Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle)

by Danielle Martin Williams

  “What did Theol say to you?” I asked him once Bedivere was gone.

  His eyes flashed black. “It is irrelevant. I will kill him first.” But I remembered the way Theol looked at me and couldn’t help but feel I had something to do with it.

  “You’re hiding something,” I accused. “What do you remember? And why don’t you want them to know?”

  “I know nothing,” he hissed, face contorted.

  “You… you knew a secret,” I blurted out. “I could see the look on your face in the picture, and I think you remember it.”

  His malice expression was splashed with irritation. He began walking away, clearly choosing to ignore me. I scurried after him, deciding to drop it.

  “Wait!” I called, a bit annoyed at his rudeness, but not wanting to leave his presence so soon. “I want to show you something.”

  He continued to take long strides forward making it difficult to keep pace especially while holding Chance. The dog whimpered sending an echo through the vacant halls, as his bones bounced with my speed. Brendelon stopped dead in his tracks, shoulders tensed up, and then he slowly turned around with a petrifying gleam in his eyes.

  “Um… here,” I said, unable to stop the wobble of my voice as I got a good look at the expression on his face. I awkwardly thrust the drawing towards him. He grabbed the paper from me, crumbling it in his hand, without once taking his terrorizing eyes off me.

  “Why are you carrying around that worthless dog?” he snarled. My heart beat picked up, as a real fear of him finally took over me. He was different. He was the Brendelon I first saw in the storage room; the one who was going to destroy Morgaina, except this time there was no comfort of the contradicting grin, and the darkening castle halls lit up by small flames only added to the malice on his sinister face. His evil glare turned onto Chance, and I could see the muscles bulge in his jaw and suddenly he jolted forward.

  “Stay away!” I screamed, twisting my arms to the side, trying to protect my dog by separating them with my body.

  He froze in place but moved his black eyes to mine. “I should have put that dog out of its misery! You…” he pointed threateningly at me, looking disgusted, “you are ruining me.” He tightened his eyes.

  I was in shock; mortified at the pure hate written across his face, and pained by the repugnance that shot forth from him at my very existence. What did he mean ruining him? He looked at me as though I were some disease. Clearly I was still an unwanted burden, and I could feel the annoying hot tears form, but I wouldn’t cry in front of him; he didn’t deserve any emotion from me. I turned to make my escape, but I heard another wicked crack of thunder and like the night before he was suddenly doubled over, letting out an agonizing moan.

  A passing servant, who had been lighting the hall lamps, glanced over at us. “Go get Arthur!” I commanded her, pointing down the hall. She nodded without a word and scurried off.

  Brendelon shook his head. “No, I am fine,” he muttered, but he stayed bent over looking at his wrist, but this time it was his right not his left. He adjusted the metal forearm plates pulling them down lower and stood slowly with his jaw thrust forward, keeping up with the tough charade he had been playing, but his eyes were filled with something very close to fear. He gave me a dirty look, ready to turn on his heel, but Arthur and the servant were already within feet of him.

  “What is the matter?” Arthur demanded, clearly out of breath.

  “Nothing, I am fine,” he lied.

  “That’s not true,” I stated, ignoring his nefarious look. “He keeps doubling over in pain.”

  “Just bruised bones, Artos,” he said quickly moving back as Arthur stepped closer to him, putting his hands up. “I came out of a curse and fought a small dragon and a troll all in one day then I come here and have Gawain, the half-troll, trying to rough me up,” he dropped his hands, letting out a frustrated sigh, “and then to add to it Theol tempts me into a fight. I am just sore and tired that is all.” He gave me a threatening look, so I kept my mouth closed and for a moment I did feel sorry for him; he really had been a lot, and maybe his excuse was partly true, but the thunder cracking against clear skies was not merely a coincidence.

  Arthur looked him over. “I will tell Gawain to leave you be,” he said, ignoring Brendelon’s eye roll. “Come, I want to speak with you.” He looked at me. “With both of you,” he added.

  We followed him down the long halls and into a large lit up room that was not quite a chapel but was clearly meant for prayer. It was filled with rows of chairs facing a large cross that hung from the wall at the end of the room, surrounded by candles. The walls were lined with statues and covered with paintings and then my eye caught a familiar piece of art.

  “I am with you,” I breathed reading the inscription under the cross with the man knelt beside it, blanketed by watchful eyes in the clouds.

  Brendelon looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You read Latin?”

  “No, but Mr. Riley showed me this inscription from a picture.”

  “Aye,” Arthur said smiling, “the Lord Jesus is always with you.” He gave a quick glance at Brendelon, who was still staring at the inscription. “And good will always overcome evil, if one chooses to accept it.”

  Brendelon sighed. “What do you mean to discuss, Bear?” he said seemingly unsure.

  “I am sorry for getting so upset with you over Theol. He deserved what he got. I know it has been difficult for you,” Arthur started, gesturing for me to sit, as he pulled two more chairs from the row, creating a small triangle, and sat down. He leaned forward and ran a hand through his short hair pushing it off to the side. “I have not been as sympathetic to your situation as I should. We stand together you know that.”

  Brendelon sighed again, plopping down in a chair adjacent from him, leaning back lazily. “Do not be sorry, Artos. He is right, I cannot be counted on.” The guilty look flashed across his face for an instant, but it was replaced with hardened anger.

  “You are my greatest protector, Cousin,” Arthur said with admiration. “I would not want anyone else by my side.”

  Brendelon leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, holding a fist in his hand as he kept his eyes to the floor. I couldn’t help but feel that he was lowering his face to hide the guilty expression that kept rearing up. “I will always fight for you, Bear,” he mumbled. “Lead me where to go, and I will follow.” He glanced up at him, with innocent green eyes.

  Arthur nodded. “I know,” he said softly then his eyes drifted to me. “I asked you in here because I want to personally apologize to you, Katarina,” he said sincerely. “For the time being, I will not be able to put forth all my efforts into finding your return as I had promised. I do hope you can forgive me and give me grace as the circumstance has changed but know until my last breath I will fulfill my oath to you.”

  “Please don’t be sorry,” I replied, feeling guilty that he appeared to be distraught over it, especially when I found myself hardly caring about when I would return. “I know it will be figured out.”

  He nodded graciously and turned to Brendelon. “That being said, I want you to go to William Cole’s manor to learn more of this. I am sorry I cannot go with you, but I need to send out scouts and rally the warbands to decide on the best plan of defense.”

  Brendelon glanced away again. “No, the curse is of no importance right now, let us deal with the Saxons first.”

  “I believe it may all be connected.”

  Brendelon’s eyes clouded. “What means you?”

  “Well, suddenly you return and the Saxons decide to attack. We have been at peace for some time now.” He sighed, looking to the floor. “Merlin had word of a Black Army forming. We can only assume the dark army is of Morgaina’s doing.” Brendelon clenched his jaw, shifting it to the left, as his dark eyes moved rapidly.

  “What is a Black Army?” I asked, feeling very nervous.

  “An army of men controlled by black magic,” Arthur answered. “They barter their
souls to the darkness for power or greed, and it consumes them.” He turned to look at Brendelon but his gaze was elsewhere. “They become mindless and subservient. It makes them far more dangerous because they do not think for themselves; they become fearless as they cannot reason against danger.”

  I nodded taking a deep breath.

  Brendelon chewed on this thumbnail, deep in thought. “You think this is because of my return?” he asked in a small voice.

  Arthur sighed. “I do not know, but I certainly think it is of Morgaina’s doing, and the more we learn of her reasoning, the more we will know how to counter her plan,” he continued.

  He scratched the top of his hair and opened his mouth as though to speak, but suddenly shook his head and looked away again, pausing for a moment. “Perhaps, Bedivere would be better suited for the task…”

  Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I trust you with it,” he said firmly.

  Brendelon put his head in his hands, but I saw his look. It was a mix between relief and panic, and Arthur must have seen it too because he reached across and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hold on to what you believe, Bran.”

  “I do not know what that is anymore,” he mumbled.

  “Search deep inside your heart.”

  He blew out a long breath, shaking his head slowly and looking anything than his usual arrogant self. “I will not like what I find,” he said slowly and quietly.

  Arthur gripped his shoulder tighter. “Do not let the night become the day, Cousin. The darkness robs you of your sight. An unfortunate set of circumstances was bestowed upon you. It might shape parts of you, but it does not control you.” He lowered his face to meet Brendelon’s eyes. “The Lord Jesus loves you. He gave the ultimate sacrifice and paid all your debts, all will be forgiven; you just need to accept Him. Trust me.”

  Brendelon shook his head, slouching back in his chair, away from Arthur’s touch. “Do not feed me this Artos. How can I possibly believe that a god—”

  “Not a god, the God,” Arthur interrupted firmly, pointing at him as he stood to his feet.

  Brendelon rolled his eyes annoyed, crossing his arms. “Fine, how can I possibly believe that the God laid down his life for someone he does not even know, for someone who is not worth any of it?”

  “Because of His love for you.” Arthur looked at him with the smile of an angel as he walked behind his chair and leaned his hands against the back of it, the flames of the fire dancing on his face.

  “Why?” it came out so innocent, it was childlike.

  Arthur shrugged. “There is no reason; that is the grace of God.”

  Brendelon searched his face, as though trying to find doubt, deceit… anything that would prove Arthur didn’t really believe what he was saying, but it wasn’t there. His face was pure, jubilant even. He believed it, there was no denying that.

  Brendelon’s face looked confused and unsure; he blinked a few times then tightened the space between his upper and lower teeth. “It cannot be,” he finally growled. “You live on ideals and false beliefs.” He seemed angry now.

  “No, I live on the truth,” Arthur said assertively.

  “Maybe He did for you, Artos, but not me.” He stood, visibly uncomfortable.

  “For you, Bran.” He was confident. “Good will prevail. You must learn to forgive yourself and others. You have to keep hate, anger, and pride from your heart. They are all things darkness holds onto and it will take its foothold wherever it can.”

  Brendelon’s eyes tightened as his face twisted awkwardly at Arthur’s words. “Forgive myself?” he spat out. “For what?” His face was full of disgust. “Is this why you brought me here?” He gestured to the room. “To save my soul for killing blood thirsty Saxons?” he snarled out condescendingly.

  Arthur paused a moment, crossing his arms over his chest, as he rocked back on his feet. “For killing… whether they are Saxons or not.”

  Brendelon glowered at him. “You think I care? It bothers me none.” He crossed his arms, looking very much like a young stubborn child.

  “Aye, I think it bothers you because you are a good.”

  “Then you are wrong.”

  Arthur chuckled. “No, it is you who is wrong and you must let go of these shadows that surround your heart, and do not give me that talk that you have none because I have seen it.”

  “I do not take you to be a fool, but what you speak of are just stories given to children by priests to make them behave.”

  “If you trust me at all, you will believe me when I say that I have seen it; I have felt it. I have seen visions of glory that I cannot explain. The Lord Jesus made the greatest sacrifice of all when he took the penalty for us. I was meant to fight to spread this knowledge, to help rid this world of its evil and black magic.” He looked intensely at Brendelon. “And you were meant to help me to do so.”

  He walked around the chair, closer to Brendelon and gripped his shoulder. “Take care of what you need to and know that we are always by your side, and the Lord is always with you. Let go of whatever Morgaina has over you.”

  Brendelon pushed his hand from his shoulder. “She has nothing over me,” he muttered. “I am free.”

  “Forgiveness and repentance set you free,” he corrected. “Pride and resentment keep you chained, do not forget that, Bran.”

  “Now you sound like a monk,” he said curtly, as he turned his back to him, facing the picture of the man once again, but I personally thought he now sounded a lot like Merlin.

  Arthur sighed and gave him once last pat on the back. “Think on what I said cousin, and I will see you in the morn.” He flashed me a gentle smile. “Good night, Katarina,” he said softly.

  “Night,” I said as I watched him exit.

  Brendelon turned to me. “Can you believe that nonsense Arthur speaks?” he huffed; it was meant to be rhetorical.

  “I believe it,” I answered anyway. “I think God was the only reason I made it through some of the things I did.” I thought of the misery that consumed me after my mother’s death and the divine warm embrace that comforted my pain when my grandfather took me to church. God was certainly there.

  He flashed his eyes up to me, surprised almost. “You really think that the God would love meaningless people enough to lay down his life for them?” he asked as if perhaps I had misunderstood the question the first time.

  “Yes, that is what Arthur meant by the ultimate sacrifice.”

  He shook his head as he looked at the inscription, chewing on his thumbnail. He was quiet for some time. “You mean to say you believe that one just has to ask for it, and He will forgive him even if he is the worst of sinners?” he asked in a sarcastic tone, but his eyes gave away the seriousness of the question.

  “Yeah,” I answered again, watching him carefully. “That’s God’s grace…”

  He continued to chew on his thumbnail and then as though suddenly remembering it was there he unwrinkled the crumpled drawing from his hand, studying it for a moment.

  “Maybe what you think to be God’s grace is really just pity…” he mumbled so quietly it was hard to hear, “and pity and love are not the same.”

  “No, they’re not,” I agreed. “Pity doesn’t last forever but love does.”

  He snorted. “No, it only lasts until you stop earning it.”

  “Love doesn’t have to be earned,” I said carefully.

  He scoffed. “Everything has to be earned, Katarina,” he said disparagingly.

  “No, not everything.”

  He rolled his eyes then dropped his gaze to the drawing. “Do you mean for me to make this?” he asked, voice low but not unkind.

  “Well, you don’t have to do all of the work. I can help you with most of it. I was just thinking at least that way Chance could get around and not be so helpless…” I rambled, partially excited to make the contraption but the other part nervous that he would be annoyed. I hadn’t forgotten how much physical strain he had been through.

  He looked at Chance fo
r a moment then pushed his hand across his eye, looking awfully tired. “I was not going to hurt him,” he muttered.

  “I know,” I lied.

  “No,” he said, as he folded up the drawing. “I saw your eyes.” He lifted his gaze to me, eyes slightly drooped downwards. He turned once more to the drawing of the man. “Eyes give away everything.” He didn’t wait a moment longer, and I watched in dismay as he strode out of the chapel. I stood to follow him, but I caught sight of the picture and for the first time, I noticed that the eyes that looked down at the man did look full of pity.

  Chapter Fourteen: Of the Fairies

  She looked across the church yard to the group of men huddled around the old stone. They were murmuring amongst themselves in awe and shock, most disbelieving, but the others angry. She weaved her way through, had her son pulled the sword yet? She peeked through the large bodies. There was Merlin. She smiled. He had done it; he had raised the next High King. She moved to the right, and her breath caught in her throat as her eyes rested on her son for the first time in eight years.

  He had always been an adorable child; it was the single best thing about him, but now his looks were absolutely stunning, and she could not help taking pride in his beauty. He was tall as she always knew he would be and though he was slender, his shoulders were broad, and she knew he would fill out the same way her brothers had done. He had the strong jaw line and smooth complexion of a Pendragon with Aurelious’ slight crimson streak under the cheekbones, and Uther’s perfectly structured nose. The wicked, yet altogether charming smile that played on his lips was his father’s, but the rest belonged to her; everything else was Pendragon, and that made him important.

  She felt a sudden familiar pang, as she stood dumbly staring at the handsome youth whom she hardly knew, yet shared her blood and came from her very body. Over the years it had gotten easier, but seeing him brought back the painful memories. She took a deep breath reminding herself of the weakness love caused. The purpose of this trip was not to dwell on fifteen years of negligence; it was to guide him into his rightful place, the place of the High King, the king who would hold the mighty sword, and suddenly in that moment, she realized that it was not he who had it.