The Grail Quest (The Avalon Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

  I drank some hot cocoa, suddenly wishing it was something a little stronger. Of course, I was in a bar, and there were ways of making a drink stronger in here. But the humpbacked, old bartender was nowhere to be found. Just my luck.

  So I started things off. “That wasn’t a real dragon, right?” I asked.

  “If it wasn’t a dragon, old boy, then what do you suppose it was?” asked Arthur jovially. More whipped cream in his mustache. More wiping from Marion.

  Luckily, I was too confused and frightened to care much about her puppy dog crush on the king.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I’m on a film set. Maybe they’re filming Jurassic Park Six or Seven, or whatever the hell number they’re on now.”

  “I think they’ve made three,” said Arthur.

  “And they’re making the fourth,” said Marion.

  “Big picture, guys. Whatever number they’re on doesn’t really matter, does it?”

  “And what does matter, my friend?” asked Arthur.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe explaining why the hell there’s a flying dragon at all. Or maybe why there’s real knights out there trying to skewer me on their lances, or how the hell you pulled that sword free when no one else could? Or why I was suddenly able to use the sword with my right hand, when I’m left-handed? Oh, and who the hell was that man standing in the middle of the street, watching us?”

  “That’s a lot of hells,” said Arthur. “Fair enough. Let’s start with the first question. But first, anyone up for more hot cocoa?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  As if on cue, the old bartender appeared from the back room with a tray of hot cocoa. Arthur, it seemed, had a knack for getting what he wanted, when he wanted it.

  Must be nice.

  Arthur thanked the man profusely and gave him a wad of cash, then slapped him heartily on the back. Almost too heartily. The bent figure nearly pitched forward.

  When he was gone, I found myself wondering where Arthur had gotten the cash. Perhaps Maid Marion had given her beloved some spending money.

  Or maybe he created it out of thin air.

  “The dragon,” said Arthur. “Yes, I can imagine such a thing is a difficult concept to accept.”

  “It’s a bit more than a concept at this point,” I said drily.

  Arthur sipped his hot cocoa, watching me. “James,” he said. “Do you believe in other worlds?”

  “Other worlds? Like planets?”

  “Not just planets, but living, thriving worlds where life exists, much like this one.”

  My head was swimming. All over again. Seriously, how much could one guy take in a day? “Well, I’m aware that there might be other planets out there that might be conducive to some very rudimentary life forms—”

  Arthur looked at Marion. “What’s he saying?”

  “He’s reiterating the scientific community’s rather shortsighted view on the probability of life on other planets.”

  “That’s what I thought he meant,” said Arthur, then looked back at me. “Your scientists will come to think differently very soon.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Changes are afoot.”

  “What kind of changes?”

  He winked. “Now is not the time.”

  I sat back and blew air rudely out the corner of my mouth. “Must be nice knowing everything.”

  “Don’t sound so discouraged, my friend,” said Arthur. “Half the fun is re-remembering who you are. Indeed, half the fun is reinventing who you are. So do that. Every day. Reinvent yourself. Change something about yourself. Create something new. Remember, God’s greatest gift to us is our imagination and our ability to create.”

  “Only God can create,” I said. Next to us, the fire crackled and popped loudly.

  “Oh?” said Arthur, raising an eyebrow. “Our friend the pub owner created this fire. Someone created this building. Someone created the clothing on your back.” He paused and leaned across the table, and I found myself looking deep into his aquamarine eyes. His stare was unwavering and calm, his eyes friendly but passionate. “And you, my friend, create your books.”

  “That’s a little different than creating something out of thin air.”

  “Oh, really?” he asked.

  “Yes, really,” I said. “Take this building, for example. It didn’t just appear. It took some time to build. Many men, with many skills worked on it for many months.”

  “So you equate creative powers with time?” asked Arthur.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “So if I asked you to build a fire, and it took you five to ten minutes to do so, you would consider that less a creative accomplishment than someone who could start the fire instantly?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I said. “Exactly.”

  “I see,” said Arthur. “And the fact that the end result is the same means nothing?”

  “Exactly. God does it with a snap of His fingers; I have to do it with a snap of a match. There’s a difference.”

  “And who created the match?”

  “Someone smarter than me,” I said.

  “Or perhaps God gave you yet another tool to create.”

  “By giving me a match?”

  “Sure,” said Arthur.

  “And God gave it to me?”

  “Of course! God has given you everything in your life.”

  “Then why doesn’t God give me a little more?”

  “God,” said Arthur, “has given you the tools to ask for more. To create more. These tools are in you, waiting. In fact, you are constantly using them, whether you realize it or not.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “You are always attracting. You are always creating. It happens by default whether you want it to or not. It is the way. It is the process that governs everything around you. You create by thinking about an object. It is as simple as that. That object will then come into your experience. The clearer you can think about the subject, the faster it will come. The more often you think about the subject, the faster it will be become. The more excited you think about the object...”

  “The faster it will come,” I finished.

  “Right. But the reverse is true, too. So diligently teach yourself to think only upon that which you want. It’s as easy as that. And in the process, train yourself to direct your thoughts away from that which you don’t want.”

  “I’ve heard all of this before. It’s the Law of Attraction. Hippie crap.”

  “Hippie crap or not, it’s the law that runs your universe. There have been many teachers sent to your earth to teach you these very principles. And there will be more, hundreds more, thousands more, until your kind finally gets it right.”

  I shook my head. I needed an aspirin. “But aren’t most people clear about the things they want?”

  Arthur sipped his cocoa. “Not as clear as you think.”

  “How do people become more clear?”

  “Tell yourself daily that you are becoming clearer and clearer in what you want, in what you seek, and clarity will come. And once it comes, I would suggest that you think often and speak often of this thing that you want. Do so every day, many times a day. And the more you think and speak upon this thing, the faster it will manifest into your experience.”

  “The Secret, and all that.”

  Arthur nodded. “The Law of Attraction is real, James. You are using it everyday whether you mean to or not. Most people on this planet are creating by default. So, then, why not create with intention?”

  “Then why not tell us that from the beginning?” I said. “I mean, why keep people in the dark about all this for so long?”

  “Your world is a slow learner,” said Arthur with a gentle smile. “Many teachers have come to you to teach these very laws.”

  “Are you such a teacher?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I am just here for fun. You, my friend, are such a teacher.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m
just a mystery author.”

  “Unless you choose differently,” he said.

  I thought about that. The fire crackled. My cocoa sat forgotten in front of me. “So what is the spirit world like?” I asked.

  “Full of love and peace. A beautiful place. You know this already.”

  “But I have forgotten.”

  Arthur smiled kindly. “Yes.”

  “So there are no challenges in the spirit world? Is that why we incarnate on earth? To face challenges?”

  “And to grow, yes. You are most correct, James. The challenge in the spirit world is not in the creating, for creation there is instant. Indeed, the challenge in the spirit world is to gain wisdom from our lives spent in the physical world.”

  “So we need to reincarnate to gain wisdom?”

  “‘Tis the surest path to enlightenment.”

  “We are talking about enlightenment when there’s a dragon circling above,” I pointed out, rather astutely.

  “Life is funny, is it not?”

  “A real riot,” I said. “So creation in the spirit world is instant?”

  “Yes,” said Arthur.

  “But not so much in this world?”

  “Not necessarily. There are a few who have mastered instant creation in your world.”

  “Ascended masters?”

  Arthur winked at me and snapped his fingers. The fire in the fireplace instantly disappeared, replaced by billowing black smoke that rose crazily up into the stone chimney. Arthur held my gaze a moment longer, then said, “For some of us, creation can be in an instant.”

  And he snapped his fingers again, and the fire roared back to life.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  I stared down into my cocoa.

  I had seen a dragon. I had seen a dragon breathe fire. I had even seen a dragon obliterate a hot dog stand—

  But Arthur’s fire trick really freaked me out.

  He continued, “You can build a fire slow, or you can build it in an instant,” said Arthur, snapping his fingers again, although this time the fire didn’t wink out. Thank God. “The ability to do what I just did is in everyone.”

  I was really, truly, feeling ill. And a little dizzy, and there was a distinct pounding at the back of my head.

  Marion leaned forward over the table a little. “Remember, James, Arthur is a master. To him, instantly starting and stopping a fire is expected.”

  “She is correct in one sense, James. True, masters can routinely perform what many consider miracles. However, she seemed to imply that only masters can perform miracles, and that is not correct. Anyone can perform miracles. In fact, you are performing many miracles right now, as we speak.”

  “Not likely,” I said.

  “Is it not a miracle that life infuses the dust and clay that surrounds your bones?”

  “Anyone can do that,” I said. “It just happens. Most people, however, do not expect a fire to do their bidding. It’s beyond their realm of—” I searched for a word, “expectations.”

  “And so it is,” he said. “If they believe that. I would suggest for most people to not limit themselves. Ever.”

  Arthur lapsed into silence and began whistling a haunting tune, a tune that awakened something very old within me, the tattered fragments of a long-lost memory. Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I saw forested lands and verdant green hills; I saw distant castles and villagers dancing merrily around a roaring campfire. I ached for it. Longed for it. I knew this place; it had once been home. I was sure of it. How I knew this, I did not know. Where it was, I did not know. But I suspected it was close. Very close....

  I took in some air and the memory faded. I felt weirdly homesick. After a moment, I found my voice. “But how did you do it? How did you make a fire go out and then come back?”

  Arthur stopped whistling and nodded, as if he was waiting for this question. “First, I feel a deep connection with our Creator. I feel His love and strength and warmth course through me. I feel God in every cell of my body. And second, I thank Him for providing me with whatever I want.”

  “You thank Him before He gives it to you?” I said.

  “Of course,” said Arthur.

  “And you thanked Him for putting out the fire?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it just happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you thanked Him for starting the fire again?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it just happened?”

  Arthur looked at me kindly and smiled deeply. “Yes, my friend. It just happened.”

  I took all of this in. It made sense on a very basic level, granted, but how did real people in their real lives put any of this to good use?

  “And you’re saying I could do that, too?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “And the more you want something, the more you believe you will have it, the faster it will come.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Arthur, “He is pretty sweet.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The tavern door swung open and a man and woman swept in out of the cold and sat opposite the central hearth, talking excitedly. I could only imagine what they were talking excitedly about. Dragons were, after all, big news. Bigger even than Charlie Sheen.

  “Back to the dragon,” I said.

  Arthur nodded. “Yes, the dragon is from elsewhere, James. Much like those knights we fought in the streets.”

  “Elsewhere?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where is elsewhere?”

  “Another world,” said Arthur, flipping his wrist absently. He seemed amused by the gesture and did it again, as if he was still getting used to his physical body. “Another world, another time.”

  “Then why are they here in our world at this time?” I asked.

  “They were summoned,” said Arthur. “By the man in black you saw earlier.”

  “And who is he?”

  “A magician.”

  I had been about to take a sip from my cocoa, but stopped the mug halfway up to my lips. Some of it sloshed over the rim and made a brown and white foaming mess on the scarred wooden table.

  I looked at Arthur.

  He looked back at me.

  I started shaking my head.

  “No....” I said.

  He winked. “Yes,” he said. “That magician.”

  * * *

  A single name appeared in my thoughts: Merlin.

  I mulled the name over. Heck, I was mulling a lot over. If there was a land of Mull, I would surely be king.

  Above the nearby rooftops, a section of the darkening sky glowed orange. Perhaps a fire. Perhaps the source of the sirens I had heard earlier. Dragon fire?

  I had never seen the Disney movie “The Sword in the Stone,” although I had read Steinbeck’s little-known and wonderfully written The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights. I had never read Mallory’s Le Morte d’Arthur, nor had I read Mary Stewart’s classic trilogy plus one. But I had seen Richard Gere playing the role of Sir Lancelot in First Knight, and I was fairly certain I had seen King Arthur with Sean Connery. Granted, I had done some research on Glastonbury prior to coming here, and so I knew the “official” history of Arthur. But I realized then, as I sat there with Arthur reborn, that I had scant knowledge of Merlin himself. I knew Merlin had been a friend of Arthur’s, a wizarding aide, so to speak. A confidant. And I seem to recall—and perhaps I had read this in Steinbeck’s book—that Merlin was last seen trapped inside a magical tree, betrayed by the woman he loved. But I do not recall Merlin turning bad. Then again, with wizards, one never knew, right?

  “You have surprising scant little knowledge of my old friend Merlin,” said Arthur.

  “And you know this how?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

  Marion said, “He’s reading your aura, James. Even I can see the confusion surrounding you.”

  “I want to go home,” I said.

  “Those who want, never receive,” sa
id Arthur.

  My head hurt again. “Um, what?” I asked.

  “Instead of wanting, you must choose. You must proclaim. And then you must thank, and then you shall receive your heart’s greatest and smallest desires.”

  “Then I choose to go home,” I said, my voice rising. “I proclaim that I am going home. And thank you God for sending me home.”

  “Much better,” said Arthur, grinning and sitting back. “So, then, why are you still here?”

  “You tell me,” I said.

  “You are here,” said Arthur, “because I suspect you truly don’t want to leave.”

  “Oh, really?” I said.

  “I suspect you want to see this adventure through to the end, James, even though you might be afraid now. I suspect you want to experience the thrill of the quest, and to see distant lands, and have the adventure of a lifetime. And, being a true bard at heart, I suspect you want to tell this tale to the world.”

  “I want,” I said, “to go pee.”

  And I got up and left.

  * * *

  I did my business in a very small, archaic bathroom, and shortly found myself at the end of a slightly crooked hallway. The back door was open, and I stood there looking up into the rain as it drummed the lids of some nearby metal trashcans. I wondered what was really keeping me here in Glastonbury. I could easily leave now and try to forget I ever came here.

  Try was the operative word here.

  The stench of garbage was strong on the air. The rain was coming down harder, driving straight into the alley, pounding some of the smell into submission. Just some of it.

  But Arthur was right, dammit. I indeed wanted to see this thing through to the end. I indeed wanted to see what my dreams were all about. I mean, how often does one get to traipse through England with King Arthur himself?

  Yes, I wanted to see this through to the end, as long as it didn’t kill me.

  What had Arthur said about wanting?