Chapter 63
The darkness beneath the castle was thick and expectant.
Waiting. Arthur lit a torch and moved further into the cavern.
The air seemed to hum and the ground beneath their feet vibrated gently.
Ordes let his fey sight take in every detail of one of the last places he would see in this life.
He frowned – on the far wall, carved into the stone above where the red dragon slept, was a white dragon.
‘Arthur,’ he called, gesturing to the carving.
They all stared at it.
‘Eseld told me the White Dragon would lead me to the Grail,’ Arthur whispered. He lifted his torch to better see the carving. ‘I thought she meant it literally.’
‘There’s another one.’ Jenyfer’s voice was flat. ‘Over there. And another.’
Two more white dragons were carved into the rock, leading away from the sleeping Firestorm. Arthur gasped, moving towards them. His steps were slow, but he walked with the confidence of a man who knew exactly where he was going.
‘I saw this passageway in my dream,’ he said.
‘It’s this way.’ He vanished into the rock.
Ordes took Jenyfer’s hand and followed. The passageway was narrow; he and Jen couldn’t walk side by side, so he reluctantly released her and trailed his fingers over the walls as he descended the stone steps.
There was magic down here – the walls shimmered with it – and with a wry smile, Ordes recognised it.
His father had been here.
Arthur had stopped. ‘Before we do this, there is something you need to know. It wasn’t Ereshki who corrupted the mind of the king – it was Niniane. I saw Eseld and Merlin in my dreamwalk.’
Ordes shook his head. ‘This is precisely why we need to do this. All the lies, the manipulations… we need to make sure she can never try this again.’
‘I don’t think she’s truly dreadful, Ordes,’ Arthur said, smiling at the look Ordes gave him. ‘She was scared. Then, and now. Fear can be a great motivator.’
Ordes snorted.
‘You don’t understand,’ Arthur said. ‘You’ve never lived with fear hanging over you like a blanket. You’ve never felt each day might be your last. You’ve never drowned in it.’
‘You’re right,’ Ordes said after a moment. ‘But you and Jen didn’t—’
‘Because fear also paralyses you,’ Arthur said.
He nodded at Jen. ‘You have more courage than I ever did. And what Niniane did, regardless of whether it was right or wrong, took courage, Ordes.’ He turned and continued walking, stopping at the bottom of the steps before a door made of stone.
As Ordes came closer, he saw the writing and, beneath it, another white dragon.
Arthur held his torch close to the door.
‘Avalon,’ he murmured. ‘What does it say?’
Ordes swallowed, throat tight, mouth suddenly drained of moisture. ‘“When the White Dragon defeats the Red, when the serpent’s skin is shed, when the cursed earth is healed, only then will I be revealed,”’ he whispered. Arthur’s eyes were wide. ‘This is Eseld’s tomb.’
‘The Grail is in there,’ Arthur said with certainty. ‘This is the place I saw in my dreamwalk. But,’ he said, running his palm over the stone, ‘how do we get in? I can’t see a lock or a handle or anything.’
Ordes placed his hand on the door. A tingle ran through the stone to tickle his fingers, but nothing happened, not even when he used magic on it.
He frowned, letting his hand drop and stepping back.
‘It’s like it wants me to open it, but something is missing.
This is my father’s magic, so who the fuck knows what that something might be. ’
Jenyfer’s voice trembled as she spoke. ‘“Three sets of hands upon the stone.”’
Ordes and Arthur turned to her. She shrugged, her expression completely crushed, like she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.
Ordes wished she hadn’t either. The heartfire was crooning sadly in his chest, a constant burn, as it had been for days now.
He wondered if he’d burst into flames before he’d even had a chance to do anything.
Arthur was watching him expectantly.
Ordes exhaled a sharp breath. ‘We all need to touch it. Together,’ he added.
Arthur nodded and immediately placed his palm upon the door.
The tingling sensation in Ordes’ hand was greater than before, but still not enough.
‘Jen?’ he whispered. For a long time, she didn’t move, her eyes pinned to his.
With a ragged breath, she stepped forward and placed her hand next to his, a tear rolling down her cheek.
The door trembled. They all gasped as magic shot into their hands and slowly, without a sound, the door to Eseld’s tomb opened.
The Grail sat on top of a stone sarcophagus.
It was singing to them. It wasn’t what Ordes imagined it would be.
He’d thought the power of the universe would be something grand, but it was a simple stone bowl, something an ordinary person would not recognise beyond its shape.
Eseld’s sarcophagus, too, was simple and unassuming, not befitting a queen, saying nothing about the sacrifice she had made.
Jenyfer slipped her hand in Ordes’ as Arthur approached the Grail.
‘I’m not sure how this works,’ he said. His eyes flickered to Ordes. ‘Do you know?’
‘No,’ Ordes said. Slowly, he moved towards the Grail, understanding suddenly that life shrunk or expanded in proportion to someone’s courage and he was about to be braver than he’d ever been.
He wasn’t sure if he’d simply die or if he’d be unmade and scattered across the world, all the parts that made up who he was flung into the far corners of Teyath.
He hadn’t even touched the Grail yet, but he could feel what it was asking of him.
Any doubts he’d ever had that Merlin had been lying to him were washed away.
He’d been made for this.
Ordes swallowed. ‘Pick it up, Arthur.’
Arthur hesitated but did as he was told.
Music slammed into Ordes’ skull – the music of the world, a melody that strung everything together, every event and interaction, a web of experiences stretched across time and space.
He could tell from the expression on Arthur’s face that their king had not heard or felt what he had.
Jenyfer hadn’t either – her eyes were fixed on the Grail.
‘We all need to touch it, like the door,’ Ordes said.
Arthur held the magical vessel out for Jenyfer. A tremor passed through her, but she let go of Ordes’ hand and stepped forward. The moment her fingers brushed the stone, the music in his head became louder and he could hear her song woven through it.
The Grail appeared to pulse in Arthur’s hands, light and shadow and a whole spectrum of colours rising from the stone to swirl around it. Arthur and Jenyfer sucked in a collective breath.
‘I believe,’ Ordes whispered, ‘we’re looking at the magic of the world.’
He was the only one who was yet to touch the Grail.
Arthur’s eyes lifted and locked with his.
He nodded, his face broken. Jenyfer let out a choked sob but did not lift her hand from the Grail.
Ordes gathered her close, cradling her head between his palms. He kissed the tears from her cheeks then brushed her lips with his, his whole being shuddering as the reality of what he was about to do slammed into his skull.
Would it hurt? Would it hurt her, more than it already was?
The music grew louder. Ordes rested his forehead against Jenyfer’s, sharing her breath for one last moment, before he turned to Arthur. ‘Promise me one thing.’
‘Anything,’ Arthur breathed.
‘Keep her safe,’ Ordes whispered.
‘Of course.’
Ordes could hear the Grail calling to him, much like he had with the Bow of Mists.
Slowly his hand inched towards the magical vessel.
The moment his fingers brushed it, he felt its power – creation and destruction, life and death.
He slid his hands beneath it. ‘Let it go,’ he whispered, and Arthur and Jen stepped back.
Ordes held the world in his hands, everything it was and everything it could be.
He hesitated. ‘This is what we want? To close the realms?’
Arthur nodded, his expression grave. ‘If you can.’
‘Just like closing a door, right?’ Ordes said. The Grail hummed in his hands – his fingers curled over the edges of it as his heart split down the centre.
‘Ordes,’ Jenyfer whispered. Tears flowed down her cheeks and his own eyes were wet, Arthur’s as well.
The Once and Future King did not wipe away his tears – he pushed a smile onto his face.
Jenyfer wrapped her arms around herself and sank to her knees, but she did not look away.
He made himself smile, because if this was the last time she would see him, he wanted her to remember him smiling.
‘I love you,’ he told her, and then opened himself to the magic of the Gods.
The world spun through him, a kaleidoscope of whirling colour and shapes rimmed in silver. It fractured at the edges, came apart at the seams, spun and sliced and carved its way inside him as Ordes held onto one thing, one thought:
I refuse to die.
He pulled every part of who he was to the surface, every glimmer of his magic, every thought, every memory and feeling. All the things that made up who he was. All the things that nothing, not even the magic of the world, could take away from him.
I refuse to die.
The world shuddered, then obeyed.
It formed and shattered and reformed, tendrils of vine-like light wreathing Ordes’ body, ribbons of silver and mist and the threads of magic, as solid as rock, as insubstantial as air, fluid like the water and tinged with flame that burnt and blazed and devoured.
Before it settled in his chest.
His heart beat once, twice, then surged.