a short story - Lakeside

I remember them fondly, I thought to herself. I was in a brisk day in early November and the streets of Avalon ( Some call it Manhattan ) were filled with the throng of humanity. Their life pouring out of them. The tyranny of the clock cutting moments in precious breath. I looked in a window , the glass reflective. My eyes the lake which I am the lady. I remembered Lancelot the troubled by virtue and feet of clay. Dagonet the jester who had to tell his king the truth. That Gueneviere loved him as king first and as a man second. Marrok the one cursed to be a wolf. La Cotte a la Mail, the warrior who wore the armor his father was killed in. But most of all I honored them.
I saw them all. In the blade I had tattooed on my wrist, In the multi-colored scarf I wore. In the fang clasped in silver I wear around my neck and the links of crimson stained chain I wear as a bracelet. These were my knights. I trained them. Gave them sanctuary and called them when I needed them. Each had a touch of my power. As all the knights of the round table. I am the lady of the lake, the keeper of Excaliber. The hand that waits for shining armor and finest hour.
It was a good day. My long blonde hair fell about my shoulders and my lake which I keep in my eyes drank in the far off lands. But here in Avalon I waited. Waited for the king. I was hunting today. The last Pellinore was in the city. His quest finally brought him here. For I am the second lady of the lake. The inheritor.
Night fell on Avalon. The sky crimson and amber like a fresh wound. I could feel him. Pellinore and his family have since the beginning had one goal. The Beast. The questing beast. A creature they were doomed to never kill. Their family curse. I should know I cursed them.
The Pellinores were a brutal tribe of Caitiff knights. They served no lords but the hunt. They killed for sport, for pleasure. The eldest Pellinore was a hawker. He had his wolfhounds and his stable. He had his rougish knights tax his surfs to starvation and feed their daughters to his more unruly appetites.
It was a still night under a amber moon that gave their bloodline to me. Thrr times I had warned them not to hunt in my grove. Not to kill in this small patch of land. Where my animal kin and wayward knights drank of me. The eldest Pellinore hunted mercilessly. But his quarry was not bear, wolf or hart. I was a young girl of blonde hair and eyes of blue.
I was alone in the wood, when the knight snuck up on me and turned me around.
“ Just a kiss lass is all I ask.” Pellinore said.
“ A forceful hand does not ask.” I relplied turning my face away.
“ It is my right.” He pulled me to him.
“ And this is mine.”I clawed his face and pushed. The chase. Which is what he wanted was on.
I ran as his nighthawks spotted me and his hounds chased. His bows arrows whipped passed my ears. He hunted me. I hid and used the forests I knew so well. My sisters taught me the ways of herb and tree and water. But he followed wanting more than I would give him. He unhorsed and took to foot reveling in anticipation. Till I lead him to the grove.
The moonlight shone upon the lake and my blood kissed the water. And he came. Sword drawn and armored.
“ Nowhere to run, little one” He says to me through a rasp. Out of breath an hurried like an ungenerous lover.
“ This grove is sacred.” I say to him.
“ It will be tonight.” He gasped. He came towards me. Ready to take all I was. Virtue, dignity and then life. It was his rite as a lord. But he wasn’t a lord there. In the grove.
As he ventured forward I went into the water. It’s chill embraced me like lost family separated by war. Then as I inhaled the water in. It filled me.I died…………..

Then

It gave me strength I couldn’t comprehend. I was the keeper. The water flowed through me and as I opened my eyes. I saw him standing at the bank. Hawk on his arm. Hounds at his feet. And I rose and horror gripped his face. The coward backed away and stumbled.
“ A BEAST !!!” he screamed with trembling voice.
“ No more than you.” I said calmly.
“ I will hunt you till the stars burn out.”
“ Then your wish is granted but you and your blood will never kill me.” I said. And I sank back beneath the waves of the lake. They’ve hunted me ever since.

Tonight he will come to Central Park, the new sacred grove. I will be the beast. The creature of his nightmare. It was in the park he stalked me. The Pellinore family legend made them believe that only a sword could kill the beast. The creature they saw in their most private moments.
I changed to Marrok’s wolf and smelled the thousand fold scents of the city. And stalked the most recent scion. He wandered through the park. Hiding the blade under a long coat. Young and with just a little hint of madness.
I approached as the wolf and growled.
“ It is you. New Pellinore.”
He drew he had skill. He made chase and dodged into the wood. Once again taking human form. I borrowed the skill of Dagonet. The jester. Agile and acrobatic. I mocked him.
“ Young hunter swings away.”
His sword cut the air in a wide arc.
“ But tis the beast that holds sway.”
He thrusted into a tree. I came out of the shadows.
“There are many ways to miss.”
He swung I dodged and did a dive roll, standing opposite him.
“ So much sorrow for a forced kiss.”
He thrust again and hit a good hit. But La Cotte’s armor deflected it. Then without thought. I toughed the tattoo on my wrist. And the sword came to my hand. Lancelot’s sword. For I taught him the art.
The pellinore swung high , I ducked. Then cut straight down as if to cleave me in two. I parried with ease and kicked him in the chest. Air escaped him.
“ MONSTER…” He screamed and charged. A series of cavalry cut around his head and to my shoulder. Then a thrust at my eyes. I spun an cut across his stomach. He tucked in and over-swung going for the backs of my legs. I flipped over his blade and watched it stick in the dirt. Then thrust home. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t curse. He just fell. The last Pellinore of this generation. A decade of so. Another will come. I looked at him. And went back to the lake and the company of better men.