Chapter 45
Forty-Five
A valley,” Gawain said. “You think the grail is in a valley. And this came to you in… a vision.”
We had pulled our horses to the edge of the path, allowing the rest of the party to pass.
“Yes,” I said.
“I have visions all the time,” he grumbled. “Dreams of the grail. I’ve chased them no end.”
“These are different.”
“No, they’re not.”
“You have to trust me,” I said.
“I want to. But sometimes I sense you don’t fully trust me.”
My lungs cinched. I had to tell him. Only a select few outside the sisterhood knew the truth about the grail sword.
Not even the Fisher King knew its whereabouts.
In my frantic state I was beginning to question whether I could trust anyone at all, but Gawain was growing impatient.
If I didn’t tell him the truth, we might never find the grail.
He could have the glory. I wanted my heart’s deepest desire.
I told him about the lake, the sword, the visions.
He pulled a hand through his hair in disbelief.
“All this time the sword has been secure?”
I nodded.
“And Arthur knew this.” He looked hurt. “Some of those visions you described.” He grabbed the scar on the back of his neck. “How could you see into those moments?”
“The sword stores memories of descendants.”
He began to pace. “This valley. What did it look like?”
I focused my mind on the short flash of memory. The valley had been blanketed with vibrant grass, not a home in sight. It was sunset, I recalled. Green slopes glowing purple and blue in the fading light. The sun was setting into the sea.
“It’s near a coast,” I said. “A western coast.”
“Near a coast… near a coast.” Gawain was walking in circles, clutching his chin. “Was it on the mainland?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else? What else can you remember? Anything?”
I closed my eyes and burrowed deeper. But I could barely conjure more.
“It had steep walls and no trees. A road ran through it,” I offered.
“A road?”
“Yes. And I am certain now it was Morgan on horseback.”
“A road through a valley.” His mouth widened. “Devil’s Road. Lancelot, I think I know where the valley is.”
But before I could ask more, Gawain had already mounted Gringolet and was kicking into a gallop.
“But where?” I yelled, scrambling to catch up. “Where are we going?”
“The Valley of No Return.”
We rode west through Broceliande, into the uplands, taking a route that hugged the sea. Waves crashed against red sandstone cliffs. The spray reached us on horseback. We were alone on the route and told no one where we were going. It was safer this way.
“The road veers inland from here,” Gawain explained. “It cuts through Escavalon, the westernmost kingdom of Camelot.”
“You’ve been to the valley before?” I asked. “In search of the grail?”
“No. But others have. Guinevere’s cousin among them. A knight named Guiomar.”
“He found nothing?”
“He never came back. Thus the name, Valley of No Return.”
“And you believe Morgan would venture there?”
“She has a chapel on the valley’s edge. If she did possess the grail, she would hide it there. The valley is located between Escavalon and Cornwall, but claimed by neither.”
“Why?”
“Because of its reputation for missing knights.”
I nodded.
“And the dragon.”
“The dragon!”
Gawain gave me an imperious look.
“You’ve seen a dragon before?” I asked.
“No.”
“But you feel confident you can slay one if need be?”
“Correct.”
My heart jumped. Dragons were ancient creatures, rare and solitary. I’d heard of them lurking in underwater reservoirs in Wales. But I had not known one lived so close to Camelot.
We crossed a moor bristled with under-shrubs. Thatched cottages dotted the rolling hills, and I could see a few children leaning out of a window, looking at us. I waved.
“I wouldn’t,” Gawain said. “We’re near Cornwall. King Mark’s territory. They pay tribute to Rome.”
I’d heard of King Mark, the horse-eared king.
He presided over Cornwall from a castle on the headland, always far removed from battle himself.
Some said he’d murdered his brother and nephew.
Others claimed he was noble and peace-loving.
All I knew for certain was that the truce between Mark and Arthur was fragile.
Our quest alone might put that in jeopardy.
If the dragon didn’t disintegrate us first.
The road became a switchback and the valley swept dramatically into view. I recognized it instantly.
“And there’s Morgan’s chapel,” Gawain said, pointing to a greystone structure snaked in vines. I had no desire to know what was inside.
As we descended into the valley, the road took a wide bend, and the walls pressed together, forming a pass too narrow for our horses to negotiate.
We tethered them in a comfortable spot and proceeded on foot.
If the grail was here, it could be lodged in a cave wall or buried beneath dirt and stone.
I had no idea how the grail’s magic worked against Morgan’s, whether she could make it more difficult to locate.
Imperceptibly at first, the air began to vibrate, the silence ringing like a chime. I unsheathed my sword and Gawain did the same. The pass opened into what looked like a basin. The valley’s walls extended in a bowl hundreds of feet high.
Warm gusts of air swept along the ground. In the fading light, I saw a mass in the center of the basin, something hill-shaped—and iridescent green.
Gawain grabbed my arm and we went deathly still, terrified to make a sound. We could make out the dragon’s spiked back and plated scales. With the rise and fall of its chest it did seem to be asleep. Warm air chuffed rhythmically from its nostrils.
I’d never seen Gawain afraid before, and the grave look on his face was even more disturbing than the dragon. If anything happened to him, I realized, it would be my fault. This was a fool’s errand. A lethal quest. An inner voice begged me to turn back.
As Gawain crept forward, I stayed locked in place. I didn’t care about my own death. But I could not bear the thought of his.
“What are you doing!” he hissed.
“I can’t watch you die.”
“I’m not going to,” he shout-whispered. “And neither are you. Pull yourself together.”
I took a hesitant step forward, then another. I needed to channel this fear, but I didn’t know how.
A knight must have two hearts.
Bagotta’s voice emerged, bell clear. I spun around, convinced for a moment that she was in the basin with us.
You can channel your anger. Channel your sorrow. Channel your fear.
I reached inside myself, beneath the fear of the dragon’s fire, to an even deeper fear—the obliterating fear of losing someone I cared about again. I could not face that grief a second time.
I held out my sword, picked up the pace. Beneath the fear of grief and loneliness resided another feeling, even more powerful. I reached into myself, working through the wedge. I could feel it loosening and releasing through me like lifeblood.
As I overtook Gawain, a different kind of redness swam through me.
This feel was more potent than any I’d ever experienced.
It was red like the moon can be red. Red like the sun.
Red like salt-smacked lips, or the warmest hearth or the softest petal.
I let this new redness explode through me, as I closed in on the dragon’s brambled nest. Amid the dead shrubs and goat bones I spotted flickers of gold.
The dragon was sleeping on a pile of spoils.
Jewel-crusted crowns, scepters, candelabras, swords and bloodstained chain mail.
And one gold cup.
I blinked, shook my head. Could this really be it?
The object that launched a thousand quests, that split the world between old and new?
The grail was an arm’s length away; a few short steps and I’d have it in my possession.
How could one modest vessel balance the fate of the world?
How could a single goblet hold the heart’s deepest desire?
I wiped the sweat from my forehead in disbelief.
As I took a step forward, a bone snapped beneath my boot. I froze, heart thudding.
The dragon shuddered. Smoke puffed out of its mouth. Then it kept dozing.
A burp.
The nest sloped sharply, and I fought to gain purchase. Each step set off a small cascade of bones that pebbled against the dragon’s stomach. Somehow, the dragon did not stir, and I slid deeper into the nest, the grail just a few feet below, resting against the dragon’s side.
I reached out, arms shaking. I just needed to stretch a bit farther, clasp my hands around the grail’s lip, pluck it from the hoard. My palms were sweaty, chest pounding. My heart’s deepest desire—a finger length away.
Just as I was about to grip the cup, the bones gave way. I lost my balance, sliding forward. With a horrifying thud, I smashed directly into the dragon’s warm, hard belly.