Samhain's Sacrifice: King Arthur's Series: King Arthur Series, #2

By Philip A. Moore

Mordred sits at the bar making plans for the Samhain (Halloween) Celebration like he does every year. He and his dagger practice his ancestor's ancient rituals of human sacrifice. Who will he choose?

A seven-year-old girl experiences the effect of a ring that gives wisdom. How will she deal with a pair of bullies who thinks of her as a fun challenge?

When a cousin asks the same questions, too often friendships may be destroyed.
A boy in a wheelchair dreams of past victims and a clue to stopping a future one.
An ally dreads Halloween and the next day's cup of coffee. WHY?

It's Halloween. A time for kids, costumes, candy, and fun. Mordred, his raven and his dagger are looking for fun!
It is up to Camelot's Heirs to prevent a tragedy. Someone will die. Will it be friend, foe, or both?

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip A. Moore
• Release date: Mar 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215843130

Book preview

Prologue

Mordred

Mordred had returned to Savage Swine, the tavern next to his home. He mulled over the events of the last three months. He should have been able to kill the boy. What had gone wrong? Was he losing his touch? Everything happened quickly. The cat. Where did that stupid cat come from? Mordred hated cats. The explosion had startled his raven, Beltran. The bird had flown for its life. Ordinarily, Mordred could have located the bird by sitting quietly, focusing, and seeing through its eyes. This time the process wasn’t so simple.

The bird hadn’t liked the extra security Mordred put on him. It thought Mordred was trying to remind him who was boss.

Beltran would have none of it. He flew back through the fairy barrier, leaving Mordred wandering through the woods, keeping a vigilant watch for malicious fairy tricks, and having to keep his mouth shut anytime someone would ask him what he was looking for. No need to end up in stocks for possessing an illegal bird.

He would repeat the attempts to see through the raven’s eyes, but Beltran wouldn’t grant him access.

Two weeks passed before he saw a fleeting bird's-eye view from a high tree. His vision showed a brown-cloaked man looking up.

He spied Beltran on a top branch of a nearby tree. Careful to not lose sight of the bird, he sought a way to lure him down from his perch. Mordred brought a large, dead wood rat out from under his cloak. He had been saving it for several weeks just for this purpose. Its rotting smell made it hard for other people to be downwind of Mordred. Beulah, the bar owner, banned him from inside the bar but was nice enough to get her server to put a clothespin on her nose and bring him a pint of ale. Odor would not impede her profits.

I brought you a present, he called to the bird. He tossed the rat onto a grassy spot in an unobstructed view of his raven. The greedy bird couldn’t resist such a juicy snack. Beltran waited until he was eating the carrion before he let Mordred see through its eyes. Ordinarily, Mordred stayed out of its head when the bird ate, so he did not have to experience certain sensations like taste, something the bird liked to take advantage of. Caught by surprise, it took Mordred several days to get the taste and fury feel of the two-week-dead rat out of his mouth. Beltran felt this settled the score, and now cooperated somewhat. This was good because Samhain (Halloween) was almost here.

After making sure that murderous water fairy, Jenny Greenteeth, who wanted to drown him for the murder of her sister, wasn’t around, Mordred took a quick bath in the creek and cleaned his robe with lye soap that he’d bought from a villager. His odor improved, and he spent his time resting up for Samhain. In fact, he looked forward to it. A few of the more recent victims from past Samhain spoke up, trying to dredge up guilt in him, but it didn’t work. These thoughts excited him.

He put his dagger on the table, laid his head on his crossed arms, and dozed off for a couple minutes. The voices in his head let him alone while he sat at the bar. They knew if he was drunk, they might take over in bits of freedom to torment him. Something touching his face interrupted Mordred’s rest. He grabbed for his knife and came up, swinging it in a wide arc. The knife struck nothing. Fully awake, he looked around. Dirty blond hair on the emaciated face of Angel, the tavern’s best customer and most annoying drunk, wavered before him.

BOO! she exclaimed. She stood within inches of his face. He wondered why he hadn’t cut her. When Angel was sober, she was smart, but drunk she was stupid friendly. She looked at the knife and her eyes widened.

Mordy! You put that thing away! I have nosh-ing but love for you. You're my spesh... my spes...my speechel... favorite guy!  My cutie patootie.

Her slurred speech might have been almost comical, if Mordred hadn’t been the one being pursued. She tried to give his cheek a pinch.

Mordred dodged her advances and slipped under the table. He shoved his dagger back in its scabbard and dropped to the floor, where he crawled around her and away. It’d only make a scene if he stabbed her, and probably the bartender, Beulah, wouldn’t have let him get away with it. Angel looked down at him, then up at the group of local yokels leaning on the main bar. Isn’t he... she winked at Mordred, the cutest guy you ever saw?

The idiot drunks started clapping, and a few started caterwauling, For he’s a jolly good fellow. A couple tossed peanuts at him.

Most were too drunk to remember the words to the song, or that they really did not enjoy having him around. Mordred jumped up and moved to another table. Beulah quickly ushered the peanut throwers out of the bar.

Come back after he’s left. I may have just saved your lives, you know, she called after them.

Angel came over and hung her arm on Mordred’s shoulder. You need not run. I love you, Mordie. You know that, she blubbered.

He pulled away from her grasp and went to a third table, inching toward the door.

Angel loved everyone when she was drunk. Beulah wasn’t about to kick her out. Her business increased profits copiously. The more Angel drank, the more money the tavern made. Angel’s papa was rich.

Angel moved next to Mordred. The urge to kill grew in his soul, but that would only rob him of the uniqueness of Samhain. Angel winked with purple shaded eyelids. You have a girlfriend, Mordred? she slobbered.

No! he growled. He ducked out of her clasp and tried to leave the bench. He wanted left alone.

Would you like one?

NO! he bellowed.

Don' be that way, shweet heart, she giggled. We could make a beautiful baby. My slender figure and, She touched his scalp, Your greasy black hair. She'd be the best of both of us, only without your reputation, of course. But then who doesn't love a bad boy?

One drunk laughed, Not me, but give me a bad girl, then we're talking.

Mordred didn’t like the way things were going.

Angel stood up, took a step back and yelled, Beulah, give me another drink. Make it a stiff sherry.

Beulah obliged.

Angel took a swig. You sure you don't want to be a daddy, Mordred?

No! he yelled. I hate kids; they smell funny!

She looked a little annoyed. Sheesh! It was just a suggestion. No need to act like a brat about it. I don't think they’d like you much either.  

She annoyed him. But Beulah wouldn’t tolerate murder in the tavern. The tavern keeper always had someone guard Angel after she left until she sobered up. Beulah knew Angel could be an idiot with men when she was drunk.

Beulah blocked him. Be warned, Mordred. If Angel ever gets hurt leaving my Tavern, you’ll be the first suspect. Then she gave a husky laugh. Angel’s Papa has been asking for something he can debone while it’s still alive, not that there would be much of you to skin, but it’d be great fun for him. He might even let me hang your head on the wall. It’d look great up there next to the ogre!  You are not good enough to hang next to my dog, Auto. 

Mordred sat between the drunken girl and Beulah with no room to move. It was humiliating not to kill when provoked.

Mordred, you want a drink, Sweetie?  He jumped away from Angel. The urge to kill grew almost impossible to squelch. Angel grabbed his sleeve. Look, fellas. He’s playing hard to get.

Mordred screeched, Beulah, I’m warning you!

Beulah just laughed Relax, Mordred, she’s harmless, and for once, you have a girl other than Peg who likes you.

Yeah, Mordred, Angel hiccupped, and continued. I’m harmless. She was so drunk the other patrons had to help her to a stool so she wouldn’t fall. She blew him a kiss. He ran out before the desire to kill overwhelmed him.

He thought it better to hang out in his room for the next couple of days, which was preferable to dealing with a drunken woman whom he couldn’t kill without losing his only stable place to crash. It was times like this when he wished the fairy realm had telephones. He could have called Beulah to ask her when or if the girl had left the bar.

He patted Beltran's cage. This year, I’m going back to Maine for Samhain. I can choose my celebratory kill and then go after the boy like I should have done sooner. Beltran cocked his head and stared. Mordred had a sudden sensation that he wasn’t the only one who shared the bird’s mind. This had happened before, and he usually dismissed the thought, but this time he got a prickly sensation at the base of his neck. Was someone privy to their conversation? What would be the point of eavesdropping? Who would dare?

Beltran, Mordred's raven, both loved and hated being Mordred’s familiar. On the plus side, he had constant food. But it wasn’t the same as being in total control of oneself. Anytime the Raven could stick it to the old man, he’d do it. True, a familiar chooses its master, and most were loyal to them, but Beltran wasn’t like most familiars. He owed Mordred nothing. The only reason he was Mordred’s familiar was because Mordred conned him. Beltran been a druid priest, and on his deathbed, Mordred convinced him he would reincarnate as a raven, then tricked him into becoming his familiar. Beltran often wondered what he did to justify being forced into servitude to Mordred. The bird enjoyed hunting as much as Mordred did, and even reveled in it to a certain degree, but there was something about the carnage that gave him a twinge of guilt. Many years ago, he’d escaped Mordred for a brief period of privacy in the human realm. As the bird had perched in a cottonwood tree, a large female fairy appeared. She had short brown hair and wore a gray tank top with black pants. Her wings were like those of a red butterfly. An angel stood near her, dressed in white, with wings that almost touched the ground. His blond hair tied in a ponytail that went to his waist. The fairy gazed at Beltran and spoke.

Hello, Beltran.

Curious that anyone would try to talk to him, the black bird flew down from his perch and landed on the fairy’s shoulder. She took the angel’s hand. The action mentally linked the three for a three-way conversation.

Greetings my glossy black friend.  

The flattery got the bird’s attention. Beltran doted on his shiny feathers. It was nice to know he was not the only one who noticed their beauty.

You’re alone this afternoon, I see. We’ve been watching you enjoying yourself. Freedom doesn’t come along often, does it? Being restrained can annoy one. The bird grew suspicious, but nodded his head in agreement. He had heard no one speak kindly to him in years. He continued to listen.

We like your loyalty. That’s an excellent trait. Do you really prize your master and his actions?

Telepathically Beltran sent them some pictures of Mordred at his most vile, killing and drinking, belching and being himself. His mind even shared a few Halloween murders Mordred committed.

The angel looked away, sickened.

If what he does disgusts you, why do you stay?

Beltran showed them a freshly killed corpse he had feasted on.

Would you like a little redemption? You have a conscience. Could you help us?

The bird pondered. Their agenda couldn’t be as unpleasant as Mordred’s. He thought he might as well ask what they wanted.

The angel spoke, All you have to do is let us eavesdrop on your master and his private ramblings, and you can feel better about things in your conscience.

This was odd. When he was with these two, he almost felt loved. He never felt that way before.

Beltran nodded.

The fairy smiled. Good, and thank you, oh black-winged brother. She lifted her hand and stroked Beltran’s feathers gently.

But be careful of the fairy realms. They will be dangerous for you. We work outside their realm posting news. We’ll protect you when we can.

The bit of warmth in his heart left along with his visitors. He missed it. Beltran flew to a branch and watched them disappear as if walking through a doorway in the air. He wished they’d visit again. They saw him again, but he never saw them. Often, he’d feel them using his eyes like Mordred did, but unlike his reaction to Mordred, he always let them. These beings had treated him as if he had value. What sort of former druid priest would he be if he didn’t reward their kindness?

At first, he wasn’t sure what they’d do with this information. Then Mordred started questioning how the tea leaves knew so much about his comings and goings. Beltran remembered the beautiful Fairy. Perhaps she’s the agent behind the tea leaves. But what about the angel? Angels are messengers. What messages did the angel send, and who would get the messages? Beltran wondered.

Chapter 1

Grace Learns A Lot

Grace was entering second grade this year, and she could hardly wait. These past three months had been weird, but wonderful. The ring had opened new worlds for her. She had not forgotten the beautiful Lady of the Lake. In fact, the experience changed her for the better. The day they got home from the picnic, she had an idea. She’d always wanted long hair, but her mother preferred a short, easy-to-manage pixie cut. Grace skillfully worked with her words. She bargained with Mom to let her grow her hair grow out. She promised to wash it every night and comb it. Mother agreed. Grace was proud of her updated look and how her hair was growing in. She knew pride and vanity weren’t good, and her parents had told her about Satan and his fall because of pride. Adults can’t expect little girls to be wise all the time.      

Grace didn’t mind being alone. This behavior hadn’t come about by choice, but because she was the youngest in her neighborhood. At least she wasn’t so alone any more, now that she had Merlin’s company. Jimmy claimed the dog was his, but Merlin never slept with him. Every night Merlin was in the hall outside Grace’s room, like a shepherd watching its sheep and making sure the wolf didn't enter. His care made her feel safe. The Lady of the Lake had told her Merlin was once human, so his sleeping by her bed creeped her out a bit, but he always kept his distance at night watching, aware, and still respecting her privacy. Jimmy tried to lure Merlin to his room, but the dog wouldn't budge. Trying to force the issue, Jimmy pulled him into his bedroom one night. Merlin howled and scratched at the door to get out until Jimmy had to let him have his way.

The ring also helped Grace understand grown-ups better. She’d always struggled with certain things about adults. Grace once surprised her father after church when she asked him about the sermon topic, "laying up one’s treasure in heaven."

Daddy, she asked him, Isn't it true that where your money goes shows what you value the most, so putting your money towards buying selfish things is like laying up treasure on earth? And does that mean that giving money to charity is laying it up in Heaven?

Father sat dumbfounded for a moment, then smiled and tousled her hair.

Yeah, little one, he said. "Most folks don't get that principle all their lives! They stockpile stuff till their dying day, and then finally realize that they can’t take it with them. They leave their folks back on earth to clean up the rubbish.  

After that discussion, he’d