Black Knight_Awakening [Part One]

by Gilliland, Christian

  A passing car stirred the air around her, blowing through her cloak and revealing her bare shoulder. She pulled the cloak shut with one sharp-fingernailed hand and paused for a moment of respite from her thoughts. She gazed up to the heavens, seeking Dura'Ana's strength but saw only thick grey clouds. Pursing her dark red lips together, she sighed and wondered when the rain was going to come.

  Her anxiety was beginning to become all that she felt. With each step on the grey concrete her shoulders and mind grew heavier with anticipation, eventually she found it difficult to stand up straight and had to stop again just to breathe. She looked down at her brown boots, all that was visible of her apart from her hands and lips, and tried to count her breathing. She closed her eyes, inhaled and counted to four... as she exhaled and opened her eyes she saw two beings before her.

  Male and female, each an Elf, exited her destination, the Canrom City Temple of Cidro. They walked down the concrete steps hand in hand and turned toward her. Smiles were on their lips and love was in their eyes, she watched behind her hood with disgust and envy. She wondered if the two had just had their marriage blessed by the church or if they were simply happy to be near each other... she would never know. The female rested her head on the male's shoulder as they walked and the male wrapped his arm around the female's waist and pulled her close. The two passed by and she kept moving, not bothering to turn and see where they were going. She sighed, and walked forward toward the temple.

  As she ascended the concrete steps, she briefly took notice of the dark wooden and gold trimmed doors that she had remembered walking through many times as a child. The doors were very tall, standing high enough for a Gaian to walk through comfortably, and were waxed and polished so well that she could vaguely see her reflection in them. Seeing her own image in the doors made her wince, she knew that all of the Govian Empire associated her with piety and power but she did not like seeing herself that way.

  The Temple of Cidro was one of the finest structures in all of Canrom City, thus one of the finest in all of the country of Canrom. Overshadowed by only Dauid's tower which was maintained by the citizens of the city, the Temple was meticulously tended to by the Brotherhood of the Severed Tongue, a vigorously devout order of monks who had vowed never to speak.

  She reached her hand out and ran her long-nailed finger across the lustrous door, leaving a small streak on the waxed wood. She wondered how much of her she had left behind those doors... how much sweat... blood... she thought of the unborn child that was forced from her young body... her fists clenched and she groaned at the memory. Without anymore hesitation or thought, she pulled on the door and stepped inside.

  The marble walls were tall and lined with gold and the large open room was lit with orange light from the candles that were placed along its edges. Six white marble columns, each with a candle mounted to it, stood evenly to her left and right and told the story of the Ascension of Emperor Cidro. Her eyes were drawn to one of the columns that depicted the final battle of the Messiah Wars. She looked at it for a moment, and then to the ceiling where in the dim light she was able to make out a mural of Emperor Cidro the Savior smiling and holding his hands open wide as a welcome to all who would enter. She had not seen that painting in many years and despite her close relationship with his Imperial Highness Lazarus Cidro, the son of Emperor Cidro, she felt repulsed at the memory of the image.

  Directly across from her, past the last pair of the six pillars, was an ornately engraved blue door with gold trim. Etched above it in gold lettering was the word "Sanctuary". On each side of the door silently stood a blue robed and hooded monk of the Severed Tongue. Each of them held a wooden staff in their hand and stood watchful, not permitting anyone past the door.

  The hooded female stepped forward, the sound of the heels of her leather boots echoed throughout the room. As she walked toward the blue and gold door she briefly glanced downward at the prayerful few who were bowed before the pillars with clasped hands and lowered heads. She too had found herself in that position many times, not excluding that morning in her hotel suite. She tried to force herself to find comfort in her faith but as she drew nearer to the door she felt an overwhelming unrest rapidly growing inside her. She was fearful of the conclusion she had come to... that she knew nothing.

  A pink haired female Faire knelt on the floor in front of one of the center pillars and she paused briefly and listened before walking around her. The Faire was weeping but doing her best to keep it silent out of fear of disturbing her fellow prayerful. Her words were broken and desperate and they stung the hooded woman as she pleaded with the goddess. "...save him mother..." She said, shaking her head and clenching her hands together tightly. "Please save my child..."

  The hooded one took a breath and walked around the prayerful Faire. Her prayer was painful to hear. The sorrow... the desperation of a fearful mother. In her mind, the hooded female saw an image of her younger self lying in a bloodied white dress. She saw sweat pouring down her own face and joining the pool of blood and piss beneath her. The baby... Eliss she had eventually named him... lay naked and cold, gasping for air with his collapsed lungs and gagging on his own child mother's blood while she lay injured and powerless to save or comfort him. She saw... him. He raised the bloodied club before the child and brought it down one final time…

  She jerked violently trying to avoid the image that had haunted both her dreams and consciousness for so many years. A cold sweat formed on her brow and she grit her teeth together and continued toward the door.

  As she arrived at the door the monks crossed their staves, blocking her entrance. She stood silently before them for a moment and then pulled back the sleeve of her robe, revealing a forearm scarred from many years of self inflicted pain. The scars, however, were not what she was revealing to them. Tattooed on the underside of her wrist were five small five pointed stars with the center one being the largest of them. The monks looked at the tattoo and then returned their staves to their sides. Each of them bowed down on one knee and lowered their heads.

  "Your devotion to our Lord and Savior Emperor Cidro is pleasing to the Goddess, Dura'Ana." She said softly with a tone of authority and piety. The monks remained silent and unmoving. She reached out her hand and gently touched one of their shoulders.

  "Please clear out the temple and return to your quarters." She continued. "High Father Korros and I have important matters to discuss and it is imperative that we are not to be disturbed." The monks obediently nodded their hooded heads and immediately set to work clearing out the room. She reached out her scarred hand and placed it on the golden door handle.

  Her exterior was placid, her milky skin calm like the brilliant white sands of the Barusian Sea of the Fallen. This sort of demeanor was second nature to her. Having had enduring so many years of re-education and nearly mind-crippling training she had, among abilities, learned how to keep her body still and calm under high stress situations. Among Govian officials like her, appearing in control was vital to keeping the confidence of their subordinates.

  She took a breath and focused on remaining calm. She could feel sweat on her temples and for a brief moment her hand trembled on the door handle. Holding her breath, she clenched her fist, forcing the tremor from her arm. Despite the control she had over her body, she could not keep her mind from racing. Finally, she turned the handle and pushed the heavy door open.

  The sound of her steps echoing off the black enameled floor filled the massive sanctuary. She stood silently for a moment and took in her surroundings. She noticed that not much had changed over the years.

  The room was dimly lit except for the blue carpeted stage opposite her which shone bright with white light. Illustrious gold trimmed tapestry hung behind it and a blue half-circle shaped crystal pulpit stood centered on the edge of the stage. Before the stage were rows upon rows of red cushioned pews made of dark stained wood. She recalled being forced to sit in those pews nearly every day when she was a child... forced by him.

&nb
sp; She could see the back of his bald head sitting in the front row of the center column of pews. He sat, unmoving, even to the sound of her entrance. She snarled at the sight of him, baring her teeth with rage at the idea of him being anywhere near her again. She clenched her fists together, digging her pointed nails into her palms and nearly stepped forward but stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of a long red haired head emerging from the bald man's lap.

  The top of the girl's head reached the balding man's shoulders. Her hair was blood red... apparently he had a type. The hooded female watched in disgust as the girl brought her hand up and wiped something from her mouth. The bald man leaned into her and whispered something... The hooded one heard his voice, not physically, but as a memory...

  "Waste not. Dura'Ana has blessed you."

  She felt blood on her hands. The feeling of her nails digging into her own skin was in a way a motivator to her. Over the years she had found comfort in the pain she inflicted on herself, found escape. In the self-induced physical pain she felt truly in control, mindful of her mortality and able to escape from the history that haunted her dreams. She dug her nails in a little deeper cringing not from the pain in her hands but from the sight of the young girl next to the bald man. In that girl she saw herself so many years ago, from the hair to the deplorable acts forced upon her... she heard her heart tell her that if she saved that girl she would save herself…

  Opening her fists, she stepped forward towards the bald man and the red haired girl. He leaned toward the girl and whispered something else into her ear that caused her to turn her head and look toward the hooded one. Momentarily, their eyes locked and then the girl sneered at her and snapped her head back forward toward the stage.

  "She does not understand." The hooded one told herself. "...blind... his lies..."

  She remembered her time with him. He was nearly twenty years younger then and though thirty years her superior she recalled how enamored she was with him. He was handsome and powerful, confident and loving... he made her feel older than she was, wanted, valuable... it was a wonderful feeling for her up until Eliss came and went.

  She was thirteen when she birthed the boy, thirteen when Korros murdered him... after that day he never communicated nor allowed her to see him again. He sent her away with Govian officials who told her she was special, that she would be powerful. Her parents and most of her family had not had an opportunity to say goodbye. They had not seen her since she left, never learned the fate of her or the baby she had carried and never learned the identity of the father.

  Over the years she had used her power to protect them despite their terrorist affiliations. She kept their activities out of the eye of the Empire and tried to keep them safe... it was her way of making amends, her attempt to justify the life she hated so much.

  "I will fix this." She inaudibly muttered as she approached the bald priest. She stopped walking just behind him and saw his shoulders raise and lower from a heavy sigh. Blood slowly dripped from her the wounds on her palms to her fingertips and fell to the floor. Her chest felt heavy and her heart beat rapidly. Sweat streamed from her temples and finally Korros stood.

  "My how far you have come my child." He said, facing the stage. His voice sent shivers down her spine. Though his Humaan body had grown old and his hair had whitened and mostly left him, his voice had remained the same. She snarled and silently stood, facing the man.

  "Bishop General Sarasin." He said, "May I gaze upon your face, see the woman you have become?"

  She felt as if she had been reduced to her child self once again. In the presence of Korros she felt like everything she had felt in the past twenty years, every nightmare, every drop of blood spilt, every gun barrel she held in her mouth was culminating into one emotion. She was afraid, she felt vulnerable. It was as if her power had been drained from her, like he had taken hold of her again and was about to shape her according to his will and desires.

  She felt herself moving backward, like her fear had taken over and her body was trying to save her from Korros. She took a step back and the echo from her heel filled the silence. That was when Korros, with surprising speed, turned to face her.

  At over sixty years of age his face had lost many of the handsome features she had once admired. His skin had become worn and leathery and his cheeks sagged into jowls. Deep frown lines and crow's feet littered his face and his once blonde hair had faded to white and receded all the way to the back of his head.

  Sarasin was frozen. He in his blue and gold cassock took a couple slow steps forward, not taking his eyes off hers. He hummed as he approached her and stopped only feet in front of her. He broke eye contact to examine her body and shook his head with disapproval.

  "A cloak is not befitting of a woman of your stature and beauty." He said, reaching his hand up and undoing the clasp at her throat. He gently lifted the hood from her head revealing her blood red hair beneath and smiled a warm smile.

  "There's my girl." He said as the cloak fell to Sarasin's feet. "Just as beautiful as I left you." He ran a leathery finger across her milky white cheek and sighed.

  "What wonderful memories we share." He said, running his hand through her hair. "You are one of my favorites."

  Sarasin mustered the strength to turn her head from Korros' hand and in doing so caught a glimpse of the young red haired girl glaring at her. Their eyes locked once again and Sarasin realized the girl did not approve of her intrusion. Sarasin recalled her own violent feelings of obsessive possession for the man and immediately felt pity on the child.

  "I assume you have some reason for coming today?" Korros asked, removing his hand from Sarasin's hair. Sarasin however was not listening. She was so intensely focused on the girl and the horrors she did not yet realize she was enduring that Korros' voice had become nothing more than background noise.

  "...perhaps to say hello?" Korros said but Sarasin did not hear him. Her mind and heart were racing, she questioned whether the strength truly existed in her to accomplish what she had set out to do. She continued to stare at the girl until Korros spoke again.

  "...perhaps you feel I owe an apology?" That did it. Sarasin's concentration broke and she looked to Korros. He wore a look that she had never seen on him before, something that resembled regret albeit no less confident. He nodded his head and pursed his aged lips together.

  "So be it." He said, momentarily looking down at the floor in front of him. He turned from Sarasin and faced the stage for a moment, perhaps to find the right words. She watched him curiously, intently and waited.

  "I have long struggled with the... decision... we made at our last encounter. I will not pretend to be something I am not, you are grown now and understand what I am, you understand my... needs... but I am sure you know from the time we spend together that what I need does not make me a bad man. It is a priests goddess given right to choose whomever he wishes as his relief vessel as you are called... you too have that right as a bishop. I treated you fairly, loved you, cherished you. I appreciated your sacrifice, the sacrifice of your youth, and never took advantage of it... I would have kept you until your twentieth year had you not bore a child... I want you to know that I was deeply affected when I lost you, when we had to dispose of the child. I have no doubt that you would have been an excellent mother but it is not the will of the Goddess that those in the priesthood parent children. You if course know this... our decision to terminate the child is evidence of the amazing plan Dura'Ana has for us if we are willing to make the sacrifices. Why, just look at you now!"

  Sarasin looked at Korros and said nothing. He stood before her looking smugly at her as if he had just revealed some divine wisdom. She had begun to dig her fingernails into her palm again, causing more blood to flow. She thought about his words, at his sorry excuse of an apology. She thought of how he had said it was "their" decision, how he said that the death of her baby boy was the will of Dura'Ana. She realized then that Korros was nothing more than a fool and that she did have the strength to fu
lfill her self-appointed mission. With that realization, she spoke.

  "Eliss." She said, burning her eyes into his mind. He cocked his head out of confusion and she took a step forward. She snapped her bloodied hand out and grabbed the old man's neck, digging her sharp nails into his throat. For a moment they looked at each other, his face showing twisted with confusion and hers intense, aflame with rage. He flailed his arms at the sudden attack and jerked backward, wriggling himself free but leaving deep lacerations behind. He grabbed his own bleeding throat and gasped, trembling before his former relief vessel.

  "You do not get to apologize." She said, "You do not get to regret... You do not get to kill Eliss and continue living." At that, she raised her hand and called upon her abilities... the ancient abilities that most only knew as magic. With this magic she was able to lift his body off the ground without touching him. Hanging in the air, he waved his arms and legs wildly trying to find balance but had neither hope of it nor time before Sarasin used her abilities again to throw him into the crystal pulpit on the stage. Korros' back wrapped around the pulpit and Sarasin heard a crack. She did not immediately know whether it was the crystal or his back that cracked, she was content either way. He screamed upon the impact and crashed to the floor.

  "I was a child." She said, walking toward the stage. "A fucking child. I did not owe you or Dura'Ana my youth." She jumped onto the stage and stomped her heel into his chest, producing more cracking noises that echoed throughout the room. Korros groaned and spit blood, holding his arms out to keep her from doing any more harm.

  "You killed Ellis." She said ferociously. She lifted her hands and once again his broken body rose into the air. With her power she hurled his body across the room toward the pews, he crashed through the backrest of one of them and onto the floor behind it, wood splintered in all directions. She jumped off the stage and walked toward him.