Avalon Rising (12 page)

I twist my crossbow, aim, fire. The bolt flies. Finds its target. And holds.

“Go!” I cry.

We’re close enough that the blacksmith can jump and climb to the other side. He does so and reaches for the boat’s edging to bring me to safety. Another shuddering of this hellish castle, and I’m gathering my weapons and tools, and there’s water spraying in my face and slippery gray skin brushing up against my leg, coming around either side of the boat. My lip quivers; my teeth chatter. The blacksmith reaches for my hand, and I move to grasp it, but suddenly, the bolt in the wall comes loose, and the boat falls.

I might scream with my drop, but I don’t hear a sound; instead, I feel wind rushing around me and the sturdy grip of Rufus’s hand around my wrist. He yanks me to the other side just as the body of a monster leaps into the air with as many teeth as I could ever count, just missing my feet.

I scramble backward. The monster falls. All is silent.

“We made it,” the blacksmith says, crouched beside me. “I didn’t know if we would.”

We crossed water by commandeering a boat across a ceiling and were nearly destroyed by whatever hell-beast dwells in the castle of the Fisher King. We refused a siren and a wraith the chance to steal the magic they guard. On another day, I’ll panic more about what fates I barely missed.

“We haven’t made it yet,” I whisper. “We still have one more test.”

Stairs wind up around an empty space. They climb to the top, opening to the wintery sky. No ceiling. Just like the room with the Round Table back in Camelot, which Marcus showed me, and which brought me the same sense of heart-pounding thrill. I’m not sure what third test Rufus and I will face, but this is only path for us now.

“Right judgment, then,” I say, gripping my sword tightly as the harpoon leans against my shoulder, propped in my other hand. “I don’t know what that might mean.”

I don’t expect Rufus to answer, and he doesn’t; his silence is interpretive and vast with possibility as I take the stairs with him following. The gold railing is sublime, carved into mermaids and swordfish, crustaceans and seaweed. The bottom of the ocean brought to the surface. But while some spots are covered in wet, sticky moss, others are dry with chipped gold plating, rotting wood underneath. At each landing, there’s a window looking over the Perilous Lands, endless, with no sense or feel of ocean or sea. I keep my eyes skyward and remember that each step brings me closer to finding the pathway to the Grail. And Marcus. And it will also lead me to understand why I’m here, why I’d ever be painted on the ceiling of a castle as old as this one.

Why on earth would Merlin have ever sent me here? It feels like eons have passed by the time we reach a landing leading nowhere. I glance up, seeing how far we are from the top. As the walls lift into the sky, I see more floors, more railings, more rooms I could explore. How curious. I reset my eyes on the doors, lined in thin iron and decorated with cogs warped and stretched like they might have found themselves fighting a wrathful sea.

This is it,
I think. The third test.

Right judgment might not include monsters or death, but it might be something all together more terrifying. And I’m not sure what sort of demon or magic will be there to ensure the last test is where I fail.

Inside is a dusty room that resembles the main castle in Camelot where Arthur would meet with his advisors. There, it was decorated with red and gold tapestries boasting the Pendragon emblem, tables of wrought-iron candles and wine and dishes, the king and queen’s own magnificent thrones trumping any gossip or talks of war from nobility and knights who’d enter.

But this room is bare, empty. Nothing other than cobwebs and a set of arched cathedral windows on one side with columns on the other. My eyes adjust to the strange sunlight spilling in; I watch as heavy dust from years of settlement dances in the beams. There’s a lone flag, the color of dull ocean water that might have been bright and bold once. I lift the silk, and a silver trident stares back at me. The symbol of the Fisher King.

I don’t understand why the pathway would bring us here, and I’m about to speak, but first, three long strikes to the stone floor stun me still.

“Who goes there?”
a voice as old as creation calls.

My heart is in my throat, and my eyes dart to the dark spots in this room. Finally, they rest upon a figure up ahead, right where a simple, yet warbled, iron throne sits, perpendicular to a cold, empty fireplace with white ashes scattered about. Sunlight silhouettes the figure, letting me see a crown on a man’s head, the light’s grip around the serrated points reflecting gold. “Who intrudes upon the castle of the Fisher King? State your name.”

Rufus touches my shoulder to pause me. “My lady, let me bear this burden.”

I shake my head, though it comes about without any credible courage. I cannot let the blacksmith do this. This is my task, my quest, and I remember the despair written on Marcus’s face when he believed his father died in the inferno of Morgan’s war. I cannot allow that sadness to have been in vain.

I free myself from Rufus’s grasp and walk toward the voice, keeping close watch on the details of each darkened corner, each spider’s mosaic webbing, each bit of dust I breathe in and expel into the atmosphere. There might be a trap in this test. I must be on guard.

Finally, the silhouetted figure is much clearer once I’ve passed the sunbeams. It raises a shaking hand. “Come no further. Why is there a girl in my midst? Who are you?”

I take a long breath. “My name is Vivienne. The sorcerer Merlin sent me to find the Fisher King.” And now Rufus will know the truth, that Merlin, our shared mentor, sent me here, not Azur.

The figure responds with a heavy scoff that turns into a laugh. “Merlin. You lie, girl. There’s no way in heaven or on earth the demigods would have allowed that thief to exist for as long as this.” Words pass through dry lips, shaky and angry and full of hate.

I feel a frown crossing my face at the insult, but I’m not sure the wisest thing would be to respond.

The figure sits taller. “Though indeed I’ve spent much time imagining him here with me. If the demigods kept tally, they’d know the sense of thievery was stronger in me than the wizard of Camelot. But Merlin … Merlin fell prey to the allure of
deception
.” He spits the word in such a way that his bitterness is palpable. “If you claim to be one of his kin, I should expect nothing different from you.”

I’ve already guessed the answer to the question on my mind, but I must know for certain. “Is it you?”

The shadows vanish with my last step, and the face leans closer and peers at me. A man as old as Adam, tangled in gray hair and a long beard that tumbles to his waist, speckled with what looks like seaweed and barnacles. His skin is a cross between mildew and stone that might crumble at but a touch. His garments are of the old fashioned sort—elaborate robes more flamboyant than practical, with long, royal blue threads and silver harpoons embroidered throughout. A matching trident stands tall in his right hand, and the man stares at me with eyes so small they’ve nearly fallen into the back of his skull.

“You know who I am. If it was
Merlin
who sent you, then you know I’m the Fisher King.” He looks upon me with more scrutiny now. “By Jove. It cannot be. Remarkable.” He stares at every part of my face.

“What?” I forget propriety for curiosity.

He narrows his eyes. “You look so much like her.”

“Who?”

“The Lady of the Lake, of course. Centuries ago. When she was very young, and I was still a wealthy king.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I knew her as Vivienne.”

My breath leaves me. I think of the gypsy in the village of Camelot who only one day past threatened me with violent magic. I remember the shine of the gold coins she gave to the young mother who’d been caught in Morgan le Fay’s flames. But even more so, I remember how the old woman’s strange, bright eyes widened in surprise or satisfaction when I told her my name.
A good name.

The Fisher King won’t dwell on that revelation, though. “It seems we’ve much to discuss, my dear. My subjects reformed the castle and all its traps for the rise of the mechanical arts. All in hopes someone able to pass these tests would free me. Magic had been stripped of the entire kingdom except for the curse vehemently set upon me.”

Whatever evil the demigods ordered in this castle to guard the Fisher King, the curse’s legacy depended on a well-meaning thief of magic finally giving in, not the rise of the new science against which it had no chance. And so I see how the scales were tipped, and I consider how the Holy Grail is meant to balance them.

The Fisher King sits back in his throne and laughs dryly. “Now nearly everything in this godforsaken place is a mere afterthought of magic, and the rest is a twisted, watery version of those blasted mechanical arts you and yours are so fond of. It’ll stay this way until someone arrives in my kingdom, someone whom even the demigods might fear. That person will save me from my torment here on earth. Through
his
efforts, I’ll finally be released from my curse’s hold.”

He lifts his arms draped in their fine threads and lets me see the seaweed serving as chains or handcuffs, rock and coral forming around his wrists as though binding him. He gives them a quick tug, showing their strength.

“So imagine my surprise now that I know it just might be the girl painted on my ceiling long ago. The girl painted by mystics and seers. The girl who was supposed to be an homage to the demigods or connected to the legend of the Grail—I can’t remember which.”

I’m not sure where I should begin, and so all I can manage is, “I share a name with … ” before I’ve lost any sense of coherency. The Lady of the Lake had known my mother before I was born and decreed I’d be of much importance to Camelot. But to have her
name
. “It was the Lady of the Lake who cursed you. Wasn’t it?”

The Fisher King’s eyes trace the lines of muck and dirt on his wrists. “Through much resistance on my part. Yes.”

“She promised to protect me in Camelot. Why would she curse you if your destiny aligns with the Grail’s?”

“While you were
in Camelot
, she promised. But you aren’t anymore, are you, Lady Vivienne?” A smile of outright cruelty draws itself upon the Fisher King’s face. “She is more concerned with her role in the Grail’s discovery than the affairs of mankind. They all are. We’re nothing but
beetles
to them.” He sneers as he emits the word and struggles more against his bindings.

I cannot dwell here any longer. If Marcus and Owen are still missing, Rufus and I have to hurry. “Tell me how to release you from this.”

The Fisher King laughs loudly, and it echoes against the stark bare walls. “Release me? You? Even Merlin would fail a task as monumental as this.”

But why would Merlin send me to the Perilous Lands only to fail? “I’ve passed the tests—” And then my mouth shuts abruptly, right when the Fisher King’s eyes widen at my words. We both note my error.

“No, dear,” he says. “Not the last one.”

I glare at his mocking smile. “Then why did we find you first?”

Rufus shifts uneasily. “Perhaps we missed a corner or a path.”

“You didn’t,” the Fisher King asserts.

I pace in front of the throne. “Tell me what I must do. I killed Morgan le Fay not six months—”

Wind and thunder and icy rain spill around me until I’m sure I’ll drown in a storm that shouldn’t be. It vanishes as quickly as it came. Rufus and I are left drenched in snow and water and ruffled by gusts of air. But the Fisher King remains untouched.

“Morgan le Fay was a child in the world of magical thievery,” he huffs. “And I could show you what sort of power I can wield myself, foolish girl so sure she can save a thief of magic from his own fate.”

I’m cold and tired, and I stare at the rotting face of king in front of me and feel a rise of anger.

“I left the only home I’ve ever known because I have to believe
all
of this, this Grail, this quest to beat the Spanish rogues, it could save lives. I’m here because the person I admired most in this world gave his soul so the Grail could eventually be found. He told me it was only through you that Camelot might claim it. But the Spanish rogues have attacked Jerusalem, and I cannot go there myself, and it is very possible that it’s already too late, and still Merlin told me my place was
here
.”

He sits back, his hands shaped into a temple at his chin as he thinks. Rufus stands next to me and crosses his arms over his chest. The Fisher King knows to leave is no option for either of us.

He clears his throat, and now, he speaks with humility. “You’ll need the coordinates to Avalon.”

I take a breath. It’s time to speak the truth out loud. “I have them.”

His tiny eyes grow larger. “Then it’s true? It’s you who will lead the knights to the Holy Grail? It’s your mind, the treasured sacristy?” He laughs.

I feel my eyes sting with frustrated, exhausted tears. “Does the thought amuse you so greatly?”

“Oh, certainly not!” he says through louder laughter that borders on cruelty. “It’s just that I know what sort of path lies ahead of you, Lady Vivienne!”

The blacksmith huffs and regards the column standing beside him. With one swing of his iron hook, the column collapses into dust and rubble, and the Fisher King is silenced.

“We’ve come a long way, my lord, with much at stake,” Rufus growls.

The Fisher King regards the blacksmith. “Ah. Blacksmith. The demigods are chatty; they’ve been particularly interested in what’ll become of your boy.” He snarls a smile, risking some crumbling of skin and bone. Then the old man glances at me. “Tell me first what you want in return. I do not accept charity, even in such a desperate state.”

I don’t need to think about the question. “You’re connected to the fate of the Holy Grail. Give us what we need and set us on the correct path that we might claim it quickly and find the knights. This is what Merlin told me must happen.”

He nods slowly. “Very well. Take me to the highest point of my castle, where you’ll be presented with the third test, one of right judgment. If you pass, I’ll go to meet death, and the path to find Avalon will be unlocked to you. If you fail, my fate will fall upon both of you.”

I imagine myself tied to a throne such as his, starfish and barnacles cuffing my wrists. But I will not be afraid. “All right.”

“Patience, Lady Vivienne. There’s another predicament that would assure me you are, in fact, suitable for this task.” He shuffles his robes until two knobby knees are in perfect view. I blink several times when I glance at what lies below: dust, rubble, as though his legs faded away long ago.

“I’ll need a new set of feet, you see.”