by Donna Hosie
“My brother sent his Ddraig off to look for his idiot, pregnant girlfriend,” I said. “Did he send anything or anyone to look for me?”
“Over fifty knights were ordered to seek you out across the realm, Lady Natasha,” replied Tristram. “Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucan led the way, but it was only when Byron made a weary appearance at the court of Camelot, that we learned that you, Sir Gareth and Guinevere were being held by Sir Mordred and the Gorians, close to the Falls of Merlin.”
“The nerve of Sir Mordred,” growled David. “To pollute the grace of the Falls of Merlin in such a way.”
“Nimue is behind all of this, and Arthur is walking into a trap. As soon as we’ve found Gareth and Guinevere, we need to get to my brother. I don’t think Merlin is the real enemy here at all. It’s Nimue.”
“Why do you say that, Lady Natasha?” asked David.
“You remember that book I showed you, back in my time,” I said. “It was written about this land now. Some of it was probably exaggerated, or just made up, but I think a lot of it had some truth to it. I know that Nimue imprisoned Merlin because he confirmed it himself. Nimue also placed Logres in an enchanted sleep after Arthur was hurt at the Battle of Camlann, and while all of you were ageing and waiting for Arthur to be found again, she certainly didn’t get any older.”
I paused. Should I tell them about Patrick? David already knew about my little brother’s drowning, but to say more about Nimue would only reveal my own part in his death.
I may have been a knight, but I was still a coward. These knights liked me. I wasn’t used to that, but I liked the way it made me feel. If they knew I had pushed my brother into a river, then their opinions were bound to change.
My truth would have to stay hidden a while longer.
“And don’t forget that Nimue also tried to strangle me.”
“Sir Bedivere concurs,” said Tristram. “He does not trust the Lady of the Lake. Sir Bedivere fears that Excalibur has been bewitched by the lady for her own purposes.”
“That would explain why Nimue handed Arthur over to the Saxons and Balvidore last year. I would bet everything I own that she double-crossed Balvidore by promising him the Knights of the Round Table and the sword. She was desperate to get Arthur back into Camelot to get the sword after we escaped from the dungeons with Gaheris.”
Another dead body: Gareth’s brother, Gaheris, who had been locked up in the dungeons with Arthur. Gaheris had been murdered by the Saxons right in front of us.
Tristram suddenly stopped walking. Like a concertina, David and I closed in on him.
“What is it, Sir Tristram?” called David.
“My heart and head are now fighting for a different cause,” he replied softly.
“You think we should leave Gareth and Guinevere and go straight to my brother?” It was a thought that had been growing in my head as we had been walking. I desperately wanted to find Gareth and Guinevere. I had a sense of responsibility that it should be me that told her of Byron’s death. Yet my head was telling me to get to Arthur. He needed to know what Nimue had done to us, and he needed to know now.
“What do you say, Lady Natasha?” asked Tristram. “Sir Bedivere trusts your counsel, and so will I.”
“The thought of leaving Gareth and Guinevere out here makes me feel sick,” I replied, “but Arthur comes first. I can’t let my brother down.”
“Are we agreed that this must now be our quest?” said Tristram. I felt him turn to me because my hand was now resting on his chest. He was breathing hard and fast.
“I will follow you to the death, Sir Tristram,” replied David. “Lady Natasha, are you with us?”
What was I supposed to do now? I hadn’t been given a knight’s rule book on quests. Was there going to be some kind of ritual, or male bonding thing, I had to do first?
Place your hand on theirs.
How had my inner voice known that? “I’m...with you?” I said tentatively. My expression and high voice made it sound more like a question. Oh no, I wasn’t going to have to duel or joust, or do some naked mud wrestling was I?
“A new quest is laid down by three sworn Knights of the Round Table,” said Tristram loudly. “We will continue to scour the land for Sir Gareth of Orkney and Guinevere of Leodegrance, but our journey will now take us back to Arthur and Excalibur.”
I had a ridiculous urge to yell “YAY” or something equally moronic. Instead, I let Tristram and David guide my body, as my hand was gripped, lowered and then quickly raised in an air punch.
As we walked away from the outskirts of the Gorian encampment, I felt the cut made by Mordred start to burn again. It wasn’t painful enough to make me cry out, but it was a reminder.
The oath was still there. And it was waiting, biding its time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dead and Alive
Day and night had blurred into one. I was exhausted and starving. We walked on through the trees, which seemed to take hours to thin out. I kept wishing for the whinny of a horse, but there was nothing, except the sound of our own feet crunching through the dying undergrowth.
Eventually I could go on no further. Tristram and David stopped, and decided we should rest.
“Are the horses nearby?” I asked, resting my head back against a tree trunk, which immediately cracked and flaked to the ground.
“It is a little further yonder way,” replied Tristram. “We have food and wine, Lady Natasha. You need not go without for much longer.”
That was clearly in response to my stomach, which was growling and rumbling like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. When was the last time I ate? Months ago, if my body was still living in Merlin’s timeline. It was a wonder I was still breathing.
“Is it still evening, or is it always this dark now?” I asked. Why had I been so hasty to throw my watch away? I was coming to realise that time wasn’t as disposable as I had thought.
“Logres now exists in perpetual darkness,” replied Tristram. “The only way to tell if it is the morn or noon is by the heat on your skin.”
“But it’s freezing.”
“It was colder still before we found you, Lady Natasha,” said David. “This is the morn of the day, I am certain of it.”
“How can people live like this?”
“They cannot endure it for much longer,” replied Tristram. “This is why the battle of the elements between Merlin and Nimue must be brought to an end.”
The cold, unnatural darkness was spooking the hell out of me. It wasn’t too bad when we were walking, but sitting down was terrifying. I could feel slight touches against my skin, like ice cold fingertips caressing my face. Dark blobs swam in front of my eyes, like hooded black figures ready to pounce. Even my ears were tricking my brain into thinking there was mocking laughter ringing in the air.
Something cold and sharp brushed against my throat. A high-pitched cackle broke the buzzing in my ears. David jumped to his feet.
“We must not linger. Malcontent resides in these woods,” he said.
“I agree,” I replied. I tried to pull myself up, but my legs were pinned. Snaking tree roots had silently wound around my calves and thighs. The more I struggled, the tighter they became.
“Your blade, Lady Natasha,” cried Tristram. “Use your blade.”
Brief flashes of light were sparking from where David was standing. He was trying to light a branch. I caught a glimpse of Tristram, and saw a long swaying root, like a tentacle, reaching for him. By the time the next spark momentarily illuminated the area, the root had wound itself around Tristram’s neck.
I pulled out the knife that Tristram had given me, and started to hack away at the roots that were trapping my legs. The cackling in my head was getting louder.
An explosion of fire encased David in an orange halo. In one hand he held a short burning rag that was spitting sparks onto the ground, in the other hand he held his sword.
“Sir Tristram,” he cried, “to your left.”
Tris
tram ducked, and a split second later, David’s sword sliced through the air. The laughter in my head turned to screams as the roots strangling Tristram were cut through.
Tristram immediately jumped to his feet and pulled me from the ground. I had managed to cut through all of the roots, with the exception of one, which was winding its way around my right foot.
David threw the torch to Tristram. With both hands on the hilt of his sword, he hacked away until I was released. Then we ran, leaving a trail of fire behind us.
“There is a village, not far from here,” said Tristram. We had finally reached their horses. “We will travel onward. Lady Natasha, in light of the welcome you received from the court of Lindsey, may I suggest you cover your head with my cloak until we find shelter. It will be safer for all if you act as my squire, until such time as we reach Arthur.”
Tristram handed me his cloak, which was scratchy and smelt of wet dogs. It was time to act like a boy. Gross, but I would put up with it if it kept me alive.
David had grown so tall that I had more space for my own long legs riding behind Tristram. I closed my eyes and leant forward, pretending I was pressed against Bedivere. I missed him so much, it was like a constant stomach ache squeezing my insides. It wasn’t like last year. Then I had assumed I would never see him again. I had nothing left in me to squeeze. It was a depression so evil it had sucked everything out of me. I had been the living dead.
Now I knew I would see him again. We would always find each other – somehow. Bedivere and I were meant to be together, and even apart, I was now as confident as I could be that he wouldn’t leave me. He was my past, present and future.
“Keep your head down, Lady Natasha. Do not look to your right,” said Tristram.
So, of course I did.
We were riding along a narrow stone track. The horses’ hooves crunched as they ploughed through the path. It reminded me of being in the darkness of a cinema with people who ate popcorn and crisps too noisily. At first I could only just make out the flapping shapes in the darkness, which were swinging from the overhead branches. Then the smell of sulphur hit me, and I realised what they were.
Bodies. Rotting, hanging bodies.
I cried out. So did David.
“What devilry has been at work here?”
“It is as Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucan described,” replied Tristram. “After their search for you, Lady Natasha, they returned with word that lawless ruffians were scouring the land. Anyone believed to be tainted with witchcraft was being burnt at the stake, or hoisted up where they stood.”
Crows were clinging to the bodies, cawing loudly, as if they found the scene amusing. I counted four corpses. Two had been stripped naked; one was a small child. I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl.
Does it matter? A victim is still a victim.
The horses were terrified; their large heads were pulling up and down on the reins. They both veered away from the bodies. Tristram kicked his heels in. Our horse reared onto its hind legs, and I only just managed to hold onto Tristram’s waist in time. We jumped a low hedge, and galloped away across a wide open space that I presumed was a field. I couldn’t tell because I couldn’t see. On the horizon was a streak of fuzzy pale light, trying to break through the thinnest edges of the swirling black clouds. It was like looking into a thunderstorm, just waiting for the lightning.
Eventually, we came across several stone houses. They were dotted around a larger rectangular building that was half-burnt. The smell of burning lingered in the air, but for once it wasn’t acrid. The fire here had been wood alone.
“Get down and walk beside my horse, Lady Natasha,” whispered Tristram. “From here on, you are my squire. Do not look anyone in the eye, and do not speak.”
I slid down the tail of the horse, just in time. A tall man jumped out from behind a stone wall, and approached with a long spear pointed directly at us. It was too dark to see the expression on his face, which was covered in a long bushy beard.
“Halt. State your business, or I will run you through.”
“We are friends, sir,” replied Tristram. “My name is Sir Tristram, and this is Sir David of Starston. We are Knights of the Round Table on a quest from the court of Arthur.”
“And the boy?” growled the man, jabbing the spear in my direction. I lowered my head and pulled the hood further over my face.
“My squire,” replied Tristram. “You have nothing to fear from our presence, sir. We merely seek refuge before continuing our journey back to the travelling court of Camelot.”
“Camelot, pah.” The man coughed up a mouthful of phlegm and directed it towards Tristram’s feet; I heard it splatter on the ground. “What use is Camelot? We woke from a sleep to this,” he cried, waving the spear skyward. “The devil is amongst us, and he is laughing as our bairns die of starvation and plague. What use are knights and a king when your neighbour slits your gizzards in the night, just to steal stale bread from your table?”
“The king and the Knights of the Round Table are riding to end this misery once and for all, sir,” replied Tristram.
“They need to round up all the witches and hang ‘em from the trees,” cried the man. “This is sorcery. Dark evil magic. A witch’s hand controls this, you mark my words. Witches masquerading as simple womenfolk. Burn ‘em all.”
“Refuge, sir?” repeated Tristram. “We will not tarry or beg of your hospitality for long.”
“Aye, alright then,” replied the man. “We’ve had our fair share of knights pass this way. Some of ‘em looking worse for wear an’ all. But you two look presentable enough, although your squire could do with a bath. Stinks like my old dog he does - before I ate him.”
“What the...?” Tristram stamped on my foot as I started to swear under my breath.
“You can use the barn for your purposes,” continued the man, lowering his spear, “but don’t drink the water from the well. It’s been poisoned by the breath of witches. Ran red just before the darkness came. Killed my Maisie it did.”
“We are sorry for your loss,” said David, bowing his head.
“Maisie was probably the dog,” I mumbled.
The man was starting to back away into the shadows again, but something he had said was playing on my mind.
Trying to make my voice sound deeper, I called out. “You said other knights had come this way.”
“Aye, so I did. What of it?”
“Was there a knight called Sir Gareth here at any point? Perhaps with a woman, smaller than me, with very long blonde hair?”
The man scratched his beard. Tristram and David suddenly became more alert; their backs straightened as they swapped looks.
“That name doesn’t sound familiar,” replied the man, “but there was a woman with long yellow hair who came with a man, not long since.”
“Guinevere and Gareth,” I said, grabbing hold of Tristram’s arm. “It must have been.”
“These two travellers, they are like kin to us,” said Tristram urgently, to the man. “Pray, when did they leave your dwelling?”
“Leave? The man was in no fit state to leave anything. Close to death he was.”
“He didn’t die?”
The bearded man cocked his head like a quizzical dog. I lowered my gaze, and slunk back against the horse.
“I never said he died. I said he was close. That woman of his worked wonders. And she has kept an eye on those of us who are left as well. Does amazing things with eggs, she does.”
“You mean they’re still here?” cried the three of us. Several chickens squawked in the darkness.
“Aye, they’re still here,” replied the man. “You’ll find ‘em in that there barn, like I said. So, you can take your knight when you travel on, but leave the woman with us.”
Not likely, I thought to myself, as I started to run towards the half-burnt shell of the barn. More chickens clucked into my path, but they were weird. Most had their feathers missing, and looked like strange alien reptiles with glinti
ng orange eyes.
David overtook me, his sword bouncing at his side.
“Sir Gareth...Sir Gareth,” he called. “It is I, Sir David. I am here with Sir Tristram.”
Several long pieces of wood were pulled back from an opening in the barn. A pretty female face peered out. She took one look at me and her mouth spread into the biggest grin I had ever seen in my life.
“Lady Natasha,” squealed Guinevere. She delicately hopped over several long logs that were lying on the ground, and threw herself at me.
“Guinevere,” I cried, hugging her tightly. “I thought I would never see you again.”
Tristram and David bowed quickly, and then continued into the barn, leaving Guinevere and me in the open.
“You are well?” asked Guinevere, pulling back and holding me at arm’s length as she looked me up and down. “When that fire came down and bore you away like that – well, Sir Gareth and I feared the worst.”
“I’m okay, Guinevere, but...but something awful has happened.”
I had to tell her. I had to tell her Byron was dead, and he was dead because of me. If I didn’t do it now, I would lose my nerve. I looked into her large, trusting grey-blue eyes.
Byron’s eyes.
“It’s alright, Lady Natasha. For I know,” she whispered. “I know.”
“Byron...”
“I know, Lady Natasha.”
“But how?”
Guinevere’s bottom lip quivered; her eyes were glassy.
“Byron said goodbye. He knew he would not be coming back.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Merlin Fights Back
Guinevere took my hand and pulled me into the barn where Gareth was being hugged by Tristram and David. They didn’t look like knights anymore, they were more like brothers. It made me think of Arthur and Patrick and how unfair life is.
“Lady Natasha,” said Gareth. He had a huge smile across his face, which had a pinched jaundiced look, like someone who had lost a lot of weight in a very short amount of time. We hugged tightly. Even though he was wearing several layers to beat the cold, I could still feel his ribs.