by Kris Kramer
Thus, when I finally saw that fire ahead, to the side of the road, my hopes rose, and I found just enough energy to surge toward it. I hoped it was Arkael, but it could just as easily have been another traveler, or a pack of bandits, or some other unsavory types. I didn't care. I was too tired to worry about danger. The fire beckoned me like a siren with its song of warmth and comfort.
I approached the camp and saw a single figure sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree, an apple in hand. The orange glow from the fire lit up his face and I happily recognized Arkael, who didn't seem surprised to see me. I laughed, weakly. I'd done it. I'd caught up to him, like I knew I would. He was just a man after all, one with whom I could walk, and eat, and share the comfort of a fire. My victory was tempered, however, by overwhelming fatigue. He said nothing as I stumbled off the road and stood at the edge of his camp, every ounce of stamina gone from my body.
"Can I sleep here?" Those were all the words I could muster.
Arkael examined my weary visage, no doubt deciding if he’d continue to toy with me. After an unnecessarily long moment of contemplation, he nodded and I found some level ground near his fire and laid down my satchel. Sitting down required far too much effort, so I just fell instead, ecstatic to be off my feet. I’d never walked so far at such a pace in my life. And my spent body reminded me of the harsh price I would pay later.
Arkael took a bite of his apple, watching me with a hint of amusement as I tried to warm myself by the fire without expending any more energy than was necessary. "You're persistent," he said through a mouthful of fruit.
“I suppose." I took a deep breath, pulling my extra robe around me while trying to find a spot that would give me the least amount of discomfort.
“Hungry?” I looked up to see that he’d sliced off a bit of his apple with a small knife. He held it out, but I shook my head.
“Maybe in the morning,” I mumbled. “Thank you for the offer, though.” I laid my head down on my arm and let my eyes glaze over while staring lazily at the fire. The flames licked the darkness surrounding it and bits of soot and burnt wood floated off into the air. Arkael watched me in silence.
"You're welcome to travel the same direction as me,” he finally said, “but not the same path. Remember that."
I understood his meaning, and normally I would have tried to glean a few more details from him, but not tonight. I didn’t have the strength or the desire to argue. "Of course. Thank you."
I closed my eyes. As tired as I was, though, sleep did not find me right away. Given a chance to finally rest, my mind made one last attempt to reconcile everything I'd seen today and it found the effort lacking. I looked over to see Arkael leaning back against the tree, staring off at the western sky. I watched him for a while with half-closed eyelids, and I wondered who exactly sat across from me. Was he divine? I'd found him, which suggested otherwise, but could he be something else?
"Have you seen God?" I asked. He blinked, and his eyes darted to me for an instant before settling on the apple in his hand.
"No."
"Has God ever spoken to you?"
He shook his head slowly, as if contemplating a thought or a memory. "No."
Neither answer satisfied me, but I could tell I’d continue to get nowhere with my questions, so I gave up and closed my eyes again. As soon as I’d started drifting off, however, Arkael’s voice broke my near-slumber.
“God doesn’t involve himself in these matters.”
“What?” I muttered.
"Angels and demons," he said, his gaze distant. "They’re the ones who scorch the earth around you. You cannot fathom the lengths they go to over the fate of a man's soul. They battle over each and every one as if there is no greater prize to be had, and they will destroy everything to claim victory. You walk around,” he pointed at me with a stern finger, “without understanding the treasure your flesh carries within it. I see the nightmares made real and the horrors created simply to infect what some men are capable of ruining on their own. I walk the front lines of that battle," he paused, a somber expression covering his face, "and those with me do not long survive it."
He stopped, considering his apple once more. I should have heeded his ominous words more carefully, but I could only get my mind to fixate on certain things.
"Are you an angel?" I asked. He shook his head, so I tried a different approach. "Was Caenwyld a demon?"
"No," Arkael mused. "It's not that simple."
He offered no more information and I didn't have the will to pursue it, even though I should have, given his rare moment of introspection. Instead, I went to sleep, content that I’d found what I was looking for. I would travel with Arkael, and see where his journey took him. I had time to find out what he was, now. With luck I would begin to learn all these things tomorrow.
Chapter 6
The nightmares began that night.
I stood in Rogwallow, only this was a horrid, twisted version of the place I knew. The skies were dark, the houses decayed and crumbling, the grass and the animals dying. All of it corrupted by the evil brought forth by Caenwyld. He stood in front of the church door, preventing me from getting inside, where I would be safe. He looked as he did in life, only bigger, his bony features more pronounced, and his eyes were missing. In their place were two empty holes that leaked blood, only the blood was thick and black, congealed, and as it fell to the ground, it spread, killing everything it touched.
He spoke to me. At first he just repeated what he’d said in the church, about keeping my limbs, and needing only a tongue to do my duty. But I expected that. Once I realized what he was saying, and what he would say next, I didn’t fear him or his threats. But then he strayed. He lifted his head, his empty sockets somehow staring directly at me, and he spoke five little words that woke me from my slumber in a cold sweat.
I find you interesting, priest.
I had trouble sleeping after that. It wasn’t Caenwyld’s words that kept me awake, it was the fact that the nightmare spoke directly to me. Caenwyld, or rather this monster made to look like him, had invaded my mind, and turned his dark gaze my direction, as if suddenly discovering me in my hiding place, and that notion troubled me the remainder of the night.
I must have finally drifted back to sleep, though, because the sound of stomping roused me. I reluctantly opened my eyes to see the early morning hues of sunlight through the branches, and even though I didn't feel the least bit rested I thanked God that the night was over. I rolled over and saw Arkael kicking dirt over the remains of the fire from last night. When he saw me awake he tossed an apple at me, grabbed his bag and walked north.
"Don't fall too far behind," he said. "The bandits around here get up early."
In my waking state, it took a moment to fully grasp his meaning. Both the nightmare and the memories of yesterday were hazy and distant but as Arkael wandered away they flooded back into my mind.
“…Angels and demons…”
“…walk the front lines of that battle…”
“… those with me do not long survive it.”
I winced, realizing that the nightmare was more real than I cared to admit.
I dragged myself off the hard ground, spurred to coherence by the thought of bandits pouncing on me, then froze when my muscles fought back. My legs were tight and unwilling to move, and I can only imagine the awkward sight I portrayed in trying to stand up without bending my limbs more than I had to. Once I got my feet under me I had to stay completely still until my legs relaxed enough for me to hobble off after him.
“So where is it we’re going?” I asked, once I caught up.
“This way,” he said, as if that answered my question. I would have pushed him for more information, especially about the menacing comments he made last night, but after working so hard to find him, I didn’t want to make him regret my company. So I stayed quiet, choosing instead to just observe and avoid antagonizing him. Truth be told, I was a little surprised he hadn’t abandoned me in the middle
of the night. Had he done so, I’m sure I’d have woken up thinking he was only a dream. Albeit a dream that had rudely carried me to the middle of nowhere.
The morning skies were cloudy and gray, but not quite as fearsome as yesterday. The ground was dry, as were my clothes, which meant it hadn't rained overnight, but the cold stubbornly lingered. Leaves crackled under my feet, and acorns jabbed through the thin leather soles of my boots. Winter was taking hold in Wessex, and I hoped our destination would bring us to a place with a roof, sturdy walls and a hearth. All manner of towns and villages lay north of us but I had no idea which of them was the most likely stop for us. I'd heard of Viking raids in the northeast, and how they liked to specifically target churches. Perhaps that's where our journey would take us. I secretly relished the thought of seeing Arkael drive off a horde of Viking warriors.
Thankfully, Arkael kept a slower pace today, though not by much. My muscles protested constantly, but I managed to keep up with him. I even tried to make conversation, but he had little to say, so I spent most of our time together hoping he’d decide to talk to me without prodding. That didn’t happen, so instead I just convinced myself I would discover what I was looking for once we ended up wherever he was going.
We passed a village that morning. This part of the road, barely more than a wide trail, wove through another forest, and we found a cross path that led to a small collection of huts and awnings that sat a few dozen yards to our right. The awnings, nothing more than tightly wrapped branches strung together, covered a small market area that consisted of five large baskets of vegetables, another stand with salted meat, and an outdoor alehouse comprised of two long tables, some chairs and a barrel of ale served by the Briton couple who owned it. I tried to convince Arkael that we’d need to stop and pick up some food for the journey. In response, he flipped a silver penny at me and told me to get what I need and catch up. He kept walking, so I hurried to the market.
“What place is this?” I asked the smiling villager standing next to the meat.
“Calsey," he said. He was older, perhaps in his late thirties, with a long face, thin, stringy brown hair that fell to his shoulders and parts of a wispy beard scattered about his cheeks. His smile revealed a few missing teeth, and he stank pretty heavily of dung.
“Calsey,” I repeated, committing it to memory. I would write it down later when I found time to document this journey. I planned on capturing every detail, no matter how small. “I’ve heard of Calsey before. You have a man here who breeds hunting dogs, right?”
“Aye. His name’s Gabriel. He’s over past the smithy.” The man lowered his voice and leaned forward. “But between you and me, those dogs are a pest. Run around the place tearing everything up like the devil himself is after ‘em.” He looked at my clothes. “You a priest?”
“I am.”
“Coming from the shore?”
“Yes. Rogwallow,” I said, hoping he didn’t ask any questions. Talking about it would only make me feel guilty for leaving.
“I know that place,” he said, giving a courteous nod. “Knew a man who’d been there once. Coupla’ years ago. He was called Alfirth."
He looked at me expectantly, but I just shrugged and smiled politely. “Before my time, I think.” I requested a meager collection of items, a few strips of salted meat, some bread, and a radish. I handed him a penny and he smiled again.
“Safe travels, father.”
“Thank you.” I bundled the items into my satchel. “Before I leave, though, any word about any dangers ahead? Troubles on the road, perhaps?”
“Aye. Mercian bandits roaming about that way. Man named Brannic leads ‘em, about eight of ‘em. They come down here a few months ago, and they’ve been killing people in the woods along that trail.”
“Killing them? Not just robbing them?”
“Aye. Killing ‘em. They drag ‘em off the road, tie ‘em up to trees and cut ‘em over and over until they die. Then they just leave ‘em up there to rot. And I don’t know that they’d go easy on priests, either. The new king, Aethelred, he finally sent some men last week but we ‘aven't heard a thing from 'em.”
“Is there another way we could travel?”
“You could go to Bath, then go north from there, maybe.”
“Bath?” I said, more to myself. “That’s where Saint David’s Monastery is, yes?” He shrugged, but I already knew the answer. Bath was an old city, built by the Romans, and legend had it that King Arthur’s victory at Mount Badon, or Mons Badonicus as the Romans called it, was nearby. That would be a safe diversion, and a good place to rest for the night, if we could make it by nightfall. “How do we get there?”
“You’ll reach a fork about midday. Left will take you west to Bath. You could get there by tonight if you walk fast.”
"God be with you, my friend," I said, heartened by the news. I hurried down the path and caught up with Arkael.
“I spoke with one of the villagers back there and he mentioned that some Mercian bandits were in the area ahead of us. He makes them sound ruthless. Perhaps we should take another route?”
“Every trail has bandits.”
“But these are particularly dangerous ones," I said. "The kind who like to kill priests.”
“Well then, I would not begrudge you for turning back and going home, where it’s safe.”
“No. No, of course not. I’m not about to turn around now. We’ve only just started.” I smiled, covering my worry. “I just wondered if it might be more prudent to take another route. We’ll hit a fork in a few hours, and the left fork will take us to Bath. There’s a monastery there we could stay at. I’m sure we could get some hot food from the monks. Maybe even a roof over our heads? The skies look threatening today.”
Arkael said nothing.
“They’d be eager to meet someone like you, I’m sure. You’d be praised as a hero and possibly a saint for what you did at Rogwallow.”
“You should feel free to go to this monastery, then, and tell them all about it. You have my permission to embellish your story any way you see fit.”
I bit my lip in annoyance, and I gave up on convincing him to change our route. If it wasn’t clear to me before, it certainly was now. He would be traveling his own way, and I was free to either keep up or give up. I only hoped that his sword was as effective against bandits swooping in from the shadows as it was against raiders plundering a church.
*****
The road stretched ahead into the autumn-touched countryside, meandering north-east through dense clusters of oak groves. Most of the trees had lost their leaves and the grassy hills they sprouted from didn’t have their normal bright green luster, leaving the world in several dull shades of brown. I pulled my robe tight and rubbed my arms, fighting off the chill that returned once the sun dipped low in the sky. We passed another village in the afternoon, which I anxiously pointed out. But Arkael continued on as if I’d said nothing, which was exactly how most of our conversations started, and ended. I eventually asked him if he planned on stopping at all this night, and that’s when he asked me if I was tired. I told him I was, but I was more concerned with finding a safe place to make camp. He grunted, and left it at that.
As afternoon turned into evening, dark clouds again rolled in from the south, but unlike yesterday, these actually brought rain. It started as a trickle at first, though we didn't notice it while staying in the trees. Just before the downpour started, Arkael turned off the path and walked through the forest, moving between the thick trunks, stopping every so often to pick up a stray branch or a dry handful of grass. Eventually, he darted around a mass of fallen trees and brush at the base of a small, jagged hill, and then disappeared. When I followed him, I discovered why - he'd taken us to a cave.
I stepped inside and immediately crouched down because I could barely see in the darkness. Arkael was already hunched over, several paces in, just past a bend in the cave. He’d laid down the branches and grass, pushing them together into a clump, readying a smal
l fire. I smiled and rubbed my hands. It wasn't the kind of roof over my head I'd expected, and there was no guarantee we wouldn't be surprised by a pack of boars in the middle of the night, but it was dry, and would soon be warm. I laid out my robes and blanket and sat down, thankful to be off my aching feet. A moment later, a spark ignited the grass and kindling in Arkael's fire, illuminating the small cave and providing us with the first hints of its warmth. The cave was narrow at this point but it opened up toward the back. I had no desire to explore any of it, but I couldn’t help but notice a structure in the darkness, short, stout, about waist high and flat at the top. It didn't seem to be a natural formation, which made it stand out.
“What’s that?” I asked, leaning closer.
Arkael sat on the ground opposite me and pulled his boots off. “An altar.”
“What kind of altar?”
“Mithraist.”
“Mithras,” I whispered. The cult of Mithras was a warrior cult that began during Roman times and found its way to Britain. They sacrificed bulls to the god Mithras in exchange for glory in battle, but they were incredibly secretive, and no one really knew anything else about them. I stood up, intending to see it up close.
“I wouldn’t go back there. The blood might still be fresh.”
“They still use it?” I sat back down, suddenly unwilling to wallow through gore.
“They’re not using it tonight.” He produced a rough strip of wool from his pack and began thoroughly wiping the mud and grass from his boots. He seemed genuinely interested in caring for them, and completely unconcerned about this cave’s normal purpose, so I forced myself to relax as well. I warmed my hands, hesitant to say anything that would interrupt him, or aggravate him as I had earlier. That was difficult, though, especially since I’d learned nothing about him the entire day. I couldn’t shake the notion that I was wasting valuable time, so I decided to try a new approach. I would tell him about me, and perhaps he’d reciprocate.