the

forest of

adventures

by

katie m john

Little Bird Publishing House

First published in Great Britain in 2010

by

Little Bird Publishing House

Copyright © 2010 by Katie M John

SMASHWORDS EDITION

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

The right of Katie M John to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor otherwise circulated in any form or binding or cover than that which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

from the British Library

ISBN 978-0-9567395-0-6

www.theknighttrilogy.com

Acknowledgements

A huge thank you to:

my long suffering husband Jonathan for his constant love and support even though he’s been much neglected and poorly fed for the duration;

my daughter Rossetti for providing constant and hilarious distraction;

and to all of my friends who have indulged my fantasy providing me with much love and support as well as reason.

Thanks to my brother-in-law, Fraser for all his I.T help and constructive criticism.

A very special thank you to S.

I’d never have typed the first word without you.

To Mallory and Tennyson.

Thank you for leaving the world the gifts that you did.

Contents

Preface

1. Beginnings

2. Fire & Ice

3. Hyacinths

4. Into Temptation

5. Crash

6. Sleep

7. Damage

8. Lovers & Lies

9. Rescue

10. The Forest of Adventures

11. Forbidden Fruit

12. Satellites

13. Fear

14. Shifting Light

15. Emissaries

16. Knight Forward

17. Meadowlake

18. Atomic

19. Fallen Angels

20. His Story

21. Chapel of Perils

22. Fighting Eve

23. Preparations

24. East of Eden

25. Aftermath

26. Farewell my Love

27. Turning Tides

28. Moon and Stars

29. Ruins

“Hear a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.”

The Lady of Shalott. by Alfred Lord Tennyson

PREFACE

Sleep is for the innocent. For the guilty, the night is a time when we are fearful prisoners locked tightly behind heavy eyelids. We look asleep but we’re not – we’re living in nightmares, and it leaves us exhausted and half crazy and this is the punishment for our crimes.

It always starts the same, with the thick scent of wildflowers and sun warmed earth lulling me into a false sense of peace, but it doesn’t last. Too soon it fades to be replaced by the sinister iron-stench smell of blood blending with mud and the sweeping sounds of sharpened metal striking at the sky. On hands and knees I crawl forward. My palms slip on the grease of the rain-soaked earth and my dress is so heavy with rain that I’m dragged even lower, sliding serpent like towards him.

He looks at me, his cheek half buried in the earth, his eyes staring blankly out and I can’t tell if he’s dead or still dying. I think I hear him whisper my name so I stretch out a hand, but I can’t quite reach. Death breathes on my bones and flowers of red ice bloom over my heart. I wake, gasping for air as if I’ve been drowning.

The pain was exquisite, the pain was love.

1. BEGINNING

Blake Beldevier arrived at college on the first day of the January term. He came with the snow. Perhaps looking back this should have served as an omen; a warning that anybody who was foolish enough to fall in love with him ran the risk of having their heart turned to ice.

Nothing could have prepared me for the first time I saw him. He walked in to the common room, took a seat and started reading The Times. It wasn’t for this weirdness that I noticed him - although it would normally have been enough - but because of his instantly breath-stealing beauty; the sort of beauty that snaps that secret part of you to attention and reduces you to the beast you are at heart. It was a rough and rugged beauty, a colouring of the skin, a face that had been hewn from a remote and wild cliff face, a darkness of the eyes, full of latent storms and solitude. He was more beautiful than any other boy I’d ever seen in my seventeen years.

All of this I saw in an instant but it was enough. A sickening current swelled in my stomach. I felt dizzy and stars erupted in front of my eyes as if I’d been hit by a force of freezing ocean air, knocking the breath from my lungs. The book I was holding, a thing of exquisite and private joy previous to this moment, flapped limp in my lap, revealing itself as the faded and battered thing that it was. Now, here in front of me, sat something more divine than anything an author could create.

By the time I’d tried to regain the appearance of someone who was actually sane, flicking through the pages of my book to give the impression that I’d been reading and had hardly noticed him, he’d gone to his lesson.

Sam, who’d been sat at my side throughout all of this, was completely oblivious to these seismic shifts. He was too busy scribbling down the last two answers of his Math homework. As I got up to leave for my lesson, he took hold of my right hand, kissing the centre well of my palm. His love was a solid and reliable love and it was for its purity and simplicity that I loved him; Sam was clear waters and instinctively I understood that Blake Beldevier was the grey swirling waters of a deadly current.

The sense of treachery I felt as I walked to my literature class was almost as overwhelming as the force that had been the meeting of Blake. Suddenly, it felt as if I had an iron scarf wrapped around my throat and where Sam’s love usually offered a warm contentment, for the first time in the two years that we’d been together, his love felt like it was choking me.

The English block was at the far side of the college grounds and for this I was unusually grateful. The biting wind and the ice-rain that spliced my skin seemed a fitting punishment for the torrent of fire that Blake had caused in me. Perhaps it was a taste of the pain that all of us would come to feel.

The English classroom was on the third floor and almost empty when I arrived. Condensation streamed down the windows of the overly hot classroom which melted the view into the flat dull grey of the winter sky. It was comforting to look at something bland and unexciting. The classroom filled up without my notice, but this escape didn’t last for long.

“May I sit here?” he asked in a hushed tone, clearly embarrassed that he’d arrived late to lesson.

My heart quickened. I reasoned with myself that this seat, one of several available, had been chosen because of its closeness to the door and was in no way related to my existence. After several disappointing minutes, I realised my reason was right, he hadn’t even registered me.

The English teacher, Mr Dwell, was a flamboyant creation; a relic of some previous age of leather volumes, cream teas and cigars. He reminded me very much of my own Uncle Josef so whilst others took delight in mocking him, cruelly impersonating his slight lisp and his portly walk, I felt an affection for the old man and loved the time I spent in his slightly out of sync world.

Literature was my favourite subject and this lesson normally held my entire attention but unlike other, more ordinary days, today the close scent of Blake’s warm body caused my thoughts to bounce all over the place and the words on the page to blur.

“Miss Singer, is there a problem?” Dwell’s soft Scottish voice filtered through as if it was travelling through water.

By the time I’d resurfaced, the moment had passed and the class were searching through their copies of Hamlet to find where we’d left off last lesson. Whilst I had been dancing around in my own little daydream, Dwell had selected people to read, thankfully none of which were me, and the passage was now being read by an unfamiliar voice.

Hamlet’s words sat easy in Blake’s mouth, giving the impression that he was reading from memory, or like an actor who had learnt his lines. And rather than murdering Shakespeare’s verse like we normally did, his voice fitted the iambic pentameter with ease, creating an intensity to the language that, until this moment, I’d struggled to understand. I lost myself in the music of the reading, jolting back to the room when he suddenly faltered and became unsettled in his movements. He turned to me, his eyes flickering with something like recognition. I noticed with embarrassment that my arm was touching his. There was something terrifyingly captivating in the fact that I couldn’t feel him; as if he simply didn’t exist.

The creepy thought that maybe he didn’t, jumped on me and I looked around the classroom desperate for somebody else to prove he wasn’t a figure of my overactive imagination. An ice-spider took a leisurely crawl across my spine as Blake’s eyes locked onto mine and looked right into the heart of me. Moving a finger to his lips, he motioned me to silence as if I had just stumbled across an impossible secret. A smile flitted across his mouth. At that moment the strongest impulse to kiss him grabbed me and if it hadn’t been for the sound of the bell then maybe madness would have won out.

Before the bell even had a chance to finish ringing, I’d packed as speedily and clumsily as a frenzied criminal about to skip the country. I wondered how it was possible to lose your sanity in the space of an afternoon. My entire instinct was screaming at me to run, to get away but something else, something deeper, richer, sweeter wanted me to stay and move closer. And even though a siren was wailing through my head telling me that this boy was dangerous, all I could think about was kissing his lips.

*

Thankfully Sam’s class had been released early for good behaviour and he stood outside of the English block, car keys swinging in one hand, two paper bags containing a late lunch in the other. He greeted me like a dutiful puppy, falling into step by my side and sending the sandwiches on a perilous flight as he swung his arm around my shoulders.

“What’s up sweetie pea? You’re white as a ghost!” Sam’s voice was full of concern.

“Nothing,” I lied unconvincingly. “I think maybe I’m going down with something. Look do you mind if we rain check this evening? I need to get my head down and rest.”

I flashed him a reassuring smile but it felt like a lie. Sam made a valiant attempt at hiding his disappointment. He hated his home, not that Sam really considered it a home as it was merely a place where his drunken father happened to live. At Sam’s house there was no space he could call his own. He slept on a pull out sofa bed and all his books and belongings lived either in his college bag, on the backseat of his battered mini or at my house. It couldn’t have been more different from the warm eccentric home that my Mum had created for me. As an illustrator of children’s books, she’d magically managed to extend the fairytale into the fabric of our own house which looked part museum, part library and part falling-down shack.

Even though Sam had his own ‘glorified cupboard’ at ours, I needed space to think about how I was going to handle the arrival of a certain Mr Beldevier and I couldn’t do that with Sam so close. There were many girls at college that would find my situation crazy. Sam was attractive; blonde and athletic. He stopped just short of being magazine-handsome but he was sparkly and good and it drew the attention of other girls to him. I’d had to put up with their jealousy throughout our time together and it had been made more vicious because we were an unlikely couple in every way. I was quiet; he was life and soul of the Rugby club. I read; he played the drums. I was Art and English, he was Maths and Physics. In almost all ways we were our own clichéd opposite.

Judging from the quiet journey home, I guessed that Sam had already felt the first shifts begin. He dropped me off outside home and leant over, placing his finger under my chin and lifting my lips to his. Usually I loved to fall into his kiss, opening my eyes afterwards to look deep into his sea-blue eyes. They were eyes that were soft and full of the promise of love. Tonight when I looked into them, grey shadows flicked across the violet blue and I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that a great storm of sadness was about to take hold.

2. FIRE & ICE

The morning’s lessons were slow but not slow enough; Double Art History followed by Biology. I didn’t even know why I was taking Biology. It had seemed like a good idea at the time and as it was the one subject that Sam and I took together, I hadn’t found a good enough reason for chucking it in. But even though slow, I couldn’t escape the inevitability of lunchtime coming and after lunch my English lesson.

By the time Sam and I made it to the canteen, the others had managed to grab a table before the uniform wearing locusts descended. Daisy and Joe had their heads together in deep conversation about the upcoming ski-trip and although not an official pair like Sara and Matt, it was obvious to all of us, apart from them, that they were made for each other.

Daisy however, was currently wasting her time on a guy from Falmouth Art College who Sam and I had met once, and instantly disliked. We recognised a creep when we saw one. Sadly, Daisy was besotted with him and spent most of her lessons staring out of the window doodling love hearts with their initials entwined in them. I’d found it hard to hide my disapproval and general urge to puke.

Sara and Matt had been together over a year and because Matt was Sam’s best friend, we at first tolerated Sara and had since, in a funny and unlikely kind of way, come to like her. Although completely different in almost everyway to Daisy and me, who’d been friends since primary school, Sara added a certain glamour to our otherwise misfit group. Sara was always perfectly preened as if she’d just stepped off of some American High School series with her blonde hair, legs that went on forever and light healthy tan which she had even in the depths of winter.

We made our way through the canteen system, grabbing limp sandwiches and machine hot chocolate, the only thing drinkable from the vending machine, and started to snake our way through the slightly damp-dog smelling lower school. Before we quite made it, Joe shouted out across to Sam urgently,

“Tell her Sam, she won’t have it. Wasn’t I James Bonding the Blacks last year?”

“Sure Joe. Just like Bond.” Sam nodded sarcastically and winked at Daisy causing her to collapse into a fit of giggles.

“You’re so full of it,” she said elbowing Joe so that his sandwich missed his mouth, splattering mayonnaise on his cheek and furthering his humiliation.

Before Sam could take a seat, a small, still immaculately uniformed Year Seven, which we believed to be Matt’s brother no matter how often he denied it, swerved in from the side and plonked his skinny bum down on the chair.

“Oi! Out weasel head!” Sam let out in full sixth form menace.

“No chance - You snoozed you loosed moose nose.” Weasle boy issued this insult as he stuffed a handful of Daisy’s chips into his mouth.

Before Sam could respond in defence of his nose, Weasel boy dived straight into conversation with Matt giving the impression of a small and orange talking cement mixer and leaving Sam nothing to do but stand with his tray in one hand and quietly feel his nose with the other.

“Matt, we wants to know if you can help us out on Wednesday after school? Merrik says we can play a set at the Year Seven disco but we need some help from the Sixth Formers.”

Sam glowered at Matt and Joe nodded his head in a dramatic ‘noooo’ action.

“Sure thing, little man.” Matt said as he extended a clenched fist out to power-pound the ginger haired rat, “Count us in. My man Joe will come and help out as well.” Matt thrust two thumbs up in Joe’s face and Joe leant back in his chair letting out a groan.

The little ginger kid moved off the seat and as he did he looked at Joe flashing him a large sarcastic smile of latent child menace before skipping merrily back to his table where he was greeted with a collection of high fives from equally rodent-like small boys.

“Matt, why do you do it man? They drive me potty!” Joe said hitting the palm of his hand to his head, “And they’re getting cheekier. I’m sure we weren’t that cheeky when we were in lower school.”

“It’s the decline of man, Joey boy,” he replied taking a swig of coke from his can as if dramatically concluding a complex point of philosophy.

Matt and Joe had achieved an almost unprecedented cool status amongst the lower school boys because of their recent performance at the school charity gig. Their band, The Space Cadets, had finished their set, rather controversially, by performing the now iconic anthem adopted by most of the year eight boys which included the inspired lyrics;

‘School ain’t no place for learning books,

Maths with Rogers really sucks,

I like to imagine how Smithy…cooks.

Needless to say, the young and very pretty food technology teacher, Ms Smith, had been less than impressed when the Year Eight boys had taken to singing it at the top of their voice replacing the carefully crafted last word. I suspected this had been Matt’s intention along.

Sara and Daisy had moved onto planning our usual Friday night gathering and were in full animated flow. I took the last empty seat by the window, which gave me a clear view out onto the playing fields. At this time of the year, when the day never really got going and the dawn bled into twilight, they were eerily grey and empty. A fine layer of frost still coated the blades of grass from the night-frost and a low heavy fog had settled so that even the huge, black skeletal oak trees looked more like shadows than anything of solid substance. I lost myself in it, mentally armouring myself for my next meeting with Blake.

I’m not sure where I was in my thoughts when I heard it, but even though the canteen was bursting with the noise of over excited kids there was a sound in the distance, beyond the glass, that grabbed my entire attention and made every other noise fall quiet.

Impossible as it was, the unmistakable thunderous sound of a charging horse travelled towards me on the mist. Its hooves pounded the hard winter earth like the beating of a war drum and it beat in perfect sync with the rhythm of my own heart. It was coming directly towards me and directly towards the plate glass window of the canteen. Panic surged and my body preparing itself for impact, started to fold in on itself. I gasped in one last gulp of air and shut my eyes waiting for the explosion of glass. Nothing happened. The sound abruptly stopped. Opening one eye, I glanced back to the table expecting to see everybody in the same shock and panic as me but they were all still involved in their own conversations, totally oblivious to the events outside the window.

“Did you hear that?” I asked to no one in particular.

“Yeh, storm coming.”

“It wasn’t thunder,” I whispered. “It’s the wrong time of year.” A series of disinterested shrugs spread through the group.

Outside the window, I expected to see the animal close up, its warm breath misting the window and its rider in shock but there was nothing; just a shifting of the fog through which I was sure I could see the shimmering glint of metal.

“Mina…Mina...Earth calling Mina! What do you fancy, blood and gore or something more romantic?” Daisy pulled me to attention, snapping me out of my bizarre hallucination.

“What?” I asked having no idea as to where we were in the conversation.

“Film. Friday. Romance or gore?”

Without taking my eyes from the window, I responded robotically, “Gore definitely - no contest.”

I turned to look at her briefly.

“Really, do we have to?” Sara chimed in, “I hate all that stalking killer stuff. It is always freaks me out so I can’t sleep. What about the new Anniston film, you know the one about some love triangle?”

Sara, true to form, flicked her expensively highlighted hair as if this might somehow seal the deal. Clearly it was a move that got Matt to agree to anything she wanted. The very thought of seeing a film about love triangles made me want to freak!

“Mina?”

“Really, I don’t mind - I’ll go along with everyone else.”

As I said it, I was already thinking up the excuse of a coursework deadline.

By the time the lunch bell went, I’d decided that I was going to bail on the afternoon, ensuring no more weird aftershocks from the Blakequake. Feeling slightly pathetic about it, I convinced myself that Blake wasn’t the only reason I had a headache and it wasn’t entirely untrue, for I couldn’t get the sound of the horse’s galloping hooves out of my head. Only now the sound seemed to have altered ever so slightly so it sounded more like the beating of somebody else’s heart nestling along side my own.

*

I didn’t tell Sam I was leaving early because he’d only have worried and fussed. He’d also have insisted on giving me a ride home and I really wanted to try and walk off the fever that seemed to be burning.

I wasn’t long into town when I began to regret the really foolish decision to walk. The dry-ice day had grown thick and heavy with sleet and having had a lift with Sam in the morning, I was completely underdressed and now shivering violently. Weighing up the very real possibility of freezing to death before I made it home, I took a turn into the bookshop, tempted by the warm yellow lights and the thought of the thick, velvety hot chocolate they served whilst you lost yourself in big saggy sofas.

Within minutes of sitting down, hot chocolate warming my frozen hands, the bell above the shop door went. Bent over and fleeing the miserable weather outside, Blake entered. Damn! He too had obviously skipped the afternoon lesson with Mr Dwell.

He stopped at the door, wiped his feet and shook out the snow-rain from his dark curls before pulling himself up to his full six foot height. With one hand he undid his coat and the other he loosened his scarf which looked bizarrely more like the remains of an old flag then the more usual woollen number.

Unlike me, he was dressed for the cold weather, wearing a simple but obviously expensive pair of jeans and a thick black jumper beneath his thigh length woollen coat. His clothes gave the impression of subtle wealth and, although simple in their design, it was obvious that they were of serious quality. Sleet hung to the fine, soft wool of his navy coat almost like someone had threaded small diamonds into the weave. Even at this time of the year he had a slight tan, the kind of tan that is burnt in by wind and activity. He flashed a smile in response to something the pretty sales assistant said and made his way towards the literature section.

He didn’t spend long looking, seeming to find whatever it was instinctively. His hands moved deftly along the spines and I caught myself thinking of how his hands would feel running themselves over my thighs. The delicious thought of this made me blush and the sudden rush of blood to my cold cheeks caused a strange prickling of my skin.

I watched him pull out several versions of the same text; Tennyson’s collected works, and then settled upon the one with the image of Waterhouse’s Lady of Shalott on its cover. His finger traced the outline of her face and he offered a wry smile, as if smiling at some private joke. He suddenly went rigid, aware that this private moment was being watched. I tried to look casual, despite my pounding heart, my blushing cheeks and quickening breath; as if somehow, I hadn’t noticed him and his being here and this sudden recognition was as much of a surprise to me as it was to him.

“Hello, it’s Mina, isn’t it?” he spoke softly, a slight lilt in his voice.

“Yes, hi!” I cringed inside as my voice came out in a strange, almost strangulated squeak.

“Are you alright? You’re shaking.”

I blushed as I imagined the state I looked, red and blotchy from the cold.

“I forgot my coat,” I said as my heart hammered in my chest.

Instantly, without a moment’s hesitation he started to slide out of his coat. “Here. Borrow mine. I’ve got the car outside.”

I was about to protest but before I could he’d already deposited the coat on my lap. It weighed a tonne. The lining was as red as blood.

“I can’t borrow your coat. You barely know me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can give it back to me in class tomorrow.”

“Talking of which, why aren’t you there now?” I asked.

“Well I could ask you the same question.” He smiled. “I guess we’ve caught each other out.”

“I guess so.” I found myself blushing like an idiot with a smile that almost hurt.

“Well, I’d better get going,” he said tapping the book. “I’ve got a lot to catch up on by the looks of it. Nice to meet you again Mina Singer; I look forward to seeing my coat in lesson tomorrow.”

With that, he headed towards the counter to pay. In his place

lingered the smell of wildflower meadows and the warm smell of sun kissed barley fields.

“Sorry,” Blake’s voice startled me, causing me to spill some of my hot chocolate, narrowly missing the expensive wool of his coat, “- it’s started to really snow. Would you like me to drive you home?”

I flushed hot and wondered if he could see me blushing.

“No really, No it’s fine. I’ve…I’ve…” I stammered, trying to think of a reason that might sound slightly believable. I changed track and rather overly enthusiastically blurted out, “It’s snowing. That’s great! I LOVE snow! All that…white flaky stuff. Brilliant!”

He raised an amused eyebrow and smiled, “As you wish my lady, see you tomorrow.”

As he left I could hear him amusedly muttering to himself, “White flaky stuff. Brilliant!”

I sat there no longer cold. The fire of total humiliation had warmed me up a treat.

3. HYACINTHS

I arrived home just after the dark had settled in for the night. Mum had switched on the fairy-lights in the trees, giving the narrow garden an otherworldly feel but, unlike the usual feeling of magic, tonight it exaggerated the concern I had about my rapidly sliding sanity. The snow had given the garden the look of a wild and dangerous wood and I found myself huddling down the garden path as if to avoid the wicked witch. It was only when I heard the deadlock of the red front door click behind me that I took the chance to stop and breathe.

Home, as always, was warmly lit. Dusty, our ancient and cantankerous cat came into the small hallway, swirling his way around my ankles and purring a welcome that was really a poorly disguised demand for supper. I slipped out of Blake’s coat and folded it up into as small a ball as it would go, trying to force the bright red lining out of sight. All the way home the coat had almost sent me half demented with the warm spiced smell of his body and I was strangely grateful that the house was filled with the rich smell of roast chicken in the hope that I could now be free of it.

Mum was sat huddled between her desk and the wood burning stove and Sam was sat at the dining table, several science textbooks sprawled out. He had his headphones in and hadn’t noticed me come in. Standing outside of the half open door and looking in at the peace and warmth of the room, I felt a sudden wave of guilt which felt like a distressing blend of love and claustrophobia all rolled into one.

Mum stretched, removed her glasses and stood up before making her way to the kitchen. As she passed Sam, she placed a hand on his shoulder. It was the action of a mother who loved her son dearly. One big happy family! Something about it all suddenly freaked me and I took a step back knocking over Martha’s umbrella, sending it skittering to the floor in a noisy commotion.

“Mina, is that you? Run up and wash your hands. I’m about to serve supper and don’t forget to feed Dusty before we eat.”

As if my guilt couldn’t get any worse, I pushed my bedroom door open to find a small bunch of white hyacinths lying on top of my pillow. A small card had been slotted into the top of them on which Sam had written the simple, yet most important of all words - I love you- in his spider like handwriting. I lifted the flowers up to my nose, taking in their pretty sweetness and immediately the events at the bookshop came back to me.

Sam was not usually so showy in his feelings. He wasn’t given to corny clichés and often took the piss out of the sort of grand gestures Matt made to Sara on an almost daily basis. However, the simplicity of the flowers and the inscription showed that Sam was aware that something was wrong and he cared about it enough to put it right. I knew he deserved to be loved and not hurt and I promised myself to put things right. But even as I made the promise, I knew that it wasn’t one that I’d be able to keep. Something had changed and it wasn’t going to change back.

I pulled on my deep emerald jumper which was Sam’s favourite and looped my string of green glass beads around my neck. Sam had bought them for me on my last birthday. He said they matched the colour of my eyes and I loved them, yet tonight when I looked at myself in the mirror they reminded me of a beautiful noose.

*

Dinner was already on the table by the time I arrived downstairs and Sam was lighting the candle with a firelighter lit from the wood burner. With his spare hand he made to reach out and take mine but stopped as if thinking better of it. Instead he cracked an awkward smile before speaking,

“Hello stranger. I’d started to think about sending out a search party.” His voice was trying to put on a comic edge but it was tense. I smiled and shrugged, unable to give him either an unhurtful or rational explanation as to where I’d been and he deserved better than a lie. “Thought maybe you had been kidnapped by aliens or that you’d finally made good your promise to run away with the circus.”

I could barely meet his eyes, thinking that there was nothing more genuinely painful then when somebody you loved tried to hide their hurt and confusion with a joke.

I hoped a half truth would satisfy him, “I went to the bookshop.” He nodded. I panicked, “Thank you for the flowers Sam, they’re really lovely. Look I…” but before I could finish, Mum busied into the room carrying the gravy and interrupting my apology.

Dinner was chatty, a result maybe of all of us trying to hide the weird atmosphere. Mum fired questions at Sam and me in quick succession and Sam, seemingly satisfied that things were hopefully on their way back to normal, was happy to indulge her.

By nine o’clock, Mum had already gone up to bed, book in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other and Sam was snuggled up on the sofa under the throw flicking through the T.V channels. I snuggled in beside him, feeling the warm certainty of his body. Out of habit my hand traced the muscles of his forearm causing him to turn towards me. He smiled and leant over, kissing my cheek before putting his arm around me and pulling me in. His lips found mine with the ease of familiarity. Sam was a good kisser, firm and soft all at once. Being together for almost two years, he’d perfected his skills and when he kissed me it was easy to believe that the world was a silent place and that we were the only two people in it.

This evening was no different and as he kissed me I could feel all the doubt and uncertainty heal over with a warm acceptance and love. I felt the warm contact of skin on skin as his hand moved under my clothing, his kiss becoming more urgent as we headed towards a place I wasn’t ready for. I pulled away but Sam moved himself so that I was pinned to the sofa with nowhere to go. Panic hit me as his kisses became increasingly aggressive. All at once everything was wrong. I pulled my face away as best I could, putting my hands out in defence.

“What the hell are you doing?” I shout-whispered.

He looked at me, almost as shocked as me and pulled himself away to the far end of the sofa.

“I’m so sorry Mina – that was really out of order. I don’t know what came over me.”

I stood up and looked at him, crumpled at the edge of the sofa, his eyes filmed with water as he fought back tears.

“What the hell was that all about Sam?” I said pulling down the bottom of my top.

“I’m sorry, I got carried away. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – shit I’ve really messed this up. I just wanted to check that everything was okay.”

“What? You thought that the best way to check was by forcing the situation?”

“I didn’t mean to…force….God Mina, don’t use that word it’s not as if I was going to ….as if I was going to do that to you. I love you. I just thought maybe you wanted me to…Shit, I don’t know what I thought!”

The situation was spiralling quickly out of control and I knew that whatever Sam had been thinking, it wasn’t that he’d meant to hurt me. The whole day had been weird and it was no real surprise we’d ended up here.

“It was a mistake Sam; I’m not happy about it but I know you wouldn’t hurt me. I’m going to bed. We need to sleep on this and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I pressed a tight smile, “Night Sam.”

As I went through the door I heard Sam whisper, “I’m sorry. I love you.”

From upstairs in my room, I could hear the sound of the television travelling through the white painted floorboards and in order to drown out the ghost, I stuck in the earphones of my iPod and turned the volume up to the borderline of pain. The deep rhythmic drums of Florence and the Machine drowned out Sam’s presence but didn’t make me feel any better, for as I lay there, I realised with startling clarity, that falling out of love with someone was like pulling a plaster – shockingly painful but surprisingly quick.

The deep, rich scent of the hyacinth blooms filled my room and it was so overpowering that it made it almost painful to breathe. Opening my window to let in the cold air seemed to have little effect and seeing no alternative, I took hold of them roughly by their slender green necks and threw them out into the night sky where they fell into the garden below and scattered across the navy green grass like grounded stars.

*

All that night, I was attacked by dreams that made no sense. Dreams full of blood and mud, of cold grey glinting steel and a winter sky cut through with a flock of cawing black birds. And even though I couldn’t see her, I knew she was there; standing at the side of my bed, her one crone hand pressing the air from my lungs, the other injecting my heart with a terrifying love poison When I woke, breathless and half terrified at the breaking of the dawn I felt I’d been through the ravages of battle.

4. INTO TEMPTATION

Overnight the snow had draped the garden in a soft sheet of whiteness, well and truly burying the evidence of the hyacinth crime. I didn’t hear Sam leave for college and I wondered if he’d headed home last night instead of staying.

When at last I set off, Blake’s coat bundled up in my arms, I saw the ghostly remains of Sam’s footsteps pressed into the snow late last night. Using them as my guide, I let my own feet press heavily into them imagining them pressing into the surface of my heart. But amongst the weighty sadness, there was a flutter as if a fledgling bird was fluttering its wings; it was the knowledge that today I’d see Blake.

I walked to college slowly, enjoying the sensation of the whole world being asleep. By the time I arrived, I was late even by my standards; time keeping not being one of my strengths. The whole school was in class and now I had the dilemma of missing lesson or making an embarrassingly dramatic entrance into English; and with Blake’s coat!

Swearing, I glanced at my watch but before I could register the time, my eyes were distracted by something laying on the surface of the snow. Crouching down on my hind quarters with the morbid curiosity of a child, I inspected the fragile corpse of a butterfly; its rich orange and red wings like a blood stain against the snow. I looked down in horrified fascination at the wretched creature, which having been completely out of time with the rest of the world, had perished as a result. I reached out my hand to touch it but as soon as my finger made contact with it, it disintegrated into a coloured dust spreading out across the snow like a smear of paint on a blank canvas.

A pair of navy converse alerted me to the fact that my bizarre behaviour was being closely witnessed. The embarrassment held me in suspension and I took a long blink hoping that whoever it was might just vanish. A hand came down into view, offering me a hand up - the exact opposite of what I wanted. My desired direction was down into the ground because I knew without looking that the hand belonged to Blake.

Rejecting his help, I struggled to my feet, hot blood rushing to my cheeks. I could barely think how I would be able to look at him and when I finally managed to brave it out, all I could see was an amused and curious smile dancing over his lips.

Snow began to fall and, whether it was the blood rushing to my head, or the effect Blake had on me, I had the sudden feeling of being turned slowly upside down inside of a snow-globe. Time slid; the snow fell in slow motion and Blake looked deep into my eyes. I was transfixed on a single snowflake that was balanced on one of his long dark eyelashes. His brown eyes were the only promise of warmth in the whole landscape.

The spell was suddenly broken by Blake’s warm and amused voice, “Ah! It would seem that we’re both faced with the same dilemma.’ His eyes flashed with promise.

I smiled back in response, not trusting myself to speak without making a further idiot of myself.

“So…are you going to tell me what is quite so fascinating about that particular patch of floor?” he said, laughing.

I shrugged, “Nothing - it was nothing. I was tying my shoe lace.”

Blake looked down at my zip up boots and looked away, letting it go.

“So to be or not to be?” he said nodding in the direction of the English block.

“I don’t know. Dwell’s a real time beast.”

He smiled, “Some people just find time more important than others.” He looked at me and I couldn’t help but sense he was trying to say something more, that he was urging me to understand a hidden message but before I could fathom, he went on, “Look, I don’t know about you but I am freezing and the thought of Dwell’s frosty reception doesn’t fill me with a warm glow. However…” he cracked a flirtatious smile, “…hot chocolate at the bookshop seems tempting. How about it? Can I tempt you?”

This was the moment. This choice, at this point would set the whole future in motion. I hesitated and Blake seemed slightly surprised which I found to my surprise a little irritating. Sensing my indecision he shuffled slightly, not quite so sure of himself as he had been.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you probably have to be somewhere after class. It was rude of me to assume you didn’t have other commitments.”

He turned to move away and as he did, I was grabbed by an extreme sense of panic. The moment was about to slip through my fingers, “No!” I blurted out rather too loudly. “I mean, no, I don’t have anywhere to be after class.” My stomach lurched.

Blake smiled at me holding out his hand for his coat which I realised with yet more embarrassment, I’d been hugging tightly to my chest. We made our way out of the side gate walking side by side with the tantalising understanding that it would have been natural for us to reach out and take each others hand but knowing it was wildly off limits. It was only when we were half-way down the road that I realised all of this had happened outside the window of Sam’s Maths class, giving him a ring side view.

Blake and I walked most of the way into town in silence and I wondered if Blake was truly aware of the enormity of what I was doing. I shifted my thoughts to more abstract things, like the feel of my leather gloves, the snow flakes on my velvet jacket, the crunch of the snow underfoot, the flash of red from a robin. Things that were delicious but harmless and somehow in Blake’s presence they all seemed more delicious than I’d ever noticed.

*

I was brought back to reality by the quaint ring of the brass bell above the bookshop door. Blake pushed the door open, striding backwards so that I could go through first. His old world charm struck me as out of place and it made me smile in a way which he’d probably not intended it to.

We made our way to the back of the shop and ordered two mugs of creamy hot chocolate, with marshmallows on top for me and nutmeg for him, before settling down into a sofa each. At last the tension caused the silence to break.

“I’ve got a bit of a confession to make,” he said looking slightly uneasy, “there’s a reason I asked you to come here with me and it’s going to sound like a really embarrassing cliché so I apologise in advance.” He smiled a wry smile and took a deep breath. “Here goes; I’m certain that I’ve met you before but I don’t know where or how?”

“You’re right, that was lame.” I laughed. “I’m positive that we haven’t met before,” I replied, certain I’d have remembered.

“But you see, we must have done,” he said with an odd certainty.

“No, really…” I nodded. “You’re confusing me with someone else.”

“No, I don’t think so…” he coughed with embarrassment, “You see I must have met you before because for the past three years I’ve dreamt of you.” He blushed and took refuge in his hot chocolate.

Laughter burst out of me before I had a chance to stop it and I saw from Blake’s reaction that he was being deadly serious. My laughter turned to confusion, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I did warn you I was about to make a fool of myself and I wasn’t going to say anything, but I need to know - I need to know how it’s possible that you - and it is you - have been in my dreams for three years when both of us are convinced that we first met only a couple of days ago. If it helps, I do know this sounds crazy so that’s good because it means I’m not actually crazy,” he said with a nervous laugh.

I looked over to the counter, embarrassed by the intensity of his gaze. “If it helps I’ve a special – um - I mean strange feeling about you too. Oh god, did I say that - that came out wrong. I mean it’s not as if I think you’re odd or weird or ...” I blushed realising I’d fallen into a tangle of words that wouldn’t unravel no matter how many words I now desperately threw at it.

He smiled, “So Mina, how do we go on from here?”

5. CRASH

It was obvious when Sam arrived home in the afternoon that he’d seen me leaving with Blake that morning. He poorly disguised the fact that he was packing his things by trying to convince me he was going to Matt’s to work on some coursework. He moved around me like I’d become a part of the furniture; trying not to make eye contact, trying not to get caught up in a conversation because he knew that it might end up being that conversation. Before he left, he stopped at the door and turned as if he was about to say something but in the end all he could manage was a forced smile.

After Sam left, I sat at my desk in the quiet. I thought about the future plans Sam and I’d made. We’d never had reason to doubt that that our future would be travelled together. Sam was good and I knew that his love was a precious thing. I loved him; he was part of my home, part of my future. Had been part of my future.

With the arrival of Blake Beldevier, all plans were now suspended. Suspended - not terminated - because although Blake was the tall, dark and handsome stranger, there was something about him that wasn’t right, something about him that was dangerous, maybe even bad. I’d seen something in his eyes, in the way that he looked at me that made me think he knew a secret, a dark secret that nobody else in the world knew. But even with all of this, with every instinct telling me to run, a delicious swell of desire surrounded every thought I had of him and I realised that even if he turned out to be the darkest force on the earth, I was already under a spell that I wasn’t sure I wanted to be broken.

To fill the time and distract myself, I powered up my laptop and logged onto Facebook in the hope that I’d successfully waste the evening. I clicked on to Uncle Josef and sent him a cheeky message, telling him to get down to some proper work and to stop loafing around. He was the closest thing I had to a dad and although he lived in London, working for a flash architect firm which paid him a fortune just because he was a genius, we were close, speaking with each other nearly everyday.

A message pinged back straight away telling me not to be rude to my elders. The irony of his swift response proving me right wouldn’t have escaped him. When I fired back the question as to what he was doing I hadn’t expected the response,

On the phone. Travelling by train. Blasted public transport. Be a poppet and put the kettle on.

I skipped down the stairs, cheered by the news of Josef’s visit. It had been a long time since he had been to visit us and typical of Uncle Magic, he couldn’t have timed it better. It was as I was raiding the fridge thinking about organising supper, that I heard Mum crash through the front door and call out to me with an alarming call,

“Mina! Mina where are you? Are you home? Are you here?”

Her voice had a sickening edge of hysteria. “Please God let you be home.”

“Mum, I’m here. What’s the matter?”

She flew towards me, wrapping me up in a tight hug as if I might slip away from her at any moment.

“Thank God baby, thank God.” She shuddered, large tears streaming down her cheeks.

Her eyes implored me to understand something that was too painful for her to say and when telepathy failed her, her words tumbled out hysterically, “Baby, it’s Sam. His car. The police have shut off the road. There’s a fire engine. I thought you were with him. Baby it’s bad. We need to go to the hospital. We need to find out what’s happened.”

Her face was contorted, twisted by anxiety and the anticipation of grief. She pulled back from me, stroking my cheek. I stood rooted to the spot; a coldness spreading, flooding my brain with a perishing whiteness.

Mum’s voice lowered to a soft whisper, “Mina, darling, we have to go. Go and get your coat. Mina, baby, get your coat.”

I looked out through eyes that suddenly belonged to somebody else and I saw the figure of Mum, small, softly rounded, her hair pulled out in wildness, her face in a contortion of concern.

“An accident? Sam?” I managed to grab hold of these two connected bits of information from somewhere inside my head.

“Yes Mina - and we have to go to the hospital now. Do you understand what I am saying? Now!”

Mum dashed off with purpose. I heard her rummaging in the hall and within seconds she returned with my coat in her arms. I felt her lift my limp arms and stuff them into the sleeves of my jacket just like she’d done when I was a small child.

I felt her hand in mine.

6. SLEEP

Sam’s body lay on a bed of a softly lit cell. By the side of his bed, a nurse closed his folder of notes and padded out. As she closed the door behind her, she looked right into me and offered me a weak smile nodding consent for me to go in.

I stood still and silent by his bedside. His face was covered in a net of small cuts; the result of glass from the windscreen having raced towards the softness of his flesh. His nose was swollen, broken by his impact with the steering wheel. It was this impact that had broken his consciousness too. Wires and tubes trailed all over his battered and beaten body so that he looked more like a weird and fascinating science experiment rather than a healing human. The deafening silence of the room was interrupted only by the rhythmic bleeping of the heart monitor.

The doctor’s words whirled round my head. Sam’s father couldn’t be contacted and I knew that he was probably slumped in his chair, pissed and out of it. Martha had lied to the receptionist, telling them that Sam and I were engaged to be married. Even as she’d said it, I was filled with a horror that maybe this would now never be possible.

Dr. Morris explained slowly and as gently as she could, that Sam was critically ill and that there was a serious chance he wouldn’t make it through the night. She told us to prepare ourselves for the worst and hope for the best. Apparently it wasn’t in our interest to give us false hope.

Sam was in a deep coma and the hospital staff were locked in a tug-of-war just to keep him from slipping across the invisible line between life and death. Even if they managed to pull him over to the living side, for which they didn’t seem to hold out much hope, then it would be likely that part of Sam’s brain would be left behind.

Another doctor came briskly into the room, picked up Sam’s file, tapped his pen and looked over at him. At first I hadn’t thought that he’d noticed me. I supposed to him, all of this was quite normal. Another day at the office.

“Hello.” My voice came out like the voice of a shy child. “Is he alright? I mean I know he’s not alright but …. I suppose what I mean is, is he any worse?”

He didn’t make eye contact; he was busy with his monitor readout.

“You need to understand Miss Singer, that Samuel’s very unwell. He’s undergone serious trauma and you must prepare yourself. We’re doing everything we can and we promise you he’s not in pain.”

His beeper went. He checked it and then flashing me a well-practiced and tired smile he left the room. It seemed that there was nothing left to say.

It was late by the time we left the hospital. Fairy lights forgotten, the path to our house was a dark and slimy route. Uncle Josef had let himself in. Mum must have phoned him whilst we were at the hospital and we arrived home to find him sprawled over the sofa, half a bottle of wine by his side, his signature red braces dangling by his side.

Once, when I had been small enough to find such things curious, I’d asked him why he wore them. He’d told me that he had a secret life as a clown but it was tops and I mustn’t tell anyone. As I got older and wiser he told me that he wore them to be ironic. I suspected he wore them because they reminded him of good times and made him still feel young at heart if not in body so in a way the clown secret hadn’t been a lie.

It wasn’t our family style to show great physical affection but as I walked by, he grabbed my hand and held it for just a moment, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was all he needed to do to show me how much he loved me and how he truly expected things to turn out. He poured us both a glass of wine and topped up his own. We sat down without talking. The television was on in the corner and it gave us an excuse to pretend we were watching it. In truth we were all lost in our own thoughts. When the credits came up, I made my excuse and left for bed. I could hear Mum and Josef’s muted conversation through the floorboards of my room. It was clear that Mum, like the doctor, didn’t expect Sam to make it through the night.

Impossibly, the smell of hyacinths still lingered in my room and I shuddered as I recalled how hyacinths were the symbol of a youthful death. It’s wasn’t the sort of thing that Sam would’ve known when he brought them.

Gagging, I dashed to the bathroom making it just in time to throw up into the toilet. Ever since being a small child, being sick had caused me to go into a full panic-attack so with the feeling of being drowned in boiling waters, I threw my head under the shower, the setting on cold, hoping to bring myself back into my own body. It worked, the sickness faded.

I slipped my naked, shivering body between the cold white sheets of my bed. The thought of Sam seeing me leave the school with Blake refused to stop worming its way through my head and I knew that somehow it was all connected; as if his broken body was perverse reflection of the damage I’d done to our relationship. I’d stood by Sam’s bed at the hospital willing him to wake up so that I could explain myself, so that I could tell him that Blake was no threat to us. And as much as I wanted him to believe it, I wanted to believe it myself. But Sam was unlikely to wake up soon, if at all and I knew that I’d have to carry a level of responsibility for whatever the outcome was.

No matter how many times I tried to reason that the accident was a fluke result of the weather, I knew there was something more to it. Sam was always such a careful driver and although it had been snowing, the road was gritted and clear. Something must have caused him to spin out of control and all I could hope for was that it wasn’t me.

In the end, exhaustion dragged me under but it wasn’t the sleep of the peaceful, it was the sleep of the fevered, the sleep of the diseased; image after image speeding through the mind like a film reel out of control.

*

From under the water, Sunlight dances on the surface of the lake throwing out handfuls of diamonds. She’s mesmerising, hypnotic, but the light flares in a blinding flash, as if it’s hit polished metal and the whiteness hurts my eyes. It hurts so much that I have to look away into the direction of the Other Place.

The Other Place is a barren land, an unending landscape in which the only things that move are the strings of wind-ravaged black flags and a huddled figure, squatted low, dressed in a ragged cloak which he pulls to him in a desperate search for warmth. The Other Place is a dead place, a place of utter despair. It is a wasteland in which the devil of treachery stalks the betrayed amongst the monumental tombs of all those who’ve had their hearts torn out by the ones they loved the most.

The sorrow that comes out from the wretched figure is too much to bear. I wake up choking on the knowledge that the figure trapped in the wasteland is Sam.

7. DAMAGE

Sam survived the first night and he continued to fight his internal battle with Death night after night. I spent the next several days sitting by his bedside watching and waiting, willing him back. In the hospital, time took on an eerie almost supernatural quality and I found the only way to measure the passing of it was by the movements of others; doctors, nurses, canteen staff, tea lady, cleaner. Day after day, I sat there in the beeping-silence, waiting.

On the third Monday, I automatically found myself dressing for college and before I’d become fully conscious of it, I was standing outside the school gates. For fifteen minutes I stood there, hands holding onto the bars as if they were the only thing holding me up, bracing myself for the overwhelming concern and sympathy that was bound to be dumped on me – or alternatively, the judgements as to why I wasn’t sat by Sam’s bedside in his hour of need.

When I threw this question at myself, I couldn’t answer or the only answer that I could come up with made me sound like such a bitch that I couldn’t or didn’t want to believe it could be the truth. After all, how does citing boredom as a reason sound when your loved one lies in a hospital bed fighting for his life? Only the thing was, Sam didn’t look like he was fighting, he looked like he was taking a nap on the job and watching somebody sleep for more than an hour at a time is about as fascinating as watching paint dry - even when you do love them.

I weighed up the option of giving college a miss, but the thought of going home to a whole day of my mum’s grief stricken company didn’t seem any more attractive. When I’d left her that morning she’d been sitting by the window, lost in her own worry. She hadn’t even surfaced to say goodbye.

As it happened, the morning was almost bearable. People mainly kept their distance from me and avoided eye contact, as if they were too embarrassed by not knowing what to say. Before I knew it, I’d sat through two of my morning lessons with almost no recollection of having been there. Eventually I came out of the depths of my own world and discovered that I was sitting in the English room alone apart from Blake who sat silently at my side.

The class had been dismissed early for break. With embarrassment, I suspected that this might have been the result of my painfully sorrowful presence. The room was pleasantly warmed by the weak winter sun on the glass and I felt no hurry to get up and leave. I felt no awkwardness at Blake’s presence and for the first time in days I felt a small moment of peace. Time passed. Blake’s eyes were closed, basking in the warmth of the sun. His hands were locked together and they rested on a leather bound copy of Tennyson’s works. I noted it wasn’t the one that he’d brought in the bookshop but an antiquarian copy. I wondered if he were really asleep or just waiting.

I traced the outline of his face, his neck and his body with my eyes. Around his neck he wore a black leather strap on which trembled a small, metal cross. It seemed a daring display of faith in such cynical times. A shiver washed over my body and it seemed that this invisible movement alerted him to me watching him. He opened his eyes, concern flitted over his face which made me register I was crying. I blushed, expecting Blake to either look away embarrassed or move over to comfort me like most people would do but he didn’t do either. He locked eyes with me and held them there before whispering, “I’m really sorry Mina. If there’s anything I can do, please just ask.”

Part of me hated him and it was a hate that desired to move to violence. I wondered if he could read it in my eyes, if he could sense how I wanted to hit him and kick him and beat him but most of all I wondered if he could read the longing and how at that precise moment there was nothing more I wanted him to do than to lean over, take my face in his hands and kiss me.

Picking up my books, I stuffed them deep into my bag and left, slamming the classroom door behind me. The stairs behaved like the crazy stairs of a fairground funhouse and I had to dance on the edge of balance. Pain seared my hand as I dragged my knuckle along the brickwork. When the wall ran out, the pain flared causing yellow starbursts to dance in front of my eyes and I had to stuff the whole of clenched fist into my mouth to try and stifle the scream. The taste of copper filled my mouth making me gag. The world spun dizzyingly around me and just as I thought I was going to make impact with the floor, I felt myself scooped up into a tight hug, warm arms holding me together. I was rescued. Someone was here.

“Shh, Mina. Shh. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.” Daisy pressed her cheek against mine and I knew that she was crying too.

8. LOVERS & LIES

Josef’s flying visit turned into a month long stay. It was clearly difficult for him to be away from the London office, and he spent most of his mornings on his mobile shouting at his graduates and cursing the broadband connection for being so slow. But despite the fact that his usually highly organised and minimalist life was in complete chaos, Josef seemed to be relishing the security and warmth of a home.

The time came however, when Josef had to leave for his own life and eventually he was forced to instigate the conversation for which he’d originally made the visit over a month ago.

“Mina,” he shuffled his papers in front of him, obviously unsure of how to proceed and how I’d respond. I put down my book. “Mina, darling girl, I came here originally for quite a specific purpose. There was something I needed to talk to you and Martha about; something that I wish could wait longer until you are both in a better place but this can’t wait and goodness knows I have tried to find a way to make this go away but I can’t.” Josef coughed, stalling for time. “You know that I’ve been spending a lot of time in France on the Glass-House project, well I’ve met somebody over there. His name’s Gerard and it is serious; serious enough that I’m moving over there to live with him. We’re in the middle of buying a flat in Versailles. I know this is really bad timing and I feel really bad but....”Josef babbled on, embarrassed and guilty.

“Josef, stop! Really it's o.k. We’ll be o.k.” I forced a smile at him, hoping that I was being convincing enough because I was glad that he’d found somebody, somebody he could love and build a life with.

“I haven’t told Martha yet, can’t seem to find the right moment.”

“You don’t have to now,” Mum spoke out from behind the kitchen door. Neither of us had noticed her come in.

She walked round the back of Josef’s chair and put her arms round his shoulders.

“I’m a big girl now Josef,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’m really pleased that you’ve met someone. You need someone Josef; someone to call your own.” She disentangled herself from him and went back towards the kitchen. “Now who’s for tea? It sounds as if we have a lot to catch up on.”

I smiled over at Josef as he raised an eyebrow. He knew that he was now going to be subjected to the equivalent of a medieval inquisition.

“Not for me Mum, I’m heading out for the afternoon. I’m catching up with Daisy for a coffee.”

I winked at Josef as he placed his hands together begging me to stay, mouthing a dramatic, “No, please. Don’t leave me!”

“What are you two laughing about in there?” she called out from the kitchen.

“Nothing Mum! Take it easy on him whilst I’m out won’t you? I won’t be back for tea. I’m going straight on to the hospital to check in on Sam.”

It was the first day of March and it was a beautiful crisp afternoon. The daffodils weren’t far off flowering and the promise of spring seemed to be everywhere. It was difficult to think that when Sam had last been aware of the world, it had been a cold and icy place. The air had changed and for the first time in over a very long month I felt a sense of optimism.

Daisy was already half-way down her latte when I arrived. She looked tired and gloomy and I felt an instant pang of selfish regret that I’d not called off. This was the last thing I needed.

“Hi!” Daisy’s voice was flat and toneless.

“Hey there! Do you want a top up?” I asked her as I took off my jacket and walked past her to the counter.

“No, I’m good thanks.”

I ordered a coffee for myself and two slices of blueberry cheesecake in the faint hope it might cheer her up.

“Here you go, yummy cheesecake heaven!” I smiled, keeping my tone light and cheerful. “So what’s up? What’s he done?” I asked sitting myself down.

Daisy looked uncomfortable, possibly aware that anything she had to say would sound somewhat insignificant compared to my situation.

“Come on Daisy, a problem shared is a problem halved and all that jazz!” I invited her to spill. It didn’t take any more encouragement.

“Dan and me, it’s so over. He’s a cheating, sneaking bastard. I can’t believe I fell for such a snake. Joe rang me yesterday and told me he needed to see me urgently. When we met, he had an envelope in his hand and as soon as I saw it I felt sick. I knew what it was going to be. He looked so embarrassed that I thought that he was going to cry.” Daisy herself looked as if she was about to lose it.

“Sorry, I don’t follow. What was it he had in the envelope?” I asked, desperately trying to see some kind of connection between the two.

“You know last weekend I went down to Falmouth to see Dan. We went to this really cool house-party on the Friday night and I met loads of his friends. We were getting on so well and he told me that he was serious about me. Saturday, we went for lunch and had a really long talk about how things were going. He talked about wanting to take the next step. You know – that step.”

“Oh, I see.”

“He gave me a box with a big bow on it just like I was a princess. Don’t look like that Mina. I know – alright- I know. In it was a set of gorgeous underwear and I was so excited. It was all so romantic but I should have realised it was all just too perfect - I feel so stupid Mina. I feel so utterly stupid and I hate him but I hate myself more.” I recovered the pack of tissues that had taken permanent residence in my pocket. “I desperately wanted to tell someone but I couldn’t talk to Joe and you, well you know…” She smiled apologetically at me.

I don’t know why this simple smile of sympathy made me feel so rubbish.

“Daisy, you’re my best friend and I love you. You should’ve come to me, we’ve always shared everything.” My voice caught on my own hypocrisy.

It had always been true. Daisy and I had shared everything since as long as I could remember so why now couldn’t I tell her about Blake. What was stopping me from telling her about the events on the day of Sam’s accident? What was stopping me share with my dearest, closest friend how I really felt? Why couldn’t I tell her how confused I was? How I was terrified that I was going insane and on a one way road to hell?

Sensing she’d hurt me, she breathed in preparing to go on, “It, you know, having s…sleeping with Dan was o.k. I wouldn’t say it was like I expected to be, it didn’t feel as nice as I thought it would.” She let out a nervous giggle, “Lets put it this way, it wasn’t like in the films but I suppose only an idiot would think that it would be.”

She went on to tell me how he’d persuaded her to have some photographs taken for an ‘art project’. He was exactly the lowlife dick that Sam and I had thought he was and I was surprised that Daisy, who was normally so grounded had fallen for it. By the end of the weekend he’d managed to get her to pose naked and before her train had even pulled in home, he’d posted them onto the internet. Joe’s friend had recognised her and Joe had been left with the task of breaking the bad news. I knew this would have really hurt him in light of the fact that he adored her.

“Joe says he’s going to sort it out for me. There’s a way of reporting them and having them removed. He’s also offered to go down there and confront him ‘man to man’, if you can imagine that.” She smiled.

The thought of Joe confronting anybody ‘man to man’ was a slightly comical image and I couldn’t help but smile too.

“He’s being really lovely, a real knight in shining armour.”

“Daisy, have you ever thought that maybe sometimes, Mr Perfect is the man standing right in front of you?”

“What! Me and Joe?” Daisy laughed loudly and it seemed to pull her out of the gloom she’d started in. “You’re a funny girl, Mina. We’re not all like you and Sam; we’re not all destined to marry the boy next door.” She looked embarrassed, aware that she’d just been really insensitive.

Suddenly it was me that was gloomy.

9. STORM

By the time I left Daisy it was already getting dark and as had been the pattern over the last week, great lead coloured clouds had gathered over the course of the afternoon. I made a mental note to add climate change to my already lengthy worry list.

I stood waiting for the bus, regretting the decision not to have put on a cardigan as well as my jacket. The hospital, being a good hour away, involved two depressing bus changes which gave me ample opportunity to think about how pointless the evening journey was going to be and how absurd it was to make a two hour round trip to see an empty human shell. The nurses were always really kind, making it all seem natural and worth the effort. As if they could sense my feelings of pointlessness, they would never fail in telling me how important and special my visits were, seemingly convinced that somehow I held the key to Sam’s recovery. They might not have been quite so jolly if they’d known that it was probably because of me that Sam was in the state he was in. What they also didn’t realise was that far from encouraging me, it gave me a weight of responsibility that was suffocating to the point of almost being unbearable.

As always, the bus was running late. The first few drops of oversized rain had already started to fall and at that moment I’d never felt so entirely and wholly miserable. I closed my eyes waiting for time to stop and offering up a general sky-bound plea for the bus to arrive before the sky fully opened up. So it was with surprise that when I opened them, a black Volkswagen Polo had pulled up to the pavement and somebody was shouting something out to me. It took me a moment to realise that the driver was Blake.

“Do you need a lift? It’s about to pour it down.”

Right on queue, the heaven’s opened and the rain poured. I could hardly hear Blake and found I had to shout ridiculously loud for him to hear me, “No thanks, I’m fine. The bus will be here in a minute.”

“Are you going to the hospital?” I nodded in response. “Get in! I’m on my way to Truro to make a delivery. Vivien’s got me running errands.”

I began to protest but I was already feeling the wet seep through the sleeve of my velvet jacket. I opened the door, got in and settled into the comfort of the tan leather seat.

“I’ve got to drive right past the hospital. I’ll drop you off and then swing by and pick you up on the way back. How does that sound?”

“Thanks. That would be good.”

“No problem! What else is a knight in a shining Volkswagen good for?” He flashed a smile.

I snuggled down into the seat, relishing the warmth of the car and the smell of the leather. I was grateful for Blake’s ability to remain silent without feeling the need to fill the space with small talk. He drove with one hand on the wheel the other resting on the window. Driving seemed natural to him but far from being able to relax, I was unsettled by Blake’s stunning and awesome beauty. It was effortless and raw and he seemed completely oblivious to it. I wondered if he could hear the beat of my heart drowning out the thunder.

Like every other time I’d seen him, he emitted a quiet and old world wealth, wearing dark jeans and a plain white Oxford shirt which was beautifully fitted. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms were well defined, full of muscle and I guessed he was a keen sportsman. The stretch of his forearm was broken up with a simple gold-cased watch strapped with black leather. It was old, an antique, like the purple enamel signet ring he wore on his right ring finger and it had the look of a very old family heirloom.

“So is Vivien your mother?” I broke the silence with a question that immediately I wished I hadn’t, “Sorry, that’s none of my business, mouth before brain.”

He turned and smiled at me, before fixing his stare back onto the road.

“It’s fine. Vivien’s kind of my mother. I suppose the easiest way to describe her is that she’s my adoptive mother, she’s all I know of one.” He didn’t expand his explanation and I had the feeling that maybe I had reminded him of something painful. “Mina, you must feel free to ask me whatever you like, there’s nothing about my life that’s a secret to you.”

His comment was spoken with a strange emphasis and I wondered if it wasn’t secret to me, then who was it secret to?

The rain was falling so heavily that the windscreen wipers could barely keep up. Their metronomic movement and the heat of the car lulled me into the deepest and most peaceful sleep I’d had in over a month and I woke twenty minutes later just as Blake was pulling into the hospital car park.

Before I could get out, Blake leant over into the back of the car and grabbed an umbrella from the backseat. His movement left a cloud of his scent that reminded me of sandalwood and the granite of the sea cliffs. There was something about that smell that made me weak, made me tremble against reason. I dashed out of the car frightened of the effect he had on me. By the time I’d made it to the door and turned round, he’d gone.

It was peak visiting time and the hospital entrance was busy with anxiety ridden, harassed and tired relatives making their dutiful visits after long days at work. It drained the last reserves of spirit in me.

Whenever I walked into Sam’s room, I was struck by the same feeling of walking into a vacuum. Nothing in the room changed; time stood still. Sam was neatly laid out; the hospital blankets tucked in tight creating a ghostly relief, one very much like a corpse. I’d follow the same pattern; walk in and stand at the bottom of his bed, pick up his notes, just for something to do more than out of any ability to decipher them and then I’d search my brain for something to say. It seemed ridiculous talking to Sam like this.

I moved to the side of his bed and let my finger trace the top of his hand. For some reason I expected it to feel cold but it was surprisingly warm, giving the impression that he was only sleeping and could be woken with a simple kiss; just like in the fairytales.

I began to talk, my voice cracking at first. I told him about the daffodils in the garden and how I was convinced that there was a pair of blue tits nesting in the conifer by the gate. I told him about Uncle Josef and Gerard with their plans to buy an apartment in France. I told him about the situation with Daisy and how cross I was with her; all of this chatter and not a flicker. Not a blink. I stopped talking. A feeling of frustration spread inside of me and it made me frighteningly angry.

Even though I knew Sam couldn’t help it, even though I knew he was sick and it was the victim of a terrible accident, this wicked, evil part of me blamed him for being like he was, as if he were purposefully punishing me. I stepped outside, no longer able to bear the room and its constant brain-beating beep of the heart monitor. I stood outside his room, hands on knees, head bent as if I’d been winded and needed to get my breath back. I knew I was selfish - I was human. A familiar nurse stopped in her tracks to ask if I was okay and mention that the consultant wanted to see me. My heart pounded and the feeling of anger began to shift to one of panic as I imagined they were going to tell me that they were going to end it. That’ll teach you!

“Please follow me. Let’s find somewhere more private for you both to talk.”

It was the same doctor that had spoken to me on the night Sam was admitted. Dr. Morris was a pretty woman but obviously tired and stressed. She had a large diamond on her left ring finger. We exchanged the basics before she got down to her real reason for wanting to see me,

“We were wondering if you could tell us a little bit about Sam’s father, it’s just that he’s only visited Sam twice since he was admitted and on both of those occasions the nurses had a concerned that maybe he was under the influence.” She was embarrassed, unsure of how the family dynamics worked; afraid of insulting me.

“They were probably right. He’s a drunk,” I said.

“I see.” She flashed a practiced smile of sympathy. “It’s just that we have to make some decisions about how we proceed with Sam and really his next of kin needs to be involved in those discussions. I understand that you’re engaged and this is hard for you but unfortunately when it comes to the kind of decisions that have to be made you’re not currently in a position to decide.”

“Oh my god! You want to turn off the machines. You want to let him die?”

“No, not at all, we just need to talk about matters of long term care.”

‘Long term care’. A great weight inside me suddenly plunged as if I’d gone over the top of a roller coaster. With those three little worlds I was told all I needed to know. They didn’t think Sam was ever going to get better. We were both going to be here forever, frozen in time. It was always going to be a snowy January Friday; the Friday he saw me walk out of his life with another boy.

The pretty young Doctor Morris uncrossed and re-crossed her legs adjusting herself to say something difficult, “Is there anybody else in Sam’s life that we should know about?”

I nodded, signalling no, confused by what she was driving at.

“It’s just that there’s been a woman calling in on Sam every night. She visits ten minutes before the end of visiting time and her behaviour seems to suggest she knows Sam well. Every time a member of staff goes to approach her she slips away before they can reach her. We were wondering if you knew who this woman was?”

My head spun. I couldn’t get hold of any sensible thought. Sam’s mother was dead. There was nobody else in Sam’s world apart from Mum and me.

“I’m sorry; I’ve clearly caused you a level of distress I hadn’t meant too. I hope you understand why it is that I had to ask you. Is there any possibility at all that this woman is a relative of Sam’s?”

“No! His mother’s dead. She died when he was born. There isn’t anybody else. I don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid we don’t either.” She smiled and left the room, placing a hand on my shoulder as she passed me. At the door she stopped, turned her head, “I’m sorry to give you more pain Mina.”

I looked down at my watch. Blake would be outside waiting to collect me in less than ten minutes. It left me just enough time to call in and say goodbye to Sam. I gathered myself together and headed towards his room.

The corridor was dimly lit, a sign that the hospital was winding down towards the night shift. It gave the hospital an eerie feeling and made me feel like a somnambulist. A warm yellow glow flooded out of Sam’s room indicating that the door was open. Sudden dread filled me as I thought about how I might now discover the mysterious woman visiting Sam. I wasn’t ready but that didn’t matter. I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the challenge. I was so sure that it would be her that it took me a moment to fully understand the scene in front of me.

At Sam’s bedside, knelt down on one knee, his head bent so that it rested on clasped hands, was Blake. His metal cross hung down from inside his hands and as it trembled in the quiet it was the only movement in the entire room.

I let my eyes roam over the curved shape of Blake’s spine and onto his thighs tensed in the position of prayer. His eyes were closed and I saw how his black eyelashes swept down, casting a shadow onto his cheek. The beautiful and awesome image of an angel hit me with full force and I stood starring deeply at him, drinking in every detail. I watched as he licked his lips before beginning to mouth a silent prayer and when finished, he raised the cross to his lips and kissed it.

I swung myself back out of the door, knowing that it would be terrible to be found spying on such an intimate and private moment. I felt a naughty guilt, almost as if I had walked in on Blake naked, and it sent such shivers of desire up my spine that I had to lean against the wall to stop myself from falling.

*

It wasn’t long before Blake swung the car in front of the hospital doors, “Sorry I’m late Mina. I got caught up; the rain’s causing havoc with the traffic and there’s been an accident blocking the main road.”

I slid in beside him, “No problem.”

Seeing me still trembling, he reached forward and turned up the heater not realising that I was already on fire.

10. FOREST OF ADVENTURES

Blake’s traffic report turned out to be more true than he probably realised and after twenty minutes caught in a tailback out of town, he swerved off onto the back roads.

“It’s longer but I think it’ll be faster tonight,” he said by way of explanation. “That’s just in case you were beginning to worry that I was secretly a mad axe murderer,” he smiled.

“Well I was beginning to wonder.” I looked over at him for the first time since getting in the car and returned his smile.

“Do you want to phone Martha, tell her about the delay?”

“Martha?” I looked at him quizzically. “How do you know my mother’s maiden name? Have you been checking up on me, Mr Beldevier?” I teased.

He was embarrassed at having been caught out, “Just a few neighbourly enquiries.”

“So what else do you know about me then?”

“Not much.” He shrugged, “You’re really quite elusive. I know that you and Sam have been together since you were fourteen. I know it’s a generally accepted fact that you’ll end up married to each other. I know you’re very clever, top of your class in most subjects. A good artist, I’ve seen your work displayed in the atrium and I also know that even you think you’re a bit odd.”

I laughed, hitting him on the arm, “Hey, who you calling odd?”

Suddenly my side window was hit by the heavy slap-sound of water; the ford, swollen with rain was running higher than usual. The car spat and juddered to a halt, sounding as if it had been choked.

“Shit!” Blake shouted out, banging the steering wheel. “We’ve got a problem.” He turned the key, willing the car to spring back into life but it wasn’t having any of it; it sounded fed up and stubbornly damp.

“Water’s got into the engine. I’ll have to call the recovery company. I am so sorry, Mina; so much for a faster route home!”

We were miles from anywhere, in the middle of absolutely nowhere. We hadn’t seen another car the whole journey and it would take the recovery van at least an hour to get to us, even if they set off straight away.

Blake riffled through the glove box, retrieving his membership card and mobile, “Damn it, I can’t get a signal. We’re in a valley; must be a black spot. I’m not even sure where we are,” he said throwing his hands up in apology. “Look, we’re going to have decide what we’re going to do. I need to get to higher ground, try and get a signal but I really don’t feel happy about leaving you here on your own.”

I looked round at the dark forest surrounding us, nothing but various shades of blue and black trees with spiky, scratchy looking limbs which I had a strong suspicion, in my usually hysterical way, would take the opportunity of me being alone to come alive and eat me.

“I don’t fancy it either. I’ve seen far too many horror films to know it’s a schoolboy error to leave the dippy bird in the car.”

“Always the same!” he said smiling.

“If we leave the car here in the middle of the road, it’s an accident waiting to happen.”

“Don’t you have some hazard boards?” I asked.

“Yes, but they’ll have to go at the top of each hill or they’ll be useless.”

“You take one, I’ll take the other.”

The slamming of the car doors was barely audible in the downpour and within seconds of being out of the car we were both drenched, water pouring down our faces. Blake came out from under the boot holding two hazard signs and a rucksack into which he had thrown several necessary items. He handed me one of the signs.

“Just try to avoid any weird looking strangers.”

“Too late,” I said winking at him.

“Yes. Very funny! Now run along and try to avoid any other weird looking strangers, especially if they look like they’re armed.”

“What – like this?” I waved my free arm in the air.

“Just go!” He laughed.

The signs were up and we met back at the car to begin our journey upslope together. On either side of us, ancient oaks and ash trees towered. The woodland had been here since medieval times. By day it was timelessly beautiful, all soft greens, gentle lights, wild flowers and butterflies.

When we were children we would play in the woods, making dens and playing Arthurian Knights. We called it the Forest of Adventures and we had lavish feasts of wild strawberries and nettle nectar, but we’d always come home before the darkness came. Every child that grew up around these woods knew that once the moon came up, the night creatures came out and the unsettled dead walked in the shadows.

We spent our childhood sleepovers scarring each other witless with stories of the headless hunt, ridden by the ghosts of hunters and their demon dogs, who chased their prey through the woods until its heart exploded, of old hags that lived in the bottom of trees and ate children’s fingers as if they were biscuits, of fairies that bewitched you, trapping you forever in fairyland until you pined away becoming nothing more than a shadow of your previous self. As we grew older, the night-creatures lost their magical identity and changed into the horror story characters of serial killers, drunks and perverts that dragged teenage girls into the woods and did unspeakable things to them.

Tonight, the woods seemed once more the magical and haunted place of my childhood.

*

We continued through the trees in silence, the rain drowning out any attempt at communication. I followed Blake’s white shirt as if it were a beacon in the darkness. My teeth chattered from cold and the irrational fear that somehow everything had moved to put us both in this spot at this time. Some primitive leftover instinct screamed that I was walking into danger. What choice do I have? I was soaked to the skin and my bones felt like they were turning to ice. The rain began to ease but there was still no signal and without any need for discussion we left the road and went deeper into The Forest of Adventures.

After twenty minutes of walking, the rain at last gave up. Blake stopped, checking once again for a signal.

“Sorry, Mina, no luck yet. We’re getting closer to the top and there should be a signal there.” He looked over at me as if he was seeing me for the first time, concern rushed over his face, “Mina, are you alright? You look frozen solid.”

He held out a hand, solid and strong, pulling me into him, my head the perfect height for his shoulders but his body offered no warmth; he was as cold as stone himself.

I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. Letting me go, Blake rifled through the rucksack and pulled out a woollen jumper and a long woollen scarf, “Here! There was no point giving them to you earlier they’d only have got wet too. Take off your wet clothes if you want to feel the benefit.”

Even though almost all of my blood had retreated towards my vital organs, a small amount still seemed to be reserved for blushing. He handed the small pile of warm dry wool over and turned his back to me.

“No peeping, I promise,” he said through a mischievous smile.

I was so cold already that standing half naked in the woods didn’t make any difference but the feel of the dry wool against my damp skin was a welcome relief. I wound the scarf round and at last managed to feel a tiny spark of warmth.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded and we walked on. When we came to a fallen log, he held his hand to help me over and then seemed to forget to let it go again. I was miles away, revelling in the contact with his hand. I let my hand read his, imagining how it would feel for other parts of our naked flesh to be pressed together.

Suddenly I was thrown behind Blake’s back, protectively shielded from whatever it was in front of him.

“Not here, not now. I’m not alone.” Blake’s voice boomed through the silent woods.

“Bl..” I began, confused and terrified all at once.

“Ssh Mina! Don’t speak. I don’t want them to know you’re here.” I could hear the panic through his whisper. “My Lady, what are you doing in the woods alone at night? Where is your chaperone?”

“Sir Beldevier, I have been sent out to tell you my Lady requests an audience.” Her voice seemed almost to be singing.

“Name your lady,” Blake demanded.

“My Lady, Sir, is Morgan of Gore.”

“Tell me whose shield it is that you carry?”

“You mean to tell me that you do not recognise your brother’s shield?”

“I recognise it fair enough my Lady, I wanted to know if you did. Why do you have it?”

“My Lady desires to speak of’t. You must come at once. Dangerous peril awaits your delay. Bring the girl - my Lady is curious.”

I pinched myself to check that I wasn’t hallucinating through some form of hypothermic episode. It hurt. Still, I couldn’t match these events with reality.

“Blake. What the hell is going on?” I shout-whispered under my heavy breath.

“Its fine, we’re in no danger from Morgan, she’s sort of an old family connection. I’d better warn you though she’s not that great with newcomers. I’ll explain later.”

As he un-hid me, letting me see who he’d been speaking with I gasped. Blake’s torch caused a flood of white light that pulled everything forward into a stark black and white focus. In front of us, leading us through the woods was a lady dressed in a plain white fitted dress, shield in one hand and lantern in the other. Her dress wasn’t old costume or modern fashion but it was a timeless garment and beautifully made so that it accentuated every contour of her figure. Her long fair hair was held by a thick braid that stretched all the way down to the base of her spine. Even though she didn’t have wings, she looked like a fairy woman and I shook my head aware that I was probably on the borderline of being seriously unwell.

We walked for about quarter of a mile alongside the hill, moving further and further away from the car and when at last we stopped, we were faced with a dreamscape. It was a sight that at once confirmed my the belief that I had stepped over into an imaginary land for in a small clearing of the trees a blood-red pavilion had been erected and on either side of the door stood two stunningly handsome men dressed from the neck down in the shinning armour of a medieval knight, sword in one hand, helmet in the other and shield resting against their leg.

I squeezed my eyes shut hoping that when I opened them it would all have disappeared but it didn’t. The lady in white moved through the folds of the fabric into the tent to announce our arrival. She reappeared almost immediately to signal us in.

Morgan was a goddess stretched out on a low bed of fur throws. She wore a startling dress of midnight blue, plunging at the front and gathered in at the bust. It was the sort of dress that wouldn’t be out of place at a glamorous celebrity party. Her long dark black hair was pinned up with the impression of carelessness that took hours to achieve and a thick, smoky application of eyeliner all added together to give an impression that was at once irresistible and dangerous. No man would be safe in her company.

I tugged self-consciously at the hem of the oversized woollen jumper, feeling ridiculous and decidedly un-shimmering. My usually bouncy auburn curls hung limp with rain and clung to my face giving the impression that skinny orange millipedes were running about all over it. The contrast between the two of us was almost comical. The problem was, I was the joke.

“Morgan, a pleasure as ever my Lady.” Blake’s voice had a sharp edge that did nothing to settle the nerves dancing around in my stomach.

“Blake,” she gave him the warm smile of a cobra about to strike, “Fancy you being out in the woods on such a night and in the company of a Real Worlder.” She spat out the last part as if she were talking about filth.

Blake offered a well acted smile, “To be fair my Lady, I had no intention of dealing with Realm matters this evening. Why do you call for me?” A definite tone of irritation laced his voice.

She toyed with the glass of wine in her hand. She was the personification of power, “Blake, don’t pout so. You know how it is with me when you get all dark and brooding.”

“Really, please, can we get on with it? I’m really not in the mood and we’re running very late.”

“As you wish,” Morgan purred, “but before you go, I need a small, incy-wincy favour, Blake, and I really wouldn’t ask if I thought my boys could deal with it but well quite frankly, they’re not up to it in the same way that I imagine you are.” Her voice had a thickly suggestive tone and I realised she was seriously attracted to Blake.

“What is it you want Morgan?” His question came out like he was spitting out venom.

“There’s a man in town, calls himself Fear,” she raised her eyebrows in condescension, “Yes. I know - He’s nothing more than a petty criminal, drug dealing pimp. He rides himself round in a monster black car, all blacked out windows thinking he’s Mr Big. It’s just that he’s been making a real nuisance of himself, not really playing fair. Not doing what a good boy should.”

Blake looked incredulous and angry, “Sorry, are you seriously asking me to deal with him because he’s making your life a bit difficult. You’re well out of line Morgan; I’m not a thug for hire like those cretins out there.” He nodded in the direction of the boys guarding the door. “If you chose to hang around with low -lives, then you deal with the consequences. Don’t bother me again unless it’s urgent. I haven’t the time.”

Morgan showed the slightest flinch at Blake’s rebuke. She was obviously used to men falling at her feet and doing whatever she asked.

“No, you misunderstand me. He’s come into a couple of…possessions…in which we both have an interest. It would be to our mutual benefit for you to take on this quest and bring both things back to The Realm.”

“O.K, lets get to the point, I’ve got a car that needs towing. What pretty trinket has he got that you’ve got your eye on and what possibly could he have that I’d want?”

“I’ve heard that he has his hands on the Sword of Avalon.”

I saw Blake suddenly falter, surprised by her response.

“That can’t be possible. You know that the Sword is a myth.”

She laughed and it reminded me of the tinkling of glasses at a party, “Blake, darling boy, look around - We’re all a myth.”

“But The Sword of Avalon, even if the myth is real, was destroyed on Merlin’s death.”

“His imprisonment.” She stared at him coldly before waving her hand, as if dismissing the point she was about to make, “We don’t have time for story telling. If it’s true that this man has the sword, you know what that means and you know it means we need to act quickly.

Fear has a warehouse from which he does his dodgy deals, trading in stolen artefacts, art, rare breed animals et cetera; basically, anything you might want to get your grubby little hands on but shouldn’t. One of his clients, a very well-known and once wealthy man couldn’t fulfil his debt and so last week Fear sent some of the boys round to the ancestral pad to loot enough items to cover the outstanding debt. They’re hardly a cultured lot and they have no real idea as to what it is they’ve got their hands on.”

“So you’re asking me to turn petty part-time jewel thief to get back the sword. Why’s this beyond your own boys, Morgan?”

“You know that the sword’s enchanted. If my boys recover it then they’ll weaken to its power; probably use it to kill everything in sight. You’re one of the few strong enough to resist its Pagan magic what with your whole, ‘I’ve got a friend in God’ thing.” She smiled and rolled her eyes.

“And what’s he got that you think I might possibly want?” She smiled, knowing she was about to lay down her trump card. She looked at Blake, pouted and licked her lips, building the drama, “He’s got your brother.”

For the first time since I’d known him, I saw the Blake that lived on the inside. His face faltered. Confused, his speech came out unsteady, “I’m not sure…” he paused, searching for understanding, “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Leo’s nothing more than a puppet on his string, a thug for hire; Fear’s got him robbing grannies for their pension, punching the girlfriends of debtors, hooking young girls on crack to expand the business empire.”

“How…?” Blake was in too much shock to string together his sentence.

“Well it’s not for the money is it? Our wealth is infinite and he’s not easily brought with pretty things, unless they’re wearing a skirt.”

“Then why?”

“He’s got your brother hooked on crack.” She sounded almost triumphant, “Mummy and Daddy would be so proud.”

At that moment I wanted to go over to her and punch her right in the middle of her smug, sympathetic smile. I looked back at Blake’s whose earlier shock had turned to a seething anger. Every muscle in his body was tensed, his hands curled into fists, his breathing deep and laboured and I thought for one minute that he was going to go right up to Morgan and do what I wanted to do but daren’t. Instead he spat out his venom in words,

“Fine, it would seem I have no choice but to do what you want. As for my brother, I’ll bring him home, house him at the monastery until this…. this madness passes. You’ll have the sword in your hands by the end of the month,” Blake turned to leave calling after him, “and next time just send me a text rather than this… spectacle.”

“I always was one for putting the magic back into a romance, Blake.” She winked, raising her goblet.

He stopped at the entrance turning back, his eyes flaming, “And one last thing - if you ever, ever mention my mother and father again then fear for your little black heart, bitch, because I’ll not hesitate on ripping it out with my bare hands.”

The boys on the door suddenly sprang to life, pulling their swords.

“Down boys! He’s armless,” she called out from within her tent. Her laughter filled the air. As we left, we could just hear her shout out, “By the way Blake, she’s really quite enchanting….. if you like that type.” Her laughter rose again.

Within a short distance of the pavilion, Blake managed to get a signal on the mobile but before he could end his conversation with the recovery service I’d passed out.

*

When I woke the next morning, it was in the comfort of my own bed. I had no recollection of how I’d arrived home and the last sensible memory I had was getting changed into Blake’s jumper. The rest of the evening seemed as clear - but it couldn’t have been. I felt exhausted. On the chair next to my bed lay Blake’s navy jumper, neatly folded just as I would have done it myself.

11. FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Mum woke me at midday with a cup of tea. I ached all over and my head felt like a whirlpool. There was too much for me to think about and I couldn’t catch hold of any particular thought because where there should have been sense, there was nothing but flashes of woodland, of rich silks and beautiful women. The images behaved more like memories which I knew couldn’t be possible as they were the stuff of fairytales and not reality. I drank my tea, forcing myself out of bed with the determination of having a productive day; a day that would ignore all the nonsense of last night.

As I dressed, the conversation with Sam’s consultant went round in my head as if caught on a continuous loop. I trawled through conversation after conversation I’d had with Sam searching for a clue, anything said in passing, but it was useless. There was nobody else in Sam’s life beside us except for his father. My head pounded. I closed my eyes concentrating on a white light at the far end of the darkness.

Although I’d spent the whole morning trying to convince myself that last night I’d been feverish and out of my mind, in my heart I knew it wasn’t the case. Events had taken place last night that I shouldn’t have seen. They were events that belonged to a world in which I didn’t belong. Through my headache I heard Mum shout from the bottom of the stairs, her tone sharp and disapproving, “Mina, you’ve a visitor!”

I groaned, knowing just who it was going to be and not feeling in the right mood to deal with him.

“O.k. I’ll be down in a minute,” I shouted back, whilst clipping up my hair.

Blake’s looks never failed to take me by surprise and even though I’d braced myself before entering the room, I was still caught by them. He turned and smiled at me, a slight blush of colour on his cheek and I wondered if he knew the effect that he had on me. It seemed strange to see him sitting at our dining table, about as absurd as coming in to find the Angel Gabriel sitting down and having a cup of tea with your Mum. He stood, giving the impression of a Victorian gentleman come wooing and Martha rolled her eyes as if Blake were a terrible cliché before taking her leave to do the washing up.

“Mina, I am sorry to come uninvited, but I need to talk to you. Do you think maybe you’re up to a walk?”

“Sure, I’ll get my coat.” I found myself responding too quickly and knew that I should have made an excuse.

I pulled my wellies up over my skinnies and grabbed Mum’s hand knitted scarf off of the peg; another thing she’d made on one of her creative whims. We left the house through the back door, passing Mum on the way. It was clear that she wasn’t sure what all of this meant but whatever it did, she didn’t approve of it. I knew well enough that even without the details she would rate this behaviour as a betrayal of Sam and of course the impression that Mum had of Blake was not helped by the fact he’d returned her daughter to him in an almost dead state in the middle of the night. Before the door closed, I heard her mutter under her breath, “Handsome is as handsome does!”

I’d never fully understood what this meant but it seemed one of Mum’s regular responses to handsome men that she didn’t think could be trusted. I wondered if she saw something in Blake that I was missing.

We walked through the garden without speaking. It wasn’t our usual comfortable quiet but one that swelled with the inevitability of a difficult conversation. Leaving the garden through the rickety back gate, we entered once more into the forest.

Blake was the first to break the silence, “Mina, last night…” We stopped walking, the conversation needing our whole attention. He looked at me. He was worried. I saw the dark circles under his eyes and if he’d slept at all last night. It didn’t look like he had.

“I remember,” I said doubtful of my own sanity as I said it.

“So how do you explain it Mina? Who do you think I am?” His eyes were locked on mine and in them there was something shifting in them; something I couldn’t read. They looked wild and I knew I should feel scared, but I didn’t.

I shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s all fragments and the fragments don’t add up to make something possible.”

“And why isn’t it possible?”

His question seemed so simple on the surface; as if I were the one that wasn’t in my right mind.

“Because it isn’t - What I saw last night can’t exist,” I said, shaking my head.

The image of Morgan came back to me with menacing force. There was something about her that had left me with a terrible feeling of unease and if I was honest, the way she was with Blake made me maddeningly jealous.

“Tell me who she was.”

“I can’t. What you saw last night, you really shouldn’t have. Morgan was playing a really dangerous and spiteful game.”

“She fancies you,” I blurted out and then regretted giving him evidence of my own jealousy.

“Possibly.” The way he smiled with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement made me wonder with a needling irritation about the history that Morgan had shared with him.

“O.K,” I sighed, “So if you can’t explain last night, tell me about you? How come when I first touched you that day in English, you didn’t feel of anything? At first I reasoned it was because you weren’t really there but I checked with the others and they saw you too so I knew you I wasn’t mad because that’s how you know isn’t it? Other people tell you you’re not.” I knew I was rambling and sounded frankly as mad as a hatter.

Blake looked at me in a way that showed he perhaps found mad-hatters cute but his lip twitched as he tried to find a way of explaining the impossible, “You couldn’t feel me at first because…” he stopped as if changing track, “…you couldn’t feel me because you didn’t know to make me real.”

“What do you mean? That’s not a proper answer Blake. It doesn’t explain anything.”

“It explains everything.”

“And if I touch you now?” My voice quivered in the air.

“Do you want to touch me Mina?” His question came out almost like a breath and spoke a double meaning that was at once delicious and terrifying.

My breath caught on its way out. There was nothing more I wanted to do in that moment than to touch him, to let my hand reach for his most secret out of the way places where nobody else touched. I held out a wavering hand and then snatched it back; cradling it into myself as if I was afraid of being bitten.

“So tell me, am I going mad?” I whispered.

“You’re not mad.” He smiled, “A slightly over active imaginative perhaps but definitely not mad.”

I blushed and not for the first time I wondered if he had the ability to read my most private thoughts, “Then tell me about last night,” I said.

“I can’t, I really can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to but…”

“No excuses. If you feel anything for me Blake then you need to tell me.”

He kicked at the leaves under his feet and looked at me, sizing me up, working out the measure of his love for me. Oh my god, he loved me. The thought came at me like a charging bull. Suddenly I was trapped, out of control. When the love was mine it belonged to me and now…

“It was all true. Everything you saw. Everything that you’ve pieced together is real. The woman in the pavilion last night was Morgan of Gore; you’ll know her in legend as Morgan Le Fay. She’s connected to my family through marriage, but it’s distant and we’re not alike - we don’t hold the same beliefs. She’s of the old ways, the time of pagan spirits, the time we identify as The Dark Ages.”

“Is she a witch?” I asked, trying to grab onto anything concrete and slightly familiar so that I might understand.

“She’s what We term a sorceress, or to put it more politically correct, a ‘tolerated opposition’. She argues that none of our kind should bend to our knees for anyone; God included.”

“But it can’t be - Morgan Le Fay is a fairytale.” I shook my head and I was grabbed by the insane realisation of what this all meant, “Just how old is she Blake?”

He smiled, wryly aware of being viewed as melodramatic, “Morgan is as old as the myth itself - perhaps even older than that.”

“So are you…?” My question trailed off as I became conscious of how ridiculous I was sounding.

Blake laughed. “No, I’m not an immortal; I can bleed and die like any other man.” The intensity of his words was lightened with a smile.

“But you are…” I stopped, searching for the right word, “…special?”

“Well thank you, Mina, I think that you’re pretty special too,”

He teased, laughing a gentle, warm laugh that broke the tension and I blushed in response.

“That’s not quite what I meant Blake and you know it. I think I deserve some answers,” I said, attempting to get a sense of being in control of a situation which I was anything but.

“You already know the answers Mina.”

Blake’s eyes lingered on mine, his pupils a yawning darkness on the edge of which I stood with a desperate temptation to fall. He moved his head closer to mine and I watched with the fascination of the hypnotised as his lips tantalisingly parted with a promise. His teeth pulled at his lower lip with the indecision of whether or not to kiss me. His tongue flicked over the flesh of his bottom lip making it appetisingly soft and moist. A sigh escaped from between his lips and landed on mine causing a shiver of delight to make its way playfully through my body. My heart found a deep and pounding rhythm which in the still and quiet of the forest seemed to reverberate off every surface. Everything was so painfully beautiful and every part of me ached for him to take the risk and kiss me.

“It’s not really what you want Mina,” he spoke softly.

He brushed the side of my face with his hand, touching my forehead with his. “Not today. There’ll be a time but you’re tied to Sam and he’s in no position to free you from that. I’ll not kiss you until you’re free to be kissed. I don’t want it to be spoilt by guilt.”

A switch went down and anger flared in me from displaced passion.

“Blake,” my words faltered. I jerked my head away from his hands. “You’ve misunderstood everything, I don’t love you. I love Sam.” The words I spoke weren’t a lie but they weren’t the truth either.

He nodded. “Yes. I know you love Sam and you love him with all your heart but love isn’t finite but infinite.”

I stomped off, realising that I had no particular destination in mind and that I’d at some point be forced to turn back on myself. I felt unbelievably foolish and angry, but in truth it wasn’t Blake I was angry with.

“Mina, where are you going? Please don’t walk away, I’m sorry if I upset you. Please, Mina, come back and talk with me.” Blake’s voice came closer as he jogged to catch up with me.

He grabbed my arm turning me to face him with more force than he probably meant to and I found myself stumble. He instinctively caught me pulling me in and holding me tight. His breath was on my neck as he lowered himself to whisper in my ear, “I’m sorry I’m really sorry I love you.”

I pulled away wondering exactly how I should punctuate his declaration and as I rolled the full stops over the words, he dug in his jacket pocket producing an apple, the most perfect apple I’d ever seen.

“Peace offering?” A smile spread across his lips. “And if you don’t like apples we could always use it to test out some of Newton’s probability theories.”

I took it and smiled back at him. “Thank you but I think we’re already establishing that theories of probability suck.”

I bit into it, it was the sweetest apple I’d ever tasted but part of me couldn’t help but think it was poisoned.

12. SATELITES

When I returned home, Mum was clearly unhappy with me, and I felt bad that I seemed to be making things worse for her than they already were. Unlike her usual greeting, she was distant and cold. Usually we didn’t keep secrets and I’d never had any cause before to make her worry, but I knew that my feelings towards Blake were something that she wouldn’t be able to understand. She’d simplify my behaviour to a simple act of betrayal. Maybe she would’ve been right.

We spent the afternoon revolving around each other on our own little satellites, me in my room, her in her studio. I winged an e-mail to Uncle Josef and arranged to meet Daisy on the Sunday afternoon to get an update on the photo situation. The rest of the afternoon, I spent the surfing the web, looking up any tangent that was to do with the Arthurian legends.

I started with Morgan Le Fay, half sister and nemesis of King Arthur. Myth portrayed her as a dark and dangerous force and having met with her in the flesh, myth seemed to have portrayed her pretty accurately. The Arthurian legends were intricate; complex bloodlines and shifting allegiances; personal vengeances, over-vaulting ambition and doomed love affairs seemed to leave a trail of death woven throughout. The tangled web of the myth pulled me in, and before I knew it darkness was falling.

A knock at the door announced a conciliatory Mum holding a cup of tea.

“I thought you might like a brew.”

“Thanks. I lost track of time,” I said realising that it was already six o. clock.

“Are you going to see Sam tonight?”

“I’d planned to but I think that I’ve probably left it too late”

Mum came in and sat on the edge of my bed. When I was little she’d always done this at the end of the day, taking time out to talk about my day but that was before my life and feelings had got too complicated for me to talk about. Now Mum seemed to take my silence as an act of coldness, not understanding that I just didn’t have the right words. She picked up Didi, my raggedy rabbit.

“Have I ever told you that your father brought you this on the day you were born?” She tucked Didi into the covers of my bed.

I smiled gently at her, “No. You’ve never told me that before.”

“Oh strange, I thought I would’ve done.”

Mum rarely mentioned Dad. When she did, it was always in this kind of abstract way, not really willing to commit herself to the memories. I never blamed her for this. From the small amount of information I did know about him, told to me mainly by Josef, I understood that the memories were too painful for any human to have to carry with them.

Mum was only twenty three when she’d had to watch the man she loved murdered in front of her, before the masked intruders turned on her and beat her until she was left for dead. They took with them a series of papers and photographs Dad had been using to write an article on the British Government’s involvement with arms sales to terrorist organisations in the Middle East. Dad had been young and naïve; the main requirements needed to make any real difference in the world. I’d been at Granny’s, safe in my camp bed. I had just had my third birthday. We moved from London shortly afterwards.

“Would you like me to take you to the hospital? I’m happy to. We could talk on the way.”

I thought about what a relief it would be to talk to Mum - to tell her how I felt my heart was being ripped apart and pulled in two directions; how the pain of it was so intense that it was making me doubt my own sanity. I wanted to ask her how I could possibly move forward without hurting the people that I loved, but I knew I couldn’t talk to her about any of these things.

I got up from my chair and sat down next to her on the bed, taking her hand, “Thanks Mum, that’d be good and there are some things that it would be good to talk about.” I smiled weakly at her, planning carefully what I would say.

“Good. Drink your tea and we’ll get going.”

*

On the ride to the hospital Mum seemed peaceful and it was nice to be close to her. I told her about the conversation with the consultant and about the mysterious lady visiting Sam. I was pleased that she would be with me this evening.

We arrived later than we’d planned and with only half an hour of visiting time left and the hospital was quieter than usual. Mum reached out and held my hand like I was a small child again and it felt nice to be mothered. As we approached Sam’s room, I was surprised to see that Mum was as nervous about meeting the mystery woman as I was. It was with a mixture of disappointment and relief that his bedside was empty.

“What do you think we should do?” I asked her.

“I don’t know Mina. Did the doctor say that she came every evening?”

“Without fail,” I nodded and then remembered the one night she hadn’t and who I’d found in her place.

“Then we’ve just got to wait and see. Move away from the door.”

We sat ourselves behind it so that we were out of sight. Time passed slowly. Eventually, we resigned ourselves to the fact that she wasn’t going to show and Mum left me to say a private goodbye to Sam.

It was as I was bending down to plant a kiss on his cheek, that the room suddenly filled with the sweetest smell of honeyed wildflowers. It was the smell of summer and seemed as if it had come in on the current of a breeze. Tensing, I turned and looked straight into the face of one of the prettiest women I’d ever seen. Instantly I knew that she was of Blake’s world; nobody that beautiful could be truly real.

Dressed in dark, slim jeans and brown riding boots, she tried to pass herself off as any other fashionable and attractive woman but there was something about her that made you stop dead in your tracks. The green silk of her blouse was the same green as her eyes and they were the colour of dark pools. It was clear that she’d walked in not thinking anybody else would be here and she didn’t seem happy at being caught. For a brief moment a glimmer of panic flitted through her eyes and I was immediately reminded of a woodland creature not used to the presence of humans.

“I’m sorry,” her soft voice rang out. It was the voice of lullabies.

“I didn’t think anybody else would be here. Not at this time of the evening.”

“No we were later than …” I stopped, unsure of how to finish. How could I explain that we intentionally set out to confront her?

“I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.” She took a deep sigh, steeling herself for a difficult conversation, “You must be Mina; I’m Vivien, Blake’s mother,” she smiled holding out her hand. “Boy, am I going to be in so much trouble.” She let out a light laugh, indicating that she would be easily forgiven. “He made me promise that I wouldn’t get caught.”

I liked her immediately.

“Blake? Sorry I don’t understand how …” I nodded my head, frustrated that my usually reliable brain seemed to have lately taken a holiday.

She didn’t answer immediately, choosing her words carefully and when at last she did speak, it was with the uncertainty that maybe she was betraying a trust.

“Blake is very fond of you, Mina, and he knows how dear to your heart this boy is. He worries for you both.”

“So why are you visiting Sam?” I asked, still no clearer about the connection.

“Sam is in a far away place. It’s a terribly lonely place and it is easy to lose your way. I come to try to convince him to turn around and come home to you but it isn’t straightforward.”

“Why? If it’s a matter of choice then why won’t he listen to you? Why won’t he come home?” I asked her urgently.

“Sam…” she stopped, searched my eyes deeply, “Mina, do you really want to hear this? I mean is it essential that you know because sometimes the truth acts like a blade and where it cuts, it hurts – it badly hurts?”

I nodded.

“Mina, please,” she implored me to change my mind but she read the determination in my face. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“It’s already broken. I just need to understand what’s happening.”

“As you wish, but before I tell you I need you to know that it is not your fault, that you are absolutely not to blame. You are not responsible for any of this, Mina.” She reached out stroking the side of my panic stricken face. Her touch was motherly and tender.

“He thinks that I don’t love him, doesn’t he? He thinks that he’s lost me. That’s what caused him to have the accident isn’t it? Please, tell him it’s not true, tell him I love him. Ask him to come home to me,” The hysteria rose out of me.

“It’s not that easy honey. Sam knows more about you than you do yourself. It is obvious that you and Blake…” she paused choosing her words carefully, aware that what she was about to say might not be received well, “…are on a certain path. Call it destiny for sake of simplicity. You’ve been foretold and once written it is almost impossible for it not to be.”

“What do you mean ‘once written’?”

“Remember when Blake told you that he had been dreaming of you, even though he hadn’t met you? Well it’s because he had met you, he’d met you in his future. I know this will make no sense to you, Mina but there is nothing more I can tell you at the moment because the prophecy is not yet complete. All you need to know, even if you don’t yet understand, is that yours and Blake’s names are written in gold on the tomb at the stone chapel. So you see Mina, there is nothing that you could have done differently. It truly isn’t your fault.”

“You said almost, almost impossible. So there’s a chance it may not be?”

“A figure of speech, a clumsy use of words, I should have said once written it is impossible not to be. The future is set.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t believe that. I love Sam and we’re going to build a home together - that is what is meant to be.”

“You can spend your time fighting it – and it is a noble thing to try – but understand this, Mina, Blake loves you and you love Blake, you just haven’t accepted it yet. You think you love Sam, and you do - truly you do but it is not in the same way as you will love Blake. Sam is as a brother to you and as your brother you love him with a pure heart. With Blake it is already different.”

“No, really it’s not.” My voice came out in a croaking whisper. Even as I denied it, I knew that she was speaking truth.

“Sam knows this but he needs time to come to terms with it all, and he will. When he’s ready he’ll come home to you but it will be as your brother and not your husband.”

The ward bell buzzed, signalling the end of our visiting time. Smiling, Vivien took my hand between hers and held it tight. It was a warm and affectionate gesture.

*

Sleep that night was like the slow-motion act of drowning in cold, deep waters. Strange feelings of panic wrapped their ice-cold tendrils around my heart and smothered my breath. When eventually I gave in and allowed myself to be pulled under, I found myself standing in the burnt remains of a forest.

Charred stumps erupted out of the earth like broken needles and beyond this mangled labyrinth lay the expanse; a freezing land where fog swirled in eddies giving the effect of water. Nothing lived here. It was a silent place, a place that had been ravaged by a battle for which there had been no victor but Death.

The only other feature of the landscape was a large cairn built as a guide for weary and lost travellers. Huddled in its shelter, shielding himself from the splicing wind, Sam was cowering tightly in the ball of his own grief.

13. FEAR

Falling in love is exhausting, especially when it’s against your will. There’s a theory that love is nothing but a seven week chemical reaction based on primitive animal instincts. If this is to be believed, it means you could fall in love with someone new every seven weeks and we’d all be as free and easy as a lion on the savannah. We wouldn’t have cities, universities, shopping malls or families – we’d all be too busy indulging our raging hormones with virtual strangers - but we would be free.

Thankfully, for the sake of human civilisation, some bright spark way back in history, invented two wondrously interconnecting ideas called love and marriage, designed to stabilise humanity. For me this was Sam and it was wonderful, a dream full of cottages, children, happiness and safety.

Blake Beldevier was nothing more than my seven week chemical reaction. The madness would pass. Love and sense would win through.

At long last the Easter holidays arrived, I had no reason to see Blake and he had no reason to seek me out. By the time the holidays ended we would be well into week ten and I’d be completely safe. I proposed to structure my holidays with a strict schedule of study, coffee with Daisy at the bookshop, long runs in the woods and hospital visits. In this way I would be safe from thinking of Blake.

My holiday passed according to plan, except for the not thinking of Blake bit. Sometimes thinking isn’t voluntary, and at least once an hour either in sleep or awake, a thought of him would slip in silently and when I was least suspecting it, jump out and shout in my face. By the end of the holiday, I got more effective at wrestling this type of thought back into its box. But now it was the last day of the holiday and tomorrow I’d have to see him face to face, worse still I’d have to sit next to him in English; feeling the heat of his body, smelling his warm spiced scent and catching the slight movement of his hand out of the corner of my eye – our naked hands that had held each other in the darkness of the woods.

I rang Daisy, distraction being needed and arranged to meet for an afternoon shopping trip in town. She had a few things she wanted for college and needed to debrief me on her first official date with Joe. It wasn’t until I hung up that I realised I’d left a great dangerous space of unplanned time throughout the morning. The rain put me off a run and ’d noticed that running was a weak spot in the whole not thinking about B defences. So with no other distractions available, I reluctantly returned to finishing off my Biology coursework which I’d been putting to the bottom of the pile. After all there’s a limited amount of interest attached to woodlice colonies.

Whilst the laptop wound itself up on its elastic band, I went downstairs to make myself the zillionth coffee of the fairly new day and to nose through the post that I’d just heard come through the letterbox. I sifted through the envelopes of which there were several bills, a letter from Mum’s publisher and a small violet envelope addressed to me by hand. The script was beautiful and elegant, written in a dark purple ink and where the rain had caught it on its short journey from mailbag to letterbox, small purple blooms hung off the letters. I knew as soon as I held it in my hand who’d penned it having watched that same purple ink spread itself across Blake’s English book for the last couple of months.

I tried to act calm, to dismiss it but my heart pounded in my chest and I knew that if I opened it I was another step closer to fulfilling Vivien’s prophecy and heading back into the chaos I’d made a firm decision to leave behind. I stuffed the letter into the back pocket of my jeans determined not to open it even though curiosity clawed at my temptation like a hungry cat. I’d survived two long weeks without Blake and I was certain I could survive one day longer.

I stomped up the stairs, angry that Blake’s world had yet again gate-crashed its way into mine. Chemicals weren’t meant to write letters! My anger didn’t have chance to stay around as no sooner had I opened the door to my room it was replaced by fear.

My window, despite having been latched was now wide open. The papers from my desk had taken flight and swirled round my room as if a violent storm had just spontaneously erupted in the middle of my room and the pile of books that had been stacked on top of them were now splayed across the room in various spine breaking positions. My neatly made bedding was now billowing out of the window in an attempt to abandon ship.

Instantly my brain tried to rationalise. I must have left the latch off, there must have been a freak gust of wind, there must have been… there must have been… I ran out of explanations and even the two I had evaporated instantly when I saw that carved into the wall above my bed in gold medieval script was the terrifying rhyme;

My love is dead to me

And now we cannot be.

A great wave of nausea moved in the pit of my stomach. The cup of coffee I was holding fell to the floor, shattering the cup and spraying scolding hot coffee over the rest of the mayhem. The room suddenly felt stained with the presence of Death and I shivered as if He were breathing on the back of my neck. Instantly, my thoughts turned to Sam. I turned to look for my mobile but before I had a chance to try and recover it, I was gripped by the sight of my computer screen. I stumbled into my chair captivated by the horror that was unfolding in front of me.

*

At first, the location of the security camera wasn’t clear as it was all far too dark and shadowy. The outlines of many objects made it look like the inside of a giant and much cluttered cupboard, but I couldn’t be sure. My blink coincided with a door in the far corner being opened and a blurry figure switched on a bright electric light revealing that the camera was positioned on the wall of a large warehouse. The figure that entered was imposing, tall and broad and even without a clear view of him he leaked menace. When he looked up directly into the camera, as if somehow knowing I was watching, I physically shrank into the back of my chair.

The camera panned around the room on a timer allowing a wide area to be seen but also creating a dizzying effect like being on a merry-go-round. Although there was no sound, I could see from the reaction of the figure that there was an unexpected knock at the door. The camera moved away hiding the visitor’s identity.

By the time the camera swept back, the man was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair giving the impression of an alpha-male ape in his own private jungle. His visitor was a smaller man, but just as tall and stronger looking. Although it was difficult to see in detail, the visitor looked younger and ever so slightly intimidated. He seemed greatly agitated and a nervous excitement made him look like he was dancing on the spot. There was no mistaking the visitor. This was Leo, Blake’s brother. Leo didn’t fit his namesake, and was completely different to the mental image I’d built of him. He seemed to have a habit of turning from left to right giving the impression that he was tasting the air and it gave him the impression of something lizard like; something sly.

Frustratingly, the camera panned away from the desk and by the time it had panned back something had happened. Leo had become very animated and Fear, who was now leaning over his desk aggressively, didn’t look quite so at ease. Enraged at something Leo must have said a heated dispute had suddenly erupted. And just as the camera panned away, Fear pulled out his gun. This time an unnoticed figure lurked amongst the shelves in the belly of the warehouse. Still as stone, assassin like, Blake was pulled up tight. A single sliver of metallic light bounced off of his raised sword.

With one clear resonating moment of clarity I realised that it wasn’t Sam Death had come to collect - it was Blake.

I stretched forward in my chair as if somehow I could reach into the screen and warn Blake about the gun. I could see now how everything was set, how everything was coming towards one horrific point of collision. Too quickly, the camera left Blake in the darkness and panned back to the desk. The situation between Leo and Fear had accelerated quickly and now guns were being waved around on both sides of the desk looking like some crazy cowboy standoff.

This should have had me transfixed but there was something else in view, something that slithered in the shadows of the wall, something forming itself into ears and jaws and for one moment of pure madness, I thought that somebody must be making a shadow puppet with their hands. The jaws of the shadow opened and closed, snapping silently at Fear’s back. Impossibly the beast began to salivate, shadow spit drawling down the wall.

When the camera returned to the warehouse Blake was gone. The unstoppable collision of wills and destinies had been triggered and only Death would now put an end to it. I knew that with his brother in mortal danger, Blake would stop at nothing to protect him.

When the camera returned, everything was still. Leo was alone and two bodies lay slumped behind the desk. A long minute passed.

I reached out and flicked the power switch on the computer. I didn’t need to look anymore. When I turned, the words above my bed had magically dissolved.

With the force of a bullet I understood that I had loved him and it was too late.

14. SHIFTING LIGHT

Even when you think you have an idea of how you are going to respond to death, you don’t. I thought it would hurt, a pain like I’d never felt before – that it would feel like hot blades and hard punches. In a strange way all that pain would’ve been good because it would at least have shown I was still alive.

With Blake’s death a switch just flicked off.

I picked up the papers from the floor, retrieved my bedding and tidied my desk. Mum knocked on the door just as I’d finished putting my room back together.

“What time are you going out?” she asked holding out a hot cup of tea through the gap of the door.

“I’m going to cancel. I don’t feel well.”

She scrutinised me. She’d done this a lot lately as if she were searching for hairline cracks to show, “Mmm, You don’t look too well. Maybe you should spend the rest of the day in bed. Do you want me to phone Daisy for you?”

“I’ll do it.”

Mum hovered in the hope that I might suddenly open up to her. It seemed that I now spent my life keeping secrets from her. When the silence became too awkward she closed the door.

I lay on my bed waiting for the pain to come. Time passed. My eyes stopped looking. My mind shut down. I was brought back to the real world by the sound of my mobile ringing and the realisation that I’d forgotten to phone Daisy to cancel our shopping expedition. I cheated sending her a text message, hoping that this might make the lie of my invented throat infection more believable.

It was late afternoon and my room was filled with the eerie yellow light of a low spring sun. The house was very quiet; too quiet for Mum to be in and I remembered that she said she was going to take a trip to the supermarket.

Rolling over in bed, I felt the bulk of the letter Blake had written in my back pocket and I wondered if he’d known what was going to happen. I left my bed and clambered up onto the window sill, settling into the homemade cushions Mum had made during another one of her creative impulses. This was my favourite place in the world, sitting in the window looking out over the back garden and onto the forest.

I unlatched the window and threw it wide open, something that always caused a mother-hen panic in Mum as she imagined me plummeting to my death on the patio below. The cool spring breeze felt instantly calming. Since childhood, I’d watched how the forest shifted with the seasons and each time it did, it brought with it its own set of fantasies. In the snows of winter it had been my very own Narnia and home to the cruel but beautiful Snow Queen and in the summer, home to fairies and princesses that slept for a hundred years in forgotten castles.

As I became older, the forest had taken on a new set of fantasies that were wrapped up with desires that I didn’t yet fully understand. They were the night fantasies of beautiful dark-eyed men and secret places where amongst the ruins of fairytale castles they’d hold me in a way that would make me burn; where the only thing I would be conscious of was the thunderous beat of my heart and the feelings of warm bliss, like when the sun soaks into your skin after months of winter. Everything about the forest made my senses tremble with desire as if somewhere deep amongst the warm dark earth, somebody had buried a box with my heart in it and the leaves quivered with its beat.

Today, the woods held the promise of the coming sun. In only a few more weeks, the woods would flood overnight with an ocean of luminescent bluebells. For now, everything hung with baubles of a bright spring green. Primroses had burst forth like little clusters of stars and the bright purple of crocuses were spread like confetti on the grassy verge. I prised open the seal of the envelope and pulled out the single folded sheet of paper.

From the very first moment of time, I loved you.

Bx

I sat and watched the afternoon slide by eventually stirring myself in order to get ready for the evening’s hospital visit. It was as I was about to leave my watchtower, that the movement of a horse in the woods caught my eye. It wasn’t unusual for the local riding school to use the woods but there was something different about this horse that made me stay and watch it longer than I’d normally have done.

Far larger than most of the horses used by the school, the pure whiteness of its hair seemed to reflect the beams of sunlight falling through the trees giving the impossible impression that it was more unicorn than riding-school horse. The rider was riding one handed and so confidently that it was difficult to see where the movement of the horse and the movement of the rider exchanged. Transfixed, I watched as the rider brought the horse up to the back gate of our garden and loosely tethered him to the fence post. He jumped down, patted the horse on the nose before swinging open our back gate.

“Mina! THAT boy is here to see you again!” Mum’s disapproving voice travelled up the stairs.

Until her voice broke the spell, I thought I’d been watching a dream. My heart burst into life. Blake was alive and was here winding Mum up.

“I’m coming,” I replied as I skittered down the stairs and charged past her.

Every part of me wanted to run out across the garden, throw my arms around him and kiss him. In the end, knowing that Mum was watching us out of the kitchen window under the pretext of washing up, our meeting was awkward, each of us battling with our own desires and denying them.

“Sorry, I should have called; it’s rude of me to drop in. I was just taking Lancelot out for a ride and I just found myself here.”

I looked over t the horse who was happily chewing on the gate.

“Lancelot?” I raised my eyebrows and smiled, “You’re joking right? I mean you are joking?” I burst out laughing finding myself slightly hysterical from the morning’s rollercoaster of emotions.

I looked up at Blake to find him smiling wryly to himself as if he were a little bit hurt by my mockery. Eventually I managed to get a grip and apologise, “Sorry Blake, it’s just…” I struggled to find the words and was also in danger of once again collapsing into laughter.

“It’s alright Mina,” he said waving his hand to dismiss it, “I know it’s silly. It seemed a good idea at the time and to be fair I was only ten.” He winced, putting a hand to his side.

“You’re hurt?” I asked my hand reaching out instinctively.

“It’s nothing. A pulled muscle that’s all,” he smiled as he winced.

I looked at the spot where I’d touched and saw that a small bloom of blood had seeped through from a dressing beneath his shirt. He saw me note it but didn’t attempt to change his story. Instead, he untied Lancelot and the three of us ambled into the woods.

Aside from an occasional twinge, he seemed relaxed showing no sign of the morning’s events. The only clue as to him having been on any kind of adventure was the sword-shaped parcel pushed through Lancelot’s leather saddlebag. I didn’t ask about it, not knowing if Blake knew that I knew but in the uncanny way he had, he seemed to have read my thoughts and said, “I’ve been informed you had a visit this morning?”

I nodded, not sure how I was meant to put all the weirdness into words and whether or not Blake knew that I’d actually witnessed the incident at the warehouse.

“I think, maybe you’re owed a proper explanation.” He stopped and turned to look at me.

I watched a cloud pass across his iris and all at once I was gripped by the thoughts that maybe it had been Blake and not Leo that had killed Fear and there was a possibility I was standing in front of a cold blooded executioner. A cold shiver ran across my shoulders.

“I think there are a lot of things we need to talk about.” I trembled.

“I really wish you hadn’t seen what happened this morning. It’s the darker side of our existence.”

I thought back to the way that Blake had hid in the shadows, silent and deadly like a trained killer. An assassin. A perfectly trained killing machine; strong, intelligent, fast, agile -deadly. Cold crept over my skin.

“We live by old codes, more simple codes. Life and death aren’t viewed in the same way that your world views them. The Realm believes that there is good and there is evil and quite simply evil must be destroyed.”

“No!” I shook my head, my world collapsing, the threat of crying rising, “No, Blake. Tell me you don’t believe that. Tell me you didn’t kill that man this morning.”

“I promise you Mina, I didn’t kill that man this morning.”

Something in the way he said it made me certain, “But you’ve killed others?”

Blake turned his face away from me. It was all the answer I needed.

“You don’t understand. From the very first minute a boy of The Realm is able to stand they thrust a wooden sword in his hand and he’s trained to fight and trained to kill. It’s not a choice. It’s what’s expected.”

“Expected?” My question came out accusingly and Blake flinched from it.

“I don’t expect you to find this right, Mina, but it’s a part of who I am.”

“And what is that - a killer? And I’m just meant to – what - live with that?”

“The code is strict. It’s exceptionally rare these days for a knight to have to take another life. If a man calls for mercy he can’t be killed.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he’s used his free will to choose death.” Blake’s voice had dropped as if he were speaking the words he’d been trained to but didn’t quite believe.

I was raging with anger, “So how often has it happened to you Blake? How many times have you forced a man to beg for his life?”

His eyes reached into mine begging me not to push, “Mina. Please.”

“I’m sorry but I need you to answer this. How many men have you had at your feet with their life in your hands?”

“What purpose will my answer serve? Are you looking for an excuse not to love me? Because if you use this as the excuse, then it’s not fair. I don’t see it all in the same way as The Realm. I don’t see how killing in the name of God is honouring his name or is travelling in the path of Christ. I don’t believe its right to kill someone unless your life or the life of the one you love depends on it.”

“And has it, has your life ever depended on it?” I locked eyes with him, challenging him to tell me the truth.

“Mina, I am begging you, let’s not do this. I’m not a monster.” His voice cracked.

“If you want me to understand you, to accept you then I need to know you. You told me there was nothing I couldn’t ask you, that nothing would ever be a secret to me Blake. Do you remember that?”

“I’m sorry Mina – not that. I didn’t mean that.” He grabbed hold of Lancelot’s reigns and started to walk off, clutching his wound as he left me.

I could sense that with each footstep his anger was building and before he got out of hearing distance he turned and shouted out across the distance, “There was just one, God damn it. Just one – I was thirteen and I had no choice!” His confession ricocheted off the trees causing a flock of birds to screech up into the sky.

15. EMISSARIES

The college term started without Blake. I waited a whole week for him to show. English lessons were the worst when I would sit next to the empty seat wondering if everything was over.

Nobody noticed me drowning as they were all used to me being out at sea waving my hands in distress. That was except for the weird girl in English who I’d caught watching me several times during lesson. It was as if she alone were able to see my own internal drama and it was playing itself out like a soap opera uniquely for her. I’d catch her watching me and then her involuntary glance towards Blake’s empty chair as she pretended she wasn’t. She knew - I just didn’t know how.

Her name was Delta. I’d never seen her speak to anyone but that didn’t mean she didn’t speak. Often in English she was the only other one that had anything to contribute to the topic discussion. She just didn’t seem to like speaking to someone.

She’d arrived in September. American, emo, defiant. I’d often see her after class standing under the no smoking sign having a smoke and thought I would stop and talk to her but there was something about Delta that warned you not to bother, as if she wore her very own, ‘Danger – Keep out!’ sign. Even when she smiled at you, it had the sense that she was smiling at a private joke that she wouldn’t share; which possibly could be you. Which is why her single act of reaching out was almost as unsettling as it was comforting.

The bell rang for the end of class and as she passed by me, she extracted a piece of paper from her book, dropping it unceremoniously and without a word onto my desk. In spider-like writing, scrawled hurriedly she’d written,

The Coming of Arthur: Tennyson

“But were I join’d with her

Then might we live together as one life

And reigning with one will in everything

Have power on this dark land to lighten it

And power on this dead world to make it live”

The passage appeared disappointingly random and I thought that perhaps Delta hadn’t intended to give me a message after all but had simply dropped some of her study notes. But there was something about it, the way that it was done, the way that she’d been looking at me that made me think the impossible. She knew. Not just about me and Blake, but about The Realm.

*

Once out of town, I chose to take the footpath and shortcut across the fields. The warm, spring afternoon was the perfect remedy to a rubbish week. I allowed myself to get lost in the warmth of the afternoon sun, walking slowly as not to frighten the birds busily nesting or to distract the Mad March Hares from their own private boxing match.

It wasn’t unusual for horse riders to use this path as a bridleway and so I wasn’t surprised to see a rider on a chestnut mare ambling towards me in the distance. I’d never really seen the attraction of horse riding - much to Daisy’s frustration. To me horses were just big, smelly and dangerous. Admittedly there was something lovely about one running free but most of the horses I’d ever seen had been labouring under some snotty nosed child in a fluorescent jacket. Even by my critical standard, this one was a beautiful animal but not quite as glorious as the woman riding it because after all it was Vivien.

“Afternoon Mina,” she smiled, good humouredly, “Fancy meeting you like this.”

“Yeh – Tck – Surprise!” I waved my hands in the air in mock surprise and smiled letting out a small laugh of defeat.

I knew that nothing to do with Vivien was ever really a coincidence.

“You’re not fooled are you?”

“Afraid not.”

“Sorry,” she said as she dismounted, landing in front of me with the grace of a ballet dancer, “it’s just…well we’ve all put up with him all week moping about and he’s become unbearable. One of us had to do something before we bludgeoned him to death and buried him under the decking.” I blushed at the thought of Blake moping around over me. “Look, I know you two have had a fight but can’t it be fixed already?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“No. It never seems it is at the time,” she smiled maternally, “but whatever it is I’m sure it can be sorted out.”

“No, I’m not sure it can be. I’m not sure I want it to be. Blake’s not who I thought he was.”

“No he’s not Mina. Nobody ever is.”

I looked at her and I wondered what magical powers Vivien possessed that made all your certainties suddenly take flight in less then a minute. It was actually quite annoying.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, struggling to find the strength to argue.

“There’s a reason why Real Worlders don’t tend to be invited into The Realm and that’s because not everything about The Realm is good or honourable. Old laws and ideas hang around in the shadows and some of the ideas and customs should have been buried a long time ago but Blake’s different, he thinks for himself. He wants The Realm to change, to leave behind the shadows of the past that pollute the true light that is at the heart of The Realm. The elders think that Blake’s disobedient, an idealist, maybe some even fear he’s a rebel but the one point that everybody agrees on is that Blake is truly good.”

“But he’s killed people.”

“Not people,” she looked sad as if reminded of something that hurt her deeply, “he killed someone and I know there’s not a day that goes by when he doesn’t think about it.”

“Who? Who did he kill and why?”

Vivien shook her head and moved to mount her mare, “I’m sorry Mina, but that’s only half my past to tell; if you really want to know then ask him yourself, tell him he has my permission. Shall I tell him that you’ll meet with him?”

I nodded, “Yes I’ll meet him, but tell him not to bother if he’s not prepared to tell me.” I was aware that I sounded like a petulant toddler.

“Mina, please be gentle over this. When you know the story you’ll wish you didn’t and you’ll realise that knowing it was never as important as the amount of hurt it’s going to cost. Let him tell you in his own time.”

I felt embarrassed by my own behaviour nodding to show her that I’d taken her advice on board.

“I’ll tell him that you’ll receive him tomorrow morning then shall I?”

I sighed, “Yes. I’ll see him in the morning.” I waved her off before setting back to mine, no longer enjoying the sun as much as I had.

16. KNIGHT FORWARD

I had breakfast with mum. Something we hadn’t done in a long time. It felt nice, although sadly awkward when she asked what I had planned for the day and I told her I was meeting with Blake. Mum really didn’t like him but I couldn’t work out whether it was actually him she didn’t like or the fact that she clearly thought I was behaving wrongly.

I hadn’t made any arrangements with Vivien other than agreeing to meet with Blake during the morning, and now I worried that he would turn up at the house causing more irritation to Mum. I resolved to get dressed then walk into the woods in order to head off the problem.

The morning was beautifully clear with the promise of a warm day and so shunning winter clothes, I took the risk and put on a light blouse with my jeans. I caught my reflection in the mirror and rolled eyes at myself as I realised that I looked like I might have made an effort. So what? I allowed a smile at myself in the mirror and unclasped my hair which I had been about to put into a knot, letting the auburn curls bounce down over my shoulders.

I skipped down the stairs, recovering my scarf and the wellies that Mum constantly complained were glued to my feet. She couldn’t understand how I felt something reassuringly substantial and freeing about them; no muddy puddle was ever going to be off-limits for a secret splash and stinging nettles could eat my rubber. Perhaps worn with a delicate chiffon blouse the look was a little eccentric but part of me loved that idea too.

Thankfully, Mum was in the studio as I walked through to the back door and it meant that I escaped her critical stare. A light breeze tickled over my skin causing goose-bumps to deliciously erupt over my arms and making me immediately think of Blake in a way I’d been trying not too. I slipped the scarf from round my neck and down over my back and arms in an attempt to settle my tingling skin, but it was too late. The combination of sun and breeze and thoughts of Blake had made me wired and I felt a small pulse of electricity flow through my veins.

Remember you’re meant to be furious with him. You don’t like him. You certainly don’t love him. He’s dangerous. No good for you. He’s going to break your heart. Stand firm and fight.

The voice of reason was doing its best but was losing the battle with my heart because even though I knew how wrong he was, some unbelievable force was moving me onwards, towards him and the pleasures I knew he held for me. For the first time in my life the desire to surrender overwhelmed me.

Perhaps it was because I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t see him at first, leaning against a tree, his dark jeans and black shirt blending him into the shadows. When I caught sight of him I froze to the spot, as if I’d suddenly come across a ghost. He’d been waiting for me, confident that I’d come. His arms, sleeves rolled up, were folded across his chest and his eyes were closed until he registered my approach. He swivelled his eyes catlike up from under his dark eyelashes to fix me with a smouldering stare that reduced me to an echo.

He didn’t smile but slightly cocked his head as if trying to read my mood and then dropped his hands tucking his thumbs into his pockets. I wasn’t sure if it was arrogance or nerves. He made no move to approach, forcing me to be the one to come to him. I was intensely aware of where the power lay. As I walked towards him, I felt foolish as if at any moment I might forget how to walk and land sprawled at his feet. I stopped half-way causing us to be caught in some crazy game of chess. Your move.

He pulled himself up, adjusted his stance so that his legs stood solidly apart and then re-crossed his arms never taking his eyes off me. Check. The crazy compulsion to start slowly undoing the buttons of my blouse took a hold as I imagined the feel of the hard pearls under my fingers and the slipping of diaphanous fabric to the forest floor. I blushed, shaking the thought from my head and instead I let out a nervous, “Hello.”

“Hello Mina.” Blake replied.

His voice sounded deliberate, maybe even stubborn as though he were here under protest.

“You wanted to see me?” I said hoping to balance out the power dynamic.

He shrugged and nodded dismissively as if it were me who had called him. Humiliation raged through me which quickly turned to a defensive anger. I felt my eyes narrowing and my body tensing.

“Screw you Blake!” I spat out before turning to leave.

Before I could get anywhere his strong hand grabbed at my arm and pulled me roughly round. Something flickered in his eyes and I let out a small groan as pain flared in my arm, “Let go, you’re hurting me!” I shouted through gritted teeth.

He dropped my arm and turned his back to me thumping his fist on the tree.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I forgot my own strength. I’d never intentionally hurt you. I panicked. It’s no excuse.”

“If you ever lay a hand on me like that again Blake, I swear…” I said rubbing my arm along the patch of red.

He turned to me, pushing his hand through his dark locks and letting out a heavy sigh before reaching out a hand to look at the spot which he had marked.

“I’m sorry.”

“I mark easily. It’s not as bad as it looks.” I said offering a small conciliatory smile.

He took this as a queue for forgiveness and pulled me into his arms. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the weight of his chin on the top of my head.

“Let’s not fall out again, Mina.” He sighed.

I let his scent wash over me and felt calm for the first time since we’d fought.

“About the other day…”

“Forget it for now.” I said.

We stood like this, listening to the sounds of the forest, both lost in the closeness of our bodies as if we were afraid that one of us might evaporate at any moment. Blake’s arms tensed around me, his body telling mine that our hug was coming to a finish. A second later Blake sprang backwards with an almost childlike spontaneous excitement,

“Come to mine. Let me take you home.”

“Your home?” I asked surprised by the notion.

He laughed and nodded, “Yes. Home - you know the place where I live with Vivien.”

His excitement was infectious, and I found myself giggling as he took me by the hand and pulled me through to a clearing where Lancelot had been loosely tethered to a tree.

“We’re going on that?” I said nervously.

“That – you mean him.”

“Yeh, whatever! Him –Lancelot.”

“Something wrong?”

“It’s just - he’s a horse!”

“Yeees - he’s a horse and…” he looked at me genuinely puzzled before laughing, “…and you can’t ride!”

“So? Lots of people don’t ride. They use cars and buses like normal people,” I said sarcastically.

“It’s easy. All you’ll have to do is hang on tight and press yourself into me,” he smiled cheekily. “That is if you think you can bear it?”

I blushed with the thought of our bodies crushed against each other. Before I had a chance to think too much about it, he’d swung himself up on to Lancelot, bent down and grabbed me under the arm and swept me up behind him.

“How did you do that?” I asked genuinely impressed.

“It’s an important part of knight training - sweeping maidens of their feet.” I felt the laughter travel through his ribs as put my arms tightly around his him.

17. MEADOWLAKE

After what felt like an eternity of being placed in black box, shaken up and wanting to vomit, Lancelot’s movements began to slow to a slight trot, and then thankfully stopped all together. I was extremely grateful that Blake hadn’t been able to see me, eyes shut in terror looking an attractive shade of sick-green. It wasn’t quite the romantic fantasy I’d hoped for.

When at last I opened my eyes, I had to blink to check that I wasn’t dreaming. Lancelot had come to a stop on the edge between the forest and a clearing that was so dazzling beautiful it almost hurt to look on it. In front of us a large lake glittered silver in the full sun and surrounding it lay a meadow-carpet of spring flowers; hyacinths, violets, primroses and field orchids. At the far side of the lake was Blake’s home and it wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. I’d known that it would be impressive as I knew money seemed to be of no consequence, but even in my wildest imaginings I couldn’t have conjured such an extraordinary or awesome building.

The whole house was like something out of a modern design magazine and it was attached to a huge medieval tower that looked as if it had once belonged to the corner of a great castle. It was so solid that it seemed almost as if it had thrust itself out of the granite bedrock. The juxtaposition of the old and the new seemed as natural as new growth on an ancient vine.

The modern part of the house was made from oak and the front of the house that overlooked the lake was mainly a wall of glass that reflected the trees and the water causing the unnerving effect of invisibility; as if the whole house were a mirage that was about to disappear at any minute. The house of two ages seemed to perfectly symbolise Blake’s existence between two worlds and I realised now that the design was perfect.

“Here we are – home,” he said over his shoulder.

“It’s … magical.”

Blake swung himself down from Lancelot and offered me his hand. The thought of jumping filled me with sudden images of broken limbs and emergency rooms and I looked down nervously at Blake who was holding up a pair of inviting arms. All you have to do is jump. The thought all at once sent a shock of excitement through me.

Lancelot, glad to be home and free from the weight of humans, playfully took himself off to the edge of the lake for a drink. Blake flopped himself on the ground and I sat down beside him. Although still only March, the afternoon air was warm and it felt nice to feel sunlight on my face. I watched as Blake pulled a long blade of grass from the earth and pulled it between his fingers rhythmically. It seemed right for us to talk.

“The other day, the sword you reclaimed, why is it so important to Morgan?” The question came out of nowhere and took me almost as much by surprise as Blake.

“What do you mean Why is it so important to Morgan?”

“Well she obviously wants if for something.”

He shrugged as if he hadn’t really thought about there being a specific motive.

“It’s what We do, reclaim lost relics and objects, bringing them here so they can be safe.”

I noted the capitalised We again and thought how naturally Blake belonged to something bigger than himself.

“So are you saying that there are these sorts of magical objects all over the place?” I asked excited by the possibility.

“Yep. Real Worlders don’t often know what they’ve actually got. They buy stuff from car boot sales or have things passed down from random distant aunts never realising that what they think is a pretty ornament is actually a sacred and very powerful object.”

“Isn’t that really dangerous – I mean having all that magic out there in the hands of people who don’t know what they’re doing?”

“Ignorance is bliss. They don’t know to do anything harmful with them.” He turned and smiled that crooked smile that had its own magical powers over me. “When we return objects, Morgan binds them with a spell so that they become inert and then they’re placed in the reliquary, alongside all of the other relics we’ve recovered.”

“So the sword, it’s there now?”

His forehead suddenly crumpled and he chewed his bottom lip, a habit I’d noticed he did when he was thinking deeply.

“No - its not. Morgan said she needed to keep it for a while. I didn’t think anything of it at the time I was just so happy that she…” He caught himself mid-flow but it was too late to take it back.

“You were happy that she what?”

“Oh, I’ve been so stupid that was all a distraction,” he said whacking his palm into his forehead.

What was?” I said with increasing impatience.

“She told me a way to recover Sam from the Wasteland.” He spoke almost as if this were now inconsequential. My heart skipped in my chest at the mention of Sam but any joy I might have felt was tinged with a horrible sense of doom.

“So what does she want with the sword, Blake?”

“I’ve no idea – but I have a terrible feeling it isn’t for anything good.”

“And Sam?”

The question went unanswered as Blake stood up and waved back at a figure standing on the deck at the front of the house. It was Vivien and even from this distance her beauty was radiant. The discussion was over - for the time being. Blake offered me a hand up and as we made our way over to the house, I was pleased that once again our hands seemed to have naturally found a will of their own, refusing to part.

Vivien greeted us on the decking area, and noting our hands let a broad smile spread across her face whilst she poured out three tall glasses of homemade lemonade, “Mina, how nice to see you again.”

“And you. I hope you don’t mind me visiting, it’s just that Blake...”

She cut me off waving her hand, “Of course not. It’s long overdue.”

I stared into my lemonade which Vivien had decorated with flower petals making it look like a fairy potion. She was even more stunning than I’d remembered from our meetings and now in her home, wearing a maxi sundress of a deep lazuli blue which exaggerated the paleness of her skin into something almost luminescent, she looked like a living Pre-Raphaelite painting.

“Would you mind if I take Mina round and give her a tour?” Blake spoke to Vivien with a tone of respect that I’d not heard any of my other friends use with their parents and it made me curious about their relationship.

“Of course not Blake, make her feel at her home.” Vivien smiled at Blake and I guessed that there was some personal sub text going on.

It struck me as a strange deviation from the standard response and I was reminded once again of Vivien’s prophecy.

Blake reclaimed my hand and there having been no excuse for us to be touching naturally, his decision seemed a surprisingly intimate gesture. As we made our way up to the doors, I took one last look behind me and saw that Vivien was standing at the edge of the lake, her dress slipping to the ground under which she was completely and stunningly naked. I turned back, embarrassed to have caught her without her knowing and heard the gentle splash of water as she dived into the spring-cool waters of the lake.

At first, the inside of Blake’s home didn’t reveal a single obvious clue about their links with The Realm. Painted white with splashes of colour created by abstract paintings in the blues and greens of the lake, the whole place gave the impression of being like an expensive art gallery. Great big, cream corner sofas, enough to seat about twenty people and a huge wall mounted plasma screen T.V suggested that this was a luxurious hangout for more than just Vivien and Blake. Surprise must have shown on my face and Blake looked sideways at me smiling,

“Not what you expected then?”

“Not really.”

It was the exact opposite to my home with its chaotic clutter and books spilling out everywhere, the piles of newspapers and Martha’s odd collection of items and random artefacts. The light and the peace of this house made me feel incredibly comfortable and completely at home.

Having padded through most of the house except for Vivien’s private quarters, we finally came to the bit that I’d been desperate to see right from our arrival; the castle turret. A vast, ancient wooden door led off from the living room area and in the surroundings it almost looked like it was an exhibition piece itself, as if randomly hung on a gallery wall. I felt like Alice about to enter into wonderland.

Blake danced in front of it, waving his arms around and mimicking some over enthusiastic coach-trip guide, “And the last part of our tour takes us to Camelotpark - theme park of all that is medieval and mystical. Prepare to be transported into a magical world.”

He unlatched the door and swung it open, taking a flourishing bow. His mockery seemed an attempt to cover up some level of embarrassment. I walked into the large circular room that was the same size as the turret’s footprint. The wooden floor looked like a giant dartboard with sections painted in a pattern of green, red, blue and white that all lead to a central point; each one containing a heraldic image. The colours were worn and faded with age; flakes of paint had come away with the footfalls of many feet. Realisation and excitement tumbled over me,

“Blake, is this –is this what I think it is? It isn’t is it? That isn’t possible! No it can’t be!” I gushed.

Blake laughed, “If you let me get a word in edge ways, I might be able to answer you.”

“Noooo!” I said, still unable to contain my own childlike joy.

“Yes it is - King Arthur’s round table which seats one hundred and fifty of his most trusted knights of The Realm. Each has his own place marked by his family crest. It’s been placed on the floor for no other reason that we couldn’t find a room big enough and, well, standing meetings are all the corporate rage at the moment,” he joked.

“Couldn’t somebody have magicked a bigger room?” I asked, partly serious.

“Magic doesn’t quite work like that.”

Blake was clearly amused by my simplistic understanding of his world.

“So Arthur. He’s not still…”

“No. He died many hundreds of years ago.”

“So, if Arthur is dead who’s in charge of The Realm now?”

“We kind of work on the principles of a Senate now but The Realm is so tightly structured and coded that day to day it sort of runs itself. There are very few real decisions to make and progress isn’t really encouraged.”

“Doesn’t it make it kind of anarchic? I mean how does The Realm stop its people from doing whatever they like?”

“The old codes are very simple and they’ve been unchanged for nearly a thousand years. In The Realm the existence of God and the ideas of good and evil are accepted by The Realm as part of the natural structure of God’s universe. There is good and there is evil and in nearly all cases we believe that God will determine the fate of those that commit wrong. Because of this very few members commit wrong.”

“So you’re saying that by a mixture of free will and a fear of God most of its members work for the good of The Realm.” I asked incredulously.

I thought about how different this was from our world, where most people seemed driven, less for a common good and more about themselves.

“Mostly it works that way. However, there’s a small elite group within the Realm that ensure that things never get too out of hand, especially with our more magical members of The Realm. They’re a very old order of knights called the Temple Knights, more commonly known by your world as the Knights Templar. They’re headed by a rather old and eccentric fellow called Bertram Whitecastle.”

Blake stepped over and leant in close, preparing to whisper a secret. His breath whispered across the nape of my neck,

“There’s a rumour within The Realm that he once found the Holy Grail and he’s now an immortal.” He laughed in obvious disbelief and pulled away already striding off towards the next part of the tour shouting over his shoulder, “I’ve only met him once when he came to my coming of age ceremony. He looked like a tortoise and didn’t look very immortal to me. Mind it must be a real pain to find the answer to eternal life when you already look half dead; so much better to become immortal when you’re young and beautiful like me.” He smiled and spun round flamboyantly before continuing, “They very rarely have a cause to get involved. They mostly keep themselves to themselves by running their own little country.”

“Country? - A real country? Where? Surely if they have a country everybody would know about it.” I asked with mounting excitement.

“You do. Its a little country called Switzerland.” He laughed as if he had naughtily revealed a not-so-secret secret.

“Switzerland?” I asked, still not really understanding what he was saying.

“Think about it. The best-kept secrets are the ones that make themselves the most obvious. What’s Switzerland famous for?”

“I don’t know - chocolate?” I shrugged, “Cuckoo clocks?”

“Well, I suppose so,” he smiled, “but I was thinking more along the lines of banking, The Red Cross, neutrality at all costs, being stupidly wealthy with no real industry or trade. Haven’t you ever how that could be?”

“No. Strangely not! European economics aren’t really part of my everyday interest,” I replied sarcastically shaking my head to show that I was still not clear how this linked to the Knights Templar.

“Well the Knight’s Templar were the very first banks, absurdly rich, famously neutral between the Christian and Arabic world in order to try and establish peace after the crusades and if that doesn’t convince you, then just think about their national flag. Doesn’t it remind you of something?” He pulled his scarf out from his pocket and flapped it open to reveal a very tattered old St. Georges flag; the red cross blood red against the white background.

“Noo! It can’t be.” I said with genuine incredulity. “After all if it was true we would know about it. Dan Brown would have exposed it in one of his novels.” We both laughed filling the space.

“They’ve surrounded themselves in mystery but most people of The Realm are afraid of them. In the old days they were on the front line of fighting to protect The Realm, but we live in a time of relative peace. The Realm tends to operate more through infiltration of your Real World diplomacy and education channels these days; ambassadors, diplomats, scientists, MI5, teachers, Real World Government members… Prime ministers.” He smiled cheekily, raising an eyebrow.

“This is ridiculous. No secret this big could ever have been kept a secret for so long.” I looked back down at the floor. “Are we just going to walk over this?” I asked, pointing down at the table, “It just seems a little - sacrilegious I suppose.”

“You should see the battering it gets when there’s a disagreement. I really wouldn’t worry. It’s just a table; it’s the idea that’s indestructible.” He looked genuinely puzzled by my reverence. “Shall we go on?”

I couldn’t help tiptoeing over the table as if it were made of glass rather than solid oak. Blake looked back over his shoulder at me and I could tell from the involuntary nod of his head that he thought I was a sandwich short of a picnic.

The tower had three floors, the second floor being a kind of study which also housed a couch large enough to sleep on. The room reminded me of Martha’s spaces at home; books and other general stuff was spread everywhere.

“This is my room. I escape here when the house gets too crowded. Vivien likes entertaining and the house sometimes gets a little… over exciting. I get left in peace here.”

He said this as though, somehow, this element of his life was burdensome and not really wanted.

“Anyway, onwards and upwards to the reliquary!” he said holding out his hand behind him.

The stone stairs were very narrow and steep. When we came to the top of them, we were faced with a thick metal door which would have been more at home in a state of the art bank vault. A large wheel handle sat in the middle and before he began turning it, Blake pushed his finger onto the biometric key pad which caused the door to let out a loud hiss as if it were a dragon disturbed in sleep. Metal locker boxes lined the room, each one with its own keypad and scanner. In the middle was a long wooden table on which lay several pairs of white cotton gloves and a book stand. I could hear a CCTV camera whirring and sweeping the room.

“Impressive!” I exclaimed without the slightest hint of irony. “These objects must be very valuable; that or dangerous!”

“They’re very much both. So what do you want to see?” he asked excitedly.

“Well, what you got? You decide. Surprise me!”

Once again, I was over excited and also not quite believing that I wasn’t caught up in some weird dream.

“How about a piece of the holy manger and we’ll go on from there.” He almost sounded concerned as if this might somehow not be interesting enough.

I stood dumbfounded. Where else was there to go on to? My head started to spin and I heard a clear voice telling me that it was time to wake up, to stop dreaming. But rather than wake in my own bed, Blake handed me a pair of cotton gloves.

“Sorry about these, not exactly a fashion statement are they, its just…”

“No, of course gloves should be worn!” I exclaimed.

The thought of holding holy and magical relics in my hand made me feel almost dizzy with nerves. I was surprised at my sense of awe and wonder. I’d always assumed that the story of Jesus was a fairytale, just as Little Red Riding Hood and Sleeping Beauty were but here was Blake about to hand over to me relics that I was suddenly and completely in no doubt were genuine. I asked if I could sit down, terrified that I might drop something.

The afternoon went by rapidly as Blake opened up box after box. Most were books and swords, but some where more curious objects like a hand held looking-glass that belonged to Guinevere and a quill pen that belonged to Merlin. I was shocked back into the real world by the ringing of my mobile and the realisation that I hadn’t phoned Mum. I looked at my watch and to my astonishment it was already past five. She was trying not too sound upset but I could tell that she was.

After Mum’s guilt tripping call, Blake took me home, refusing the offer of a cup of tea and leaving me and Mum alone to spend the whole evening circulating around each other as natural as planets orbiting the solar system but sadly just as distant. A great wall had come between us and neither of us was sure how to go about pulling it down.

18. ATOMIC

The days slipped into weeks and before we knew it the Spring Ball was only a matter of weeks away. As The Space Cadets were to be the main band, Joe and Matt had taken to living in the music department’s practice rooms in preparation, leaving the girls far too much unoccupied time on their hands, which they had filled with an almost obsessive interest in dress-shoe combinations and balloon colour schemes.

Their slightly crazed event planning left me exhausted and so I’d taken to seeking refuge in the library at lunchtime on the pretext of English coursework research. It was the oldest part of the school and had remained unchanged, apart from the installation of some Macs in the far corner, since the Victorian birth date of the school; a time when libraries were still seen as something sacred and built in the fashion of churches. The smell of wax polish and book-dust mingled with the strong black coffee of the librarian’s personal percolator.

It was rumoured Mrs Minerva was as old as the library itself and when we were in lower school we had all believed she was a witch. A rumour that wasn’t helped by the fact that she often wore crazy coloured tights with her black boots and her iron grey hair looked like it had never seen a brush. As we got older and actually braved her out, we discovered she was really quite lovely… even if she did run the place like a silent military campaign. Mrs Minerva’s ‘SSSHHH!’ rule suited me fine as it gave me the perfect conditions for concentrating on my gorgeous study partner.

Blake always rolled his sleeves up to work. Leaning his head on his upturned palm, he had this habit of tapping his pen on his book as if even though his mind was a hundred percent focused, his body was desperate to go and do something else. Every now and then he’d push his hair from his forehead; a gesture at once boy-like and flirtatious. Whilst we were here studying in private he’d wear glasses which made me smile because he never wore them in class. It amused me that he had this insecurity, but I didn’t tease him over it in case he stopped wearing them. For some inexplicable reason, I found him amazingly hot in them. Maybe it was a Clark Kent – Superman thing going on.

Because of my sudden keenness in my studies it felt like I’d started to drift apart from the old gang and I missed them, which is why when Blake was out on a history field trip and I went to grab lunch in the canteen, I was pleased that Daisy made a special effort to seek me out.

The day was wet and cold and the canteen packed. Our ‘usual’ table was full and so being just Daisy and me, we pushed our way through the crowds of lower school students and took a table right in the corner of the room; managing to find a small oasis of privacy behind one of the notice boards.

“How are you doing, Mina?” she asked, full of genuine concern.

“You know.” I shrugged, unsure of what answer she wanted me to give.

“It’s weird isn’t it? I don’t think any of us really know how to act.”

“I don’t think there’s a particular way that we’re supposed to act.” I said, picking up my sandwich and scanning the room hoping that she might pick up on the sign that I didn’t really want to talk about it.

“I feel kind of guilty just getting on with things. Do you know what I mean?”

Daisy’s words seemed rehearsed and a feeling of let-down grew as the conversation started with the subject of Sam and me. I didn’t answer her straight away, her question had hit a raw nerve that I hadn’t realised was quite so developed. I thought about the times that I’d spent with Blake and how when I was with him I could go for hours without even thinking of Sam, how we very rarely talked about him in any other context than him being my close friend. Everybody, including Mum it seemed, had the expectation that I should be walking around like a weeping widow and part of me felt slightly guilty about disappointing them. And Blake and I, well we’d done nothing wrong. We hadn’t even kissed.

“There isn’t really much else to do apart from get on with things is there?” I offered her a weak smile.

“Are you coming to the Spring Ball then?”

It came out an innocent question but something must have shown in my face. Looking mortified she gushed,

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry; I just thought that it might be a good opportunity for us all to have some time together.”

“It’s O.K Daisy. Thanks for asking me. I’m not sure. It might be a bit weird without…”

“But we’ll be there. We’ll be your date. It would be really nice for us all to spend some time together. We’ve all missed you what with you taking yourself off.”

I smiled in defeat and Daisy clapped her hands together in victory. I didn’t feel quite so excited. Even though she hadn’t mentioned his name once, I couldn’t help but feel there’d been a hidden dig about me and Blake.

“O.K. but look, don’t expect me to be much company – and you have to promise to come round and fix me up. You know I can’t be trusted to dress myself for these sorts of things.”

“It’s a date. Look I’m really sorry Mina, I’ve got to go and copy more tickets and get the memos put in the registers all before bell.”

I was left alone with a tray full of food that I couldn’t face and the knowledge that I’d now have to spend the whole evening playing the part of the tragic heroine. The thought of home, bed and book suddenly seemed the most divine thing in the world.

The day of the Spring Ball came round quicker than I’d expected, and as it went on I began to seriously regret that I’d agreed to go to the stupid thing. The College Balls were nothing like the American style proms with their glamorous dresses, fruit punch and wholesome fun. More like socials, the Balls were held in the very dark backroom of some dodgy local pub which the ‘Ball Team’ would attempt to heavily disguise with a few bunches of balloons and a sparkly streamer curtain behind the stage. It was cheap and this was the main requirement - that as well as the landlord turning a blind eye to serving the under-age copious pints of larger and double whisky chasers and allowing us to illegally smoke indoors. A handful of the younger teaching staff would come along but whereas this should have led to a more sober and controlled evening, it often just lead to more shocking behaviour and over-drinking. The Monday morning rumours about students getting off with teachers were as much part of the ‘fun’ as everything else. I knew that all of this mixed with my emotional state was a dangerous combination and I didn’t particularly want to be one of the main talking points afterwards, but at the same time the temptation of drunken oblivion had its own appeal.

Daisy came round at six, laden down with an armful of frock and her overnight bags. As she crashed into my room, her bright smile leading the way, I was pleased that we’d arranged for her to sleepover because it all at once felt like the first piece of normal that I’d had since the accident. Her excitement was infectious and before I knew it, I was letting her dress me and straighten my hair.

“You’re alright about tonight, aren’t you?” she asked as she tugged at another stubborn curl.

“Yep, fine. Don’t go overboard – but I am almost looking forward to it.”

And I was; the thought of losing myself in overloud music and cheap gin in the company of friends was beginning to be a welcome door of escape. A weird feeling of freedom began to come over me as I realised that for the first time in three years I was going to be going as Mina and not Mina&Sam. I looked in the mirror. I had to give it to Daisy she’d done a good job, I was almost unrecognisable.

We arrived early as Daisy wanted to help the boys set up. Making camp in the corner by the stage, I was hit with butterflies and cursed myself for agreeing to come. Sara was already flitting around, adjusting balloons, talking to the security guys on the door and checking the microphone, giving the impression of being a busy little bee on a mission and leaving me with nothing to do but sit on my hands and wait until it started.

Thankfully, within half an hour the room began to fill and somebody flicked off the main lights, plunging us all into semi-anonymity. By nine, the boys had started their set and the dancing and drinking were in full swing. Sympathy drinks had been brought to my table throughout the evening by friends wanting to connect but not stay around before the conversation got awkward. It suited me fine. I hadn’t had to leave the little nest of dark I’d made out of the deposited coats and bags all evening but suddenly the room seemed impossibly hot, the music unbearably loud and everybody’s happiness made me want to scream.

I needed air. I grabbed the nearest glass of gin and made my way through the sweaty jumping bodies into the bright electric lights of the hallway. My escape seemed to be going well until I was horrifically snagged by several of our girlfriends who, waiting for the toilet, thought that maybe now was a good time to have a deep and meaningful. I smiled, nodding my head and brushing my ear as if to say I couldn’t quite hear them. I walked on hopeful that they would be too far gone to make much of it. At last, with much relief, the exit sign with the little green man running away from the horror of it all, shone out above the door and I pushed through into the glorious quiet and dark of outside.

In relief, I flung my back against the wall and tipped my head upwards towards the stars. The evening was clear and cold.

“Congratulations, you made it,” Delta spoke out of the darkness.

She was also leant against the wall, cigarette in one hand, bottle of Becks beer in the other.

“You want a smoke?” She held out a freshly lit cigarette.

On the very few times I’d tried smoking, I’d been gripped by a horrible green-need to puke but something impulsive challenged me to do it, to rebel against myself and so I reached out a hand to take the glowing stick from Delta’s ring-heavy hand. I placed it to my lips and dragged on it deeply, feeling the sweet sickly burning smoke move down into my lungs before passing it back out like a ghost slipping into the cool spring air. Instantly, the tunnelling nausea shot into my head and the scene in front of me seemed to swim as if I’d thrown myself into a pool of water. The sense of committing such harm felt dangerously sweet.

“Thanks.” I looked over and I smiled at her.

Even after the event of the cryptic message, I still didn’t know Delta that well, but what I did know of her I liked. She was an outsider having only joined our school in year eleven when her family had moved over from America. She seemed to like it that she was mainly left to herself.

“I’m sorry about Sam. Must be strange not knowing where you stand, everybody expecting you to behave in a certain way.”

Her bluntness was refreshing. I drank down a big gulp of my gin hoping to calm the nausea.

“It’s not as hard as you might think.” The statement came out brutal and honest and it felt good to say it.

We stood silent in comfortable company. When the cigarette was finished she stamped the butt under her shoe and drained the last of her beer.

“Good speaking with you, Mina. We should do it more often.”

She met my eyes and walked off leaving me alone smiling to myself. I wondered if that was what Delta considered a deep and meaningful conversation.

I drained my glass. The thought of going back in didn’t appeal and the realisation that I was drunk came over me making me find myself hilarious.

“What are you doing standing outside? It’s freezing!” Blake’s voice took me off guard causing me to snap out of my hysterics.

“What are you doing here?” I asked strangely irritated.

“Rescuing you, by the looks of it?”

“Rescuing me! From what?” I asked with an increasing level of annoyance.

“From yourself.”

He smiled hoping to soften me but it just made me feel even more cross with him.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s go in,” he said, trying to avoid and argument.

He put his hand around my waist, steering me towards the door and even when I’d clearly given in, he didn’t let go giving me the distinct impression that I’d been taken prisoner. I stood passively by his side, happy to be taken in hand as he scanned the room looking for Daisy and Sara. The effects of the nicotine were quickly losing their earlier glamour.

I felt Blake’s hand tense on the small of my back as he clocked the girls sitting with the boys, who having finished for the night and handed over to the DJ, were lounging on the benches, pints in hand, making up for lost time. I felt a gentle nudge forward, at which they looked over to me and then with surprise up to Blake, before casting a look at each other which showed they weren’t exactly pleased to see him. I guessed that Blake had noted it to because he hung back making no move to engage in friendly greeting.

His voice dropped low and firm in my ear, “Get your jacket, I’ll take you home.”

I made my way over to the table feeling as if I was somehow making a walk of shame. Almost there, I fell onto the bench in a bodged attempt to retrieve my jacket from the floor at which a hand reached out to steady me. I was taken aback by how aggressive it felt.

“What’s he doing here?” Matt hissed under his breath.

“Oh, don’t ask me. He just turned up. He’s rescuing me apparently.”

I looked back over to where Blake was standing looking in the other direction, as if aware that there was a danger of confrontation and wanting to avoid it.

“And you’re going with him?” Matt asked accusingly.

“He’s giving me a lift home.”

As I said it, something stopped me making eye contact and I wondered if I looked as guilty as I felt.

“To his home?”

“I thought Daisy was staying at yours?” Joe stepped in, trying to calm the growing tension.

“Change of plan. My Mum rang earlier. We’ve got to go out early in the morning,” Daisy chimed in from the side.

“We can still get you home Mina. You should stay,” Joe said, looking directly at Blake.

I knew, even with my nicotine altitude sickness and the softened reality of gin, that this was the moment they were asking me to make my choice. In their minds, if I went with Blake now, it was a public declaration that Blake and I were together. I looked at Matt, his stare challenging and accusing, Daisy had dropped her eyes as if embarrassed and Joe just looked like a small child confused by all the hurt. I stood, frozen with hesitation.

“Mina?” Blake’s voice came out more command than question and snapped me out of my petrifaction.

I turned to him, my body moving towards him as naturally as flowers move towards the sun. Before I could fully register what was happening, Matt swung round the table squaring up to Blake.

“I’m sorry, but who exactly do you think you are ordering her about?” Matt’s confrontation flared, “Mina’s staying with us.”

“Of course, if that’s what she wishes.”

Blake smiled stiffly giving Matt no anger to work with. I knew that I should want to stay with them, that I should tell Blake I was fine and that I’d see him in the morning, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to get away from all of them, as far away as possible. Desperate not to make eye contact with anybody, I stepped towards Blake holding out my hand for his in order to steady my exit. We turned to leave.

From behind my back, I heard Matt roar, “Right I see! I understand it all completely now. You’re meant to be Sam’s girl. Remember Sam? You do know he’s not dead yet you heartless bitch?”

My hand slipped from Blake’s and I turned back towards the now silent, watching room. It was as if Matt had hit me. I stood there in shock, on the very precipice of being completely speechless and losing it to a white and violent rage. My fists clenched together with the urge to physically beat him. Just as I felt myself moving, my fist starting to travel at lightening speed towards Matt’s face, Blake’s reflexes sprang and he grabbed my raised fist using it to lead me out of the room.

On the drive home we didn’t speak and when Blake cut the engine we continued to sit silently. It had started to rain and watching the raindrops journey down the window provided a good excuse not to have to talk but eventually I broke,

“So what’s happening with us?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

Without looking at me Blake replied, “Whatever you want to happen to us, Mina.”

19. FALLEN ANGELS

There were only three days of college until the half-term holidays and, suffering from the humiliation of the incident at the Spring Ball, I played the flu card. Blake rang me and reported back that I’d probably made the right decision but he was sure that it would all settle down over the holidays.

On Monday evening, Daisy called. I let it go to message. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to have her try and appease me when I knew deep down that what Matt had said was probably what they’d all been thinking.

By Tuesday lunchtime there was a knock at the door and I opened it to be greeted by an oversized bouquet sent in the name of an apologetic Matt, but obviously organised by Daisy. Not wanting any reminders of that night, I took it to the hospital that night and asked the nurses to divide it between some of the patients. I sent Daisy a ‘thank you’ to avoid hurting her feelings but I refused to accept the apology that had been offered. I needed time.

Almost everyday of the holiday, I spent at Meadowlake with Blake and Vivien. It was here that I felt most at home and it made me sad to think of the distance I’d travelled from Mum. I knew she was hurting but I couldn’t fix that without giving up Blake and The Realm.

I’d come to understand the rhythms and pattern of daily life at Meadowlake and I knew that if I timed it early enough, I’d arrive to find Blake in the middle of combat practice. In the weekdays he would be practicing with Percy, his best friend, but at the weekend Meadowlake seemed to become a general meeting point and the training yard would suddenly seem full of their friends; all young men and all of them stunningly handsome. I watched mesmerised by the balance of strength and agility that each of them possessed, and even though the fighting seemed at first a purely physical response, I began to understand that combat was the perfect union between body and intelligence; a split second loss of concentration would find you on the floor at the mercy of your opponent.

When I first saw the yard full with the boys fighting, I was reminded of the haunting story we’d studied in Religious studies last year. The story was from the Book of Enoch and told how the angels of heaven had come down to Earth and against the heavenly law had fallen in love with mortal women. The children of these unions were a new breed of men who were half angel and half man. As men, they were awesome and perfect beings but as angels they were incomplete and fallen. As I sat watching Blake, I couldn’t help but come repeatedly to the same question, which was Blake - perfect human or fallen angel?

The one thing I was certain of, was that I found watching Blake at practice a deeply satisfying way to spend a morning. I’d sit and indulge myself, focussing on the small details that made up his overall beauty; letting my eyes linger on the muscles and sinews of his lunging body, watching the beads of sweat travel down the side of his chiselled cheek bones. Within minutes of this voyeurism, I’d find myself resigned to a craving that was at once exquisite and painful. I guessed he was not oblivious to the effect that his body had on me, and on more than one occasion when he was training completely alone, he’d remove his shirt, only to be teased mercilessly during supper by friends who’d been spying on us.

Being at Meadowlake with its energy and the vibrancy, with the laughter of all Blake’s friends continually filling the house made me happy in a way that I’d never been before. To them, I was as much of a curiosity as they were to me, but they welcomed me with the same warmth as they treated Blake, and within a short time I felt I’d acquired a whole order of brothers that would willingly fight any dragon that dared to try and eat me.

In their free time, almost all conversations the boys had were about the coming Pentecostal feasts. Not having been brought up in a household that observed the Christian calendar, aside from the usual Christmas and Easter, I found it difficult at first to grasp the importance and even when Blake tried without much success to explain the finer points, all I really understood was that Pentecost was important because of two key things.

Firstly, it was the only time in the year that all the Knights of The Round Table came together for matters of The Realm, and secondly it was the only time of year that the blessings for marriages were given. This particular Pentecost was more anticipated than usual by the boys as several of them in Blake’s group, having met marrying age, were expected to put forward requests for weddings later in the year.

I was surprised that boys our age were so keen on getting married but when I asked Blake and he delicately informed me that it was the only way to get your leg over, it all became a little bit clearer.

When I’d stopped blushing, Blake tried to explain The Realm’s stance on marriage more sensibly, “In the Realm the idea of Christian marriage is still important but it’s changed over time so that now husband and wife are seen as equal status. Because money and material goods are irrelevant to us, there’s little conflict about roles and equality than there are in the Real World.”

“So how come I’m still witnessing a man’s world?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because you come here and this is where the men hang out.”

I let out a gentle mocking laugh, “The men?” I said raising an eyebrow.

Blake returned the insult by pushing me over with one small push so that I was left laughing and laying on my back starring at the sheep-clouds in the sky. He let himself fall backwards and turned himself on his side to look at me.

“Women in The Realm are viewed as incredibly powerful and considered to have many superior intellects.” He smiled and I wondered if this were really the case or whether he was saying it just to please me.

“Well, of course!” I said laughing.

Blake continued, “Many of The Realm’s scholars are women. It’s thought that they’ve a more instinctive way with knowledge. Most of the Knights’ wives are involved in important work at the Scholarship.”

“The what?” I asked.

“The Scholarship is The Realm’s university. It’s charged with guarding the wisdom of the ancients and using it alongside the modern technologies and sciences of the Real World. It’s an amazingly weird place and the women, who all wear red silk dresses, are all a little weird too.” He smiled cheekily, “Weird but Sexy!” I gave his elbow a push causing him to topple. “Hey, I didn’t have you down as the jealous type,” he laughed. “When I was a child I used to go there with Vivien and was allowed to have free run of the place. That stopped when it was considered that I was too old.

“Too old?”

“When they considered that I was a man.” He winked naughtily and I felt myself blush. “No men are allowed on deck, so to speak – unless they’re married.”

“And the women that aren’t in the Scholarship?”

“As in your world, they’re free to do as they please but there’s a great respect for the idea of motherhood. For women in The Realm, creating and nurturing children is considered one of the most challenging of all adventures.”

I rolled my eyes, “So is it the Middle Ages or the Dark Ages that you come from?”

“Motherhood is about all ages. We’ve a slightly less grinding attitude to mothering here. When a child is born, the child is born to The Realm – not just to the mother and father – and so everybody takes a role in the nurture and care of him. The mother isn’t burdened with all the responsibility, and just because she’s had a baby she doesn’t have to stop doing whatever it was she was doing before because everybody helps out.”

“It all sounds well and good Blake, but I can’t help but feel that somehow it’s the same old issues just repackaged. Are women truly free to do what they want?”

“Of course they are.”

“Become a knight?” I challenged.

“Well o.k. You’ve got me there. There aren’t any women knights.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think a woman’s ever asked to be one?”

“Fair enough,” I said laughing and since I wasn’t keen to be one myself I didn’t feel that I had the right to argue the point further.

I found myself surprised by my response to Blake’s explanations. In my own world these kinds of attitudes would have had me screaming from the rooftops and burning my bra. Somehow here it seemed the obvious way. When I looked at Vivien with all her vitality and beauty I could see that she exuded strength and authority. Every one of Blake’s friends worshipped the ground she walked on and would be willing to lay their own life on the ground for her if she were ever in danger.

“Do they think that you’ll have your own Pentecostal request?” I asked flirtatiously.

Blake blushed, “No, I don’t think that even they’re that stupid.” He gave a wry smile, “But on second thoughts, if it meant I got my wicked way with you then it might just be worth it.”

We both blushed, looking away like we’d just committed a naughty crime. We’d fallen into a slightly easier acceptance of our love but it still wasn’t as either of us would have wished. Vivien came out onto the deck also making her own escape, book in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. She made her way to the bench by the lake and laid herself along it.

“Vivien’s pregnant, but it’s a secret,” Blake blurted out.

“Really? How?”

“Please tell me I don’t really need to tell you about the birds and the bees,” he said with a wicked smile.

“No, I mean when? Who?”

“She’s due in the autumn, in October. She hasn’t told me who and I haven’t thought it proper to ask.”

“But surely you must have some idea.”

“No, none at all. She’s got a lot of admirers but I’m not sure who she has anything closer with.”

“And you, how do you feel about it?” I asked.

“It’s made her very happy. She deserves that; especially after what happened.” He smiled tightly and nodded his head.

“That’s not really answering my question and what do you mean after what happened?”

“That’s a story for another day, and it’s not my place to feel anything about it, but I wish she’d tell me who the father is.” Blake looked over at her.

I could tell he’d been hurt by her secrecy. We fell silent, both of us looking out across the lake. Vivien caught my whole attention as she draped herself over the bench, one hand resting lightly on her ever so slightly curved belly, the other moving back and forwards feeling the grass between her fingers. It was hard to imagine that under the curve of her skin another life was nestling. I felt Blake’s hand search for mine and I turned to face him.

He was so tempting. All of my body desired for him to press me against the earth with the weight of his body and for him to kiss me deeply. Blake looked at me quizzically and I realised that my private thoughts were probably more obvious than I realised.

“That was one of the two things I had to try and work into our conversation this afternoon,” he said, breaking the sudden tension.

“And the other?” I asked with trepidation.

“I’m going on quest to collect what’s needed to bring Sam out of his coma.”

“I see. Where to?”

“The Chapel of Perils.”

“Sounds delightful,” I said sarcastically, “And exactly how dangerous is this quest going to be?”

“No more than the usual.”

“Is there a chance you might die?”

“There’s always that chance on adventure.”

“Then you shouldn’t go.”

“But if I go, it means that Sam can be cured and it’ll mean we can all move on.”

“Sorry,” I said suddenly bristling with anger, “What do you mean move on? Do you think that it’s going to be that simple?”

“Well of course I don’t, but regardless, it’s still the right thing to do. Sam’s dying and I have the chance to cure him; it’d be wrong not to do everything possible.”

“You mean you want to play the hero?” I said spitefully.

“Don’t be crass, Mina. I don’t understand why you’re being like this. It’s as if you don’t really want things to change.”

“That’s really unfair,” I said as tears needled my eyes. “How can you think that I don’t want Sam to get better?”

“That was harsh – I’m sorry – but you need to understand that I’m trying very hard to keep this all together, Mina. You think you know me but you only know part of me. You’ve no idea how it’s torturing me to be with you day after day and not act on how I feel.

When I sit with you, my every nerve begs to reach out and touch you. The thought of kissing you fills my every lose thought. I can’t concentrate; I’m all over the place and it’s driving me to distraction. I didn’t think love would feel like this. I thought it would be full of certainty but this – it’s like a shadow has come creeping in during the middle of the night and then refused to leave. All of this – my love for you - it’s beautiful, painfully beautiful but it’s lonely and it’s filled with shame and somehow terribly, that makes it all the sweeter.”

“Then give in to it. Kiss me. You have my permission and that’s the only permission you need,” I whispered.

He nodded his head and bit down on his lip before letting out a sigh of frustration, “You know it’s not. You’re not mine.”

“This is ridiculous. I don’t belong to anybody. I’m only myself and I get to decide where and when I am kissed and by whom.”

It’s not about ‘ownership’ – it’s about commitment and honesty and integrity.”

“Don’t lecture me, Blake. It’s not about being dishonest. If Sam wasn’t - well how he is - then I would have ended it with him so that I could be with you.”

“But you can’t at the moment and that’s what I mean. It’s not finished.”

I looked at him and I knew that it wasn’t him that I was cross with, not really, and I knew that for some illogical reason I was sabotaging this moment - that I wanted to take everything we were and let it blow up into a thousand pieces. The destructive impulse swelled in me like a tsunami gathering her spite. I needed to get away.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this now. I need some space.” The words came out in an uncomfortable cliché.

I walked away and he made no move to follow me. The full immensity of what he’d told me sank in drop by drop.

Blake was going to put his life on the line so that we could be together, as husband and wife, because in Blake’s world that was the only available option. However, in my world, the Real World, life just wasn’t that simple.

*

I was thankful that Mum wasn’t at home and even more grateful to see the note she’d written me, explaining that she was out with ‘Andy the Adonis’ at the theatre and I shouldn’t wait up. She’d scrawled something about a ‘clew in the fidse’ on a post note which she’d stuck to the dinning room door and which I translated as ‘stew in the fridge’. No matter how much I hurt her, she continued to mother me and this made things worse. I found the remote to the iPod system and whacked it on full blast, filling the whole house with musical anger.

The afternoon passed with an exasperating slowness which wasn’t helped by the sense of regret I had about walking away from Blake and Meadowlake. I’d been so stupid and as I sat pondering the levels of my own immaturity, the phone rang, battling against the music and making me jump. I picked it up hoping it would be Blake, but it wasn’t. The voice was familiar even if wasn’t how it should have sounded.

Uncle Josef’s voice, usually so languid and measured, flustered down the phone line, “Mina – um- hi - Is Mum around?” He shouted against a background din. I guessed he was ringing from a busy train station or bar.

“Sorry Uncle Joe, she’s gone out to the theatre. Not back ‘til late. Anything I can help with?”

“No - not really. Tell her I rang and that I’ll phone back later tonight. Ask her to wait up. I need to speak with her urgently. Urgently!”

“Uncle Joe, is there anything I should know?”

The phone let out several pips indicating his time was up.

“No, no, don’t worry yourself Mina. It’ll all be …” The phone line went dead.

I flicked off the music and sat at the kitchen table in silence letting my worried and over active imagination run through every daft and implausible possibility. I could tell from Uncle Josef’s voice that something was terribly wrong but none of the scenarios I could invent fitted with him phoning from a public phone, unless he’d been robbed.

The worry spread between my two different situations as if they were feeding off of each other and the abrupt realisation broke through to me that Blake had not told me exactly when he was leaving for adventure. What if it were tomorrow or even tonight? What if something dreadful happened? What if this afternoon was the last time we spoke? Something ice cold slithered down towards the base of my spine.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket and cursed when I saw the battery bar hitting zilch, and remembered that I’d left my charger at Blake’s. There was only one thing to do and that was to cycle back to Meadowlake. After all it would only take quarter of an hour.

20. HIS STORY

The sunny afternoon had been replace with the sort of gloomy evening that promised rain and the woods were already darker than I’d have liked. The birds, in preparation for an evening of poor weather, were making their evensong early, giving the woods an unusually eerie quality that picked at my already frayed nerves. I quickened my pedalling and took the small track that only the most local dog-walkers used. It wasn’t my usual route even though it was quicker, because in several places there were crater like puddles that never seemed to dry out and which acted as excellent bike traps. I was making good time. A gentle roll of thunder could be heard in the distance but I was sure I’d be at Meadowlake before any serious threat of rain.

As I pedalled faster and faster, the phone call from Josef replayed through my head but still refused to give up any of its secrets. It was as I was lost in thought about this that my bike lurched into one of the wretched crater-puddles, causing my front wheel to clip an outcropping rock. I lost control and before I had time to put in place any form of preventative action, I found myself in a bouncy cushion of bracken.

“Shit!” My sudden exclamation seemed to fill the whole space of the woods, causing several birds to flap for higher cover.

The collision buckled the front wheel of the bike beyond ride-ability and so I picked myself up, brushed myself down and determined to walk the last mile to Meadowlake. Abandoning my bike to die a lonely death in the brambles, I gave it a satisfying kick that came back to bite me only seconds after I’d done it and caused me to hop around like a demented frog. Once again, the roll of thunder shuddered the late afternoon skies and there was now no doubt that the storm was travelling in my direction.

Within five minutes of my walk down the path, I spotted two shields hanging from the trees in the distance, one either side of the path. I walked up to them suspiciously, still not quite believing that they should be hanging here so openly and for anybody to see. But then again it wasn’t anybody, it was me and it was becoming apparent that somehow I’d become woven into the fabric of The Realm.

A soft and gentle voice came from behind me, “Mina, My Lady wishes to see you. Will you follow me?”

I turned to see the face of the young girl I’d met when I was with Blake on that far away February night. I could see, now that the light was better, that she was only about thirteen or fourteen years old and still mostly a child. But nevertheless she was a child that worked for Morgan and I didn’t really relish a meeting with her without the protection of Blake.

“I’m really sorry, but you must tell your lady that I am on the way to Meadowlake, they’re expecting me and I really don’t have the time to spare,” I said the lie half-heartedly knowing that ultimately I wasn’t going to be given a choice.

“I am afraid you do not understand. My Lady wishes to see you. You must come.”

There was no other choice but to give in, “Okay, but I can’t stay long as Blake is expecting me and he’ll come looking for me.” As I repeated the lie, I hoped with all my heart that my words were true.

The girl led me through the woods to a small clearing in which Morgan’s instantly recognisable pavilion stood. Either side of the doors stood the same two knights, both bearing shields of black with splayed-winged eagles painted in gold.

Inside the pavilion, Morgan sat at a small writing desk on which was a collection of papers and small leather bound books. Her hair was tied back with a silk scarf and she wore glasses, giving the impression of serious study, but it was clear that the only thing that she’d been studying wasn’t in book form as behind her, lying on the ground level bed, amongst the fur throws, reclined the completely naked body of an awesomely handsome knight. As I came in, he propped himself up on one arm and poured himself a goblet of wine from the charger next to the bed, before splaying himself out in full confidence like a lion basking in his own superior glory. Embarrassment caused me to stare, and in response he looked right at me and smiled darkly.

My mind crashed. I’d never seen a man fully naked. Even though Sam and I’d been dating for over two years, we’d not reached the stage whereby we’d displayed our bodies so confidently. My knowledge of a male body extended to small abstract parts, usually hidden under clothing or dark light that added up to a general impression of exotic strangeness. My pulse raced with humiliation. It wasn’t that I found him attractive, I was terrified. If Morgan’s efforts were to make me feel childlike, then she’d succeeded. I felt small and insignificant but most of all I felt scared. She registered my unease and I saw a cruel smile of triumph spread across her lips.

Standing, she held out her hand and then, rejected, she dropped it to her side, as if my slight were inconsequential.

“Mina, how nice to see you again.”

“Morgan.” I responded as coldly as I could and keeping my hands well secured under my arms.

“Excuse us,” she let out a snuffling laugh before pulling the silk divider between us and the bed, “the young have no sense of propriety.”

From behind the silk, I heard the knight join in with Morgan’s laugh, sharing her perverted joke and I couldn’t help but think the whole thing had been elaborately staged.

“Talking of handsome young men, how is my darling Blake?” she asked smiling an all-too-fake smile.

“I don’t think we were,” I said, immediately aware of my defensive tone and kicking myself at letting her know that she’d got to me.

“I’m sorry, do forgive me, please take a seat,” she said waving her arm to the chair on the other side of the table. “A drink methinks.”

She poured me out a matching goblet of deep red wine from the charger on her table. Gingerly, I picked it up and placed it to my lips, waiting and watching for her to take a sip of the wine, suspicious that it might be poisoned. She caught me watching her and raised a questioning eyebrow as she gulped hers down, leaving little choice but to accidentally spill it or to drink it. I raised the wine to my lips and felt it slip past them. It was a beautiful wine, thick, dark and smooth and didn’t taste at all like the bitter taste of poison.

With my heart still fluttering with the instinct of danger, I tried to hurry Morgan on with our meeting,

“What is it exactly that you wanted to talk to me about? It’s not that this isn’t pleasant, but I really need get going. It’s getting dark and Blake is expecting me.”

“All in good time Mina, we have so very much to talk about. Don’t worry your pretty little head about the deep dark woods; I’ll have my men escort you to Meadowlake when we’re done. They’re very good at forest night-matters.” A sneer spread across her lips.

I felt tendrils of fear unfurl and start to explore the soft tissue between my rib-bones. I knew that the sooner I got away, the better chance I’d have.

“Really, I’m not sure what we have to talk about,” I said, making to move from my chair but on hearing the movement of the guards outside, I sat back down; knowing that in truth I was only Morgan’s guest until I tried to leave, at which point I’d become her prisoner.

“Relax Mina! We’ve far more in common than you first might think. You see, I’ve known Blake since he was in his mother’s womb.”

She topped my goblet up from the charger, making me aware that I’d drank deeper than I’d intended, before continuing her carefully constructed speech, “Blake isn’t an immortal or one of the Magicals, but he isn’t from this time, which makes him something else entirely different from almost all of the boys you’ve met at Meadowlake; they’re direct blood descendents of King Arthur’s Knights, but they’re thirtieth generation or more.”

She seemed to be looking far back into her memory and even through the loud clanging bells of danger rang in my head, my curiosity had been captured. Curiosity killed the Mina.

“Blake’s parentage is different and very special,” she paused, taking in oxygen as if suddenly gripped by a private and silent pain, “particularly to me, as I was in love with his father, and they’re so alike that Blake could be his father’s reflection.” She smiled the well worn mask that hides true and unbearable hurt.

“When I was young, many eons ago, I was married to a very cruel man. He didn’t start off cruel, in fact to the public world he seemed to carry his own ray of sunlight and it was this that I loved about him. But, it was not long into our marriage that he revealed a very private and hidden cruelty. He had the sort of moral darkness that a man keeps hidden in the quiet rooms of his house and exercises after sunset, when the guests have gone home and the servants are in bed. I came to dread the night hours when he would visit me in my room, and although terrified, it was no use hiding because that made his game all the more electrifying to him. That man took everything that was good in me and he replaced it night after night, piece by piece with ice and blades and wickedness.

One night, when we were guests at Camelot, I managed to get my brother Arthur alone and I tried to tell him what my life had become but do you know what the great and wonderful Arthur said to me? He said my husband was my keeper as was God’s will. He suggested that I tried to displease my husband less, be a little less wilful as not to make my husband feel the need to take me in hand. That I should ‘submit as a good wife should.’ With that he looked over at his own wife and something flitted across his face that at that moment I didn’t quite understand.

Our conversation was cut short by a young knight charging into the Main Hall, carrying a dead maid in his arms. The knight I recognised as Lancelot du Lac, and he was beyond any mortal beauty. The maid he carried was of course the Lady of Shalott.

She was so pale that she almost seemed as if she were carved from snow. Even now, I can not erase the image of her face from my memory, even though I have tried. I’ve never seen anything so achingly sad as her pale slender body draped over Lancelot’s arms, and I swear that even though impossible, she continued whilst dead to weep tears.

Lancelot explained how they had heard a melancholy song haunt them all along the river’s edge, and when they had come to the bridge, they seen a boat bedecked with flowers and candles. In the bottom of it lay the Lady of Shalott. There was no evidence of poison or harm, it was as if she had just lain down in the bottom of the boat and willed her heart to stop.

It was no secret that she was terribly in love with Lancelot, and the court didn’t fully understand why he’d rejected her, pretty and virtuous as she was, but I did. In a dazzling moment of understanding, I saw how Lancelot’s eyes lifted from the dead maid and met Guinevere’s in the way only lovers look at each other. I saw that he hadn’t been able to give the maid his heart because it already belonged to her, my brother’s wife.

When I witnessed this, it wasn’t only my brother’s pain that I suffered but my own, because in those small moments I’d fallen deeply and utterly in love with Lancelot. It was also in these moments that I knew with an absolute clear certainty I’d murder my husband, seduce Lancelot and save us all from our own miserable web of deceit – but my plan didn’t take into account just how deeply in love they were.

Arthur, in the end, had no choice to banish them both from court. He was as heartbroken as man that was still living could be, having been betrayed by the two people he loved most dearly in the world. He placed Guinevere in a nunnery but it was too late, she was already pregnant with the twin boys of her lover.

When the time came, the nuns told her that they had been stillborn, a punishment for her wickedness. In truth they had ordered one of the young novices to drown both baby boys in the river, but when she had gone down to the riverside, the tender hearted novice had sat weeping, asking for God’s mercy.

With that Vivien appeared, offering to take the babies with her and keep them safe until the time came. Lancelot died never knowing that Guinevere bore his children or that she had named them Blake, after the dark wild moors they’d ridden together, and Leo, after the golden lion of his shield.”

I sat down, afraid that the very existence of the ground might fold away to nothing beneath my feet.

“No, that’s not possible,” I whispered.

“Not probable you mean – of course it’s possible; anything, theoretically, is possible.” She sounded tired, as if speaking out a well worn point of an argument.

“It’s neither probable nor possible and I need to go home.” All at once I felt light headed and tired. “I want to go …”

“I’m sorry Mina, but you need to understand, I’ve waited so long for him to come home. I love him as I loved his father and this time, I’ll not let him slip from my grasp.”

My head span and I could no longer feel the chair underneath me. The realisation that the wine had been drugged began to steal up on me. My vision narrowed into a thin tunnel, at the end of which was Morgan, who sat perfectly composed and triumphant.

“You’ve – you’ve poisoned me?” I managed to spit out.

“Mina, don’t worry your pretty little head. You’re no use to me dead….yet.”

21. THE CHAPEL OF PERILS

A series of colours swept through my head as if someone had run their fingers through wet oil paints. Eventually, they seemed to find some order, but they assembled themselves into the image of a place I’d never seen before.

I found myself in what I figured to be a churchyard, but in place of stone tombs were shields each turned upside down and thrust into the ground. A small path ran up to a seemingly derelict chapel, and on either side of it stood fifteen knights all dressed in black with their shields high and their swords drawn for combat. They seemed goliath, unnaturally tall and broad. All of this I took in with a sweeping glance that was momentary because something else caught my undivided attention. Standing at the head of the path was Blake, dressed in the white soft armour I’d seen him wear at practice. By his thigh he carried a glinting sword. I screamed out his name and made to run after him but both my voice and my body were trapped somewhere else, as if he were caught behind the other side of a looking glass.

Captivated, I watched Blake bend down onto one knee, lower his head and bring up his hands up in prayer, like the effigy of a condemned man preparing for execution. He remained like this for a small eternity and when he’d finished he stood, bringing his sword blade up to the space between his eyes letting the tip rest against his forehead. Blake’s body rose and fell to a slow and steady rhythm. He moved his head, slowly viewing the space to his left and then his right. They were the movements of a hunter.

There was a perfect stillness to the landscape, as if the whole scene were being played out in the vacuum of a bell jar. Not a single blade of grass quivered. No bird sang. The sky was a painted theatre backdrop, tumultuous and cruel. The only movement was the glint from the swords of the Guardian Knights held high in the midday sun and they shone out as if they were screaming a coming violence. The amount of cold sharp steel seemed a monstrous contrast to Blake’s soft and living flesh. I couldn’t understand how he could possibly survive the coming onslaught.

He stepped forward and as if tripping a wire, the whole scene erupted into a frenzied cacophony of steel on steel. The Guardian Knights swirled their swords, viciously snarling and gnashing as if they were wild animals but Blake’s soft and vital body moved further and further down the line. Their full armour made them heavy and ungainly in contrast to Blake’s light agility.

He moved with grace and power, his body working in perfect union with his mind and vision. In his wake, the dismembered limbs fell scattered on the floor. Horror beat at my lungs but I couldn’t determine whether it was the horror of Blake being in mortal danger, or the way that he so skilfully slaughtered.

Within a couple of minutes, Blake broke out at the other end, coming to rest in the door-frame of the chapel. It had only been when he’d came to the last of the guards, that I’d seen clearly how Blake made his kill, raising his sword high in an arc above his head and bringing it down through the helmet of the knight so that he was split to the neck. It was instant and brutal.

My body shook with disgust and I became faintly aware an invisible enemy pressing my shoulders, pinning me down, forcing me to stay and witness to the scene. Horror was quickly washed away by puzzlement because where there should have been blood, rivers of it, there was nothing but the spread piles of stone shards.

Blake dropped his sword to his side finally satisfied that it was over, but even from this distance, I could tell that he was as confused as me as he bent down and picked up several pieces of the stone fragments, rubbing them between his fingers and turning the stone to dust. He showed no sign of physical fatigue apart from using the back of his hand to clear the dampened hair from his eyes, which he did unconsciously as he turned to push open the heavy wooden door of the chapel. The gloom of the Chapel’s mouth swallowed him whole.

*

In the empty churchyard, the earth deeply rumbled and a mighty rock-splitting crack spread out across the space. Out of the ground, one after the other, fifteen stone columns shaped in the figures of men, thrust themselves into the air.

The scene faded and was replaced by the distant but now familiar voices of Morgan and her lover knight. The smoke of strong incense hit my nose and I instinctively recoiled as one of them touched my face. Their grip around my chin hardened and I felt the cold rim of the metal goblet forced between my clamped lips before their palm forced my jaw shut; a pressure on my nose and the horrendous panic of being unable to breathe left me with no other option than to swallow. The wine caught at my throat, forced into my airway and caused me to choke and gulp for oxygen. Before the panic could fully set in, I fell back into a well of purple darkness.

*

Stone-cold hardness crept through the thin summer fabric of my blouse. Awake with my eyes closed, I allowed my fingers to move in exploration of my surroundings. They traced their way along the cracks between the stones, and even before I opened my eyes I knew that somehow and impossibly, I was in the chapel. Listening hard for the sound of danger, I reluctantly opened my eyes and, feeling no longer paralysed, I stood up allowing my eyes to adjust to the candlelit gloom.

It had once been a beautiful place, each wall painted in frescoes that were now blemished with creeping mould. The stained glass windows were thick with dust making the light weak and sickly. Saints with heavy eyes and clasped hands looked down forlornly.

Apart from Blake, who was stood silently, sword out, head cocked and listening, the chapel was deserted. Satisfied that all was safe, he headed down the aisle, veering left at the bottom towards a small door which was locked with a heavy chain and padlock. Having given it a tug and a rattle, he raised his sword and brought it down, smashing the lock and causing the chain to crash to the floor, filling the whole church with the sound. Free from its chains, the door swung back seemingly of its own accord, in supernatural welcome.

After glancing in and finding it to be blindingly black, he moved back into the chapel to retrieve one of the little, red-glass candle holders which were dotted along the steps of the sanctuary. Striking a match, he lit the candle causing the whole thing to flare into life and give the eerie impression that he was holding a small ball of warm and living blood in his hands.

I’d gathered by now that Blake once again had no idea I was with him, and the feeling of me being invisible and ghostlike all at once washed over me, filling me with a terrible dread that I might never be warm and living again. Animated by fear, I bolted from my spot across the space that separated us and tucked myself warmly into his shadow.

I could see now that the door, labelled in flaking gold letters as CRYPT, opened straight onto a steep stone stairway that led down under the earth. Blake was sure in his movement. The warm red, glow of candlelight spread out from his left hand and his sword, an extension of his right, cut through the dark shadows that lurked in front of him. He was in hunting mode; fearless and lethal. We wound our way deeper and deeper into the bowels of the dry dusty earth, finally coming into a small circular room.

Here, a single lamp dimmed by the thick misty veil of spider-webs, spread a weak light around the room. Something wasn’t right about it and on closer inspection, I found myself as puzzled by it as I had been at first glance. It was impossible that a lamp clearly untouched in months, possibly years, could still be burning. I was pulled from my inspection by the sound of Blake moving around as if undertaking a task.

In the middle of the room was a heavily carved stone table, on which lay the relief of a dead body, covered by an intricately embroidered cloth. Large, blooming roses had been painstakingly sewn all over the silk, and entwined within their thorned tendrils, small golden stars were scattered, as if they had been thrown from heaven and found themselves snagged amongst the brambles. Before I really understood what I was doing, I reached out my hand and let it touch the damp silk but it was as if the thing were electrified and I jumped back from the haunting image of the woman who had sat and sewn something so exquisite whilst stumbling around the hellish depths of grief.

Blake had cleared the webs from the lamp’s glass faces and now the room was lit more clearly, I could see that the carvings of the tomb weren’t the expected angels and crosses, but geometric phoenix birds and other exotic, animal headed gods; Egyptian rather than Celtic. Blake picked up his sword in one hand and the silken cloth in the other he began to cut at the cloth. The sound of tearing silk caused a searing pain through me, and at once I understand completely the heartache and grief all those who had loved him.

Once the deed was done, the knight’s sword and cloth gathered, Blake sped up the stairs as if he was a guilty criminal, and somehow I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I’d been witness to a most heinous crime.

The door to the chapel had closed itself during our visit and now Blake swung it with such force that it immediately swung closed behind him, causing it to pass right through me. My immediate thought was that I was dead, that Morgan had poisoned me. I found myself drunk with loss, stumbling through the chapel following the tear blurred figure of Blake as he pushed open the door flooding us both with sunlight.

He came to a sudden stop and even in my state of silent hysteria, I registered he’d met with something dangerous and unexpected. I remembered the stone figures erupting out of the earth, but as I drew up alongside him, I could see that it wasn’t this that had stopped him so violently. The stone men were just that, carved pillars of stone, creating the effect of a tunnel and at the end of that tunnel, stood the awesome presence of Morgan Le Fay dressed in a startling electric blue dress.

In one hand, she held the Sword of Avalon and in the other a small glass orb, which she rolled over her fingers. This was the only movement, the rest of her stood perfectly still. Even from this distance, I could feel her menace. She had grabbed my whole focus and it was with shock that I now realised that she wasn’t alone.

Standing in Morgan’s shadow, stood a knight in black armour. Seeing Blake issue salute to Morgan, the knight made his advance forward between the stone figures, mace swinging menacingly by his side, his anonymous shield clunking against his shin plates. Evil and brutality dripped out of him and the effect was made even more sinister by his helmet, fashioned like a monstrous skull, topped with two spikes. Everything about him gave the impression that he had just stepped out of the bowels of hell.

The Black knight stopped just at the edge of the swords length.

“Sir Beldevier,” his voice came out deep and guttural.

“Sir, you know me, but I am afraid that I do not know your shield. May I ask who addresses me?”

“My Lady forbids it.”

“Then tell your lady that she should come and address me herself. She insults me by sending her minion.”

Blake looked up towards Morgan, was stood with her head tilted to one side with an almost innocent and childlike curiosity. The Black Knight moved his head, nodding as if he was responding to a statement from his Lady – but his lady had not appeared to speak.

“My Lady says to tell you that she has your dearest treasure locked safely away, and if you want it back then you must submit yourself to her will.”

Blake looked back at Morgan, who was now inspecting her sword, watching it glint in the light as she turned it. The effect was a silent threat.

“Sorry, I am unclear as to which treasure she is talking about.”

Blake’s voice faltered, betraying the fact that he understood exactly what ultimatum Morgan was giving him.

“Tell your lady that she is to come and speak with me direct or I shall pass. I have no time for this.”

“You will not pass with the Sword. Leave it or be challenged.”

The Black Knight lightly swung his mace making his intention clear.

“Then it would seem we are to challenge.”

Every breath I took suspended itself in the air, making it almost impossible to take in more oxygen, and my stomach fell as if I had jumped over the edge of a high cliff face. I looked at the Black Knight with his solid metal armour and his mocking skull-like helmet, and then I looked at Blake and I couldn’t think how he’d defeat such a hell-dwelling metal monster.

For the briefest second, a dark cloud flitted across the perfect composure of Morgan’s face. She seemed surprised that events had escalated to this and I couldn’t help but feel a deep pang of jealousy as I understood fully for first time the depth and violence of her passion. I realised that her love for Blake was so intense, she would rather that he were butchered in front of her, than bear the thought that he might love another.

“Challenge accepted. We’ll meet at dawn. Until then you may not leave the grounds of the chapel.” The Black knight bent his head, clicked his heels together and turned with more dexterity than could be imagined in such heavy armour.

22. FIGHTING EVE

I found myself walking through a thick and heavy fog. The owls had started their haunting call in welcome of the moon and a blue inkiness wound its way around the trees. It wouldn’t be long until the twilight ended and the night arrived.

The woodland moss was damp beneath my back and a hard stone had nestled itself painfully in against my kidneys. This combined with my pounding head and sleep heavy limbs all came together to give me the mother of all hangovers. Vague, disorientating memories swirled in my head but they were ghost memories, half seen and full of doubt. The last thing I remembered clearly was an accident, falling off my bike. I must have hit my head. I’m concussed. I tried to fix myself on the here and now. It had just finished raining and the trees dripped long rhythmic drops onto the dank earth below. My hand brushed over the soft fur of the animal throw which had been draped over me and with its touch, my mind exploded with associations. Not concussion - Morgan.

“Hello,” Blake’s voice sprang out through the quiet. He sat, legs pulled up to his chest, deep in thought on top of a rocky outcrop of ancient ruins.

“Blake? What’s happening?”

As he turned and looked down at me, I saw that the usual perfect composure of his face had broken down and I guessed that this had been the very question he’d been deep in thought about. A shadow flitted through his expression and he bit down on his lip.

“I don’t know exactly. Things are out of joint. I’ve never experienced anything like it. Sometimes it’s necessary for The Realm to create a time-place shift but,” he swept his hand out and shrugged, “all of this; the enchanted statues, the time ripple, there’s only really one explanation and that is there’s dark magic involved.”

Blake swung his legs over the rock and jumped down extending a hand to help me up from the damp earth.

“So what are we or more precisely am I, doing here?” I asked more to myself than Blake. “I was coming to see you. I had an accident in the woods and then I met with Morgan.” The clouds started to shift from the memories and little pockets of clear information came through. “I saw you. The wine; she drugged my wine and I saw what was happening but this is all wrong. You’re supposed to be …. well you’re not supposed to be here,” I struggled to explain exactly what it was that I was trying to say.

“I’m here where I should be. This is the Chapel of Perils and it’s where I’m – we’re - bound until morning.”

“But this isn’t it - this isn’t the place I saw,” I said looking around in utter confusion.

“It’s the same chapel but the time is different - like I said a time ripple.”

He said this as if this was enough of an explanation, as if I might now completely understand the laws of physics, but I didn’t and I was more confused than ever.

“So the challenge, it’s still to go ahead? It wasn’t a nightmare?”

Blake nodded gloomily and before I could stop my mouth running off, before I could engage my brain, my fear erupted, “Blake he’s a beast; he isn’t human!”

I found myself getting increasingly distressed – not only at the situation but at the fact that this wasn’t what Blake needed to hear at this time.

“Yes, thanks for that Mina. I hadn’t noticed he was seven foot tall, built like a rhino and has metal spikes at just the right height for gouging out my eyes.”

Blake’s attempt at humour fell short as his description was far too close to reality. He sat down, his back against the ruins of the chapel. A weak smile flickered across his mouth as he held out his hand, pulling me down to sit next to him.

We sat quietly, savouring the closeness and warmth of each other’s bodies, our hands folded around each others and my head resting on his shoulder. I listened to his drum-like heartbeat. The thought of it falling silent tomorrow hit me and I shivered with the cooling air.

“How far can we go?” I asked.

He looked at me, puzzled for a moment as to what I was asking before he understood and replied, “Within a circle of about twenty meters; it’s like a glass wall.”

“Mum’s going to go ballistic,” I said dropping my head into my arms.

“I’ll make us a fire; it’ll cheer us up if nothing else.”

Blake moved away from me, leaving in his place the cold draft of an empty space and I knew this is how it would be if I lost him. I wanted to reach out to him, pull him close to me and feel his warm and vital body against mine; instead I reached out and grabbed the fur throw. It was heavy and part of me was slightly disgusted by it, but it was warm and practical, and now wasn’t the time to be a martyr for the animal rights brigade.

As I watched him busily searching for dry moss and kindling, I inhaled the night air imagining it was his breath filling my own lungs. He seemed proficient in his task and I imagined that the woods were a second home to him. The thought of him small, innocent and boyish caused me to smile.

Within the hour, not only had Blake got a small fire going, which let out a warm and comforting light, but he’d built us a makeshift wooden tepee, offering at least the illusion of shelter if not the practicality. Darkness had crept in on us and I was glad of the warmth of the fire. The woods were now an eerie, silent place of shadows and rustling; an easily imagined home for Death. With my head lying in Blake’s lap, he stroked my hair, I watched the flickering flames of the fire and fully realised for the first time how far Blake’s world was away from the Real World.

My thoughts started to wander, “What’ll happen in the morning? Will it just be the two of you?” I asked sleepily.

“No, not quite,” Blake gave out a laugh tinged with bitterness, “if it was as simple as that it would’ve all happened today. A challenge isn’t like a fight - it’s a staged display of power and battle. Expect nothing less than a whole circus to arrive just before dawn.”

“Are you frightened?” I asked turning away from the fire to look up at his marble carved face.

The flickering of the flames reflected and danced in his eyes. Perhaps I’d spoken a taboo because he met my eyes but the only answer he gave was to reach his hand to my cheek and stroke it. With his head bent forward, a small butterfly took off in my stomach in anticipation of him leaning in to kiss me. I pulled my self up, my face reaching for his, my lips searching for his. His eyes were now fixed on mine as if he were searching deep inside my soul.

Blake’s speech was almost a whisper, “Afraid? No, if I’m afraid, I’m dead before I even begin.”

The cooling trail of a tear slid over my cheek, but before I could wipe it away, Blake’s lips had found mine and it was as if a match had been struck, igniting me. Warmth and light flared through the sorrow and with an increasing urgency, I pulled Blake towards me, giving him no choice but to fall on top of me. His kiss was deep and urgent as if knowledge of his death were pressing at his back. A feeling of indescribable need swept through me; something primitive and raw, a force of nature that was entirely new to me.

Every breath I stole from his lungs, I forced deep into my own, creating the sensation that I was dissipating. Somewhere inside, I became aware of a delicate series of implosions like shooting stars falling in on themselves. But just as the line of inevitable perpetual motion was about to be crossed, as we both found ourselves standing on the edge of the precipice about to jump, Blake pulled away. When I opened my eyes to look at him he was trying his best to quickly hide the look of guilt spread across his face.

“I’m sorry Blake, I’m really sorry. I don’t know…” My words came out panicked, as if I was trying to prevent the breaking of a glass the second before it made contact with the floor.

“Shh,” he said, placing his finger on my lips, “I’m the one who should be sorry; I shouldn’t have let that happen. I vowed I wouldn’t let that happen.” Blake voice fell to a whisper. His breathing was ragged, “God’s mercy Mina, you’re going to be the death of me.”

A secretly satisfied smile played with his lips and both of us fell into a deep silence, listening to the crack and lick of the flames in the cold air relishing in our own triumph.

23. PREPARATIONS

We were brutally woken from our dream filled sleep by the sound of hammering and general chaos. Just as Blake had warned, the circus had come to town. Although there was still little light, a whole army of servants were bustling about. Silk pavilions were being erected, carriages were arriving, boxes and furniture was being unloaded.

“Blake, what the hell is going on?” I asked, disbelieving of the sight in front of me.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you; there’s nothing more appealing than the promise of bloodshed.” Blake spat his words out.

I turned to him in order to offer comfort, but before I could get my words out, I came face to face with the domineering wall of a perfectly intact Chapel.

“What the…?” I stopped, words failing.

Blake turned round, slightly less surprised than I’d been.

“So it seems it is really going to happen,” Blake nodded his head slowly as if confirming it to himself. “Mina, I need some time to prepare. As much as it pains me to spend even a minute away from you I need to be alone for a while. I’ve some things that I need to do before…” Blake did not finish.

“Are you going to the chapel?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Nausea coursed through me as I thought on how he was going to the chapel to make his peace with God. He thought there was a real chance that today was the day he was going to die.

“I promise I’ll see you before the tournament. Mina, I love you. You need to know that. I need you to know that.”

Blake planted the briefest of kisses on my trembling lips. Everything about it seemed to say goodbye.

I stood watching him as he entered his own private sanctuary, strangely jealous of him kneeling in front of the cross, believing that the almighty was there with the kindly eye of Father Christmas bearded cheer. I wished that I could ask of Him for Blake’s protection and know for certain that I had placed his life in the hands of a rational and caring father, yet all my understanding of religion had been tainted by a general cynicism that was continually reinforced by a seemingly pointless amount of suffering in the world. When it came to life and death, I just didn’t have the faith that God would be fair.

I needed my own space to think things through and time to come to terms with the possibility that this was the day my heart was going to be ripped from my chest.

I made my way to the small boundary of woods. The bluebells had finally begun to open and the first morning light was beginning to spread across the tree-laced skies. Coming into a clearing, I stopped, held out my arms and threw my head back to greet the coming of the dawn; handing myself over to the immensity of sky and air. I vowed to myself that from the next moment I saw Blake, I’d show no fear. Loss would not be etched on my face before I’d actually lost him. I stood like this for sometime, my eyes closed, listening to the sound of birds and the distant hammering, shutting myself up and dressing myself with internal armour that would protect me against the sharp and brutal weapons of feeling.

A warm, liquid voice broke my meditation, “Mina, honey?”

“Vivien?”

“Mina, it’s time. Blake needs to see you.”

She came up behind me and stroked my hair. I turned to see that she was as gorgeous as ever, dressed in a deep green dress, her hair piled up and laced with pearls.

“I’ve brought you a change of clothes. Something more appropriate for the occasion. Here!”

She handed me a parcel tied with string. Sensing my hesitation she swept a stray curl from my face and whispered, “Would you like me to dress you?”

I stood there arms held out like a compliant child as Vivien undressed me swiftly and tenderly.

“Lift your arms honey.” She looked at me and smiled weakly as she slipped a dress over my head.

It was a simple, pearl silk gown that unfolded over my hips to touch the ground. Vivien spun me around and my body ricocheted under the tugging of laces. I felt like a doll, beautiful but hollow.

Vivien continued to talk to my silent back, “All eyes will be on you and Blake. You’re quite the talk of The Realm, Mina so it’s important that you blend in as much as possible, show that you belong with us. We still dress, rather ludicrously in my opinion, in the old way for a tournament.”

Vivien swept up my curls, gently stabbing them with pins.

“You look beautiful Mina, truly a vision worth living for.” She spun me round and kissed my cheek.

I looked down at the silk and I realised with a bitterness that I looked like a bride and I guessed that this what she’d intended. Not for the first time, I felt like a pawn in somebody else’s game. Her mobile sprang into life indicating that she had a text.

“It is time.” She took my hand and led me back towards the chapel.

At the chapel door, she left me to take her place in the waiting arena. The door of the chapel was heavy and I felt impossibly weakened by it. The satin slippers I wore barely whispered against the floor and I made my entrance into the chapel unannounced. Shafts of sunlight stabbed through the windows reminding me of a magician’s sword box. Blake sat bolt upright in the pew nearest the front. A groom waiting for his bride. My clumsy movements alerted Blake to my presence and he stood, holding out his hand in invitation. With each step down the aisle I fought the urge to scream.

“You look - angelic.” Blake held out his hand, reaching for mine.

“Don’t,” I said nodding and choking back tears, “I look tragic,” I said, forcing a smile at him.

“Fine, you look angelically tragic,” he said winking.

There was everything to say and yet words failed us both. We stood in the silence, overlooked by curious saints. Time passed too quickly and before we had said what needed to be, before we could accept our need to reach out and touch each other, to steal a lingering kiss, there was a brutal knocking on the door and the rough voice of the herald called out.

“Time to dress and mount, Sir.”

“It’s time Mina.”

Blake pulled my hand up to his mouth and planted a kiss on it before clicking his heels together in salute and walking out.

I was left utterly alone.

24. EAST OF EDEN

Vivien led me through the assembled crowds and as I had been warned, every eye turned on me. If I hadn’t been lost in my own private hell, it might have lead to a general mortification, but today all faces were a blur, all sounds an underwater soundtrack. The only thing that I was totally conscious of at all times was Vivien’s arm through mine, guiding me, holding me straight.

At last I found myself seated on the plush cushions of a basic wooden throne. In matching seats, Vivien sat to my right and next to her resplendent in a blood red gown sat Morgan.

“Good morning, Mina.” Morgan’s voice cut through me like a blade. I looked over to her out the corner of my eye and saw with some comfort that she too, was trapped in hell.

The crowd was thankfully smaller than I’d feared. About thirty silk pavilions housed seated spectators. They’d been positioned to mark out the boundaries of the field. On our walk back from the chapel, Vivien had told me that this form of duelling tournament was rare in these times and many of the younger generation refused to attend them on ethical grounds. There had been a movement to have them outlawed and whereas they were once seen as a symbol of civilisation and chivalry, many now argued that they were nothing more than a crude, animal savagery, no matter how richly it was dressed in ritual and spectacle.

As I looked round, I saw that the only younger generation were Blake’s friends from Meadowlake who sat in a purple silk pavilion bearing the Beldevier coat of arms. Unlike the older generation who had set out feasting tables and who had dressed more for a banquet than a fight, his friends sat on simple wooden benches, dressed sombrely as if for a funeral. Strangely, part of me wished that they too were more festive and joyful, rather than sitting like carrion waiting for the blood to flow. Percy caught my eye and offered a weak sympathetic smile across the space. It seemed then that nobody fancied Blake’s chances.

The herald came onto the field blowing a trumpet and followed by a small entourage of smaller boys carrying the standards of the main families present. In the middle of the field he stopped and extending a hand high into the air, called the audience to attention,

“Good Sirs, Sweet Ladies may I extend welcome to you this morning. In accordance with the ancient and honoured code of our Realm a challenge has been issued by the Black Knight whom is executing his right to be known only by the colours of his Lady’s shield; that being that of our Lady Morgan of Gore. Being in knowledge of his identity, he is of a level and rank acceptable for this challenge.”

Something faltered in the Herald’s speech. There was a small twist of his face, as if he were turning away from something distasteful, but it was so slight that when I looked around to Vivien, she seemed not to have noticed. I tried to dismiss it as paranoia. The Herald continued his booming address,

“The tournament will take the form of hand to hand combat and the challenge will be completed when one of them,” he coughed and now I was certain, “…until one of them falls and is declared.”

“What?” Vivien whipped round to face Morgan, “This isn’t a tournament, it’s a melee; a fight to the death!”

“Quiet yourself Vivien. It won’t come to that, you know how it goes.” Her voice came out with cold-steel contempt.

The crowd seemed to be as shocked by the declaration as Vivien and now any trace of playful bloodlust instantly disappeared from the spectators as they realised they were here to witness an execution and not a sporting game. I dared to look over to the Beldevier camp and instantly wished I hadn’t. All of them, except for Percy, had their heads bowed in anticipation. He sat bolt upright, his eyes fixed with hatred on Morgan.

Percy went to move, his hand reaching for his sword. Before any of them could act, Percy stood and shouted out across the field, “MORGAN YOU BITCH; YOU JEALOUS, BITTER BITCH!” His scream filled the space causing the frozen stadium to flutter back to life.

“HE’S A BELOVED MORGAN. A BELOVED AND YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE HIM SLAUGHTERED. WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU THINKING?”

By now several of the boys had sprung into action and were holding Percy in his place, whispering soothing words to try and calm him. Sensing that they were gaining control of the situation, the Herald took his chance, “Sit down Sir, or you’ll be asked to leave.”

With reluctance, Percy allowed himself to be bundled back to his seat but the other boys were obviously not certain of his compliance and two of the boys kept tight hold of his arms.

I turned to Vivien, “What do they mean a Beloved?”

“Blake’s under the protection of the Templars. Nobody will be happy about this; Morgan has completely overstretched herself.”

“Why don’t they stop it then? Why the hell don’t they do something?” I spoke out louder than I’d intended, causing a few curious glances in my direction.

“It isn’t like that Mina. Morgan is royalty from the old time. To go against her decision to let this take place would be treason, and in truth they’re terrified of her.”

“So because of that they’re going to sit back and do nothing?”

“It’s too late. The challenge was issued and the code says it must be completed. There’s hope yet. All one of them has to do is call for mercy and they’ll both survive. And even if that doesn’t happen, Blake’s strong, and his intelligence in combat is not to be outdone anywhere in The Realm. He’s his father’s child and there’s no reason to doubt that he won’t win.”

Vivien’s speech was cut short by the Herald’s command to stand. A polite but measured round of applause broke out as Blake freehandedly rode Lancelot out into the field. His armour was brightly glinting in the sunlight, giving the weird vision that he was surrounded by his own shinning halo. At his side he carried his broad sword; in his other hand he carried a piece of cloth that I recognised as the scarf he’d been wearing on the first day I’d met him. He made his way towards our seats on the raised wooden platform. Lancelot nodded his head in recognition of his own people.

Before he reached me, Vivien leant in and whispered, “Mina, he’ll address you and ask you for your favour. You must hand him something of your own, something personal and make sure the crowd sees it. When he offers you his cloth, take it and place it into the left side of your dress, above your heart.”

“My Lady,” Blake bowed his head to me and handed out to me the piece of cloth.

I took it as instructed, and tucked it under the fabric of my dress. The only thing I had on me was the small gold band that had been my grandmother’s wedding ring. My stomach lurched as once again the symbols of a marriage mocked me. I held out the ring to Blake who accepted it with another bow and a small quick turn of Lancelot. The sound of applause filled the air again. Blake’s page scurried over to him and helped him to dismount before handing him his shield and taking the ring from Blake which he fixed to the leather lace that held Blake’s wooden cross. Having threaded it, the page clasped it back around his master’s neck. Morgan turned her face away, insulted and humiliated by such a public display of Blake’s favour to me.

As Blake’s page finished dressing his armour, placing his helm onto his head and planting his pennon into the soft earth of the field, the audience spent several minutes discussing the exchanges between me and Blake, Morgan’s humiliation and Vivien’s pregnancy. Their bubbling conversation fell silent however as the Dark Knight entered the field with his page.

His dress was already finished and he cut a menacing contrast with Blake. In flagrant rejection of the old code, he had had his armour sprayed black, giving the impression of some monstrously overgrown and shiny stag beetle. He held in his hand a mace and in the other a shield which had been spray painted with the flames of hell. Morgan’s crest seemed to be rising out from them. I wondered if this was meant as triumphant praise or ironic insult. His page held a heavy, glinting sword.

Morgan stood, the crowd fell silent and the men took their positions. Unknown and unclaimed, the Black Knight had no need to offer his favour. It was clear that he was no equal to ask for Morgan’s favour and it was also clear to all there that he had already been branded by her as nothing more than a dutiful servant.

Unhappy about the break in protocol, the Herald looked nervously around before making the plunge and raising his flag and whilst making a hasty retreat from the field shouted, “Let battle commence!”

Morgan adjusted herself in her seat so that she sat bolt upright. She was as pale as the coldest marble and her heart was just as hard.

Face to face, the two knights stood absolutely still. The tension was almost too much to bear. As much as I wanted it over, I needed it to start. Blake made the first move, pacing himself around the monstrous knight and then within seconds the clashing and mashing of metal filled the air. The noise of the mace as it whirred and wheeled around the Black Knight’s head built to a thunderous crescendo stopping dead with the crashing impact on Blake’s shield. The mace was covered in murderous spikes and I couldn’t escape the vision of it tearing through Blake’s flesh. I was used to watching Blake fight in practice, but this was something different. The aggression of the two men as they went for each other reminded me more of fighting dogs than the skilful art I’d seen in training. Something animal raged through their body as if they were in the grasp of an elemental frenzy.

The clash of metal went on for what felt like an eternity, with neither knight seeming to show any kind of dominance. They were a perfectly matched fight. And contrary to first appearances, the Dark Knight was as agile and quick as Blake. The knights refused to stop at the first call for a rest period, seeming not to be aware of a world outside of their own immediate and violent universe, but after another twenty minutes of intense fighting they both pulled away and the Dark Knight cried for the herald to call a rest.

Vivian lent in and whispered, “He’s requesting his hard armour to be removed. In a match that’s going on as long as this there’s a serious danger of suffocation. Both men will have to agree to it because one can’t it take off without the other doing so.”

I nodded, showing that I understood, but the thought of Blake’s protective shell being removed caused a peak in my anxiety level.

“So they’ll be unprotected but still fighting like that?”

The sound of metal on metal as weapon hit armour was still ringing in my ears and with horror I understood that was about to stop. Now it would be weapon on flesh, a much softer, more brutal sound.

“No, their pages will bring out their hauberks; their chain mail.” She placed a hand on my knee, “Don’t worry Mina, it’s a good thing. Blake prefers it to the heaviness of the hard armour. It’ll put him at an advantage.” Her attempt to comfort me fell short.

The change in dressing took over an hour and gave everybody a welcome relief and I was pleased at least that Blake was getting some rest. The men returned to the field. I’d hoped that without the surety of their armour that the fight would be less violent but within minutes it was as if they’d never left the field at all. As I watched on horrified, I began to understand that they were locked into some deeply cosmic battle; in an act of primal survival. No part of me believed that either of them would call for mercy. One of them was going to die out there.

The warmth of the midday was intense and shone down as the two knights were still held in their fearsome battle; the brutality of the two men was at once both repulsive and riveting. They were godlike, seeming to have no human need for rest. No one stopped for lunch.

By mid-afternoon the sun was being replaced with brooding thunderous clouds. Both men had had various parts of his mail hacked away and the blades of grass in the field were now laced with their blood. They’d fought all day, running and colliding together time after time with the ferocity of scrapping lions.

Only when thin trails of blood snaked their way down from under the helmets of both men where their sweat had turned to blood, did they respond for calls to stop and refresh.

By late afternoon, a faint drizzle of rain began to fall, causing the already churned ground to become dangerously muddy and making it difficult for the previously agile men to avoid each other’s blows. The mud caused them to slip and make sudden, clumsy hits and within minutes of returning to the field, Blake had slipped into the full swing of the Dark Knight’s mace which came down with such a force that it caused Blake’s shield to shatter and his chest to become vulnerable to the trajectory of the mace.

Blake crumpled hard to the ground. Gasping for air, he fought with his helm, pulling it off and throwing it aside into the mud. His blood sparkled against the chainmail mitten as he clasped at the wound. My entire focus was glued onto the drops of his blood that made their way down into the mud.

As Blake stumbled to get to his feet, the Dark Knight wielded his mace high in the air and took aim to smash into Blake’s beautiful, unprotected head. It would be the fatal blow that would win him the field.

I sprang from my seat, standing horror struck as Blake fell to the floor and rolled himself out of the way of the oncoming mace. It landed deep into the softened ground, sending up a spray of mud. Blake was now positioned behind the Black Knight and he found his feet, turning the mud to his advantage. As he pulled himself up, he planted his dagger into the back of the Black Knight’s knee, causing the knight to fall. Blake rooted himself in the mud and raised his sword.

“Call it! Call it! Call gramercy! Call mercy for heaven’s sake!” Blake’s roar could be heard clearly across the field.

The Dark Knight’s response was to reach for his dagger and make a dangerous plunge backwards. In return, Blake brought down his sword, planting it deep within the back of the knight’s neck.

The knight fell and everybody knew instantly that the blow had been fatal. Blake had finished the battle and the field was his.

The crowd greeted the finality of the fight with a quiet reverence and began to politely applaud but this awkward praise stopped as they watched Blake struggle in a chaotic frenzy, pulling at his hauberk and screaming out.

Blake’s earlier injury was worse than it had first appeared and he now fell to the ground pulling his page down with him so that the boy’s ear was close to his trembling lips. The page listened closely and then responded by going over to the dead knight and caught between protocol and his master’s command, searched round for some assistance. None came.

Blake was now lying on the ground, fighting for breath but the whole focus of his eyes were on his page and the dead knight at his feet. Nervously, his page stooped to unlace the helm of the dead knight and reveal his mystery identity. The audience had all made their way to the roped off edge of the field also eager to see who the dead knight was. It was to the general exclamation of horror that the page lifted the helmet from the dead knight’s body to reveal Leo’s death-carved face.

Gasps filled the air and all that looked on wept for pity. Blake’s eyes closed and as they did so he choked out a whispered and broken,

“Forgive me.”

The page looked to his master and then to me his eyes pleading with mine. I knew that Blake was desperately ill, if not already dead. I stumbled past Morgan’s empty chair. She’d already left, aware that the members of The Realm were dangerously horrified at the level of her cruelty. Either way she had set out to destroy Blake. Whatever the outcome of the battle had been, Blake had always been set to lose.

I ran out across the field towards him, slipping and sliding on the slick mud. I fell onto Blake’s unconscious and bloodied body and kneeling on the cold ground, I pulled his head into my lap. A mighty roar of thunder boomed through the sky and with an unnerving certainty I knew that it was the angry voice of an angry God.

“Can we have some help here, please? Please somebody get some help! Please God,” I screamed out to the silent, weeping crowd.

25. AFTERMATH

Blake had been returned to Meadowlake and been placed into bed. His condition was serious and Vivien told me that I was to prepare myself for the worst. The physician that had been employed was monitoring him, waiting for him to stabilise before he would put him under the knife to remove the shards of rib that had planted themselves in his lung.

I showered; glad to remove the sodden gown stained with mud and blood. Vivien had called Martha, telling her that I’d had an accident on my bike and it would be best that I wasn’t moved until the bruising came out. I imagined Martha’s general tone of resignation at her increasingly wayward daughter.

I selfishly declined the offer to sit with Vivien and made my way to Blake’s room. I pulled out one of his shirts from his wardrobe and put it on, breathing in the smell of sandalwood and ocean before walking through his room, touching the things that he’d touched, flicking through the pages of the books that he’d flicked through. The day had drained every last bit of energy from me and I went over to his couch and lay down, pulling the warm blanket up over me. I was asleep within minutes.

It was early morning when I woke. I could hear the birds just beginning their dawn chorus. The morning light was weak and pale and gave Blake’s study a slightly smoky air so that when I turned my head to see a figure sitting in the chair I put it down to a trick of the light.

“Good morning, Mina,” Morgan’s silken voice reached me from the shadows. She seemed uncharacteristically frail.

Dressed in a plain, black dress she appeared as if she had already begun her mourning.

Even though moments before, I’d been in the thick of deep sleep, seeing Morgan here in Blake’s space, watching me sleep caused me to spring from the couch in full force, “How dare you. How dare you come here! After everything you’ve done!”

“Technically, I haven’t done anything. Blake initiated the challenge; he took charge of his own destiny. The only thing that I’m guilty of is fulfilling my duty to the code.”

Her eye contact never wavered.

“Keep telling yourself that if you must, Morgan but both of us know that you are the one responsible for the things as they are now. You’re the one who put Blake in an impossible situation, and you’re the one who pitched brother against brother, and now the whole of The Realm despises you for it. What the hell did you think was going to happen out there on the field?” My words came out venomous and with the intention of hurting.

“I’m not here to dissect the events that have happened. The past is never of interest to me. The reason I’m here is to offer you a choice over Blake’s future – which is generous of me when all things are considered.”

Morgan rose from her seat regaining her full powerful form.

“There’s nothing you have to say that could interest me. Two people who I love most in the world are both on their deathbeds and so it would seem that at the moment I don’t have the luxury of considering the future. Leave us in peace and take your bitter, twisted games with you. You’ve done more than enough already.”

“But Mina, that’s exactly why you can not afford to ignore my proposal. I can save them both. That is what you want isn’t it?” She cracked a smile, confident that she had me where she wanted me. “Or… maybe not... Maybe you would be happier if Sam died; that would leave you free to be with Blake wouldn’t it?”

“How dare you. You have no idea what love is Morgan – not anymore.” Tears needled my eyes.

“Well your choice should be easy; especially if you’re as selfless as you suggest.”

“Say what you have to say and then leave,” I commanded.

“As I said, I’m about to offer you a choice. You can use the sword and cloth that Blake has rightfully won in order to save him. He would be fully recovered by this afternoon but the price will be that Sam will be dead by tomorrow morning. A simple life for a death deal; the sword and cloth can only heal one and none of your medical intervention can cure Sam.

Alternatively, I can visit Blake now and use my powers to cure him and on my way out pass the sword and the cloth to Vivien. She would then take them to the hospital and cure Sam. He would be completely recovered and home with you and Martha by the weekend. You can go back to your lives, back to where you belong and you can put all this behind you like some wild and curious fantasy. Two lives for the price of your one heart.

“And Blake?” I whispered.

“Rest assured Mina that Blake will be fine, just fine. I’ve an adventure I need attending to. A small matter of a meeting with a very old friend but Blake’s company would be useful. Being that I cured him, it would be the least he could do to try and clear his debt to me. After all there’s nothing more satisfying than a beautiful man in debt to you, wouldn’t you agree? Oh, maybe one other - a broken hearted man in debt to you.”

Once again a smile cracked across Morgan’s face.

“Are you foolish enough to think that he’ll come to love you? If you do then you are deluded, Morgan. Blake already hates you. Even if he could ever find it in his heart to forgive your betrayal on the field, he will never love you.”

“You don’t understand how the world works yet, Mina. You’re still full of youthful hope. Blake will learn to love me as any dog learns to love his master, no matter how hard it’s been beaten - and don’t forget, I have all the time in the world.”

“Yes, but Blake doesn’t. He’s mortal. He’ll age and die and then where will you be?”

“You’d be surprised what a small obstacle mortality is in my world.”

Everywhere I looked, I knew that I was in checkmate and she knew it. In truth, the decision was easy even if the answer wasn’t.

“You could do the right thing, try and make up for the horror that you committed out on the field yesterday. You could give Vivien the sword and the cloth to cure Sam and you could use your powers to cure Blake with no conditions. You could give Blake his freedom.” I couldn’t help the note of desperation that this revealed.

Morgan’s laugh filled the air.

“Mina, please – as if! You have until noon. Time is slipping by and neither of them can afford your indecision. I’ll meet you at the far side of the lake. Don’t be late and don’t waste my time if you don’t have an answer – that way, they’ll both die.”

Morgan turned and walked out of the room.

I sat at Blake’s desk and held out my hands imagining Blake and Sam in each of my hands, as if I could weigh my love for each of them. It was impossible. I loved Sam as if he was my own brother, my own blood but I loved Blake as a lover and my future happiness. Sam was my earth and Blake was my air. I didn’t know how I could live without either of them.

Instinct told me that the right answer was to ensure that Sam was cured. He was innocent in all of this and was the only one who had not had the chance to make any choices. Whatever the sacrifice, it would be unbearable.

The hours passed too quickly. With just one hour left, I went downstairs and walked into the room where Blake had been lain out. He reminded me of the dead knight in the Chapel of Perils, but in place of the lovingly made shroud, he was covered in bandages and although his wounds had been freshly dressed that morning, rose blooms of blood still seeped over the white gauze in parody of the red roses sewn so beautifully into the cloth that he’d cut. It seemed poetic justice had been served.

He looked peaceful having been dosed full of morphine but I thought about the moment that he’d regain consciousness, the moment that he’d have to accept the full horror of what had happened yesterday. He’d killed his brother, the most heinous of all the biblical crimes and I knew that even if Morgan could cure his physical wounds, she’d never be able to cure the wounds now marked on his soul.

As I stood there, looking down on him I found myself thinking who Blake would be when he woke. The events of yesterday were bound to cause a shift in who he was, and I wondered if it was a Blake that I could still love.

*

As I closed the door of Meadowlake behind me, every part of me knew that this was goodbye. I hadn’t gone back to Blake’s side before I’d left, frightened that to see him so fragile would break my resolve. I knew I was leaving him at the very moment he’d need me most and the thought that I was handing him over to Morgan seemed a betrayal almost as awful as the one that she’d committed. I now realised that yesterday was only the first part of her plan. She’d set out to have us both destroy everything we loved. The choice between Blake and Sam had been easy – but easy didn’t mean painless.

Reluctant to let go of the handle behind me, I lingered for a moment which was long enough for Vivien to see me leaving and make her way across to me.

“You’re leaving?” Her question had a weight to it that struck me and I knew that she knew. I nodded giving an apologetic smile. I was in danger of crying and I didn’t have time to be distressed. I was due to meet Morgan in less than ten minutes.

“I’m sorry Mina. About all of this, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really belong here - it’s as it should probably be.”

“But that’s just it. You leaving, Blake like he is, none of this as it is meant to be.”

“I love him with all my heart but it isn’t enough.”

“Time will tell. I’m not going to say goodbye Mina, but adieu.”

She reached forward and pulled me in to a tight hug.

“There’s something I need to tell you Mina. I’ve thought about not doing so, but I think you’ve a right to know because you may need to take certain measures. Lavinia, Leo’s fiancé, has pledged your blood; she’s sworn that she’ll avenge her lover’s death.”

I went rigid in her arms and she released me.

“When they removed Leo from the field, she removed the broken tip of Blake’s sword from Leo’s wound. She’s made it public that she will wear it as a constant display of his brother’s ungodly act.”

“Blake begged him to cry mercy. We all heard him. If anybody betrayed anybody, it was Leo. If anybody should be shouting their mouth off about blood pledges and revenge, it should be me,” I stopped, exhausted and out of breath.

“Mina, there must be no revenge on either side. Both men made their own choice yesterday. Each choice has a consequence. In a strange kind of way, Leo’s escaped more lightly than Blake.”

I turned from her and faced out towards the lake. The clock was ticking. The day was inappropriately sunny and Meadowlake looked the most beautiful it ever had. The lake shimmered, bouncing crystal sunrays around the field causing everything to take on a dream like quality. At the far side of the lake, the black clad figure of Morgan made her way to the water’s edge. I looked down at my watch, the minute hand about to strike noon.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” I said breaking into a run.

The far side of the lake suddenly seemed a much greater distance than I remembered and just to spite me I saw Morgan turn on her heels and start to walk away. By the time I reached her, I was breathless and almost on my knees which is exactly as she would like me. She stopped as if offering an indulgence, “It is a beautiful day is it not Mina?”

She sounded removed from her own voice, as if the words were coming from a recording.

“Yes, it is beautiful.” My voice came out horse, betraying the grief that had already begun to take hold.

“I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I hadn’t meant for yesterday to happen the way that it did.” She turned her face towards me, glancing at me before once again turning away as if touched by the alien emotion of remorse. “It had meant to be a tournament, nothing more. It had meant to humiliate and shame Blake, it was all meant merely to reduce him into my hands,” she shrugged dismissively. “Perhaps I underestimated the power of placing brother against brother. Now it’s a matter of salvaging any spoils of war that I can.”

“Is that how you see Blake, a spoil of war? I think you knew all along that this might happen.” I stared at her, waiting for a flicker, a tiny movement that might suggest regret but there was nothing. “Oh my God…you wanted this to happen, didn’t you? You twisted bitch.”

“Play nicely, Mina, or I’ll go and then you’ll have two funerals to arrange.” Morgan’s eyes flashed in the sunlight, “I take it you’ve made your decision.”

It was a statement rather than a question.

“You’ve said goodbye to Blake?”

“What makes you so sure of my decision? Just because you’ve gambled your entire plan on the assumption that I’m as good as you’re bad but you don’t know me Morgan. What if I’m just as much of a cruel hearted, manipulative bitch as you? If I choose Blake then you lose.” I smiled even though fear had grabbed at my stomach and was twisting it in knots.

Morgan let out a laugh making me feel immediately foolish, “A valiant effort Mina, I admit I underestimated your grit and you’re not half as stupid as I thought. I could almost like you. I tell you what – you can have Blake for one night; one night of memories to nurse you through to your old age. Call it a recognition of effort.”

“One night?”

“Take it or leave it, Mina. We both know that it is an act of generosity on my part. I don’t have to give you anything.”

She turned from me heading in the direction of Meadowlake, “I’m going to visit Blake now, he’ll be well enough in a couple of hours so enjoy!”

I stood there as if I had been picked up by a tornado and dumped back down to earth. By this evening Blake and Sam would both be well.

26. FAREWELL MY LOVE

I arrived home just after lunch. Mum wasn’t in but had left a note explaining that she’d gone to the airport to pick up Josef. He was coming home to us, heartbroken and homeless. I placed the flowers I’d picked at Meadowlake into a jug and plonked them on the dining table. They’d meant to cheer the place up and offer a small apology to Mum, but they just furthered the depth of my sadness.

Halfway up the stairs the house phone went. I knew before I answered it that it would be the hospital. I took the call and scribbled a note to Martha telling her I was going to visit Sam.

It was another afternoon of torrential rain. I’d never known a spring so turbulent. I made my way down the road battling with an already broken umbrella, gusts of wind chucking it outwards on itself every couple of meters. In the end I gave up and crammed the useless thing in the bin outside of the newsagents.

Giving up the fight and submitting to the elements suddenly felt good, like letting go of everything I’d been struggling to carry; the breakdown in the relationship between Mum and me, the worry of Sam and the tempest that had ravaged my heart since the moment I’d met Blake. I turned my face to the sky, letting the rain mingle with tears of relief.

Within moments my attention was snapped awake by the sound of a car driving up and parking in front of the row of shops. Even though the rain caused the figure to fold in on itself, I recognised that it was Delta who was making a dash to the newsagent door. With her hand on the door handle, she turned, recognition stopping her in her tracks and causing her to look over at me.

“Hey, Mina!” she shouted before throwing her car keys high in the air towards me. Much to my own surprise they made contact with my hand. “I’m just grabbing some lights and a coke. Back in a minute. Get in!”

There was no way to argue as she’d already dashed into the shop before I could respond. Typically, at that very moment the bus came and I was left with the problem of having Delta’s keys. With no other option, I made my way over to the passenger side of the battered white Fiesta and got in. The inside of the car smelt of stale smoke and looked like it was used as a waste paper basket. Empty coke cans had been tossed into the passenger well and books and papers were spread across the back seat. A small glow-in-the-dark skeleton swung from the rear-view mirror as if it had just simply had enough of the chaotic state of its existence and decided to end it.

The car gave a worrying pitch as Delta bundled her way back into the car. Even in the few moments between car and shop she’d been soaked.

“So where we goin’?” she asked holding her hand out for the key.

It was no use arguing. I could tell that wherever I said I was going Delta was coming with me. I couldn’t answer her. I looked into her eyes that stared back into mine. Her eyes were beautiful pools of blue ink. A black line ringed the iris making her look almost like a cartoon, unreal and perfect. The thick black eyeliner she’d applied made them seem almost infinite. My lip trembled. Delta started the engine and reversed out of the space seeming to disregard any possible oncoming traffic.

“The hospital then!” she said almost to herself before changing gear and accelerating into the rush hour traffic.

I managed to croak whisper a, “Thank you” about five minutes into the drive to which she just nodded before one-handedly pulling out a cigarette from a packet in the side pocket and lighting it from the car lighter. She pulled in a deep drag which made her look world-weary and I what her real story was. Catching me looking, she offered it over to me.

“No thanks. I’m good,” I said, recalling the effect that the last one had had on me.

She shrugged and pressed play on the car stereo. It was as old as the car and still played cassette tapes. I’d expected to hear the sound of some angry emo-metal belt out but I was surprised to hear the country sound of Johnny Cash filling the car.

“Sorry about the dad music. It came with the car and cassettes are real hard to find. If I’m honest, me and Johnny, we’ve kinda grown on each other. He’s a legend.”

She turned to me and flashed me a smile. It was possibly the first time that I’d ever seen her smile. I smiled back and relaxed. Too soon we arrived at the hospital entrance. I got out, thankful that the rain gave an excuse for rushing off before having to exchange awkward goodbyes. Before I could make it to the door, I heard Delta’s voice shout out from the car window causing me to turn and retrace my steps,

“Look, you can tell me to piss off or whatever the hell you like, but I thought I might just park up over there and catch up on a bit of reading. If you want a ride home then come and knock on the window, and if not, then I’ll finish my book in a couple of hours and make my way home.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t but that’s what I’m going to do - Kindness of strangers and all that crap.”

She wound the window up before I could argue and I knew from that point that Delta and I were going to be good friends, that somehow even though she barely knew me, she understood me better than anybody else.

I entered the hospital fully aware of what would face me; a medical miracle an inexplicable recovery - a medical first. And, even if I told them that I could explain how Sam had been cured - that it was simply with the use of a magical sword gained from the mythical Chapel of Perils by a daring and courageous knight who fought off living giants made of stone, they wouldn’t believe me. In fact they would probably sedate me and admit me to the conveniently located psychiatric ward. I wasn’t fully convinced that this wasn’t a bad idea.

A weird celebratory energy buzzed around the staff at the ward desk and before I could even get to Sam’s room, someone had called out to the ward sister causing her to abandon her patient to her subordinate and come up to me, all smiles. She folded her arms and then unfolded them, clasping them together reminding me of some ecstatic saint.

“Mina. You will never believe it - such happy, happy news; a miracle by all accounts.” As she said this her hand involuntarily touched a small golden crucifix around her neck. “We’re all so pleased. We’d begun to think that…” she waved her hand as if clearing away a fly, “…well never mind all that. Sam’s awake and…”

With that a nurse wheeled Sam around the corner. He looked at me and smiled and I understood that he was as bemused by all the excitement as I was. Our greeting was silent, smiles tinged with sadness. It was clearly not the reunion that they had all been hoping for and the mood took a sudden dip as surely as if somebody had come along and burst all their balloons. Sensing the mood, the Ward Sister sprang into action, clapping her hands with efficiency, “Anyway, Back to work everybody! Let’s give these lovely young people some space.”

As the sister passed, on return to her patient, she stopped speaking quietly into my ear, “I’m sorry we got rather carried away. It was insensitive of us. It’s just that…”

“I know.” I smiled at her.

Her hand touched her crucifix again and I wondered if she was conscious of her habit.

“We’ll give you some privacy, I am sure that you both have a lot to talk about. The family room is yours. We’ll send along some tea as soon as we get a chance.”

The nurse wheeled Sam in to the family room before taking a hasty exit. In her place, silence expanded in the room, sucking out most of the oxygen.

“Hello!” we both spoke at once causing us both to offer an awkward smile.

Silence filled the room again.

“So how have you been?” Sam asked.

A simple, unanswerable question.

“Yes. I’ve been fine. Well you know? Worried. Worried about you.”

“The nurses told me that it’s been over three months,” he said as if still unbelieving of this fact.

“It seems longer. I’ve missed you,” I said, once again offering a smile that was part apology.

I tried repeatedly to meet with Sam’s eyes but I was afraid that he’d see how I’d changed before I had a chance to try and explain - to justify.

“Mina, its okay, I know. I knew even before the accident,” he spoke gently as if he were diffusing a bomb.

“Please - let’s not do this now.”

I stood up, unable to bear the tension any more. The room was so small that there was nowhere to go and so I was forced to pace up and down like a distressed animal.

Sam pressed his lips tight together as if searching for a deeper strength, “Now is the perfect time. It’s the beginning time. I want us to do this before everybody else gets involved and starts interfering.”

I drew in a deep breath. I was exhausted by the rollercoaster of feelings.

“Okay, but you start.” I felt like I could hardly breathe.

“I want us to talk about this now and then leave it. I don’t want us to do that horrible thing of taking each other apart. I haven’t got the strength. I’m too tired. It hasn’t been like you might think – it’s not like sleeping, it’s like living but the rules are all screwed. ”

I wondered how I could tell him that I understood this better than he thought.

“What do you remember?” I asked fearful of the answer.

“Nothing much - a cold greyness, a voice, nothing much more.”

“Vivien!” the name escaped from me in a whisper.

“Is that her name? The woman - who is she?” Sam asked.

“She’s a friend of mine.”

“A friend?”

I avoided the question, keen to turn the conversation to one more important.

“Sam, there’s something I need to ask you about the crash, something that I don’t understand.” I hesitated unsure of how to go on. “I don’t understand how it could have been an accident.”

Sam’s response was agitated, “Mina, are you seriously asking me if I did it on purpose because you think I tried to kill myself?”

He was angry and it was only the confines of his wheelchair that stopped him from leaving.

“I’m sorry.” I said collapsing back down into the chair. “I just don’t understand how it could have happened - You always take such care, the snow had gone by that time and the police said that the road had been gritted.”

Sam calmed, registering my confusion rather than accusation, “The crash was an accident. It maybe might not have been an absolute surprise, but it was an accident. There was an animal. I’m not sure what kind. A bird I think. A big, black bird. No. No it wasn’t - I don’t know.” He stopped shaking his head as if trying to shake a memory awake. “No, it wasn’t a bird. It was too close to the ground. Oh, I don’t know Mina. It might even have looked like a person, a person in a black cloak. Oh my god, it wasn’t, was it? I didn’t hit somebody?”

“No. No, there was nobody else,” I said automatically as I careered into my own mental crash.

Morgan! The name continued to scream in my head as Sam continued, “Thank God! You see I was really angry. I was driving like an idiot.”

My attention pulled back to Sam. “So it was my fault?” I said.

“No, it was nobody’s fault but mine. When I saw you walk past the window with Blake, when I saw that you were skipping lesson to go with him, something took hold. I don’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust you, or even that I was jealous, I just felt as if a something switched. In that single moment I had a complete understanding that you were meant to be with him and that I’d lost you.”

“I am so sorry, Sam. I never meant it to happen.”

“I know you didn’t. Don’t ask for forgiveness Mina, there isn’t anything to forgive. When you came home there was something in your eyes. You’d changed. I can’t explain it but I knew that you’d already left me. I got in the car and I was so angry. I was driving like a madman. I saw something in the road and swerved. When I woke, well, when I thought I had woken, I was in this horrible place. I thought that I would never get out. I thought that maybe this was what it was to be dead.”

“I know that you don’t think that I love you anymore, but I do Sam. I do love you.”

“I know you love me, but let’s be honest, it’s not the type of love you feel for Blake. As soon as I saw you both together I could almost see electricity bouncing between you.”

“But it’s not like that; it’s not what you think. We never - we haven’t…”

“It wouldn’t matter if you had, it would have been natural between the two of you. It never has been for us. If you loved me in that way then it would have happened by now. It’s not been for want of trying on my part, but you’ve never felt able to give yourself over to me.”

“I wanted to Sam, I really did. It just - I don’t know, I just don’t think I was ready.”

“I sound like a right jerk putting this into words makes it seem if this all mattered more than it did. I was happy to wait for you to want me in the same way that I wanted you but now I understand that you were never going to see me in that way.”

“It’s not that simple. You’re part of me. I chose you. I chose you over Blake.”

“Mina. You’re kidding yourself, it’ll always be Blake and I’ll always be the best brother you could have.”

“Are you coming home to us?” I asked.

“Soon but not straight away, things need time to settle.”

“But I need you.” I was aware of the selfishness as I said it.

“No. No you don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not abandoning you. I’ve a lot of things that I need to sort out; my father for one.” Sam pressed the nurses’ bell.

“I understand.”

And I did. I understood that I no longer had any claim over him.

“Mina, I still love you,” Sam smiled at me as if punctuating the end of the conversation.

The nurse knocked on the door before coming in. Sam explained that he was extremely tired and that our conversation was finished. She unlatched the brake from his chair before wheeling him out. As the door closed softly behind them I called out into the empty room.

“I love you too.”

For now it was over and I was left with nothing left to do but to make my way home. I didn’t need to think twice about heading towards the sanctuary of Delta’s Fiesta. She jumped as I banged the door closed causing her to slam the covers of her book shut. It was Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. She tossed it over her shoulder onto the backseat. It had been one of my favourites, but I guessed now I’d never be able to face reading it again.

As she started the engine, Johnny flared into voice. It was with bitter irony that he sang One Love, the lyrics attaching themselves to my already heavy burden of grief.

27. TURNING TIDES

As Delta made the long driv home, I thought bitterly how freedom to be with Blake had been given with one hand and taken with another. His going on adventure wasn’t like a week’s holiday. The truth was that I had a matter of hours with Blake before I possibly lost him for months, if not for years.

Selfishly, I hoped that Martha and Josef would be delayed at the airport so that I would escape the expectation of sitting around the family table, offering love and comfort. I loved Josef dearly and I hated the thought of him being in some sort of trauma but it would be my last chance to spend time with Blake.

I leant my head against the cool glass of the car and reasoned that I’d call in at home, tell them the good news about Sam, get the headlines on Josef and offer preliminary condolences and be over at Meadowlake for early evening.

“So how did it go?” Delta asked after quarter an hour of silence.

“Sam’s much better. They’re talking of discharging him over the weekend.”

“Good. That must be a relief?”

“Yes, it is,” I nodded.

“So how long had you guys been together?”

I noted her use of the past tense.

“Two years but we’re just good friends now.” The phrase felt alien in my mouth.

“And Blake?”

“It’s complicated. I suppose you saw the nuclear fallout at the social?”

“I saw Matt being a total dick if that’s what you mean!” Her support came out surprisingly fierce, “He made a complete idiot of himself. Everybody thinks so.”

“Blake and I - Blake and his family have to go overseas for a while. We’ll see when he gets back,” I said trying to explain things as tidily as I possibly could.

There was something about Delta that made me think that our lives were being pulled together but I wasn’t sure for what purpose. She pushed her sleeves up; a reaction to the increasing humidity in the car and I noticed the tattoo of a snake hugging itself around her left wrist, its tail meeting in its mouth.

“Interesting tatt,” I said inviting her to expand.

“It’s a reminder to keep things in balance; to understand that for every negative there’s a positive. It’s called an Uroboros - like Ying and Yang.”

“Creation and destruction, night and day … love and loss?”

“Exactly, it’s a reminder that life will go on. There was a time when I didn’t understand this.”

She sounded unsettled and I wondered how many people Delta had ever revealed herself to

“Which State do you come from?”

“California.”

“Do you miss it?”

“No, not really. The American Dream isn’t all its cracked up to be.”

Her statement sounded like a conclusion and I didn’t ask anything else. I knew we had all the time in the world. I went back to my thoughts of Blake. He had become the definition of my very existence. All other aspects of my life had been put aside. The distances that I’d carved between me and everybody else suddenly hit home as I realised that when Blake went with Morgan tomorrow, the life that I was going to be left with was akin to a ruined city with me as its sole inhabitant.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said, getting out of the car.

“Anytime.”

Mum’s car was already parked up outside; they were home and any chance of an early escape was now out of the question. I knew that I’d have to explain to Mum that I was going to go out with Blake and it would be yet another moment of disappointment to add to her list.

Josef sat slumped at the dining room table, his head held in his hands and a large glass of wine at his side. He was clearly very drunk and it seemed as if a large dark cloud pinned his body to the chair. Martha was in the kitchen making fresh coffee.

“What’s happened?” I whispered.

“Not now, Mina sweetheart. He shouldn’t overhear us gossiping.” She didn’t even turn round and I realised that the divide between us had grown into a gaping wound.

“In that case if we are not discussing it, is it alright for me to continue my plans and go out this evening.” My tone came out slightly more sharp than I had meant, revealing my hurt.

“Yes, fine. Do whatever you want to do, you usually do.” Her reply was distant and hurtful.

“You should know that the hospital phoned and I went to visit Sam. He’s made what they’re calling a miraculous recovery. He should be discharged within the week.”

My voice came out flat, a mere imparting of information. It could not have been further away from how I had once imagined this news to be delivered but the timing was all wrong.

“Oh my god – That’s wonderful news.” But rather than jumping for joy she started to cry, “Maybe now you can give up your wild antics and concentrate on what matters.”

She delivered the coffee in front of Josef. The cup knocked the table causing Josef to look up at her. She touched his arm and at that point he put his head on his arms and sobbed like a small child. I left them wrapped in their own sibling world.

Upstairs, I opened my wardrobe feeling vaguely ridiculous that I was concerned with what I might wear when the whole world seemed to be disintegrating but something in me wanted to make sure that the picture of me that Blake left with would not be me in a baggy jumper and wellies.

I stood staring blankly, a mild panic building up in me. I wasn’t good at this sort of thing. Daisy had always picked out my wardrobe and I realised that I missed the balance that she had always offered to my life. In the end, I chose the cream chiffon blouse with pearl buttons and a knee-length grey silk skirt that Josef had sent in one of his rescue packages. I looked at my self in the mirror. With my hair pinned up and wearing what Josef would term “proper” clothes, I barely recognised myself. As a last moment thought I picked up my soft grey cashmere cardigan and squirted myself with Miss Dior perfume.

I scribbled a quick note to Mum letting her know that I wouldn’t be back until late and that she shouldn’t wait up. Martha and Josef didn’t seem to notice me leave.

*

I was surprised to see Blake’s car on the road outside of my house and even more surprised to see him in the driver’s seat. I opened the door and flopped myself in.

“Hello beautiful.” Blake’s voice lacked his previous confidence.

“How are you?” I winced, “Sorry; really stupid question.”

“I think I’m still in shock. None of it feels quite real. Maybe that’s a good thing.”

We drove in silence for several miles, leaving the town and the woods behind us. Blake was heading for the coast. I remembered him talking about a small beach house that the family had and I assumed that’s where we were heading.

“Have you seen Morgan?” I asked with trepidation.

“I have and you’ve done exactly as you should. It’s only right that I pay for the crime I’ve committed. Losing you, even just for a couple of years is more punishment than a death sentence.”

His mention of a couple of years pulled me up short and sent a wave of panic through me.

“You know that Morgan plans to win you over. She has every belief that you’ll be hers.”

Blake laughed, “She might believe it, but it won’t happen. Love and hate are close but they can never be truly exchanged.”

“I’m not sure it’s love she wants from you. Morgan is incapable of love– she wants your submission – that’s what turns her on.”

“The bargain’s been struck. My life recovered for my services to her. A couple of years in her service are a small price to pay for the possibility of a lifetime with you afterwards. If that is what you want? It would be more than I deserve”

“Of course it’s what I want.”

“So you do wish to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Blake, that almost sounds like a proposal,” I laughed a little too loud.

“And what if it was? What if I was asking you to pledge to become my wife when I return? Would you say yes?” Blake’s words came out hurried and anxious.

“Blake I love you and I’ll wait for you to come home, but I can’t pledge to marry a man that I might not know.”

“I understand - I understand why you may need time to consider if you can live with me after - I am not even sure as to how I’m going to live with me.”

The image of Delta’s tattoo came back to me, “With light comes dark. It’s what makes us human.”

The car had left the main roads and was now sweeping down a small single track road towards the coast. It was an isolated spot, away from the tourist traps that most of the beaches had become. The air between us crackled,

“I’ll never be able to explain what happened out on the field yesterday but somehow part of me knew, some deeply instinctive part of me knew that the man I was fighting was the part of myself that I hated the most. Deep inside, I knew that it was Leo I was fighting but something came over me. A desperate need to survive, a need to leave that field alive and I knew that if I hadn’t acted in the way that I did then I’d be dead. Leo wouldn’t have hesitated to kill me in cold blood. Leo wouldn’t have felt a pang of remorse”

“But why, Blake? Why did he do it?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping I might find the answer to that on my quest with Morgan. Somehow, I know she holds the key.”

Our conversation was abruptly ended by the car coming to a stop in front of a gate on which hung a sign informing trespassers that they would be prosecuted. Blake leant over to open the glove box. As he did so his hand brushed over my knee sending a shiver right through me. He recovered a small set of keys and jumped out of the car and I watched as he unlocked the padlock and swung the gate back.

The road dissolved into a dirt track that continued to wind its way down the hill slope. Eventually the sound of gravel under tires suggested that we were nearing the beach.

The gorse bushes had hidden the beach and the house from view and so when we came round the corner I was stunned to see, not the wind-beaten beach hut that I’d expected, but a small stone cottage right on the beach. The spot was idyllic, a small private cove contained by a curve of high granite cliffs. On the far side clifftops, perched right on the end, were the ruins of a once magnificent castle.

“The cottage is Vivien’s private bolt hole. I’m not sure anybody else even knows she has it.”

Blake pulled the car up to the cottage and cut the engine. Taking the keys he unlocked the door and ushered me in. The cottage was homely and a complete contrast to the chic minimalism at Meadowlake. Here there seemed to be a more intimate history of Vivien’s life. Miniature portraits and photographs were propped up against the books on the shelves, a writing desk sat in the corner on top of which was a basket crammed full of ancient letters. The furniture was all antique and mismatched; each of the pieces a beautiful example of craftsmanship from a whole series of times.

Despite the cool tidal air, the cottage was warm. Somebody had been down earlier in the day and lit the wood-burner. Vivien, for I assumed it was her, had also placed vases of wildflowers all through the little cottage.

“Take yourself on a tour while I prepare supper,” Blake shouted out from the kitchen.

I walked up the rickety wooden steps, bending my head to avoid a perilously low beam. The upstairs of the cottage comprised of just four rooms, one being a tiny bathroom. The first room was Vivien’s room, and I was caught of guard by how similar it was to my own bedroom. That was except for the ornate four-poster bed placed right in the middle of it. Next to that was the guest room, slightly smaller but very pretty. Fresh flowers on the bedside table and towels laid out on both sides of the French bed suggested that this was intended to be our room. Our room. Our bed. The thought hit me, almost winding me. I’d be spending the night with Blake. Standing in the doorway looking at the bed, a swell of anticipation and desire stirred in me.

I moved away to look in at the small room next to the bathroom. As I opened the door I heard the delicate tinkling of a mobile. Vivien had prepared the room as a nursery. Everything about the room revealed a delightful expectancy. The crib was already made up, the corner of the blanket turned down, a small white floppy rabbit sat in the corner. A table in the corner had a basket with nappies and wipes all ready and waiting. Even though Vivien’s child had not yet made its appearance into the world, in this room it already existed. Every detail in the room showed a mother’s love and hope. It was evident that she’d bring the child here; that this small cottage would be its home. An alarm bell rang somewhere inside my head but I couldn’t connect it with any reason.

“Mina!” Blake’s voice travelled up the stairs.

“Coming,” I called back before closing the door of the nursery gently, almost as not to disturb the sleeping baby that would lay there and made my way down the stairs. When I arrived in the little kitchen, Blake was putting the last few items into a wicker basket.

“Picnic supper?”

“Perfect,” I smiled.

We made our way out onto the beach. The earlier torrential rain had cleared the sky and now the sun was giving out its very last warm rays of sun in its setting. Blake’s hand searched out mine as we walked along the beach. It was deliciously warm and firm and I revelled in its solid, physical existence trying to force the thoughts of separation from my mind.

“So how is Sam?” Blake asked.

“Yes, he seems….fine. He needs space. I think he’s hurting but he’s putting on a brave face.”

“Did he say anything about us?”

“He gave us his blessing.”

“I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused him.”

“His time in the coma, he claims...”

“It is all true.” Blake responded to my unfinished sentence. “If it’s any consolation, Vivien’s certain that he’s destined to fall in love sooner than you might like.”

“He will be happy though, won’t he?”

“He will be happy.”

We continued along the beach, heading towards the shelter of the cliffs. Once again there was evidence of earlier preparations as a small fire had been set with a pile of drift wood fuel.

“Vivien has been busy!” I said with a note of humour.

“She’s a hopeless romantic and she’s incredibly fond of you. We both are.” Blake flopped down onto the sand.

Continual shadows flitted over his eyes as he battled with his own, deeply private storm. He threw open the blanket and I knelt down next to him. He turned to me, reaching his hand out to stroke my cheek.

“So I’m free to kiss you at last.”

“We’re completely free to do whatever we please.”

His voice came out soft as he moved in, his lips brushing the skin of my ear;

“Kiss me! Kiss me sweet! That’s what your lips repeat.

Oh! Yes. That’s always how it seems to me.

But Caution stands so close it cannot be,

And that’s the reason for my aching heart

But keep your word now here alone we meet,

Give me a sweet, sweet kiss or two or three!”

“What is that?” I whispered.

Blake’s mouth left tiny fairy kisses on my neck before his breath fell on the delicate skin of my lips making them quiver. His voice was thick with desire, “It’s a song from the old world.”

Blake’s open lips brushed over mine. I closed my eyes and fell into him, with the feeling of an exquisite drowning; the deep violets and greens of the sea bloomed in my vision, my chest rose and fell with the ebb and flow of the waves, my soul expanded outwards into the vast beauty of the celestial universe.

When we surfaced it was to face each other with a new awareness, a new definition as to who we were to each other and as to what would be. Language became pointless and so our bodies conversed by touching each other over and over again in silence.

The air was cooling rapidly, the tide was turning. Blake set about lighting the fire with his usual proficiency. I broke the silence, “Tell me about the old world. Tell me about Vivien and Morgan”

“That’s quite a story, Mina, I’m not sure that we have the time.”

“Give me a synopsis,” I said laughing.

“Okay but promise you’ll stop me if I start to ramble.” He smiled, moving the hair from his forehead,

“Both Vivien and Morgan are Magicals, which is why they’re still alive. Vivien as you’ve probably guessed is a Lady of the Lake, part human and part water spirit. When she swims she’s rumoured to transform into a mermaid but I’ve never seen it and I think it might be part of the myth, rather than real. As well as being born a Magical, she was tutored by Merlin in the dark arts. Not so that she could use them but that she would recognise and defeat them. Merlin was obsessively in love with her and although mainly a light force, Merlin was born from the seed of a demon and the womb of a nun and so his dark side was very dark.”

A laugh escaped.

“Mina, if you’re not going to take this seriously.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to understand how this sounds to a Real Worlder,” I said trying to apologise.

“As I was saying, Merlin was part devil, part nun and as such he had a continual battle to keep his demon side in control. Demons take what they want and don’t look for permission. One night his lust for Vivien became too much for him to control and the demon won through; he forced himself on her. She was so angry that she used the dark arts he’d taught her to imprison him for eternity in a rock somewhere in the wilds of the French Forest.”

“God that’s awful. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made light earlier. It was insensitive.”

“Morgan never really forgave Vivien for this. You see Morgan was in love with Merlin who had been her tutor since she was a small girl. Like Merlin, Morgan is cursed with a duel personality, part goddess and part sorceress. She’s incredibly vain and her weakness is her need to be adored; she’s used to getting exactly what she wants.”

“So are only the Magicals immortal?”

“Yes. The rest of us are very much mortal.”

“But how does the existence of all this escape investigation?”

“Like with all things, a little bit of the truth helps to conceal the larger lie.”

“How so?”

“Well the government of your world know we exist but not exactly how we exist. They’re aware of a secret society known as The Knights of the Realm which they’ve registered as a religious sect whose members believe that they are descendent of the Arthurian Knights.

They also know that the society trains young men in the traditional art of knighthood and war craft. The Knights of The Realm are recognised by them as being some of the most skilled fighters and diplomats in the world. Because of this, the British government are happy for us to exist because they’re able to use us to their advantage. In fact, several of the current government are actually members of The Realm and most of us work or have worked as part of the British secret service at some point, giving us special impunity.”

“Bloody hell, so you’re an open secret then?”

“Yes,” he laughed, “but I secretly think they think we’re just a bunch of cranks that like playing dress-up; a quirky kind of re-enactment society. Of course, they’ve no idea about the actual existence of magic still within The Realm.”

“And if they found out?” I asked incredulous.

“Well, it’s all too ludicrous to ever believe. I could go to MI5 today, stand in the reception area in full knightly armour and shout it at the top of my voice and what do you think would really happen?”

“They’d lock you up.” I laughed.

“Exactly! You see sometimes the truth is best concealed when it’s displayed most obviously.”

“So your quest with Morgan?” I asked.

“The knights of The Realm have done well in retrieving most of the holy relics to the Roman Church, but there are still several of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain that need to be recovered. The understanding is that when the Romans invaded they looted the magical objects and took them to Rome, where they were then scattered across the Roman Empire, offered as gifts. Morgan wishes to reclaim a chessboard made of gold and silver. As well as being a priceless treasure, the chessboard has magical properties. The chess pieces play themselves as if possessed by spirits and it is believed that whoever has the chessboard is granted great powers of strategy and war craft.”

“It sounds a dangerous combination when put with Morgan.”

“This is exactly the reason why the decisions you have made have been the right ones. You know the saying ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’? Well I am happy to play the indebted knight to Morgan if it fools her into believing that she’s winning her game.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Morgan’s spent a couple of years in Rome studying ancient scriptures and scrolls. There’s a passing mention of a gift made from Emperor Lucius to the governor of Egypt sent as an incentive to send knights to support the campaign against King Arthur. Lucius was oblivious to the powers of the chess set. If he’d known he might not have suffered such a grotesque and violent death on the battlefield at the hand of Arthur.”

“But the days of war are over. What possible use might it serve to Morgan now?”

“The days of war are far from over. The Christian and Arabic world are still in conflict. It sometimes seems that it will be an eternal battle. A chess set that holds such a property is a high priced bargaining tool for Morgan and she’ll happily sell it to the highest bidder.”

“But isn’t her duty to The Realm?”

“Morgan’s duty has always been to herself.”

“So you’re off to Egypt?”

“That’s our starting point.”

We fell silent again. The fire had taken hold and the flames licked blue and green from the driftwood.

“Hungry?” Blake asked handing out a foil wrapped package.

I unwrapped two of the warm foil parcels, one for each of us and Blake poured out hot chocolate from the flask. The homemade pasties were delicious and warming. The light started to fade and the wind began to pick up. The tide was creeping up the beach and within the hour all traces of us would be lost to time. We packed up and left the fire blazing.

28. MOON & STARS

The cottage was warm and comforting. Blake went round with a taper lighting the many candles dotted around the room. We sat curled up on the sofa listening to the sound of the waves which could be easily heard through the thin glass of the windows.

“I wish that we could stay like this for ever,” I whispered.

“I’ll be home before you know it. You’ve a lot to do to fill your time. You could do with out the distraction next year, what with your A- levels.”

“They’re under control,” I said defensively.

“Oh is that so, Miss Singer – and when exactly was your coursework due?” said Blake teasingly.

“Blake, not tonight. Let’s not spoil it with talk of college and exams.”

“But it is important for me to know that you haven’t changed your plans and ambitions because of all this.”

“I promise I’ll throw myself into my studies and I’ll be so busy, I’ll hardly even notice that you’ve gone.”

A sudden impulse to jump up and kiss him took hold and with nothing to stop me, I kissed him hard and urgently, indulging my own desire. His hands swept up my back and I felt the tips of his fingers graze my breast as he tested the new boundaries. His touch caused my whole body to shiver and I gave out a heavy little sigh causing him to stop and pull away. He swept a hair from my face and looked deep into my eyes, smiling.

“I love you.” His voice came out with a quiet certainty.

From that moment I was entirely Blake’s. Taking him by the hand, I pulled him from the sofa and led him around the room, blowing out the candles before leading him up the stairs to our bedroom.

The room was flooded with the cold pale light of the moon and as I stood on my tiptoes, hands either side of Blake’s face, it gave the unsettling and truly beautiful illusion that once again he was bathed in the light of his own halo. My lips searched for his. Buttons came undone and clothes fell to the floor as if by magic. Before the final layers were shed, Blake guided me over to the bed and laid me down, the weight of his body over me.

“Mina, no further - we’re not sleeping with each other tonight,” he whispered whilst tracing the outline of my hips with his fingers.

“Of course we are; I didn’t see you making the sofa up.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’ll not make love to you with time pressing our backs together; I’ll not let the first time we make love be a goodbye. When we make love it will be a celebration of the future ahead - It will not be an act of mourning.”

I snapped awake from the delicious dream I’d been living, “Blake don’t be so old fashioned about this. It’s what we both want. It’s what I want.”

He rolled off of me, laying next to me his eyes fixed to the ceiling, his hand in mine.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but it would make it impossible to leave you and I need to.”

Panic started to pick at the edges, “Blake? I need to know that we are each others completely.”

He moved onto his side, cupping my face in his hands and nuzzling my neck with his nose, “The Egyptians believed that when you kissed someone you breathed in part of their soul, allowing you to see them for what they really were. I promise you, Mina Singer, I am yours completely, for all time. Take my kiss as my promise.”

We kissed slowly and indulgently without the earlier anticipation and desire. It was a goodbye kiss full of our own personal sadness.

The morning came too early. The smell of fresh coffee came from downstairs and I could hear slight movements and a conversation taking place. Vivien had come as arranged to say goodbye to Blake and to give me a lift home. I reclaimed my clothes from the floor, dressed and went downstairs. When I walked into the kitchen, Vivien looked me up and down, a look of puzzlement on her face.

“Morning beautiful,” Blake stretched out his hand, pulling me into his arm and kissed the top of my hand.

“Morning,” I said addressing them both.

Vivien was already pouring me out a thick fresh coffee from the pot.

“We should be looking after you Vivien!” I said, embarrassed by her attentive care.

“Nonsense, I’m as fit as a flea. This little one is no bother at all,” she said stroking her now well-rounded belly with her other hand.

“I’ve to go shortly. Vivien rode Lancelot over so that I could give him a goodbye ride. Morgan’s already at Meadowlake waiting for me.” Blake sounded as if he had already left.

The sickening image of Morgan waiting for Blake eclipsed any surprise I might have had at Vivien still riding in her condition.

Vivien clocked the dark expression on my face and made her excuses to leave us alone, “I’ve to go and check the – the thingy out back - I’ll meet you out the front to say goodbye.”

Vivien left and Blake pulled me onto his knee, wrapping me up in his arms. “About last night,” Blake spoke quietly, almost under his breath, “you’re not upset about it, are you? You know that all I ever want to do is make you happy.”

“No. I’m not upset,” I said hoping that I sounded convincing.

“You wanted to know that I am yours, well I was going to give this to you last night but – well, it didn’t quite work out that way.”

He pulled a small green leather ring box from his pocket, “It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring but it’s there if you want to wear it.”

I opened the lid, revealing an exquisite ring. Set in white gold, a round moonstone formed the main central stone and either side sat a brilliant cut diamond the size of a small pea.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I designed it for you. It’s meant to represent the moon and the stars, everything that you are to me. I used your grandmother’s wedding ring as a guide.”

He went to remove the ring which still attached to his necklace.

“Keep it. I want you to have it.”

“I can’t Mina. It is too special.”

“You’re special.” I laughed, remembering one of our earliest conversations in the bookshop.

“It is time to go.”

The chair scraped along the kitchen flagstones as he made his move.

I followed him through the house like a shadow about to lose its body. When we opened the door, we saw Lancelot mooching around the beach, sniffing at the debris of washed up seaweed. When he caught sight of Blake, he looked up and gave an excitable nod of the head before ambling up towards us. I knew that Lancelot was going to be as devastated about Blake’s absence as me.

Vivien came back from the car and wrapped Blake up in a great motherly hug, whispering into his ear. It was a private moment and I diverted my eyes, looking over the vast expanse of ocean. When I looked back Vivien was looking at me with the same puzzlement as earlier and it made me unreasonably uncomfortable. Having let him go, she moved over to me and wrapped me up in her arms. I was welcome of it as it was the only think that was stopping me from throwing myself into the sand and sobbing. Blake jumped up onto Lancelot’s back and checked the reins.

“It wasn’t done,” she half whispered to me, “the blessing at the chapel didn’t take place.”

I turned slightly stunned by what she’d said.

“Sorry, I don’t follow.”

“The consummation didn’t take place last night.” Vivien looked at me without embarrassment.

“Are you asking if Blake and I slept together?” I asked with blushing surprise.

“No. There’s no need. I know you didn’t. Your ring finger is empty and you’re still a virgin.” She turned away as if talking to herself, “There’ll be no baby. How can that have been so misread?”

Blake had finished his checks and turned to wave goodbye. I could barely see him through a thick film of tears and it seemed as if I had hardly blinked before the beach was empty.

“Let’s go in for coffee,” Vivien said taking my hand.

29. RUINS

I sat at the table numb and empty, listening to the sound of Vivien pouring the coffee.

“Outside…what you said…what did you mean?”

She placed the coffee in front of me and sat down, “Blake had planned to propose to you last night and he’d hoped that you’d agree to a blessing at the little chapel on the way here. As you know, Blake likes to do things in the old way and although it wouldn’t have been an official marriage, it would have made you his wife in the eyes of God.

I pushed the scolding coffee away and let my head drop into my arms.

“Oh. I see,” I groaned, beginning to realise that if the blessing had taken place, last night would probably have ended differently.

“When did he tell you?”

“He didn’t - not exactly. I saw it yesterday morning when I was swimming. The proposal wasn’t the only thing I saw. There was a baby. A baby girl and you were holding her in your arms and she belonged to you, to you and Blake, but the vision was wrong and now Blake has gone.”

A sudden wave of black water rushed through my body as I realised what she was suggesting, “Oh my God, you think that something awful is going to happen.” My voice came out with a mildly hysterical lilt.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. My visions aren’t always accurate.”

“If only I’d…”

“Mina, stop right there; you can’t live with regrets like that. The time is going to be hard enough with out you beating yourself over the head with this.” Vivien poured out more coffee.

“The nursery…” I started unsure exactly where I was going with this, “It isn’t meant for your baby is it; it was meant for mine and Blake’s wasn’t it? You were that certain!”

“There is no point to this conversation. I got it wrong. It’s as simple as that.”

I drank my coffee. It was so hot that it burned my throat. The ring box sat taunting me on the table.

“When you’ve finished your coffee, I’ll drive you home. I expect you’ll want to be home before Martha wakes.”

The drive home was tense. It seemed strange to see Vivien where Blake should be.

“Are you angry with me?” I asked as I looked out the window.

“Angry with you? Mina – No - Oh goodness, have I given you that impression?” Vivien seemed genuinely surprised by question, “I couldn’t be angry with either of you - ever. If I’ve seemed off it’s because I’m confused - nothing more.” She reached out her hand and put it briefly on my arm.

I toyed with the little green box, daring myself to open it. Vivien watched me out the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything. In the end I flipped the lid and took out the ring. The moonstone swirled with light and the diamonds sparkled like the lake at Meadowlake. It looked so full of energy that it looked almost like a living thing.

Eventually Vivien cracked unable to contain her advice any longer, “You should wear it, symbols are important.”

“I need to think about it.” I put the ring back in and snapped the box shut. I was grateful that no more was said before we arrived back at mine.

“So this is it for a while.” I said unsure of what else to say.

“For a little while,” she smiled. “Be strong Mina.”

I closed the door of the car quietly and crept up to the house feeling like a dawn raiding thief. Josef was sprawled out on the sofa, still dressed except for his shoes which were placed Martha-neatly by the side.

Creeping past Mum’s room, I heard her heavy sleep-breathing and then turn restlessly as my bedroom door creaked. Once in, I sat on the edge of my bed taking the ring box out of my pocket. In the early morning light the moonstone took on the blue swirl of a dawn and the diamonds looked slightly flat as if they were still sleeping. My thoughts flitted back to Delta’s tattoo, a permanent reminder of what mattered. I removed the ring, placing on my left ring finger. There, done. Promise made.

*

I’d fallen deeply asleep and when I woke it was almost noon and the day was glorious. After showering and dressing, I stood in the sunlight watching the diamonds flame, fascinated by the little prisms that they scattered across the wall. I weighed up whether I should take it off and hide it from Martha but now that the decision had been made to put it on, it didn’t seem right to remove it. I determined to bluff it out.

The house smelt of fresh coffee and Mum had made a batch of homemade bread in the maker filling the whole house with a comforting and domestic smell. The back door was open letting in a sweet smelling breeze from the early roses around the backdoor. Apart from Dusty who was sat licking his paws in Mum’s chair, the house was empty. I poured a coffee from the pot and made my way outside to where Josef was sat basking in the sunshine.

“Well, who’s been a naughty girl, sneaking home in the wee hours?” he smiled, his conspiratorial teasing full of warmth.

“Ah. You weren’t asleep then? Does Mum know?”

“Your secret’s safe. She was sleeping like a baby.”

“How are you?” I asked gently, not wanting to sound pushy.

“Take a seat dear girl.” He patted the space next to him. “Let your Uncle Josef impart some words of advice to you; Beware of men offering gifts of love.” The sunlight hit the diamonds on my ring at that point sending out shards of rainbows. “Ahh, alas it’s too late, I fear.” He chuckled to himself and then patted me on the knee “Never mind, I’m sure Sam is different.”

“It’s not Sam,” I whispered, feeling a small sense of shame.

“Well, that is going to cause a stir. Let me know when you plan to tell your mother. I’ll ensure I’m out of the county.” He punctuated it with a gentle and private chuckle.

“Josef, will you talk about you? Will you tell me what’s happened?” I asked turning to face him.

“Yes - what has happened? Well dear girl, your big, fat old uncle has been revealed for the fool he’s always been. Gerad, the love of my life, has taken everything; every penny I owned, every piece of art I’d collected, the priceless cellar collection, even granny’s hideously awful tea service.”

“How? How has this happened?”

“The bastard played me very well indeed and to be fair I deserved it, I was love-struck. He sent a removal van to my home and a team to pack all my things and then it disappeared somewhere whilst crossing the channel; plate changes and sign removal making them impossible to trace. I even signed over my London flat to his sister so that she could advance me the money to buy the flat in Versaille. He has no sister. And so, here I am - gullible, stupid and penniless.” He finished with an apologetic smile and nodded to the ring. “Anyway enough about me, I think you’d better tell your Uncle Josef what you’ve been up too.”

I told him about the first day I met Blake and how I knew that it was love, the depth of love that I’d never thought possible. I told him how I had felt about Sam and how Blake and I did not betray him; that we waited for him to give his blessing which he did. I told him that Blake was a good and kind man and that he had proposed and I’d accepted.

I didn’t tell him that I had fallen in love with a real life knight from a parallel existence who’d been brought up by a Mermaid and who’d killed his brother two days ago on the battlefield.

The front door banged announcing Mum’s return from the supermarket.

“So when do I meet him?” he asked cheerfully.

“Not for a while. He’s had to leave the country for a while.”

“Oh - sounds complicated.” He said suspiciously.

“Yes. It is.”

My mobile buzzed, alerting me to a text message and giving me a convenient excuse to leave Josef to his peace and to end our conversation.

2nite. Catch up. Missed you xxx.

The text was from Daisy. It was the last thing that I really wanted to do but I recognised an olive branch when it was being offered and I knew that I’d need Daisy in the coming long and lonely months.

GR8. C U at 8. Usual place? xxx

I went into help Mum unload the shopping from the car, mindful to pull my sleeve down over my left hand.

“You want a hand with the groceries?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” She seemed softer than she had for months.

“Is it o.k if I go out tonight?”

“Again? Can’t you have at least one evening away from that wretched boy?” Her prickliness returned swiftly on thought of Blake.

“Actually it’s Daisy, she wants to meet up.” I said thrusting the text message in front of her nose.

“In that case of course you can go out. I’ve been worried about you neglecting your friends lately.”

She caught sight of my ring.

“Really, Mina, you girls have no respect for tradition; don’t go sticking tacky costume jewellery on your wedding finger, you’ll spoil future delights. Pass those biscuits over.”

She continued packing tins of beans and tomatoes into the cupboard without any further mention of the ring; she’d been happy to dismiss it as a plaything and I was happy for her to believe that.

“I phoned the hospital this morning and Sam’s going to be discharged tomorrow morning. I offered to collect him but he’s made other plans. I hope you’ve not hurt him, Mina and I really hope that you’ve not given him over for that show-off on that horse. Really – who does he think he is? I hope you haven’t fallen for it. I credit you with more intelligence.”

“Mum – please, give it a rest. If you want to know, if you really want to know every detail then know that Sam and I were over before Blake even arrived on the scene. It wasn’t working. It wasn’t happening.”

“Give me strength - Please tell me my seventeen year old daughter is not talking about an inadequate sex life being the reason that she’s thrown away the best man she could ever find.”

Mum slammed the jar of pesto down with more force than she’d intended.

“Mum, please,” I appealed.

“No Mina – I’m not going to allow a little bit of your embarrassment to get in the way of this important mother to daughter conversation. If you are old enough to be having wild sex then you’re old enough to discuss it sensibly with your own mother. You’re not the first to discover it and I’m not a nun.”

Mum was in full mother-flow, it was useless to try and stop her. Josef, who had just been about to come into the kitchen to refill his cup, stopped in mock horror and threw his hands in the

air before scuttling back out into the garden.

“Oh, Blake Beldevier may look the part; there’s no denying he’s a very handsome boy, but so far the only impression I have of that young man is that he’s reckless and dangerous.

It’s thanks to him that my once considerate, studious daughter has turned into a wild child of the woods that roams around all day and sneaks home in the early hours of the morning looking dishevelled. You’re not Lady Chatterley, Mina, you’re an intelligent young woman who has her whole life ahead of her and who is far too clever to be knocked up by a young man who has far too high an opinion of himself.”

“He isn’t like that.”

“Of course he isn’t. Look, this is not a rescue centre for daft relatives that decide to give away their hearts and fortunes to any dashing young man that bats his eyelashes at them. Sam is a good boy, an honest boy who will make a good solid home. He loves you and you love him. If ‘it’ is not working then maybe that is because you are both young and inexperienced. Don’t throw Sam away over a cheap thrill.”

“Have you said everything you needed to?”

“Mina, don’t take that tone with me.”

“Sam and I were over before Blake even arrived because no part of sex should feel like you are sleeping with your own brother. And for your further information, not that it is actually any of your business, I’m still a virgin and I plan to be one until my wedding day.”

“Well I just hope that Blake is as romantic as you in that respect.” She said hoping to end what was fast becoming a full scale argument.

“I’m going for a walk and, no, it isn’t to see Blake because as you will be oh so glad to hear, Blake left for abroad this morning, and won’t be back for quite some time.”

My statement ended with a sob and my tears moved Martha into instant mother mode.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She stretched out her arms. I let her hold me, more for her benefit than mine. I needed to start repairing the relationships that had been torn apart by the last six months.

“I’m going for that walk now but I’ll be back for afternoon tea,” I said pulling on my wellies.

“Before you go, I found this tied to the tree by the gate – it’s addressed to you.”

Martha handed me a small white box tied with a black ribbon before leaving to go and get the rest of the shopping.

Even before I opened it my heart plunged in my chest and a wave of nausea hit me as a small, warm damp patch seeped onto the palm of my hand. I lifted the lid, certain in the knowledge that what I’d find would be unpleasant.

The iron smell of blood filled my nostrils as I looked down on a small bloodied heart removed from some small creature, a rabbit, a bird or a cat - a cat! Panic rose. A thick white calling card was enclosed, its edges feathered with blood.

Imagine Blake’s face when he opens his box to

reveal the heart of his very own little pet.

L. x

“Dusty, Dusty, where are you?” I called through the house.

“I thought you were going out. What do you want Dusty for?” Martha asked, alerted by the tone of anxiety in my voice.

“Oh, nothing. I just haven’t seen him about.” I said, hiding the box from her view.

“He’s probably sulking in the garden. You know how he gets when Josef is about.”

“Probably - I’ll look for him out front.”

Even as I said it, I knew that searching for Dusty would be useless because Lavinia had made her first move in the revenge game. The threat was real and everything told me that I was likely to loose.

I needed to speak with Vivien; she’d know what to do. Without my bike there was only one option and so I set out for Meadowlake on foot, almost running along the track, eager to seek the protection of The Realm.

I burst out of the woods into the clearing and stopped so hard that I almost took a fall. Meadowlake was gone. The only remains were the ruins of an old turret half covered in ivy. The lake was a dull brown colour, choked with reeds. The flowers in the meadow had gone, save for a few straggly-looking dandelions. Panic swelled in my chest. I looked down at my ring finger, checking that everything had not been some wild fantasy; some time-trick dream.

The ring was still there, sparkling and living in the light. An instant understanding as to why Vivien was so keen that I wore it came into my mind. She knew that I would come here and that I would see nothing but ruins left in the place of my life.

My dearest Mina,

If you are reading this it is because you have come to Meadowlake. I am deeply sorry that I did not tell you this would happen. I can only imagine the pain that this will cause you, but I hope that you will come to understand the reason why things have to be this way; sometimes clinging on to the past is not always best for the future.

Last night, I could not sleep and I am not sure that I will ever have a peaceful night’s sleep again. The things that I have done, the crimes that I have committed fill me with horror. I am not who I was.

When we first met, I felt that I could be a man worthy of your love; Things are different now.

The journey that I am about to undertake is a dark and dangerous one. It is no worse than what I deserve; a fitting punishment. I can not possibly imagine the kind of man that it will require me to be. I have shown that I am weak and I can only hope that the love I have for you will protect me from the evil that will surround me.

I need you to know that every declaration of love, every kiss, every touch has been a truth. My love for you is as everlasting as time. It has no beginning, it will have no end. I will always be yours but you are more than I can ever hope to deserve.

Do not think of me badly. I know that this will hurt but I hope the time is swift.

It is with the deepest, most sorrowful regret that I am setting you free to live your life without me.

My heart will always be yours.

Blake x

Table of Contents

PREFACE