The Grail Quest (The Avalon Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

  “All while I have wasted away.”

  “All while you contemplated the results of your actions. All while you were given every chance to return home with God. But you chose another path.”

  “I escaped,” said Merlin.

  “And sold your soul.”

  “A small price to pay.”

  “No,” said Arthur. “The ultimate price to pay. But I am here to tell you that God can redeem your soul. You can still go home if you choose to.”

  Merlin seemed to falter. He paused, opened his mouth. His lips were impossibly red and full, as if coated in fresh blood.

  “To go home,” Merlin said, “is to die.”

  I found myself wondering what the heck that meant, until an answer appeared in my thoughts, an answer, I realized, that was from Arthur:

  Dark magic, or dark energy, is keeping his body alive, James. These energies have, in effect, taken him over. After all, he is over fifteen hundred years old, and the moment he drives these low-level energies away from him, his body will shortly die, as it should have done centuries ago.

  Arthur, what the hell are you doing in my head?

  Oh, hi, James. Thought it might be easier this way.

  Well, you could have warned me or something.

  Sorry, old boy.

  “To die,” said Arthur now to Merlin, “is to be re-born in God’s presence. You will be home with Him, and He will love you and heal you.”

  “No,” said Merlin, pulling back his red lips. “I’m afraid you lie, or purposely deceive me. To die is to go to hell. To die is to return to the cave. And I will never—never!—return to that rocky hell.”

  “But you are in hell now, my friend,” said Arthur.

  Merlin was no longer listening. He stopped in front of Marion and cocked his head a little.

  “She is very beautiful,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of a lock of her hair, letting it fall between his long, skeletal fingers. Marion shrank away, clearly revolted. “Ah. She is dying, I see. A pity. A waste.”

  He moved to touch her face, and Marion promptly smacked his hand away.

  Merlin didn’t react at first, although his coat seemed to come to life, swirling and fluttering in obvious agitation. And then the immortal wizard did something he would forever regret:

  He slapped Marion hard across the face.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Without thinking and in a blind rage, I threw myself at Merlin, heaving my left fist as hard as I could.

  Something within his coat shrieked, a supernatural warning system, and the wizard turned his face just as my knuckles grazed his chin. Still, the force of the blow sent him spinning away, stumbling across the raised platform.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  Men poured into the stone chapel. Through broken doorways, over broken walls, and even through the open windows. Men from another world, another time. How Merlin recruited them, I didn’t know. Who they were, I didn’t know. Why they were here, I didn’t know. What I did know was this: they were all brandishing very real weapons, and they all looked like they knew how to use them.

  And while the men poured in, Merlin did something that made me question my sanity all over again. He levitated straight up from the floor, up above everyone’s heads. Indeed, he would have hit his own head on the ceiling had there been a ceiling. Instead, he hovered above us like a weather balloon from hell.

  But I didn’t have much time to gawk at this, because a very large red-haired man appeared before me, yelling like a madman and swinging a heavy mace straight at my face.

  I was a poet and didn’t know it.

  So what rhymes with dead?

  Easy, my busted head.

  * * *

  And since I happened to like my head where it belonged, I ducked and heard a thunderous whoosh of air pass over me.

  Holy, sweet Jesus.

  Red Hair had another go at me, heaving the weapon with both hands, but this time aiming for my torso region. Instinctively, I brought my sword up and, with a resounding clang and enough force to knock me sideways, I somehow managed to keep myself alive for the next few minutes.

  Lucky me.

  We slowly circled. Surrounding us was a motley crew of a dozen or so heavily armed men. Some wore armor, others didn’t. Some had light skin, others dark. Some had pointed ears, others had the more traditional round ears.

  Lord help me.

  All of them, however, seemed intent on one thing: hurting me very badly.

  And so I raised my sword and kept an eye on those who had also crept behind me. Red Hair apparently took my raised sword as a challenge and lunged at me again, swinging his mace wildly.

  And just to keep me on my toes, another man from my left attacked, aiming a long knife straight for my heart.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  I let instinct take over. Whether or not that was a good thing, I didn’t know. But I was about to find out.

  As the two came at me, I flopped straight to my back and watched as the very knife that had been intended for me, drove straight through the thigh of Red Hair. He screamed and dropped his mace and reached for his leg. Blood sprang from between his fingers.

  Ignoring his wounded friend, the short guy with the knife, which now gleamed crimson, threw himself at me recklessly. I rolled to my left and his blade slammed into the stone next to me. It snapped in half and, in a bizarre stroke of luck, the broken blade ricocheted back and lodged deep into his neck. The short guy screamed and rolled away as blood pumped from a severed jugular.

  I almost vomited, and probably would have if not for a guy on my left charging at me with a raised sword. A sword that appeared much longer than mine.

  I hate when that happens.

  The new guy lowered the sword point and aimed it straight for my heart. Okay, I really hate when that happens. In the world of sword fighting, they would call what I did next a “parry.” Trust me, there was no “parrying” about it. It was just dumb luck and good fortune that when I raised my sword to block his attack that his own blade slid off mine and promptly skewered the guy sneaking up behind me.

  Guess his luck ran out. The sword lodged itself into his side and he screamed like it hurt. I had no reason to doubt him.

  With his point still lodged into his friend’s side, Long Sword found himself at an awkward angle in front of me, and so I took advantage of his awkward angle and punched him as hard as I could in the face. I think I broke a knuckle in the process. Still, the punch did the trick: he went tumbling off the platform, to land in a motionless heap.

  The instant he was gone, another replaced him. Another sword, another bad attitude. Another lucky punch, followed by another lucky last-second repartee. The bastards continued coming, and I continued getting lucky. Too lucky. I should have been dead a hundred times over.

  After a surprising number of my attackers had fallen away, I saw that only two remained. Unfortunately, the two that remained were bigger and badder than all the others combined. The trouble with this scenario was that I was neither big nor bad. I was medium-sized and fairly good-natured.

  I was out of breath. My arms felt leaden. My legs felt leaden, too. Heck, even the sword felt leaden.

  They circled me slowly. Neither seemed very interested in giving me a chance to catch my breath. Not very sporting of them, if you ask me.

  One wore a sort of leather body armor, the kind of thing you’d find on Brad Pitt in Troy—if Brad Pitt had been a hulking freak covered with curly body hair. The other wore only a filthy loin-cloth, Conan-style. Both were roped with muscle, covered in scars and stood a head taller than me.

  I wanted to go home.

  Now.

  Next to me, Arthur was fighting two men at once. And floating high above, Merlin safely watched everything down below.

  Troy Boy attacked first, using a ball and chain, snapping it out like a whip. How the thing missed my head, I don’t know. We circled; he snapped. I raised my sword and this time the spiked iron bal
l slammed hard into the flat of my sword, which, in turn, slammed hard against the flat of my forehead. I saw stars instantly.

  I also saw the second man coming at me, swinging his huge broadsword in a great chopping motion.

  I slid under the chopping motion, and did something that surprised even me: I smashed his face with the pommel of my sword. And I mean smashed it. His nose shattered, blood spurted, and down he went like a rag doll in loin-cloth.

  Jesus, what a lucky hit.

  Ball and Chain wasn’t done with me, though, and he attacked furiously. Relying on a steady diet of near misses and extremely lucky parries, I somehow managed to stave off the brunt of his fury.

  I also somehow managed to end up behind him.

  Not exactly sure how that happened, but I tossed aside my sword, leaped onto his back, and got him in the mother of all choke holds. I held on with all my strength as he stumbled back and smashed me hard against a stone wall. He smashed again and again. But still I held tight, choking the life out of him.

  He dropped his ball and chain and reached back for me, swinging at me with ham-sized fists. But his strength was giving way, fast. He dropped to a knee, wavered, and just as I was sure he was about to topple over, two things happened simultaneously:

  First, a flash of light exploded in my head. And second, something grabbed hold of my shoulders, lifted me free, and carried me out of the church and into the night air.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  The dragon was monstrous up close. Admittedly, it was monstrous from far away, too.

  Still, from my perspective hanging beneath it, the dragon’s wide scaly underbelly seemed to span from horizon to horizon. Its massive black talons, long and sharp as swords, grasped me just under my arm pits. I was reduced to nothing more than a hanging piece of meat. From somewhere above, I could hear the beating of its powerful wings against the whoosh of the cool night air.

  I was well aware that the dragon could have easily pierced my chest with those curved talons. Then again, maybe the dragon enjoyed playing with its food, the way a killer whale played with a dying seal before consuming it.

  Not quite.

  The words appeared directly in my thoughts, much the way Arthur’s had. Except these words were loud enough to rattle my skull, and seemed to echo between my ears.

  This isn’t Arthur, is it? I asked, thinking the words rather than speaking them.

  No, it’s not, came the answer.

  We continued flying. Cold wind whipped through my hair, rippled my bloodied sweatshirt. A smattering of rain slapped hard across my face. The dragon’s right talon hung back a little, sort of tucked under the great expanse of its underbelly, itself covered in what appeared to be thick, clay roofing tiles. I reached up to touch one.

  I wouldn’t do that if I were you, came the voice again.

  Why not?

  A dragon’s scales are sharp as razors.

  Oh. I didn’t know that.

  Now you do.

  Who are you? I asked. Who’s talking to me?

  There wasn’t an immediate answer. I found the steady beat of the dragon’s powerful wings oddly comforting. My first thought was that my sweatshirt was doing a remarkable job of keeping me warm, until I realized that there was a great deal of heat coming from the dragon itself. Like flying beneath the sun.

  Finally the deep voice answered me: To answer your question, little one, look no further than above.

  Above? The dragon? No....

  In that moment, the creature’s great triangular head swung down on a surprisingly pliant neck, and I found myself staring straight into those black, bowling ball-sized eyes I had seen earlier. Long, white fangs, each the size of my arm, hung outside its black upper lip. It looked like a dog on steroids. A lot of steroids. Like twin caves of fire, its flared nostrils emanated a red hot glow. Smoke trailed up from its partially opened mouth.

  Although easily the most frightening creature I had ever seen or imagined, the dragon had an odd sort of grace to it. I sensed it had seen much, done much, and that it had been around a very, very long time.

  And then it did something I was entirely unprepared for.

  The dragon winked at me.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The massive head swung back around and pointed forward again.

  I continued to hang from its black claws. My hair continued flapping in the wind. Heat continued rolling off the great beast’s underbelly.

  I wondered again when I would wake up.

  Why the heaven would you want to wake up? asked the dragon, as it turned slightly to port, bringing me with it.

  I don’t know, I answered.

  Are you afraid? the dragon asked.

  Yes, a little.

  Do you think I might eat you?

  Yes, I do.

  Hmm. I didn’t think of that. I wonder how you would taste.

  I hoped that was a rhetorical question. Below, pinpoints of lights came and went as we soared from town to town. The air turned colder. And as it did, the heat in the dragon’s belly increased, counteracting the cold. My arms were hurting, but not unbearably so.

  Don’t think about it, said the voice deep within my head.

  Easy for you to say, you’re not the one hanging five hundred feet above the ground.

  The sound of chuckling in my head. We continued flying steadily north.

  Thank you, I thought, for keeping me warm.

  My pleasure.

  Where are you taking me? I asked.

  The Council of Elders. They have requested your presence.

  Okay, I thought, that means nothing to me.

  It soon will.

  So you’re not going to eat me?

  Not this time.

  Then why did you attack us earlier?

  That was hardly an attack.

  Then what was it? I asked.

  I was just having some fun. In fact, I haven’t raided a village in quite some time. Life should be fun, should it not?

  I was beginning to sense a common theme here. I thought: Sure, but you could have killed someone.

  Nonsense. I aimed to miss.

  You destroyed someone’s livelihood, then.

  The food vending stand? He was selling processed animal parts. Heavens, even I wouldn’t eat that crap. You humans have atrocious eating habits.

  I agree, I thought. Which is why I’m a vegetarian.

  Well, I wouldn’t go that far, said the dragon, chuckling deeply.

  We continued due north; the temperature continued to drop. The dragon’s belly warmed accordingly.

  Where are you from? I asked.

  Nearby.

  On earth?

  Heavens, no. Another world.

  But you said nearby.

  It is nearby.

  Another planet?

  Sure, it said. Sort of.

  One of those parallel world deals?

  That’s a little closer to the truth.

  So how did you get here?

  How do you know I’m really here?

  What do you mean?

  Perhaps you’re dreaming.

  I don’t think so. For one, my arms are hurting.

  Perhaps that is all in your mind. Perhaps you only think your arms should be hurting, and so therefore they are.

  So am I dreaming?

  Not really. I really am here, and I really am taking you to the Council of Elders.

  I remembered something then. The flash of light in my head, just prior to the dragon’s appearance.

  I was hurt in battle, wasn’t I?

  Perhaps.

  So am I dead?

  I don’t think so.

  So am I in spirit? You know, is my body back in the church?

  Perhaps.

  If so, couldn’t I fly, too?

  Indeed. Would you like to try?

  Will I fall?

  That is up to you, my little friend.

  So it is my decision?

  Always.

  The wind was
blowing cold and hard. The lights below had winked out completely, and I suspected we were now in the empty far north. Below, I could see the foaming outline of crashing waves.

  Was I dead? I didn’t know. Was this really happening to me? I didn’t know that either. Did I want to fly?

  Oh, yes.

  Let go of me, I thought.

  The dragon did, and I dropped like a rock.

  Chapter Forty

  The dragon dropped with me.

  It tucked in its massive wings and streaked along by my side. Below, the crashing waves rushed up to meet me, and if I was dreaming, now would be a really good time to wake up.

  Choose to fly, said the dragon. Choose to fly now, James!

  I choose to fly, I thought. I choose to fly!

  Finally, I screamed: “I choose to fly!”

  And I stopped falling, instantly. The dragon stopped plummeting as well, swooping forward, flapping its massive wings.

  Good boy. Now follow me.

  How?

  Choose to.

  And so I did. I chose to follow him, and soon I was whipping through the air, my arms outstretched. I must have looked like a middle-aged Peter Pan. I hovered beneath the dragon’s belly for warmth.

  You don’t need to fly beneath me for warmth.

  But—

  Choose warmth.

  And so I did. Warmth spread instantly through me, from head to toe. And now I dashed out in front of the dragon, my arms still outstretched, wind blasting my hair. It was raining again, and I seemed to feel each freezing drop on my face.

  I found myself laughing. Never had I felt such freedom. I did one big loop, soaring up and over the dragon, and ended up behind it. The dragon continued forward majestically, its impossibly wide wingspan flapping only occasionally.

  Having fun?

  Oh, yes!

  Good. Because we’re almost there.

  Will I ever see you again? I asked.

  There was a pause, and then its deep voice resounded in my head: I expect so, my young friend.

  And now the dragon angled up through the clouds, cutting a wide swath, and I followed behind it, temporarily blinded by the thick fog vapor. And when I opened my eyes again, I found myself standing in a great hall, surrounded by five ethereal figures, all watching me expectantly.