Disclaimer: Although I wish I owned Lancelot and the other knights...I do not. This is just my way of fiddling in someone elses is garden.
Also this is my first attempt at publishing on , so I'm trying to work out the kinks and I'd appreciate some helpful hints, criticism, or even encouragement. Yours Truly.
"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."
-Dr. Martin Luther King
ONE
"If you press your face any closer, it will go straight through the glass."
"They're coming, Alex."
I can see them flooding out from the shadows of the forest, one line at a time, and too many to dream possible. They drift closer like spirits, but their sharp swords are anything but transparent and their cold eyes are nearly as jagged. They're almost hidden by the waves of snow that rise as they plow through with bitter determination.
I lean into my brother, but even his solid presence can't reassure me now. He rests his heavy hands on my shoulders, but I can feel the tremble he's trying to hide. Alex turns me away from the window. He's put on a brave face. It can't make me overlook the sword hilt rising above his shoulder.
"Why the long face, Sera? Don't you think I can handle a few Saxons?" My brother's voice is light and dishonest. A prickle runs down my spine as I think about their pitiless eyes staring greedily at our home. Can they see me as clearly as I see them? The thought frightens me, but I won't close the curtains. Papa always says it's better to keep a close watch on the enemy. If you can't see the white's of their eyes, you're not close enough.
"I'd hardly call them a few." I try to look out the window once more, but Alex pulls me away.
"Well, you've never been to battle before. This is nothing compared to what I've seen."
"Bragging of your adventures again, Alexandros?" Papa's calm voice startles us both. Alex blushes like a young boy again even though he's seen nearly twenty-five summers. My father is a giant among men, but his words are always soft. Even now, there isn't a wrinkle of worry on his face. When I was a child, I used to trace the laugh lines on his stubbly cheeks, but there was never a trace of fear or worry. I used to call him the laughing king, but he was always quick to remind me that he was no where near kingly.
My father, Konstantino's Petraliphas, our great Roman Emperor's cousin and would be next in line for the throne. Our family was once one of the highest in Rome, the city of my birth, but those days our just blurred outlines in my memory. Before my fifth birthday, we were sent into exile on the barren tundra lands of what was once Celtic land, my mother's land. The Emperor and his court did not approve of my father's choice to marry a Celtic woman. Alex and I were both born out of wedlock. He chose mama and us over the throne.
We've been happy in this place. The Emperor didn't send us to poverty, just solitude. I've never missed city life. Alex is restless at times. He travels with the army when his blood begins to boil, but he always returns with tales of his adventures. I don't remember if we were happy in Rome, but I know we've always been content here.
I love the open spaces and the freedom. I've grown up in the woods surrounding our castle. I've never missed the company of other children. Papa taught me to listen to the animals and the whispers of the trees. He showed me the way to catch fish from the stream nearby and how to ride horses like a man. This is our home and as every second passes those cold blooded Saxons draw nearer.
Even though I try to disguise it, Papa sees the panic in my eyes. He's always been able to read me too well. I want to bury my face in his shirt like I did when I was a little girl. I want him to sing the old songs his nursemaid sang to him. Instead, I stand tall beside my brother. At seventeen, I'm too old for coddling, but Papa opens his arms to me anyways.
"Come here," he orders softly. I let the safety of his embrace envelop me. The thumping of his heart sounds so much like that of the Saxon's drums. Too close. Papa smoothes back my hair and kisses the top of my head.
"We must be brave for the little ones. Don't show them you're afraid."
"Fear is the most powerful weapon," I say, quoting him. Papa smiles proudly and squeezes my forearms one more time before letting me go.
"Go help your mother. Tell her Alex and I will be there shortly." I toss Alex a curious glance before slipping out of the study. He shrugs his broad shoulders and gives me a returning look that says 'I have no idea'. The sturdy wooden door clicks behind me. I peer down the dark corridor and suddenly want to be with Papa again. I wrap my arms around myself and walk briskly down the hall, jumping at each one of my own echoing footsteps under the impression that they belong to someone else. It's strange how I can feel so alone and at the same time be afraid of someone hiding in the shadows. The journey to Mama's room seems to take an eternity. I hurry past the portraits on the wall, some of our family and others of strangers, but every pair of painted eyes bear into me with their lifelessness. None of the candles are lit today.
At last, I can see a fiery glow seeping from underneath Mama's door. The moment I step into the room, my paranoia extinguishes, melted away by the warm fire raging in the hearth. I relish in the heat, letting it eat away the chill from my limbs. Mama smiles tiredly when she sees me. She's cradling baby Theodora in her arms protectively, rocking her back and forth to sooth her wild sobs. Helena tugs at the hem of her dress impatiently, firing question after question.
"Who are those men? Why are we hiding? I'm hungry. Are we going to die?" Mama shoots me a pleading glance. I scoop Helena into my arms. She's small for a seven year old. She giggles when I spin her around. Her light eyes sparkle with innocence. I wish I could be like her, simply curious about the soldiers marching ever closer instead of filled with terror.
"Don't make her sick, Seraphina," Mama says gently. I stop spinning and sit down at Mama's feet with Helena in my lap. She plays with my hair, just as she's done since the day she was born, and wraps the ends around her chubby fingers.
"Theo won't be quiet. Is she afraid?"
"Why would she be afraid?" I ask.
"Because everyone else is." Children are always the most perceptive. Combined with their innocence, it's a strange combination. Even baby Theo can sense danger. She's still whimpering in Mama's arms.
"Are you frightened?"
"I never am!" Helena crosses her arms defiantly and raises her round chin. I tickle her neck and her stubborn expression falters into a sweet smile.
"Oh really?" I tease. "Not even of spiders?"
"Alex is the one scared of spiders."
"Well, then maybe you shouldn't hide them in his bed anymore." Helena's eyes widen with awe.
"How did you know that was me?" I place my lips close to her ears and speak so softly that no one else can hear.
"Because I'm magic."
"Like Merlin and the Woads!" she squeals delightedly. I press a finger to her lips and raise one eyebrow.
"Yes, like Merlin, but it's a secret." Helena looks up at Mama, but she's too preoccupied with Theo to pay much attention to us.
"Does Mama know?"
"No, just us."
"Can you teach me?"
"Maybe when you're older." Helena pouts and pulls away from.
"It's always when I'm older!" she cries. "But I'm not a baby anymore."
"Oh, I know you're not, but magic is difficult."
"But you promise to teach me someday."
"Cross my heart." Helena and I both draw an X over our hearts with our index fingers. She leans into me again, resting her head on my shoulder. We watch the fire crackle and dance in the hearth as Theo finally drifts to sleep. Mama sighs in relief.
"Is your father coming?" she asks in a whisper, so as to not wake up the baby.
"He's with Alex, but he said he'd be here soon." I can see the questions burning on her pursed lips, but with one glance at Helena she swallows them quickly.
"Are those men bad?" Helena asks suddenly.
"Very, very bad," Mama answers. She masks her fear almost better than Papa, but I can see the circles under her glittering eyes. Papa says they're the color of the summer sky. He says she was the most beautiful woman in Rome and even though there are streaks of silver in her golden hair and her hands are scarred from years of hard work, she's still lovely. I've always looked more like my father, with his pale complexion and dark hair, but I've inherited Mama's soft cheek bones. Helena is her spitting image.
"Are they coming to kill us?" Helena's words are muffled by the thumb in her mouth. Mama usually reprimands her about sucking her thumb, but she doesn't have the heart for it today.
"Do you think your father will let them harm us?" Mama says sharply.
"Never." But he's just one man against too many, even with Alex at his side. The thought of them facing the invaders by themselves makes me sick. I hold onto Helena tighter, comforted by her small body in my arms. What will we do? Maybe they'll pass over us. But I know it's too much to hope for. Their drums are the only thing I can hear now.
"Sing us a song, Mama," I say quickly. I need something to drown out the sound and she understands the unspoken request in my words. I close my eyes and focus on her lilting voice singing faraway words from her own childhood with the Celts. She left her accent behind when she came to Rome, but sometimes I can hear it when she sings. I can feel her sorrow resonating through my chest, but it's still not strong enough. It's as though those drums are beating right below us now.
Helena screams as the door suddenly flies open. Mama leaps to her feet, holding Theo so tightly that she begins to cry again, and she steps in front of us. I can't see around her skirts.
"Konstantinos," she sighs, her voice wavering for the first time tonight. She runs into Papa's arms, squashing the baby in between them. Alex crosses the room and lifts me off of the floor, Helena still in my arms. His eyes are grave.
"Alex!" Helena cries excitedly. He tries to smile, but it looks pained. My heart thrums to the beat of drums. The fire winks at us mockingly.
"Alex?" I whisper questioningly.
"We have to go."
"Hurry," Papa orders. He's already pushing Mama out the door. We leave the safety of light and barrel into the dark hallway. One of Alex's hands stays pressed to my back, guiding and reassuring me, while the other clutches the hilt of his sword. We reach the top of the grand staircase. My feet fly over the marble steps. Mama's dress waves in front of me. I'd like to hide under her skirts, but I keep running instead.
The iron front doors bend inwards as an army of men push into it. I can hear then. I can smell the blood on their breath. Helena buries her face in my neck.
"Make them stop," she sobs. I can't find the words to make everything go away though. Papa leads us across the wide foyer. I skid on the rough floor, nearly toppling over but for Alex's hold. We're headed to the Servant's entrance on the other side. Only a few steps, a few that look like miles. The door bursts and I'm deafened by the thunderous sound. Alex pushes us to the ground as a volley of deadly arrows soar past. I tuck Helena against my side to protect her from the hard stone. The taste of blood is heavy in my mouth. It weighs down my thoughts. A rush of air grazes my cheek as an arrow slices past, barely cutting across my skin. I don't register the pain or the fear.
I've heard Alex tell his battle stories a hundred times, but now I understand them. I understand the instinct for survival that roars in your ears, eats at your soul, and drowns out everything else.
A rough hand clasps around my neck, pulling me to my feet. I never let go of Helena and her screams seem muffled, along with Theo's shrieking cries and Mama's pleas. I'm lost in the frozen eyes of the man holding me. He lifts my feet from the floor as though I weigh nothing at all. I can see the white's of his eyes and the icy hate. What have I done to him? He squeezes the breath from my lungs. I tear at his hand, not even able to break through his tough skin with my nails. Helena kicks at him with her little feet, but his hateful eyes are centered on me. He enjoys this, my gasping breaths and my struggle to survive. The world flickers before me as I begin slipping away.
Everything returns with vivid clarity as I fall. Air rushes into me, cutting like a knife. I clutch my chest and stare up at the high ceiling. I see the cobwebs and shadows leering at us. Did they always look so evil?
"Alex! Alex!" Helena's cries drag me from my trance. She's still squirming in my arms. I follow the line of her eyes to see what she sees. Alex's sword clashes with my attacker's. Sparks fly from the impact. My brother looks so small, so vulnerable. I want to run to him. I try to scream and tell him to run, but the words die on my tongue. All I can do is keep my arms around Helena as she fights to escape.
"Run Sera!" Alex grunts, blocking another blow. Each of his strikes become weaker. He's losing. There's an arrow shaft beside me. I clutch the bloody thing in my hands and slowly climb to my feet, warning Helena to stay quiet with my eyes. He doesn't see me until it's too late. I leap onto the man's back and shove the arrow into his throat, pushing it further until I feel hot blood bubbling over my hands. I expected his blood to be cold. The floor shakes as we fall. Alex pulls me up quickly. His face is pale and panicked. All of his war stories, but he never thought he'd have to kill in his own home.
"Take Helena and run as far as you can. Hide somewhere. Don't come back, no matter what happens."
"But-" Alex shakes me roughly.
"GO!" he roars. I'm thrown to the side as another Saxon approaches. I watch my brother swing his sword in a beautiful arch before grabbing Helena's little hand. I nearly crush her tiny bones, but my grip is still slippery from the dead man's blood.
"Come on." I drag her forward. I don't see Papa, Mama, or Theo anymore. They're lost in the chaos, but I run. No one notices us slip through the servant's door. Our snowy footprints will give us away, but there's no time to cover them up. Cold air filters through my clothes, biting my skin with razor sharp teeth. Helena stumbles in the snow that's piled up to her chest. I scoop her into my arms. It takes all of my strength to run away. Alex's worn face flashes before me. I feel like a coward.
"Bring them to the yard!" a metallic voice drifts over the quiet Iceland. They'll see us if we don't hide. I see a rotting tree nearby with a wide opening in the trunk, just big enough for two people. I push Helena into the trunk and clamber in after her. She shivers against me as I cling onto her for dear life. We're hidden by the tangle of branches, but I can still see our home. I only hope the falling snow covers our trail quickly.
"Out here!" A stocky man with a long, tangled beard nearly as pale as the snow, directs the others. He balances a sword in his hand threateningly. I stifle a gasp I see them bring Mama outside. They throw her into the snow. Theo's cries carry over to us with acute clarity.
"Ma-" I clamp my hand over Helena's mouth.
"We can't save them," I whisper. Helena hides her face. I place my hands over her ears tightly so that she can no longer hear. But I can't look away. My eyes are locked on the nightmare in front of me.
"Please, have mercy on my child." Mama cradles Theo to her breast. I can almost see the tears running down her face. The bearded man in charge kneels before my mother. He places his sword against her cheek, but she doesn't flinch.
"There is no mercy here." The man's voice is void of emotion. He stands again and makes a sign to one of his men, who then steps forward and tears Theo from Mama's arms. Her scream rips my heart in two with its desperation and fury. She struggles to take Theo back, but they hold her away. Her arms stretch forward hopelessly.
"But for you," the man in charge says over her cries, "I'll be kind. You won't have to watch your child die." For a second, I can feel hope in my hands. Just as quickly it slips from my fingertips. The warrior holding my mother rams his sword through her stomach. Her silence is worse than her screams. I clamp my hands harder over Helena's hears, but I can't keep her from hearing that silence.
"Kill the baby and bring the men here as well. Let the family be together again." Papa. Alex. I see two limp forms being dragged from the Castle, but I don't want to believe it's them. Theo's cries stab me deeper than any sword. I should run to her, but what would that accomplish. As one of the warriors lifts her into the air, I finally turn away, but I can still see the white's of their eyes and I can still hear the silence.
There is no mercy here. There is no God.
"Race you to the creek!" I spur my stallion between the ribs while whispering encouraging words in her flattened ears. Dela's hooves thump against the soft earth as we race through the trees. I press myself close against her neck to keep from being struck with low hanging branches. Her sleek mane tickles my cheeks. I love the feel of her powerful muscles stretching against my thighs. Dela and I fly. My heart beats with hers and the world slips past us in a blur of fiery, autumn colors.
I never want to stop, but it isn't long before Dela's racing into the creek. Water splashes the hem of my dress as I pull back on her reigns. She rears back on her hind legs and I nearly fall from the saddle. I hum in her ears a monotonous, calming sound and stroke her mane. Dela prances to dry ground. I slide from the saddle. I stretch my numb legs, grimacing as the blood begins to flow through my thirsty veins again. Dela whinnies and rubs her snout against the top of my head, stirring my hair as she snorts. I lead her to the edge of the creek and she instantly cranes her neck to lap up the murky water greedily. Her sides expand as she pants. When I run my hand along her smooth body, a coat of sweat meets my touch. Nearby, I can hear another horse approaching.
Alex crashes through the trees on his snowy white stead, Dawn. His horse is as light as mine is dark. My brother looks like what I've always imagined the pagan's gods. His wheat colored hair is windswept. It curls at his collar. Mama insists that he cut it, but Alex is too vain. His smooth cheeks are flushed with excitement as he slides from his horse and lands gracefully. Dawn prances to Dela's side and joins her for a drink.
"I won," I cry proudly.
"You cheated. It wasn't a fair start." Alex sits at the edge of the creek close to the horses. I join him, kicking off my shoes and letting my bare feet sink into the cool water which bubbles between my toes and makes me giggle. I pull my skirts up to my knees so that they won't get wet. Mama would fuss if she saw me.
Alex catches a falling leaf in his hand. He holds it up to the sparkling sunlight filtering in through the canopy above. I can see every dark vein in the crimson leaf, twisting and curling into nature's story. Alex pushes my hair back and slides the delicate leaf behind my ear.
"You look like a Woad," he chuckles, while picking a burr out of my tangled curls.
"But I don't have the blue marks." I hold my bare arm out for him to see. My skin is creamy white with a few spotted freckles that match the ones dusting my nose. Alex inspects my arm for any of the blue designs before shrugging. We sit together and watch the creek play. The trees whisper to each other in muffled tones.
"Tell me about the Sarmatian knights."
"I've told you a million times," Alex groans. It's true, every time he comes home I always ask about the knights. Has he seen them? What are they like? Are they really as fierce as people say? I hear so many tales about the knights from passing travelers who drop by occasionally. Ever since I was a little girl, I've been fascinated with stories of the brave men and especially their leader, Artorius.
"Tell me again," I plead.
"What do you want to know this time?" Alex sighs in defeat.
"Tell me about Artorius." Alex smiles knowingly. He's the only one I've told of my dream that someday Artorius will come to our forgotten part of the world and take me away to be trained as one of his knights. I used to battle the trees with wooden swords Alex would carve for me. I imagine riding alongside of them, basking in the glory of saving lives and making legends.
"The great Artorius. There are so many things to say about him," Alex begins. I pull my knees into my chest and rest my chin on them, waiting to hear him speak the words I've memorized by heart.
"Born to the great Roman Artorius, they're name is older than Rome itself, and a Celtic mother."
"Like us!" I squeal excitedly.
"He followed in his father's footsteps and became a commander of the young Sarmatian knights whose duty lies to Rome."
"Why?"
"Because we spared their lives after the great wars. The Sarmatians were such fierce warriors; the Emperor couldn't waste their talent. So, for generations, Sarmatian knights have fought for Rome in gratitude for our mercy. Can I finish the story now?" I press my lips together and pretend to stitch them closed.
"Artorius is unlike any other man in Rome. He believes in the equality of all men."
"What about women?" I blurt. Alex throws back his head and laughs. The sound bounces through the forest and makes the horses shy away.
"You're too forward in your thinking, Sera. You and Artorius would be great companions." I can feel my cheeks burning at the idea. "What is this, a blush?" Alex teases, pinching my cheek. I swat his hand away testily and hide my face.
"Artorius isn't just a great warrior. He has a way with the ladies as well."
"Oh, stop it! Tell me about the round table." I rapidly change the subject. There's a new gleam in my brother's pale eyes. He dreams just as much about the knights as I do.
"Well, it's a table and its round."
"Alex!" I cry.
"Each of his knights has an equal place. There is no head of the table. There is not one man more important than the other."
"I'd like to see it someday," I sigh. I lie back in the soft moss and gaze up at the dappled trees, trying to picture Artorius and his knights there. The sunlight glints like the point of the famous Excalibur.
"We'll go together," Alex promises. And I believe him. Someday I'll see it all and there will be songs about the Lady Seraphina, riding side by side with the great Sarmatian knights. Someday…
For hours, I hear them marching, destroying, and calling out to one another. Their boots crunch in the snow as the temperature drops and night falls over us like a veil of despair. Helena's eyelashes are sprinkled with frost. I watch them flutter as she drifts in and out of slumber. Even though it's so cold, her little body is burning with fever. Our clothes were not made for such weather, but I wouldn't dare try to recover our cloaks from inside. I huddle close to her, trying to shield her from the bitter wind that strikes us from the opening in the tree trunk. Worms tickle my frozen skin, but I've stopped brushing them away. Our teeth are chattering so violently I'm afraid one of the Saxon's may hear.
A few of them pass by our hiding place, so near that I can hear their heavy breaths, but none of them discover us. It isn't until darkness has settled completely over the sky that all sound fades away. I know they're gone, but the fear is still lurking in my mind and body. It eats away at me from the inside out, like an itch I can't scratch.
I smell smoke. Helena coughs as the thick smog chokes us. I can see the flicker of angry flames. They strike the windows of our home from the inside, fighting to be free. They've lit our home on fire. As though there were anything left in me to burn. The flames won't spread on the damp earth to where Helena and I are cradled in the womb of a tree. They can't even escape the castle. I imagine all of the portraits burning, those heartless, painted eyes melting down the walls. Can painted people scream? I can hear them in my head. Or maybe it's just the echoes of Mama's own cries. Her body still lies in the snow.
"Sera," Helena mumbles through blue lips. She looks up at me with desperate eyes, still so innocent. Her body trembles in my arms. "I'm so cold," she whispers.
"Someone will come for us soon," I lie, knowing full well that we're alone, an eternity away from anyone other than the heartless Saxons.
"Tell me a story," Helena pleads. Her voice is so weak, nothing more than a puff of smoke dispelling on the wind.
"Which one would you like to hear?"
"Tell me a story about the knights." My chest constricts as an image rises in my head of the gallant knights. Where are they now? Why didn't they save my family? A wave of bitterness unlike anything I've ever felt before rages under my skin, burning hotter than the fire.
"Knights," I scoff. "I don't want to talk of them tonight." I think of my dreams and longing to be one of them and it seems so childish now. How could I ever be a knight when I run at the first sign of danger, leaving all others to die? The thought makes me sick. To think, I ever put my faith in Artorius and his men.
I search through the poison in my mind to find another story for Helena, but she's already drifting off again. The pulse in her neck flutters. She's far too warm. Panic licks at my heart.
"Helena!" I snap. Her head lolls back lifelessly. She peaks at me through glazed eyes before closing them again. The fever is devouring her. I crawl out of our hiding place, ignoring the fear snipping at me, and pull Helena out after me. I place her little body in the snow. Tiny flakes melt on her flushed face instantly. She moans weakly. I strip off my dress and drape it over her.
"Helena, stay with me." I sit beside her and pull her into my lap. I rock her like I did when she was younger and sing one of Mama's foreign lullabies, but the words freeze on my tongue. I place my face close to hers so that I can feel each of her weak breaths hit my skin. They're so cold they feel just like the snowflakes. It's even colder when they stop. I press my hand over her mouth, desperate to touch the air she expels. Nothing.
"No!" I shake her hard. Nothing. I call her name. Nothing. I clutch her small, heart shaped face in my hands and beg. Nothing. I pray. Nothing. I can't even cry. The tears seem to be frozen inside of me along with the pain. Gently, I place her back inside the tree and cover her still face with my dress after kissing her smooth forehead. Her skin is no longer flushed or warm. Death is always cold.
On numb legs I stumble toward the castle. Ash rains down on me, blackening my skin. My undergarments flutter. I kick off my shoes, wanting to feel the ice stinging every part of me so that I can remember pain. Alex once told me that men often become emotionless in the presence of death, but I don't want to be that way. I need to feel. I need to hurt or else what is there to keep me from giving in to the sweet hands of Lady Death?
I promised Alex I wouldn't come back, no matter what. It's the only promise to him I'll ever break and the one I wish I had kept most. Dark blood stains the innocence of the alabaster landscape. I fall to my knees in front of Mama. She's face down in the snow. When I turn her over, her face is still twisted in despair. Her tears are frozen to her eyelashes. I try not to see the open wound in her stomach, but it calls my name menacingly as a reminder that she isn't simply sleeping.
Theo is buried nearby, a spear through her chest. I pull the damned thing free and toss it to the ground. I try to snap the wood in two, but it's too strong. Carefully, I place Theo in Mama's arms once more, covering her gaping wound. I close Mama's wide eyes, not wanting her to see this cruel world any longer, before moving on.
"Alex!" I call weakly. "Papa!" No one answers my pleas. I stumble forward through the night. Mama and Theo are far behind me. I'm rounding into the front yard, guided by the faint light of dying flames trapped inside our home.
"Alex!" I swallow a mouthful of snow, having tripped over something solid. My ankle throbs painfully, but I'm too preoccupied by the man I've stumbled over. I recognize Alex's tunic. I sewed it for him myself, but the blood is new. So much blood. I bite down on my fist to restrain the scream rising in my throat. I look away from Alex's body and vomit.
When I turn away, a nightmare meets my glance. Skewered atop the iron pikes of our gate, the one Papa had made for protection, are two severed heads. They're sightless eyes stare straight through me, screaming accusations. I remember those eyes being kinder, warmer. I remember looking to those faces for comfort and now all I can do is look away from my father and brother.
My scream tears through the night, shattering the silence I've been so careful to keep. I want the Saxons to hear me. I want my rage and agony to call them back to me, so that I can kill them one by one. I've never tasted hatred such as this, but it consumes me completely. I'm lost in my desire for revenge. I crave the sweet taste of blood. Embers smolder in my soul.
As my scream falters, I hear the familiar sound of approaching horses. I look up to see shadowy figures shifting out from the cover of trees, just as the Saxons did today. It's as though my prayers have been answered. They will not destroy my home any further. I will not allow them to desecrate the bodies of my family more than they already have.
I find the hilt of Alex's discarded sword buried in the knee deep snow. My vision is blurred by the blizzard, but I can still see them approaching our gate. It's wide open, inviting them in. I stand on unsteady legs. The tip of my brother's sword sparkles crimson in the dying flames, or maybe it's the blood. I can barely hold the weapon. My numb hands refuse to grip the hilt.
Somehow I manage to burrow through the drifts of snow to the iron gate. I keep my eyes level, refusing to peer up at the gruesome sight directly overhead. Even so, I can still feel they're soulless eyes crucifying me. I place myself firmly in front of the gate as the seven horsemen halt only feet away from me. They're faceless in the dark, mere shadows. I raise Alex's sword threateningly.
"You will not pass!" I roar with all the strength brought on by unbounded fury.
"Drop your weapon," a gruff voice replies from one of the faceless men.
"I shall not let you pass!" It's as though my blood has frozen, turning me into someone I do not recognize. The shadowy figures draw nearer. I can see the harshness in their faces now, emotionless just like the Saxon's. The one in front, obviously their leader, leaps gracefully from his horse. He waves a hand to his men, telling them to stand back as he walks towards me.
"Do not move any closer," I growl, branding the heavy sword. It slices through the frostbitten air. The man halts. His cape flutters behind him. He's taller than Papa, but I'm not afraid.
"I won't hurt you." His voice is soft. It only increases my suspicions. He's too close now. His eyes are the sharpest emerald, like the hard jewels in Mama's favorite broach.
"I will kill you," I warn. He doesn't stop and without hesitating, I lunge. The sword pulls me forward and I stumble. He dodges just in time, the tip of the sword barely catching his cloak. I strike again swiftly, but even in my rage I'm aware how ill practiced my hand is. I'm driven forward by the ice in my veins. It eggs me on, teases me. It whispers words of death in my ear. The man blocks each of my furious blows with a skill much greater than my own, but I don't forfeit. He hisses as the blade slices across his arm.
For a moment we face each other. I cringe under his searching gaze. He holds his sword out to his side and let's go. The weapon sinks into the snow. I waste no time in driving the tip of my sword against his neck. My stomach growls with blood lust. His penetrating eyes never waver from mine. I press the sword harder against his soft flesh, impatient to slice him into a million pieces.
"Lancelot, no!" The air is knocked from my lungs as I'm forced to the ground. Alex's sword slips from my grip. I'm pinned to the ground by one of the other shadows, but he's no longer a real shadow. I can see him clearer than the man I nearly killed. His expression matches my own; hate, loathing, cold. His dark eyes burn in the fire light. His grip on my wrists is tighter than shackles. I fight against him, kicking. He pins my flailing legs down with his knees, so much stronger than me.
Desperately, I lift my head and sink my teeth into his exposed neck. The salty taste of foreign blood slides down the back of my throat. It drips warmly down my chin. I can taste his life force. It's bitter. I only release when he draws his fist across the left side of my face. Blinding light explodes in my vision, quickly replaced by total darkness.
"Stop this!" A familiar voice rings out forcefully through the night. I recognize it as the commander, the man I would have killed. A weight is lifted from my chest as two of the shadowy figures restrain my attacker. I climb to my feet quickly, but my strength fails me and I'm tumbling. The commander catches me. I can't bear his pitying eyes boring into me. I try to push him away, but he holds me tightly until I lose the energy to struggle.
I sink into his armored chest. Whether he is my enemy or my friend, it matters not. The ice under my skin begins to break and the pain surfaces. I miss the anger. It was my shield and now I'm open to the onslaught of grief, worse than any physical torment.
"Kill me," I beg. "Have mercy." I echo my mother's words. But just as then, these shadowy men will give me no mercy.
"You are safe with us," he whispers soothingly. "I am the Roman commander Artorius. We will protect you."
Tell me a story about the knights. Helena's last words haunt me. They follow me into the void of unconsciousness. Even there, the pain does not cease.
Artorius. Arthur. Lancelot…