“Yes, I am here to free him. How did you know this?”
Again the man struggles.
“I do not know why I know these things. All that has been constant in my mind has been you and a woman. You two have haunted me so, but comforted me as well.”
“A woman? What is her name?”
“A riddle to me. I see visions and disjointed images. Growing up, she protected me, encased me... yet it was my father that corrupted her, the same father which corrupted you. In spite of all this, she is inherent to your fate, as you have been in hers. Her love for you shall enable you to do that which none of us could accomplish. Who is she?”
“Morion...” Alastor whispers to himself.
“The last ruler of Halvard is what the Fates called her.”
“The last? Are you certain?”
“More than this I do not know, or perhaps do not remember.”
“I see.”
“There is a goodness, a holiness perhaps, in you. The sort I thought long dead. It has rekindled my hope. It has made my time here almost worth it.”
“Do not be too happy. I have done many shameful things.”
“Yet Amelia is better off now. What you have done for her has prepared a better future for us all.”
Alastor’s eyes gleam with a dark fire.
“How do you know about Amelia!?”
The armored man begins to speak, but falls forward, holding his forehead, pained, much as Alastor had done. A far off sound fills the Madness. Battle has broken out ahead.
“Go now Alastor. Eoin needs your help. My Sons intend to destroy him utterly.”
“Sons?”
“Yes,” the man laughs. “Except for Eoin, yourself and I, our ‘illustrious’ bloodline is quite lacking in quality.”
“You are Him. The Lesser! There is so much I want to ask you...”
The man looks up at Alastor, clarity filling his eyes.
“If my visions are to be trusted, we will have ample opportunity to speak together of our shared past when the time for it comes. Right now, Eoin needs you. Help me by helping him. The wolves are at the entrance, hungering, Alastor. There is no time to question yourself. Do what must be done!”
Alastor, despite wanting nothing more than to stay and talk, runs toward the battle. He glances over his shoulder, but the armored man is nowhere to be seen.
~-~~-~
Alastor runs without ceasing, never tiring. Because of this, there is no way for him to gauge how far he has gone except for the gradually increasing sounds of fighting. He comes to another cliff, overlooking a vast lowland less chaotic than the rest of the Madness. Below, a large mob of armor clad men fight with a lone man wearing brilliant silver armor. Alastor leaps down, charging unseen toward the mob.
The bloodlust returns.
The young Knight laughs fiendishly as he ploughs through them. Before they can react, Alastor slays them in droves, sending them, like the demons, back into the ground. Now closer to them, he can see that these foes are, without any dispute, former Black Knights. His ancestors. His blood. Any sentiment that might have developed is removed as he recalls the unwritten stories of the villainous acts of his forefathers.
The Black Knights take notice of Alastor’s presence and prioritize their attacks, putting most of their strength and focus on this intruder. Alastor grows annoyed by their attempts, now trying his best to cut a path through the Black Knights. Fury building, he feels the demon inside start to slip from its bindings again. He swings his blades one last time through a wall of black metal. As the foes fall to ash, Alastor is brought face to face with Eoin. Father looks upon son, horrified.
“Alastor!”
“Father!”
“No, you cannot be here. After everything I had done, all the planning! This cannot be!”
“Worry not, father. I only suffer from a temporary case of half-death, nothing more.”
They are interrupted by the attacks of more Black Knights. Father and son fight side by side, repelling the villains with ease.
“Hold fast, Alastor. They will flee when they realize they cannot best both of us!”
“I always wondered what a family reunion would be like,” Alastor sarcastically quips.
“Except we are not all here, are we?”
“No, father. We are not.”
Alastor swings his blades wide, one bracer accidently coming into contact with Eoin’s armor. A cold, searing pain rips through Alastor’s body, dropping him to his knees with a roar. Eoin turns about to aid his son, but the Knight refuses to be touched, standing by his own power.
“Alastor, what was that?”
“Nothing. Just keep fighting, father. We will not be able to leave with them following.”
“Leave? No, son. You of all people should know that leaving this place is impossible.”
Alastor and Eoin continue to fight, talking as they do so.
“Gawain says otherwise.”
“Gawain sent you?”
“Not precisely. I would be here regardless. His aims and mine just happened to coincide... and he was the one that secured your freedom.”
“Really? I look forward to returning to Halvard and thanking Gawain.”
“I hate to tell you this father, but Gawain is not in his kingdom anymore.”
They strike down more of the Black Knights. Their numbers dwindle to a trickle and finally there are no more. Father and son emerge victorious. Eoin turns to Alastor.
“Not in his kingdom? What do you mean?”
“Lucius has forced many changes in both worlds, father.”
Eoin paces, thinking, while Alastor looks around for some clue about how to leave. He looks for any familiar landmark seen in his dream.
“I am sorry, Alastor.”
For a moment, son does not hear father. When the words finally penetrate his mind, Alastor turns to Eoin.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yes I do. Had I listened to your mother, had I been as true to her as she was to I, Lucius would have never even come into being.”
“What is done is done, father. God willed it, and it is my lot to endure and triumph. No blame do I put on you,” Alastor tells his father, but deep down, son knows this to simply be a recitation of everything he had been taught. In his heart of hearts, he knows he does not believe it. He knows without question that he has never believed it.
Eoin knows not how to reply, so he simply states how he feels.
“Be that as it may, Alastor, guilt is always with me. While you might forgive me, I doubt your mother would. My betrayal of her was my greatest sin, bringing about her death which will forever haunt me.”
Alastor tries to comfort his father’s conscience, unaware of what his father has actually said, but the answer he had been searching for comes suddenly to mind.
“Father, are there any unnatural structures here? Perhaps a shrine or an altar that looks holy in nature?”
“Yes, there is. Why?”
“It is our way out.”
“How do you know this?”
“Morrigan showed me.”
“Morrigan? The Fairy Queen?”
“Queen? I do not know about that, but a Fairy she is.”
“Since when did you begin dealings with one such as her?”
Alastor looks grimly to his father.
“When Lucius subjugated Judeheim.”
“Subjugated? How could he gain control of the Council?”
“He did not. He amassed an army and took Judeheim by force. He imprisoned a majority of the people within the catacombs. Those not imprisoned he performed experiments on.”
“What sort of experiments?”
“Necrology. The result of which brought about my being here.”
Eoin falls to his knees in anguish, slamming his fists into the ground. The whole of the Madness seems to shake under his might.
“Does the evil in our blood know no bounds?”
“Father, the sooner we escape, the sooner we can
end this curse.”
“Have you found a way to kill Cain then?” Eoin asks hopefully.
“Not quite,” the Knight answers with a repressed chuckle. “Lucius has begun the process of unlocking Cain’s prison.”
Eoin smiles fatally, laughing, so hurt by this news that it has become funny.
“That I am the father of damnation and salvation is too terrible to bear. Do you know what you will do?”
“No, but based on what Gawain was saying, I think that maybe we will be given some clue once you are freed from this place. Show me to the stone altar so that we may finally take our leave.”
“That, my son, sounds like a good plan.”
Eoin stands and begins walking, Alastor following, both men silent.
For what Alastor thinks to be hours, though it could very well have been minutes or centuries, they go on, nothing said, nothing seen. The silence of the Madness becomes too empty for Alastor.
“Father... those were former Black Knights that attacked you, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why do they hate you?”
“Maybe you missed it, but they seemed to hate you more.”
“Why?”
“I would think that obvious. Both you and I are an aberration. With only a single exception, all the rest of us have been devoted only to themselves.”
“Funny. It was that ‘exception’ that told me where to find you.”
“You met Leon?” Eoin asks, stopping.
“It had to be. When the sound of you and the Black Knights fighting reached our ears, he said his ‘Sons’ intended to destroy you.”
“In all my time here, he never showed himself to me.”
“Yet he knew of you. And me. And Morion. Along with some other choice people.”
Eoin smiles and continues walking.
“What he said is for you alone. But... since you brought her up, how is little Morion?”
“Not so little, but alive in spite of her own actions.”
“Oh?”
“She nearly allowed herself to be killed more times than I care to think of now.”
“What danger can she possibly be in within Halvard?”
“She has not been in Halvard since...”
Alastor stops, not wanting to finish.
“Since when, Alastor?”
“Since Gawain was murdered, Morion fled, and I became her bodyguard.”
“Who killed him?” Eoin asks, but he knows the answer.
“Lucius.”
Eoin becomes withdrawn and emotionless.
“Then how is it that Gawain has sent you here?”
“I will leave that for him to explain. I am still perplexed by the whole series of events that led me here.”
“I understand, I think.”
“At least Lucius is living up to our family history,” Alastor muses.
“He is at that.”
Both men allow the silence to return, a welcome guest in all truth.
~-~~-~
They eventually pass through the largest of the dark sanctuaries that either has seen in the Madness, with a large coffin shaped stone at its center, standing upright. Shambling around this coffin is a woman dressed all in black silk and lace, with a veil covering her face. As father and son near her, she freezes in place as she notices them. Eoin and Alastor find her presence here more than bizarre. Eoin watches her apprehensively, but Alastor is drawn to this veiled woman.
He has no clue why.
“What are you doing here, miss?” asks Alastor.
The veiled woman tilts her head to the side, observing Alastor. Alastor cannot see through her veil, but she is clearly scrutinizing him carefully. Her head turns then to Eoin in his silver armor, then back to the black clothed Alastor.
“Waiting,” she says with the voice of one who has been crying for a lifetime.
“What for, miss?”
“My sister.”
“What makes you think your sister will be coming here?”
The veiled woman takes a step toward Alastor, reaching a hand out to him, touching his cheek gently with her fingertips.
“What is your name?” she asks.
“My name is Alastor,” he answers with a gentle voice.
She again looks to Eoin, nodding to herself it seems.
“Too soon! You do not belong here!” she says almost threateningly with a hiss. “Be gone! You have somewhere else to be, do you not!?”
Alastor can only watch as the veiled woman shambles back to the coffin. She turns back to father and son one last time, giving a shooing gesture to them, like their presence is a nuisance to her.
“Come on, Alastor. We should leave her be,” Eoin says walking up to his son. “The altar is some distance away, and I would not like to keep Gawain waiting.”
Alastor unwillingly moves away from the veiled woman. He does not know why, but he feels supremely sorry for her. His heart aches to help her, but now is not the right time... apparently. He follows his father’s lead.
~-~~-~
They travel forward without contest. The occasional lost soul they come across fleeing at the sight of them. It is an eternity before the stone altar of Alastor’s dream comes into sight. Unfortunately, it is not unguarded. Black Knights, accompanied by demons and wraiths, surround the altar and the ring of stone spires.
“Wonderful,” sighs Alastor.
“They seem to have found more Knights,” says Eoin.
“Found more? What do you mean?”
“When I first came here, to see one was rare, but when they saw me, they began to band together, united in their detest of me. When they were not fighting me, they would search for others.”
“But those are not all Black Knights, father. Demons and wraiths of the Madness are with them.”
“Which is something I have never seen. What it could mean eludes me.”
“It appears as though we have no choice but to fight through them.”
“One last obstacle before freedom? This is a fight I can actually look forward to, especially since it means I can finally fight beside my son.”
“Just make for the altar table itself. I would rather not spend forever fighting them.”
“Agreed.”
Alastor and Eoin harden their resolve and start the attack on their enemies vehemently. They separate, assaulting from two angles.
~-~~-~
Alastor finds himself guided farther away from Eoin than he would want by the evil congregation. With son separated completely from father, the wraiths and Black Knights unleash the full force of their hatred upon the Knight. The skirmishes earlier were nothing more than a means to gauge the strength of this youngest member of their household. Try as he might, Alastor slowly becomes overwhelmed; the strength of his heart no longer matching that of his blades.
The Sadness, Alastor’s own personal curse, slithers over Alastor.
Confronted by all the evil his blood has to offer, the Sadness saps his will and his hope as it has done countless times before.
~-~~-~
Eoin, meanwhile, battles with a subdued attitude. His forefathers and the denizens of the realm are nothing more than irritating flies, as they always have been. He moves through the mob like they were a swamp, but closer he comes to the altar nonetheless. It is some time before he realizes that Alastor is nowhere to be seen.
“Alastor!” he calls, but nothing except the cackling, mocking of the Black Knights does he get in return.
Eoin readies to search for his son, but a monstrous figure from his own past rises up before him, barring the way. There, with mace in one hand and blade in the other stands the Butcher of Theria himself.
“Eoin! I should have killed you when you were nothing but a thought and a speck within a peasant girl’s womb!”
Seeing his father free from Mors’ influence, Eoin rapidly is forced to come to the conclusion that whatever good he saw in his father when they were alive was nothing but a passing fantasy.
&n
bsp; “Sometimes, father, I wish you would had.”
The Butcher brings his weapons down upon Eoin. Eoin waves his arm, pushing his father’s weapons aside like they were no more threatening than switches from a tree.
“Your victory over me was a fluke, boy!” shouts the Butcher.
“Let us test that, father!”
~-~~-~
Alastor fights still, but sloppily, the swords of his enemies stuck in him. The demons and wraiths claw at him, but still he resists.
“Stop fighting us!” the Black Knights say to Alastor. “What hope do you have?”
“I... have... none,” he whispers in reply. “I never had...”
The Knight is unable to swing his blades any longer, the desire to give in too great, too strong. The Black Knights and the other foul things close in but, like a bolt of silver lightning, Eoin comes to his son’s aid. Without thinking, he grasps Alastor’s arm to pull him away, but as before, contact with Eoin’s armor causes Alastor to yell in pain and lose control of himself, falling to the ground.
“Alastor, I cannot carry you! You can only leave under your own power!”
“Then I suppose I will not be leaving...”
Not willing to even think of abandoning Alastor, Eoin does his best to keep the monsters at bay. Desperation drives him on, yet the congregation of darkness never thins out. The horde is endless. Eoin resolves to stay and fight, even if it means a lifetime longer in the Madness. When all seems to be nothing more than a stalemate, something happens that Eoin never thought possible: a blast of cold, frigid air moves through the Madness, followed by a soul rending wail.
The sound of a frightened wraith.
All fighting stops as everyone and everything turns to see the cause. The Black Knights and otherworldly things closest to the altar are violently thrown into the air. This unseen force comes nearer to Eoin and Alastor, tossing aside the Black Knights while the demons and wraiths flee in absolute terror of what is coming. Eoin stands ready to face whatever may come. Expecting to be faced by some powerful new foe, Eoin is nearly struck dumb when out emerges a raven haired girl, no older than fifteen years, wearing white.
“Eoin, brave and true, your allotted penance is at an end. Stand before the altar and you will be taken out,” the girl says to Eoin, gesturing to the path she has made.
“I will not leave my son,” he tells her firmly.
“Alastor shall follow shortly. I promise.”
Alastor looks up to see the source of this sweet, innocent voice in the midst of the Madness. He laughs to himself as he sees the girl, and all the Black Knights which stand frozen by their fear of her.
“Father... please go,” Alastor pleads gently.
The Black Knight Page 36