I sure as hell didn't think this was a game, and if it was, I certainly wasn't winning.
I dashed off after them.
Chapter Thirty
Much of the Glastonbury Abbey had crumbled away, and no one, seemingly, cared much about putting it back together again.
Where were all the king's men when you needed them?
The Abbey was part of a larger network of buildings that all sat on many acres of idyllic park grounds. Except now, under the bright full moon that appeared in a break in the clouds, the grounds didn't seem so idyllic. They seemed downright creepy. In a world where fire-breathing dragons existed, I was fully aware that anything could be out there, watching us. There could even be smaller things, things with sharp teeth and long claws and evil in their hearts.
But, alas, nothing stirred or slithered or crept. Nothing, that is, that I could see.
Arthur and Marion had disappeared into what appeared to be the main entrance into the abbey. I was about to follow when I did indeed catch some movement. My heart skipped. Maybe it had just been my imagination. I peered through the darkening gloom into a shifting mist that had appeared over the sweeping grounds.
Some of the mist parted, and I could barely believe what I was seeing.
Four small figures were holding hands and dancing around a tiny tree sapling. My first thought was that these were children, but I knew in my heart that they were much smaller than children.
Much, much smaller.
Besides, they didn't really look like kids, did they? They looked like, well, little people.
I stood there unmovingly, entranced, watching this strange dance and wondering what I was witnessing, when next a haunting melody reached my ears. I knew instinctively that this song was being sung by the four dancing figures.
And I knew they were singing to the tree.
What is happening?
I heard the sound of grass crunching behind me. I whirled around, jumpy as hell, raising the sword. Arthur was calmly standing there with his hands clutched behind his back. He neither moved nor flinched, although he did nod and give me a crooked smile. "Your reflexes are getting better, my friend. I suspect that soon you will be back to your old self."
My old self?
I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, but promptly closed it again when the singing reached my ears again. I turned back to the dancing figures as Arthur stepped next to me.
"You appear to have found the wee folk," he said. "Or, more accurately, they have found you, since they do not often reveal themselves to humans."
"The wee folk?" I asked. I found myself whispering, lest I disturb the dancing and singing.
"Faeries, James. Or, as some call them, earth angels."
"But what are they doing?" I asked. The four figures continued dancing and singing, their small voices so heartbreakingly beautiful that I wanted to weep.
"They are welcoming new life into the world, James. Celebrating it, lifting its spirit."
"They are dancing around a tree," I pointed out.
"Ah," said Arthur. "Life is life, my friend. Small, medium or large, we are all creatures of God. We are all from the One. We are all celebrated and lifted up. We are all loved and exalted. Even the smallest sapling. Never forget that."
The singing and dancing stopped and now the wee folk were bowing toward the sapling. Then they bowed to each other, and then, surprisingly, they turned and bowed toward us. Next to me, Arthur bowed deeply in return. I watched him, utterly amazed, and when I looked back down the grassy slope, the little ones were gone. All that remained was the tiny sapling, now standing alone, and looking somehow taller and stronger. The wee folk's haunting melody seemed to linger over mist-covered grounds, but that could have been my imagination.
Hell, all of this could have been my imagination.
To my surprise, I found tears on my cheeks. Weird and strange as the scene had been, it had also been beautiful and oddly touching.
"Come, my friend," said Arthur, squeezing my shoulder affectionately. "I need your help. And quickly."
Chapter Thirty-one
I followed Arthur up a flight of roughly hewn stone stairs, and found myself in what had once been a church, except there was no roof and most of the four walls had crumbled.
Arthur paused just inside the abbey entrance and seemed to be looking for something. He suddenly said, "Ah ha!" and strode into a dark corner and came back with, of all things, a common garden rake.
I wasn't sure a common garden rake was "Ah ha" worthy, but it seemed to excite the once and future king. At any rate, he leaned the garden tool against a stone wall and did something that should have surprised me, but didn't. Arthur lifted his foot and stepped down hard on the rake, snapping off its metal teeth. Now the rake was nothing more than a long wooden pole with a broken end. Marion moved over to my side and we watched together as Arthur next brought the wooden pole crashing down over his uplifted knee. Now the broken pole was two smaller broken poles.
I whispered to Marion, "Do you have any idea what he's doing?"
"No clue," she whispered back.
"Is there a chance he's completely lost it?"
She frowned at me, the severe look in her eyes somehow reflecting whatever light there was in the cloud-filled late evening sky, which was damn little. Obviously, she didn't like me questioning her man.
Now holding a shaft in each hand, Arthur turned to us and raised them high. He knocked the poles together once, twice, and by the third time, twin flames appeared, burning furiously along the upper halves. What had once been a common garden rake was now two not-so-common torches. He handed one to me.
"Godfire," he said casually. "Will burn forever, if you so desire."
"And who wouldn't?" I said.
He grinned and the three of us proceeded deeper into the damaged church. The wind poured through the open roof and whipped our torches into a frenzy. Shadows skip-jumped around us, and something scurried over the floor nearby. In the near distance, I heard the distinct sounds of galloping horses.
They're coming.
We pushed on and soon came upon a raised platform made of huge stone blocks.
"The high altar," said Marion. Her breathing, I noticed, was sounding raspier and raspier. Indeed, she was also looking frail, hunched, and far older than her years. My heart broke seeing her like this.
And that's when something snapped inside me. Still holding the torch, I grabbed Arthur by his shoulders and yanked him around to face me. "You call yourself a master, and yet you do nothing to help your friend, Marion. She is dying. Her breaths are numbered and yet you snap your fingers and create fire like a Vegas magician. Why don't you snap your fingers and heal her lungs, godammit?"