My Sails

The ocean rolled out in turquoise waves against the white cliffs. Gulls calling against the roar of the foam, a chilling breeze whipping the slender grass against the naked flesh of my legs. I smiled, the warmth of my own peace and happiness bittersweet against my cheeks. Opening my eyes I saw my skin pale and flawless as the clouds themselves. No more unsightly scars to mottle my skin, my hair free and blowing beautifully in the wind. No matted blood, I checked my hands, no blood at all.

Just then a ship caught my sight - a magnificent ship, with sails as high and wide as my village. There were no men on the ship it merely floated a safe distance from the rocky shoreline. I had never seen anything quite like it, I breathed in and out smiling happily. It was wonderful; it was freedom.

"You know, a ship is safest in harbor," a voice from behind caused my eyebrows to shift upwards in surprise and I turned to face the man. He was familiar in some way. He smiled kindly in my direction, "but it cannot stay there."

I nodded in understanding. To be splendid and unconfined a ship had to leave harbor and face the danger and obstacles the sea presented.

The man moved closer, his deep red cloak ruffling in the wind.

"Intrepid spirits seek victory over that which seems impossible."

He touched my cheek. I was not fearless. I wished myself to speak to him, to tell him so but my spirit wanted only to listen.

"Look," He turned me back to face the ship out near the horizon, "see those sails?" I nodded and he rested a hand on my bare shoulders, his hands cold to the touch. "It is the sails and not the sea that decides where the vessel goes."

I tried to understand and when I thought I could I turned to find the man gone and replaced with a field. The field was hilly with trees on both sides. Frowning I wondered at the loud thumps, the rumbling of the earth… and then I looked more closely. On the horizon was a line of men, flags waving menacingly against a reddened sky. Confused I looked behind me but the ship had vanished and been replaced with an army of faceless warriors. Where I was standing struck me as odd.

My side stung and when I investigated my hands were covered with heavy red-brown blood, scars unfurling across my torso, my eyes pained and dry. The war paint of my people melted with the blood of the dying voices that rose up around my ears.

The drumming was almost too loud to take.

"HUSH!"

I awoke with a start. My breathing was shallow and rapid as I sat up straight staring into the wooden wall, the straw pinching my raw wounds. Immediately I began coughing, the dust had tickled my insides and I was thirsty.

"Here." I looked up with confused blue eyes at the green-eyed war hero now kneeling at my side. His unruly wild hair sitting atop his strong face, jaw set in a neutral stance. His stare was intense and I thought it might be impossible for him to ever give a half expression. My eyes wandered downwards to the thick, leather-woven shirt covering his chest in an armor-like manner. He was a soldier, no question about it. In one tanned and dirtied hand he held a clay mug out to me. "Drink."

The even and commanding voice convinced me that it was probably a good idea to do as he said. Beyond the rim of the mug I saw six other men as well as two ladies and a boy crowding a doorway. They were behind bars, staring curiously in at me.

Wait just one moment.

Dropping the mug into the straw I glanced horrified at the green-eyed soldier and then looked sharply around me. This was a stable, the thumping was horses kicking the stall, but it wasn't just a stable, there were bars… it was some kind of cage contraption. Seeing my obvious fear the man attempted to calm me. He made soothing noises and tried to coax me to lie back on the measly blanket but I had other ideas.

Scrambling to my feet I was hit with a wave of pain but held it back, it was only bruising I would live. Reaching for my sword I patted an empty place at my side and once again my fear returned ten fold. The man was also standing now, and holding his hands out in some kind of attempt to show me he was harmless. The massive sword at his side told my subconscious differently.

Noticing the handle of what was once a broom nestled in the straw I shuffled a toe beneath it and flipped it up into my hands as Brennus had taught me in the woods when I was much younger. Brennus. I swallowed hard.

The man took a step backwards and opened his mouth to speak, his eyes never leaving my form.

"Arthur," Out of the corner of my eye I saw the curly haired man with the strange facial hair shaking his head, the others looking on at the scene eagerly.

Arthur!

"You are Arthur?" My voice came out much smaller than even I had expected but in the silence of the building they had all heard me. Slowly the handle dropped from my hands and landed softly in the straw but the sound seemed to echo for miles. She was right, Arlene was right. This had to be him; it had to be the Arthur.

He simply nodded.

"I am." He moved his head and seemed to be considering something. I made no move to speak or otherwise and so he continued. "You can understand us?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Good." He glared at me head on once more, his eyes burning a hole into my skull. This was a real warrior, a real man of legend… not like anyone I had ever encountered before. "Tell me why you have come."

How should I answer such a request? Should I tell him the truth, would he laugh? I had wanted to tell him all that I had seen but now found no words. No courage to speak to such a being. Any words I had were not fit for the ears of such a God. I was nothing.

"To beg your help," I trailed off. In the distance I could hear the daily life of the village the sounds of people beyond the walls, not my people, never my people. "At least, that's what I thought." I mumbled the last part half-heartedly. I wasn't sure why I had continued, why I had dared come here and insult Arthur and his knights with my boundless stupidity.

He seemed shocked and the men moved at the bars restlessly. I willed myself not to look at them but as always that was futile. Closest to the door was a terrifyingly wild looking man with braided locks and ink markings on his face, he seemed preoccupied with whittling away at a piece of wood but I knew he was watching. Beside the braided man was a taller ginger haired man with small blue eyes he seemed to hold sympathy somewhere beyond his stare. A young looking man with thick facial hair and bright blue eyes looked out from beneath his shaggy mop of dark hair, his eyes darting back and forth from Arthur to myself. Then there was the man who had called Arthur's name, telling him silently not to approach me. With the men there was a very noble dark-haired woman, who seemed to be gazing silently at Arthur, with muscles taut and ready to defend him if needs be. His Queen.

Behind them something stirred and a door was heard closing as the large, bald man reappeared with the skinnier taller man. The taller man had a strange scar covering his eyes. They were all warriors. Another woman clutching a small blonde-haired boy glared displeased at them and the large man offered the excuse that they had to urinate outside. She seemed to have some kind of affection for the taller, scarred man.

"Help? You wanted our help?" I flexed my toes uncomfortably within my boots, why would Arthur question this? Surely he had people lining up to receive his aid. He was Arthur, King of Britons. Why was my pathetic state so hard to believe? There was much more going on here than I could yet understand so I tempted a change of subject.

"Why have you caged me?" The young, blue-eyed man scoffed loudly. It was my turn to glare menacingly at someone. I thought they were supposed to help the innocent!

"Galahad!" the ginger haired man reprimanded the youth. Arthur never looked away from me, not once. He seemed like he was expecting something.

"She's frightened." Observed the braided man, peering out from beneath his hair at my figure, his knife paused above the block of wood in his hand. He was right, and for that reason I did nothing to offer anything to the contrary, I simply looked away, ashamed.

"Arthur, it cannot be her!" The youth known as Galahad protested loudly, he appeared impatient. "Look at her! Tristan's right she is frightened. She can't even talk!"

"Silence!" One word from Arthur and the room fell silent once more. Only his queen Guinevere dared speak now.

"Her wounds." She almost whispered the words as everyone's attention was brought to the scabs that covered my being. I always did heal quickly I was not surprised that my strength had returned quickly after my sleep. My sleep! The dream returned. Before my waking eyes I saw the ship, the faceless warriors, my hands… bloodied. My breathing became rapid once more. What did it all mean and Arlene, where was she? Had they found her? I wanted my friend, I wanted my hut I wanted my family.

"Girl, what is your name?" His voice seemed softer now as I stared at the ground, the visions from the forest crawling agonizingly into my head once more. Rotting…

I didn't feel soft anymore, this new feeling, this heat, and this forceful pain… this anger. I was angry! I had not felt real anger before. Not once.

"I will tell you my name when you let me go." My head came up level with his but I tilted my chin a little higher daring him to move closer. "You have not yet given me a reason for this cage and I don't know what in the Heavens you think you are doing!" He moved to speak but found himself cut off. "I came here for you help, your help. Although, I don't know why I would be so foolish as to think that you would do anything for me. You let our villages burn and still we call you King, and still we hold you up to be the hero of legends. Sure, you may be a hero to these people but how can anyone call you King of Britons? You are not my King, sir. You deserve not my love or respect and to think I thought of myself as less than you only moments before now."

Surprised with myself, I enjoyed this new feeling. Anger. It felt justified for some reason. For so long I had allowed my people to be slaughtered with disturbing regularity but I had never questioned it, to me it was a natural occurrence. Death was my life. The people in the woods, they had not been saved either. How was this man a great savior? He had let us all be slaughtered! Then he had the audacity to imprison an innocent looking for help. I was wrong… he was no God.

The bitterness and hatred in my voice had poured all over the knights. They stood glowering, all but their queen. If I had not been mistaken, I saw understanding in her regal eyes. The curly haired knight looked set to rob me of my miserable life.

"Your name." He said it through gritted teeth, ignoring my outburst.

"Let. Me. Go." I was equally stubborn. Where had this newfound bravery come from? Perhaps it was the result of the anger coursing through my veins. Is this what it took? I thought briefly about picking up the handle again and going for him but I almost laughed out loud at the suicide that would be. All of a sudden I wanted to live a bit longer just to find all this out. I also wanted to live a bit longer to find Arlene. How she would scorn me for speaking to her hero in such a manner. Arlene. "Where is she?"

He seemed taken back.

"Who?"

I raised a hand to my forehead and at the swift movement the men flinched but I was no threat, if only they knew that. I had a pain in my head like a hammer crushing my skull to fragments. My vision was red with a splatter of blood and I drew my hand back. It was gone. I was imagining things again.

"Arlene."

The men looked to each other in confusion and the pain returned to my body as I said her name. I had failed her. I left her in the wilderness, she hadn't made it here and I had. She was gone now and I had left her. Visions of her roaming the countryside made my heart feel like it was bleeding and I turned away from them all and faced a corner of the stall. Both hands cradled my head and I closed my eyes willing the guilt to go away… another new feeling.

"She was your friend." Guinevere seemed to understand this body language. Her senses were keen. Then the stories were true, she had been a person of the forest… one of the pictii. Taking a deep breath I whirled around to face Arthur once more.

"Please. You must let me go." I had to find her now it was the only way to quell this new feeling. This guilt. I would plead with him but he seemed unmoved and I tried again. "If you don't then you have let one more person die!"

"Lady, you will learn respect. We have risked our lives for the people of this damned island. Forsaken our homes for your peoples' welfare so you will hold your tongue." The curly haired man spoke firmly, staring straight at me with dark, almost black eyes daring me to defy his wishes. It must be Lancelot, Arthur's right hand man. Lancelot had seemed so wonderful in tales. The story of Badon Hill and how he had risked his life for Guinevere was just one example of his chivalry. Now, all I saw was an arrogant, handsome beast of a man whose eyes spoke murder.

"Lancelot. It's all right." Arthur turned his chin up and breathed in deeply. He seemed frustrated. I thought about giving him my name but my name was all I had now. "I cannot let you go. If you are who I believe you to be then you cannot leave. I am sorry."

I had no time to protest before he opened a gate and left the prison, closing the door behind him he asked the man with the scar over his eye to lock the door.

"NO!" Finally finding strength of voice I yelled at him not to, that he couldn't do this. "I don't understand!" He refused to look back at me and opened the door, letting the sunshine in and he left, the tail of his cloak the last thing I saw. Most of the men left immediately too. The ginger haired man and Lancelot remained a few moments longer, Lancelot giving me a filthy look before tapping the ginger haired man and then they both exited the room. The women had gone too without so much as a second glance.

I remained standing in the prison, as the room grew dark once more. The sound of the door closing stayed in my ears for some time as I merely stood, anger and confusion boiling beneath my skin. How was I supposed to save Arlene if I couldn't leave? Why couldn't I leave? What horrible crime had I committed?

Falling to my knees, alone with the animals next door, I sobbed. I sobbed like the little girl I was. I truly was a coward. If I were anything like a great warrior I would've made them release me. However, I wasn't a great warrior… I was the niece of a warlord at best. He isn't even a good warlord! I laughed a little at my own thoughts and wiped my eyes.

And there, in the dank, darkness of my prison I saw a ship sailing through the abyss.