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.”
#
It be as though he already knew of the green knyght. I
thought that perhaps he could provide me answers; but I was afraid. I had told
no one of my visions – ever toeing the line between the reality of the
situation and the fact that I would have to face something I didn’t want to.
The table
was an opaque homage to a man destined to work with wood. I recognized the
handiwork, but couldn’t place which wood worker had created the table. Had it
not been made by natural means?
Francis and
I were sitting in a cold room with Rochelle, but words seemed to have failed
us. I would have thought Francis were friends with this druid, but they seemed
to eye each other with suspicion.
“Tell me of
magic,” I asked the druid, Rochelle.
“There is
no magic in the lands of Europa.”
“Then how
do you pull the stones from the ground and arrange them to the stars? How do
you survive? I see no farms, no fighters, this is a time of great upheaval yet
you seem to do nothing but stay in your castle.”
“Europa
isn’t ready for the kind of magic you speak of.”
“What other
kinds be there?”
“Stone
magic.”
He leaned
forward and his eyes were drilling through my defenses, as though he already
knew everything that was going to come out of my mouth.
Do you
truly trust this Francis? Do you really want to see what your father hath become?
He was in
my mind. An empty silence filled the room. It didn’t feel like magic; more
something akin to something the celts had toyed with … called Gal. I had heard
of it; the Romans called it something different: witchcraft.
Why
should I not trust Francis? I said it in my mind, as though it be a natural
thing for me to speak to my someone in my own mind.
He be a
great warrior. I wouldn’t trust your father’s lands to him; they might not be here
when you return. The only reason your father told you this, was that he knew
this Welshman desired power more than anything else. Keep your enemies close …
I didn’t
look at Francis; didn’t dare. I remembered my father joking with him on many
occasions on how skinny Welshman always were: he never saw one with a gut. He
mentioned nothing of his true desires. I would have given the land to Francis
right there, but my father had built it, and maybe this Welshman would do
things with the lands that was evil.
“What is
Stone Magic?” I said, breaking the silence.
“It be the
only magic the druids practice.”
I’m
lieing.
I know
you are.
“I have a question,” Francis said. “Why do you bring
up the old ballad of the Green Knyght? Why do you ask Francis of it?”
“Druids play with absolutes instead of with God.”
“What does that mean.”
“You will understand. And that is unfortunate.”
We stayed the night at the
fort. The small rooms cut into the halls stayed cool. The druids treated us
like royalty, but I knew they were hiding something underneath the smiles and
the mead. I looked out and saw things in the woods, craven eyes, lights from
fires, all things that told me we were being followed. Why would we be
followed? And why would they make themselves so visible?
I went to Francis’ room as I had trouble sleeping, and
found him eyeing scripture so I didn’t disturb him.
A man of God would betray me? Was it an act? Had he heard
me walking to his room?
I didn’t sleep much that night. I eyed much of what was
around me, biding my time. The questions were overwhelming really, but I tried
not to think on them. Druids play with absolutes instead of God… just one of
the many riddles I had heard in my life. Even the Green Knyght seemed logical
in comparison to the Druid: He answered questions with questions.
By morn we were gone. The druid had a young mare that
looked as though it was intended to move a massive stone. The questions all
lingered, giving me the most painful headache I had had since first drinking
half a barrel of ale on my 16th birthday.
The druid, Rochelle, wore a cloth that appeared to be
made of silk, as it was a fine tailored piece. Silk was expensive, but, being a
druid, and having an understanding of magic, would likely make him a master at
alchemy. He held no weapons; at least none I could see. Druids were feared
across Europa, but Stone Magic wasn’t. I would find out the truth behind it
before this journey was over. Though, I wasn’t planning on stealing anything
from a single druid, lest my luck run out.
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