Lycenea

by Rory D Nelson

  And yet something about Dante gives Maximus pause. Though he is blind, it appears he is looking through him towards some far away goal, some lofty ambition that only he knows about, something that no one else is privy to. Those haunting eyes have an indefatigable and resolute spirit in them that speak of an unrelenting, iron tenacity. And that scares Maximus. He will hold nothing back. The sooner this boy is sent packing, the sooner everything can get back to normal.

  “Maximus, Dante you may begin.”

  Maximus shoots out his arm like a tightly wound bow. Dante empties his mind of everything and acts instinctively. If he had even tried to contemplate his moves, he would have been much too slow, for Maximus is ferocious in his assaults. Many times, Dante had just managed to deflect his violent blows. His hands are now pounding with the vicious assaults. Tiny lacerations began to appear on his hands and multiply with each blow. His shoulders feel like someone had placed an anvil on them; they seem to weigh a thousand pounds each.

  It was all he could do to hold up his hands in a defensive posture, and yet the blows continue to rain down on him relentlessly. His mouth is parched, and an incessant ringing in his left ear from a blow he had received makes it difficult for him to concentrate. His hands are so raw from blocking punches; it is difficult for him to make a fist; and yet he toils on.

  Maximus fires off a ferocious uppercut, landing him squarely in the sternum. Dante cries out sharply. Maximus smirks in a brief, gloating gesture. Germanicus is not impressed, shaking his head in disappointment. The boy is a gifted fighter, but he hasn’t an ounce of humility.

  “Improvise!” commands Germanicus. It is the moment Maximus is waiting for. He jabs violently towards Dante, landing a punishing blow on his lip, knocking him to the ground. The lip splits upon impact and knocks a tooth out of his mouth that had recently come loose. Luckily it is only a baby tooth, and so another will grow in its place. Dante is momentarily stunned as he tastes blood in his mouth. He resists the urge to retaliate. Instead, he stands up and returns to a defensive posture.

  “Lesson is over!” roars Germanicus. Maximus bows towards his opponent. Though Dante cannot see his gesture, he nevertheless hears the rustling of his uniform and surmises that he is bowing; so he returns the gesture.

  Dante knows his manners and responds in kind. “You are well skilled. Gratitude for your lesson.”

  “We are well met,” says Maximus.

  Dante walks off, still sore from the painful lesson. Cammilia runs up to him and begins to nuzzle him affectionately and lick his fresh wounds.

  “In the mess hall. Now!” The recruits change from their sparring gear to their casual wear. With nothing to change into, Dante feels uncomfortably out of place.

  Sensing his unease, Germanicus approaches him. “After mass and before your afternoon exercises, I will give you your clothing.” Germanicus bends down on one knee and pats him on the leg. “You have done well today, boy. Many recruits would have left before the exercise had concluded.”

  “But they beat me many times. I failed to defend myself.”

  “On the contrary. You have done quite well. I would not have expected such a display from someone else, especially a boy who was without sight. Next week, you will learn offensive moves-jabs, uppercuts, slaps, punches. Defending yourself will soon become second nature to you.”

  “I know how to use a gun. When do I get one?”

  Germanicus chuckles. It is pleasant for Dante to hear the Dottore in such a different light. Dante smiles in response.

  “I’m sure you do, boy. But any ninny can pick up a gun and use it. It will be years before you ever pick up one as a recruit. You must first master your body and your mind before you ever pick up a weapon. The gun will be the last weapon you use. Christianity, academics, martial arts, chivalry and service to our community and country are the main components of our school. Only those few who have completed their lessons are allowed to continue in our midst. Do you ken? Only the most skilled, intelligent and pure of heart are granted entrance. I have no doubt of your heart, boy. You have much to learn and many tests to pass. I can’t even mention them to you because they would burden you unnecessarily. But rest assured, you are well on your way.”

  Dante smiles. “Now go runt and get some grub.”

  “Ai, Dottore.”

  Chapter 6: The Psychological Afflictions of Rape

  The Morrison’s remind Sylvia of her deceased parents. Janice makes the same halenut pudding Sylvia loved, and she dotes on the girl much like her mother, showering her with affection and ensuring all of her needs are taken care of. She even lays out her clothing for the next day and makes a hot bath for her, washing her hair and scrubbing her down. But no matter how hard she scrubs, she can’t scrub hard enough; for Sylvia always feels soiled. There is no soap strong enough to wash that away.

  Trayson, Janice’s husband, is quite different than her father. He is more introverted, tending to speak when he has something important to say. Yet, he is kind-hearted, compassionate, nurturing and patient; and he dotes on her nearly as much as Janice, but in a much more restrained way. Even at his quietest, the vibes he gives off convey his benevolent intentions. The man is stern, pragmatic and disciplined, in diametrical opposition to his flighty spouse, Janice. Their opposing dispositions seem to complement their relationship rather than strain it.

  The gestures are soothing but do little to alleviate the nightmares which afflict her at night. She will sleep peacefully for a few hours only to be woken up by probing hands which send a deep shiver down her spine and cause her to cry out sharply in the night. Her physical wounds had long ago healed. It no longer hurt when she went to the bathroom, but the psychological scars are unrelenting. When she exits from the tub, she averts her eyes from the tall, length mirror that sits opposite it.

  When Janice strokes her head too hard, she is immediately transported back to her hellish nightmare when her own rapist pulled harshly at her hair, before entering her over and over again. A tremor makes its way down her spine at the thought, and she shivers uncontrollably.

  Sylvia avoids Trayson’s gaze directly, and when she responds to him, she speaks to him with her head and eyes downcast in a muffled tone, fearful of eliciting his wrath - the way she had elicited the wrath of Jason.

  In fact, the only male she can adequately tolerate besides Dante is Merlin. He can assuage her like no other, no matter the circumstances. But, Merlin is not here, and he cannot always be watching her. He has responsibilities, duties to the people, and she is just a child. His duties as a knight take precedent over her, and he cannot be everywhere at once. He is not a god, though his preternatural abilities make him appear that way.

  Sylvia walks with extreme trepidation around every corner, afraid that some sadistic monster will reveal himself and try to finish the job that the hateful King had tried to finish before he met his deserved end by Merlin. There is only one way she can ensure her safety. She must keep running; for only when she becomes complacent and rooted is evil able to catch up with her.

  She will leave before it is too late. She picks up only the most essential items she will need for travel: her warm, wool sweater, perme-jacket, compass and water moccasin and walks quietly down her loft stairs. The stairs creak with each soft step, and she cringes at the possibility of waking her guardians. It will be a heart-wrenching scene if they wake. But she is adamant.

  She takes one last look at Janice, her newly appointed guardian and blows her a kiss, fresh tears welling up in her eyes and walks out the door. If she runs, perhaps she can postpone the inevitable turmoil, which is sure to take her as it did her family. She will not let it invade the lives of her innocent guardians.

  Chapter 7: Insights from a beloved Mentor

  Merlin sits across from Vangelis in one of his uber-comfortable padded-wool, mahogany couches. His home is festooned with tapestries of rich, vibrant hues of topaz, dark maroon and crystal, clear sky-blue, the color one sees when looking through a calm ocean or
perfectly clear day, detailing battle scenes from King Arthur and even the life of Moses. Though Merlin can’t make out the details, he nevertheless senses the palpable details that exude from the elaborate scenes.

  One tapestry details the anguishing scene of the crucifixion of Christ and conveys the visage of Christ in a more human, empathetic role, opposed to many scenes of the time, which portray Christ as resolute, staunch and determinedly stoic.

  Christ had known his role when he had agreed to be crucified, but his eyes in these tapestries are haunting as if he is reconsidering. He appears as vulnerable as a child. The image is so moving that even Merlin feels the suffering visage, albeit with his ‘other’ mysterious vision.

  Though Vangelis had shunned luxuries as a young knight, later in life, he had acquiesced to his desire for comfort, especially in his very advanced age. He is nearly two hundred years old. As a guest among Vangelis’ inner circle, it was said that God postponed Vangelis’ death and his heavenly embrace because he held a grudge against the man for practicing the Dark arts. Merlin doesn’t know about that, but he is certainly the oldest person he has ever known.

  The furniture in his home is polished with a smooth, lacquer finish that makes it shine perpetually. As the sun shines through the Cyprus-tree shades, it bounces off the shiny furniture, creating a slightly uncomfortable glare for Vangelis.

  “Dominique?” calls Vangelis.

  “Ai, my Lord,” responds Dominique.

  Vangelis pats his hand affectionately when he stands before him. “The glare is uncomfortable for me. Please lower them.”

  “Ai, my Lord.”

  Dominique uses a turnstick located next to a rope on the shade contraption and turns it, shifting the shades down, blocking out the glare of the sun.

  Vangelis watches the young man go and continues to smile at him affectionately. It is unclear whether the young man returns his affections or not, but Vangelis is obviously smitten. In all of his long years, the gifted knight had never taken a wife, though he was much sought after by many available women and was approached constantly. It is rumored the man was a homosexual and preferred men. No one had ever questioned him about it. He was beyond reproach. One of the most formidable, intelligent, resourceful knights ever to pick up sword or speed-shooter, Vangelis is revered by all of his people. The man had even declined the title of King, for what reason was never understood.

  Merlin thinks little of such trivialities. He had taken him under his wing after Menelaeus had saved him from certain death. He had seen something special in him and became his mentor. He would serve as Mentor to Merlin even beyond death. They had much in common, not the least of which was the fact that they were both powerful telepaths, though Vangelis had taken the skill to new and mind-boggling heights.

  Vangelis turns his head to the hall, ensuring that Dominique is not there. The boy is respectful and would never eavesdrop on his Lord. Still, Vangelis likes to be sure. The boy had only witnessed Vangelis’ preternatural gifts only once, and it set his mind to edge. A large beautiful, crystal pot rises off the table of its own accord and then two saucers as well. The pot then pours the tea into the cups, which are still suspended in the air. When the task is completed, the cups and the pot gently rest on the table.

  Vangelis smiles sheepishly. “We can’t have such displays in front of the boy. He is given to swooning.”

  “Ai.” Merlin smiles in response. “When I introduced you to the boy, I had not yet been privy to your most recent loss. I cry pardon for the loss of Alfredo, teacher.” In a split second, Merlin rises and kisses his hand.

  Tears well up in Vangelis eyes and he moves to bring out a kerchief from his pocket. “Gratitude for your sincerity. He was quite old and had been infirmed for some time. He will be well missed. His ceremony was quite wonderful. I gave it myself.”

  Vangelis had conducted many funeral ceremonies, for he is also an ordained priest and it is at his discretion, but he did not normally deign to give a funeral for a civilian. The fact that he had given Alfredo a ceremony only validated what was suspected by many- Alfredo and Vangelis were lovers. Merlin suspected that it was merely his way of confirming their romantic relationship indirectly, Vangelis way of coming out to the community.

  “He was well met. I would have liked to attend.”

  “Ai. Knight. I would have liked to have had you, but duty calls. I cry pardon for your recent loss as well. Justinian will be well missed.”

  “I want to conduct a mass funeral, both for him and the townspeople of Missalia, as a way of welcoming them into our fold. Showing them, we all empathize with this tragedy. Solidarity. To show them we all need closure and that we will heal as community.”

  Vangelis smiles. “Ai. A plan well suited to joint purpose and hope renewal.”

  “It wouldn’t be complete without you at my side, serving as Para-Priest. Would you honor me with this request?” asks Merlin.

  “If I have to be wheeled out in my bedchamber and give oration as last breath, set watch and warrant it done. The honor is all mine.”

  Merlin smiles. “You over-inflate humble servant, My Lord. We are all met.”

  “Indeed Merlin. While I would love to bide our time bantering over pleasantries, a great matter of expediency is the main cause of your visit. Is it not?” asks Vangelis.

  “Ai. You used to be able to read my thoughts, remember? And I could never read yours. You’re much too powerful.”

  “Even if I could, I would much prefer conversation. Speak it.”

  “The boy I introduced you to?”

  “Dante?”

  “Ai. He is of great concern to me.”

  “He is of great concern to us all.” Vangelis stares hard at Merlin as if trying to pry reluctant information from him. His hard gaze would have broken any man. It is even disconcerting to Merlin, who tries hard to picture a vault, but it is too little too late. “You have something to show me, do you not? Vangelis reaches up with his hand, causing Dante’s necklace to fly from Merlin’s pocket.

  Vangelis scrutinizes it and feels the pendant on the necklace, noting the beautifully detailed, pentagram with the vivid picture of a roundtable knight. The pendant seems to defy logic. So much detail is inscribed in the pictures. The armor seems to give off a lustrous shine. From what? The shades are shut. The work is so vivid and deft that Vangelis knows beyond any doubt it could not have been crafted by human hands. The closer he inspects it, the more the details seemed to emerge from the picture. He can see the veins throbbing on the knight in the middle of the pentagram as if he were preparing for battle by stretching and flexing.

  Even his face had an alabaster sheen, devoid of any human-like color. A quick glance of the pendant reveals none of these details. It dawns on him. And with the dawning realization, his heart literally misses a beat, and his throat seems to constrict. Momentarily, he can’t swallow. When his heart does resume beating, it accelerates quickly enough to make up for the lost beat.

  Merlin grows concerned. “What is it, Vangelis?”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about the piece, Merlin?”

  “Ai. It’s other-worldly aspects? Of course, I did. It’s celestial, isn’t it?”

  “Ai. It is a piece the boy received from his father. You ken?”

  “Ai. It is the only thing he left in the boy’s steed before his untimely departure. Why?”

  “It belonged to Lucifer. It has his mark.”

  It was now Merlin’s turn for his heart to miss a beat. He is rarely ever surprised or caught off guard by anything. His near comatose heart which beats at about forty beats a minute trip-hammers in his chest. His mouth grows parched, and his throat tightens up as the implications dawn on him. “The boy is-”

  Vangelis interrupts. “Ai, the son of Lucifer. But make no judgments of the boy, Merlin. God has seen fit to bring him here and appoint you as rightful guardian. He has a role to play in all of this. The boy is deeply conflicted, but there is much benevolence in him. You must lead
him to righteous waters as your duty would dictate.”

  “The boy is in mortal danger,” says Merlin.

  “An obvious fact that does not escape my notice.” Vangelis motions to the pendant. “This piece is a liability to us all- as is the boy.” The pendant flies up and up along his mantle. A large case is opened. The pendant flies in and rests inside. The glass is specially fabricated by Merlin himself and said to be unbreakable by almost anything.

  “Your silence says it all, Merlin. I won’t breach your mind again. Your passion, love for the boy and hatred for your common enemy weaken your stronghold on your mind vault. You must keep your emotions in check, especially if she is out there.” Vangelis sighs deeply in resignation. “She is alive, and she is conspiring with our interloper, the same interloper who conspires to kill the boy. This is a perilous time for us, Merlin. You must be vigilant.”

  “Ai.”

  “Let me broach your misgivings. Ai, the boy is the son of Lucifer, but he is not evil, and God has seen fit to deliver him into our midst. This is our duty.” Vangelis smiles playfully. “Our maker is fiendishly complex, Merlin. We do not live in the days of Moses. God does not write down his decree on stone tablets or speak to us in a burning bush.”

  Merlin chuckles lightly, reflecting on how the man could delight and stun him, all within a five-minute span.

  Vangelis continues. “Deciphering the will of God is sometimes as complex as solving the most difficult of mathematical algorithms. Perhaps that is why God has chosen mathematicians like us to lead his people.”

  Merlin chuckles at the funny image. Though Germanicus is his best friend, he needs his mentor now more than anything, for only he can provide the clarity he so desires. The visit assuages his restless heart, and his sentiments will resonate with him for some time. Though Vangelis is considered overly progressive and some would consider his pursuits bordering on sacrilege, he is the only person he can truly relate to.