Issue
11
Written
by Gary Dreslinski
There it was. Right in front of me written in what might as well have been blood.
A threat
A challenge
A murder
There it was. And yet, I was still going.
Leaving
Fleeing
Bon Voyage
Sorry Sean, but you really weren’t using that head anyway…
Damn. Reminder to self: Slamming your fist through the mirror - not a good idea. Blood everywhere. Man that hurts.
Besides, it’s bad luck. As if I needed more of that.
A towel around my hand to stop the blood. I’m really stupid… but LEAVE ENGLAND OR SUFFER THE SAME FATE - how can I just ignore that…
Sersi.
I can ignore it for Sersi. She needs to get out of England before it kills her.
Sorry Sean but you never put out…
I held the severed head of Sean Dolan in my hands. I examined it. The Ebony Knight had done it, when he had stolen the Ebony Blade, Sean’s sword, my own sword… my responsibility. Just like Sean…
Maybe I should have slept with them. Maybe they should have paid me. Like Sycorp. Sycorp’s paying me to leave the country, to research what’s going on out there, and report back my findings. If Sean paid me, maybe I would have been a better mentor. Maybe I could have saved his life…
Maybe… maybe if I had been a better kid dad wouldn’t have found somewhere he liked better. Maybe Sean would be alive then, huh Dane… maybe maybe maybe…
Focus.
Close your eyes… keep a tight grip around that towel though, need to stop the blood… close your eyes and focus…
What do you want to do?
You’ve been looking for the Ebony Knight. You can’t find him. Obviously he’s blocking you somehow. Your connection with the sword, it should be drawing you to it, it should be drawing it to you. But it’s not. So something’s interfering with that. You can’t find the bastard who killed your protégé, who killed your friend. Fine. Just wait and he’ll come to you. He always does. Then you can take his head… fair exchange.
What do you want to do? Sersi needs you. Sycorp needs you…
Avalon needs you…
Or does it? The Lady has the Pendragons. Avalon is well defended… It’s better served by having someone out in the field….Or maybe that’s just an excuse.
Focus Dane… focus… What do you want?
I want this to be over. I want the pain to stop. I want to be good at what I do. I want Sersi to love me. I want her to think that I’m good at what I do. I want her to stop the pain. I want her to make this all go away.
AVALON
I just let the word slip out of my mouth, and suddenly I’m in armor again. I’m young again. Whatever aged me, it doesn’t work when I’m like this. When I’m transformed. I’m young, healthy. The towel has fallen to the floor, I take off my gauntlet, the blood has stopped. My hand is completely healed. My mind is clear. She loves me.
Sorry Sean.
MEIGLE, PERTHSHIRE
When they filed into the church, no one ever looked in the direction of the mound. Tourists came, they looked, but no one lingered. After a brief glimpse, no one really wanted to spend much time starting at the mound of earth in the front lawn. Vanora’s Mound it was called, the final resting place of a troubled soul. The stone that once marked it is long gone, but that doesn’t stop people from coming, having one look and rushing home to their loved ones as quickly as possible. The hungry grass, féar gortach, is enough to keep all but the most curious away. And those who do come, are never the same again, until they waste away to nothing.
Those who know it is there, who deal with it daily, their steps become quicker when they pass, it hopes that they will not meet the same end.
They do not know, they do not see, the man who has come there every night since he has been freed. He walks out of nowhere, stops next to the burial mound, and kneels on the ground. No one sees his tears, or how he begs for forgiveness for what he has done. A forgiveness that she can not give. A forgiveness that will never come.
LONDON
He’d gone underground. There was no point to senseless destruction, no need to become that which he despised. Sooner or later, the Black Knight would show his face again. Sooner or later the coward would have no place to run from his actions.
Another coughing fit took over, he spat out the blood. All the signs were there, the radiation sickness that had infected his body would soon claim his life. Dar-Veen cursed the Avengers, and all of those foolish enough to oppose the will of the Kree. They had brought down the empire. They had humiliated the greatest race ever to grace the galaxy. But they would not go unpunished.
He had faced the Black Knight, the one who, if not for fate, would have struck the final blow against the Kree, and the Avenger had ran from his might*. Clearly the Knight was afraid of the might of a true warrior clad in Shatterax armor. But running, hiding, would do him no good.
(* More like teleported away against his will - back in issue # 7 - GD)
Nor would the changes to the world. Dar-Veen tried not to
think about the things he had seen since he had relocated the former occupants
of the house he now dwelled in. The faeries, the ghosts, the strange creatures
that he had never heard of being on Earth - since what they were calling “The
Barrier” went into place, they all were very much real. He didn’t know what
to make of it, other than assume that it was some sort of trick from the Knight.
He had ran away, and changed the world, to avoid meeting his death. Or perhaps
someone was protecting him by putting these obstacles in the path of his
greatest nemesis… whatever the cause, it
would not work. As Quark, Dar-Veen had access to the height of Kree technology,
even if it did not seem to be able to get a signal to the Supreme Intelligence
on the moon any longer.
Not even death would keep him from his prey… once the
Knight came out into the open. He had considered many different plans, but most
of them involved rampaging through the streets, spreading destruction, in order
to drive his foe out of hiding. As tempting as it was, it just wasn’t the Kree
way. He would have to call his foe out, to face him one on one, to show him who
was better…
If he could just…
It was as though a star had been formed next to him. The
light, the heat… flashes of being caught in the blast of the Nega
Bomb came roaring into his head. If this was another one, he was dead…
But the light faded, and no blast was to be had. Dar-Veen
stared in wonder at the man standing in the spot the light had originated. He
was tall, with angled other-worldly features, a soft man with dangerously hard
eyes. In an instant Dar-Veen assessed and abandoned his plan to attack. Better
to listen first, and save the violence until it was needed. The research
scientist within him seemed to be speaking in a louder and louder voice the more
he stared, quieting the warrior.
He wondered what to say, and hoped that when he did start
to talk, that his translator was still operating. After what seemed like
forever, the man opened his mouth to speak. His words had wings, and floated
through the air at their recipient.
“You are Dar-Veen, of the Kree Empire,” the man stated, there was no question in his voice, it was simply a statement of fact. The Kree nodded, uncertainly. “I am Lugh. We have business.”
GARRETT CASTLE
One of the many advantages of being an Eternal was you didn’t have to pack. Sure, there was the extended life-span, and then there were the superpowers that made you a the next best thing to a god. And when you stopped and thought about it, knowing that the Space Gods themselves had conceived your entire race as an ultimate expression of life, well that was something that could get you through the bad times. And of course the fact that you looked damn good, all the time… that just went without saying. Not having closets full of clothes to pack, when you were in a hurry to get out of someplace, that was one of the best things about being an Eternal. At least that was the way Sersi looked at it. Whenever you wanted a new outfit, you just thought about it, moved your hand a special way - not needed but people seemed to think it was more impressive that way - and you were in that new outfit.
It was simply a matter of matter. Changing it that is.
Dane had spoken to his household staff in the morning,
letting them know that they were going on a sabbatical to the continent. No one
seemed too surprised. Which meant they were either used to the sudden comings
and goings of the master of the house, or they were too occupied with the
chamber maiden who was suddenly breathing fire. Things like that were happening
more and more since the barrier appeared. If she didn’t have other things to
worry about, Sersi would have taken issue with it. Not only was it not right, it
was disturbingly Deviant in nature.
She changed her hair again. The pixies kept nesting in it,
making it unruly. If she wanted to keep sane, she had to reconfigure it every
hour or so. The look was classic and yet contemporary, and on the whole didn’t
look much different from her usual style. Still, it made her feel better. A
breath of consistency in a changing world. It kept her going, lately, it kept
her sane.
She finished packing things for Dane. He was having one
last look around the place, before they left, making sure that things would
continue to work like a well oiled machine until they were able to return, if
they were able to return. It wasn’t a thought that she liked much, but the
fact of the matter was that no one knew if the barrier, if the return of magic,
was reversible. She wouldn’t be much more welcomed on the continent, but at
least no one there would be actively wanting her dead. If they had to stay away
for the rest of their lives, then Dane was giving up something that had meant a
great deal to him - for her. The fact did not escape her. Nor did it fail to let
a guilty smile pass her lips. She would never let him see it, but it was there.
He was her Knight, protecting his lady from harm. Going into exile, to see what
he could do. There was something undeniably romantic to the notion. Going into
danger, the two of them against the world, she smiled to herself, something
romantic indeed.
“This is mine” In the last day, it seemed like he had
touched every single stone in the castle. But it wasn’t enough. Dane stared at
the Great Hall, taking it all in. He had been back such a short time, and now he
was leaving it again. Not forever, but maybe… maybe a long time. Hopefully
though things would work out, and they could come back in a month or so. Until
then, until then, there was adventure.
Sersi had everything he would need packed, including the
special package. Most of it would be shipped on to Paris, where they would be
stopping next. The package though wasn’t leaving his sight any longer than
need be. Brian had sent him to get it, and until Brian told him it was time to
use it, it would stay safely wrapped, and guarded. There was time enough to
figure that part out.
Until then, there was adventure.
She was out front, waiting for him. Dane nodded to the
butler, a flashed a smile he hoped was carefree to the rest of the assembled
staff, and walked out the door. A car was waiting to take them to the Eurostar.
A spare atomic steed was being sent ahead to Paris, just in case it was needed.
He took one last look back at Garrett Castle, as they drove
away. “This is mine,” he said to himself, wondering if he was ever going to
see it again. He shook his head, those problems were for another day.
Until then, there was adventure.
"Sins of the Blade"
Amsterdam, 3015
The city had seen better days. Once a hub of international
travel, now it was a footnote against the backdrop of history. A place to come
when everywhere else had turned you away. It was a city that had embraced the new technology, had
embraced the new ways and still found itself on the slow decline to
nonexistence. No one came to Amsterdam anymore, not if they had the choice.
Beneath the city proper, in the basements and
sub-basements, that was where the action took place. That was where he had taken
her. He had come to her in a dream, told her a story, and then led her here. She
felt naked without her armor. But it would be attracted too much attention. Just
a simple energy blade tucked away beneath the fold of her jacket would be enough
to deal with anything they encountered. And if what he said was true… then she
would soon have something far more impressive.
He had promised much, and when he opened the door, and she
saw the display case, and what was in it, she knew that he had delivered.
“So this is it?” Her voice cracked a little. He would have been surprised if it hadn’t.
“Yes,” he replied, simply, “I told you. It isn’t much to look at.”
She shook her head firmly, “It looks magnificent.” She reached her hand out, but he grabbed her wrist before she could touch the scabbard.
“You know about the curse of course.” He warned, “And that it might not accept you.”
She removed his hand from her wrist calmly, took a deep breathe and pulled herself together. “I am aware of the price that comes with it, I know of the responsibility that I would be asked to assume.”
The Pilgrim bowed his head in acknowledgement, “Then by all means.” He stepped to one side and allowed Cassandra Oculi to claim her birth-right. Her fingers danced on the edge of it for a moment, betraying the confidence that she wore on the outside.
“This has killed a lot of people hasn’t it?”
He nodded solemnly.
“It could do the same in my hands couldn’t it?”
Again, he nodded. “It can be used to bring down tyrants, to create new ones. The Ebony Blade has done both. The weapon is no more than the extension of your arm. If the violence, if the evil, is not inside of you, then it will not be inside of it… more or less.”
“I liked it without the more or less part.”
“Its linked to the owner, on a primal magical level that I’m afraid no one has even gotten close to understanding. Merlin forged it himself, and he has never known an equal. At least not in the Subtle Ways.”
“But the curse on the sword…”
“That’s where the lie comes in I’m afraid. The curse is not on the sword itself… it’s on your line.” He hesitated when she looked confused. “As you know, you are descended from Sir Percy of Scandia, the original Black Knight. The curse comes from him, and his actions.”
“I thought it was from the Crusades…”
He shook his head, “Some have thought that over the years. I have the luxury of being right.” He absently patted the book a kept beneath the folds of his robe. All of the answers were there, all of the histories. He knew when Cassandra was born, and when she would die. He knew that this moment would come, and what he would tell her. “The curse came from Sir Percy himself, and from the terrible sin that he committed.”
PERTHSHIRE, SCOTLAND
2003
“Please forgive me my lady.” He wept openly, an
unashamed. Weeping, there was nothing wrong with tears for the dead. He was dead
himself. What he had done though, what he had done was worth being ashamed. It
was worth a thousand deaths, and a black mark on his soul that tethered him to
the earth, to this place. He had been tethered somewhere else once, in a brazier
that was pure truth, a brazier to wipe away his sins. It had not worked.
He still saw her face look around in confusion. When he
closed his eyes, he still heard her cry out in terror. He still heard his own
voice, so sure of itself, when it said “His Majesty wills it” so sure that
he was doing the right thing.
Vanora had gone off with Mordred. Some say she was
kidnapped, others say that she went willingly, lustfully. She who had been Queen
to one man, became the Queen of his son and most hated enemy. Willing or not, it
was something that could not be ignored. It was something that Arthur, Greatest
of All Kings of the World, could not sweep under the rug as he had done when she
had ran off with his knight Lancelot, only to return to his side months later.
She had lain with the enemy, and she had ran when Arthur returned to reclaim
her. Her guilt was clear. He had come, she had ran. She knew what was to come.
But when Percy had escorted her into the forest, she had
pleaded most eloquently. He had not listened though. He, who was one of
Arthur’s most loyal, did what he was told.
He took her into the forest, he tied her to the tree, and
he cut her wrists to draw the blood that would call the beasts of the forest to
her. Then he had waited, waited and watched. Arthur’s eyes to the justice he
could not bear to watch. Arthur’s hand in the justice that he could not commit
himself.
He watched, until the beasts had departed. He had waited
until she lay very still. Then he had approached, asking the gods for
forgiveness for what he had done in the name of justice.
He stuck his Ebony Blade into her heart, twice, one last act of loyalty
to the Queen she once had been, an end to the suffering.
What had seemed so simple back then, what had seemed so
obvious… he never looked his King in the eyes again. When he rode to Garrett
Castle, to what was to be the final battle, he rode slowly, deliberately moving
forward through the trials thrown at him, out of duty, out of loyalty.
He had buried her in the forest, and watched as the passage
of time had turned it into a Christian church yard. His spirit watched over her
resting place, waiting for her own spirit to rise, waiting for the moment when
he could look her in the eyes again, to let her know that his duty had been
wrong, that his king had been wrong. That he had been wrong. And beg her for
forgiveness.