Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Lancelot, your arm.”
I awakened to cold wind and violent bounces. Merlin and I were riding in a horse-drawn wagon through dense wilderness. The wagon had two large wooden wheels encased in iron, and they jostled in the deep ruts of the road.
A panic burbled through me. Where were we? How long had we been traveling? The forest seemed to shake and whistle with a wind that penetrated my marrow. I had never known such cold before. I looked down at my arm, which had slipped out from under my buckskin cloak. I tucked it back beneath the fur.
“Sorry to wake you,” Merlin said, tugging on the reins. When I did not respond he added, “I was afraid you might get frostbite. We’re in Broceliande now. Beautiful forest, no? We are not very far from Camelot.”
Camelot. That was right. We were on our way to Camelot. Merlin was escorting me. He was escorting me because Viviana could not. If she left the Isle of Women, its magic would weaken, leaving the sisterhood vulnerable to the Roman ships now plundering the archipelago.
The Roman ships that—
I’m afraid I have some terrible news.
No. I thrashed my head, trying to wake myself from a bad dream.
The days had melded into a shapeless journey.
I’d parted with Viviana in a state of numb haste, no time for anything but a final rushed goodbye.
Then Merlin and I had docked at Sorelois, I remembered that.
We’d boarded a large vessel bound for Logres, and I’d lain on a cot in the bowels of the ship, buried beneath heavy animal skins.
I remembered staring at the ship walls, tracing their grains and knots, thinking about all the ways I would like to die.
A kind cook—a man? A woman? I could not even recall—had fixed me a bowl of cormorant stew, or was it capon?
I nodded in thanks because it smelled delicious, or had it smelled repulsive?
Regardless, I had no appetite. I had barely eaten.
I did not speak a word. I had not slept until nodding off in the wagon.
I blinked into the darkness of the forest, my vision seeming to perforate. The bitter wind carried with it something frozen, and was it… yes, it was wet. Like rain but slower. It was falling now without a sound, and accumulating in the tree branches.
Merlin noted my confusion. “You’ve never seen it before, have you?”
I shook my head.
“This is snow.”
He pulled up before an oddly shaped wooden dwelling, built amongst the trees. It looked like a lopsided cake, with an octagonal base and multiple stories stacked on top of one another. The whole place was held together by various buttresses and adorned with a slapdash assortment of stone statues.
“Welcome to Owl’s Guard,” Merlin said. “My home.”
To the side of the house I heard the clapping of a loose door. It was attached to a rookery and as it blew open and shut, I caught sight of many pairs of glowing eyes. The so-named owls.
I was not meant to be here. I had made a horrible mistake. I was the reason that—
“Lo, there!” Merlin pulled on the reins.
We brought the horses into the barn, removing harness and yoke.
Merlin had purchased supplies somewhere in Logres and they filled the back of the wagon: carrots, leeks, squash, spices, two jars of honey, a dozen tallow candles, five sacks of nails, nutmeg, two hide-bound manuscripts and embroidered leather gloves.
I followed him up the flagstone path. As we reached the threshold, a terrible crash echoed above us. One of the chimneys toppled, shattering a few stone creatures.
“Needed replacing anyway.” Merlin shrugged. “And do not worry. We’re only staying here until morning.”
Owl’s Guard was both cozy and expansive.
Its great room was no bigger than Viviana’s, but the ceiling opened to the highest level of the house, some five good stories, with gallery hallways on each floor overlooking it.
Shelves on the back wall stretched nearly as high, stuffed with all manner of books and curios, from counting boards and astrolabes to water clocks and circles of convex glass.
Stuffed creatures were arranged across the room, including a badger, a white deer, a crocodile and a bear with a snaggletooth.
I should’ve been in awe. But I felt dead inside.
Merlin looked on proudly. “It is good to be home.”
I watched him move about the house, shelving the cart’s contents, igniting the candles, sweeping the floor with an alacrity that pierced my flesh.
He was humming to himself, and the humming made me want to slam my fist through a spike.
I stared numbly at the paintings on the wall, fighting the urge to scream.
“My ancestors.” Merlin nodded to the paintings.
“The Ambrosius line. Aunt Madeline”—he pointed to a portrait of a stern-looking woman sitting on a tufted chair—“died of pleurisy. Sir Tamlin, there in the yellow tunic, ate a bad cockle and perished the next day. I avoid shellfish as a result. Oh hello, Blaise.”
Behind me a squat man was hunched over a work table lined with ink horns and quills. He was mouse quiet, and I had not noticed him. He looked up and waved. Then went back to his vellum.
“He has the work ethic of a virgin monk. If only a monastery would take him. New ways might do him good. He has been staying with me temporarily… for the past ten years. He’s harmless, really.
Just don’t get him started on the Trojan War.
Or the motion of the planets. Or really anything having to do with history or science.
That is unless you’re looking for a fast way to fall asleep. ”
Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated Merlin’s jocular rapport. But that night it chafed against my own dark numbness. He unwrapped some bread and cheese and cured meat and pushed them my way. I told him I wasn’t hungry.
“Some wine then.” He poured two hearty cups.
“I’d prefer to go to bed.”
“As you wish.” He took his cup to a chair by the fire and cracked open a jewel-encrusted book. “Upstairs,” he added, without looking up. “Any room.”
I barely heard him. I was staring into the fire, hypnotized by its crackling flames. The walls seemed to compress against me. A choking wrongness filled my lungs and stifled my breath.
I’m afraid I have some terrible news.
“You’re still here.” Merlin followed my gaze to the hearth. “You’re wondering about the painting of Aunt Beatrice? She gets the most prominent position above the mantel. Died by donkey trample.”
I curled my fists, pressed my lips against my teeth. “I am in no mood for jokes.”
Merlin clapped his book shut. “It’s not a joke. It is how she died.” Then he lowered his voice. “People die and it is awful, truly, and we must find ways to go on.”
“What if we can’t?”
With one bony finger he motioned for me to sit. I was too tired to refuse.
“The Irish Sea,” he said. “Do you know which way its current flows?”
“What?”
“I said, do you know which way the—”
“I heard the question.”
“North,” he said. “It flows north.”
“What is your point?”
“It factors into my decision. That is all.”
“What decision?”
“Whether to fly or swim.”
I bit my cheek. “Fly or swim where?”
“To Ireland.” Merlin took a sip of his wine and some droplets clung to his beard. My fists quavered. I had been in a state of denial when I agreed to follow him. I had not been in my right mind. I still wasn’t. And now I was growing angrier by the second.
“I don’t follow. And I don’t think I care to.”
“Mostly I prefer to fly,” he said, ignoring my complaint. “Flying is as wonderful as you might imagine. The most practical choice is to become a tern, since they are very fast. But the swans, though slow, are far more entertaining company. Osprey constitute a happy middle ground.”
“And what do foxes constitute?”
For a brief moment, Merlin said nothing, just stared through me.
“Seeing as I was coming from Camelot, I would need to go west, then north. So I chose to swim.”
“Don’t tell me. You transformed into a whale.”
“A dolphin actually. I find it hard to be a whale. They feel too much.”
“Then perhaps I am a whale.”
“There we are.” He smiled, his teeth like cracked stones.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I was swimming through the Irish Sea, on my way to visit a ward there. Like you, he is destined to be a great knight. His name is Tristan. Perhaps one day your paths might cross. But as I was riding the current through the Distant Isles, I spotted a small fleet of ships. I leaped out of the water, as dolphins do, to get a better look. The ships bore the arms and insignia of Rome. They were docking at Giant’s Island.
I swam as close as I could to shore, then I became a fox again. ”
My ears started to ring; my palms went clammy. “I do not wish to hear more.”
“By the time I found Galehaut, he was—”
“No.”
“He—”
I stood up, seething. “Stop.”
“Dead. He was dead. And so were Bagotta and Delice. It seemed to be Brunor’s doing, but I arrived too late to know for sure. Brunor was also dead. Roman legionaries now occupy Giant’s Island and much of the Distant Isles.”
I covered my ears and closed my eyes. I knew that this was my fault. I had gone against the prophecy, and fate had retaliated in the cruelest of ways. I wanted to dissolve into the ether, to no longer exist. If Galehaut was gone I wished to be, too. I could feel my whole body shaking.
“I am telling you this, Lancelot, so you know what is at stake. The Roman emperor and his tributes wish to eradicate the old ways. And, like us, they are hunting for the grail. King Mark, Pontius Anthony, Frollo and their kingdoms. King Claudas.” He punctuated the name with the downward tilt of his head.
“They are all chasing after it. A knight named Gawain has recovered the lance. And rumors swirl about the location of the sword and grail.” He raised his hand, anticipating my thoughts.
“I know, I know, the sword rumors are all a ruse. Let the empire chase it. It’s the grail that we are worried about.
Because whoever possesses the grail is said to have their heart’s deepest desire fulfilled.
Imagine if someone’s deepest desire is to eradicate an entire way of being.
This is why the prophecy must be heeded.
The restoration of the grail can only flow through you. ”
The great room fell silent. The walls of Owl’s Guard creaked and groaned. I was trembling.
“Whoever retrieves the grail,” I said, “will have his deepest desire fulfilled?”
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. I could tell he was weighing his words. “This is what they say.”
“Who’s they?”
“The sisterhood.”
A revelation struck me. Only someone with deep knowledge of the sisterhood could come close to outpacing their magic.
“You’re a descendant,” I said. “You were one of the exceptions, a man permitted to live on the island. Your magic comes from them.”
He smiled. “The sisterhood is loath to speak of kin.”
“It’s Lotta, isn’t it,” I pressed him.
“Lotta? Do I look that pale?”
“Glitonea then.”
“Which one is she again? Igraine’s niece? No.”
“Here you are, speaking of their kin.”
“Glitonea’s kinship is common knowledge. She is related to Igraine, the late mother of King Arthur. Camelot is Camelot because of Glitonea.”
“Is my kinship with Elinor public knowledge?” I asked.
“No. But the story of your upbringing is.”
“So who is it?” I pressed. “Who of the sisterhood? Not… not Viviana?”
He laughed, shook his head. “Ganieda is my sister.”
Ganieda, with her slinking features, her lupine beauty. I had to squint to see the resemblance, but it was there, in Merlin’s pert mouth, his wide forehead and cloud of dark hair.
“As for Viviana,” he added. “On the Isle of Women we were once very close. When the grail disappeared, the sisterhood brought me to their shores to cultivate my prophetic abilities. But I broke the rules. I learned their magic. And though we are on the same side, I think Viviana rather considers me an enemy.”
“Should I?”
“I am quite sure you already do.”
“If I cared enough to worry about my life, I might be afraid.”
At this he rose from his chair and handed me a candle in a flat brass holder.
“We must get some sleep. Camelot is but a morning’s ride from here.
It is, as I am sure you’ve heard, a glorious city.
But its grandeur can be overwhelming. Arthur’s castle and the people within it are unpredictable.
And I should warn you.” Merlin looked out the grand window framing the woods and snow.
“Camelot is a modern city, where the old and new coexist, mostly in harmony. But adherents of the new ways are far less tolerant. And they have limited views about love.”
“What are you trying to say?”
He rested a hand on my shoulder and gave me a pitying look. “My point is, the grail will not bring him back.”