|
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||
| Ash’s eyes flickered open, only to shut again at the blast of sunlight attacking his pupils. He spit out a mouthful of sand and turned onto his back. His body ached from the force of his landing. He checked for his equipment, which was strewn around him. The chainsaw, half of its cutting edge wedged in the smooth sand, reflected the unbearably hot midday sun. His steel hand burned against his skin and intensified his desire for shade or water. He attempted to stand, but his head spun as he pushed upward and he fell back to the ground with a thud. He laid still for what seemed hours. Sweat poured from his skin and drenched his clothing. His throat and tongue scratched and throbbed, feeding desperately on any saliva they could obtain. Eventually, his vision grew blurry from exposure and he smacked himself to keep awake. When he let his eyes finally close, a splash of cold liquid hit his mouth, sending a shock of exhilaration through his system. He reopened his eyes and gazed upon a figure clothed in a bodysuit that matched the color of the sand. His face and hands were hidden behind strips of the same material. He leaned over Ash and held a jug to his lips. Ash drank aggressively, letting the water drip down his face and to his neck. Once satisfied, he dropped his head back in the sand and drifted to a peaceful sleep. Ash awoke and sat up, recognizing the old, musty smell of King Arthur’s castle. A cushy bed supported his body, and the draperies and trinkets of an elegant guestroom decorated the walls. An attractive servant girl set a tray of fruit and wine on the table beside him, curtsied, then took her leave. He grabbed an apple and ate it ravenously, washing it down with a gulp of the wine. Before the door could shut, an elderly man stepped inside, engulfed in fanciful robes and sashes. His white beard hung down to his waist and his gray eyes radiated vast knowledge. He stood as upright as he could, with the aid of a cane, and conveyed great dignity and pride. Ash remembered him as the wiseman he had met years ago, who had been Arthur’s primary consult and companion. The wiseman bowed. "You have come to us again, as I have prophesized." "Yeah, hopefully for the last time." "Twelve seasons have passed since your departure, and now we must call upon your strength and courage to deliver us." "From what?" "The Evil has returned." "I thought you said you could stop it if you had the book." "Yes. But only with the Necrinomicon permanently in my possession. Otherwise the pages will unleash unspoken doom, as they are beginning to now." "Where’s the book?" "I wish I knew. It was stolen two weeks ago from my chamber. The demons I had contained inside have returned to swallow the kingdom." "How do you know the deadites don’t have it?" "If they had reclaimed their book, our world would have been obliterated days ago." "Good point." Ash tossed the apple core to the ground. "Any suspects?" "Certainly there are a vast number of pirates and scavengers that desire the Necrinomicon, as well as Arthur’s rivals." "Oh come on, you must have something more specific than that." The wiseman sighed. "Perhaps I should let Arthur tell you." Ash followed the wiseman to Arthur’s throne room. Surprisingly, the room was not ostentatious, but maintained a simple elegance. Jesters and dancing girls filled the court, and nobles laughed and drank merrily. Arthur, however, sat sunken almost lifelessly into his throne. His fingertips rubbed his head, which hung limply over his shoulders, his hair covering his face. Only his pleading eyes glowed through the cascade of blonde. Then he spotted Ash and leapt up to greet him. "We are saved!" he proclaimed, grasping his friend’s hand. Ash motioned to the court. "Doesn’t look like your people are in much turmoil." "I have not told them the book is missing, to avoid panic. I have silenced every man, woman, and child that have seen the deadites, if they survived the encounter. But now that you are here, our loss of the Necrinomicon will be obvious." "Who took it?" "As the wiseman has probably already told you, I don’t know." "I bet you’ve got an idea." "Yes, I have my suspicions." "Who then?" "Duke Henry." "What?! I thought you and Mister Fancy Pants were getting along great!" "So did I, until one of his men was seen leaving our kingdom shortly after the book was pronounced stolen. The red armor is Henry’s trademark." "And where’s the person who saw him?" "Buried in the cemetery. He was found dead a few hours after giving me this news." "Well that’s just great." "What do you propose we do?" "March our butts down to Henry’s place and see what this is all about." Arthur nodded. "I will arrange an escort for departure in the morning." "Fine." Ash glanced around the room at the dancers. His eyes rested on one in particular, with long black hair that reminded him of someone. "Where’s Sheila?" Arthur looked away. "Arthur, where is she?" Arthur and Ash stood in the graveyard. Sand swept up from under their boots and hit their bodies as they loomed over a tombstone---Sheila’s tombstone. "She tried to live on, after you left, but could not." Arthur patted Ash’s shoulder. "She loved you so." Ash knelt and touched the tombstone gently, as though he were caressing Sheila’s face. "What happened?" "She threw herself into the sea…no one knew where she had gone until her clothes washed ashore, bloody and torn. Probably eaten by sharks, or whatever else lurks out there." "She was given a good funeral?" "Of course…equal to that of a knight, if not better." They stayed there in silence, eyes closed, heads bowed. The air grew cold and the sun began to set, but they did not leave. Ash was drawn to the grave. Again, he felt responsible for someone’s death---someone he cared for deeply. And Arthur felt it had been his duty to protect Sheila, to look out for her the way Ash would have done had he stayed---and he failed miserably. A page ran toward them, disturbing their time of mourning. "Sire!" He bowed hastily. "Yes?" Arthur turned to him. "What is it?" "A demon!" He tried to regain his breath before continuing. "A grand one! With wings like a bird! Storming the castle walls!" Ash set his jaw. "Where are my weapons?" "Go fetch the Promised One his weapons, boy!" The page sprinted off to follow the king’s orders. Arthur turned back to Ash, but his friend was already in a dead run to the castle. "Ash! Wait!" Ash ignored him and continued, allowing the sharp pain of emotional and mental anguish carry him across the graveyard. He took his oxygen in large gulps as he darted past the church and through the marketplace, weaving in and out of peasants and merchants. He arrived at the outer walls of the castle and skidded to a stop, catching sight of the monstrous being hovering overhead. It was a patched confusion of brown and red, with the pointed ears and flat nose of a bat. Its wings were large and hideous, flapping loudly and creating massive air gusts in their wake. "Hey!" Ash shouted. The creature’s head snapped to his direction. "Yeah, that’s right! Over here!" It roared brutally and beat its chest with its fists. "Oh, how intimidating!" Ash copied the creature, though his roar was more of a scream, and followed up with the finger. "You look more like the product of incestuous pigeons than a monster to me." The demon swooped down and dove for Ash’s head. "Uh oh." Ash, realizing he had no defense, glanced around for a weapon. Only barren land surrounded him; no rocks, sticks, or spears were within reach. "Nice planning, Ash," he mumbled. Suddenly, an arrow sailed through the air and plunged into the creature’s eye. It fell back, wailing incessantly, grabbing at its face. Ash spun around to see the masked nomad from the desert lowering a crossbow to his side. In an instant, the man was in the air, landing a few feet from the fallen demon. He fired again, sending more arrows deep into the monster’s chest. It went limp and silent, then disintegrated to a pile of bloody gravel and bone. Ash approached slowly, stunned. Never had he seen a primitive weapon like an arrow take out a being of Hell. "How…how…did you…" The nomad tossed a small vial to him. Ash examined the container, then opened it and sniffed the contents. "It’s just water." He tasted some to be sure. The nomad shook his head and pointed to the church. "Holy water!" Ash returned the vial, understanding that the arrows had been dipped in the sacred fluid before being fired. "Thought that only worked on vampires," he chuckled. The man tilted his head quizzically. Ash glanced back at the remains of the monster. "Pretty damn effective." He turned to the nomad, but the man was already running off. "Hey!" Ash called, following the mysterious man. "Get back here!" The man seemed not to hear him, though Ash knew better, and continued to run until he disappeared over the horizon. "Dammit! I just want to talk!" Ash slowed to a stop, then scratched the back of his head and sighed. "Who is that guy?" he mumbled to himself. With a final glance at the fallen demon, he began to walk to his room. His heavy thoughts seemed to weigh him down as he stepped, one foot at a time, towards the castle. And as he laid in bed that night, staring into the dark ceiling, he could not forget the man that had saved his life twice…and worried that he may never find out why. By the light of the rising sun, five horsemen galloped through the dry plains of the countryside. They moved swiftly against the cracked, red soil and winding yellow brush. A fine, aged air consumed them, uniting them with their surroundings. Ash increased the pressure applied from his heels, causing his horse to gain speed until it was even with Arthur’s. "Can I ask you something?" Arthur turned his head to him momentarily. "Of course." "Do you know of any nomads that might be in the area?" Arthur grinned. "I assure you, with our escort, we are not in any danger. These are some of my best knights." "No, that’s not what I meant. I was just curious." "Oh. Well, yes, there are a few tribes here and there. They mostly keep to themselves, though. It is better that way." "There aren’t any loners? Maybe an outcast or two?" "Exile is not in the nomadic code. Usually they are more," he hesitated, as if he were searching for the correct words, "stern with their punishments." "So it’d be odd to see one off on his own, huh?" "Quite." "Well, that doesn’t make things any easier." "Why are you so interested in nomads?" Ash paused, then licked his lips and continued. "How did you find me yesterday?" "You were lying outside the castle. The watchman assumed you had fallen there from the sky." "But I didn’t. I landed in the desert. Somebody saved me." "And you believe it was a nomad?" Ash nodded. "I remember a man wearing a sand-colored suit offering me water." "I have my doubts about your theory. Nomads rarely bother with those outside their clans, and even more rarely travel alone." "Oh." Arthur looked at him. "This is just hearsay, but there have been reports of a mysterious man around the kingdom at night." "Really?" "The villagers have given him the name ‘Guardian’ because he seems to linger around the Necrinomicon…as though he were protecting it." "That’s strange. Nice to know, too. Thanks." "Mind you, those are the peasant’s rumors. They have been known to have quite an imagination." "I’ll keep that in mind." So, Ash thought. Someone’s willingly picking up where I left off…does he realize what a curse this is? And what does he want with me? "My Lord?" one of the escorts called. "Duke Henry’s barracks lie ahead." "Aye, I can see them from here." Walls of vertical tree trunks, pointed at the tips, rose from the ground before them. There were no elaborate flags, no gold trim, no fancy ruffles; only the essential components of the building existed. The military station exhibited beauty in a raw, natural state. "State your name and business!" a concealed lookout called as the party approached. Arthur tilted his head upward, in the direction he imagined the lookout to be. "King Arthur, wishing to seek a private audience with the Duke!" "I will have to verify that the Duke’s schedule will permit such a request!" "Tell him the Promised One is here, too!" Ash shouted. "Why did you not say so in the first place?!" Instantly, the log gate lifted, allowing Ash, Arthur, and their escorts to proceed inside. As soon as they passed under the large arch of the entrance, a small, slender man motioned for them to stop. His thick eyebrows rose to points over the centers of his steady eyes and a barely visible line of gray gathered to form a mustache above his lip. Coal black hair covered his head, combed meticulously to perfection. The red tunic draped over his fragile body indicated that he was under the Duke’s command. "Ah, indeed it is the Promised One," he said coolly. "I am deeply honored." Ash dismounted his horse and handed the reins to one of the escorts. Arthur did the same. "Let’s keep the ass-kissing to minimum, Chief. Who are you?" He bowed. "My name is Duncan, social advisor and protocol aide to Duke Henry." "I don’t have time for a spokesman. Where’s Henry?" "It is my job to review all visitors before allowing them to see the Duke. Often I can resolve their issues without troubling him." "Well, aren’t you special? Listen," Ash said, his voice growing impatient. "I need to see him, and I need to see him now. It’s very important, so cut the bullshit." "And what, may I ask, is so important?" "The theft of the Necrinomicon, that’s what." Duncan’s eyes widened and his drawn lips parted slightly. He hesitated, then nodded. "Follow me." He led them up an open stairway and through a series of long walkways, arriving at one of the only enclosed rooms. A few stiff wooden benches stood against walls draped with crimson rectangles of velvet cloth, bright with the sun’s rays through teardrop windows. In the middle of the room, Duke Henry sat at a small circular table slurping soup from a ceramic bowl. Small streams of broth trickled down his plump, rosy face, through his orange beard, and onto his tunic. "Sir?" Duncan began. "What is it, Duncan?" The Duke looked up. "Arthur! Ash!" He stood and met his friends with a warm embrace. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" he asked, waving Duncan out of the room. "Like you don’t know," Ash muttered sardonically. Arthur shushed him. "There is a crisis. The Necrinomicon is missing." Henry gasped. "No. That cannot be." "But it is," Ash said. "You know anything about it?" "Of course not! This is the first I have heard of it. Are you accusing me?" Ash opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur cut him off. "No, nothing of the sort, Henry." "Bullshit! One of your guys took it!" "What?" Anger inched across Henry’s face. "Henry, please forgive Ash’s crudity. On the night of the Necrinomicon’s theft, some of my people claimed a soldier in red armor was leaving the kingdom. We merely came to ask if you knew anything about it." "I do not. I would not dare remove that book from the wiseman’s care. It would doom us all!" "Perhaps an imposter, then, trying to turn us against each other." Arthur scratched his chin. "But whom?" "That’s it?!" Ash spat. "You’re just gonna believe him?!" "Ash, Henry said he did not know about it. Why should I not believe him?" "Oh yeah, like if he took it, he’d admit it," Ash said sarcastically. "This is un-fucking-believable." "Henry is my friend and ally, and I will trust him," Arthur responded, his voice stern. "Do not forget that I rule the kingdom, not you." "I would if I’d chosen to stick around." Arthur slammed his fist onto the table, then pointed to the door. "I do not feel you are needed here any longer. Leave." "Fine. Fight Hell by yourself. See if I care." Ash spun on his heels and departed, closing the door behind him. "Thinks he knows it all," he mumbled under his breath. "Just wait and see. I can spot a liar a mile away." Ash took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His mind raced, wondering what his next move was going to be. He was too preoccupied to notice the figure skulking behind him, closing in slowly, silently. Nor did he notice the club being raised over his head. Only when it was brought down on the back of his skull did he realize that he was truly, deeply, and totally screwed. |
 ba_ba_barone@hotmail.com |
|
. |
| Visitors: 00700 |