“See to your friendships, of course,” she answers with a smile. “You will need allies, so isolating yourself from those who love you would be quite... stupid.”
“And after that?” Alastor laughs.
“An important task. Search out for one called ‘The Last Prophet.’ But, that is something we can discuss later.”
“Sounds good.”
Alastor tests the Hollow, willing his clothes to change into his riding gear, complete with a new sheathe for Charlotte’s Defiance. He looks at the tree-wall and sighs.
“Alastor?”
“I am not looking forward to traveling back through the forest from whence I came.”
“You will not have to.”
“Excuse me?”
“By taking ownership of the Hollow, it has granted you a new ability. You can travel anywhere you want, granted that you have seen where you want to go and can focus fully upon it, and no matter where you are you can return to the Hollow in like manner.”
“Is that so?” Alastor smirks. “Well, I shall be off then.” As he looks upon his mother, a thought comes to him. “Why not come with me?”
“I cannot. I am dead, remember? My time here is limited to setting you upon your new path. When you leave, I will depart as well.”
“Depart? Where to?”
“Where we shall meet again someday.”
Alastor, smiling at her answer, closes his eyes, readying to test this new form of travel, but yet another thought enters his mind, breaking his concentration. His mother can see this.
“Alastor, what is wrong?”
“You said that Lucius’ mother used witchcraft on you.”
“I did.”
“Did father know she was a witch?”
“I know what you are thinking, as I have had many, many years to think of it myself. She was a very beautiful woman, you might remember. Knowing Eoin, she would not have had to cast a spell to make him her own.”
Alastor thinks of correcting his mother, telling her that her guess as to the reason for his question was wrong, but the sadness in her eyes tells him not to. He quickly formulates a new question within the same vein as the previous.
“Do you have any idea what became of her? I saw her last when father sent Lucius and her away.”
“Where she is, I know not. But, I do know this: she is not dead.”
The bitterness in her voice is clear as crystal. She makes no effort whatsoever to mask it.
“Something I shall investigate, mother.”
“There is no need, Alastor.”
“Yes there is. Inside, I feel that I must. It is the same feeling that led me here.”
“If that is the case, then do not ignore it. Just do not seek her out if you intend to do so on my account. I will not have my son further tainted by revenge.”
Alastor bows to his mother, then wills himself to his keep. The sensation is not as strange as Alastor anticipated. A fog appears to surround him, along with winds that swirl the mists around. After only a short moment, he stands before the keep, the mists dissipating and then vanishing, just as he had seen all the times Morrigan showed up from nowhere.
The sun has started its descent from the sky, signaling that it is late in the day, but how many days since leaving Halvard, he cannot tell. There are no horses outside the keep, nor any signs of visitors, so Alastor enters his home. Instinct tells Alastor to do something before ascending to the upper most levels of the tower.
He goes first to Eoin’s crypt.
Eoin’s body is no longer encased in the crystalline coffin, but lays on the stone bed which held it up. The work done by the armor has since been broken, a thought that gives Alastor a nice sense of comfort. He carefully picks up his father, carrying the body down to the lowest level of the keep, through the secret door and into the underground grotto, still luminescent, the waters of the fall still flowing. He walks to the far end of the pool, where a lone headstone is already standing, facing the waterfall. On the stone, roughly chiseled, is written:
‘Lily, wife and mother - deserving of more than she had’
Although the grave is many years old, the solitude of the grotto has ensured that it remained undisturbed, looking as it did when it was freshly filled, and even more so since a shovel still rests beside it. Alastor gently sets down the body of Eoin a good distance away before taking up the shovel and starting a second grave beside Lily’s.
When the grave is finished, Alastor lays Eoin down in it, then covering him with the earth. Alastor throws the shovel away, staring down at the two graves.
“I will make you a headstone soon enough, father. I realize you did not think yourself worthy to be here, but I, and I think mother would agree with me, believe otherwise.”
Alastor bows his head and leaves the grotto.
Up in the Cloud Hall, it becomes clear that no one is there with him, nor has there been since all his friends left to follow him to Halvard. On the table is the book his mother told him about, set down before his chair. Just as he sits, Morrigan enters.
“How is it that you are already here?” she asks, shocked to see Alastor there.
Alastor can only smirk.
“What do you mean?”
“Mikha’el said you went north and that you would meet him some days later. There is no way you can be here before him.”
“Yet here I am. What are you doing here?” Alastor asks, ignoring her question, his smirk disappearing.
Morrigan takes this sign and asks no more about the speed with which Alastor has returned to the keep.
“I needed a quiet place to think,” Morrigan answers. “The trial is not going as well as Morion hoped.”
“Trial?”
“Yes. Not long after you left, the surviving members of the army were rounded up by the militia. The army was going to be killed then and there according to the justified punishment, but Morion decided to put them on trial for betraying and aiding in the murder of Gawain.”
“The army was right there working directly under Hector and Lucius. How could a trial be going poorly?”
“Some of them claim to have been bewitched, tricked or threatened into following Lucius. The rest, however, continually spout of their eternal loyalty to him. The problem comes from the fact that they kill themselves, or those who have recanted Lucius, at every chance they get.”
“Maybe I am missing something, but I fail to see what is wrong with that.”
“They claim to be reuniting with Lucius so that he might have his army back, so that they may eventually come back to Halvard and slaughter everyone. This scares the people, and Morion has trouble keeping the calm. She wishes you were there to help her.”
“She is more capable than she thinks.”
“It is not just that, but stories have also began to spread through the city, stories about you and the battle with Lucius. Morion tries her best to assure the people of what happened that night, but without you physically there to relate your story you are a, for lack of a better word, myth in Halvard.”
“So, their faith in Morion is tied to my revealing myself to them?”
“Somewhat. Remember, their memories of your father fighting with Gawain are faded, but still very much part of them. They never knew the truth, so they feel left in the dark where the Black Knight is concerned.”
Alastor analyzes what Morrigan has said in his mind. He opens his mouth to answer, but stops himself, looking pained to do so. He places his hand on the red book and very slowly, with all his will says:
“You can tell Her Highness that I will visit her kingdom when the time is right. No sooner, no later. Nothing will make me change my mind in this regard.”
Morrigan eyes Alastor suspiciously, taking note of how he clutches the book as though it is supporting him.
“When will that be?” she asks.
“When I have finished writing.”
Alastor’s mind screams at him, tells him, demands of him that he say noth
ing more, remembering what his mother’s spirit had told him. Though Morrigan is the least likely to face any danger for knowing what Alastor has been instructed to do, keeping even her unaware as much as possible feels like the right thing to do. Morrigan quickly asks the inevitable question.
“Writing what?”
The perception that Morrigan is seemingly unaware of both the Hollow and his meeting with his mother do not go unnoticed by him.
“Thoughts, mostly,” he lies.
“And that cannot wait until later?”
“No. One must strike whilst the iron is hot, I suppose you could say,” he tells her with a cold sarcasm.
Morrigan knows all too well a lie when she hears one. At this moment, something dies between the former Knight and the Ice Fairy.
“If that is your decision, I shall not bother you anymore,” she replies just as coldly, moving to leave.
She stops at the stairs, waiting for Alastor to call her back, but he does not. She departs in her more divine manner, blasting the Cloud Hall with a frigid wind. Alastor sighs as he stands up from the long table, taking up the red book. He descends a level, going into the keep library. He searches for ink and quills. When he finds what he is looking for, he sits at the lone table and sets to his task.
A task that he fears will hurt even more before it is finished. Before he can put ink to page one, he wipes away the tears, the result of being so heartless to one who has only tried to help him through the years. To one that has loved and cared for him like a sister.
He can only pray that, in the end, it will be justified. God willing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fate’s Bright Epilogue
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Three months have passed since the fateful night of Halvard’s uprising, the destruction of Cain and his servant-become-traitor Lucius. Halvard, under the rule of Queen Morion, slowly returns to its former glory. Those who had fled in the wake of King Gawain’s murder come home, and with the survivors of the night rebellion, as it came to be called, work hard to rebuild that which was destroyed. Morion has fully accepted her role of leadership and works diligently with the people of Halvard, often side by side in the reconstruction of buildings. She also reestablishes ties to Judeheim, itself finally coming out of its turmoil, and the two kingdoms begin an age of peace and prosperity without the threat of Cain’s evil.
On a day like many before it, Morion is aiding in the building of a row of houses when the appearance of an old friend causes all work to stop.
“Mikha’el!” Morion exclaims, seeing the winged one simply standing at the edge of the building site, smiling. She rushes to Mikha’el, the two soon embracing. She then looks around, disappointedly.
“It is only me, My Lady,” Mikha’el tells her sadly.
Morion is clearly hurt. She looks into Mikha’el’s lone eye.
“Three months, Mikha’el. He would not come for the trials when I needed him, and he could not even visit when we started the reconstruction. Why has he so forsaken me and this city?”
Mikha’el leads the Queen away from the others who have already continued working.
“Alastor is a much different man than he used to be, My Lady. He has been in deep study since the battle with his brother. Something has very deeply troubled his heart. It is like looking at Eoin again.”
“Something so troubling that he could not even come to see me once after that day? If he is so tormented, I might be able to help him!”
“It is complicated, My Lady. He holds his true thoughts back from me and even Morrigan as you know, though she still will not say what was said between them to cause their falling out.”
“Things are always complicated when Alastor is involved,” Morion says spitefully, though her eyes reflect sadness, not hatred.
“But,” Mikha’el says, his tone becoming lighter, “that is why I am here.”
“Because Alastor is complicated?”
“No, My Lady,” says Mikha’el with a chuckle. “I mean that Alastor will soon tell you himself the reason for his absence.”
Morion stops, staring at Mikha’el as if he just spoke some foreign language.
“He is going to finally come here?”
“He would like to arrive one week from today. Will you allow him?”
“Of course I will allow him! But, why a week?”
“All part of his grandiose plan, My Lady,” Mikha’el says with a smirk as he looks to the sky.
Morion follows his gaze to see the sky full of the Guardian race, swooping and diving down from above, landing in the city to astonished cries and cheers. Halvard’s old friends have come out of hiding.
“Alastor’s plan you say?” asks Morion, unable to believe what she is seeing.
“With Cain gone, and with him my people’s fears, Alastor thought that we should rekindle the oldest of alliances, between your race and mine. As such, he has sent us to help with your rebuilding so that in one week’s time, he can give his announcement to all of us, in a celebration the likes of which has not been seen in these lands in dozens of lifetimes.”
“If that is the case, you can tell him for me that he will be most welcome here.”
Mikha’el bows to the Queen, then leaps into the air, flying back to Alastor’s keep.
~-~~-~
Alastor is in the small library, sunlight from a clear, spring day outside streaming through the windows as he sits at his desk with three open books in front of him, one the red book, full of his own handwriting. He is very excitedly checking his own book, then comparing his words with those in the other two. He smiles and laughs as though some idea has been confirmed. He closes the two books, placing them on top of a rather tall pile, next to many other such piles situated around his desk.
He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. Thinking, debating, deducing. Again he laughs before resuming his writing. The book is now nearly full, only tens of pages remaining.
He stops suddenly mid-sentence.
“Why just her? Of everyone there, she had the most to gain from...” he whispers to himself, then trails off back to writing. “I miss you, Amelia...”
Moments later, Mikha’el enters the library.
“How did it fare?” Alastor asks without looking up from his book.
“Well. Very well, actually, as you said it would. The people of Halvard embraced my people as long lost brothers and sisters. Morion, however, is still most worried about you.”
“Which she should not be.”
“Yet worry she does. She wonders why, in all this time, you have not gone to see her once.”
Alastor looks up. At the top of his desk rests Charlotte’s Defiance, conjuring all sorts of differing memories.
“I have my reasons,” Alastor says softly, distantly, returning to the book.
“Reasons that are only known to you, of course.”
The annoyance and hurt in Mikha’el’s voice cannot be ignored.
“Did not you at one time ask me to blindly trust both my father and you? When the curse raged through me and the only thing I could think of was self-destruction, did I not follow the conviction of you and my father? Have I not come through that greatest of tests the victor?”
“You did, and you have, Alastor.”
“All I ask of you in return then is to trust me in a like manner.”
“If that is what you want of me, then you shall have it. I will know what all of this is about in one week time at any rate, correct?”
“Yes,” replies Alastor dryly, pretending to be absorbed by the work before him.
“What shall I do next then?”
“I would think you should be in Halvard. You are the leader of your people, and it would only strengthen the bond if you were there, standing by Morion, during the rebuilding and preparations.”
“And to be a replacement for you.”
Alastor looks up to Mikha’el, somewhat taken aback.
“I suppose so,” he answers hon
estly.
Mikha’el bows and makes to leave, but he stops.
“Is there nothing you can give me to tell her? Some token so that she might accept why you have remained absent?”
“And be a token to you and Morrigan as well?”
“Yes, actually. The Fairy is just as worried about you as Lady Morion, if not more so.”
“Alright. Ask them this: Of all those traitors Morion held for trial, who was missing? Think back to the night of the battle. Who was missing then as well?”
Mikha’el turns to Alastor, perplexed, but understanding soon shows in his eye.
“Hector? Knowing him, he fled.”
“Why would the man at the center of such a violent and methodical mutiny just flee?”
“He was a coward.”
“Perhaps, but remember this: my brother chose followers of fanatical devotion. He would never have chosen a man who would abandon him in such a way.”
Mikha’el knows that this is entirely accurate. Lucius’ true followers were so devout that they killed themselves just to be with their master again, and Hector was essentially Rennir’s replacement.
Rennir, who died twice for his master. Even Cale returned like a dog to serve Lucius a second time.
Hector could not have fled.
“You think that Lucius sent him away before the battle, Alastor?”
“That is one hypothesis.”
“What could be so important that Lucius would do such a thing?”
“That, Mikha’el, is of the utmost urgency to discover.”
Mikha’el thinks briefly.
“Thank you, Alastor.”
Mikha’el leaves, flying off to Halvard.
Alone, Alastor takes up the sword called Charlotte’s Defiance, carefully examining the symbols etched in the blood groove. While still holding the sword, he flips to the last page of the red book, finding the same symbols amidst a language he cannot decipher, all written in a silver, flowing script. Below all of this are three images: the sword, a shield and a suit of armor. The story of Charlotte’s Defiance, formerly Lionkiller, made no mention of a shield or armor. But, then again, the story does not tell of the weapon’s forging, beyond that it was a present for the Son of Cain, Leon-Alastor, commissioned by his mother, Elizabetha.
Elizabetha, a woman who exhibited an unnatural awareness of the world. A woman whose spirit had resided in Cain’s Armor for centuries, waiting for that brief moment when the Son of Eoin and Lily, Alastor, would wear it.
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