The Quest Of The Legend

by A. J. Cronin

  “Mother?” he stammers.

  “Once upon a time I was, son.”

  She again smiles, but this time a sadness is included with it.

  So many questions to ask, but Alastor chooses the one most immediate.

  “Mother, what is this place?”

  “You mean to tell me that you have not realized on your own?”

  “I guess I have not...”

  “The Hollow is a gift intended solely for you.”

  “Gift? Who could possibly give me something like this?”

  “Can you not think of who might have the power to give you this?” Alastor’s mother asks, a playful smile on her lips.

  Alastor knows who she is alluding to, but the idea is so preposterous that he cannot help but laugh.

  “A gift from God you mean?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  Her tone is that of true disbelief, that her own words are so common place, to think that someone would not, could not, believe them is unfathomable.

  “Well, yes it is actually,” Alastor replies sheepishly.

  “Regardless of if you can accept the truth or not, the Hollow is yours, earned through your lifelong service.”

  “Lifelong service?”

  “So I have been told.”

  “Told? You do not know the things I have done?”

  “No, but I would very much appreciate if you would regale me with your story.”

  ~-~~-~

  Alastor sits at the foot of a tree, much as he did in his dream, his mother sitting close by. He recounts to her every event since she died, pausing only to answer her occasional questions. When the time comes to tell her of the more recent trials he has endured, she remains silent, listening attentively, taking in every detail. When he finishes relating the battle at Essain castle, and his arrival at the Hollow, his mother simply stares at him.

  “What is it?”Alastor asks, afraid that he may have said something wrong.

  “Lisa sounds absolutely lovely. She will make a good queen. But, Alastor...”

  “Mother?”

  “Amelia. How could you have done what you say you did? I know you loved her, Alastor. They way you spoke left no doubt to that, yet you killed her.”

  “The betrayal I felt at that moment you cannot understand, mother. I will not deny that I loved her, and it was because of that love that the betrayal was all the more potent. It was the same way I felt when...”

  “When, Alastor?”

  “After you...”

  “Died?”

  “How could you have killed yourself when you were needed most, mother!?”

  “I did no such thing!” Alastor’s mother yells, jumping to her feet.

  “That was what father told me.”

  “And that was not exactly the first, nor last, of his lies was it?”

  “Then what really happened when you went into the forest, mother?”

  “I was murdered.”

  “By who?”

  “Who indeed, Alastor?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Who had the most to gain by ridding you and your father of me? Who had the most to fear as I raised you, and you grew older? After the story you just told me, has the truth of my death truly not occurred to you? ”

  Alastor knows the answer without thinking.

  “Lucius’ mother? But why?”

  “It was not just that whore, but her son too. They lured me out into the forest, telling me that you had hurt yourself. She used some witchcraft that made it so I could not move, then ordered her own son to kill me,” she tells Alastor, her voice seething with suppressed rage.

  “Then consider yourself avenged, mother. As I have told you, Lucius is dead,” Alastor says through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the old wound, ripped open again. The idea of his mother being murdered by his half-brother threatening to tear his own soul asunder.

  “Lucius, while the evil offspring of a witch-whore, was little more than a simple lapdog, Alastor. He was never your true enemy.”

  The divination inside gives him the immediate answer.

  “You speak of Samael?”

  “I do.”

  “But, I thought Samael was the enemy of God himself?”

  “A miss-teaching. They are nowhere near being equals, though Samael does not wish this teaching to be corrected, as it makes his power appear greater than it is. In truth, Alastor, you and he are most alike, but of course the complete antithesis of one another.”

  “The way you speak of him, you almost make him sound mortal.”

  “He is not an all-powerful deity, son.”

  “So, he can be hurt? He can be beaten?”

  “Yes, in much the same way you can.”

  Alastor stands, pacing across the Hollow until he is stopped by the sight of Charlotte’s Defiance laying in his path. He looks at the sword lovingly.

  “Elizabetha spoke of a new fate. She said ‘A new fate will be born this night, and the only thing you must do to attain it is not lose heart and take it!’ Is this what she spoke of?”

  “It is, Alastor.”

  Alastor continues to stand still, staring at the sword.

  “What must I do?” he asks without breaking his gaze.

  “Then you accept this task? Embrace this new fate?”

  “Whole heartedly, mother.”

  “Even if it costs your life?”

  “I have already seen what lays beyond. I now know that the damnation I faced is no longer in my future, so I no longer fear death. And thus I repeat: What must I do?”

  “The Fairy you know as Morrigan has secured a red book that is blank, except for the last page. I want you to return home and write in that book all you have seen, done, and been a part of, except for this Hollow and everything we here discuss.”

  “Why?” he asks, looking to his mother, confused. “Why exclude this place?”

  “The Hollow is your sanctuary. Your refuge. But, as you hopefully have figured out, it is so much more. While you are here, you are immortal, and any wounds you suffer are healed, no matter how old or grave, by dipping into the pool, as you have already done. And, you know that is not all. Here you can will the creation of anything you desire, as you did with your clothes. As you can see, this would be a horrible temptation to lesser men and women.”

  “I cannot tell even my friends?”

  “You may tell them as much or as little as you wish, Alastor, but remember: the less they know, the less knowledge there is that can be used against them and you. I trust your judgment in this accord.”

  Alastor nods in understanding.

  “What shall I do after writing my story?”

  “See to your friendships, of course,” she answers with a smile. “You will need allies, so isolating yourself from those who love you would be quite... stupid.”

  “And after that?” Alastor laughs.

  “An important task. Search out for one called ‘The Last Prophet.’ But, that is something we can discuss later.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Alastor tests the Hollow, willing his clothes to change into his riding gear, complete with a new sheathe for Charlotte’s Defiance. He looks at the tree-wall and sighs.

  “Alastor?”

  “I am not looking forward to traveling back through the forest from whence I came.”

  “You will not have to.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “By taking ownership of the Hollow, it has granted you a new ability. You can travel anywhere you want, granted that you have seen where you want to go and can focus fully upon it, and no matter where you are you can return to the Hollow in like manner.”

  “Is that so?” Alastor smirks. “Well, I shall be off then.” As he looks upon his mother, a thought comes to him. “Why not come with me?”

  “I cannot. I am dead, remember? My time here is limited to setting you upon your new path. When you leave, I will depart as well.”

  “Depart? Where to?”


  “Where we shall meet again someday.”

  Alastor, smiling at her answer, closes his eyes, readying to test this new form of travel, but yet another thought enters his mind, breaking his concentration. His mother can see this.

  “Alastor, what is wrong?”

  “You said that Lucius’ mother used witchcraft on you.”

  “I did.”

  “Did father know she was a witch?”

  “I know what you are thinking, as I have had many, many years to think of it myself. She was a very beautiful woman, you might remember. Knowing Eoin, she would not have had to cast a spell to make him her own.”

  Alastor thinks of correcting his mother, telling her that her guess as to the reason for his question was wrong, but the sadness in her eyes tells him not to. He quickly formulates a new question within the same vein as the previous.

  “Do you have any idea what became of her? I saw her last when father sent Lucius and her away.”

  “Where she is, I know not. But, I do know this: she is not dead.”

  The bitterness in her voice is clear as crystal. She makes no effort whatsoever to mask it.

  “Something I shall investigate, mother.”

  “There is no need, Alastor.”

  “Yes there is. Inside, I feel that I must. It is the same feeling that led me here.”

  “If that is the case, then do not ignore it. Just do not seek her out if you intend to do so on my account. I will not have my son further tainted by revenge.”

  Alastor bows to his mother, then wills himself to his keep. The sensation is not as strange as Alastor anticipated. A fog appears to surround him, along with winds that swirl the mists around. After only a short moment, he stands before the keep, the mists dissipating and then vanishing, just as he had seen all the times Morrigan showed up from nowhere.

  The sun has started its descent from the sky, signaling that it is late in the day, but how many days since leaving Essain, he cannot tell. There are no horses outside the keep, nor any signs of visitors, so Alastor enters his home. Instinct tells Alastor to do something before ascending to the upper most levels of the tower.

  He goes first to Eoin’s crypt.

  Eoin’s body is no longer encased in the crystalline coffin, but lays on the stone bed which held it up. The work done by the armor has since been broken, a thought that gives Alastor a nice sense of comfort. He carefully picks up his father, carrying the body down to the lowest level of the keep, through the secret door and into the underground grotto, still luminescent, the waters of the fall still flowing. He walks to the far end of the pool, where a lone headstone is already standing, facing the waterfall. On the stone, roughly chiseled, is written:

  ‘Lily, wife and mother - deserving of more than she had’

  Although the grave is many years old, the solitude of the grotto has ensured that it remained undisturbed, looking as it did when it was freshly filled, and even more so since a shovel still rests beside it. Alastor gently sets down the body of Eoin a good distance away before taking up the shovel and starting a second grave beside Lily’s.

  When the grave is finished, Alastor lays Eoin down in it, then covering him with the earth. Alastor throws the shovel away, staring down at the two graves.

  “I will make you a headstone soon enough, father. I realize you did not think yourself worthy to be here, but I, and I think mother would agree with me, believe otherwise.”

  Alastor bows his head and leaves the grotto.

  Up in the Cloud Hall, it becomes clear that no one is there with him, nor has there been since all his friends left to follow him to Essain. On the table is the book his mother told him about, set down before his chair. Just as he sits, Morrigan enters.

  “How is it that you are already here?” she asks, shocked to see Alastor there.

  Alastor can only smirk.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mikha’el said you went north and that you would meet him some days later. There is no way you can be here before him.”

  “Yet here I am. What are you doing here?” Alastor asks, ignoring her question, his smirk disappearing.

  Morrigan takes this sign and asks no more about the speed with which Alastor has returned to the keep.

  “I needed a quiet place to think,” Morrigan answers. “The trial is not going as well as Lisa hoped.”

  “Trial?”

  “Yes. Not long after you left, the surviving members of the army were rounded up by the militia. The army was going to be killed then and there according to the justified punishment, but Lisa decided to put them on trial for betraying and aiding in the murder of Gawain.”

  “The army was right there working directly under Hector and Lucius. How could a trial be going poorly?”

  “Some of them claim to have been bewitched, tricked or threatened into following Lucius. The rest, however, continually spout of their eternal loyalty to him. The problem comes from the fact that they kill themselves, or those who have recanted Lucius, at every chance they get.”

  “Maybe I am missing something, but I fail to see what is wrong with that.”

  “They claim to be reuniting with Lucius so that he might have his army back, so that they may eventually come back to Essain and slaughter everyone. This scares the people, and Lisa has trouble keeping the calm. She wishes you were there to help her.”

  “She is more capable than she thinks.”

  “It is not just that, but stories have also began to spread through the city, stories about you and the battle with Lucius. Lisa tries her best to assure the people of what happened that night, but without you physically there to relate your story you are a, for lack of a better word, myth in Essain.”

  “So, their faith in Lisa is tied to my revealing myself to them?”

  “Somewhat. Remember, their memories of your father fighting with Gawain are faded, but still very much part of them. They never knew the truth, so they feel left in the dark where the Black Knight is concerned.”

  Alastor analyzes what Morrigan has said in his mind. He opens his mouth to answer, but stops himself, looking pained to do so. He places his hand on the red book and very slowly, with all his will says:

  “You can tell Her Highness that I will visit her kingdom when the time is right. No sooner, no later. Nothing will make me change my mind in this regard.”

  Morrigan eyes Alastor suspiciously, taking note of how he clutches the book as though it is supporting him.

  “When will that be?” she asks.

  “When I have finished writing.”

  Alastor’s mind screams at him, tells him, demands of him that he say nothing more, remembering what his mother’s spirit had told him. Though Morrigan is the least likely to face any danger for knowing what Alastor has been instructed to do, keeping even her unaware as much as possible feels like the right thing to do. Morrigan quickly asks the inevitable question.

  “Writing what?”

  The perception that Morrigan is seemingly unaware of both the Hollow and his meeting with his mother do not go unnoticed by him.

  “Thoughts, mostly,” he lies.

  “And that cannot wait until later?”

  “No. One must strike whilst the iron is hot, I suppose you could say,” he tells her with a cold sarcasm.

  Morrigan knows all too well a lie when she hears one. At this moment, something dies between the former Knight and the Ice Fairy.

  “If that is your decision, I shall not bother you anymore,” she replies just as coldly, moving to leave.

  She stops at the stairs, waiting for Alastor to call her back, but he does not. She departs in her more divine manner, blasting the Cloud Hall with a frigid wind. Alastor sighs as he stands up from the long table, taking up the red book. He descends a level, going into the keep library. He searches for ink and quills. When he finds what he is looking for, he sits at the lone table and sets to his task.

  A task that he fears will hurt even more before it is finished. Before he can put ink
to page one, he wipes away the tears, the result of being so heartless to one who has only tried to help him through the years. To one that has loved and cared for him like a sister.

  He can only pray that, in the end, it will be justified. God willing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fate’s Bright

  Three months have passed since the fateful night of Essain’s uprising, the destruction of Cain and his servant-become-traitor Lucius. Essain, under the rule of Queen Lisa, slowly returns to its former glory. Those who had fled in the wake of King Gawain’s murder come home, and with the survivors of the night rebellion, as it came to be called, work hard to rebuild that which was destroyed. Lisa has fully accepted her role of leadership and works diligently with the people of Essain, often side by side in the reconstruction of buildings. She also reestablishes ties to Judeheim, itself finally coming out of its turmoil, and the two kingdoms begin an age of peace and prosperity without the threat of Cain’s evil.

  On a day like many before it, Lisa is aiding in the building of a row of houses when the appearance of an old friend causes all work to stop.

  “Mikha’el!” Lisa exclaims, seeing the winged one simply standing at the edge of the building site, smiling. She rushes to Mikha’el, the two soon embracing. She then looks around, disappointedly.

  “It is only me, My Lady,” Mikha’el tells her sadly.

  Lisa is clearly hurt. She looks into Mikha’el’s lone eye.

  “Three months, Mikha’el. He would not come for the trials when I needed him, and he could not even visit when we started the reconstruction. Why has he so forsaken me and this city?”

  Mikha’el leads the Queen away from the others who have already continued working.

  “Alastor is a much different man than he used to be, My Lady. He has been in deep study since the battle with his brother. Something has very deeply troubled his heart. It is like looking at Eoin again.”

  “Something so troubling that he could not even come to see me once after that day? If he is so tormented, I might be able to help him!”

  “It is complicated, My Lady. He holds his true thoughts back from me and even Morrigan as you know, though she still will not say what was said between them to cause their falling out.”