Page 30 of The Sword & the Stone

I pressed my hands over my ears, trying to block out her poisonous words. But they echoed inside my skull, bouncing off the walls of my mind until I thought I might go mad with it.

Through the haze of pain and self-loathing, I heard Merlin's voice, distant but insistent. “Arthur, listen to me. This isn't real. It's the altar. It's showing you your deepest fears, your darkest doubts. You have to fight it!"

I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. How could I fight this? How could I fight the truth of what I was, of the curse I had brought upon those I loved?

I wanted to give in, to let the despair and self-hatred consume me until there was nothing left. It would be so easy to just surrender to the pain. To accept my mother's words as the bitter truth. I dropped to my knees with my face in my hands,wanting to scream, but held it in. I wanted to sob, but choked it back.

"You cannot win, child," she sneered. "You are nothing, a mistake that should never have been born. The Grail will never accept a wretched creature like you."

For a long moment, the chamber was silent save for the distant drip of water and the rasp of my breath.

Then, slowly, I began to laugh.

It started as a low chuckle, bubbling up from some hidden pocket inside of me. But it quickly grew, building into a full-throated guffaw that echoed off the stone walls and made the ghostly figures flicker and waver.

The shade of my mother stared at me, her expression shifting from contempt to confusion to anger. "What is this?" she hissed, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. "You dare to mock me, you insolent brat?"

Still laughing, I wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Oh, I'm not mocking you," I said, sucking in a deep breath. "I'm mocking this whole fucking charade." I gestured around at the chamber, at the eerie glow of the runes and the swirling mist. "Did you really think I'd fall for this? That I'm some naïve little girl who left Camelot with stars in her eyes and a head full of faerietales?"

I took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between myself and the altar. The shade of my mother stood her ground, but I saw the uncertainty flickering in her hollow eyes.

Staring the apparition down, my laughter faded to a wry chuckle. "You almost had me, I'll give you that. For a moment there, I was actually kind of afraid of you. My parents weren't perfect, but they loved me. For the short time I was with them, they loved me. They took me in, protected me, gave me a home when they didn’t have to. And that's more than you, with all your smoke and mirrors, can ever take away from me."

As I spoke, I felt a warmth blossoming at my hip, a gentle heat that pulsed in time with the fierce beat of my heart. Excalibur, the blade that had chosen me, was responding to my resolve.

I sighed, my shoulders dropping as I looked back over my shoulder, meeting the eyes of my five knights. “I was expecting this to be cleverer than this.”

With a metallic ring that echoed through the chamber, I drew Excalibur free. The blade shone with a brilliant, almost blinding radiance, the polished steel reflecting my face back at me.

But it was not the face of a lost little girl, a frightened orphan playing at being a queen. No, the face I saw in that shining blade was one of rage.

I raised Excalibur high; the runes etched into the fuller pulsed with ancient power. The shade of my mother hissed, her form wavering as the holy light washed over her. She raised her hands as if to shield herself. Her face twisted with a mockery of fear and loathing.

"No!" she shrieked.

"Fuck your magic tricks,” I spat, and I swung Excalibur in a shining arc, the blade singing as it cleaved through the air. The moment it touched the shade, she exploded in a burst of sickly greenish light, her final scream fading into silence.

I stood there, chest heaving, as the last wisps of the ghostly figure vanished. The altar stood cold and dark before me, its surface now clear of the accusing specters.

When I lowered Excalibur, the sword suddenly heavy in my grip, the adrenaline began to fade. My hands trembled slightly as I slid the blade back into its scabbard, the runes dulling to a faint shimmer.

I took a shaky breath, trying to center myself. The trial had taken more out of me than I wanted to admit, dredging uppainful memories I wasn’t ready to even attempt to sort through yet.

Tristan approached cautiously, his eyes searching my face. "Arthur," he said softly, "are you alright?"

I let out a huff of humorless laughter. "No," I admitted, my voice raw. "But I will be. I think…"

"You completed the first trial. You should be proud of yourself," he said, smiling.

"Does it get easier from here then?" I asked, hating already dreading the answer.

"Oh, absolutely not," he said with a laugh. "The trials are designed to test you, to push you to our limits and beyond. They will challenge everything you think you know about yourself."

I swallowed hard, a flicker of fear sparking in my gut.If this was just the beginning, how was I supposed to survive the rest if this was the easy part?

Chapter Ten

GAWAIN

---