Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle)

by Danielle Martin Williams

  She cupped her hands once more and this time he leapt to his right, missing the bolt by inches, but he struggled to keep balance on his right foot as the left was lifted away from the crack in the earth, and in the same moment out of the long sleeve of her cloak a sudden rush of black birds flew out. He hadn’t regained his footing, and the birds were just enough to send him tumbling backwards. She grinned again as she hacked down, but he blocked her with his sword and kicked her hard in the stomach, doubling her over. He rolled out from his spot of disadvantage, but then the sky went pitch black and in the next instant a flash appeared and all I saw was him standing, hunched forward. A dark silhouette of the sword thrust through the left side of his body, pierced from front to back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Blood for Blood

  “Let the darkness take you,” she whispered in his ear, “You. Are. Different. You belong in the shadows where they cannot see because they fear what they do not understand, to be feared is power, and power is freedom.”

  He wanted to fight her words, but he could not because they held truth. He believed her; he had believed those words his whole life. He was dark; he always knew that. He could almost feel the power in his grasp.

  “I can give it to you,” she cooed, she opened her hand and there dangling from a golden chain was a beautiful emerald.

  He felt weak against the allure of the promise.

  “All you have to do is give me the sword,” she continued.

  His eyes flashed up. Sword? The power she had over him weakened as his reason kicked in. She was Arthur’s enemy, and that made her his enemy; he would never make the bond with her, and he would never ever reveal to her where the sword was because the sword was HIS.

  He stumbled forward, dropping his weapon to the side. I screamed, thrashing in the grasps of the two lifeless black guards. I flailed wildly, praying the wound wouldn’t be fatal, but in that same instant he slumped down, motionless.

  “Army or not, I will make him touch it,” Morgaina seethed at him. “He will pull it right out of his dying cousin!” she screeched ruthlessly.

  Brendelon’s face twisted in pain, as he tried to move but it seemed as though the Black Sword was a boulder pressed against his back paralyzing him, soaking up all his strength. My stomach twisted painfully; I was helpless, desperate, and absolutely out of control.

  Crimson trailed a flash of white, and it took me a moment to realize it was Arthur rushing towards us. He jumped off his white horse, blue eyes only on his cousin as he ran forward with Excalibur in his hand, and panic creeping across his usually well-reserved face.

  “Bran!” he shouted.

  “No, Artos, no.” It came out as a whimper as he held one blood covered hand up to stop him; it made me cringe. The strong brave knight; now feeble and helpless. Arthur stood in place as his face changed from pain to anger and back to pain.

  “Save him,” Morgaina purred.

  “Stop!” I heard Merlin shout along with many other unintelligible things, but Arthur either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. Though he should have known better than to listen to Morgaina’s words, seeing his cousin lying there seemed to be all he needed to convince himself; he moved forward.

  “No, please Bear,” Brendelon groaned again, body still hunched downward but Arthur didn’t listen. He aimed Excalibur in Morgaina’s direction, slowly approaching Brendelon as enemies fell all around him at the hands of his comrades. Thunder roared against the gray desolate sky, but he took no heed its warning.

  “It is over, Morgaina,” he warned keeping his sword drawn towards her, blonde hair sopped down his face.

  “No brother, it is his life that is over,” she snarled wickedly. “That sword will take him unless it is removed.”

  I tried to scream to warn him, but he didn’t hear me over the cracking of the lightning striking close. I heard Merlin do the same, as he worked to fight against the grips of the guards who still held him.

  Arthur’s eyes turned icy at her words, but he continued to move forward quickly, extending his arm out towards the hilt of the Black Sword, completely unaware that he was about to grasp on to his impending doom.

  Brendelon shook his head fervently, still hunched over and struggling to crawl backwards away from Arthur with one hand still holding the penetrating sword, too slow as Arthur quickly closed the gap. He lifted his head up with a pained expression.

  “Stop,” he pled, but Arthur was within grasp then suddenly Brendelon’s features cleared and he jolted his body forward, grasping onto the cold steel blade of Excalibur, fingers intertwined with metal, and in that moment he held the powers of both good and evil within the same clutch.

  A loud crack sounded through the air as the force threw Arthur backwards, away from Excalibur, which still hung in Brendelon’s blood soaked hand. A terrifying aurora of green surrounded him. I knew it was the power surge. The surge that would surely take his life, I felt my body give out as I bawled uncontrollably, falling to my knees, my arms still being grasped by Morgaina’s dark robotic forces.

  He dropped Excalibur and rising to his feet yanked the Black Sword from his side by the blade. With a sudden burst of strength, he lifted it high over his head and thrust it with all of his might into the boulder beside him. The force was so strong the sword broke at the hilt while the blade stayed penetrated into the rock. The broken hilt crumbled into a black dust, with only the emerald remaining. Brendelon collapsed next to it. Not moving. It was over. My body convulsed in pain.

  Arthur sat up, dazed, focusing his eyes on Brendelon’s hunched form. His eyes widened in anguish, and he scrambled on his hands and knees to his cousin, hugging him from behind. His shoulders heaved up and down. I wasn’t sure if he was weeping, for I couldn’t see his face, but in the next moment he turned, and the pained expression was replaced with a face of ice cold anger.

  “You,” he growled, grabbing Excalibur from the ground as he scrambled wildly to his feet, pointing it at her. I felt the grip around my arm loosen, and I yanked my arm roughly from the immobile guard feeling the metal rip through my skin. Blood trickled down my arm hitting the earth, and suddenly her dark eyes jolted to me, widening into shock and almost glowing in the darkened sky, as a freezing cold gust swept across the field. She took a step towards me, but suddenly remembered herself as she whipped her gaze back to her approaching half-brother. She clenched her jaw in fury. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and the whole sky darkened once more, only lit up by terrifying bolts of lightning causing a strobe light, and only small flashes of scenes as he moved closer.

  The other guard suddenly released my left arm, and both of them ran to take their place behind Morgaina as Arthur continued to charge towards her. I looked and realized why; Ravenna was no longer subduing the black forces. Mordegrant galloped to her, sweeping her up onto the saddle in front of him, and like the coward he was—one who would only fight when odds were tilted in his favor—he retreated, leaving his men to their doom and not once looking back at his dying son.

  I didn’t waste a moment longer watching the cruel souls disappear into the distance. I scrambled to my feet and ran as fast as I could to Brendelon’s side, throwing my arms around him. He was gasping for air, surely at his last breaths. His soaked black hair was flopped down on his forehead and slightly over the green eyes that looked up to mine. There was no fear, no anger, only regret and despair.

  “It is over, Katarina,” he groaned. “All will be well.” But I only sobbed, burying my face in between the crook of his shoulder and neck. It wouldn’t be okay; he wouldn’t survive this, and my already broken heart crumbled into pieces so small they floated up into my throat, choking me with each weeping breath.

  “I… I should have told you before,” he said slowly, struggling for breaths. I pulled away, looking at his beautiful green eyes, through the shower of tears that I couldn’t control. “But I… I…” He looked away uneasily. “It is just that…” He winced in pain, but tried again. “I want you to know that I… well y
ou… you feel like… home to me,” he finally got out, looking up to me, vulnerable and nervous, “and I … I feel to be nowhere without you.”

  My body trembled at the confession. It wasn’t fair; it was all I wanted and was finally in my grasp but slipped through my fingers like water, the sea I couldn’t hold. “You’ll always belong with me,” I sobbed hysterically as I threw myself into him again, trying my best to not hurt him any more than he already was. “I know it’s hard to hear—”

  “Actually… I find it rather easy…” he mumbled. I pulled back, and he gave me a small smile but his beautiful emeralds revealed the pain and the thought of never seeing them dance with mischief again sent me into another fit of tears. I buried my head onto his shoulder as he doubled over in agony once again, moaning as he held his wound, and in that same moment Merlin was by our side.

  “Be still Bran,” he said gently as he looked at the wound. Merlin shuddered slightly as his light blue eyes trailed back to the hunched over head of the boy he had helped to raise. He gave me a pitiful look and put a weathered hand upon his shoulder, eyes looking as though they would spill with tears. “I am so sorry, Brendelon,” he said softly. “I…” he shook his head, “I should have told you the truth from the beginning.”

  Brendelon sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. “Be not sorry Merlin. You did more for me than I deserved,” he mumbled into the ground, clutching his wound.

  “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends,” Merlin whispered. Brendelon nodded in understanding.

  “Please, don’t leave me,” I pleaded. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to be the sacrifice; he deserved to live.

  He lifted his head, focusing the glittering emeralds into my sea of tears. “You remember me,” his voice quavered, as he clasped one hand behind my neck, “and I will be there.”

  He pulled me close, nose-to-nose; his forehead resting against mine, and suddenly the world stopped for me. It gave me a moment I could never repay back, and in that instant I saw him for all that he was: a broken boy who had spent his life gathering the smashed pieces of his heart to build an impenetrable fortress around the void it had left behind, a brave loyal knight dilapidated into believing it was greater to be feared than loved, and an incandescent soul whose bright and beautiful light had been dimmed by the misunderstood shadows that lurked from his past. But more than this, I realized just how lonely I had been, and that all this time he wasn’t an endless question to figure out; he was the answer. He satiated the obscured emptiness inside me that I had unknowingly spent years trying to fill with information just to feel whole again. I had finally found what I had been searching for, and as I sunk into him, it was suddenly as if all was clear and nothing else mattered.

  “I love you,” I whispered, not caring anymore if the words made him uncomfortable. He stiffened slightly and pulled back, searching my eyes wildly.

  “Say it again,” he whispered.

  “I lo—”

  But as his lips hit mine, I forgot myself. My whole body burned with desire, passionate and unyielding, feeling the slight pressure of his teeth pulling on my lower lip, winding his fingers into my hair. I was lost in him, forgetting the chaos around me because all I could see was him. I was so caught up in the moment, I hardly felt him release his grip around my neck as he pressed something small, smooth, and cold into my palm. He pulled back abruptly, and I blinked at the bruised face now displaying the saddest expression I had ever seen, but before I could speak, a bright light shone out of the frame. I was suddenly spinning, taken by a force so strong my body struggled to stay intact, and the last thing I saw was his eyes roll back before he crumbled forward to the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Return

  “Are you so foolish to think you can control me, sorceress?” he said, standing as he pulled his sword from the sheath. Her smile dropped as she stepped back surprised, anger swelling inside of her. “I will never tell you where the sword is,” he grinned at her, which only enraged her more.

  She took a few steps backwards into the open field, filled with fury at his defiance and arrogance. How dare he turn on her? He was a measly knight, a pathetic Pendragon, no not even that, he was a Beaumont, and she was a powerful sorceress.

  “I am dark like you,” he whispered. “I do not fear you and I will have your head for trying to trick me.”

  She continued to step back, looking at his arrogant half-smile and fearless taunting eyes; he was dark, but he was not like her. His heart was veiled behind hardened coal, but it was not yet lost; she could change that. She would get that sword.

  She saw what he feared most: not death, but entrapment. She knew just what she would do; he would not escape until it was hers and then he would understand and even fear her power, and his fear would bring control. She smiled and goaded him to come forward, and like the pawn he was… he charged….

  I finally stopped, cheek pressed against something cold and hard...

  I was in the museum.

  I jumped, scrambling to my knees searching desperately for him, but I was alone and in my hand was the emerald.

  I would have thought it was all a dream, or a nightmare depending on how you looked at it. I was back in my jeans and tank top with the backpack on my back and the stone bracelet snugly on my wrist. Everything in the museum was in place, untouched let alone destroyed. Nothing had changed. The only thing that kept my sanity was that the large picture frame was now face down on the ground and when I tilted it up in place of the beautiful knight was a bleak portrait of the stone that held the power of the broken Black Sword. One would have to look carefully to really see the blade still thrust into the rock.

  I clutched my stomach and cried, uncontrollably sobbing, and missing him more than I had thought imaginable. I was broken, destroyed from the inside out, and there I lay in a fit of tears until I slipped from consciousness.

  “Oh my God!” I heard a voice pierce through the room, but I was too weak to open my eyes. “Mr. Riley! Call 9-1-1!” she screeched. It was Stacey.

  I groaned and forced my puffy eyes open. “No, I’m fine,” I muttered, pathetically picking myself up off the floor. She rushed over to me, gently pushing me back down.

  “Don’t move Kate. You might have a head injury!”

  If I had been in a better mood, I might have laughed because it wasn’t my head that was injured, it was my heart, and I was certain it would never be repaired.

  Mr. Riley ran in. “Oh my! Katarina! What happened?” His face was filled with concern and anguish.

  “Nothing, I’m fine.” I sat up again. Mr. Riley looked at the portrait and I expected him to freak out that it had changed, but he looked at it as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Did this fall on you?” he asked gently.

  I looked at him wide-eyed. “No, but Mr. Riley, that is the portrait of Brendelon.”

  “Brendelon?” he questioned, as he glanced up to Stacey, with an uh-oh look in his eyes. She grabbed her cell phone and quickly dialed in a three digit number.

  “No Stacey, I’m fine!” but she ignored me and walked a few feet away, I could hear her talking to the operator. “Mr. Riley, you were right about the picture,” I said quickly before Stacey returned. “He is real and I freed him! Look he is gone!” I motioned towards the frame, but he stared at me with his kind blue-eyes far too wide and looking at me if I was insane.

  “Just lay back, dear,” he said gently.

  “No, look.” I flung the backpack off my shoulders and pulled out the album, leafing through the snapshots I took, finding the one of the frame but then I froze. It was just the desolate stone; where was Brendelon? I felt my heart drop, and Mr. Riley looked at me with pity.

  “Please, be still Katarina, you must have hit your head harder than you thought.”

  I closed my mouth, if even Mr. Riley—the man who believed in magic—didn’t believe me then nobody would. They would have me locked away. The two worlds wer
e coinciding; that’s what Merlin had said, so if he wasn’t in the picture of course the castle scholar wouldn’t have written about it. Brendelon died in an early battle before Arthur was even king; that’s why Mr. Riley didn’t know about him. His story was tragic but no longer a mystery, clearly not important enough for scholars to write about. The thought sent a new set of sharpened knives through the center of my heart.

  The paramedics arrived quickly and examined my head and body but there weren’t any bumps, cuts, or bruises. My eyes weren’t dilated, my speech wasn’t slurred, and I was able to correctly answer every question they threw at me. Despite Stacey demanding that I go to the hospital, they decided that I was okay and didn’t need any medical attention and though I had been certain I could not feel any emotion besides misery, I was becoming increasingly embarrassed.

  I brought up the importance of our final presentation and though she refused to let me drive, the lure of a passing grade finally swayed her to drop the hospital talk. We made it to the tail-end of class and Stacey explained that a large portrait had knocked me unconscious. Though embarrassment reared its ugly head once more, Dr. Bradley was more than understanding of our situation. I trudged through the presentation, riding on Stacey’s peppy and bubbly personality, feeling hollow and lifeless. It was nothing short of a miracle that I had made it through the last two days of school, but I could only assume it was because I was still numb to the shock of it all.

  My world sank into a desolate gray where all the colors of happiness faded into a dark black void rooted inside me so deep that not even in my dreams could I find a drop of sunshine. It wasn’t true that time healed all wounds because the pain never lessened; I only learned how to function with it. In the beginning I was too inexperienced to handle the hurt so I stopped living and only existed. I blamed it on missing my grandfather, but that had only put Stacey at bay for a few days because as it got worse, she knew it was something else. After being relentlessly hassled, I finally forced myself to get up, even if it was only to dodge her at all costs, and though I wouldn’t have called it functioning yet, at least I was moving.