Free Parzival by Katherine Paterson

spoke, he remembered something Cundrie the Sorceress had said that terrible day when she had cursed him in the presence of Arthur’s court. “Still, there is one other who might call himself Angevin. He lives in heathen lands, but he may be my brother. Sir,” said Parzival, rising to his feet, “if you would take off that helmet and let me see you, I could tell if you might be he. Don’t fear, I shall not attack you unhelmeted.”
    The infidel laughed and stood up. “You could hardly attack me at all without a sword, unless you mean to wrestle. That would hardly be a fair fight, as, on your first hold”—he pointed his sword at the buckle on Parzival’s breastplate—“I could take my sword and part you flesh from sinew. Here,” he said, hurling his sword far into the bushes, “now we are even. Tell me about this infidel brother of yours.”
    Parzival told the strange knight what Cundrie had said. “So,” he concluded, “he is neither black as a Moor nor white as an Angevin. He must rather be pied, a mixture of black and white, though I’m not sure how that can be.”
    Again Feirefiz laughed. But then he took off his helmet, and, indeed, he was neither wholly white nor black, but something between the two. When Parzival saw that the strange knight was truly his brother, he took off his own helmet and embraced him.
    Feirefiz was overjoyed. “Take me to see our father,” he said. “All my life I have longed to see his face.”
    “I, too,” said Parzival, “but, alas, he died before I was born. But come, I will take you to Arthur’s court. There you will meet kinsfolk aplenty.”
    When Sir Gawain heard that Parzival and a stranger were riding for the place where Arthur’s court was presently encamped, he rode out with joy to meet them. He greeted them both and took them to his own tent so they might bathe off the grime and rust of battle, and he gave them fresh garments to wear.
    Again, the king ordered a feast where Parzival and his new-met brother would be the guests of honor. Feirefiz was deeply touched by the king’s warm hospitality. He sent word to his ships that gold and jewels should be brought. These he distributed to everyone, so that even the strolling entertainers left that place rich as nobles.
    In the midst of the feasting, a horse and rider appeared. The rider was a woman dressed in rich black samite. Her robe was decorated with a flock of turtledoves embroidered in fine gold thread. No one could see her face because it was covered by a heavy black veil.
    She rode into the middle of the circle to where King Arthur and his queen were seated. She greeted them both. “Son of Pendragon,” she said. “I have come to beg forgiveness for a great wrong that I have done to one of your noble guests.”
    Immediately, she turned to Parzival, who sat beside the queen. She climbed off her great black horse and fell on her knees before him. “Son of Gahmuret,” she said. “For the sake of your good mother, grant me pardon for the wrong I have done you.” Parzival realized then that the woman was Cundrie the Sorceress.
    “Your curse has given me much pain,” he said. “But the sin was mine alone. I bear you no malice.”
    “Oh, happy man!” Cundrie cried out, and when she stood, everyone could see that it was she. “God is about to show his grace through you. You are destined to be the Grail King. Already God’s mercy is at work. Your wife, Condwiramurs, had twin sons soon after you left her. They are now lusty lads—five years old. Kardeiz shall one day rule over Anjou and Waleis and Norgals, which are yours by birth, but as for Lohengrin, he shall be your heir at Wild Mountain.
    “Now, my lord, choose one companion whom you trust with all your heart and follow me. For I am sent to lead you into the presence of the Grail.”
    With joy, Parzival asked his brother Feirefiz to go with him, and as soon as they could make themselves ready, the Lady Cundrie led the two sons of Gahmuret to the