Galahad

By Grant Piercy

Once upon a time, a knight of perfect virtue rode forth from Camelot to quest for the Holy Grail. Plagued by wondrous visions and hounded by shadowy villains, the legendary Sir Galahad continues his quest, awakening in a car outside an office building where he has an appointment with his destiny...

Few legends tell of Sir Galahad’s agony and ecstasy, because the perfect knight needed to be perfect to achieve the object of his quest. In this fantastic tale, Grant Piercy explores the existential pursuit of meaning in a meaningless world through the eyes of the famed knight now forced to view his reflection in an endless hall of mirrors.

Beside Sir Galahad ride the brusque Sir Bors, a giant of a man, and the lithe Sir Percival, who hides much behind a hooded cloak. All the while, they are followed by the murderous Mordred, who has designs on the kingdom all his own.

Piercy weaves multiple forms into the legend of Camelot and the Grail, intercutting chapters with imaginative “visions” of other stories united by their reflection of the hero.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grant Piercy
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005871710

Grant Piercy

Grant Piercy is the author of THE ERASED SAGA and I AM MERCURY. He lives with his family in Columbus, Ohio.

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Copyright © 2022 Grant Piercy

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any form.

Cover art by Mallory Dorn. Find more of her work a t Sanrixian’s Swag Shop and follow her on Twitter: @Sanrixian

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This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations and products depicted herein are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

For Ian.

Table of Contents

Act One: Sir Galahad of the Order

What Happens After Today

Gatekeepers

Siege

Fathers

Last

For Yourself

The World to Be

Attend the Quest

Act Two: In the Valley of the Shadow

The Inn at Abbotset

Speaking in Heresies

To What End

Dark Places

Pyre

Open Secrets

We Know You Well

Act Three: The Holy Grail

The Wounded Lord

Not of This World

Cold Comfort

A Prisoner Like You

No Magicks or Miracles

I Sought Meaning

A Powerful Resistance

Something Is Near

It Matters Not

He Would Only Speak Truth

Fool’s Errand

Epilogue: What Had Been

About the Author

Act One: Sir Galahad of the Order

1. What Happens After Today

He would run and play in the field beyond the monastery, slashing the summer wind with his wooden sword. The Order were strict in their habits, but none could prevent the playfulness of a child, especially one prone to bouts of deep solemnity such as Galahad. The poor orphan boy was mainly the charge of Brother Cambell, who let the boy frolic when he completed his chores and his scripture. Galahad was the only child entrusted to the Order, and he’d been there since infancy. Brother Cambell thought of him as a son, pitying him while loving him deeply. For much of the boy’s youth he’d been sickly, so when a flight of fancy with wooden swords and shields accompanied a desire to run through the tall grass, Cambell couldn’t begrudge Galahad’s wishes.

Even the most devout monk knew there was more to life than copying the texts and keeping the chapel clean. They would sing and chant, their heavenly voices rippling like the wind along the countryside. They would debate the sacred word and the meaning of its passages. Occasionally, they would even receive travelers who would regale them with tales of Arthur and his Knights of the Round. Maybe that’s where the desire to run and cut swaths with his sword came from, those tales of legendary knights clad from head-to-toe in steel. Magic blades pulled from stones, devilish magicians casting their spells, romantic trysts between high lords and ladies. Cambell noted him taking in those tales more than once, the soft eyes above round pink cheeks staring expectantly at the travelers weaving them.

The boy suffered from the shaking sickness. He occasionally fell to the stone floor, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and would speak of strange things upon waking. The other brothers knew to keep watch of the boy, who would go away for awhile. Cambell worried he would crack his head open or chew his tongue off—they kept small wooden blocks they’d whittled all around the monastery just in case. The sickness contributed greatly to the boy’s solemnity, darkening his perspective and souring his moods. How could he possibly be a knight if he suffered from such an affliction?

But the marvelous visions he claimed to have seen after going away ! Glass palaces like castles that would open to wide marble thresholds, attendants like St. Peter sitting behind smooth wooden tables to greet guests. Streets paved with something thicker and blacker than mere cobblestone, crowded by people of all different manner and culture. Remarkable visions that Cambell and the others could only identify as heaven-sent by the Almighty Himself.   

Cambell had to keep a close eye on the poor boy, watching from a doorway as the child leapt and thrust the wooden sword into the grass near the forest. The boy knew not to venture too far beyond the field, but like any boy, would push those boundaries even knowing he shouldn’t be away from the monastery were he to fall ill.

If only he knew there were no future in those tales , Cambell thought. The work and the Word are all that matter . The boy was dutiful and literate—he read his scripture and used exquisite penmanship to copy the words from page to page, testament to testament. Thus should be the life of Galahad—quiet and peaceful, the holy books to keep him company through all his days. But Cambell knew, just from seeing the round and hopeful face that listened so intently to the travelers’ tales, that those holy books wouldn’t be enough. Still, he could not resist the sickly boy’s need to run about the field and swing that wooden sword. Cambell could not help it.

He heard the sweet hymnal from the brothers in the chapel, looking away for a mere instant. His eyes closed at the sound, his head turned back to the passageway. There was no finer sound in all the world, the choir of the Order.

The Order.

Cambell often wondered if he would need to choose between the boy and the Order. He would train Galahad to be a novice preparing to take his vows for the Order, the rest he would leave to God.

When he opened his eyes, Galahad was gone.

Cambell emerged from the doorway of the scriptorium, concern writ on his face in the sunlight. The boy must have pushed past the boundaries of the field and into the forest! He called out for Galahad, but there was no reply.

This boy... This boy.

Galahad indeed pushed into the forest after hearing a small voice, faint upon the wind. He had stopped slicing his wooden sword through the air and tall grass, hearing the quiet pleas of someone deeper in the forest. No thoughts accompanied his decision to follow the sound, just the instinct that someone needed help and perhaps he could provide it, just like those Knights of the Round. The faint voice carried softly through the brush, Anyone… please... help... someone... help me…

He didn’t notice Cambell calling from the monastery. Images of chivalric heraldry danced in the back of his mind. Knights jousting, sorcerers bewitching, lords and ladies kissing. He wasn’t supposed to think of the last one—knights were heroes, sorcerers and wizards villains sent by Satan, and kissing something the brothers didn’t discuss.

Hello? the boy called into the brush.

Yes... is someone there?

The boy ventured further toward where he thought he’d heard the voice, but no one appeared. Hello? Galahad called again.

Over here, child. The voice seemed to come from a particular thicket of branches and tree roots, tangling from the trunk of a monstrous elm. The very wood seemed alive, leaves fluttering in the summer wind.

Where are you? asked the child. He pointed the sword out in front of him as he looked around the grove.

Why, I’m right here, boy.

Galahad examined the trunk of the elm, the subtle discolorations of the bark seeming to form something in his mind. Yes, the pattern of the bark resembled a face.

Are you the tree?

Am I the tree? No, boy, it seemed to laugh. But I’m in the tree, trapped here for several turns of the moon now by mine own student. Will you help me?

If you’re in the tree, I know not how to get you out, lest I cut it open.

No, I fear that would only wound me, said the elm. Have you seen a tree bleed?

I have not, sir.

You seem very familiar, boy. Do I know you? the elm asked.

I’ve never met a tree before, sir. Not formally.

Very familiar indeed. Perhaps I knew your father.

I don’t know who my father is, sir, said the boy staring off into the distance, beyond the shady grove to the white sky beyond.

Well then, the elm replied. The boy looked back to the discolored bark that seemed to make up the trunk’s face, where he could almost see eyes, a mouth, a beard...

But who are you, sir?

Why, tales of my deeds stretch out across the land. I was the advisor to Uther Pendragon for a time, and that of his son Arthur since before he pulled the sword from the stone. Some call me Merlin, though that is not my true name, for that would be...

Merlin?! The great wizard from King Arthur’s court?

One and the same, my boy.

Oh, but... said Galahad, hesitating. For the width of a breath, he recoiled and placed his hand on the hilt of his wooden sword. Brother Cambell said that you corrupted the court through the dark arts... that you were a demon sorcerer that enthralled the king... and your corruption infected all the knights, which is why the land has been blighted.

Oh bugger Brother Cambell. He knows not of what he speaks. Certainly I may have conversed with a devil or two, but demon sorcerer is a bit of a stretch.

Galahad’s laughter filled the grove. The sound had a sort of music to it that heartened the spirit trapped in the old tree. I remember when Arthur used to laugh like that, said the elm in reverie. The boy swore he even heard a snicker from the wood, though that may have been branches rustling in the wind. I take it there must be a monastery nearby if you know a brother.

Indeed there is.

Any castles or towns?

Corbenec isn’t far.

The elm repeated the name, Corbenec, Corbenec. That name sounds familiar. I can recall most of the great Knights o’ the Round stories, and I’m fairly sure that one of the greatest occurred there. One of them had fallen for a woman—oh what was her name? Ygraine? Ilsayne? Elaine?

That last utterance cut into the boy’s heart leaving a gaping wound that no worldly elixir could heal. Elaine was my mother’s name, he replied.

Then yes, I must have known your father. Though I don’t recall any stories of a bastard born out of wedlock.

Brother Cambell says we shouldn’t use that word.

What? Bastard? No, I suppose not. Monks tend to frown upon such unions. And as for the knight, it doesn’t fit in with the code of chivalry either. Surely no such story would be shared at court. And Guinevere wouldn’t hear of it.

Do you know of my father, sir? Do you know who he is?

The knight who ventured to Corbenec and loved a lady named Elaine was Lancelot du Lac. He’d crossed the sea from Gaul before coming to court. One of Arthur’s fiercest allies and best friends. He ingratiated himself to the Queen and fought in her honor often.

Galahad found that he could hardly breathe, the shock of hearing his father’s name in anything but the most legendary stories. Travelers spoke of him with such admiration, as though he were the greatest fighter to ever wield a sword. The reason he’d ingratiated himself to the Queen, as the elm had mentioned, was through rescuing her from a kidnapping, if the tales were true. There had been another such story of Lancelot routing a number of archers that bore down on him as he sought to relieve several knights from the villainous Turquine. They say he wore armor the color of pale milk glass and wielded a sword of the same unique metal so that he appeared as if from heaven. The White Knight they called him.

That’s not... that couldn’t be, said the boy.

And why not? He’s a man, just as any other man. He has the same failings of the flesh, just as you will some day.

Not I, Galahad answered sadly. I’ll live out my days at the monastery, just as Brother Cambell intends.

Oh pshaw, said the tree. Fuck that stuffy monk.

Galahad gasped at the tree’s cursed sentiment. I can’t say or hear words like that.

You should hear how your father talks. They say he goes mad on the battlefield. He rages and tears through his enemies, cursing and howling! I saw it from a fair distance in the olden days, but never up close. In the brawls and the tourneys... it was all in good fun there, but on the field of battle, for Arthur and Camelot? Holy shit—he’d slay twenty, thirty men all by himself, ripping through them as though they wore paper armor. Battle fever they’d call it. That white sword of his, drenched in the blood of Arthur’s enemies...

Stop, said the boy. Please. I don’t want to hear about that. Galahad looked at his meager wooden sword he so enjoyed slicing through the air.

That’s the purpose of knights, boy. Soldiers for king, God, and country.

What of you, sorcerer? Master of dark arts and devilry. How did you serve Arthur?

If a tree could sigh deeply, this one would have, as though a gust of wind passed through the leaves on its haggard branches. I was just an advisor. I advised his father, and then when the time came and the boy wanted to pull that damnable sword from its stone, I became a teacher. He was just a poor peasant then—he didn’t know math or grammar. He needed to know how to act courtly. Same as you, I’d imagine, if you plan to wield that sword in his service someday.

No, I’ll... I’ll take the vows, just as Brother Cambell intends.

Will you now? You don’t plan to seek out your father?

N-no, the boy answered. Why would I?

For your mother. To find out why he abandoned her. I assume, if you’re a ward of the monastery, that your mother left you there or she died. Which is it then, boy?

Galahad sighed deeply. My mother died when I was very young. She entrusted me to the Order and Brother Cambell. I do not wish to betray that faith.

The elm did not respond. A wind flourished through the leaves, branches bending and twisting against the surprising force of its gust. As it died down and the wind began to calm, Merlin asked, What’s your name, boy?

I am known as Galahad, he replied.

Yes! I knew I knew you! exclaimed the tree. You’re the Grail knight!

What?

The greatest of all knights, the one who achieves the Holy Grail in Arthur’s name! You have a great purpose, son! You will fulfill the destiny and the promise of Camelot! Not only will you become a knight and leave this place, but you will become the best of them, my boy.

Another gust of wind picked up, rippling through the leaves.

How can you know that? Did some devil tell you?

"I’ll tell you a secret, lad, one that no one knows. Do you know what time is, boy? The future? The boy nodded, and the elm continued, The future is what happens after today. It is tomorrow, and the next day, and therever after. Many, many days and years from now, in the distant future, I will be born. I know what will come to pass because I have read all the stories, including yours. I ventured into the deep past to meet Arthur and his many Knights, to witness their many tales with mine own eyes. I did not know that I was Merlin until I acted as Merlin."

That’s... that’s impossible.

Only to the narrow-minded, boy. Are you narrow-minded?

I don’t think I am, he responded.

I didn’t think so. After all, you’re speaking to a tree. The impossible stands before you, conversing with you. You cut the wind with your sword, boy, and it bleeds.

But I can’t be a knight. I have the shaking sickness.

The elm once again paused before offering his response. Why, I can help you with that. There is a root in this grove. Do you know the color pink, boy? Like the sky at dusk?

I do.

The root itself is pink, which makes it easy to recognize. You’ll find it growing near damp areas in shaded forests such as this one. Chew it, but not too much of it. Too much could be deadly. Chewing only a little once a day or when you feel a seizure coming on will prevent your shaking. You will be a knight yet, and you can leave that stuffy monastery behind.



Line

Brother Cambell found the boy in the grove near the large elm tree, collapsed on the ground shaking. He cradled Galahad in his arms and carried him back through the forest to the monastery. Cambell felt solemn relief at the boy’s well-being, though Galahad remained asleep for a long time afterward. Upon waking, he tried to relay the story of the talking tree and the pink root it told him to chew to avoid shaking attacks. He said that he couldn’t find the root before a shaking spell gripped him. Cambell dismissed the story as quickly as he’d heard it, another fanciful vision like so many others the boy had experienced after going away .

It was a dream, lad, said Cambell, sighing at the boy’s bedside by candlelight.

Even if it were a dream, you’ve told me that my visions are heaven sent. Can’t I at least try the pink root? Merlin said that it would stop my shaking, that I could indeed become a knight.

Merlin, talking trees, knights. Methinks you’ve been listening to too many travelers’ tales. This one sounds less heaven sent and more like you had a simple dream.

But what if it works?

Cambell again had a hard time saying no to the boy. He’d so often humor Galahad, allowing him to frolic in the field just like today. But what comes after today? You’ll be a brother of the Order, Galahad. There’s no future in knighthood, only danger and death.

But brother... Galahad was going to share the truth he’d learned of his parentage, but Cambell was quick to stop him this time.

Enough, Galahad. We’ll speak no more of this. He reached for a small whittled block next to a candle on the boy’s bedside table. Now get some rest, and remember to keep this with you in case you feel the shaking creeping up. You’ve had a strange day.

As Cambell left the dormitory, Galahad stared at the high wooden ceiling, thinking only of a snarling knight in shimmering white armor slicing through enemies as though they were air, as though he cut the very wind itself. The boy could almost see the White Knight’s face beneath the helm.

When the rest of the monastery slept, Galahad went back to the forest with a wax candle. He ventured back into those black woods with only the dim light to guide the way. The flame flickered and danced along the wick as the boy searched for the pink root along the ground. He found the great elm again, but this time it remained silent. He searched and searched, fearing that he would spend the candle and that Cambell would find him gone from his bed.

The candle burned low when he finally found the grove the great elm had referenced. And just as Merlin predicted, pink roots sprouted from the ground, just visible in the low light. Galahad gathered as much as he could carry and wandered back to the monastery.

He would be a knight yet.

A Vision: The Mirrored Palace

Awakening, I found myself in a strange compartment, a strap running diagonal from my left shoulder to my right hip. Clear glass encased me, and directly in front of me was a wheel composed of some manner of boiled leather. Through the clear glass I saw this compartment surrounded by other, similar compartments, rows upon rows of them. They could have been horseless carriages by the look of the black wheels at the bottom of them—

-cars-

A contraption connected to the strap at my right hip, and pressing a crimson button made the strap give way. A handle on my left caused the compartment to open. Pushing against the door, I tumbled to the hard ground, which was composed of stone, my armor clanging and clamoring as I hit. The sky above was a clear, azure blue with occasional wisps of white clouds. The stone ground, like one large slab that covered everything beneath the rows upon rows of the compartments—

-cars-

—stretching in all directions, was hot to the touch.

Standing, I was able to peer over the top of the compartments or carriages or cars , and I was just beyond the shadow of a building many times the size of the monastery or perhaps even Castle Carduel. This palace seemed ornately covered in mirrors, so the sun and sky reflected from its surfaces. It wasn’t entirely mirrors though, as some blocks of stone were hewn horizontally the full length of the building.

I recognized the armor in which I was adorned, a large red cross emblazoned upon the breastplate. It was finer than my normal armor, better fitting, and made of exceptional steel, shining almost as brightly as the mirrors of the palace over yonder. I brushed off the dust from the stone ground that had sullied my raiment at the knees and elbows.

Such an ornate palace, surely the Grail...

No, how had I come to this place?

My feet, also adorned in fine boots, carried me toward the palace, its shadow falling over me as I approached. Greenery flanked a vestibule at its center where two great glass doors awaited. The geometry of this place fascinated me, all manner of rectangular panes outlined its mirrors and windows and doors. A smooth metal handle like that of a fine broadsword allowed entry into the vestibule, revealing another set of glass doors within.

Must this be heaven? Had I abandoned my earthly prison so soon?

Beyond the second doors, the floors and walls seemed to be entirely cast in marble. A black rug extended from the doors directly to a large desk, similar to those from the monastery’s scriptorium, where a woman sat expectantly.

Hello sir! Can I have your name please?

She had hair a dark and unnatural shade of crimson that framed her plain white face. Sharp eyes of brown stared uneasily at me, awaiting my response. However, her lips pursed in a grin, exuding a pleasance that I could not replicate.

Galahad, said I.

Ah yes! You’re expected.

I am?

Yes. Please have a seat and I’ll let Joy know that you’re here. She raised her left hand, gesturing toward a pair of black leather chairs flanked by small, thin trees. The cordial smile remained on her lips, but I still doubted her eyes. Was she some sort of sorceress guarding the gates of this place?

I followed her instructions and sat in one of the black leather seats to the left of her desk, saying not another word even though my mind filled with questions. What was this place? What were those cars outside? Heavenly music filled the air, a light and spacious melody beyond even the mastery of the brothers’ choir back at the monastery. The leather seat was luxuriously comfortable, maybe more than any chair I’d ever sat. My mind drifted back to the long wooden benches of the monastery’s refectory or the chairs of the dormitory. Again, the sheer luxury of this fantastic palace astounded me. This must indeed have been heaven, for no place like this could possibly exist on earth.

Galahad? She’s on her way, said the lady behind the desk.

Thank you, my lady, I replied. May I ask, why am I expected?

Why, you are to be tested, silly!

Tested?

A clicking sound echoed through the cavernous marble antechamber, stepping in time with the heavenly, melodious music permeating the air. Galahad? another woman’s voice spoke. She appeared as if from thin air, her footsteps the source of the echoing sound. "I’m Joy ," she said, extending her hand to me. Standing, I took her hand in my right and placed my left over it in a solemn greeting.

She was heavy with child, her belly extending out beyond her bosom. She wore fine raiment, the like of which I’d never seen, fitted for her body. Her clothes looked of a quality as though from lands across the sea, perhaps across the continent, maybe even from the Far East. A dark jacket, a violet blouse, and a similarly dark skirt of the same fine material.

It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joy.

That’s a unique accent you have there, said Joy. Not quite British or Scottish or Irish. Difficult to place. Where are you from?

A monastery located near Corbenec.

Are you a monk?

Alas, no. I decided not to take the vows, as I wanted to see more of the world than those delicate hills. A tree told me that I was destined to leave.

"Ha ha, that’s pretty funny! A tree told you to leave ! You’ve got quite a sense of humor, sir."

Thank you, my lady.

"Oh, you can just