"A light is never brightest when it is not needed the most, but always needed the most when it appears to be the dimmest. We must make our own Light, be our Light, and live in Light that we might Light the Way for others to follow the path safely to the goal through life's school." -- Merlin

It was a dreary day for Arthur, dry and dreary. The harvest was due, and everyone, including the Lords and Ladies were helping to make sure there would be enough food gathered for all. Even at the ripe old age of ten, going on eleven, Arthur knew the importance of obedience, and certainly doing his fair share of work. He pushed himself, knowing the danger of that, especially with the sickness that was making its rounds of the village. Some had even died of it, all young as he. They called it the work of the fluid demon. It would sneak into the chest of a young child and then drown him with water, so that he choked to death.

Arthur gave no credence to that kind of nonsense. He didn't believe in an illness that was a demon, though he could understand how it might be construed to be such. His world was a dark one in many ways, even though in the far lands it was spoken of those who could light a space with magic, no wood or oil being necessary. He smiled at that image. How was it possible to light up a space without wood or oil? Why such a force could destroy a man long before it lit a place up. Then he frowned, as his mind went further with the thought. Or maybe it was magic. There were many things magical in his world, so why not a light that cast no heat, and filled a room.

He sighed. Such idle thoughts only sought to divert him from his work and cause distress, as his mind was always seeking to fill itself with new thoughts, new information. He would lay awake at night many a time, striving to create order out of the chaos of the world he found himself living in, seeing how people could work for each other, instead of against each other. A world where the rich were as common as the poor folk and no poor folk were there at all. All shared equally with each other, the fruits of their labors a gift of love.

He sighed again. Wasn't going to happen. The Villagers saw nothing beyond a day's work and the Lords and Ladies saw no one beyond themselves.

He had decided to do his work outside, so as to have some kind of warmth and light. He was doing work now that required a finer weave, so his eyes needed to be able to see as clearly as possible. Not that he couldn't do the whole thing blind-folded by now. He just wasn't one to shirk details. He didn't want anything he did to be less than it could be. He didn't know where he had gotten that work ethic from. Being just on the cusp of thirteen, the only thing he knew was that he was more emotional lately and that the village girls had suddenly gotten a bit more interesting to look at.

He shook those thoughts from his mind, causing his rag mop red hair to shake like Jell-O on his head. His sharp, piercing green eyes focused on the thread before him and the spread of lines on the loom, which was gradually taking on the shape of a wedding gown. An expensive one. At least a month's wages. For him that was a lot. For everyone in the village that was a lot. Their share of wealth had been diminishing over the last years as the Lords and Ladies and what seemed to be their unending greed was nurtured by the new King.

Problem was, the share of the villagers grew less each y ear and the share of the royalty seemed to grow larger each and every year since the Lord High King Pendragon had returned to the lands with the Dark Lady, as everyone called the horrible wife he had become betrothed to. It was whispered in the dark when none were listening that the High King had once been a good man, but that he had been corrupted by his interest in the Dark Lady.

It was rumored that every husband she had married in the past had met a violent and dark death. No one said that openly, because those who did seemed to vanish without being heard from again, though some claim to have heard their screams of anguish from the deeper dungeons of the Dark Castle, as it was now called of the King.

Her true name was Lady Spellforth. She hailed from the fifth territory of Greater Breton, where the peoples trafficked in dark magics and slavery. It was rumored that many had formed unclean relationships with the dragons known to inhabit that foul piece of coast.

It hadn’t always been that way, not the coastal regions. They had been the height of purity during the High Lord Druid Kings reign. The Druids had been a wise and respected race of beings, not quite human and not quite inhuman, as the less educated were wont to conjecture and discuss.

Arthur knew better than to wander into such dark territories of the mind. They only led to further confusion and certainly a great chance of being misunderstood by the Lord High King Pendragon’s consort, the Dark Lady. She was known to pick up the thoughts of any she passed as she desired. Most of the time she would wander through the lowly villages of Vandemere-Sooth, and not say a word, nor read a single thought, intent only on taking the most valuable jewels and unicorns she spotted. She was a notorious collector of both. It was rumored she spoiled the jewels with the blood of the unicorns, but Arthur was not wont to consider such things, as he knew a child, Belvedere, whose father worked in the High King’s Castle, and saw her parading the jewels about her neck, and sometimes riding the Unicorns about the wide and dirty hallways.

So Dark she might be, but not in that way, Arthur knew, so he ignored the lowly mutterings of the discontent around him, focusing instead on his own bounty of difficulties, such as managing his hands so as not to burn them with the turning of the wool through them that he turned into fine threads for the Courts, nor in getting his somewhat beat-up and hole-stricken boots in sloshes of mud and Unicorn droppings, not to mention the occasional Griffin pile, whose stench would usually warn him, but not always, when his mind was adrift in thoughts of far off places.

For Arthur was a dreamer. He, like many of the youth of his land, spent a large bounty of time in

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posted september 12, 2014
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pilgrimages to the Sword of the Stone, found near the Great Sea Lake, where it was rumored a Great Mermaid Queen dwelled in her submarine Castle. It was also said it was she who plunged the beautiful sword into the stone, which as small as it was, could not be budged by even the largest of dragons. Myths claimed that the sword had mystic powers. That it could make a weak

man strong, a great man mythic and a man of less wisdom a wise one...though Arthur had to laugh at the last. A fool remained a fool unless he sought enlightenment.

Not even the sword could be removed. Many had tried. There was even a saying among the poor of the villages that a Great Man, A High King of Kings, would pull the sword free and bring peace and prosperity to all the five territories of Greater Breton.

He sighed as he thought of how vast the lands were, but so disunited. If they only worked together they could overthrow the High Lord King Pendragon and his burdensome taxes, which robbed the average man of any hope or solace.

The lands were at peace, a fragile one, held with the Giants on the side of New Garcon, the Dragon Lords of Jermen on the east coast, the savage Trolls on the west coast, and the inland hordes of the Yellow Purge, a crazy blending of magical creatures, led by what they believed to be a prophet of the New Age, but was really only a priest seeking to elevate his position through misinformation, terror of the unknown, and sorcery of the darkest bent.

Arthur knew many brave knights fought at that border, many succumbing to foul fates, and fouler deaths, in efforts to maintain the freedom of Greater Breton. It seemed to be an even balance of power at the moment, as his Uncle McClan told him every night, as if saying it so, would make it so. But he knew inside his mind that saying things wasn’t the same thing as them being true. There were truths, half truths, and lies, and a great many other things in-between which Arthur had been learning a bit too rapidly over the short span of his years.

One young villager named Marie Ander had cautioned Arthur that if he wasn't careful he would grow a white beard and long gray hair soon if he didn't stop being so serious.

Arthur barked with laughter for a moment at that memory. He wasn't that serious, it's just that he felt things more deeply than others appeared to. For instance he was helping Widow Constance with her wash one day. She had severe pains in her hands that were crippled up and gnarled. So he washed her laundry and hung it for her, and then later pulled it down, and helped her fold it. She insisted on doing some things despite the pain. He cared deeply for her pain when she made that face she did when her body rebelled and refused to work. He knew the pain was more mental than physical, but others would laugh at her look, thinking she was acting up a storm. He knew better. He had a part of him, he couldn't say why or what it was, that could feel what she was going through.

One time her pains were so bad, he had been caught off-guard and had collapsed in the mud beneath her hung clothes and screamed in pain. She had stumbled over to him and helped him up, even though he knew each step was killing her. She gritted her teeth and helped him anyway. He had learned a lot about her that day and himself. He had learned he not only wanted to save the Kingdom from the evil of the rich, but also to ease their pains. He wanted to be a healer and a warrior; which really confused him, as he saw no possible way for that to happen.

Arthur's thoughts flew back to the moment and he saw his weave was almost done. As he fine tuned the garment his thoughts flew away with him again. His hands were on automatic, they had

done this kind of weaving so many times.

One thing that made him stand out above those around him was that he never lied, at least lies that hurt someone, and never shirked hard work, but more importantly he never forgot a thing he learned, or saw. His best friend Belvedere claimed he had the memory of a rock, that once something was etched on his mind, it would never go away. And it seemed to be so, for soon, even as he continued to spin fine threads for the Lords and Ladies, his work routine soon included teaching those younger than him.

While some might have found it boring to mentor kids who still had more thumbs than fingers, less patience than a fox in a hen's home; he found it to be totally the opposite. It made him feel a warm glow inside when he gave of his personal time like that. Young kids, after all, were better hauling dung and weeds, digging ditches, hoeing fields and playing games…if they had any time, than anything else, to most of the Villagers about Arthur. But Arthur and his Uncle believed that knowledge was power, and that one day it would set all the poor free of the overbearing Lords and Ladies who felt they owned the world by birthright. So Arthur had pledged inside himself to help wherever and whenever he could, despite pictures to the contrary about it being good for him.

Suddenly, Arthur felt this jab in the top of his skull, all the way through his worn yellow cap he had made from an old fisherman’s stocking.

“What’s going on down in that well, me ugly little duckling?” Came a very loud and sour voice. The voice of hell.

Arthur pretended everything was normal as he continued to thread the wool into the loom, his eyes fixed dead ahead, trying hard not to show the flaming anger that was shredding his very soul at that moment.

Again the stabbing at the top of his head. “Whatcha gone dumb and sour stupid on me, runt?” Asked the voice.

Arthur let go the thread, stood up slowly, and then turned around and looked up and up at the giant standing there. It was the Twin Hogarth, which mean that Tregarth was not far behind. Oh what a lucky day this was for him.

“I felt you the first time, Hogarth!” Arthur rumbled deeply in his throat, striving with all his might to stop from jumping the big bully, who would inevitably wallop him on the side of his head, sling him like slaughtered pork over his shoulder, then march outside and very ceremoniously and loudly toss him into a sty of pig slop, at which time Arthur would jump up, spitting the foul stuff from his mouth, and wishing he were ten feet tall so he could stuff Hogarth up the back of a…

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Posted September 21, 2014

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Hogarth seemed to read his mind, because he didn’t wait for Arthur to say a thing further. He walloped him on the side of the head, slung him over his fat shoulder, and then rushed outside where the villagers waited, as if already warned of what was to happen, which they were as it

turns out. Tregarth was collecting bets on the side. Undoubtedly to see how high the pig slop would fly this time.

Arthur saw his destiny rapidly approaching, but as he did he saw a tall young man with a face that seemed old beyond its years, turn stark blue eyes upon him. A fierce roman nose protruded from between brows that might have frightened a dragon and over eyes that penetrated to Arthur’s soul. He would never forget that sight, at least not until he was tossed into the…

The crowd cheered. Most of them. As Arthur’s thoughts were suddenly smashed into the foulest pig slop this side of Vandemere-Sooth. Arthur caused a big splash, which seemed almost like an explosion of powder made by the far eastern Elves from the Yellow Lands when they practiced their wood magic.

Villagers fled the vomit of mud and pig slop as Arthur sank deeper into it. His thoughts were only of one thing at that moment, getting out of there as quickly as possible, and then killing that evil giant.

Hogarth barked loudly with laughter as Arthur jumped up, spitting the slop from his mouth, clawing to clean himself of the pig droppings and the flies that now clung all over his face and body. “I’m going to…” He began, but for some reason. He stopped at that.

The whole village dropped to silence, knowing what inevitably happened next. Tregarth began making more bets, and it was rapidly covered by many hands as Hogarth marched to the edge of the slop, his beady little eyes burning with mirth and a touch of something else…which Arthur could only call madness and murder. If Hogarth was half dragon, he’d like to know what he was half of. No, Arthur amended his thoughts; dragons are too good to be part of this monster.

“You’re gonna do whut, worm?” Hogarth demanded, his fists curling into small hammers, strong enough to pound him deeper into the slop than a body had a right to be.

“He’s going to come with me.” A deep and melodious voice answered from behind Hogarth.

Everyone was startled by the interruption. No one had ever dared to interrupt Hogarth. For any reason. None whatsoever.

Hogarth’s face which had been ugly enough before, transformed into something truly hideous. How dare anyone interfere with his plaything? His toy? His privileges? Even the Lords and Ladies stayed clear of him and his twin brother, Tregarth. They were called giants by the village people, and truly they were. Each stood at least seven and a half foot tall, and compared to the tallest of knights, they were indeed onerous in height. Their bodies were as thick as tree trunks and their muscles as large as logs.

“You challenge me!” Hogarth blasted at the stranger behind him.

The stranger was hunched over, like a man well into his last years, time having worn and weighted him down. The hand on the staff of fresh wood with a single leaf on its top, trembled, as if with a palsy of some kind. Hogarth sneered at the sheer audacity of the old timer. He definitely needed to be taught a lesson.

“I guess you need to be taught a lesson in humility.” Hogarth said in his most dangerous voice.

Villagers backed up everywhere, crossing themselves with the new Christian sign, and some with the cross of the star who were Druid faiths.

Arthur couldn’t let that poor old man go to his death.

“Wait! Let him be, Hogarth! Pick on someone your own size!” Arthur screamed at him.

Hogarth broke into deep belly laughs and was joined by his brother. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he stopped and glared at Arthur, his eyes dark and malicious. “There are none my size!”

The stranger stepped forward a cautious foot, his hand still trembling on his makeshift cane. “Then perhaps someone should change that. Perhaps it is you who need a lesson in humility.”

Hogarth laughed again and turned to swat the old man. But to his surprise, when his hand slapped at the old man’s head, it wasn’t there. Hogarth blinked in amazement, and then threw another punch, this time lower.

Again, the old man was not there when the punch landed.

“Play fair!” Hogarth shouted in anger.

Tregarth, who had been watching the whole time in amazement, stepped forward and tapped his brother on the shoulder anxiously. “Uh, brother…” He started.

“Not now!” Hogarth blasted at him.

Hogarth picked up a large plank of wood and swung it at the old man, but before it connected, the old man had moved out of its reach, and then with a touch of his finger turned the plank such that it swung back at Hogarth and smashed him on the nose.

“Owwww!” Hogarth cried out, grasping his nose and dropping the plank. Hogarth felt blood on his fingers, and at the sight of it, his large eyes turned as big as small moons. “I’m bleeding. Tregarth!”

“Yes, brother. I can see that! And right, bright red it is too. All pretty and shiny!"

"Shut up, you idiot!" Hogarth screamed at his twin.

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New Post, September 27, 2014

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Hogarth eyed the old man before him. “Who are you? No one has ever laid a hand on me before this day.”

The man in the cape and shroud slowly stood up straight, until he stood almost eye to eye with Hogarth. He lowered his hood, revealing hair as white as now and pure blue eyes that glittered like the stars in heaven. “I am called Merlyn of the Woods.”

Hogarth backed up suddenly, almost knocking his brother down in his haste. “I’ve heard of you. You summon demons!”

Merlyn laughed sweetly and shook his head, causing his long white locks to toss like dandelions in the wind. “No, more like chase them away.”

Merlyn stopped laughing and then stepped closer to Hogarth, who was backed against a tall granary, with nowhere else to go. “From this day forth you will help those in need. You will no longer torment and bully those less powerful than you. In other words you will become a decent and honorable soul.”

Hogarth and Tregarth both broke into laughter, then ran away, their laughter drifting back over their shoulders.

Merlyn turned to Arthur, who was standing there futile and helpless before the events that just occurred. Merlyn smiled at him and shrugged his shoulders. "It never hurts to try. Even a demon deserves a second chance."

He came closer to Arthur, who backed up, uncertain who and what this stranger was and wanted.

“Your name?”

“Arthur of the Threads.” He answered, dripping slop and flies.

Merlyn grinned good naturedly. "Perhaps more like of the slop at this moment, but no matter. We'll fix that."

Merlyn reached into his cloak and pulled out a moist cloth. “Well then, good Arthur of the Threads, perhaps you’d like to clean up a bit before we talk with your parents.”

Arthur took the cloth and began scrubbing himself. No matter how much he wiped, the cloth never got dry, and never got dirty. It was like…

“Magic.” Merlyn said drily, a hint of amusement on his lips.

“You read my mind.” Arthur managed to squeak out.

The Villagers, tired of the calmness that had descended, returned to their work. A few stood back watching, curious, but on Merlyn's glance, they too scattered.

Merlyn grinned affably, and sat on a small piece of wood next to Arthur. “You have a lot of patience for such a young man."

"Some would call it weakness." Arthur snapped back.

"Oh, I don't know." Merlyn said wryly. "I suppose if a spider spun its web well enough to catch a fly, you might call the fly weak and stupid, though I might just call it a cunning spider, and the fly that was caught a bit out of luck."

Arthur laughed. "And sucked dry like pig's marrow."

Merlyn laughed back. "What is your name?”

“Arthurth, but everyone calls me Arthur. It’s easier to remember.” Arthur answered, still wiping at the slop on himself. His eyes continued to focus on Merlyn though. A curiosity was glowing in them, which Merlyn noticed and nodded his head.

“You have many talents as well, I see.” Merlyn said without being asked.

“If you can call getting beaten up every day by the two largest bullies in the universe a talent, then I surely am the most talented young man in the world. All of Greater Breton.” Arthur replied a bit sourly.

"Wait until they are two dragons with three heads each." Merlyn replied with amusement. "Then you'll have something to both complain about and brag as well...if you survive."

Arthur thought about that a moment, then grinned. "If not, then I guess being the barbecue of a few beasties can't be all that bad all things considered."

Merlyn laughed again. “I admire your sense of self deprecation, Arthuth, few have the courage to deny their own anger when they could as easily snap out for it. I’d love to meet your parents.”

“As would I.” Arthur answered, a bit sadly.

Merlyn's smile vanished. He grabbed Arthur’s right wrist so fast he didn’t have a chance to snatch it away.

“Hey!” Arthur protested, striving to break free, fearing the worst.

Merlyn turned the wrist slowly and breathed upon it. As he did Arthur’s eyes rolled in his skull a moment, showing only the whites. On his wrist a soft glow began to form and then slowly a shape began to etch itself within the glow. It coiled and uncoiled; reveal a dragon with fiery green eyes. Suddenly, the dragon turned its head and looked up at Merlyn. What Merlyn saw caused him to gasp and let go quickly.

“I am sorry. I have made some kind of mistake, your majesty. Please forgive me.” Merlyn said. He backed away as Arthur looked at him like he had just seen a madman.

“Your what?” Arthur asked, dumbfounded.

Merlyn stopped backing up. His body had been shaking all over, and then he pulled himself together. “The sign of the dragon.” He pointed to Arthur’s wrist.

Arthur took a look at his wrist, where a giant green dragon had taken shape. The dragon’s eyes blinked at him and it snorted fire from its nostrils, and then the shape began to slide up his arm towards his shoulders.

“Get it off! Get it off!” He cried out, trying to free himself of the shape, but to no avail.

Merlyn watched silently, as Arthur struck the jersey from his chest, and watched in horror as the dragon continued its climb from his shoulder down to his chest. Finally, it let out a blast of fire and smoke that illuminated Arthur's heart inside his chest, and then it vanished into the area over Arthur’s heart. That was the last straw for Arthur, however. He'd seen more than mortal man should suffer his eyes to see.

Arthur's world vanished in an oblivion of white and confusion as he collapsed into a void of unconsciousness.

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posted today 10/10/2014

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=====================================================================“And love.” She said simply, her eyes fixing on him intensely a moment. “No wonder you sing so highly of your mother. Her love permeates your bread like air the skies. I am humbled by your feelings.”

Arthur looked sad at the words. She took his right hand and kissed it. “Never ever doubt her love for you, dear one. For that which we love the most is never far from our thoughts, nor our hearts, and that is precious beyond anything one could ever hope to have.”

She looked to say more as Arthur wiped at his eyes, which were starting to moisten up. “I’m sorry. I must have something in my eyes.”

“Your heart. Your soul. Your love.” She pointed out, and then her ears perked up, lengthened and turned to the right a bit. She stood up abruptly, gathered her blue woolen skirt, and began running off.

Arthur hollered after her. “Your name?”

She looked back at him with a smile. “Don’t you believe in happy surprises?”

“Will we meet again?” Arthur hollered.

“Does the sun stop shining? She countered.

“I’m Arthur.” He shouted after her.

“I know.” She replied, and then the sound of her beautiful laughter left chills up and down his spine as her long legs sped her into the traces of the outer forest.

Puzzled, Arthur was stunned into silence. He watched her race off, and hen vanish within the golden embrace of the Sheltering Woods. A forest that was rumored to be as old as time itself and filled with magical creatures.

A moment later he could have sworn he saw an angel fly across the treetops; it glowed a pure white with a blue glow around the edges.

“She was a Fay!” He uttered.

Arthur started to go after her, but only got as few as two steps when a thick white fog engulfed him.

Part Three: Healing and Nourishment in the Crystal Cave

"You can feed a person every day and he will remain hungry if his soul is empty and his heart dead, but if you can ignite the fire of Light within a soul, it will feed not only itself, but all those who come near it." -- King Arthur's last words to his good squire, Sir Heinlein of the Woods.

Arthur woke and blinked his eyes numerous times, trying to get the fog out of them. Nothing seemed to work. It was still there, but he was awake, wasn’t he.

“You are.” A familiar voice said. “Take this. It’ll bring your mind back into your body once more, as well as your soul.”

Arthur felt something warm and comfortable slip between the fingers of his right hand, and he tried to sit up. He was weak, but able to get halfway at least.

“Thanks.” Arthur muttered between long pulls on the soothing liquid that coursed warm and nourishing down his throat.

He felt like a golden dawn was growing in his stomach, spreading its tendrils of warmth throughout his whole body. He sighed with a sense of relief he had never felt before. Finally, he was finished and set the mug down gently on his right leg, before pulling himself up the rest of the way.

Then his eyes opened fully, and he almost knocked the mug onto the floor of the large cave he was resting in. His eyes strove to take in the immensity and beauty of the place, but everywhere he looked were miracles of nature. Great clear crystals of pure white, glistening gold, rubinous red, sapphire green, golden purples and flaming yellows, curled, twisted, stabbing and entwisted in and around each other, forming an immense sculpture of living light and life.

A shadow fell across him and then Merlyn sat down at the foot of the cot Arthur lay upon. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Is it of fairy?” Arthur asked, his voice thick with fatigue and a weariness that seemed unusual for his years.

Merlyn only smiled. He gently pushed Arthur back down onto the cot, and adjusted the softness that had been supporting his head. Arthur’s eyes went that way and saw his face was on some kind of fancy silk, with embroidered dragons on it.

“Dragons for a dragon.” Merlyn said proudly. “Proper, don’t you think, young soul.”

Arthur nodded his head, his eyes drifting off into a world he knew so well, but which he hardly ever got to visit as often these days as he would have liked to.

“Sleep, dear soul, and know you are safe and your journey is almost over.” Merlyn told him, gently drawing a skin of fur across Arthur’s chest.

Arthur muttered a simple thanks, and then drifted off into the universe where all innocent souls dwell. A place where we all renew our spirits to face the challenges of the new day.

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Posted October 17, 2014

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Part Four: War of the Souls

"When one has wandered far from the path, there's no need to weep and wail for the time lost. Time is an illusion. Rather, it's more important that we forgive ourselves for our mistakes, and then continue our journey. There is no path that cannot be found. No path that cannot be regained. Patience is the mother of the soul and the father of success." -- Merlin

Arthur raised himself up on his saddle to view the valley before him. His griffin mount snorted and snarled for a moment, eager to get into battle. He drew a hand gently across its feathered nose and said in a soothing voice. "Easy Elric, your time will come soon enough."

The griffin snorted again, but stopped snarling. It pawed at the hard rock at its clawed feet and tensed to leap into the air. Its long, curly white feathered head snorted like a restrained lion as it shifted its weight from one foot to the other in eagerness for battle.

"Be not so eager for the death of these souls, my dear friend." Arthur scolded Elric, who dropped his head and cocked it slightly to look into Arthur's eyes. "We fight because we must; but not because we lust for the taste of battle and the screaming of souls flung from their bodies."

Elric made an almost mewling sound. Arthur drew his hand gently across the Griffin's eyebrows, massaging his forehead. "Dear Elric." He uttered, his fondness causing Elric's eyes to spin with delight and contentment.

Arthur turned his attention once more to the fields below. He watched as the hordes below gathered into rough columns for combat. A shadow fell across his griffin and he looked up. Merlyn descended like a hawk to land beside him, his clothing fluttered around him as if a breeze blew them. The air was deathly still in the Dark Valley.

Merlyn adjusted his belt, and then nodded to Arthur. Next, he pulled forth a small snippet of meat which he offered to Elric, who snapped it up and rolled his eyes in pleasure at the offering. Merlyn rubbed Elric's beak, then eyed Arthur.

"They still have time to go back."

Arthur nodded his head. "But they won't. You know it and I know it. They are determined to destroy me. Themselves."

Merlyn chuckled lightly, his eyes twinkling in merriment. "So little they know of life, of you, of

themselves."

"And was I so different at one time, Merlyn?"

Merlyn shook his head. "Never. A diamond in the rough. Yes. That you were. Sometimes wont to leap off the cliff, when you should have climbed down, but you have grown mightily over the years."

"I've had a good teacher."

Merlyn chuckled. "Your joke is noted."

Arthur laughed and reached out a gloved hand. Merlyn took it and they shook and held the clasp a long time.

"See you on the other side, my friend." Arthur said.

Merlyn said nothing, but let go and leapt over the cliff's edge.

"Leap dear Elric. Leap for the Light and for the souls who must leave all too soon this day, this school we live upon."

Elric leaped into the sky with Arthur.

The moment he did thousands and thousands of arrows shot from either side and arched towards the hordes below.

It was the end of life for some that day on this world, and the beginning in another. Such is the fate of all who live in the plan of the Great Light.

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POSTED OCTOBER 26, 2014

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Part Five: Dream or Prophecy

"It's so much easier to tell a truth; than it is to live it. The easy work is the speaking of it; the harder work is the striving to make it so." -- Lady Guinevere.

It didn’t seem like morning when he woke up and it wasn’t. He could tell because he didn’t hear the cocks crowing in the village. Wait! He fumbled with his eyes, and then noticed something wet and warm was clinging across his forehead and eyes.

“Good, you’re back with us again.” Merlyn's voice spoke from beside him.

The cloth lifted and Arthur could see Merlyn's face in a gentle candle light that was reflected from all the beautiful crystals in the cavern.

“Where am I?” Arthur asked, and then he jumped to his feet. “God in heaven have mercy on me, Lord Pelinore is going to have my hide for not having the thread ready for his costume ball!”

Merlyn took hold of Arthur’s arm and stopped him. Arthur tried to shake the hand free of him, but it was like trying to shake off the grip of a giant. Arthur looked at the hand and then at the amused look in Merlyn's eyes. It was then he noticed for the first time the fatigue that lined his brows and the lines of red in his eyes. “You haven’t slept at all!”

Merlyn let go and Arthur dropped to the cot and put his head into his hands. “What a miserable selfish soul I am.”

“If being unconscious is miserable and if being overcome by that miserable illness that has been killing many a young child of late. Yes, then you are indeed selfish.” Merlyn chuckled.

Arthur looked up at him. “No need to make fun of me.”

“Far from it, lad.” He was answered.

“I am just striving to make a point, which in your hurry to go out and conquer the world has managed to slip by you.” Merlyn said.

Arthur gazed at Merlyn like he was crazy for a moment, and then he broke into laughter so hard that he fell onto the floor. That went on for what seemed like eternity, and then his stomach growled so loud that the whole crystal cave echoed with the grossness of it.

Merlyn handed over something stiff and dry. “Something I make for long journeys.”

Arthur hesitated to take it. Merlyn took a bite off, rolled his eyes and then started to take another bite. That was all Arthur needed. He leapt up and took the strip and began munching it down like a ravenous dog might its prey.

Merlyn smiled, and then handed over a small half crystal filled with water. Arthur took it and washed down the remains of the strip with it. He belched. Blushed and then looked at Merlyn expectantly. Merlyn nodded and his eyes glanced to Arthur’s right. Arthur saw a stack of the strips.

Merlyn smiled more broadly as Arthur's eyes widened.

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Posted November 1, 2014

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Part Six: Now it all begins

"You've been driven all your life to help other, to serve others, to do good for others. That is good and right. But you have omitted the most important part of this equation, my dear Arthur. You have forgotten to serve your own self as well. This has weakened you in the long run and the short, because the root of salvation is not just in service to all life, but yourself, but service to all life, including yourself. Self denial is a path to self destruction. Heal yourself, lad, and rise to embrace the salvation of all you are and all you want to serve and help." -- Merlin

Arthur stood at the edge of the woods and glanced back at Merlyn, who came no further. “Aren’t you coming?”

Merlyn shook his head. “Alas, I have things…that must be attended to yet.” He started to say more, and then shook his head as if to turn and go.

Arthur ran up to him and threw his arms around him. “Thank you!”

Merlyn gently drew his hands through Arthur’s thick mane of hair. “Lad, you have a soul as bright as any star in the heavens, and that light alone is enough thanks for the likes of my kind.”

Arthur looked up at him. Merlyn winked, and then taking a long staff with a large leaf at its top, he began working his way towards the coast.

“Will I see you again, Merlyn?” Arthur asked.

“Does the sun stop shining?” Merlyn asked over his shoulder.

Arthur stood there in shock a moment, and then he smiled as Merlyn continued walking, a strong, healthy laughter following him along the path he was making.

“The Lord of Light be with you, Merlyn.” Arthur whispered.

Suddenly, a strong wind blew across Arthur and the leaves of the trees about him knocked and shook against each other and their branches, and then a large white owl shot from the tallest tree and winged over Merlyn, whipping through the air in tight circles as he walked.

Arthur stood there a long time, watching the two of them, and then they vanished into a dip. Arthur smiled and turned back to the woods.

“No, the sun never stops shining.” Arthur said, and knowing that in his heart, turned to thoughts of his old home, where poverty ruled and lords and ladies took it for granted.

“Someday…” He grumbled, and then he shrugged and began whistling a light tune as he made his way into the woods. It was going to be a good day. A very, very good day indeed.

But all that ends well doesn't not necessarily end. What lays in store for Arthur are further tests of his spirit and common sense as Merlyn strives to prepare him for his future. Be sure to read Chapter Two of Tales of Young King Arthur, Volume One: The Dawn of the Light where many things finally come to a conclusion, but not necessarily what everyone would want.
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BAKER STREET SNIPPET

"The Death of Conan"

BAKER STREET SNIPPET

"The Death of Conan"

Conan Doyle lay on his bed, ready to pass on to the new world, when a strange man, tall, heavily built, with a thick mustache that seemed to have a life of its own, entered the bedroom. He came in like a man used to having his way, to doing what he wanted to do, to being the man in authority. His hair was almost a blood red blonde color, as if the sun had melted into it. His eyes sparkled with the fires of an unknown sun that infused his face with a sparkle and lightness at the same time it became almost fierce looking.

Mrs. Doyle was startled until she saw the warm smile on his face. She had been about to scream, but such was the certainty of his right to be there at that time, that her breath quite literally froze in her throat. She clutched at her heart a moment, and then ignored the tall stranger to return her attention to her failing husband, her dear Conan.

Conan, weak to the point of death, barely looked up, but when he did he immediately knew whom he was facing.

"Impossible!" He muttered, his breath barely coming out.

An actual photograph of a very much younger Conan Doyle. Love the mustache!

"My good, Conan, you know by now that nothing is impossible, despite your lifetime spent debunking it." He pointed out, tipping a thick hat, with decorations of an odd sort about its band.
Mrs. Doyle rose to face him. "Who are you? And how did you come into our house?"

The tall stranger took her hand and pressed his lips lightly to her fingers. "Madam, I did not mean to horrify or frighten you. Perhaps, Conan has not been as astute in his observations as I had thought, when he wrote them down. As I expected you to recognize me before anyone else!"

Mrs. Doyle turned to look at Arthur, who seemed more alert than usual, despite being on his death bed. He gave her a slight nod of his head, hard as that was.

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Conan smiled weakly. "Don't you recognize him, my dear?" He asked, and then he began reciting words, as if reading them from a book. "He was tall, burly and browned from the sun.