Here, There Be Dragons

motioned for the companions to come closer to the fire. “Boy! Where are you? Ah there you are. Bring that over here. Quickly, quickly now!”
A young man—or a tall boy on the verge of manhood—appeared at the mouth of the cave on the far side of the firelight, copper pot in tow.
He was sandy-haired, dressed in simple clothes, and his face was smudged with soot, but his mouth was screwed up in an expression of determination. He may have been a servant, but it was obvious he was a good worker.
“Boy, bring the kettle—we have visitors, rare enough to be sure, but if we don’t feed them proper and true, then they’re not likely to return,” said the first witch.
“Right,” Jack whispered to Charles. “As if not feeding us would be the only reason.”
“Perhaps not the only reason,” said the second witch, who had long white hair tied neatly under a scarf and a wicked grin that indicated she could hear better than Jack gave her credit for. “But perhaps our hospitality is not what you should be seeking.”
“Uh, pleased to meet you,” said John. “And how should I address you, ah, ladies?”ra>“Now there’s a question, if ever I heard one,” said the first witch, who wore dozens of ornate necklaces and had bright eyes that flashed with intelligence. “We haven’t been asked our names since…” She scratched her head with a bird skull on a stick. “How long has it been?”
“Since he came to Avalon,” said the second witch, hooking her thumb at the knight. “Seventy, eighty years, maybe?”
“Yes,” the third witch nodded in agreement. “I remember. It was a Tuesday.”
“Today is Tuesday,” offered Jack.
“Well, that makes things easier, doesn’t it, my duck?” said the first witch. “On Tuesdays I am Ceridwen. She’s Celedriel,” Ceridwen said, gesturing at the second witch, “and she,” she continued, pointing at the sullen third witch, “is called Cul.”
“Don’t want to be Cul,” the third witch pouted. “Want to be Gwynhfar.”
“Now, Cul dear,” Ceridwen admonished. “For one thing, you could only be Gwynhfar on a Sunday, and it’s Tuesday. And for another, she left us long ago to marry that Wart fellow, so you wouldn’t be Gwynhfar anyway. Besides, one of us has to be Cul.”
“Well,” Cul grumbled, “why does it have to be me?”
“You are the youngest,” Celedriel clucked. “Can’t be a Ceridwen until you’ve been a Cul for at least another century or three.”
“This is all very confusing,” said Charles.
“I just call them all ‘milady,’” the knight offered. “I don’t think it matters which one answers you.”
Jack stepped to the fire and helped the boy lift the kettle atop the cooking stones. The boy nodded, grateful, then returned to the cave.
“Good errand boy, that Bug is,” said Ceridwen. “So glad we decided not to eat him.”
Charles couldn’t suppress a shudder. “Is that what the, er, big cauldron is for?”
“Oh, no, my dear,” said Celedriel. “Can’t put a living being in that one—not if you want to use them afterward.”
“You’re thinking of the other one, dear,” Ceridwen corrected. “The pot with the ravens and writings on it— the one that was stolen by that Maggot fellow, remember? It was just a year or three before we got our Bug.”
“Maggot,” said Cul. “Heh. Have to pay the price for that someday. That was my favorite kettle.”
“That’s just because you could keep all sorts of unusual things in it,” said Ceridwen. “Misfortune and spirits, specters and shadows.”
“Putting things into it was easy,” said Celedriel. “It was taking them out again that was hard—because once it was open, there was no telling what would escape.
“But—forgive me!” she exclaimed. “We’re neglecting our guests!”
“The chant you were singing as we approached,” Bert began. “You mentioned Paralon….”
“Paralon!” exclaimed Bug, who had been listening at the mouth of the cave. “That’s where the king lives! And his knights!”
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” grumbled Cul. “Once you get him started on knights and chivalry and whatnot, can’t shut him up for days.”
“I’m going to be a knight,” the boy stated proudly. “A real knight—not like, um, you know.”
The Green Knight scowled affectionately. “Brat.”
John smiled and tousled the young man’s hair. “I’m sure you will, Bug.”
“If miladies can spare him,” said the knight, “I would like the young squire”—Bug beamed at hearing this —“to resupply the Indigo Dragon with fresh water for its long journey to come.”
Bert began to say that they had no need of additional supplies, but the knight cut him off. “A caution is better before than after.” He turned to the boy. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
Without another word Bug took off down the path at a full run, and an odd expression of contentment came over the knight’s face. Bert gave the knight and the departing Bug a curious look, but said nothing.
The Green Knight turned back to the Morgaine. “We have come to seek your counsel,” he said.
“We’ve already given it,” said Cul. “Or weren’t you listening?”
“No hand is at the rudder in Paralon,” said Celedriel. “No human hand, at least. What was lost, must be found; what was cloven, must be mended.”
“But without the Mapmaker’s heir, all is lost,” said Ceridwen.
“Then it’s not too late,” Bert said with obvious relief. “I’ve brought John just in time.”
To this the Morgaine did not reply, but merely stared into the fire. After a moment the Green Knight motioned for the companions to leave, and they began to make their way back to the ship.
While Bert made his good-byes to the knight, John climbed aboard the Indigo Dragon and looked around for Bug. “So, Aven,” he said. “Are we all stocked up on water, then?”
Aven fixed him with a puzzled look. “Of course. Why should you ask?”
John waved it off. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
As the crew readied the ship to depart, Jack and Charles (who was somewhat more reluctant than his younger friend) took up their usual post near the cabin. Bert gave Aven a report on what had transpired with the knight and the Morgaine. Her expression darkened, but she said nothing.
“We’re not returning to London, are we?” Charles said to his companions. “We’ve been drafted, whether we like it or not.”
“I think he’s been drafted,” Jack said, referring to John. “We get to come along for the adventure. Cheer up, Charles. This could be great fun.”
“Someone’s got to be an anchor to reality here,” Charles said as the ship began to pull out of the small harbor. “It’s not that I mind falling down the rabbit hole—I just don’t want to lose sight of the door.”

The Green Knight kept his arm raised long after the Indigo Dragon had passed from sight. Eventually, he lowered it, his breathing gone quick and shallow.
“At last,” he murmured to no one in particular. “At last my duties have been dispensed. And perhaps my soul can be at peace.”
Sitting at the shore, the knight passed the final hours of his last night of service in meditation, until finally the sun began to rise. He raised his eyes to the shimmering sky of the Archipelago’s dawn and drew a deep, final breath. “Ah, my Lucie…Finally, I come to join you in that far better place, that far better rest….”
The knight’s last words faded into the mist as eddies of dust began to swirl about his limbs. Slowly, gently, his aged body began to fragment into ash as he folded in upon himself, leaving nothing but the helmet and breastplate to settle into the grass. In moments he was gone.
Part Two

The Archipelago of Dreams