Page 4 of Secrets of Avalon

Instead of being tired from the hours of climbing, I could break into a run at any second. There’s something here. I know it.

I jog a few paces, quickly catching up with my Aunts and Uncle. The guide is right ahead of them. “We’re close, aren’t we?”

He turns, shining his light toward me, his face briefly illuminated by the beam of his flashlight. “Yes. Very.” He looks straight at me, like he can see into my broken soul. “Are you ready?”

My heart is pounding, a mix of anticipation and a deep overwhelming yearning. And still I hesitate. Why does he sound like he knows more about this cave and our trip than he should? My father puts a hand on my shoulder, but I meet the guide’s steady gaze and nod. “Yes.”

This is the moment. It has to be. I’m Indiana Jones taking the leap onto the invisible bridge. I’m Lara Croft turning the dial to unlock the tomb. I have to trust that Avalon is there because I need it to be.

With deliberate movements, the guide begins to push aside the thick, tangled vegetation. Each movement is precise, as if he’s unveiling a sacred space. The brush gives way, revealing a dark opening in the mountainside.

We’re standing at a dark opening, but it’s potentially the mouth of another world, a gateway hiding secrets of a world long forgotten by this one.

I can barely breathe. This could be the answer to why my magick is so different from my mother’s and Aunt Margo’s. Why I can’t control it… Why it’s so unstable...

My father’s hand finds mine, squeezing it gently, a silent assurance. I glance at Aunt Margo, her face a mix of apprehension and awe. The guide steps aside, gesturing for us to enter first.

Taking a deep breath, I step forward, crossing the threshold. The cool air of the cave brushes against my skin, and I imagine I’m crossing into a long forgotten realm, a place where the veils between worlds are thin and the mysteries of magick pulse with a life of their own.

This is it. This is where I find my answers. With each step into the darkness, I’m not just moving deeper into the earth–I’m delving deeper into the unknown realms of my own heritage and destiny.

“I feel it, Mel. There’s something here.” Margo’s voice holds the same awe I present in my chest.

“I know. I feel it too,” I answer.

The scrape of a match cuts through the silence. A torch flares to life near the guide, Juan. There’s a series of them down the wall mounted in old metal brackets. He takes the first and lights them. One by one, the light expands until the warm, golden glow illuminates the cave’s interior. The effect is mesmerizing, like stepping into a world lit by firelight, where every shadow and flicker tells a story.

And there, on the walls, are the stories themselves–incredible reliefs and faded artworks carved and painted onto the stone. They depict scenes of the Knights of the Round Table, their forms proud and noble, even in their time-worn state.

“How are they here… in a cave… in Peru?” I say, my voice filled with wonder.

Everyone is silent, except Juan who speaks up, still walking along the edge of the large cavern lighting torches. “There are legends,” he begins, his voice echoing slightly in the cave, “of travelers from long ago, explorers who journeyed far beyond this world. Some stories speak of exploration, others say they were fleeing something.” He knows something. Something more than he’s sharing.

Once the last torch is lit, the chamber opens up, revealing its full majesty under the steady flickering flames. It’s so much bigger than what I had imagined it would be.

“It’s amazing. Beautiful.” I hear my aunts and uncle talking to my left.

Directly ahead stands a massive stone doorway. It’s imposing and intricately carved with symbols and motifs that seem to blend different cultural influences. The doorway is a piece of art, telling stories that are both familiar and brand new to me.

“Dad,” I say, walking towards the door. There’s a crystal clear pool of water in the center of the chamber. Perfectly round. Water so transparent I should be able to see the bottom, but the pool is dark. I walk closer, around the edge, and peer down into the mirror-like surface. It’s so still it looks like a sheet of glass.

The hushed reverence of the chamber is suddenly pierced by distant, muffled sounds.

Someone is outside the cave.

Someone followed us.

My dad draws his pistol from the holster at his waist.

My heart pounds in my chest and I gasp for a breath I can’t find. The power in my body thrums with the panic building in my mind. No. No. No. I can’t lose control. Not now. I’ll hurt everyone, not just whoever is coming. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Don’t use your magick. Don’t let it out.

Aunt Margo, Dottie, and Uncle Lars exchange a quick, concerned glance with my father before springing into action. “We’ll hold them off, Michael. Get her through that door,” Margo says with urgency in her voice. “That’s all that matters, Mel. You hear me?”

I nod, still unable to speak.

The three of them run back for the cave entrance, their footsteps quick and purposeful against the stone floor. “Inquisitors!” echoes through the cave, a declaration that turns my blood to ice.

The guide moves forward, toward me, toward the pool. He opens his hand and drops something shiny into the water. There’s a strange shudder in the air and I watch, mesmerized by the ripples on the surface of the pool.

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