Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) (19 page)

             
“What opened the vortex?” Merlin inquired, changing the subject.

             
“Her bracelet,” he said pointing at me but still immaturely refusing to make eye contact.

             
“Yes, once he took it a humongous creature came out of the portrait and almost killed him,” I filled in, running my nervous hands down the sides of my silky dress.

             
Gawain covered his mouth, snickering.

             
“It did not almost kill me,” Brendelon said, clearly annoyed.

             
“You were screaming for your sword, not to mention I had to throw a vase to distract it before it ripped you apart. I practically saved your life,” I threw out, knowing the last part would hurt his arrogant ego, but his tantrum was getting on my nerves.

             
He finally turned to face me, although I would almost have preferred him ignoring me to the murderous glare he gave. “Did you, now?” he asked darkly. “Because I seem to remember you being crouched in a corner with your eyes squeezed shut, unable to stand on those wobbly legs.” He wobbled in his chair mockingly as he grinned sadistically at me, and I had to fight every urge to throw something at him.

“Well
, your memory is not so good,” I retorted, crossing my arms. 

Gawain roared with laughter, slamming his hands down on the table, looking far too entertained with our little banter session. Kay kicked him on the side of the leg, although he was struggling to fight the smile on his face as well. 

              Brendelon’s eyes flashed a sinister shade. He turned to the others. “In God’s truth, it was hardly dangerous. A baby dragon, that is all,” he waved his hand nonchalantly, “and though I can understand how a little girl like Katarina might be frightened, there was no danger to my life.” I scowled at him which was rewarded with another wicked grin. “But after we were pulled through the vortex…” he continued, as he suddenly sat up, leaning forward on the table dramatically, getting all of their attention, “we came across one of Gawain’s
kinsmen
,” he paused, looking around. “He was an ugly troll to be sure, pale green skin, course hair, yellow jagged teeth.” He curled his fingers like claws, raising them to his mouth to demonstrate the teeth then he sighed, slumping back in his chair being melodramatic. “I had no choice but to slay him.” He looked at Gawain with mock sincerity. “I hope this does not cause any ill will between us, my dearest Gawain.” He kept the sympathetic face before letting the crooked smirk return.

             
Gawain scowled. “Had it been one of my kinsmen, you would surely be dead.”

             
“Yet here I am, surely living,” he sneered, still grinning as he held out his arms and glanced down at his very much alive body.

             
Gawain crossed his arms, glaring, as Lancelot smiled, and Bedivere and Kay snickered. Arthur groaned leaning his back against the wall, not amused like his comrades.

             
“If you children are done,” Merlin cut in, “your
king
is trying to devise a plan. Perhaps you should go back to your wet nurse until you are ready to be one of his warriors.” He was angry.

             
They both sat up, trying to hide their sheepish expressions at his reproach. Gawain’s face twitched as if he were about to make a crude comment, which I assumed had to do with the wet nurse, but seemed to decide against it.

             
“Sorry Artos,” Brendelon muttered, leaning forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “When I took her bracelet, the dragon came through the vortex, and it closed when I gave it back to her. I took it once more to see if I could pass through, but I could not then suddenly it reopened once again, pulling us through with a force stronger than the sea. We landed in the open field not too far off from Mordegrant’s castle... and then in God’s truth, I was forced to slay Gawain’s kinsman,” he added with his lopsided smile, more amused than he should have been.

             
Arthur ignored the last part and nodded deep in thought. “It opened three times...” He began pacing, holding his chin with his right hand, and left arm across his chest. “Why would the first time send a dragon through, second time do nothing, and third time force you in?” He tapped his index finger against his beardless chin, talking more to himself than anyone else.

             
“Aye,” Merlin agreed. “It would appear to be a spell amongst a spell.”

             
“A spell amongst a spell?” Brendelon repeated, lowering his eyebrow confused.

             
“Aye, in most cases you would not have even been returned. Some other factor has brought you back and changed time entirely. As for the dragon, it would appear that someone knew this and made a point to try to prevent your return.”

             
Gawain laughed, shaking his head. “You sure do make friends everywhere you go, Bran.”

             
“This is no laughing matter, Gawain,” Arthur said. Gawain cleared his throat as he sat up, looking down at the board. “Would it be possible that Morgaina did the double curse herself?” Arthur asked Merlin.

             
“Maybe Morgaina is just trying to eliminate the Pendragon line?” Bedivere questioned, shrugging his shoulders.

             
“No, if that were the reasoning she would have killed him,” Lancelot said, leaning forward again, running a hand through his shiny dark hair.

             
“Lancelot is right. Morgaina makes no mistakes; if Brendelon is back it is because she wanted it that way,” Merlin said cautiously. “Someone else was trying to make sure he did not come back.”

Merlin looked at Brendelon
, but his gaze was somewhere else as he bounced his knee rapidly and clutched the small curl above his ear. Merlin tapped his fingers twice on the table and the emeralds flittered towards the sound. Merlin then pointed at his own eyes using his index and middle finger. Brendelon blinked and nodded slightly, sitting up straighter.

             
I glanced around but nobody seemed to think anything of the strange behavior. 

             
Arthur flipped his crimson cloak behind him, blue eyes focused on the ground. “I think you to be right, Merlin, but who would want to prevent his return?” He paced again. “And why would Morgaina curse him in such a way if she wanted him back?” He turned to Brendelon. “Was there anything else?”

             
“No, all my memories became faded. I cannot remember anything leading up to the curse.” He rested his head in his hand, looking more bored than worried. 

             
Merlin stroked his beard. “If you cannot remember anything Bran, how can you be sure you were not in the tournament?”

             
Brendelon looked annoyed. “I would not bother with some petty tournament.”

             
Merlin leaned back. “I do not think it to be a mere coincidence that you have never competed yet are claimed to be championed there.” He continued to rake his fingers through his beard almost talking to himself. “Usually a loss of memory would be a sign of compulsion. Perhaps you were compelled to compete in the tournament.” He stood up and began pacing as Arthur watched him carefully. He pointed to nobody in particular. “But what importance does the tournament hold…” he drifted off.

             
“I was not compelled,” Brendelon said, face twisting in disgust, but Merlin eyes remained distant as he looked straight ahead, running his hand along his jaw. Brendelon sighed. “Honestly Merlin, I would not be in the tournament.” He gestured at Bedivere, Arthur, and Kay. “Ask any of them, they know this to be true;
you
know it to be true!” But Merlin continued to ignore him, still deep in thought. “Listen,” Brendelon continued, “the curse is broken. I am back. We will deal with Morgaina when we see her.” He widened his eyes, spreading his arms out. “And we can all be sure that we
will
encounter her again. As for now, we need to find a way to send Katarina home,” he finished as he placed his arms back on the table.

             
It stung, worse than it should have, but it did.

             
“Can I please see your bracelet, Katarina?” Merlin asked as he sat down on top of the table beside me, appearing to not have heard Brendelon at all.

             
“Sure.” I took it off, handing it to him. “It was glowing green and purple before he was released. After he came out of the painting, he was bound to it up until we were pulled through the vortex.” 

             
Brendelon moaned in blatant irritation and overdramatically slammed his forehead down on his arms, his hair forming a short black curtain to the table as though his face retired to its table bed.

             
Gawain stifled a laugh, but Brendelon remained unmoving, face into the table. 

             
“Bound to the bracelet?’ Merlin pondered, ignoring the temper tantrum as he turned the stone over in his hand. “Well, that is interesting,” he said quietly to himself.

             
“What is?” Arthur asked, stepping forward from the corner of the room.

Merlin examined the bracelet closely
. “Bonds usually transfer, so if he is not bound now he may be bound to something else.” He looked at the top of Brendelon’s head and tapped the table roughly again. He lifted his head at the sound. “Have you noticed any oddities?” he asked, but Brendelon only looked helplessly bored and raised his eyebrows slightly shaking his head like he didn’t understand. Merlin slowly turned his gaze back to me. “And now it does not glow?” he asked.

             
“I haven’t seen it glow since we got here and I had never seen it glow before I found the painting of him… I mean him in the painting.”

             
He handed it back to me. “Where did you come across this bracelet?”

             
“My grandfather gave it to me. He said it was from a stone in a well that had belonged to an ancestor of ours.”

             
Brendelon sat up suddenly, but his eyes remained clouded.

             
“Who was your ancestor?” Merlin asked softly.

             
“William Cole,” I said nervously, not sure where they were going with this.

             
All of the knights exchanged looks with each other, except for Brendelon, who sat there with a bewildered look on his face. Bedivere looked at him strangely, clearly about to ask him something, but Arthur spoke first. “And why would a stone from William Cole’s well be the key to break the curse?”              

             
“I should go there,” Brendelon said suddenly, putting his hands flat on the table. “I think I will remember more if I go speak with him.”

             
Arthur exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Bedivere. “I think it best you stay here, Bran.”

             
“What!” he practically roared, slamming his hand on the table as he stood, leaning over it.

             
Arthur turned to him. “It is dangerous. What if it happens again?”

             
Brendelon glared at him. “I would not let it happen again.” It came out almost threatening.

             
Arthur gave him an even look, placing his hands on the table as well in the spot where Merlin had been sitting, leaning in towards Brendelon. “Black magic is not something you can just control,” he said with a matched tone.

             
“I am not going to be watched like I am some errant child,” he seethed.

             
“You are acting
just
like an errant child,” Arthur breathed, angry now.

             
Brendelon stood straight, crossing his arms. It was a perfect time for Gawain to tease him but he didn’t because at this moment even he seemed like he did not want Brendelon’s wrath upon him.             

             
“What do you know?” Bedivere finally asked, looking at him closely.

             
Brendelon looked down at him wide-eyed. “Nothing,” he mumbled looking away but I didn’t believe him either; he did know something. It was the same secret he knew in the painting. 

             
Merlin walked to Arthur’s side and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Bran is right, Arthur. You cannot keep him here and if he goes to William’s castle it might help his memory. He is the only one who will be able to understand the curse besides Morgaina herself. We need him to remember. I fear there is something quite big at hand here.” Arthur gave him a doubtful look. “I will go with him; we will be safe,” Merlin promised. “Being here will not stop her black magic from finding him, if that is what she wants.”

             
Arthur finally sighed, clearly not liking the decision. He dropped his head down, hands still resting on the table. He finally stood straight and pushed his blonde hair to the side. “Fine, but keep a good watch on him,” he said almost as if Brendelon was not even there.