The Shadow Companion - Laura Anne Gilman [60]
“There’s one way.”
The voice was familiar, but Gerard had never heard it before. Like the knowledge of Nemesis, it seemed to come from deep within, planted there by some force. Unlike that knowledge, this had a distinct voice. A soft, deep, chime of a sound, that spoke not in words but tones of color, streaks of light, and peals of sound.
“One way to save all. Save from darkness.”
Gerard looked around, blinked hard, forcing his eyes to focus. Across the way, past the two magical figures engaged in a contest of wills, he saw Ailis, looking as bewildered as he felt.
“Let me go. Let the waters wash the sin, cleanse the soil, free the soul.”
“The Grail.” Ailis’s lips barely moved, and there was no way he could hear her across the distance, but she could have shouted for the impact it made. Instinctively, Gerard’s hand clenched on the bag, making sure that the cup was still within.
His first instinct was to deny the words, deny the voice. This was the meaning of the Quest, the key to his future. With it, Arthur’s rule was assured, fame and glory achieved, his name written into history now and forever. Without it, he was a squire whose greatest stories would be buried for the sake of Arthur’s rule and Merlin’s reputation. He would be valued, yes, but never famous. Never one of the knights remembered through the generations.
He could not do what the voice was suggesting. He couldn’t.
Then Newt stirred, but just barely. Ailis reached out a hand to reassure him, to warn him against moving too much and attracting Nemesis’s attention again. Newt stilled, then rolled over slowly onto his side, taking in the scene at a glance. The two boys’ gazes met, and Gerard was struck by the despair, the loss, he saw in Newt’s eyes.
“I tried,” Newt said. “I tried, and failed. I could not use my rage to destroy her.”
Rage and sorrow filled Gerard, then. A knight was not someone who sought fame. A true knight was one who protected the innocent, the weak; who did what was needful because it was needful, no matter the cost.
He, Gerard, was still a squire. He might always remain a squire. But he knew one truth that had nothing to do with sitting at the Round Table: There was more to being a knight than honor or fame. There was friendship, loyalty, and love.
And no one should ever be allowed to look the way Newt looked just then, as though he had given everything, won every battle…only to lose the war. No one who had triumphed over hatred, the way Newt had, should ever think that he had failed.
Every inch of his body protested, but Gerard unclenched his hand, reached into the leather bag, and withdrew the Grail. It shimmered once in his hold, the echoes of that chiming voice stroking the inside of his ears, then sound and shimmer both subsided, as though something had hushed it.
Newt could hear it, and Ailis. Gerard could tell from the way they looked at it.
Just a cup. Just a simple, wooden cup, stained and cracked. Nothing worthy of note.
Gerard rose to his feet, feeling his leg wobble underneath him. Moving slowly, cautiously, he staggered to the well. Newt, lying on the grass where he had fallen, looked from the Grail to Gerard as he came closer and nodded, once. “Yes,” his lips moved, although no sound came from them.
As though watching someone else’s hand, Gerard lifted the Grail over the turquoise waters.
“No!” The shadow figure had finally noticed what Gerard was doing. She turned away from Morgain to try and stop him.
And then Newt was impossibly up on his feet, tackling Nemesis; not in a berserker rage, but as a mere mortal soul. His mixed-breed blood, the blood of two lands, was just enough to cause Nemesis to hesitate long enough for Gerard to open his fingers, and watch the cup fall, turning slowly, into the bitter blue waters.
“Nemesis!” Ailis called, her voice scratched and hoarse, but triumphant. “Leave! Be gone from these lands!”