Page 28 of The Sword & the Stone

Lancelot, surprisingly, gave me a curt nod, and shouted, “You heard the lady!”

We rode for hours, the forest around us deepening into an abyss of shadows, each mile dragging us deeper into an unsettling chill. The vibrant greens of the leaves that once danced with sunlight faded into a sickly gray, like the color drained from a long-forgotten dream. The trunks of the trees twisted and contorted, their gnarled shapes resembling skeletal fingers clawing at the dimming sky, as if trying to escape the encroaching darkness.

The air turned frigid, biting into my skin. Each breath escaped from my lips in a ghostly mist. I shivered, instinctively pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders, the fabric a thin barrier against the creeping cold that seemed to seep into my very bones. With every passing moment, an unsettling sensation gnawed at me. It felt as if a thousand unseen eyes were lurking in the shadows, watching our every move with a malevolence that sent chills racing down my spine.

As the last slivers of light struggled to pierce the thick canopy above, we stumbled upon a clearing that made my blood run cold.

Bones littered the ground, the remains of countless creatures, their once-lively forms now reduced to a macabre display. The skeletal remains were sun-bleached and weathered with time. Skulls leered at us from atop piles of femurs and ribs, their empty sockets seeming to track our every movement, mocking us in silent accusation. It was as if the very soil held secrets.

“The Boneyard,” Lancelot murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the very air were listening. “We’ve reached the border.”

I dismounted my horse, and the ground crunched beneath my boots. Each crackling sound sent a shiver of revulsion up my spine. The clearing was a graveyard of bones, remnants of lives long since extinguished, and I stepped hesitantly into the maw of decay. The air hung heavy with a putrid stench, a vile mixture of rot and something darker. An almost sickly sweet tang of ancient magic that curled around my senses and twisted my stomach in knots.

“This place is cursed,” Tristan said, his gaze unfocused, as if he were peering through the veil of time to witness horrors that lay far beyond our immediate reality. “Centuries ago, a battle was fought here. Dark druids ruled the wilds before Camelot even existed. Their magic was unruly, and they slaughtered each other.”

His words conjured memories of the tales Merlin spun for me as children. Stories that had once seemed like silly faerietales, designed to entertain wide-eyed youngsters by the fire. Tales of necromancers wielding death magic, of armies of the undead rising at their command, had filled my dreams with shadows.

But now, standing among the grim remnants of that ancient slaughter, I could almost hear the echoes of their screams weaving through the air.

A glint of something caught my eye, pulling my gaze to a small, intricately carved wooden box nestled among the bleached bones scattered across the ground. Its surface was decorated with symbols that seemed to shift and shimmer in the fading light, as if they held some ancient magic trapped within their designs.

I knelt down, careful not to disturb any more of the grim remains around me. Gently, I brushed aside a skull, its hollow eye sockets staring vacantly into the void. As I reached for the box, I felt an unexpected weight to it; it was heavier than I hadanticipated. The wood was smooth to the touch, surprisingly warm against my skin despite the icy air that surrounded us.

With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, I lifted the lid. A soft, ethereal glow spilled forth, illuminating the clearing and casting ghostly shadows that danced across the bones at my feet. The light felt almost alive.

Inside the box, resting delicately on a bed of black velvet, lay a small silver key. Its surface gleamed like a distant star, reflecting the soft glow from within the box. Next to the key was a scrap of parchment, yellowed with age and covered in spidery script that twisted and curled in a way that made it difficult to read.

I picked up the parchment, my heart racing as I tried to decipher the faded ink. For a moment, as I tilted my head to the side, the words began to shift, slowly becoming more legible.

"In the heart of the wood, where shadows grow deep, A secret lies hidden, for seekers to reap. Speak the words of the ancients, in the tongue of the fae, And the path will be opened, to light your way. But beware, fair questers, for not all is right, In this realm of magic, where darkness and light, Intertwine like lovers, in an eternal dance, And the price of knowledge, is a perilous chance."

I read the words aloud, my voice sounding small and thin in the oppressive silence of the Boneyard. As the final syllable left my lips, the surrounding air seemed to thicken, the shadowsdeepening and twisting in unnatural ways. A low, eerie hum rose from the ground, vibrating through the bones and setting my teeth on edge.

"What's happening?" Galahad asked, his hand tightening on his sword hilt as he scanned the tree line warily. His wide eyes met mine. “Arthur, when did you learn the language of the fae?”

Fae?I glanced down at the words again, but the ink was suddenly gone, and all that was left was a blank parchment.

Before I could respond, the key in the box began to glow, pulsing with an inner light that grew brighter with each passing second. It rose from the velvet, hovering in midair as if suspended by invisible strings.

Suddenly, a beam of light shot out from the key, cutting through the gloom like a blade. It illuminated a narrow path leading deeper into the woods. The ground, littered with bones and gnarled roots, seemed to writhe and reach for us as we watched.

"I guess that's our invitation," I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the unease churning in my gut. "The path to the first trial."

Merlin stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the eerie trail. "Arthur, I don't like this."

I shot him a withering glare, my anger still simmering slowly. "Now you want to be cautious? After keeping secrets from me for years? Spare me your concern, Merlin."

I snatched the key out of the air, feeling its weight settle heavily in my palm. The glow dimmed as my fingers closed around it, but the humming in the air only grew louder, more insistent.

"We're wasting time," I snapped, not looking at Merlin. "Leave the horses here for now. We keep moving." I locked eyes with Lancelot, daring him to challenge me.

He didn’t.

Smart man.

I strode forward, my boots crunching on the bones as I followed the illuminated path. After a moment's hesitation, I heard the others fall into step behind me, Merlin bringing up the rear.

The woods closed in around us as we walked, the twisted branches seeming to reach out like grasping fingers. With each step, the air grew colder until my breath was puffing out in icy clouds. Shadows flickered at the edges of my vision, there and gone again before I could focus on them.

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