The Dark Thorn

by Shawn Speakman

  “Annwn?” Bran said incredulously. “Annwn is the Celtic name for Avalon.”

  “You are more well-read than I had anticipated,” Merle said.

  “So Avalon? The Avalon?” Bran asked. “The place King Arthur was taken to recover from his wounds after battling Mordred?”

  “The same,” Merle said. “It’s where most of the fey traveled to flee persecution.”

  “Bullshit,” Bran said. The boy peered closer at Merle. “Who are you, really? You’re obviously not a bookstore owner.”

  “No games,” Richard broke in. “Just tell him.”

  “Actually, I am a bookstore owner,” Merle said. “My birth name is Myrddin Emrys. I was born on the shores of northern Wales and have since been counselor and guide to those who would listen.” He paused. “Some have called me Mithranlyn, Maerlyn, and He Who Cannot Die. You’d know me better as Merlin of the Lake, I’d wager.”

  Bran looked from Merle to Richard and back again. “You actually believe this.”

  “Believe it, boy,” Richard said. “And as I said, I warned you.”

  “It would make you centuries and centuries old!”

  “Fifteen of them, to be exact,” Merle said, a sad smile on his bearded face. “Long years.”

  “Not possible,” Bran murmured.

  “Oh, it’s possible. I’ve had to live it,” Merle countered, drawing on his pipe and emitting a volley of smoke. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you immortality is a good thing. It is a fate I wish on no other.”

  “How did it…?”

  “Happen?” Richard finished. “You must not have gotten far in that reading.”

  “Richard, please. You are acting like Sal,” Merle reprimanded. “My father was an incubus who seduced my mother, a human. A unique parentage, to be sure. I live a past I have witnessed and studied for centuries, but through baptism at my birth I was saved from the evils of my demon blood. I happen to see certain aspects of the future. It also has made me extremely long-lived.”

  “A demon?” Bran asked.

  “Yes, a real demon,” Merle said seriously.

  “And you help guide the world?”

  “I try. Others say I meddle,” Merle said, eyeing Richard. “Everyone has their opinion.”

  “And you do magic?”

  “Once I did, but no more. It has become too…costly…to do so.”

  “So there is no way for you to prove it then,” Bran said, shaking his head. He looked at the knight. “What does Richard have to do with this?”

  “Call Arondight,” Merle directed the knight.

  Richard sighed but was happy to prove to Bran the reality in which the boy found himself. He put his right hand out with palm toward the floor, closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. He made his call. Without a word or a sound, the sword made of gleaming steal and silver etched with marvelous runes appeared in his hand, its point resting on the floor. The runes glowed azure with inner flames. Bran stared at him in disbelief. The knight gripped the blade and stared hard at the boy, twisting the sword so Bran could see the beautifully crafted weapon clearly.

  “How did you…?” Bran asked, bewildered.

  “This is Richard McAllister,” Merle began. “The sword he holds is Arondight, the weapon Lancelot of Camelot wielded once upon a time and which has been passed to worthy men through the ages. Richard is one of seven knights who protect the portals between this world and Annwn. It is his role to keep this world safe from the other and vice versa.”

  “The other night, when I was attacked, I saw a burst of blue fire,” Bran said, looking at Richard. “It came from you then?”

  “From Arondight,” Richard corrected.

  The sword disappeared like smoke.

  “It comes and goes that easily?” Bran questioned.

  “The knights have been given certain attributes to carry out their duty,” Merle said. “Richard can call Arondight at will, as well as enact a few other forms of magic.”

  “And the dog that tried to kill me? It came through a portal?”

  Merle nodded. “One such portal gave those Celtic gods and goddesses—along with many of their followers—the chance to flee Rome’s new Christian rule. The Celtic mythology didn’t disappear. It merely moved. The cu sith and the fairies that controlled it are part of that world—and they were after you. At the peril of those around you, they will continue trying to kill you unless you find out why.”

  “How can you know that?” Bran asked. “Do you have one of these mirrors or whatever?”

  “Fairies are tricky things,” Richard muttered, seeing an opportunity. “They have no allegiance. But I am convinced they were after you. That is why you should flee this bookstore, the city, and maybe the country, right now. Having failed it is certain they will try again.” “You say certain.” Bran turned to Merle. “What do you think?”

  “I think you are important in what is to come,” the old man said. “It is that reason for the attempt on your life. And no matter how Richard desires to save you from some imagined fate, I agree it will happen again.”

  “Why am I important?” Bran asked, frowning.

  “I see much,” Merle said. “It is but a promise of a shadow, but I sense it about you.”

  “Wait,” Richard said. “Who is the boy to you, Merle? I have no doubt you are playing games, as usual, but what makes him special that Annwn would attempt to kill him? That you would recruit him?”

  Merle chewed on his pipe stem, thinking.

  “Well?” the knight pressed. “Who is he?”

  “He is Bran Ardall,” Merle said simply.

  Richard couldn’t believe what Merle had just said.

  “What are you playing at?” the knight hissed.

  Merle never took his blue eyes from Bran. “To protect yourself, you will have to do what is necessary. It will not be easy.”

  “You think they will come again?”

  “Eventually, yes. It is unavoidable,” Merle responded. “Tonight. Tomorrow. A year from now. Every once in a while, one of them gets past the knights. When that happens, you won’t have Richard to protect you again, I’d wager. Might not happen tomorrow or the next day, but it will happen.”

  Arrow Jack screeched loudly. Merle hushed the bird.

  Richard watched the boy. Bran was scared. He had been attacked without provocation. He had seen two different fey creatures that ought not to exist. If he believed the owner of Old World Tales to be the Merlin of story and fable, sorcerer, advisor to King Arthur, and immortal, Richard knew Bran was more than likely considering checking himself into an asylum.

  Richard had been in the same place many years past.

  And when Bran discovered who his father was, he would balk completely.

  “Time is short,” Merle advised. “Others will want to find you—that much I’ve also seen. You must come with us. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Richard asserted.

  “You are,” the old man said. “To Annwn. To protect young Ardall.”

  “You tamped the wrong leaf into that pipe, I think,” Richard said. “I am not the Heliwr.”

  “To return to my chess metaphor, Annwn is moving its pieces into position for an event that is sending ripples through time,” Merle said. “Even now, I feel it. It must be countered or both worlds will die. Of that there is no doubt.”

  “More doom and gloom, eh?” Richard grunted.

  “I have never been wrong,” Merle said. “To prevent what comes, I have seen that both of you must travel into Annwn and end what will assuredly come.”

  “And if I don’t go?” Bran asked.

  “You will be dead within the month, I think,” Merle said. “I see many possibilities, but that one remains constant in the multiple alternate paths. The Lord of Annwn is tenacious.”

  “You now think Plantagenet attacked the boy?” Richard questioned. “You are sure?”

  “It fits,” Merle said. “I am not wholly certain—that should make you happy,
Richard—but there is some aspect of it that is… unclear and yet swirls about him. I sense Plantagenet in this, but also not.”

  “Real helpful, as usual,” Richard said.

  “And easy for you to say when I have no idea of knowing if it is true or not,” Bran said, his features darkening in uncertainty.

  “I’ve seen greater men die for less, Bran Ardall,” Merle said.

  “Your father was one,” Richard said, seeing another opening.

  Bran frowned. Merle gave Richard a dark look.

  “You knew my father?” the boy pressed.

  “I did,” Richard said. “For several years. A good man.”

  “You as well, Merle?”

  The bookseller took a deep breath. “I did. He was as Richard described—a good man. A better knight.”

  “He was a knight?” Bran asked. “Like Richard?”

  “Yes and no,” Merle answered. “Charles Ardall was unique. Needed. The role he fulfilled for the world was as important as the one Richard carries, but was different.”

  “You recruited him?”

  “I did,” Merle said. “Like Richard. Like Sal. Like the others.”

  Bran stood like a statue, looking at the chess game on the table but not seeing it. No sound filled the room. On one side, Richard waited, hoping the boy had figured out he was just one more pawn in a very old game; on the other side sat Merle, continuing to smoke his pipe, patience written in the very wrinkles of his face. The knight and the old man locked eyes for a moment, both aware of the conflict between them, before Merle returned his gaze to Bran and puffed another plume into the air.

  “If you knew him, what would he have done in this situation?”

  “You can’t be thinking about doing this, boy,” Richard said.

  “Charles was in this same situation,” Merle said without hesitation. “He chose to do what is right. Two worlds are on the brink of war. If this world discovers Annwn, war destroys both.”

  Turmoil seeped from Bran. Richard knew the boy had likely read enough Celtic mythology to know there were beings and creatures that could easily destroy him if they got through one of the portals. It was not a difficult risk calculation. The knight also knew Bran to be a tough kid, unable to back down from a fight.

  Richard cursed Merle for how he had played this game.

  Bran turned to the wizard. “You knew all of this when you spoke to me that first time out front, didn’t you? Knew me and what you wanted of me?”

  “I did, to a point,” the bookseller admitted.

  “And if I do nothing, fairy creatures will kill me?”

  “They will.”

  “Why me?”

  “That I do not fully know,” Merle said. “It could be retribution for a past recrimination against your father. It could have to do with your working with me. I do know this: It will take a combined effort by you and Richard to discover what is going on and to put an end to it.”

  “And I am to leave all that I know?” Bran thought out loud.

  “No. It will be here for you afterward,” Merle said.

  “It feels like I don’t have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice,” the wizard said. “Choice governs the entire universe, and choice will see it to its end.”

  “Bran, think it through,” Richard argued, trying to hide his anger. “Do not trust this man. Not ever. Myrddin Emrys never tells anyone the whole truth. He knows more than he lets on and it can have dire consequences. He has ruined numerous lives in his pursuit to control the events of this world. I am one of them. You should not do this.”

  Long moments passed.

  “And what is it I am to do?” Bran asked. “Confront this lord?”

  “I have known this day would come for a long time, Bran,” Merle said. “The Lord of Annwn craves more than is his right. He must be stopped. He has some design on this world and I do not know what it is. I do know this—you leaving this bookstore with us is the only way to protect the races of two worlds. It’s the only way to—”

  “It is the only way for me to be safe,” Bran finished.

  Merle nodded.

  “Do we go to kill him then? Is that your intent?”

  Merle looked to Richard. The knight was impassive like stone.

  “I see,” Bran answered for them. “You ask me to be a murderer.”

  “If you do not go, Richard will fail,” Merle countered. “And you will die here. Of that, I have seen all too clearly.”

  “Dying—that is the lack of choice I am talking about.”

  “I am not going,” Richard said flatly. “That ends it.”

  “You have already chosen to, Richard,” Merle said.

  “The hell I have!” “Elizabeth would want you to go,” the old man said. “And trust me. You want to go as well. I have seen her death tied to these events; I have seen her death marking the beginning of a course in the world that will lead to answers for you. It is the reason I ask that you go and not one of the others.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It is what it is, Richard,” Merle said, certainty in his eyes. “And all I know is, I am afraid. She is a puzzle piece in this. I wish I was wrong and could say differently. I know the pain you carry better than you realize. I think by going you will understand it better—what transpired between you and Elizabeth, and possibly even find a bit of solace.” He paused. “And you must leave this night, to make the difference two worlds need.”

  Bran looked to Richard. The knight stared back hard. He felt trapped once more. Years earlier the old wizard had convinced him to join the Yn Saith as a graduate student. It had led to a life of darkness, sorrow, and regret. The anger from Merle bringing up the death of Elizabeth had evolved to unsettled curiosity, though—as Merle undoubtedly knew it would—and the knight could not quell the swell of it. Answers he had been at a loss for years could be his. But that knowledge would come at a price, as it always did with trusting Merle.

  Duty to do what was right collided with his self-loathing and hatred of the bookseller. There was only one choice the knight could make though, and he was not happy about it.

  Richard turned to Bran.

  “When can you be ready to leave, boy?”

  The cold night enveloped Bran when he stepped from Old World Tales.

  He could still turn back. It would not be a hard thing; he owed no one anything. Merle had a sense of urgency Bran did not question, but there had to be another avenue he could go by that did not involve entering Annwn. Life on the streets was exceedingly real, and Bran had confronted his fear numerous times there, but what he felt now bordered on insanity. Sadly, no alternate option presented itself. The part of Bran that questioned his decision wanted to retreat back to his warm bed and pull the covers over his head.

  It was a large step to believe Annwn existed.

  A larger one to step into it.

  Wearing a warm coat, Bran hiked his backpack higher on his shoulder. He had to go, he realized. The opportunity to discover who had tried to kill him and what had truly happened to his father gripped him in a way he had never experienced. Questions long-carried would not be denied. They were embers blown into flame, and each step he took down the street was one closer to answers.

  Richard led Bran and Merle on a direct path, barely contained annoyance in every aspect of his bearing.

  “Do I call you Merle or something else?” Bran asked.

  “I have gone by Merle for so long, to call me anything else would be wrong.”

  Richard snorted. “Are you sure about the boy in all of this, old man?”

  “I am, Richard,” Merle replied. “You will see.”

  “Like you saw with me?” the knight said darkly.

  Merle ignored the rebuke; Richard continued on. Bran wondered about their dynamic. It was apparent the two shared a stressful history, one in which the knight blamed the wizard for a terrible past event. Richard clearly did not trust Merle.

  Should Bran? What had he gott
en into?

  After traversing two blocks, Richard brought them to a halt across the street from the triangular park fronting the Underground Tour. The downtown skyscrapers above rose stark against the half moon and star field, the city like a graveyard. It left him on edge. He had no idea what to expect. Every shadow was capable of hiding an attacker.

  He had to be ready for anything.

  “How did my father die? Really?” Bran asked Merle.

  “In Ireland, as you already know, I believe,” the bookstore owner answered. “Your father was killed by an explosion. Your mother was lost at the same time. I never discovered who did it; for some reason it has been hidden from my sight. Another will acts against my own.”

  Bran breathed in cold air, afraid to ask. “Did he die doing his duty? Being this Heliwr?”

  “He did,” the bookseller said with obvious regret.

  “Merle,” Richard growled. “If I go, who protects the portal?”

  “I have made arrangements,” Merle said. “It will be safe. I move chess pieces into defensive positions as well as anyone.”

  Richard looked away.

  A different aspect bothered Bran. “How did you know I was—”

  “Special?” Merle interrupted. “I’ve seen it before, Bran. It was how you carried yourself. When you accept who you are, the world will open up for you in ways I can’t explain. You will have to experience it for yourself.”

  “Now you sound like a new-age pagan,” Bran said.

  “I am who I am, Bran. No more, no less.”

  “You can’t be thinking of making this boy the new Heliwr,” the knight accused.

  “Never has a knighthood passed from father to son, Richard,” Merle said, eyes scanning the night. “You know this.”

  Bran kept up with the other two men. They were walking across the street, their footfalls echoing, the knight bringing up the rear, when Merle jerked to a halt. He scanned the gloom, eyes probing. Across the street, the park triangle opened up, its tall totem pole a beacon of muted colorful paint. Nothing moved. It was a dead world.

  “What?” Bran whispered.

  “Richard. Arondight,” Merle ordered.