Children of the May (Children of the May Book 1)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Sacrifice

Mordred and Christian were not at the falls when I arrived. The steep bank had become a soaked mudslide, so I climbed the slippery rocks. The waterfall was twice as powerful as it discharged the water from the storm-swollen river, its bitingly cold spray chilled my fingers until I could no longer feel them. When I reached the top I scrambled along the muddy path, slipping several times as I went.

I reached the bottom of Hilda’s steps. Mordred was on his hands and knees near the top, dragging himself up. His wound had weakened him and made him slow. If it had not been for Agravaine’s lance, and the Accolon-thing interrupting the healing of his wound, I would have been too late to stop it. I mounted the first step.

The Questing Beast howled somewhere nearby.

I took the steps two at a time. My bruised toe screamed in my boot. The lightning flashed over the higher hills, and then over the forest. Two thunderclaps boomed towards each other and did battle above Hilda’s hut. Once I made it above the treetops the wind whipped against me, chilling my already freezing clothes.

‘M-Mordred!’ I shouted against the wind, but he either failed to hear or ignored me. He made it to the top of the steps, and the wind carried his voice down the bald hill. He was singing to the wailing baby:

      

Place in my hand…. my father’s sword

So that I… may revenge my lord…

Tra lu la lay, Tra lu la lay

Nee doo ee oo, nee doo ee oo

He was collapsed by Hilda’s small fire when I reached the entrance of the stone hut. Hilda was on her feet beside him, more full of delight than I had ever seen her.

‘You’ve brought him, pagan boy! You’ve brought him! Galahad, my sweet Galahad who’ll sa-ave you all.’ She reached down for the baby. ‘Can I hold the boy, can I hold him?’

‘S-S-S-S-S-Stop this Mordred!

He tried to snap at me but his voice was weak. ‘Stay out of this, Drift.’ He helped Hilda to take Christian in her arms, and then doubled over, grasping at his wound. He pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling with the effort. His fingers struggled at the ties of his cloak. It fell to the floor. He was wearing a sword.

‘D-D-Don’t do this.’ I ran to grab the baby from Hilda, but even in his weakened state Mordred was too strong for me. His hand landed in the centre of my chest and I slumped against the wall.

‘Leave, Drift. This has to be done if one of the May-children is going to destroy Arthur. But you don’t have to witness it.’

‘B-B-But your soul –’

‘Damn my soul, mate. It’s revenge I want.’

‘The p-p-p-p-prophecy is a l-lie! M-Merlin made it up to get us here!’

He wiped his drenched hair from his face. His black eyes gleamed. ‘All prophecies are lies when they’re first spoken. They only become true when they’re done.’

Hilda was dancing with the baby in her arms. Joyful tears fell from her eyes as she cooed some mad, unintelligible song to him. Christian giggled.

The Questing Beast barked its many barks somewhere nearby.

Hilda stopped her dance. A long dirty finger stretched towards the gaping doorway. ‘She’s co-ming.’  

Mordred drew his sword, his face twisting in pain. ‘Then it’s time.’

Hilda held the baby out to him. He laid Christian by the fire. I saw my face reflected in his shining blade.

‘M-M-Mordred, we’ll find another way! Don’t kill him, please!’

Hilda laughed, her coughing laugh. She turned to me. ‘He’s not here for the child, sweet Christian boy.’

Mordred sang:

 

There was no matched and knightly duel

She slew her mother quick and cruel

And Hilda joined in with the refrain:

Tra lu la lay, Tra lu la lay

Nee doo ee oo, nee doo ee oo

‘Thank you for one last moment of joy, pagan child,’ she said to Mordred, her eyes lingering on the baby. Her right hand touched her forehead, then her belly and then either shoulder in turn. As she did this she said: ‘In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.’

Those were her last words: the prayer she had promised to teach me. She stretched out her arms in the shape of a cross. Grunting, Mordred drove the point of his sword into her, all the way through her ancient body. She smiled up at him blissfully as black blood belched out of her mouth. The sword slid out, covered in Christian blood. She crumpled to the floor, a broken thing

Mordred turned and heaved himself into the rain. I ran after him.

The beast was climbing the stairs, its front paws tearing their stones from the earth. Its yellow eyes glowed in the darkness. It was hungry. Mordred swayed on his feet as he stumbled towards it. He held his chest with one hand, his sword in the other. The point dragged along the ground.

I chased down after him, trying to summon an attack like the one that had disabled the beast the night before. I slipped, and slithered down the bank. I was going to be too late.

They met in the middle of the hill. The beast pounced at him, its jaws wide open. Mordred had only one chance. He fell backwards, and raised his sword with both hands.

And Mordred thrust the bloody sword down the Questing Beast’s throat.

For a moment it did not know what had had happened. Its roar – its first roar – was strangled by the blade. It gagged as blood filled its throat. Its massive feet pounded the ground on either side of Mordred, I wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead, he wasn’t moving, just holding the sword.

The roars in the beast’s belly became screams of pain, and then the things within it began to drown.

After a long moment the beast sagged down the ground, losing its strength. It covered Mordred entirely. Then the huge weight of the beast began to slide down the bald hill, slowly at first, but gathering speed, carrying Mordred with it. 

The rain lashed down on me as I watched the dead beast and the boy tumble together. They came to rest on the shadow path, the strong river roaring white beside them.