The Dark Thorn (12 page)

“But you say their gods, these fey, still exist?” Bran questioned.

“They disappeared,” Richard said.

“Not exactly,” Merle corrected. “They retreated from Roman Christian advance over the next three centuries, withdrawing deeper and deeper into the wilds of what would become Wales, Ireland, and Scotland—and, when they had nowhere left to run, from this world entirely.”

“This is all pretty hard to believe, guys,” Bran said shaking his head. “First I was attacked by a fey creature. And now you are telling me that there is a place outside this world where they exist still? Like, really exist? I’ve seen some crazy people on the streets, Merle, but right now you are officially the craziest, and you don’t even live there.”

“Is what I tell you so hard to believe?” Merle asked. “What’s important is that you were attacked.
That
was real enough. It was also for a reason, one we must discover.”

“How can you know it was for a reason?” Bran asked. “I’m no one.”

“Someone does not believe that, Bran.”

“Who?”

“If you’ve done enough reading, you’ll know magic heavily influenced the ancients. This world has relegated magic to unreal blasphemy, a novelty for sleight-of-hand magicians and Hollywood. As Julius Caesar and those after him discovered, magic does exist, albeit lesser now with the turn of technology, and it existed when the Celts ruled the breadth of the Isles. Part of their power relied on artifacts imbued with abilities—weapons, mirrors, brushes…you get the idea. One of these, a mirror or something like it, with extraordinary power, is owned by someone or some
thing
in Annwn—and that entity wants you dead.”

“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.”