Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Bors and Lionel left the next week on a merchant ship for Brittany. Viviana filled a satchel with various potions and medicines, including an elixir for seasickness. I gave them some of my spare clothes and Bagotta outfitted them each with a leather-strapped knife.
Pressing the encased blade into Bors’s palm, she said, “Dorin wasn’t trampled by a horse, was he?”
Bors said nothing, just rubbed his scar.
“Keep your brother safe,” she said.
When it was my turn to say goodbye, I dragged my foot through the sand in anxious circles.
I had grown impossibly fond of my double cousins.
I had no doubt that they would recover our lost lands and rule with dignity.
But they were also anticipating that I’d help from afar in Camelot. It agonized me to play along.
“We will see you again,” said Bors. “I am certain. And we will write you, with updates of our progress.”
I nodded, too guilty to respond.
“Speaking of progress,” said Lionel. “You might want to find a paume court in Camelot. Sharpen those skills.”
I vowed to try, and somehow that lie, about paume, hurt even more.
On the day of Galehaut and Bagotta’s departure, we loaded the boat with their belongings—clothes, boots, blankets, saddles and horsebits, stores of food and water for the journey and a small stack of books gifted from our library.
We folded the weapons in oilcloth and deposited them into the bowels of the boat.
The sisterhood would be happy to see them gone.
I embraced Bagotta, my head barely reaching her shoulders.
“You are the best fighter I’ve ever seen,” she said. “I know you’ll fulfill your destiny in Camelot.”
The guilt gnawed at me as we embraced. How to tell her I wasn’t going? That I had made another plan—with her son? Of all the women on the island, she was the most oblivious to our relationship. Galehaut’s future, in her mind, was immutable. And she’d bend reality to keep it fixed.
“You taught me everything,” I said, swallowing back a sudden surge of emotion.
For all her lack of imagination, Bagotta had been an infinitely steady and practical teacher, hard-driving in her own roguish way.
I was thankful for her instruction, but I hadn’t anticipated the pangs of parting. She kissed me on the forehead.
In my memory, these goodbyes with my cousins and Bagotta were poignant but straightforward. I wish I could say the same of my parting with Galehaut.
Ours was a flit, a nothing goodbye. We hugged quickly, and I breathed in his scent one last time, a biting swirl of sage and pine sap.
“Remember the plan,” he whispered.
“One week’s time.”
“It will be the longest week of my life.”
“Time moves differently for me,” I said. “I am already there.”
I do not remember much from the intervening days beyond the fact that they were excruciating.
My room felt empty without him. My days became shapeless and vacant.
According to the sisterhood, I was to sail to Logres with Viviana when the winds shifted.
Then on to Camelot. I went through the motions, absorbing advice from Elinor and some of the sisterhood, who, thanks to my imminent departure, had grown more receptive to conversation.
Glitonea spoke of King Arthur’s love of hunting dogs.
Ganieda warned of the city’s charlatans.
I learned from Mazoe how the Round Table had brought together knights from many lands.
There would be men and women who looked different from me and spoke languages I might not understand.
From Elinor, simple advice.
“Wear good boots.”
I nodded along, the goodwill only heightening my guilt.
I was not worthy of their kindness, but there was nothing I could do now to make up for it.
In seven days’ time, Galehaut would return for me.
I would meet him on the beach in the dead of night and we would sail off together, first to Sorelois, then on to a realm of our choosing.
It didn’t matter where. We had enough skills to serve as anything from a scribe to a mercenary.
If I was willing to risk the wrath of the sisterhood, Galehaut could abandon his life on Giant’s Island.
My faith in him was unwavering. But first he had to speak to his sister.
On the night he was to return, I kissed Elinor goodnight, certain it would be the last time I’d see her. She squeezed my hand. She told me she loved me. She said to come find her in the morning.
As I slipped upstairs, I could only pray that she would understand my decision. And in her infinite goodness, perhaps she might forgive me. I whispered these prayers in the name of Danu, unsure if they were heard.
I waited for Viviana to go to sleep and quietly packed my things. In a trunk I found an old childhood figurine. With a pang of nostalgia, I ran my fingers through its whittled grooves, the driftwood long cracked and dry. I rested the figurine on a shelf washed in moonlight. A modest altar.
There would be time later to feel wistful. I slipped out of my room and crept down the stairs.
Viviana was standing at the door.
She saw my bag and began to cry.
“I knew,” she said. “I knew you were leaving.”
The sight of her anguish cut to the bone. It hurt worse than any fall or gash I’d endured in my training.
“I will explain,” I said, my heart pounding.
“You don’t need to. I know everything.” She stepped aside, opening her palm. “I am not here to stop you.” Her voice cracked. “But I wanted to say goodbye.”
The reality of her sacrifice thudded against my ribs.
She had given me a dreamlike life, a youth woven through the mists of an island overflowing with a strange and mysterious abundance.
Even now, in the face of my deception, she was only asking to bid me farewell.
I hung my head, ashamed I’d ever thought to leave without saying goodbye.
“Come walk with me to the beach?” I asked. “See me off?”
She wiped the tears from her eyes. I looped her arm in mine.
It was a clear night, and the waves were gentle. I looked up to the stars, crisp and bright. Galehaut would have no trouble navigating.
“You are in love with him,” she said. We sat in the sand, hugging our knees.
“How long have you known?”
“Since the day he arrived. I know my son.”
Son. The word throbbed against my ribs. “You don’t approve.”
“My approval is irrelevant.”
“It is relevant to me.”
She was silent for a moment, measuring her words. “It is in your nature to love men and there is nothing to approve or disapprove. And Galehaut is the best of men.”
Her words poured through me, and I could feel the veils of shame lifting.
“Thank you.”
“There is also nothing to thank me for.”
“The sisterhood…”
“I will deal with them.” She hesitated. “But I fear that you are bending the world to your heart. The sisterhood has determined that your fate is entwined with the grail. You are cutting against prophecy.”
“Viviana,” I said. “I will not be the one to restore the grail.”
The conviction in my voice. The certainty. I did not know what compelled me to say such a thing. But it carried the sharp toll of truth.
Viviana gave me a strange look. “Perhaps not. But that changes nothing.”
We stood and she handed me a small leather satchel.
“Open it,” she said.
I untied the purple string and shook out its contents. A gold ring with a studded jewel fell into my hand.
“It’s from your birth mother. Elaine. I have saved it for you all this time.”
I held the ring between my fingers, inspecting its opalescent stone. The gold band was etched with waves.
“Go ahead,” she urged. “Slip it on.”
The ring fit my finger perfectly, the stone like a storm cloud. I could feel its power swirling through me.
It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The voice was Viviana’s. But it was also Elaine’s.
Yes. It is.
Viviana took my hands in hers. She ran her fingers over the ring.
At any moment Galehaut’s boat would crest into view, sails catching the moonlight, and he would spot the steep incline of the mountain and the outline of beach huts and then he would see me waving to him on the shore.
I would tell him that Viviana had given us her blessing, and me my mother’s ring.
“Take care, Lancelot.” Viviana made to leave. “Do not love to the point of your own oblivion.”
As she was walking away, something caught her eye. I followed her gaze. Across the beach, about fifty yards out, a creature was trotting towards us.
I recognized the auburn fur. The one white paw.
The fox’s tail was raised, ears stiff. We watched, unmoving, as it came to the tideline and sat before us.
Its gold eyes widened, and then its body began to tremble.
My lungs reached for a breath but the air had disappeared.
I looked in shock as a swirling light orbed around the fox, and somehow, unbelievably, the creature I had known all these years dematerialized before me, into a glowing auburn ball.
The ball stretched and elongated, reassembling into the form of a man.
The air struck my lungs with a thwack. I stepped back and nearly fell.
“Hello, Lancelot,” the man said. “Hello, Viviana.” He had a long beard and wild unkempt hair and was dressed in an auburn robe. His eyes were the fox’s.
“Merlin?” asked Viviana.
He walked up to us, open sleeves dangling from branch-like arms. I could smell his biting scent, a mix of cherry and pine. His cheeks were low and flat and his mouth was drawn in what looked like pity.
The last thing I remember him saying before I collapsed in the sand: “I’m afraid I have some terrible news.”