She doesn’t stop, I stomp down on his head as she kicks him into a ball, watching the blood spurt between his teeth and down his chin.

  Kendrick pulls him up by the collar, hoists him over the abyss, panting, pale, drained, but with enough strength to hold him.

  No point in telling him anything, no strength left for blows. I push him, both hands on his chest, and Castor tumbles, end over end into the darkness, snapping against the fangs of rock below him, crashing against one after the other, disappearing into the watery darkness.

  “Are you…”

  We both ask at the same time.

  There’s a lot I want to ask her, but right now it doesn’t matter as she pulls me into a cold, damp hug.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s muffled in her sweater, “all those times I didn’t trust you, thought I knew better.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she grunts into my hair, “for trying to force you to be something you’re not, and for acting too proud. Acting stupid,” we pull back watching each others’ faces, “I’m too old to be stupid and expect to live,” she smiles and sighs, looking back up the vortex, “but here we are.”

  “Is it really over?” I ask her, holding on to her sweater a little for support.

  “Marion has a plan,” she says, still looking up, “something about transmutation, rescue, the usual,” she laughs, “I think it was a long winded way of saying he was going to turn into some stairs.”

  “Is he okay?” I ask her, testing the weight of Excalibur, still half over the edge, with my foot.

  “Tough to kill a man like that,” she shrugs, “although I doubt that arm’s coming back. Said he had enough power to retrieve me, if I went down, he was tight lipped about anything beyond that.”

  “So…” I can barely lift it, but I hold Excalibur up, trying to see my face reflected in the darkness, “…does this mean…”

  “What are you going to wish for?” Kendrick laughs. I think I can hear something happening up above. Marion’s rescue, whatever that’s going to be.

  I guess she doesn’t really believe in the whole Quest thing. I don’t think I did either.

  Except…I heard that voice. Felt its invisible breath.

  Domnu, he called it.

  “Are you still there?” I ask the darkness.

  There are shadows under the water. Hands. Heads. Long streak of dark hair.

  “Return the sword,” the echo roars around us, merging with the sound of the waterfalls, “return it, end our Quest.”

  “No.” I tell it, making a show of planting Excalibur, point first in the rock. “Also, eat shit, whoever, whatever you are. Actually, no. More than that, fuck you!”

  I didn’t mean to yell. But it feels right, maybe for the first time.

  “Well @#*& me,” Kendrick whispers, stepping up beside me, “it is real, isn’t it?” She says, coming closer, “Sure? You could wish for anything you want.”

  “Insects…” that same echo rings in my ears, shaking loose a fresh trail of blood, “…we condemn you to die.”

  The cold…breath, whatever it was, drains away as the echo quiets and retreats. The thing, Domnu, whatever, is gone.

  “I’m still going to make a wish,” I tell Kendrick, turning to look into her eyes, “not to some creepy thing that lives in a hole. The sword’s staying right here, where no-one can get it. No…”

  Now, all I need are the right words.

  “No?” Kendrick asks, “then who? It’s not as if there’s an abundance of wish-granting Quests around.”

  “It doesn’t have to be magic,” I tell her.

  No, I still don’t know the words, but I’m going to stay them anyway.

  “I wish for a family! A real one!” Kendrick raises her eyebrow.

  “Is this about, well, what you said about Marion?” Kendrick asks, “that he’s my..”

  “I don’t care if it’s true, you guys are like family anyway, so…” I can see him coming closer, a carpet of living metal, winding and oozing through the water like a silver stain. “I just want you to act like it, y’know? He spends all that time in his big empty house, our store’s really cold, you sleep in a spare bedroom! I mean, don’t you want to retire? Even if it’s not true…” I can feel myself deflating, watching her unmoving expression of disbelief, “…wouldn’t it be better that way?”

  “Is it done?”

  Marion croaks as he almost collapses. Kendrick runs over, tries to help him up, but he doesn’t budge until I join in.

  “We got him,” she hisses in his ear as he staggers to his feet, “we got the @#&^er.”

  He draws breath to speak, but doubles over, nodding.

  “Hold tightly.”

  His arm holds Kendrick.

  I have to grab his uniform.

  It feels like jelly as he spreads around me, climbing back up into the water.

  I turn my head, feeling the spray break against the side of my face. Watching Excalibur fade into the darkness.

  The water’s still raging, most of my body’s caught inside whatever Marion’s transformed into.

  There’s blood, too. It isn’t mine.

  I can see the light, the dull glow from the surface of the Grail. The current that almost swept Kendrick away.

  I stick my hand out, try to swim, Marion’s fading back to his normal self as Kendrick and I take over, kicking at the same time, slapping our hands down onto the black cliffs as we haul him out of the water, watching as he rolls onto his stomach, still quiet.

  I’m already scrabbling onto to my hands and feet as Kendrick vaults up.

  She’s ahead of me as we reach him. She’s the first to turn him over onto his back, water leaking from the corner of his mouth.

  “Come on you glum bastard,” Kendrick spits as she tries to pull him to sit against the cave wall, “this’d be a stupid time to die.”

  “Use my phone,” he whispers, “I left at the camp. Call for help. Kamala…” he doesn’t cough or wince, but something in his body seizes, almost forcing him onto his side, “…my men guarding the manor will come to retrieve you.”

  It’s still too dark to see his injuries. Not sure it matters, now. It’s not something fire can help.

  “Oh, Marion…” Kendrick buries her head in his chest, “…you really did save us all. You were always better than him,” she draws back up to a crouch, her hand resting on his chest, “just know that. Go, knowing that.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can do this again, my mind’s racing, trying to think of something, anything to see and hear instead.

  “Is it true?” He asks, barely loud enough to hear at all, “is it true?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Kendrick replies, “it doesn’t matter, and we should’ve realized sooner.”

  “I should have,” Marion shifts, his one arm lying limp beside him, “rather than leave you to your self destruction. Father’s obsession with reputation, his distancing the family from you…” his eyes are unfocused, seeing something else now, “…I should’ve known how wrong he was. It was wrong to look down on you, just as it was wrong for him to use you and discard you.”

  “Marion, you could’ve…” Kendrick shifts away, watching his head settle against the rock, a whisper of breath escaping from his body.

  “You can’t die!” I punch him in the chest, all the strength I have left pummeling him in his ragged, stupid uniform, “I made a wish! You’re supposed to be in it! We’re all a family, and I know because it’s magic!” My face is streaked with tears, the final effort forcing me to wheeze and retch, “please!…That was my wish.”

  His body shifts, coughs, shakes and shudders with movement as his eye flicks open, but he doesn’t stop there. He goes on moving, rising to a sitting position as the cough transforms itself into laughter, louder and louder until it fills the Grail and drowns the awful sound of waterfalls.

  “You wished for a family?” Marion asks, settling back against the stone, “yes. Humble. Noble, even. Then…your wish is my command,” he nods, “but please, give me some time to rest first?” His face is creased a little, pain fighting back the smile on his face, “you read my words as fatalistic, didn’t you?” He chuckles, the leftovers of that booming laugh, “just because someone relaxes and exhales, doesn’t mean they’re dead, you know.”

  Epilogue

  Megan

  I’m still not really sure where I should be.

  The manor’s loud, bright, crowded, and I’m hiding up on the staircase that leads to my room.

  It’s a long corridor of spare bedrooms, with a pantry at the end, lots of windows with a nice view of the forest and the stables.

  The same room I stayed in the first time I came here.

  I mean, the room is better, but not because it’s in a different place, it’s because I decorated it.

  I can’t help but chuckle as I think back. All I did was add a bush to start with. Marion said it looked lonely, and we talked about plants and how good they are at listening until he said he’s building a big greenhouse for morning tea.

  The windows all have glass in them, now. There are no more leaves strewn across the floor, all the torn up portraits have been taken down, and we re-did all the wallpaper.

  Maybe it’s just my imagination, but halfway up the stairs on the edge of the party, I can’t help but feel like the whole place is warmer, too.

  Maybe it’s just me.

  I puff out a little cloud of spark between my hands. Just a reminder. I need it sometimes, when things start feeling hard or scary in the middle of the night. And I haven’t set fire to my bed yet.

  There’s something else in the air, too, maybe it’s the little twinge of smoke, the smell of the sweat with all the people gathered here, maybe the hint of rain and cold from outside, but something makes it feel comfy. Cozier, even. Whatever. Feeling cozy’s just going to make me procrastinate for longer.

  I resist the urge to slide down the stairs on my butt, and hop down them, already practicing what to say and do if somebody important notices I’m here.

  I mean, I think they’re all important, compared to me at least.

  My way through the great hall is clear, the big door I listened at when I first followed Kendrick is now sitting wide open, and I follow the huge, master staircase up through the crowd, out onto the landing overlooking the entrance.

  Nobody really looks my way. Crowds of men and women, most of them with modern suits, colorful cloaks and coats of arms patterns over them sharing drinks and conversation.

  I know I’m supposed to check in. Looking down at my watch, I might’ve left it a little too long.

  There’s a banner hanging from the ceiling, and draped down from some spots on the wall where the Mason’s Guild haven’t quite finished fixing the holes, a big diamond. Or maybe a square on its side?

  The dining room has to be around here somewhere, right?

  I know the manor’s magic, but I don’t think it trusts me enough yet to help me out, and there’s way too many rooms for me to remember exactly where they all are.

  I hop down the stairs, back down to the ground floor, following the familiar trail of floating bowls. Dead giveaway, right?

  It’s big and bright, I almost hold up my hand to block out the light from the candles, chandeliers and occasional puffs of flashing smoke or shimmering glitter.

  Lucky for me, nobody notices. They’re all too busy chatting, standing around, sitting down to eat, or staring up at the art across the arched ceiling.

  Okay…now what?

  “Lost again?”

  A familiar voice leads me over to the corner where Kendrick’s sitting, a steaming mug in her hand and tartan blanket across her legs.

  “Yep. Sorry, got a little nervous.” It comes out too quickly to be a lie.

  “Well you know how they are,” she grins, sipping her still smoking cup and looking over at the long dining table. “or maybe not,” she shrugs, “Grand Cross doesn’t come together like this lightly, though. Good omen, and the more guilds that stand up and take notice, the better for us.” She looks me up and down, a little smile on her face as she shakes her head, “I look forward to hearing what they make of you.”

  “I’m not,” I tell her, scanning the faces. Jewelry, cufflinks and heavy, ornate staffs fill glittering hands. “I didn’t think there would be so many.”

  “Neither did I,” she sets her mug down, “maybe you could’ve dressed up a little more?” She raises her eyebrow, “you look like a little boy.”

  “Good.” It’s how I feel. Good, comfy. Not that one of these people telling me it’s wrong won’t make me feel crummy, but I’ll probably get over it.

  “You really have changed,” she grunts. “Good for you. But the proof’s in the pudding, we’re just waiting on the man of the hour now, and then we’ll see what the assembled Guilds and families of the Grand Cross really make of a resurgent Reinhardt.”

  “I mean…it could be bad, right?” I ask her, scanning the room and fixing my eyes on the big staircase, wide enough for two cars to pass, that leads to the upper floors. I think they said that’s where they’ll come from. “They might like it?” I glance across at all the faces again, laughing, drinking, eating, “They look happy, that has to be a good sign.”

  “You never can tell with high society types, ken? Never take a rich man at their word,” she leans back in her chair, scowling down at the crowd. They probably all got together and decided as a group to try to ignore her.

  The creak of wood rumbles around the room, and the murmur of voice dies down like the tide going out as all heads turn up.

  Kamala leads the way, the baby in her lap, her deep red dress twinkling as the spokes of the wheels on her chair wrap around the steps, tapping their way down to her guests.

  Marion looks a little weird without his cloak. I guess it’s gone now, most of it torn to pieces in the dark.

  Kamala gazes up at him as he takes the steps one at a time, his heavy cane tapping a steady, solid rhythm as any sound that was left dies down.

  Just as the room achieves total silence, something snaps. My head whips around to a man on the edge of the party, his face raised in a worshipping grin. Then another, on the opposite edge, then two women near the head of the table. Soon the whole crowd rises to their feet in applause.

  I flinch a little at the roar.

  “I didn’t think he was this big a deal,” I say, stepping closer to Kendrick and the friendly curtain of palms around her little table in the corner.

  “They love a bit of hero worship,” her eyes twinkle as Marion joins the ground, handing his cane off to Kamala as he starts to shake hands, “’The Man Who Slew The Stallion’ that’s what they’re calling him.” If it weren’t for the uproar, her laugh’d carry to the rest of the room. “We’ll just keep the fact that he wasn’t there to ourselves.”

  “It’s not like we could’ve done it without him,” I tell her, cringing at the second-hand pressure as people close in from all sides, surrounding him.

  “Joking,” she says, “of course.”

  Part of me wants to jump in and help him, but if all this is bothering him, it doesn’t show in his face. He does a gracious job of speaking, holding eye contact and nodding along with whatever they’re telling him.

  “Everything alright in the hero corner?” Kamala smiles as her chair glides over to us.

  “I was just telling Meg how quick this lot are to turn,” she says, “I suppose you’d know better than most.”

  “Not really,” she waves her hand, jeweled bangles glittering in the candlelight as her chair docks with Kendrick’s apparently private little table, “they’ve always hated me, no turning necessary.”

  “I didn’t think they’d, y’know…” I start, but Kamala gets my meaning.

  “Be so appreciative?” She suggests, “me neither, but then, those roving Dreamers posed a threat to everyone, just like the late Mr. Campbell. He targeted quite a few of the families around this table, remember, and I’m sure that if he’d had his way, most, maybe all of them would’ve been next.” She sighs, “and everybody loves a good redemption story.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” They’re toasting him now, raising glasses and cheering.

  Wow, I couldn’t be more out of my element. Almost makes me want to go back to the pitch blackness and the waterfalls. Almost.

  “I’ve been so busy, between planning this event and Marion’s physical therapy, I haven’t had time to check on you,” says Kamala. “How have you been, these first few nights?”

  “It’s…fine,” Kendrick grunts, “you know a fancy town house is never going to feel right.”

  “Oh, you’ll get used to it,” Kamala laughs, baby rolling over in its sleep in her lap, “I used to think the same way, you know, central heating and warm food should do a lot to turn you around.”

  “We had that at the shop!” Kendrick grunts as Kamala grins at her.

  “I know, I know,” she giggles, “but we have room for expansion, you know, all these new contracts coming in, the guild’s flooded with new apprentices, old veterans returning, we’ll have plenty of space to expand into anything you want, fancy taking up gardening in your retirement?”

  “I’ve been over this with Meg,” she says, meeting Kamala’s head-on-hand smile with a stern stare, “I may be retired, but by no means do I intend to sit around like a hairy lemon,” she slams her mug a bit, “no gardening, no painting, no fishing,” she grunts, “I’m going to stay on my feet.”

  “Oh, that’s the signal,” Kamala says, looking over at me.

  “Signal?” I ask her, looking over to where Marion towers over most of the crowd.

  “He made me promise not to tell you,” she says, “didn’t want to make you nervous, but the plan is to talk alliances, contracts, territory,” she explains, “and he wants you at the table.”

  Marion looks over at us.

  “Me?” it’s not that I’m paralyzed, I just can’t move.

  “Better not keep him waiting,” she grins, nudging me with the edge of one of her wheels, “go on!”

  The people part around me as I half stride, half stagger over to him, trying not to feel all their eyes at once.

 

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