said, angry. “When it bites you in the ass, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I meant what I said, Bran,” the bookseller asserted once more. “We mean you no harm. But you must hear what I have to say, now, before it is too late.”
“Has this to do with the other night?” Bran asked.
Merle nodded. “I asked you to read about pre-civilized Britain. Have you done so?”
“I’ve read a bit. A lot since the other night, in fact.”
“Then you know it was ruled by Celtic tribes before Rome added them to its Empire.”
“Right,” Bran said. “Julius Caesar conquered lower England.”
“This is a mistake, Merle,” Richard interrupted.
“Richard!” Merle growled.
The knight grew quiet. He hoped once Bran had heard what the old bookseller had to say, it would scare him sufficiently to ignore whatever request Merle had up his sleeve.
Then he would find out why Merle had brought up Elizabeth.
“Julius Caesar. Just so,” Merle resumed. “And what religion did he encounter there?”
“The Celts were pagans, I think,” Bran answered. “Believed in many gods and goddesses. Kind of like Rome.”
“Very true,” Merle said. “Christianity eventually grew in Rome and spread through the empire. When that happened, the religion the Celts practiced all but disappeared overnight.”
“How does this tie in with what happened to me?”
“What you experienced the other night was real,” Merle answered. “Celtic machinations with you at their heart. You were attacked by fey creatures this world has not known, at least in a real way, for millennia.”
“That can’t be true,” Bran said. “It’s folklore.”
“Indeed,” Richard said, not sure if he wanted to laugh at or chastise the boy. “Didn’t believe your own eyes, eh?”
“All folklore has a basis of truth,” Merle said, looking at Bran with an earnestness the knight knew to be all too dangerous. “The gods and goddesses Julius Caesar encountered and fought existed—and still exist. He went there looking for riches and resources to expand the empire. In his first effort, he encountered far more than he bargained for. The Celts, with the fey Tuatha de Dannan, repelled the Roman general. The next summer he brought several battalions of his heartiest fighters, and that was the beginning of the end for the Celts and their religion.”
“But you say their gods, these fey, still exist?” Bran questioned.
“They disappeared,” Richard said.
“Not exactly,” Merle corrected. “They retreated from Roman Christian advance over the next three centuries, withdrawing deeper and deeper into the wilds of what would become Wales, Ireland, and Scotland—and, when they had nowhere left to run, from this world entirely.”
“This is all pretty hard to believe, guys,” Bran said shaking his head. “First I was attacked by a fey creature. And now you are telling me that there is a place outside this world where they exist still? Like, really exist? I’ve seen some crazy people on the streets, Merle, but right now you are officially the craziest, and you don’t even live there.”
“Is what I tell you so hard to believe?” Merle asked. “What’s important is that you were attacked. That was real enough. It was also for a reason, one we must discover.”
“How can you know it was for a reason?” Bran asked. “I’m no one.”
“Someone does not believe that, Bran.”
“Who?”
“If you’ve done enough reading, you’ll know magic heavily influenced the ancients. This world has relegated magic to unreal blasphemy, a novelty for sleight-of-hand magicians and Hollywood. As Julius Caesar and those after him discovered, magic does exist, albeit lesser now with the turn of technology, and it existed when the Celts ruled the breadth of the Isles. Part of their power relied on artifacts imbued with abilities—weapons, mirrors, brushes…you get the idea. One of these, a mirror or something like it, with extraordinary power, is owned by someone or something in Annwn—and that entity wants you dead.”
“Annwn?” Bran said incredulously. “Annwn is the Celtic name for Avalon.”
“You are more well-read than I had anticipated,” Merle said.
“So Avalon? The Avalon?” Bran asked. “The place King Arthur was taken to recover from his wounds after battling Mordred?”
“The same,” Merle said. “It’s where most of the fey traveled to flee persecution.”
“Bullshit,” Bran said. The boy peered closer at Merle. “Who are you, really? You’re obviously not a bookstore owner.”
“No games,” Richard broke in. “Just tell him.”
“Actually, I am a bookstore owner,” Merle said. “My birth name is Myrddin Emrys. I was born on the shores of northern Wales and have since been counselor and guide to those who would listen.” He paused. “Some have called me Mithranlyn, Maerlyn, and