Authors: Carol Oates
Shades of Avalon (48 page)
Guinevere’s shoulders dropped. Arthur walked over and threaded his fingers through hers giving her hand a light squeeze. Their disappointment was palpable. While Guinevere retained Excalibur she wouldn’t age. She wanted to grow old with Arthur, to be human with him. Surely she had earned it.
“Why?” Guinevere asked. The one word trembled on her tongue, and the breeze fluttered loose strands of hair across her face.
Amanda inhaled sharply, and we exchanged a silent look. It was selfish, but I knew both of us were thinking that we were glad it wasn’t us.
The funnel of water shimmied outward until it became a twenty-foot wide black and silver waterfall, as smooth as glass, reflecting all of us standing on the shore. Outlines quivered, and the colors weren’t so clear to make out every detail, but it was us with a notable difference. In the watery reflection, Excalibur glowed despite no one touching it. I immediately shifted my gaze to the real sword on the slick grass to find the metal blade dull and unremarkable.
“Your path is shifted, young warrior. Your time as Keeper of Excalibur is at an end. For another, the journey has begun, and Excalibur yet has a purpose.”
“What do they mean?” Annice wondered aloud, peeking up at Samuel.
In the reflection everyone exchanged glances with one another, no one sure what to make of the Fáidh’s pronouncement.
“I’m free?” Guinevere asked hopefully, although doubt lingered in her tone. “I am mortal?”
“Take up arms, Keeper.”
As we watched, iridescent ghostly light shimmered around the reflection of the new Keeper as it did the reflection of the sword. John moved in less than a blink. Before anyone had a chance to register what was happening, he flung Excalibur at the wall of water with a grunt. The sword summersaulted through the air and split the waterfall with no resistance. A V-shape of empty air opened up. Our reflections blurred and danced, and the vibrant chorus of voices rang out, furious at the assault. Stones splintered from the opposite bank and tumbled into the lake.
“No!” he roared. “Never.” John paced back and forth at the edge of the water like a caged animal. How in hell did he expect to fight water? What we were seeing was only a conduit. The Fáidh resided in the Otherworld, beyond reach to any of us.
Amanda gasped and accidently pinched the skin above my waistband when she pointlessly ducked to avoid a huge spray of water. Black liquid spouted fifty feet in the air, showering us as the broken wall closed up the middle, and the reflection settled. Triona rejoined Caleb, swiping wet hair from her face and flicking her hand away. Samuel, Annice, Carmel and Lewis seemed to avoid the worst of it because they were farthest away. The water tasted bitter on my tongue and smelled vaguely of sheep manure. Bile rose up my throat. I turned my head and spat rather than swallowing it back down.
Amanda tugged on my arm. “Look.”
The reflection showed Excalibur’s tip buried in the grass in front of Emma. Both were bathed in white light. Everyone turned to her. The real Emma looked startled but otherwise normal, and Excalibur was nowhere. Emma blinked rapidly as her eyes darted from the empty space in front of her to the reflection and back.
“No,” John hissed. “I forbid it.” His nostrils flared and tendons bulged from his neck.
“You cannot forbid destiny.” The Fáidh were evidently growing inpatient judging by the clipped, angry grumble.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Guinevere cried out. “Excalibur is mine.”
“No,” the voices answered, sounding like shattering glass and church bells all at once.
“Let me do it.” Triona ran from Caleb’s arms so fast his arms were left raised and groping at empty air. Her entire body went rigid as she reached the water. “She’s just a kid. I’ll take her place.”
“No.”
Relief swelled up and drowned out panic almost as quickly as it sparked. John pointed his finger at Emma, the real Emma, his arm outstretched. Deep lines were etched in his brow, and his golden eyes sparked with rage. I couldn’t bring myself to interfere. Given his position, I’d do the same. Destiny had asked enough of both our families—to ask more was unthinkable.
“Don’t you dare accept,” John warned.
Emma’s jaw slackened, and her chin jutted out defiantly. Archú remained close, but edged away. Andrew’s anxious expression morphed, and his brows pulled down in concentration. Emma glowered in his direction and pursed her lips, obviously daring him to attempt whatever she guessed he was about to. It dawned on me, on all of us I was sure, Andrew was a perfect candidate to take her place. Did the ability to absorb the powers of those around him with their consent mean he could he take whatever it was the Fáidh saw in Emma? A more interesting question was why would he want to? Regardless, she wasn’t about to let him.
John and Emma glared at each other with narrowed angry eyes. My head bobbed side to side as though observing a tennis match.
“It’s okay. Don’t you get it?” Emma said. “It was always going to be me. Whatever happened.”
“What are you talking about?” John closed the space between them and stopped short of shaking her by the shoulders.
“Dad knew about Triona and Ben, and we were meant to protect their secret too. But you were too stubborn, and I was too young.”
“What?” His face scrunched up at the information, and he shook his head in automatic response.
“I found a journal in the basement, and I think that life would’ve eventually led me to Guinevere. I think no matter what, something was always going to lead me to this.”
“That can’t be true. He’d have told me,” John argued.
Emma rolled her eyes and her hands flapped by her side. “When? When would he have told you?”
John forced out a resigned groan and tugged clumps of hair in each fist.
“You have to believe me. This feels right. I can’t explain it, but I know I’m meant to do this, and you have to let me.”
He didn’t respond, but Emma’s shoulders relaxed, clearly taking this as acquiescence, or something verging on it. Without waver, she reached out to where the sword should be if the reflection was real. Reflection Emma’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword. The moment her hand touched metal, it was there in the ground beside the real Emma, gleaming bright in the dark. Emma kept her eyes on John as she pulled out the sword, claiming it as her own.
With the purpose of their presence completed, the waterfall crashed into the surface of the lake, spraying us with water again.
Epilogue
“B
EN
, A
RE
Y
OU
U
P
?” Amanda shouted up the stairs, dragging me from a peaceful sleep. “You’ll be late.”
“I’m up,” I called back and rubbed my eyes, shaking off the last remnant of a dream that was too foggy around the edges to recall.
Yellow sunlight streamed in through the half opened drapes and warmed my back. I rubbed my eyes again and saw stars for a moment. I’d been working long hours ever since we got back from England to allow Lewis the time he needed to recuperate, and a phantom exhaustion had set in. I wasn’t physically tired, but in my head I knew I should be.
“Ben!”
“I’m up!” I shouted. Amanda had retained her early morning habit over the last several weeks, and the aroma of eggs and bacon wafted up from the kitchen.
We’d slipped back into something that resembled a normal life. In contrast to before, I wasn’t so convinced of my own invincibility. If the last few months had taught me anything, it was to have a healthy respect for possibility.
Triona and Caleb were back in Ireland. He never said, but I presumed Caleb was glad to put some distance between them and John for the time being. Triona insisted to me that Caleb wasn’t jealous any longer, but as a guy, I insisted she was kidding herself. It would take time for him to adjust, especially with everything else that had happened. Caleb still suffered nightmares about the car wreck from time to time, and after, when Zeal tortured him. He didn’t have actual memories of the torture, but his imagination worked up scenarios based on his condition when he was returned to us.
Guinevere and Arthur traveled to South Cadbury where they scattered Merlin’s ashes. We weren’t sure of their current location. They had a lot of lost time to catch up on.
Archú stayed on with Emma and John in London. She wouldn’t be returning to Paris—instead they were looking into private schools closer to home, and Amanda had invited them to visit at Christmas. John needed to start moving on, and Emma, she had a whole new future ahead of her. Now her future was the variable. I couldn’t disregard the niggling feeling it would have repercussions—that a domino had fallen when we were all playing in unchartered territory. That didn’t have to be a bad thing.
But for now, all that mattered was the immediate future.
I forced myself to roll over and threw my arm over my eyes, ignoring the rumble in the pit of my stomach. I listened as Amanda slipped her shoes off at the bottom of the stairs. She climbed, skipping the two with creaking boards. I restrained the smile making an attempt to burst through. She crossed the upstairs landing, holding her breath, but she couldn’t do anything about her steady heartbeat. Despite her best efforts, she wasn’t exactly stealthy, but it was fun to let her try. I pretended to sleep and waited until she’d maneuvered around the few remaining packing boxes that seemed to have become a permanent fixture in our bedroom. Her flowery scent intensified and darkened. Her heartbeat grew stronger. As soon as her knee brushed the wood of our bed, I leapt up. We tumbled onto the mattress with Amanda squealing in a combination of fright and giddiness, twisting us both up in a marshmallow of white bed sheets and feathers.
Our lips met in a flurry of movement, giggles, teeth knocking, and playful nips as we both sought to gain the upper hand in our play fight. Soon our movements slowed and heated, and every touch became more deliberate.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against her mouth.
Our bodies molded, and Amanda released a soft gasp. Her back arched in pleasure. Her fingers wound into the hair at the nape of my neck, causing shivers to tremble down my spine as our hips found a steady rhythm.
Whatever fate planned for us in the future, we had now to grab onto, and I didn’t intend to waste a moment of it.
Acknowledgments
It would be impossible to keep writing without the support of my family and friends, especially my dad, brothers, and sisters. My mum, although no longer with us, continues to inspire me and my boy, Eric, never lets life get boring.
Over the years I’ve been lucky to have the support of many people from the autism community. A special thanks to the mums who motivate me to push on through, even on the days I feel I have nothing left to give and words seem impossible.
My friends are a constant source of advice when it comes to life and writing. Thanks to Dawnetta Viars and Irina Porotskaya for always being there on the other side of the world to tell me in the nicest way when I’m doing it all wrong. Jennie Gammon Speck and KiTT, your endless encouragement and patience, especially when it comes to Shades, kept the characters in my head and heart.
Omnific Publishing has been my publishing home for four years now. I’m more grateful to everyone than I can possibly express, especially to Elizabeth Harper for bringing us all together. Thank you to Sean Riley, acquisitions editor at Omni. Colleen Keough-Wagner, Lisa O’Hara, and especially Robin Lonscak for taking a moderately passible manuscript and making it gleam. Thank you to Coreen Montagna, Micha Stone, and Amy Brokaw for taking that gleaming manuscript and turning it into a beautiful book. And an extra helping of thanks to Lisa for being the glue that holds Team Shades of Avalon together.
Traci Olsen, my publicist, has shown enormous patience over the last number of years, answering my questions and working away in the background to get my books into the right hands. I appreciate all you’ve done. Lastly, but importantly, my readers, the reviewers, and bloggers who tirelessly promote me, I am so grateful to every single one of you. Thank you.
About the Author
Carol Oates came into the world on Christmas morning in an elevator. Raised just across the street from the childhood home of Bram Stoker, author of
Dracula
, it was only a matter of time before Carol’s love of all things supernatural emerged.
She began experimenting with fiction at school and keeps the notebook containing her first unpublished novel in her desk drawer. Over three decades later, all her stories still begin life scrawled on paper.
When not writing, Carol can be found exploring history with her son. Luckily, he shares her love of old buildings, castles, and tombs.
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