by Donna Hosie
“But you’re saying Byron has gone, and you think he got out of the earth himself and then disappeared?” asked Arthur.
David nodded; Tristram was shaking his head.
“We’ll find him, Guinevere,” said Arthur. “If Byron is alive, I promise you, we will find him.”
Guinevere was crying. I kept quiet because I didn’t think anyone would want my opinion, but I thought it was more likely that some sicko from the Gorian camp had taken the body to do some Frankenstein-style experiment on it.
Bedivere, Gareth and Talan entered the tent. My stomach did its usual backflip and triple salto at the sight of Bedivere. He was wearing clean black pants (very tight) and a dark green tunic edged in white (even tighter). His hair was fluffy because he had washed it and – hurray – he had shaved.
I immediately got up to kiss him and he smiled. He would wait for an answer. The question was, for how long?
“Is my sword around here?” asked Arthur. “There’s something I would like to do before we party.”
“I have Excalibur, sire,” replied Talan. The gleaming sword was passed to Arthur, who held it up to the light with a grin – the one he usually reserved for pretty girls.
“Guinevere,” said Arthur. “I think my sister deserves some company as a Lady Knight of the Round Table.”
Guinevere squeaked like a mouse. Her hands went up to her mouth as she twirled around to look at me. I pulled my hands away from Bedivere, and stuck two thumbs up at her.
The knights all went down on one knee. I stayed standing.
“Guinevere,” said Arthur theatrically. Then he glanced at me, and his freckles seemed to multiply as he realised what a prat he looked. “Er, consider yourself knighted.” Excalibur was swung onto Guinevere’s shoulders.
I ran forward and hugged her.
“This is truly the greatest honour…” but Guinevere couldn’t say anything else through the sobs.
“Tonight we party, and then tomorrow we leave for Camelot,” announced Arthur to the knights, who were all kissing Guinevere on the hand. “Does anyone know if Sammy is awake yet?”
“She and your daughter” - Arthur made a funny noise and scratched his head, as if he still couldn’t believe he was a dad - “are close by, Arthur,” replied Talan. “I can take you to them.”
Inhaling a long deep breath, Arthur nodded.
“What are we to name the king’s lady?” whispered Guinevere to me. “The women say she is Lady Morgana, the knights call her Lady Samantha, but the king names her Sammy, which is a strange title for a lady.”
“I call her Slurpy or SS,” I replied, “or the slag who hates my guts. In fact, I can think of a thousand names for her. Best say Lady Samantha when you aren’t with me.”
We followed the knights and Arthur outside. The sun was setting, and splashes of bright pink and orange were lighting up the evening sky.
“Darkness will soon fall,” said Talan with a shiver.
“But the sun will rise in the morrow,” replied Gareth.
A baby was crying in the distance. It sounded like a kitten meowing. I knew straight away which tent Slurpy and the baby were in, because Arthur’s enormous red Ddraig was sat outside it, like a smoking guard dog.
“Titch,” called Arthur urgently.
“What?”
He leant in and whispered in my ear.
“I’ve never held a baby before. What if I’m rubbish at it?”
“You’ll be fine,” I said, giving him a push. “Just pretend it’s a puppy, and give it to someone else to hold when it starts crying.”
“Have you named the child yet, sire?” asked Guinevere.
“Not yet, although Sammy was thinking of Mila or Lilly.”
“Hmm, not bad,” I replied. “I was expecting her to think of something stupid, like Cupid or Banoffee Pie.”
“Be nice.”
I pulled Guinevere back as the others went into the tent.
“Watch his girlfriend as if your life depends on it. Arthur refuses to see what she’s capable of, but I’ve seen her at her worst and...”
I stopped. I would tell Guinevere about Slurpy and Byron another time. Today was Arthur’s day, and I didn’t want to spoil it.
Holding hands, Guinevere and I walked into the tent. The smell of herbs and oils was overpowering. It was like the entire tent had been hosed down in cheap perfume. My eyes started itching.
Arthur was holding the baby. A quick, choking sensation gripped my chest, like I had been punched and all the wind had left me. He was looking at it with such love. I had never seen him look at anything like that before. Not even his championship Taekwondo trophies.
“And here is Auntie Titch, Mila.”
Before I could ask him what the hell he was doing, the baby was thrust into my arms.
“Support the head,” said Guinevere, rearranging my arms.
“Er.”
“A natural mother,” laughed Talan, giving Bedivere a playful jab in the ribs.
I made a mental note to ask the blacksmith to make me the heaviest chastity belt ever in the history of the world. After seeing what Slurpy went through to give birth, I was seriously considering going to live in the ruins of Solsbury Hill with the Maidens of the White Cloth.
Wine was poured, glasses were raised and a lot of cheering rang through the tent. I could hear Arthur telling Slurpy how much he loved her. Her grating Welsh voice was asking for more drugs from the physician. I didn’t blame Slurpy, she had pushed a watermelon out. I would have wanted drugs as well, and if she was in pain, then it meant her magical powers weren’t back.
Awkwardly, I started to rock baby Mila in my arms. I wasn’t sure I was holding her correctly. She was getting fidgety, and her deep blue eyes were starting to flicker in their tiny sockets. It was weird trying to get my head around the fact this was Arthur’s baby. Time had become so screwed up in my head, that I hadn’t really had a chance to accept that my brother was going to be a dad. Now he was one, and responsible for something really tiny and yet really important at the same time.
I was getting lower and lower down the pecking order of importance in his life. I knew it was petty, being jealous of a baby, but I was.
Mila was wriggling away, and so I freed her hands from the blanket she was wrapped in. They had swaddled her like a Russian doll, and as her fat little arms popped out, her huge blue eyes looked straight into mine, completely focused, as if she was trying to say thank you. She was so pretty. Usually babies are scrunched up and ugly, and you have to lie and call them beautiful, when really they are miniature Cabbage Patch Kids, but no one would ever have to lie about how gorgeous Mila was.
Mum and dad were still going to freak out, though. I tried to picture the scene in my head, but I couldn’t. Perhaps it was because I now knew that I would never be there to see it. I was staying here, in Logres, with Bedivere – and Arthur. He would stay now, I was sure of it.
I looked around, wondering when someone was going to come and relieve me from babysitting. My arms were starting to ache, and Mila was still fidgeting and twitching her fingers like she wanted to grab something.
It happened so quickly.
Mila’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. The blue was gone, replaced with milky white marbles. She let out a cry, and blue sparks leapt from her long fingers.
“ARTHUR,” I screamed, nearly dropping the baby in the process.
“My baby, my baby,” screeched Slurpy.
The baby was torn from my arms and handed back to Slurpy. Everyone crowded around Mila, and I expected them all to start crying out about the possessed baby, but instead, Mila’s blue eyes gazed up at her mother, and a tiny thumb was popped between pink lips. She looked content, satisfied, almost smug.
“What the hell, Titch,” snapped Arthur. “Don’t scare me like that.”
This wasn’t happening. My brother’s baby – my niece – had done to Slurpy what she had done to Byron. I was tired and emotional and my head was all over the plac
e, but I had not imagined the white eyes, or the blue flame.
Fire at her fingertips.
I started running.
I’ve always been good at running.
The Fire of Merlin
Copyright: Donna Hosie
First Published: 2012
Second Edition
The right of Donna Hosie to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.
About the Author and The Return to Camelot Trilogy
Donna Hosie is an English writer currently living in Australia. She blogs at Musings of a Penniless Writer and has written extensively for the Harry Potter fandom.
Titles in The Return to Camelot Trilogy
Searching for Arthur
The Fire of Merlin
The Spirit of Nimue