Conquest of Avalon

Camille XI: Ascendant

What now?

Camille gripped the dark blade loosely in her hand, the wet fabric of her dress clinging to her back. With the blood gushing out of her shoulder where Levian had pierced it, she couldn’t help but remember his own words from the last time they’d spoken: Blood and flesh are mere extensions of my domain, filled with as much water as the world itself.

Before Luce’s arrival in Malin, she hadn’t had any energy to spare experimenting, and afterwards so much time had passed that it had barely occurred to her. Probably for the better, or Luce would have ended up with more information about my abilities than even me.

But now...

Levian’s corpse lay before her, blue blood so dark it was almost black spilling out onto the sand.

The sword was heavy in her hand, so Camille set it down softly on the ground, then pressed her finger to her wound, trying to recall the sensation that passed through her when Levian had mended the wound from Lumière’s pistol. I don’t need anything profound, just a stop to the bleeding. Finesse could—would—come later, after further practice.

I have time now. And a world’s worth of problems to spend it on.

As she felt her fingers harden the blood around her wound, the logistics of it felt more than a bit ridiculous, drawing on her own life to preserve her life, but a day at the end was more than worth stopping herself from bleeding out on the sand alongside her erstwhile patron.

Camille breathed deep of the salty air as she took in the new sensation, careful not to let the smile show on her face. There’s still too much I don’t know, too much uncertainty to come. Arrogance in the face of that could be fatal. That lesson she’d learned late, but perhaps just in time. Acting as if she were above making mistakes had brought her perilously close to death or worse over and over again, and Camille had no intention of squandering the opportunity she’d been given.

Dueling Lumière, Camille had only planned for success. She’d had to spend the entire year making up for that one mistake—and the dark bargain she’d had no choice but to make to survive it. This time, she had only defined success as keeping her soul out of Levian’s clutches.

But this...

“Why did Gézarde come to my aid?” she breathlessly asked Fernan, for once unable to maintain a knowledgeable façade.

“Levian’s time had come,” he answered, frowning at the serpent’s corpse. “I doubt it hurt that you promised to serve Gézarde for the rest of your life, either. Especially since that promise isn’t worth much if your life is measured in hours.”

That’s the only reason I made it. But unless she wanted to try getting lucky killing two spirits for two tonight, Camille had no choice but to honor it. No doubt the first unintended consequence of many when it came to this triumph, but it was hard to let it dampen her mood.

I sought a defiant last stand, a refutation of my complicity in evil, and it rewarded me beyond my wildest hopes. Another lesson there, perhaps, though not one Camille intended to take too closely to heart until she better understood what had happened.

Fernan was leaving something out, that much was plain. Gézarde had a reason to want Camille alive more than dead, perhaps, but not a strong enough reason alone to join a battle against a warrior spirit. From what Camille knew of the new sun, the last time spirits had fought each other like this, before the peace enforced by Soleil and Khali, the fighting had driven him underground to sulk for millenia. And now he’s getting his own hands dirty? The Flame Under the Mountain would need a much better reason than saving Camille for that.

And Fernan either didn’t know or wouldn’t say what it was. But he’s here too, which suggests that it’s the latter. If so, the boy had come a long way from the honorbound naïf whose help she’d enlisted back in Guerron. Although I suppose his radical antics should have been clue enough of that.

Still, he and his patron had saved her life. Honoring their deal was the very least that gratitude demanded, and practical besides. As of tonight, Camille had her long-term reputation to consider.

“Thank you. Both of you.” Camille retrieved the sword, blade still slick with Levian’s blood, and handed it handle-first back to Fernan. Gézarde was already departing, flying out across the horizon as nightfall signaled the end of his dominion until he rose the next morning. Chatting with me isn’t priority enough to keep himself manifested in person, apparently. On its face, that seemed sensible enough, but this spirit had just gone far out of his way to save her—unless that had truly been incidental next to killing Levian. The nature of his departure certainly seemed to suggest that.

The waves were still with the Arbiter of their domain dead, pulled back unnaturally far from the shore. The longer Levian’s seat was vacant, the more the tides would stagnate and recede, just as they had after Pantera’s death one hundred years ago. Back then, Levian had hurriedly assumed her duties—suspiciously quickly, according to Fenouille, though Camille had dismissed that tidbit at the time. But a disaster on the scale of this year’s weeks of darkness had been avoided in the process.

“Nice to see you again by the way, Fernan. We really didn’t get a chance to talk properly at the summit.” Mordred swept his sleeve back over his gauntlet, approaching Levian’s body. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good, actually. Although—”

“If I may,” Camille interrupted. “Levian’s power is still bound within his body. Until a new spirit takes his place, that’s all that remains of the Lord of the Lyrion sea. We can’t just walk away like nothing happened.”

“No, of course. That’s why I’m still here.” Fernan turned back towards the water, eyes condensing down to smaller flaming points. “Where will the spirits convene?”

“At the seat of his power,” Camille answered, remembering what her mother had told her about Pantera’s demise. “Deep beneath the waves, where the bottom of the sea meets the earth spirit. If we want to attend, every second we spend there will mean expending my power—and as of now, there’s a hard limit on how much I can ever use.” And a practical limit of much life I’d ever dispense again, even for the best of reasons.

That amount wasn’t nothing—else Camille would no longer be a sage at all, merely a mundane remnant with memories of grandeur, like Laura Bougitte. That fate would be better than death, but robbed her of crucial options in navigating the Empire’s precarious position, now reduced to a capital and Dorseille, just as it had been before liberating Malin.

“Unless we use Levian,” Mordred said. “Bind his power to our aims. I think I can do it—channel his power into my boots to walk safely beneath the sea, perhaps. And beyond the convocation, they’d let their wearer stride across the water as well.”

“It might even be simpler than that,” Fernan said hesitantly, his face curled in disgust. “Magnifico said I could probably bind energy too, and I don’t have any reason to think he was lying about that much. He helped Florette learn it, and his enmity with the spirits is greater than with us.”

Is that so? Hmm... “How does that relate? You binding him versus Mordred binding him doesn't make any difference to the end result.”

“I think I could do it here, bestowing his power on whoever the successor is without making a grisly trophy, the same as what happened with Flammare. I bet you could too—you’re already experienced wielding his power, although you haven’t been spirit-touched the way I have, which apparently helps.”

Unless Levian mending my flesh qualifies, and I have a feeling it just might...

“What a waste!” Mordred shook his head. “It’ll be days before the other spirits arrive, and I doubt we’ll make any difference in their convocation anyway. Not to mention that all that power would be worthless if we just hand it over to the next spirit who asks us nicely.”

And sealing him into a pair of boots isn’t a waste, Mordred? “He’s right, Fernan. Talking to Gézarde and pushing for speed would be much more effective. He listens to you, and as the sun he has influence now. Have him back Fenouille, early and decisively, and the Lord of the Sea will restore the tides before sailors can even miss them.”

“Good... point... Gézarde definitely listens to me...” Fernan nodded slowly, an anxious expression creeping across his face. “But why Fenouille? Also, who’s Fenouille?”

“The spirit of the Sartaire, of course.” Camille frowned. You’re the High Priest of the Sun and you still don’t know that? “He earned it, and we can trust him. Talk to him yourself if you need to, but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” If my pride as a Leclaire hadn’t smothered the very idea in the crib, I might have been a sage for him instead of Levian. Perhaps that path was still open now. If he took Levian’s seat, Camille wouldn’t even lose any power doing it.

“And he’d want to take the job?”

Camille bit her lip, suppressing a frown. I have no idea. Fenouille had never grasped for power, never demanded much from his sages. And Levian’s seat would not be easy to claim, not with every ocean and river spirit from Serpichon to Forta swimming their way up for the convocation. “He’ll do what needs doing,” she answered, hoping it was true.

“Rhan would be an acceptable backup,” Mordred added, apparently ignorant of the twin vices and virtues that Rhan’s duality enabled. Or perhaps he didn’t care. Thinking ahead didn’t seem to be his specialty, for all his skill and loyalty.

Though to be fair, I wasn’t exactly doing much of that myself until a few minutes ago.

“Alright, that’s good enough for me then.” Fernan gave them both a swift nod, then took to the air. “I have to go.”

“Already?” Mordred asked with narrowed eyes.

“What could possibly be more important than this?”

“Lam—I don’t know. Hopefully nothing, but Maxime might be in danger. He said he’d just hang back and watch, but I don’t know for sure until I find him. If he’s safe, I’ll come right back. But it seems like the immediate crisis has passed, so I’m going to go.”

It’s not often that I’m not at the top of someone else’s to do list. But then, this is already quite a strange day. “Very well. But we need to sort this out. Please return with all due haste.”

The moon loomed large on the horizon as Fernan left, looking almost pink despite sunset being long over. A full moon at the end of the year is supposed to be an omen, Camille remembered, good fortune in the year to come. Come what may, it would definitely be better than she’d expected yesterday.

But Lunette was weak and withered, if reports of the Convocation were anything to go by, emaciated after her offerings had dried up, few daring to provide for her after the fall of Ombresse. Whatever influence on the year the moon spirit might have had once, Camille would have to make her own luck tonight. Of that much, she was certain.

“Shall I proceed with the binding, then?” Mordred asked, gesturing towards his hideously faded leather boots, intermittently discolored where the water had touched them.

“Those hardly seem like a fitting vessel for the Torrent of the Deep,” Camille noted. “Deserved indignity for Levian, perhaps, but the tool would be ours to use forever after, and I’m unconvinced that a moche pair of boots that don’t fit on my feet are the best choice.” Reducing his great power to merely traversal hardly seemed better, but presumably it was the best Mordred could do.

“You don’t like them? Why didn’t you say anything when I was packing in Malin?” He frowned, looking down at his feet. “Well, what would you prefer? Those blue earrings of yours are more thematically fitting, I suppose, though I have no idea where they ended up.”

Not your best idea, bringing that up again. “You mean after you stole them from me so you could frame me for an act of mass murder?” What had seemed so easy to move past with days to live felt less so now that decades of life stretched before her.

Mordred grimaced. “Uh, yes, that’s the pair I was talking about. But there are surely better options! I could try a glove to match Eulus... or... Oh! Are you wearing any rings?”

“No,” Camille lied, not entirely sure why.

I need to think about what’s best for the future, not just this present moment. For the Empire and its people, and what will serve them after I’m gone. For Lucien, who’ll outlive me.

Because even though Camille wouldn’t die tonight, her life had still been cut short. Thinking back to those dreadful days after the duel had reminded her of something the last few months had let her forget: burning life with reckless abandon to keep herself alive beneath the waves had shortened her lifespan by decades before Levian’s deadline had ever been given. Those twenty years she’d dispensed in her wounded stupor were still gone, her fate still to wither away before her time, aging faster and faster until her premature end. Her great-grandmother, living a far less dangerous life, had made it to seventy. Subtract twenty, that meant another twenty-five years for Camille, her life half over already. Better than dying today, but...

At best, she would perish alongside Magnifico, right at the moment the Empire needed her most, which was still better than predeceasing him and leaving him free to direct Avalon personally from his cell while Lucien flailed without her. The most she could hope for was a burial alongside a gauche pair of boots that had once been the Torrent of the Deep.

Unacceptable.

“Bind the power into me.”

“What?” Mordred blinked, lips parted. “No, of course not. Don’t you know what happened to Lumière? You just got your life back.”

“It needn’t kill me. I heard your father say it himself in a vision—he had every ability to bind a fraction of Soleil’s power into Lumière and leave him alive as a spirit of lesser power than Soleil. But he preferred him dead. We don’t have that problem, Mordred.”

“Do you really think so?” Eyebrows slanted down, he started walking closer to Levian’s body.

Camille moved to the side, making sure she was standing between Mordred and the corpse. “Is it beyond your capabilities? I was given to understand that you’re among the best binders in the world. You’ve certainly demonstrated your finesse and acumen wielding the Gauntlet of Eulus, though I’m sure it’s an adjacent but distinct skillset.”

“That’s not the issue! You’d be abandoning your humanity, withdrawing from all you’ve known to embrace the world of the spirits.” Abandoning you, Mordred? Is that what you’re worried about?

“Glaciel holds human court, takes human lovers, she was even content to serve the Fox-Queen, just as I would be to rule beside Lucien. You needn’t worry, Mordred.”

“I ‘needn’t’? Don’t be absurd. This could kill you, or sever your ties to all you hold dear.”

Camille shook her head, growing more certain about her decision. “Leaving this power on the table could kill the Empire; weakness could devastate the lives of those I hold dear.” It’s a way to live a natural life, when none other remains. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll always have a place at my side.” A generous offer, considering what you tried to implicate me in.

“You don’t need it.”

“I do.” To live. “You saw how they pushed us around without it. I had to sit at a table and watch as they cut the Empire in half again. Another twenty years of this, and we’ll be down to a single quartier. This is the only way to protect my people.”

“They’re not your people; they’re just people! And ruling over them as an immortal tyrant isn’t going to do a thing to help them.”

“Who said anything about tyranny?” Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned Glaciel. “I thought you knew me better than that. My Lucien will return and rule at my side until the day he dies, and then our children after him. Just as we’d planned before.” But now neither would be bereft of my guidance—or spiritual power.

Mordred scoffed. “Lucien who? The one vacationing on Isle d’Artre because you hurt his feelings? Writing you letters about how he’s totally not whoring his way across Paix Lake? Real strong leadership there.”

Too far, Mordred. “We don’t lie to each other,” Camille insisted, more for the sake of the argument than because it was precisely true. The spirit of it was, regardless of the details. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about! You don’t. You haven’t thought this through. What happens when the other spirits come calling to fill Levian’s seat? What happens when Avalon—the Avalon you just sacrificed so much to ensure peace with—names you an abomination?” He folded his arms. “I refuse to do this for you.”

Oh I see, it’s fine when I’m doomed by fate just like you, but when I see a way out, you refuse to let your miserable company part with you. “Very well, I can’t force you.” Camille bent down next to Levian, reaching her hand out towards his severed head. “You may leave.”

“Camille, what are you—No!”

“Fernan said it himself—I’ve already directed this power thousands of times, already felt my flesh being gripped by its frigid touch. Your father is a better binder than you are, and he thought Fernan could manage the binding on his own.” Experimentally, she grasped the head with one hand and the neck with the other, feeling the thrum of spiritual energy wash over her hands. “I can do this without you.”

“Or you’ll fuck it up and kill yourself!”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to watch that happen. Or help me, and do it yourself.” Camille forced a shrug, though the suggestion did offend her slightly. It’s the same magic I’ve been using since I was seven, and my vision of Lumière practically gave me a booklet of instructions. “I, Camille Thérèse Leclaire, do hereby claim the power of the raging waves. Let their energy join me, that I might succeed Levian as Torrent of the Deep.”

Mordred’s mouth dropped open. “You saw Lumière... Camille, you can’t!”

I can and I will. Why can’t you understand why this is the best decision? “I vow that the truth will bind me in all things, at all times. I vow that the surge of the tides shall always sweep across the shores, and retreat to their proper place in turn.” The more she spoke, the stronger the feeling in her arms grew, power flowing between Levian’s pieces through her heart, growing colder the more it swelled. “I vow to do better than he who came before me, to act as a bridge between the world of humanity and the affairs of the spirits, and defend my people from grave threats magical and mundane.”

Inhaling quickly, Mordred flipped his sleeve back, pointing the Gauntlet of Eulus towards her. “Camille, maybe you don’t need me, but I can stop you. Don’t make me.”

“I can’t make you do anything, Mordred.” The power was beginning to surge into her faster, despite Camille putting less and less effort into channeling it, so she relaxed her pull, trying to limit the flow enough that her body could stand it. Lumière hadn’t been spirit touched, which no doubt had made his body more vulnerable, but Camille had no intention of killing herself here as he had then. Ethereal visions were beginning to dance across the edge of her view, more than the Fallen alone could account for.

“Everyone said I should stay away.” Short haired, young, it was hard to tell if the speaker was a man or woman.

“But you are not afraid, are you, human-spawn?” Levian slithered slightly out of the water, his shadow darkening the beach.

“I thought you were better than this. Better than my father. What was I thinking? I teased Luce for falling for your tricks, and then I did the exact same thing...” His off-hand curled into a fist, the gauntlet still pointed right at her. “Last chance, Camille. I won’t let you follow in his footsteps.”

If I truly followed in Lumière’s footsteps, I’d be minutes away from an ignoble, tragic end. In a way, Mordred’s confidence that she could pull it off was comforting, frustrating as it was that he couldn’t understand. “I won’t.”

The stream of power had become a flood, to the point that all of Camille’s focus now was just on holding it back, slowing the chill spreading across her body as her hands began to shimmer and warp, slightly transparent.

“Great Spirit Levian, you traveled the world with my grandmother. She sought you out, and you helped each other. I’d like to do the same.”

Levian’s form twisted menacingly. “Castille proved she was worthy of my companionship, while you have nothing to offer.”

“But I do, Great Spirit. I know what you crave, and I mean to give it to you.”

“I can’t trust you not to.” Mordred twisted his hand, firing a burst of lightning, a clang ringing out across the beach.

“Great Spirit Levian, this is my daughter. When I pass, she’ll succeed me and serve you.”

“So you presume. Impudent as always, Leclaire. If you truly meant to fulfill our pact, you’d offer me the girl’s soul... so tender and innocent, I can almost taste it.”

“And then where would you be? You’ve benefited from our arrangement, just as I have. And I mean to keep it going for a long, long time.”

Camille blinked, her eyelids partially transparent, and renewed her efforts to halt the spiritual tide crashing against her from both sides. She pulled her head up from the ground, trying to get a better look at what had happened. Did he miss? From this close, it didn’t seem likely. A final warning? But then why—

Mordred was sprawled on the ground, a new dent between the fingers of his gauntlet. Sitting tall above him on a black horse was a man covered fully in red armor, his sabre extended towards the fallen binder. “Do not fear, Maiden of Dawn. I shall not let him harm you.”

Marshaling her strength, Camille pushed back harder against Levian’s power, worried about how much more of this her body could take. “Who are you?”

“The butcher of Lorraine,” Mordred spat, scrambling to his feet. “Why would you interfere?”

In one smooth motion, the knight descended from his horse, positioning himself in front of Camille. “I serve every corner of the Fox-Queen’s domain, from the frigid depths of Hiverre to the wastes of Refuge. If you know the name of the Red Knight, you know the lengths I’ll go to protect it. Withdraw at once, and I shall allow you to live.”

That armor... Haven’t I seen it before? On a tapestry of the Fox-Queen’s conquests, perhaps? Or in a book about the War of Three Cubs? Something about it seemed strangely familiar.

With a twist of his cloak, Mordred fired another burst of lightning towards them, but the Red Knight deflected it, lunging forward to sweep the gauntlet aside with his sword. “Get out of the way,” Mordred demanded. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“She is the Empire’s future, Jethro, while you are nothing but a twisted little interloper. Have at me, and learn the depths of your folly.” Shockingly quickly under all that armor, the Red Knight charged towards Mordred, blocking another burst of lightning with his sword.

At least one person agrees with why I’m doing this. Here and now, his opinion was the one that mattered the most. A tether to her humanity she could cling to even as the surging waves of power threatened to overwhelm her.

Camille reached deep within herself, staring through her savior’s red helmet at the man beneath it, and forcefully ripped her hands free, finally severing herself from Levian’s decaying corpse. As soon as the connection broke, the body began to dissolve into dark water, flowing back out to the sea past the dueling warriors. But even with the connection broken, the visions continued as her new power streamed past her eyes.

“Pantera is no longer a concern, Leclaire. Now do your duty as my leal servant, and follow me across the water. My triumph awaits.”

Her sight cleared just in time to see Mordred blast himself into the air with wind, flying past the Red Knight and landing right in front of her. Camille barely managed to react in time, bowling him over with an icy wave that crashed harmlessly over her. She could feel the edges of her skin rippling where they touched the water, as if there was no clean line where she ended and the waves began.

“Unhh,” Mordred groaned as the Red Knight reached him, holding his sword down at his neck. “Do it. This was inevitable one way or another, and it’s not like I don’t deserve it. But this day will come for you too, both of you. Don’t forget it.”

“Very well,” said the Red Knight, raising his sword above Mordred’s head.

“No!” Camille called out. “Let him go. He doesn’t need to die today.” Doesn’t deserve to, at least not any more than I do.

The Red Knight lowered his sword. “As you wish, my lady.”

Frowning, Mordred brought himself to his feet. He looked torn, on the verge of resuming the fight even if he couldn’t win. “I pity you, Red Knight, brutal servant of so false a cause. Even you, Camille, in all your deluded arrogance. But most of all, I pity your children, puppets dancing to your immortal strings. If we meet again, one of us will die. I promise you that.”

“Then we had best not meet again,” Camille said, freezing her wavy edges into a clean, hardened shape.

“Don’t count on it.” Mordred blasted himself into the sky with a plume of wind, scattering sand through the air. After a moment, he was gone, leaving the beach empty save the nascent spirit and her scarlet protector.

An echo of his image persisted, greeting Levian and Leclaire as they emerged from the water into view. Sharp featured, with long, dark hair, he looked more haggard than triumphant. But that made no matter to Levian. “Let us begin, Harold Grimoire.”

“Maiden? How do you wish to proceed?” The Red Knight sheathed his sword, but left his helmet in place, closed.

Camille’s skin had started to dissolve to water again during the vision, so once again she held it in place with ice, trying to put as much of herself as possible above the new energy absorbed from Levian.

Mordred warned me I’d be forsaking my humanity. It’s up to me to prove him wrong. Strained and exhausted, she lay down on the sand, barely managing to answer the knight before the final vision took her. “Let’s go home.”