If there's somethin' strange...in the neighbourhood...who ya gonna call?
Merlin!
~9~ Ňocte'ĕquả!
Gaius had finally stopped bothering to leap to the window every time he heard a scream or explosion of fire. Rubbing his leaden eyes, he focused on the small, faded print of the old tome, which was thicker than his hand was wide. He found himself reading and re-reading paragraphs as his exhausted mind wavered repeatedly. Despite the urgency to find out as much as he could, the lack of sleep was taking over, as it had the rest of the people of Camelot.
Archons were best known for their tendency of being fickle, Gaius read, and that inconstancy wasn't always for the better. Born of the Ancient Kingdom, or the Time of Prophecy, they were the gods of the people, the lords of every civilization. For some, their goal was to protect the common folk and help them thrive. Others cared not for the lower lives and concerned themselves with themselves. The last had intentions that will hopefully never be re-birthed into this world. These included the fabled five Knights of Apocalypse.
Together, these horsemen were dreaded more than anything in the world. Even the other Archons were wary of them. They were the bane of life itself, and their objective was to eliminate existence wherever they could—perhaps because they could never truly possess it themselves? There was a section too faded to read, then: They have many names unknown to us, in languages other than the Old Religion's. Caedeşqụe was the lord of bloodshed and violence, which he whispered into the hearts of man to encourage hostility towards each other. Halosĭs was Caedeşqụe's closest companion, as he was conquest, and he enjoyed watching great civilizations fall over the whim of a war-hungering tyrant. Fąmem rode far and wide on his horse of black to spread his pestilence to the furthest reaches of the world. Môrtęm, kin to Lord Death itself, followed them all, taking the souls lost from war, violence, and starvation, and causing his own chaos whenever he had the inkling, whether it was deserved or not. Finally, there was Fear, known as Mėtû. Along with Môrtęm, his existence had begun with the dawn of time and life, and shall be there until the dusk.
Gaius re-read the passage before leaning back in his chair and interlocking his fingers had heard of Archons, of course, but was never sure if he believed in them. The Ancient Kingdom had come before the time of the Old Religion, though he knew not how it had fallen.
The aged physician turned a few pages as he heard a shrill scream just outside. He passed a page with the drawing of a, inverted pentagram, a circled star, and landed on a sheet with a picture that filled the whole space. He studied it closely.
Five lone-standing archways stood at the points of a large pentagram which was carved into the ground. The two closest archways appeared empty, but the other three, the three facing him, had horrific sketches of grisly horsemen struggling to get through invisible barriers. Flipping the page, Gaius found a description, and didn't like what he read.
Though dethroned and restrained, the Archons had never fallen dormant like the Druids had thought. Some have accepted the passing of their time, but others, like the Knights, have not.
It is not known how it was done, but centuries ago, the five dark Archons had managed to convince a Mage to create portals for them in exchange for vast, limitless power. With their aid, the Mage obliged, eagerly following their commands. In his city of Mitheras, he conjured the pentagram from evil forces, and then the five archways to break through the barrier between two worlds.
There are many legends that spin off in different directions from here. Most speak of an enemy of the Mage preventing him from finishing the deed, but nearly destroyed Mitheras in the process. Others say the incantations the Mage gave were incorrect or wrongly used and they backfired, again bringing the city to ruin. The last state that the Mage refused, was unable, or was suddenly overcome by cowardice and did not continue. Whatever truly happened, why the Archons were not released, humankind will never know, for none now live who remember.
Again, Gaius leaned back in his seat, this time sighing in resignation. He should have convinced Merlin to stay in the city; there was no doubt in his mind now that Mitheras was indeed the root of Camelot's current crisis, or rather, something from Mitheras.
The city was tearing itself apart in terror. The nightmares had gotten to the point that people have been driven mad. Anyone still in their right minds have been impelled into hiding, or struggle to find the courage to lock up anyone dangerous. Fights were common on the streets, between soldiers and farmers, children and parents. Animals were slaughtered in fear of them taking over the city, according to insane blacksmiths and tanners. Fires broke out everywhere as people burned the monsters hiding under their beds and in their closets. Some clawed out their own eyes in order to stop seeing the horrors of their personal night demons. They were unsuccessful, so they killed themselves if they weren't protected by family members.
Gaius heard one of his patients groan and stood to care for the man, who had nearly died in one of the fires. As he did so, there was a knock on his door and Gwenevere entered, leading a young girl by the hand.
"Her parents are dead," said Gwen, weariness softening her words. In the unfamiliar surroundings, the child hugged Gwen's leg and refused to let go. "I can't find anywhere else to keep her."
"I'm running out of room, Gwen," replied Gaius grimly. "But perhaps we can accommodate one more. Food is starting to get scarce, and so are blankets. We're going to have to be extra careful."
Gwen could hear the stress in his words. "Arthur and Merlin will find a way, Gaius. I know it. There's no need to worry."
"I'm afraid I am having difficulty sharing your optimism, my dear," said the physician. "Even if they do find a solution soon, it may still be too late for Camelot."
† † †
When he woke up the next morning, Merlin felt he could jump a mile. During the day's travel north to find the bridge across the ravine, Lancelot flexed his fingers, satisfied. The puncture wounds had reduced to a dull ache and were easily ignored. All in all, the outcome of the fight was very good, at least for the travellers.
On the second night from the ravine, after a dinner of grouse and some tiny carrots Merlin managed to scavenge, Gwaine and Arthur wasted no time in closing their eyes. The last few days had taken their tole, for the prince had wanted to catch up on a day's missed travel. Lancelot, however, stayed awake with Merlin on the warlock's watch, the first of the evening.
The knight and the servant lay on their backs a little ways from the fire, staring up at the stars.
"How do you think the others are doing?" Merlin asked softly.
Lancelot chuckled. "I hope a hell of a lot better than we are."
Φ
Arthur fled. The ravenous fires raged in pursuit, sucking the air from his lungs and blinding him with its cloudy breath. Everywhere he turned, he saw more howling flame demons leaping for him. He couldn't escape.
Φ
Arthur grunted from by the fire, and rolled over in his sleep. Merlin tried to ignore him. Like Lancelot said, too much will eventually prove chaotic for him if they keep seeing him save them in their dreams. And every night, it was becoming harder and harder to yank his companions from their nightmares, as though the dreams were fighting back. It was a disease becoming immune to his cure.
"Well, can it really get any worse?" said the warlock. "We've seen and been through a whole lot already – I don't think anything can surprise me now."
"Be careful of what you say," warned Lancelot. "The road is yet long."
Merlin sighed, and looked at the moon, mostly in shadow. "I believe it's shorter than we both realize."
Gwaine blurted someone's name and shifted, his face pained. Arthur, too, refused to remain still and silent.
Φ
He saw others fleeing the glutenous flames, but none of them were fast enough to get away. They ran, screaming, from between burning trees, clothes and flesh aflame. Arthur saw knights and soldiers, peasants and farmers, women and children, all fiery. All dying.
Tears filled his eyes, but they evaporated quickly from his cheeks. As he bolted, dodging flaming bushes and branches, he saw his father, King Uther, step out in front of him and fall to his knees. He said something before being swallowed by fire.
Arthur screamed for his father, but the King was already gone. The prince kept running, and saw Gwaine trying to fight off three fire-engulfed soldiers with his bare fists. He died quickly. Lancelot was charging on a horse across a clearing, lance in hand, aimed at a gryphon of flame. The lance disintegrated into ashes and the gryphon enveloped the knight with its wings. He did not emerge.
And then Arthur saw Gwenevere, sprinting towards him, crying. Before she reached him, she fell down a chasm that opened beneath her feet. She screamed and vanished. Arthur howled in anguish.
Φ
"The curse should have worn off by now," muttered Merlin, brow furrowed. "Even with the Phoenix Feather, Morgana wouldn't dare curse an entire country."
Lancelot yawned, but shook himself awake. "To be honest, I don't think there's anything she won't do to get what she craves...Merlin?"
The warlock was watching the companions struggle with their night monsters.
"Merlin, you know it's too risky."
"What's one more night?" the youth asked, sitting up. "Arthur didn't even mention seeing me yesterday. Probably because he didn't. Remember the bandits? We really don't have much choice, Lancelot."
"Wait a moment—"
But Merlin had already rolled into a crouch and crept towards the prince. In the shadows, a horse whickered with unease and snorted. Ignoring the beast, Merlin spread an open palm over Arthur's face.
"Vadĕ nočtũrno timőr."
Φ
Looking down the chasm on his hands and knees, he saw nothing but darkness. He thought that the raging fire should have given enough light to see down, but it wasn't. Gwen was gone.
"Arthur!"
He straightened, still on his knees, and glanced around sluggishly. Let the fire take me, he thought. I've had enough.
"Arthur!"
Why was he surprised to see Merlin emerging from the smoke? The man, after all, had always been by his side, loyal and trustworthy. A good friend.
Arthur tried to speak, but Merlin just reached down, helped him stand, and then half-led, half-carried him towards safety—wherever that was.
"Merlin."
"Hold on, clotpole."
But suddenly the servant dropped him to the ground. Caught by surprise, the prince landed on his front, and turned over just in time to see Merlin face an incoming figure on horseback. Arthur recognized the dark knight on his great grey horse, Smokie, but something seemed...off, and felt terribly wrong.
Φ
"V-vadĕ n-n-no—"
Lancelot frowned as the servant suddenly became rigid. "Hey..." He could only see Merlin's silhouette before the fire, but could tell that the warlock had started to shake violently. "Merlin? Merlin!"
Φ
The servant pointed at the dark knight and yelled something menacingly in a strange tongue. Abruptly, the grey mare squealed, and Merlin cringed, holding his head.
"Emrys. Męa ňomĕn Mėtû," toned the dark knight deeply. "Ḧaec ėşt Ňocte'ĕquả."
With a cry, Merlin was kicked in the chest and knocked down onto his back by flailing hooves.
"Ňocte'ĕquả!"
As the mare reared dangerously, her flesh withered and dulled. Her eyes sank into her skull and her lips curled back to reveal rotten teeth. Her scream became an unnatural wail as she trampled Merlin into the ground.
"ŇOCŦE'ĔQŲÀ!"
Φ
"Merlin!"
Arthur sat up abruptly, crying the warlock's name, just as Lancelot grabbed Merlin's shoulder and pulled him away from the prince. Merlin's hand was clamped down over his mouth and nose, and his eyes were screwed shut, as though in pain.
"What's happening? What's wrong?" Lancelot demanded, and saw something dark seep between the warlock's fingers. Throat closing, he tried to pry Merlin's hand away from his face to investigate, but the servant squirmed away and stumbled to his feet. He only made three clumsy paces before falling to his hands and knees, and then he vomited.
As the manservant heaved again, clutching his stomach with one arm, Arthur scrambled from his bed roll and crashed down beside him. He grabbed the back of Merlin's shirt before the warlock pitched forward into his own sick, and turned him over. He paled at the sight of blood gushing from his friend's nose.
"What's the matter? Did he eat something rancid?" asked Gwaine, startled awake by the commotion, as Lancelot grabbed bandages from the saddlery to soak up the blood.
"Yeah, and smashed his nose in the process!" Arthur snapped, but felt guilty immediately after his harsh words. "I don't know what's wrong. What kind of illness would do this to a man?"
"Not an infection? From the Olitiau sting?" asked Lancelot, cleaning up Merlin's face. He brought up the warlock's limp hand to pinch his own nose shut and stop the flow. Unresponsive, Merlin's arm fell slack and more blood dripped down his face. The knight had to hold the servant's hand in place.
"I don't know. Maybe," muttered Arthur. He shook Merlin absentmindedly. He could not banish the image of his recent nightmare from his head. The vision of his servant being trampled to death refused to leave his mind. And seeing him bleed profusely now... "Hey, what's wrong with you? Did you eat undercooked grouse or something?"
Merlin murmured a few sounds, but said nothing intelligible. In the shadows, horses squealed and whinnied in distress.
"We should take him to the nearest village," said Gwaine. "They'll have a healer or physician."
Arthur glanced at the knight. "That seems to be the best choice." He looked back at his manservant. "We—" He froze. Merlin's eyes were open and staring straight into his. "...Merlin?"
The warlock glanced around as though in confusion, and then sat up, frowning. "What happened?"
"You...you were ill," said Lancelot, bewildered. "And your nose was bleeding. Don't you remember?"
Merlin touched the blood drenching his lower face. "Not...really. Sort of. I thought I was dreaming." He pulled away as Arthur felt his forehead for fever and checked his pulse. "I'm fine now, thank you very much."
"How can you be? You were bleeding dry and puking your guts out a second ago."
"Yeah, and now I'm tired and hungry. We have any grouse left?"
If there's somethin' weird...and it don' look good...who ya gonna call?
Merlin!
So some of you may be saying, "Hey, I know that story! But it's Horsemen of the Apocalypse, not Knights. And there aren't five, but four." Yes, I know that. I just gave a little twist to the story. Mėtû, Fear, is my own creation ~ fear can be just as chaotic as violence, conquest, famine, and death, don't you think? Then there's the pentagram, the circled star which many recognize as the symbol of Satan. All evil stuff. Our favourite whippersnappers are wandering into something more perilous and dire than they can imagine. Stay with them, mates, stay until the end. They'll need the support.
:D
