Chapter Three for the nameless one

We went back to my place and did exactly that. It must have been successful, because I woke up on my couch with no memories of the night before.

Alex was fast asleep on the coffee table, his shirt off, but otherwise clothed. Bottles and cans littered the floor of my tiny apartment, and I grimaced when I saw some of the clothing I was wearing yesterday mixed into the mess.

My head was throbbing with a passion, and I cradled it as I made my way to my bedroom. Quietly I shut the door and I gingerly crossed the room to my closet.

Having gathered an outfit and my towel, I let myself into the bathroom. A warm shower will definitely help, I told myself, pausing as I searched through my medicine chest for an Advil. I downed it dry, and turned on the shower.

As the water fell on me I began to panic. None of this is real. It can’t be, I thought, punching the wall of the shower as my knees gave way beneath me.

All of my disgust, my frustration, and my alcohol came rushing up, and I doubled over, vomiting hard. Coughing and spluttering I changed how I was siting, tucking my knees under my chin.

She’s really gone. You have to move on. Keep going. Sarah would be annoyed by how you’re behaving, I told myself, the water still falling on me. I hated myself and the way I felt. I hated the muteys for killing Sarah, and above all else, I hated her team. They had let her die. They hadn’t been there for her when she needed them the most.

The water was now turning cold, but I didn’t feel like turning it off. I knew that my water bill would be high, but I didn’t care.

I jumped at a knock on the bathroom door, which sounded and felt like a gunshot to my poor aching head. The shock was enough to convince me to turn off the water, and I did so.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” I called, wrapping myself in my towel, drying off vigorously as I moved.

“Okay,” Alex said. I heard the rasp of fabric against the wood of the door frame, and I sighed, throwing on my clothes.

I need to scrub down the tub, I thought, eying the floor of it. I guess I’ll do that after Alex is gone.

As soon as I was decent I pulled the door open, stepping back a half step as I came face to face with Sarah’s brother. He still hadn’t put his shirt back on, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

“What’s a guy got to do to find an empty bathroom around here?” he croaked, grinning at me.

“Try waking up earlier, dear,” I said sarcastically. “It’s first come, first serve around these parts.”

He laughed and pulled the door closed behind himself as I turned away. I made my way down the hall, pausing at the doorway of my room to swap my towel for my hairbrush. When I returned to the living room, I took a deep breath, surveying the floor.

Where do I even start? I wondered. I guess at the door, and work my way across the room.

I heard the shower turn on, and I sighed. Alex was leaving me to clean up on my own. How typical of him. At least the shower wasn’t at the top of my to do list anymore.

By the time he had reappeared, I had most of the mess cleaned up. He watched as I threw the last beer can into the recycling bin and stood up.

“Would you like to go out for breakfast?” he asked, leaning against the door frame again.

“I can’t afford it right now,” I said, turning to face him. My headache, although numbed by the Advil, was still ferocious, and it was not helping my temper any.

“I’ll treat,” he said simply.

“Is that Alex or his hormones speaking?” I asked, the sarcasm practically dripping from my words.

“I just took a cold shower,” he pointed out drily. “And I’m pretty sure my head hurts just as much as yours, so there’s no need to get snappy with me.” He eyes we with his steady brown gaze.

“Fine,” I said, reaching for my hairbrush. “Just let me do my hair first.”

“Ugh!” he scoffed. “The famous last words. I’ll be waiting for hours while you crimp and blow dry and smooth it.”

“You’ll be waiting ten minutes with I drag a brush through it,” I countered.

“That’s what they all say,” he said, grinning as I vanished into my bedroom.

The brush slid through my short hair easily, and I was done within two or three minutes. Instead of rejoining Alex, though, I studied my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes betrayed my exhaustion, bagging slightly underneath, and my skin looked pallid in the morning light.My lips, on the other hand, didn’t look as colorless as the rest of my face, nor as terrible as the rest with the exception of a relatively recent cut.

Hesitantly I probed the cut, straining my aching head to try to remember where it had come from. I knew that I hadn’t had it before the funeral yesterday.

I’ll ask Alex, I thought, turning away from the mirror and grabbing my handbag.

“Told you I’d only take a few minutes,” I said as I walked back into the living room.

“I suppose you’re right,” he responded calmly. “Now, are we going?”

“Sure,” I said, making my way to the door. “That is, if you want to go.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” he asked, grinning easily.

“Wait, what?” I asked, completely confused by this shift in tone. He laughed and led the way out of my apartment and down to the parking lot.

“You’re not the only woman who’s been anxious to see me go,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I can’t imagine why,” I responded, backing out of the lot.

Silence fell as I made my way to the local diner. It wasn’t until we were seated that Alex spoke again.

“Sometimes I disgust myself.”

“Oh?” I asked him, disinterestedly. “You finally noticed how gross your eating habits are?”

“No,” he said, pausing until he had given me a satisfactory glare. “I find it disgusting how we can play pretend, how we stuff our true thoughts and feelings deep within as we drink and party and make out. How, when something’s not comfortable to our sensitive little selves, we try to ignore it.”

“True,” I murmured, resting my chin on the palms of my hands. “That reminds me. I was wondering if you remembered what happened last night.”

His lips twitched slightly, amusement appearing in his eyes. A sudden feeling that I wouldn’t like the answer to that made its presence known in my stomach.

“We drank,” he began. I bit back the urge to make a nasty comment again. “And we danced and kissed.”

“Was that all?” I prodded, my blurry memory agreeing with what he said. An uncomfortable warmth from shame and humiliation was filling me steadily.

“Even if I remember are you sure you’d want me to tell you?” Alex asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling a slight blush coloring my washed out cheeks.

“Well, I see that point where you’ve had too much to drink for you to remember clearly a blessing,” Alex said, leaning back. There was a brief pause in conversation before a tired looking waitress came up to take our orders.

As she vanished into the kitchen, a smirk appeared on his face.

“If we’re going to talk about last night, can I just say that you have very nice legs?”

The blood rushed to my ears, pounding and thundering like a stampede of elephants was running through my hurting head. Half-consciously I wished that the booth would just open up and swallow me. Alex was laughing, and the way he was looking at me told me that he remembered far more than he claimed to.

“You bastard,” I hissed angrily.

“Has anyone ever told you that whatever you feel shows on your face? Your expressions are very entertaining,” he said, every ounce the younger brother. It made me feel sick to my stomach with shame and I felt disgusted with myself.

“I’m going to kill you,” I told him, taking as dignified a sip of my tea as possible while glaring over the rim of the cup.

“Now, is that how you react to a compliment?” he asked, laughing at my rage.

“You bastard,” I repeated.

The second chapter in the nameless story- I’d appreciate suggestions

“Jen, are you okay?” someone was speaking to me, and I groaned.  I opened my eyes partially, admitting the slightest bit of blinding light into my black world. “Jen, wake up.”

“Go away, Alex,” I muttered, knowing who it was without looking.

“Is that any way to treat the bereaved?” he asked.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that I’m taking this harder than you were,” I said, opening my eyes the rest of the way and easing myself into a sitting position. I was laying on the carpeted floor of the church, and he was kneeling beside me. “What happened?”

“As near as I can tell, you passed out while everyone else was leaving. You’re just lucky mom sent me back in here to look for her earring,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Damn it, she’s gonna kill me.”

“Why?” I asked, rubbing my head. “What’s the matter?”

“The procession has left the church,” he said. “And I was supposed to ride with mom. Left my car at her place.”

“My Jeep’s in the lot,” I said, hauling myself to my feet and swallowing back the wave of nausea. “You dry enough to drive?”

“You kidding?” he asked, taking my hand. “Mom hasn’t let me have a drop of the good stuff all week. She even took my hard lemonade.”

“You had hard lemonade?” I asked, a little surprised by this. He’d never really seemed like the kind of guy to drink any kind of mixed drink.

“Trust me, it’s better than it sounds,” he said, leading me out to the lot, where my Jeep was the only remaining vehicle.

As I slid into the passenger seat, I felt the sudden urge to cry. Sarah was the one about to be put six feet under, but here I was, talking about booze with her brother. Silently I handed over my car keys, and we were off.

“It’s not right,” Alex said, glancing at me with concern. “For this to happen. I don’t know how it’s even possible for everything that’s happened to happen.”

“Everything?” I asked, confused.

“Sarah getting shot, the complications, the funeral prep,” he said, staring at the road very fixedly. “Everything that’s happened.” Silence feel for a moment before he spoke. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?” I asked, a sinking feeling in my stomach taking precedence. I knew what he wanted to know, and I didn’t want to answer.

“What was it like to be with her that day?” Alex asked, turning into the cemetery and pulling up behind the slow moving procession. I didn’t answer immediately, staring at the bumper in front of us, the tears I’d been trying to suppress all day filling my eyes.

“Terrifying,” I answered finally. “She was with half of our squad, and I was with the other half. She was shot and screamed. I went running to help her. She was dying already when I got to her.” I choked. The tears were falling freely, and I could see the mascara I was wearing drip from my lashes.

“And then?” he prompted, pity and fear on his face.

“She’d lost too much blood. There was no chance of saving her when the medics arrived. They took her in the ambulance, and she died at the hospital,” I continued, sobs racking my body. “Oh, God, it was horrible, and I couldn’t do anything. I was useless. All I was able to do was sit there and watch my best friend die.” He reached out and gently squeezed my upper arm. The words were spilling out of me, and I couldn’t stop.

“They took her to the morgue, and then the doctor came in with the fax to preform an autopsy, and an order for me to stay in the waiting room, that an escort was on the way. I left the morgue and I spent a good ten minutes in the waiting room,” I continued.

“Wait, an escort came with you?” he interrupted, obviously bemused.

“I had broken two of the basic commands. When I left the van, and again when I rode in the ambulance up to the hospital with her,” I said, wiping the last of the tears from my face. “I’m on the MRO’s version of parole. If I behave everything will go back to normal. At least that’s what they say.”

By now the funeral procession had reached her grave site, and Alex quickly turned off my car and returned my keys before getting out. I followed him with a leaden heart.

“Didn’t think you were coming,” Jack whispered to Alex as he sidled up to the rest of his family.

“Couldn’t find the earring, but I did find something else,” he whispered back, shooting me an encouraging glance over his shoulder. Jack followed his gaze, shooting me a questioning glance, which I returned with a shrug as the ceremony began.

I followed the progress of the coffin as they lowered it into the grave with my eyes, and I watched as they began to shovel dirt into the hole. Each shovelful felt like someone was pounding nails into my heart.

Finally I could take it no longer and I made my escape back to my Jeep. Once I was safely behind the wheel, I pried off my high heels, trading them in for flats.

None of this is real, I thought. There’s got to be something going on here. None of this makes sense. One gunshot, one casualty. No one saw the target except for my commanding officer and Jenkins, and where were they when I got to Sarah? I sighed, frustrated, and slid my notepad out of my purse, doodling to distract myself.

A loud thumping noise came from the passenger door and I jumped, my pen sliding up through my sketches. Alex stood there, waiting outside of the car. I smiled slightly and leaned over to unlock the door for him.

“You okay?” he asked. “I saw you leave, but I had to stay there.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied.

“Good,” he said, sliding in. “Cause I really need that drink now.”

“Let’s go get some booze, then,” I said. “And head back to my place, cause I need one too.”

“I thought you said you were fine,” he said gently, his lips twitching slightly. Without further comments, though, he directed me to the nearest spirits store, and he disappeared into it. About five minutes later he exited with a decently sized bag.

“You worry me at times,” I said, watching as he buckled in.

“What?” he asked, a disbelieving laugh startled out of him. “Why?”

“Well, think,” I said. “What did Sarah say when you’ve had drinking parties in the past?”

“It’s not healthy,” he said, miming her voice. Then he grinned at me roguishly. “But you can’t lecture me this time.”

“This time,” I promised, pulling out of the lot and into traffic.

I’m going to get drunk, and forget about all of this for a night, at least, I thought determinedly. I’m going to feel good tonight.

Same Story- Still Needs a Name…. Chapter One

The sea of black was threatening to drown me. There were hundreds of faces, some smiling politely, some sobbing or tear stained, while still others looked bored with the service to memorialize her.

It had been a week since she had died, and I still couldn’t believe it. Work was painful, because I’d turn to tell her something, but her desk was empty, or I’d go to order our meals before realizing that there was no longer any need for two.

“Sarah Rose was always a sweet girl,” her mother whispered loudly to some family member as the woman on the platform trilled her way through some hymn. Sarah lay in the coffin up front, beside several poster-board collages that boasted hundreds of pictures of her. A bouquet of roses lay in her hands, and I could almost here her telling me why they had to be roses.

“Do you know why I like them so much?” she asked, studying the bouquet he fiance had sent her for Valentine’s Day. I turned away from my desk to give her my full attention.

“Because your name is Sarah Rose?” I guessed. She smiled and set the vase of lovely red flowers on her desk.

“Wrong,” she answered, leaning in to try to smell them. “They’re so beautiful to look at, but when you pick one up you have to be wary. They’re dangerous, you know.” There was a dreamy look on her face.

“Dangerous?” I echoed, doubtfully.

“Dangerous,” she responded. “You touch them in the wrong place and you could hurt yourself.” I laughed at her and leaned back in my chair.

“You’re afraid of being hurt by the thorns?”

“No, not at all,” she said. “I want to be like one. Pretty, but able to draw blood. Even though the red ones don’t have much scent, they’re still nice, aren’t they?”

I was jerked out of my trip down memory lane as the singer managed a note that should never be heard on this side of Hell’s gates. Resisting the urge to cover my ears and cringe, I could almost hear Sarah’s comment on it. It was almost as if she was still beside me, not laying up front.

“What does she think she’s doing?” Sarah would say. “Summoning harpies?” I laughed quietly to myself.

I’ve got to stop this, I thought. It’s not healthy to hear voices. I bit down on my lip and forced myself to return my attention to the remainder of the service.

Everything seemed so surreal to me. It was so confusing. Sarah was so young, so alive earlier this week, and then she was laying a a pool of her own blood, the life draining out of her with every heartbeat. I’d seen her with my own eyes. This picture made no sense. How could it be happening?

She’d died less than two hours after I’d found her, and first the forensics team had to go over the scene, causing a fuss because the EMTs had not left everything as it was. Then someone, somewhere, had demanded an autopsy. The next thing I’d heard was that there were complications with the autopsy, so her body wouldn’t be released for a few more days.

Finally, the Mutant Replacement Organization* had released her body to the mortician and contacted Sarah’s family. They went through the motions, putting together her funeral and informing the near and dear. Today was the result of their work.

I rose and joined the line of mourners saying their last goodbyes. Sarah’s parents, a divorced couple, were standing at the foot of her coffin with her little brother standing between them. Sarah’s fiance stood on her mother’s other side, trying to calm, or stop, the hysterics before they even began.

“Thank you for coming,” Jack, her fiance, told me, hugging me awkwardly. “Sarah couldn’t have had a better friend than you.” I smiled slightly up at him.

“Squadron six will do that for you,” I told him. “For the record, she couldn’t have had a better guy than you.” He returned my smile distractedly as Sarah’s mother started another bout of badly suppressed sobs.

“Mrs. Castello,” I said, taking her hand. “I know it must be hard losing a child, but you need to be strong, for Sarah’s sake. What would she say if she were to see you now?”

This attempt to comfort her was cut off abruptly with a loud wail and a huge hug. Awkwardly I patted her on the shoulder as she sobbed into mine, and waited a few moments until she had calmed considerably.

“Thank you… You’re right, of course,” she said, releasing me as she dabbed at her eyes with a ratty tissue. “Sarah would think that I was a silly old thing, acting like this. But it’s not easy losing your child. Never easy.” With that she dissolved into another puddle of tears, and I shot a pleading glance at Jack, who quickly started to soothe her. I made my escape down the line, finding myself being hugged once again by Sarah’s brother.

“Alex, is this appropriate behavior for a funeral?” I asked him in a fierce whisper. He chuckled slightly, grinning easily as he let go of me.

“At this point, I couldn’t give less of a damn about what’s acceptable of not,” he said, looking around, a distant look in his eyes. “And do you have any idea how badly I need a drink or a smoke or anything?”

“Alexander Castello, you do not need either a drink or a smoke,” I scolded gently, earning an approving look from his mother.

“You have no idea how badly I need something,” he muttered. “Dad’s being in town has upset mom just as badly as Sarah’s death, and she’s swinging between tears and shrieking. I can’t take any more hysterical women.!”

“You’re just like Sarah,” I said quietly, reaching up and touching his face gently, without thinking. For an instant I had seen the passion, the humor and the life that had filled Sarah’s being in Alex’s large brown eyes.

“I hope you don’t mean that I’m best friends forever material,” he said, wrinkling his nose and making a face that only a little brother can make. “I’ve been friend-zoned way too many times this year already.”

“Alex,” I protested.

“Actually, I was hoping that you and I could go out for a drink after the dinner,” he said.

“Alright,” I said, the desire to forget and escape this waking nightmare overruling my better judgement.

“It’s a date, then,” he said with a wink.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I returned darkly. With that I moved on to Mr. Castello.

I had never met the man before, and neither Sarah nor Alex had thought very much of him. Because of this, I had heard nothing but bad things of him.

He was a short man, and his Italian heritage was obvious, just as Alex’s was. Sarah, on the other hand, looked nothing like him.

“And who might you be?” he asked. His tone was brisk, and he didn’t seem to care that his daughter was laying in the coffin beside him. Revulsion rose in my chest, and I had to swallow before answering.

“I was one of Sarah’s friends and squad members,” I said, hoping my tone didn’t betray my disgust.

“The MRO,” he said, his lip curling derisively. “I don’t understand why Sarah felt the need to go join the government.”

“Technically, the MRO isn’t part of the U.S. government,” I said, tensing up. My distaste for the man was now personal. I, like Sarah, had joined the MRO out of feelings of patriotism. For this man, the father of one of our deceased comrades and friends,  to sneer at the work we did did not sit well with me. “We receive our funding from them and are required to report to the Senate semi-annually, but we are not part of the government.”

“Of course,” he said. “My mistake, Miss-”

“Miller,” I said, my tone a little sharp. “Jen Miller.”

“Jen? Nice name. Short for Jennifer, I suppose. Nice to meet you, Jen,” he said, offering me his hand, which I forced myself to take. As soon as he had released me, I sidled as far away from him as possible.

I paused as I neared the head of the coffin and looked down at Sarah. Her face was serene and composed, more peaceful than I had ever seen it in life. With the exception of the little wrinkle in her brow- which only appeared when she was thinking hard- and the petulant set of her lips, I could be looking at someone else completely.

What were you thinking about, Sarah? I thought, studying her. What caused so much thought that death itself couldn’t erase that wrinkle?

I heard impatient murmurs behind me, and I made my way back to my seat, wondering what could have been so confusing to her.

Surely not the mission. That was straight forward, until she got shot, I thought, watching the rest of her friends and family proceed past the coffin.

One of her high school classmates started crying loudly behind me as they lowered the lid finally, and the pall bearers flocked around, removing her coffin from the stand.

I wanted to run after them, to stop them from taking her to the burial grounds. I wanted to scream that it had to be a mistake- that we were here for nothing, that it was all wrong.

Sarah can’t be in that coffin. She can’t be dead. She’s going to walk in, laughing and joking, I thought as they carried the coffin out the door. But you saw her die. You were by her side until the EMTs took her into the ICU. That blood was hers. All of that blood.

Suddenly I couldn’t get enough air. The church was emptying out around me, but I didn’t notice. My world spun and I felt like I was drowning in blood. Her blood.

*Author’s note: I’m not sure if this is what I’m gonna call them or not. The name I was going to use got changed. If you have any suggestions, please post them in the comments below.

Intro to a story without a name (I have a lot of these, don’t I?)

Sarah leaned forward as our squad commander debriefed us. She was completely focused on every word that came from his mouth.

“This is not supposed to be a fight,” he said, pacing the floor. “This is merely a retrieval. However, y’all are to keep your tazers on you. Y’all know what them muteys are like.” He glared at us darkly.

The thrill of fear that visited me before each mission ran up my spine. I glanced at Sarah, who was sitting beside me, out of the corner of my eye, knowing that she would look invigorated.

To my surprise, she had a peculiar look on her face. It almost looked like she was hesitant about the mission, but how could this one be any different from the rest? We’d done this so many times, it was routine.

“Time to go,” our commanding officer said, heading to the door. We watched him go for several moments, but the instant the door latched our squad snapped into action. Everyone except Sarah, that is.

“You alright?” I asked her, concerned.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. You don’t happen to have any paper, do you?”

“I think I do,” I said, leaning over and pulling my duffel bag closer. Quickly I retrieved my notepad from it and offered it to her.
“You need a pen, too?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Squadron six, please meet at the front garage in five minutes,” a dispatcher squealed through the sound system. “Squadron six, front garage in five.”

“That’s us,” I said, pulling my uniform out of my duffel. “You coming?”

“Go on ahead,” she said, forcing a smile as she glanced up from her writing. “I’ll catch up.”

“Okay,” I said, tugging it on over top of my shorts and tank top. My fingers slid over my dog tags as I left the room.

I wonder what she’s writing, I thought as I made my way to the armory to pick up my tazer.

Our five minutes were nearly up when Sarah came rushing in, buttoning her jacket quickly. Her jet black hair was slipping free from the ponytail she normally wore it in, and disheveled was the word that came to mind.

“Cutting it close, Castello,” our officer snapped at her as she jammed her hat on.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, coming to attention.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said, turning and walking away. With a sigh she relaxed, smoothing her uniform out.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked. She never was late for anything, and she was always the neatest in her uniform.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The ride to was quiet on the way, and it wasn’t until the van was parked that the squad was broken down.

“Castello, Jenkins, you’re with me,” the officer snapped. “We’ll go in on retrieval. Miller, Johnston and Jones, you’ll just sit tight and wait as backup. We clear?”

“Yes, sir,” we chorused back. Sarah smiled weakly at me as she shoved my notebook into my hand. I blinked, certain that I’d misread her emotions.

“Thanks for letting me use it,” she said, crawling out of the van. The smile was replaced with a hardened look, and her eyes glinted with anticipation.

“No problem,” I said, watching as she got into formation. That trio made their way up the steps of the building and disappeared to within.

We had been sitting in the van for probably two minutes when a shriek came from within the building, followed by four rapid shots. My heart jumped into my chest, and I leaned forward.

“That was Sarah,” I whispered.

“Remember your orders, Miller,” Mike Johnston told me.

“That had to be Sarah,” I said. Without being aware of what I was doing I slid out of my seat and crawled out of the van.

“Miller!” Mike called, shocked that I was actually disobeying a command.

“Jones, see if you can connect with anyone from their group,” I ordered. My legs moved without conscious effort, and before I knew it, I was in the building. I could hear Mike yelling at me from the van, but I had a mission of my own. I had to find Sarah.

“Miller, I got hold of Jenkins,” Jones voice buzzed through the headset as I began looking into the rooms on the ground floor. His voice came through as I pushed open the last door, stopping dead at what I saw. “The target got away. Castello’s lost a lot of blood. They say she was shot. Reinforcements and EMTs are on their way now.”

New Story Idea- TO BE NAMED STILL- Introduction

For years I have struggled to believe in a loving god of any kind. If God cared about us, why would he let there be so much pain in the world? It can’t be good to hurt as badly as I have. And I, of all people, should know exactly what hurt is.

You see, I was born with a genetic flaw. I have an excess gene, one that normal people don’t have. This gene has caused instability to my genetic makeup, giving me what you might call a “super power.” What is this power? I can take or give hurt simply by touching someone.

I’m like a sponge. If you touch my skin, I will absorb your hurts, any and all of the pain you feel. I take it away from you and you feel it no more. The worst part is that I can’t stop it, though I have tried.

The reverse is also true. When I am angry, or full of other emotions, it will all pour out of me, onto whoever I touch. I can hurt you deeply without a weapons. I can destroy you, crush you completely, without even trying to.

You probably can’t imagine what it feels like to carry all of this brokenness inside. That’s why I’m writing this for you. That, and if I don’t get these feelings out of me somehow, I’m going to go crazy in a bad way. This is my record, my last bond to sanity.

Morgan le Fay; The Truth: Chapter Twenty-Seven

Father Philemon and Kel listened to me in silence as I told them of the events of the previous night. Finally I finished my tale, and Kellan rose.

“I expect you’re thirsty,” she murmured. “I’ll go fetch something to drink for you.”

“Thank you,” I said. Father Philemon nodded, his expression thoughtful.

“That was a truly horrific tale, Lady Morgan,” he said. “But I don’t understand why you wanted an old man like me to hear it.”

“Father,” I said, switching to Latin. “How can I- I mean, will the Church accept me as I am-”

“Sister, it is not the Church you need to worry about,” he answered, also in Latin. “Horrific and terrifying things happen to the saints, to God’s chosen people. Even King David’s daughter Tamar was raped, by her own half-brother. This thing that has happened to you is definitely horrific and terrifying. However, I do not think that God will hold this event, which was out of your control, against you.”

“But my virginity,” I whispered, my fears and shame overtaking me. He studied me with pity and understanding.

“Your virginity does not make you any more or less of a believer, of a Christ follower,” he said. “Did you cleave to the commandments of God? Did you follow them to the best of your ability?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “But-”

“There are no exceptions,” he said, smiling. “The blood of Jesus is where you’ll find purity, even when yours has been stolen.”

“Thank you, Father,” I whispered, feeling still more tears coming. This time, however, they were tears of relief.

“Oh, don’t thank me,” he said, switching to English as Kellan returned with a tray in her hands. “Thank our glorious God.”

“Would you like a drink, Father?” Kellan asked, pouring me a cup of something.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. Kellan smiled slightly and poured him a cupful as well.

“What are your plans now, Morgan?” she asked me.

“I cannot continue to rent the land I was living on,” I said, straightening up. In telling Kellan and Father Philemon, I felt as though a weight had been lifted. “The only thing I can think of now is to return to my paternal home and beg for a place to stay.”

“Oh dear,” Kellan murmured. “You do know that you could come and live with us, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said. “But I don’t feel that Mordred and I can invade your home forever.”

“Sister Morgan,” the Father said, rising stiffly. “Please remember that the church will welcome you with open arms in your time of need. Now, I must be getting back to the church. Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Kellan.”

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Kel said.

“Yes, thank you,” I murmured. I felt an inner peace now, after sharing what I had been through.

“May the Lord bless you and keep you,” he said.

“And you too,” I responded, watching as he left the room.

“So, you are returning to your father’s home?” Kel asked me. “Will you take Mordred with you?

“I would rather now,” I said, pausing for a moment before adding, “Would you mind watching him? It should only be for two or three days.”

“Of course I’ll watch him,” she exclaimed.

“Thank you,” I said. “An Kellan-” I hesitated.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, leaning in close.

“Would it be possible for Mordred and I to stay here, at least for tonight? It’s too late in the day for me to ride to Camelot, and I would rather not return to-”

“I can completely understand that,” she said, cutting me off. “And I am sure that Cyric will as well, once I explain the situation to him.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, now feeling relief mingle with the peace.

“I wonder if he’s finished holding court,” Kel mused, rising to her feet again. I stood as well, picking up the small sack that Mordred had left on the floor. Kellan followed the motion with her gaze, and she smiled. “I’ll show you to your room and let you get settled before we go searching for my lord.”

She led me to the room I had stayed in before, and waited patiently as I left my small sack on the pallet. Then she led me down to the great hall, using the back corridors and servants stairwells.

We peered into the hall, reluctant to disturb Cyric’s business if we could avoid it. Several hours had passed since my arrival, and while I had been sharing my tale with Kellan, Cyric had been distributing justice to the people who lived on his lands.

When I had spoken to him earlier in the day the great hall had been packed with people, but now it was even more full. Many of those who had come throughout the course of the day were staying for the evening meal, and servants were milling around, setting tables and offering wash water to the people. Cyric himself sat in his seat of honor, murmuring to his secretary, who was sitting behind him and taking notes furiously.

Kel slipped into the room with me on her tail, weaving her way through the people. On occasion she would stop and talk to someone briefly, introducing me to them.

Finally we had reached the dais, where Cyric was sitting. She approached him, and he greeted her with a gentle kiss. Quickly and quietly she explained the situation to him.

He glanced up at me, startled, and I lowered my gaze, feeling the blood rising in my cheeks. My shame returned and wrapped itself around me as I saw the pity and something else- was it disgust? Guilt?- as he looked at me.

You got your wish, a little voice whispered to me from the back of my mind. No man will want to marry you now. You’re spoiled goods. You will be alone to your death, Morgan.

Anger rose at the voice, and my hands curled into tight fists. Go away, I thought at it. I could almost hear it laugh and for some reason all I could picture was a serpent coiling up, it’s beady eyes fixed on me.

You know it’s true, the serpent murmured. Isn’t that what you wanted, Morgan?

Part of me knew that the serpent spoke the truth, but another part of me balked at the thought of being alone for the rest of my life.

“Morgan,” Kellan’s voice broke through my internal argument, and I distantly realized that that hadn’t been the fist time she had said my name. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, forcing my hands to uncurl themselves.

“Are you sure?” she asked me, concern in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” I repeated, smoothing my skirts.

“Alright,” she said, not looking entirely convinced. “Cyric said that you may stay with us until you have succeeded in finding a new home.”

“I’m sorry that the arrangement with Merlin didn’t work nearly as well as we had thought it would,” Cyric said, coming up behind Kellan. Guilt flickered across his face for an instant, and I knew that he felt responsible for what had happened.

“It’s fine,” I said, feeling the need to soothe and reassure him. “Thank you for your hospitality. I feel like I am becoming a burden to you.”

“It isn’t a problem,” he said, taking Kellan by the arm. “Come, sit. The feast will begin in a few moments.”

“All the same,” I said, taking his other arm and permitting him to lead me to my seat. “I will be leaving for the manor of Avalon in the morning. I’m going to seek the aid of my-” the word “brother” wouldn’t come, so I changed tracks. “-of the king.”

He’s not your brother, the serpent hissed, rearing it’s ugly head again. He’s the bastard son of your foolish father. He’s the reason your father disowned you, you know. He’s the one your father always wanted, the reason your father didn’t love you.

I fought a sob, my fingers curling around the arm of my chair. I couldn’t handle this demonic voice. I had to get rid of it, one way or the other.

Morgan le Fay; The True Story: Chapter Twenty-Six

I felt my muscles sieze up, and I took a breath to steady myself. Cyric was watching me with concern, and I forced myself to keep my chin up.

“Is it wrong of me to visit my dear cousin?” I asked, forcing a small smile. He laughed, but the concern remained on his face. Do I really look that bad? I wondered.

“Not at all,” he said. “My wife will be delighted that you have come. She’s in the upper chambers right now. Phillipe will show you to her, if you so desire.”

“That would be wonderful,” I murmured, sinking into a curtsey. “Thank you, my lord.”

A servant stepped foreward and paused at the door, waiting for me. I rose and followed him, firmly holding on to Mordred by the hand. As I walked dow nth corridors after Phillipe I allowed my gaze to wander, searching the shadows for demons and attackers.

I knew that my fear was rediculous here on Cyric’s land, but I couldn’t help myself. I was tense and frightened, and my behaviors reflected that. Phillipe stopped and knocked on a door, and Mordred and I pulled to a halt behind him.

“Come in,” Kellan’s voice issued from behind the wood. Phillipe bowed to me as he held it open for us, and I stepped inside.

Kellan always brought her own personality to any room she visited, and that was especially obvious now in her own apartments. It was a small cozy room with brightly colors tapestries hanging on the wall. Exotic momentos from her travels with Cyric were displayed in places of honor around the room, and the furniture had a rather Romanesque look to it. Despite the cool spring weather the room was comfortable because Kellan had a small fire burning in the fireplace to fight off the chill, completing the cozy impression perfectly.

“Morgan,” Kellan said, shooting up out of her chair and dropping her needlepoint. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. What brings you here?” As she spoke she crossed the room and pulled me into a hug.

“I-” my voice caught, and Kellan held me at arm’s length.

“Oh, dear,” Kellan said. “Why don’t you take a seat?” Her face showed concern as she led me over to a cushioned couch.

“Mordred,” I murmured. Kellan glanced down at him, where he was clinging to my skirts, and then back to me. “He doesn’t know, and I’d rather he not hear.” Kellan nodded.

“Phillipe?” she said, turning to the door. “Summon Nurse, will you?”

“Would it be possible to summon a priest?” I asked her quietly.

“And fetch Father Philemon, please,” she added. Phillipe bowed politely and exited the room.

The door closed firmly behind the man-servant, and Kel turned to face me. Her expression softened slightly as she studied me.

“You look like you’ve barely slept,” she commented. “Are you well?”

“As well as one can be,” I answered.

“And how is Mordred?” she asked, smiling at him. He smiled back shyly and tried to hide behind my skirts.

“He’s healthy and happy,” I said, trying to free the material of my petticoats from his hands. “Come now, Mordred. You know your cousin Kellan. There’s no need to be shy.”

“Mordred, don’t you trust me?” Kel asked him, grinning slightly. “I had two little boys, just like you, but they’re all grown up now. Would you believe it?” He blushed slightly.

“How are your sons?” I asked, straining to relax to the small talk. “Are they doing well? And have you found wives for them?”

“They’re doing quite well,” Kellan said. “And no wives yet. I dare say that my elder son wishes that we wouldn’t find him a wife yet.”

“So he has a female acquaintance?” I asked, smiling. Kellan nodded, pursing her lips slightly. “That reminds me of someone else. I was har companion for a year, you know.” A smile spread across Kel’s face and she laughed.

“My mother used to say that I would have a child just like me,” she said. “I suppose she was right.”

“I suppose so,” I murmured. Just then there was a tap on the door, and Kellan rose.

“Come in,” she called. The door opened and a mousy looking old woman entered the room.

“You called, my lady?” the woman said, curtseying stiffly to Kellan.

“Yes,” Kel said. “Would you be so kind as to take Mordred to the nursery and keep an eye on him for a little bit?”

“Of course, my lady,” the nurse said, offering Mordred a hand.

“Go along and play,” I told him, gently steering him over to the woman. “I’ll come and get you before you know it.”

He looked a little unsure of himself, but he did as I’d told him. As soon as the two of them had left the room, Kellan turned to face me.

“What is the reason you came?” she asked. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” I said. Shame welled within me, and I struggled for words for several seconds. “There is something wrong. Kellan-” I paused again and closed my eyes.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I won’t continue to rent from Merlin,” I said, looking her in the eye.

“No? Whyever not? It was such a generous arrangement,” she said, surprised.

“Last night-” Again my shame gagged me, preventing me from telling Kellan. “He-”

“What did he do, Morgan?” she asked, crossing the room to sit beside me.

“There was a demon,” I managed finally. “He summoned a demon. But before that-” This time a sob choked me.

The tears came from no where, it seemed. Kellan moved to hug me, offering me a handkerchief.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, lifting my chin so that she could look into my eyes. I tried to look away, feeling like I was drowning in my overwhelming shame. I was dirty. I was no good. Merlin had taken my purity, my innocence.

“No,” I whispered, trying to hide my face from my cousin. “It’s not. It can never be alright.”

Someone knocked on the door, but Kellan didn’t move from where she sat this time. I hastily dried my face, not wanting the wrong person to see me in this state.

“Enter,” Kellan called, letting one of her arms return to her side while leaving the other pressed against my back.

An elderly priest entered the room, bowing slightly. As he shuffled across the floor, I realized that he was not actually bowing, but that he was so stooped with age that he gave the impression of doing so.

“Father Philemon, thank you for coming so quickly,” Kel said. “Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Lady Kellan,” he said, his voice gentle and kind. “But what have you called me here for?”

“My cousin requested that you be sent for, Father,” Kellan said, glancing at me. “This is the Lady Morgan.”

“How do you do?” he asked me politely, taking the seat opposite us.

“I wish I could say that I was well,” I said, feeling a little more clam in the presence of this holy man.

“Morgan was a sister in the holy order,” Kellan explained to him, trying to make conversation.

“Were you?” he asked, smiling at me. “How coincidental to meet a sister here.”

“I am no longer part of the holy order,” I said, trying to calm myself. “I left when I adopted one of the children under the abbey’s care.”

“I see,” he said. “I highly doubt you called me here on a social visit, Sister Morgan. Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” I whispered, feeling the tears coming. “I’ll do my best to explain.”

Morgan Le Fay; The Truth: Chapter 24

We returned to Cyric and Kellan’s palace, and Cyric drew up the appropriate documents. It was agreed that Mordred and I would move in on the fifteenth of the next month, which was about three weeks away at that point.

After Merlin left, I sat down and wrote to Devin, telling him the news of he house and asking him to send Mordred as soon as possible. I hesitated as I wrote of the house, and the lands it was on, uncertain as to how I should word it without betraying my feelings of wariness and uncertainty. In the end, though, I was satisfied with the letter and its contents, and I sent it off with the next post.

Devin’s eldest son arrived with Mordred and a return letter at the end of the week, and Kellan and I fussed over my son and her nephew that evening, plying them with food and begging for any news of Devin’s household. Apparently there was little to tell of, for it was little we recieved.

Lent was well underway by this point, and I realized with a start that it was the first year in a very long time that I haven’t observed the period of time before our Lord’s death and ressurection. I decided that I would make up for it by fasting and praying steadily for two weeks before Easter day, and I began my atonement, if you could call it that.

Finally Mordred and I moved into the house. Mordred was excited by the new house, by the woods, by the stream, and even by the stables and the latrine. I, on the other hand, still felt uncomfortable, though I couldn’t figure out why, no matter how hard I thought about it.

Merlin came to help us move our few belongings, and when we had finally finished he pulled me aside. He had barely looked away from Mordred as he had run around investigating all there was to investigate, and over the course to the day he had paled little by little, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

“You said that you adopted this child, Lady Morgan,” he said seriously, his eyes searching my face with a hint of desperation. “Do you know who his parents are, or were?”

“No,” I said, surprised by the question. “His mother came to us in the middle of the night, already in labor and deathly ill. I tended her that night, after she had given birth to Mordred. She never recovered, and the only thing she said was ‘Mordred’, which is why we named him that.”

As I had spoken, Merlin had paled considerably, and her returned his gaze to Mordred. I turned to walk away, but he caught my upper arm.

“Lady Morgan,” he said, returning his gaze to me. “Is the child’s mother dead?”

“Yes,” I said, once more surprised by his question. “She died close to dawn. Now, would you be so kind as to unhand me?” He stared at me blankly for a moment before realizing that he held my arm still. Merlin released me and tilted his head curiously before walking away without saying another word.

That night, after everyone had left, I made supper for Mordred, and he ate in peace. I couldn’t stop feeling edgy, though Mordred didn’t seem to feel the same discomfort I did.

Three weeks passed, and Easter came and went. I made a point of bringing Mordred to the masses held at the local parish, both on a weekly basis in order to continue his education and for the special Holy Week services. I can’t say that he understood the services, as they were all in Latin, and although I had been trying ot teach him Latin, he hadn’t seemed to understand much.

About two weeks after Easter, I found myself down by the stream shortly before sunset, bathing away the dirt and sweat from earlier that day. I had been working in the garden, attempting to coax some life from the ground, and I was exhausted.

After I had gotten Mordred his supper, I gave him instructions to behave, to not make a mess, and to not get hurt. I knew that he would listen to me so long as he remembered, but my fear was of him forgetting.

I hurried out of the cold water, shivering. I had hung my clothing on a nearby treebranch, and I hurried for it. As I reach my arm out, something (a bag, I think) was forced over my eyes, and a hand clamped over my mouth.

A scream died in my throat as my attacker put a blade to my neck. My hands flew up to my face, frantically trying to pry his hand from my mouth and to remove the bag.

“Now, now, pretty,” the attacker whispered, bringing his blade a little lower, tracing my breastbone with the tip of it. “You need to play nicely. Be a good girl and don’t sream, or I’ll have to cut your… lucious… body to bits.” I whimpered slightly,and then gasped as the blade knicked my chest slightly.

He lowered his hand from my mouth, pulling the material lower, stuffing the filthy cloth into my mouth, gagging me. The blade left my skin for a moment, as he tied the cloth at the back of my head.

His tongue came into contact with my jaw roughly, and he licked me down my neck. His hands caught mine as I tried to fight him, and he forced me against a tree.

“You want to behave, Lady Morgan,” he hissed. “I don’t know what your poor son would do if you were to mysteriously vanish into the woods.”

He knows of Mordred, I thought, panic and revulsion rising within me. I fought harder, kicking and hitting. I’m pretty sure I connected with something important, because he cursed at me before hitting me hard over the head.

I fell limp, barely conscious. That must have been when he did it- when he defiled me- because my next non-fuzzy memory was of the bag being removed, and me laying on my back on the bank of the stream. Oddly enough, I remember thinking that I had been there too long, because the sun had gone down completely.

He wasn’t done with me then. He kept toying with me, murmuring different things, never letting me see his face.

I lay there limply- guilt, revulsion and shame all roiling withing me. Finally I heard him rise to his feet, but I couldn’t bring myself to look into his face. My will to fight had abandoned me completely, and it didn’t matter who had done this horrible thing to me.

“Gran Espirito, aceptar a mina oferta desta muller, cuxa virxe sangue Tomei esta noite,” he intoned. I stirred, not recognizing the language. “Gran Epsirito, aceptar a mina oferta desta muller, cuxa virxe sangue Tomei esta noite. Aceptar a oferta do seu servo puxo diante do ti!”

As he said those last words, a cloud shifted above, blocking the moonlight, and blue flames sprung up in a circle around us. I heard the man fall, and I turned in fear, terriefied of what was going on.

My heart lept into my throat at what I saw. Merlin knelt before me naked, his chest heaving and head thrown back. Sweat poured down his body, and every vein stood out.

Finally he fell to the ground face first, limp. I crawled away, panic building within me. It felt like the temperature had dropped drasctically in the last several seconds, despite the fire, and the evil prescence I had felt since my arrival had tripled in intensity.

Merlin raised his head, staring at me in a way that I had never seen any mortal look. Malice was on his face, and his pupils had enlarged, eclipsing the whites completely and turning the eyes completely black.

An unearhtly laugh tor from Merlin’s lips, insane and maniacle, yet rusty and without any real happiness, joy or humour fueling it. Merlin rose to his feet and approached me where I lay, as close to the fire as I could get without being in the fire.

“The druid’s choice in women never ceases to amaze me, from the common prostitute who is with his child to you,” Merlin said, though the voice didn’t belong to him. “One of the Enemy’s this time… Well…” He laughed again, and I shuddered.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. “What’s happening?”

“Inquisitive, too,” Merlin said with apparent approval. “I have many names, woman. You may call me Mordred, though.”

“Mordred,” I whispered weakly, feeling sick. Suddenly everything was falling into place- Merlin’s interest in my son, the name I had given my son, why his mother had murmured it, this Merlin-who-wasn’t-Merlin. I turned away and vomited, tears streaming down my face.

“Oh God almighty, save your servant,” I breathed, my fear rising. “God save me!” The demon inside of Merlin let out a hiss like that of a snake. I closed my eyes, verses coming to my mind.

“Domini est terra et plentitudo eius orbis et habitatores eius quia ipse super maria fundavit eum et super flumina stabilivit illum,” I quoted the twenty-third Psalm, finding peace in the words of God as I spoke them. “Quis ascendat in montem Domini et quis stabit in loco sancto eius…”

The demon screamed, retreating from me. Rage flashed across Merlin/Mordred’s face, and I could see the muscles working in his jaw.

“Stop!” the demon shrieked, causing the blue flames to blaze higher and more hotly. “You dare intone the name of the Enemy? You who left His holy order? You who have been defiled by my servant?”

“… innocens manibus et mundo corde qui non exaltavit frustra animam suam et non inravit dolose,” I continued, screaming louder, trying to drown out the demon’s words. “Accipiet benedictonem a Domino et iustitiam a Deo salutari suo haec generatio quaerentium eum quaerentium faciem tuam Iacob semper…”

“Stop, stop, stop!” he screamed, his skin shiny with sweat in the light of the demonic fire. For some reason I knew that if I stopped to listen to this demon that had possessed Merlin, I would not live through this night.

“Levate portae capita vestra et elevamini ianuae sempiterae et ingrediatur rex gloria quis est iste rex gloriae Dominus fortis et potens Dominus fortis in proelio,” I screamed, covering my ears. “Quis est iste rex gloriae Dominus exercituum ipse est gloriae semper.”

The demon seemed unable to speak any longer, and was screaming wordlessly. I crossed myself, feeling confident that I would be protected by God.

“Lord in heaven, help me,” I prayed aloud. “Lord, banish this demon to the pits of hell. Break his hold on this man. Lord, save me. Oh my God, save me.”

Merlin fell to the ground, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. The blue flames sputtered out, and I turned and ran into the darkness, leaving Merlin and my clothing behind.

Morgan Le Fay; The True Story: Chapter 23

The ride to Merlin’s land was not a long one, although his stiffness made it rather uncomfortable for me. Cyric spent the entire ride glaring at Kellan behind Merlin’s back, making it obvious that he was not happy about her behavior. Kellan, on the other hand, was as happy as a lark, and kept a constant stream of conversation with both Merlin and I.

“The weather is rather nice just now, don’t you think?” she asked Merlin cheerfully, seemingly ignoring the fog that surrounded us. It wasn’t a heavy fog, but it succeeded in making our surroundings almost completely invisible in and ethereal sort of way.

“Let’s hope that the sun burns some of this off,” Merlin said seriously. “Before the water spirits believe that dry land is a suitable home.”

“Water spirits,” I repeated doubtfully. “If they exist, better on dry land and content than in the water and angered into a bloodlust.” Merlin turned his head to study me.

“You know little of the spirits, then,” he said, his dark eyes glinting. “Each spirit dwells where they were placed by the gods. If even one spirit were to leave its given dwelling place of its own volition, all of the boundaries set by nature and by the gods would be eradicated, and there would be war amongst the spirits.”

“War?” I asked, my tone sceptical.

“Indeed,” he said. Suddenly a slight smile appeared on his face as he returned his stare to the road ahead of us. “Do you doubt me?”

“No,” I said. “I doubt the existance of the spirits, and even of your so called ‘gods.’”

“So you’re of the Roman religion,” he said, the disdain evident in his voice.

“Yes,” I said, calmly. “It is not common knowledge, but I spent nearly two decades in a convent, serving the Lord.”

During this discussion Kellan had remained silent, listening to what we were saying. Now she could no longer resist the urge to speak.

“That is why my dear cousin has begun her search for a home,” she said. “Her return was joyous, and now she’ll be leaving us again.” He lower lip stuck out slightly in a childish and playful manner.

“You returned with a child?” Merlin asked, his eyebrows raised. I tilted my head, knowning what he must be thinking of me.

“I adopted  my son,” I said. “Now, Merlin, would you be so kind as to tell me, how do you know Sir Cyric?” I longed to divert Merlin’s attention from me. I needed no tales of me and of my life before to spread throughout Camelot.

“We are both servants of the good King Arthur,” Merlin said simply.

“Merlin was the one responsible for placing Arthur on the throne,” Cyric said, pausing in his silent glaring to speak with me.

“Was he?” I said, surprised. Merlin couldn’t be much older than I, and although Arthur was eleven years younger than I (or there about), Merlin would have had to be too young to do everything people credit him for today.

“Indeed,” Merlin said. “My master, who bore the same name, had placed Arthur with a different family, not one of Uther Pendragon’s blood. Before he died he told me were Arthur was, and also that I was to bring Arthur to power only in a time of great dispair.” I nodded.

“Does Arthur know of his father’s daughter?” I asked, unable to prevent the question from slipping out. Merlin eyed me curiously.

“The illegimat daughter of King Uther?” he asked. “No, Arthur believes her to be dead.”

This filled me with rage, but I forced myself to betray no emotion. So my father denied my existance to the grave, I thought bitterly, my hurt and remorse mixing with the anger. Kellan eyed me with sympathy, but I refused to acknowledge it in Merlin’s prescence.

“Of course,” I said, staring directly ahead. “How silly of me to doubt that.”

“You share her name,” Merlin said, not looking at me either.

“I know I do,” I said calmly, feeling like I was caught in the middle of my net of lies. Merlin said nothing more on the subject, and within a half an hour we had arrived.

The house itself was a small two room cabin, set well back from any road. A stable was built off of the wall, although it seemed to be empty. A foot bath lead away from the clearing that the cabin sat in, while a small gardensat behind the structures.

All-in-all, it looked like an idyllic home, and yet a slight prickle of unease ran up my spine. I didn’t know what it was, but something didn’t feel completely right.

Don’t be silly, I told myself as I dismounted from my horse. She was a very sweet tempered mare that Gavin had given me, and she was also the last thing he had given me.

“What’s the path to?” Kellan asked Merlin, sliding down into her husband’s arms as he helped her dismount.

“It leads to a stream that flows to the south,” he said, catching the reigns of mine and Kellan’s mares and Cyric’s stallion and leading them to the stable. “The water is clean and healthy, although it’s usually cold.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Is there a latrine, for relieving oneself?”

“The path branches off to the left a ways before the stream,” he said from within the stable. “If you go to the left you’ll fine the latrine. If you stay to the right you’ll come to the stream.”

“Good,” I said, satisfied by his answer. A cool breeze blew around the clearing, stirring up some of the wet, dead leaves that littered the floor, and I shivered again. I felt like someone, or something, was watching me from just out of sight. I pulled my cloak around me, waiting for Merlin to finish tying up the horses, which seemed to be just as uncomfortable as I was.

“Shall we go inside?” Merlin asked, reappearing from the stables.

“Absolutely,” I said, fighting the urge to shiver. There’s nothing wrong with the land, Morgan, I told myself. A moment later surprise registered as I realized that I had specified “land.” How could land be evil? You aren’t one to be superstitious. It’s all in your mind. It has to be.

Merlin crossed the clearing and opened the door to the cabin silently while I was having this inner conversation with myself, and I stepped inside the cabin. It was small, but not too horribly cramped, and I looked around curiously.

A fireplace, made of stone, took up most of the back wall, and a small table sat in the center of the room. Two three legged stools sat by the table, and a third sat closer to the fireplace. Shelves lined the walls, and I turned, taking in the room.

I could see the entry to the cellar easily, as the leather hinges were on the top side of the trapdoor, and a large metal handle had been placed perfectly for it to be lifted easily. Shutters covered the winders, also hinged with leather, I noted as I walked the parameter of the room, examing the workmanship.

I found nothing showing shoddy workmanship. All of the nails were perfectly placed, the wood had been properly treated, the thatching on the roof secure. From there I turned my attention to the second, smaller room, in which there was a large bed.

When I had finished my search, I sighed. My unease was still there, and it was greater than before, but i had had even less of a reason to feel as I did.

“I’ll take it,” I said to Merlin, my reasoning winning out over my emotions.

“Good,” he said smiling a genuine smile for the first time since I’d met him earlier that day. “Very good.” With that he turned and left the cabin.

I hope I haven’t just made a big mistake, I thought as I looked around my new home one last time before following him outside, closing the door behind me.

Morgan Le Fay; The Truth; Chapter 22

There is little to say about my arrival at Kellan and Cyric’s palace. They greeted me warmly, and we ate together, and then I was led to my chambers by a maid. I fell asleep, aware that I would soon be immersed in the search for a home.

Morning came quickly, but not before the night had succeeded in instilling all sorts of horrid pictures of the courts of Camelot and the actions of it’s knights, of Gavin and Blanchette, and even of Leslie and Mordred’s mother crying out from their graves in my mind. I woke, not feeling very well rested, and prepared myself for the day.

The night before, at supper time, Cyric had explained to me that King Arthur’s adviser had heard of my query and volunteered a small piece of land that was placed in between his lands and the lands of another of Camelot’s knights. He was expected to arrive later this afternoon, and we would take a tour of the land I would be living on.

As I entered the dining hall, Kellan glanced up at me and hurried to fulfill her role as hostess. Cyric, on the other hand, paid little attention to me as he drained his beverage.

“Good morning, Morgan,” Kellan said as I sat down, motioning for a servant to fill my cup. “Did you sleep well?”

“Relatively,” I said, aware of how bad it would sound if I were to tell the truth. “The chamber was quite comfortable.”

“But you appear to have not slept well,” Kellan said, ever observant. I smiled tiredly as I prepared my trencher.

“You know how it is to travel,” I said quietly. “The first night in a new place is usually rough.”

“That it is,” Kellan said gently, taking a sip from her own cup. I smiled, and she smiled back. “You’ll have to tell me how you’ve been since Christmas, and how Mordred is and how he’s grown.”

“Good lord, woman,” Cyric said, finally turning his attention to us. “She won’t be able to tell you anything if you don’t let her eat in peace.” Kellan glared at him for a moment before falling silent.

I ate quickly, eager to be done. As I took my last bite, Kellan grabbed me by the arm and pulled me off to a small, cozy room. I’m not sure how to describe it.

It was more of a sitting room than an library or an office, but there was a desk by the window, placed there to catch the most light. Kellan pushed me down into a comfortable chair, and began to question me rapidly.

“Tell me everything,” she warned before she began her interrogation. “How was life with Gavin and his family? Why did you leave? How is Mordred? Did Gavin propose? Did you say yes? Has Mordred grown much? Are you doing well?” She paused for a breath, and I took the chance to answer before she could think of more questions to bombard me with.

“Gavin’s family was very kind and accepting or Mordred and I. We left because Gavin had made it clear that he wanted to marry me, and yet he had a prostitute living under his roof,” I said. Kellan gasped in horror.

“That’s simply awful!” she exclaimed, leaning forward and taking my hand.

“He had proposed to me, and I hadn’t been sure whether to accept or not,” I said. “the return of that woman made my decision for me. I will not marry that man ever, not even if he’s the last man left on this planet.”

“I can’t say that I blame you,” she said, staring at my sympathetically.

“Mordred is fine,” I said, wanting to change the subject. Thoughts of Gavin and his misdemeanors, particularly of his actions with that prostitute, made me feel uncomfortable and angry, but when I spoke of him to Kellan those feelings intensified. Remembering that she was Leslie’s sister made everything even worse, and I couldn’t stand that. “He’s healthy and has grown so much. I don’t know if you’d even recognize him.” Kellan laughed.

“Little boys have a habit of doing that,” she said, smiling sadly. I was surprised to see the maturity in her eyes. For me, very little change had occurred since Kellan’s marriage. However, Kellan had been a wife for eighteen years or thereabouts, she had been a mother twice over, and both of her babies were training to be knights. Over the last eighteen years she had lost many children, and been through so much pain and suffering.

“Before you know it, you’ll have to start looking for a wife for that little baby of yours,” Kellan said, a far away look in her eyes.

“Have you found wives for your sons yet?” I asked curiously. Kellan shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said. “It’s not for a lack of trying, either. The young women who are eligible, well, they’re just not right for my babies. They won’t take care of things the way they ought to be cared for.”

“You know that you’re going to disapprove of whoever the lucky women are, anyways,” I said, smiling at her. She laughed again, and infectious life-filled laugh, that gurgled up from deep inside of her.

“That’s probably very true,” she said. A tap on the door frame alerted us to the appearance of Cyric and a tall and thin man.

“Kellan,” Cyric said, his tone containing a warning for her. “This is Merlin. He’s here to speak to Morgan about the house.”

“Merlin,” I repeated, standing and eyeing the man. His black hair obviously hadn’t been washed since ast summer, though his skin looked a little cleaner than that. His eyes were back, too, and heavily shadowed, and currently sowed surprise.

“You aren’t what I expected at all,” he said, stepping closer. He wore druids robes, and his hands were encrusted with dirt and something that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

“Nor are you,” I retorted. “We ought to discuss the particulars”

“I’m sure we ought to,” he said, not moving from where he stood beside Cyric.

“Oh, do come in,” Kellan said brightly, turning into a welcoming and proper hostess in a heartbeat. “Have a seat, Merlin. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t plan on being here long,” he said brusquely. Kellan’s smile became fixed, but she managed to keep it up, somehow.

I reached for her hand as I moved to sit beside her, determined to let her know that she shouldn’t let this man upset her. She smiled slightly.

“What do you intend to charge me for the house and the land?” I asked Merlin, not overly impressed by his manners. I suppose that he could have easily said the same of me, but he didn’t.

“I was thinking that since it is a productive and fertile piece of land that the house is on, you could pay a quarter of whatever you grow for your own use to me,” he said, his eyes raking my figure, lingering where my gown clung to my body.

“A quarter?” I exclaimed, shocked and mildly horrified. “But according to the ancient laws of this and the king lays claim to half of the vegetation the land produces. Of the remaining amount, a tenth goes to the local parish. You propose to leave me with only fifteen percent of whatever is grown? Surely that won’t be enough to feed my son and myself through the summer and the following winter!”

“The king requires no taxes from the land,” Merlin said, his voice silky. “It is my land, and I am your feudal lord while you dwell upon it. Ten percent of what would have been the king’s to claim would have been given to me anyhow, and the other fifteen percent will be considered your rent. I assure you, Lady Morgan, you will not find another offer this generous.”

“Oh?” I said, surprised. It have never been common for a king of Camelot to give someone’s lands an exemption from taxes. I bit back the urge to ask Merlin what he had done to warrant such favor with his king. “That sounds reasonable. However, we probably should go and take a look at the land before we doanything to make this official.”

“I suppose that would be a good idea,” Merlin said, his face and voice both impassive. “Are you ready to travel?”

“Permit me to fetch my cloak,” I said calmly, rising to my feet. “Kellan, Cyric, will you be accompanying us?”

“Of course,” Kellan said, standing as well. Cyric eyed her disapprovingly, but she ignored him. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen?”  she said, curtseying politely before pulling me out of the room.

“Of course,” Merlin said, his gaze never leaving me once. With a slight shudder I left the room with Kellan.