Page 179 of The Mirror of Beasts

Caitriona dropped the dagger, returning to my side. But as hard as she and Olwen pulled, they couldn’t free me.

“Release her!” Neve screamed at Lord Death’s smoldering form. She ripped Excalibur from his shuddering body, and this time, drove it through his skull.

Children screeched from beyond the forest, wailing as they tried to reach their master.

I shoved at the armor covering his shoulders and chest, beating a fist against them until they crumbled like dried leather. There was a sharp grunt of “Hah!” and suddenly I was free, falling back against Caitriona and Olwen as the three of us hit the soft bed of the forest floor.

“Crei …”

His face was nothing more than bone and stringy globs of muscle and hardened vine. Only those pale eyes were left to show any sign of shock as his body fell into a pile of ash, killing the grass and flowers that had only just bloomed.

The cries of the Children fell silent; the forest stilled.

Neve dropped Excalibur as she rushed toward us, and the darkness returned.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Depends,” I choked out. “Is it over?”

“He is dead, yes,” Olwen said.

I gave her a pained look.

“Truly dead,” Olwen clarified. She kicked at the pile of bloodied ash and cinders. “Neither he nor Arthur will lay eyes upon this world again.”

I searched the trampled, bloodstained ground for any piece of him that remained. But there was nothing left of King Arthur’s body.

“No—wait!” Caitriona gasped out. I turned to follow her line of sight, my heart wedging back up into my throat.

The revenants draped themselves over the scorched trees that surrounded the clearing, the rolling mounds of boulders. Their human shapes softened as they were reabsorbed back into the earth, like the final sigh before the descent into sleep. Where there had been ruin, there were now roses, wildflowers, ferns taking root.

“Oh,” Olwen whispered, a portrait of unbearable tenderness, and pain.

The lights of the dead rose from the soft lips of petals and stroked the vivid green of the leaves. They drifted into the woods, weaving through the bodies of the old oaks. They were leaving us.

“No!” Caitriona called, leaping from rock to rock after them. Olwen rose and followed her. I clutched Neve’s arm, using her to hold me upright. I knew she must have been confused, but just then she was silent, watching the scene play out in front of us.

“Cait,” Olwen said, a tear streaking her face. “We have to let them go.”

Caitriona didn’t listen. “No, please—wait!”

The lights slowed, bobbing in the air as a soft breeze whistled through the tree branches. I followed the sisters but stopped some distance away. The souls surrounded the priestesses, illuminating their devastation.

“Don’t go,” Caitriona pleaded, reaching for them as if to gently cradle them between her palms. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—I failed you all.” She gasped out the words, sobbing, “Please don’t leave me.”

Olwen wrapped her arms around her, and Caitriona slumped against her.

The voices were as soft as summer rain, echoing and airy. Their familiar tones made my chest squeeze, but it only took three words for Olwen to begin weeping.

“We love you—”

“You are our sisters, always—”

“We will be in every breeze that dries the tears from your cheeks—”

“We will be the steady ground beneath your feet, when you feel you cannot stand a moment more—”

“—in the warmth of the sun that drives out the cold from your bones—”

---