Chapter Twenty-nine

We had just exited the alley and were making our way down a side street when a wailing police cruiser skidded around a corner, lights flashing. Arthur yanked Marion and I back into a recessed doorway, where we stayed until the police cruiser had passed us by.

I almost - almost - wished we had been pulled over. Jail, I figured, had to be safer than this.

We continued on, and as the sky darkened into late evening, we soon found ourselves huddled together in a copse of trees across the street from the Glastonbury Abbey.

The abbey was relatively famous. After all, it was the legendary final resting place of King Arthur himself, who had supposedly been buried in a tomb beneath the high altar. That is, until the tomb was excavated and found to be empty. I glanced at Arthur crouched next to me. Go figure.

"So what's the game plan?" I asked to no one in particular.

"Game plan?" asked Arthur.

"You know, the plan," I said, surprised again that some American idioms were lost in translation while others he seemed to grasp instantly.

"The plan. Yes, the plan. Hmm." Arthur scratched his beard. "You see the nearby hill?" Arthur pointed to Glastonbury Tor, of course, with its single, solitary tower prominent against the cloud-filled evening skies. The tower, a phallic symbol if ever there was one, was all that was left of an ancient church, and was visible for many dozens of miles in every direction. Perhaps even hundreds of miles.

I nodded. "Yes."

"That, my friend, is our destination."

"Then why are we hiding here?"

"Because our destination, in fact, lies under the hill."

"Under?"

"Indeed, and the secret entrance is found here in the Abbey. More precisely, in my tomb."

I found it a bit disconcerting at best listening to someone talking about their now empty tomb. I said, "And why would we want to go under the hill?"

The wind was picking up now, moaning through the copse and whipping branches. I also might have heard the sounds of distant hoof beats. Might have. It was hard to tell with all the rustling leaves.

Arthur said, "Because under the hill is where the Grail is hidden."

"Of course," I said, perhaps more sarcastically than I had meant. "I should have known."

Arthur put his arm around me and squeezed my shoulder affectionately. I could feel his electric energy. "Relax, James. Don't look so worried. You've been there before, my friend. After all, you helped me hide it. Now, let's get out of here. Time is of the essence!"

I helped him hide it?

"Come along, James," he said, taking hold of Marion's hand and leading her across the street. "The game is afoot!"

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."