Page 51 of The Road to Avalon
Morgawse, her jaw jutting in rebellion, shook her head. “Never. You’re going to tell Arthur it was Medraut, and it wasn’t.”
I gave her an angry shake, desperate. “I believe you when you say it wasn’t Medraut.” Did I? “But we have to save my son. Tell us where to go. If you love your son, you’ll know how I love mine. I have to save him.”
Morgawse’s eyes flitted from Merlin’s recumbent form back to me, indecision written in them. “Swear you don’t believe it was Medraut.” She twisted herself free from my arms and seized my shoulders, her face inches from mine. “Swear to me you won’t be giving Arthur another to blame instead of your son. Swear it. Now.”
I didn’t hesitate. I had no choice but to nod, despite my doubts. “I swear. Tell us.”
She turned her head to glare at Llawfrodedd and Archfedd. “I want your promises as well. Iknowmy boy didn’t do this.”
“I swear,” Llawfrodedd said. “Tell us where to go. We have no time.”
She glared at Archfedd.
My daughter glanced at me and nodded. “I do too. Please. We have to go.”
Morgawse licked her lips. “Some twenty miles north of here, beyond Blestium, the old fort Merlin saw in his vision sits on a hill above the River Guoy. It’s lain in ruins since the people abandoned it after the usurper Guorthegirn died. It’s said to be cursed, but a few peasants still cling on there with their flocks in summer.”
“How do we get there?” Llawfrodedd asked.
Behind him, Nimuë turned her tear-stained face toward us, blotchy and red-eyed. She stared hard at Merlin.
“Up the Roman road to Blestium,” Morgawse said, still hanging on tight to me. “Keep going northeast a mile or two, then, when the river bends away to the east, you’ll see the hill the fortress sits on. You can’t mistake it.”
I prised myself free of her grip and bent over Merlin, my hand on his chest. He lay like the dead, face chalky white, but beneath my fingers his ribcage rose and fell. “What about Merlin? What do we do?”
Llawfrodedd gave him a shake. “Wake up. Merlin. Wake up.”
Nothing.
He slapped his face. Still nothing.
My skin prickled, and I turned my head to find Nimuë’s stony gaze fixed on me, her head lowered, her dark brows meeting in a heavy frown. Was that triumph in her eyes, briefly glimpsed and swiftly hidden? I didn’t have time to think.
“We’ll have to leave him,” Archfedd said. “If he won’t wake up, we’ll have to leave him.”
I shook my head, some deep instinct warning me not to do that, telling me Merlin shouldn’t be left here with Morgawse and Nimuë. That danger threatened him. I swung my hand back and dealt him a ringing slap.
Still nothing.
I grabbed his tunic front much as Morgawse had done and shook him hard. “Wake up! We can’t leave you! Wake up, damn you.”
Nothing. If I hadn’t felt that slight movement of his chest and Llawfrodedd hadn’t reassured me that he’d found a pulse, I might have thought my friend already dead. What did I know about comas? Not a thing. Not even how to tell if someone was in one. And anyway, how could his magic– or Morgana’s– have done that to him?
“We have to leave him,” Archfedd said, tugging at my arm. “We have to go. Now.”
Llawfrodedd turned to Morgawse. “Can you look after him?”
Morgawse pressed her lips together. “I can. But you must remember what you’ve sworn. My son is innocent. You cannot blame him for this in place of Amhar. Someone else killed Llacheu. Some other king’s spy, most likely.”
I nodded, every part of me screaming that we shouldn’t abandon Merlin, but common sense telling me we had to. I bent over him again, hoping that somewhere inside his shut down mind he might hear me. “I’m coming back for you. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” I pressed my lips to his cool forehead. “Please wake up.”
I turned away from him and so did Llawfrodedd. On an impulse, I reached out to Morgawse and covered her hand with mine. “Neither of our sons did this dreadful crime. I have to go, but I leave Merlin in your charge. When he wakes, tell him where we’ve gone. I’m entrusting him to you.”
She nodded, tears sparkling in her eyes, but for whom, I had no idea, not being entirely sure whether she’d want to shed any for her sister.
From the floor, where she still knelt beside Morgana, Nimuë’s baleful stare skewered me.
I bit my bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Nimuë. Sorry you’ve lost your mother.” Only maybe I wasn’t, not really.
