Dark Lord of Kismera: Knights of Kismera

by Tamara H Hartl

  “I believe I was called here, either by you or the Almighty. I do na ken the how or even the why. Perhaps it wasna even for you lad but for me. Maybe it is time I can finally rest and be at peace.”

  “What is your name?” Drace asked.

  “Brann,” the ghost said.

  Drace raised an eyebrow.

  The ghost spelled it for him. “It is an old Celtic name. How are ye called?”

  “Drace.” He studied his relation, taking in the wind-mussed hair escaping its queue and the worn tartan. Perhaps I’m losing my mind, he thought briefly.

  “A powerful name, that,” Brann replied. “If I remember my Latin—it comes from ‘draco’, which means ‘dragon’.” Brann gave Drace a long steady stare. “Ye have been blooded, have ye not? Ye know the sorrow that goes with fighting along with the bloodlust?”

  Drace hung his head, disconcerted. “Yes.”

  “Do not be ashamed. That is what makes the difference between a warrior and a killer. A murderer does no feel remorse.”

  Brann tilted his head and looked up at the sky through the trees. He stood that way for a moment as if thinking or listening. Finally, he returned his gaze to Drace, his blue eyes almost black with the darkness. “Ye look for someone…, a way to your woman, I think. Tell me of this.”

  Drace was surprised at Brann’s intuitiveness. “You would not believe the story.”

  “First, my lad, ye are standing here talking to the shade of your many times great-grandsire. If ye can believe that, why can I not believe any tale of yours? Besides, I have nothing but time.”

  Drace snorted. “True. It will be dawn soon. I may not have time for the whole story before morning. Can you stay?’

  “No, me boy. With the sun I mon go. But by the Lord’s grace, I might be granted the chance to come on the morrow.”

  The big warrior moved to a fallen tree and sat on a length of its trunk. He placed his hands on his kilt covered knees. With a nod of his head, he said, “Get ye on with it.”

  Drace gave him a condensed version of his tale since there was much from his time he knew Brann would not comprehend. When he finished, he sensed Brann had several questions but the sun was beginning to make an appearance. “I wish you could stay. I could use your guidance,” he said.

  “Aye, I too, but ye do na need my guidance. I’m na more than a warrior and a farmer. All I can offer ye would be what I ken in my man’s heart.” He stood abruptly. “I mon go, lad. I pray ye keep yerself well. Look for me tonight. I will pray to be with ye again.” Brann smiled at Drace, and then turned and headed through the trees. There was a flash of swinging kilt, and then he was gone.

  Drace stared after him, his knees threatening to buckle. He sank down and knelt in the soft loam of the forest floor. He ran his hands through his hair several times and took a deep breath, thinking. I will keep Brann’s visit to myself for now. He knew the women would believe him; he just didn’t want to share the memory yet.

  He gathered himself together, rose, and went to sit on the trunk. His thoughts turned inward, as he thanked both God and Arahtok for those moments with his kinsman.

  Drace took his place earlier the next night, eager for a chance to talk with Brann once more. He had wolfed down his dinner after tending the horses and then vanished into the trees, leaving Cerise and Maggie staring after him. He tried to concentrate on the reason he was there, but his thoughts kept turning to his ancestor.

  A ripple in the quiet of the woods allowed Drace the opportunity to sense Brann’s arrival. He gave Brann a respectful nod of his head. “Grandfather,” he greeted.

  “Drace, me lad, good evenin’,” Brann returned with his thick Highland burr. He came within an arms length of Drace. “I wish with all my heart I could hold ye to me breast, lad. To feel the blood of me blood, but that I canna do, to me deepest regret. It would end my time here, I think. Grandfather,” Brann mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I ken ye mean me respect, but to stand here and look ye eye to eye and see ye of similar age. ’Tis an odd feeling, to be sure.” He laughed at the thought.

  Drace smiled in agreement.

  “Come walk with me. I have questions for ye on your tale.” Brann began to walk away, hands clasped behind his back.

  Drace caught up with him in a couple of long strides. The Highlander began asking questions and Drace answered in kind. Drace noticed as they walked through the dark woods that as Brann passed, none of the greenery moved. I wish I could move that way, he thought as low limbs slapped at his legs and arms. But then I’d have to be a ghost. The two walked in silence for a while.

  “I have thought on this lass of yours and how to get back to her,” Brann said. “I remember me ma’am telling of the old ways, the old beliefs; stories passed down to her from many generations past. Sometimes a sacrifice was made to the Old Ones, the gods that were revered before Christianity came to us. Blood was usually given, either by a sacrifice or from oneself.”

  “A suicide?” Drace gasped, shocked.

  “Nay, no a suicide. A cut, a letting of that persons own blood; a self-sacrifice I guess ye could say,” Brann replied.

  When they stopped, Drace realized they had taken a big circle and they were back at their original spot.

  “I do na ken if this helps ye. I hope ye do na have that much despair in your quest, but I ken I would ha done whatever I could to get me own lass back if it were possible.”

  Drace sat on the log. “What was her name?”

  Brann remained standing and looked at Drace, his eyes soft with remembered love. “Moira. She was me sunshine, my life. I think ye feel for your woman as I still feel for Moira even though she has been gone all these many years.”

  Drace nodded. “Yes, I do,” he answered hoarsely.

  “I hope I have brought ye something to be of use to ye, lad.” Brann said and turned, taking a step away as he looked up through the canopy of the trees. He paused as if listening for a moment. “I do na know why, but I have been freed from this world. I willna have to walk the bloody moor of Culloden anymore. I will get to see me Moira again, and me son, Micheil,” Brann said over his shoulder, his voice husky with emotion.

  He turned back to Drace. He looked eager to go, but reluctant too. “I hate to leave ye for ye are a fine lad, but I will be sure to let Micheil know how weel ye have done, if I can. I do na ken if I may see ye again.” Brann spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “This be goodbye, me boy, but know ye’ll always be in me heart.”

  “I feel the same,” Drace admitted. “I’ll think of you often. I hope I make you and your son proud as time goes by.”

  “There is something I would do then I will be gone from here. I would touch ye, lad. Do no be afeared.”

  “I won’t be. I would welcome it. Brann?”

  “Aye?”

  “Thank you for…everything,” Drace said with emotion, already feeling his kinsman’s loss.

  Brann moved a step forward, took his hand, and laid it gently on Drace’s cheek. There was no warmth in the touch; actually it was quite cold, but Drace regretted when Brann removed his hand.

  “All will be weel, lad—have faith,” Drace heard in his head; then he was alone.

  Drace tried to sleep after he returned but rest eluded him. He volunteered to take Maggie back to his house for a shower and took a long, hot one too. On the ride to the house and back she sensed he did not feel like conversation and kept quiet.

  When they returned to the camp, both women exchanged looks of concern.

  Drace gathered more wood and then disappeared back into the trees.

  “What do you think is going on?” Maggie asked. Cerise sat braiding her hair.

  “I don’t know, but something’s happened.”

  “Do you think he’s giving up? It hasn’t been long enough.”

  “No, I don’t think so or he would have stayed at the house. Give him time. He will either tell us or work it out himself.” Cerise snapped a rubber band tight on the end of her braid. �
��I worry more that he can’t sleep. He was up all last night.”

  “I know. Maybe if we feed him, it will sedate him. Maybe we could slip a sleeping pill into his kibble,” Maggie joked.

  Cerise laughed. She stood and what they had for dinner. “If he’s not sleeping by tomorrow, we’ll try it. I don’t suppose you actually have any with you?”

  Maggie gave her an evil grin. “As a matter of fact, I always carry some for when I get my sleep pattern screwed up when I fly overseas. I packed them out of habit, I guess. They’re in my duffel.” She gave a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Prescription strength. Two of those will knock big boy on his fine butt.”

  Cerise returned the conspiratorial look. “I like the way you think, girl.”

  As they were cooking, Cerise saw Drace emerge from the trees. As he headed past them to feed the horses, he gave them a half-hearted wave.

  Maggie waited until the horses were fed, and then, without being asked, went and took Pride’s lead, and took him to water. Drace followed with Mitch; as he passed Cerise he gave her a ‘how about that?’ look.

  Drace was quiet during supper and when he finished, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his sword and plaid, and went once more into the trees.

  When Drace came back to the camp the next morning he was tired and disappointed. There had been no answer to his pleas to Arahtok and no sign of Brann. He had reached a state of disappointment he had not known existed.

  He ate breakfast woodenly while the women cared for the horses. He tried to rest and dozed off as soon as he closed his eyes, but after thirty minutes he was awake, chaos reigning in his head. Cerise and Maggie were gone from camp so he lay there in the quiet, listening to the horses crop grass. He tried to remember what he’d dreamed but couldn’t recall anything.

  He tried to go back to sleep but just could not seem to unwind. He rose wearily to his feet, deciding what he wanted to do next.

  When Cerise and Maggie reappeared several hours later, Drace was riding Pride, galloping at rings that hung from limbs, catching them on the tip of a practice lance. Drace pulled Pride to a walk beside them. “Hey,” he said as Pride tossed his head and jigged in place, eager for another pass.

  “We thought we heard thunder, but I guess it was just you two boys running around,” Cerise said.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Drace replied, stroking Pride’s neck to settle him.

  “Did you get any sleep?” Maggie asked, noting the shadows under his eyes and the worn look on his features.

  “A couple of minutes. I just can’t seem to relax,” Drace admitted as he stepped off Pride. “I’m fine,” he said and led Pride off to walk him cool.

  Cerise looked at Maggie and nodded. Cerise retrieved leftover stew from the cooler and put it in a pot to warm over the fire. Maggie emerged moments later, hands in her jacket pockets; she went and stood by Cerise.

  “I checked the dosage; it’s by weight. I’d say he easily weighs twice what I do. I considered three but when he wakes up two days from now, he’ll probably be pissed.”

  Cerise agreed. She ground up the pills and when the stew was warm, stirred the powder into it.

  “Thanks,” Drace said, accepting a bowl from Cerise and then he sat.

  “Eat all of that, young man,” she instructed, sounding like an aunt. “I don’t want you withering away. We might need you to protect us.”

  Drace shoved a spoonful into his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, like you’d need saving from a squirrel,” he mumbled around his food.

  “Hey, you never know when a renegade squirrel with an attitude will pop up,” Maggie chimed in. “They like to wait until you’re in the woods with your pants down and then, WHAM!” She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look.

  Drace almost choked on his food. He shook his head and spooned more in his mouth. Something is up; I’m sure of it, Drace thought as he watched the two women. He recognized Cerise’s body language from past pranks. He remained nonchalant. Let them have their fun. Their probably going to try to scare the shit out of me after dark.

  Maggie reached across Cerise for a bowl. “Thirty to forty-five minutes, tops.”

  Drace stood up suddenly, startling the two. He hid a smile behind a fake cough. Those two are guilty as sin. He picked up his sword from the seat of the wagon and walked over to his practice tree, and tuned the women out of his mind. He warmed up with simple moves until he sweated enough to remove his shirt.

  The disappointment, stress, and anxiety of the last several days along with being tired caught up with him and anger flowed through him. At first he fought against it but then let it come. In his mind he first cursed the god Arahtok, and then frightened he had blundered, he prayed as hard as he knew how, apologizing at his harsh words.

  He attacked the dead tree, letting bark and wood fly; his muscles were tight with strain.

  Maggie looked at her watch and then at Cerise. “Forty-five minutes,” she mouthed.

  “He’s not stopping. “Are you sure you gave him sleeping pills?”

  “The only other medication I carry is Midol.” Maggie jumped up and ran to her tent. She emerged a minute later. “Whew,” she exclaimed, a hand over her heart. “He’s not protected against cramps.”

  Cerise laughed, then got serious, “But why isn’t he slowing down?” she asked.

  The two noticed a change in the weather at the same time. The wind was picking up, the air temperature dropped, and the rain began to fall. The women scurried to Maggie’s tent and stood at the open flap, watching as Drace continued to battle the tree in the rain.

  Drace fought hard until his strength left him. He moved away from the battered tree and moved to the center of the clearing as the rain intensified. He began to shiver and he placed a hand to his forehead. He felt strange and his knees gave out. He went down on them and tears streamed down his face as he pleaded to the Lion God.

  The wind picked up and screamed in his ears but it did not prevent him from hearing Pride calling out, his neigh shrill.

  No longer rational, Drace drew his dagger and slashed at his chest; a line of red bloomed over his right breast. “Please, Arahtok, please hear me,” he wept. “Anything, I will give you anything.”

  He made a second cut over the first and blood ran with the rain down his belly. He heard someone scream when his dagger flashed again.

  “Hold!” came a deep voice, which caused Drace to jerk his head up in search of the source; his knife hand paused.

  The rainstorm quit as quickly as it had begun. Drace caught a glimpse of movement in the trees in front of him and he struggled to get to his feet but they refused to cooperate.

  “Brann?” he called. “Grandfather?”

  Maggie and Cerise glanced at each other, moved out of the tent, and ran to stand behind Drace. They skidded to a stop and stared at the large male lion that materialized from the trees.

  Drace sheathed his dagger and then his sword; his eyes did not leave the lion as it approached closer.

  “Rise, my Lord MacKinnon,” the lion said and then, suddenly, a man standing there with a lion’s head and a thick black mane.

  Drace struggled, almost in a panic, “I can’t, Blessed Arahtok,” but he continued to try and finally made it up, swaying unsteadily.

  “Drace MacKinnon, I have heard you and your women. You are much loved. There is one on the other side who prays for you as well,” Arahtok spoke. “I feel you return their love.”

  His head bowed in respect, Drace answered. “Yes, Blessed One, I do.”

  “I know you would give your life for your mate. Would you do the same for the one with whom you share blood or the flame haired one?” the god questioned, his expression gentle.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Drace answered truthfully.

  “I know what you wish of me, human—to go back to the lands of your woman,” Arahtok said. As he stood in front of Drace, he looked almost mortal, but a powerful aura shone around him.

  Drace looked up at him and then lowered his
head once more. “Yes, Blessed One. I wish it more than anything.”

  “You would give up all your possessions of this world?”

  “Yes,” Drace replied.

  “You would leave the horses you love behind if I asked it?”

  Without any hesitation, Drace answered again, “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Would you go and leave your kinswoman behind if I asked that of you?” the god asked, his voice lowered.

  Drace raised his eyes to meet the gold ones of Arahtok, and then dropped them in submission. “I would not wish it, but if you asked it of me I would say yes, and beg her forgiveness every day for the rest of my life.”

  “If I granted you your wish and your lady rejects you, what would you do?” Arahtok asked.

  Drace was startled; he hadn’t considered that possibility, but he responded, “I would swear my loyalty to her anyway and offer to serve her as she had need of me. I would not ask of you to return.”

  Arahtok gazed at Drace, causing a warmness to run through him as Arahtok searched his very soul. “You speak true and from the heart, Dark Lord. I have seen braveness, love, and loyalty in you. I will grant you your wish on one condition. You serve me when I have need of you, even if that means the risk of your life.”

  Drace fell to his knees again, feeling breathless with relief and happiness. “Yes, Blessed One.”

  Arahtok sensed the question in his heart. “I do not ask you to forsake your own god. You may worship him still as you will for He loves you as well as I. I will grant you passage and your kinswoman as well. The flame haired one may go also, if she wishes.”

  Maggie stood opened mouth for a moment and then hesitantly approached to stand beside Drace. She shook with emotion and awe. “My Lord,”… she cleared her throat as her voice cracked. “My Lord….” she repeated, stronger. “I am honored at your gift, but I feel I must decline. I do not wish to come in anyway between Drace and his woman. It was for his happiness I prayed to you.” Tears burned her eyes.

  Arahtok studied her thoughtfully. “That is a noble sacrifice, little one, for I know you hold much love for this man. I will still grant you something. When you have a great need, all you will have to do is call my name and I will answer.”