Archangels of the Sword, Red Knyght Rising, A Fantasy Novel, 2Trill, by Hong Kong 2

 “And they came at night, the warriors in black with the swords of light, keeping the forces of evil at bay, and they sought to change the world by day.”

 -- Norman Poet

Chapter 1: The Scrivener

 …The dream changes. I find myself at a wooden table. There is a green knyght here. I wish I was having a normal dream, not another of this knyght. Another painting is behind him and at first I think it be a woman’s visage. I look closer and see an angel with dark eyes, a sword in her hand, like a warrior from the side of satan. How could I confuse the two? This is an evil archangel; there is no doubt. Who is this green knyght?

“William are you listening?” My hands were tight on the old oak table. I tried not to sound confused.

“Yes, I am listening, Guyus.”

“We were talking about your favorite story … or at least trying to. Since these lessons have continued, you seem to grow more bored with every new discussion.”

“Gowain and the Green Knyght. That be my favorite.”

“Good,” Guyus replied. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess it has so much meaning to it.”

“What does it mean to you?”

“It means that not everything is as it appears. It is a warning.”

He seemed surprised by my answer. I never listened much in these classes, as my dreams of being something other than a normal knyght would reveal.

Guyus was a good teacher; one of the Greek mold. He preferred anything by Sophocles to the more modern poets who were more to my liking. Arthurian tales were what kept me awake, not plays by Athenians.

“And why be the knyght green?”

“The color has no meaning.”

“Ah, my lord, that is where you’re wrong.” He smiled. I had to wonder if he knew the answer himself. “You will one day understand. Our lessons are over. One day you might be king of these lands. I can recall…” He went on about how great a student my father was. How he changed the way the fiefs across the Norman empire were run. I had no intention of following in my father’s footsteps. I would be my own man, find my own destiny. No matter what anyone said, I would do this.

“This is my last lesson to you, William. Take what books you want from me, seek out your vision, and do your best not to incite all those young girls.”

                                                                       

Meredith had the eyes, the touch, and the way of putting words together. All of it made me attracted to her. In some ways I despised my time with her. She was quick to correct, to offer an opinion, and she never stopped thinking. I just wanted to make love. Wanted to feel through her hair and stare through the clouds to the moon on an engaging night of kissing.

She made me read poetry out loud, saying it would help my thinking and putting thoughts together. Most of these nights I wouldn’t want to think – would do my best to avoid it – but she incited me to think about the visions of the Green Knyght. I had told no one about it, and when the knyght had come up in conversation with Gregory, I had only given my opinion. My visions were just that: Mine. I was neither ashamed of them nor fearful, though perhaps I should have been more disturbed by it at that time. Who had visions of Green Knyghts? Perhaps Franks or Visigoths, but Normans? We were a people on the echo of time. We were supposed to make something of ourselves, whether it be conquering or solving the riddle said time had.

I didn’t even tell Meredith of the Green Knyght. All the while the questions rang through my mind. Was I going mad? Was the devil toying with me as he did Christ?

            The questions ceased the moment her lips met mine. She would have been a good wife for a baron, but not for a scrivener – a man who made his way designing weapons parchment or putting letters together.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said. I let the silence hold the moment. I had no answer. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking then the words came out, a little more heated than I intended.

“My father.”

“When was last you –“

“Two months. The expedition to the Yin empire. I worry. What if he’s dead? I sense something is wrong. My mother is already lost. We have our differences … but I should have heard from him.”

“There are few ships that cross those waters,” she said. “You were lucky to get letters before. He is farther away than you imagine.”

She stood, naked, and I tried to bring her back to the bed. “No. You are hiding something from me. I can sense these things.”

How women had this ability was beyond me. I truly hated it, just as much as I hated struggling through life without a love as it once had been.

“I have these … visions.”

A knock came at the door, and she rushed to throw her clothes on.

“Me lord?” The voice distinct, worried perhaps at what was going on behind the door.

“Give me a moment,” I said. She rushed into the other room. It wasn’t that we were ashamed but such relationships were arranged in Norman lands. And as I watched the backside of her body, I wished I could just grasp it throughout the day and not just the nights.

I opened my eyes and walked to the door with nothing but my pants on. I opened it and saw one of my father’s servants standing at the door. “Word from your father, me lord.”

I took the letter, nodded to the servant, and shut the door. It would make my day to know that my father – a man whom I was on less than good terms – was okay. Not dead, not shipwrecked, but alive and well.

            The handwriting seemed scribbled out in a chaotic fashion. The ink was all over the page. It all seemed rushed. What was wrong?

            William, he wrote, tis an extreme thing to put thought to page, to make the ink sit right on the page, to attempt to administer the visions I have seen that were too detailed to be anything other than real. I digress, now I am not sure what’s real and what isn’t. As I write this letter, the Yin guide who has traveled with me since the beginning is foraging for food.Perhaps an animals died in the frosts of the lands and was preserved. One can hope for an eternity. I speak with my heart and not my mind. I won’t ever leave this land. I have been cursed. You must travel here; see it for yourself. Use whatever assets I have in Brittanai to acquire a trade ship, pick up Jonathan Dunn at the tip of Africana, take my best Welsh bowman, Francis. I fear without you the chaos will envelop me. If, when you reach the Yin city of Hong, you find I am not there, only know I will stay with you in your heart forever, for I have traveled to some land men like us weren’t meant to see. Goodbye, my son.

            I looked at the page, confused. What had happened to my father? His words were convoluted. He was never this short in speaking or writing. He was a vain man who would go on forever; you had to cut him off in the middle of a story or the day would turn to night. He seemed lost in his own words this time. The reality was he could die. I had to seek him out and see what happened, or the power I had longed to avoid would be thrust upon me.

            He was close to death, and that was all I could think of.

            “What did it say?” I looked at her half naked body, into the eyes that revealed so much, and couldn’t come up with an answer. Nothing matched her beauty. I came to the conclusion my studious life was over.

            “Trouble.”

            “Let me go.”

            “No, I could never do that.”

            “Because you think I would be useless?”

            “Because I don’t want to go myself.”

Let me tell you what chaos is. Chaos is the absence of God. We all hear stories of magic and chaos, demons from the other side playing with men like toys. It has happened throughout history.

I thought hard on chaos being the absence of God, a line my father instilled in me many times in the past. As I thought of this, I approached Francis’ room in our castle. Being a Welsh bowman in the Norman empire be a rich trade, as archers talented with the long bow are in high demand. They can shatter legions of charging knyghts with the flick of their wrists. The long bow is the strongest weapon here in Europa. Saying that, I had heard stories of different kinds of weapons in the Yin empire.

But let me tell you about this bowman, and I will relate my thoughts on sorcery at a later point. Francis was a man of Christian blood who would have followed my father into the gates of hell. He would face just about anything save the pope if my father desired it. Ever since my mother’s death, he had been the strength in my father’s life. A religious man with plenty of principles, but it was his high-ranking with the Welsh that was most important to my father, as he related to many on countless occasions. Still, I had the feeling there be more to this Welshman; I sensed a desire for power underneath the façade of the good, caring heart he was said to walk under.

Whether he was evil or good, I would need him on this journey because he was the best bowman in all of Europa.

            He had always looked different than the average soldier. The lines around his eyes made it appear he had been put on night-duty since birth; I had never seen youth in his face all my life. I also had noted his fingers were covered with callases every time I met him, and I assumed this was the result from firing his long bow. He could be leader of an empire in Brittania, or carve out something in Italia, but he stayed loyal to my father. Why?

If it had been my choice, my father’s small empire would have been turned over to him. But it wasn’t. I realized that which all children of great men had to face: The turning over of power and responsibilities. For me there would be no more summer nights dancing to the chorus of music: All boys turned to men.

            I found Francis wasn’t in his room. I traveled the halls of the castle, peering out windows, trying to find him. When I did find him, he was busy being captivated by the crafting of a bow. I had never known him to be interested in this process – which was something that intrigued me as well – but when he saw me, he took his eyes away and nodded.

“Me Lord, you look troubled.”

I explained the letter in the best way I could.

“We cannot tell everyone of this. The only reason they haven’t attacked us is they fear his reprisals. I will never be the general my father was, Francis. We are his only chance.”

Was I acting? Did I really trust this man?

We walked. I was trying to make sense of the situation. As I looked over the clothes he wore, I tried to pinpoint the reason my father had kept such a power close to his side. Was this the old adage, “Keep your enemies even closer?” Just the way he dressed was odd. Wasn’t the usual fare for a warrior: It seemed pulled together from too many empires to count, as though Francis had pushed the boundaries of Europa countless times. The cloak was akin to something from Rome, red with blue lines, imperial would be the best word. His helmet was to cheap for him: The basic Norman piece that shielded the top of the head and the nose; it made me think it had some other value to it. Alas, what he wore didn’t tell me what I wanted to know.

I stopped short of telling him all the grim details of the letter. I sensed that we would need more than the ordinary, valiant attempts of a few to save my father. Perhaps our only chance was an act of God.

We would have to travel a long ways. The Yin empire was outside of my experience. There had been stories of travelers there, and of a tribe called the Mongols who were always on the verge of destroying them, but as many tales that were told of success in the travels were of death. I didn’t know whom this man Jonathan Dunn be, either.

            “A trader,” said Francis, “one your father went on many adventures with. I don’t believe they have spoken in decades.”

            “That doesn’t make sense. There must be more to this man.”

            “Wait. He does speak Yin. He is a Dutchman. He would take ships there with your father back when I was part of the Norman honor guard.”

            We stopped walking. I was trying to piece it all together. I thought of all the visions I had of the Green Knyght: Was it a warning of some kind? Or was I losing my mind?

“We need another opinion. I have heard things about the Yin empire. It may be best to bring someone with an understanding.”

“I have just the fellow, me lord.”