Chapter 57
Arthur’s whole body shook as grass grew beneath his feet. Olwen gripped his arm so tightly she’d leave bruises flowering on his skin. Her eyes shone with tears and her shoulders sagged, as if a weight had been lifted from them.
‘The curse,’ she whispered. ‘Arthur, the curse is broken.’
Arthur swallowed. A carpet of verdant green was spreading across the plain.
‘Mordred is dead,’ he said. He didn’t know how he knew that for certain, but he could feel it.
The reborn grass sang of it. His hand brushed his hip – the Sword of the White Dragon was not there.
He and Olwen exchanged a glance. ‘Find Kat,’ he told her, before he turned towards Dinas Emrys.
The battle continued behind him, but Arthur could not tear his eyes from the castle.
He had been here in his dreams, but now it didn’t seem important.
He didn’t feel what he thought he should feel.
It was just a castle, made of stones from the earth.
There were men on the battlements and others guarding the great doors of the outer walls.
Arthur’s eye was drawn to a window, high up in the Keep itself.
There, he saw a woman dressed in a white gown, dark hair tumbling over her shoulder.
Eseld, or the woman she was when she lived.
Arthur blinked, and she was gone.
The air shifted around him, pushing his hair into his eyes. He didn’t turn to acknowledge Ordes. ‘Halymere is dead,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ Jenyfer breathed. ‘Oh no.’
‘Mordred is dead,’ Arthur said. His voice was flat. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to feel or sound. He wasn’t sure of anything. He felt empty, filled with holes that the wind could whistle through. His fingers twitched. They were empty as well.
Jenyfer put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Arthur, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t—’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t me. Katarin… Kat killed him. My sister broke the curse of this place.’ Arthur glanced at Ordes. ‘Olwen has gone to find her and then… I don’t know.’ He gestured at the castle. ‘Halymere would know.’
A veil of red mist materialised in front of them and Kat and Olwen appeared. Olwen sank to her knees, exhausted.
‘I told you I could walk,’ Katarin scolded as she helped the Red Sister to her feet.
With her arm around Olwen, she met Arthur’s gaze with haunted eyes.
Behind the horror of what she’d done was a resolve Arthur had never seen before.
He wondered what else had happened out there, but it wasn’t the time to ask.
‘So,’ Olwen said casually. ‘I guess we’ve got a castle to storm?’
Arthur couldn’t help it – he laughed. Olwen’s unwavering sense of… he wasn’t sure what to call it. ‘Did I ever tell you how grateful I am that you landed on our ship and scared the life out of us all?’
‘I don’t think you did,’ Olwen quipped as Kat rolled her eyes. ‘But, if you feel like bestowing some grand title or lands or something important like that on little old me once we’ve found you a crown, I won’t complain.’
Arthur’s smile slipped. ‘I don’t want any of those people inside Dinas Emrys to be hurt,’ he said. ‘There has been enough death.’
‘No one else needs to die,’ his sister agreed.
The shadow of wings crossed over them. They all glanced up to see the White Dragon circle through the air, dipping low over the castle walls, before it soared away again, roaring mournfully.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Olwen demanded.
‘I don’t know,’ Arthur murmured. He took a deep breath and turned around to face Camlann Plain.
The broken earth that they’d spend days fighting upon was slowly turning green.
People had stopped fighting and were staring at it.
Katarin kept her eyes on the castle. She cleared her throat and held out the Sword of the White Dragon.
Arthur didn’t want to touch it, but he took it from her and secured it to his hip once more.
Beyond the castle gates, they found a courtyard filled with bodies.
‘It’s a healing centre,’ Jenyfer breathed, touching his arm. ‘Don’t, for one moment, think any of this is your fault, Arthur. These people chose to follow Mordred.’
Arthur nodded numbly.
‘We need to secure the castle,’ Olwen said.
‘Ordes,’ Arthur said. ‘Could you find Gaheris? We might need his silver tongue – I fear I am out of words.’
Ordes was gone and back with Gaheris before Arthur could move.
People were staring at them, but not one challenged them.
Perhaps they, like Arthur, wanted this to be over.
He was aware of Katarin and Gaheris talking in low voices, of Jenyfer moving towards the first group of wounded. Olwen followed her.
The sword whispering in Arthur’s ear, his heart broken. Slowly, his people made their way into the castle grounds. Iouen slapped him on the back, said something, then moved away. Ethinne’s face was streaked with tears, her glyph-covered arms splattered with blood.
‘Melhala?’ Arthur managed.
Ethinne shook her head. ‘She is with Inanna now.’
‘Oh Ethinne, I’m sorry,’ Arthur breathed.
The Priestess wiped her eyes, then squared her shoulders.
‘I will grieve for her later, when the time is right. For now, the wounded.’ She walked away before Arthur could stop her, crouching beside a man who shrank away from her.
Whatever she said to him caused him to relax and his eyes slid closed – she’d put him to sleep.
Arthur realised he knew next to nothing about the Priestesses of Inanna and their powers.
He watched his friends – his family – doing what they could for people. He was numb, his mouth dry and muscles tight, but he felt boneless, like he’d tumble to the ground at any moment. Iouen passed him again, carrying a bucket. The pirate paused, doubled-back, frowning.
‘Arthur?’
‘I’m alright,’ Arthur managed.
Iouen nodded. ‘Jalen is here,’ he said.
Arthur’s heart stuttered. ‘He’s hurt?’
‘He’s over there, close to the steps,’ Iouen said, and Arthur’s legs were moving, his throat thick, stomach clenched.
He couldn’t bear to lose one more person, not today.
He found Jalen and exhaled sharply in relief to see the former demi-god’s chest rose and fell.
A nasty gash ran the length of one cheek and blood coated his neck and the golden sand of his hair.
Arthur knelt beside him, resting his palm on Jalen’s chest, watching as Jalen’s eyelids fluttered open.
They stared at one another. Jalen’s face spasmed in pain.
‘I’ll get someone,’ Arthur said, but before he could move, Jalen’s hand closed over his.
‘I’m glad I came back,’ he whispered.
‘Me too,’ Arthur managed.
‘Right, out of the way,’ a terse voice said.
Arthur shifted back as a young woman with dark hair bent over Jalen, then sat back and rummaged in the basket she carried. Irritated, she pushed some loose hair from her face and met Arthur’s eyes.
‘I know you,’ he blurted.
She nodded. ‘I know you.’ She busied herself with Jalen’s wounds, not speaking until she was done. ‘I’m Calla,’ she said.
‘You came here from Kernou,’ Arthur said.
‘Yes.’
Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do with the people who had followed Mordred here but not followed his cousin onto the battlefield. He cleared his throat, but Calla spoke over him.
‘I don’t know if you’re a king or not, Arthur Tregarthen, and I don’t care. I left Kernou for my own reasons – I was not going to continue to live without being able to make any choices for myself. I was not going to continue to live under your father’s rule, under the One God’s rule,’ Calla added.
‘The One God—’
‘I know. Lamorna told me,’ Calla said. ‘And I don’t care about that either. I want to live how I choose and if you can’t give me that, then I, and probably many others, will…’ She paused and rubbed at her forehead. ‘I don’t know, Arthur.’
‘I’m not my father,’ Arthur said. ‘And I never will be. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I can’t make any promises, except one – you can live how you choose to live, Calla.
You can believe in whichever gods you wish.
You can wear what you like, love who you like…
be who you like. That’s what I want for this world. ’
Calla looked thoughtful, and when Ordes appeared out of thin air she stifled a scream.
‘We haven’t been able to find Lamorna – Jen’s worried,’ he said.
Calla stared at him, then sighed heavily. ‘Try the cavern beneath the castle. She’ll be there.’
Arthur nodded, getting to his feet as an enormous white wolf stalked into view, a body draped across her back. Tristan. Isolde lifted her head and sniffed the air, then turned her giant head towards them. Isolde whined, then lowered herself to the ground.
‘Oh,’ Calla whispered when she saw Tristan.
She swallowed, then her expression grew serious as she directed Arthur and Ordes to lay the wounded Tristan near Jalen so she could tend to both.
The wolf whined again, ending in an anguished human cry as Isolde transformed.
On hands and knees, she crawled to Tristan’s side, stroking his bloodied cheek.
His breathing was thick and laboured and his eyes remained closed.
Isolde shifted her gaze to Calla. ‘I saw you, in the Highlands that night.’
Calla nodded.
‘Can you save him?’
‘I can try,’ Calla whispered. She bit her lip, then sighed. ‘He’s in the castle. Hiding there like a scared little rabbit.’ Arthur wondered who she meant, but as Isolde transformed once more, he knew.
The wolf snarled then took off at a run, racing up the steps into the Keep.
Arthur exchanged a look with Ordes. ‘Do we…’
‘No,’ Ordes said.
They waited, the castle grounds slowly filling with more of the wounded.
A horrible scream echoed from within the Keep. Arthur tensed, his fingers dropping to the sword, but the Treasure was silent, so he let his hand fall.
At the top of the steps, the wolf clamped her great jaws firmly around a man’s shoulder.
His screams ripped through the air as she dragged him down the steps, but nobody came to his aid.
Everyone watched as the man, hair cropped close to his bleeding scalp, red robes torn and ragged, was pulled across the castle grounds towards the battlefield.
The wolf’s growls mingled with his cries. Arthur hurried after them.
Mark reminded Arthur so much of his father. He wasn’t sure why, but he needed to see this. Mordred was dead. The battle was over. But Mark, in that moment, became a symbol of everything that had been wrong with the world.
Arthur followed Isolde, shutting his ears to Mark’s screams. To his surprise, she released Mark then transformed back into her human self, standing over him as he scrambled backwards in the dust. Beyond them, that carpet of green grass was still creeping to all corners of Camlann Plain.
‘Please,’ Mark whispered. ‘I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘I said those words once,’ Isolde told him. ‘Do you remember?’ She crouched so they were eye to eye. The skinroamer’s hair was matted with blood and the wound on Mark’s shoulder dripped. ‘But you beat me anyway, didn’t you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ the man sobbed, clutching his shattered shoulder. White bone gleamed through the torn and bloodied flesh. The once powerful man put his head in his hands and wept in the face of his approaching death.
Isolde shook her head. ‘No. You’re not. And neither am I. Try not to scream. Your words, remember, husband?’
Before Arthur could blink, a white wolf stood over Mark.
He gasped as Isolde placed her paw on his chest, slamming him back onto the ground.
The lush green of the newly reborn earth inched closer to them.
Every muscle in Arthur’s body tensed as Mark turned desperate eyes on him.
Then he screamed as Isolde tore out his throat.
Arthur made himself watch as she turned Mark’s body to ribbons, thrashing his remains like he was a ragdoll.
When she was done, there was nothing left to indicate the pile of bloody flesh and bone had ever been a human being.
She turned from the carnage and padded calmly back inside the castle grounds.
The grass reached Mark’s body. It did not stop, not even for a moment. Green life crawled over his remains, smothering his final resting place with life.