The Quest Of The Legend

by A. J. Cronin

  Heimdal smirks as he continues.

  “Rennir taught us that the Great Father, whom we no longer knew as our own, was in fact the Great Enemy, the liar, the deceiver, and that the god which we all now served was the opposing force. Rennir, acting as our seer, our oracle, instructed us to go out and take what we needed and what we wanted from them who claimed the nameless God as their master. This was our divine right, and in this endeavor we were successful. Too successful. We began to indulge in the conquest, the bloodlust, and the other crimes which I shall not name, for you know them well. We roamed as a horde. We would lay siege to a city or town to settle in it, but grew bored as we sat in one place, so we would move on.”

  “And then one day, you came to an unassuming town called Arkelon.”

  “Aye. It was fair sized, but still a meager little child where cities are concerned, so we expected no resistance. To our great surprise, they did not fear us. They even defied us. So... we decided to play with them, amused by their apparent courage. We took pleasure in telling stories of what we would do to their people. We so enjoyed talking loud so that they could hear us on the other side of their wall. Then, fortune would have it, a young man dressed in black with a face grim as Death himself walked through our camp and directly into Arkelon. We mocked him, laughed. Little did we know what Fate had in store for us. That very night, She severely punished us for our transgressions; our executioner had walked among us. The Angel of Death did not pass over us.”

  Alastor and Heimdal share a glance. Heimdal’s eyes show immense mourning. That night in Arkelon flashes through the Knight’s mind.

  “You cannot understand how much I regret that night,” Alastor tells Heimdal.

  “You should not, dear Knight.”

  “How can you say that? I slaughtered all of you!”

  “And we deserved it! Every last one of us. We acted like animals, worse even. What you did, I thank you with all my heart for.”

  Alastor looks at Heimdal aghast. For years, this singular event has been the source of his greatest guilt. No, Alastor corrects in his mind. It was the second greatest. One night in Arkelon had brought along with it many woes.

  “How can you thank me for what I had done?”

  “It led me back to true faith, Alastor.”

  “I think you might need to explain that.”

  “When you first killed me, I raged. I could see the shadows and hear the echoes of my people’s battle with you, and I watched as one by one my brothers and sisters came into this realm after me. At first I thought it a mere fluke. I knew that, within moments, I would be face to face with you again, where I would revel in my people’s victory over you. But they continued to pass into the dishonored, laid to waste by Death’s blade. Our numbers grew larger, but we all waited, absolutely sure that our surviving brethren would best you.

  “While the others who died cursed you, a singular thought began to creep into my tattered soul: how could our enemy be so powerful? Then, it dawned on me with such force I think I wept. He was not our enemy. We were his. He was the hero, we were the villains.

  “When we realized that every one of us fell to you, killed in battle with a lone man, my people grew furious, engulfed in a burning hatred. In short, they became exactly what this realm was made for. A small number, myself included, were humbled by our defeat. There was always strife amongst us, but we did in death as in life, wandering the dishonored lands together until, at last, your brother came. He offered us revenge against you if we would serve him. The moment he told my brothers and sisters that they would again walk the plains of the living, they swore allegiance, save that small handful of us which bore you no ill will for what you had done.”

  “What reason did you have to believe that remaining would be of any good?”

  “There was none, really. We collectively felt a need to endure our penance, even if it was for an eternity. The guilt we suffered for our past lives was enough to keep us from returning. We saw Lucius for what he was, and none of us wished to cause pain again.” Heimdal clasps Alastor’s shoulder. “So, I say it again: Thank you, Knight.”

  Alastor cannot so easily accept this. He finally takes the time to survey the land around him, immediately recognizing the area they are in.

  “We have already passed Judeheim? Where is this ‘Valkyr’ then? There is not much farther north we can go.”

  “We are nearing it, and when we do, there will be little challenge in your mind of its origin.”

  Alastor finds this statement most interesting, but another thought comes in.

  “Why have we not seen anyone else here? There are thousands of years worth of dishonored dead, yet it has been... well, empty, save those who attacked in Cain’s prison and the shades we have passed.”

  Heimdal’s face contorts as he struggles to find the right words.

  “Alastor, in the time since Valkyr’s creation, a proverbial line has been drawn in the sand in these lands.”

  “You are preparing for battle? You can not mean that even here, you are readying for war.”

  “I have said perhaps more than my allotted portion. When in Valkyr, the Archgeneral will explain to you.”

  “Archgeneral?”

  “God’s emissary to the dishonored.”

  Alastor has no choice but to nod in acknowledgment that he must wait for his answers. He veers his focus to his hands, remembering the bracers with the still connected segment of chains attached.

  “Who am I?” he whispers.

  “Show me a man who does not ask himself that very question, and I shall show you a man who lives in an illusion of his own making,” Heimdal says reassuringly. “In life, that question haunted me. So much did it consume me that I let my rule over my people become tainted.”

  Heimdal stops Alastor, looking stern and serious.

  “What is it?” Alastor asks him.

  “Alastor, if there is a single piece of advice I can give you, it is this: Release whatever guilt you are carrying. Wallowing in that darkness will do nothing to change the past. Whatever you have done to others, whatever others may have done... in the end it all serves to make you stronger, not weaker. Guilt will do nothing but cause your resolve to atrophy and your heart to decay. Even here, you are still a man, flesh and bone... figuratively speaking. You cannot see what each event of your life is leading up to. Letting yourself take the blame for every evil in your life will keep you from seeing the intended good. All things can be worked for good, which makes guilt one of the only true evils. Remember that, Knight.”

  Heimdal places his hand on Alastor’s shoulder before continuing on.

  Alastor’s mind wanders, falling into deep introspection. He looks at Heimdal from the corner of his eye, his words burrowing far into the recesses of Alastor’s hidden self. The Knight casts his eyes downward, watching each step forward when Heimdal suddenly and triumphantly shouts.

  “Ah! We have arrived!”

  Raising his head, Alastor is stunned by what he sees.

  Sprawled out before him is a bright, shining city, encased in a high and beautiful wall. The wall is made of a white stone inlaid with veins of gold and blue metals forming intricate patterns that shimmer in their own light. Before the two men, at the end of the road they stand on, stands a massive pair of gates, solid and shining like a polished shield. Heimdal leads Alastor down the hill toward the gate, the city becoming lost behind the walls. Guarding the gate are two men, each wearing white, hooded tunics. They both wield golden-bladed scythes, crossed before the gates.

  “Heimdal, brave and true, you have returned,” the gate keepers say in unison.

  “I have,” Heimdal responds.

  “But, who is this one with you?” asks the guard on the right.

  “He is not one of this realm,” asserts the left.

  “This is Alastor,” Heimdal begins to explain.

  “Son of Eoin,” says the right keeper.

  “Brother of Lucius,” adds the left keeper.

&nbs
p; “You have been expected for a very long time,” they again say in unison. “Yet your arrival here is premature. Enter friends, brothers, and report to the Archgeneral. This turn of events is now of the utmost importance.”

  The gates are opened, the keepers part their scythes. Heimdal passes through first. The keepers give him a respectful nod as he enters Valkyr. Alastor slowly follows, but as he does so the keepers lower to one knee and bow their heads in reverence. Before Alastor can question them, the gates close.

  Beyond the walls, the city itself is made of that same white stone with the blue and gold metals. Striking Alastor is the fact that no building is locked by means of a door, instead only curtains of white, blue or gold hang in their thresholds, except for a single, massive structure at the city’s heart with doors of gold and inlaid with silver. The buildings themselves are clear of purpose; halls for eating, houses for sleeping, armories and barracks for forging and training. The true focal point of the city is the building in the center, without question in Alastor’s mind a temple.

  Stretched out before the temple is a wide court, full of men and women, marshaled together, some sparring in practice, others talking in small groups. All of them wear armor. Alastor is immensely impressed by the armor they all wear. The metal is bright, almost like silver, covering only the front of their bodies, and even then just the most important parts of the body. By the way the people move, Alastor gathers that the armor is extremely light, and not cumbersome in the least. Their helms are more akin to crowns, protecting the forehead while from the brow seven talons curve over the top of the head, with the center most talon being longer than the rest. The look is most attractive, Alastor thinks, and especially among the female soldiers.

  In the center of this ocean of armor clad figures is another man, taller and wearing full plate armor of gold rather than silver, and with a purple mantle about his shoulders. He wears not the simple circlet-helm of the silver armor wearers, but a full helmet which covers his head. All are oblivious to Alastor.

  Heimdal makes quick work of changing that.

  “Soldiers of Valkyr!” Heimdal shouts. “I come back to you, bringing with me a mighty friend!”

  All eyes shift to Alastor and Heimdal. Hushed whispers move through the crowd. Others, unarmored, pour out from the buildings. The gold clad soldier stands like a statue, staring at Alastor, giving way to shaking his head in disbelief. He strides to Alastor, passing Heimdal with a pat on the shoulder. The gold soldier stands an arm’s length from Alastor, taking in the Knight but still unable to trust his eyes.

  “You should not be here, Alastor. Not yet.”

  Alastor crooks his neck, finding the voice from beyond the gold helmet familiar. He is forced to think for a moment, and then it hits him.

  “I would think you should not be here at all, Gawain.”

  The man removes his helmet, revealing a much younger, yet darker of heart, Gawain than the one Alastor remembers.

  “Under the current circumstances, I would not want to be anywhere else, friend.”

  “What circumstances might those be?”

  Gawain casts his gaze out over the city, to the innumerable denizens which dwell within the walls.

  “Let us speak in the temple,” Gawain tells Alastor as he begins to lead him.

  While they move through the armored men and women, each and every one drops to one knee with bowed head.

  “Why do they do that?” Alastor asks of Gawain.

  Gawain searches Alastor’s eyes, gauging how best to answer.

  “Alastor, you are important here. Or will be, I should assert. Suffice to say, I will not tell you anymore than that. I hope you understand.”

  Alastor says nothing, used to that old excuse. They ascend the stairs to the temple. Inside, it is empty.

  “You are the Archgeneral Heimdal and those gate keepers spoke of I assume?” observes Alastor.

  “That I am.”

  “Which means you are also the servant that convinced the unnamed One that there were good people amongst the dishonored.”

  “Correct.”

  “None of this even comes close to what father tried to teach me.”

  “I just about said the same thing as I awoke after being killed by Lucius.”

  Gawain stops walking as he sees by Alastor’s expression that the use of that name was unexpected.

  “You know about Lucius now?” Alastor asks.

  “I have since learned everything there is to know about your brother, and I understand why you never told me about him, even after our little skirmish in Judeheim. Do not feel guilty for keeping that knowledge to yourself, Alastor. Had our roles been reversed, I have no doubt that I would have done the very same.”

  “It was father who instructed me to never speak of him.”

  “I had assumed that Eoin would have done that. From my new perspective, I can see what might have happened had myself or others learned of Lucius’ family ties.”

  “Perhaps now you can tell me why I am here. Heimdal had mentioned that a condition of his ‘salvation’ was to protect and deliver me here.”

  “Is that so? Strange that he knew you were here and that no one else did until moments ago. Please, tell me what you can about your arrival here.”

  Gawain directs Alastor into a sanctuary filled with benches. Gawain sits and gestures for the Knight to do so as well.

  “How far back do you wish me to go?”

  “Start after I died,” smirks Gawain.

  Alastor cannot help but laugh as he tries to recall everything that has happened up to this point in his life.

  “If I remember right, when I received your letter, I set out immediately to find Lisa.”

  Alastor stops as he sees Gawain’s eyes light up at the mention of his daughter’s name.

  “Continue, Alastor.”

  “Unfortunately, two of Lucius’ agents found her at roughly the same time as I did, in a small tavern east of Essain.”

  “The woodcutter town?”

  “The very same.”

  “We have recently received many of their population here.”

  “Really?”

  “We will speak of that later. Go on.”

  “Well, Lucius’ agents posed as bards and Lisa quickly engaged in talk with them about the ‘mythical Black Knight.’ They befriended one another easily. I, not wanting to make matters worse, watched and waited. In the night, assassins came to kill Lisa, and the bards acting as altruistic, loyal friends tried to lead her secretly away. In reality, they were luring her into the assassin’s hands, whom they in fact commanded in secret.”

  Gawain’s eyes change to slight annoyance.

  “How can she have been so readily beguiled?”

  “To be fair, it was impossible for her to know the extent of Lucius’ power. All she knew at the time was that he was your murderer.”

  “That is very true.”

  “I easily enough came in and dispatched the would be assassins, pathetic mercenaries hired by Hector to aid the bards. I told Lisa I was commissioned by you to guide her to the Black Knight’s castle, using your second letter as my evidence. She accepted, but was adamant that the bards be allowed to follow. As I had no other course of action, since violence upon her new friends would be a sure sign of my allegiance with the Necromancer, I acquiesced to her orders... of course, I took the extremely long route home.”

  Alastor and Gawain share a smile.

  “And Lisa never suspected who you were?” Gawain asks.

  “Not in the slightest as far as I could tell, even after I told her of you and I in Judeheim.”

  Gawain nods.

  “You grew into quite a different man than I expected from the child who came with Eoin all those years ago. For her to not remember you is not at all unexpected.”

  “I am not very much changed, Gawain. I was simply better at hiding myself back then. Everything that has happened since has merely darkened the threshold of an already sunless room.”


  “Is that right?” Gawain lowers his head. “I do not believe so. You did not change until after Eoin... please, let us turn back to your story.”

  “We soon came to Mikha’el’s village and there had our first introduction to Lucius’ ‘creatures,’ dishonored souls given dark, degenerated bodies.”

  “Now, Alastor... you skipped a part.”

  “How could you know?”

  “We are always aware of new arrivals here,” Gawain says with a sarcastic grin.

  “Then I need not go into detail. Battles such as those I do not like to recall.”

  “Understandable, but answer me this: did Lisa know about the violence that occurred while you kept watch over her?”

  “Not until she was eavesdropping on Mikha’el and I speaking of it.”

  “So you kept it away from her on purpose?”

  “I could not stand to have her watch something like that. It was the same way with Amelia.”

  “But with Amelia, she had seen what happens after you fight. Is that why you kept her with you? Because she had already seen you at your worst?”

  “Yes,” Alastor says after some hesitation.

  Gawain gives Alastor a moment to compose himself, knowing he has drudged up the young Knight’s most painful memory.

  “Please proceed.”

  “As you knew, Mikha’el and I had suspected Lucius of being able to move between the living and the dishonored lands simply as a means of transport, but the creature appeared to prove otherwise. Unfortunately, with Lisa and the spies in tow, I could only instruct Mikha’el to investigate and then make the preparations to abandon their previously secret home, while I brought your daughter to the keep. I kept them in the Cloud Hall for a time after Mikha’el arrived. I was amused slightly at prolonging the drama of revealing myself, but eventually I did. Lisa did not want to believe me whatsoever, for she thought father was still her mythical hero.”

  “She always spoke of him, asked me of him. I of course gave her the more exaggerated tales. The stories of great deeds and valiance with a moral at the end. Eoin had once instructed me ‘if I am to ever be spoken of, please speak only of those instances which might help people.’ So I did, and they became a small religion to Lisa. Growing up, she drew pictures and even wrote her own stories about him.”