- 8 / Wisdom, Sacrifice, Purity -
'Anyone understands what that means ?' asked Galahad in a low voice. 'Shut it, Pup' mumbled Lancelot.
'My Lady…' Arthur approached her cautiously. 'Which should we take ?' Morgaine bit her lip and examined the heavy, ancient doors. 'I'm afraid we have no choice' she replied, pointing to the last door to the right. 'There are three locks on this one, and none on the others.' 'Can't we just break it down ?' piped up Galahad, his voice full of hope. Morgaine wrinkled her nose. 'I wouldn't advise it' she smiled coldly, 'Unless you wish to remain here to guard the door for all eternity.' The youngest knight paled.
'Step aside' commanded Arthur, as he nudged the first door with his sword. The wooden panel swung heavily on its hinges, the creak echoing in the small cavern and up the corridor. The opening revealed naught but darkness. 'Be on your guard' advised unnecessarily Morgaine : the knights had unsheathed their weapons.
The first door led to another chamber, slightly bigger in size than the first one. The air smelled of old, an unpleasant mix between mould and dust. In the flickering lights of the torches, Morgaine noticed a stone gutter carved in the walls, filled with a liquid that the priestess identified as lamp oil. Borrowing Gawain's torch, she approached it to the surface.
The flames roared as the oil was set afire, and the room was lit up.
In the centre of the chamber stood a large wooden frame. The beams were supporting a complex net of thin threads, like a web woven by some overgrown spider. The threads criss-crossed in the centre, supporting an old iron key of intricate design. Even form afar, Morgaine could feel the power radiating from the net. 'Do not touch it !' she said sharply, as Lancelot reached out for the key. 'Unless you want to lose an arm.' The knight scowled. 'What shall we do, then ?'
The priestess circled the frame slowly. Narrowing her eyes, she managed to distinguish a pattern in the wood : another writing. 'A single arrow shall free the key' she recited, then turned to the knights.
'Tristan should do it' said Galahad immediately. 'He's the best archer.' The scout replied acidly : 'I'm not that good. You try if you like.' It was Galahad's turn to scowl. 'I agree with Galahad. Tristan, you should try !' piped in Lancelot. Tristan glared at him.
Morgaine sighed. The bickering had begun again. She wasn't a fragile woman, but the incessant noise was enough to give migraines to anyone.
Snatching an arrow from Galahad's quiver, she marched resolutely to the wooden pillars. Hell, even if she was wrong, death would at least bring her some silence.
The knights gasped as she cut the first thread with the narrow tip of the arrow.
Nothing happened, and Morgaine inwardly breathed in relief. Another thread was cut, and then a third, until the heavy key hit the dusty ground. The priestess bent to retrieve it, and glared at the knights. 'Men' she spat. 'You always think it's all bout physical prowess.'
'What now ?' grumbled Gawain darkly as they faced the second task. Morgaine had to admit she was puzzled.
The chamber was empty, even after the ring of fire had been lit. Only the opposite wall seemed interesting, with two identical holes drilled in the stone.
'To gain a treasure, be prepared to lose something in return' said the writing, and in the deepest corner of her mind, Morgaine was beginning to understand the signification of the sentence. Her darker, meaner self marvelled at the cruelty of the task, the unavoidable price to pay. It ensured much better than the previous test that the second key would not be taken.
'Morgaine ?' called Arthur tiredly, and she smiled. Once again, the smile was unpleasant, unsettling. 'As you have probably noticed' she drawled, the openings are at shoulder height. The men stared at her in incomprehension. The young woman sighed. She could understand they were tired, but still…
'Your hands !' she snapped. 'One of you has to sacrifice one of his to take the key.' Question is, which ?
Lancelot laughed bitterly. 'Great !' he exclaimed. 'First cannibals, now this. Bloody island.' He looked at his brothers. 'So this is where we decide who of us becomes a cripple ?'
The men shifted uncomfortably on their feet, stealing glanced at each other. Lancelot's words were true, an uncomfortable, shaming truth they did not want to face. None phrased it, but there was more to the question : were they prepared to cut off the hands of one of them in order to save the ill people back in Camboglanna ? To destroy the life of a brother to save a few complete strangers ?
'Are you sure there is no other way ?' asked Galahad almost pleadingly. Morgaine's heart constricted slightly at the sight of the distress in his eyes. 'I am sorry' she shook her head. 'The magic is too powerful. I can not break the spell.' And I am certainly not going to give up one of my hands for a bunch of sharecroppers.
Arthur looked crestfallen. 'Knights' he began, 'I have brought you into this. I will not ask this sacrifice of any of you.' 'And yet you do !' spat Lancelot. 'Can't you see ?! You leave us with no choice than to act, or just stand here and listen as you announce you will die for those people !' he yelled. 'Don't you dare speak to me about a choice !'
Before either could react, Dagonet pushed them aside. Dropping his axe to the ground, he marched to the wall, his jaw clenched in resolution, and thrust both his hands into the holes.
All tensed, expecting the blood-chilling scream of pain, but none came, as Dagonet pulled out his hands, intact. 'Are you gone completely mad ?!' yelled Gawain at once, leaping to the large knight and grabbing his shirt. 'You idiot !' Dagonet brushed aside the knight without difficulty, a ghost of a smile on his scarred face. 'Arthur' he said, opening his fists, 'I have the keys.'
Morgaine looked at the three keys in her hand, and then at the door. One minute earlier, she had warned the knights that it had been powerfully cursed, and that the spell might be activated if the keys didn't fit. Presently, they were gathered behind Dagonet, trying to appear brave, yet ready to duck. The priestess resisted the urge to scream 'Boo !' just to see them drop to the floor.
'Why two keys ?' mumbled Dagonet, and she grimaced. 'The sorcerers of old, they were… Nasty. I can only imagine they liked this kind of practical jokes.' Gawain snorted from the back of the group.
Morgaine took a deep breath, and heard seven pair of feet shuffling out of range. That really didn't help her concentrate, but she forced herself to calm down. Unfortunately, her imagination painted her very vividly the possible outcomes of the operation. Annoyed with herself, the priestess clenched her teeth.
Her hand trembled only slightly when she inserted the first key into the corresponding keyhole. A soft click broke the silence, as the first lock was opened.
Second key. Click.
Third key. The third door swung slowly open, the unexpected light behind it blinding the group.
All breathed in relief as they entered into the last chamber. Relief and admiration, for there, on a stone pedestal, stood the Cauldron. A receptacle of polished bronze, more of a cup, that shone in the torchlights. But it was not the Coire Anseac that lit up the room. Plunged into the clear liquid that filled the Cauldron was a spear : a weapon incrusted in bronze and gold, that glowed red. Small volutes rose from the surface of the liquid, its purity tainted by the substance that trickled down the blade.
Damn, swore Morgaine inwardly. She should've expected this.
'Don't !' she hissed, and Bors' hand froze midway to the spear. The stocky knight looked at her in incomprehension. 'That's just a spear !' he shrugged. 'Wait. Don't tell me. It's magical, innit ?'
Morgaine rose an eyebrow as the knights gathered around the pedestal, clearly interested in a magical weapon. 'It's the spear of Lugh' she said. 'Uh-huh' came the answer.
The priestess propped herself against the wall, waiting. Finally, Gawain looked up. 'What's the sticky thing that's oozing down the spear ?' he asked curiously.
Morgaine's shoulders slumped in defeat. Did they never listen ?
'It's blood' she replied, satisfied to see the collective shudder as the men drew back. 'The Spear Lúin is ever dripping blood. Moreover' – she came to stand beside the Caudron – 'It is so intensely hot that it has to be kept point-down in liquid… And someone obviously thought that the Cauldron was a perfect choice for that.'
'Er… can't we just leave it here ?' inquired Galahad, eyeing the spear with distrust. 'We'll have to' she replied, her lips curling up in a sarcastic smile. 'You see, if the Spear is not wielded for war, and out of the Cauldron, it will burn down the place.'
'So let's run' suggested Lancelot. 'What ?' he scowled, when he saw her grimace. The priestess looked at the knights. 'It is not that easy' she warned. 'For I believe this is the final test. Only a righteous man can take the Cauldron and use it.'
