As they ride inland through rolling green hills, their path is soon blocked by a gathering in a meadow which overflows onto the road. They observe a man addressing the crowd, and, growing curious, sit down to listen and soon ask about him. He is a great Holyman, called Patrick, another crack in the armor of the Dark Age. He speaks of goodness and charity among men, of its rewards for the doer—and he has penetrated the iron hearts of men, and has become sort of a local hero. As he speaks, the roads suddenly fill with snakes leaving town for good. Rory Mor is among the crowd at the great happening. He recognizes the English King but does not address him as such for he notices the thin disguise.
The two Kings embrace and Percevale inquires of the Viking pursuit. The wild, red-haired Rory speaks and provides many clues: “When the Vikings were driven out of Britain, I put a garrison on shore and sea to insure that they could not make a landing in Ireland. Nevertheless, they raided some villages, butchered some of our citizens, and I ordered pursuit to the very limit of the northern ice. For a week we pursued them, running far into strange and unknown waters. Simultaneously, both reached and discovered a land of ice, which, for lack of a better name, we called Iceland. Here the Vikings attempted a stand, but we bested over half of them. The other half, in just three boats, escaped to sea. Unfortunately, Thoralf was in one of them. However, the encounter with us delayed his departure for a large number of days.”
“And he was attended by two maidens?” hopes Percevale.
“Yes, how did you know? Anyway, this place called Iceland is a land of fire and ice to the northwest. The fire is volcanic and the ice is glacial. Let us keep its existence a secret! So, fearing that the Vikings would return and use and use Iceland as a base to raid us, I pursued the Vikings at sea. Then Thoralf did the unthinkable: he headed west, out into the open and unexplored sea towards the edge of the world! And I knew that all of his oarsmen would never be able to bring him back against the terrible westerly winds that blow there—so, you see, Thoralf is as good as dead and that your quest for him is surely over. You need go no further”
“I make no such assumptions, Rory. I sail to Iceland on the morrow so as to make sure that I am assisted by the very same winds and currents that swept Thoralf into the unknown sea toward the edge of the world.”
“Well, if you must pursue,” adds Rory, “there are some fine sailing men here now who wished to pursue Thoralf, though, as I said, I disallowed them, but they are yours now—I can spare but five of them.”
The great holyman finishes speaking and Rory invites him over. “What advice do you have, Patrick, for those that pursue the devil into hell to destroy him?”
“Only God can guide you, my son; and beware the river of ice that pours down from the north, you will have to detour south around it or you will not have a snowman's chance in hell! And Percevale,” whispers Patrick, “the world is round—fear not the edge!”
Journey to Iceland
It was a curious force that sets sail for Iceland. The voyage takes several days, and the men spend the time keeping fit and telling stories of the sea. The ocean spray is cold and salty, and the mens' very life rests in the caskets of fresh water.
“We've seen giant fish in the sea up north,” states one of the sailors, “monstrous forms that break out from underneath the sea and blow water from holes in their heads! Their numbers increase as one sails west into the great unknown sea.”
“Are you not afraid?” asks Bogar.
“No, not any more. Our life is on the sea. And yes, we were afraid to sail north before we discovered Iceland, for we had heard many strange stories of fire mountains and demons. But, when we landed we found it to be just another part of earth.”
And so Iceland is reached. The crew stays only long enough to restock supplies. Then they, too, do the unthinkable: they set sail for the open sea! Two sailors refuse to go and are to be left behind, but as they look back, the flames from the volcano rise and scorch the skies, and the two sailors climb aboard.
Pursuit to Nowhere
Percevale follows the currents for many days until the great river of ice increases. Then they detour south, as Patrick had said, hoping to make up much time on the pursued Vikings who will take much longer to come to the southern conclusion.
There they spot Thoralf's ships on the horizon, and try to keep him there to avoid detection, but Thoralf's men are wary and have sharp eyes.
“It moves as we move, Thoralf,” says one of his men. “Could it be a sea-mirage, a reflection of the west in the east, like that of twilight at sunset.”
“I keep wondering who could be following us.” worries Thoralf nervously. “And I keep coming up with the same answer! “Head into that fog-bank for cover!”
“But we may crash in the fog!” exclaims Thoralf's helmsman.
“Head into it, heed my order! It will shield us and save us. I'll use my sea skill and daring to evade them; why should I lose any more men in battle.”
But the “mist” is not a simple fog-bank, it is the front of an oncoming storm. And the storm only brings the two ships closer together, for Taliesin's ship is better equipped to take on side-wind and Thoralf's oarsmen are useless in the large swells. For a brief moment the ships are side by side and Percevale sees Melody's lovely face shining in the storm's breath, but then the ships begin to separate, perhaps forever. A wave from Evee indicates that all is well. Bogar and Hargrave catch a glimpse of the pair as well and are immediately cast under their spell.
“The spear!” cries Percevale, “get me the bleeding spear!” It is forthcoming and he throws the Crimson Spear firmly into the side of Thoralf's skip. Luckily, it goes unnoticed by Thoralf.
The ships are indeed separated and the night seems very long, during which time Percevale heads slightly south. At dawn they head north until they reach water that is pink with the spear's spreading blood. Then they turn and follow the red stream as Thoralf pulls away, for the wind has shifted and Percevale's ship must tack and zigzag, while Thoralf's oarsmen can row straight into the wind—but the bloody trail remains as a link.
Hargrave, still seemingly in love with the description of Evee, is now haunted by the elfin smile and two gray eyes of Melody. Bogar is similarly confused and feels that his heart is about to burst for love of Evee.
“Beware squires,” warns the King, “you are building golden shrines in your hearts for the love of maidens that you don't even know!”
Thoralf lands in an amazing land where the north star is practically overhead at night, yet the land is still green. For lack of a better name, he names it Greenland. He heads inland and begins construction of a fort of tree and stone, for his men refuse to sail on any further.
(Greenland note: during these times Greenland was still green. Within a hundred years however, the glacier appears and turns it white, thus precipitating a permanent Norse exodus to Vineland and America.)
Percevale, Gawain, and crew spot Greenland, but return behind the horizon to wait for nightfall, at which time they will land silently in the dark, downwind from Thoralf's landing so that scents and sounds can not carry.
Night falls and they land, and move through the woods like so much shadow and moonlight towards the encampment. Thoralf's men are too many in number to fight head on, so a trick is devised. They begin to weaken some trees next to the path that runs from Thoralf's guarded ships to his fort. Then they all stay out of sight until well after dawn. Finally Thoralf and his men come down to the shore together to retrieve goods from the ships. The sea king is attended by the false love of the maidens. Their act is quite convincing. The weakened trees are nudged and now come crashing down to the ground to separate Thoralf from the bulk of his men. With the maidens and a handful of men that made it past the barrier, Thoralf races to his escape ship lying out in the water—well guarded and ready to sail at a moment's notice. Then the English longbows take their terrible toll and Thoralf has barely enough men to man the oars, yet, he escapes and again does the unfathomable, he sails west to certain doom at the sea's end, leaving the last known bit of land forever behind. But, he is back at sea where he reigns supreme! His other two ships do not follow. Two knights and two squires and a crew of fine sailing fighters engage the Viking remnants on land to insure that they can not follow, but a better plan is born and Percevale calls a retreat; however, Gawain remains. That's the end of Gawain, they fear, but when they look back they see that he is carrying the fight to the Vikings. Most of the Vikings are blockaded by the trees across the road, but some make it through and Gawain stays back to engage them and to buy some time for his friends' escape. He fights bravely, one against many, and promotes most to the grave before his wounds sap his strength. A gentle word to his mighty steed and the war horse takes him to the safety of the shore, where he slides from his horse to the sand and awaits his end and the maker's hand. During the retreat Percevale's men shoot fire arrows into the remaining unmanned Viking ships and they go up in flames. Thoralf has discovered the bleeding spear, removed it, and has left it on the beach. Bogar spots it and gathers it up. A final long-range shot from the sturdiest longbow sets Thoralf's rear sail aflame, but his frightened rowers more than make up the difference and pull safely away as the sail is dumped into the sea.
Two come to take Gawain away: Death and Hargrave. Hargrave revives him to the point where he can walk and Death departs for now. “To the ship!” cries Gawain. “To the ends of the earth and beyond!”
The crew gives long hard thought to his words as they board and leave Greenland behind. The bloody job of sewing Gawain's wounds begins. He flirts with death and ladies alike, but he is a most dynamic fellow—but for now he collapses into sleep's misty sea. Death's ship sails closely behind, awaiting Gawain. Percevale, who had sewn up Lancelot many times as his squire, now makes use of that skill and goes to work on Gawain, trying to heal the last knight. Grinning Death yet follows in his ghastly ship, now coming closer, now drifting back, but he is ever waiting, sitting atop his throne of skulls and smiling, ever ready to take Gawain to the damp and cheerless grave.
“Oh! Thank the gods for life!” cries Gawain.
The Melodious Sea
Days pass on the seemingly endless sea and Thoralf's crew is becoming uneasy, for they are pursued by crazy men, and their ship is headed to who knows where. Yet they are dedicated to the task at hand, sailors to the last.
Percevale's crew is also wary, but he senses this and raises a challenge to them: “Behind lies death, ahead lies the unknown; Merlyn proved to me that the world is not flat and Patrick the Holyman has confirmed it; do not fear. The world is round, like a ball.”
Evee tells Thoralf's crew that they sail on a doomed ship, that once a knight makes a pledge it cannot be revoked. And Thoralf's crew begins to place a higher value on their lives, but continues to row, pulling away from their relentless shadows through days and nights of endless sweat and toil that take them farther and farther out into the unforgiving sea.
Blind rage is upon Thoralf's face as he looks at the maidens and surmises that they are the cause of his ill-fortune. Melody rises calmly, but with the knowledge that her luck, such as it was, has run out! She prepares to reach for the dagger on her leg, so that Thoralf may follow her into death. Evee stands also. Thoralf walks toward Evee and Melody with sword in hand. But Melody begins to sing, as always she did in the face of danger—Her song reaches the once unfeeling hearts of the evil crew and searches their souls for the love hidden so long by hate. The face of Thoralf, one that had been so commanding is now a mask of despair; but fury is still in his eyes. A sudden lunge by him sends Evee and Melody to the deck! But from the throats of the crew comes a hoarse growl, low and menacing! Thoralf grips his sword, but then he hesitates and the crew stands in Thoralf's path—they will not allow such a beautiful song to be stilled forever by death's smothering hand, for although dressed in rough clothes and sprawled unconscious on the deck, Melody is still as graceful and inspiring as the new moon. At last the crew know true beauty and goodness! And it feels good! There is almost a mutiny, but Thoralf cuts down the crew's leader. However, Thoralf does not dare to cut Melody or Evee down, and they live, as does Thoralf—for it is a standoff and the voyage resumes with Thoralf, mighty sea king, now something of an outcast among his men, but still in control.
Melody's song is so vibrant and so intimate that it is picked up by the birds and taken far on the wing, from where it is carried by the breeze to the hearts of knights and squires, whence it finds its way to breath and thence back to song on the lips of men; a song so joyful, as if no one had written it but life itself; because, after all, a song belongs to everyone!
“Do you hear it, men?” joys the King of Britain. And her song rings in their souls.
“We hear it! We drink the music from her ruby lips! It touches a sympathetic string in our spirits!”
“Then take the clue and bear to the south from whence it comes!”
On the Endless Sea
The sky is dark at night on the endless sea, but eternity's lights shine brightly in the utter blackness. At night they must navigate by the stars to keep their heading to the south. There is Arcturus, orange, and anchoring the spring kite. Regulus is upon high in the very heart of the Lion. Spica rises in the east, an ear of wheat in the hand of the Virgin Virgo. Red Betelguese sets in the west. Gemini's two eyes peer over the horizon. The Winter Cross is setting.
“Farewell to winter and hail to the spring!” says Percevale.
“Have you a favorite star, Percevale?” asks Hargrave.
“I have two, Hargrave, Betelguese in Orion and Antares in the Scorpion.”
“But the Scorpion bit Orion and they are enemies!” retorts Hargrave.
“Yes, Hargrave, and so the gods have separated them, placing them in opposite parts of the heavens—it is now impossible for them to be in the sky at the same time—and so I am always guaranteed to have a favorite star in the sky at any given time of the year!”
To The New World
“I could have done away with Thoralf,” reveals Percevale, “that time when he washed up on a river island after the river-bore on the Severn destroyed his fleet, but, I thought that I sensed some good in him. I was wrong. The good are at a disadvantage in such situations since there is always hope for rehabilitation of evil men, but I suppose that I am wiser now and no longer believe this.”
“Well,” said Gawain, “at least good men can put trust in other good men, but the evil man can not trust other evil men, for they must be always on their guard.”
“Land ho!” cries Percevale. “There is a land of vines to the west; perhaps our enemy lands there! For lack of a better name, let's christen it Vineland. They begin the tedious process of searching the coast with all of its inlets. “If Thoralf has sunk his boat and gone inland we'll never find him”, laments Percevale, “but then again, he is a Sea King now, is he not? And so he will attempt to master us at sea.”
A day goes by without success, and hearts are sinking, for now all may be lost as valuable time is taken to search the shores. Then, even worse happens! The voyage has been a strain on Taliesin's ship and the main-sail finally can take no more and rips down the center. What a setback, the trail is to be lost again! The ship limps to shore on its side-sails. Tender and supple vines are gathered and the long repair effort begins. Desperately, Percevale and the two squires espy a mountain that meets the sea and climb it to its highest point. The last streaks of gray are fading from the sky and they still can see no sign of their quarry. The men stand dejected, each alone with his own thoughts, embraced only by the blackness of the night of loneliness. But then a light is seen, for Evee has managed to set Thoralf's ship on fire and make it look like an accident by tilting a lantern precariously, deep within the ship. It is eventually doused, but the crew is alarmed and they again sail out into the sea as the currents carry them south and away from Vineland—but the mighty Viking flagship is crippled and must soon land somewhere. Our good ship follows, like the day follows the night. A week passes—
All ships begin to run out of water. The thirst begins to affect Percevale's crew and they cry out for a drink. “Press on,” commands the King, as he studies a scrap of the old sea maps from Thule, written in the hand of one he can trust.
“But there is land to the west, a new found land, the birds come from that way,” points one of the crew.
“We dare not stop now, even though we are near the coast of a new land. Thoralf will not stop either. I know that man well now. And for lack of a better name, the newly found land is to be called Newfoundland and to be just as quickly forgotten.
They sail on.
Fresh Water
The good ship turns west, rounding the point of the new land—as this is just what Thoralf will do, for he cannot sail forever without water and won't find it in the open and salty sea.
“Get me a drink of water from over the side of the ship,” says Percevale to a member of his crew.
“My god, it is fresh!” cries the crew member.
“We've got them now!” exclaims a renewed Gawain, “for this fresh water flows out to sea and the current will stand against their mighty rowers! We sail in a monstrous river into the heart of the new world!”
Some days pass and finally Thoralf's fire-disabled ship comes into sight. The once mighty Viking flagship is coming apart at the seams.
“The English King is a sorcerer!” raves Thoralf when he spots his relentless pursuer. How does he know my every move!”
But Thoralf, not knowing that the water is fresh, must land ashore. Besides, his ship is nearly sinking. A great island presents itself. Thoralf rams his vessel onto the shore to gain time to set up an attack. Onshore, he sets up with his men to make a stand, but when the English ship also comes crashing ashore, he thinks better of it and deserts his men and runs into the woods, carrying his two battle-axes, one in his hand, the other on his belt.
Death Amid Truth and Beauty
The maidens are taken into the care of the squires (or perhaps it is the other way around) and most of Thoralf's men lay down their arms. The remainder are sent to the stead of the dead at hell's gate.
Evee points the way of Thoralf and Percevale runs into the woods after his nemesis. Revenge seems out of place now as the fresh winds make love to the flowers of May and the woodlands sing with joy! But Thoralf has brought death to many and must be taken.
Thoralf climbs a cliff hill to his last battlefield. He thinks himself free at last but looks down and sees the resolute figure of the English King steadily mounting the hill after him. The first battle-axe is thrown down the hill and it knocks Percevale's shield away.
They reach the edge of the cliff together. Beyond is the new world in all in spring beauty, and far below, the waters pound against the cliff-side in fury. The terrible roar of the maelstrom fills their ears. They stand but twenty feet apart, eyeing each other and catching their breath. Percevale draws his sword from its scabbard and Thoralf takes his remaining battle-axe from his belt.
Thoralf, mighty chief of all the Vikings, has never stepped back from any man, but, the English King has pursued him relentlessly, and it has given Thoralf much to think about. Percevale begins to walk toward him, but suddenly stops and looks at the fear-haunted figure. Can this be the mighty sea-warrior of lore and legend? Thoralf's life flashes before him as he realizes its folly and its meaninglessness. Thoralf assigns and takes his penance bravely, his first and last noble deed of his life: for the first time in his life Thoralf steps back from an adversary and so is taken into the crashing sea below. He screams on the way down into the yawning chasm and his soul takes the opportunity to attempt an escape. The consuming flame from hell's fire ascends, a deadly flambeau light, and licks at the soul that tried to flee eternity's treadmill and soon that soul is pierced by the burning spear of hell's master.
Now Percevale stands alone amid all of the terrible grandeur of the scene, drained of all the high resolve, that flaming determination that had led him halfway around the unknown world; for the impossible quest has succeeded and has come to an end.
But the contest has not gone unnoticed; an indian squaw, a runner of the woods, takes the news to her tribe.
Savages
Evee relates of how Thoralf's crew came to the aid of the maidens when Thoralf threatened the maidens and so Percevale lessens their sentence. “They have certainly sought to do us harm but they have now found goodness, so, their punishment is not death or captivity, but banishment—so let them live and settle the new land, never to set foot in the old world again!”
A shelter is constructed and they begin to make repairs to their ship, for it is a long way home.
Suddenly, one morning, they are surrounded by near naked savages with their arrows and stone spears and hatchets poised at them! The men seem to be red with anger, for this is their island. How sad for our crew to have come half way around the world only to find death. Bogar has an idea! He stands forth, ready to take their arrow in his hidden coat of mail! Percevale considers Bogar's plan: “the red men will think him a god when the arrow bounces away—unless it catches him where there he has no mail—but this is the germ of a better plan—Percevale holds up his hand, as if it will stop the assault, which, curiously, it does, and asks that Melody be brought out of the shelter. She appears, and the red men fall to their knees, for they have never seen blond hair before and they think her a sun goddess! Gawain now cements the alliance by giving them Thoralf's gleaming metal axe and a fine crafted longbow as a gift; it is well appreciated, for all the red men had were stone axes and simple stick bows. Peace is made and a breakfast feast begins.
Sweets and Friends
Now, it said poetically in the journal, we roam at ease, drink sweets in every flower and feel balm in every breeze, threading the lovely radiant web of life that affection's finger weaves so finely; this way, now that way, around and about with friends, knights, squires, and maidens; and all now sit on freedom's great throne, snuggling deep into each other's being and drinking draughts of life's delight.
“What shall we call this great island?” queries Bogar. “I'm getting tired of these simplistic names that we've been assigning to places!”
“How about ‘Quebec City', after the Indian Chief?” says Hargrave.
“Fine, and so it shall be ever known.”
Return
Gawain considers the sea maps: “Well, we can't go back the way we came because the winds and currents will be against us, but, since we are so far south anyway, I think that we but need to go a little further south and we shall find a wind-backed route at lower latitude; however, there are no islands on my map so we must load plenty of extra water.
They do so, and depart. They soon find storms pushed by the great wind, and darkness reigns for weeks. Suddenly a great light fills the sky, seemingly emanating from an eye-like beacon which is too bright to look at directly, too bright for mortal eyes! Indeed, the penalty for looking at God is blindness. “What is it?” worries Hargrave. “The grail?”
“No,” calms Bogar, “it is just the sun. Had you forgotten it?”
And the great orb of day careens majestically along the zodiac as the good ship continues its long voyage home—.
Below the waves lies the sunken land of Atlantis, the land of the Celt's forefathers.
Several weeks pass, and the badly battered vessel limps toward the Irish coast—a coast infested with pirates. It is not long until a pirate ship spots its prey, Percevale's vessel, and starts to close on the apparently hapless vessel.
It is written in the chronicles that the Crimson Spear had been lost overboard in a storm during the voyage and that it now rests and rusts in the depths of the all consuming sea. So, although Percevale is without his best weapon, there are many tricks known to the sailor. A bucket of charcoal is launched on a string toward the pirate vessel. Then an arrow is shot into the charcoal package and soon the pirate vessel is in flames, now having learned the power of greek fire.
Landfall is made in Ireland, where a toast is made:
For you my friend, and you my friend,
and all of us together—
Here's a toast to life and to laughter and song.
Good cheer my friend, good cheer my friend,
through every kind of weather—
Take the bells and ring as we sing loud and strong.
We're up to throwing steins again,
with foam on every lick.
We'll give it a go and shout Ya-Vo!—
Here with friends we drink,
and let the world wait.
May we drink to love all our live-long days.
It is a short way, now, from Ireland to England.
A figure arises from the seas—it is the Lady of the Lake and she is holding the Crimson Spear, and says, “Percevale, I believe this belongs to you.”
We Are Home
They pass the golden vales, the romantic hills abound, and suddenly Crown, turret, and tower arise—a brave city of marvel lies ahead, gleaming in the skies! Camelot!
Gawain's wife awaits: “Well I'll be damned, here comes the ghost again, the vagabond, the snow yet streaking your hair. You burst on the scene already a knightly legend, then you strayed into my heart.”
“And there I intend to stay!” retorts Gawain. It all comes back so clearly—I love you dearly.”
— Part VI —
And so we continue to fill our heads with the best from nature, from adventure, from winter, spring, summer, and fall; from the world of sights, sounds, and natural urges; from fantasy, magic and mysticism, folklore and legend, from science and astronomy, and from romance—mixing it all together into a book for all seasons, that is, into this Almanac!
Another mainline theme of the Almanac is that of life with nature. For my education in this matter I can only thank John Burroughs. In his great literate style he has brought the revelations of nature to me. But if the Almanac is many things, perhaps even a hodgepodge, then so is life—and if we are to be persons for all seasons, then we must become well seasoned in all the areas of the Almanac, for all seasons are interrelated and woven of the same basic universal thread.
As for Percevale, though he has become rather a pater familis to us, he remains the focal point of the Almanac, for he has finally come into his own, a King for all seasons.
Several Impossible Challenges
Our Story: Summer is warm but not yet indolent; it is the lovely month of June, perhaps the greatest month of all since many are free now and still excited about the upcoming summer. Victorious knights return from both the Asia frontier and from the great Unknown sea. But sadly, St. Patrick has died, and all Ireland is in mourning. King Percevale receives a summons from the Avalon Lady of the Lake.
Avalon Calling
A King may receive a summons from but one person and place: the high priestess of Avalon—the Lady of the Lake herself, the distant power behind the fables and fortunes of Britain—the Mother Goddess who reigns wholly and supreme, with the assistance of “The Merlyn”. If “The Merlyn” be the power behind the throne, then the High Priestess of Avalon is the power behind “The Merlyn”.
And so our Percevale again takes the shield of the White Horse and slips unnoticed out of Camelot during the height of the summer festivities.
Percevale rides to Avalon, a land forever shrouded in the mist that separates it from the world of mankind. Many have been lost trying to cross Avalon's impenetrable swamps, so Percevale waits patiently at the edge of the foggy lake. He brings the Crimson Spear, for this is surely a gift from Avalon, as was Arthur's Excalibur and Price Valiant's Flamberge (the Singing Sword, or “Flame Cutter”.)
Avalon is flooded with water during summer, and with treacherous ice in winter. And there is always the fog, which only the priestesses can wave aside, for they, and they alone, know the underwater paths for the horses. Many adventurers have fallen into the gloomy depths of despair and death trying to find these trails, so Percevale awaits his guide.
Only once in a great while is a King summoned to Avalon, for most of Avalon's effects are not direct, but long range, and even so, are often carried out by “The Merlyn” or “The Taliesin”, the only residents of Avalon who are allowed to mingle with those in the mortal world.
The guide arrives, and Percevale, without a word, steps into her canoe, for she is a novice and is not allowed to speak. She waves the mist aside and they approach a castle in the water and then enter the Lady's mysterious secret chamber.
The Story of Avalon
The Lady of the Lake appears, old now and perhaps dying. “Thank you for your rescue of my daughters, Eve and Melody. They are my second and third born, respectively, and may someday have to rule this isle if for any reason my first-born cannot. Now, Percevale, name your pleasure and it shall be yours! Anything you want.”
Percevale replies: “I ask no pleasure but that of continued life. There is one thing, however—I should like to gain the power to destroy a witch, to free those poor souls who are enslaved by her! For I swore an oath to return there one day with the power to succeed.”
The Lady of the Lake, Mother Goddess, now finally growing old with age after many centuries, first speaks to our hero about age and the ancestry of the Round Table before answering him: “Here in Avalon, the Royal Line consists solely of women. Soon, my first-born daughter will take over for me, as someday, her first-born daughter will take over for her. Only a women can be sure of maternity—paternity is never certain; who knows who one's father might be! Thus, a royal line of first-born sons of Kings really does not make much sense for us, but we tolerate it in your world. Here, we seldom even keep track of paternity, but, in your case, and in the case of many of the knights, an exception was made in order to try and save the world. When I was young four hundred years ago, I played with Merlyn, who was also a child at that time. I happen to know that he and I are the great great great grandparents of yourself and of many of the knights, making most of you third and fourth cousins—indeed, Lancelot was born here as my last son, thus his full name, Lancelot du Lac. And so in this way we passed our godliness on to man in a last desperate hope of ending the many centuries of the Dark Age. “Merlyn” is not really a man's name, though it has come to mean his name—it is actually a title, “The Merlyn”, of our only male officeholder, a position that Taliesin will soon inherit and hold. The office of “The Merlyn” is the only link between our two worlds aside from the rare summoning of a King. I am the power behind “The Merlyn”—But I cannot interfere in everyday matters, for then man would not have his freedom, would he? We can only do long range planning, thus your throne and your bleeding spear. We of Avalon are not actually gods, but Druids descended from the many gods of old. We are all that is left of the great Atlantis! Avalon is soon to be forever removed from the world of mankind—this we have known and feared—so, we have passed our legacy of love and goodness to you and your knightly cousins. As for your witch, she was once one of of us, but has since gone astray. That's how she knew about your bleeding spear and why she fears you. As we may not interfere directly, we may not slay her. But, you have asked for the power to destroy her and so we will see that you have it in the form of your spear and in the strength of yours and Taliesin's minds when combined. This but makes you her equal. Success or failure will still come from within your own strength and goodness. But bring the Crimson Spear! Indeed, you would be doing us and the world quite a favor if you were to succeed in destroying her. And beware, she once held the high title of Death-Crone, and she will undoubtedly place a curse upon you. Just remember this: never give up hope, and know that every curse has an escape! But how sad that she was once one of us and is now out of control!”
The Curse of the Death-Crone
As Percevale approaches the witch's land, he sees the shield and helmets of those who came and died before him. He clutches the Crimson Spear close and continues his approach. “Now, Bogar, you wait here and if I do not come out within two days, then come in after me.”
Percevale feels the watch of gloom as he enters the territory of the witch. Knowing that he is being watched, he does not turn around to alert the watcher, but slides quickly and unbeknownst into the woods at the next turn. Taliesin glides noiselessly, silent and invisible in Percevale's mind!
Percevale peers in a window and sees a pitiful sight. The witch's slaves are from the world of the deformed and misshapen—those who are most easily enslaved. Next, plans are made and a good night's sleep is taken.
In the morning a huge menacing giant blocks Percevale's path, but there is something very human and caring, yet guarded, in the giant's eyes. To test this theory, Percevale aims an arrow at the giant's dog, and the giant pleads with Percevale not to shoot it. Apparently the giant is too large to fully feel the effect of the witch's controlling drug, and Percevale speaks to the giant softly: “You could easily escape this witch's spell and be free!”
The giant replies: “You are correct; I stay only to protect my misshapen friends from further harm, and indeed I will help you kill the witch if you will but insure the safety of my friends!”
“I am King of Britain and the safety of all my subjects concerns me. Just keep your bewitched friends in check while I do battle with the witch and soon you shall all be free or I'll die trying.” Such sincere words were very well understood by the giant.
Now Percevale faces the witch, but not alone, for Taliesin has joined with him in mind, and the bleeding spear is at hand.
“'Tis the accursed Crimson Spear for Avalon!” she cries. “Take it from my sight, I can not bear to look at it!”
But Percevale holds it all the more firmly as she tries to wrench it from his grasp with the powers of her mind. She fills his minds eye with evil sights of monsters, but ever still does he hold the red shaft; it is now bleeding profusely and its blood is pooling on the ground. For a day and a night, the battle of the minds continues, Percevale and Taliesin barely holding their own and growing evermore weary, and feeling at each instant that they cannot last another moment.
Meanwhile, no potions are being dispensed to the enslaved; they drink but the purest of water and so they are slowly regaining control over their lives. Towards morning, the battle draws to its climax as Avalon's grandson is assaulted with every trick known to sorcery by Avalon's daughter gone astray; but Taliesin has studied under the master Merlyn and Percevale has the strength of ten because his heart is pure.
And then it is over. As the witch crumples to the ground, defeated at last, she finds those last ounces of strength that comes at the time of dying and uses it to place the curse of the Death-Crone upon our hero: “Percevale, from death's doorstep, I, the Death-Crone, curse you with my last breath; I curse you with the worst misfortune that may befall a man: that you will never find love or be loved ever again—until rocks flow like water, until the day comes that the sun does not rise, until the new moon is seen with the naked eye, until the planet Mercury is seen at high noon, until fire is seen in water, until it snows in Cisalpine Gaul on a summer day, until all of the above events happen on the same day within a month from this very day! In other words, you will never ever find love or be loved! So then, when these events do not happen, for they cannot happen and be seen by you, you will not only be unloved nor able to give love, but you will also find the world to be filled with hate towards you, and you will soon die and forever wear the foolscap of eternal shade, for no man can live for long without love!”
The witch dies, the King is cursed, but the enslaved are free!
No Hope for the Hopeless
Bogar, forever dedicated, takes what is left of his master back to Camelot. Bogar notes the King's despair and so Percevale tells him the tale of the witch's curse. “I shall never succeed, Bogar, for most of the witch's challenges are impossible; that's the joke of it, I guess. She just threw in one easy one, ‘when rocks flow like water' to give me false hope, for I do know of a place where rocks flow like water. But no one has ever seen the new moon. Of course, the full moon is easily seen because it is completely lit on the side facing us and rises when the sun sets and is therefore up all night, but the new moon is just the opposite: it rises in the morning, is up all day, sets at evening, and is lit only on the side away from us. It has never been seen, Bogar! Oh, we have seen the slivers of the very young and the very old moons, but the new moon gives no light at all, so, even if we see but a thin crescent moon, then by definition, it is not the new moon. Even if we knew where to look for it in the sky, which we do not, there would be the glare of the sun to contend with. Even the stars, which do give off light, cannot be seen in the daytime, even in areas of the sky not near to the sun. And Mercury, being so close to the sun, can only be seen just before sunrise or just after sunset, but never at high noon! As for snow in late June or July in Southern Gaul, it is not likely and has never occurred. And I have not yet known a day when the sun did not rise. Even on cloudy days we know that the sun has risen, for there is light behind the clouds. And fire in water! It cannot be. Water conquers fire, they cannot coexist. For any of the above to happen is impossible. For all of them to happen on the same day within a month is beyond impossible, yet, I will not give up hope for I know from Avalon that all curses have an escape.”
Percevale spends the day in the archives of Camelot with Taliesin. Then they spend all night in the Merlyn Tower Room, where they pore over over old manuscripts full of diagrams But only this much becomes known: The new moon is to appear in two weeks—this fixes the day; and there is only one place where rocks are flowing like water—this fixes the place! There is hardly time to get there, so the King immediately leaves for Iceland.
The Ice Maiden
The chronicles covering the first week of the journey have not survived the ravages of time, so we find ourselves already close to Iceland. The sea is glorious and the air is fresh and pure. We do know that during the journey north, the twilight lasted longer and longer each day.
There is not a moment to waste, but Percevale spots a vessel in distress behind him, and for a moment he wonders if he should take the time to come to its aid. But, there is no real choice, so he turns back and although her ship goes under, he manages to pull her from the depths and spends over an hour reviving her. And, even when revived, her lips will not part from his, for they have tasted each other and found it to be sweet.
“I am cursed, you cannot love me,” says the Ice Maiden finally, who was named Dheryle. “I am sent to remind you of that which is forbidden to you! I have no choice; the spell overwhelms! You should have let me drown; then you would have had some peace. From now on, everyone you touch will catch the curse until the world fills with hate and destroys itself.”
“So this is how it is going to be,” laments Percevale. “How I shall hate to give up life's wonders when I am gone!”
The Greatest Day on Earth
But, this is to be the day of the new moon; at least there is a chance, thinks Percevale. They arrive on the shore of Iceland, and on this day, as on every day for a month either way in this northern land, the sun does not rise, for it did not set the day before, since it stays aloft all day during these six months of daylight! Just before noon, strange bands of shadows begin to rapidly cross the land and Percevale feels that perhaps the end is near. The ground begins to shake and heave for a few moments and then all is silent, so very silent as to strike one dumb. Something terrible seems to be happening. Grazing animals look for shade trees and lie down to sleep. Then, about noontime, the shadow of darkest night covers the land as the moon begins to kiss the sun and cover it—it is a solar eclipse! Merlyn's old notes in the archive were accurate! Thank the gods for the old wizard!
During the seven minutes of total darkness, Percevale sees a black disk in the sky, surrounded by faint wisps of flame—it is, of course the new moon in all her black glory; indeed, the new moon can only be seen during a solar eclipse, and never at any other time. And there near the sun is a bright “star” that does not twinkle! It can only be the planet Mercury! Yes, there it is, in plain sight, at high noon. And farther out, Venus can be seen!
Now the ground begins to really shake, and Percevale hurries to his ship with the Ice Maiden. They leave Iceland but see the volcano erupt; rocks are flowing to the sea like water! But, the water puts out the fiery flow and so they do not see fire in water, just a lot of steam.
Then a tremendous plume of smoke and debris is sent up into the sky and is carried south by the unusual winds born of the marriage of summer warmth and ice cold air brought on by the blockage of the sun's rays by the dense volcanic ash. The spontaneous cold front sweeps south to Gaul on the reversed upper winds, bringing the darkness of the ashen sky with it. As no sunlight can penetrate, the air below grows colder and colder, and what would have been rain now turns to snow over Cisalpine Gaul for a brief time before westerly winds can disperse the volcanic cloud around the earth.
That evening the sun sinks low, but does not set. On the water is the glitter path of that fiery ball—and so we have fire in water!
The sun has kissed the moon, and Percevale gathers the Ice Maiden, Dheryle, into his arms and kisses her, his capacity for love far from dead, but growing stronger every minute of this glorious day as both of their curses fall by the wayside.
(Taken from the Celtic Chronicles,
found in an iron box beneath an Abbey.)
— Part VII —
Introduction
Again we sit down to record that which we can decipher from the Celtic Chronicles. But what are these Chronicles? Where did I come by them… Excavating on my own in Wales for ancient artifacts, I found the Chronicles beneath the ruins of what must have been an abbey, at Glastonbury, where a particular thorn bush caught my attention. They were sealed in an iron box and were quite well preserved for their age. Not wishing to expose my illegal tamperings with these sacred grounds I told no one of my find— and kept the Chronicles for my own. Unfortunately, they were written in an old and long-discarded Roman script. However, after some searching, I located a Latin master—an old Jesuit priest, and together, we, over a three year period, found understanding and meaning in the knight's last tales, be they, as they often were, peppered with old-Celtic words for local people, places, and customs.
We discovered the abbey's name: "The Abbey of the Soul". It housed both a monastery and a convent, but not in the modern sense of the words, for back then abbeys were wholly the world's centers for libraries, education, and philosophy.
So I write the tales of The Last Knight's Almanac as if I were the King's scribe himself, since indeed, he was the writer, although dictated to, and even partially the author, as he often added his own reflections and descriptions to flesh out the storyline. But the scribe's hand grows shaky during Percivale's reign and the translation went slow; indeed, many pages have defied translation altogether. And so the Chronicles are both a pain and a joy of tears and sunshine, but at least they are mine. And now they are yours as well.
(The King's Scribe's Scribe, Austin)
Summer Love
(In which love conquers all of our characters,
for life is good and peaceful,
and the summer never seems to end.)
Our Story: Percivale is on his own in Iceland with the Ice Maiden, Dheryle. Taliesin has met Calliope, the muse of epic poetry. Bogar entertains Evee, and Melody courts Hargrave. Troubadours sing new songs of Arn and Maeves' love while that of Galan and Alexis is already well known in legend. Gawain and his spouse continue to appreciate each other. For how can true love fail this time of year as we move toward that magical night of nights known as Mid-Summer's Eve?
Ice and Fire
The scene: Percivale and Dheryle, the Ice Maiden, are fleeing from an exploding volcano in southern Iceland, but, for the moment, find one another in each other's arms in an embrace that could itself melt rocks…
The ashes and sparks are heavy now, and, upon reaching the shore, both throw themselves into the sea to quench their smoking clothes and passions. Percivale's small landing craft is aflame but they succeed in splashing out the fire. Volcanic heat drives the sails and their bodies as they round Iceland's tip north to safety—and further into each other's love hold.
Bereft of their tattered clothes, but not of hope and happiness, they drift in the sunny seas not far from shore, embracing as one. Just a lad and a maiden in love now—nothing else in the world is important anymore, including this story, and so it is that we do not have the complete scribe's record of their lovemaking…
Now, Dheryle, as it turns out, is the Queen of Iceland, and Percivale, as we know, is King of Britain, but each of them "forgets" to mention this sovereign fact to the other, for fear that it may place a bias on the other's love. For indeed, many royal suitors were power seekers at heart.
Each is quiet now on the beach bar and alone with their own thoughts. Percivale looks upon the maiden met only a few days before and sees but a poor peasant girl. Dheryle sees in Percivale only a penniless lad. Unfortunately, even then, royal romances were more political than meaningful since Sovereigns must always put the needs of the Kingdom, or Queendom, ahead of their personal desires.
But tonight belongs only to them and not to the world. Sleep finally comes and takes each into the other's dreams, as if they'd always belonged there, and this fact, when wordlessly parting the next morning, each knows in his heart to be as true and sure as the bluebird's coming in Spring.
Lovebird
Spring comes late to Iceland, and, with it, come the bluebirds. Some of the birds land at Percivale's feet, having not yet learned that man is to be feared. These bluebirds, muses Percivale, are truly the reflection of all that surrounds us, for they wear the color of the sky on their backs and that of the earth on their breasts.
Percevale thinks of Britain, of how it has grown strong again, for, during the Viking War, volunteers had come to its aid and many of them had stayed—Even Saxons, who, under the continuing wise policy begun by King Arthur, were given lands should they stay and farm it for a year. To the east the Danes and the Jutes had begun to settle their differences under Arn's direction and were at long last on their way to becoming one nation with Thule.
Dheryle watches the determined young man walk directly into her Ice Palace. Well, there she would greet him as Queen and the truth be made known to him. And then it was that she tasted the sadness of a true love tear shed.
Now showered, groomed, and cleansed of ash, and sitting on the throne, there can be no mistaking her for anyone but a Queen. Percivale only smiles, and the Queen's court is amazed at the mere lad that dares to smile in that fashion at a sitting Queen. Meanwhile, Percival's fleet has seen his signal fire and comes ashore in the unmistakable uniforms of the King's Guard! Taken aback at first, she then returns his smile, but both know that things have only become much more complicated than ever!
The Affairs of State
Now the affairs of state and council come to occupy the time of two who would rather be but a poor boy and a peasant girl in love and alone in a sweet-scented wood. Diplomats arise right and left while banquets sprout, as protocol dictates. Advisers abound and the duties of the kingdoms are attended to for more hours than can be tolerated. There is time for only short conversations between Percivale and Dheryle.
At yet another banquet, Percivale, having run out of the standard toasts, speaks the language of his heart at this moment of frustration, "Oft, when the wine in my glass was red, I longed for the wayside well instead."
As he sits down, an answer to his prayer comes in a whisper from Dheryle: "Rather I be kissing you, Percivale, than this glass!"
"Then meet me in the outside wellhouse and tonight I'll shut your eyes with kisses five!" replies Percivale.
Soon after dinner, the Queen excuses herself and bids goodnight to her guests and attendants, stating that it has been a historic but tiring day.
The Wellspring of Love and Desire
The wellhouse is dripping cool and wet, providing welcome relief from the eternal northern sun that shines all night in these latitudes. "How I do miss the night and the stars”, thinks Percivale as he waits in the shadows that remind him of night.
There is a rustling in the grass outside and he knows she is near. The weariness of the day vanishes from his body and his heart flutters like that of a schoolboy. Life is sparkling now and there is a feeling that all things are possible. Indeed, there is no better feeling than to hold another human close who loves you in return.
She arrives, graceful and slim behind a gown that alternately clings and floats, suggesting with its movements a phantasm of the evening. The kisses do not stop and she gives as well as she receives. She does, in fact, often take the initiative, for she is, after all, a queen.
Words need not be spoken, for there is no doubt that they must, somehow, be together always. Kisses done, she lays her head on his shoulder as their bodies touch from head to toe, her breasts ringing against his heart like a bell. Such sensuousness in this world of senses can only add to the beauty of love, for when love is right, you know it by instinct.
Now we again leave the lovers alone, for well do we know that such things do so often happen during the fortnight that surrounds Mid-Summer's Eve.
Some days pass and their love stays strong, as we knew it would, but, a week later, a King's messenger leaves Britain for Iceland with news of the start of calamitous events in Europe.
{Il est plu tard que vous croyez.}
A Cloud Over the Earth
The scene: Percivale is sitting on the shore and explaining the effects of clouds on the sailor's life to a child. Dheryle appears and quietly joins them. A billowing white cloud is building, seemingly from purity itself.
"If a great Cumulus Cloud forms early in the forenoon and keeps on growing well towards evening, then it must be watched very closely, for there is always a threat in its ivory heart. For in a cloud's heart the invisible Genies of Water and Heat fashion lightening, thunderbolt, and storm on what becomes the cloud's anvil. But, if you are lost on the sea under a clear blue sky, then search for a cloud near the horizon, for this signals the presence of an island, since clouds are not found over the sea except during a storm. Also…" —but Percivale does not continue, for a King's messenger's ship approaches and lands, and the King is handed a parchment by Bogar who has come to fetch back his master.
It reads: All Europe is ill with the Plague of the Red Death— hundreds are dying daily and the streets are filling with corpses. It looks very bad, but Britain is not yet affected. As per your previous directive in case of such a reoccurrence, Britain's borders have been ordered sealed by Taliesin. The process should take about a week, after which all travel and trade from Europe will halt for perhaps many a year. A similar message is on its way to Thule and to the Misty Isles. What do we do?
"I must leave in the morning, Dheryle." announces her lover sadly.
"I know. And here I must stay and rule," she replies disheartedly.
"One thing is clear, promises percivale, that if I live I will return."
"And I will wait forever, if need be, my darling."
Dheryle spends the early evening in her garden with a netherworld creature, thinking, then lies awake all night, dreaming of the dark otherworld.
Persephone
Dheryle does not see Percival off—perhaps she cannot bear to do so.
Indeed, the inevitable separation is happening, but the foreseeing does not lessen the pain. The ship departs, and twice, once near shore, and again when Iceland is almost out of sight, Percivale nearly orders the ship to turn around, however, the lonely hours pass slowly as they swiftly enter the lower latitudes under the blessing of a squall wind at their backs. There can be no returning now.
At night, for twilight has returned as the sun rolls along just under the green horizon, Percivale looks into the glimmering sea but sees only the reflections of forlorn sailor of duty on his way to spending his life far beneath the top of the earth.
Bogar puts a hand to the King's shoulder and asks: "What would you give to have her here with you?"
"About eight years of my life as it appears now." replies Bogar's King dejectedly.
Suddenly the quiet twilight is disrupted by the clattering of doors below and by shouts of joy and girlish laughter that can only be Dheryle's. "I am haunted" thinks Percivale, “but no, it is really her—she has hidden away!”
"Percivale! cries Dheryle, "I live now the tales of my Garden of the Dark Otherworld—like Persephone of legend, I shall spend six months of each year in Iceland and the other six months in, shall we say, warmer climes." And so Demeter, goddess of agriculture, loses her daughter, Persephone, in autumn and winter, when nature's fruits disappear, and regains her in spring and summer, when the earth again bears crops. So it was that Hades had honored the request of his brother Zeus.
"The gods be with me today, Dheryle, and, by God, I'll take it! Never lose you!"
The Spell of the Woods
Bogar returns in late afternoon, in search of Evee, as his heart still leaps at the first sighting of Camelot in the distance. Bogar has reached the highest levels of squireship, and, for the first time, knighthood is within reach. Evee intercepts him, finding him first, and they immediately take to the woods, for they have not seen each other for a week and there are many things to do and talk about.
The forest is alive with a strange power that casts its spell upon all who enter on such a fine summer's day, but especially on Mid-Summer's day. The senses are always alive in good weather and the mind is ever alert. Once they hear a stirring in the grasses nearby, but see nothing. Other creatures drop unseen from trees. "It is only the wood sprites making way for us, Evee, so we will be not be disturbed."
They come to a dense growth of new and slender pines and slide through and betwixt them along the unmarked path of a well known maze. They arrive at a grassy clearing and stretch out on the ground, resting their heads on soft mossy rocks. A half roll by Evee, and she has snuggled close to Bogar, her head on his chest, her hip yet on the ground, and her top leg up and bent and resting on Bogar's thigh. The chronicles do not elaborate on what they talk about or what they do, but only that each has never been happier.
They do have a vision, or is it a dream, of Bogar, dressed for battle, and leaving, without Evee, for a war in a distant land—so, they embrace all the more and spend the night where they are. The enchanted forest is kind to them this night and the love they share now and through the upcoming years will have to sustain them during the terrors that are to sweep the world during the next decade, for there are those who would take advantage of the plagued souls in Europe and throw the world into a new Dark Age.
Coming Home
The scene: In the women's quarters at Camelot, Melody waits for Hargrave to arrive for the dinner feast, but, again, tonight he does not come. And this, the special Mid-Summer banquet! Her eyes well up with tears. Has he forgotten her lately?
Well, she thinks, he did say that he would be away, now and then, off and on, to work on a secret project. Just then a giggling page girl arrives with a message that is sheer magic.
It reads: "I have a built a hut in the wood at our favorite spot. None knows it but you my love! An ash tree this side, a hazel on the other, and, in between, a little hidden lowly hut where waits my flame-haired love…"
She knows well the place of which he tells and rushes out of Camelot into the magic of fast falling night.
Out of breath now, she begins to walk and reads the rest of the message:
"I ask the gods small bounties:
A secret hut in the wilderness,
A moss-lined well beside it,
And a thicket for the singing birds,
Within, a row of tall, bright candles.
And under their light the face of my love,
Her eyes the twin stars of constancy,
Drawing me to the smooth haven of her arms…”
She arrives at the hut and looks in. It is simply wonderful. It is to be their first home.
Hargrave awaits. "Come in, dear Melody, and share this secret abode!"
Lake in the Woods
When love's feeling is right, one knows it! It is beyond all doubt when the intensity pervades your every thought and action. But, I say to all of you who have not found true love, that if there is the least sense of doubt, if long courtships are necessary before you can know each other, then that is perhaps not true love, but labored love, because, as I began, when love is present, one knows it without question—and subsequent marriage occurs without either party even having to ask it of the other.
So it is with Dheryle and Percivale, too, as they dally about their lake in the woods. Their cottage is nestled in the woods between the hills and the seashore. The lovers sit on a swing on the cottage porch as the peeping eye of the full moon spies on them from the top of a hill. They rock gently, bathing in the harmony and rhythm that has so recently flooded their joined being. At the sides of the porch the flowers of the white evening primrose begin to close, while lightening bugs flash their mating calls to one another.
"There, Dheryle, over those hills, is the former abode of the witch. I must go there tomorrow to see that all is well, so as to complete my quest that brought us together in the first place."
"Well bless her wretched soul! Come Percivale, let us walk the grounds."
Moving through the glittering fields of fireflies, they walk along the lake path, without words. Though still weary from sea travel, love's energy carries them on its eagles' wings, as being near to one's life partner is contentment enough for anyone on a night in the Age of Darkness in the mid-summer.
There is a strange chill in the air as the woods compel them to enter and share in its secrets on this one night of magic.
Church bells knell the toll of ten o'clock from the nearby town. The sounds are muffled and distant because the air has suddenly grown heavy.
"I think that we are not alone Percivale."
"Yes, the forest has many eyes and I have come to love them—and tonight I feel as if the air is filled with the magic, hopes, and dreams of all of the souls which have come before us since the dawn of time."
"There is a similar night in my country, during which these feelings of old, sealed in our souls, become known, and float in the air so that we might know of our dim and animal past. Hark! I see movement ahead, and in the trees!"
They run to the spot, but the impish form is gone; however, the grass is yet bent and marks the small man-creature's passing.
"Hold me close, Percevale."
"I know this feeling! It is but the witch's soul on its way to its final and eternal resting spot in hell's heart. It's gone now—I again feel the beauty and goodness of man—and only this can ensure the victory of wisdom!”
They return to the lake side, construct a bonfire, and lay a blanket nearby.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, creatures dance in the night woods, and the skies fill with comets. Also, the last ship to penetrate Britain before its borders are permanently sealed, the flagship of Thule, speeds on its mystic way toward the fens.
07-06-2007 09:44 PM 
