The Fire of Merlin (The Return to Camelot #2)(3)
“I’m not sure,” I replied, “but I think I was under water because everything was distorted.”
“She had a vision?” questioned Talan. “Lady Natasha, do you have the Sight? Has this befallen you before?”
I shook my head, aware that Arthur and Slurpy were now arguing about something. As I moved, I registered the heat coming from the back pocket of my jeans.
Slipping my hand in, I pulled out the acorn that had been my one tenuous link to the land of Logres and Bedivere. I had picked it up after speaking with Nimue at the Falls of Merlin; the day after Mordred, the druids of Gore and Slurpy Morgana had used me for magical punchbag practice.
The acorn looked the same: as green as an apple in a little brown crusty cup, but now it radiated with an invisible flame, which meant I had to roll it around my hand to stop it from burning my skin.
“Pray, where did you find such a seed?” asked Gareth quietly. His fingers hovered above the acorn, but he appeared too afraid to touch it.
“A squirrel dropped it by the Falls of Merlin. I don’t know why I picked it up,” I replied quietly, thinking back to the bushy-faced creature that had come so close to me by the waterfall. “It was in the pocket of my tunic, and so it travelled back through the Vale of Avalon with me. This acorn was the only thing I had left to remind me it had all been real.”
I couldn’t look at Bedivere because I didn’t want him to see me cry. I really didn’t want to get all snotty and silly, but there are times when tears have a stubborn will of their own.
We were going back to Logres, and the voice in my head was whispering that not all of us would be returning.
Chapter Two
Sir David Proves His Worth
My legs were wobbly, and the inside of my head ached with cold. It was just like getting a massive brain freeze from eating too much ice-cream too quickly. With Bedivere supporting my right side, and Gareth supporting my left, we started to move away from the copse of trees and back towards the stands.
Another groan rose from the watching spectators. Both riders in the joust had fallen, and judging by the furious yells coming from David, the two pretend knights hadn’t managed to hit anything except dirt.
“What foolishness is this?” cried David. “The steeds can smell their fear, as well as their cheap ale; they are rank with it. A mount will not ride true and straight under such witless wonders.”
“Then show the pretenders how it is done, Sir David,” suggested Talan. “Show them that it takes years of falling at the quintain to master such a skill.”
“Why, I think I will, Sir Talan,” replied David, puffing out his chest.
“This will be a sight for sure,” muttered Bedivere, but he was smiling.
“Sir David, you will require armour,” called Gareth, but David was no longer listening. His long legs were striding across the grass to where the horses were impatiently stamping at the ground.
“Won’t he get hurt without armour?”
“Sir David is the most masterful jouster I have ever seen,” replied Tristram proudly. “The braggarts of your time will be slain into the mud like fools.”
Clenching my front teeth into a grimace, I looked at Arthur and saw the same worried look mirrored back at me. The braggarts of our time were just men with nothing better to do on a cold February afternoon than dress up in medieval costumes and act like heroes. They were absolutely harmless.
And they were all going to end up in hospital if we weren’t careful.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Bedivere,” I said, as we watched David handle a horse, which immediately started to nuzzle against his head.
“Sir David has borne many blows, Natasha,” replied Bedivere. “Even without armour, he will show no cowardice.”
“It isn’t David we’re worried about,” muttered Arthur.
A pretty girl, with a short pixie-style haircut and a clipboard, was talking to David. She seemed quite overcome when he bowed to her, and she soon forgot that she was supposed to be writing, and instead started giggling and swinging her hips in front of him.
“And yet another maiden smote down with love,” said Talan.
“I’ll find you a girl, Talan,” said Arthur, slapping him on the back. “I know hundreds.”
“I’ll find Talan a girlfriend,” I said back. “There’s no telling what kind of skank he’ll end up with if you help him.”
“What about the princess, Lady Gaga?” suggested Talan hopefully. “I long to be matched to a maiden with a love of song.”
“Not sure she’s your type, mate,” replied Arthur, and he winked at me. I laughed and then wobbled, as tiny black stars swam in front of my eyes. Both Bedivere and Gareth tightened their hold on me.
“Sir Gareth, will you be able to support Natasha?” asked Bedivere. “I must take counsel with Arthur – alone.”
“It will be an honour,” replied Gareth, as Bedivere let go of my right elbow and beckoned to Arthur to follow him. I watched Slurpy’s face as the two of them walked away from us. Her pale skin had a mottled look to it, but it wasn’t like a blush, it was more cream coloured, like a marble statue. She was still wearing a lot of eye make-up, but ever since Arthur and I had moved to London, Slurpy had moved away from the garish purple make-up, and was instead wearing charcoal colours that she had smudged around the edges. If I ever wore my make-up like that, I would just look like I had been beaten up, but Slurpy managed to look quite cool, and a lot older than seventeen. There was something else different about her as well, that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.