CHAPTER XX - When all Hell Breaks Loose
"Tonight is the night of the dead; do you know what that means?” Lord Durrant asked.
“That we’re in trouble,” I answered.
“That our loved ones return to visit us, not harm us,” Simon corrected.
“True, Samyon, however it is a night of great significance, and a Necromancer or a Witch whose soul clearly belongs to Satan may use their power to exploit the event for evil sorcery,” he explained. On any other day I would have laughed at the utter stupidity of his claim, but on this night, after the fight with the monster and the magic pertaining to the blood that I had witnessed, I was inclined to believe any tale of sorcery and wonder.
“I have battled quite a few witches in mortal combat, staving off their diabolical sorcery with the purity of my faith,” Lord Durrant said, and I repressed the scorn I felt for him. I sincerely hoped that he’d cease his efforts to impress us with vainglorious tales, and stick to the matters at hand.
“Now, if only we had a better idea of who our enemy is and exactly what he intends to do,” he added. This last statement brought me back to the present.
“Wait! The monster said something about the master conducting the ritual at the cemetery!” I called out.
“Be silent! We don’t want to panic the town,” Lord Durrant warned.
“Shite!” Simon cursed. I clenched my teeth as the air grew chilly. It was our enemy, silently reminding us that he was on the move.
“Come on, let’s hunt down a ‘Master’ tonight!” Lord Durrant said and led us to the cemetery.
Drentwych’s cemetery lay next to the western wall — a dreadful place to visit, especially at night. South of it lay Drentwych’s swamps — an equally ghastly place to sojourn in at any time, day or night. Drentwych’s graveyard was full of rotten wooden crosses and unmarked graves. A frightening chill pervaded at night, felt more keenly in the bones than the flesh. It was as if the chill emanated from somewhere at the core of one’s soul rather than being an effect of the weather. The three of us — Lord Durrant, Simon and I, bent low and inspected what soon would become a battleground.
A lone figure stood at the center of the graveyard wearing simple gray robes, its eyes hidden from view as it bent over an open tome held in its left hand. Blood, probably human in origin, had been used as paint in forming a five-point star on the ground, a lighted torch marking each point. Beneath each torch, at the top angles of the pentagram, an artifact lay. At the base of one of the triangles lay a large onyx stone that glowed with a metallic hue. At another triangle was a bowl of dark liquid. At the third triangle there burned a large black candle whose flame strangely did not sway with the wind. At the fourth point, incense coated in honey burned. At the fifth was a blue urn of magnificent beauty adorned with silver and gold carvings. Though none of us knew anything of magic, it was quite clear to all that a ritual was being performed, and that whoever the caster, he was quite adept at the task at hand.
“Get ye ready,” Lord Durrant commanded, drawing his splendid long sword. The lone figure before us ceased its chanting and eyed him. I could almost swear I saw it smile.
“By the Power of the Dark Hand, I command ye to approach me!” The figure ordered. Both Simon and I buried our faces in the ground hoping it would not see us. Lord Durrant, however, stood upright, his eyes unblinking, and gazed at the robed figure. He started walking, his feet following the path as if he were a puppet on strings.
“Just as the Dark Hand predicted,” the figure said with a smile. “You’re just in time, warrior, to act as my sacrifice.” Lord Durrant kept walking towards it. Both Simon and I hoped beyond all hope that the Lord was faking it, and that he would stab this Master to death as soon as he got close enough. After all, he did claim to be a veteran of sorcerers’ battles.
“Drop your blade, warrior!” The Master commanded. Lord Durrant complied silently. We then lost hope. This was no clever ploy of his to confront the mysterious figure. I shook uncontrollably, for nothing I had ever learned or done had prepared me for this show of force. I clenched my teeth and flexed my muscles as I banished any thoughts of weakness. Raymond the forester would have done the same. By God, I understand now my life's purpose. I am rough, and rugged and unpleasant. All my bitterness and disappointment, and all my failings have forged a wrath, a burning hatred inside my still beating heart. I am only suited for violence; I thrive in it. Be it by blade or fist, I shall tear my enemies asunder, I shall break them. I have no choice in this, I was not destined for love or be loved. I was destined to inflict pain, and to kill. I have been given a choice though, on who my victims shall be. I shall be the monster onto the monsters, and I shall be the shield of the defenseless.
“I’m disappointed,” the Master began, “for ye, who was prophesied as the Sword of God, are a weakling; the old man overrated you.” Lord Durrant stared at him mutely.
“Kneel!” The Master commanded, and Lord Durrant obeyed.
“Ray, what do we do?” Simon whispered desperately. I studied his face for a moment, seeing the utter fear in his eyes. I did not share his fear. Meanwhile the Master drew a ceremonial dagger and read passages from his tome, holding the dagger to Lord Durrant’s throat.
“Run away,” I instructed Simon. “Warn the town; get everybody away from here as fast as they can go!” I instructed.
“What are you going to do?” Simon asked fearfully.
“I’ll hold him off; now go!” I said. The Master then slit Lord Durrant’s throat; his blood flowed into a pool at his feet, until he finally dropped to the floor, dead. I prayed to God under my breath, and then drank of the evil potion; the magic blood I had stolen.
My vision turned red, and time began to slow inexorably. I heard Simon’s footsteps as he ran. My body grew alive as it had never been before, and my senses sharpened. My eyes took in the figure’s every detail, even in the dark of night. My ears heard Simon’s frantic strides and his shrieks of alarm, even though he was already far away. My muscles tensed, and I took a deep breath. I bounced to my feet, filled with overwhelming rage that drowned out my fears, drowned out my thoughts, and drowned out my very humanity. I accepted what I am, and I was ready to die. Was he?
“Another one,” the Master mused. That’s all he managed to say, however. I ran towards him, gaining impossible speed. I couldn’t see my feet as they moved, couldn’t even feel them, but just felt the ground flying beneath me. I smashed into the smaller figure, shoulder-butting him. The force of the blow sent him literally flying away. He hit tombstones of stone and wood, breaking them, though they hardly slowed his trajectory. He then hit a tree, shattering it to pieces. A few trees later an old willow had finally stopped his flight with a terrible crushing sound. My shoulder hurt and I breathed heavily. This burning wrath brought me comfort, it brought me strength. I wanted to eviscerate him. I felt alive now for the first time in my life. No fears, sure of purpose I held my sword with both hands. Walking hastily towards the fallen form of the Master, I was stunned to see him rising from the ground. He smiled and then began to shift his shape. Doubt crept into my heart. Who am I, a pitiful mortal to challenge this infernal monster? A voice screamed inside my head: "No! Do not falter now, not now you baby! Tear him limb from limb!
I stood motionless, my mind filling with indescribable fear. This fear...he was doing this, I realized. My mind reeled and recoiled, trying to assume control again. Before me now stood a towering demon, his flesh a reddish-gray, on his face a dog’s mouth filled with fangs. In one powerfully clawed hand larger than my entire body he held a flail made of living snakes. For all intents and purposes, I believed I faced the Devil himself and I was petrified with fear. Kill him! My mind roared.
He swung his coiling snake-flail at me. With no time to think, I dodged and rolled to the side, letting instinct guide me. I arose and swung wildly with my sword. He moved away from my wild swing, kicking me. He missed, however, for I spun to the side and moved closer to him, stabbing at his extended foot. Blood! He could bleed, but his blood was a fiery acid that burned my sword. He then struck me with his other hand, but I didn’t even register where the blow came from as I was sent sprawling to the ground. My left hip was torn, and blood came gushing from cut muscles. Blood, sweat, fear and rage; they were my guiding lights as I let the feral beast which lurks in every man’s heart take hold.
Madness overtook me; I rose up, supporting my weight mostly on my right leg. He laughed a hollow laughter that filled me with dread, which was soon mixed with uncontrollable rage. He swung his snakes at me and I sliced them with two sure swings, waiting for him to advance. Full of rage, he did so, attacking with his claws. I anticipated the move, dodged to the right beyond his reach and then chopped his hand cleanly off. The blow nearly pried loose my grip on the sword as I broke a couple of fingers.
I would have continued fighting, but my sword shattered as I landed another blow. I stared for just an instant at the hilt and the broken-off blade. Ivar’s ‘troublemaker’, destroyed. An instant later the Demon attacked, clawing at my chest and inflicting five gashing wounds down my torso, which felled me. My flesh was torn and my ribs broken; blood was everywhere. I would be dead in only a matter of moments. The whole world was spinning. I had been gazing at the spinning stars as I hit the ground. As I closed my eyes in the silent acceptance of my demise, I wondered if I would be buried next to my parents, buried nearby, or, more likely, have my remains eaten by the demon. He loomed above me, laughing, and extending a hand to grab me. The world faded away and I may have been lifted off the ground, for I felt as light as air, with chilly winds surrounding me. I lost all sensation of pain followed by the sensation of flesh, and then the sensation of time and place. I saw my life flashing by, and what an empty life it seemed to have been. I’ve done few deeds to be proud of; all my life I had spent in idle activities which amounted to nothing at all. Drentwych, the Demon, and even Simon, became fleeting images in my mind, part of a long-lost memory. I saw my mother hugging my father closely, extending an ivory hand towards me, shining in the pale light of the moon.
I tried so hard to fly into their embrace, seeking the solace that a child can find only in a mother’s warm arms. I was a little boy again who had gotten lost in a dark and foreign land. How glad was I to have fled horrid reality and to have found my parents again; how thankful to have come home at last. “Not yet, Son. You must go back,” my father suddenly commanded me. I felt my soul being sucked back into my broken flesh as if the hand of a Titan was whipping me back to life. I didn’t want to return. I wanted to stay with my parents, even if only a moment longer, but this was not to be.
My flesh felt alien to me, torn, cold, and bleeding as I opened my eyes to see the Demon ready to step over my face and finish the job he had begun. I stared at his foot, the instrument of my destruction. I could feel my broken flesh knitting together as the dark potion repaired the damage he had done. Then Simon jumped on the Demon’s back with nothing more than a dagger; my dear friend Simon, risking his life and soul when he could have fled and saved himself. Simon was charging the Demon despite his fear and in defiance of reason, in an effort to give me enough time to recuperate.
My rage returned tenfold as life re-entered my flesh. Simon left the dagger lodged in the Demon’s back and ran like the wind away from him. The Demon, leaving me for a more challenging target, turned and gave chase. Simon screamed in fear and I jumped to my feet as unspeakable anger filled every corner of my body. So terrible was my wrath that there was nothing beside it. All the world was consumed in my fury; I knew only the rage that would not let go.
I ran bare-handed after the Demon; I didn’t care about my odds, or formulating a tactic. I heard Simon scream in pain as the Demon struck his leg, and my rage grew immensely. I screamed as only monsters can, and the Demon turned; in a split second I was upon him. As he saw my hand, rushing to his face, clawing at his eyes, surprise gripped him and he momentarily failed to respond. My fingers tore into his face, plucking out his eyes, tearing into his skull. I then heaved with all my strength, kicking his form with my foot. I tore his head from his body, creating a sickening sound. Before the body fell to the ground, I smashed the skull and proceeded to tear the Demon limb from limb. I was completely consumed in my thirst for blood; I tore at him like a maddened instrument of death. His flesh emitted acid and I burned, but I didn’t care, and I tore at him until there was nothing left but a pool of blood and gore. I screamed in anguish and rage as his acidic blood burned my hand like a thousand fires boiling my blood. I roared to the heavens, heaving my bloody arms to the sky to show God my bloody work, screaming in rage like a beast.
“Ray! Help me, Ray!’ Simon called. I noticed his existence only then, as the bloody haze slowly lifted. He was crying, bleeding from his feet.
“Ray, I can’t feel my legs, help me, Ray!” He cried. I bent to lift him up. He was as light as a feather. I turned to go to the Healer, when I saw the townspeople standing all around us, at a safe distance, of course. Like rodents, they sensed the danger was over, the enemy vanquished, and moved to celebrate this victory, as if they all had a hand in it. They cheered, screamed, whistled, whispered, and blessed us ― yet none of them approached to offer aid.
“Someone help us!” I called. “Someone help!” I repeated. Then the world spun about me. I saw the stars, and the ghosts of dead people. Horrid apparitions — ghostly images of rotted corpses, sent shivers down my spine. My eyes darted everywhere as I held my head with my good hand while a piercing pain shot through it. Simon’s pleads for aid echoed in my ears. Through half-closed eyes, I saw my parents. They held a lantern, then a moment later they were gone. The piercing pain throbbed, and I may have screamed, or perhaps it was someone else. The world was spinning, and then I saw the stars as I fell to the ground ― the stars were the last thing I remember before unconsciousness claimed me.
