Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [67]
“Protect them against whom? Arthur is a fair king, a just leader and—”
“And a man.” Ailis cut into Gerard’s outrage with a clear, carrying voice. “He is only a man, a mortal, magic-less, and as such not suited to bear such a powerful object. The balance of power is delicate, and no warrior raised only to metal and fire can understand what must be done.”
The shadow-figure hissed in displeasure at Ailis’s insolence. Gerard looked at Ailis as though she had lost her senses entirely. But Morgain smiled at Ailis approvingly, some of her venom diluted. “Yes. Arthur is so dedicated to his way, his Cup of the Christ, he does not remember the Old Ways, the ways he was born into.”
Gerard clearly had no idea what the two women were talking about, but Newt did. Most of the knights were Christians, or claimed no particular allegiance, and Merlin always kept his own thoughts to himself on such matters. Because of that, it was not often spoken out loud. But there were many within Camelot who looked to the Old Gods; the trinity of Mother, Maiden, and Crone as opposed to Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; the warrior-goddess Athena, the death-gatherer Ankou, or others, unnamed and half-forgotten with the influx of the followers of Christ.
Newt didn’t bow to any gods, not local, not Roman, not from far-off lands he had never seen. But that didn’t mean he didn’t believe they existed. And far too many were being invoked in this room for his comfort.
He touched the band on his arm and acknowledged the humor of finding comfort in a purely human-given gift when facing dire magics.
“Arthur might learn, if he were given the right guidance,” Ailis said, her feet taking her in small, slow steps closer to Morgain, almost as though she didn’t know she was moving. “If someone who was loved by the Goddess, versed in the Old Ways, were to have access to his mind, and his heart…”
“Ailis, don’t be a fool…” Gerard hissed.
“They took him from me,” Morgain said, her anger sparking again. “Merlin took him from me when Arthur was but a babe. And raised him as his own, he who had no right to a child!”
“Then should you not take him back? And restore him to the Old Ways?” Ailis suggested.
Gerard started to protest, about to draw further attention to himself. Newt gave in to the urge to kick the squire, hard, in the shin. When Gerard turned to glare at him, Newt returned the look with his best “shut up, then” expression, hoping that his friend was smart enough to figure out that Ailis knew what she was doing. She was the negotiator, the one who had kept them from being killed on their first journey. And, more to the point, magic was inside her, the way it was inside Morgain. No matter how Newt himself might distrust magic, right now it might be their only chance to survive.
“It is too late for that, witch-child,” Morgain responded, turning back to the potion. “Arthur is a grown man now. He has shown he cannot be persuaded, nor turned from his path.” Her voice sounded almost as though she were smiling on the inside. “He is as stubborn as all the rest of our family, in truth.” The levity disappeared. “And for that stubbornness, as the rest of us have suffered, so must he.”
Ailis nodded slowly, as though agreeing with Morgain, even as she reached the woman’s side, one hand rising as though to take her teacher’s hand in her own.
“Morgain…” the shadow-figure warned.
Newt shifted and dropped the silver band, intentionally distracting the shadow-figure, even though it made his skin crawl to do so. The thing tracked him with a malevolent gaze, hatred seething so furiously that Newt could practically feel it. What had he ever done to this being? Why did it seem to hate him and Ailis so much, but not Gerard? Whatever the reason, his trick was working. The figure was paying attention