CHAPTER

27

Red’s relentless assaults showed no sign of stopping.

“Yield,” the larger boy panted through his faceplate. “You know I’ve got you beat.”

Galahad retreated across the flagstones of Morgan le Fay’s throne room. Red was trying to force him into a corner, and no matter which way Galahad turned, it seemed like Red was always one step ahead of him.

Red was a flurry of attacks: high left, high right, high right again, low right. Galahad barely got Excalibur in place to block the last one. Excalibur had always felt surprisingly light in his hands, but since he’d been in Morgan’s fortress, it seemed like the sword had become ten pounds heavier.

“Watch your back,” Red warned. Galahad had half turned his head before he realized it was a trick, but by then, it was too late. Red charged, slamming his shoulder into Galahad’s chest and knocking him backward. Galahad stumbled, trying to keep his balance, but it was a hopeless effort. He went crashing to the floor.

“You cheated!” Galahad shouted, furious.

“No such thing in a fight,” Red sneered. He looked very pleased with himself.

Galahad was sick of this. Every part of his body hurt, and he was no closer to besting Red. With a frustrated cry, he lashed out with Excalibur, catching Red in the shin. His smirk turned into a grimace of pain as he fell to his knees in a clash of metal.

“Enough.” Morgan was standing over them both. She held out the Grail, full to the brim with the same inky black liquid from before. “Drink from the Grail again and heal Red with Excalibur.”

Galahad sighed. He almost wished that Morgan would go back to letting Red pummel him. He was black-and-blue, and every muscle in his body ached, but at least he seemed to be making progress at sword fighting. With healing, however, he could not figure out what Morgan wanted him to accomplish with the Grail.

He pointed his sword back at Red and reached out with his mind toward one of the rosebushes surrounding the throne. Now, after many days of practice, he could easily sense the bush’s yearning for the sun.

Galahad tugged half-heartedly on the bush’s life, urging it to cooperate, but it resisted. It wanted to live. It pleaded with Galahad to let it live.

Feeling sickened, Galahad released. “I can’t do it.”

“What’s the point of keeping him around, Mother, if he can’t do anything you ask?” Red said. With his own flick of the wrist, one of the red blooms disintegrated into ash, and the cut on his shin healed. Only a few flecks of blood on the floor indicated that Galahad had ever injured Red.

Morgan pursed her lips, then gave a sharp nod. “Follow me. Both of you.”

Without waiting for a reply, Morgan stalked out of the throne room. Red sprang to his feet and hurried after his mother, throwing Galahad another sneer. Galahad sighed and followed.

A spiral staircase led down into the depths of the fortress. Galahad could hear Red’s heavy footsteps several turns below, but he could not see him. A quiet word from Morgan occasionally echoed up from even farther down the stairwell. Galahad tried to hurry, but he never seemed to get any closer.

The stones of the curved walls grew larger and more misshapen as they descended, as though the higher levels had been built one atop the other over many centuries. The steps grew wider and deeper, great slabs of stone piled into uneven ledges. After a while, the stone seemed more like a cave than a castle. The air felt thick, and the candles in their sconces struggled to push back the shadows.

Quite abruptly, the staircase ended. Galahad found himself in a vast cavern, though how vast he could not say since the ceiling and all but the nearest walls were lost in darkness. Morgan le Fay was holding a torch above her head; the only source of light. She was kneeling on a narrow wooden bridge that spanned an underground river, its current swift and white. Red stood to Galahad’s left, watching his mother.

Morgan was leaning out over the edge of bridge, perfectly still as she stared into the churning foam below. With no warning, she plunged her free arm into the black water. As she stood up, Galahad saw a pale-white carp wriggling in her hand.

“To make something, you must first take something. To build a house, you must break the stone,” she said, gazing intently at the fish. It gasped and gaped, white eyes blind and bulging, its scales glistening in the torchlight. “That is power. If you tried to listen and accommodate every life and every thing, nothing would get done. Do you understand?”

Galahad’s mind flashed back to Father Walter’s first teaching: if someone hurts, you help, no matter peasant or king. Somehow, he didn’t think Morgan shared the same view.

“Do you feel this fish’s thoughts, Galahad?” Morgan asked.

Galahad nodded. With Excalibur at his side, he could sense the creature’s desperation.

“Tell me,” Morgan commanded.

“It’s afraid,” Galahad said slowly. “You’re hurting its fins, and the air burns its gills.”

Morgan bowed her head, looking almost contrite, and let go of the fish. Instead of splashing back into the river, it floated in the air, still gasping. Morgan turned her hand in a scooping gesture and siphoned some water off the surface of the river, forming a ball around the carp as it hovered. The fish stopped gasping and started swimming back and forth in the sphere. Galahad could feel its clammy sense of relief and confusion.

Red stepped to the river’s edge, watching the fish.

“I don’t know what it’s feeling,” Red said thoughtfully, “but it doesn’t matter. It was hatched down here in the dark; it will die in the dark. It could live an entire life that will have no meaning. But we can change that. We can use it to do something that actually makes a difference for us.”

“No!” Galahad cried, but he could feel Red already conjuring some spell.

The carp twisted, and Galahad felt its pain. He knew enough of Morgan’s magic to sense the carp’s life draining away as Red wrung it of its essence. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Galahad reached out with all of his crude magical skill. He did not know what to do; he just knew that if he did nothing, the fish would die to satisfy Red’s cruel whims. He couldn’t let that happen, so he reached out and stopped it.

Red turned to Galahad, a shocked look on his face. The carp was still writhing in pain, but the flow of energy had stopped, its life force suspended somewhere between it and Red.

“That’s it,” Morgan le Fay cried in excitement. “You can save it!”

But Red was not giving up without a fight. He redoubled the spell, and the flow of energy resumed. Galahad could almost see it now, a slender thread hanging in the air above the water. He tried to picture himself grabbing hold of it, pulling it away from Red. But Red was much stronger, and Galahad still did not know how this magic worked. The carp’s struggles were growing weaker.

“Use Excalibur!” Morgan called from the bridge.

Galahad tried to reach through the sword, the way he did when he talked with Calib. He focused all of his concentration on that thread, and as he did, he felt Excalibur come alive with energy.

The strength of it was amazing. Galahad had never felt so much power before. He was giddy with the thrill of it. It reminded him of the first time he realized he could speak with Calib, except ten times better.

With a wave of his hand, he broke the spell Red was casting. Red stumbled backward, shrieking, tripping over the uneven rocks as he fell. His face grew as white as parchment, and he let out a whimper of pain as his hands flew to his throat.

It was an odd reaction, but Galahad couldn’t think on it now. He had expected the thread of energy to vanish, but instead, he was shocked to find it flowing toward himself. He got a sense of something cold, wet, and powerful as the carp’s life force touched him. He shrank from it in revulsion, pulling his concentration away from Excalibur, and as suddenly as it had appeared, the power was gone.

Morgan’s sphere of water dissolved, and the carp returned to the river with an indignant splash. With a flick of its tail, it turned into the current, swimming away as fast as it could. Galahad breathed a sigh of relief, then braced himself to face the sorceress.

“Impressive,” Morgan said, her face impassive. “I believe I just learned a lot about you, Galahad.”