And so Sir Ector adopted the baby and raised him as his own, as promised. The years passed, and Kay and Arthur grew.
It was a happy time. Childhood in the Dark Ages generally sucked for the peasantry—if you made it to your seventh birthday alive and with all of your limbs intact, you were put to work.
But Sir Ector was a knight and a nobleman—low ranking, but good enough. It meant that he had land; an assemblage of peasants that lived in something like a village and farmed said land; a nursemaid for the boys; and a modestly-sized castle that was really just a Great Hall and a pair of towers. Anywho, the point is, Kay and Arthur grew up in relative luxury.
It so happened that nursemaid came from the kingdom of Dyllwngdwyn; you can’t find Dyllwngdwyn on any maps because now it’s just a bunch of hills and farms, but it existed in what is modern-day Wales.
Now Dyllwngdwyn, like any good Welsh kingdom chilling in Briton, was down with the Faerie-kind and all the other fair folk that lived in the between world of the Faerie. Meanwhile, Kay and Arthur’s nursemaid—being a good Welsh woman—had a habit of telling tall tales of the Faerie-kind.
Arthur had a brilliant idea on one particular September day.
It was toward the end of the harvest season. All the other children of eight and almost-seven were either out in the fields, harvesting shit; or running errands in the kitchens; or helping clean Sir Ector’s kitchen in anticipation of the Harvest Festival. Kay and Arthur, at the ages of eight and almost-seven—respectively—were pages and therefore not needed in any of this. By some oversight, they had an afternoon of freedom.
“I saw a ring of mushrooms in the forest yesterday,” Arthur said.
“So?” Kay asked.
“So, what if it’s an entrance to the Faerie World?” Arthur bounced a little on his feet at the prospect.
Kay gave him a dubious look. “And?”
“And… Let’s find out if it is.”
“That’s a terrible idea, Art.”
“I’m going to find out,” Arthur said.
Against his better judgment, Kay followed his younger brother out into the forest beyond Sir Ector’s castle not twenty minutes later. He didn’t want to go—he just wanted to deliver an accurate report to Sir Ector on Arthur’s fate at the hands of whatever dark faerie lured them out there.
No, but really, you might want to get your lawn checked out.
Now, maybe you’ve seen rings of mushrooms before. Maybe you’ve heard the stories, too: they’re doors to the Faerie World or some other dimension. This is only half true—the rest of the time, it’s just lawn fungi.
To Kay’s disappointment, this mushroom ring turned out to be the former. Arthur disappeared as soon as he stepped into the ring. Rolling his eyes—and trying not to sigh too much—Kay also stepped foot into the mushroom circle.
I can’t tell you much about opening a faerie portal because the process varies depending on the time of day, alignment of the stars, and individual coffee preferences of the faerie on the other side. But you’ll know if you ever do accidentally step into a faerie portal.
Oh, man, you’ll fucking know. You’ll see an explosion of rainbow glitter and you’ll be guided by soothing songs of Tom Jones.
As soon as Kay stepped through to the other side and the final strains of “She’s a Lady” faded, he knew there was trouble.
He and Arthur stood at the edge of the Goblin Kingdom, a brown and puzzling landscape marked by twisted trees and dominated by an ugly-ass wall.
Something whimpered behind them: a goblin sat with his foot caught in a bear trap. Arthur cried out. Before Kay could stop him, he ran to the trap to try and pry it open.
The bear trap was stronger than Arthur. Resigning his own feelings on the matter—their nursemaid made it very clear that goblins weren’t the nicest creatures—Kay knelt opposite his brother. Together they pulled apart the teeth and the goblin pulled his leg free.
“Thanks, I guess,” said the goblin.
He pulled himself up to full height, allowing Kay and Arthur to get their first good look at him: he stood three and a half feet tall and shorter than Arthur. Hairy boils oozing a purplish pus covered the goblin’s face. He smelled awful; Kay compared it to cow shit left in the sun too long, but I can tell you that the stench was closer to a New Jersey train in Trenton on a Wednesday morning, full of bile and knock-off perfume. He didn’t have much hair other than a few greasy strands pulled across his fat head. He wore brown rags, except his shoes, which were leather with separated toes.
“I’m Arthur,” the younger boy said, “and this is my brother Kay.”
Kay remembered the nursemaid’s warning, and simply grunted and nodded a greeting.
“My name is Ralph.” The goblin farted. Picking at a pimple on his neck, he added, “I guess I owe you since you saved my life. How would you like to meet the Goblin King?”
