Michael did not understand how he was now standing without any blood stained clothing or
pains and aches from the fight, or why he was now holding Black Donald"s sword. However, he
did remember a lot of what had happened, although he could not explain it. He had these
memories he did not remember experiencing, a conversation in this very location with Donald.
Michael recalled many episodes of déjà vous throughout his life, but this was the only time it
had been so clear and so real. He had no recollection of having the conversation with Donald,
yet he could vividly remember nearly every single word spoken. Strangest of all, he could „see"
in his mind"s eye, the true image of the one who stood before him now, yet with his true eyes he
only saw the headmaster and Mayor of Kirkfale, also called Black Donald. He could not begin
to fathom how he saw Donald as an almighty being capable of smiting him with a thought. A
part of him found it hard to believe, that this frail-looking man could be, what was that name?
Seconds ago, a word had flashed in his mind many times, but it was now a distant echo.
However, he knew, somehow, that it was the true name of the beast that stood just a few feet
away from him.
The headmaster took a step down from the platform and approached Michael. Anger was
clear on his face, yet the rest of his body seemed expertly restrained. Michael noticed the fruits
of his labour when a small section of Donald"s robe fell away from the bottom hem.
Michael spotted the dagger in Donald"s right hand. His arm was straight down in line with
the torso of his body. Although he knew he was no match for a being with super-human
strength, what was that name? He was confident he could hold his own with the sword he now
pointed towards the oncoming Donald.
His foot moved back and kicked something, making him take his eyes off Donald for a
moment to see what it was. Vomit welled up in his stomach when he saw a dead body lying in
a pool of blood that he had caused. He forced himself to push the bile down and refocus. Now
was not time to feel guilt for murder. He gulped as Donald took another step closer. He tried
not to show his knees were trembling, he was glad his legs were apart; otherwise he was sure
the knees would knock each other.
Donald swung his arm holding the dagger to the side and then swiftly towards the sword. It
clanged upon impact, and pushed the sword away. Michael pushed all his energy into his arms
and swung the sword to meet another offensive swing from Donald. With another clang,
Michael was sure the dagger"s blade had grown a few inches in length. Again both swung and
the blades met with a clash. As Donald swung his arm holding the dagger, his other arm swung
the other direction to counterbalance his thrust. Michael, however, kept his stance reasonably
still, maintaining a strong barrier against Donald"s attacks.
After several more swings of the dagger, Donald stopped, perhaps he felt it was pointless to
continue, Michael could not be sure, should I take up the offensive now? But Michael spotted
his avenue to Mary and began taking small steps towards the altar. He needed to get between
the altar and Donald but that would be difficult, particularly since Donald had spotted the
opening and was already moving to block his advances. Donald turned and outstretched his
free arm towards Andrew"s dead body and immediately a scrape echoed throughout the room.
Michael watched as another sword, similar to the one he held now flew up into the air, twirled so
that the hilt faced Donald and zoomed into his awaiting hand and faced Michael. Michael
swallowed hard.
He took a deep breath and released it slowly whilst he waited for Donald to attack again;
Donald pounced onto Michael with both dagger and sword swirling in several different circular
patterns. It was all Michael could do to remain on his feet. He moved faster than he had ever
moved before and made contact with each and every slice of sword or dagger or both. Donald
was relentless with his attacks and betrayed no evidence that he was tiring. His chest seemed
to rise and fall at the normal speed. If only I could remember that bloody name.
Donald continued to advance and Michael retreated, but still matching every swiping attack
by Donald. He had hoped that Donald was becoming more frustrated and so more forgetful,
allowing him to edge closer to Mary, however, if there was any frustration in Donald"s mind
Michael saw nothing of it on his face, he only saw rage.
Swinging both blades, Donald caught Michael"s sword as he followed through with a
defensive move. For a moment, Michael struggled to withdraw his sword, so much so he
missed Donald"s foot kicking him in the gut and sending him back into a stone column.
Somehow, he managed to keep hold of the sword even as he crashed to the hard floor.
Rolling to a kneeling position, Michael ducked just in time as Donald swung his sword again.
Michael thrust his own sword whilst he crouched, but the blade was pushed away with Donald"s
dagger. “Damn it Michael, what does it take to kill you?” Donald bellowed.
Michael tried to think of a comeback but he could not. Instead, he rolled to the side, dodging
a downward thrust of Donald"s sword, jumped to his feet and readied himself for when Donald
attacked again. He felt like he had a renewed strength well up inside, but knew that was
impossible. Donald swung and Michael blocked and kicked his leg up and for the first time had
pushed Donald off balance. He made the split decision to continue attacking, whilst he had the
advantage and swung his sword at the chest and as expected, Donald blocked with his dagger.
Michael twirled round and swung in one smooth motion, as if his sword was an extension of his
arm. This time he struck at the other side and was blocked by Donald"s sword, but immediately
twirled into another similar manoeuvre but lowered his sword so as to strike in a downward
diagonal direction.
His calculation was spot on and the sword made contact with Donald"s ripped robe and
hoping he had got the sword caught in the fabric, pulled with all his might creating a satisfying
rip. Donald retaliated by swooping his sword and smashing Michael"s sword away, clear of the
material, he followed the swoop with an elbow to Michael"s face destabilising him. With one
further step forward, Donald thrust the dagger into Michael"s side below his ribs. Grabbing the
dagger, Michael stumbled backwards and felt the warm wet blood seep through his fingers,
again.
Inspecting the wound, Michael quietly took a moment to catch his breath and hoping the
dagger had not hit any major arteries. Despite the pain and the blood staining his hands and
clothes, Michael forced himself to ignore it. Looking up at Donald, he was surprised he just
stood watching him with his narrowed eyes. Perhaps he is resting also. Taking hold of the
dagger, Michael clenched his teeth and pulled.
“Arrrrgh!” The pain was excruciating, white explosions like mini fireworks flashed in his
eyelids. He threw the bloodied dagger behind the altar and slowly stood, grabbing his sword
from the stone floor. All the while, he maintained eye-contact with Donald, who showed no sign
of exhaustion, but stood allowing his sword to hang by his side.
He felt a movement behind him. Turning his head, he realised Mary was stirring.
Somewhere in the fight with Donald, he had managed to make his way to the altar. Mary.
Mustering strength, Michael swung his sword over his head and brought it down on the leather
straps holding Mary"s wrists.
“STOP!” Donald shouted.
Michael snapped back and felt a pain in his side, which quickly died down, just as quickly as
it appeared. He was just in time to see Donald swing his sword with both his hands and
growling like a bear. Within seconds he had crossed the room and was slicing down at Michael.
Dodging to the left, Michael heard the sword crash into the stone altar, the echo bounced off the
walls. He snapped round to see if Mary was hurt and smiled when she had rolled to the other
side of the altar. Her screams were ear-piercing, but he had to block them out in order to save
her.
“Hey Donald,” he called and was glad when he turned showing his anger and frustration
through his clenched teeth. His eyes were glowing amber embers and his skin was redder than
Michael remembered. “I know who you are!” he teased.
