Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle)

by Danielle Martin Williams

  “It will never work,” Brendelon spat disgustedly. “Arthur will find a way to make peace.”

  “You have a lot to learn boy,” he boomed. “There will never be peace; Arthur is an ignorant fool to expect such. The world thrives from war; it generates a need for hope, gives workers a purpose, and creates a false sense of camaraderie and unity. It is easy to manipulate ones emotions: kill a few innocents, put the blame on an enemy, and see how many warriors you suddenly have all aimed for one goal. It keeps the commoners uniform and controlled because they begin to fear what could be and stemming from that fear, they willingly give up their freedoms for protection from higher authority. That is power! It is the way of it, the way it has always been. After all, you cannot really appreciate the glory if you have not felt the suffering.”

  “So you attacked and slaughtered your own people just for control?” Brendelon yelled.

  “I would not have had to do so if you had just done as you were meant to by giving Arthur the sword!” he roared. “My men who lost their lives were simply a sacrifice for a greater purpose. Arthur’s warband will be vulnerable from battling Cadvic and their time of weakness will be the perfect moment for my united, blood-thirsty men to attack and finally sit you on your throne as High King.”

  Brendelon snarled. “And what makes you think that if I am king I would not have your head on a spike the moment I am crowned?”

  Morgaina grinned. “Because I will control you, like the little pawn you are.” She pointed to his wrists, and his face twisted up in disgust. “You began the bargain; you slaughtered innocent lives for power to win the sword. I kept my end, and you are indebted to keep yours. If you do not, every moment that passes binds you more and more so to me. Blood for blood, Brendelon. You may be defiant now, but you will be responsible for the lives that you took.”

  He was breathing deeply, clearly disturbed with the information he heard, his eyes moved rapidly back and forth. “And once I complete the deal, the bonds disappear and I am free, so what control do you have, wench?” he snarled. But she didn’t respond, her thin lips curled upwards and her eyes remained lazy, satisfied, and uncaring.

  “The metal bands are only a physical control but the bond of the sword will take you into the depths of darkness, Bran, where your mind and soul become consumed and that is where she is most powerful,” Merlin replied quietly.

  Brendelon’s chest heaved up and down as he kept murderous eyes on the ground. “Blood for blood,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to her. “I can repay it and I will. I would rather die than let any of you have power over me,” he hissed.

  I wanted to shout no, but I couldn’t find my voice and all I could feel was my body turning to liquid and my stomach fighting to swim its way out of my throat. Morgaina must have felt the trepidation too, because for the first time her smug face twisted into abhorrence and the look made him laugh, which only added to her fury. I glanced to the side, regretful that I had, because if I had thought Brendelon had sinister looks, it was nothing compared to what his father could do.

  He stomped forward, and grabbed Brendelon roughly by his shirt. “Well gallant knight, allow me to do it for you!” he roared as he reached back to swing his fist towards his face but as he came close, Brendelon blocked it with his forearm, and pushed forward to stand but the guards at his sides grabbed him by the arms pinning them behind him and hitting the back of the legs once again to bring him down to knees, as Mordegrant backhanded him across the face, so hard his cheek welted instantly.

  Mordegrant clenched his jaw and wrapped a thick hand around the back of his son’s neck, leaning in close. “I liked you better when you wept in the corner, begging for forgiveness,” he snarled cruelly.

  “And I liked you better when I thought you dead,” he spat back with burning eyes.

  Mordegrant gripped him by the back of the hair with his left hand, smashing his face down into the ground, as the guards continued to hold his hand behind his back, immobilizing him. It was dirty and unfair. “You disrespectful, arrogant brat!” he growled. “If I did not need you, I would take your life right here!” He pulled him back up as his right arm went back and came forward, burly fist into the beautiful face, bloodying his lower lip.

  Brendelon’s eyes flashed upward—black and malevolent—as the guards pulled him to his feet then Mordegrant uppercut him in the stomach with his left, doubling him over. “Beg me now!” he roared then he came down hard with his right hand across Brendelon’s face followed by a left hook. Brendelon stumbled falling to the left, not even able to defend himself or brace his fall with the knights holding his arms back. Mordegrant laughed at the bloody and bruised face of his son. “I forgot how much I enjoyed this,” he sneered cruelly.

  “Take your hands off him!” Merlin shouted.

  “You stay out of this Merlin!” Mordegrant threatened. “You have already done enough damage in the upbringing of my son.”

  “You are a coward,” Brendelon sneered, black hair flopped across his eyes as he spit out a mouthful of blood. “A pathetic man who only fights those at a disadvantage.”

  Mordegrant smiled wickedly. “It is called being victorious, son.” He grabbed him by the top of his hair, and kneed him hard into the rib cage, and I couldn’t handle it any longer.

  “Stop it!” I screeched, horrified, but suddenly I regretted the outburst because both sets of terrifying eyes turned to me; one gray ice, the other black coal. I felt myself shrink as Mordegrant glared at me, letting the familiar sinister grin crawl up his mouth. This was going to be bad.

  “You are changing everything,” he hissed. “You were not supposed to be here, perhaps I should fix that.” He began strutting towards me, eyes fixated, his right nostril rising menacingly. I gulped.

  “If you touch her I will rip you limb from limb!” Brendelon bellowed, suddenly full of rage as he fought to stand, throwing the Black guards off his back with the same strength I saw when Gawain and Kay tried to hold him down. He scrambled to his feet, taking a few steps but just as the guards tackled him from behind. He threw his body forward, grasping onto Mordegrant’s ankle and yanking back with all his might towards himself, flinging Mordegrant forward, face into the dirt.

  Mordegrant thrashed his body around to face Brendelon, who was now pinned to the ground under the weight of the three black guards. “You pathetic fools!” he roared at the guards. He got back onto his feet, as the guards pulled Brendelon to his knees, then knelt down and smiled wickedly at his son. “Though you have turned out to be quite the failure, at least you inherited my strength.”

  Brendelon tightened his eyes, with a low growling deep in his throat. Mordegrant leaned down closer. “Do not worry son; I will make her death quick. After all, once you become king we cannot have any useless maidens making you weak. We learned all too well from your uncle’s mistakes, did we not?”

  Brendelon thrashed about as Mordegrant laughed, then he reached across with his other hand and came down hard on his face again, in the same spot as before; the bruise instantly began to darken.

  “Sire!” a voice suddenly rang out. A messenger galloped forward, Mordegrant peeled his eyes away from his son, clearly irritated at the man.

  “Sire,” he shouted again. “Arthur’s warband is in the distance heading this way.”

  “What do you mean they are coming this way?” Mordegrant snarled. “They should be marching to Cadvic’s!”

  “The captain wants to speak to the Saxon leader!” he said, looking over his shoulder.

  Mordegrant signaled a few of his men. “I will redirect him,” he said. He turned to Morgaina. “Make certain he completes the bond, our time may be shorter than we thought.” Brendelon thrashed about, and the guards shoved him forward, pinning him to the dirt as he shouted obscenities. Mordegrant took one last look at his son, placing the Black Sword in front of him. “Try not to be such a disappointment, Brendelon,” he said sternly as if Brendelon were simply a misbehaving child, then he signaled his men and mounte
d his horse, riding off towards the north.

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Black Sword

  “She has it!” the young pixie girl exclaimed, out of breath.

  “What do you mean she has it?” the tall woman responded, her beautiful porcelain face falling with fear and disappointment, as her heart began to pick up speed, but then she noticed the girl’s bruised face and arms. “Elenora, what did they do to you?” she asked suddenly full of concern.

  The young girl shook her head. “It is nothing, but I followed the prince. He made a deal with her, and he has the sword.”

  The beautiful woman began to pace, gripping her long hair. “No, no, this cannot be!”

  “I saw him hide it.”

  The woman wheeled around. “He hid it?” she asked, incredulously. She had expected him to fall to the power. He already had deep dark holes in his heart; it would be easy for the sword to take its place.

  “Aye, I followed him; he hid it in William Cole’s well. He is lured by her; he has even done unspeakable things for it,” she shuddered at the memory of what she saw, “but he is too stubborn to let her take complete control.” She paused a moment as an eerie feeling took her; the cheerful sun felt it too because suddenly it hid its face under blankets of clouds, darkening the sky around them. The Lady of the Lake’s eyes went wide and she quickly motioned for the girl to take cover under the large thick brush. They were closer than they thought. This should have been a good thing; they were within distance to retrieve the emerald, but the girl could not help the dreadful feeling she had in her stomach. The sorceress was powerful, and even with the Lady of the Lake beside her, she was terrified of what she could do. She carefully peeked through the branches that gave view to the open field; there he was: the dark prince, donned in shiny armor and a crimson tunic of the Pendragon with his dark cape hanging perfectly from his broad shoulders. It was tragic that such a beautiful creature would be the one who destroyed them all.

  Morgaina snapped her fingers, and the dark metallic armbands suddenly began to shine. He lifted his wide-eyes to Morgaina’s grinning face, still pinned on the ground by the guards. She motioned for the guards to step back and as soon as they released him, he jumped to his feet and jolted toward her, but she lifted her hand and he stopped in place as though he were chained to a wall.

  “Pick up the sword,” she commanded.

  “No.”

  She tilted her hand forward, bonds flinging him to the ground. “You will spend your life being nothing more than my prisoner if you do not wake it,” she threatened, but he only grinned at her. She shifted her hand to move him closer to the sword but as much as she could move his body, she could not make his hand grab it.

  “Wake the sword!” she screeched, all patience gone.

  He smiled wickedly. “No.”

  Her face contorted, as she struggled to keep herself in control. “Do you remember where your defiant demeanor got you last time? Raven with the black soul.” She forced a smile, as she held out her hand, sliding her long dark purple cloak away from her arm, revealing a small black bird sitting in her left palm. His smile dropped as his eyes widened, like he had seen it before.

  She slowly put her right hand over her left cradling the bird and then she began to squeeze her hands tighter till the bird squawked in misery, as each small bone shattered in loud crunches underneath her strength, screaming a desperate plea for its life. I closed my eyes, pitying the poor creature.

  “Stop!” I whimpered, but she continued to crush it until the bird dissipated into black ash. She held her palm up, blowing the powder into his face. His eyes became hazy and he stumbled forward onto his hands.

  “Accept it,” she whispered darkly, “because you know your black soul wants to.”

  His hands clutched to the small pieces of grass in the field as he tried to fight it. “No,” he mumbled. He twisted his body, trying to crawl forward. His dark eyes focused on the shiny black metal in front of him.

  “Accept the power that is yours,” she hissed. “Be free of the chains.”

  He shook his head vehemently, but he was becoming weaker, his eyes lingered on the sword in front of him.

  “Release your black power from him, Morgaina!” Merlin shouted. “She cannot fight against good, Bran!”

  He pulled his eyes away from the sword, dropped his head, and stopped moving, the deep heaving of his back and shoulders were the only indicator that he was still alive.

  Morgaina laughed, turning to Merlin. “You know perfectly well he has no good inside.”

  “He is good!”Merlin shouted at her.

  “He just needs a little motivation.” Ravenna muttered, lifting a perfect eyebrow as she nodded towards me.

  Morgaina glanced at me, eyes widening at the thought, then she sauntered over to him, holding her hand above his hunched body. He popped up on his knees like a puppet to its master, looking sweaty and defeated.

  She lowered her hand down towards her heart, hovering inches away. “Ah, so you finally unveiled your heart.” Her voice dripped slowly like sap. She turned her head slightly in my direction, dark eyes locking deep into mine. “And it makes you weak” she said each word slowly and deliberately.

  His eyes involuntary flashed in my direction. She saw it and I saw it too; he loved me. And it made him vulnerable. I felt ecstasy of excitement mixed with guilt because what I desired most would be his downfall. His face contorted into a menacing scowl. He twisted and thrust his body around violently, but her bond kept him in place, as if he was in a clear container with nowhere to go. She was amused.

  “Things have changed,” she continued, returning her gaze to him. She pressed her fingers deeper into his chest, as if reading his heart, she leaned in close to his ear, “but I can work with it,” she whispered cruelly, letting the sinister smile creep to her lips, as he winced. “Your attempts at nobility only make you pathetic,” she hissed.

  “No! It makes him stronger!” I yelled. “And you know it, that’s why you cannot make him turn!”

  She let go, turning her gaze to me as she slowly inched her way towards me. His eyes darkened but it wasn’t the hard stone it used to be; I saw the green peak through, exposing his vulnerability; his fear. I felt my body tremble as she came closer. Every hair on my head began to crawl.

  He jerked forward to no avail. I heard him yelling unintelligible things, but I couldn’t focus on his words because all I saw was her slithering closer to me. She enjoyed his agony; I could see it all over her face. She twisted her head to the side, almost as if she was looking for the best part of me to strike at. I tried to be brave and truth be told, I preferred her torturing me than him. Yes, I’d take it. I thrust my chin out but that seemed to amuse her more.

  “So you think yourself brave?” She crept closer towards me, reaching out her long pointy fingers. “Let us see how brave you really are, you murderer,” she hissed, grabbing the top of my head roughly with her hands.

  The words were like fangs injecting guilty venom straight into my heart and suddenly everything started to change and the tree I was pushed back into was suddenly smooth and slimy, coiling its way to the earth on its belly. I tried to scream as it slithered at my feet, larger than any serpent I had ever seen, but I was too petrified. I quivered in fear as it wrapped my legs with the back of its slick body, facing me with its blood red eyes, opening its jaw revealing huge fangs and snapped forward only a fraction of inch from my face. I screamed hysterically as I tripped over it falling to the ground struggling to move back, contorting my body to move away from it but all the grass I held in my clutch began to change into smaller snakes each slinking closer and closer to eat the flesh from my skin. Every inch of me crawled in terror as I shrieked in panic and if that wasn’t enough, my skull suddenly felt like an egg about to be crushed under pressure giving off such an immense amount of pain I could no longer even fear the serpents. I squeezed my eyes shut from the snakes and clutched my head to keep it from shattering; crying as I curled into a ball. />
  “Leave her alone!” I could hear him roar, but I couldn’t see him, all I saw was darkness and long white fangs ready to pierce through my skin. “I will rip your throat out you vile witch!” he shouted again.

  “Forgive yourself and ask for forgiveness from above!” I heard Merlin yell.

  She let out an evil cackle as I continued to hunch into a ball, screaming, unable to decipher what was reality, but I clasped my hands in front of me ready to begin my prayer, but suddenly everything stopped. I was back in the open field, and I could see him.

  He was on his knees, breathing deeply. Eyes black: angry, murderous, and struggling for control. She had him back into her dark place… and he had Baedan… in his hand.

  A magnificent green began to glow, but he stayed like a statue, dark eyes to the ground, face twisted menacingly. Morgaina grinned ear-to-ear; victorious. “You have awakened it!” she said joyously, her eyes alight with excitement.

  “Brendelon, no!” Merlin shouted, but he was slumped forward, face dropped.

  The metal bonds vanished from his wrists; he slowly clambered to his feet, keeping his head down as he rolled each vertebra upward until the last thing on the ground was his gaze. His head snapped up revealing the black malevolent eyes, matching his iniquitous face; it was different, twisted with darkness like the two women before him. My heart clenched.

  He held the sword out in front of him, finally letting his eyes see it, mesmerized by the power of it; a small smile worked its way up the right side of his mouth. Black dust began to spread out of the hilt of the sword, it swirled around, up to his wrists, taking hold of him like cuffs to a prisoner. And suddenly black metal slowly began to cling to him forming the armor of the black army, starting at his right wrist and moving slowly up to his forearm, forming a new set of cuffs.