Camelot Crumbles: Faerie Forge Chronicles

By Helen Savore

Moralynn's life was all planned out… But not her death.

Moralynn was conceived for one purpose: to become a powerful enough druid to succeed Merlin.

When the Fae brag of destroying Camelot, Moralynn escapes home to find it alive, but transformed.

• Why is Lancelot King?
• How did Arthur become a druid?
• Since when is she betrothed to Galahad?

 

Druids are dying, but before she can solve the mystery she awakens days earlier, in someone else's body. As Moralynn investigates how to save this Camelot she must resist temptation to surrender to each person she inhabits.

 

How many times can she witness Camelot Crumble before madness takes her?

 

You'll love this Groundhog Day meets King Arthur story because everyone loves solving the mystery alongside the characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oberon's Forge Press llc
• Release date: Dec 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781946625076

Helen Savore

Helen Savore writes fantastical worlds filled with a mixture of modern and medieval settings. She explores stories loosely based on Arthurian legends, secretly wishing that King Arthur would return to pull the world from the brink of darkness. An engineer by day, and a gamer when time allows, this paper ninja writes, reads, plays with pen-and-paper RPGs and folds origami. It’s not surprising that her stories are filled with unexpected folds and twists that blend seamlessly with reality. Learn more about Helen’s stories at right here. You can also follow her on Twitter @ImaPaperNinja.

Book preview

We have successors because we hope what we have accomplishes succeeds. The world does not turn fast enough to see what we have wrought in our own lifetimes.

2

Awaken

I shot up and gasped. My head spun, balance unachievable, so I fell, flopping again amongst the roots, gasping for air.

My hand sprang for my throat, struggling to cover the slit. That must be why I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. But this one coherent thought didn’t pan out.

The wound was gone.

My breath quickened as thumb, fore, and middle finger splayed along my throat, massaging up to my neck, then down towards my chest, and sweeping around the collarbone.

I clamped my mouth shut, catching the rapid breaths until it burst out in one billow. After rolling, I used my palms to navigate the uneven ground. I needed to get up, see. I would be too lucky if there were a pond here to gaze upon myself. Raising my head, I got a better view of the forest. Autumn, not too far. The trees bore varied foliage, pleasant, almost friendly, but it was no peer to the aching beauty of Annwn.

A meager pile of fallen leaves twitched, not three lengths away.

Caution overrode discomfort. I shoved against the forest floor, but before I could find my footing tripped again, catching on some moss. Digging my heels into the ground in front, I scooted too far, careening into a tree. Flopping after my abrupt awakening, I grasped for my last bit of cognizance to shift my knees aside, putting even a weak barrier between me and whatever that was.

Something clicked and hissed.

I hunched, fighting the sting in my eyes. It wasn’t fair; I had barely awoken. I did not understand where I was, how I still lived, and that monster over yonder was going to kill me before I could figure anything out. Better I had remained dead, dripping under Raebyn’s knife, ravaging my throat faster than I could heal, giving him a pathway to literally take my breath away.

Strangulation was not a pleasant way to die.

A grey neck stretched, peering over my knees, but did not push. I was too doodled up to discern the monster’s face. I pushed against the ground, already knowing it was too late, but attempted to get further aside.

A tiny rodent face popped up, and then its tail twitched.

A squirrel.

I fought the urge to gasp again and threw my head back, laughing. At first I cringed, then grinned at my voice bouncing and echoing within the confines of the forest. Something might find me, but to be panicked over a squirrel was too much.

The laugh scared it away, so I slowly began steadying myself. The cloth I brushed was finer than I had worn before, almost smooth, and cream colored. A poor choice for the woods. My eyes glanced down, noting only a simple stitched belt adorned me.

I reached again for my neck but remembered it was empty of injury and foci. Glaring at my hands as if possessed, I couldn’t find any of my rings. No bracelets clattered either. I set about searching my entire person but found no foci at all.

I had a great reason to panic. Without foci, I couldn’t shape the elements. I wasn’t the strongest shaper but few humans could learn, so I lived confident in my safety. But no foci meant I could not bend water or earth to my will. Nerves greater than the squirrel monster consumed me. I glanced around like a deer, staking from tree to tree, looking for the inevitable assault.

A blue mist caught my eye, and I ran. My feet were no longer familiar with the vagaries of a disobeying ground, especially a natural one. I darted about, launching for small stretches then clenching up around a bad patch or behind a tree. It was random; it was raving, but I did not want to be near blue again.

The blood, the wound, even my soaked clothing might be gone. But Raebyn’s words, his breath, fetid and suffocating, clung to me. I ran through the wood. With each stumble, I struggled, washing myself in curing bliss, wasting my life, and kept moving. Sheer instinct drove me, trees blinked into my vision, then they were gone, somehow navigated.

I glanced behind me, my panic wearing down but not my pace. Nothing was there, just more forest, but Raebyn didn’t need much space. He not only changed form; he sometimes rode the wind as a small swirl of dust.

A yell.

Another.

Voices amid the trees.

I dashed to the side, almost as afraid of meeting anyone as I was the phantom of Raebyn. Alone, confused, and disarmed, I was in no condition to navigate these woodlands. I might encounter anything, trolls, wolves, or wild groves that people disappeared into, never to return.

Was that what this place was? Had I blundered into it, within the fog that lay behind Raebyn? Did I imagine the choking, the very air being expelled? Some life mage I was, unable to hold on to something so dear and necessary.

Moralynn? The yell spun around the trunks as if it had a life of its own. I knew the owner could not be near, but I was stunned nonetheless.

Trapped.

Horses hooves joined the yells, and I backed to the closest tree for cover, hoping against hope these were knights from Camelot, and not Romans. Just found alive, I did not wish to die again so soon. The Romans were not kind to those who, according to them, practiced witchcraft.

I had chosen well. There was little space between the trees here for armored men. All young growth but thick enough to become an obstacle. After a neigh, the preceding trees swayed and leaves crunched underneath thick plated boots.

Moralynn, love, is that you?

It must be a trick; my father wasn’t demonstrative. But no one else had the right to call me love.

I spun, feet lifting and pushing against the ground, but there was nowhere to sprint. Without my foci, I could not keep up with any knight of Camelot. Soon a gauntlet reached my hand and did not let go. I pulled, and they held on but did not yank.

Moralynn, the voice repeated, a now-familiar tickle on my ear. You have nothing to fear, we have found you.

Galahad? The chestnut-haired youth that was the center of too many of my spare moments grinned at me. It was even brighter than his armor, and despite the lack of sun it still glittered. The ring mail he wore differed from last I saw. Instead of the uniform coloring—Merlin would admonish me for not recalling the metal’s names—there were three, no five hues. Gemstones bracketed in between the weave of rings: verdant greens, calming blues, and though wrought beautifully the reds reminded me too much of the blood I had spilled not too long ago.

Moralynn, my love. Why do you run? He let go of my hand but came closer, wrapping his arms around me in a crushing embrace. He held me, and even through armor it felt good. All my fears burned away as I enjoyed my childhood crush turning his sparkling green eyes at me.

Green? They’re supposed to be blue. Maybe my fear left because I knew this was wrong. Galahad was always careful to give me the courtesy any knight of the Round Table should to Merlin’s heir. None of us were comfortable, and the younger knights most of all. In many ways it was easier to spend time learning the fae under Titania’s protection.

Galahad came up for air, giving the hair on the nape of my neck a gentle rustle. You all gave us a scare, Moralynn. Why did you evade your escort?

I held onto myself, afraid of what my hands might do in proximity. I do not know what you are asking. There was no escort here. I do not even know where here is. Sir Galahad, on your honor as a knight of the Round Table tell me, please, what has happened?

Why so formal, Moralynn? He reached out to cup a hand around my head, but I backed up again. His eyes fell, his face dipped too, and his mussy hair fell into his eyes, tangling with his lashes.

The clatter of the other knight’s armor broke the moment. The blunt helmet must be Sir Kay—he was the only sensible one. It was an unfamiliar crest, not the five-headed dragon of Arthur’s family but something more like a mountain crag.

Lanval ducked beneath a limb and held a thick bush, his dark-blue armor a contrast against the fall colors of the wood. Percival followed through without lowering his head and gave Lanval a polite nod. My thanks.

Did someone speak? Lanval brought a hand to his brow, squinting, but the branches snapped back, causing him to stumble.

One was not so gentle with the trees and kneed their charger forward. A chestnut horse broke through, and Dinadan took one hand off the reins and held it towards me. Your carriage, my Lady Moralynn?

Galahad’s companions. But why were they all here, talking to me? Looking for me?

Before I could respond, Kay bellowed, Do not tear up the entire underbrush.

Dinadan’s horse pranced, but he remained expressionless.

Lanval ran a hand through his blond hair, mumbling something as he tied it back, shooting Percival a look.

You are… well? Galahad spoke cautiously. His hand hovered but did not reach out again.

All eyes settled on me. I let my arms fall to buy some time, but I still didn’t know what to say. Was Raebyn’s rage at the Tower a nightmare? If so, I would be there and not here, returned to Earth. I presumed I was on Earth, given Camelot’s knights were here. Perhaps they had come through the portal on Avalon to seek me out in the fae realms? If this was a faerie forest, it was underwhelming.

Give her some space, a sixth said as he came through, but he was not dressed as a knight. He blended into the forest because of green robes, but his voice and shifting gave him away. He, too, had a glint, but not of the gems woven into Galahad’s armor. A torc, bracelets, and chains. A shaper, and likely a druid. He was unrecognizable, if not for the darkest hair I had ever encountered, including the fae.

Mordred? I sputtered. Brother, can you tell me wither goes here?

Now everyone’s faces crinkled, and Galahad stepped forward again, gasping me around the waist and putting a hand to my forehead. I let him, too puzzled to fight him. The smell of his leather gauntlets trickled into my nose, and I twitched ever so slightly. Moralynn, you are not feeling well. Something has befallen you in the woods.

Mordred stuttered. W-we might be near cousins by way of the Druidic magics, but Moralynn, you speak madness. Mordred drew forth a collection of shells with iridescent lining and began massaging them. I cannot discern the sorcery. Merlin would know best. He frowned. But Father is closer at the castle.

Me, mad? This was more madness from them. Mordred’s existence was a touchy subject within Camelot, given that Guinevere had still not borne an heir. A nephew might inherit, but not a niece. I often forgot I was a hop-skip away from the throne, having been groomed as my father’s successor instead.

Sir Kay’s grunt interrupted my musings. His helmet, with only the barest slit glared at me. Before you depart, what did you meet in the woods, Moralynn? I would prefer to dispatch any danger sooner rather than later.

Nothing, I whispered, refusing to acknowledge the blue swirl I imagined. I cannot recall how I came here. I was last at the Tower. I winced, trying to remember. There must be something missing between there and here.

My eyes shut. Camelot had fallen, that is what the messenger said. That is why I was coming home, to assist Merlin.

We will get you home, Moralynn, there’s no need to worry about that. Galahad waved a hand. Run a quick circuit between here and the portal, then ride around wide. He looked to the rest. Knights? he asked no one in particular. The gentle push to the small of my back startled me, but despite the confusion, I couldn’t help but enjoy the possessiveness of his lead. Dinadan, you mind lending us Stellar? He has an even enough stride.

The knight jumped down with none of his usual flip, then pirouetted to offer me a lift into the stirrup.

I nodded to him, working to summon the proper solemnity from inside my pounding head. My thanks for the loan. I settled myself in the saddle and picked up the reins. I am sorry to deprive you and force you to stride for long on foot.

He grinned. Stellar is my horse. I will accommodate you gladly, but I must steer him. His eyes flashed. Perhaps it was a flick or some lingering effect of the crazy that suffused me.

Galahad pushed him away. No arguments. Take Wildbolt Dinadan. He shoved past and neatly hopped behind me, taking the reins in one hand, while keeping the other at my side. I will see her safely home.

The others grumbled, trampling towards their own horses, muttering about patrol. Lanval threw back a glance, so his voice carried. Punish those who didn’t find her, not us.

Mordred was the last to leave, perhaps confident he could manage the trees between without the bulk of armor. He stared, mouth slightly agape.

Before I could say something, Galahad nodded too. We appreciate your assistance, Druid Mordred. The crown would be grateful if you accompany my men, ensure they do not run into any magical trouble.

The hand Mordred laid along the birch bark twitched and tore a piece away. Of course, Prince Galahad. It is an honor to serve, always. With a quick bob, he dashed into the woods.

I pivoted to face Galahad, having to shove to find enough room in the straining saddle. Prince?

He cupped my face with the hand not holding the reins, rubbing a thumb over my cheek. Someone has dazzled you, but do not worry, Moralynn. I will ensure they pay dearly for it.

Galahad took up both reins and road in silence, shushing any more questions I attempted. When we return, he whispered every time.

3

Merlin's Warning

I blinked my eyes open, but almost couldn’t tell the difference. Closing and holding down my lids, I saw the brief afterimage of a figure. I jumped, pushing back, in no mind for subtlety.

Moralynn dear.

I almost cried at the voice, which was familiar but the tone, not so much.

A light billowed, and after I adjusted for the sudden change, I saw a drop dance above unburnt fingers.

Father? I tried tentatively. The word sounded strange on my tongue. Merlin, the Phoenix for three generations now, was more steeped in fae culture than Lancelot or some of the other fae members of the Round Table. Children were more a bond of mentorship. He often preferred Teacher, or his title. But too much had happened today, or whenever I was last awake… both times.

A shy smile pulled between the dark lines of mustache and trim beard. My little bird has awakened. He flailed the hand holding flame, and candles turned a blaze through the room.

I almost sighed in relief. I was in the druids’ tower of Camelot, in Merlin’s study. He oft said he liked to perch up high, better to mind his flock. A few books looked out of place, and there were less rings cluttering the worktop, but otherwise, it was home.

I lunged, hugging him in a true embrace, making the one I gave Galahad pale in comparison.

The moment he returned it, pressing me close, I jumped back. I could not be lulled into comfort before resolving my dissonance.

Fa— Merlin, I corrected myself. What have you heard?

There was not a wrinkle of age on Merlin’s face, despite his decades of service as Phoenix. Something about channeling such life energies sustained humans unnaturally long. Further still, they would retain a more favored appearance until death finally caught up. But there were wrinkles now. Worry? Concern? Trouble? He swung around to take his heavy carved seat, keeping his eye on me instead of his desktop. I must have been resting on the small couch. I took it again, feeling as though I needed some support and distance.

It is not what I have heard that bothers me, so much as my little chick has flown home. He was in a mood, speaking in riddles. When not addressing a large audience, his words were plain.

Should I have flown elsewhere? I asked, trying to reply in kind. Return to the loom atop the Tower in Titania’s service?

His eyes widened just a bit. Galahad mentioned you were delusional. I sat up straighter, but he cut me off. Kindly. He simply doesn’t have the vocabulary to convey what he observed. Merlin thrummed his heavily gilded fingers along the mahogany table. Your memory is changed. It was not a ruse?

I buried my hands into the lush velvet. You think I would tell tales about this? Something I could not spin well, especially given all I have learned? I challenged him. Please let it not be how this world thought. I must be his apprentice. I was the Phoenix Sparked. I would carry on that responsibility and hope for all humans, even those dratted, ungrateful Romans.

The mention of Titania’s loom is entirely possible. The problem is, I do not know how you would know that. He grabbed a sheet of parchment and a bit of charcoal then hesitated. Understand, Moralynn, I do not think the life and memories you spin are truly yours, but I would be remiss if I do not learn what you now know. There may be a warning. I know a thing or two about experiencing visions.

This was no vision, I protested. Are you discounting my whole life?

Merlin put down the charcoal. How can I know of your life if you will not tell it to me?

We talked for hours, until I suspected the dawn was nearer then the dusk. Merlin tugged on some thread, pouring into a long line of questions, while ignoring others. Raebyn, he argued vehemently about, not having a single memory of him or anything else that fit his attitude or role.

A shape-shifter? But he always remains blue?

I think only when he wants to be known it is him.

Merlin grumbled. He throws away his advantage?

My heart thumped. I tried to suppress it, but my mind flipped back to the shadowy corner, the one with no exit. The only way out was my death.

It’s not real, Moralynn.

He does not think he needs it.

But that was some time ago. I must have said enough to satiate his curiosity, or perhaps it had become too difficult to puzzle. He was staring down at his scurried notes. A fortune in parchment spread all over the room, and when he swapped the same two thrice, I spoke up.

I just got here. Why do you wish to be rid of me so quickly?

Merlin raised a dark brow. I needed no skill in the mysteries to read his mind. So you are claiming to be my Moralynn?

I winced, fingering the unexpected braid, finding it strange I hadn’t realized it earlier. How changed was I? Was I too close to this me to not recognize the vast differences? Help me find my way to understanding. Do you know why I was in the wood?

Merlin leaned into his desk, one boot crossing over the other as if he considered me.

I am either Moralynn, or I am not! I pumped my fists to propel me into his face. Make up your mind. If I’m not the Moralynn you know, let me leave so that I may find the way to my home.

It’s too dangerous. Merlin yanked back. I didn’t resist, instead swinging into him to make a grab for one of his rings. A foci of any kind would be helpful. If this Moralynn hadn’t worn them already I doubted someone would surrender them willingly.

Merlin brushed off the grab, letting my momentum take me down. I rolled to the floor, nothing appreciably hurt, and remained in the rushes, refusing to look him in the face.

I wasn’t sure what Merlin would do. Yell? Pick me back up? Throw me away in some dungeon of a room? Maybe be silent? I did not have to give him the satisfaction of searching for my unearned punishment.

So I was surprised when the shadows pooled on the edges of my vision. Glancing over my shoulder I saw he faced me, bent at his feet. A smile pulled at my lips; he wasn’t quite ready to bend his knee into the rushes. If I named you Sparked, Moralynn, they would target you most of all.

Target? Now I came full circle to face him. Who would target the Sparked, or… My voice trailed off, and thought of a long moment. You, the Phoenix? We— I stopped. I could not let go that I wasn’t Sparked. I didn’t care that I could not feel that particular connection; life did not flow as it had through me before. It might not be here, but I was me, and I had known the Phoenix was my destiny all my life.

The Phoenix is life, I continued after Merlin didn’t interrupt my pause. Who would want to shut down our racial lifeblood?

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