We all have heard the stories of King Arthur and his knights. We’ve been told of the treachery of Gwenivere and Lancelot– but don’t always believe the tales you hear. Sometimes the truth is more complex, and more real than you can imagine. We’re in a time where people worldwide need a leader to step forward and help usher in a new age– an age of peace and prosperity. But where can we find another Arthur? Will the sleeping King come and save his people– our world when we really need him most?
Avalon Returns is a contemporary paranormal series where you discover that the Knights of the Round Table and Merlin are waiting for Arthur’s return to this world. Each lifetime they’re reborn, fully cognizant of who they were or remembering upon their initiation into adulthood but they live to serve Arthur and by way of him– the corporation that bears his home name- Camelot.
Ravens and vultures circled overhead, seeking their prizes from the field, while the heavy scent of blood and death lingered in the air. The battle was over. Now Death stalked the field. In its center, they stood, quiet and solemn, as a woman methodically picked her way to the fallen king’s side. Unheeding of the blood that soaked her clothing, she knelt, soft words falling from her lips, and he tried to answer.
“No, Arthur. Say nothing.” Her hand cupped his cheek, fingers caressing the slowly paling skin. “You shall rule again one day, when you are needed.”
“Cymra… my love…”
“Shh, Arthur. I love you, shall always love you and I shall protect you until it’s time.” She paused. Her learned gaze drifted over his wounds. Her hands, gentle and skilled, eased what pain she could. “I swear this as one of the Nine.”
“Can handle other things. Arthur, you’re dying, and I can’t stop it.” Her voice was thick with sorrow and unshed tears. “I want to, but I just cannot.”
“He’s dying too. Neither of you survived this day. Why, oh gods why, couldn’t either of you listen to what I’ve said to you both?”
“Enough, Cymra!” Merlin stepped out from behind a nearby tree. Ravens cawed above. Their cries were a disturbing punctuation of his command.
She whirled on him. “And you! Where were you when the King needed his advisor?” Her eyes were like daggers. Simmering green, their color deepened to near black by sorrow and the tears she refused to shed, those eyes still bore into the archmage with all the anger and pain in her soul.
“I was where I needed to be.”
“May you pay for this, Myrrdin. May you pay for this one hundred fold and without peace or the love of your anamchara, soulmate, until this is rectified!”
“As you will, Lady of the Lake.” Inclining his head, the druid mage turned from the scene and walked off towards the surrounding trees.
Cymra knew he would watch, that was his way, but at least she did not have to tolerate his presence directly, not any more. There was work to be done, things that only she could do. Her gaze took in each man who stood waiting for her verdict. “He is dying. Say your goodbyes as I deal with Mordred.” She moved away from them, her dark blue robe swished as she made her way to the fallen knight.
“Oh Mordred, why couldn’t you have waited?” she whispered as she attempted to put him back together. The evisceration was far too extensive. “Why did you do this?”
“She needed me to help her.” He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing down the pain, and slowly opened them to meet her jade ones. “Why do you ask questions you know the answers to?”
“Because even now I seek for you not to forsake Avalon, my dearest child, not of my loins.” Her hand brushed a few strands of his brown hair from his eyes.
“I don’t forsake the people or Avalon itself, Mother of my heart. I should’ve heeded—“ he broke off, coughing.
Cymra’s fingers wiped the blood from his lips. “I know.” She leaned forward, kissed his forehead and smiled at him. “You’re forgiven, Mordred.”
“I wanted to know he wanted me.” Long buried pain laced his words. “That my mother lied about him having boys my age killed. To know that he wanted me to be his heir!”
“I know. But you needed patience and to have faith in the Sovereignty of the land.”
“And when he returns, I shall be there. I shall prove myself faithful.”
Her gaze flew to his. “Do you swear this, Mordred, son of Arthur and Morgan Le Fay?”
He met her gaze, holding it with his own. He knew she could read the truth of his words. It was a part of who and what she was. An oath spoken to her was as valid and binding as one to the goddess. “I do, Mother and Head of the Nine.”
“Then it shall be so.” She kissed him. “I love you, Mordred, my child. I wish this hadn’t been.”
“Go to him, Cymra. He needs you more.” He flicked his eyes away. For a moment, he stared at his father and his men. A soft, barely heard sigh escaped him. “His knights are done.”
Her eyes slid back to where Arthur rested and noticed Gawain giving his sovereign a kiss on the cheek. “You are right. Peace be yours, Mordred.”
“And yours, Lady of the Lake, High Priestess of Avalon.”
Leaving Mordred, she approached Arthur and the knights. They were in a circle, with Excalibur and Arthur in the center. Each Knight had his hand over the hilt of the sword.
“Thus we swear to the gods and goddesses of our land that we shall be there when our King arises. Though we might be reborn and unaware of who we truly are, when the time is right, when the land needs Arthur, we shall come together to stand by his side. This we swear by blood, by the elements, and in love.”
Cymra added her personal force to the oath and, as she looked up, she caught Myrrdin also there, speaking under this breath. This best be including you, Myrrdin. You separated us, you allowed this to happen!
She stepped forward, grasping the hilt. “Just as you swear, the Goddess accepts. When it’s time, you all shall be reborn. So as is done, so as it shall be.”
Thus Arthur, Myrrdin, the Knights of Camelot and Avalon passed into legend.