Fic: The Jinn's Debt--Part II
Ruya was considered nobility in her village, a princess for lack of a better term, because she was the descendant of a shunned, hideous griot and a jinn. That the griot had birthed the most the most beautiful baby anyone had ever seen without lying with a man should have left the her banished; instead, it had gained her the village chief as a husband and offering upon offering at her feet because that was what she’d asked for, and the jinn had granted her wish.
Sons of village chiefs from near and far would woo this griot’s eldest daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter; for with each, she would be a griot of uncommon beauty, possessing something or things of her jinn sire. Ruya’s grandmother, the child born of the jinn-griot union, could disappear and reappear at will. Ruya’s mother could travel great distances at great speeds. Ruya herself had the ability to do both and something none but her jinn ancestor could.
She could divine.
( Part I )
*
One of the hardest things about having the ability to divine was sitting back and doing nothing, enduring the hardships and unpleasantries of destinies that must be fulfilled. There were some fate said should survive, but it would never be enough for her. This first anniversary of Arthur’s existence was particularly hard, watching a man consumed with guilt taking the coward’s way out by blaming everyone but himself for his wife’s demise. The executions had been random and gratuitous; and from then on, she’d decided she’d never allow her children, Arthur included, to watch them. She’d try to present as happy a world for them as she could; and if that meant pretending numerous upon numerous people didn’t die for simply existing, then so be it. Not even Uther’s blustering and threats could make her change her mind.
“He is my son-”
“He is the future king of Camelot, Uther,” Ruya said. “And I will do anything I can to make sure he is not the kind of king you are.” She’d never called him by his appropriate title, not after Ygraine had died.
Uther bared his teeth. “Why haven’t I executed you yet?”
“Because you will not kill me,” Ruya replied, injecting Knowing in her voice.
Uther shuddered, then bared his teeth at her and marched away with a huff. Ruya could not consider his capitulation a victory, however; she Knew he’d somehow discover execution wasn’t even the harshest punishment he could render upon her.
*
“I am not certain, but I do believe I asked for a sister…”
Ruya chuckled at her daughter, now eight years old, who winced each time the wooden swords Thomas had made for the two fighters clacked against each other.
“Ha! I win again!”
“I tripped!”
“So? I can still fight better than the prince of Camelot!” five-year-old Elyan crowed, then cried when six-year-old Arthur hooked his foot around Elyan’s ankle and brought him crashing to the ground.
“You take that back!” Arthur demanded, now truly trying to hack Elyan’s arm off.
Elyan tried to kick him away. “No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“I command it!”
“I don’t have to listen to you!”
The two began wrestling and Guinevere rolled her eyes, unmoved by twin wails of agony as she helped her mother finish making Arthur’s bed. “Yai,* if Arthur is to be king, we should probably move to another kingdom!”
*
As Guinevere showed her new lady around her quarters, Ruya Knew this child would grow into a beauty of great contention. Ruya also Knew this child was not merely a ward of Camelot. She made sure to look into Uther’s eyes so he would know she Knew it too.
*
Though much of the lower town was crowded about the forge, Ruya only had eyes and ears for her husband drumming solely for her. She stomped and swayed to his rhythms, watching lust and love merge in his dark eyes.
Then Thomas raised his eyebrows, his attention diverted elsewhere, and she turned to see Guinevere trying to teach Arthur how to dance as Elyan did.
“No, Arthur, bend your knees more!” Guinevere corrected, pushing the nine-year-old down so he crouched further.
“It hurts!” Arthur whined.
“Oh, but getting whacked with swords feels like a breeze!” Guinevere said dryly.
Arthur stood straight and glowered. “I think I’ll sit with Morgana. She’s having fun and she’s not dancing!”
At this, Guinevere spoke with a wisdom that belied her eleven years. “She didn’t want to; you did. If you give up when things are hard now it will be a sorry day when you grow up to be king!”
Arthur gasped indignantly started to rush up to Guinevere’s face, but she gave him her back and shimmied her hips toward the miller’s son Mahmoud. Arthur was turning red with fury at the pair dancing, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Tough break, mate,” Elyan consoled, gyrating to the beat. “There’s talk she’s gonna marry ’im too.”
Arthur blinked once, then scowled. “Who would want to marry Guinevere?”
“Dunno,” Elyan said, now dancing around Arthur. “I think Mahmoud’s touched in the head myself.”
Suddenly alarm overcame Arthur’s features. “Morgana’s a year older than Guinevere. Do you think I have to marry her?”
“Dunno, but Morgana is noble and you are a prince. Probably.”
He gaped at Elyan, who went to dance with his sister and their neighbor. “Morgana? That’s even worse!”
“I’m not looking forward to that day, either!” Morgana shot back, keeping time with her clapping the whole while.
*
The prince spent far too much time watching Guinevere with a glint in his eyes that Ruya could only describe as illicit. Arthur noticed it, too, his scowl firm on his face as he kept looking to his right where the Lady Morgana sat seated next to one of King Bagdemagus’s sons. Uther had thought this would be a good way to forge a more permanent alliance with such a strong kingdom; but Prince Melwas had little interest in the lovely Lady Morgana and had set his sights on his servant instead.
Guinevere could sense it as well, shooting her mother anxious glances that morphed into kind smiles whenever Morgana addressed her; but this boy would continuously ask Guinevere to attend him, which made no sense considering Bagdemagus had brought his own trusted servants with him.
“Ugh, I don’t like him, yai,” Arthur complained that evening as Ruya helped prepare him for bed. His bottom lip poked out, fat and glistening, as he crossed his arms at his chest. “Why did Father have to invite him to my birthday celebration? It’s my birthday!”
“What have I told you about calling me Mother, Arthur?” she chastised gently. “You cannot do that.”
He pouted more. “But Guinevere and Elyan get to!”
Ruya laughed and smoothed back the blond hair that was so like his mother’s it made her heart clench. “I am their mother. I am not yours.”
Arthur nodded solemnly. “You are the only mum I’ve ever known, tante.”
The tears pricking her eyes surprised her. This past year had been a challenge for both, to fall into the roles laid out for them. She’d become a maid to another noble family to help Arthur adjust to her not being there any longer. Now that he was ten, he would not be needing a nurse at all but rather a manservant instead; and Arthur didn’t like that arrangement at all. In fact, the only reason she was here was because she Knew she had to be.
“I have a confession, Arthur Pendragon,” Ruya said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. Arthur sat up and leaned forward, excited to be privy to something.
“Tante means ‘aunt’ in my native tongue,” she said. “Not nurse.”
He smiled brightly. “Really?” She nodded, and he threw himself into a hug around her. “Thank you, tante Melanie!”
Ruya’s eyes widened as a sensation overcame her and she barely suppressed a shudder. Sighing softly, Ruya kissed his milky forehead. “You may not be my child, Arthur, but I love you as if you were my own. Your mother would have been very proud to call you her son.”
Arthur hugged her tighter. “I love you too.”
The sensation became worse, but Ruya would not leave Arthur until he was settled in slumber. She sang an old lullaby from her village that had him asleep within moments. She kissed his forehead one final time before leaving.
It would be a long time before she saw him again.
Ten minutes later, Ruya was packing her belonging with Thomas cautiously looking out of the window. Her children were asleep with the aid of her lullaby and a draught Gaius had prepared. She trembled so badly she couldn’t grasp anything properly, and tears blurred her vision.
But the blood staining her hands-that she could see clearly.
“You are going back to your village?” Thomas asked quietly.
“Yes.”
Thomas sighed. “How long have you Known this would come to pass?”
“Only when I set sights on Melwas…”
She could still hear her daughter’s silent screams and still see the maniacal look in Melwas’s eyes as he worked the laces of his breeches and yanked up Guinevere’s skirts. There had been a bleeding knot above the boy’s left eye, telling Ruya her daughter had gotten a sling shot off before a loose stone in the corridor’s floor prevented her clean escape. But a weak sling was no match for pure strength, and Ruya wished she’d added more hand-to-hand lessons during their sling-shot sessions.
But that had not been part of their destiny.
“No, I mean how long have you Known we would not spend the rest of our lives together?”
Ruya sobbed, hugging herself tightly. Thomas didn’t come to comfort her, but she didn’t expect it, or deserve it.
“Since the moment you saw me?” Thomas answered for her.
She nodded.
“And our children?” Thomas asked. “What am I to say to them?”
“I love them with everything I am,” Ruya whispered. “As I love you!”
Silence responded to the declaration, and Ruya shook her head. She kissed her babies, whispering she would always be there for them against their warm foreheads. Neither awoke, the draught too powerful, but they did twist and shift as if knowing their mother was present. She then nodded to Thomas, who was still regarding her with a dead expression. There was too much to say and not enough words, so she remained silent as she strode to the door. As soon as she grasped the handle, Thomas spun her around so her back slammed into the door and his mouth crashed upon hers.
Ruya gasped into his kiss, clutching him closer until she thought she could melt into him. When they finally broke apart, his eyes widened.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
Invisible hands framed his face. “I am here, soope**.”
“Will we ever see you again?” he asked, somehow finding her forehead to rest his against it.
She tried not to cry, even though he wouldn’t be able to see her tears. “Yes.”
“I am not saying goodbye to you,” he declared.
“Good,” she replied, “because this is not the time for that.”
He turned his head, his forehead still against hers, and kissed it. “I love you, Ruya.”
She brought her lips to his one last time. “Nob nala***, Thomas.”
The next time she opened her eyes, her mother was before her. Ruya collapsed into her open arms and sobbed.
*
Every night, sight unseen, Ruya kissed her children and husband to sleep and spoke to them while they dreamed. Her mother knew better than to awaken her daughter before the sun was high in the sky the next day.
*
“Yai.”
Elyan looked so much like her father that even her mother gasped, but Ruya could only smile with pride. The entire village had come out to greet the new arrival with his strange dress but familiar features and frame. He was one of them though they shared him with another people in another land.
“My son,” she said in his father’s language, the tongue that had predominated his life. Elyan would learn hers a lot faster than Thomas ever could, however.
He remained stoic for a beat more, then rushed into his mother’s arms. Her baby boy towered over her now, but he still sought her bosom for comfort just as he’d done as a child.
“We miss you, yai,” Elyan whispered.
“I have always been with you,” Ruya reminded him.
“Yes,” Elyan said, and squeezed her tighter. “But Gwen is still upset she wasn’t allowed to come.” He laughed. “She’s always fussing over Father and me.”
Ruya smiled wider, fondly imagining her daughter’s mothering of the two men in her life. “The skills she will need to learn are there in Camelot,” she explained, framing her son’s face. “The skills you will need to learn are here.”
She then let her mother and other villagers greet her son, a future knight who wouldn’t just know how to forge a sword, but also how to wield one as well.
*
“Tell me, Ruya, old friend, will my death be glorious?”
They were on the outskirts of her village, and Ruya regarded the high priestess’s ethereal beauty that had turned internally ugly with her quest for revenge. This singular goal left her blinded to all that had made her a truly formidable sorceress, and she would fall to a novice of burgeoning power. Ruya would have felt more sympathy about that had the witch not used innocents as pawns in her campaign, especially those who would lead the once and future Camelot.
Instead, she declared, “Nimueh, it will be spectacular.”
*
Ruya stood on the balls of her feet, her face expressionless, waiting for Uther to say one wrong thing; but she Knew it would be a futile anticipation. Her arms ached with emptiness, but her lips were still warm with the final kiss Thomas would ever give her. Uther stood behind his high-backed chair, on guard since he’d told his knights to leave them alone in the council room, but with a smirk on his face that turned Ruya’s stomach.
“I am amazed you are even here, Melania,” Uther said on a chuckle. “Then again, I shouldn’t be. You always know. But if that were the case, you would have known to come earlier; we could have negotiated his freedom…” He looked her up and down and licked his lower lip. “More’s the pity.”
“And what a waste of time that would have been,” Ruya said, her lip curling with revulsion. “All thirty seconds of it.”
Fury overtook Uther’s face before it smoothed into faux nonchalance. “Come to think of it, I should have had Tom executed years ago as he’d been consorting with a witch all of this time…” He sneered at her. “With witch children-”
“If I or my children were truly witches, Uther Pendragon, you would not be standing there to threaten or execute anyone,” Ruya said, her voice strong despite her internal agony. “And if you were a man, Uther Pendragon, you would not be executing innocent people still to absolve the guilt that is your life-”
“And you, Melania, may consider Thomas’s death as a consequence for escaping your due punishment all of those years ago!”
In an instant, Uther was writhing against the wall with Ruya’s hand clamped around his windpipe. She took no pleasure in the redness of his face or his scratching her hands to be free of her grip. In fact, she didn’t even notice.
“If you think, for one moment, I will let anyone hurt my children, then you are more foolish than I have thought,” she said quietly.
“Castrating a young boy-”
“I gelded a dog,” Ruya corrected with absolutely no remorse about what she’d done to Prince Melwas. “Young boys know better than to force unwilling girls.”
“Serving girls are always willing-”
He began choking as she tightened her hand around his throat. She wanted to kill this man, ancestors knew she did, but his end would unfortunately not come tonight and never by her hand. But Uther didn’t need to know that, and she dragged him down along the wall until his ear was level with her mouth.
“Do not test me, Uther,” she whispered. “Do not think I do not Know all the evils you have done and have yet to do. And do not think you will escape punishment.”
The moment she let go of his neck, she appeared in the caves below the castle. Kilgharrah immediately flew down, his eyes full of sorrow on her behalf.
“This death will not be in vain, Ruya,” the dragon vowed. “We will be avenged.”
She said nothing for a long while, reliving the last moments of Thomas’s life; how he smiled when she appeared to him and only him; how she cradled his failing body in her arms; how he whispered his love with his final breath and kissed her on his final heartbeat.
“It does not help, does it?” she croaked, unable to meet Kilgharrah’s eyes. “Knowing a future you cannot change.”
“I find it can make it that much more oppressive,” he replied.
Ruya nodded, then sank under the weight of that truth and scalded the ground with her tears.
*
Ygraine had always wanted their children to be friendly, and how intriguing it would take a magical outsider to help rebuild the bond that had existed between them before their mothers had gone away; but Ruya wondered how the queen would have reacted when she realized their children were destined for more than platonic rapport. Probably tickled beyond measure-Ygraine had often teased that Guinevere a regal air about her. She would even probably be amused her son had a worthwhile rival for Guinevere’s affections, having the full confidence her child would eventually be the victor. Ruya wanted to feel the same, but the weight of her daughter’s debt removed any good humor she could have had for the situation.
*
Ruya still kissed her children to sleep even though they were all grown now, and all were scattered about the world. The only one she could not reach was Morgana, even though Ruya Knew exactly where she was. She guided her sons, one of her womb but all three of her heart, and encouraged her daughter in that fragile space between dreams and reality.
“It is still oppressive, Kilgharrah,” Ruya murmured, standing at the edge of the lake that held the sword her husband had forged and her friend had imbued. To her back, were her daughter and a sleeping Camelot. To her front was a vast world with her sons making blazing their own paths.
“We will both breathe easier one day,” he said.
“You are not easy now?” she asked.
“I may be released, but I am not free,” he answered. “But soon.”
Ruya breathed deeply. “So it begins.”
*
“I know you are there…show yourself, if you have the courage.”
“You do not need to see me, Morgause, only hear me.”
The blonde woman turned her back to the happenings downstairs. She looked over Ruya’s shoulder, but her focus was much better than those who didn’t possess Gifts.
“We do not intend to harm them,” Morgause said.
“And yet, they are here,” Ruya said, going to the window that looked down into the hall. “I do not trust Cenred.”
“That is something we have in common,” Morgause said and turned back around. “As is desiring the end of Uther’s reign.”
“Your methods, however, are unappreciated.”
“I am quite satisfied, Melania,” Morgause said. “Morgana has an even greater right to the throne; she is Uther’s eldest child.”
“Ygraine was queen, not Vivienne. Does your hatred of Uther outweigh your respect for her? Or for people who have done nothing to you or Morgana?”
“By any means, Melania,” Morgause said, her voice becoming ice. “And ‘doing nothing’ can have drastic consequences, as you know.”
Ruya was glad she was invisible; that way, Morgause couldn’t see her wince at that harsh truth. “There are destinies even I cannot change, nor are they my responsibility to do so.”
“That is why I take mine in my hands, and Morgana’s,” Morgause said without a shred of remorse. “Anyone with imaginings of stopping us will fall.”
“Do not underestimate me, Morgause,” Ruya warned. “Do not underestimate a mother’s love for her children.”
“Hopefully it is more reliable than a father’s.”
“Not every father is Uther Pendragon,” Ruya said, thinking of her own husband.
Morgause’s expression softened at that. “No. Goloris had honor. Goloris would have never done what Uther has.”
“Arthur will not, either,” Ruya said.
Morguase’s face shuttered closed. “I will not take that chance again. Even after learning the truth, he did not turn against his father. That is all the proof I needed to know Uther is paramount to him.”
“And yet, it is my daughter whom you use as bait to lure him.”
Morgause straightened her spine and smirked. “Victory is close at hand, Melania. Surely you have Seen that.”
“I have,” Ruya admitted. “I also Know it will not happen if either of my children dies.”
“And just to whose victory do you refer?” Morgause asked.
It was now Ruya’s turn to smirk, even if the other woman could not see it. “It does not matter.”
*
To the guards watching the former king of Camelot, it appeared he was staring at a ghost with his eyes completely transfixed upon nothing. But Ruya was visible to him and him alone and spoke so only he could hear.
“This is your doing,” Uther accused. To the guards, he was also talking to himself, no doubt finally cracking under the stress of being stripped of everything.
“I, and numerous others, have told you you would have no one to blame but yourself for your current predicament,” Ruya said.
“I did not tell Morgana-”
“Nor did I,” Ruya said. “Perhaps her sister did; she has been known to reveal other truths you have hidden from your children-”
Uther lunged for her but did not get far, the chains around his wrists and legs pulling him short.
“How does it feel, Uther, to know your children are directly related to the gifts you so despise?”
“When I am freed-”
“Who would want to free you?” Ruya asked genuinely. “Did you truly think your tyranny would come without a price? Do you truly believe your son will forgive you for breaking his heart? Again?”
“He has before!” Uther said petulantly.
Ruya rolled her eyes. “You took away his mother; you tried to take away his love; and you destroyed his sister. I do not think there is any coming back from that, Uther.”
Uther roared. “I should have executed you when I had the chance! And your enchantress of a daughter!”
Grinning, Ruya approached Uther until they were barely a breath apart. “Only a man like you would consider pure love evil. Camelot will be a mighty kingdom, Uther Pendragon, because Arthur will be everything you lacked the courage to be.”
She went invisible to him, shamefully taking joy in his outraged despair.
*
The two women said nothing as they stared at each other for a long while. The younger of the two clutched her apron and swayed forward, but would not give into the run tingling her feet. The elder let her eyes drink in their fill of the child who looked so much like her soope until she closed her eyes and sobbed into her hands.
“Mother,” she whispered, and suddenly slight arms were around Ruya. “Mama…yai.”
“Daughter,” she whispered in Wolof and wrapped tight arms about her. “My child, my baby!”
They sat heavily on the freshly made bed, a far cry from the ramshackle of a hut Ruya had found when she’d entered. She’d straightened everything for her daughter, knowing she would be exhausted after
the coronation of her former lady. Guinevere shuddered against her.
“I didn’t think he’d found you!” she whimpered and clutched at her. “Elyan never said anything and I was too afraid to ask-”
“Yai is here, soope, I am here…” Ruya kissed the top of Guinevere’s head. “I always have been.”
“Mama…” Her breath hitched. “Father…”
Ruya had pressed her thumb to her daughter’s lips, then smoothed a hand over the curls she’d inherited from her grandmother Salome. “I know about Thomas. I was there. Held him in my arms.”
Guinevere frowned. “You were?”
“I told you I would always be with you,” Ruya said, this time kissing her forehead.
She began explaining their ancestry and what it meant for them, for her. Guinevere silently cried as she realized her mother had indeed been watching out for all of them all of this time; and by the time Ruya had stopped talking, Guinevere’s head was in her mother’s lap.
“The dreams, no wonder they seemed so real.”
“You are not afraid of me?”
Guinevere shook her head. “No. Why should I be afraid of love?”
Ruya was blinking back tears again. “You sound so very much like your father.”
She quirked a brief smile, then her brows furrowed. “I am like him in more ways than one. I cannot do any of those things you can,” she said.
That was part of the griot’s debt, but Ruya could never consider her child wanting. “You do not need to do any of those things, and that makes you more powerful than anyone could ever realize,” Ruya said, turning her daughter’s face so they could meet eyes. She smiled and brushed a damp cheek. “Do not doubt yourself, Guinevere. Camelot will not thrive without you.”
Guinevere shook her head. “Camelot needs Arthur. I’m just doing what little I can to make sure there will be a Camelot waiting for him when he returns. And Merlin-do you know-?”
“Yes,” Ruya said. “He will certainly need Merlin too.”
“I need Merlin too,” Guinevere said on a sigh. “And Elyan; that wouldn’t be very nice to lose him when I’ve just found him again.”
“Shh,” Ruya cooed, caressing her daughter’s hair. “There is no need for fretting, soope. Rest.”
It wasn’t long before Guinevere’s breathing evened out, and Ruya tucked her daughter in as if it were twenty years ago and she could still carry her child on her hip. She sang an old Wolof lullaby to lure in the slumber.
*
Guinevere awoke the next morning with a hum in heart and a plan in mind.
~~~
Key:
*Yai-“mother” in Wolof
**Soope-“beloved” in Wolof
***Nob nala-“I love you” in Wolof
Sons of village chiefs from near and far would woo this griot’s eldest daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter; for with each, she would be a griot of uncommon beauty, possessing something or things of her jinn sire. Ruya’s grandmother, the child born of the jinn-griot union, could disappear and reappear at will. Ruya’s mother could travel great distances at great speeds. Ruya herself had the ability to do both and something none but her jinn ancestor could.
She could divine.
( Part I )
*
One of the hardest things about having the ability to divine was sitting back and doing nothing, enduring the hardships and unpleasantries of destinies that must be fulfilled. There were some fate said should survive, but it would never be enough for her. This first anniversary of Arthur’s existence was particularly hard, watching a man consumed with guilt taking the coward’s way out by blaming everyone but himself for his wife’s demise. The executions had been random and gratuitous; and from then on, she’d decided she’d never allow her children, Arthur included, to watch them. She’d try to present as happy a world for them as she could; and if that meant pretending numerous upon numerous people didn’t die for simply existing, then so be it. Not even Uther’s blustering and threats could make her change her mind.
“He is my son-”
“He is the future king of Camelot, Uther,” Ruya said. “And I will do anything I can to make sure he is not the kind of king you are.” She’d never called him by his appropriate title, not after Ygraine had died.
Uther bared his teeth. “Why haven’t I executed you yet?”
“Because you will not kill me,” Ruya replied, injecting Knowing in her voice.
Uther shuddered, then bared his teeth at her and marched away with a huff. Ruya could not consider his capitulation a victory, however; she Knew he’d somehow discover execution wasn’t even the harshest punishment he could render upon her.
*
“I am not certain, but I do believe I asked for a sister…”
Ruya chuckled at her daughter, now eight years old, who winced each time the wooden swords Thomas had made for the two fighters clacked against each other.
“Ha! I win again!”
“I tripped!”
“So? I can still fight better than the prince of Camelot!” five-year-old Elyan crowed, then cried when six-year-old Arthur hooked his foot around Elyan’s ankle and brought him crashing to the ground.
“You take that back!” Arthur demanded, now truly trying to hack Elyan’s arm off.
Elyan tried to kick him away. “No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“I command it!”
“I don’t have to listen to you!”
The two began wrestling and Guinevere rolled her eyes, unmoved by twin wails of agony as she helped her mother finish making Arthur’s bed. “Yai,* if Arthur is to be king, we should probably move to another kingdom!”
*
As Guinevere showed her new lady around her quarters, Ruya Knew this child would grow into a beauty of great contention. Ruya also Knew this child was not merely a ward of Camelot. She made sure to look into Uther’s eyes so he would know she Knew it too.
*
Though much of the lower town was crowded about the forge, Ruya only had eyes and ears for her husband drumming solely for her. She stomped and swayed to his rhythms, watching lust and love merge in his dark eyes.
Then Thomas raised his eyebrows, his attention diverted elsewhere, and she turned to see Guinevere trying to teach Arthur how to dance as Elyan did.
“No, Arthur, bend your knees more!” Guinevere corrected, pushing the nine-year-old down so he crouched further.
“It hurts!” Arthur whined.
“Oh, but getting whacked with swords feels like a breeze!” Guinevere said dryly.
Arthur stood straight and glowered. “I think I’ll sit with Morgana. She’s having fun and she’s not dancing!”
At this, Guinevere spoke with a wisdom that belied her eleven years. “She didn’t want to; you did. If you give up when things are hard now it will be a sorry day when you grow up to be king!”
Arthur gasped indignantly started to rush up to Guinevere’s face, but she gave him her back and shimmied her hips toward the miller’s son Mahmoud. Arthur was turning red with fury at the pair dancing, his hands clenched at his sides.
“Tough break, mate,” Elyan consoled, gyrating to the beat. “There’s talk she’s gonna marry ’im too.”
Arthur blinked once, then scowled. “Who would want to marry Guinevere?”
“Dunno,” Elyan said, now dancing around Arthur. “I think Mahmoud’s touched in the head myself.”
Suddenly alarm overcame Arthur’s features. “Morgana’s a year older than Guinevere. Do you think I have to marry her?”
“Dunno, but Morgana is noble and you are a prince. Probably.”
He gaped at Elyan, who went to dance with his sister and their neighbor. “Morgana? That’s even worse!”
“I’m not looking forward to that day, either!” Morgana shot back, keeping time with her clapping the whole while.
*
The prince spent far too much time watching Guinevere with a glint in his eyes that Ruya could only describe as illicit. Arthur noticed it, too, his scowl firm on his face as he kept looking to his right where the Lady Morgana sat seated next to one of King Bagdemagus’s sons. Uther had thought this would be a good way to forge a more permanent alliance with such a strong kingdom; but Prince Melwas had little interest in the lovely Lady Morgana and had set his sights on his servant instead.
Guinevere could sense it as well, shooting her mother anxious glances that morphed into kind smiles whenever Morgana addressed her; but this boy would continuously ask Guinevere to attend him, which made no sense considering Bagdemagus had brought his own trusted servants with him.
“Ugh, I don’t like him, yai,” Arthur complained that evening as Ruya helped prepare him for bed. His bottom lip poked out, fat and glistening, as he crossed his arms at his chest. “Why did Father have to invite him to my birthday celebration? It’s my birthday!”
“What have I told you about calling me Mother, Arthur?” she chastised gently. “You cannot do that.”
He pouted more. “But Guinevere and Elyan get to!”
Ruya laughed and smoothed back the blond hair that was so like his mother’s it made her heart clench. “I am their mother. I am not yours.”
Arthur nodded solemnly. “You are the only mum I’ve ever known, tante.”
The tears pricking her eyes surprised her. This past year had been a challenge for both, to fall into the roles laid out for them. She’d become a maid to another noble family to help Arthur adjust to her not being there any longer. Now that he was ten, he would not be needing a nurse at all but rather a manservant instead; and Arthur didn’t like that arrangement at all. In fact, the only reason she was here was because she Knew she had to be.
“I have a confession, Arthur Pendragon,” Ruya said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. Arthur sat up and leaned forward, excited to be privy to something.
“Tante means ‘aunt’ in my native tongue,” she said. “Not nurse.”
He smiled brightly. “Really?” She nodded, and he threw himself into a hug around her. “Thank you, tante Melanie!”
Ruya’s eyes widened as a sensation overcame her and she barely suppressed a shudder. Sighing softly, Ruya kissed his milky forehead. “You may not be my child, Arthur, but I love you as if you were my own. Your mother would have been very proud to call you her son.”
Arthur hugged her tighter. “I love you too.”
The sensation became worse, but Ruya would not leave Arthur until he was settled in slumber. She sang an old lullaby from her village that had him asleep within moments. She kissed his forehead one final time before leaving.
It would be a long time before she saw him again.
Ten minutes later, Ruya was packing her belonging with Thomas cautiously looking out of the window. Her children were asleep with the aid of her lullaby and a draught Gaius had prepared. She trembled so badly she couldn’t grasp anything properly, and tears blurred her vision.
But the blood staining her hands-that she could see clearly.
“You are going back to your village?” Thomas asked quietly.
“Yes.”
Thomas sighed. “How long have you Known this would come to pass?”
“Only when I set sights on Melwas…”
She could still hear her daughter’s silent screams and still see the maniacal look in Melwas’s eyes as he worked the laces of his breeches and yanked up Guinevere’s skirts. There had been a bleeding knot above the boy’s left eye, telling Ruya her daughter had gotten a sling shot off before a loose stone in the corridor’s floor prevented her clean escape. But a weak sling was no match for pure strength, and Ruya wished she’d added more hand-to-hand lessons during their sling-shot sessions.
But that had not been part of their destiny.
“No, I mean how long have you Known we would not spend the rest of our lives together?”
Ruya sobbed, hugging herself tightly. Thomas didn’t come to comfort her, but she didn’t expect it, or deserve it.
“Since the moment you saw me?” Thomas answered for her.
She nodded.
“And our children?” Thomas asked. “What am I to say to them?”
“I love them with everything I am,” Ruya whispered. “As I love you!”
Silence responded to the declaration, and Ruya shook her head. She kissed her babies, whispering she would always be there for them against their warm foreheads. Neither awoke, the draught too powerful, but they did twist and shift as if knowing their mother was present. She then nodded to Thomas, who was still regarding her with a dead expression. There was too much to say and not enough words, so she remained silent as she strode to the door. As soon as she grasped the handle, Thomas spun her around so her back slammed into the door and his mouth crashed upon hers.
Ruya gasped into his kiss, clutching him closer until she thought she could melt into him. When they finally broke apart, his eyes widened.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
Invisible hands framed his face. “I am here, soope**.”
“Will we ever see you again?” he asked, somehow finding her forehead to rest his against it.
She tried not to cry, even though he wouldn’t be able to see her tears. “Yes.”
“I am not saying goodbye to you,” he declared.
“Good,” she replied, “because this is not the time for that.”
He turned his head, his forehead still against hers, and kissed it. “I love you, Ruya.”
She brought her lips to his one last time. “Nob nala***, Thomas.”
The next time she opened her eyes, her mother was before her. Ruya collapsed into her open arms and sobbed.
*
Every night, sight unseen, Ruya kissed her children and husband to sleep and spoke to them while they dreamed. Her mother knew better than to awaken her daughter before the sun was high in the sky the next day.
*
“Yai.”
Elyan looked so much like her father that even her mother gasped, but Ruya could only smile with pride. The entire village had come out to greet the new arrival with his strange dress but familiar features and frame. He was one of them though they shared him with another people in another land.
“My son,” she said in his father’s language, the tongue that had predominated his life. Elyan would learn hers a lot faster than Thomas ever could, however.
He remained stoic for a beat more, then rushed into his mother’s arms. Her baby boy towered over her now, but he still sought her bosom for comfort just as he’d done as a child.
“We miss you, yai,” Elyan whispered.
“I have always been with you,” Ruya reminded him.
“Yes,” Elyan said, and squeezed her tighter. “But Gwen is still upset she wasn’t allowed to come.” He laughed. “She’s always fussing over Father and me.”
Ruya smiled wider, fondly imagining her daughter’s mothering of the two men in her life. “The skills she will need to learn are there in Camelot,” she explained, framing her son’s face. “The skills you will need to learn are here.”
She then let her mother and other villagers greet her son, a future knight who wouldn’t just know how to forge a sword, but also how to wield one as well.
*
“Tell me, Ruya, old friend, will my death be glorious?”
They were on the outskirts of her village, and Ruya regarded the high priestess’s ethereal beauty that had turned internally ugly with her quest for revenge. This singular goal left her blinded to all that had made her a truly formidable sorceress, and she would fall to a novice of burgeoning power. Ruya would have felt more sympathy about that had the witch not used innocents as pawns in her campaign, especially those who would lead the once and future Camelot.
Instead, she declared, “Nimueh, it will be spectacular.”
*
Ruya stood on the balls of her feet, her face expressionless, waiting for Uther to say one wrong thing; but she Knew it would be a futile anticipation. Her arms ached with emptiness, but her lips were still warm with the final kiss Thomas would ever give her. Uther stood behind his high-backed chair, on guard since he’d told his knights to leave them alone in the council room, but with a smirk on his face that turned Ruya’s stomach.
“I am amazed you are even here, Melania,” Uther said on a chuckle. “Then again, I shouldn’t be. You always know. But if that were the case, you would have known to come earlier; we could have negotiated his freedom…” He looked her up and down and licked his lower lip. “More’s the pity.”
“And what a waste of time that would have been,” Ruya said, her lip curling with revulsion. “All thirty seconds of it.”
Fury overtook Uther’s face before it smoothed into faux nonchalance. “Come to think of it, I should have had Tom executed years ago as he’d been consorting with a witch all of this time…” He sneered at her. “With witch children-”
“If I or my children were truly witches, Uther Pendragon, you would not be standing there to threaten or execute anyone,” Ruya said, her voice strong despite her internal agony. “And if you were a man, Uther Pendragon, you would not be executing innocent people still to absolve the guilt that is your life-”
“And you, Melania, may consider Thomas’s death as a consequence for escaping your due punishment all of those years ago!”
In an instant, Uther was writhing against the wall with Ruya’s hand clamped around his windpipe. She took no pleasure in the redness of his face or his scratching her hands to be free of her grip. In fact, she didn’t even notice.
“If you think, for one moment, I will let anyone hurt my children, then you are more foolish than I have thought,” she said quietly.
“Castrating a young boy-”
“I gelded a dog,” Ruya corrected with absolutely no remorse about what she’d done to Prince Melwas. “Young boys know better than to force unwilling girls.”
“Serving girls are always willing-”
He began choking as she tightened her hand around his throat. She wanted to kill this man, ancestors knew she did, but his end would unfortunately not come tonight and never by her hand. But Uther didn’t need to know that, and she dragged him down along the wall until his ear was level with her mouth.
“Do not test me, Uther,” she whispered. “Do not think I do not Know all the evils you have done and have yet to do. And do not think you will escape punishment.”
The moment she let go of his neck, she appeared in the caves below the castle. Kilgharrah immediately flew down, his eyes full of sorrow on her behalf.
“This death will not be in vain, Ruya,” the dragon vowed. “We will be avenged.”
She said nothing for a long while, reliving the last moments of Thomas’s life; how he smiled when she appeared to him and only him; how she cradled his failing body in her arms; how he whispered his love with his final breath and kissed her on his final heartbeat.
“It does not help, does it?” she croaked, unable to meet Kilgharrah’s eyes. “Knowing a future you cannot change.”
“I find it can make it that much more oppressive,” he replied.
Ruya nodded, then sank under the weight of that truth and scalded the ground with her tears.
*
Ygraine had always wanted their children to be friendly, and how intriguing it would take a magical outsider to help rebuild the bond that had existed between them before their mothers had gone away; but Ruya wondered how the queen would have reacted when she realized their children were destined for more than platonic rapport. Probably tickled beyond measure-Ygraine had often teased that Guinevere a regal air about her. She would even probably be amused her son had a worthwhile rival for Guinevere’s affections, having the full confidence her child would eventually be the victor. Ruya wanted to feel the same, but the weight of her daughter’s debt removed any good humor she could have had for the situation.
*
Ruya still kissed her children to sleep even though they were all grown now, and all were scattered about the world. The only one she could not reach was Morgana, even though Ruya Knew exactly where she was. She guided her sons, one of her womb but all three of her heart, and encouraged her daughter in that fragile space between dreams and reality.
“It is still oppressive, Kilgharrah,” Ruya murmured, standing at the edge of the lake that held the sword her husband had forged and her friend had imbued. To her back, were her daughter and a sleeping Camelot. To her front was a vast world with her sons making blazing their own paths.
“We will both breathe easier one day,” he said.
“You are not easy now?” she asked.
“I may be released, but I am not free,” he answered. “But soon.”
Ruya breathed deeply. “So it begins.”
*
“I know you are there…show yourself, if you have the courage.”
“You do not need to see me, Morgause, only hear me.”
The blonde woman turned her back to the happenings downstairs. She looked over Ruya’s shoulder, but her focus was much better than those who didn’t possess Gifts.
“We do not intend to harm them,” Morgause said.
“And yet, they are here,” Ruya said, going to the window that looked down into the hall. “I do not trust Cenred.”
“That is something we have in common,” Morgause said and turned back around. “As is desiring the end of Uther’s reign.”
“Your methods, however, are unappreciated.”
“I am quite satisfied, Melania,” Morgause said. “Morgana has an even greater right to the throne; she is Uther’s eldest child.”
“Ygraine was queen, not Vivienne. Does your hatred of Uther outweigh your respect for her? Or for people who have done nothing to you or Morgana?”
“By any means, Melania,” Morgause said, her voice becoming ice. “And ‘doing nothing’ can have drastic consequences, as you know.”
Ruya was glad she was invisible; that way, Morgause couldn’t see her wince at that harsh truth. “There are destinies even I cannot change, nor are they my responsibility to do so.”
“That is why I take mine in my hands, and Morgana’s,” Morgause said without a shred of remorse. “Anyone with imaginings of stopping us will fall.”
“Do not underestimate me, Morgause,” Ruya warned. “Do not underestimate a mother’s love for her children.”
“Hopefully it is more reliable than a father’s.”
“Not every father is Uther Pendragon,” Ruya said, thinking of her own husband.
Morgause’s expression softened at that. “No. Goloris had honor. Goloris would have never done what Uther has.”
“Arthur will not, either,” Ruya said.
Morguase’s face shuttered closed. “I will not take that chance again. Even after learning the truth, he did not turn against his father. That is all the proof I needed to know Uther is paramount to him.”
“And yet, it is my daughter whom you use as bait to lure him.”
Morgause straightened her spine and smirked. “Victory is close at hand, Melania. Surely you have Seen that.”
“I have,” Ruya admitted. “I also Know it will not happen if either of my children dies.”
“And just to whose victory do you refer?” Morgause asked.
It was now Ruya’s turn to smirk, even if the other woman could not see it. “It does not matter.”
*
To the guards watching the former king of Camelot, it appeared he was staring at a ghost with his eyes completely transfixed upon nothing. But Ruya was visible to him and him alone and spoke so only he could hear.
“This is your doing,” Uther accused. To the guards, he was also talking to himself, no doubt finally cracking under the stress of being stripped of everything.
“I, and numerous others, have told you you would have no one to blame but yourself for your current predicament,” Ruya said.
“I did not tell Morgana-”
“Nor did I,” Ruya said. “Perhaps her sister did; she has been known to reveal other truths you have hidden from your children-”
Uther lunged for her but did not get far, the chains around his wrists and legs pulling him short.
“How does it feel, Uther, to know your children are directly related to the gifts you so despise?”
“When I am freed-”
“Who would want to free you?” Ruya asked genuinely. “Did you truly think your tyranny would come without a price? Do you truly believe your son will forgive you for breaking his heart? Again?”
“He has before!” Uther said petulantly.
Ruya rolled her eyes. “You took away his mother; you tried to take away his love; and you destroyed his sister. I do not think there is any coming back from that, Uther.”
Uther roared. “I should have executed you when I had the chance! And your enchantress of a daughter!”
Grinning, Ruya approached Uther until they were barely a breath apart. “Only a man like you would consider pure love evil. Camelot will be a mighty kingdom, Uther Pendragon, because Arthur will be everything you lacked the courage to be.”
She went invisible to him, shamefully taking joy in his outraged despair.
*
The two women said nothing as they stared at each other for a long while. The younger of the two clutched her apron and swayed forward, but would not give into the run tingling her feet. The elder let her eyes drink in their fill of the child who looked so much like her soope until she closed her eyes and sobbed into her hands.
“Mother,” she whispered, and suddenly slight arms were around Ruya. “Mama…yai.”
“Daughter,” she whispered in Wolof and wrapped tight arms about her. “My child, my baby!”
They sat heavily on the freshly made bed, a far cry from the ramshackle of a hut Ruya had found when she’d entered. She’d straightened everything for her daughter, knowing she would be exhausted after
the coronation of her former lady. Guinevere shuddered against her.
“I didn’t think he’d found you!” she whimpered and clutched at her. “Elyan never said anything and I was too afraid to ask-”
“Yai is here, soope, I am here…” Ruya kissed the top of Guinevere’s head. “I always have been.”
“Mama…” Her breath hitched. “Father…”
Ruya had pressed her thumb to her daughter’s lips, then smoothed a hand over the curls she’d inherited from her grandmother Salome. “I know about Thomas. I was there. Held him in my arms.”
Guinevere frowned. “You were?”
“I told you I would always be with you,” Ruya said, this time kissing her forehead.
She began explaining their ancestry and what it meant for them, for her. Guinevere silently cried as she realized her mother had indeed been watching out for all of them all of this time; and by the time Ruya had stopped talking, Guinevere’s head was in her mother’s lap.
“The dreams, no wonder they seemed so real.”
“You are not afraid of me?”
Guinevere shook her head. “No. Why should I be afraid of love?”
Ruya was blinking back tears again. “You sound so very much like your father.”
She quirked a brief smile, then her brows furrowed. “I am like him in more ways than one. I cannot do any of those things you can,” she said.
That was part of the griot’s debt, but Ruya could never consider her child wanting. “You do not need to do any of those things, and that makes you more powerful than anyone could ever realize,” Ruya said, turning her daughter’s face so they could meet eyes. She smiled and brushed a damp cheek. “Do not doubt yourself, Guinevere. Camelot will not thrive without you.”
Guinevere shook her head. “Camelot needs Arthur. I’m just doing what little I can to make sure there will be a Camelot waiting for him when he returns. And Merlin-do you know-?”
“Yes,” Ruya said. “He will certainly need Merlin too.”
“I need Merlin too,” Guinevere said on a sigh. “And Elyan; that wouldn’t be very nice to lose him when I’ve just found him again.”
“Shh,” Ruya cooed, caressing her daughter’s hair. “There is no need for fretting, soope. Rest.”
It wasn’t long before Guinevere’s breathing evened out, and Ruya tucked her daughter in as if it were twenty years ago and she could still carry her child on her hip. She sang an old Wolof lullaby to lure in the slumber.
*
Guinevere awoke the next morning with a hum in heart and a plan in mind.
~~~
Key:
*Yai-“mother” in Wolof
**Soope-“beloved” in Wolof
***Nob nala-“I love you” in Wolof