by A. J. Cronin
The Sadness, Alastor’s own personal curse, slithers over Alastor.
Confronted by all the evil his blood has to offer, the Sadness saps his will and his hope as it has done countless times before.
~-~~-~
Eoin, meanwhile, battles with a subdued attitude. His forefathers and the denizens of the realm are nothing more than irritating flies, as they always have been. He moves through the mob like they were a swamp, but closer he comes to the altar nonetheless. It is some time before he realizes that Alastor is nowhere to be seen.
“Alastor!” he calls, but nothing except the cackling, mocking of the Black Knights does he get in return.
Eoin readies to search for his son, but a monstrous figure from his own past rises up before him, barring the way. There, with mace in one hand and blade in the other stands the Butcher of Theria himself.
“Eoin! I should have killed you when you were nothing but a thought and a speck within a peasant girl’s womb!”
Seeing his father free from Mors’ influence, Eoin rapidly is forced to come to the conclusion that whatever good he saw in his father when they were alive was nothing but a passing fantasy.
“Sometimes, father, I wish you would had.”
The Butcher brings his weapons down upon Eoin. Eoin waves his arm, pushing his father’s weapons aside like they were no more threatening than switches from a tree.
“Your victory over me was a fluke, boy!” shouts the Butcher.
“Let us test that, father!”
~-~~-~
Alastor fights still, but sloppily, the swords of his enemies stuck in him. The demons and wraiths claw at him, but still he resists.
“Stop fighting us!” the Black Knights say to Alastor. “What hope do you have?”
“I... have... none,” he whispers in reply. “I never had...”
The Knight is unable to swing his blades any longer, the desire to give in too great, too strong. The Black Knights and the other foul things close in but, like a bolt of silver lightning, Eoin comes to his son’s aid. Without thinking, he grasps Alastor’s arm to pull him away, but as before, contact with Eoin’s armor causes Alastor to yell in pain and lose control of himself, falling to the ground.
“Alastor, I cannot carry you! You can only leave under your own power!”
“Then I suppose I will not be leaving...”
Not willing to even think of abandoning Alastor, Eoin does his best to keep the monsters at bay. Desperation drives him on, yet the congregation of darkness never thins out. The horde is endless. Eoin resolves to stay and fight, even if it means a lifetime longer in the Madness. When all seems to be nothing more than a stalemate, something happens that Eoin never thought possible: a blast of cold, frigid air moves through the Madness, followed by a soul rending wail.
The sound of a frightened wraith.
All fighting stops as everyone and everything turns to see the cause. The Black Knights and otherworldly things closest to the altar are violently thrown into the air. This unseen force comes nearer to Eoin and Alastor, tossing aside the Black Knights while the demons and wraiths flee in absolute terror of what is coming. Eoin stands ready to face whatever may come. Expecting to be faced by some powerful new foe, Eoin is nearly struck dumb when out emerges a raven haired girl, no older than fifteen years, wearing white.
“Eoin, brave and true, your allotted penance is at an end. Stand before the altar and you will be taken out,” the girl says to Eoin, gesturing to the path she has made.
“I will not leave my son,” he tells her firmly.
“Alastor shall follow shortly. I promise.”
Alastor looks up to see the source of this sweet, innocent voice in the midst of the Madness. He laughs to himself as he sees the girl, and all the Black Knights which stand frozen by their fear of her.
“Father... please go,” Alastor pleads gently.
Eoin struggles internally before finally listening to Alastor. As he stands before the altar, Eoin embarks on his ascent, leaving the Madness behind at long last.
Alastor is left alone with the girl and the forest of immobile Black Knights, still as the spires around them. One of them finally builds up the courage to attack the girl. She swings her arm as if to strike him, but a power issues forth from her, causing all of the Black Knights to lose their physical form in an instant, bringing about a snow of frozen ash.
“It has not even been two years since last we met, little one,” Alastor says, “and not only do you look different, I would swear you have even surpassed Morrigan’s power.”
The Fairy girl walks around Alastor, still on his hands and knees, pulling the swords and blades from the enemies out of his body as a mother might remove splinters from her child.
“Why do you let them hurt you so?” she asks, ignoring Alastor’s musing.
“Weapons have never been a threat to me, Fairy.”
Pulling the last of the swords out, the Fairy girl kneels down before Alastor.
“I am not speaking of swords and arrows.”
Alastor sits up, looking into the Fairy girl’s striking green eyes.
“Then what do you speak of?”
She places a hand on Alastor’s face, caressing his cheek with the tips of her fingers, then moves her hand down to the center of his chest.
“Why do you let them hurt you here?”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Alastor says as he stands, using his blades to assist him.
The Fairy girl stands toe to toe with him, staring into his eyes.
“Like Leon before you, you let them steal the hope and love from your heart. Why do you allow this?”
Alastor looks away from her, back to the wasteland of the Madness.
“It is difficult to maintain hope and love when I am faced with what I am to become.”
“After everything Eoin has taught you, why do you believe you would become one of them?”
“Father believed what he did about me because of his own sins and, because of what he learned, thought I was unlikely to fall prey. He never knew that from the first time I killed, I felt the corruption eating at me.”
“So, you then believe that Eoin was wrong about you? That he, and Gawain and so many others died in vain?”
“I do not know,” Alastor sighs. “I have never known...”
She places a hand on Alastor’s shoulder, running it down his arm and finally coming to rest on the bracer. Strangely enough, the metal reacts to her touch, changing color from black to silver. She giggles soft and low.
“Even if you have no faith in yourself, we do. We always have.”
She removes her hand, causing the metal to revert to its normal state.
“We?” Alastor asks, returning his focus back to her, having not seen nor felt his bracer change.
“Very soon, you will know who we are. Very soon, you will know who You are. Your questions will be answered. For now, however, you must see this small part of your destiny through with only that which you have been given.”
“And here I thought Morrigan and what she said was unnerving.”
“Go now,” the Fairy girl says with a smile.
Alastor tries to smile, but he cannot. As he heads for the altar, he stops.
“I suppose that the next time we meet, you will be older?”
“If we meet.”
“Like always. Goodbye, again.”
“Goodbye.”
Alastor strides to the altar. He places his hands upon it and, like Eoin, he starts the ascent back to Valkyr. The journey upward gives the Knight plenty of time to reflect upon his life, his fate, his place in the ancient tale. The more he tries to follow the threads of history, the more tangled they become until finally where one begins and another ends is impossible to discern. So lost in this confusion, Alastor does not realize that he has entered again the Valkyr temple until he is suddenly engulfed in fire once more.
Unlike before, this time there is excruciating pain.
He fall
s, writhing.
Lisa, Eoin and Amy all run to his aid, except Alastor cannot hear them over his own screaming. When the fire subsides, he is left in his alternate form, white hair and all, causing Eoin to recoil.
“That is what he looks like here,” Gawain says, coming beside Eoin. “Why that is, I have only theories.”
“I would very much like to hear those,” Eoin says slowly, still unsure what to make of the white haired man that looks like his favored son.
Amy and Lisa both help Alastor to stand, each bearing his weight as they carry him into the meeting room within the temple.
“I am getting sick of this place,” Alastor says as the two women help him to sit down.
“What do you expect when you are not even supposed to be here?” Gawain asks with a mirthful tone.
“Supposed to or not, I would think this realm would be a little more accommodating given what I just did.”
At that moment, a woman enters, wearing a white, hooded robe and carrying a golden scythe, she looking much like the twin gate keepers.
“Alastor,” she says with a cool, ringing voice, “you have completed a most arduous task worthy of commendation, but now you must rejoin the world of mortality.”
Alastor stands, nodding in respect of the recognition given to him.
“How am I to return? My body was gravely poisoned.”
“The poison has been neutralized. All that remains is to send you back, which must be done outside of this city.”
“What about Lisa and Amelia?” Gawain asks.
“They too shall leave in like form. Follow me.”
The hooded woman motions for the three to follow her. As she leads them out, Eoin, still in his silver armor, stops them.
“May I follow, to see my son off?”
“Why?” the hooded woman asks, not wanting to know herself, but wanting to discern if Eoin even knows.
“I do not know when I might see him again. To part so suddenly again I do not feel I can endure.”
“Admirable. Follow if it is your wish.”
Lisa is the last to leave the room, taking a moment to embrace Rachel and thank her. Gawain stops his daughter at the door.
“Father?”
“Keep the story I told you in your heart. Remember Persephone’s last words. Alastor needs you, so be sure to take care of him.”
Lisa kisses her father’s cheek, but does not say goodbye. By the time she exits the temple, the others are already at the city gates. She runs to catch up. They exit the city with no fanfare, the gates closed behind them.
“Until we all meet again,” the twin gate keepers say in unison to those departing.
~-~~-~
The hooded woman guides them south on the road. Lisa and Amy have become good friends over the course of their journey and talk together as if they were simply shopping in Essain. Alastor looks back to them, noticing Lisa’s necklace.
“Father, there is something I need to ask you,” he whispers.
“And what might that be?” answers Eoin.
“I always wanted to, but I never had the courage.”
“That, son, I do not believe, but ask away.”
“The necklace you gave Lisa. What purpose does it actually serve?”
Eoin glances back to Lisa also, making sure she is preoccupied.
“It negates the power of the armor,” he says solemnly. “It took all my strength to make it, which was partially why I went into seclusion after that visit to Essain.”
“As I suspected. I handled it once and felt... empty. Just being in its proximity made me weaker even. But now I want to hear why you made it.”
“Your brother had shown a penchant for darkness early in life even before I sent him away and, in spite of all I hoped for, I was afraid you might also. I merely planned accordingly.”
“Your plan was for her to kill me if I succumbed to Cain’s will?”
“Yes, Alastor. She is a descendant of the Essain royal blood that aided Leon, and it would have been her place. The necklace was to make sure she was able to accomplish what I hoped would never be necessary.”
“A lesser man might become angry knowing that his father planned for his own son’s death, but I am actually quite grateful.”
“Grateful? How so, Alastor?”
“You have removed my greatest fear, father.”
As Alastor says that, he laughs and hangs his head.
“What is it, Alastor?”
“Had I known, I would have never asked you to seal the armor.”
“And I would not have been murdered, right?”
“Yes.”
“Be that as it may, I feel that it was better for it to be this way.”
“Why?”
“If I did tell you about the necklace, and you did take the path of evil, what would have been the first thing you did before claiming the armor?”
“I would have...”
Alastor trails off. He knows what he would have done in that situation, and so does his father. He would have gone to murder Lisa himself.
“And after the threat she posed was removed, you would have come to me, Alastor, wearing that pendant. My father’s actions would have paled in comparison.”
“Please, do not compare me to grandfather, even theoretically.”
“I am sorry, but I want you to understand fully why I made the choices I did. Sending you out, having you fight in my name without the armor... I was trying to temper you. I needed some indication of what you were to become.”
“Did you ever get your indication?”
“Honestly? Not until you came back from Arkelon with Amelia.”
“What did she have to do with anything?”
“It was a sign to me. That you would take Frederic’s daughter as a companion had implications I could not ignore. Coupled with the fact that, even after facing such an overwhelming force and having the curse rage in your veins, you wanted the armor sealed... I knew then that I had accomplished my task in raising you.”
Alastor takes in his father’s words, but realizes an oddity.
“Wait, you still did not explain why me traveling with Amelia had any importance.”
Before Eoin can answer, the hooded woman gathers Alastor, Lisa and Amy together in a glade off the road. Amy looks at Eoin, ashamed. He smiles at her like a loving father, giving her a slight bow.
“Father!” Alastor calls as he tries to stop the hooded woman, but a flash of light blinds all three. Before the world vanishes completely, Alastor can hear his father laugh slightly to himself.
~-~~-~
Amy and Lisa discover themselves outside the keep, exactly where they left. As Amy expected, she has reverted to her fallen form. She takes her alternate shape, not wanting to endure her more grotesque self.
“Amy!” Lisa exclaims.
“What?”
“You are yourself!?”
Amy feels her face, then looks at her hair. It is black-brown, not blonde. She no longer has the body of the bard. She alternates forms a few times to make sure it is not a fluke. She cannot suppress a smile and a cheer.
“I will take this as a gift, I think.”
They look around and, not seeing Alastor, run into the keep.
The sun is setting, darkening the land. A welcome sight for the two women, as in the dishonored lands night never falls. Up the spiral stairs they bound until they come at last into Alastor’s room again, where Morrigan and Mikha’el both hold Alastor’s body down as it forcibly pushes out the remnants of the Necromancer’s foul toxin painfully. When all the poison is forced out, Alastor’s body falls back down, sleep and rest coming for him at last, his proper color returning, the dead flesh of his wounds fast healing as the bracers can finally do their work. Mikha’el takes note of the reappeared Lisa, and beside her an unfamiliar woman.
“My Lady? You have been gone only moments. You have succeeded in bringing him back already?”
“Not exactly,” Lisa concedes.
�
�But he is back, which is all that matters,” Amy says.
“And who are you?” Mikha’el asks.
“It is Amy,” Morrigan says as she cleans Alastor’s body of the toxin remnants and finally pulls the blankets over him. “The real Amy, Amelia, that is. Now that Alastor is safe, I would very much like to know how you regained yourself, not to mention everything else that happened.”
The four exit Alastor’s room, going to the Cloud Hall, where Lisa and Amy recount all that they saw, all they did and all they witnessed while in the dishonored lands.
~-~~-~
The hours have slipped through the hour glass unnoticed as Morrigan and Mikha’el listen attentively, asking questions of every detail. When Amy and Lisa’s tale finally comes to an end, none is more affected than the Fairy.
“It sounds like Alastor never needed our help, but your going was clearly not in vain,” Morrigan says thoughtfully.
Mikha’el stands, walking out onto the balcony.
“In case you want some confirmation from me, My Lady,” he speaks, “your father’s story was wholly accurate.”
“Why did you never come back to Essain then?”
“After allowing your mother and my sister to die, I never had the heart to return, even at Eoin’s request.”
“You did not allow anything to happen. Their deaths were not your fault.”
“So I have been told, yet the words never alleviate the guilt... the feeling that it was my responsibility and that I failed so horribly at the task.”
“You should not let this guilt continue, Mikha’el.”
“Allow me my indulgences, My Lady.”
Amy comes up behind Mikha’el slowly.
“Such indulgences can be far worse than the crime that brought the guilt in the first place,” she whispers to him. “Indulge too much, and you will forever regret it.”
Mikha’el faces her, uncertain of how to respond, so he just nods.
“How long do you think Alastor will sleep?” Lisa asks Morrigan.
