Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

ARTHUR

I woke with my heart pounding hard enough to hurt. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. The canopy of leaves overhead and the earthy scent of damp moss filled my senses as it all came rushing back—the quest, the sword, the fae knights.

Something had pulled me from sleep, but what? I lay still, my breath shallow as I strained my ears against the heavy silence of the forest night.

There it was again—a faint rustling—a whisper of movement.

Then I felt it. Tiny, delicate footsteps, like the patter of raindrops, dancing across my skin.

I bolted upright, my eyes wide as I scanned my surroundings. The campfire had burned down to glowing embers. The knights were sprawled around it, their chests rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Even Percival, who was meant to be keeping watch, was propped against a tree, his head lolling to the side.

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw them. Tiny, luminous shapes flitting between the trees, darting in and out of the shadows like fireflies. Giggles and whispers floated on the breeze, musical and mischievous.

I rose slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. The little creatures seemed to grow bolder.

As I stood there, hardly daring to breathe, the tiny creatures emerged from the shadows, their curiosity seemingly overriding their caution. They were no bigger than my hand, with delicate, gossamer wings that shimmered like stained glass in the faint light. Their skin had a luminous quality, as if they were lit from within by starlight.

Some had hair the color of spun silver, others had locks of pale gold or rich chestnut. They wore garments that seemed to be made from flower petals, leaves, and the finest spider silk, in shades of forest green, petal pink, and soft lavender.

I watched in wonder as they flitted closer, their movements graceful and fluid, like dandelion seeds on a breeze. They circled around me, leaving trails of glowing dust in their wake that smelled of honeysuckle.

Just as I was about to work up the courage to reach out my hands and touch one, Galahad chose that moment to sneeze. The sound was so loud and jarring that the trees nearly shook. The luminous creatures scattered like leaves in the wind, and the forest went dark again.

I groaned, deciding I wasn’t ready to go back to sleep just yet. Instead, I sat on a log next to the still burning embers of the fire, letting the gentle warmth comfort me. I wondered what other creatures we might find prowling this forest. I also wondered how in the gods’ name they’d gotten past the wards. Weren’t they meant to protect us?

The soft crunch of footsteps approached and I tensed, my hand instinctively going to the hilt of my sword. The sword that wasn’t there, but laying wrapped in my bedroll. I relaxed when I saw Merlin's familiar form materialize out of the shadows.

He settled down beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine as he leaned forward to warm his hands. For a moment, we sat in companionable silence, listening to the gentle crackle of the embers and the soft snores of the sleeping knights.

"You saw them, didn't you?" Merlin asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The sprites."

I nodded, still half-convinced I had imagined the whole thing. "Is that what they’re called? I've never seen anything like them before."

Merlin's lips quirked. "They're forest sprites. Mischievous little things, but generally harmless. They're drawn towards magic."

"So...they were drawn to me? Because of my fae blood?"

"Partially," Merlin said with a shrug. "But also because of Excalibur, and not to mention the protection spell I placed on you. It's like a beacon to creatures of magic."

I frowned, a flicker of unease stirring in my gut. "But if these sprites could sense it, couldn't other, more dangerous creatures sense it too? The wards were supposed to keep them out."

Merlin's brow furrowed, his blue eyes turning thoughtful. "The wards are designed to repel dark magic and malevolent beings. But sprites are creatures of pure magic—neither good nor evil. They exist in a gray area."

I shivered, hoping he was right. As if reading my thoughts, Merlin reached out and took my hand, his long fingers intertwining with mine. "I won't let anything happen to you, Wart. None of us will, and I’d bet my left foot you’re safe with these fucking barbarians."

That had me grinning. He tugged me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into the warmth of his side. I went willingly, resting my head against his chest and listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear.

Just as I was about to drift off, a loud snort from one of the knights jerked me back to full alertness. I sat up, blinking owlishly as I realized it was Percival who had made the noise. He was shifting in his sleep, his brow furrowed as if in the throes of some dark dream.

As I watched, shadows began to gather around him, swirling and eddying like ink dropped in water. They seemed to be emanating from Percival himself, seeping from his skin and clothes to pool on the ground at his feet.

I nudged Merlin, my eyes wide. "What's happening to him?"

Merlin frowned, leaning forward to get a better look. "It's his shadow magic. It responds to his emotions, his subconscious. When he's agitated, it can manifest like this, even in his sleep."

The shadows began to take on shapes—grasping hands, gaping maws, twisted forms that seemed to writhe and contort. A chill of dread raced down my spine as I watched them grow and multiply, their edges sharpening until they almost looked solid.

"Should we wake him?"

Merlin hesitated. "It could be dangerous. He’s very powerful, so there's no telling how he might lash out."

I bit the inside of my cheek. On one hand, the shadows looked terrifying, like something out of a child's worst nightmare. But on the other hand, I couldn't stand the thought of leaving Percival trapped in whatever dark dream had him in its clutches.

Stupidly, I rose to my feet and approached the sleeping knight, Merlin close at my heels. The shadows seemed to sense our presence, writhing and hissing like angry serpents. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to turn and run.

Kneeling beside Percival, I reached out a tentative hand and placed it on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake. "Percival," I called softly, my voice sounding small and frightened to my own ears. "Percival, wake up. You're dreaming."

Percival's eyes snapped open, but they were unfocused, unseeing. Inky blackness swallowed the white. His hand shot out, quick as a striking viper, and suddenly, a tendril of shadow was wrapped around my throat, as solid and cold as steel. I gasped, my hands flying up to claw at the shadowy bonds, but my fingers passed right through, finding no purchase.

The tendril tightened, cutting off my air. I choked, spots dancing in my vision as I struggled for breath. Dimly, I was aware of Merlin shouting, his hands glowing with arcane light as he tried to pry the shadows loose. Golden magic battered at the shadows, but they were unaffected.

The other knights were awake now, jolted from their sleep by the commotion. They leapt to their feet, their faces a mix of confusion and alarm as they took in the scene.

"Percy!" Lancelot roared, his sword drawn. "Release her, now!"

But Percival was still in the throes of his nightmare, his eyes wild and unseeing. His shadows lashed out, striking Lancelot across the face and sending him stumbling back.

Galahad and Tristan circled warily, their weapons at the ready, but hesitant to strike out at their brother. Gawain was chanting something under his breath, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air as he tried to counter Percival's magic with his own. Shards of ice poured from his fingers, fissures of frost climbing up his arms. But the ice couldn’t penetrate the shadows.

Black spots danced in my vision as the shadowy tendril tightened around my throat, cutting off my air. I clawed at it desperately, my nails scrabbling uselessly against the inky blackness. It was like trying to grab hold of smoke.

A tear leaked from my eye, then drummed down my cheek. For a moment, the tendril loosened, and I sucked in a desperate gasp of air. But Percival convulsed, a low moan escaping his lips, and the shadows surged with renewed strength.

"Percival, wake up!" Lancelot shouted, his sword slashing through the writhing shadows to no avail. They simply reformed, darker and more turbulent than before. "You're dreaming! It's not real!"

Galahad tried to get closer, but a whip-like shadow lashed out, forcing him back. Gawain's chanting grew louder, the ancient words thrumming with power, but Percival's nightmare magic was too strong, too chaotic.

“You’re going to kill her if you don’t let go!” Tristan shouted.

My lungs burned and my head felt like it was about to burst. Tears streamed down my face as I fought for each shallow, wheezing breath. The world began to dim around the edges, the concerned shouts of the knights fading into a distant buzz.

Just as I thought I would pass out, Merlin let out a roar of fury and raw, guttural desperation. His eyes blazed gold as he thrust his hands forward, unleashing a blast of golden magic directly at Percival's chest. The force of it slammed into the knight hard enough that the tree branches around us blew back.

Percival's eyes cleared, the black retreating from the whites, the fog of sleep and nightmare clearing in an instant. He blinked, his expression morphing from confusion to horror as he took in the scene. Me, clawing weakly at the shadowy tendril around my throat, my face turning purple; the other knights, shouting and slashing at the writhing shadows; and Merlin, his hands still glowing with residual magic, his face a mask of fear and rage.

"Fuck…" Percival choked out, his voice rough with sleep and shock.

With a wave of his hand, the shadows dissipated, slithering back into the dark corners of the forest. I collapsed to my knees, gulping in air, my throat raw and aching. I gagged, and I tried to suck in air. Merlin was at my side in an instant, his hands gentle as they skimmed over my neck, his magic a soothing balm on my bruised skin.

The other knights crowded around, cursing and muttering. Lancelot reached out to help me up, but I flinched away instinctively, my heart still pounding. Something that might have been hurt flashed across his face before he could hide it, but he withdrew his hand, giving me space.

Percival stared at his own hands as if they belonged to a stranger, horror and self-loathing twisting his features. "I'm so sorry, Arthur," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I never meant to—Fuck, I would never?—"

I swallowed, wincing at the pain in my throat. "I know," I croaked, my voice hoarse. "It was an accident. You were having a nightmare."

Merlin helped me to my feet, his arm wrapped around my waist to support me as I swayed. I leaned into him, grateful for his solid presence. The other knights hovered anxiously, their eyes darting between me and Percival.

"Are you alright?" Galahad asked softly, his face more serious than I’d ever seen.

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. Tristan handed me a water-skin, and I took a grateful sip, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat. Merlin’s magic had calmed most of the pain down to a dull throb.

Percival cursed, a low and vicious sound that seemed to echo through the suddenly silent clearing. Self-loathing and shame rolled off him in palpable waves as he stared at his hands, at the shadows that still clung to his fingertips like wispy remnants of a bad dream.

With a snarl of rage and frustration, he whirled around and slammed his fist into a nearby boulder. Tendrils of shadow lashed out, engulfing the rock and shattering it into a thousand obsidian shards that glittered like dark stars in the firelight.

The knights flinched, but none of them made a move to stop him as Percival stormed off into the trees, his cloak billowing behind him. The shadows seemed to swallow him up, then he was gone, leaving only a heavy silence in his wake.

I stared after him, my heart aching for the torment I had seen in his eyes. I knew all too well the weight of guilt, the sickening sensation of causing harm to those you cared for, even unintentionally.

Merlin's arm tightened around my waist. I leaned into him, taking a shaky breath as I reached up to touch my throat gingerly. The skin felt tender and swollen, and I couldn't suppress a wince at the contact.

Tristan approached, his silver eyes filled with concern as he gently tilted my chin up to examine my throat. His fingers were cool and soothing against my inflamed skin.

"I have a touch for healing," he murmured, nodding at my neck. "May I?"

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak. Tristan placed his palm against my throat, his touch feather-light. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration.

A moment later, I felt a pleasant tingling sensation, like the brush of a cool breeze against my skin. The pain and swelling began to recede. I released a soft sigh of relief, my shoulders sagging as the tension drained from my body.

Tristan opened his eyes, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Better?"

"Much," I whispered, my voice still a little hoarse but no longer painful. "Thank you, Tristan."

He inclined his head, his silver hair falling forward to frame his angular face. "It is my pleasure to serve, my lady."

Lancelot cleared his throat, drawing our attention. He stood a few paces away, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression unreadable. "We should move camp," he said, his tone brusque. "This location has been compromised."

I arched a brow skeptically. “How do you figure?”

His eyes didn’t bother meeting mine as he scanned the trees. “When Percy uses his shadows to that extent, the magic signature it leaves behind is significant, and it might draw in all kinds of creatures towards our camp. It’s safer if we head out now. Besides, the sun is rising in just a few hours.”

As we rode on through the day, the trees grew thicker, their branches intertwining overhead to form a dense canopy that blocked out the sun. The air felt heavy and still, like the forest itself was holding its breath. Even the chirping of the birds and the rustling of small creatures in the underbrush seemed muted, as if they, too, were wary of disturbing the eerie quiet.

I shifted in my saddle, my muscles aching from hours of riding. The events of the previous night still weighed heavily on my mind—the sprites, Percival's nightmare. This quest wasn’t starting out on a good footing.

As if sensing my unease, Merlin urged his mount closer to mine. "Alright there, Wart?" He’d opted to keep his griffin on the ground today. I suspected he didn’t want to let me out of his sight after last night. I nodded and tried to smile, but it felt strained.

"So," I said, breaking the oppressive silence. "Does anyone want to fill me in on this Holy Grail we're meant to be finding? All I know is it's some kind of magical cup that supposedly grants immortality. I never believed any of it myself, but I don’t think King Uther would have searched for it if there wasn’t some sliver of truth in there somewhere.”

Lancelot, riding at the head of our little procession, glanced back at me over his shoulder. "The Holy Grail isn’t just a cup . It’s a sacred artifact of immense power, crafted by the gods themselves and imbued with the very essence of life."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And it just happens to be lost and in need of finding? Who would lose such a thing?"

Galahad, riding beside me, chuckled. "The cup wasn’t lost. It was hidden . It was placed in the Wandering Wood on purpose.”

"What do you mean it was hidden on purpose? By whom?"

"The Holy Grail was hidden away centuries ago by the druids of the old religion. They were a brotherhood sworn to protect the cup and keep it out of the wrong hands. Legend says they built a secret temple deep within the Wandering Wood, and only those deemed worthy can find the path," Merlin explained.

"But why hide it away at all? If it's so powerful, wouldn't it be better to use it for good?"

"Power like that is too great a temptation," Lancelot said grimly. "In the wrong hands, the Grail could be used to become a conqueror. Entire kingdoms could fall, the very balance of life and death could be disrupted."

A chill raced down my spine at the thought. I thought of my own fae magic, the way it sometimes felt like a wild thing inside me, straining to break free. If a simple cup could grant actual immortality...

"So how are we supposed to find this secret temple?" I asked. "Do we have a map? A magic compass? A wise old guide who speaks only in riddles?"

Merlin snorted softly beside me. "Nothing quite so convenient, I'm afraid. The temple's location is a closely guarded secret, passed down through generations of Archdruids. But there are certain signs and portents that are said to guide the way for those who are worthy."

I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess. Cryptic rhyming clues carved into ancient standing stones? Hidden messages in the stars? Talking woodland creatures who give directions in exchange for a shiny trinket?"

Galahad laughed, the sound bright and warm in the gloom of the forest. "You've been reading too many faerietales. The signs are subtler than that. A forked path where there was none before. Or a stream that runs backwards. A gnarled tree in the shape of a chalice. Things that are easy to overlook if you don't know what to look for."

"And I suppose you lot know all the signs by heart?" I asked, glancing around at the knights.

Lancelot shook his head. "Not all of them. The knowledge was fragmented and scattered after the fall of the old religion. There’s a chance it might manifest in other ways too. We’ve never encountered a chosen one before, so who knows?"

"Well, that's just brilliant," I muttered. "A scavenger hunt through a magical forest with only half a clue to go on. I'm sure this will end splendidly."