by Matt Phelan
“Well, we best be getting along. Come on.”
Without looking back, Hector reached out and took the fellow by the arm.
“Oh. You do have a coat. This fur should keep you toasty.”
Hector turned to the man. He was not wearing a fur coat.
The man’s tunic was, in fact, ripping open, his body contorting, fur sprouting all over him. His nose had grown long like a snout, his eyes turned golden, his teeth sharpened into fangs.
“I say . . . ,” began Hector, backing up, sword raised.
The man howled in the most bloodcurdling manner imaginable.
“Golly,” Hector whispered.
Mel strained to hear the conversation below. She leaned out from behind the curtain slightly.
“Arthur and all of his subjects will know that monsters are in their midst, monsters that no knight can slay. Fear will spread like a plague. Arthur will lose the confidence of his court, his people, the world,” continued Agravaine.
Gorp giggled. “And Mother—”
“Yes,” interrupted Gareth. “Mother will arrive in England. Mother will suppress the monsters. And Mother—Queen Morgause, rightful ruler—will avenge our father and kill our dear uncle Arthur.”
Mel gasped.
Agravaine looked up.
The Black Knight was utterly alone in the mist. She stood still as a stone cairn. Her eyes were closed. She was listening.
The voices were faint at first, like a breeze rustling leaves. But they were becoming clearer. There were many voices—men, women, children—all speaking at once.
They were saying terrible things.
Magdalena did not shut out the voices. She listened to each one.
She breathed.
The voices became more shrill. They surrounded her. They pelted her with ideas, with opinions, with observations.
About her.
Mel slid down and scuttled across the stone floor.
“Gorp, see what that was,” said Agravaine.
Both sides of the hallway ended in stairs that led down to the dining chamber. There was no way out.
Gorp thumped up one of the stairs.
A single window was cut into the thick wall. Mel leaped to the edge of the window and looked out. A drop of a hundred feet lay below her. But to the right and perhaps twenty feet over was the roof of a small tower.
She closed her eyes and took a breath. And then she slipped out the window, digging her fingers into small crevices in the wall. She inched away. The wind whipped, cold and cruel.
She managed to climb several feet away from the window before she had to pause.
As if on cue, Gorp stuck his head out of the window. He looked down but of course saw nothing. His head disappeared back into the window.
Mel let out a relieved breath. Slowly, carefully, she continued her creep along the craggy castle wall.
She did not look down. She did not think of the height. She cleared her mind like a good archer and concentrated only on each small, incremental move.
She tried not to listen to the screams that came from the village. She tried not to think of the mist and the monsters and the fate of her companions.
She tried.
A bead of sweat trickled down Magdalena’s brow. She clenched her fists, then released them. The voices raged.
Her eyes opened.
“Enough,” she said.
The voices ceased.
Silence.
Then a large, ugly monster hurtled out of the mist and landed in front of her with a thud.
The monster growled, struggled to its feet, and swung its ax.
“I said,” bellowed Bors, bursting out of the mist, sword raised, “STAY. DOWN.”
He buried his sword in the monster a second before its ax reached the Black Knight.
Bors finally noticed Magdalena.
“Oh, hello. I got one. A monster. Bit of a bother, but not too bad. How about you? Any monsters?”
“No,” said Magdalena. “No monsters.”
The mist was thinning as the sun began to rise.
Erec and Hector stumbled into view. Erec’s tunic was shredded. Hector was physically fine but nervously looking behind him.
“All in one piece? Excellent,” said Erec. “Let’s check on the villagers. I don’t think we’ve seen the end of this.”
Chapter Seven
Knights vs. Villagers
After the long night of scaling the castle wall, Mel shivered in the morning chill. She was perched on the roof of the small tower, blowing gently on her raw fingertips and considering her options. She was still a good thirty feet above the ground.
“Hoy!” called a voice from below.
Mel scrambled to the edge. Sir Hector sat in a horse-drawn cart that was loaded with straw.
“Or rather . . . hay!” he chuckled. “I noticed your plight from the road and managed to . . . er . . . borrow this cart.”
Mel smiled and jumped, landing softly in the piled hay. Hector jerked the reins, and the horse ambled onward.
Mel joined Hector on the seat of the cart.
“We knew you could take care of yourself,” said Hector, “but I didn’t much like the idea of you up here at the castle with these Orkney royals.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “They’re not terribly nice.”
Mel smiled and gave Hector a little hug.
“You have a good heart, Sir Hector.”
Hector pish-poshed but smiled.
“We need our archer. Things got a little hairy last night. Quite literally, in some cases,” he added.
“I heard the screams,” said Mel. “And I also heard something else, something I need to tell all of you.”
Hector snapped the reins, and the cart sped down the road to the village.
“Please, if you would all just quiet down,” said Sir Erec.
Erec, Bors, and Magdalena stood by a stone wall, addressing the villagers who had gathered in the small square.
“Now, is everyone present and accounted for?” asked Erec.
Murmurs and a few quizzical looks came in answer.
“Did anyone get eaten or mauled to death last night? No? Splendid! You’re welcome.”
Silence from the crowd.
“Ingrates,” muttered Bors.
“Unfortunately, I do not believe we are out of the woods yet . . . so to speak . . . I mean . . . I know you don’t actually have woods on the island, but you know what woods are. Don’t you?”
A very tall, red-haired woman at the front of the crowd threw a handful of mud at Erec.
“Hey!” said Erec.
“We know what woods are. And monsters. And so-called Knights of the Round Table. What are you going to do about all this?” said the woman.
“You are right to be angry,” said Magdalena. “We know the people of the Orkneys are strong and brave. We are counting on it. Still, some of you might be frightened.”
Bors cut in.
“But you are in luck! We’re here!” He spread his arms wide. He waited for some sort of acknowledgment or possibly applause. None came.
“What Sir Bors means,” said Erec quickly, “is that we will protect you. We have experience with . . . unusual creatures.”
“That’s just it,” said the red-haired woman. “We don’t need your protection. We have the Sons of Orkney and our beloved Queen Morgause.”
“But they are the ones who brought the monsters!”
All turned to see Mel walking up with Hector.
“I heard them. Sir Agravaine, Sir Gareth, and . . . the other one. They were plotting.”
“Lies!” shouted several villagers.
“No,” said Mel firmly. “Queen Morgause summoned the monsters to kill us as a message to King Arthur. If any of you dies as well, so be it. None of her sons will protect you.”
Another silence fell over the crowd.
And then a lone clapping came from the road. Agravaine approached with Gareth and Gorp behind him.
&nbs
p; “What a fine tale!” said Agravaine. “Sir Erec, I did not know that your child sidekick was a storyteller. Does she also juggle?”
“She can send an arrow between your eyes at a hundred paces,” said Bors.
Mel held her tongue. Agravaine’s insult had angered her, but at that moment she was more shocked by the compliment from Bors. She stole a glance at him. He did not look at her.
“Tut, tut,” said Agravaine. “We’re all friends here.”
Agravaine leaped up to the wall.
“Villagers!” he called. “These strangers are not telling you the truth. We did not have monsters in Orkney before they arrived. That is a fact.”
“True!” added Gareth.
“Arrgh!” chipped in Gorp.
“I am not saying that these knights are the cause; it’s just an observation. I am sure they will fight bravely for you, as shall we,” continued Agravaine. “Now, return to your daily lives. This will all end very soon.”
The villagers seemed relieved. They clapped and dispersed happily. The red-haired woman held back for a moment. She looked at Agravaine, then at Erec.
Erec held her gaze but said nothing.
She walked off with the others.
The knights and Mel stared at the Orkney Boys. The Orkneys stared back.
“Well,” began Erec.
“Well,” answered Agravaine.
“We had an interesting night. Nothing we couldn’t handle, obviously,” said Erec.
“You’ll not fare so well tonight!” growled Gareth.
“Would you care to wager on that?” asked Hector coolly.
“Grrr,” said Gorp.
“Grrrrr,” retorted Bors.
“Is this posturing going to go on all day, or is there some point to our talking?” said Magdalena.
“We’ve nothing to hear from you, traitor,” sneered Gareth.
Magdalena’s leg swiped out so fast no one was sure exactly what happened. But Gareth was flat on his back in the road with Magdalena standing over him.
“Stay down,” she said quietly.
Gareth said nothing but shot a look at Agravaine.
“Forgive my brother, Black Knight. He lacks the social manners required of a knight of Camelot. That’s why he spends so much time here in Orkney,” said Agravaine.
He strolled over to stand in front of Magdalena.
“Gareth,” Agravaine continued pointedly, “knows his true home.”
Magdalena glared at Agravaine but remained silent.
Agravaine walked back to Erec.
“Your jester—”
“Archer!” said Mel.
“Sorry. Archer is correct, of course. But the villagers needn’t know that,” said Agravaine.
“You, Agravaine, like your brother Sir Gawain, swore allegiance to Arthur.”
Agravaine leaned close to Erec.
“Unlike my brother Gawain, my allegiance is to Mother, first and always. If you are wise, you will bow down to Queen Morgause.”
“I thought the plan was to kill us. Why bow down just to get killed?” said Bors. “Ha! Gotcha there, Aggie.”
Gorp stood up to his full height and took a menacing step toward Bors.
“Watch it, Lesser Orkney,” said Bors.
“GORP!”
“I’ll gorp you right into the sea.”
“Brothers! We are wasting our time. Let us leave them to enjoy their last day on Earth.”
“See you tomorrow, then,” said Erec with a smile.
The Orkney Boys skulked back to the castle. When they were out of earshot, Agravaine addressed his brothers.
“I’ve no more patience. I shall sail today for England to spread word of their defeat. If they survive the night . . . kill them.”
Chapter Eight
Of Bloodsucking Fiends
All through the day, the villagers gathered supplies, repaired broken doors and shutters, and sharpened pitchforks. Livestock were secured in stables. Cats were herded.
Mel practiced her archery, sending arrow after arrow into a post by the stables.
Thwick!
Thwack!
Thwunk!
She made a perfect vertical line of arrows.
“The last one is a bit high.”
It was Bors, who had been watching Mel, unbeknownst to her.
“True, Sir Bors. That is why I am practicing.”
Mel selected an arrow. She let it fly and it hit the mark perfectly.
“Not bad,” said Bors.
Mel walked to the post and began to remove the arrows.
“You have learned well, I’ll admit,” said Bors.
“Magdalena is a good teacher,” said Mel, without looking back. “I’ve learned more from her than anyone has ever taught me.”
“Well, I do take some credit,” said Bors, examining his fingernails.
Mel paused and turned back.
“You, Sir Bors? How do you reckon that?”
“You were my squire, after all—”
“I carried your weapons and shined your armor.”
“And deceived me into thinking you were a lad.”
“Yes,” said Mel. “That, too.”
“Which led me to sack you. You then had the free time to learn about archery and fighting and all sorts of new skills.”
“Yes, but—”
“So, you see, you ought to thank me,” said Bors. “But no need, Mel. No need. Just as long as you and everyone else knows.”
Mel smiled, despite herself.
“Yes, Sir Bors. Everyone knows all about you.”
“Good,” said Bors. “Carry on.”
Bors strode off whistling a little tune. Mel shook her head and then in a flash, swiveled and shot an arrow into the post. Direct hit.
Sir Erec made the rounds inspecting the doors and gates of various huts. It was thankless work, quite literally. No one said a single word to him, unless sighs and hmffs! count.
The tall red-haired woman leaned against her open door, watching Erec approach.
“Do you have a bolt for that door?” asked Erec.
She narrowed her eyes at him, then walked into her home.
Erec inspected the door.
“Pretty sturdy, I guess.”
The woman banged a few pots.
Erec wandered in.
“So. Just you in this charming hovel, then?” Erec asked, looking around the room.
She busied herself in the corner and did not answer.
“No . . . uh . . . husband?”
More pots were banged.
Erec inspected a shelf that was decorated with seashells and small clay figurines.
“Or a boyfriend?”
He lifted one of the figures gently. It was in an action pose.
“Wait. Is this Agravaine?”
The woman swung around.
“Put that down!”
“It is, isn’t it? They’re all little Agravaines,” Erec said, examining the clay figures.
“What are you doing here? Get out!”
“I’m just trying to, you know, make sure everything is secure—”
“Get. Out!”
“And I saw these little statues and . . . just making conversation.”
She lifted an iron pan.
“Out. Now.”
“Right.”
Erec went to the door and paused. “I am sorry to bother you, um . . .”
“Greer,” said the woman.
“Greer? That’s . . . that’s a pretty name.”
Greer glared.
“Okay. Bolt the door tonight and all that, Greer.”
Erec ducked out quickly.
Magdalena perched on the edge of a cliff, staring at the crashing surf. She sat motionless, save for her red hair whipping violently in the wind.
“Magdalena?” Mel had to raise her voice to be heard.
Without turning around Magdalena gestured for Mel to approach.
Mel climbed onto a rock by her side. She gazed at the ocean, the r
ocks, the pounding and relentless waves. It was bleak and dangerous, but beautiful.
“Do you like it here? In Orkney,” asked Mel. “Aside from the monsters, of course?”
“You might as well ask if I like my bones or muscle,” said Magdalena.
“You’ve been here before?” asked Mel.
After a few moments of silence, Mel rose. “I’ll leave you in peace.”
“I was born in Scotland,” Magdalena said. “At least that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t remember the land . . . and yet I recognize every stone. Odd, isn’t it?”
Mel listened silently.
“My mother was from these isles. But she came to England with my father and never returned. She didn’t speak of it. And then she died.”
Mel took a step closer.
“Do you think—”
“Always have one arrow at the ready tonight. Shoot and, as you release, reach for your next arrow in one motion. Do not hesitate,” interrupted Magdalena.
The Black Knight stood and turned her back to the sea.
“We should be getting ready.”
She passed Mel and started down the path toward the village. Mel watched her for a moment before following.
It was dusk. The villagers were shut indoors. All was quiet.
The knights and Mel were in the square.
“I hate waiting,” said Bors.
“You could take this moment to prepare mentally. Clear your mind for the battle to come,” said Hector brightly. “I find it useful to—”
“Hector, there is nothing you could ever say that I would consider useful,” said Bors.
“I was only suggesting,” Hector sniffed.
“Ugh! Come, monsters, so I can stop listening to Hector’s prattling!”
“You started it,” muttered Hector.
“We should all concentrate, I think,” said Erec. “We have no idea what is coming.”
“We only know when,” said Magdalena, nodding to the distance.
A mist was creeping low across the ground, blowing in from the coast and seeping up from the crags in the earth. It slithered toward the village like a million snakes, slow at first, then building, growing thicker and faster.
Mel breathed in and out slowly. She took an arrow from her quiver.
“Tight perimeter, fellows,” said Erec. “Fight together. Stay close to the village. Slay anything that comes out of that mist.”