The Dark Thorn

The night dark and dank about him, his dreams filled with the darkest creatures of the subconscious, Richard sensed movement of foreign air and erupted from troubled sleep to grab the wrist of his transgressor.

“Let go of me, jerkoff!” a voice yelped.

Richard did not hesitate. Thick blankets thrown off, he gained his feet like a cat and slammed his assailant against the building of the alley before realizing he recognized the voice.

It was the boy.

Bran pinned and of no threat, Richard swept the darkness. Moonlight glimmered like frost beyond the alley where he made his makeshift bed, but it failed to illuminate beyond a rough outline. No sound penetrated the gloom; it was the middle of the night and the city slumbered. Memories of the previous night still thick, Richard penetrated the shadows where danger could lurk, not taking anything for granted.

It took only a moment. No other entity existed in the alley.

The boy was alone.

Richard shook Bran. “What are you doing here?!” he seethed.

Bran ignored the vehemence and stared back with cold eyes.

“Merle…”

“Merle what, whelp?”

“Merle sent me to find you,” Bran said, pain at the edge of his words.

His adrenaline flowing away, Richard let the boy go. Bran slid down the wall but quickly straightened, adjusting his coat and regaining his composure.

“I told you not to go out at night,” Richard admonished. Bran just stared back with a mixture of awe and distrust. When the boy didn’t answer, Richard grabbed the front of his coat anew. “Why does Merle want to see me?”

“I want to know what happened the other night.”

“What does Merle want?” the knight repeated, ignoring the request.

“Look, I’m not an idiot,” Bran said. “I’ve been around. Been taking care of myself a long time. Never have I seen creatures like we saw the other night. Never have I seen a man with a flaming sword running around a city like it was the damn medieval ages.”

“You should go to a Renaissance fair then,” Richard said.

“I’m serious. Who are you?”

“You obviously didn’t heed my advice and leave Old World Tales.”

“I talked to Merle, yes,” Bran admitted. “He convinced me to stay, although he didn’t share much. He is more full of shit than that crazy Tee Goodkind down by the wharf. You know, the guy who believes he isn’t homele—”

“I warned you,” Richard interrupted angrily. “Get away from that old man as quickly as you can. You have no idea how he will twist your life. Now leave me to bed. I no longer care what he wishes of me—or you for that matter.”

“Elizabeth,” Bran said simply.

Richard hoped he’d heard wrong but knew he hadn’t.

“What did you say?” he hissed.

“He told me to just say the name Elizabeth,” Bran stammered. “Said…said you would come, if I said that name.”

Anger flooded him. Richard tightened his grip on the coat and pushed him into the brick wall. It was all he could to do not beat sense into the boy.

“What kind of games are you playing? Who the hell do you think you are?!” he raged.

Unfamiliar fear crept into Bran’s eyes. Realizing what he did, Richard flung Bran aside and to the wet ground like a rag doll.

“I know,” he said. “You are only the messenger. This is a discussion best had with its owner.”

Before the boy could reply, Richard was already striding out of the alley. It took him less than a minute to cover the dead two blocks to Old World Tales. No one was about; no cars sped on the Viaduct above or on the streets of the Bricks. It was a silent world devoid of life. But when he turned the last corner, the lights of the bookstore blazed like fiery windows into hell.

Richard did not deviate. He burst through the front door with burning conviction.

The bookstore owner sat calmly in one of his plush chairs, legs crossed, his pipe smoking into the air above him. He eyed the knight with cool discernment. Over his shoulder, Arrow Jack sat perched and awake, the beady eyes of the merlin like a knife stabbing the knight.

“I am going to ask you this one time,” Richard snarled, pointing a finger at the old man like a sword. “Why the hell did you send for me!?”

“Annwn is on the rise,” Merle stated.

The old man’s serene manner only fueled Richard’s anger. “What the f*ck does that have to do with Elizabeth!?” he roared.

“Everything. Or maybe nothing.”

“Riddles,” he spat. He turned to leave and in his fury, almost bowled Bran over. The boy didn’t move.

“Get out of my way,” Richard snapped venomously.

“Bran, you have played chess, yes?” Merle questioned.

“I used to play when I was a kid, yeah,” Bran said, looking uncertainly at the knight but still not getting out of his way. “My father taught me when I was about six.”

“Explain to Richard what happens at the start of a game.”

Richard had had enough. “Merle, don’t sit there an—”

“Tell him, Bran,” Merle cut in.

“Uhh, usually the pawns are moved forward.”

“Precisely,” the bookseller said. “Why?”

“They begin the game to allow other pieces into play.”

“A player moves a pawn; his foe counters with a move of his own,” Merle said, eyeing Richard. “The same is true in Annwn and this world. Pawns are moving, pieces being pushed into place with victory as the goal. All I know is those pawns must be countered. No matter what you may think, Richard, I do not entirely see the forces that move to imbalance the world, only a suggestion of them in the air, on the earth, and at the edge of my awareness.” He paused. “That suggestion moved me to have Bran find you tonight and bring you here.”

“You still have not answered my question,” the knight said.

“I will get to it,” Merle said. “First, I must discover how much Bran has learned during his reading this past month.”

“I knew it,” Richard scowled. “There is no reason to include him in this.”

“There is,” the old man disagreed.

“I am right here, ya know,” Bran said, although Richard detected a bit of fear in the boy’s voice. “I can make my own choices. And if this has anything to do with what happened the other night and I can learn just what the hell went down out there in the Bricks, I want to know.”

“Very perceptive of you, Bran,” Merle said. “We certainly mean you no harm.”

“If you believe that, boy, then you are not as bright as I thought you,” Richard said.

“Hush, Richard,” Merle said, eyes flashing. “Now.”

“I will not!” the knight raged.

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are,” Bran said to Richard. “But I have a right to know why that enormous dog thing came after me.”

“You are in no position to know what is best for you in this.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

“Fine,” Richard said, angry. “When it bites you in the ass, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I meant what I said, Bran,” the bookseller asserted once more. “We mean you no harm. But you must hear what I have to say, now, before it is too late.”

“Has this to do with the other night?” Bran asked.

Merle nodded. “I asked you to read about pre-civilized Britain. Have you done so?”

“I’ve read a bit. A lot since the other night, in fact.”

“Then you know it was ruled by Celtic tribes before Rome added them to its Empire.”

“Right,” Bran said. “Julius Caesar conquered lower England.”

“This is a mistake, Merle,” Richard interrupted.

“Richard!” Merle growled.

The knight grew quiet. He hoped once Bran had heard what the old bookseller had to say, it would scare him sufficiently to ignore whatever request Merle had up his sleeve.

Then he would find out why Merle had brought up Elizabeth.

“Julius Caesar. Just so,” Merle resumed. “And what religion did he encounter there?”

“The Celts were pagans, I think,” Bran answered. “Believed in many gods and goddesses. Kind of like Rome.”

“Very true,” Merle said. “Christianity eventually grew in Rome and spread through the empire. When that happened, the religion the Celts practiced all but disappeared overnight.”

“How does this tie in with what happened to me?”

“What you experienced the other night was real,” Merle answered. “Celtic machinations with you at their heart. You were attacked by fey creatures this world has not known, at least in a real way, for millennia.”

“That can’t be true,” Bran said. “It’s folklore.”

“Indeed,” Richard said, not sure if he wanted to laugh at or chastise the boy. “Didn’t believe your own eyes, eh?”

“All folklore has a basis of truth,” Merle said, looking at Bran with an earnestness the knight knew to be all too dangerous. “The gods and goddesses Julius Caesar encountered and fought existed—and still exist. He went there looking for riches and resources to expand the empire. In his first effort, he encountered far more than he bargained for. The Celts, with the fey Tuatha de Dannan, repelled the Roman general. The next summer he brought several battalions of his heartiest fighters, and that was the beginning of the end for the Celts and their religion.”

“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 something 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.”

“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?”