With a life all its own, the sword carried by the armored figure pierces the doppelganger, but it does not kill him. Rather the armor becomes like tendrils, latching on to him. He falls to his knees, crying out in anguish. The being that had been covered by the armor grows and changes as the armor slips away from it. It becomes a creature of shadow, blood and brimstone. The hellish creature pulls its sword from the doppelganger. Alastor tries to call out to his shadowy self, but nothing comes from his mouth. The doppelganger falls to its hands, looking directly into Alastor’s eyes, reaching out with its right hand toward him.
The demon laughs at its prey, thrusting the sword into the doppelganger again, killing him, his silver lifeblood ebbing out. The demon takes its weapon back with an evil cackle. The demon steps over the body, heading directly toward Alastor now. Alastor balls his hands into fists, baring his teeth, preparing for a fight. The demon now stands but a foot from Alastor; Alastor looks into its eyes, the demon into his. The demon laughs a deep, dark laugh, passing by Alastor.
Alastor instinctively tries to move and, to his amazement, he does. His feet are no longer bound. He leaps at the demon, striking it in the back. The demon wheels about, swatting Alastor like a pest. The blow is vicious, knocking Alastor to the ground, but the ground has ceased to exist.
He plummets into darkness, descending into the very heart-center of the earth itself. The darkness eventually gives way to an orange glow, coupled with the disgusting smell of sulfur. Alastor lands hard upon sharp rocks, barely avoiding being impaled. Getting to his feet, Alastor reluctantly comes to understand that he has landed in the one landscape no man wishes ever to see. Fire dances from fissures in the dead and rocky ground, sharp spires of stone protrude upward appearing as splintered ribs, all the while the sickly smell of burning flesh hangs. Alastor has no choice but to traverse this Hellscape. He has no choice but to endure what may come.
He detects no living thing, nor any dead thing. Miles and miles he travels until, at last, he collapses, falling flat on his face. Lifting his head at the beckoning of his heart after a lifetime of immobility, there he sees standing a pair of feet; pale and delicate. He continues to raise his head to find the Ice Fairy looking down at him, smiling. She reaches her hand out to help him up, which he accepts. Face to face with her, he asks.
“What is this place?”
“The Madness,” is her only answer.
The sight of her pale coldness in this place gives him a hidden hope.
“Can we escape this?” he asks.
“You can.”
With a smile and a caress of Alastor’s cheek, she begins to bound gracefully with an unreal speed toward a circle of rocks further in the interior of the realm. Alastor follows, but he lags far behind the Fairy, as though the very landscape holds him back, unwilling to part with its new occupant. The ring of rocks is visible, but feels hundreds of miles away. The Ice Fairy is already there, bathed in beautiful light, waiting. Alastor grits his teeth, putting forth all his will to overcome this Madness.
The realm responds in like kind.
The ground shatters, releasing hundreds of dark creatures, wraith-like images of former men. A cacophony of mocking voices come from the wraith-men.
“Alastor, our precious failure.”
“Brother.”
“Son.”
“Alastor the beloved savior.”
“Bastard.”
“Hero.”
The wraith-men gather together, rise up and become like a tidal wave. Alastor cannot move as the wave crashes upon him. They begin to assail Alastor, striking and clawing at him. He does his best to fight back, while still trying to get to the Fairy. The wraith-men continue to taunt him.
“Betrayer!”
“You are as damned as we!”
“Soulless monster.”
“You are us.”
“Everything will end.”
“Cursed child.”
“We are you.”
“Murderer!”
Alastor pushes through them. Their words stinging, cutting as sure as any sword.
“I am not like you!” the Knight cries.
“Lies!” the voices scream in unison. “You shall burn with us! Our curse is your curse. You cannot fight your fate.”
The wraith-men catch Alastor, pound him down, suppress him. Tired, unable to continue, he lets them take him. His mind clouds, fills with a singular thought: there is no escape. The wraith-men cheer in victory. All, that is, except one.
“Alastor, son of Eoin?” one asks.
“I... was...” he answers without thinking, without looking.
“Alastor, son of Eoin!” the same voice says with a tone of absolute authority.
“I am!” Alastor yells, thinking the wraith-man is trying to torture him.
“Son!”
Alastor looks up. His father, more man still than wraith, stands before him.
“Father,” Alastor whispers, tears welling.
Eoin takes Alastor by the shoulders.
“This is not your fate! Fight this! Take away all that we have wrought! Make it right again, Alastor.”
“How? How can I right all of this? It is too much.”
“You must try.”
At this, the wraith-men become more violent, separating Alastor and Eoin.
“Father!”
“I am so very sorry, Alastor. Forgive me.”
Alastor’s strength comes back to him, but the wraith-men are stronger still.
“Alastor!” a voice calls. Soft, feminine, but strong. The Ice Fairy has returned for him.
Alastor growls, fighting the wraith-men tooth and nail. Rising up above them, he sees again the ring of rocks, and that divine light. He rages. He runs until at last he runs through the wraith-men like they were not even there. Up ahead the Fairy holds the way open. The closer he gets to her, the more powerful the wraith-men become. She reaches out with a look of desperation. With a final surge, Alastor leaps out from the ocean of wraith-men as they claw at him, and into the arms of the Fairy. In the blink of an eye, they ascend out of the Madness.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers to him.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Alastor complies. The Ice Fairy gently kisses him on the lips.
“Can I open my eyes now?”
“When the time is right, you will.”
A lightheadedness comes over him, causing Alastor to lose track of all physical sensations. When this passes, he realizes that the Fairy is gone. He opens his eyes to a familiar sight: the castle, though it is now no more than smoking rubble amidst a burnt and decayed wasteland. Even the keep too has fallen.
Overseeing this destruction is the demon, laughing and admiring the great work he has wrought, his minions roving about, seeking what next there is to destroy. With the courage gained from his travels in the Madness, Alastor moves to battle the demon, but something else catches his attention.
From the ruins of the castle, another figure rises. He is of the same build as Alastor, but wearing a hooded, sleeveless tunic, much like the males of Mikha’el’s race wear, except that his is black. Strapped upon the back of this figure is Alastor’s very own claymore. Alastor is unable to see the face of this figure, but he can clearly see that all of his attention is on the demon, and the demon’s to this figure.
Walking out from the ruins, the figure arms himself with Alastor’s sword. The demon roars in hatred at the figure and the sword he bears, then begins attacking him. The figure avoids the demon’s attacks, moving in most inhuman ways. The demon attempts a powerful stroke, but the figure moves like a dancer, swinging his weapon to meet the demon’s. When the two swords meet, the weapon of the demon is shattered into millions of fragments. Before the demon can react, the figure flourishes his weapon and brings it down on the fell creature. The demon howls in death before it splits in half, the two parts falling to dust when they touch the ground.
The figure releases a sigh
, as one relieved. It then turns toward Alastor, apparently just made aware of him. The figure raises his sword up toward Alastor in triumph, saluting Alastor as one might salute a king. Alastor can now see that the figure is actually wearing a white, featureless mask, with only holes for his eyes and nothing more. Alastor tries to walk to this mysterious figure, but a strike of lightning blinds and deafens him.
Against his will, Alastor awakens with a start.
~-~~-~
Alastor sits up in his bed, sweat covering his body. He breathes heavily, heart pounding in his throat. Walking out onto the balcony, he goes over the dream again and again and again. Each time he recalls the events and images, the emotions build until he can do little else but yell at the world. Something he does without embarrassment.
He doubles over in internal agony, slamming his hands down upon the stone railing. Opening his eyes, he stares at the ground hundreds of feet below like one entranced by it. His eyes change, a sort of calm coming over him. He smiles insidiously.
“Who would care? Who is here to stop me? If she could, then so too can I, right?”
The dark temptation of the past fills his heart and soul. He stands up straight, eyes never moving from the point on the ground he has picked.
“Why endure anymore? It can all end now, just as she ended it all.”
Alastor raises one foot to the railing, but then a voice whispers to him, a voice with no origin. A voice familiar.
“What are you doing?”
Alastor lowers his foot, almost disappointed.
“Why do you haunt me, Fairy? What does it matter to you if I live or die?”
“My reasons are my own, child. Besides, who would your death serve?”
“Myself.”
“You lie.”
“You who skulks in the ether, whispering to me, filling my dreams with grim prophesies, has the audacity to call me a liar?”
“Look into your heart of hearts, Alastor. Is self-destruction really an option for you?”
“More than you may know, Fairy. If I am to become like those before my father, then yes. Better to end it now than become a walking nightmare. I will not condemn the innocent.”
“Kill yourself, Alastor, and you condemn them just the same.”
“There has to be someone else.”
“Give me a name, Alastor. For I know none who possess the gifts that have alone been bestowed to you. But if you happen to know a good replacement, do by all means tell me. After which, you may, with my blessing, leap to your death.”
Alastor sighs.
“There is none, we both know this.”
“If that is the case, are you still so willing to doom the innocent, corrupt the pure? Because that is what you will allow to happen.”
“How do I know I will not be the one to do it myself when all is said and done?”
“I have faith in you, Alastor. I do not believe you will become like those Knights of the past. I believe that you are intended for a far greater destiny.”
“And what if you are wrong, Fairy?”
“Then we will have both earned our places in the nightmare.”
“So be it, Fairy. So be it.”
Alastor readies to go back into his room, but the Fairy calls back.
“One last thing, Alastor.”
“Yes?”
“Morion is far stronger than she appears. Stronger than even she knows. When the time comes, she will do what is required of her.”
“I can only hope that the same will be said of me.”
Alastor returns to bed. Not long does he stay, though. Instinct tells him to go up to the Cloud Hall. Leaving his room, he closes his doors as silently as he can. Passing Morion’s room, the faint blue light coming from under the door makes him pause momentarily. He scowls at the Fairy’s handiwork then continues on. In the Cloud Hall, Mikha’el is there.
“Back so soon?” asks Alastor.
“My brother met me halfway.”
“How goes the move?”
“It is finished.”
“That was fast.”
“They had incentive to be as hasty as possible.”
“That they did, I suppose.”
Mikha’el slowly orbits the room aimlessly, deep in thought.
“Alastor, may I ask you a question, one that might be considered bold?”
“Has that ever stopped you? Ask if you will. There is no guarantee I shall answer.”
“As always. How does it feel to be close to her?”
“Her?”
“Do not pretend to not know who I speak of. My Lady, Morion.”
Alastor is struck grim and speechless. Mikha’el ponders this silence. After a moment longer, Alastor finally answers.
“I do not feel much of anything.”
“Really? She seems smitten with you. I figured that you might have...”
“No, Mikha’el,” Alastor interrupts abruptly.
“I meant no offense, Alastor.”
“I know you did not,” Alastor says apologetically. “I just do not wish to think about anyone else. After what happened, I cannot trust myself in that situation ever again.”
“You allude to a situation, yet never speak of it. What happened, Alastor?”
“Like you, I do not enjoy speaking of my failures.”
“Very well, Alastor.”
Alastor moves to his chair, and falls into it, sitting lazily.
“Now I shall ask a question of you, Mikha’el.”
“Ask, friend.”
“If I were to die, or otherwise become unable to do what is required, would you continue this fight?”
“Alastor, why the fatalistic speech?”
“Please... answer my question.”
“Your enemy is also my enemy, and has been since long before you or your father were born. Even if you were never here, this would still have been my battle. I would fight for an eternity to see its end.”
Alastor lowers his eyes and nods his head, pleased with Mikha’el’s reply.
“Mikha’el, I promise you that I shall do all in my power to bring this to the end. Unfortunately, I am but a man. Flesh and blood.”
“I understand, Alastor. I too make a similar promise, of which you have always known existed.”
Alastor stands, walking up to Mikha’el. He thrusts his right arm out. Mikha’el takes it and they shake hands.
“I must find some degree of sleep,” Alastor tells him. “The next few days will be trying for the three of us.”
Alastor returns to his room, a feeling of having got affairs in order bringing him some, though small, peace. He falls into bed, content in the belief that no dreams would come for the remainder of this night.
The Fairy had gotten her point across.
~-~~-~
Morion wakes with ease, gently and gradually. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she notices a lamp burning upon the night stand, light of soft orange filling the room. Over on the vanity, another lamp burns, beside it a silver basin of water, and clean riding clothes. Remembering the night before, she looks up to the ceiling but there is nothing special. The Queen gets out of bed, stretching and yawning, then going to the vanity to wash and dress. Finished, she ascends up to the Cloud Hall where Mikha’el already goes about his duties. Hearing her approach, he greets Morion.
“Good morning, My Lady.”
The sun has already risen, casting a golden light upon the world. It is significantly some time past dawn.
“And good morning to you, Mikha’el,” she responds. “I thank you for the fresh garments. It has been much too long since I had clean clothes.”
“It was not I, My Lady, but Alastor who set your room.”
Morion blushes a bit. Alastor was in her room. Alastor gave her clothes that fit perfectly. Alastor was watching her sleep.
“If that is the case, where is he so that I might thank him?”
“With his father, My Lady.”
“Is that why we have not left yet?”
Morion takes her now accustomed seat, right of the kingly chair, to wait for Alastor. Mikha’el places before her a plate of fruit and a mug of clean water. She smiles and bows her head in gratitude.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy it whilst you can. The only provisions we are to take is dried meat and a few water skins. Alastor has determined that the two of you must ride as light as possible.”
“As I would have expected.”
Morion eats, preparing her mind and soul for what is to come. Her thoughts invariably go back to the magical stars that helped her sleep.
“Mikha’el, have you ever met the Ice Fairy?”
“The one from Judeheim?”
“Yes.”
“Alastor has spoken of her many times, but I have never myself seen or heard her. Why do you ask?”
“I think she was here last night.”
“Was she?”
“I believe so. Last night, when I went to bed, I put my candle out not realizing that there was no window in my room. I have always dreaded the darkness. I closed my eyes, secretly wishing the darkness away. When I opened my eyes, small lights made to look like the stars over Halvard began to glow from the ceiling.”
Mikha’el ponders, making small sounds of awe and wonder.
“Yes, that sounds like something she would do, based on the stories Alastor has told me.”
“Stories? You mean that there was more than what happened with my father?”
Mikha’el realizes that he has again spoken out of place.
“Yes, My Lady. The Fairy and Alastor have had many more meetings, but the details of these you must learn from Alastor himself, time permitting.”
She has no wish for Mikha’el to betray Alastor’s confidence anymore, so this answer is agreeable to Morion. It sheds some, if only a little, light on the matter. After all, it was this Fairy that had drawn her father to Judeheim, and her father that drew Alastor. The Fairy had known well the evils that had befallen the city, but she lacked the ability to fight it herself. Alastor was for all intents and purposes the Black Knight, a fact her father, Gawain, had to have known.
In the story told to her by Alastor, she remembers in it the emphasis placed on hiding his name. Had others known his name, but not his face? Dahlia did not know him, no one did, it seemed, except for one of the Judeheim Council. What was it that Alastor had told him? ‘My father was a member of your faith, I am not.’ Eoin was a member of this faith of which the Fairy was an important sign. Morion stops thinking, unable to deduce an absolute answer. Too many pieces remain yet hidden, but at least now that feeling of powerlessness is not so strong as to make her very existence seem redundant. It is now that Alastor enters.
The Black Knight Page 17