His shoulders slumped.
“And you shall go to the chapel to repent for such defiance,” the king added.
He exhaled roughly through his nose, grinding his teeth angrily; that was a worse punishment than being banned. He gripped his hair as his eyes shifted wildly from left to right, trying to make sense of it. The other boys had been wrong, and he had only done what he thought to be right. But that was the problem, everything he thought was right never was. He had tried to be good like his friends, but it only got him in trouble. Then a sick feeling suddenly clutched to his insides, as he finally understood why: it was his dark-soul. He was different, and he could not escape it. He had been wrong to think he could.
The king clapped his hands to dismiss the scene, looking down at the boy once more before standing to take his leave. “I do hope you compete next year, boy.”
But he already vowed not to. Anger hardened his heart. No, he would never compete in these pathetic tournaments. He hated the king, he hated tournaments, and he hated this whole place. Caring had cost him, just as his father had always warned. He looked at his friends wanting nothing more than to hate them too, but for some reason he could not do it.
He turned away from their pitiable looks, finding the large boy with the bloody face staring at him with a smirk. He would not let the boy see his pain, so instead he forced a smile back, and the smile must have scared him because suddenly his face dropped with fear. He smiled wider. Scaring others gave him a sense of power, power that he had not had before, and he liked that. At least that was something he was good at. He looked at his friends again. Aye, he knew exactly who he was, and it was nothing like them.
Bedivere, Merlin, and I sat on the same side of a wooden rectangular table, covered with maps, in one of the oversized rooms that appeared to be in desperate need of a woman’s touch as it was plainly decorated with only a few crimson colored tapestries along a window that overlooked the bailey, waiting for the others. The room was hot and stuffy, and Merlin remained quiet, right ankle resting on top his left leg, running a hand through his beard, deep in thought. It was uncomfortable and I felt like a student in the principal’s office. I glanced at Bedivere, who sat between Merlin and me; he gave me a slight smile but seemed as awkward as I was. The large door finally creaked open and in trudged Lancelot, Kay, Gawain, Arthur, and finally Brendelon, all dressed in the standard gray tunics, except this time Brendelon had donned his metal forearm plates over the black long-sleeved undershirt.
Lancelot smiled politely at me as he gracefully took a seat in front of Merlin. Kay awkwardly threw himself into the chair nearest the door on the opposite side of me, leaving two open seats between him and Lancelot. Gawain took the seat closest to Kay, and Brendelon took the remaining one in between. Both he and Gawain plopped down rather noisily and exchanged bored glances; I assumed only to be their usual dramatic selves. Arthur sat at the head of the table nearest to Lancelot and Merlin, resting his hands on top of the spread out maps, taking this meeting very seriously. I couldn’t stop looking at Brendelon; it was like being reminded all over again just how handsome he was, but he wouldn’t look in my direction. He kept his eyes on the table, slowing picking at the wood which seemed to hold his interest more than anyone else in the room.
“Well, as you all know,” Arthur began, “Bran has been released from a curse cast on him by Morgaina.” He nodded at me. “Katarina has also been pulled back through an unknown vortex, which leaves a few problems at hand. The first being we must find a way to help her return home.” I should have felt relieved that they were going to try to find my way home for me, but all I felt was indifference. “The second being Morgaina,” he continued, glancing around the table, and they all gave him knowingly looks. “She clearly cast the spell for a reason. We need to find out why and we need to bring justice to what she has done. Had it not been for Katarina, Bran would have been lost to us forever.”
“I do not understand the vortex,” Gawain bellowed, leaning back in his chair, putting his hands on top of his head with his fingers interlocked, resting them there.
“Of course not.” Brendelon smirked, finally looking up to his friend.
Gawain glared at him. “What means me is if we are here, and it has seemed that no time has passed, how can Katarina’s world still be … in place,” he finally finished, pointing forward but to no one in particular as he lowered his hands down from his head.
My stomach dropped at the thought of my world not existing anymore. I started twisting my long hair, biting my lower lip. That couldn’t be right. Suddenly I felt panicked, thinking of my friends and my dad back home. The stuffiness of the room made me suddenly feel like I couldn’t breathe. I saw Brendelon’s eyes flicker towards me and for a moment I saw sympathy—or maybe it was guilt—but as quickly as it came, it was gone and back to being cold and dark.
“I believe the two realms are coinciding,” Merlin finally put in, still running the left hand through his beard, relieving me from my panic. “The vortex acted as a portal and they have stepped through it, which serves as a problem as everything we are changing now will be a reflection in her world as well.”
“How do we fix it?” Kay asked
“We would need to reopen the vortex for Katarina.”
“That is not safe,” Brendelon muttered looking back down to the table. “We could not be certain that it would even take her home. For all we know she could be trapped inside a portrait the way I was.” Even though it was silly, I felt a small comfort at his words because at least he still cared about my safety, even if it was only him being indebted to me.
“She was not meant to come through. If we are in the same place with the same key that sent her here, the very same vortex will transport her back to where she belongs,” Merlin reassured. “We only need to know how to open it.”
“That is not true,” he huffed, crossing his arms. “I tried to reopen it after we were transported and nothing happened.”
“Then you are missing an important piece of information,” Merlin said officiously, pointing at him with his left index finger before turning to me, ignoring the childish scowl that was given to him in return for his words. “Where were you transported?” he asked.
“We were in an open field by Mordegrant's castle.”
Brendelon slumped in his chair, frowning.
Arthur glanced to his left, hands still spread widely across the maps. “Why were you there?”
“I have no idea why I would go to that dreaded place,” he sulked, looking upward to the ceiling.
“It is not dreaded,” Lancelot dripped out, scratching his cheek as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“Not the place, just Mordegrant,” Kay piped in.
“Well, apparently he was championed in a tournament,” I informed them. All of their faces suddenly turned to me with matching awestruck looks that consisted of bulging eyes and slightly opened mouths, except for Brendelon who rolled his eyes as if it was ridiculous and Merlin who only raised an eyebrow intrigued with the information. “Well, that’s what Mordegrant said,” I added meekly, looking down at my lap, feeling out of place.
“A tournament?” Arthur questioned, as he rose to his feet. “Cadvic’s tournament?”
Brendelon shook his head, running a hand down his face, grasping his masculine jaw line as he groaned slightly. “I was not in the tournament, clearly Mordegrant was misinformed.” He said it with such force that they all looked away except for Arthur, who walked closer to Merlin, crossing his arms as he looked at Brendelon questioningly.
“What opened the vortex?” Merlin inquired, changing the subject.
“Her bracelet,” he said pointing at me but still immaturely refusing to make eye contact.
“Yes, once he took it a humongous creature came out of the portrait and almost killed him,” I filled in, running my nervous hands down the sides of my silky dress.
Gawain covered his mouth, snickering.
“It did no
t almost kill me,” Brendelon said, clearly annoyed.
“You were screaming for your sword, not to mention I had to throw a vase to distract it before it ripped you apart. I practically saved your life,” I threw out, knowing the last part would hurt his arrogant ego, but his tantrum was getting on my nerves.
He finally turned to face me, although I would almost have preferred him ignoring me to the murderous glare he gave. “Did you, now?” he asked darkly. “Because I seem to remember you being crouched in a corner with your eyes squeezed shut, unable to stand on those wobbly legs.” He wobbled in his chair mockingly as he grinned sadistically at me, and I had to fight every urge to throw something at him.
“Well, your memory is not so good,” I retorted, crossing my arms.
Gawain roared with laughter, slamming his hands down on the table, looking far too entertained with our little banter session. Kay kicked him on the side of the leg, although he was struggling to fight the smile on his face as well.
Brendelon’s eyes flashed a sinister shade. He turned to the others. “In God’s truth, it was hardly dangerous. A baby dragon, that is all,” he waved his hand nonchalantly, “and though I can understand how a little girl like Katarina might be frightened, there was no danger to my life.” I scowled at him which was rewarded with another wicked grin. “But after we were pulled through the vortex…” he continued, as he suddenly sat up, leaning forward on the table dramatically, getting all of their attention, “we came across one of Gawain’s kinsmen,” he paused, looking around. “He was an ugly troll to be sure, pale green skin, course hair, yellow jagged teeth.” He curled his fingers like claws, raising them to his mouth to demonstrate the teeth then he sighed, slumping back in his chair being melodramatic. “I had no choice but to slay him.” He looked at Gawain with mock sincerity. “I hope this does not cause any ill will between us, my dearest Gawain.” He kept the sympathetic face before letting the crooked smirk return.
Gawain scowled. “Had it been one of my kinsmen, you would surely be dead.”
“Yet here I am, surely living,” he sneered, still grinning as he held out his arms and glanced down at his very much alive body.
Gawain crossed his arms, glaring, as Lancelot smiled, and Bedivere and Kay snickered. Arthur groaned leaning his back against the wall, not amused like his comrades.
“If you children are done,” Merlin cut in, “your king is trying to devise a plan. Perhaps you should go back to your wet nurse until you are ready to be one of his warriors.” He was angry.
They both sat up, trying to hide their sheepish expressions at his reproach. Gawain’s face twitched as if he were about to make a crude comment, which I assumed had to do with the wet nurse, but seemed to decide against it.
“Sorry Artos,” Brendelon muttered, leaning forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “When I took her bracelet, the dragon came through the vortex, and it closed when I gave it back to her. I took it once more to see if I could pass through, but I could not then suddenly it reopened once again, pulling us through with a force stronger than the sea. We landed in the open field not too far off from Mordegrant’s castle... and then in God’s truth, I was forced to slay Gawain’s kinsman,” he added with his lopsided smile, more amused than he should have been.
Arthur ignored the last part and nodded deep in thought. “It opened three times...” He began pacing, holding his chin with his right hand, and left arm across his chest. “Why would the first time send a dragon through, second time do nothing, and third time force you in?” He tapped his index finger against his beardless chin, talking more to himself than anyone else.
“Aye,” Merlin agreed. “It would appear to be a spell amongst a spell.”
“A spell amongst a spell?” Brendelon repeated, lowering his eyebrow confused.
“Aye, in most cases you would not have even been returned. Some other factor has brought you back and changed time entirely. As for the dragon, it would appear that someone knew this and made a point to try to prevent your return.”
Gawain laughed, shaking his head. “You sure do make friends everywhere you go, Bran.”
“This is no laughing matter, Gawain,” Arthur said. Gawain cleared his throat as he sat up, looking down at the board. “Would it be possible that Morgaina did the double curse herself?” Arthur asked Merlin.
“Maybe Morgaina is just trying to eliminate the Pendragon line?” Bedivere questioned, shrugging his shoulders.
“No, if that were the reasoning she would have killed him,” Lancelot said, leaning forward again, running a hand through his shiny dark hair.
“Lancelot is right. Morgaina makes no mistakes; if Brendelon is back it is because she wanted it that way,” Merlin said cautiously. “Someone else was trying to make sure he did not come back.”
Merlin looked at Brendelon, but his gaze was somewhere else as he bounced his knee rapidly and clutched the small curl above his ear. Merlin tapped his fingers twice on the table and the emeralds flittered towards the sound. Merlin then pointed at his own eyes using his index and middle finger. Brendelon blinked and nodded slightly, sitting up straighter.
I glanced around but nobody seemed to think anything of the strange behavior.
Arthur flipped his crimson cloak behind him, blue eyes focused on the ground. “I think you to be right, Merlin, but who would want to prevent his return?” He paced again. “And why would Morgaina curse him in such a way if she wanted him back?” He turned to Brendelon. “Was there anything else?”
“No, all my memories became faded. I cannot remember anything leading up to the curse.” He rested his head in his hand, looking more bored than worried.
Merlin stroked his beard. “If you cannot remember anything Bran, how can you be sure you were not in the tournament?”
Brendelon looked annoyed. “I would not bother with some petty tournament.”
Merlin leaned back. “I do not think it to be a mere coincidence that you have never competed yet are claimed to be championed there.” He continued to rake his fingers through his beard almost talking to himself. “Usually a loss of memory would be a sign of compulsion. Perhaps you were compelled to compete in the tournament.” He stood up and began pacing as Arthur watched him carefully. He pointed to nobody in particular. “But what importance does the tournament hold…” he drifted off.
“I was not compelled,” Brendelon said, face twisting in disgust, but Merlin eyes remained distant as he looked straight ahead, running his hand along his jaw. Brendelon sighed. “Honestly Merlin, I would not be in the tournament.” He gestured at Bedivere, Arthur, and Kay. “Ask any of them, they know this to be true; you know it to be true!” But Merlin continued to ignore him, still deep in thought. “Listen,” Brendelon continued, “the curse is broken. I am back. We will deal with Morgaina when we see her.” He widened his eyes, spreading his arms out. “And we can all be sure that we will encounter her again. As for now, we need to find a way to send Katarina home,” he finished as he placed his arms back on the table.
It stung, worse than it should have, but it did.
“Can I please see your bracelet, Katarina?” Merlin asked as he sat down on top of the table beside me, appearing to not have heard Brendelon at all.
“Sure.” I took it off, handing it to him. “It was glowing green and purple before he was released. After he came out of the painting, he was bound to it up until we were pulled through the vortex.”
Brendelon moaned in blatant irritation and overdramatically slammed his forehead down on his arms, his hair forming a short black curtain to the table as though his face retired to its table bed.
Gawain stifled a laugh, but Brendelon remained unmoving, face into the table.
“Bound to the bracelet?’ Merlin pondered, ignoring the temper tantrum as he turned the stone over in his hand. “Well, that is interesting,” he said quietly to himself.
“What is?” Arthur asked, stepping forward from the corner of the room.
Merlin examined
the bracelet closely. “Bonds usually transfer, so if he is not bound now he may be bound to something else.” He looked at the top of Brendelon’s head and tapped the table roughly again. He lifted his head at the sound. “Have you noticed any oddities?” he asked, but Brendelon only looked helplessly bored and raised his eyebrows slightly shaking his head like he didn’t understand. Merlin slowly turned his gaze back to me. “And now it does not glow?” he asked.
“I haven’t seen it glow since we got here and I had never seen it glow before I found the painting of him… I mean him in the painting.”
He handed it back to me. “Where did you come across this bracelet?”
“My grandfather gave it to me. He said it was from a stone in a well that had belonged to an ancestor of ours.”
Brendelon sat up suddenly, but his eyes remained clouded.
“Who was your ancestor?” Merlin asked softly.
“William Cole,” I said nervously, not sure where they were going with this.
All of the knights exchanged looks with each other, except for Brendelon, who sat there with a bewildered look on his face. Bedivere looked at him strangely, clearly about to ask him something, but Arthur spoke first. “And why would a stone from William Cole’s well be the key to break the curse?”
“I should go there,” Brendelon said suddenly, putting his hands flat on the table. “I think I will remember more if I go speak with him.”
Arthur exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Bedivere. “I think it best you stay here, Bran.”
“What!” he practically roared, slamming his hand on the table as he stood, leaning over it.
Arthur turned to him. “It is dangerous. What if it happens again?”
Brendelon glared at him. “I would not let it happen again.” It came out almost threatening.
Arthur gave him an even look, placing his hands on the table as well in the spot where Merlin had been sitting, leaning in towards Brendelon. “Black magic is not something you can just control,” he said with a matched tone.
Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) Page 16