Chapter 49
The Sword of the White Dragon craved violence. It wanted to bathe its blade in blood. It wanted to bite into flesh and sink into bellies, hack and slice and shatter bone.
Arthur wanted none of that. The sword had changed him – he could feel it in the way his fingers flexed when they were empty, the way his thoughts shifted to purple-hued violence.
The way he would catch himself smiling at a flash of vision – of memory?
– of the sword as it sang its death song and cut his enemies down like wheat.
Only Arthur didn’t feel like he had enemies. The Mordred he saw in his dreamwalk was tired and sick. Whatever he was doing at Dinas Emrys was changing him.
Did it make him an enemy? Mordred was doing what he believed was right, as Arthur and Ordes and Jenyfer were.
Mordred considered them enemies – he had made no secret of it – but to Arthur, the word enemy was just that.
A word. He didn’t hate his cousin. He didn’t want Mordred dead or even punished, not for following his heart or for a difference of opinion.
Arthur’s father used to call him soft hearted, and maybe he was.
But Arthur would rather be compassionate and empathetic than tyrannical and hard.
The Sword of the White Dragon laughed at him from where it sat.
Arthur ignored it, even as it threw another memory at him.
Bodies strewn across the ground. A battle that had been or a battle yet to come?
Arthur had no way of knowing and he was no longer naive enough to think this wouldn’t end in bloodshed. He knew it would.
It didn’t mean he had to like it.
Tomorrow, they would march towards Dinas Emrys. Halymere and Katarin were arguing over battle plans, but Arthur could barely hear them, his head filled with the whispering of the sword. Gaheris watched him, his uncle’s brow folded into a frown. Arthur cleared his throat, addressing Gaheris.
‘You know Mordred,’ he said softly; the tent fell silent as he spoke. ‘Tell me, uncle – is it my life he wants or the title I am supposed to bear?’
‘If you had asked me that question a year ago, I would have said it was your title,’ Gaheris replied. ‘Mordred has always been ambitious, but never would I have imagined his ambition would lead him to this.’
‘He thinks he’s doing the right thing,’ Arthur pointed out.
‘Perhaps,’ his uncle said. ‘But for whom?’
‘Himself,’ Kat said. When Arthur opened his mouth to argue, she shook her head.
‘You’ve known him for a moment, little brother.
I’ve known him for a lifetime. The day Morgause announced that Inanna had chosen me to be the High Priestess, Mordred’s face…
’ She paused, taking a deep breath. ‘He hated me that day, not for what I was given necessarily, but because he was overlooked for it based on a tradition that saw him relegated to always being less.’
‘Every so often, a man who desires what Mordred does is born,’ Gaheris explained.
‘They do not last long in Cruithea. Mordred, as the High Priestess’ son, was an exception.
Goerika and the Priestesses of Inanna told Morgause to send him away, but she refused.
Whether he believes it or not, his mother loved him enough to keep him close to her. ’
Jenyfer shifted in her seat. ‘I can understand it,’ she said. ‘That desire to be more, to be seen. If the situation wasn’t so dire, I and every woman in Kernou who suffered under the Konsel’s yoke would find common ground with him.’
‘But none of you turned into petty tyrants,’ Kat said, folding her arms.
‘Didn’t we?’ Jenyfer mused. ‘My sister stands at his side, remember.’
‘Alright,’ Arthur said. ‘I have to accept that Mordred wants me dead, and that I will have to face him out there.’ He gestured to the barren plain outside the tent, to the cursed earth that would become broken and would bleed with those yet to fall.
‘I’m not a warrior,’ he said, holding up his hand to forestall any objection. ‘You all know this.’
‘Because you don’t let yourself be,’ Katarin said fiercely. ‘Arthur—’
She but stopped, cocking her head to the side, her hand dropping to her dagger as the tent flap shifted. A man stepped inside.
The breath fled Arthur’s lungs and his knees weakened. The atmosphere in the tent changed.
Jalen.
Kat swiftly drew her dagger.
‘No,’ Arthur said. ‘Everyone out.’ His voice was hoarse, nothing more than a scratch that clawed its way free of a suddenly parched throat.
No one moved.
‘Now!’ Arthur shouted, startling himself. He never shouted. His stomach pinched at the look his sister gave him – somewhere between hurt and bewilderment – but everyone did as he commanded.
When the tent was empty of everyone except Jalen, Arthur took a shaky breath but found he couldn’t speak.
The words sat on his tongue in a tangled mess, and he couldn’t force them out.
Jalen looked different, like he had when Arthur had seen him in the dreamwalk, but he still couldn’t put his finger on what it was about the demi-god that made him think that.
Something in the way Jalen held himself, the pallor of his skin, the energy that surrounded him.
‘You look different,’ he blurted.
‘You look different as well,’ Jalen replied.
Arthur couldn’t acknowledge the statement, wasn’t sure what to do with it or what it meant. ‘What are you doing here? Did she send you?’
‘No,’ Jalen said, and at the softness of his voice, Arthur wanted to fall into his arms and weep.
‘Then who?’ He set the paper back on the table before he tore it, busying himself with the maps gathered before him. He picked them up and put them back down again, fingers trembling.
‘Arthur, I…’
‘I don’t want an apology,’ Arthur bit out. He raised his eyes. Jalen had not moved from the tent’s entrance. Arthur both wanted him to come closer and wanted him gone. There was a terrible ache in his heart. ‘I want to know why you’re here, now, right before the battle begins.’
‘Arthur,’ Jalen breathed, stepping closer to the table. ‘I haven’t been in Avalon for some time.’
‘Then where?’ Arthur asked, but he already knew. ‘Has Ankou betrayed us as well?’ His fists curled and the sword whispered violence in his ear.
‘No,’ Jalen said quickly. ‘The army he promised you will be here on Samhain. When the tides turn, the army of the dead will be here.’
‘The dead?’ Arthur breathed.
Jalen nodded, then sighed, rubbing at his face. ‘When I last saw you, Ordes… in between strangling me, he told me to leave his mother. To free myself. So I did.’
Arthur blinked.
‘Not straight away – I wasn’t brave enough – but eventually, I… Ankou found me. I wanted to die, Arthur, for what I had done. It would have been right, but Ankou, once again, kept me alive. I’ve been in the Otherworld ever since,’ Jalen explained.
‘So why are you here now?’
‘For you, Arthur,’ Jalen exclaimed. ‘For you. Let me fight for you.’
‘We don’t need your magic,’ Arthur began.
‘Good, because I don’t have it anymore,’ Jalen said.
‘What?’
‘I’m human,’ Jalen replied. ‘I gave up my powers when I left Niniane. I was remade by Ankou, given another chance, more than I deserved and more than I wanted, but the God of the Otherworld wasn’t going to let me be a coward. So here I am – human, powerless, ready to fight and die for you.’
‘Why?’ Arthur spluttered. ‘What happened to a world of magic?’
‘I was wrong,’ Jalen said. ‘What point would that world have if you weren’t beside me?’
Arthur sat down heavily. ‘I… the others won’t…’
‘I know,’ Jalen said.
Silence stretched between them. Outside the tent, the sounds of the camp seemed a long way away, like they were part of another world or time.
Arthur should be out there, addressing the people about to lay down their lives for a vision of a world he still wasn’t certain he could bring them.
He cleared his throat. ‘You truly have no connection to Niniane?’
‘None,’ Jalen replied. ‘I know you don’t want an apology, but I am sorry, Arthur. Truly sorry. Hurting you was never my intention. I thought—’
‘I know,’ Arthur cut in. ‘I can’t trust you, Jalen, not yet.’
‘I understand,’ Jalen said. ‘I have to earn it back, and I’ll do whatever I need to do, or at least, I’ll try.’
Arthur nodded.
Katarin burst into the tent, Olwen on her heels, but before she could speak the angry words Arthur knew were sitting on her tongue, he stood. ‘Jalen is joining us.’
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Kat exclaimed. ‘Arthur—’
‘Please, don’t argue, Kat,’ Arthur said wearily. He was incredibly tired all of a sudden. ‘He’s here to help.’
Kat snorted, but Olwen moved to stand in front of Jalen, her head tipped to the side. ‘He’s human,’ she said eventually. ‘Not a trace of the demi-god left. How did you do that?’
‘Niniane let you go?’ Kat demanded, her voice dripping with suspicion. Arthur couldn’t blame her.
Jalen’s lips twisted. ‘She didn’t let me do anything – she was distracted, too angry with her son to pay too much attention to me, so I broke the bond and fled Avalon.
’ Olwen made a noise that could have meant she was impressed, but Katarin’s eyes were narrowed.
Jalen turned his hands palms up. ‘I’m human.
Bleed me if you must, if you want proof.
If I do anything to hurt your brother, you can run me through.
I won’t stop you – I won’t be able to stop you, Katarin. ’
No one spoke for a long moment, until Olwen chuckled. ‘Come on then, I’ll find you a weapon if you plan on fighting,’ she said.
‘Olwen,’ Kat argued.
The Red Sister shrugged. ‘If he betrays us, I promise to let you kill him.’ She motioned for Jalen to follow her and Katarin was silent as Olwen led the ex-demi-god from the tent. Arthur sank back into his chair, his head falling into his hands as he massaged his temples.
‘Do you believe him?’ Katarin asked.
‘Yes,’ Arthur said. He rubbed his eyes until brightly coloured spots danced behind his lids. ‘Ankou’s army will be here at midnight, two nights from now.’
‘Samhain,’ Kat mumbled thoughtfully.
‘If we last that long.’