The thrill of the chase that had coursed through the Hospitallers veins eventually gave way to the monotony of the exhausting run and they could almost feel the gloom closing in around them as they entered what appeared to be another small settlement and their target suddenly began to make a strange keening sound that filled the air, clashing dissonantly with the rhythmic pounding of their feet.
Without warning, their quarry stopped dead in his tracks and stood still, his back to them.
It was so unexpected that Sir Richard grabbed Jacob's arm and the two Hospitallers came to a gasping halt, fingers closing around their sword hilts expectantly.
“You there!” the knight shouted, his voice jarring in the eerie silence. Not a single light burned in the windows of any of the houses around them, although the buildings didn't seem to be derelict. “We just want to talk to you!”
Still panting, trying to draw in lungfuls of night air, Sir Richard watched as the man they'd been chasing at full tilt for such a long distance turned and faced them.
“How's...how's the bastard not out of breath?” Jacob growled in disbelief. “Look at him!”
It was true. The man glared at them from beneath thick black eyebrows, his body stock still, while the Hospitallers – fit men both of them – heaved with the exertion of the run. His fleshy lips were closed, while his pursuer's mouths were open as they tried to regain their breath.
“You made a mistake coming here,” the man said. “And now you will die.”
Sir Richard shuddered at the voice – soft, yet somehow horribly repugnant – then he cried out as something hit him hard in his left side. He hauled his longsword from its leather sheath as he stumbled, regaining his footing just in time to ward off the blow that came from the shadowy figure that appeared now from his right.
Jacob had been blind-sided by another assailant and fallen hard, hitting his master as he went down, and he lay now, defenceless, on the hard road as his attacker jumped on top of him, raining blows down on his face and body.
In front of him, Sir Richard brought his sword round in a wide arc that flew harmlessly over his own opponent's head as the man ducked, but the knight had expected the evasive movement and rammed his knee into the side of the man's temple, knocking him to the ground where he lay, cursing but too disoriented to stand up again.
“In the name of Christ!” With a cry the Hospitaller swivelled and swung his sword straight down into the side of Jacob's attacker's skull, feeling the shock of the enormous blow jarring his wrists as the blade lodged tightly in the man's head.
Jacob scrambled out from underneath the dying man as his master jerked his sword free and the pair stood, back to back, eyeing the darkness around them fearfully.
The man Sir Richard had knocked down struggled to rise, a hideous bubbling noise coming from his throat as he looked up at the Hospitaller, eyes wide yet hideously black in the moonlight and his lips pulled back in a grimace.
“Die, you bastard abomination!” Jacob had his own blade out of its sheath by now and he rammed it into the man's neck, straight through, the point bursting in a spray of blood and flesh from the other side. He threw his head back and held his arms wide, screaming with fury and blood-lust as Sir Richard stood silently, trying to regain his breath and marshal his thoughts.
No one else appeared and the silence returned, even more oppressive than before. Their original target had disappeared into the darkness, so they hastily searched the two corpses for anything that might be useful but found nothing other than a scrap of parchment with strange symbols and words scrawled in what appeared to be blood: Ο Ντάγκον έρχεται.
“St John only knows what this is all about,” Sir Richard growled, shoving the parchment into an inner pocket, underneath his mail, eyes scanning the few buildings in the settlement for danger. “Come on, let's get back to the church before more of those lunatics appear.”
Clouds had covered the night sky by now, obscuring both the moon and the stars so it was impossible for the Hospitallers to get their bearings and, since they'd been so intent on their quarry as they ran, they had no clear idea of how to get back to Sgourou. Eventually though, they found the main road and headed back to Father Vitus's church.
It had been an eventful day...
* * *
They were exhausted when they made it back to St Luke's, having stopped on the way only to buy a couple of skins of wine, a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese at the local market which was still quite busy despite the late hour. Father Vitus was nowhere to be seen but the housekeeper was standing in the hallway when they came in, her eyes fixed on the floor tiles.
“Would you like anything, my lord?” she asked Sir Richard, avoiding Jacob's lingering gaze.
“No, Athenais, we're fine,” the knight replied. “Thank you for asking.”
The lady, probably no more than twenty years old Sir Richard guessed, nodded her head, her shoulder length black hair bouncing as she did so and, without looking up made her way towards the kitchen. The men watched as she went then retired to their room where they sat on the beds they'd been assigned, chatting as the strong drink eased their tired muscles and somewhat relaxed them.
“I'm exhausted,” Jacob sighed, pulling off his boots and mail shirt. He lay down but placed his dagger beside his pillow with a wary glance towards the window. “Too bloody hot to pull the shutters over,” he grumbled. “And you heard what that merchant said earlier, about the noises from underground. Maybe we should set a watch” –
Sir Richard waved the suggestion away with a smile. “Don't be ridiculous! We're safe enough in here. I should set a watch on you, perhaps – you seem to have taken a shine to that housekeeper. Just remember your vow of chastity!” He grinned as his sergeant flushed red in embarrassment, spluttering a denial. “Get some sleep; in the morning we'll ask Father Vitus about the place where we were attacked then question some of his congregation about what's going on here. Leave a candle burning if it makes you feel better.”
Within a short space of time the Hospitallers were snoring gently, as the sounds of the locals revelling slowly died away and only the noise of insects could be heard outside.
Sir Richard awoke, a sense of impending doom flooding through him and he lay still, wondering what had disturbed his sleep. He could hear nothing but the feeling of intense danger grew in him and he made to reach for the sword that lay propped against the bed by his hand.
Panicking, he realised he couldn't move and he tried to cry out, to warn Jacob, but his mouth wouldn't open. Terrified now, he strained to work his vocal chords, to make some kind of sound, even a grunt, but his body refused to respond and he lay, pinned to the straw mattress as...something...came into the room.
Jesus Christ Almighty, what the fuck is that?
The figure was incredibly thin and so black that the shadows seemed to shrink back from its blasphemous outline. Its limbs were long, almost like an insect, but it was so tall that it had to stoop as it approached the knight, despite the high ceiling in the bed chamber. As it approached him, he seemed to hear a whispered chant inside his head, although the words were difficult to make out.
The Hospitaller struggled within himself, every fibre of his soul rebelling against the fear that stopped him from moving as the eldritch stick-man crept up to stand next to his bed and leaned down.
As the great faceless head came into view Sir Richard finally managed to break the spell he was under, screaming in terror and lunging desperately from the bed to land on the floor, tangled amongst his bed-sheets.
“What? What's the matter?” Jacob had come instantly awake and stood, dagger held defensively before him, gaze darting around the room for signs of an attack before looking down at his master on the floor.
“Lord God Almighty!” Sir Richard gasped, his eyes wide, staring at the door which was firmly shut, the latch still locked in place. “God Almighty!” he repeated, making no effort to stand but grasping the hilt of his sword and holding it against hi
s chest which rose and fell as if he'd been running. “A dream,” he mumbled to his worried sergeant-at-arms. “Just a dream, although a very...very vivid one. Go back to sleep.”
He climbed back into bed and rearranged the thin covers over himself, the fear fading slowly as his brain accepted the fact there was no hellish stick-figure in the room and it had all been nothing more than a nightmare. Eventually he slumped back onto the pillow, praying to God that the dream wouldn't return.
* * *
The morning dawned, bright and sunny as it almost always was on Rhodes to the chagrin of the English Hospitallers who wished for a bit of rain to cool the air a little.
Father Vitus apologised for his absence the previous night and asked how things had gone with their investigation around the village. Sir Richard told him about their pursuit of the black-eyed man and the subsequent fatal fight in the apparently deserted settlement as the bearded little priest listened, his face screwed up in consternation.
“I have no idea where that place is,” he told them, shaking his head in puzzlement. “There's nowhere within running distance that fits your description. There are little villages nearby of course, but none that sound like your description to me. Why no one was around is a mystery.”
“Another one,” Jacob grunted, biting into the soft white bread Athenais had provided for them.
“Indeed,” the priest inclined his head with a tight smile as Sir Richard produced the piece of parchment he'd taken from the dead man the previous night.
“I can speak a little Greek, but I can't read it,” the knight said, handing the parchment over for Father Vitus to inspect.
The puzzled look on his face changed to one of undisguised fear and the knight leaned forward to grip his wrist. “What does it say?”
“Nothing, it's nonsense,” the priest replied, trying to snatch his hand away but Sir Richard held it in a vice-like grip and glared at him.
“Don't lie to me, priest! If you don't tell me what it says someone else will!”
Father Vitus returned the bearded knight's angry gaze but finally relented. “Have you heard of the Vrahnas?”
The Hospitallers looked at each other and shook their heads.
“The Vrahnas is a demon that comes to people in the night, as they sleep,” Vitus told them his voice low, fearful, and Sir Richard felt his blood run cold.
“That's what it says on the parchment?” he demanded.
The little priest shook his head. “No. The Vrahnas has been...visiting...people since time began. It has many different names in the cultures of the world from what I understand, but it's basically the same thing.” He stopped, licking his lips before taking a sip of the fruit juice in his cup. “The parchment here,” he held it up, the sunlight streaming in through the open window showing the writing in stark contrast, “it says, 'Ο Ντάγκον έρχεται'... In your language that means 'Dagon is coming'.”
Sir Richard's fingers tightened spasmodically around his own wooden cup and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he replayed the scene from last night's dream in his head. The whispered chant he could hear in his head; he remembered it now. “Arra...arra...arra...Dagon...Dagon...Dagon...”
“Dagon has taken the place of the Vrahnas,” Father Vitus continued, not noticing the knight's nervous reaction. “Only, where the Vrahnas frightened people...well, no one died. It was just a nightmare. Dagon though...when he visits he either sends his victim insane with terror or... there have been a lot of people dying in their sleep since tales of this devil started to circulate a while ago. Why his name was written on the parchment your attackers carried I can't say, but this is a warning. A curse! You must leave here now, forget this foolish investigation.”
Jacob had watched his master's reaction to Father Vitus's information and now he spoke up. “You saw him last night, didn't you? This Dagon, or succubus or incubus or whatever the hell it is. That's why you were rolling about on the floor!”
Sir Richard's hand strayed to his sword hilt as he nodded a reply. “Aye. The demon came to me in my sleep,” he admitted, looking at the priest for his reaction. “I couldn't move, couldn't even open my mouth to scream. Yet...when I managed to roll out of the bed and waken myself, there was no one there but Jacob and I.”
“He was here?” Father Vitus looked interested rather than shocked or frightened. “Dagon was in the church buildings?”
“It was just a dream,” Sir Richard smiled, helping himself to some spiced pork. “I haven't been driven insane and I'm still very much alive. I'm sure it was more the result of the cheese I ate before I retired than any ancient demon trying to kill me.”
The priest nodded and mumbled what sounded like a prayer of protection although the Hospitaller couldn't make out the words.
Athenais, the housekeeper, came in to clear the plates from the table and, as before, the knight noticed the priest casting surreptitious glances at her and he guessed Jacob wasn't the only one that was smitten by the girl's beauty.
“Douse that in holy water and burn it,” Sir Richard stood, pointing grimly at the cursed parchment in Father Vitus's hand. “Jacob and I are going to the market to question the locals about this whole damn mystery. It'll take more than a bad dream to stop our investigation.”
* * *
The morning was spent in the market, the bright sunlight reflecting off the hard ground and making the heat almost unbearable for the two English Hospitallers. The canopied stalls offered some respite but it was stifling even in the shade and the locals seemed to have – or admitted to – little knowledge of the disappearances in the area. The mention of the Vrahnas, or Dagon, the stick figure that haunted dreams, only resulted in the superstitious locals clamming up, wide-eyed with fear.
They bought a lunch of fruit, meat and cheese, although the cheese was warm and unpleasant to the Englishmen’s' palates and Sir Richard regretted eating it as he recalled his earlier nightmare. A few cups of wine helped them digest the food but eventually, Sir Richard grew tired of the stifling heat and led them back to St Luke's, downcast and wondering how they'd ever get anywhere with this investigation if the locals wouldn't co-operate.
When they got back to the church buildings it was early evening and a young family were talking to Father Vitus. After a while Athenais led the small group off and the priest came across to talk to the Hospitallers who had waited by the front door to speak to him.
“Visitors?” Sir Richard wondered.
The priest nodded. “Travellers from the city. They're going to visit family on the far end of the island and sought a place to stay for the night. A bed here costs a lot less than a bed at an inn.” He shrugged and fixed Sir Richard with an accusatory look. “Many people on the island are poor.”
The knight knew Father Vitus was suggesting the Hospitallers persecuted and held down the Orthodox Christians on the island but he was experienced enough not to rise to the bait.
“We're getting nowhere with the villagers – no one wants to offer any information and it's obvious they're all afraid of this cult or whatever it is.”
“Maybe,” the Greek nodded. “Or maybe they just don't know anything.”
“Whatever. We'll go out again at night and see if we can find a lead, but I expect we'll be back early.”
* * *
Sir Richard's words proved prophetic and the Hospitallers were back in their room in St Luke's long before midnight. The locals proved just as unhelpful at night as they had during the oppressively hot day – more so in fact, as the absence of sunlight made the atmosphere appear even more threatening. So they returned to the church dejectedly and, after a frugal supper of bread and boiled eggs that they found in the little kitchen – presumably left out by the housekeeper who, like Father Vitus was nowhere to be seen – they said their evening prayers and climbed into their beds.
“I'll sleep with one eye open,” Jacob said to his master as they lay in the humid darkness awaiting sleep. “If you dream of the Vrahnas, or Dagon,
or anything like that, just grunt and I'll wake you up.”
Sir Richard laughed softly. “I'll try,” he replied. “It's not as easy as you'd think – when the dream came to me I was pinned down and couldn't move a muscle, even the ones in my mouth. Go to sleep and don't worry about me though, I'm sure my sleep will be fine tonight.”
The scream roused Jacob a while later. Only a small sliver of moonlight illuminated the room but it was just enough for the sergeant-at-arms to find his master and roughly shake him to try and break the nightmare he feared Sir Richard was trapped inside.
“Alright, alright!” The knight shoved Jacob's hands away. “What are you doing you madman?”
“I heard a cry,” Jacob replied, lifting his sword that stood by his own bed and pulling it from its leather and wood sheath. “It woke me up. I assumed it was you.”
Sir Richard lay his head back down on the straw mattress in exhaustion. “I think you're the one that's having bad dreams tonight,” he muttered. “Maybe the eggs disagreed with you.”
“I don't think it was a nightmare,” Jacob shook his head. “Something definitely woke me...”
He stopped in mid-sentence and looked across at Sir Richard who had sat bolt-upright in the blackness as another pained cry filtered through their thick wooden door.
The knight jumped from the bed, grasping his own blade and ordered Jacob to follow him as they unlatched the door and cautiously made their way into the corridor outside their room.
The stone floor was surprisingly cold and both men felt the hairs on the back of their necks rise as they stared into the inky darkness of St Luke's.
“Help me!”
The scream allowed Sir Richard to get his bearings and he led his sergeant along the corridor, towards the room Athenais had taken the family from earlier to.
“Help me, please help me!”
The voice – a woman's – came again and this time they heard children's voices adding to the noise.
Knight of the Cross Page 2