Chapter 39
Aday’s walk further north and they met up with Olwen’s people.
His people, Olwen corrected Arthur gently.
The group of around sixty contained a band of Red Sisters, silent and mysterious as ever.
Olwen told Arthur the women were powerful Magic Wielders and fierce fighters from their warrior’s ranks.
‘Like you?’ he asked.
‘Better than me,’ she replied with a grin.
There was a group of shifters from Malist, including Voss, who nodded his shaggy head in Arthur’s direction, as well as some men, mostly from Malist, who said they were there to fight.
Most looked like they’d never fought a day in their life, but who was Arthur to judge them for that?
The women who had come with them would tend to the wounded.
‘We’re not fighters,’ one of them said, a young woman with a work-worn face and nervous hands. ‘But we will keep you all fed and alive, if we can.’
‘Thank you,’ Arthur managed. He was surprised they’d come and wondered what Olwen had said to them. Maybe after what had happened in Malist with Medb had given them cause enough. Olwen said they were followers of him now, he who did the One God’s work.
‘Olwen…’ Arthur began.
She shrugged. ‘Let them think it for now, Arthur.’
‘It’s a deception,’ he argued.
‘It’s a half-truth,’ she countered, lowering her voice so no one would overhear them. ‘Isn’t it?’
He sighed. ‘If one man’s truth is another man’s lie, I suppose one man’s lie can be another man’s truth. But I will tell them the truth, the real truth, before the fighting starts. I won’t have people following me onto the battlefield under false pretences.’
The Red Sister smiled. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’
Arthur sought out Voss. The shifter stood a head taller than Arthur. His golden eyes assessed the camp, but if he was pleased by what he saw, he didn’t let it show.
‘Well, young king,’ he rumbled. ‘Here we are.’
‘Thank you for coming,’ Arthur said. ‘I didn’t expect… I mean, after what happened in Malist…’
‘What happened in Malist needed to happen. People needed to see what evil looked like, true evil, Arthur. They are familiar with misuse of power, with oppression and fear, but that isn’t the same. Power has a purpose – evil doesn’t need one.’
Arthur couldn’t disagree. ‘How is the city?’
The shifter shrugged. ‘Healing. The Red Sisters are sticking their noses into everything.’
‘You don’t like them?’
‘I don’t fully trust them because I don’t trust their mistress – the Old Ones lie,’ Voss added.
But it was the Warriors of the Light, their silver armour glimmering in the sun, that caused fresh hope to surge in Arthur’s heart. When he met their commander, Sorcha, a tall woman with pale blonde hair worn in tight braids, she crushed his hand.
‘Thank you,’ was all he could say.
Sorcha glanced around at their camp. ‘Magic Wielders, fey, shifters, humans, Warriors and Red Sisters – quite the army you have gathered, Arthur Pendragon.’
He nodded, a lump lodging in his throat at the mention of his new name.
He wondered how she knew it, but he didn’t ask.
Everything was surreal enough. That these people were here, throwing their support behind a man who still wasn’t sure what he was doing threatened to overwhelm Arthur with emotion.
Sorcha seemed to read his thoughts. ‘They have come because they recognise it is time for change. These people want a better world.’ She paused, giving him a critical look. ‘Can you give it to them?’
‘I can try. That is all I promise.’
‘Then that is enough,’ the Warrior said.
‘My Sisters and I will fight with you, not because this is what the Red One wants, but because it is what we want. Olwen made it clear that we needed to do this for ourselves, if we were to do it. Understand you will need to maintain the lie for a while longer. Let everyone believe this is a Holy war, a crusade against the heathen Old Ones and he who styles himself their king.’
‘That’s what Olwen said.’ Arthur sighed.
‘No, it’s what Ereshki said,’ Sorcha corrected. ‘The Goddess speaks to those who have devoted themselves to Her. It is through the Red Sisters that we know Her will, and this is what She wants.’
Arthur nodded, and Sorcha returned to her Warriors.
‘So we make war to live in peace,’ he murmured.
Ordes and Jenyfer were with Voss and his shifters on the other side of their rapidly growing camp.
Arthur had thought about what their return meant every day since Ordes had landed on the deck of The Excalibur in a flurry of wings and fury.
They’d have died if he hadn’t. Arthur was certain of it, but he was terribly worried what else their return meant.
If they all survived what was to come, he needed to find a way to keep Ordes from sacrificing himself so Arthur could be a king. There had to be another way. Maybe they didn’t need the Grail to do what they planned and close the realms? Maybe Ordes’ magic would be enough.
Arthur knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t be. Eseld and Merlin had both said the Grail contained the magic that created the world. To change it, they would need to use it, and to use it…
He pushed the thoughts away and went to find his sister.
The following morning, as dawn painted the Nemhain Mountains gold, they packed up camp and moved north, drawing inexorably closer to Dinas Emrys.
The Sword of the White Dragon was at Arthur’s hip, and the further they walked, the louder its songs of war and death became, until Arthur was exhausted and left wondering if the battle had already happened.
He could taste smoke and blood. Ashes sat on his tongue and his arms and shoulders ached, as if he’d been swinging the sword for days already.
Arthur glanced up as they paused for a rest. A black bird circled overhead. After Ordes and Jenyfer had returned from Dinas Emrys, Merlin had transformed into a bird and had remained that way ever since. He wished the Prophet of the Gods would come down.
Around midday, with the sun overhead, someone stepped out of the shadow of the mountain. Arthur tensed as Sorcha’s Warriors shifted in a defensive position and did not move until Halymere, at the head of the group, called out.
Heart pounding, Arthur pushed his way to the front. Melhala’s face split into a smile when she saw him. She bowed, making Arthur’s cheeks heat. Melhala appeared to be alone.
‘We travelled through the mountains,’ she explained.
‘We?’
‘Come,’ she said. Arthur, Halymere and Katarin followed Melhala into the mountains themselves. Arthur was amazed to find himself in a passageway, similar to the one he and Olwen had used to sneak onto Medb’s island on The Teeth.
‘There are lots of caves throughout the mountain range,’ Melhala said. ‘We found them by accident.’ She led them into an enormous cavern. Behind him, Arthur heard Kat make a surprised noise. ‘As you can see,’ Melhala went on, ‘this one is big enough for all of us.’
Arthur blinked, stunned at the sheer number of men and women gathered before him. The cave was lit with torches, tongues of flickering light licking the walls and painting faces with golden fire.
‘Things in Cruithea are bad, Arthur,’ Melhala said. ‘With the High Priestess gone and no one in her place—’
Kat muttered under her breath.
‘—loyalties are divided,’ Melhala said. ‘Many have joined Mordred – those Inborn loyal to him and those who simply know him as Morgause’s son. Cruithea is no different to anywhere else – the familiar draws people in when things are unknown.’
Arthur nodded. He hadn’t expected anything different. ‘And these people?’ he asked quietly as Ethinne joined them.
‘I convinced them that you had been sent from the gods, from Inanna herself. Ethinne spoke about Ereshki, and how it was time for us in Cruithea to embrace the Two in One, as we once did,’ Melhala said. ‘It wasn’t easy. A lot of people remained behind, but we couldn’t wait much longer.’
‘Thank you,’ Arthur whispered, grateful, even as he was uneasy at being linked once again to the Old Ones.
He understood the logic – the familiar versus the unknown – but it worried him.
He added it to the list of things that would need to be addressed once this was all over.
Katarin was asking questions about Cruithea, but Arthur wasn’t listening.
He could feel people watching him, wondering at this man who Melhala claimed had been sent by the Old Ones.
‘How many people are here?’ Katarin demanded.
‘Two hundred,’ Melhala told her.
‘Two hundred?’ Arthur echoed. A man with red-brown hair peel away from a group of people near them, and as he came closer, Arthur’s heart seized.
He had seen him before, in his dreamwalk of Morgause’s funeral.
When the man drew close enough, he dropped to one knee, much like Morgause had done when Arthur first met her.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable, and waited until the man had risen to his feet.
‘I am Gaheris,’ the man said. ‘Your—’
‘Uncle. I know,’ Arthur said, unable to stop himself from smiling.
‘You look like your mother,’ Gaheris said fondly. Arthur didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Gaheris shifted his attention to Katarin. ‘Morgaine,’ he said.
‘Don’t call me that,’ Katarin said, a note of warning in her tone.
‘I take it when this is all over, you’ll be returning to Cruithea to take up your position?’ he asked casually.
Kat folded her arms, defiance in every line of her body. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I’m sure Melhala told you how grave things are there,’ Gaheris said. ‘But I am telling you how grave things are everywhere. Teyath is about to fall to pieces unless your brother can do something to change that. There is tension and fear breeding.’
Katarin glared at their uncle. ‘I’m not a leader. I’m not fit to be High Priestess.’
‘But you could be,’ Ethinne put in. ‘If you let me help you, Morgaine Tintagel, Chosen of Inanna.’