I summoned the wind to me, spinning the air into a cyclone the size of which frightened even me. My braids whipped at my face, stinging me as they thrashed like serpents. I tossed the storm at the sisters and they scattered, sprinting for the cover of a nearby building. I wanted the cyclone to chase after them. But I hesitated to destroy the building. The structure could contain innocents who were also sheltering from the madness on the battlefield. So, I let the storm dissipate.
In my peripheral vision, I glimpsed my knights again. Arthur pointed behind me. Then I saw my name on his lips. But I couldn’t hear his voice over the rumble that shook beneath me, as if the ground itself began to rebel. The sisters were working a spell. And it was a powerful one.
I fell to the earth and sharp pebbles scraped my palms. I tried to pull apart whatever spell they were weaving, but the magic wouldn't yield to me. Sweat beaded my brow. Something was brewing. Something strong.
Morgana and her sisters huddled together, chanting in unison. Energy surrounded them. Then the landscape rended before me—a thunderous rip in the earth—releasing a white-hot jet of flame that surged hungrily for the sky.
I dove out of the way, covering my head as a shower of embers rained upon me.
“Gwenevere,” I heard Morgana shout. “Let’s see how your magic fares against the power of Domnu’s children!”
My heart stuttered in my chest.
Domnu . . . the sire of the Fomorians. The ancient enemy of Danu, my goddess—my mother. A gripping urge to run from this place seized me, but I held firm. I was the only one who could stand between whatever came out of that chasm and my knights. The rest of Caerleon. I would lay down my life for the ones I loved . . . no matter what happened here. Even if this fight demanded all of me.
Still, my resolve was tested when a giant rock and amber hand, streaked with flaming embers, crashed against the lip of the chasm. My pulse skidded to a stop. A horrific, fearsome beast was clawing topside from below. The hand alone was as tall as I was.
I scrambled back as the other hand appeared. Then the face—if I could call the gruesome monstrosity atop its shoulders a face. The creature had vaguely humanoid features—two eyes that reflected the chaos of Dubnos, the great abyss, above an opening that could perhaps be described as a mouth, one filled with blue and white licking flames.
My eyes flicked to the dark faerie sisters as my mind worked for a solution, for a way to end this beast. The Morrígan were intent, their eyes wide, their figures stiff. As if summoning this monster wasted every bit of their energy. Apparently, they were willing to destroy Caerleon rather than allow Arthur to continue sitting on the throne.
The fire beast pulled itself from the chasm and stood. And when it roared, I thought my eardrums might blow. Screams sounded behind me as soldiers from both camps blended together in a unified mass of terrified, fleeing humanity.
The beast took a step and flattened a nearby wagon. The ground shook as it moved. The creature fixed its fathomless eyes in the distance, drawn to the movement of the fleeing people.
“Fomorian!” I shouted while waving my arms, foolishly drawing its attention back to me. I knew not how to defeat this thing. Water perhaps? Ice? I summoned a rain cloud, as big and black and as heavy as I could create. I opened the deluge above the beast and it roared in pain as steam rose from its glowing magma-formed body. Boiling water rolled down its crags and crevices to the soil in near-vaporous rivulets.
Yet, the creature didn’t stop.
I struggled to turn the water to ice, perhaps to freeze the fire beast within a glacial cocoon. But the beast was too strong. It writhed and broke apart the ice as soon I could crystalize the water. The Fomorian was just too hot.
The monster took two steps toward me and kicked out with its flaming foot.
I threw myself back, falling onto my arse and scrambling back out of its way. My hands scrabbled in the clover and weeds poking through cracks in the cobbles of the village square.
A jolt of understanding crashed into me. This creature was unnatural. It crawled out from the earth’s deep, and back to the earth it needed to return.
My knights were moving behind the roiling heat of the beast, trying to sneak around the square toward Morgana and her sisters. Perhaps my knights could get to the dark enchantresses and incapacitate them, as the sisters were still intent upon the creature.
I needed to slay this monster from the abyss. No more thoughts or second guesses. Instinct took over and I reached down, past bedrock, to the earth’s deep, feeling within the bubbling rivers of fire for the dormant life that lay there. Danu’s power—the power of green things. Trees and grass and the wild creatures of the earth. I reached within and I summoned the powers of my goddess.
I invited the roots from the sacred trees—oak and ash and yew. My magic cried out for them to come to me. And come they did, exploding out of the ground like powerful warrior druids crackling with nature’s endlessly looping energy. The gnarled roots wrapped around the flame monster like coiled tendrils of rope. Treed tentacles lashed at where the beast stood, and then sank trunked fingers back into the soil and began to grow, even as the beast thrashed violently, striking at the rambling limbs to free itself.
The vines and roots grew larger, until the creature’s legs looked like two thick tree trunks wrapped in ivy. Up and up the tree grew, forming all around the fire creature. Bark and wood grew faster, hardening around the beast. The monster’s arms were now stiff, and its torso was quickly enveloped until only its head remained free. White and blue fire blazed from its grotesque mouth as the beast roared in a promise of vengeance.
But Danu’s power was stronger. My power.
What was meant as a scream of hatred became a hissing death rattle. The unnatural fire snuffed out, cooling the remnant traces of reds and oranges to grays and blues. Ribbons of smoke curled from the monster’s mouth and danced upward toward the sky. The tree trunks continued to grow despite the creature’s violent transfiguration from life to death to rebirth. Limbs, branches, and flower buds exploded outward and around the beast’s rocky surface. And then leaves—forming a broad green canopy over the beast.
I felt the tree settle as the leaves shivered out into existence, before growing still with contentment.
I slumped onto my elbows and gazed up in awe at the sight before me. A massive oak tree stood in the middle of the town square, its limbs stretching wide, shielding the buildings from the light of the stars. With intricately knotted roots, the tree looked as if it had lived there for a thousand years—at least. But rendered in the gnarled bark, one could almost make out a face, and the twisted, frozen scream of a Fomorian fire beast.
GALAHAD SEIZED A faerie from behind, laying his blade across her pale throat. The blonde faerie—Elaine he thought she was—stiffened beneath him. Next to her, Lancelot seized Morgana as Percival rested his blade on Morgause’s fine collarbone. The sisters had been so intent upon fighting Fionna’s efforts with the fire beast, that the knights had no trouble sneaking up on them.
A screech erupted from Morgana as she glared at Lancelot with baleful eyes. But even she must see that the battle was lost. O’Lynn was dead. The Uí Tuírtri were scattered. And the faerie sisters’ magic had been routed by Danu’s and Fionna’s power. The Gwenevere.
Fionna pushed to a stand, staggering toward them. She looked dead on her feet, even her ethereal faerie countenance drawn and exhausted.
“You have trapped our magic!” Morgana screamed at Fionna as their queen approached. “Give it back!”
Fionna shook her head wearily, but she managed to straighten her spine, throwing her shoulders back as she faced the sisters of Tintagel. “Ye have done nothing but harry my king and this land. Why should I return yer power?”
“Because we are part of the balance,” Elaine, the faerie Galahad held, growled. “I admit my sisters and I got carried away these past months in our anger at the Little Dragon King—”
“You have been angry with me since my birt
h, of which I had no control over,” Arthur gritted between clenched teeth. “The punishment must stop. Let us be better than Uther Pendragon.”
Elaine considered his words. “Yes, brother. Let us be better than that vile man.” She flicked a look at Morgause, then said, “We will swear to never do harm to you or any you love, if the White Enchantress will merely give us our power back.”
Morgause nodded in agreement. “Without our magic, we will die. To secure its return, we will gladly make you such a promise.”
“Even you?” Lancelot asked Morgana.
She bared her canines at Lancelot with a snarling glare but finally relented and gave a curt nod.
Arthur approached, his hand resting on Excalibur. “You will each swear.” Arthur put an arm around Fionna’s waist and she sagged against him gratefully. Gods, she might collapse any moment. “Each of you swear on your sisters’ lives that you will never again interfere or harm or seek to harm myself, my knights, my wife, or the kingdom of Caerleon and its people. If you do, Fionna will return your magic to you.” He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and Fionna murmured her agreement.
Galahad had no idea how Fionna had trapped the faeries’ magic, or even if she could release it. But he supposed that was why he was here, holding a simple sword while Fionna performed great works of magic.
Each of the sisters said a vow on the lives of the others and, when they finished, Fionna closed her eyes. The trunk of the great tree Fionna had created shivered and moved, and a small hole appeared. One that looked as though an owl might nest there. Then, out of the hole flowed a stream of shimmering light that fell upon each of the sisters.
Galahad held himself still against the burning impulse to release the magical creature beneath him. But as the returned power settled upon her, he felt his limbs go limp. She stepped out of his hold as Morgana turned into a crow and flapped out of Lancelot’s arms and flew away.
Relief washed over Galahad as strength flooded back into his arms.
Morgause and Elaine stepped together, turning to face them. “We apologize, brother,” Elaine said. “For all that has been done to you and your land. Let this be the turning point in relations between us.”
Arthur nodded. “No more animosity. After all, we are family.”
“Indeed,” Morgause said, and a misty portal opened behind them. They stepped through and were gone.
Fionna swayed against Arthur. Her eyes slid closed right before she fell toward the ground. Arthur caught her deftly, swinging her up into his arms.
Galahad wiped his sword, returning the blade to its sheath. His hair was a tangled mess around his face, sweat and dirt coating him from head to toe. Yet, he felt better than he had felt in ages. He had just watched Fionna battle a demon monster from Hel, turning it into the most beautiful oak tree that he had ever seen. But that was their fifth knight.
Her eyes fluttered as they walked toward their horses. “Is she all right?” Arthur asked him.
Galahad lifted her wrist, feeling for her pulse. “I believe so. Her strength is likely depleted from the battle.”
“I can't imagine how much energy it takes turn a fire monster into a tree,” Percival added.
“We won’t hear the end of this,” Lancelot quipped. “Every time we do something she doesn’t like or if we don’t appreciate her, she'll say . . . ‘remember that time when I defeated three powerful sorceresses, and you all sat around with your thumbs up your arses?’”
Arthur chuckled. “I for one would be happy to take such abuse.”
Lancelot smiled, and it was clear that he would too.
“Let’s get back to Caerleon,” Arthur said.
Lancelot strode away to find a commander to relay instructions to. The wounded would be brought home, while the remaining soldiers were to oversee the orderly return of the Irish warriors to their boats. From the Uí Tuírtri’s shocked and weary faces, Galahad didn’t think they would be putting up much more of a fight. But it was always best to be careful with such things.
Arthur tapped Llamrei’s leg, and then mounted. Galahad and Percival helped to secure Fionna in the saddle before him. Her head lolled down, her braids hanging white against Llamrei’s black coat.
“I can't believe the battle with my sisters is finally over,” Arthur said as they made their way out of city and back to toward the keep.
“Looks like it isnae completely over, ye ken,” Percival said. He pointed to a patch of brown grass where the curse still showed.
Arthur frowned. “I should have insisted Morgana and her sisters remove the curse over the land.”
Galahad knew that he should be concerned, but with everything that just happened—that they had just survived—he felt deep within that the land would heal in time. “I'm sure if we make a special request to Elaine and Morgause, we will be able to get the curse lifted.”
Arthur considered Galahad’s suggestion, then said, “I think they will be far more inclined to work with us.”
“Or perhaps Fionna, with her newfound powers, will be able to break the final part of the curse,” Galahad replied. “Once she has time to consult with Danu.”
“Curses and goddesses. Can we talk about what’s really important?” Percival asked.
“What?” Lancelot asked, as he trotted up to join them.
“The wedding! Arthur’s already married to Fionna, but I’m not.”
They all laughed at their younger knight. Typical Percival.
“So eager?” Lancelot asked.
“Och, do ye blame me?” Percival asked. “She was beautiful and fierce and intimidating before she was fae, before she was a Gwenevere. But now . . .” His eyes fell upon Fionna’s sleeping form. “I cannae believe I would be lucky enough to be with her. I want to lock her down before she changes her mind.”
“You think her feelings are so changeable?” Lancelot said. “You find yourself so unworthy of love?”
“All I know is that if there's one thing men do best, it’s screw up their relationships with women,” Percival said quietly, then blew out a long, slow breath. “I would rather marry the lass before that happens.”
Galahad laughed. “I must admit, I wouldn't mind holding the wedding sooner rather than later.” He raised an eyebrow at Arthur.
“It’s only fair,” Arthur agreed. “We can make all the arrangements, so when she regains her strength, we will be ready.”
As the keep appeared over the horizon, the large, wooden gates standing tall before the rising sun, Galahad felt his spirit soar up to meet the dawn. He was to be married. And he couldn’t wait.
ARTHUR HAD DECIDED the ceremony should take place in the library. This was a small affair, just for them. Servants had adorned the shelves and tables with boughs of greenery threaded with tiny white flowers. Arthur and Merlin stood before the leaded glass window, waiting for the others to arrive.
This time, instead of the groom, Arthur would serve as a witness. To watch joyfully as Merlin, his oldest friend, joined in matrimony the woman he loved with the three men he loved like brothers. Brin and Aideen Allán would also bear witness. Together with the gods.
After the battle against Morgana and her sisters, Fionna had slept for a day and a night. Her sister Aideen had barely left her side. When Fionna awoke, after eating enough for three people, she had expressed her eagerness to hold the ceremony. To make their bonds of love more permanent. And then, once wed, and with the help of Merlin, she wanted to break Danu free and reclaim the Otherworld from the Fomorians. Life was certainly an adventure with Fionna.
Arthur's throat grew tight as his sword brothers entered the library.
Galahad—broad and strong as the oak Fionna had raised in the village. His honey-blond hair was washed and brushed, dusting the shoulders of the green linen tunic he wore.
Percival—his eyes bright, his grin wider than Arthur had ever seen it, wearing a tunic of rust with bronze accents.
And then there was Lancelot, with his signature black curls and blue tu
nic. But he had changed too—he wore a look of ease and happiness that made Arthur want to weep with joy.
Arthur smiled at Merlin as each of the men took their places. The druid softly smiled in reply, the gold ring around his eyes flashing. Arthur knew that his old friend understood what this ceremony meant to him. To have found a family to love, who loved him in return.
GALAHAD WATCHED WITH bated breath as Fionna appeared in the hallway. She glided through the doors like the goddess she was, her father on one arm, her sister on the other.
She was everything to him. And she had honored Galahad by choosing him—an honor more powerful than he had ever imagined possible. He was the oldest son of a Norse blacksmith, and he was about to marry the daughter of a goddess and a king. But more than that. He was marrying Fionna. The woman he loved.
A smile spread across her face as she moved toward them. Her dress was the glittering silver of a moonlit reflection dusting a lake. In her hands, she held a bouquet of heather, hawthorn, and other greenery. At her brow was a circlet of holly leaves, similar in style to Arthur’s oak leaf crown.
This woman set his blood racing in a way he had never known. He wanted every moment with her, again and again. To taste her skin, to feel her silken touch, to hear her laugh. To see her perhaps, one day, swell with child. Every moment with Fionna would be a treasure. And he could think of no one better to share it with than these men whom he had come to respect and to love in kind.
IT WAS ALL PERCIVAL could do to keep himself from jumping up and down. He had never been so excited as he was when Fionna reached their cluster in the library’s front. She embraced her father, then her sister, squeezing them each tightly. He knew how much their nearness meant to her, to have her family safe at last. And here to witness her vows.
Fionna took her place across from Merlin. They were a circle. Percival stood across from Arthur, Lancelot across from Galahad. Percival winked at Fionna, and she winked back.
Gwenevere's Knights- The Complete Knights of Caerleon Trilogy Page 59