The Iron Chalice

by J. M. Briggs

  The idea that Emrys watched the BBC using magic nearly short-circuited Nicki’s brain. “Don’t you want to leave?” Nicki asked. She was deeply confused by how calm the dragon was after being underground for two thousand years.

  “And do what, young mage?” Emrys turned his eyes on her. “Fly out into the sky and alarm the humans? Leave the White Dragon to wake up? I was a law keeper and was entrusted with tracking him down and stopping him. That vow has not faded simply because of my circumstances here.” They all shifted uncomfortably, and Nicki was aware that the temperature in the cave had become much warmer. She desperately hoped that wasn’t a bad sign, but then Emrys shook his head and looked back to Bran. “Do you not remember?” He looked at Alex. “Do neither of you remember me?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Bran answered. “We found our way here because I had a vision of the skull and Chalice, but I didn’t see you.”

  “Dragons are not easily found,” Emrys half-growled with a chuckle, but his amusement faded as he looked at the Chalice. “I helped Gofiben make the Chalice,” he explained in a softer voice. “After I was pulled into your world, the White Dragon got the better of me and left me for dead. As I said, we cannot truly die in your realm, and Gofiben helped me. Badb’s plague was overtaking the region; his teachers Merlin and Morgana were far away and unaware of what Badb had done, so he asked me for help.”

  “And that’s why you guard it?”

  “No, once I realized that I could not return home I carved this chamber with my magic and Gofiben and Bran’s help. I defeated the White Dragon and trapped us both inside to keep him contained. And as a result of keeping the White Dragon from destroying your world, I was not able to help Gofiben and Bran against Badb’s forces.” Emrys lowered his head and shook it sadly. “I only learned of Gofiben’s death from Galath when he brought the Chalice and Bran’s head here to hide. The Iron Chalice had already lost its power and your brother was in a rage.”

  “And you put the spell on the cave so that Alex could find it?” Nicki questioned.

  “No, Gofiben did that himself. We kept the cavern sealed when he was not here to prevent… accidents. The chiming was something he did so that he could find the entrance again. Only he could hear it.”

  “I guess the blonde and blue eyes thing was just a coincidence,” Bran said. “Or another mage had a vision of Alex finding this place one day. Gray eyes are sort of a shade of blue.”

  “But enough of the past: something is wrong now,” Emrys said. “Magic is spreading across the world once more, and you stink of distress.”

  “We need the Iron Chalice, but it isn’t working,” Alex explained nervously. “I even tried using my blood, but I couldn’t restore its power. Did Galath tell you anything?”

  “Your brother told me only that Badb was dead and there was still no sign of Merlin or Morgana. He was very angry with them, and I believe he blamed them for Gofiben’s death. He used Gofiben’s blood to enter this cavern and asked for permission to leave the skull and Chalice here. That was the last time a human has been in here.”

  “Why the skull? The Chalice sure, but why the skull?” Bran looked over at the skull with a morbid, but curious expression.

  “Bran had requested it: Galath did not know the reason, but he followed his wishes.”

  “So you don’t know how to restore the Chalice?” Alex stepped towards Emrys. “You helped make it.”

  “I do not know,” Emrys informed her sadly. “I long assumed that Gofiben’s reincarnation would be able to use it. My old friend, you are so changed and yet…” Emrys sighed and examined Alex as Nicki hung back, trying not to be alarmed at the sight of Alex right in front of the nose and mouth of a dragon. “You still lack faith, even after all these years. Why?”

  His question made Alex stutter, and Nicki grimaced at the defeated expression once again claiming Alex’s features. Guilt hit Nicki again and she looked away. Bran was standing by the pedestal with a thoughtful look. She wondered what was going through his head and hoped he could say something to reassure Alex. Then Bran shifted his hand and touched the skull and brushed his thumb thoughtfully over the brow of the empty eye socket.

  “Bran?” Nicki asked. She took a step closer to him. “Hey, are you okay?”

  Bran finally turned to look at her, lifting his hand off of the skull. Gasping softly, Nicki had to force herself to stay still when the skull crumbled into dust. Bran exhaled and turned his palm to inspect it. Emrys made a strange sound and shifted on his ledge, stretching out his body so he could look at Bran.

  “Bran?” Nicki’s eyes darted between him, the pile of dust and Emrys. “What happened?”

  “I’m…” Bran leaned against the pedestal with a dazed expression. “I’m…”

  “Your scent is as I remember,” Emrys declared with narrowed golden eyes as he re-examined Bran. “Do you know me now Bran?”

  “No,” Bran replied. Then he shook his head. “And yes. I… it’s like a dream, but yes.”

  “What?” Nicki demanded, reaching towards Bran while Emrys chuckled.

  Then the dragon threw back his head, carving deep gashes in the stone as he laughed. The cavern shook around them and Alex tumbled back from the ledge, falling on the ground. Bran grabbed the Chalice and pulled it close to his chest while Nicki dropped to the ground to avoid falling the wrong direction. Gripping Alex’s shoulder, she looked over at Bran and watched the confused, but stern expression on his face.

  “Emrys!” Alex shouted, her voice barely heard in the dim. “Emrys!”

  The laughing eased and the dragon shifted his head, catching his horns on the deep grooves he’d carved, forcing him to duck his head down. Nicki watched the movement with an odd blend of amusement and irritation growing in her chest. This dragon had clearly gone insane due to his isolation, television or not. But after two thousand years television in the last 60 years had probably been far too late.

  “I just realized something amusing; I am sorry if I frightened you,” Emrys apologized. He settled on his ledge again with a slight smile. “But I remember now something Gofiben told me after I discovered that I could not properly die; the soul is stored in the head.”

  Nicki looked at Alex in confusion, but she only managed a weak shrug of bewilderment while Bran looked thoughtful. He turned towards Alex and appeared to be pondering something before he turned back to Emrys.

  “You think I regained my… I won’t say memories because that’s not accurate, but... awareness because I touched the skull?”

  “You now remember me, she does not,” Emrys pointed out with a shrug. “I will not claim to know how your human souls work, but perhaps finding her previous life would be of use.”

  “Which one?” Alex asked, spreading out her hands in a helpless gesture. “I’m not even sure how many lives I have had, let alone where to find their remains.”

  “You were not the first,” Emrys said. “I do not know the details, but Gofiben was your first life. Perhaps you should start at the beginning to find the answer.”

  “Arto.” Alex’s expression was strange, thoughtful and disappointed at the same time. “He was the first Iron Soul.”

  “And perhaps a part of you lingers with him still.” Emrys sniffed at the air. “You are the Iron Soul, but you are… lacking something.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Alex looked over at the Iron Chalice that Bran was still holding close.

  “Your brother loved you very much,” Emrys told her. “But he allowed his grief and anger to color his actions. Never in two thousand years have Merlin or Morgana come here seeking the Iron Chalice. I am aware of many of the modern stories surrounding you, and I find it ironic that your warrior brother Galath is remembered as Galahad who found the Grail, while in truth it was he who hid the Chalice beyond the reach of anyone save the Iron Soul.”

  “He never told Merlin or Morgana where it was,” Alex admitted as she climbed to her feet and rubbed her arm self-consciously. “We only found you t
hanks to old myths and Bran’s visions.”

  “And perhaps that is the answer to why Bran asked to have his skull left here; to provide a link for those that followed into the past.”

  “‘Does sound like something that you would do,” Nicki told Bran with a weak smile; to her relief, he chuckled.

  “Then take the Chalice with you. The winter solstice approaches and you may find what you need on that night.”

  “It’s our best chance,” Bran agreed. “Morgana and Merlin can tell us where to find Arto’s remains and hopefully that will give Alex the boost she needs.”

  “And if it doesn’t?” Alex asked.

  Nicki flinched at Alex’s question and shared a helpless look with Bran while Emrys watched Alex with a displeased look. “What is your name in this life?” Emrys suddenly asked. “I did not think to ask before for the names of you and your companions.”

  “Uh, this is Nicki, that’s Lance and that’s Jenny,” Alex introduced them all in a rush. “And I’m Alex.”

  “Alex,” Emrys repeated. “It means defender of mankind,” he observed calmly as he stretched out his wings carefully and shifted on his ledge. “I can help you no further old friend. My post is here, but I wish you luck.”

  Then, before any of them could say or do anything more, Emrys slipped off his ledge and allowed himself to fall into the darkness. They could hear the flapping of his large wings, but that too soon faded away. Nicki risked a look towards Alex’s face. She looked lost and nervous, but her lips were thin and her gray eyes were looking sharply ahead. Alex stepped towards Bran and carefully took the Iron Chalice from his hands. She looked down at it for a long moment before a deep exhausted sigh escaped her. Watching in silence, Nicki waited for Alex as Bran reached out and squeezed her hand. A soft gasp escaped the young man, and he staggered to his feet. Alex gripped his arm tightly, nearly dropping the Chalice. Bran lowered his head and rested it on Alex’s shoulder while they all waited.

  “I hope that doesn’t happen every time I touch you,” Bran groaned, rubbing at his temple. “Well, the good news is I know where to go.”

  “And the bad news?” Lance asked from the tunnel as he stepped out onto the ledge and offered Bran an arm.

  “We’ve got a ways to go to get there. I saw Stonehenge.”

  24

  Birth of a Myth

  721 B.C.E. South of Mount Snowdon

  The sunrise cast warm rays over the hills and spread long shadows into the valley. Green leaves rippled in a soft breeze alongside the babbling river below. Everything seemed calm and peaceful until a loud flapping sound echoed down the valley and the trees swayed from the force of huge wings. Gofiben looked up sharply from his small fire and jumped to his feet. Behind him, a small recently built roundhouse shuddered in the gusts and the animal pelt hung over the door flapped in the wind. Raising his eyes, he grinned as the red dragon flew into view. Its right wing was no longer ripped from its battle with the White Dragon, and slowly it rose through the air. A loud laugh escaped the dragon and echoed down the valley to where their small group had made camp.

  He glanced down the valley towards the village and grimaced at how they might react to a dragon in the air again. Their attempts thus far to keep the villagers calm without Merlin and Morgana had not gone well. Frowning, Gofiben glared at the red mist he could see a hint of in the air. It was like that in almost all the villages in the west now: a veil of plague hanging over human settlements. Attempts to move never seemed to work; the plague latched onto groups of people and the villagers were too afraid to leave the perceived safety of their homes.

  The sound of someone behind him drew his attention and he turned around to greet them. His brother was dressed in a heavy tunic with a fur draped across his cloak despite the warming weather. His axe was strapped to his back and Gofiben noted the extra dagger secured in his boot. Galath was frowning at the rising sun and the glimmer of red dancing through the sky.

  “Galath,” he greeted with a smile, but his brother went back to looking towards the mountain with a frown.

  “So the dragon is flying again.” His voice was tight as a flash of red appeared above the trees and then dove out of sight.

  “Yeah, he went out today to check the area.” Gofiben tentatively looked towards his brother. “You don’t like him, do you?”

  “I wish that beast had died when it collapsed,” Galath half growled. “I don’t wish to be cruel, but something like that, something of that size is a danger.”

  “He hasn’t harmed any of us,” Gofiben protested. “And besides,” he added in a lower voice. “He can’t die.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?” Galath gave him a sharp look. “The way he keeps coming right back, the way his injuries keep healing?”

  “Of course it does,” Gofiben said. His stomach turned at the memory of watching the dragon’s flesh slowly knit itself back together. “But he can’t help it, and trying to kill him would only make him our enemy,” he added weakly, moving his hands and clenching his fist in an attempt to steady himself.

  “You keep toying with your hands,” Galath observed, turning his brown eyes to him. His expression softened and he sighed. “You miss your forge don’t you?”

  “Feels like years since I worked iron,” he admitted. Gofiben slumped down on the pelt covered stone that was serving at his seat. “I do miss it.”

  “Still no news from Morgana or Merlin?”

  “No,” Gofiben sighed, knowing that Galath had already known the answer. “I wish I knew where they went. That… water tunnel was terrifying, but they didn’t seem that worried.”

  “In theory, they have encountered such things before,” Galath pointed out before he too sighed and sat down. “I confess that I’m grateful they didn’t take you with them.”

  “Do you regret coming with us?” Gofiben asked, forcing the words out. “I mean… you don’t like Morgana or Merlin, and you don’t have magic so you usually get stuck hunting or patrolling the area-”

  “You’re my brother,” Galath cut in with a small smile, reaching over and clapping him on the shoulder. “With mother and father gone it’s just us, and I consider it my responsibility to take care of you.”

  “I’m hardly a child.”

  “No, but you left your village, your home, and your livelihood to travel with a pair of mages that you still barely know,” Galath countered. “What did you expect me to do? Morgana knows that’s why I’m here; at least, she did.” Galath muttered something under his breath. “How long are we going to stay here? It’s been two weeks since they vanished. We’ve built a shelter for goodness sake. Doesn’t it make more sense to go back to the village like Morgana said?”

  “I’m worried about the dragon,” Gofiben admitted with a shrug. “He’s out of place here. When he first came through… I thought it was dead and then the white one took off.”

  “It’s better now, and it isn’t your responsibility.”

  “I’m a mage and he isn’t from this world; that makes it my responsibility. And he’s not that bad.”

  “How much have you been talking with that thing?” Galath questioned with a tense look.

  “Not often,” Gofiben rushed to assure him. “But I mean when it started breathing again and opened its eyes… what else was I supposed to do?”

  “Hit it with a rock in the head,” Galath answered bluntly.

  “Hitting things is more your skill set.”

  “And trying to make them or fix them is yours,” Galath countered with a pointed look towards the dragon. “What do you really think is going to come of this?”

  “I don’t know,” Gofiben replied with a weak sigh. “But he can’t die and his injuries have healed. You didn’t see him Galath. He died and then just came back again over and over until the wounds from his fight with the White Dragon healed. It was horrible.”

  Gofiben shivered and focused on a tree on the other side of the river. The memory of the red dragon collapsing was so very clear. He’d
crept up to the thing with Bran, motivated by curiosity, once he was certain it was dead. There’d been long slices in its hide and its right wing had been in shreds with rocks crushing its side. Yet it had suddenly stirred and awoken with a pained groan only to die once again in only a few moments.

  Each time it woke up, it stayed alive a little longer. Four days later it managed to speak, its words sounding odd and strange until he’d summoned his own magic and begged it to help him understand. The dragon hadn’t spoken long and had released a pained cry at the news that the White Dragon was gone. It had tried to stand and fly, only to die a short time later with a terrible, pained scream.