by Ross Turner
Even before he entered the vast room he was smiling, for he could feel the energy and the love emanating from within.
The sight that beheld him took even his breath away however.
All three of the Knights, Johnathan, Maddie and Emily, were awake, and he could certainly feel the presence of a fourth within, even if he could not see him, he knew Arthur was there.
Emily was just peeling off the last of Johnathan’s dressings, revealing in fact that every inch of his wounds had completely healed overnight. Such a thing the old man knew was impossible, but even as the young boy checked and double checked to ensure he hadn’t missed something, Father Peter knew that where the Knights were concerned, there was no such thing.
“Well…” The old Vicar greeted them, smiling widely and openly, lifting his hands, palms upwards, simply because he had no idea what to say.
Emily smiled warmly at him and Maddie laughed with delight and threw herself at her brother, holding him closely, overjoyed at his miraculous recovery.
It appeared that many miracles were taking place here.
Undoubtedly, this would not be the last.
“Good morning Father…” Johnathan greeted the old man, nodding his head and smiling, though there was the glint of perhaps a more serious look in his eye, and the hint of a more meaningful note in his tone.
Somehow then, imperceptibly, the old Vicar realised that the young boy hadn’t simply greeted him, but he had also greeted Arthur Knight, his real father, and that notion was, to say the very least, momentous.
“Good morning Johnathan…” He replied, revealing by his tone that he understood the significance of what had just happened.
The moment was lost on Emily and Maddie, but that didn’t matter. What mattered most was that it had happened, and that now, after much time and preparation, Johnathan was finally ready.
For the most part the preparations hadn’t even been his own, but at least now he had finally accepted his fate.
Many people work in many mysterious ways.
“Will you be sitting in on the Sunday Service?” Father Peter asked then, and again his tone spoke volumes. It suggested that he thought, for reasons completely unknown to Emily, that it was perhaps a very good idea for them to attend.
She looked at him with one eyebrow raised, questioningly, but he had no answers for her, and could give her nothing other than the hopeful expression he already held.
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t…” Emily started, worried perhaps that the old Vicar was trying to warn her of something.
But Maddie piped up before he could say any more.
“Will it be safe?” She asked meekly, thinking immediately of all that had happened recently, and how easily Richard would be able to slip into the church amongst the crowds.
However, it was not Emily or Father Peter who replied, as you might have expected, but instead it was her brother, Johnathan.
“It will be the safest place in the whole village.” He assured his little sister, pacing over and placing his arm around her tiny shoulders.
She smiled up at him thankfully.
“Everyone will be here…” Her brother continued, looking around the vast, empty hall as if they already were. “Everyone…” He repeated then, quite meaningfully, turning his gaze to his mother and Father Peter for a brief moment.
Emily’s breath snatched for a second at the sight of the ferocity in her son’s eyes. But it was not an evil she saw within him.
Instead it was a will and a drive like none she had ever seen.
In fact, that wasn’t entirely true.
She had seen such a look before, but only ever in the eyes of one other person.
Her dear husband.
Her dear Arthur Knight.
Chapter Twenty
The spiral staircase wound its way up into the darkness ominously, and with the echoing sound of Johnathan’s own footsteps reverberating round as he climbed. The troubled young boy felt his way through the blackness, for he had not brought any kind of light with him, and all the while he thought on his sins.
If any of us were to think too hard and too long about such a thing, our day would undoubtedly ensue to be a very gloomy one indeed.
Sin is a strange thing, and many consider some certain desires and actions to be sinful, whilst others do not.
Surely then, considering that notion, what qualifies as a sin and what does not, is merely a matter of opinion.
And if the argument were to be made that those things considered sinful are depicted by a man’s God, whomever that might be at the time, then surely it is simply a question of who has the strictest imaginary friend?
Nonetheless, ignoring the ethics of the situation, the young Knight’s thoughts as he ascended the twisting stairs in the cold, pitch black, were melancholy indeed.
Finally, after what felt like many long, hard, torturous years, be broke through the darkness, and was bathed in glorious light as he reached the top of the winding staircase.
Immediately present above him was the church’s enormous bell. It was massive and hung perilously from the thickest rope Johnathan had ever seen. Somehow, in that moment, it seemed as if the bell had been forever in existence, and that time had for all eternity been measured by its huge, steady ring, echoing out across the world.
Looking out then, Johnathan’s gaze swept across the tiny village of Riverbrook that he had for his whole life called home, and then even further, for the bell tower was high and he could see for miles and miles in every direction.
The incandescent morning sun bathed the land in all its glory and the fields glowed rich and ripe and golden.
It was certainly a sight to be beheld.
He had never before witnessed this view. In fact, most hadn’t, and the young boy felt most privileged. Considering for a moment racing back down the stairs to fetch his mother and sister, so that he could share this with them, Johnathan very nearly turned on his heel.
But then, for some reason, he didn’t. He knew he was already sharing it with someone, and he turned instinctively then to see his father standing beside him.
The great man looked so real that Johnathan was convinced that if he reached out he would even be able to touch him. And then, without even a thought from him, Johnathan’s arm automatically stretched out, and his hand brushed gently, warily even, against Arthur’s rough, worn leather jacket, faded and battered.
His father smiled warmly and his dark eyes enveloped Johnathan caringly in their gaze.
Hope soared within the young boy.
“You know this is it…” He said then, his rich, coarse voice breaking the perfect silence at least as dramatically as the huge bell above might have done, warning even in its very tone.
Johnathan sighed, looking out at the golden meadows once more.
“I thought it might be…” He replied mournfully. “What’s going to happen?” He asked his father then, looking back to where he stood.
“I honestly don’t know son…” Arthur replied, his voice harrowed by sadness and regret.
“You mean anything could happen?” Johnathan almost cried, of course, as is human nature, imagining the worst.
“I will protect you.” Arthur replied, quite seriously, then. “But you must protect your mother and your sister.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Johnathan nodded in agreement.
“I will.” He promised firmly, knowing and truly believing, without a shadow of a doubt, that his father would protect him to the very end.
“I know you will son.” Arthur replied warmly, and his words filled Johnathan with a feeling that he had, without even realising it, longed for, for all his life.
It was the feeling that a son can only attain from his father, and without such a precious bond, much is lost along the way.
Chapter Twenty One
It was a strange feeling that engulfed Emily Knight that Sunday morning as the day began to wear on and take all those who lived in the village of
Riverbrook, and indeed also all those who lived in the world, down their inexorably fated paths.
She didn’t know whether or not in fact that was true.
Was there such a thing as fate?
But it didn’t matter what she knew.
All that mattered was that it was what she believed.
Whatever happened, or didn’t happen for that matter, was supposed to. And in the end, one way or another, it would eventually always lead them on to where they needed to be.
Her bizarre mood seemed to emanate out from her as people filed slowly and dutifully and hopefully in to the church, and as it spread and touched each and every soul who walked through the huge, heavy wooden doors, the vast hall was filled with a pensive and expectant air.
Expectant of what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. But the brooding look on Father Peter’s face, combined with the fierce and focused expression that her son held, sat beside her still somewhat anxious daughter, filled Emily with a mixture of emotions so strange that she realised all at once that in fact she had absolutely no idea how she felt.
Almost as if everything that had happened of late was coming round full circle, as Father Peter stepped up to the dais at the front on the nave, set at the very centre of the pews, a chill ran up and down her spine.
Déjà vu tickled her every nerve, taunting her, and she swallowed nervously as the old man took a deep breath ready to speak.
“Good morning my friends…” He began, smiling, spreading his arms wide in an open and welcoming manner, as he always did, and immediately captivating his audience.
Unmatched, his presence filled the enormous room and grasped every attention in an instant.
However, no matter how captivated his audience was, there were still a few who could not resist the odd glance, even if just for the briefest moment, over at Johnathan and Maddie and Emily.
The Davies’ attendance at the Service had caused quite a stir, and especially considering Johnathan’s condition.
Or perhaps, more accurately, his lack of poor condition.
It was fairly safe to say that everybody had noticed his seemingly miraculous recovery. But, shocking as it may have been, it seemed the topic was too alarming to mention, and nobody, not one soul, had brought it up. Whether they were too polite, or afraid, or perhaps perplexed to ask, Johnathan didn’t mind, for he quite purposefully declined to bring it into conversation either, and that suited him just fine.
And so it had transpired that all who had greeted him, wild-eyed and baffled, had simply asked him how he was, and not once mentioned his injuries, or more so lack of.
“I’m pleased to have you all here this fine day…” Father Peter continued, motioning expressively with his hands as he spoke towards the sunshine that poured in through the high windows, illuminating the crowd sat so eagerly before him.
Even though the huge beams of light swallowed the people of Riverbrook so, a hundred and more candles were still lit for the Service, for this was traditional and good and proper, and Father Peter always ensured that it was so.
He looked then quite purposefully and directly at Emily, catching her gaze, though his eyes seemed to engulf Johnathan and Maddie also.
“As you are all aware, we are very lucky to have Emily and Maddie and Johnathan in our presence today.”
His words were full of sincerity and his voice was thick with emotion. It was almost as if the old man knew something that his audience didn’t.
Or, perhaps, he was just overwhelmed by the whole situation.
“Today, my friends, I would like to talk about something that I think we all need to hear…”
He pressed on, barely pausing for even a second.
“For I think this has been building for a very long time…”
His voice wavered slightly and the light that streamed in through the windows dimmed for a moment, but then immediately brightened again.
Hesitating for a second then, the old man’s brow furrowed deep in thought. He cast a brief glance around the room, and after a minute or two his gaze settled and his eyes focused on a single point.
He nodded as if in acknowledgement, although he seemed not to be looking at anybody in particular.
Then he took a deep breath and spoke again.
“People come to see me for many different reasons…” He began again, his voice pensive. “And such is my purpose…” He admitted, opening his hands in acceptance, palms upwards.
Maddie looked up and her brother sat next to her and he smiled warmly.
“Some people need help…” The old Vicar went on. “Many seek advice…” He pursed his lips slightly. “Others want forgiveness…”
Somehow, even though Father Peter’s words seemed strange to most, Johnathan thought he knew what was coming next. In fact, there was no thought about it, he knew for a fact what the old man’s next breath would reveal.
“But it doesn’t matter what they come to see me for…” The Vicar continued ominously, pausing for mere moments once more. “The reason behind their visits is always the same…”
It was as if the pews themselves were holding their breath, and the nave was filled to the brim with anticipation, hanging on his every word in maddening suspense.
“Demons…” He breathed then, as if on that single word had escaped everything he had been holding back. “Most people fear their demons, for they embody their deepest, darkest sins, and in their fear they turn to me for guidance…”
Anxiety rippled through his audience, for somehow their suspense still had not faded.
“But some people, though only the bravest of us, turn to face them alone. And in times of great adversity, when their pain and their suffering is at its worst, these few are driven only to become stronger, fighting with evermore fire and evermore resolve.”
The faces of his audience before him were bleak, as his words hit them like a dreadful hurricane.
He pressed on.
“Some try to hide from their demons, or dress them as something else entirely. But disguising them doesn’t work. Only you know what they truly are. And you may be able to run from them for a while, but they will be kept at bay only for so long. You cannot escape from them.”
The tone of the old Vicar’s voice was so serious and deathly level that a chill ran through his audience like a rippling tsunami, and he paused for breath and to survey the effect of his words, but just for a moment. Unfaltering, the wave of disaster caused by his devastatingly accurate words continued.
“Who amongst you has faced your demons!?” He demanded then, scanning the faces of his crowd with piercing eyes. He was not accusing any single person, far from it. But his words were stirring the people of Riverbrook, and preparing them for something that they did not even realise was coming.
Though his gaze was penetrating, he did not linger on any one soul.
Perhaps his eyes had not found the one they sought.
“He who can honestly stand proud and face that which he fears most about himself, is a good man indeed…” The Vicar’s tone changed then, dropping and softening, seemingly changing the very atmosphere in the room along with it, as if he had complete and utter control over everybody in his presence.
He sighed deeply then, almost in acceptance.
“That is what makes us stronger and better people…” He said, though his words now sounded mournful, regretful even. “But that is not what makes great men…” He breathed, shaking his head slightly. “That is something else entirely…”
Then, suddenly, the light streaming in through the windows darkened and the day turned almost to night. Clouds swarmed together above the church in a great, angry, seething mass, looming over it evilly.
A monstrous flash of unexpected lighting lit up the blackened sky like an enormous whip, followed immediately by the ominous rumble of thunder.
Wind began to howl terribly outside, attacking the sturdy walls of the church, and though it could not break through the protective stone, the candles that were now
the only source of light in the vast hall flickered and waved in fear.
The next flashes and cracks and rumbles of the brewing storm were followed by an immediate and torrential downpour, spitting raindrops the size of a man’s clenched fist. The falling water attacked and barraged the church roof and walls endlessly, as if it hated them with a venom so deep that it ran through countless generations.
Then, abused and battered so by the raging storm, the heavy, wooden doors of the church at the opposite end of the nave to where Father Peter stood swung wide open with a loud bang.
Beyond them the storm seethed in eerie blackness that had engulfed the day, like a powerful predator stalks and hunts and overwhelms its prey.
Calmly, Father Peter stepped down from his dais and proceeded up the aisle between the pews towards the door and the treacherous storm.
An icy cold wind rushed in as he approached, trying to push him back and blowing out half of the candles lighting the room.
But he resisted, forcing his way forwards still.
He glanced outside, though he could see barely anything, for it looked almost like the dead of night.
Reaching the large doors, he pushed them to, endeavouring with all his might to lock out the unwanted cold and evil attempting to assault and engulf this sacred place.
But, as if often the way, it always fights its way in somehow, whether by subtlety and guile, or simply by brute force.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, it settled for the latter.
Just as he pushed the doors to, so close to sealing and locking them completely to ensure they didn’t swing open again, what dim light there still was outside beyond the old man, was blocked out completely.
In one moment there was nothing but the storm, and in the next there stood before the Father a wiry, shadowy figure that looked over his short frame menacingly, towering above him and seeming to overcome him completely.
The wind and the rain and the thunder and the lightning all seemed to cease then, even if only for a moment, and there hung in the air nothing but a terrifying silence.
