Chapter 4
The front garden of the Tregarthen family home was overcrowded.
Flowers burst from their beds, spreading over the stone path that led to the door.
Arthur knew that path. Every crack, every loose stone along the edges.
He had always walked with his eyes down, watching his feet take him places he didn’t want to be.
Throat thick, Arthur pushed open the gate and marched towards the house with a confidence that felt out of place. Every time he’d left this building, he’d never wanted to return, and now he was voluntarily entering the house that had been a prison more than a home.
Surely it wasn’t always like that, but Arthur couldn’t recall it being anything else.
Ordes was behind him, his presence a silent comfort.
Ulrian was left behind with Katarin and Halymere, so Arthur already knew he would not find the man behind that front door but rather the emotional afterimage of him, and he wasn’t sure if he was prepared for it.
The door was unlocked, and the hallway beyond was dark and thick with memory.
Arthur swallowed and pushed it all aside, forcing himself to focus on what they had come for – his father’s copy of the Decalogue.
Arthur swept down the hall, head held high, determined not to let the ghosts of this house seize him.
Light raced into the house behind him, illuminating the dust gathered on the floorboards, stirred to life as Arthur marched past the living room with its cold fireplace and past the kitchen.
He stopped at the door to his father’s study, placing one hand on the door, the other falling to caress the hilt of the sword.
He listened, like he had so many times before, for life behind that solid oak.
Ordes leant against the wall, silver eyes burning in the sun-kissed darkness of the hallway.
‘I already know he isn’t in there, but I’m still terrified to go in without his permission,’ Arthur said quietly. ‘That doesn’t make sense, I know.’
‘It makes perfect sense,’ Ordes replied. His brows knit together. ‘I’d say take all the time you need, but I feel I should remind you that we left your father in Katarin’s tender loving care. I don’t think even Halymere has the power to stop her.’
Arthur’s smile was wry. ‘True.’
But still, he hesitated. He used to believe that everything his father did was designed to bring him closer to the One God, but that had never been the truth.
Ulrian’s actions in the beginning might have been focused on closing the distance between himself and the divine, but in the end, it was more about power and lies than about religion.
‘It all comes back to power,’ Arthur murmured.
‘It does,’ Ordes affirmed.
Arthur took a deep breath and pushed open the door. The sword hummed in his mind, its magic threaded through his blood, mingling with the deep dread coiled in his stomach like a living thing. He focused on the comforting weight of the weapon at his hip.
Everything was the same as he remembered it, except for the papers and books scattered across the floor.
What had happened here? The rest of the house appeared untouched.
Had someone already been here, searching for something, or had his father done this?
Ulrian’s desk was a mass of paper and more books, an inkwell knocked askew, a dark stain of ink dried on the wood.
Carefully, Arthur bent and started collecting the papers from the floor.
He frowned – they were not pages from a book or anything he recognised, like notes from Konsel meetings he had usually scribed, but insensate fragments of Word and scattered soliloquy. The writing was in his father’s hand.
He was looking at the thoughts of a madman.
With a sigh, he set the papers aside and approached the bookshelves.
Ordes cleared his throat gently. ‘What are we looking for exactly?’
‘A copy like the one Olwen gave us, I’d assume,’ Arthur said.
‘Old,’ he added, then, ‘I don’t know where he’d keep it, unless…
’ His eyes fell on the cupboard lurking in the corner of the room.
The one that contained the whip. It would make sense for Ulrian to keep the oldest copy of the Word he had in there with that hateful tool.
Arthur made his way to the cupboard, finding it locked, like he knew it would be. He pulled at his hair in frustration. ‘There’s a key, but I don’t know where it would be.’
‘Let me,’ Ordes said, crouching in front of the cupboard. He placed his hands on the lock and after a moment, Arthur heard it give way. Ordes smiled. ‘I haven’t done that since I broke Jen out of that cage in your town square.’ He stood and moved out of the way so Arthur could open the door.
Arthur chuckled. ‘That would have infuriated the Konsel, you know. And proven them right.’
‘How so?’ Ordes asked.
‘Well, one of the things they always declared about Magic Wielders was that you were a nefarious bunch,’ Arthur replied.
He peered into the cupboard. Skulking in the darkness, as if waiting for him, was the whip.
Carefully, he pulled it free. Ordes sucked in a breath.
‘He beat me with this only once,’ Arthur said softly.
‘The second time I beat myself, while he watched. He opened the skin on his own back more times than I care to remember.’
‘Why?’ Ordes’ voice was low, curiosity veiling the horror.
‘For me, it was punishment,’ Arthur said, staring at the whip in his hands.
‘For him… I don’t know. My father believed pain brought him closer to the One God.
Maybe it did – I can’t say whether that’s true or not.
It wasn’t for me.’ He put the whip to the side and reached into the cupboard, feeling around in the darkness.
There, at the back, was something hard, wrapped in cloth.
Arthur pulled it free, exchanging a glance with Ordes.
It shouldn’t have been that easy, but then, that cupboard was the only thing Ulrian ever locked in this room.
The whole space was out of bounds, but the cupboard had been especially forbidden.
Arthur carried the parcel to the table, pushing aside the scattered papers.
He did not sit, not wanting to place himself in his father’s seat – another thing he was expressly forbidden to do.
It wouldn’t matter now, he knew, but the command was so tightly ingrained inside him he could not, even if he wanted to, make himself sit.
Ordes watched from the other side of the desk as Arthur slowly unwrapped the cloth.
Inside was a book, bound in leather, perfectly preserved.
There was no title on the cover, nothing to indicate what was inside.
The page edges were pristine, like they had never been marred by the touch of a human hand.
Arthur knew from his scribing of the Word that skin left oil on paper, especially old paper, so he had been forced to wear gloves while touching the copy of the Decalogue he worked from.
Habit almost made him open the second drawer of the desk and retrieve a pair of gloves, but he didn’t.
It was time for new habits, and here, in this space, was the perfect place to start.
He opened the book, aware that Ordes was watching him closely. ‘If this is what we think it is, and it contains the same information as the copy Olwen gave us…’
Jenyfer had refused to touch Olwen’s copy of the Word at first, but then she had joined Arthur in hunting down the phrases they knew and had quickly found the ones they didn’t.
The disparity had unsettled them. Still, Jenyfer had argued that Olwen’s copy of the Decalogue might not be what the Red Sister claimed it was.
Coming here, to find this, would give them the proof they needed.
The Old Ones were liars, and none of them were prepared to take the word of one person, a devotee of a banished goddess, as absolute.
If the Word that Arthur and Jenyfer had been taught was not the true Word of Ereshki, they needed more evidence.
And Arthur needed to see it for himself – he needed to know if his father had always known the true Word and chosen to change it to suit himself.
‘Here goes,’ he mumbled and opened the book.
Printed on the first page, in ornate lettering, was a simple title: The Word of God.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur turned another page, finding the same list of rules in Olwen’s copy.
Not a comprehensive list, like he and Jen had been taught. The true Word contained a simple rule for life.
Fairly take and fairly give, no harm to those who seek to live.
‘It’s the same line,’ Ordes said softly. ‘How did a creed like that become…’
‘I wish I knew,’ Arthur muttered.
‘If that truly is what Ereshki wished for the world, then people like your father and Mordred, the men of the Sacellum… all of those hungry for power over others – their actions are in complete opposition to the Red One’s rule,’ Ordes mused.
‘But I guess the real question is, what do we want? Personally, that line,’ he said, waving his hand at the page, ‘is the rule I’ve lived my life by.
On the sea, on the ship… it never mattered where someone came from, who they were, what gods they followed or didn’t.
It only mattered that they were fair and trustworthy people.
I was an adult before I realised that not everyone lived their life like I had, but you and Jen… ’
Arthur swallowed. ‘We didn’t have the power to decide for ourselves how we would live.
We were taught to fear difference. We were told it was our duty to bring the rest of Teyath into the One God’s light.
’ He laughed bitterly and rubbed at his forehead.
‘Power, again. Gods and men aren’t so different, are they? ’
He had once believed good and evil were simple things, easily identified, but now, the paradigm had shifted so far that Arthur wasn’t certain there was a definition of either term anymore, or that there ever had been an accurate representation for such opposing terms. Simple words didn’t seem enough.
He was coming to learn that the waters were indeed murky when it came to Gods and the power they wielded.
It seemed to him that divinity desired the same things humans did – love, safety, security and belonging.
A sense of belonging wasn’t something someone else bestowed upon you – it was something you came to feel, a conclusion that sat right, somehow, as a result of the choices someone made.
Arthur had come to learn that as well. So if the Old Ones were craving to belong once more, surely there was a way for them to have that and still allow people their freedom?
But how could they make a God understand that the choice to belong was theirs alone, not anyone else’s?
How could they make them see that by imposing their will on others, they were oppressing, not freeing? Unless Niniane already knew that.
Arthur had the terrible feeling that, once they found the Grail, they would have to do what Ordes had suggested. ‘If we close off the realms, what will happen?’
‘No idea,’ Ordes said simply. He sighed, running his hand over his hair. ‘I don’t even know if we can, Arthur. I said that out of spite, but…’
‘We might have to seriously think about it,’ Arthur finished.
Ordes nodded.
‘Your mother—’
‘Would deserve it,’ Ordes cut in, his tone clipped. ‘And Jenyfer wouldn’t have any issues with trapping Melodias in Lyonesse forever. It seems to me the Ereshki and Inanna knew that this would be our choice. They knew that the world would change, and we would be here, making this discovery.’
Arthur frowned. ‘Your father as well. He knew. He saw this.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Ordes tapped his fingers on the desk rhythmically. ‘Remember what Olwen told Jen? The Ereshki would leave this world, and the House of Bone would be her tomb.’
‘The Green Knight told me he is not just the creator of the earth, but that he is the earth,’ Arthur said. ‘He would remain, in some sense.’
‘If there is a way to do this, passage to the Otherworld must not close,’ Ordes said.
‘Ankou’s role is important. The world beyond this one – death – is not something anyone can control, Arthur.
The Bag Noz needs to continue on its journey, as it always has.
’ Ordes smiled. ‘I’ve always seen that boat you know.
Always wondered why – why could I see it and no one else?
The only other faery I ever knew was Katarin, and she’s never seen it.
Maybe, it’ll be like closing doors. We shut the door to Avalon and Lyonesse but keep the door to Ankou’s realm open. But I have no idea if that will work.’
Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. Everything was speculation at this point, and he wished they hadn’t sent Olwen back to the House of Bone.
The Red Sister was the only one who seemed to know where this whole thing was going; or, at the least, she was the only one willing to talk about it.
Merlin could not interfere, Arthur knew that – they all did – but they needed to know what to do.
He sighed. ‘Alright. If Jenyfer agrees, we should try and work out how to do this.’ He met Ordes’ eyes. ‘You will have to do this.’
Ordes frowned. ‘We still don’t know that.’
‘Yes,’ Arthur said softly. ‘We do. The Grail is made of magic – it holds the magic that created the world. At least, that was what Eseld told me. I have no magic of my own, except for my dreamwalking, and I don’t think that is what we need.
Jen has her song and the power to control the ocean. But you, Ordes, you are different.’
Ordes said nothing. He ran his thumb over the tattooed knuckles on one hand.
‘I know that you didn’t want the power you have,’ Arthur began. ‘And in a way, that makes you the best person to have it, because you won’t misuse it. You won’t act out of selfishness – you’ll do what is right, what we decide is right.’
‘If that is my role in this, I wish I knew how it worked. If I’m going to hold the magic of the world in my hands, it’s not the time to fuck things up, is it?
’ Ordes asked. ‘Most of what I’ve learnt since my time with the lovely Goerika has been instinctual, Arthur, but it terrifies me.
I resisted changing my shape – I refused to do it because I was so scared of losing who I was, and this is bigger than that. It’s bigger than me.’
‘Which is why you’ll get it right,’ Arthur said.
‘I wish I shared your confidence in me,’ Ordes said with a sigh.
Arthur smiled, then closed the Decalogue and rewrapped it.
‘Come on. Let’s go and find the others. I want to get out of here.
We’ll have plenty of time on the ship to read this,’ he said, tucking the book under his arm.
He took one last look at his father’s study, then closed the door and led the way out of the house.