The Grail Quest (The Avalon Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

Oh yeah, something about choosing.

  And so, as I stood there with my face halfway out into the night, with a small wind making its way down the narrow alley, I silently proclaimed:

  I choose to see this through to the end.

  Now what the heck was I thinking?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “We need to leave soon, James,” said Marion when I returned.

  “I don’t want to,” I said. “Not yet. Please. I like it in here. It’s warm and cozy and there’s no one chasing us with swords. Besides, I’m just working up an appetite to try some of this sticky pudding.” I pointed to the menu where there was a picture of something gooey covered in cream.

  I reached for my hot cocoa, but it was gone.

  “Sorry, old boy,” said Arthur sheepishly, wiping his mouth. There was still some whipped cream in his mustache. “I assumed you didn’t want it, and, well, we really should be going.” He motioned to the table where the couple had been sitting. The table was now empty. “I’m fairly certain our friends here have reported us to the proper authorities.”

  “And why would they report us to the proper authorities?” I asked, except I knew the answer the moment the words left my mouth.

  Arthur said, “No doubt a fair amount of people have reported seeing knights wielding swords.” He pointed to his hip where Excalibur was hanging from the hammer loop of his cargo shorts. “We fit that description. At least the sword part.”

  “Maybe the authorities are too busy running down a fire-breathing dragon to worry about us.”

  “For now, the dragon is gone,” said Arthur. “It served its purpose.”

  I blinked. “Its purpose?”

  “Yes, to strike fear in the hearts of those who saw it. Fear is a valuable weapon for those who wish to control others.”

  “And Merlin seeks to control others?”

  “Yes, apparently.”

  “Why?”

  “That,” said Arthur, “remains to be seen.”

  “You don’t know?” I asked, surprised.

  “I don’t know everything, my friend. I am but a spirit, a soul, like yourself. Neither greater nor less.”

  “Just more highly evolved,” piped in Marion.

  “Oh, thank you for reminding me of that,” I snapped at her. I turned back to Arthur. “So you know some things, but don’t know others? That’s convenient.”

  “Merlin’s plan will be revealed to me at the appropriate time. Then again, it may not.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you may desire everything in the world, but you may not always be given everything in the world. That is the great paradox we talked about before. Appreciate the paradox, and appreciate what you are given, and always thank God for what you already have.”

  “And so you have not been given Merlin’s plans?” I asked.

  And for the first time—the very first time—I saw a dent in Arthur’s invincibility. “No,” he said, looking away. “I have not.”

  “And how do you know our friends over there called the police?” I asked, looking at Marion. “Did you read their auras?”

  “No,” said Marion. “I overheard one of them calling the operator.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  And, as if on cue, I heard the sound of approaching sirens.

  “I suggest,” said Arthur. “We find a back exit.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  We had just exited the alley and were making our way down a side street when a wailing police cruiser skidded around a corner, lights flashing. Arthur yanked Marion and I back into a recessed doorway, where we stayed until the police cruiser had passed us by.

  I almost—almost—wished we had been pulled over. Jail, I figured, had to be safer than this.

  We continued on, and as the sky darkened into late evening, we soon found ourselves huddled together in a copse of trees across the street from the Glastonbury Abbey.

  The abbey was relatively famous. After all, it was the legendary final resting place of King Arthur himself, who had supposedly been buried in a tomb beneath the high altar. That is, until the tomb was excavated and found to be empty. I glanced at Arthur crouched next to me. Go figure.

  “So what’s the game plan?” I asked to no one in particular.

  “Game plan?” asked Arthur.

  “You know, the plan,” I said, surprised again that some American idioms were lost in translation while others he seemed to grasp instantly.

  “The plan. Yes, the plan. Hmm.” Arthur scratched his beard. “You see the nearby hill?” Arthur pointed to Glastonbury Tor, of course, with its single, solitary tower prominent against the cloud-filled evening skies. The tower, a phallic symbol if ever there was one, was all that was left of an ancient church, and was visible for many dozens of miles in every direction. Perhaps even hundreds of miles.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “That, my friend, is our destination.”

  “Then why are we hiding here?”

  “Because our destination, in fact, lies under the hill.”

  “Under?”

  “Indeed, and the secret entrance is found here in the Abbey. More precisely, in my tomb.”

  I found it a bit disconcerting at best listening to someone talking about their now empty tomb. I said, “And why would we want to go under the hill?”

  The wind was picking up now, moaning through the copse and whipping branches. I also might have heard the sounds of distant hoof beats. Might have. It was hard to tell with all the rustling leaves.

  Arthur said, “Because under the hill is where the Grail is hidden.”

  “Of course,” I said, perhaps more sarcastically than I had meant. “I should have known.”

  Arthur put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder affectionately. I could feel his electric energy. “Relax, James. Don’t look so worried. You’ve been there before, my friend. After all, you helped me hide it. Now, let’s get out of here. Time is of the essence!”

  I helped him hide it?

  “Come along, James,” he said, taking hold of Marion’s hand and leading her across the street. “The game is afoot!”

  I sure as hell didn’t think this was a game, and if it was, I certainly wasn’t winning.

  I dashed off after them.

  Chapter Thirty

  Much of the Glastonbury Abbey had crumbled away, and no one, seemingly, cared much about putting it back together again.

  Where were all the king’s men when you needed them?

  The Abbey was part of a larger network of buildings that all sat on many acres of idyllic park grounds. Except now, under the bright full moon that appeared in a break in the clouds, the grounds didn’t seem so idyllic. They seemed downright creepy. In a world where fire-breathing dragons existed, I was fully aware that anything could be out there, watching us. There could even be smaller things, things with sharp teeth and long claws and evil in their hearts.

  But, alas, nothing stirred or slithered or crept. Nothing, that is, that I could see.

  Arthur and Marion had disappeared into what appeared to be the main entrance into the abbey. I was about to follow when I did indeed catch some movement. My heart skipped. Maybe it had just been my imagination. I peered through the darkening gloom into a shifting mist that had appeared over the sweeping grounds.

  Some of the mist parted, and I could barely believe what I was seeing.

  Four small figures were holding hands and dancing around a tiny tree sapling. My first thought was that these were children, but I knew in my heart that they were much smaller than children.

  Much, much smaller.

  Besides, they didn’t really look like kids, did they? They looked like, well, little people.

  I stood there unmovingly, entranced, watching this strange dance and wondering what I was witnessing, when next a haunting melody reached my ears. I knew instinctively that this song was being sung by the four dancing figures.

  And I knew they were singing to the tree.
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  What is happening?

  I heard the sound of grass crunching behind me. I whirled around, jumpy as hell, raising the sword. Arthur was calmly standing there with his hands clutched behind his back. He neither moved nor flinched, although he did nod and give me a crooked smile. “Your reflexes are getting better, my friend. I suspect that soon you will be back to your old self.”

  My old self?

  I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, but promptly closed it again when the singing reached my ears again. I turned back to the dancing figures as Arthur stepped next to me.

  “You appear to have found the wee folk,” he said. “Or, more accurately, they have found you, since they do not often reveal themselves to humans.”

  “The wee folk?” I asked. I found myself whispering, lest I disturb the dancing and singing.

  “Faeries, James. Or, as some call them, earth angels.”

  “But what are they doing?” I asked. The four figures continued dancing and singing, their small voices so heartbreakingly beautiful that I wanted to weep.

  “They are welcoming new life into the world, James. Celebrating it, lifting its spirit.”

  “They are dancing around a tree,” I pointed out.

  “Ah,” said Arthur. “Life is life, my friend. Small, medium or large, we are all creatures of God. We are all from the One. We are all celebrated and lifted up. We are all loved and exalted. Even the smallest sapling. Never forget that.”

  The singing and dancing stopped and now the wee folk were bowing toward the sapling. Then they bowed to each other, and then, surprisingly, they turned and bowed toward us. Next to me, Arthur bowed deeply in return. I watched him, utterly amazed, and when I looked back down the grassy slope, the little ones were gone. All that remained was the tiny sapling, now standing alone, and looking somehow taller and stronger. The wee folk’s haunting melody seemed to linger over mist-covered grounds, but that could have been my imagination.

  Hell, all of this could have been my imagination.

  To my surprise, I found tears on my cheeks. Weird and strange as the scene had been, it had also been beautiful and oddly touching.

  “Come, my friend,” said Arthur, squeezing my shoulder affectionately. “I need your help. And quickly.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  I followed Arthur up a flight of roughly hewn stone stairs, and found myself in what had once been a church, except there was no roof and most of the four walls had crumbled.

  Arthur paused just inside the abbey entrance and seemed to be looking for something. He suddenly said, “Ah ha!” and strode into a dark corner and came back with, of all things, a common garden rake.

  I wasn’t sure a common garden rake was “Ah ha” worthy, but it seemed to excite the once and future king. At any rate, he leaned the garden tool against a stone wall and did something that should have surprised me, but didn’t. Arthur lifted his foot and stepped down hard on the rake, snapping off its metal teeth. Now the rake was nothing more than a long wooden pole with a broken end. Marion moved over to my side and we watched together as Arthur next brought the wooden pole crashing down over his uplifted knee. Now the broken pole was two smaller broken poles.

  I whispered to Marion, “Do you have any idea what he’s doing?”

  “No clue,” she whispered back.

  “Is there a chance he’s completely lost it?”

  She frowned at me, the severe look in her eyes somehow reflecting whatever light there was in the cloud-filled late evening sky, which was damn little. Obviously, she didn’t like me questioning her man.

  Now holding a shaft in each hand, Arthur turned to us and raised them high. He knocked the poles together once, twice, and by the third time, twin flames appeared, burning furiously along the upper halves. What had once been a common garden rake was now two not-so-common torches. He handed one to me.

  “Godfire,” he said casually. “Will burn forever, if you so desire.”

  “And who wouldn’t?” I said.

  He grinned and the three of us proceeded deeper into the damaged church. The wind poured through the open roof and whipped our torches into a frenzy. Shadows skip-jumped around us, and something scurried over the floor nearby. In the near distance, I heard the distinct sounds of galloping horses.

  They’re coming.

  We pushed on and soon came upon a raised platform made of huge stone blocks.

  “The high altar,” said Marion. Her breathing, I noticed, was sounding raspier and raspier. Indeed, she was also looking frail, hunched, and far older than her years. My heart broke seeing her like this.

  And that’s when something snapped inside me. Still holding the torch, I grabbed Arthur by his shoulders and yanked him around to face me. “You call yourself a master, and yet you do nothing to help your friend, Marion. She is dying. Her breaths are numbered and yet you snap your fingers and create fire like a Vegas magician. Why don’t you snap your fingers and heal her lungs, godammit?”

  Arthur said nothing, did nothing. He only looked at me patiently, his eyes impossibly wide in the torchlight, his irises seemingly on fire themselves. Marion touched my shoulder lightly behind me, her breathing harder than ever.

  “He never called himself a master,” said Marion. “I did. Whether or not he is a master, I do not know. I think he is, and that’s enough for me.”

  “Are you a master?” I asked him. I did not release his shoulders.

  “I still have much to learn,” said Arthur calmly, watching me closely, his eyes searching my face.

  I turned to Marion. “Why do you call him a master?”

  “A master is a highly evolved being who’s lived many lives—sometimes many hundreds of lives. A master has, in fact, mastered the art of living, the art of being, and has raised his vibration to the highest possible level; nirvana, as some would call it. A master is one who knows God on a very personal level, and one who can, and does, perform miracles, but only if such miracles are for the highest good of those around him.”

  “Highest good?” I asked, confused. Arthur was still silently searching my face with his eyes. I sensed his powerful love for me.

  “Yes, our highest good,” said Marion. “Meaning, that which is for your soul’s ultimate benefit. Some of us are aware of our highest good. Others are not. Arthur, I believe, is not only aware of his own highest good, but the highest good of those around him.”

  I looked at her. “And it is your highest good to not be healed?”

  “I don’t know,” said Marion quietly. “Maybe it is, maybe it’s not.”

  “She has the power to heal herself,” said Arthur, speaking now for the first time. Still, he did not take his eyes off me. “We all have the power to heal ourselves, James. We all have the power to perform miracles. You and I,” said Arthur, reaching up and gently taking hold of my hand and removing it from his shoulder, “are the same. We are not different. We are both loved equally by God. We are both, in fact, of God. God lives in both us. God is always there, waiting for you to come back to Him.”

  “And why did I leave Him?”

  “To experience not knowing Him.”

  “But now it’s time to come back?” I asked.

  “That is only for you to decide, James.”

  I took in some air. “Still, why don’t you heal Marion?”

  The sound of approaching horses was very loud now. I could even hear the shouts and grunts of men.

  “I have not asked him to, James,” said Marion.

  I turned to her, stunned. “Why not?”

  Arthur cast his eyes away from me and looked up toward the sky. It had begun to rain. Also, a black shadow passed beneath the clouds, its massive underbelly catching some of Glastonbury’s ambient light. The dragon was back.

  “Is she supposed to die?” I asked Arthur, spinning on him again. “Answer me, godammit!”

  “God never damns. God only loves,” said Arthur. “And her soul’s path is neither for me nor you to decide. Only Marion and God know w
hat’s best for her.”

  “She’s suffocating to death,” I said. “To death. Why would she not want to be healed?”

  “Death is not permanent, my friend. Death is just the end of this cycle, and the beginning of another.”

  “Well, I don’t want her cycle to end.”

  “Sometimes, such things are out of—”

  “Heal her, dammit!” I jumped back and raised my sword, pointing the tip at Arthur’s throat. “Please,” I said, my voice cracking. The heavy sword was surprisingly steady in my hand. “Heal her.”

  “James, no!” said Marion. “Please, it’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay, Marion. He can help you. Instead, he’s letting you die.”

  Arthur just stood before me, holding his torch in one hand and Excalibur in the other. Probably not the best idea to draw one’s weapon against someone holding what might be the world’s most magical sword. Especially since I knew next to nothing about what I was doing.

  But I didn’t give a damn.

  Arthur’s sword remained pointing down, although it seemed to have awakened somehow, pulsating in his hand as if it sensed danger to its owner. I continued holding my sword out before me, the sword somehow lighter than I remembered. I knew I had no intention of using it on Arthur, but I was royally pissed off.

  “James, no one’s letting me die. If I am to be healed it must be on my terms. It must be my decision, my doing. Not the actions of someone else. Especially not the violent actions of someone else.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, Marion. Maybe God sent Arthur to heal you, and you are refusing—”

  Marion was now breathing harder than ever, her every breath rattling in her lungs as if something had broken loose inside her.

  “I have been angry with God for a long, long time, James. I have cursed God. I have hated God for allowing this to happen to me. I am only just now coming to peace with everything, forgiving and loving again. I still have much to learn. I need to grow. I am not there yet. I am beginning to understand that I might have attracted this illness to myself. I am learning to deal with that realization.”