“I remember being cut down in an open field by this very lake. I’d never held the grail, so I couldn’t undo what had been done. At least I could close mine eyes with the satisfaction that I had stopped Arthur’s tyranny. ’Twas enough. When my eyes opened again, there were great giants of trees surrounding me. My body was sore, as if it had not moved for ages.”
He looked at the biggest tree, once the greatest ironwood of the forest. Dad had called it Camlan. The first tree. The marker where Arthur and Mordred fell. But the great tree that I’d spent so much time playing hide-and-seek in was very nearly bare and ready to topple over.
Still staring, Mordred blinked several times and held his head, as if he was trying to focus on something. “There’s a remembrance, but it’s fuzzy and hides from mine sight. Though I cannot recall much of my past and know little of this new world, I am the son of the Avalon mists, and I can feel the balance of magic is in unrest. One thing I know is war… I can feel it coming, lad. My sword calls to me, and I will answer.”
While someone else might scoff at his sudden amnesia, I could guess the cause of it, given our mutual state of rebirth.
“Do not pick at what you cannot understand, little hero. Send him back to me and begin earning your place in the book.”
I ignored Morte and warily stepped closer to Mordred, staying well out of arm’s reach. “Let’s say you’re right, that there’s bad stuff coming. Whose side are you on? Blanc’s or Dorthea’s?”
“I know not either of these names.” He spoke so quietly I had to lean in to hear. With a tilt of his head, he smirked and whipped the underside of his ax around my waist, drawing me closer. “There is but one side. Mine.”
Before I had time to react, he’d cut off the vise. I had but a moment to grab the rope and renew the tension. As I steadied the rope, he backed away.
“I’m sorry, Rex, but I can’t allow anything or anyone to get in the way of my quest to reclaim my throne and the grail. I hope your friends come back soon to disarm the trap. Or that your grip is stronger than you look.”
“You pox-ridden, cauldron-breathed fiend,” I said and struggled to pull hard enough to keep the arrow from launching at me.
He winced at my insult and said quietly, “The difference between savior and sinner is oft merely who is left to tell the story.” After turning away, he gathered his things and mounted his horse. “I have a feeling you are tough to kill, my huntsman friend, so I pray, whenst we meet again, you steer clear of me. Three strikes and I’ll take you out.”
I laughed because he really had no idea. Whatever memories I had to pay Morte to get out of this, I was holding on to this moment. And I would pay Mordred back.
Without Mordred’s large frame blocking the light of the lantern, my shadow reappeared, this time oozing up from the ground around me.
“Exactly how do you plan on doing that, you spineless, useless little twit?”
“Hey!”
“My time is valuable and I wasted it on you. Count on me to enjoy rending your soul to pieces. I’ll make you pay for your capriciousness. I’ll have an eternity after all.”
“No, just until…” That’s when my mistake hit me. I was going to say “just until Dorthea pulls me out,” but to revive me, she needed to pour her magic into the opal. The one I wore on my chest—alone, in the middle of the Sherwood Forest.
If I died here, now, chances were I wouldn’t be coming back.
“Get on with it. The longer you make me wait, the more anger I’ll take out on you. Each extra ounce of pain will be your own fault.”
No, no, no, no, no. I’d gotten complacent, but there was a way out. I could just hold on to the rope. Someone would eventually come, and I’d tell them how to disarm the trap. Or when Dorthea realized I hadn’t returned, she would come looking for me. Our bond would lead her straight to me.
“Rex!”
DumBeau stumbled through the trees, his tunic torn and scuffed, but my abandoned pack in tow. With his arms out and a smile of pure joy on his face, he ran for me.
“Stop!” I yelled, but it didn’t do any good. He kept running until he tripped over the rope, pulling it from my grasp. The arrow flew, hitting him in the shoulder and propelling him into my arms.
“Rex,” he slurred. His smile growing bigger as he closed his eyes and went limp.
“No, hey, wake up.”
“Well, now, this is a surprise. Perhaps you are turning into a hero. After all, someone died for you.”
“You don’t get to talk, ash man. I’ve never wanted this.”
“Still, it is not enough. I’ll see you in a moment, little failure.”
I didn’t even have time to figure out what he meant before a spiked log arced through the air on ropes, slamming into us like a battering ram.
We flew backward, landing in the lake. DumBeau was still out cold and weighing me down like a stone. I held my breath and tried to push him off, but my limbs weren’t cooperating.
The water around us became tainted with tendrils of red. Blood seeped out of the arrow wound on DumBeau—and from a spike lodged in my side. I’d bet everything I’d ever stolen those log’s spikes were tipped with cockatrice venom, because it was nearly impossible to move. So, thanks to Mordred, my story’s end was a toss-up of whether the poison would reach my heart or if I would drown.
Pixing royals.
“Anybody else think that strange women, lyin’ in lakes, distributin’ swords, is nay a sound basis for a system of government?”
—Sir Monty of Python’s last words before he was beheaded by King Arthur
11
My Not-So-Fair Lady
Hex yes, I was bitter. I channeled that into anger, summoning a fury that would help me fight for my soul once I reached the underworld. Far more useful than hope ever would be.
Dorthea was probably wrapped up cozy with her prince, perfectly content and paying no mind to what was going on through our bond. But despite her self-involvedness, I was certain that if she were here, she would have tried to save me. Which was more than I could say for the revered Robin Hood—proof that some heroes really are zeroes with a good PR godmother.
That man never kept his word. He never showed up.
Why had I believed he could change?
No one changes.
My chest burned, and my throat spasmed, wanting air. Looks like drowning wins the death honors today, I thought as I sank to the bottom of the lake and darkness closed around me.
“This is where love and trust lead,” Morte whispered.
A woman’s voice rang across the water like a muted melody. “You said those words to me sagas ago, Nome King. You were wrong then and you are wrong now.” I couldn’t see her, but two dots, like pearls, shone through the murky depths.
“Do not interfere.” Morte’s slippery voice took on an edge I had not heard before. “Your time has long passed.”
“My time is just beginning.” With her words came a flash of light, which left me blinded. Heat seared and etched into my wrist. “I am the Lady of the Lake, and you are not welcome here. Be gone!”
The darkness receded and warmth surrounded me, like the water was wrapping me in a soft embrace. The stinging in my wrist cooled, but my lungs still burned from holding my breath.
I let the air out and sucked in a breath from reflex, expecting to choke.