by Matt Phelan
“No. It was Mordred,” said Mel at once. “Mordred and his potion. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, let’s get the little runt,” said Bors.
The sleeping side of the bi-clops stirred. The Hector head shut its eye. Sweat began to appear on its forehead. When the eye opened again, something had changed.
It growled at Bors.
“Hector . . . ,” said Bors.
It growled louder and muttered some angry words in its strange tongue. Then it placed its arm across its eye and held still a moment before pounding itself on the head with its fist.
“He’s getting worse,” said Mel.
“He’s still Hector,” said Bors.
The Hector head opened its eye. At the same exact moment, the other head opened its eye.
And its mighty hand shot out and grabbed Bors by the throat.
Mel rolled out of the way as the bi-clops tossed Bors against the rocks. It stood and the monstrous head roared. The Hector head wavered, muttering to itself. Then it too roared.
Bors was back on his feet.
“Fight it, Hector! You’re stronger than this! FIGHT!” yelled Bors.
The bi-clops charged Bors. Bors dodged and whacked the monster head with the back of his hand. The bi-clops rounded again and socked Bors on the chin, sending him reeling back toward the edge of the cliff.
Mel’s brain ran a mile a minute, calculating their options.
The bi-clops rose up. Both heads were filled with fury. Soon all that would remain of Hector would be the dainty mustache. The bi-clops lifted Bors off the ground, held him high above its heads, and prepared to throw him over the cliff.
Mel put an arrow to her bow, drew the string, and took a breath.
Bors saw Mel poised and ready as he struggled to break free.
“Mel! NO!”
She released the arrow.
It struck the bi-clops on the left side of its chest, beneath the monstrous head. The creature gasped, dropping Bors to the ground. For a moment it wavered, then fell by the rocks.
Bors scrambled over to it. Mel approached slowly, her bow down.
“What have you done?” Bors said hoarsely.
The bi-clops was still. Both eyes were closed.
And then . . .
A swirl of purple mist surrounded the creature before blowing away in a gust of wind.
The monster was gone. But the knight was not.
“Hector!” yelled Bors.
Sir Hector stirred, somewhat groggy, then opened his eyes.
“Oh, hello,” he whispered.
Mel ran to his side, and she and Bors helped him to a sitting position.
The arrow lay on the ground. Bors picked it up.
“Two heads. Two hearts,” said Mel.
“How did you know that?” asked Hector.
“Well . . . it was sort of a guess, really,” said Mel.
“Oh. Jolly good,” said Hector. “Don’t do it again,” he added with a smile.
Mel and Bors got Hector to his feet.
“I’ll embrace the day when I see the last of this blasted isle,” said Bors.
“You’re in luck,” called a voice.
Gareth stood above them. Gorp held a knife to Erec’s throat.
“Today is your last day to see anything.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Shadowy One
Magdalena approached the castle doors. She stood before them, looking up at the dark keep rising above her. Thick gray clouds blew across the sky. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a breath, and reached for the doors.
They slowly opened of their own accord. No one was inside. The castle was dark, save for a few flickering torches.
The Black Knight entered.
Even though the castle appeared deserted, Magdalena knew better. She could sense Queen Morgause’s presence, feel her eyes watching every move Magdalena made. She entered the throne room. The dais was empty.
The torches guttered, then blazed bright.
Queen Morgause was now seated on her throne.
“Welcome,” said the queen.
“I am not here as a guest,” said Magdalena. “You know my purpose.”
“I most certainly do,” said the queen in a low voice. “Your purpose is as clear as the moon and perhaps more ancient.”
The queen rose and slowly descended the stairs. Magdalena itched to draw her sword from its sheath, to feel the comfort of its weight and familiarity in her hand, but she remained still.
The queen approached Magdalena.
“How long has it been? How long since you breathed the air of Scotland, felt the moors beneath your feet, drank of the magic in the atmosphere and in the very stones?”
Magdalena was silent.
“You are from Scotland, are you not? From these very isles,” said Morgause quietly.
“I was born in Scotland. My parents took me to my father’s home in England, where I was raised,” said Magdalena.
“Hmm,” said the queen. She crossed her chamber and stared out the window at the darkness.
“We have a legend in Scotland,” Morgause continued. “Perhaps you have heard it. The Shadowy One, descendant of Scáthach, the greatest warrior in all the world. Her deeds are legend. None could best her in battle. It is said that she will one day return and fight for Scotland.”
“I have heard this tale,” said Magdalena, not moving a muscle.
“And here you are.” Morgause turned slowly. “The brave Black Knight. Black. The color of shadows. Interesting.”
“I am not your Shadowy One.”
A pause.
“You are so certain?” asked Morgause. “Have you looked inside yourself?”
“I know exactly who I am, who I’ve always been. For a long time, I hid my identity under a black helmet. Those days are over. I am Magdalena, daughter of Robert the Blacksmith and Fiona of the Isle of Stroma. I serve the good and just King Arthur. I am loyal to his throne and his cause. I am the Black Knight.”
“A pity,” said Morgause, turning suddenly to walk toward the door.
“You must stop this madness, Queen Morgause. People will die.”
“Yes. I’m not surprised that you have lasted this long, but I must admit that I am shocked that your fellow knights have survived thus far. No matter. Tonight I will release a horde that will consume this island and all here.”
“Including your own sons?”
“Including all on this isle. It is for the greater good. The Orkney Isles will stand as the first land of shadow and darkness. The monsters, the nightmares, the legends will spread to England and devour those in my path until I reach Camelot. I shall stand before Arthur and see the fear in his eyes. I will take back what he and his father before him have stolen from my clan.”
“No—” began Magdalena, but Morgause was suddenly in front of her, very close.
“Come with me. If not the Shadowy One, then perhaps you could be my . . . Lancelot,” she chuckled. “What do you say? Destiny is calling.”
The Black Knight drew her sword.
“I do not believe in destiny. I have trained my entire life to become who I am now. And I shall stop you.”
“Do you know the curse of those who live without destiny, Black Knight?” Morgause smiled sadly. “Unexpected calamity.”
Morgause raised her hands into the air and murmured something low. A thick, foul mist rolled across the floor and swirled up the walls. Morgause backed away, into the mist and toward the doors.
The torches burned low.
A stillness filled the great chamber. Then a terrifying noise, like the sound of a million voices whispering and screaming, filled the air.
The mist swirled and twisted and became an enormous, unspeakable thing; a monster of nightmare and doubt and fear and dread.
The chorus of voices rose to a roar.
Magdalena raised her sword and faced the towering monster.
Chapter Fourteen
Again With the Monsters
> Gareth tightened the knot. Bors, Hector, Mel, and Erec were all bundled in the cart, their weapons stored out of reach. The worst part of the whole thing was that Gareth hadn’t stopped talking for the whole time.
“. . . And then, then you will know the cunning and strength of the Orkneys!” he crowed.
“Just get it over with already. Untie us and let us battle in a proper manner,” said Erec irritably.
Gareth leaned in close.
“Nay. We’re taking you to the castle. We have a special room for this. Mordred designed it. It’s quite gruesome: dark, dank, filled with chains and—”
“A dungeon,” interrupted Bors. “Just say ‘dungeon.’”
“It is more than a mere dungeon,” called a high, nasally voice.
“Oh, great,” muttered Mel.
Mordred appeared by the cart.
“I assure you, you have not seen the likes of our special chamber,” Mordred hissed.
“Aye!” shouted Gorp, who, to be honest, the knights had forgotten was standing there, too.
“Yes,” continued Gareth, “Arthur’s great Band of the Terrible Lizards will fall!”
“And why exactly have they not already fallen?” bellowed another voice. Agravaine rode up on horseback.
“Blimey,” complained Erec. “Any more Orkney Boys hiding out in the moors? Could you all get a bit organized, please? I’m getting a neck strain from turning in a new direction every minute or so.”
Agravaine dismounted and struck Erec on the mouth.
“Quiet, you. Gareth, explain yourself.”
Gareth took a few steps back.
“We did what you said, Agravaine. We thought the monsters would finish them. We just . . . gave them an extra night or two.”
“I turned one of them into a monster!” boasted Mordred. “But he seems to have gotten better.”
“And when that didn’t work, we rounded them up to kill back at the castle. Mother will still have their bodies. The plan will still work.”
“It had better,” said Agravaine. “I have spread the rumor to England, but there is surely still doubt. We must return with their bodies as proof. Then the monsters will invade.”
“Oh, right. The monsters,” said Erec. “I’m glad you remembered them.”
“There’s one thing about the monsters . . . ,” continued Bors.
“They are very, very . . . ,” added Hector.
“Punctual,” finished Mel.
All four Orkneys stopped. They looked around. Mist was gathering across the moor. The sun sank below the horizon.
“We are quite good at fighting monsters,” said Erec. “How about you Orkneys?”
Agravaine took a step back and drew his sword. The horses whinnied and kicked. Gareth had an ax. Gorp whimpered, holding a club. Mordred crawled under the cart.
All watched the impenetrable mist.
Silence.
Then, with a terrible roar, a horned giant burst out of the gloom, grabbed Gorp, and threw him over a hill.
Gareth and Agravaine attacked and were brushed aside by the giant.
More monsters came. They were all sizes and shapes. Some had flaming heads. Some had no heads at all.
Mordred scrambled out from beneath the cart with a knife in his hand.
Mel laughed.
“Mordred, do you really think you can fight them?”
“No,” said Mordred. “But you can.”
He sliced the ropes, freeing the knights. In an instant, Mel, Hector, Erec, and Bors were armed and fighting alongside the Orkneys.
The giant spiders turned out to be the worst ones. It took all of the knights, Orkneys, and Mel to defeat them. The entire company ran to the castle, followed by several undead warriors who, although terrifying, were also rather slow. They lost them in no time.
The doors of the castle were smashed off the hinges as they approached. The entire front wall began to crumble, relentlessly pounded from within.
All stood frozen as the colossal, unspeakable horror oozed out of the rubble, tentacles flailing, the din of a thousand screams blasting out.
Mordred stood in rapt wonder. Mel wanted desperately to look away, to find some solace from the feeling of dread that filled her.
The Horror rose to full height and then paused suddenly. The screaming ceased, cut off by a gurgling noise. Then the monstrosity collapsed to the ground.
The blade of a sword sliced out from inside the belly of the beast. The Black Knight emerged, covered in slime but victorious.
Bors chuckled.
“I feel sorry for the monster,” he said.
“We have no time,” said Magdalena. “Morgause intends to finish all on the island.”
She looked at Agravaine.
“Including kin.”
“Where did she go?” asked Erec.
“It must be some special place. A source for her magic.”
“I know,” said Mel and Hector together.
“Eeep,” squeaked Mordred.
Chapter Fifteen
It Takes an Angry Village
Morgause stood in the center of the circle of stones, her back to the approaching heroes, facing the cliff, the ocean, and the mainland beyond in the darkness.
“Queen Morgause,” called Magdalena.
Morgause did not turn. She raised her arms slightly, and the stones began to glow a sickly green light. Mist swirled at her feet, rising slowly from the ground.
“Black Knight. Of course you have survived. I am so very glad. You are not too late to join me.”
“We are here to stop you,” said Magdalena. “Once and for all.”
“‘We . . . ” Morgause dragged the word out. She turned to face the company. She smiled.
“You and your fellow Knights of the Round Table. And a child with a bow and arrow. This mighty band against me and the powers of darkness, the shadows and mist, the nightmares and monsters that I have called into our world?”
Morgause laughed.
Agravaine and Gareth stepped out of the darkness by the side of the road. The green glow of the stones danced off their stern faces.
“Well, well, well,” said the queen, eyeing her sons. “Now it is getting interesting. My darling sons, have you come to the aid of your mother?”
The Orkney Boys remained silent.
“Answer me when I speak to you, wretched children!”
“No,” said Agravaine. “We believed that you sought only what was rightfully yours from Arthur. But that is not true, is it? We have seen the ferocity of the creatures you have unleashed. What you seek is mass destruction and murder.”
Queen Morgause strode out from within the stone circle and stood before Agravaine.
“You were always slow, Agravaine. However, you are correct. I crave a reckoning. It will be bloody and horrible and complete.”
“Mother—”
Morgause held up a single finger to silence him. “You always feared me as a child. Why should that change now?”
Agravaine faltered, looking down.
“Agravaine. Gareth.” She spit out their names. “You are as bad as your older brother—my great disappointment—Gawain of Camelot. All of you . . . the most wretchedly pathetic offspring any mother has ever been burdened with. You are not worthy to live at my side.”
“Mother!” Mordred burst out of the darkness with Gorp.
“Mordred, my darling,” whispered Morgause.
“I am loyal, Mother. Always!”
“I know, my little Dreadful. You will always be my true son. But you,” Morgause said, looking at Gorp. “I cannot even remember your name.”
“Gorp,” Gorp whimpered.
Morgause pointed at Gorp and flicked her wrist. Mist engulfed him in an instant, lifted him from the ground, and blew him over the cliff’s edge to the sea below.
Agravaine gripped his sword but did not draw it.
Torches flickered in the dark. The villagers surrounded the knights and Mel. Greer stood at the forefront of the mob a
nd pointed at the queen.
“You see! It is true. Queen Morgause brought the monsters to our isle!”
“Of course I have, you ridiculous peasant.”
Her arms once again swept up, and the stones burned a bright green. The mist swirled about the villagers, who clung to one another in fear.
“My time in Orkney is at an end. The world awaits,” continued Morgause. “My dark powers are now beyond—”
“GGGGRRRR!” A hoarse bellow interrupted the queen.
All turned their attention to the circle of stones. Bors was leaning into one of the smaller stones, shoving with all he had. It was beginning to tilt.
“Stop!” yelled Mordred. “Those stones have stood for more than ten years!”
Morgause froze, stunned for the moment. Hector, Mel, and Erec joined Bors in his labor.
Magdalena smiled at the queen, then lent her considerable strength as well. The stone toppled and broke in two. The green light flickered and faded. The mist began to dissipate. The company moved on to the next, this time joined by Agravaine and Gareth.
Queen Morgause hissed. The remaining stones glowed brighter. Shadows moved in from the moors: large, dangerous creatures, their pace increasing. Growls, howls, and roars filled the air.
Greer turned to the villagers. “Come on!”
The men and women of Orkney filled in the circle. They pushed and pushed the stones, working together, despite the mist and the gloom and the terror.
“Push!” called Sir Erec. “PUSH!”
One by one the wretched stones fell until none stood. The mist drifted over the cliff and down to the sea. A hush fell over the darkened moor. The shadows faded as quickly as they had appeared.
Magdalena turned to the queen. “You have lost, Morgause.”
“Oh, my dear, misguided warrior, I assure you, I have only just begun.”
Morgause snapped her fingers. A galloping sound echoed from the moors. All turned to see a strange white creature fast approaching. It resembled a horse, and yet it was most certainly not a horse. Its mane and tail resembled a tangle of seaweed. Its hooves were webbed and clawed. But it was the eyes that most set the creature apart. The eyes of the beast were not at all the kind, thoughtful eyes of a horse. They were the black, empty, remorseless eyes of a shark.