Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (15 page)

When
Merlin regained his feet, he saw a second large hole in the ground and realized
he was back at the Templar’s grave, empty now other than for half of a human
leg lying in a pool of sticky blood – all that remained of Big Josh’s oversized
body from the dragon’s feast. The wizard moved off to his left to avoid falling
in either of the holes and turned back to the witch just in time to see another
lightning bolt headed his way. Acting purely on instinct, Merlin held up his
scepter like a shield, the enchanted wood taking a direct hit and snapping into
splinters in the magician’s scorched hands. The power of the blast hurled
Merlin’s burning body fifteen feet through the air, knocking the wind from his
lungs as he landed flat on his back in the cool wet grass.

The
injured magician still had his wits about him, rolling on the damp grass to put
out his smoldering clothes. The flames finally out, Merlin was about to try and
stand up, but Morgana was suddenly standing right above him. He scurried
backwards in the grass, in pain and more or less defenseless against the
powerful witch without his staff.

“There’s
nowhere left to run, wizard,” Morgana said coldly, some of her true hideous
features starting to show through the cracks in her beautiful veneer. “It’s
time to die, old man. Time to
suffer
!”

Merlin
could do nothing but watch the sorceress come closer…   

*  
*   *

The
dragon looked like it was becoming impatient, not used to feeling pain or being
unable to kill its enemies. Blood ran freely from its vacant eye cavity, and
the monster kept snapping its jaws at thin air, desperate for revenge and the
desire to inflict pain on someone else. King Arthur knew it would make its move
soon, its bloodlust too great to wait much longer. It knew nothing other than
killing and eating, and although the beast might know it wouldn’t be filling
its belly with him today, it would still want to somehow crush or break him to
pieces, anything that would steal the life from him.

Maybe
its rage is its weakness,
Arthur thought.

“Come
on, you big ugly brute,” the stone King screamed, taunting the beast. “Lost
your nerve, have you?”

Arthur
had no idea if the dragon heard him, or even if it did, whether or not it
comprehended his words, but when he shouted the monster tilted its scaly head
to listen and roared in anger. Diving to pick up speed, the dragon leveled off
and came charging straight at the King, spitting fire and screaming holy hell
as it barreled closer at top speed. Arthur stood as tall as he could manage,
even going so far as to balance up on his toes to make the dragon misjudge its
attack height. The beast kept its mouth closed, looking like it intended to ram
Arthur rather than bite him, but at the last possible second the King dropped
to his knees and held Excalibur above his bent over body. The stone blade
caught the beast under the chin, piercing through its scales and thick reptilian
skin, the dragon’s momentum carrying it forward, helplessly gutting itself on
the stationary magic sword from throat to belly. A literal river of gore flooded
out of the massive wound, the dragon’s internal organs splashing to the ground
a second before the beast itself, the monster dead before it could even slide
to a shuddering stop.

Arthur
stood and barely glanced in the dragon’s direction, the blood and horrendous
stench alone more than enough for him to know the battle was over. The stone
King’s thoughts – and eyes – turned toward Merlin and the witch, wondering how
his most trusted ally was faring with his fight. Not very well, unfortunately,
by the looks of things. When Arthur looked to the far side of the cemetery, he
saw Merlin lying injured on the grass and Morgana standing above him, ready to
deliver the killing blow. Even though he knew he’d never make it in time to
help his friend, King Arthur took off running, moving as fast as his powerful
stone legs could carry him…

*  
*   *

Morgana
was having trouble controlling her outward appearance, her lust for power and
the imminent murder of her archenemy an intoxicating mix rushing through her old
veins. Her beautiful raven-black hair was greying and drying out at the roots. Her
smooth youthful skin was cracking and showing dark lumpy welts that bled freely
down her exposed arms and neck. And where normally her smile would reveal
perfectly straight white teeth, when the witch opened her mouth to speak all
Merlin could see was a set of rotted black stumps.

“I’ve
been looking forward to this for centuries,” Morgana said. “I could make this
quick and easy on you…but I don’t want to!”

Merlin
kept sliding his body backwards along the wet grass, worm-crawling away from
the witch but there was nowhere for him to go. The lightning bolt had injured
him more than he’d originally thought, burning his clothes and skin, but more
importantly messing with his head. His mind was cloudy and he had a splitting
headache, finding it nearly impossible to concentrate hard enough to cast
spells of any significance. He conjured a small energy sphere of his own and
hurled it at Morgana’s chest but she batted his weakened attempt away with a
flick of her hand, laughing at his declining strength.

“No,
I think I’ll take a more
personal
approach to this,” the witch said, her
hands starting to glow, her fingers starting to extend and curl into long razor-sharp
claws. “I’m going to rip your heart out with my own hands, old man!”

Merlin
slid back another foot and his right hand hit something hard and made of metal.
Without looking down, he felt around in the grass, hope igniting a small fire
within him. It was a sword – the Templar Knight’s sword, dropped and forgotten
when he’d been attacked by Morgana’s dragon. Merlin concealed the long metal
blade with his leg and waited for a chance to strike. Perhaps there was still
time to turn the tides of this fight after all. It would all come down to the
timing.

“You
ready to finally see your precious Avalon, wizard?”

“Ready
as I’ll ever be,” Merlin said, and he was surprised to realize he was telling
the truth. He’d lived a long, hard life, and if today was to be his last he was
okay with that, more than ready to move on to his just reward. Still, the
stubborn magician within him held onto the flame of hope, not ready to give in
to the witch’s evil. If he fell to Morgana today, the world would be a much
darker place in the days and years to come. For that reason alone, he had to
win this battle. “Get it over with witch…before you fall apart at the seams.
Wouldn’t want anyone to see the ugly hag you
really
are under that
pretty little façade.”

Morgana
screamed and lost her mind with rage, running the last few steps toward Merlin
with her monstrous hands clawing at the air, aiming for the wizard’s eyes.
Merlin rolled to his left, bringing the knight’s sword up in a heartbeat and
sat up to meet the witch’s charge. With both hands, Merlin thrust his weapon
into Morgana’s belly, shoving it in deep until he heard the blade scrape against
her spine. The witch gasped, not yet feeling the pain, shocked that her enemy
wasn’t bleeding beneath her fingers by now.

“How…?”
she said, but that was as far as she made it.

Merlin
twisted the sword’s handle ninety degrees and viciously pulled left, ripping
the blade out through the witch’s side, nearly cutting her in half. Blood
sprayed into the air first, followed by Morgana’s perforated stomach sack, a chunk
of her severed liver, and a mile of ropey, stinking intestines. The witch fell
to her knees, trying to hold her insides from falling out but the damage was
already done. In the end she looked over at Merlin with wide, fearful eyes.

“But
you can’t defeat me. I can’t die…
can
I?”

Merlin
climbed to his feet, seeing the desiccated old witch for what she really was
now, her evil unable to mask her hideous appearance any longer. Her flesh was
grey and wrinkled, covered in dozens of weeping sores. Her hair was turning
white, falling out in huge clumps and the smell of her putrid organs spilling
out onto the grass was so nauseating that Merlin couldn’t stand to look at her
another second.

“Rot
in Hell!” Merlin said, swinging the Templar’s sword in an arc parallel with the
ground, severing the evil hag’s head from her shoulders with one smooth stroke.
Morgana’s body swayed back and forth for a few seconds but then slumped forward
onto the grass and lay still.

The
Witch of Lyonesse was finally dead…

*  
*   *

Morgana’s
head had landed face up in the grass and King Arthur stopped to take a look at
the woman who had ultimately caused his death all those centuries ago. She
hadn’t made the horse lose its footing in the bloody grass that day but she had
been the reason his army had been there in the first place. With a scowl of
disgust, Arthur kicked the head away, sending it flying through the air to
bounce and roll into the nearby open grave. “Good riddance, witch!” the stone King
said. “Your death was
long
overdue.”

The
rain started to fall hard as Arthur walked over to where Merlin sat recovering
in the grass near the rest of Morgana’s bloody corpse. The wizard’s eyes were
glazed and he was breathing hard. His clothing was ripped and burned and his
long white hair and beard were singed a dirty grey-black in spots.

“You
going to be okay, old friend?” Arthur asked, placing one of his huge stone
hands on the magician’s shoulder.

“I’ll
survive,” Merlin said. “Unfortunately.”

The
wizard’s words made the King smile, knowing what the old man was feeling.
“Don’t worry, Merlin. Your reward will be waiting for you in paradise. It’s
just not your time to claim it yet.”

“I
know. But how much longer must I wait. This old bag of bones gets wearier by
the year. Some days I’m fine, but to be honest, many of them I pray for rest.”

“And
you shall have it, my friend. Just not yet. The world still needs your magic
and your wisdom.”

“For
what?”

“Well,
for one thing, it needs you to make sure the Grail is safe.”

“Yes,”
the magician agreed. “I’ll keep it with me from here on out, never letting it
out of my sight again.”

“No
Merlin,” Arthur said. “That would be a mistake. We hunted the Carpenter’s Cup
for years, thinking it could only be safe with us but the Grail is too powerful
for anyone to possess. Even for you, my friend. Its vast power cannot be
controlled. Today has proven that to me.”

“What
would you have me do, then?”

“It
has to be re-hidden. Lost again…and hopefully never found.”

Merlin
nodded, knowing Arthur was right. If anyone possessed the Grail – even someone
pure of heart like him – he’d eventually be tempted to use its power. The dark
side of the cup wouldn’t rest until he did. No, it was far better to bury it
again and let the world think the Grail was nothing but fiction and fanciful
legend, blissfully unaware of the truth.

“You’re
right, of course,” Merlin said. “Man was never meant to possess the power of
God. I’ll take care of it, my King.”

Arthur
helped Merlin to his feet and together they walked in the rain back toward the
fallen dragon. With the witch dead and gone, her magic was disappearing from
the world too, the massive beast starting to bubble and dissolve in front of
their eyes, melting back into the same ground it had come from. By the time the
authorities checked the cemetery the dragon would be gone, Arthur would be back
in Avalon, the Robert the Bruce statue would be back standing in its original
pose, and Merlin would have William fill in the Templar’s grave with Big Josh’s
and Morgana’s remains hidden within. If they were lucky, the rain would wash
away the blood on the grass and no one would be any the wiser that an epic
battle had taken place here today.

“Where’s
your friend?” Arthur said, looking around the cemetery but not seeing him by
the base of the statue where they’d left him. “Has the coward run off?”

“He’s
no friend of mine,” Merlin said, but he couldn’t locate William either. A bad
feeling crept into his heart then, and he began to run as fast as his tired,
injured body would allow. “Follow me,” he yelled at the King. “And hurry!”

Merlin
ran to where he’d started his fight with the witch, frantically searching for
what he knew should be there. And then he spotted something lying in the grass.
With his heart thudding in his chest from the exertion, he raced over and
skidded to a stop, not believing what his eyes were seeing.

“Oh
my God!” he screamed, his eyes following a set of male-sized boot prints in the
mud leading in the direction of the city street.

Morgana’s
small umbrella lay in the grass beside Merlin’s feet.

The
Holy Grail was gone.

Chapter

19

Where could someone like
William Hare hope to run that he wouldn’t be found? Where could he hide? He was
one of history’s most notorious criminals: the lazy husband who’d become the
grave robber, who’d become a ruthless killer, who’d sold his partner’s soul to
the devil to buy his own freedom. How could he possibly have taken the Grail
knowing the struggle between good and evil that it represented? It was almost
inconceivable that after the magical battle he’d bore witness to, he still
hadn’t learned his lesson that crime didn’t pay. Was he flat out crazy or just plain
stupid and filled with greed, knowing the carpenter’s cup was worth a fortune
to the right bidder? Even so, there was a huge difference between something
worth a mountain of money—enough to live his life in the lap of luxury—and
something that was truly
priceless
. No dollar amount could ever be
placed on the golden chalice, and no amount of wishful thinking and misguided hope
could ever prevent William from eventually being caught.

Knowing Merlin
would be coming after him, and having already decided he had to flee Edinburgh
before a lynch mob got their hands on him, William made his way to the biggest
city he knew—London, England—hoping to become lost in the vast throngs of
people there. Only in a new city, in a new country where no one would know who
he was or what he’d done, could he hope to become invisible. That was what he
was counting on anyway, when he rented a small flat above a brothel in the
seedy area of town known as Whitechapel. The poor working-class slum reminded
him of Westport back in Edinburgh and he felt right at home amid the hookers
and the drunks and the con artists who lived and plied their trades there.

In short,
William fit right in…

*   *   *

For two full
weeks Hare actually thought he’d made a clean getaway, holed up in his pigsty
of a room, not daring to go outside for a pint at the pub or call a floozy up
to join him for the night in fear someone would recognize him or worse yet, try
to steal the Grail. His first clue that he’d been found was when he heard a
flutter of powerful wings on the edge of sleep, and woke to find the great
Snowy Owl perched on his window sill, silently watching his every move. The
bird flew away before he could leap from his covers but it didn’t matter—William
knew the gig was up.

Dammit all to
Hell!
William thought, his heart suddenly trip hammering with fear inside his
ribcage, urging him to run, but he was too afraid to move. “I’ve got to get
away,” he said out loud, hoping hearing the sound of his own voice would stir
him into taking action. He had to at least try, right? But where could he go?
Panic induced thoughts of Ireland or even America filled his head;
anywhere
in the world a better hiding place for him than here in—

The door to his
hovel suddenly burst open, Merlin storming into the room looking far bigger and
nastier than William could remember. The Magician was dressed head to toe in
mud-splattered black clothing, his hair and beard a tangled mess from being on
the road for so long. The wizard’s mouth was pulled tight with rage, his eyes literally
burning with hellfire in the darkened room. Knowing full well he was in a dire situation,
William immediately dropped to his knees and began to beg for his life, a large
part of him knowing he was probably wasting his breath.

“I’m sorry,
Merlin, please…forgive me. I didn’t know what I was doing. You have to believe
me. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Where is it?”
the wizard said, pointing an accusing finger toward William’s chest. “No more
games. Lie to me now at your peril!”

William had no
intention of lying.

“I have it,
and it’s safe as can be. I never even thought about—”

“
Where is
it, thief?
” Merlin screamed, his voice thunderously loud in the small
enclosed space.

William scurried
off his knees over to the wooden drawer beside his bed. “It’s here, sir! Right
here…safe as houses just like I said.” William dug the Grail out of the drawer
where he’d been storing it since arriving here in London, and handed it over to
the angry wizard with a hopeful smile plastered on his filthy unshaven face.

Merlin
examined the Grail for a moment, making sure it was undamaged, and then turned
his burning eyes back onto William. He said one word to the thief and it was
the last word he’d hear before his eyes rolled back into his head and he
dropped to the floor unconscious. The Magician waved his hand and said,
“Sleep!”

And so William
did.

*   *   *

When next
William woke, he found himself squeezed into a tight place that smelled of oil,
earth, and wood. He was surprised to find that he was outside somewhere and
that it was unusually dark and quiet for the middle of a large city. His
surprise turned to fear when he realized he was lying inside a wooden box, a
makeshift casket of some sort. He tried to move his arms and sit up only to
find that he couldn’t move a single muscle on his entire body. He tried to
scream out for help, but even his voice had been stolen from him for the time
being. All he could do was lie there in this claustrophobic place, staring
straight up into the smog and star-filled night sky.

And then
Merlin stepped into his view.

“Ah…there you
are. Nice of you to rejoin the land of the living. Thought I’d lost you there
for a minute. You’ve been asleep several hours already.”

The Magician
was speaking quietly and seemed to be in a much better mood than when he’d
kicked down William’s door earlier tonight. There was even a hint of a smile
touching the corners of the wizard’s mouth but for some reason his newfound
mirth made William even more afraid of the magician than when he’d been
screaming.

William tried
to speak, tried to ask where he was and what Merlin was going to do to him, but
no more than a tiny incoherent mumble exited his frozen lips. He had no way of
knowing it, but his mate Billy had known exactly how he felt at this moment,
back when he’d been standing on the gallows with a rope around his neck.

“Don’t waste
your breath, William. You’re under a spell. There’s nothing you can say to save
yourself, anyway. The die’s already been cast. You’re a liar and a thief and a
murderer and a fool…and for your multiple crimes against man and your meddling
with the Grail I condemn you to this one final act of goodness that may someday
wipe away all your sins and allow your soul peace. Then again…maybe it won’t.” 

William fought
against the wizard’s spell, trying to break free from the magical bonds holding
him still and leaving him mute. Nothing he tried worked and he was left with
the horrifying fact that he was helplessly stuck in this shallow grave and at
the magician’s mercy. The only things he could control were his eyes.

“If you’re
curious, we’re still in Whitechapel, just off one of the main crossroads. It’s
a small park but I’m not sure if it even has a name. Not that it matters. Not
where you’re going.”

Merlin reached
down and grabbed something down by William’s feet. When he brought it into
view, it was clearly a thick rope running through some sort of wooden pulley
but from where Hare was lying he couldn’t tell what the other end was tied to –
until Merlin started to let out some of the slack and the box William was stuck
inside began to lower deeper into the ground.

No!
William
screamed in his mind, his eyes opening wide with fear.

“You see, King
Arthur made me promise I’d hide the Grail from the world again. Morgana’s evil
plans and to a lesser extent, even your brainless treachery convinced him – and
me – that the Carpenter’s Cup was too powerful to be left in the hands of
mankind. It needs to disappear again, to be buried deep where it will hopefully
never be found.”

The wizard let
the coffin drop another six inches but then cinched the rope off, halting its
descent. From out of his baggy jacket, Merlin produced the golden chalice and
took a moment to shine its smooth sides before bending down and placing the
Grail on William’s heaving chest. Without any effort or thought of his own,
William’s hands both crossed over his breast and cradled the carpenter’s cup to
his body. Merlin also placed a silver-colored sword into the box, laying the
blade along the side of William’s right leg.

“The Grail
needs to be hidden but it also needs to be guarded…
protected
the same as
it was last time. Unfortunately I don’t have any Templar Knight who’s willing
to sacrifice himself for the cause, but that’s where you come in, of course.
Willingly or not, your suffering will not be forgotten. Like I said…it may even
one day wash your sins clean but that’s in the Lord’s blessed hands, not mine.
If it were up to me, you’d stare at the top of this box forever!”

Merlin smiled
coldly and slid the lid of the coffin into place, banging a dozen nails into
the wood, sealing William inside. The darkness closed in on William and he
would have screamed his throat raw if he’d been able to. The coffin began to
descend again, Merlin lowering the box deep into the cold earth, so deep it
would hopefully never be disturbed again.

“Goodbye
William,” Merlin said, his voice muffled by the lid and the tunnel of dirt.
“Always remember you brought this fate upon yourself. May God have mercy on
your wretched soul.”

And then other
than the sound of dirt raining down on the lid of the coffin to fill in the
hole, William heard nothing at all. In time, perhaps he’d learn to pray for an
end to his damnation but for now he could do nothing except lay there in the
dark, staring up at the memory of a starry sky he’d never see again, and weep.

His hands
involuntarily tightened around the Holy Grail.