saint Sebastian the Rose

by Glover, Michael W.

  Those stairs held his gaze as he thought about their hidden story but he realized that would have to wait; another chapter was about to be written. Father Lemoine stopped in the middle of the hall, his eyes never leaving the stairs. Those empty stairs were presently the residence of four figures that had not been there before.

  The air became cool and shadows became longer as they made their way down. Father Lemoine’s guards fanned out to equal distances around their leader as they took note of every corner in the room. They didn’t want any more surprises.

  Their mesmerizing eyes burned in various shades of red. Father Lemoine concentrated his breathing and his muscles, feeling every part of him wake up and reach a seldom-attained level of alertness. He pulled his sword out of its scabbard and fixed his eyes on the one slowly descending the steps. He knew these were not the ones they had fought out on the lawn. These were powerful vampires. The ones on the lawn were mere pawns used by older vampires to wreak havoc and do their dirty work; most had probably not been vampires for long. This was entirely different, he knew; he could feel their presence even from a great distance. He understood he would probably die in this room, tonight. How fitting, he thought—another story, one with him in it.

  The first did not even draw a weapon but continued to fix his stare on Father Lemoine, holding his gaze steady as he approached. Father Lemoine stood with his sword lightly held in his right arm out before him and his left arm held limply down by his side. Closer and closer it came and the other brothers grew fidgety, not knowing what to do, only trusting in their leader, but they had their own problems: the other three had also made their way down those stairs and had each chosen one of them to engage. Each brother knew they were probably outmatched but drew confidence from their leader who had never let them down.

  Walking right up to Father Lemoine, the thing pulled back its hood to reveal more than eyes of fire, a horrid countenance, and moved his arm to push aside the blade standing between them. Father Lemoine felt the blade in his hand move to the side and let his other hand find the hard wood handle and the weight at its end.

  The thing moved in closer, and its purpose was clear. Father Lemoine watched, amazed at his restraint and its arrogance, feeling more justified than he ever had. Grasping the handle firmly, he pulled out a wicked weapon with a spiked metal ball hanging by a chain. Father Lemoine brought the flail around in a sweeping arc, catching the vampire by surprise as the spiked balls crashed into its head. Each spike had been filled with holy water and the effect of the resulting spray was overwhelming.

  The whole side of its head caved in, and it fell to the floor at Father Lemoine’s feet. He stood over the lifeless body in a calm, disconnected fashion. The other three vampires took quick note of the demise of their brother and laid into the others, not wanting to become victims in the same manner. Father Lemoine stepped over the body and went to help. As he approached the second vampire it regarded him and suddenly ran backwards and disappeared in the shadows.

  Now only two remained but they were getting the best of the monks who fought for their lives. One had been injured with a strike from a sword and one had lost his sword altogether and was in the arms of one of the vampires. Father Lemoine cursed the vampires. He wished they had some crossbowmen or spearmen to help out, but they didn’t. The distance was too far for a mere mortal, and the thing had the monk in his embrace; he had his head bent over and had taken his neck, feasting on his blood, watching the dangerous one all the while.

  Before Father Lemoine could reach them, he swung his flail around in the air over and over raining holy water over them in a torrent. The water hit the face and body of the creature, sending it backward, dropping the now-unconscious monk to the floor. He turned his attack to the other creature who had also won his battle; the barrage of holy water caused a similar reaction. Father Lemoine was taking no prisoners.

  Breaking fast for them he raised his flail and came in with his sword followed by his two brothers. They were not going to stand for this. One ran to the stairs in the blink of an eye; the other merely vanished before their eyes as they reached the spot. The monks ended up swinging into empty air. They looked around only to find they were nearly alone. One stood on the steps glaring at them, and before they knew what was happening it was on them. One monk was on the floor just about knocked unconscious while the other and Father Lemoine struck with everything they had. Still it fought on. Father Lemoine brought his flail to bear, but the old vampire knocked it from his hands before he could attack.

  Vicious blow after vicious blow was bestowed on the vampire, who didn’t budge as he continued delivering deadly swipes to the monk he sat on. After receiving many brutal strikes, the vampire sent the other monk flying with a colossal hit.

  Father Lemoine brought his sword up high and was ready to strike hard when the room went pitch black and he was sent flying. The wind was knocked out of him, and he was gasping for breath. The floor was the only thing he was aware of for several moments. Slowly his senses came back in slow horrifying detail. He knew he must get up. With all his effort he began to sit up, trying to see anything in the darkness. Only faint outlines were visible. One of these was the old vampire that came over to him, grabbing him by the throat and holding him up. Still gasping for breath and strangled like a hanged man, Father Lemoine reached for the one who had him in its cold control.

  As he struggled, Father Lemoine looked around and saw his brothers in no less dire circumstances. Feeling he was making no progress with the vise-like grip he was held under, he reached for his belt to seek help from other things. Finding his assortment of items, hope sprang anew, but his hopes were dashed as his attacker batted his arm away so hard he must have broken it. With air coming in short supply, it would be only a matter of time before he lost consciousness.

  The quiet laugh reminded him he was no longer in control. That laugh was strong, and even though he could no longer hear it, he could feel the laughter coursing into him. The darkness was becoming all consuming.

  This room, the connection to all, and the X on the map was where everyone always ends up, even against their wishes; fate wills it, and this is where Father Donovan found himself. He, of course, knew he would end up here. When all of the castle rested, this place would still be alive with its eternal energy; here the drama continues and the play lives on.

  Finding the room in almost complete darkness, his instincts correct, he walked into the chasm following those feelings he had always trusted and found what he was looking for. He could sense a couple of things here in the room, the life struggle and the presence.

  Drawn like a magnet to steel, Father Donovan reached out with both of his hands and laid them on the shoulders before him. From those old, wrinkled and gentle hands came forth the blessings and goodness that had so been the pillars of a life devoted to others, and never before had its power been as evident as at that moment. The darkness that had all-consumed the room vanished in a flash of blinding light and sounds of searing pain that echoed through the great hall.

  Father Lemoine felt the sudden pain from that hand just before his neck was released and his body fell to the ground. Baldric was in excruciating pain, like being struck by lightning as Father Donovan stood with his hands resting on the old vampire’s shoulders. The room’s appearance changed vividly, showing everyone in their place and just how grim the situation had been. Every monk present was in a dangerous place, each paired up with a vampire. This had all changed for that split second when Baldric released in his moment of pain. Baldric’s surprise could not have been greater. He had not felt pain like this in a long time, a very long time, but he had not lived to this age for no reason. He was as old as the trees standing outside these walls and tougher than many, and he soon overcame that pain, even as it came in ripples over his skin. Baldric focused his energy and his hate and turned that strong will of his against his attacker and lashed out with a mighty blow, hitting Father Donovan and sending him flying across the room, landing
hard before the great window.

  Father Donovan’s body lay very still as Baldric approached with calm confidence. He stood over the body of his most hated foe, knowing he must never again draw breath, not if he was to ever hold this place as his own. Bending over to reach for the old monk, a shower of water hit him, causing him to flinch in pain. Turning around he saw that Father Lemoine had regained his wits if not his legs. As he crawled over, he located his flail and was making his way as best as he could toward them. Baldric seemed more annoyed than worried and set his path for the troublesome but courageous monk when the room began to attract many more to its stage.

  The doorway to their right brought forth a rather large monk followed by several in his wake. All entered the room quickly, then stopped abruptly. Pushing their way past the barrier of monks, the twins made it to the front of the line and into the tower. The scene was not a pleasant one but easy to understand—they were being routed in their very hall, by only a couple of vampires who had taken down four of their very best. Jacob stared hard at the source of the chaos, finding the tall presence of Baldric as he contemplated whom to take out first. The look on his face was one of hate, joy and amusement; this was most disturbing to Father Dagrun who visibly moved the Black Axe in his hand while wondering how he could take this one down.

  Baldric was indeed having fun, even with the few disappointments they had been given. This was just another day of many, making his life more interesting. Taking in everyone who had joined the party, he contemplated his choices. His decision was made for him as he felt those pellets of water hit him in the face again; this would have to stop. He turned his eyes back to Father Lemoine who made his way back to his feet even if his legs were somewhat shaky.

  No one could even see what happened next. They only realized Baldric was not standing where he had been before but directly in front of Father Lemoine, face to face. Baldric smiled at him, seeing his surprise, and felt a small amount of joy. Everyone else in the room was frozen and really didn’t know what to do; he was too quick, and they all felt helpless. Baldric’s smile soon vanished and he turned and began to walk away from his surprised enemy, but the surprise was soon realized. As Baldric turned to walk away everyone now saw what they could not have seen before, a blade sticking through Father Lemoine, the hilt of the handle sitting flush with his body and the point sticking out behind him. His expression soon turned to one of comprehension, and he too fell to the floor.

  That moment was one of sheer ignition; there was not a person left standing in that room who was not charged with the mission of avenging their brothers who had fought so bravely in this room. With riotous screams and uncontrolled rage they all ran into the room for final doom. Father Dagrun was first into the charge, followed by the twins and others close behind.

  Baldric stood, waiting and ready for the onslaught he so relished; this was his most cherished moment in the sheer chaos of all-out battle. Father Dagrun approached and brought the Black Axe around in a great swing. The axe came down and met with the hand of Baldric but that motion stopped suddenly. Dagrun’s eyes widened with horror as his momentum was redirected and he was thrown to the side, finding the bottom of the stairs. The other monks rallied in as close as they could but kept a better distance. They were armed with the great spears and were trying to get a good aim, while others kept their distance and looked for good shots with their crossbows.

  The twins kept behind the spear-wielding monks, looking for their own best opportunity and soon found themselves on the ground after being hit from behind. The other vampires snuck up behind them, taking them off their feet before making their way for the crossbowmen. Shooting at the approaching vampires, the crossbowmen quickly faded and watched their bolts go off into nothingness but soon located their targets once again behind them.

  Baldric reached out to grab a spear and throw the wielder across the room, before making his way to the next, toying with them. The crossbowmen soon found themselves weaponless and could feel the icy breath upon their throats. That might have spelled their doom, except for the sharp pain both the vampires felt. The pain grew with every second and soon sent them to the ground motionless. The monks turned quickly, delighted to not feel the cold embrace of eventual death on them.

  Everyone caught that moment and turned to see what had happened. There in the center of the darkness, framed by the two monks, was Sebastian. Not the Sebastian everyone had seen earlier that night, not the calm and neat appearance they remembered. The twins and Dagrun looked hard at the friend they didn’t recognize, and Baldric looked to the one he had been searching for. Sebastian was the image of a warrior who had seen a long and hard day or week’s worth of battle. Battered and bloody, he bore cuts of every sort and his clothes were mere rags hanging by threads. His face was one of concentration and controlled rage; everyone knew he had seen some of the hardest fighting and could only guess at how many he had faced down to look the way he did.

  Baldric was surrounded by the people Sebastian loved, but all of them were thrown about on the floor around him. Dagrun seized upon the moment Baldric’s attention was focused on the other side of the room and lunged for him with axe in air. The sight of the heavy man and axe almost flying was quite surprising, but the surprise was not enough. Baldric turned to catch the monk in midair and slammed him down to the floor, stepping on him and holding him in place.

  Jacob already saw how several of his new friends suffered at the hands of this creature and could not stand it anymore. He moved forward with his cross held out before him. Finding the courage to face this one was not an easy thing but he managed nicely.

  Baldric looked up with annoyance and grimaced at the cross and its bearer. That smile came across his face in familiar fashion. The blood rushed from Jacob’s face, and Jessica’s became one of dread. Jacob then began reciting the only prayer he knew—a prayer of blessing for loved ones his mother had taught him when he was young. He took his fear and channeled it into something more, hoping for the best.

  The expression on Baldric’s face changed to one of hatred and loathing for the bearer of the cross and he reached out to swat Jacob, like a fly, back down to the floor. He came over to stand on the hand that still held the cross and pressed until he gave it up.

  Sebastian soon found what he was looking for and was not in the mood for anything to happen to his friend. With all of his might he hurled the spear like a javelin. Making the short journey across the room, the silver-tipped spear found its mark, spearing Baldric through his midsection and sending him backward, staggering and dazed. Sebastian watched as this once unstoppable thing lumbered about and seemed to lose himself; that moment quickly passed. Baldric snapped the thing in two with a loud grunt and pulled the rest from his body. No one could believe their eyes and wondered what it would take to bring this one down.

  Baldric stood for a second with his head down in a trance and then looked back to the room and to Sebastian who appeared ready for the next move. But that next move was unexpected as Baldric did not move toward them but ran across the room and leapt through the great window, shattering the center into a thousand pieces. Everyone let out a sigh of disbelief and relief.

  Sebastian too was astonished; he stood for a moment and then finally took in the whole room for the first time. Suddenly he understood things were not as good as he had felt just then. Two of his lifelong friends were down on the ground, and he did not know how bad their conditions were, but he knew they were serious. Father Donovan was not moving, and Father Lemoine was also lying very still with a sword stuck in him and a pool of blood collecting. Others lay here and there in various states of injury. Jessica saw to her brother who was holding his ribs gingerly. Father Dagrun was seeing to Father Lemoine, while another went to Father Donovan.

  Sebastian felt overwhelmed. He walked over to Father Dagrun and looked at the body of Father Lemoine. Dagrun looked up to Sebastian with tears in his eyes. Sebastian looked over to where Father Donovan lay and looked to back to Dagrun
and to the twins; he was not finished with this night, not with this one. He ran over to the window and leapt into the hole that now was the center of the great glass picture.

  “Sebastian!” Jessica whispered in disbelief. She understood where he was going, and there was no stopping him.

  Father Dagrun looked back to his brothers lying on the floor and wished he could keep up with Sebastian, but he knew better. He also knew that if he did not stay here his brothers would have no hope. He shook his head at the helplessness of the situation. He looked to the twins as he held the hand of Father Lemoine and muttered.

  “Go and find the others. Go find help.”

  chapter THIRTY-SIX

  SEBASTIAN FLEW THROUGH THE WINDOW and onto the lawn outside, hurdling the moat with seeming ease and entering the woods in a flash. He ran like the wind through the woods; any that would have caught a glimpse of him would have only seen a blur. He was the wind. He had become a wraith, and none of the branches hitting him would matter.

  He was on the trail of someone … something that had altered his life on too many occasions and robbed him of the things he loved. This was unacceptable, and he would do anything to be the one to alter events from this point on. The trees passed by like memories—his family on that night and how each had been taken down, there in front of him. Now his new family all lay on the floor of his home because of the same demon from his past.