Ides of the May (Children of the May 2 - updates weekly)

Chapter Seven: The Secret Valley

It began to rain almost as soon as we left the tower. Palomina forced Dinadan onto his horse’s back at knifepoint, blindfolded and gagged him, and bound his hands and feet. Though it was still very early in the morning the sun was coming up over the far end of the loch. I tried not to look at the huge body that lay at the far edge, halfway out of the water. I sincerely hoped that we would not have to go past it, but sure enough we took the road by which Sir Dinadan had attempted his escape. As we passed the brown, barnacle-covered hulk of the monster, I felt terrible guilt over what I had done. My stomach turned as I watched the fish nibble at the submerged tail of the king that had so long ruled over them. The fate I’d given the ancient beast had been the one I’d planned for Avalon. In being saved from destroying one ancient and noble thing, I had found myself murdering another.

Palomina ordered that we march in silence, so that we did not give anything away to Sir Dinadan, whose ears we couldn’t bind. Tentatively, I reached for her free hand, and she allowed me to take it. I raised my eyebrows to ask if she forgave me for not using my gift on Sir Dinadan’s mind, and she smiled weakly. She allowed me to kiss her when I lowered my mouth to hers, and in that kiss I found that Dinadan’s words about Palomides had scared her badly. Her brother dominated her thoughts. She had faith that he had not betrayed their camp at the loch willingly, but was haunted the terrible things she imagined they had done to force him into revealing the information. I squeezed her hand, which I am sure felt like very small consolation to her.

We walked on in silence well into the afternoon, the rain never ceasing. The land that had seemed so sublimely bleak the day before was now threatening. Gradually my magical senses became less sore. I once more felt the rough disturbance beneath the land. Something lay to the south of us, heavy like a bruise. I had felt something like it in Epicene’s memory, when she was in the presence of Merlin – the complete Merlin – at Caerleon. I stretched out in front of us, hoping to catch an indication of Epicene’s warm magical aura. When I felt her magic I would know we were almost there. But I felt nothing, and resigned myself to many more hours on the road. 

So it was a surprise when, perhaps an hour after I began to feel like myself again, we turned up through a gate and climbed a wooded path that dropped very steeply on the left side. I was a bit worried about the horse’s ability to keep Sir Dinadan on its back as it went up the muddy rise, but the beast was a fine one, and the knight a decent if ungainly rider, even blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back. The horse retained its confident footing, and Dinadan stayed in his saddle even when the path twisted sharply.

I was just considering how glad I was that I couldn’t sense Epicene in this poorly defensible place, when I heard a rustling from the bushes to the side and felt a huge arm wrap itself around me. I started to struggle, but then saw a sickle hanging from the man’s belt. I looked up and saw the face of Piers grinning back at me, the two scars the Questing Beast had given him gleaming on his cheek. Aglinda and Alisander danced excitedly around his feet, but both obeyed Palomina’s injunction to stay silent, which she enforced with a hand over her mouth. He ruffled their hair in greeting, and nodded at Sir Dinadan.

Palomina drew a square in the air, and Piers signalled that he understood. The farmer took the reins, and led the horse off along the left fork of the path. Palomina jerked her thumb at the narrower fork on the right, telling us to go that way, and went after the farmer and our captive. Aglinda grabbed my hand and led me up the rocky cut, to a door carved into the hill itself. Aglinda knocked a complex rhythm, and the door swung open into a large hall that had been cleanly burrowed out of the hillside. We walked past a tall grey-haired man who guarded the inside of the door, and went into the warm, softly lit, and well-furnished place. And there they all were. Well, most of them.

There were Melwas and Agravaine, lounging close to each other by the fireplace; the girl from Alisander’s memory called Petal resting her head on Melwas’ leg. There was Epicene, her bald head gleaming, though I still couldn’t sense her magic, and the fat, red-faced boy called Garnish. A very weak flutter of a type of magic I didn’t recognise emanated from him. And there was Christian, now a blond-haired toddler of two years and two days, sat on the knee of his ancient nursemaid, Norma. He was toying with the wooden cross Bellina had found tied round his neck back in the cave on Avalon, the cross that had given him his name. There was Brunor of the ill-fitting coat, still wearing that misshapen piece of clothing, and Bellina Saunce Pité sitting tight to the wall, as if trying to squeeze away from Brunor’s poor taste. None of them turned to us as we entered the room; their eyes were all focused on Elia the bard, who, eyes closed and with harp in hand, was just beginning to sing this grim song: