Child of Time: The Pendragon Line

Part 11: A Familiar Path

Time passed and I laid trapped, watching the billoughy clouds pass by overhead and the daylight turn to darkness. Every now and then I thought I could hear a thump or a creak outside the door and my heart would jump hopefully expecting to see Galahad, Beowulf, Lancelot or Merlin bounding in to save me. Each time it was either the posted guard or my own imagination.

As the moon rose and the stars began to appear I grew more afraid, it was the worst kind of torture watching and knowing that any minute I would die.

The cold night air hit me hard as it drifted in through the cracks of the room. Shivering I could feel the goose bumps begin to rise on my skin. The room was filling with the intense glow of moonlight.

Someone laughed and the door swung open and my fear began to be realized as the familiar form of Morgana entered.

Fully naked she walked into the room, clutching the golden dagger to her breasts and a small bowl and brush in the other hand. Morgana moved directly to the body of the man she had callously left there hours earlier.

Bending down she dug the dagger deep into his flesh and poured out enough blood to fill the bowl.

I bit my lip hard as I watched her reapply the blood to her skin. Carefully outlining each symbol that had begun to fade as her previous application aged and the blood had dried.

Intently she turned back to me with cold eyes and a crooked grin.

"Blood of the innocent,

Over hill and mound,

Spread through the land

For which waters unfound.

Weaps the earth,

For young ones once strong,

Tattered and torn,

From whence child belonged.

Behold a cup,

Of Avalon told

For where the grail stands,

The world becomes whole."

The dagger dug deep into my flesh, hitting bone and grazing it. I screamed as my entire body flared with searing pain.

Morgana haphazardly flung the dagger aside and rammed her fist against my chest with a nauseating smack. She grabbed at my wound tearing it open releasing the streams of hot wet blood.

Saturated with magic, they glowed deep gold. Her hands shook as she twisted and gouged into me with her fingers. I began to feel cold, looking down I watched as my blood began to pool down around my sides.

My eyes grew wide as I watched my very own set of symbols rise up on my skin in an eradescent blue light.

Morgana gulped. Her own, twisted, bloody markings were pulsing, glowing. Slowly we both watched as the symbols inched down my arm from my chest and made their way to Morganas fist as if drawn in by a whirlpool.

She glanced around the room and ground her teeth together, the raw energy of the ritual swirling around them.

Beowulf's P.O.V.

The moon was high and glowed full when I entered the tall black gates of castle Le Fay. Upon entrance I could feel the difference in the air. It was nothing like in Camelot; it was thick and tainted with sadness. What few people remained awake at the lateness of the hour trudged along completely ignorant of my presence.

Not a single guard questioned me or gave me a glance, they simple sat around their watch fires, faces drawn in sullen despair.

This was no way for people to live.

Despite my easy entrance I decided to keep my face hidden by my thick burlap hood and my figure covered in the shadows of the castle walls.

The courtyard was a familiar sight to me. I had accompanied the king on many peace missions to Castle Le Fay in hopes of calming the tension between the two siblings.

None of which, proved successful. The two of them had been warring for decades, if it wasn't for one reason it was for another. Everything from border lands, old family disputes to whose land produced more livestock were reasons to feud.

But Morgana always took things a step farther and, in some opinions, a step darker. She had an uncanny gift for magic that even made Sir Merlin wary of her.

Merlin's words range clear as day in my mind as I edged through the shadows towards a servants entrance of the castle, "She could be so much more, if she would only control her emotions. Rather than her emotions controlling all else."

Slowly I pushed open the wooden door of the servant entrance. Poking my head inside my eyes were greeted with the dancing glow of a fire and the friendly warmth of the castles kitchen.

When I was certain that the room was empty I slid inside and gently closed the door.

A large wooden workspace stood firm in the center of the chamber, its countertop dusted lightly with flour and strewn with utensils and pieces of dough. A large brass pot hung simmering above the fire, to allow its contents to absorb various flavours and spices.

On the opposite end of the room was another similar wooden door. Cautiously I moved towards it and peeked through, one hand sat readily on the hilt of my sword.

I was peering down a long dark hall way, the only light was provided by the flicking of torches mounted upon cold stone walls.

The area seemed deserted.

I stepped forward into the passage. My footsteps echoed into the darkness but judging from the cobwebs and dust, few people entered here except for slaves and cooks on their way to the kitchens.

Easing myself forward I continued until I came to a fork in the road. On one side leading into the stony walls of the castle was a steep stairway that ended in an iron door. However, I could also continue forward going straight down the dark, dusty path.