Part 6

At last, the blinding light abated and their vision cleared. Galahad, Tom, and Issun found themselves in a simple bedchamber adorned with only a bed, a table, and a water basin.

“What’s happened?” said Tom.

“I’m not sure,” Galahad answered. He turned and saw a frail old man lying in the bed. He was clad in a simple grey nightgown and his brittle fingers were clutching at a painful wound in his leg. The man’s skin and lips were bone dry and he seemed delirious.

“Water…” the old man murmured. “Someone bring me some water…”

At once, Galahad ran to the basin and grabbed a small, wooden cup. He dipped this in and brought it quickly to the man’s mouth.

“Here, drink,” he said softly. “Steady now, not all at once!”

As he drank the cool water, color returned to the man’s cheeks and his eyes became suddenly lucid. His delirium gradually passed and recognition dawned on his face.

“Galahad? Is that you, my boy?”

The knight was taken aback but a dim memory from childhood slowly came to him. The old man was wrinkled and withered but there was something vaguely familiar about him, especially now that life was returning and a mischievous twinkle had appeared in his eye. The young warrior recalled a similar figure that had sat the infant Galahad on his knee and told him stories of far off lands, daring knights, and adventure. He remembered a smiling giant of a man in whose castle he had lived before Princess Elaine took her son to meet his father, years before his childhood home had been lost in the deadly mists of the Wasteland.

“Grandfather Pelles?” Galahad asked.

“I knew you’d come back to us!” the old man declared, sitting up excitedly in the bed. “I always knew you’d be the one! Oh, you’ve done it, lad! You’ve achieved the Grail!”

Galahad looked at the wooden cup in his hand, astonished. “This is the Grail?! I—I didn’t even—I just saw you were thirsty.”

“Thirstier than you know!” Pelles said. “It’s such exquisite torture to live in a castle with the object of one’s salvation and yet be powerless to find it or use its power. I’ve led a sinful life, boy. Guarding the Grail in this hellish place was my penance and that wound in my leg never truly healed. But see now, my strength returns!”

The Fisher King leapt to his feet and bounded out of bed. Sure enough, the wound in his thigh no longer afflicted him and he could move with the same vigor and agility as a man half his age. He danced merrily over to the window and pointed with excitement.

“And through me, life returns at last to the land!”

Galahad carried the two homunculi with him and stood by Pelles’ side. Just as the old king had indicated, the darkness of the Wasteland was lifting. As the sun rose, the mists were swept away by a strong wind. Shrieks and gibbering sounds could be heard in the distance as the demons and spirits fled from the encroaching sunlight and retreated back to the abyss that spawned them. Flecks of green could be seen emerging on the formerly ruined trees and a cleansing rain had begun to fall. The Wasteland, it seemed, was no more. The Fisher King and his kingdom were healed.

* * * *

When they emerged again from the chamber, Dindrane was waiting for them. She smiled when she saw the Grail grasped in Galahad’s hand and beamed at her aged uncle, Pelles, as he strolled happily into the castle’s central hall. The Fisher King was once again dressed in his finest, a golden crown on his head and a long, flowing, fur-lined robe wrapped about his shoulders. He embraced his niece with a hearty laugh, nearly fracturing her spine with his newly returned strength and enthusiasm.

“It’s done, my girl!” he exclaimed. “We’re finally free!”

Though all their hopes had at last been fulfilled, there was sadness behind the lady’s eyes. She ushered them to a nearby table where she had set the three unconscious homunculi. They were laid out on a silken napkin, as wide and luxurious to them as a bed.

“They’re stopped breathing,” Dindrane told them. “Tom, Issun, I’m so sorry. I think you’re too late.”

“This cup has already performed miracles,” Galahad said. “Perhaps God would see fit to allow one more after all that these little marvels have accomplished.”

He stepped closer to the table, bringing the water-filled cup towards the tiny, unmoving forms. He began to tilt the Grail, hoping to get a few drops into the little people’s mouths. Galahad paused, uncertain how to proceed. At once, Tom leaped from his shoulder and onto the table.

“Not like that, lad!” he cried. “You want to drown them? Let me do it.”

Tom ran to ‘Lina’s side and opened a pouch on her belt. Carefully, he drew forth a minuscule glass phial of the sort that the princess used to store her faerie potions. As Galahad tilted the Grail, Tom dipped the phial in its waters. He brought it to each of his teammates’ lips, pouring the sacred liquid into the mouths of ‘Lina, Thumbling, and Hop.

There was no response. Their faces remained passive and pale with no visible change. Tom’s heart sank. The little knight dropped to his knees in despair. High above, the humans watched the tiny warrior with pity. Issun climbed down Galahad’s arm and stood at his friend’s side, placing a comforting hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“They fought bravely and with honor to the end, Thomas,” the samurai said. “We can ask no more of them.”

But slowly, almost unperceived, the trio began to breathe again. Hop opened his eyes first, gazing up at the enormous face of Dindrane leaning over him.

“Ma cherie,” he said weakly. “Is zis Heaven? I think it must be, for you are truly an angel.”

Dindrane and the others laughed happily as, gradually, Thumbling and ‘Lina came back to their senses as well. Filled with joy, their teammates embraced them and helped them sit up again.

“The Grail serves us all,” Galahad said quietly. “Even the littlest of us.”

* * * *

With the quest achieved, the humans and the homunculi prepared to part ways. Tom and ‘Lina filled as many phials as possible with the Grail’s waters, hoping it would be enough to heal Nimue. The League would have found it difficult to carry the sacred cup itself, even between the five of them. And already, Galahad and Dindrane were filled with high-minded plans to return the Grail to the land of Sarras, a far-off island kingdom where it had been housed by their ancestor, Joseph of Arimathea. They were planning a holy pilgrimage and hoped to use the chalice’s power to heal other lands and other wrongs.

“We must find my father and Percival and Bors,” said Galahad. “They’re still wandering the woods outside, no doubt astonished by the change in the scenery. Perhaps they would accompany us on our journey, after a stop in Camelot to tell the king of our victory, of course!”

“We wish you luck wherever you fare, Sir Galahad,” Tom told him. “And we offer you our thanks. You have truly earned your place in legend.”

“As have you, my wee friends,” the knight answered. “As have you.”

“The curse is lifted and the Grail is going home!” Pelles exclaimed with unbridled excitement. “Just as old Joseph would have wanted. Oh, this is a red-letter day, no mistake! A shame my dear wife isn’t here to see it.”

Tom looked up at the Fisher King with pity. “I’m sorry she is not, your majesty. If I might ask, when did she pass?”

“Pass?” Pelles repeated. “No, no, son, she’s very much alive. We just haven’t been on speaking terms. After so many years in this prison, she couldn’t take any more of my rants about prophecies and curses and Grails and that bloody leg of mine. She keeps her own castle a few miles down the road. A fine woman, if a bit cross at times. You should meet her someday.”

The old man’s eyes glazed over slightly and he peered off into space. “In fact,” the Fisher King continued, “methinks you will meet her. Sooner than you know.”

“Another vision, Uncle?” Dindrane said, rushing over to take the king’s arm and steady him as he stumbled.

“Mayhap it is, girl,” said Pelles thoughtfully. “Mayhap it is.”

* * * *

Through the power of Hop’s boots, the League made all haste for the Summer Country. On the shores of Glastonbury’s lake, they recited the secret words that Merlin had once taught them. The Barge of Avalon soon appeared and made landfall on the bank. Two beautiful, young priestesses in long blue robes climbed out of the small boat, looking about in bewilderment for whoever had summoned them. In the misty marshlands of the lake shore, they nearly stepped on the tiny unnoticed homunculi scurrying underfoot.

“Fine end to a quest,” Thumbling called as he leaped out of the path of a giant sandal. “We face untold danger and peril and achieve the Holy Grail itself, only to get squashed by a pair of ditzy damsels! I tell ya, that’d be just our luck!”

“Mists again!” Thumbelina complained as the foggy shore nearly doomed them. She scurried away from a priestess’ descending foot. “Always bloody mists! These lands certainly are dreary. I will relish the sight of the sun if ever we see it again.” Exasperated, she unfolded her wings and flew to the level of the priestesses’ eyes, drawing their attention.

At last, the maidens noticed the little people and scooped them excitedly into their hands. They showered them with kisses that enveloped their tiny faces when they heard the story of the League’s adventures. Hope was at last rekindled for the Lady of the Lake.

The Barge sailed back across the lake, passing through the mists into the otherworldly realm of Avalon. Once the passengers disembarked, the homunculi were carried through the small village of druids and farmers to the home of Nimue and Pelleas. It was a simple wattle-and-daub cottage with a thatched roof, not the grand structure one might expect of the High Priestess of Avalon. But the couple preferred it that way, content to serve the gods humbly and with humility.

The women brought their tiny guests to the bedroom and set them on a table beside the sleeping form of Nimue. The Lady looked pale and thin with beads of sweat dotting her lovely face. She shifted fitfully, haunted by nightmares and portents. Standing nearby, Pelleas was both bewildered and ecstatic that the miniature heroes had returned.

“I—I never hoped to see you again,” he stammered. “This is truly a wonder. You could not possibly have found the Grail?”

They showed him the infinitesimal phials of holy water. The knight’s face lit up with awe and reverence and he reached tentatively towards them, eager to test their power and save his beloved wife. Pelleas carefully took a tiny glass ampule from ‘Lina, grasping it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. He cried out with alarm as the quarter-inch beaker shattered in his grip.

“You’d better let us handle this,” ‘Lina said. “Faerie phials are delicate and not suitable the hands of bigger folk.”

“Let me administer the cure,” Tom requested.

“Are you certain, mon capitan?” asked Hop. “Nimue has never been your favorite person.”

“I have spoken ill of this lady and would redeem myself,” Tom stated. “Whatever our past history, Nimue is a friend to Camelot. And we will need as many of those as we can get, lest the terrible visions I experienced in the Wasteland come to pass.”

Once ‘Lina handed the phials over to Tom, Pelleas carried the little man to his wife’s side. He held his hand above Nimue’s face, watching with anticipation as the tiny figure stepped off onto the lady’s chin.

Tom stood uneasily before an enormous pair of lips, a position he had found himself in a surprising number of times in their adventures. Giant beauties seemed to fill many of the League’s quests, magnificent goddesses to be admired from afar or feared for their destructive power over the little folk. Where was the lady his own size to end the aching loneliness in his soul? Surely after all the League had done over these many years, he was entitled to some happiness for himself? He glanced back at Thumbelina on the bedside table. Like the others, she was waiting with bated breath to see if their efforts in the Wasteland had been in vain.

Tom shook himself from his reverie. This was no time for selfish thoughts. He was a knight of the realm and there were duties to fulfill. Tom reminded himself that the form below him was no passive landscape but a sickly woman who required his aid. Crouching, Tom took hold of the massive lips and, with some effort, pried them apart just far enough to pour the Grail’s waters inside. He uncorked the phials one by one and emptied their contents into the dark cavern.

Without warning, Nimue’s head jerked backward and she gave a horrific cry. Tom was thrown off his feet and plunged forward into the vast mouth, held wide by the lady’s feral screams. Nimue thrashed about the bed in pain and torment while the others looked on in shock. In a panic, Pelleas took hold of his wife and tried to steady or calm her enough to pull open her jaws.

“Armies mass behind the Wall!” Nimue bellowed as a new wave of madness swept over her. Her words were garbled by the small form of Tom rolling about on her tongue. “The lovers shall face a joyous retribution!”

“Nimue, stop!” Pelleas cried desperately. “You’ll kill him!”

Inside the lady’s maw, Tom was thrown this way and that. Huge, pearly teeth snapped on either side of him, nearly claiming his limbs. His skin and clothes were drenched with spittle and he choked as it filled his own mouth and nostrils. Nimue’s ravings echoed in his ears, almost deafening him with their tremendous volume and intensity. A lurch of the tongue suddenly sent him tumbling to the back of her mouth. Tom plunged head over heels into the foreboding gullet and began a free-fall. After a moment, he lodged in the priestess’s throat like a piece of un-chewed bread, caught in the vice-like grip of powerful muscles. The slick walls contracted painfully about him as the madwoman tried to swallow.

“This is it then,” he thought. “The quest is achieved, my labors are done. No happy endings for Thomas Thumb. I die in the service of Britain, as I always knew I would. So be it. You took my maker, Nimue. Take me now as well!”

The walls of muscle lurched once more with a tremendous, thunderous cough. Tom felt his world upended and a light nearly as blinding as the Grail-chamber pierced his sight. He blinked dumbly. Cloudy vision slowly returned and he looked up into the cliff-like contours of a face. The bright green eyes of the Lady of Avalon peered down at him.

“What’s this now?” Nimue said, eying the little being in her hand. “Am I to expel knights like a cursed fairy tale maiden coughing up toads and snakes?”

“Nimue?” Pelleas said cautiously. He placed a hand on her shoulder, expecting her to flinch from his touch. She remained still for a moment then threw herself into his arms, cupping Tom carefully in one hand.

“I have had an evil dream, Pelleas,” she muttered. “But I…I think it has passed now. I am myself again, though I know not how.”

“We have these little champions, these wondrous miracle-workers to thank for that!” he told her. “They have healed you, my love, with the Grail’s own waters!”

Nimue broke the embrace and stared in astonishment at the figure in her palm and the others gathered on the table.

“Of this deed I would hear more,” the priestess said, “for they have my gratitude and admiration. But I fear it was not a moment too soon. I am seeing clearly for the first time in months and I must prepare.”

“Prepare?” asked Pelleas. “Beloved, you’ve only just returned to us! What must you prepare for?”

“The Day of Destiny,” Nimue answered grimly. “Pelleas, it’s almost here!”

* * * *

That night, the League was given a separate chamber in the cottage in which to rest and recuperate from their adventures. Hop, Issun, and Thumbling were at Avalon’s dining hall, sharing a celebratory meal with the druids, priestesses, and the newly restored Lady of the Lake and family. Tom and ‘Lina had remained behind to discuss where the team would go from here.

“Tom, I must speak with you,” ‘Lina said. There was urgency in her voice but hesitance on her face. The two emotions seemed at war within her.

“I know what you would say, ‘Lina, and I agree,” answered Tom, pacing back and forth. “We should not be here. If the prophecy we’ve dreaded all these years is finally coming true, we should be at Arthur’s side! We have come through many dangers, yes, but there is no time to be idle among Avalon’s comforts!”

“That’s not what I was going to say at all,” the little princess told him. “When I was asleep in Castle Corbenic under the Wasteland’s spell…I…heard you whispering to me.”

Tom froze in mid-step but did not turn to face her.

“I could hear you, Tom, as if I was hovering between the sleeping and waking worlds,” ‘Lina continued. “I heard you confess…how you feel about me.”

“’Lina, I—” stammered Tom.

“No, let me finish,” she insisted. “There is more to say. I haven’t told you or the others what I experienced during my challenge. I saw my husband in the arms of another woman.”

“Delusions and phantoms,” Tom said. “Cornu loves you.”

“Illusion it might have been but there was truth in it,” she continued. “These last few years have been difficult for Cornu and me. I’m constantly dividing my time between Britain and the Danmark, between my life and adventures here and my responsibilities at home. Cornu dearly wishes for a child, an heir, but I…I cannot give it to him. We’ve tried many times without success. Perhaps one of us is barren or our species are simply incompatible—a homunculus and a fae trying vainly to reproduce. Whatever the case, we have grown distant from each other. Cold, like strangers.”

She stepped in front of Tom, gently taking his hand. “Throughout it all, one thought has haunted me. There is one person who has always been there for me, who has always understood me and…loved me. I couldn’t see it at first. I feel like I’ve been blind all these years. Tom, can you ever forgive me?”

‘Lina suddenly leaned in close and kissed him. Tom melted into the kiss, closing his eyes and savoring a moment he had longed for these many years. But his chivalrous training and sense of honor was too strong. He pulled away in shame and tried to push her back.

“No, ‘Lina,” he said. “We can’t do this. Your husband is a good man.”

“So are you,” ‘Lina answered. “After all we’ve been through together, all we’ve done for this kingdom, do we not deserve a little happiness for ourselves?”

Tom resisted but his will was failing. He could not deny that his heart desired this. He had pined for an unattainable woman for well over a decade now and all the quests and glories of the League’s adventures could not fill the emptiness within him. Slowly, ‘Lina drew him towards one of the miniature doll-beds that the women of Avalon had prepared for their tiny guests.

“The victory feast won’t be over for hours,” she whispered, running her fingers through Tom’s dark hair. “No one need know.”

Tom broke at last and fell into ‘Lina’s arms. Both little people collapsed onto the bed, kissing passionately and pulling off their garments with shy, guilty laughter. Outside in the dining hall, the people of Avalon celebrated and feasted while their High Priestess sat pensively at the head of the table. The Grail quest was over but the darkness had not yet passed.

To be continued...