“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t-… didn’t mean t-to…”
He held up a hand to silence her babbling. “Please, Elizabeth. It is fine. It is just not a question I am asked often.” He ducked to avoid a low-hanging set of branches, taking the time to form his response. “My bloodline has consisted of Knights Templar for generations. One of my ancestors was a founding member of the order and another was tried and murdered when they were disbanded. At first, it was just my forefathers when men were the only members allowed. But once the order reformed in secrecy, the females in my family took up the mantle along their husbands. Each member of my family that was a part of the order fell in the line of battle, defending the rights of men and women in the name of God.”
“That is the noblest of causes – to give one’s life in the name of the Lord, in the cause of his people. It is why we fight on every day, so that their names and their deeds will forever be remembered and honored.”
Mathias mustered a grim smile, nodding to his young acolyte. “And what of you, Sister Elizabeth?”
“My story is not as benevolent as yours. The cardinal recruited me, as he does most, knowing of my zeal for God and the people alike, and how much I abhorred what the Teutonic Knights had done to the church. I came into the order to try and make a difference and because of that, the cardinal put my parents and younger brother and sister into protective care. I could ask for nothing more than what he has done for us.”
Mathias nodded, his smile warming slightly. “Cardinal Carafa is a great man. If not for him and his predecessors, this order would not exist to combat the evils of the Teutonic Knights. He is truly a man of the Lord.”
He was half tempted to tell her the rest of his story, to finally trust someone other than the cardinal with the tale that haunted his dreams for years on end, the reason why he was always so reluctant to pick up his sword; but instead, he remained silent.
Around another patch of thick brush, and finally, the path opened up to another clearing. It was more spacious than the one the encampment had been in, with open space in every direction. In the center of the area was a sword standing vertically, glimmering with an otherwordly aura. Both he and Elizabeth dismounted, tying their horses to trees hidden from view before entering the field.
“We have been waiting for your arrival, knights.”
Mathias reached for his sword instinctively and looked around for the source of the voice. Standing guard around the sparkling weapon were four columns that rose about seven or eight feet tall, and there was a bird perched at the top of each; or at least, Mathias thought they were birds. He felt his jaw slacken when he noticed that the faces and the busts were that of women! They had long flowing hair that integrated with their back of feathers, bright blue eyes that he drank deep in their twinkles, silky smooth flesh that showed no wrinkle or blemish of age, and dainty pointed features to accentuate their beauty. They smiled warmly at the knight as he stood in awe before them.
“Welcome, Mathias and Elizabeth. We have been waiting for you both.”
That gave the lead knight pause. His brows wrinkled and he grasped the handle of the blade in his sheath tighter, staring at the front right sirin. “You have been expecting us?”
“Yes,” the back left one spoke this time, inclining her head down toward him. “We saw you traveling through our forest; we felt every step you took across our ground.”
“Your ground? Your forest?” Elizabeth stepped forward, her crossbow swung around to her front. “What gives you ownership of this area?”
There was a light laugh of unison between the four sirins before the front left one spoke. “Silly girl. Acting in affairs you know nothing of. Sir Knight, why do you travel with such a novice who speaks out of turn so openly? Are you not the leader of this expedition?”
Mathias placed a hand out to his side to calm the raging sister beside him. He did not need to look at her to see the clenched teeth or the vein popping out of her head; he could feel her rage.
“Regain your poise, Sister. Be not embarrassed and remember the word of God.”
“The word of God?” The back right sirin spoke the words that caused the four to laugh even louder than before. “Ah, you poor fool. You claim belief in God, but how much of that claim is truth? You can see us before you with your very eyes. Those in your holy church would deem us abominations, creatures that your God did not create. But if that were true, how can we exist?”
“I have my beliefs, and they are my shield against darkness. I still believe despite your existence and claim to your own deities. God makes all, and your existence is just a tri-...”
“Do not associate us with your ‘God’ in that fruity place of light and ‘holiness.’” The first sirin hissed the last word out, the anger in her face barely blemishing her beauty. “Your God has nothing to do with our creation.”
“God is in all things, man or other.” Mathias stood resolute, stepping one foot forward.
“Was he in the men who killed your family members?” He paused as the back right one spoke again, the weight of his boot in midair as he dreaded the next words. “Did he help save the men and women in your lineage who fought so bravely under his name? Was he there when they slaughtered yo-…”
“Enough!” Mathias boomed, cutting the air with his sword as he pulled it from the scabbard. “You will not take the Lord's name in vain, and you shall not speak ill of the dead!”
“Oh, touch a nerve there, have we?” The back left one tilted her head in mock sympathy, pushing out her bottom lip in a quiver. “You poor baby. The dead is a sore subject for you, hmm? I suppose you fear what happened to them when they left this realm – you wonder if your God really exists. Did they go to be at peace with him? Or maybe they’re being tortured every waking moment by that devil you humans hate. What’s his name? Sat-...”
The sirin squawked loudly as a crossbolt hit it in the right side of the chest; if its chest anatomy was anything like the human that it mimicked, the arrow must have struck the heart. The creature flailed its wings a few times, trying to gain momentum, but it spiraled to the ground where it smashed hard and then lay motionless.
Mathias swung his head around to Elizabeth. Her anger seemed to only intensify tenfold. “You heretics shall not speak the name of the Devil in our presence! If you wish to speak of him, we will send you to join him in his inferno soon enough!”
She turned to meet his gaze and he nodded his thanks to her. He whirled back around just in time to see the sirins descending, their open claws aiming for them, another bolt this time soaring past them. Mathias’s hand jerked up quickly enough to bring his sword to deflect the first attacker’s raining blows and then maneuver out of the way of the second. Elizabeth held the third one's attention with her dual daggers.
“Mortal,” the first one hissed at Mathias. “You shall neither leave here with the sword or your life!”
“To Hell with you, damnable cretins!” Mathias spat the words as he raised his sword high and feinted toward the first. Stepping back from the incoming talons, he moved toward the second and swept in with his blade. The sirin was caught by surprise, but still managed to dodge most of the strike. He saw the blade find flesh, tearing a spat of blood out of the bird-woman’s chest. She shrieked in pain but started flapping her wings in fits at him. Mathias held his sword up, unsure what else to do, but the windstorm created by the creature was so forceful that it actually pushed him back several feet until he fell on his back.
His feet had barely left the ground before the first sirin was on him, trying to tear at him with its monstrous talons. He fended off the attacks as best as he could with his sword, but luckily his armor and helmet were thick enough that the nails left only scratches when they got past his blade. He used his free arm to try and mount a defense by punching the creature, but he could only land a few between her flurry. Those punches were able to weave just enough through her offense to daze her, the assault slowing. He pulled his boot in under her and kicked with
all of his might, forcing her off of him.
He leapt up from the ground, gripping the sword with both hands once more to deliver the finishing blow, when the soft sound of singing filled his ears. Something in the melody was so alluring and calming that he could not turn away from the wounded sirin whose operatic voice almost brought him to tears. With one hand, he tore the helmet from his head, barely noticing as it clanked to the ground. He felt the grip on his sword weaken as he stepped toward the woman-bird, the tip of the blade almost kissing the ground, and he was awash with a sensation of regret. How could he have ever wounded such a magnificent creature? Would it be able to keep singing with her wound?
It was speaking to him in the song. The sirin was trying to tell him something, and almost of its own volition, he felt his sword arm rise, the blade turned now on him. Yes, this was the way that he could make up for his error; he could maim himself in a mirror image to make her feel at ease.
Before the blade could pierce his armor, the singing stopped and the tip of a dagger erupted from the open mouth. There was a deep gargling, met with the wings and talons trying to claw for the throat, trying to stop the fountain of blood that was pouring from the gaping hole. Elizabeth pulled her dagger free and kicked the sirin to the ground.
Mathias came back to his senses, sneering at the thought that an abomination such as the sirin could work its magic to make him want to commit such a deadly sin as to kill himself; never such strong magic had been enacted on him before and he would have to say a silent prayer to God later to forgive him to succumbing to man’s desires. With one swift motion, he spun around and swung his sword with both arms. The blade tore through the air, severing the last sirin’s head from its body, and it remained there for a few moments, unmoving, before the head rolled off and a geyser of red liquid let loose its contents.
The body slumped to the ground to join its other companions, and Mathias wiped his blade clean before sheathing it, turning once more back to his acolyte as he picked his helmet back up onto his head.
“Thank you, Elizabeth. If not for your assistance, I fear what might have become of me.”
“It seems even the most devout of God’s Christians are susceptible to the heathens’ magics.” She sheathed both of her daggers, the crossbow slung against her back once more. “I am just glad I could be there to save you. I don’t know how I would be able to report back to the cardinal if these creatures had succeeded in killing you.”
Mathias nodded, a gruff sound coming from his throat. “I am just a man who serves his Lord Almighty. There will always be more after me that can do my job just as well. As I have said, the cardinal holds me in too high esteem.”
“Hmph. He may hold you in high esteem, but I think you are too modest about your abilities and underestimate the weight of your deeds.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, indicating with her chin toward the sword in the middle of the four columns. “Will you do the honors of retrieving the prize?”
“If anyone must, I suppose I should.”
Mathias took slow steps toward the sword impaled in the stone. It seemed too mythical to be true. How could a sword be impaled in a solid slab of stone and still remain upright, let alone, that he would be able to pull it out himself? Another Slavic magic trick.
He stood before the blade that appeared to be glowing in an aura of silvery blue, as if some ethereal light was being cast down on it from the sky. He closed his eyes and crossed himself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, saying a silent prayer in hopes that touching the relic would not damn him. He took a deep breath out before grasping the blade with both hands tight.
As he held onto the handle, he waited for something to happen; some other curse that Dmitrei had forgotten to tell him about, some alarm that would sound that he was not of the Slavic people, or even that he would feel extraordinarily strong. But nothing happened. He gave the sword a soft jerk and even though it took a few more forceful pulls, the blade finally began to move, echoing the scraping sound of stone on steel.
When the weapon finally pulled free, he held up in the air to gaze at it in awe. Even out of the resting place, it still gave off an unearthly, unnatural, mystic glow that Mathias had never seen before. There were some strange runes written on the body of the blade, close to the hilt, that Mathias thought he could understand.
“So that is the relic that is so important that it could endanger mankind?” Elizabeth walked up beside him, keeping a few paces back despite the sarcasm in her voice. “Believe me, it’s shiny and pretty and all, but why is this blade so important?”
“Because it has been blessed by Perun.” Mathias’s words were but a mutter as he held the blade close to his face, examining the runes: ‘The Valorheart Pure. ’. “These words here… They’re a bit archaic for my understanding of the Slavic tongue, written in ancient Glagolitic, but if I am understanding it right, it has been made and blessed by their highest deity.”
He looked up at Elizabeth and she stared back at him in disbelief. She sputtered out a few sounds, but no words came out.
“I know, I’m just as astounded as you.”
“Wh-What does this mean? Is this good? Is this bad?” She looked around nervously. “Are you… Are you damned now for touching such an artifact? Would God approve?”
Mathias shook his head. “I am not damned. God has put these creatures on this earth for some reason. As you know, there are those deities that work for the continued survival of humanity. Perun, from what I understand, is the most supportive of that cause. He is the primary reason why our order exists to work with the Slavic people.” He looked down at the sword again; the shock really had not hit him yet. To the Slavic believers, it was the equivalent of holding something blessed by God. “This sword wound up in our hands for a reason of God’s design. No wonder it was being guarded by such vicious creatures.”
He had more on the subject to say, but Elizabeth rushed to the edge of the column, looking up to the opening in the sky. He moved to her side, still holding the sword because he had no scabbard for it.
“Elizabeth, what-…?”
He sniffed a few times before taking a deep inhale, and his heart plummeted, adrenaline firing through his veins. She turned to him with a single nod.
“Something’s burning.”
*****
Mathias rode through the forest as quickly as his horse would allow, which was not very fast because the dense overgrowth caused it to slow constantly. There were times that he worried that he would lose the sister through the thick greenery, but every time he glanced behind him, she was there.
He did not feel like he was getting anywhere, or at least, not back toward the village. Because the path was so overgrown, he was not sure if the pathways his brain thought he remembered were correct; each turnoff in the ocean of green looked identical to the last. They were traveling quicker than they had been when they first entered the forest, yet for some reason it seemed to be taking much longer. There were no signs or indications of where they were, or if they were just going in a blind circle. He trusted his inner compass and God’s hand to guide them in the right direction.
“Do you feel that?”
Elizabeth’s words barely registered and it took him a moment to realize what she was talking about. He had not noticed how much he had been sweating; it had not been this hot earlier. Steering his horse in the direction of the heat, he rode on. He pushed through the drooping branches as they came into his path, cutting some even with the magical sword that still had no sheath, until he burst through to the scene of the inferno, his horse rearing up and threatening to throw him.
The heat was sweltering. Everywhere he turned there were flames threatening to devour not only Dmitrei’s encampment but also the forest itself. Trees cried with huge globs of flame that burned branches to cinders, eating away at the people’s homes until nothing remained. He saw, with great disgust and horror, that there were areas where a makeshift gallows had been rigged and seve
ral hanging bodies were charred.
He knew whose work this was.
He jumped off his horse, turned around to Elizabeth, and thrust the reins to his horse into her hands.
“Get the horses settled somewhere and save every one of them that you can!”
“What about you?!” She stared incredulously, shaking her head. “What are you going to do alone?”
He brought up the sword blessed by Perun, holding the strange silvery blue against the raging orange red all around them. “It is time to see just what this sword is capable of. If I am damned for wielding it, we shall soon find out.”
Elizabeth tried calling out to him, maybe to warn him, maybe to stop him, maybe to wish the Lord at his side, but Mathias did not hear her words. All he could think about was all of the innocent people who the Inquisition tortured and murdered this day – all, they would say, in the name of God.
He came at the first duo of men who were picking over dead bodies and did not hesitate. He plunged his sword through the first one, tearing his glowing blade through the other side. By the time the other realized what was going on, Mathias’s blade had already pulled free and he cut the man diagonally across the chest. He tore through the second’s lightly armored outfit, sneering at the sign of the cross printed on it. It was because of the Inquisition, more so than the Teutonic Knights, that the church was in such a sad state. They disgraced those loyal to the word of God by, instead of promoting equality and love, tortured and punished all those of different beliefs. Even though the two branches were not aligned, the Teutonic Knights and the Inquisition shared the same goal – to kill all nonbelievers.
“Heretic!” The word boomed across the burning landscape, the crier half-hidden in the wafting smoke. As he stepped forward, Mathias saw the mark of the Inquisition standing violently on the church cloth that concealed his armor underneath. His short hair was a matted mess, mimicking the lunacy in his eyes and the snarl on his face. A cross was held high in one hand, out toward Mathias, while in the other a bloodstained sword was held low. “You would dare slay those that do the work of God? There is no greater sin than yours, blasphemer!”
City of the Gods - Starybogow Page 29