Chapter 2: Bringing Thunder
… I look up at the fiery eyes of the green knyght in the
painting. Something changes: the clouds move, the walls of order are broken. I
feel I am falling yet I cannot understand why. It’s as though I am being
punished for something outside of my scope.
I had thought that Francis was a devoutly Christian man: I
had always seen him reading scripted bibles after all. But when he said we
needed a Druid for this journey I was more than a little surprised. Bringing a
priest on a journey is one thing, bringing a druid into any affair is in my
experience quite another. “Trust me, lord, he will be the key to finding your
father.” I didn’t want to know much more, but, of course, I had to hear the
whole story.
Francis had
met the druid after his travels in Babylon
“I am still
not quite sure about this,”
Let me tell
you about magic, for as I thought on bringing this druid into our group, it was
dominating my mind. Relating it in company is suicide in Christian lands;
priests are serious about making it an evil, secretive enterprise. But the
lines between dreams, illusions, and visions are small if you’re a Norman
Druids are
one of those people who, throughout time, have gotten into a lot of trouble.
Whether it be playing to the hearts of pagans or erecting huge stones, they
have a knack for not only power but raising distrust among the commoners.
As we
approached a massive wooden fort set against a hill, I saw fires blazing
shooting colors of blue, red, and green into the skies. I had never seen fires
shooting so high into the air with such colors. Magic. Whether I believed in it
or not didn’t matter. It was a reality.
“It be
magic, me lord.” Francis seemed to have no worry in his soul. I was afraid.
Druids were a dangerous lot, and even the most galled hero would have blinked
at the face of such magic. But be it magic or just a trick?
“Magic is
banned in these lands, Francis. Is it not?”
“I have yet
to meet a baron willing to send his men to face druids. It be earth magic, they
don’t practice the dark magic here in Europa.”
This made
me curious: Where else could they practice it? How did Francis know of all
these rules, yet I did not? They were only known to dwell in the lands of
Europa. It didn’t add up.
We closed.
The wooden fort came into view, the burning fires and the colored flames all
encapsulating around it, shining off the wood like a reflection in the water.
And I couldn’t get the image of the Green Knyght out of my mind. The wooden
table was there, as was the archangel. A dark presence overwhelmed me, made me
feel sick to my stomach. I tried to hold it off but the sickening feeling
overwhelmed me. Francis grabbed me before I fell.
“Lord –“ an arrow hit the path before us.
I heard the voice yell “Walk no further.” It surprised me
that Francis, the brave, stubborn Welshman, had a smile on his face as he
stepped in front of me. Always the protector this soldier. And I had doubted
his loyalties.
“We seek
Rochelle,” Francis yelled.
“We know of
no Rochelle.”
“You lie.”
I heard
voices yelling. My senses told me we had escaped the normal world, this place
wasn’t cursed, but it certainly wasn’t blessed. The language was nothing from
Europa. It seemed more like decadent Babylonian words. Guyus had made me study
documents on Hammurabi and on the Babylonian empire; many called the things
they did demonic, but I found them more bookish than something that was a
definite evil.
The gate to the fort opened with a
creaking sound, as though it was never opened and the druids just flew over the
walls whenever it suited them. I turned back and looked at the darkening lands
that we had passed through. Had they not known we were there all along? In all
my studies, not once had Guyus told me of magic. It was as though it were some
archaic, dangerous object not to be touched.
I grabbed Francis’ arm. “I don’t
like this. Something is wrong.”
“Nothing is ever right with Druids,
they grow mad with power. But without Rochelle we are flying blind into a land
of chaos.”
We walked forward, past a group of
cloaked druid men, and one that looked suspiciously like a woman. Which was
Rochelle? I doubted even the eyes of a deft bowman could tell one from another.
The woman was the only one who, with her body and coy grin, stood out at all.
“I be Francis, servant of William
Chapel the First. We seek Rochelle for a journey. Where shall I go to find
him?”
“You have found him.” A man in red
came forward. One hand was shaking while the other was positioned on a cane
which dug into the ground. I could see his eyes, yet even with the torch
showing his visage I couldn’t make out much. It was as though he was shielding
his true face. “What sort of journey?”
“To the east. The Yin empire,
Rochelle.”
He walked to me. Looked into my
eyes. I felt the magic within him, and I wondered how I could sense this.
He turned
away from me to Francis. “It has been a long time.”
Francis didn’t
respond. And the druid looked back to me.
“Do you
know of the archangels of the sword?”
“What?”
“It is a
simple question. Orders of chaos magic we venture to. You must have the
visions. I was here when Arthur was strong.”
“That’s not
possible. You would have to be hundreds of years –“
“It be
true. Immortality is more a curse than a blessing. What do you know of the
Green Knyght?”
My heart
skipped a beat. How could he know? There was no way unless the Knyght practiced
some kind of magic that he sensed. I thought it was only a dream. But it still
didn’t answer where my father was and how we can help him. Francis looked to
me. He was obviously curious about what the druid was talking of.
“I know
nothing of him, except of the legends and stories.”
“Now you
lie. Never lie to a man you seek for help.”
“Francis we
don’t need this man.”
“Yes, we
do.”
“Who are
these archangels?” My mind went to the painting, the one behind the
Green Knyght in my vision. It had to be an archangel, a
fighter for … for someone. Where was God in a land of magic?
“There are
three. There must be four. They are the knyghts of a demon from the
underworld.”
“The
devil?”
“We have
other names for the beast.”
“Where is
my father in all of this?”
“Closer
than you might think.”
------
Fall of Archangel
Tower of Archangels
Ancient City Warriors, Ancient City FallsLake, Dead Earth Writing
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