Shades of Avalon (11 page)

A silence descended on the room while we allowed her words to sink in. We faced a similar fate to an extent. Amanda’s family, Carmel and Lewis, our school friends—they would all meet death long before we reached a natural end. I conceded it had to be harder for Guinevere, and her life didn’t exactly sound like it was ribbons and kittens. Regardless, I simply couldn’t dismiss my niggling doubts.

“Caleb told me stories about the Sword of Light.” Triona’s voice cracked a little, and her free arm moved backward and forward. Her hand ran along her thigh the way it always did when she was nervous or anxious. “He believed Claíomh Solais and Excalibur were one.”

A breeze practically whipped up in the room from the collective blinking as Triona’s statement hit home. I had a momentary flashback to being a young kid and playing knights when I went through a brief Dungeons & Dragons phase. Adrenaline surged through my body.

No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

My eyes darted sideways to Amanda as she watched Guinevere closely. Amanda’s head tilted a little to the left, enraptured with every word. Across the table, Triona and John didn’t look surprised. Triona had obviously shared the story with him already. Emma stared at Guinevere wide-eyed, her lips moving silently, saying a single word over and over.

Camelot.

“I was born in Albion and raised peacefully in a remote valley. Over time, I lost my adoptive mother, the land changed, invaders came and went, but I kept myself to myself mostly. I liked it better that way—no attachment, no pain, right?” Guinevere glanced around the table, observing our reaction to her question.

We all had experienced loss in some form or another, and she seemed to understand.

“I hid the sword safely at the bottom of a nearby lake. I have an affinity with water because of the sword, and back then, I used water as a conduit to the Otherworld. Only the Keeper can release the sword from water, so it was perfectly safe.

“By then the land had become known as Britannia. Roman invaders had all but abandoned it, but they had left their mark. The blood of many Romans and Britons had mixed. Hadrian’s Wall cut across the north, built for protection from the Picts. Unmanned, it began to fall to ruin. The remaining garrison consisted of mostly leaderless Britons abandoned by their Roman mistress with no place to go.”

“Weren’t the Picts savages from the north?” Emma asked curiously. “I mean, I’ve always seen them depicted as blue-painted warriors.”

A hint of an indulgent smile curved Guinevere’s lips. “Savages, no. They were farmers with a rich heritage of art and mystical religion, but they were also the fiercest and deadliest of warriors. They raged into battle naked and painted themselves in the belief it made them invisible to their enemy.”

Emma returned her smile as if the answer satisfied her.

“Saxons saw the country as easy spoils, and I knew we were entering the bloodiest of eras the land had ever known. I had no desire to watch it come to pass. One day the unthinkable happened and a Council member found me. I guess it had been so long I presumed they never would.

“The man identified himself as Myrddin Emrys, and he offered me a way out of this curse. He offered a way out for everyone, a leader to unite Briton and finally bring peace again. He claimed to have found the next Keeper. I didn’t hesitate. I placed Excalibur in stone instead of water as he requested and returned to my home to wait for the Keeper to claim it. I became mortal when he did.

“Afterward I found out Emrys had discovered the Sword of Light, and the other Council members had taken it from him as a warning to cease his power struggle with humans. I sought him out in the citadel at Camelot, intent on reclaiming Excalibur.

“However, before I reached him, I encountered a young man at the market. In my traveling clothes, he mistook me for a boy.” She paused and smiled at the memory. “I was purchasing apples for playing children, and a trader spied my coin purse. He accused me of stealing bread when I refused to pay his extortionate price. All of a sudden this beautiful man intervened. Much to his later chagrin, he took the trader’s word over mine. When he and his men tried to take me away, I objected—” she laughed at the memory “—strenuously. Our swords clashed, and I told him I was not a thief. He insisted anyone would say that when caught. The man was arrogant, with an obnoxiously confident smirk. So I said only a moron would convict me while several witnesses to the contrary stood watching. He swiped my legs from under me and knocked me to the ground, ripping my weapon from my hand and tossing it aside. With the point of his sword pressed into my chest, he happily informed me that I was a boy in sore need of a lesson he would gladly teach.

“He asked my name, clearly convinced I’d given up, but I hadn’t by far. I grabbed his ankle and unbalanced him, then used the opportunity to roll away and get to my feet. To my surprise, one of his grinning men kicked my sword back to me across the dirt.

“A crowd had gathered and formed a circle around us, whooping and cheering at the display. My opponent demanded to know the name of the one who trained me and even offered me a place in the guard, all while trying to best me. Eventually I disarmed him by moving closer than he expected to catch him unprepared, spinning and grabbing his sword. He didn’t have time to react, and a moment later both swords were at this throat ready to scissor his head from his shoulders. I sensed someone behind me but my opponent raised his hand to stop the advance.

“‘It would give me no pleasure to take your life,’ I told him. ‘I didn’t come here to kill or steal. I request an audience with your boy king. Tell him The Lady of the Lake has sought him out.’ The man smiled widely as each breath pushed his flesh against the blades. He showed no fear of death at all and told me that if I sought the king, I had found him. By the time I stepped back and threw off the hood of my cloak, I was already hopelessly in love with Arthur Pendragon.”

“So it’s true?” Emma blurted, leaning to rest her elbows on the table, her face flushed with excitement. “King Arthur, Merlin, Lancelot?”

Guinevere nodded once stiffly. “Depending on which book, show, or made-for-TV movie you’ve seen.”

This was all too bizarre. For the first time ever, I missed Eila. Normally I was a little uncomfortable with her around—speaking to her and having the answers compelled right out of my mouth. I would have appreciated a living, breathing lie detector in the room because Guinevere was beginning to convince me of her sincerity. I might have gone further and said she was beginning to enthrall me with it. There was something about her, in the way she swallowed, the stiffness in her shoulders when she nodded. Maybe it was the way she repeatedly ran her thumb in circles over the palm of her hand as if recalling the ghost of a touch. She was either a proficient liar, or she genuinely had lost love.

“So what happened?” I pushed, ignoring the loud thud of my heart, a pang of guilt or pity for making her talk about the apparently distressing subject. We had to know. We needed to know.

She clenched her fist tightly, bringing it below the table before she started again.

“Emrys had a vision for Briton, and he needed Arthur and the sword to see it through. Arthur was never the Keeper. He may not have even been a Pendragon. Emrys used ancient alchemy to poison Arthur’s blood so the sword would accept him for a short time. By then it didn’t matter the metal no longer shone for him. The people already believed in Arthur, they accepted him as their king, and I had my mortality. The crux of the matter, sadly, was Emrys wanted power, but he also wanted Briton to prosper and find peace, and he believed the end justified the means. I knew we had tricked fate and the gatekeepers of the Otherworld. Humans of the land at that time referred to it as Avalon. I knew I should have defied Emrys. I should have taken the sword and fled…but I didn’t. I allowed Excalibur to remain with Arthur.”

“Myrddin Emrys was a name Merlin went by, right?” I asked.

She nodded. “He went by many names.”

“Then that’s not how we heard the story,” I told her. “We were led to believe Merlin was a mad tyrant, locked away for the good of humanity.”

“He is mad all right, but it doesn’t mean he was wrong about Arthur’s potential. Emrys practiced magic openly and encouraged Guardians to defy the Council and reveal themselves. History is written by the victors, Ben. Maybe if things hadn’t gone so terribly wrong…”

Right then I picked up a scent in the room, a sharp, metallic fragrance. By the quizzical expression on both John and Triona’s faces, they smelled it too. I realized with horror it was emanating from Guinevere and growing stronger by the second.

“What the—” I cried out, leaping to my feet and snatching up her wrist from under the table.

A dark trickle of blood dribbled from her curled fist toward her forearm. Amanda pushed her chair back with a screech across the wooden floor. John stood but didn’t move from Triona’s side. Emma’s jaw went slack with shock.

“We need a cloth,” Amanda said.

Emma’s lips snapped closed, and she darted toward the door with Amanda.

In fact, the only person having no reaction at all was Triona. She sat there with a sad, distant look in her eyes, her lips curling down at the edges. Alarm rose up before I swallowed it down again. Her non-reaction was empathy. Triona empathized with Guinevere’s pain.

I’d been so busy stroking my own ego that I hadn’t allowed the reality of our situation to sink in. I couldn’t be sure, but knowing Triona as well as I did, she was already preparing herself for the worst. An intense and probably unreasonable desire to prove myself a worthy Guardian burned inside me, but not at the cost of the people I loved. I’d been pretending I had a handle on it all, pretending carrying royal blood meant I held all the answers too. I had started to realize Amanda and I were just what people in Camden thought we were. We were kids, playing at being grown up, and we needed help. I needed help. Too much blood had been spilled already: Triona, Caleb, Emma, and now this. I didn’t want to turn to Samuel, or anyone, but we needed his experience here.

“It’s fine,” Guinevere snapped, breathing harshly and attempting to jerk her hand out of my grip.

When I didn’t release it, she opened her fist to reveal the four small, healing crescent wounds on her palm.

“It’s fine,” she repeated starkly.

I slackened my hold and allowed her to pull her hand away. Amanda rushed back into the room with a damp white cloth and placed it over Guinevere’s hand. Guinevere lifted her chin warily as Amanda wiped the blood away.

“Thank you,” Guinevere whispered, her tone verging on surprised.

My chest tightened for her unexpectedly because I knew without doubt this woman had been alone a long time and wasn’t accustomed to even the simplest of kindnesses. I wondered if that was the reason for the sharpness in her persona. Perhaps she wasn’t used to being around people. How sad for a person to become so used to protecting themselves that they simply didn’t know how to be unguarded anymore? There was a very real possibility of any one of us being in her position. If we didn’t get Caleb back—if we failed to find Zeal before he corrupted a whole generation of Guardians against humans—any one of us could lose everything and end up alone.

Emma returned a few moments later and took her seat again. I had to give it to her—the girl took all of this in stride. Amanda finished helping Guinevere and then returned to the seat beside me.

“Please go on if you can?” Triona prompted Guinevere.

“Yes. As far as the Council members were concerned, I didn’t exist. It was only Emrys who had discovered me, and he wasn’t about to advertise my existence because he had his own agenda. Although, I didn’t know what it was back then. As long as we were careful, they believed the story of Excalibur was a fairy tale, a parlor trick from Emrys. This was important since it kept the Council from trying to get their hands on it. It was a minor corruption of the truth. For a time I was happy, and I trusted Emrys wanted the best for the kingdom.” She hesitated and looked down again.

I couldn’t imagine this woman ever passing for ordinary. She was far too beautiful.

“Arthur wasn’t my soul mate as you know them, but I loved him no less. He was a good man, marrow deep. Despite Emrys’s constant whispering in his ear, Arthur relied on his own conscience. He and his men lived by a code—honor, loyalty to Camelot, and integrity in everything they did. At the time, many men were nothing short of mercenaries and easily swayed to a cause for a few pieces of coin. I fought by Arthur’s side in battles against those who would undermine his rule.

“Emrys was old and restless, his mind became splintered, and some days he made no sense at all. He wanted unity at any cost and was never content. He always wanted more from Arthur, and I suppose it was inevitable we would come to the attention of the other Council members. Eventually they came for him. Arthur and I were caught up in the fight.”

“Arthur laid down Excalibur to assist one of his injured men. One of the Council members took his chance and grabbed it.” Guinevere sucked in a breath. She grimaced, her expression echoing the distress of her memories. She lifted the glass of water and drank deeply.

I glanced over to Triona. The shake of her head was almost imperceptible, advising against rushing the story. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, concentrating on the discomfort to distract from my impatience.

“Arthur picked up a spear to defend himself. It happened so fast, and I watched helplessly from a short distance away. The spear pierced his attacker’s abdomen. He was so determined to kill Arthur and destroy Emrys that he impaled himself on the spear and pushed himself along its length. The spear ripped him open, tearing his heart. Mordred struck Arthur’s abdomen and a deadly blow to his head. Arthur was barely alive when Mordred fell and released Excalibur once more. The legendary King Arthur was mortally wounded, struck down by his own sword.”