewdrig’s for fosterage,” the man said as though he heard the boy’s thoughts. “He will grow around other boys, learn how to read and write, and be taught the way of the sword, lancing, and how to ride horses.”

  Hope flickered inside of him; everything besides schooling sounded exciting, like an adventure. With the back of his arm he wiped away the leftover tears on his still bruised face; it hurt in places, but the pain was not so bad. He had decided the healing process was the worst of it, at least with the beating all became numb after a few moments, but lying still for two fortnights had almost killed him with boredom on numerous occasions. So bored in fact, he would have even welcomed reading and writing.

  “I do not know if Aylwin would agree…after all, he is a Pendragon,” she said haughtily.

  He cringed; he hated when she called him a Pendragon—he was a Beaumont—but even more than that, he hated that his father never corrected her.

  “He will learn the ways of a knight,” the man pressed.

  A knight? Knights were strong and courageous; they were protectors, and protectors were fearless. He wanted that more than anything, and for the first time in his life, he started praying. He had never done it before, but he had seen the priests at the abbey do it. He prayed his mother would let him go, but then a white bird perched itself on the edge of the window, distracting him from his thoughts.

  “It is a good place; he will be safe, safer than here,” the man promised.

  She sighed. “He has a dark-soul, so make certain he is disciplined; I do not want him spoiled,” she said detachedly.

  It hurt, but he was thankful God had pitied him enough—even despite his dark-soul—to free him from her.

  I placed Chance on the bed and grabbed the rag that sat next to a small washbasin by the side of the bed, dipped it in the water and wiped my face and arms, wishing for a hot shower. I was busy trying to clean myself up as much as humanly possible when a small knock came from the door. I opened it to find a short, bubbly brunette with hair so perfectly curled that it reminded me of Stacey, and a smile bigger than what seemed possible on her delicate rosy face.

  “I am Elaine,” she said cheerfully, as she stepped into room, holding onto a beautiful light blue dress. Her dark blue eyes twinkled as she looked me over.

  “I—I’m Katarina,” I said.

  “Oh, I know,” she said, giggling. “We all know. It is all everyone is talking about.” My eyes widened, and she leaned in close. “All the ladies are talking about the girl Sir Brendelon brought back.” She
beamed. “It has everyone’s interest,” she said this like it was a good thing, but I frowned. I knew how girls could be, and I did not want to be the center of their gossip or the star of any dirty rumors, especially when absolutely nothing was going on between us.

  She stopped smiling. “What is the matter?” she asked sincerely, but she started talking again before I could even answer. “Do not worry they are not saying anything rotten about you, even if they are jealous.” She smiled like this made everything okay. “Just stay with me. Bedivere told me to keep an eye on you.” She blushed at his name, and I understood; she had a little crush on Bedivere, so she would be sure to keep me guarded to please him. I was okay with this because it was much better than being fed to the hounds that I was certain would look at me like a fresh piece of meat. I suddenly wasn’t sure I wanted to go to the feast, but the rumbling in my stomach told me otherwise.

  “Here,” she said, thrusting the silky gown into my hands. “Arthur said to make sure you have the very best of everything.” She beamed. “After all, you did save his favorite cousin.” She walked over to a small lamp and lit it, brightening up the dusk filled room.

  I glanced at her awkwardly, wondering how much she knew and hoping that maybe she knew the truth. It would be nice to have one person to confide in besides Brendelon, who clearly wasn’t one for comforting words. She gave me a wink, but I felt uncomfortable, so I looked down at the gown in my hands, feeling the silky fabric on my fingertips. It was absolutely lovely, blue as the sky with gold embroidery along the edges. I had never seen a dress so pretty.

  “Here,” she said, as she twirled me around and untied the back of my dress quickly.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said backing up, wondering where I could change without her seeing me. I glanced around but nowhere was sacred, and she certainly didn’t seem like she was going to give me any privacy.

  She giggled. “Be quick about it!”

  I sighed and let the gown fall to the floor. She glanced over my undergarments, which had to appear strange to her, but she didn’t say a word and instead helped me step into the beautiful gown, spinning me back around to tie it up.

  She took a deep breath as she looked at me, and the look on her face let me know it must have looked pretty. The dress fit perfectly. I spun around in it, feeling like a princess. I’d never really been the type of girl to fantasize over fairy tales. Until recently, reality had always hovered too close to my head, but I couldn’t help smiling.

  “You look lovely,” she whispered.

  “Thank you,” I said looking down at the silks.

  “Here, allow me to fix your hair.” I sat down as she brushed it and pulled the sides in the front back, twisting it as she did so, and pinning it with a fancy comb. Then she stood in front of me and beamed. “Beautiful,” she breathed. I blushed at the compliment, and she took mercy on my awkwardness. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Yes, just one moment.” I quickly stood and tucked the wool blankets tightly around the little pup, so he wouldn’t move around too much. She gave me a look of amusement but said nothing then she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room, leading me down to the great hall.

  It was amazing how many people were bustling about the large dining area. Brendelon wasn’t joking about it being a feast. There was food everywhere: roasted pigs, pheasants, cheeses, breads, and fruits all displayed on a large wood table with endless pitchers of mead, wine, and beer, and the smells were enough to even make a full belly rumble.

  I searched the room, feeling the strange pull again to make sure he was okay. It was ridiculous; I had seen him defeat a dragon and a troll, what protection could I offer, but I still couldn’t help it. He was easy to spot; his beauty radiated, sending a beam of light around him. He lifted his eyes up to my stare, and his expression fell slightly before his mouth finally twisted up into his wicked crooked grin. He stepped forward as though to come speak to me, but Gawain intercepted him, throwing a beastly arm around his shoulders, trapping him in a conversation.

  I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Despite his anomalous behaviors, I really did enjoy his company, but Elaine pulled my hand, leading me towards a group of girls who stood in a small circle, clearly gossiping. I felt my stomach twist uncomfortably. I had learned the hard way about being in a large group of girls. Being the new kid in seventh grade had put me in the center of the popular cliques, and the backstabbing, gossip, and sabotage had never seemed to fail. The one thing I had learned was to keep my mouth closed and stay far away from the boys they liked—a reason I had never really dated.

  But I quickly learned Elaine was different; throughout the evening, she proved to be loyal, keeping me involved in all of the conversations, showing me around, and whispering quiet tips on proper etiquettes so I wouldn’t look out of place. I really was grateful for her and to Bedivere for asking her to do this for me.

  The servants came, clearing the plates and refilling the glasses of wine that never seemed to be empty. I wasn’t use to drinking and felt myself become light headed as everything around me felt like it was dancing with the music from a harp, swirling into a lovely masquerade of sound.

  “Let us go see Bedivere,” Elaine said giddily, pulling my hand. She kept her fingers laced through mine and bounced towards Bedivere, who had miraculously pulled himself away from his comrades.

  “Ah, so you met Elaine?” Bedivere asked me kindly, meeting us half-way.

  “Yes, thank you for introducing us.” I winked at him.

  He laughed and looked at Elaine. “You told her, did you?”

  She blushed.

  “She has been a great friend,” I stated, and she looked up at me with very pleased big blue eyes.

  “A great quality to have,” Bedivere agreed, giving her a look of endearment. He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little hug.

  “Beeddiveerree!” A very drunk Gawain slurred from the board, pounding his fist demandingly as he did so. “Come hither! We need you to settle a score!”

  Bedivere chuckled, gave a slight bow and ran back to his men.

  Elaine squealed. “He is so wonderful.” She sighed dramatically, and her happiness made me smile. I snuck a peek at Brendelon, wishing he would come talk to us the way Bedivere had. It was strange, but I sort of missed him; I even missed his cruel little games, but I would never have the courage to go that table. It would be like walking over to the high school varsity football team dressed in a skimpy bikini; I shuddered at the thought. He must have felt my stare because he glanced up at me, giving me a small smile that melted my heart. I felt my cheeks redden, but before I could stare any longer Elaine pulled me back to the other girls.

  I smiled politely and talked with the girls, but I still couldn’t help the magnetic force that kept pulling my gaze to Brendelon. I watched as he downed glass after glass of beer, him and Gawain making a competition out of it. The rest of the men roared in laughter; they were all joyous to be together, pounding glasses and chugging. I could see—by the carefree expression and hazy look in his eyes that replaced the impious glare—that he was definitely intoxicated.

  The harp player took leave and a band of musicians began playing upbeat music. Some of the girls grabbed me and showed me some dance steps. We giggled, as we tried to get the moves right, and for a moment, I felt right at home. In fact, I hadn’t felt this happy since before my grandfather died. Elaine grabbed my hand and spun me. I wobbled off balance, clearly drinking too much, but suddenly I felt a strong hand sturdy me. I turned around and my stomach did flips as I came face-to-face with him.

  He laughed. “Inept are you?’

  I tried to frown at his insult, but I was having too much fun, and he was much too adorable to fight with. He smiled wickedly, leaning in to my ear. “You are beautiful,” he whispered. My ears burned; I was sure I heard him wrong, but I couldn’t help blushing. He pulled back; his green eyes were bright and slightly lazy, and though I would have thought it impossible, he looked even lovelie
r than I had seen.

  “I want to show you something,” he said with a slight hint of boyish nervousness. It took me off guard, sending a flight of butterflies throughout my stomach.

  “Okay,” I smiled, feeling extremely shy all of a sudden.

  He grabbed my hand and led me through the long castle halls out to the yard. I felt some of the girls’ eyes digging into my back as I exited with him, but I didn’t care; the wine made me helpless to his power.

  The cool air hit my face with a gust of refreshment, and I took a deep breath, realizing I had been holding it. His head was tilted up to the thick illuminated white clouds that rolled across the sky as though searching for something. He continued to pull me through the fields until we were back at the fenced in area by the horse stables.

  “Wait a moment,” he said, still watching the sky, “the clouds are shifting.”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes to the sky. “So, why do they call you Bran?” I had been curious about it all day.

  He lowered his gaze, glancing at me from the corner of his eye with an odd look on his face. “It is just a childhood name.” He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the horses’ pen.

  I turned so my back was against the pen, giving me a good view of his beautiful face. “What does it mean?” I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. Even if I learned everything about him, it would not be enough.

  He twisted his body slightly, left elbow resting on the tall fence and hand pushing the front of his hair up, holding it as he looked directly at me with eyes so marvelous I had to fight to keep my focus. “It means raven,” he said quietly as he stood straight.

  I thought it was an odd nickname. He was nothing like a raven. I had heard him call Arthur, Bear. A name like that would make sense. He was big, strong, and brave; a raven was none of those things.

  He laughed a little at the expression on my face and turned some more so that he now had his back against the fence the same way I did. “My mother called me that.” His voice was almost sad. “She thought me devious, dark-soul and all.” He paused a moment. “Ravens bring ominous messages.” He glanced at me seriously, but behind the wicked black was still a playful green; the green I loved. “Same as me,” he said with a small smile.