Chapter 53
It would be today. She’d come today. Ordes could feel it in his soul, his bones, the core of his magic. His mother would be here today.
Above him, the White Dragon cast its great shadow on the earth. When Ordes had woken, it was to Arthur’s voice in his head as he spoke to the dragon. He’d scrambled out of bed and threw himself into the morning in time to watch the White Dragon soar over the camp, bellowing ferociously.
A shiver rushed the length of his spine. It was all going to happen today.
Once the sun was high, they returned to the battlefield.
‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered, not knowing why he was so eager to face her, only that it needed to happen.
A black bird streaked across the sky. Merlin.
The bird looped and headed back towards Ordes.
Seconds later, his father stood before him.
Time suspended around them – bodies frozen, weapons dangling in the air.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Ordes said. ‘You’re not supposed to interfere.’
‘When she gets here—’
‘I know.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Merlin said painfully. ‘Because you aren’t like her. Your mother is beautiful and generous, kind and caring, but she is also afraid, and fear makes her cruel. It makes her callous. The woman you know – the woman who will appear in this cursed place – is terrified, Ordes.’
‘So you’re saying I should be sympathetic?’ Ordes frowned.
‘I’m saying fear makes her incredibly dangerous. She’s had aeons to master her power. You’ve had a few months. Do not underestimate her and what she is willing to do,’ Merlin said firmly.
Ordes nodded, and Merlin vanished as another dragon, scales glowing with red fire, shot across the sky. It roared as it reached the White and as the two dragons met, the battlefield came alive again, like the clashing of beasts above them was a signal.
Ankou’s army of wraiths tore through Mordred’s ranks.
Ophine caught Ordes’ eye, grinned and drew their blade, rushing after them.
Ordes sensed Jenyfer close by, Arthur, Halymere, Kat – he was aware of them all, every person whose lives he held in his hand.
Since Marsh and what he had done, Ordes had vowed to protect them all.
He hadn’t understood that until this moment.
But he didn’t join them. He waited.
The air shifted; the scent of apples washed over him.
People fought around him, as if they couldn’t see him.
Ordes pulled the Bow of Mists free and notched an arrow as wraiths left men gasping, their throats torn out.
The Magic Wielders filled the air with light – balls of fire shot from fingertips and people were reduced to ashes, unleashing the most horrific screams Ordes had ever heard.
Blades clashed. People continued to die.
Medb’s fey screeched and died. Smoke drifted around him like a ghost.
And still, Niniane wasn’t here.
Ordes took a deep breath, tasting ash and dust and pain and apples.
Above them, the dragons tangled together, tooth and claw snapping and snarling. He saw Mordred from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t move, waiting, waiting, blood burning.
The air shifted again.
Ordes’ wings unfolded. He pulled back on the bowstring as mist suddenly engulfed Camlann Plain.
People cried out in confusion, blinded by the soft grey blanket.
Mist flowed towards Ordes, drawn to him, winding around him like a ribbon.
He could feel her. The magic she had gifted him thrummed in his veins.
Lightning split the sky. The scent of apples drenched the air, but it wasn’t the usual soft smell of delicate fruit anymore – it was sour, tinged with the faintest beginning of decomposition.
The mist cleared, and she was there.
Niniane’s silver armour glinted in the sunlight. Her hair was bound in a series of intricate braids, secured back from her face. She was alone.
Ordes took a deep breath. This wasn’t what he wanted but what he knew had to happen. Maybe this would be his end – not the Grail, not the remaking of the world, but death by his mother’s hand.
She looked at him. ‘Your blood will join theirs.’
‘You won’t touch them.’
Niniane cocked a delicate eyebrow. ‘You’re choosing them over the power you’ve been given?’
‘Yes,’ Ordes said. ‘You still don’t understand, Niniane.’
Swiftly, he fired arrow after arrow, four of them.
They thudded into the ground like cardinal points on a compass.
He thought of a cage and one grew around them, the arrows as anchor points.
When he and his mother were surrounded with impenetrable glimmering silver, Ordes lifted his gaze to hers again.
‘Very clever.’ Her laugh was like pearls tumbling into a bucket. ‘Now what? You’re going to try and convince me to go home? To let the world change around me and do nothing to stop it?’
‘Yes,’ Ordes said. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’
‘For you, maybe.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased that I’m fulfilling my destiny, playing the role you created me for.’ He shook his head. ‘You created me not to love me but to use me as you’ve used so many others.’
His mother said nothing.
‘I would have been a weapon, if my father didn’t take me away from you.’
Niniane stepped towards him and every muscle in Ordes’ body stiffened. Magic swirled around him, a warning.
‘You would have been my equal,’ she whispered.
‘I don’t believe that,’ Ordes said. ‘I don’t believe you know what that word means, or what it would mean to share power.’
‘I guess we’ll never know,’ Niniane said. Silver mist swirled and a sword appeared between her slim hands. She flipped it effortlessly, the weight of the steel no hindrance to her immortal strength. ‘Are you going to fight me, Ordes? You, who abhors violence, who has avoided it all your life?’
‘I’ve learnt that I can’t avoid it forever,’ Ordes said. He ran his finger along the Bow of Mists, tracing its curve.
Niniane eyed the treasure with anger and envy. ‘I’ll be taking that back,’ she declared.
‘No,’ Ordes said. ‘You won’t.’ Silver armour, swirling with mist, encased his chest and shoulders.
He was aware of Jenyfer’s panicked voice in his head, but he shut her out.
The heartfire burnt in objection, and he ignored that as well.
If he was going to stand any chance of defeating a goddess, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Niniane struck, so fierce and quick that Ordes barely had time to conjure a shield to protect himself.
The force of her magic rebounded off it, rocking him back on his heels.
She came at him again, a hand of silver mist reaching for him.
He deflected at the last moment. He held her Treasure but couldn’t use it in such close quarters.
She was too fast. All he could manage was to defend himself and not die.
There was a horrible bloodlust in his mother’s eye, a need for victory that terrified him. He didn’t know this woman at all. Maybe that was his fault. Maybe he should have tried harder to find out who she was, pushed his father…
The air in front of Ordes rippled.
‘No,’ he whispered, and Merlin materialised between Ordes and Niniane like a shield. Niniane gasped but did not lower her sword or her magic. Her eyes narrowed and her voice was venom.
‘You always said you weren’t allowed to interfere. Was that a lie?’
‘I never lied to you,’ Merlin said. ‘I’m not here as the Prophet of the Gods, or a Magic Wielder, or whatever I am. I’m here as a father who loves his son and who won’t stand by and watch him be hurt.’
Ordes’ throat was thick. He’d never doubted his father loved him, but to see him here, doing the very thing he said he wasn’t to do, was different.
‘Look at him, Niniane. Look at him and tell me that your desire for power is greater than him.’
She said nothing. Her hands lowered a fraction, but her expression remained unchanged.
‘Is your realm worth more than your son?’ Merlin asked.
‘My realm,’ Niniane said, ‘will cease to exist. My own son will take it from me. And you’re asking me to choose?’
‘It shouldn’t be a choice,’ Merlin argued.
‘You are more than this.’ He took a step closer – Ordes held his breath, kept his eyes on his mother.
Magic pulsed through the air around her, swelling and contracting with her breath.
Her eyes shifted between Merlin and Ordes, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed his father had gotten through to her.
Merlin took another step forward and said something too low for Ordes to hear.
Niniane smiled then, and before Ordes could take a breath, her hand shot out.
The force of her blow sent Merlin tumbling through the air.
Ordes’ magic curled around his hands as his father transformed from man to bird in mid-air.
The black bird hurtled towards Niniane, dodging the waves of magical silver light she threw at him.
Bird became man, then bird again, so fast Ordes could barely keep up.
Merlin ducked beneath Niniane’s sword, switched form and flew away, then the man was crouched on the earth between Ordes and his mother.
Merlin placed both hands on the blood-smeared ground. The earth beneath Ordes’ feet trembled and the air around his father’s hands shone, revealing a glimmering sword.
Niniane bared her teeth, and one sword became two. She levelled one at Merlin and the other at Ordes.
It was a challenge, undeniable and menacing.
Ordes conjured a sword from the air around him. He’d never been a comfortable sword wielder, much preferring the weight and balance of a cutlass, but he figured the idea was the same. If the sword he’d created from nothing was heavy, he couldn’t feel its weight. He drew level with his father.
‘Betrayal,’ Niniane said softly. ‘Hurts more than loss.’
And then, it was a dance, a flurry of steel and magic, fury and desperation.
Niniane did not falter against the two of them.
For one mad moment, Ordes was back on the deck of The Excalibur, fighting side by side with his father the last time someone had tried to take their ship.
His mother’s sword bit into the flesh of his upper arm, snapping him back to the present.
Merlin shoved him out of the way and transformed into a serpent, winding his body around Niniane’s.
With a snarl, she yanked him away. Her sword swung in slow motion, cutting the serpent’s head from its body in one stroke.
Ordes was frozen, horrified. His sword dropped from his fingers as he watched his mother’s face break. She cried out, tossing her weapon aside, falling to her knees and reaching for the serpent’s body.
‘No. No no no no no no,’ she repeated, cradling the bloodied flesh against her chest. She screamed and her raw anguish shook the ground beneath their feet.
Ordes couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move.
‘Niniane.’
Her head jerked, tear-streaked cheeks as white as snow, eyes rimmed with red.
Merlin was crouched before her.
She stared at him in confusion as the serpent clutched to her breast turned to ash. ‘A trick?’ she whispered. Ordes dropped to his knees, relief surging through him.
‘An illusion,’ Merlin said.
‘I thought I’d killed you,’ she breathed.
He cupped her face. ‘Don’t you see? Fear has left you unable to see the truth. Once, there was a time when nothing I did could trick the Goddess of Magic.’
‘But—’
‘The world will change and there is nothing you can do to stop it, my love.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘Let me take you home.’
‘I’m a goddess,’ she said flatly.
‘And you always will be – it won’t be the same and that is not a bad thing, Niniane. Your island will be your prison, but you won’t disappear from the world. And you won’t be alone,’ Merlin said.
She looked up at him tearfully. ‘I won’t?’
‘No, because you will have me and we will see the end of time together.’ Merlin stood and held out his hand. Niniane stared at it for a long time, before swallowing and slowly placing her hand in his, letting him lift her to her feet.
Merlin met his son’s eyes.
Ordes nodded, throat tight as he realised this was goodbye, for real.
His parents vanished.
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there on his knees, protected from what was unfolding around him by the magical net he’d created.
Anger speared through him. He’d just lost a parent because of the selfishness of the other and people were losing their lives over the selfishness of a man who believed he was entitled to rule a broken world.
Ordes vanished the sword, feeling the Bow of Mists settle over his shoulder once more.
Maniacal laughter cut through the din of battle.
He grit his teeth and finally let the barriers he’d constructed between himself and his mother’s Treasure disintegrate.
There was no space for mercy or kindness anymore – his mother wanted him to be a weapon, so he would be.
The Bow of Mists crooned encouragingly in his ear.
It had Niniane’s voice. Smoke billowed around him, brushing against the magical net.
Ordes let it fall, the four arrows he’d used as anchors flying to his hand.
He was sick of this. War. Power. Death. They were all better than this.
He’d start with Medb.