Halloween Special: Queen of Camelot

The King and The Hag

Unfortunately, that meant angling it past my neck.

"Repent, hag, or I shall remove your head from that stock in a most unpleasant manner," he sneered, glaring down his nose at her. It was a rather fine nose; although not broken enough for a knight who'd seen battle.

She twisted her head to look up at him and her smiling lips wrinkled into a scowl that revealed her remarkably even and white teeth. "You would pester a poor old woman in the stocks? And you call yourself a king," she turned up her nose and spat a little.

It landed beside the worn-out toe of my boot. We all looked down at it, and then I met the gaze of the old woman.

I tell you, Isolde, her eyes were the palest brown I have ever seen. Pity prickled me somewhere between my heart and my spine. I don't know why I would feel such a rush of emotion for this strange old woman. I had never been one to cry over orphans and widows. But something in her gaze made me feel ashamed of my very existence. 

She had the kind of eyes that would have sent even a druid priest scrambling for a catholic cross to ward against the evil that lurked in those pale brown depths.

If I had spoken up to defend her, perhaps things would have turned out differently. But I had just thrown a tomato at her, so my pride would not have allowed for it. Again, I blame you.

"Silence, hag!" the king shouted, and swung that mighty sword.

With a blue burst of light, the stock around the old woman's neck shattered.

The horses reared, their sharp hooves slicing through the air around my head, and the knights shouted in alarm.

To this day, I do not know precisely what happened to me, Isolde. 

Something sharp pierced my chest, throwing me back a dozen paces until I landed in the soiled alley. Unable to move, or even breathe, I watched in alarm as the hag's elderly façade faded away, and a tall, beautiful woman stood upon the raised platform.

Feathery brown cloth, as thin as dragonfly wings, draped her shoulders and flowed around her body. Her hair, still silvery, now twisted into a braid which extended to the ground behind her, and her pale brown eyes caused the crowd to cower in fear.

Morgana, the most feared witch in the land. King Arthur's sworn enemy.

I had seen her once before as a child. She cast a spell on the land and caused a drought to strike our crops. She haunted the nightmares of every villager, the boogeyman of every child.

Although I lay frozen in a moment before certain death, I watched in wonder as she extended a hand toward the king, who had become unseated from his horse and now sat on the cobbled stone at her feet. His knight, Lancelot, spurred his horse onward to protect the King, his sword raised.

But I never heard what she said. My eyes fell closed, and for a time, I knew nothing.

When my eyes opened again, I saw only murky darkness. I lifted my hand to my face, my movements slowed by cold, heavy water, and a stream of bubbles escaped my lips.

Kicking furiously, I pulled myself to the surface and discovered that I had awoken in the depths of a lake. Reeds choked the shores and white mist hugged the water's glassy surface, broken only by the ripples around me.

This could only be a place of magic, Isolde. I knew it in my bones, which ached from the cold water and yet vibrated with unseen energy that flowed through my veins.

"Rise," a light voice commanded, and some unseen force pulled me from the water and lifted me through the air until my bare feet touched the hard earth of the shore. Water streamed down my arms and plastered my hair to my neck. Starlight glinted harshly at me, as if weighing a final judgement.

I could not hold myself up, for I was so cold. I dropped to my knees, folding my arms between my legs for warmth, and looked up into the smooth, beautiful face of my rescuer.

"Morgana." My voice cracked from lack of use, the air ragged and cold in my throat. Clusters of yellow eyes peered through the mist at me, unblinking. Curious.

Motionless, she simply stared.

"What happened to me?" I asked, looking around. Wet folds of white clung to my skin, not even marred by the dirt upon which I knelt. The mist was so thick that I could see nothing beyond the shores of the lake. Nothing but those hundreds of strange yellow eyes that never looked away.

"You died," she said.

What an odd reply, so even and matter of fact.

When I felt my chest for the object which had killed me, I found only a bubbled scar below my collarbone.

Morgana continued, a smile playing on her red lips. "And so you shall die again each night at midnight until such time as you can break my curse upon you."

I clutched handfuls of dirt below me. "How?"

"Kill King Arthur."

And thus my tale begins, my dearest Isolde.

With all my love,

Gweneviere.

Thank you for reading this Halloween Special! Someday, after I'm not bogged down with finishing my master's thesis, I'd love to do more with this story, but for now, I hope you enjoyed my burst of Halloween creativity.