Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1) (16 page)

At the end of his story, Wolfgang Von Fiescher approached them. “I see Sir Jon has done much of my job.” He planted one foot on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard where they had gathered to watch the Avangarde return and dismount. He leaned heavily on his knee as he spoke with the junior Gardesmen. “What has happened here tonight, believe it or not, is not uncommon. I personally haven't witnessed a manifestation this fantastic since before the oldest veteran here came to Avalon. These hauntings are harmless. I'm sure you all have heard the stories, and now, you have one of your own.” He winked at them. “Carry on, and good job. Goodnight, gentlemen.” He started to depart, but then turned as if struck by an afterthought. “Oh, Sir Patrick, Mark would still like to see you tomorrow evening.”

Patrick's heart sank a little bit, and he pretended not to notice the other Reservists' curiosity.

#

Patrick approached King Mark's quarters just in time to see the door open. Von Fiescher exited, followed by King Mark. The two clasped hands and the Irishman heard Wolfgang say, “Don't worry, you'll do fine. Take care.”

After Wolfgang nodded at Patrick on his way out and turned the corner, Mark spotted Patrick and smiled. “Sir Gawain, how good of you to come.” The door into the apartment was open still and McFowler sat in a chair, toying with a chess piece. “Could you wait a moment before we begin?” Mark said. “I have some unfinished keep business I must go over with Jason first.”

Patrick shrugged. “Certainly.”

King Mark's smile did not waver as he backed into his quarters and shut the door.

Patrick paced for a while, his stomach twisting and turning. There were no seats in the corridor, and judging from the tones of the conversation coming from inside, Mark was going to be more than a moment. Patrick decided to wander down the hall, taking stock of the tapestries, no doubt gifts from benefactors to the keep, same as the mirror in the Greensprings entrance.

His wanderings took him out of the corridor and to a room, the library. He decided to enter. Though he could read, he didn’t much enjoy it. He meandered about, through the tall aisles, running his fingers along the dusty leather-bound tomes. He chose one arbitrarily, looked at it disinterestedly upon seeing a language with which he was not familiar, placed it back, and continued to roam.

He put his hands behind his back as he penetrated further into the collection, letting his eyes gaze move from one side of the aisle to the other. Reaching the end of the row, he turned the corner and came across a robed man bent over a table, who suddenly turned about. Patrick jumped back. One of the man’s eyes was monstrously big.

“Oh, hello,” said the man genially. “It's only glass.” He plucked out a glass disc from under his brow. “I use it to read things up close. My eyes aren't all that good, you know.” He pocketed the thing and extended his hand to the Irishman. “I'm Father Benis. Or the librarian, as everyone calls me. And you are?”

Patrick took his hand. “Patrick Gawain, of Galway.”

The librarian's mouth turned to an O and he shuffled closer. “Why yes, the man from the Green Isle. The only one among us, I believe. And what a lovely accent you have. Definitely of Gaelic blood you are...” He gently took hold of Patrick’s jaw. “What sharp cheekbones you have. Tell me; are both your parents native Irish?”

Patrick, though surprised at being handled, didn't budge. Father Benis didn't seem dangerous. “Yes, of course. Why are you holding my head?”

“There are several Celtic tribes in the isles. Eire in particular. Milesians, Firbolgs, Picts, and Britons to name a few. I'm trying to place your ancestry by looking at the slope of your skull.”

Patrick guffawed like he hadn't for quite some time and grabbed at the librarians wrists. “You're jesting. You can do that? Can you also tell my fortune by reading tea leaves?” Patrick ribbed with a smile.

The librarian also laughed. “Yes to the former and no to the latter. It would be heresy to divine the future through the arcane arts that don't apply to the Holy Father. I may be a learned and inquisitive man, but I shan't incur the wrath of the Lord.” He made the sign of the Holy Cross, but in a lax manner and with a smile. “Though from what I understand, there are such arcane tomes hidden among these books.” The short, affable man took Patrick by the arm and led him among the bookshelves.

Patrick liked this man. “How do you know that?” He asked.

“My predecessor told me of several among these books. When Father Chanceroy arrived, he discovered that the former denizens of Greensprings had amassed a significant collection. Some of those works dealt with topics of the supernatural bent. Naturally, Father Chanceroy had all such items removed. But in spite of that, due to the sheer size of the library, some questionable material was overlooked. My predecessor said to remain vigilant, lest they fall into the hands of audacious children who might be led down the wrong path.”

“Have you found any?”

The priest sighed. “No. I've been over every single book and scroll. I know this library like my own room. After all, I am
the
Librarian. Nothing out of the ordinary here. My predecessor locked up all the material that concerned mysticism and the Island of Avalon.”

“Why didn't he destroy them if he was so concerned about them?”

“Because, I imagine, he was like me. Inquisitive. He seemed to think that they were the works of Morgana Le Fey, sister of King Arthur. He felt them to be of too much historical importance to destroy, whatever they may be. This was her island you know, Avalon.”

“Have you seen these books?”

“No,” replied the librarian. “Though I have the key to the vault that houses them, I respect wishes to let them be.”

“These books concern Avalon?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I have no desire for books, but I do wish to know more about this island that I find myself on,” Patrick said.

Father Benis nodded and gave him a whimsical smile. “You must be referring to the Bush Beating that stirred up the Huntsman.”

Patrick was surprised at the man's nonchalance. “It doesn't amaze you?”

“On the contrary, I find it very, very fascinating. But you must understand, I've been here for a while and have seen a thing or two.” Father Benis shrugged. “There are many such manifestations. You must have heard as much from your Avangarde friends who venture outside these walls more than I.”

“But what are they?”

The priest was thoughtful. “I believe that they are images of days gone by. Echoes of ancient events.” At Patrick's confused look, the librarian said, “Metaphysically speaking, they are like the ripples on the surface of a pond. Though you can no longer see the stone that dropped into the water, you can still see the movement that it caused.”

“I can almost believe that. But images of goblins and legendary figures? Does that mean that they actually existed, then? What happened to them?”

The priest withdrew a Bible from his robe pocket. He thumbed through it until he came to the verse he sought. “Genesis, Chapter Six, Verse 1.'When men began to increase in number on the earth and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that the daughters of men were beautiful, and they married any of them they chose.'“ Benis lowered the Book. “That could be interpreted as the servants of God—angels perhaps—marrying mortal women.” He raised the book and began to read again. “‘Now there were
Nephilim
or giants in those days. And during these days when the sons of God went to the daughters of men and bore children by them, they were the heroes of old, the men of legend.’” The librarian raised his thumb to his mouth, chewed thoughtfully on the nail, then continued. “In the myths and pantheons of ancient civilizations, the giants are always the antagonists. Even in the Old Testament, there is the mention of David fighting Goliath. Were giants once otherworldly servants of God who lost their faith and were cast from Heaven, much like Lucifer? Were they doomed to roam the earth for their impudence? Or were they misbegotten hybrids?”

“If so, where are they now?” Patrick interjected.

Benis shrugged. “There are many references to them sleeping beneath the earth, their movements causing the earth to shake as it does in some regions.

“If the daughters of men bore children to the Sons of God, I'd imagine they would be men of legend indeed. That would explain the likes of Samson, his incredible strength. That would also explain Hercules and Thor in their respective myths. Perhaps eons ago, these men were viewed as gods by us mortals. Especially to those mortals who had not yet heard the word of God, who turned to anyone or anything that would protect them. But these men, calling themselves Zeus, or Odin, or Marduk lacked the wisdom of God, and still were ultimately human, however powerful they may have been. They were subject to the vanities and passions of mortals. They did terrible things and demanded tributes and offerings from their mortal worshippers. The temptation must have been incredible.”

The Irishman put up his hand. “But I was speaking of goblins and ogres, not gods.”

The librarian smiled. “Don't you see my meaning? Goblins and ogres could have been lesser offspring, or a different form. Creatures turned twisted and ugly as they hid from the light and grace of God, living in caves and under bridges.” He chuckled. “Perhaps some children's stories are more than they seem.”

“But what of fairies and elves? I thought they were supposed to be fair,” Patrick said.

“They, too, could be lesser offspring. The product of a loving union between mortal and immortal. Perhaps God took pity on these creatures that did not belong in either world, and created an intermediate world for them on earth, which was later called 'Faerie' by common folk.”

This seemed to make sense. Patrick had never thought much on the subject. Being a scholar had its advantages, he guessed. “Then what has become of them? Do they, too, sleep beneath the earth?”

Father Benis was thoughtful once again. “I'm not sure. It seems to me that the giants were waylaid souls who chose unwisely not to follow the Lord, but as for the Fair Folk, perhaps they were innocent offspring. Who knows what became, or is becoming,” he raised his eyebrows, “of them. It seems their realm of Faerie is diminishing with the advent of man. I think Avalon is a surviving portion of their world. I think that Morgana did dwell here. After all she was called Le Fey—the Fairy—because of her ancestry. I think this isle is full of ghosts that show us a glimpse of what life must have been like before man and the one true God came along and drove them into hiding.” Benis was silent for a moment, looking down with a sad and vacant stare. “Or maybe, I'm just a silly old man with some crazy stories. In any case, I wouldn't worry about the manifestations. They are harmless. The worst that they can do is frighten.”

It was Patrick's turn to be thoughtful. He surmised he was as safe here as anywhere in Avalon.

“There you are,” McFowler's voice came from the library entrance. “I've been looking for you. Mark is eager to play chess with you.”

I'll wager he is
,
Patrick thought gloomily. The appearance of the Highlander suddenly reminded Patrick that he may not have to worry about Avalon much longer anyhow. Regardless of how he felt, he put on a smile and strode forward to meet King Mark. He met Jason at the door and Father Benis spoke to the Scotsman. “McFowler, I haven't seen you in a while. You know, I still think it would do you good to learn how to read.” Jason grunted and crossed his fingers at the librarian as if to ward off evil spirits. The priest smiled and waved to Patrick as the two withdrew. “Come again, Irishman, and let me look at your skull.”

#

Mark sat across from the Irishman at the game board, silently. After the initial greeting and other pleasantries that commenced the game, conversation ceased. Even the normally quiet Patrick tried reviving it, the silence was so pervasive. He asked simple questions of the golden haired-knight, mundane things. When did he become a knight? What kind of accent is that? How did he come to Avalon?

Mark tactfully declined to respond to almost all of them. Especially those that revealed anything about his past. In Patrick's mind, this bolstered the rumors that Sir Mark was actually a prince in exile from Constantinople.

When Patrick took the hint that he was traveling a dead-end path, he fell silent again and waited for the barrel-chested king to make his next move. The game had commenced quickly enough, with both of them maneuvering pawns, but once the infantrymen took up their forward positions; the two players took their time in moving the noble pieces.

Mark cleared his throat several times and seemed extremely tense or nervous. Perhaps this was going to be just as hard on his superior.

“There has been talk,” Mark commenced, “that you are unhappy here in Avalon. But you don't say anything.” He didn't look up, but rather continued to scrutinize the board.

Another silent moment passed. Patrick choked down a swallow. “I imagine it would appear that way.”

“You know then?” Mark looked up.

“If the rumors don't reach me directly, then I can surmise from the behavior of others.”

“Are you unhappy? There certainly have been no complaints about your basic duties, but naturally, as you know from your training with Wolfgang, there is more to being an Avangarde than meets the eye.”

Patrick sighed heavily and sat back in his chair, mirror image of Mark’s posture. He then explained how he felt, or at least, did the best he could do.

He told Mark about the feeling of alienation and the sensation of lesser status that came along with being a Reservist. He felt useless not knowing exactly what he was meant to do. He felt like he didn't have the right or the authority to impose his will on the Guests, let alone the other staff and residents. He was an outsider looking in.

“...or maybe I'm just not meant for this. Maybe Ionus made a mistake in choosing me,” Patrick finished.

Mark leaned forward and moved a knight in a non-linear move, his brow furrowed in concern. “I can understand much you are saying, but I tell you this: you are only different in status by name alone. I'm sorry you feel otherwise. As for Ionus, he is an incredibly good judge of character, which is why he is charged with the task that he has. He saw something in you...”