Quest Page 4

  The crowd cheered at his announcement.

  The tremor increased in my chest. Our wedding? Tomorrow? I was not even consulted on the date or the arrangements.

  I glanced around the gathering searching for Lancelot. If I could rest my eyes upon the knight, maybe his strength would fortify me, but Lancelot had disappeared.

  "I seek worthy knights to complete the Round Table—three in all. These knights shall be the bravest and most valiant of men. The three who prove themselves in this quest to be such men shall join me and the rest of my knights in the most chivalrous alliance ever formed in the history of our lands. Once all of Britannia is united under a High King, I give you my oath; I will bring peace and protection to our country so that no man or woman must fear the loss of his loved one—either to invaders, or to rival kings—ever again."

  The subsequent ovations deafened my ears. Some, both men and women, wept at his proclamation. The phrases "thank you Sire," "Our King, Our Savior," filtered through the gathering as Arthur radiated.

  Arthur clapped his hands. "Merlin!"

  A hooded figure appeared out of the crowd. Power exuded from him. The gathering pressed back as if attempting to stay as far away from him as possible. He positioned himself in front of the crowd. An orb of swirling colors dangled from around his neck—druid's glass. Unlike Morgaine's unblemished orb, the hues of this glass shot through with streaks of black.

  Merlin, I assumed, lifted the knot work embroidered hood from his head, revealing a bald top, crowned with a circle of short-cropped hair. His gaze fell upon me, or perhaps it had already been attached to me, but his hood had hidden it. His stare unsettled me; I tensed, remembering he had disapproved of Arthur's and my union.

  Merlin raised his arms in the air, his sleeves billowing as he waved his hands in a circular motion and incanted words in a strange tongue. From nowhere, a white hind leaped over his head at an impossible height.

  A startled out breath came from the onlookers.

  The hind landed in front of Merlin, disoriented. Her wide brown eyes flicked around her surroundings as her legs stiffened. My mind spiraled back to my mother's memory with the white hart. The doe's fur glistened like the hart's, but she seemed fearful and confused—not mighty and powerful like the stag had been.

  Then an equally white hound veered around from behind Merlin, seeming to appear from thin air. The hound positioned itself in front of the hind, backing the crowd away with a growl.

  All the while, Merlin stared at me. Though his lips never tilted upward, I got the distinct impression he mocked me as if the arrangement of the white hind and hound hid an important—and distasteful—message.

  "Oh, well done, Merlin!" Arthur applauded.

  The crowd followed his lead.

  The noise frightened the hind even further, and her legs shook. The hound pressed back into her as if attempting to steady her.

  Vicious barks sounded in the distance. Within a heartbeat, a pack of black dogs descended on the hind and her protector. Chaos broke out within the gathering—onlookers uncertain if they should remain to watch the spectacle or flee, but their curiosity won out as they settled in to get a good view.

  The hind sprinted off in leaps. The white hound followed, attempting to fend off the pack giving chase.

  "The quest begins!" announced Arthur. "One man must slay the hind, one the hound and one must contain the pack. The men who accomplish this feat with the most honorable of standards will be awarded the three seats at the Round Table.”

  I trembled as the hind bound out of my sight.

  "Any may quest, Uncle? Even me?" asked a young man. The boy bore every resemblance to Arthur with his bright gold hair, tall stature and certain, undeniable grace and I wondered whose child he was.

  "I would expect no less, Gawain." Arthur ruffled the young man's hair with affection, as if he were a child. Gawain returned Arthur's smile with an admiring look, as if Arthur had just emerged from the Isle of the Blessed.

  "Any, you say?" said another from the crowd. The man wore tattered clothing and looked no more than a beggar. A brawny youth stood next to him, in similar disheveled attired. Though the youth’s mass hinted at brute strength, a softness in his rounded face, lips and eyes spoke of a less obvious gentleness. "Even Tor here, my son? The son of a peasant?"

  "In honor of our union," Arthur waved toward me, "the quest is open to all—rich or poor, noble or humbly born."

  A slow burn started in the corners of my eyes. In honor of our union, the white hind would be slaughtered?

  The man bowed, bending all the way to the dirt. His son followed suit.

  Elibel clapped as if she had never heard a more gallant proclamation.

  "But the hind has no chance to survive!" I blurted.

  All eyes turned to me.

  A spark lit Arthur's azure-colored eyes as he inspected my reaction. "Surely, you've attended a hunt, Guinevere. This is no different."

  "Yes, but the hind is outnumbered."

  Arthur burst into laughter. The crowd laughed along with him.

  “But she is a white hind. White is sacred. It’s a sign from the Otherworld.”

  “White is rare, my dearest, and therefore, a more desirable prize,” reasoned Arthur.

  "Come, My Lady," said Elibel, "I know your heart is weak for such spectacles, but it is the way of the world."

  "Do you not eat roasted duck, pickled pork, and dried game? How do we get such delicacies? Surely, my bride is not that faint of heart."

  I wanted to bolt from them. I searched the crowd, looking for an escape. The peasant boy, Tor, caught my attention. His face flooded with compassion. His gentle, brown eyes held the hint of a man who was formulating an idea and wished to convey his solidarity with the steadiness of his gaze. But the rest of the onlookers laughed along with Arthur at my distress.

  "Be off seekers of the quest!" Arthur addressed the crowd again. "Know that you must swear an oath to tell the truth of your tales when you return. The quest shall conclude tomorrow, after the Bishop of Canterbury seals our union. Then I will induct my new knights!"

  A roar followed as young men scrambled to arm themselves. Those who had horses, mounted and galloped off after the white hind, the hound and the pack of dogs, while the others ran behind.

  Tor tipped his chin in my direction before taking off with the rest.

  "Now, my bride," said Arthur, lowering his tone. "I've employed a team of the finest dressmakers to prepare a spectacular dress for our occasion. I understand that you don't care for such trifles, but in this instance, I want you to look like the finest queen Camelot will ever behold."

  "Oh, and what do I look like now?" I asked.

  He lifted my hand and kissed my fingertips. “You can’t be angry with me.”

  “The white hind is an Otherworld creature. You cannot hunt her.”

  A smile spread over his face, causing his eyes to light. “Now you sound as sentimental as my sister.” He continued to place feather-light kisses on my fingers, then the back of my hand, and finally trailing up to my wrist. “But I am charmed by your peculiarities. I assure you, Guinevere; the hind is no more than that—a deer, like any other.”

  With a final kiss, he pulled me into him, pressing his body into mine. “Enjoy the celebration, my bride. I’ve arranged this all for you.”

  You arranged this atrocity to display your prowess, I thought, but bit back the desire to say the words out loud.

  He waved toward Elibel and the other ladies milling near us. “Come!” he said, then directed his speech back toward me. “You will find your wedding gown well suited and I have arranged a fitting on the hour.”

  Arthur granted Rhosyn one of his more charming smiles. “Please escort Guinevere to her fitting. Aerona, see to it that her lady is seen to her chambers as well. I am sure you will find everything satisfactory.”

  For a moment, I thought he would pat my head. His eyes wandered to my cousin, instead.

  "Lady Elibel," he said, ti
pping his chin at her.

  Elibel flushed at his acknowledgement.

  “You’re looking well.”

  Then Arthur turned and waved to his people as Rhosyn, along with Crystin, escorted me away.

  Chapter 7

  I swiveled around to seek Elibel, but her gaze swept over the throng of merchants, the towering spires, and the vastness that was Camelot with wide-eyed wonder. She leaned in, asking Aerona a question and the two took off in another direction.

  Onlookers stared and pointed as we moved through them, toward a fortress that sat in the center of the city. The bright blue of the sky pressed away the last remaining black clouds; a rainbow appeared on the horizon, arching clear over the city.

  Though Rhosyn protested, I stopped at a merchant’s stall, ordering jewels, dresses and toiletries to be sent to Elibel’s chambers by morning. With the help of the merchant, I tucked a note in the delivery, saying:

  Elibel,

  Pleasantries to lift your mood and let you know that I am always here for you.

  My love to you always,

  Guin

  Rhosyn shifted and crossed her arms over her chest so many times I thought she might have poison ivy in her drawers.

  “Hurry,” she begged, “we haven’t time to waste.”

  * * *

  After a brief visit to my chambers, Rhosyn, along with Crystin, shuffled me back through the corridors of Camelot, into the east wing and down a darkened staircase lit with torchlight—a peculiar place to attend my fitting. Proper decorum dictated a dressmaker would come to my chamber, but Rhosyn assured me this arrangement was customary in Camelot.

  On our way there, the two exchanged heated whispers, all out of range of earshot.

  Once we arrived at a door, Crystin mumbled, "Oh, Mary, Joseph and Jesu, may God's hosts save me from the snares of the devil!"

  "Oh, hold your tongue, girl!" Rhosyn scolded as she knocked.

  Crystin pressed herself against the wall, gripping her cross as if waiting for a demon to arise from the chamber. The torches flickered in the hallway casting shadows on the girl's face. She squeezed her eyes shut at the squeak of the opening door, but then grabbed my hand and muttered, "May God protect you, My Lady." She let go and hugged her cross to her breast.

  The door swung wide, though no one appeared to greet us. A pungent smell of herbs sailed into the stale hall.

  "We will await you," Rhosyn said, then added, "My Lady," as an afterthought.

  The chamber within glowed with hundreds of candles. I crossed the threshold with caution—this was no dressmaker's chamber. A shelf lined one wall, dressed with tins, boxes, manuscripts, bundles of herbs and skulls. The room emitted a strong earthy scent, causing me momentary dizziness.

  I rested my hand on a nearby table for stability. In the center of the table, a game of Wooden Wisdoms was laid out, as if still in play. The white and black pieces seemed to be crafted from marble and onyx while the center king's piece was wrought from gold.

  "Welcome to Camelot, Lady Guinevere."

  I spun around at the familiar voice, nearly knocking the table over with my effort. A golden-haired woman in long white robes examined me with grass-green eyes. A young boy, with an obvious resemblance, stood by her side.

  "Morgaine!"

  "I hope that my brother has made you comfortable."

  "What are you…" I couldn't think. My blood rushed at the sight of her. I glanced toward the exit, but Rhosyn must have closed the door.

  "Doing here?" she continued for me. "After the death of my husband, Camelot became my home, Guinevere. Since we are to be sisters, you don't mind my calling you with such familiarity, do you?"

  I shook my head—not out of compliance, but out of confusion. I felt as if my eyes popped from their sockets, and I tried to control my countenance. "But I thought you and Arthur were adversaries.”

  "We have a peculiar relationship, true. But no less affectionate than many siblings."

  "But you do not approve of our marriage."

  A thin smile stretched her lips. "You misunderstand, Sister. I did not approve of Arthur's management of the situation. I wanted you to have a choice in the matter. A woman should always be free to make choices. Do you agree?"

  I didn't answer—I wasn’t sure what game Morgaine was playing and needed time to process the situation. I stared at her for moments, then my eyes wandered to the boy next to her. He had her same piercing eyes, but instead of gold-blonde hair, his locks blazed with red tones. His face twisted into a bored expression.

  "My son," said Morgaine. "Mordred. You have already met my elder at today's quest—Gawain."

  "The one who called Arthur, Uncle."

  "Arthur is grooming Gawain for knighthood."

  Mordred let out an exasperated huff.

  "You may go, Son."

  The boy scrambled back through a curtain at the opposite end of the chamber without a word.

  Morgaine continued, "By tomorrow Gawain will be knighted, and if the old ways are to be upheld, it will be Gawain to succeed Arthur one day."

  I scrunched my eyebrows. If Gawain succeeds, what of my children?

  "Ah, yes, sister, you are Christian and believe in Christian succession, even though your crown was wrought by ancient laws. But I know you hold the powers of the old ones within you, too."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, that a woman with your ability will come to see that the old ways must be upheld, or the land will suffer for it."

  "I still don't understand."

  I realized for the first time that Morgaine held two chalices. She approached and handed me one.

  I took the glass and held it up to drink, but the sharp odor caused me to pause.

  "I have many powers, Sister. One is knowing the properties of herbs. This one will strengthen you for the upcoming days."

  She tipped her own glass and drank.

  I followed suit and tried not to repel the drink as it hit my throat; it tasted as bad as it smelled. Once the liquid settled in my belly, a quick mental check assured me the woman had not just poisoned me—though I doubted she’d have the audacity to do so in Arthur’s kingdom.

  Morgaine’s eyes switched to the table behind me. "Do you play?"

  I turned back to the game of Wooden Wisdoms, and for a moment, I could have sworn the pieces had changed positions. I shook my head, not only to reply to her question, but to shake the wild thought from my mind.

  Morgaine approached to stand by my side. "What do you see when you look at the board?"

  "A game."

  "Is that all?"

  "A king surrounded by the forces of light and dark."

  "Ah, yes. What else?"

  "Each movement, each player's choice, affects the outcome of the king."

  "And what do you see when you look at my brother?"

  I started and stepped back, not realizing I had spoken without restraint.

  "Truthfully, we are sisters now. Do you see him as a wise king?"

  She studied me, her pupils pinning much like my falcon's.

  I returned my focus to the circular board, examining the king's piece. My vision blurred. Arthur appeared in my mind's eye—a golden blonde god, fighting without fear. Then his image morphed into a beautiful child, throwing a tantrum because he did not get a toy he wanted.

  "Arthur's mission for peace is honorable, but…"

  "Go on."

  "His drive to achieve the goal is tainted by his desire for power and fame."

  "You see clearly, Sister. Your power is great."

  "That is hardly a power."

  "Isn’t it? Most young women, and men, for that matter, would be so dazzled by my brother's beauty and eloquence that they would be blinded to his truth."

  "But that's not a power. Not like conjuring a white deer from thin air."

  "You mean Merlin's trick today at your arrival?" She shook her head. "That was a monstrosity to compel a supernatural from the Otherworld for my brother's entertainment
."

  "The hind was not of this world?"

  "Isn't that why you feared for her survival?"

  "She was disoriented and outnumbered. She did not have a chance." As I spoke, I realized Morgaine had been informed, verbatim, of today's events even though she had not attended. Or she knew in a supernatural way. Either option sent a wave of shivers through me.

  "Though Merlin is capable of much more, his interests are for self-preservation. He only seeks to amuse and stroke my brother's grandiose dreams of himself. Much like he did with Arthur's father."

  "What do you mean?"

  She cocked her head at me, like a crow examining a mouse. "You've never heard rumors of my brother's conception?"

  "I pay little attention to rumors."

  The corners of her lips curved upwards. "Uther Pendragon, Arthur's father, was notorious for attaining whatever he desired. That desire extended to my mother, who was already married to my father. One night, when my father was away in battle, Merlin cast an illusion on Uther to appear as my father and snuck him into Tintagel where my mother mistook him as her husband. Uther raped her, for surely, though my mother was willing, she knew not his identity, and rape it was. Uther had my father killed and took my mother as his queen, but Arthur already swelled in her belly from that deceitful night."

  I didn't know how to respond. A lump formed in my throat at the thought of such trickery.

  "My mother did not have a choice, Guinevere. That is why it is so important to me that you retain your choices. But in order to make good choices, one must have all the information. And that is where your power—your gift—comes into play."

  "You are mistaken. I don't possess such a gift."

  "No, Sister. You do. You possess the power to see beyond words and actions. Even beyond the veil that separates the worlds. It is the power to see truth. You just lacked guidance to fully develop this gift."

  I shook my head, unbelieving. My mind flashed to my mother's recollections. Each time she had spoken of "seeing" in some form.