Seeds of a Glowing Ember – 06
#7 of Seeds of a Glowing Ember
Distant sunlight finally began to illuminate the cold gray cloud which had settled above their world. The fanatical rhythm of the stallion between his legs concerned him as he could not seem to slow the animal's vigor. Though this particular beast was renowned for its lusty gate, Friar William knew, when he traded his horse over for this one, the animal would need to be rested at least twice on this trip. But not once had the stallion slowed from his breakneck pace and the rider began to wonder if the beast's fear matched his own.
There had been terror in William's heart the previous night when they set out during the eve of an unpleasant storm. He had felt it when Father Harold grimly handed him a letter and sent him back into that same night. Now the certainty that something awful had set its gaze upon him grasped at his throat like a clammy corpse.
When William gave the letter to Father Michael and he witnessed, for the first time, true fear in the hard man's face. The former Templar's position in England had protected him from the French King's fanatical persecution of God's people. The man had fought as part of an army and faced off with demons with his soul intact. But there was fear on his face when he returned from a forbidden room with three parcels for William to carry.
"May the protection of God be upon you," Father Michael had said as he opened the first parcel and smudged William's forehead with holy charcoal and ashes. "May this blade strike at the heart of your enemies and see you safely home," the former Templar said as he placed a long holy dagger into a scabbard for the friar's journey. "Never allow this book to fall into the hands of a fallen soul," the old holy man said as he handed over the final package. "Now take mighty Samson ... and go. May God's speed be with you, warrior."
_God's Speed ... God's Protection ... these words from a holy Templar who also serves the Dark Lady. The Father protects ... the Mother grants life ... and we serve them. _ These words burned in the Friar's mind as he stampeded away on the mighty stallion. The strange book was wrapped in the type of hearty packaging normally reserved for the Pope or the King, and the moment he touched it, Friar William knew he now bore an unholy thing.
When he placed it into the saddle bags, the horse stirred nervously, and then did not stop running once spired into flight. Like a vile predator lingered close in pursuit, there was no slowing this beast. William felt he knew the feeling well, but as they traveled, he could focus on little but the book in its wrapping, the horse with its speed, and the danger of riding such an animal this quickly through the black of a night so pitch as this one.
At last a glimmer of hope came upon them, as the clouds glowed faintly with sun. But as the manor crept up on the horizon, the rider could hear the telltale gurgle of a horse being run into its grave. Leaning back in the saddle did little, but he pulled back with all of his strength non-the-less. Annoyed grunts were all he could gain, though, for the horse was too big and too strong for him to drive its head back enough to force him to a canter.
It took skill to stay in the saddle, crushing hard with his legs as they went. Then William felt the first sign of fumble, and the prize stallion began to drift off of the path. This is it, the rider realized in horror, and again he pulled back with all of his might. This time the animal roared, if a horse could do such a thing, and its hooves slowed their pounding enough for the rider to escape. Pushing back hard, William thrust himself off of the horse's hind-quarters and was thankful to avoid a hoof to the face as he fell. The mud caught him and mercifully slid him to a sloppy stop. Then the sound of the stallion caught him once more, and with a scream of pure terror, it swayed and then fell to the ground.
A few pitiful flops were all it had strength for, until the great heaving chest settled then stopped. Though William had lived through the terrible encounter, he was not sure he would survive the wrath of Father Michael when he heard the news. _Unless I complete this mission and go into hiding ... like I've already been doing. _ The realization allowed him to take stabilizing breaths, and he gathered enough of his wits to remove the bag from the saddle. It was heavy across his shoulders, but he knew it was something he could bare, as he made his way to the manor on his own two feet.
*****
Once more the heavens opened and let forth their life quenching squall, forcing the struggling Friar to draw his cloak tightly to him. Within the fine cloth, a young lad bravely served his friend and priest. Struggling forward upon dreams of resurrecting the Templars and their dreams, he focused on the task of bringing an evil book to a man he felt could use it to ruin this darkness which was trying to stop him.
The rain increased its ferocity as if it was trying to wash away such hope. The water sealed cloak was failing, gaining the weight and chill of a tomb. Well-made boots splashed into the thickening mud, which conspired to twist his ankles and throw him down. As his strength began to fail, he lifted his voice to the Dark Lady and Light Lord. Prayers of strength and guidance carried him forward, and a strong faith in his master moved him along. At the entrance of the grounds, the mud was hardened by gravel, and at last he made his way to the front of the manor.
Twin halberds shifted suddenly shifted towards him and for the first time he was resolutely aware of the two guards which held them. "Stand fast and state your purpose," one of the guards growled, and it took the young man a moment to find his breath.
"Father ... Harold," William managed to struggle out past the feeling of the dead horse lying on his chest. "I have this package ... for him."
For a moment the guards simply stared at him and William could feel the cold stink of panic as it whipped up his heartbeat and deafened his mind with possible horrors. So close to his goal, yet these two blocked his path. Briefly he thought he could use authority to get past them ... but there was a growing burn in his chest ... which his free hand discovered was the holy blade burning hot in its sheath. Peering into their coal black eyes, William understood the warning. The two men-at-arms were pale, worn, and covered in the guise of death as if the reaper were a personal friend. They were not of this world. They were not human.
"Sisto," spoke a voice from the gloom, and then a specter of meekness appeared from the shadows in the hall. At a distance there was a flash of red eyed hunger ... then bright blue eyes could be seen clearly as the pretty servant girl stepped into the light and between the guards. "All is well," she told them, "he is our master's guest." With a gesture of her hand the halberds returned to their erect posture and the guards returned to a more neutral stance. "Come," she spoke gently, and reached her small hand toward William.
Though he did not remember telling his hand to take hers, he soon found the sensation of her pulling him forward. Past the danger of the two sentinels and into the shadows of the manor, she took him where he wished not to be. Through richly build halls stripped bare of their wealth, they wordlessly traveled.
The urgency of the blond serving girl dragged him forward, and the soft warmth of her hand took his breath. When, at last, they moved into the kitchen, she let go of his hand. "Avoid those monstrous guards if you can," she told him, and then she looked at the bundle which was cradled in his other arm. "Is that what they want?" He nodded in mute response. "What is it?"
"A book, I believe," William found himself saying, though he normally have not spoken so freely with a servant girl whom might be reporting his words to her master ... whoever they might be.
"Why is it special?" she asked with blue eyes blinking widely with curiosity, the fear of their first encounter replaced with an intellectual wonder he found himself admiring.
"I don't know," he told her as he steadied himself, "but I have to take this to Father Harold."
"He sleeps," she whispered as if she might accidentally wake him from the kitchen, and the gesture was so cute that William could not hide his smile.
"Then I must wake him," the friar said with a steady breath.
"But ... you look dreadful," the girl told him with a concern he thought was also endearing. "You should bathe and then rest."
"Once my task is complete I shall take you up on that offer," the young man said and the maiden reluctantly nodded. Suddenly it registered that he was alone with a beautiful young woman who appeared very much to be taking an interest in his life. A deep flush filled his cheeks and he was glad what she had already looked away from him to gather two wash basins which she filled with water from the kettle over the fire.
William began rubbing the fingers on his hand together where the warmth of her hand still lingered on his skin. Though all she was doing was moving around a kitchen, he could not remove his eyes from her. Why can I not look away? I've seen women more beautiful than she ... but for some reason ... The answer was not inside of him, so he simply stood and waited patiently until she handed him a clean washcloth. Accepting it, he turned to one of the washbasins and cleaned first his hands and then his face. When he was done, she poured him a mug of mead.
"Is it just you who runs this whole house?" he asked as he took a sizable gulp of the liquor.
"Yes, Brother," she said softly, as she moved toward a stew pot and checked it.
"William," he told her, and was disappointed when she did not respond.
"Are you ready to report to your master?" she asked and he covered his embarrassment with his drink.
He's not my master, he thought fiercely, but held his tongue and nodded when he put the mug down. A moment later he was at the old priest's door.
"Father?" William called as he knocked at the door, and he waited for the bolt to slide free.
The telltale sound of metal sliding across wood told him to enter, and both William and Marion entered and set their offerings before him. At first Father Harold picked up the cloth and refreshed himself at the basin, then once dry he turned back to the book. It took a moment for him to decide to open it, but once clear of its wrappings, all could gaze upon the dark red binding and the obsidian rocks set decoratively along the edges.
"Is that all?" the old priest asked.
"Oh ... sorry," William muttered as he removed the sheath with its dagger and the box with its holy ash, and handed them over.
"Thank you," he said as he turned to the serving girl. "Does your younger master still draw and paint?" Marion's eyes grew wide as she nodded and the old man smiled. "Give her this box of charcoal and ash ... I feel she will find them useful in setting her free of the mundane world." The servant curtsied and then reluctantly left. William watched her leave with a sad sigh and a slight blush colored his cheeks when he heard the old priest chuckle. "Keep your head in the moment, young William, and don't let her distract you too much."
"I'm ... sorry, Father," the young man said as his bright face flared deep crimson.
"Don't be," the old man said. "Even my old embers noticed her and you still burn with the fire of youth."
"I'm not that young," William muttered.
"Young enough," the old priest replied. "But there will be time for that later. For now I need you to investigate something for me."
"Father?"
"To the east of here," the old priest told him, "there is a small Earth temple used by the order during its more secret of rituals. I need you to go there and retrieve the Gaia statue from her box and bring her here. Then you must leave and let me do the rest."
"I'm sorry, Father," the young man said, "but Samson ran himself to death on the way here, and I am much too exhausted to just run off on another adventure."
"How did it happen?" Father Harold asked in a tone which sounded more concerned than accusing.
"Samson ran the whole way back and would not obey my commands," William told him.
"As if the hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels?" the old man asked and the youth could only nod with a haunted expression. "I knew things were bad when she asked for it ... but it appears to be worse than I thought." Together they moved to a desk where the book could be placed and Father Harold settled into a chair.
"Have you noticed the guards?" Father Harold asked.
"They seem ... unnatural," William answered.
"Demons," the old man nodded. "The same two guard day and night without rest."
"What?" the younger man gasped as he remembered the eerie feeling which had nearly sickened him earlier.
"The Templars have been excommunicated," Father Harold lamented, "and we are attacked by all of the dark forces we have held back all of these years. The darkness has already arrived here ... and I fear we may be too late to set things right. This book," he gestured, "is filled with both causes and answers to the troubles of consorting with their kind."
"Father ... is the countess ..."
"I believe so," the older man said grimly, "and I must go along for now to see what she is up to. When the time is right, it must be me who destroys her."
"And the others?" Friar William asked with fearful eyes.
"I do not know," the old man told him. "But a certain amount of this unholy mess is my fault, thus it is mine to bear ... and mine to cleanse."
"No ... father ... let me help you," the younger man begged him.
"Certainly not," the older man insisted. "You will take my horse and go as soon as you are able. Take a rest, if you must, but you may not stay here another night. If you do, we might both be killed.
"What about the girl?" William heard himself saying.
"She likely knows where it is," the old priest replied, "get her to show you where it is and then get her out of here. Let me worry about the rest."
"What about the other girl?" William asked again. Father Harold paused and looked over at him with a haunted expression. A sea of pain was held back by a carefully constructed prison of discipline.
"Part of my letter was a call to Father Michael," Father Harold finally confessed. "Tomorrow morning he will arrive with a contingent of armed men. The survivors will be rescued ... but all shall be judged ... and the remains shall be burned to the ground."
"So ... we are going to burn it all and then flee into the countryside?" Friar William said softly.
"It is so," his mentor said with a pained nod.
"And you wish for me to get a head start?" Another nod. "I shall wait for you at the Bubbly Cauldron as Sir Richard."
"Ah, Brother William," the old priest said fondly, "when did you become such a good man?"
"I think it was that night in Paris," the friar said with a smirk.
"Ah," the older man reminisced, "Delilah ... she was really something." A familiar chuckle passed between the two of them and then they embraced as brothers.
"God be with you, Father."
"God be with you, Brother."