17:28 Apr 21 2014
Times Read: 620
The sounds of metal hitting metal filled the air, echoing off the surrounding hills. Rob watched from behind the boulder, open out in the battle field as the knights took on the thieves that had attacked and killed many travels on the roads leading to home, to Malahide Castle. He watched, tying to see his knight in the battle of 30 plus knights and that many of the rebel band of thugs. “Get down boy!” he heard, and fell to the cold Irish ground as a knight on his black horse jumped the boulder he was behind, sailing over him with hoofs shaking the ground, and the chain mail jingle, leather moving against leather. A clash of swords had him lifting his head up to watch the battle, watching out for the knight he had been squire for these past 6 years.
Sir O’Niell was at his commanders back, on foot. He swung the sword, cutting a man’s belly open with a swatch of his blade. He moved onward, blocking an attack by another, his arm stinging from the pain the deep cut on his shoulder caused. He was wounded, but not out of the battle just yet. He could fight and would till the end of his life.
He felt the change, a sort of change in the air, and even in this heat he felt the hair on his body rise as if he step outside in the cold still wet from the bath. He had felt this sensation a few times before in battle, and never understood. Some knights talk of a second sight, can sense when danger was about. He moved his sword up, ready to strike when a arrow barely missed the side of his face as it hit the dirty thief in front of him instead. He turned, sword up, as the thief fell to the ground, the arrow imbedded in his nose.
He glanced around, seeing a man with a bow on the hillside being shot down by one of their own bows man. He looked for a second to see his squire watching him, way to close to the battle but knew he would never stop the boy from being in the middle of it. A scream turned him toward a charging rebel, his sword going up to impale him in the stomach before he could ever use the wooden club he held.
Rob slide down to the ground, giving himself a minute to recover. He had seen the archer aim toward his knight, he had beg the gods to stop the arrow that was aim to his knights back… and as if in slow motion it had moved upward, and to the right to only sail by his knight and taking out the man he had been fighting.
He never understood how the gift worked but… he looked up as a shadow covered the sunlight. A rebel, his face dirty and the clothing he worn torn and worn. On his forehead was a crescent moon marking. He moved toward the weapons he carried onto the battle field in case his knight needed them and picked up the short sword to only have another sword plunged into his back. “See if that magic you do can save you now.” He said, pushing the sword all the way thru the young little body. Blood spilled on the ground from the wound in his chest as well from Rob mouth. The rebel pulled the sword out and ran with the last of his men toward the woods as the battle ended.
Rob laid there, thinking of his Mother, his babe sister. And he remember the pride in his mother’s eyes, a cook at the castle, when he was picked to be a squire to a great knight. “Rob! Bring me some water! And find my horse, bugger has ran off again. I swear it is past time to find me a stallion like …” The knight walked toward the boulder as the other knights squires came out of the woods, leading horse, carrying the weapons the knights did not have on hand. As he neared the boulder he spotted the blood. “Rob!” He ran the few feet, finding his square on the ground. He landed on his knees, turning the boy over to hold him. “Rob- what has happen? Who did this?” Rob only looked up at the knight, a man he called father in his heart as he had no other. “I .. I..” He spat out blood, thinking he would have to clean that off his knights mail before…
O’Niell held the young boy, a image of him at age 5 playing with a wooden sword outside the kitchen doors as his mother worked. The way he took to being a squire, making him promise he would never regret giving him a chance. And the way he would charge into battle with him, unafraid as he would never leave his side. “You.. You have to live. I was going to teach you sword fighting this summer. Remember? We said we would once your arms got big enough to keep the weight..” Tears rolled down the knights eyes as he watched the boys’ green eyes glazed over in death. “NO! No… you can’t die!” He shook the boy, body limp with death. The knight slowly lower the boy down to the ground, his heart broken. It was his courage that had gotten him killed, his love for him. And he hadn’t even told the Rob just how much he thought of him as a son. The knight wiped his eyes as he heard his name being called. “ O’Neill, found your skittish horse in the woods. Come on, we are going to follow.. Oh no.” the knight said as O’Neill stood, blood on his leather/ chain mail. “Are you hurt?” “No. It is my square’s blood.” The knight moved closer, looking down at the young boy every knight liked, joked with.
“You could not of had a better one then him. But we have to finish what we started, only a few remain.” “Aye, that we do.” He picked up his sword, stain by the drying blood of the rebels who he had killed. He mounted his horse, knowing he would add more before the day was done.
Eleven years later….
O’Niell sat at the Traven with his ale, separate from the others in the darken room. Sitting on the wooden chair, he listen as a group of knights by the fire, telling of wars and battles. To be so young, and able to fight he though, bringing the pint to his lips. He finished the drink and stood to go back to the hut he had across town. “O’Niell?” He glanced at the young knight, his leather new and still had the stinky of cow. “Aye.” “I was thinking it was you. How are you?” He looked at the tall older man, his red hair long and untamed, his clothing worn. He looked for just a second, the look of horror on his face unable to be hidden at the empty cloth that was to of been his right hand, his sword hand. “I heard you settled in the area.” “Do I know you?” O’Niell asked the young blood. “Yes Sir. I am Sir Sinclair youngest. You and he use to be friends, was knights together.” “Ah yes. Good to see you then.” The young knight watched the old man walk out of the wooden door into the night, seeing a aged hero that is left behind to die after the battle wound made him useless on the field, not seeing the tears falling on the man’s face.
Eight years later…
He step into a tavern and headed toward a table. He had moved away from his old home, into a different part of the Irish country, and he plan to enjoy the last of his days with little to do with people. He got stares, his one arm body, back crocked so he was even able to put weight on his feet, broken down. His vision was gone in one eye, a cloud of gray changing its color. It took the bar maid three times yelling to order his ale, stew. He regretted coming out of his home as he sat, not looking forward to the walk back in the cold. His body ached, and he knew this might be the last time he step outside of his own home.
He ate the stew, mopping the liquid up with the bread as he enjoyed the company of others for the last time, he feared. A man sitting across from him made him look up. He wore the clothing of a farmer, dirty hands. On his face was a marking of a crescent moon. “How be it old man?” “Fine.” He said, going back to his soup. “I heard of a witch in the woods, one who has great power. You heard of her?” He glanced up, giving the man a stern look. “No. Be gone.” The man smirked, stood, leaned down and said “You might want to think about it, seeing as you are knocking on deaths door old man.” The man walked away and he finished his stew, ale in peace never noticed how he could hear the man with the mark, but others had to yell to be heard.
Week later….
O’Niell jerked awake, reaching for his sword with his right hand, seeing his old squire green eyes as he passed. But his right hand was gone, just like his squire he loved as a son. He straighten his back, hearing pops and cracks that did not come just from the fireplace he sat in front of. He had fallen asleep and relived his one regret in his life. The one person he still mourned for, his little boy Rob. He relived that day a thousand times since it happen, the telling of his mother and how she had cried out as she held her young daughter to her chest. He had kept a eye on the family, making sure they had food and supplies. The mother had died of illness, the daughter was raped and killed by even more rebels in the woods one day as she was out picking mushrooms for the castle kitchen,
He rub his stub of the missing arm, thinking of the battle that removed it. He had fallen and his sword had been out of reach. He planted a kick into the rebel’s knee, crippling him. As he rolled toward his sword he had a though that Rob would have been there, giving him his sword. He had his hand on the sword when a blade had landed just below his shoulder, ending his knighthood.
He had tried his left hand but was unable to build the strength or speed needed. The Lord had kept him on to train the new knights but once Rob sister had been killed he was done with event that. The one regret of his was getting that boy killed. His family blood line had stop with his death. His mother had grief herself into the ground, leaving his sister without any help or guard. He had failed the whole family taking on that sweet eager boy who only wanted to please him.
He stood and went out the hut’s door to stand outside. Good a place as any to end your life, buried in the wood beside his wife on the piece of land he owned. Just not how he plan his life to be. He flexed his left hand, the pins and needle of it numbness wearing away, and he thought of the man at the tavern. Wonder if there really is a witch in these woods? A lone wolf called out in the night.
Two weeks later…
He walked up to the cabin door, the trees that surround it leading to the cold shade. A fire was burning by the smoke coming out of the fireplace, even tho he couldn’t smell it. He knocked and a dog howled. He step back, his cane sinking in the soft needles the tall evergreen trees coated the ground with. A woman a few years younger then him open the door. “What you be wanting?” “I.. I..” Till this moment he did not know why he was here. What did he want? Magic to make his arm grow back? To be young again? To bring his wife back? To let her have children so he would not be alone? “Well?” As he stood there, in the cool shadow of the witches cabin, he knew what he wanted if it was at all possible. “I want to leave my life with no regrets.” She smiled, moved to open the door wider. “Come come, let’s see what we can do for you.”
Seattle Washington 10 years ago…
Sharron and Onyx walked toward the new age shop, Sharron listening as Onyx tells her of a old knife she had found, seemed to be drawn to. Sharron open the shop that she called home as her own living quarters was in the basement. “Look, see what you think.” She put the wooden box on the counter as Sharron locked the door behind them. A voice, barely a whisper spoke. “Did you say something?” she asked her friend. Onyx pulled off her coat, telling her no. Funny… Sharron walked toward the counter and again she heard the whisper voice say “Rob.” Sharron looked toward Onyx. “You telling me you didn’t hear that?” “What?” Onyx said, turning to look at the shop, the shelves full of crystals, candles, books, bottles, herbs. She looked back at Sharron and watched as she touched the box that sat between them. “Oh, let me show you. You know I love old blades but this one is something special.” She unlatched the latch, opening it to show the knife she had found that day at a private collector of ancient weapons.
Dagger more like it. She pulled it out and held it in her open palm. “See? The metal was forged by hand, you can tell by…” the rest of Onyx history lesson on the weapon was lost as Sharron looked at the blade. He woken after a long sleep to find himself in a store of some type, surrounded by weapons he knew. A tall black head woman had touched him, held him but she hadn’t been the one. He had wonder why he had woken when he had felt it, a lingering magic, a connection to the one he seek. Now he was here. The new body of Rob, in this tall red headed woman. He felt power. More powerful then the witch who had put him in the blade, more powerful then any he had every felt.
The woman held him out to Sharron and the red blood stone in his handle warmed to her touch. This was Rob, his soul was found at last. He was home and now it was his job to protect him, to keep him safe and watch over. As he felt her touch he knew something was different, as in the black haired lady who brought him to her. Yes, the red haired lady had power of the witchcraft, which he was not aware of till now, but he also knew she was not breathing, no heart beat. He would watch, listen and learn. He smiled as the woman held him up to see his handle, touch his blade by running her finger over it. He was hungry but would not feed on her blood, not yet.
The green eyes of old looked upon him and he knew he was home.
Present Day…New Orleans
Sharron pulled on her coat as he hubby pulled on his suit coat as they both dressed for the night. “Then I will see you later tonight at the gallery?” Albert asked as he came toward her, running a hand down her red hair. “Yea. I just have a small ritual to do at my woods, then feed and I will be there in plenty of time for the movie with Onyx, I promise.” “Be careful my love.” He said, moving her into his arms for a good bye kiss that left her toes curled. She watched him walk out of the bedroom, thinking of how after years of being his mate/ lover/ wife she still got her toes curled with just a kiss. Smiling, she moved the shirt she had aside so the blade could take his normal place at her lower back. Always with her, always watching over her. She had gotten a few answers from the blade, that they had meet in a pass life, he had been a knight, her pass of being a squire to him. Other then that not much was given as far as information, and she did not push it.
She had at one point asked the blade if he wanted to be set free. The answer was no, so she had let it go. Used as her athame during ritual she had grown more powerful. Now the blade was part of her life, the only request is a little blood. She smiled… only a witch turned vampire would have such a knife, right?
Later that night…
She step out of the SUV, her husband coming around from the driver side as she had a debate with Onyx on the movie they had just watched. “But it was too many stories at once. You get lost. I just don’t like the three hour four.. No five story lines..” “But it is a Tom Hanks movie! You love him..” The stranger in the shadows down the street from the hotel, prince of the city home and business locations of Albert and the witch, watched as the small group moved into the hotel as the car was parked for them in the garage. The lights from the SUV hit his face for a second, the driver never notice the crescent moon brand on his forehead.
COMMENTS
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Nightgame
23:04 Apr 21 2014
OH wow I had forgot the sword with a soul in it... this is wicked spooky I can't wait for more.