Page 5 of Secrets of Avalon

I want to ask him what he did. What he dropped in the water, but a gunshot distracts me and he drops to the floor with a heavy thud.

“Fuck!” I finally get my voice back. More shots ring out, pinging off the floor near me. “Dad!”

“Mel, get to the door!” He shouts at me, aims and fires his pistol, dropping the man at the entrance to the chamber. The stranger’s body drops to the ground. “You have to try and get it open,” my dad shouts waving toward the massive stone door.

Screams and shouts cut through the air and my legs find wings. My heart races and I surge toward the stone door.

My palm connects with the stone and in that instant, the world as I know it shatters, everything changes.

CHAPTER 3

Between Two Realities

Hawke Stormblood

The moment I put my hand to the door, I’m transported to another place. And it’s daytime. I inhale deeply, absorbing the scents of this new place. It smells real, but I hesitate to believe my eyes. As a Fae, I know the power of illusion all too well.

This place. It’s beautiful and green. Lush grass underfoot, towering trees, and pillowy white clouds floating in a brilliant blue sky. It all paints a serene picture.

I’m standing on a hill overlooking a large manor. The architecture resembles the style of the Fae cities in Avalon near Camelot.

The sod’s fresh scent fills the air. The sun’s warmth bathes my skin, adding to the surreal quality of the scene. Despite its beauty, I doubt it’s reality. When I step toward the manor, the landscape shifts instantly, and I find myself standing on cobblestones in a courtyard.

Reality has shifted again.

Giggles and shouts of children draw my attention to the right. Three children, two boys and a younger girl, barrel past me, oblivious to my presence. They’re dressed like Fae and wearing red and silver Stormblood colors in their hair.

They call out, “Mama, mama!”

A beautiful woman follows them, her belly round and full with child. Mischief sparkles in her honey-brown eyes as she tells them to slow down. Her dark brown hair, styled in a loose braid, sways as she moves.

My heart aches and I reach out, wanting to touch her. There’s something so perfect, so beautiful, so mine. Which is ridiculous. I’ve never seen this woman before in my life. And she’s obviously wedded with children and another on the way.

My hand goes right through her body, like she’s an illusion. And the setting changes again. Suddenly, I’m inside a room, no, the throne room of Camelot. I would recognize it anywhere. I grew up in the castle and called it home for so many years.

Standing there, I grapple with the swift changes, trying to make sense of this place. Is it a dream? A conjured illusion? My mind races with questions.

My father isn’t sitting on the throne in this scene, it’s me. People are dancing and celebrating. Some walk through me like I’m the spectral illusion. Maybe I am. But everything and nothing at all seems to be real.

I blink, and the world shifts once more, leaving me outside again.

I’m standing on one bank of a gurgling quick-flowing stream and on the other side of the water is a woman. The same bright brown eyes from before. The same dark hair, but it’s bound tightly to the back of her head and mostly hidden under the strange hat she’s wearing. Her clothing isn’t Fae either. She’s wearing pants like a warrior would. And a plain blue shirt, but no armor.

She’s also not pregnant.

I look around for the children from the last vision, but they’re nowhere to be seen. I still have this overwhelming urge to touch her. I want her. In my arms. Right now.

She’s not ignoring me in this variation of the illusion. She staring straight at me. Like she can see me.

But that would mean this isn’t an illusion any longer…

“Who are you?” I ask, needing to know. Needing to hear her speak.

I take a step closer to the water and she tracks my movement, her eyes darting from me to the water to the forest of trees surrounding her on all other sides. She’s nervous or frightened, I’m not sure which. Maybe both.

“Where am I?” Her voice is light and soft and laced with a layer of anxiety. Her body language is screaming that she’s ready to run.

“Are you real?” I ask the words more to myself than to her. I crouch and touch the earth and stones beneath my feet. It’s there. It’s real, maybe... I grab a few pebbles from the bank of the stream and squeeze them in my fist.

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