THE DARK TOWER

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PRELUDE

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BROTHER GAIUS HID HIS NOSE BEHIND A HEAVY TOME WHEN HE HEARD THE DOORS OF HIS CHURCH BANGED UPON. Even with the loud pitter-patter of the rain outside, that banging was easily most distracting to him, considering that common decency dictated he answer. He did consider ignoring it, but perched in his little aviary in the corner, his falcon companion tilted his head to the side, as though in silent judgement, the abbot sighed and groggily lifted himself up.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

"Alright. Hold your horses!" Gaius shouted as he made his way to the oaken doors and drew them slightly ajar, enough to peer at whoever it was that thought it proper to disturb someone at such late an hour. He found a woman, a young woman, wrapped in a fur rimmed woollen cloak, drenched wet and shivering. Yet he definitely recognised her. "Hunith?" the man nearly choked and immediately moved to open the doors fully. "By God, Hunith, is that you?"

"Good evening, brother," she replied, shaking. "May we come in, please?" The monk had to excuse himself as he ushered her in.

"Uncle Gaius!" Immediately, the little girl jumped onto the monk, hugging his robed legs tightly with her stick-like arms.

"My dear Languoreth!"

As mother and daughter were brought out of the rain, Gaius called for the abbey's nuns who quickly came to attend to their guests with woolly blankets and a mug of warm stew. The daughter hastily accepted the nice and hot food while Hunith seemed unable to take it, keeping her hands hidden beneath her cloak instead. The monk definitely found that suspicious. Alas, he knew her sister better than to bluntly draw upon that.

With her consent, Sister Onora with a small cloister of nuns had taken her chilling daughter into the kitchens where she was able to get comfortable in front of a roaring fireplace.

Hunith watched her leave with apologetic anxiety. "Please, lock the door as quickly as you can," she then instructed.

Instinctually, the older man did as he was told and slid the locks tightly behind him. He then made a fuss to show her through the church's nave and toward his private chambers at the back, chiding her little sister on the dangers of travelling by herself in the dark, especially with a child. But that was the least of the questions swimming in his head. 'Where have you been?!' took top billing on that front.

Hunith did not answer him, alternatively she let her head wander about to inspect her older brother's dwelling. The church was rather modest compared to some of the ones she'd seen in the larger towns and cities. Imperials did not seem to like building small, yet, her brother's church was far more interesting in her eyes than the ones in the bigger cities. It was a blend of gargoyle motifs and pagan influences of the Old Way mixed in with the faith of the New. She swore she could even spot a Fae mural in the corner. Though the Crucified God had him forsaken the gods of his ancestors, she was always close to Gerallt as was his birthname. When he was baptised, he chose the name Godric and in more of a mocking, patronising way, their conservative father felt the name Gaius was more appropriate, "More Imperial," were his exact words.

Awkwardly, Hunith tried to smile at him, almost to lull him out of his inquisitiveness. Gaius did not take the bait.

"So…" he started. "I'm waiting for an explanation, sister." His little sister opened her mouth to start but suddenly closed it again which prompted an exasperated sigh from the monk. "You vanish with your daughter from Caer Fyrddin, prompting a region-wide search by father that lasted a whole year!" Gaius was near seething though most of that rage was staved off by some form of joy at seeing his beloved sister alive. "Now you show up here again, out of the blue?!"

Neither of them wanted to speak for a while. Indeed, Hunith was a Dyfed princess, daughter of the Sylvestris tribal chief, and so too was her brother Gerallt a prince, and their father's heir. Alas, for Gerallt, a higher calling had him leave his clan and kin behind, a higher calling took a son away from his family.

And so too did a high calling come for Hunith.

A sound had interrupted their loss of words and Hunith was finally able to open her cloak, revealing nestled in her arms, a baby, wrapped in warm hemp. He was crying out but was soothed quickly by Hunith's doting attention.

Wide-eyed, the monk gulped and then with a slight sigh reclined into one of the wooden seats before the elevated chancel and the lowly stone alter on top. The monk offered her a seat beside him while he was content in standing up and just pacing back and forth. "It is yours, right?"

At first, Hunith looked at him with subtle outrage, incredulously shaking her head at him. As if she would be the kind to kidnap a child. "It is a he, and yes, he is my son, Gerallt."

"I apologise, sister. Does he have a name?"

The princess paused as she thought about it. Ultimately, she shook her head, stating that there was no time to even name him.

"Okay then…do you at least know who his father is because I know that it couldn't be—?"

"I'm not a whore, Gerallt…Gaius. I'm also not some psychopath who steels children from their homes. I know who the father is but that's precisely the problem—" she shot back with indignation, rather choosing to address his inference.

Gaius knew the man who fathered Languoreth as an honourable man, a warrior and it was for that reason that troubled him. Llyr was a great warrior, a good man, enough to win the heart of his dear sister, but unfortunately, he had died only a week after the birth of their daughter. The father of this babe sleeping in her arms was completely unknown to him.

They could hear the roof of the church creaking and shaking under the violent storm outside which only seemed to intensify by the second. There was a small aviary on the other end of the chancel that housed a grand bird, a merlin falcon, perched on a small bench, seemingly asleep. One of only a few things in his possession which he was able to get away with by lending the use of Gabriel to the rest of the abbey.

Suddenly the falcon in his pen released a curious call, and after turning to it, Hunith sighed, once again smiling. She remembered fostering that chick some years ago. Brighter days, better days. Gabriel indeed.

She looked back onto his brother—happier memories replaced by urgency. "I need you to take him for a little while. Him and my daughter."

Gaius looked down at her with wide eyes. "Come again?"

Before she could repeat herself, Princess Hunith looked down at the bundle of joy in her arms, still sound asleep despite it all. He had no bearing of his accursed father in his features. No foreign details to differentiate him from any other. The babe looked like hers—like her own father, whose strong and watchful gaze always filled her childish heart with warmth and security. The boy looked like her mother, especially when he laughed and wandered.

Her son cried when he first got whiff of the open air, as all babies do at birth, but once she held him and he took hold of her thumb, she recalled his small and warm smile and sleepy sky-blue eyes found her with cheerful relief. Slender fingers caressed his rosy cheeks lovingly, and tried to hold back tears in fear they would wake him. She then looked back up to the pious man before her, his wool robes were simple, bare, humble. He would be safe here with his uncle. "I must leave for a moment. I need you to look after him and Languoreth, at least until I return."

"Wait up! Hold on a moment there, Hunith." The monk protested, pinning her to the seat, his face grew grave and serious. "Beloved sister, I need you to wait a moment and explain this to me. Father came down looking for you, raving on that you had run away, fearful that you'd do something regrettable in your grief. He sent his mages into the woods, and he sent his seers. He sent his rangers and his servants into the darkness to retrieved you and it was as though you had disappeared into nothingness. Yet, here you are, in good health—so-to-speak, and with a new child as well as a request for me to babysit said child, this stranger's child—"

"Gaius!" the young woman cut in with a tone the mixture of desperation and anger, yet also rather apologetic. "He is not a stranger's child. He is my child. Mine, just like Languoreth!" She stood up, forcing the monk's hands to his side and looked down at the babe once again, swaddling him with a slight smile, a sad smile, and gently presented him to the monk to hold.

"Can you, at the very least, tell me where you're going?"

The young princess took a few steps back and after some contemplation. Witrh her free hand she put aside her cloak, showing him a sheathed sword strapped upon her belt. An old Imperial spatha longsword that sparked some recognition in the pious monk's weathered eyes. It was their ancestral sword passed down through generations since the time of Emperor Claudius and the Imperial crossing into Albion, and apparently it had yet to lose its edge ever since. And yet, the sword acted more like a symbol of their clan, as none of her ancestors had actually wielded it beyond the warrior who first brandished the weapon all those years ago.

"Excalibur," Gaius gasped and Hunith nodded.

"Ever had it adorned that shelf in our vaults. Ever had Sylvestris fathers entrusted its protection to their sons and daughters for centuries. Never to be drawn. Never to be used. That was until that man whom I had laid with, believing he'd loved me, came asking about it specifically as though he'd been searching for it for years. His true nature was revealed to me, Gaius, and now I fear for my son's safety."

"Then stay," said her brother the monk. "Forgo your departure and stay here in Caer Fyrddin— raise your children, love them and do not forsake them, even to me."

Tears now trickled down her smooth, pale cheeks as she grew conflicted over the choices before her. She would want nothing more than to abandon the quest that the Triple Goddess had bestowed upon her. "I can't," she told him, simply. "His father will be coming for both the sword and the child. They must be separated. I must take Excalibur somewhere that his father may not find it— Avalon perhaps."

"Okay…" He felt his head start to boom and with one free hand the monk pinched the bridge of his nose in trying to make sense of his pagan sister's nonsense. "Assuming you even know where it is, how exactly would you be planning to even get to the Isle of the Blessed…?"

Hunith suddenly drew him closer and she glared at him intensely, with desperate, wet eyes. "Please, brother, I am begging you. Promise me that you will look after my children. No matter what becomes of me in the end. Promise me you'll watch over them, teach them both how to be good, and raise them as if they were your own."

"Sister—"

"Promise me!"

Suddenly the baby began to stir and finally begin to cry. "He wants his mother, Hunith," said Gaius as he stood up and handed the baby back to her.

After some more stirring, another nun reappeared with a small goblet of warm tea. As Gaius went to take the cups from her, he spoke, at first to the nun, asking her to bring his niece back in here, help remind poor Hunith of her duty to her own children. Then he began addressing his far-too reckless sister. "You'll be much safer here. This storm seemed to come from nowhere but I suspect it will subside come morning."

Gaius turned with two clay cups of hot tea only to find that the woman was gone, and the baby, his nephew, laid upon the alter. He was still fast asleep, peacefully oblivious to the changes spinning around him. The monk looked about them, from the rest of his church to the entrance, but found no sign of his young sister anywhere. To the kitchen, the faint voices of sister Onora and little Languoreth only hammered in the direness of what his sister had just done—ostensibly abandoned her own children at his doors. Two children of tribal royalty, belonging to one of the few Mage communities left in Albion. His father would not have this.

He returned to his sister's son and with some trepidation, scooped the boy up in his arms with the nun peering over his shoulders. He should be a stranger to the man— this child, but beyond doubt the boy was his sister's child. Hunith's son. What shall we call you?

Gabriel gave a sharp squawk, as if to say that the answer was obvious. Gaius scoffed at the bird, and then the name hit like warm water washing over him. "You are Merlin," he whispered into the baby's tiny ears to which the child stirred and bobbed his small, round head. Even his falcon companion nodded and cried out his approval. Again, he beamed down at her. "You are Merlin."

…

Through rain and wind so violent that they threatened to lift her into the skies, Hunith, beloved princess of the Sylvestris tribe pushed her noble horse to the very edge of his limits. She could feel his muscles begin to strain, his legs begin to lag and slow. The gracious princess tried hard to ease the poor creature, promising just a few more minutes. But the old mare could not handle it. Pollux had been a faithful steed for many years now, and had served her well, through many perils—but now?

A soft and shrill voice whispered her name in her ear causing her to look back and neglect the path ahead, blind to the protruding roots in the ground that hooked itself around Pollux's hooved feet. The horse was sent tumbling front first into the ground while Hunith screamed as she was thrown metres ahead.

Lifting herself up off the soggy, dirty ground, Hunith lost the time to acknowledge the searing pain in her leg, instead grasping the sword tighter. Immediately, she came to check on her horse but to her dismay, the noble steed had passed on. But the enemy was relentless.

"Hunith!" his soothing voice in the wind were a false comfort that she was all too aware of now. The princess moved on, further into the woods where she was sure she was truly lost now.

Soon, she got to a lake, its waters black and mirky but for the silver moon reflected upon its surface. Though distorted by the ripples of endless rainfall, it shone bright and true like a lantern. With rustling winds behind her, she finally drew Excalibur from its scabbard. The round jewel that separated the blade from the hilt glowed in the moonlight, the blade itself shining brand new despite it being over three hundred years old. She read the ancient Prydonic inscription etched upon the blade— 'Take me up' was inscribed on one side, and 'Cast me away' on the other. It was the first time it would have been seen in a so long, the first time its purpose might be realised.

"Oh, how I've missed your touch, Hunith."

The princess whipped around, slashing the sword across the air, cutting water and wind. She spotted a dark silhouette on shore, standing just outside the treeline. "Back, devil. Not one step closer!"

Red eyes over shadows glowered at her, malicious perhaps but not aggressive. "You wound me, my love."

"I am not your love!" she responded, raising the sword in both hands. The rain began to pour down harder, making it near impossible for her to see with clarity. Even in darkness where she could not see his face, she recalled his dangerous beauty. "You cannot deceive me again, Balinor!"

"I do not want any trouble with you, Hunith," said the shadow. "I just want the sword…I just want the boy, my son."

Finally, Hunith could smile. If her former lover was here with her, then he did not think to search in Caer Fyrddin. Her son was safe. "He is beyond your reach, darling." The Dyfed princess lunged forward, quickly closing the distance and slashed at the darkness, but true to his form, the blade ran through with no resistance, like she was attacking air. The shadow vanished into darkness.

"Come now, my love. Let's not fight." His shrill voice clung to the wind like a foul odour, directing her gaze to-and-fro but saw nothing in the dark.

She held the sword up again, in front of her and searched the crevices in the tree trunks before retreating closer to the lake. Sloshing the water about, the young princess made her way further into the deep. These mystic waters held power so old that she doubted it had a name still remembered. "Beloved Goddess Morrigan. I beseech you, O divine triad of sovereignty, of fate, of war," she muttered and prayed.

The figure returned again, this time with his arms outstretched to her. "Enough of this, Hunith." As he approached her, he started to morph out of the shadows and into the man she had once given her heart to. A man, yet, coming upon the water of the lake, his nimble feet began to hover just shy of the surface. He began to walk on water, as Christ had done; but this man was no messiah, least not for Mankind, he was a devil come with sinister intentions."Embrace me now," he began to say."If you do not wish for me to harm Languoreth, then I shall spare her, leave her to the mercy of this world, but just take me to my son and we will become a proper family. Just like you wanted."

"Do not presume to know what I desire, monster! You deceived me from the start. You took advantage of my grief and you used me to get to this blasted sword!" with that, Hunith reached a hand to the heavens and brought down a hail storm of lightning upon her former lover, like mighty Zeus himself. She made sure that the lightning would not touch her own feet, submerged in the waters.

She lost sight of him in the blinding light that rained down upon them and wanted to turn away, but she needed to see if her magic was enough to damage—

A hand shot out of the lightning, grabbing hold of her wrist and emerging before her fully formed and naked. "You come at me with parlour tricks? You disappoint me, my love." Hunith tried to push him back or at the very least tear herself from his grip but it was no use. "Did you honestly believe that your Earthly magic could contend with me? I was there to witness the first breath of your kind. There to witness your fall from grace and then scramble for survival in the muck." The man… no the beast, stood above her, seemingly growing larger. His eyes were now glowing a beautiful and inhuman shade of blue. "Like it or not, Hunith, but…I…am…your destiny." He then adjusted his grip, his hand now holding hers as lovers would. "I ask you again, take our son, take that sword and join me. Together we can assault the Heavens themselves."

"Those are some fine dreams, Balinor," the Dyfed princess sighed. "It's a shame that I don't quite like you anymore." Hunith, pushed herself off of the demon-man and swung herself round, building momentum before casting the ancient sword far into the deep waters of the lake, this mystical lake. She watched with bated breath as the ancient sword flew, then finally fell and vanished into the dark and murky depths, wherein Hunith could finally let loose a sigh of relief.

With an enraged roar that reverted to its bestial tone, Balinor's fair-form melting away and he grabbed his former love by the neck. Her fears were now reflected upon his blue orbs that began to glow with more intensity.

She was struggling, trying with all her strength and will to break free of his restrictive might but found it was useless. By instinct she tried to squeeze as much air through as she could but sooner or later it would not be enough and she would fall into darkness.

Her fate was sealed then when her lover forced her into the waters and even then, she struggled until finally…all came to darkness.

Balinor walked over to where she had cast the sword away. He could still see its glimmer receding into the depths, he knelt to try and plunge his hand into the water but found it was solid to him, as solid as stone. A low growl, like an angry wolf was all that could escape his mouth. He left her body in the water and vanished into the shadows from whence he'd stepped from. Princess Hunith of Clan Silvestris, lay afloat in the mystical lake, her eyes, vacant, their bright blue hue was snuffed of vibrancy, still…dead…

And then glowing…

…

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Gaius (Monk): Once a Dyfed prince of the Silvestris Clan who followed the Old Religion, originally named Gerallt, he tried to change his name to Godric upon his baptism but his people and his kin mockingly call him 'Gaius' as it sounded more Roman.

Hunith (Princess): A Dyfed princess of the Silvestris Clan, returns home after a year in the mountains, pregnant with her second child, a son.

Languoreth (Princess): A Dyfed princess, eldest daughter of Hunith and Prince Llyr.

Llyr (Prince): Son and heir of the Ordovici tribe of Ealdor, a fallen warrior, husband to Hunith and father of Languoreth.

Merlin: Son of Hunith.

Balinor: Unknown

Sister Onora: A nun within the priory at Caer Fyrddin.