"An ancient threat awakens. The peace Lucina has brought to her kingdom cracks. To defeat an enemy as old as time itself, Lucina must once more take up the title of Naga's champion and unite the five fabled spheres of her goddess. Ike promises to help her, but the shadow of the Black Knight pulls him ever closer to the spruce forests of his home. Their paths might no longer be one and the same. And they have yet to learn the price for a divine miracle."
Notes: Did I say that Book II was difficult to edit? I take that back, Book III was so much worse. In case my seven-month disappearance wasn't evidence of that. But hey, "Within the Whirl of Gods" is finally starting, and all that editing time hopefully helped to shape my prose into the best it's ever been. (I am quite proud of this opening chapter.) Welcome back, and thank you all for your patience. My love goes out to my beta for helping me with the story every step of the way. As always, I dedicate this one to you.
I will again try to update once a week, mostly because I need a schedule to keep myself sane. So, let me know what you think of Book III! I crave validation!
The Last Knight of Tellius
Then:
Before the evil arrives, sparrows announce it.
The road with the hunched wooden houses hugging its sides bakes in the sun. Today, the spruce smell from the walls is different, it almost hides itself. Just like the village hides in a vale between the watermill river and the spiraling hunter path children aren't supposed to climb. The tops of the spruce trees sway in a northbound breeze, and a small wooden gate creaks. From this gate, concealed from the street by raspberry bushes and broom, a set of mossy stepping stones leads to a house hunching even deeper than the others. No one would think a knight lives here.
Ike sits on his favorite windowsill and scratches the upper layer from the frame. Behind the dry surface, the wood still smells like the spruce tree from which it was cut.
The gate rattles. Again Ike observes the patch of street lying in the summer sun. But there is no one. Only a handful of sparrows hop across the lawn.
Who would come here of all places anyway? This village doesn't even earn a spot on the map Ike's father keeps in his study. Eastwards, even the swiftest rider needs several days to reach the capital of Tellius – not that a rider would find anything but ruins there. And westwards only lies the border to Pherae – not that anyone can cross it these days.
With a frown, Ike flicks a splinter from his lap and tiptoes through the room. His father's voice sounds from his study. He has been in there for some time now.
Ike creeps closer. His father all but banned Ike to the windowsill when his guest arrived. Although, guest is a big word. More like a stuffy crow seeking shade from the ugly heat out there. With his mad dash into the village, the man stirred not only the dust on the road but also the neighbors. They hurried to bar the shutters. Now, the little bit of road past the raspberry bushes is deserted. Except for the rattling gate, everything is silent.
It must be the deep intake of breath before an adventure. The game of hide and seek will have to end.
Undisturbed by Ike's movements and the creaking floorboards in his wake, the conversation in the study continues. Ike grins. This is his chance.
The last stretch of creaky floorboards is covered in a jump, and Ike stands in front of his actual favorite part of the house: the war axe Urvan. Its golden decorations draw the light from the room and make the humble furniture look even more humble by comparison. The runes on the handle stand for the Greil company, the best troop in Tellius' military. Back when Tellius had a military.
Ike has only heard the stories, but he hungers for each spare word from his father's mouth. To think of all the tournaments Urvan saw, of all the battlefields, and the evil it slay. It's easy to see a reflection of all that glory in the axe's polished blade.
Urvan is a weapon for heroes. For knights.
A real knight!
Ike reaches out, but the axe hangs too high on the wall for him, even when he tiptoes. His father often says Ike will get to train with Urvan when he can touch the handle without the help of a stool. Unfair. Ike is the tallest boy his age, that should be enough qualification.
By the fireplace stands a stool, just big enough. The conversation from the study continues without missing a beat. And, well, it's too hot to play outside anyway.
With the help of the stool, and after brushing the sweat from his face, Ike tiptoes as far as he can, one more inch, and finally he brushes the handle's leather. His fingers don't even reach around the hilt.
Triumph! The knight found the long-lost treasure. Now all evil must cower under his blows!
Ike almost falls, but after a lot of tugging and tearing, he frees Urvan from its mounting. So heavy. He reels, and the stool groans, but he manages a swing. Maybe he looks just a little like the knights from the stories. His cheeks burn, and he pants, but he can't stop grinning. Sooner or later his father has to realize his fighting abilities. They won't have to hide any longer.
A crash sounds from the study.
Ike jolts, Urvan slips, and the blade grazes his upper leg. Tears well up in an instant. He's found out, his father noticed, he'll have that disappointed expression on his face, that expression Ike hates more than anything else.
With tremendous effort, he bites back a whimper and heaves Urvan back to its place. Then he cowers by the doorway, hugging his knees. He can stomach the cut, but his trousers will need stitching.
The study door still hasn't flown open. Weird. Has his father not noticed?
The heat presses down the spruce house.
Outside, the gate rattles, and Ike toddles to his father's study. Under the crude door loom the shadows of two pairs of feet. They don't seem to have noticed Ike's stunt. But something unnerves them. Something far worse than a borrowed axe and a scraped child leg.
Ike kneels and presses his ear against the door.
"Are you absolutely certain?" That's the voice of Ike's father. "I have taken all possible measures to cover our tracks. No one from the castle, living or dead, should know where I went."
The guest paces, almost knocks over a chair. The fear in his voice seeps through the door cracks like mist, cold and ugly. "Gawain, Sir, he rode out of his fortress this midsummer. People speak of shadows chasing down the roads."
"People are quick to whisper about shadows behind them. Most of the time it's their own."
"Three years have passed since he last left his fortress. Only one thing could have driven him out. He found out about the sword. And the one who wields it."
Feet shuffle, a rattle sounds behind the door, and the guest yelps. Then the voice of Ike's father, strained for the first time. "What have you heard about the sword?"
The guest gasps for air. "Rumors, only rumors. But they did lead me hear. Do you truly think he will have more trouble following the trail than I did?"
Ike flinches when his father's boots hammer closer to the door. Something heavy drops into a chair, most likely the guest.
"Then you should leave," Ike's father says.
"And you? Sir, you cannot possibly think about staying, he will—"
"I will make all the necessary preparations. The roads are treacherous, and evil eyes are watching from more than one direction. Gatrie, my friend, you have my thanks for your visit. And your warning. Take from the storage what you need for your journey."
Shuffling, followed by the guest's miserable voice. "Can nothing I say convince you—?"
"And then I take the entire village with me, on the run through the woods?" A cold chuckle from Ike's father. "No, my friend."
"I wish I could have followed you into battle once more. Yes, I know, a soldier is not supposed to hunger for bloodshed like a common dog. But no soldier ever had a better captain."
A soldier? The guest who carried his road dust all over the bear pelt sprawled in the entrance hall is a soldier? Ike can't picture him in a knight's armor without a sour taste in his mouth. Like a bad turn in a great tale.
The soldier walks towards the door, his shadow stretches across the bear pelt, and Ike scrambles to his feet. But the soldier pauses at the threshold. "One last thing: the rumors didn't come from the castle ruins. An orphan tongue spun the tale, I heard. I'm sorry."
The door flies open, and the soldier in all his dusty, run-down glory steps out of the study. His doublet has more holes than the highland cheese from the vendor down the street. A few years ago, his blond hair may have impressed at a court, but today, road dust and travel sweat glue the strands to his forehead. He gives Ike a guilt-ridden look before he rummages through the kitchen for everything he can get his calloused hands on. A moment later, he rushes out the door, and the clatter of his horse goes south.
Away from the approaching evil.
Ike creeps into the study. "Father?"
His father sits at the desk, surrounded by pots with thyme, barley, and other herbs Ike refuses to learn the names of. One of the pots lies in shards on the floor – the cause of the crash Ike heard.
Even here, in the middle of nowhere, far from armor, court, and battlefields, his father has the look of a warrior. The scar on his forehead tells of great battles. Now, he is resting that forehead on his hands, and some invisible weight drags his shoulders down. The image feels wrong. Everything feels wrong today.
Ike tugs at his trousers, but his father doesn't notice the cut. Even weirder.
"Ike, how much of the fruit loaf do we still have?"
"Who was that man? What orphan tongue does he mean?"
His father gives him a stern look. His tone still carries the calm of the forest, but the veins on his hands bulge. "Ike, the fruit loaf."
Ike pouts. "I only had one slice. The rest is still on the mantlepiece."
"Good." His father smiles. "Bring it to the stone by the watermill. You know the one. The children will find it."
"But you always do that!"
"Do your old man a favor this once. And put on your travel boots."
"I can run that short stretch barefoot," Ike says, but he follows the order. The guest called Gawain his captain, and they fought together. If Ike treats his father like his captain, he will have to teach Ike how to wield more than an herb knife.
Urvan won't hang out of reach for much longer.
A short sprint through the bushes and across a pumpkin field takes Ike to the watermill. The spruce trees moan. From the north, the wind assaults his face with the smell of overripe berries. The forest brews something, cooks something, a darkness moving between the trunks. Ike shudders. But a knight knows no fear. Even if that knight is seven.
Before he reaches the stone, a handful of gaunt orphan faces already peek out of their hiding spots between the stable ruins and stray boulders. Click-clack goes the watermill. Click-clack go the teeth of the orphans when they notice the wrapped fruit loaf in Ike's arms. He despises this place. But he still approaches the offering stone with all the dignity he can muster. His father sometimes shares stories with the orphans or shows them how to tell horse mushrooms from the poisonous yellow stainer. Ike can't gather the nerve for that. It wasn't part of his order anyway.
One of the orphans rolls a golden coin in the dirt. It hops from her grasp and trundles along until it drops in front of Ike's feet. Orphans have nothing to sell. Nothing but rumors.
Ike has trouble breathing. He has to go back to his father. He doesn't know why, but he has to hurry back home fast. The children all stare at him, and the pressure on his temples grows, pounding like a terrible headache to the beat of hooves. Something is coming, a storm tearing at the forest.
He doesn't make it to the stone before the sparrows fly. A great rustle fills the air, and dozens upon dozens of small wings beat in panic above the northern spruce trees.
Click-clack. Click-clack.
And then Ike loses the rest of his nerves and runs. The heat strikes at his neck. He runs faster, slips on a stone, grazes his knee. It hurts. Biting back tears, he runs faster.
The sparrows have flown out of sight. The breeze dies down. With the chirping of birds gone, the silence presses down the vale, strangling it. Ike runs, runs out of air, gasps against the stranglehold. In the raspberry thicket, his heart slows enough to let him realize the fruit loaf he still presses to his chest.
He was supposed to give it to the orphans. An order from his captain. But he can't go back, can't, won't, never.
He swallows a sob, tosses the fruit loaf into the bushes, and runs. The silence hunts him. The cut from Urvan throbs worse with every step. Ike pants, stumbles, and somehow makes it to his doorstep.
An arm catches him halfway down the entrance hall – his father. He has put on his armor. Urvan, hangs from his shoulders. Everything will be well. No one can defeat Ike's father.
"I thought we would have more time…" he says. There is something hiding in his voice Ike can't place, but it freezes him despite the heat. "Just wait here one moment."
Ike's father disappears in his study, and floorboards groan as he shifts them aside. Ike barely hears it through the blood roaring in his ears. Any moment whatever chased away the sparrows must burst through the front door, any moment. But nothing happens. It takes its time, crawls forward with the full knowledge that its prey cannot escape.
When Ike's father returns from his study, he carries a long parcel wrapped in a piece of cloth. Ike has more questions than he can count, almost apologizes for the fruit loaf, but he doesn't manage a single word before his father takes his hand and leads him out of the door. That's too much. Ike is no toddler anymore, he can walk by himself, scraped knee or not. He struggles himself free, but by then the raspberry bushes have already swallowed their house.
"You forgot to lock the door." Ike stumbles behind his father down the abandoned road. "Father, you forgot!"
"We will be visiting Titania. You remember the way, don't you?"
"But that's in the direction of the…" Ike swallows the word "evil". "The storm."
"Yes. I know."
The road narrows, and soon the houses make room for empty stables from people who left the village, and then they make room for the forest. Roots snake onto the road, and Ike stumbles. Nothing else moves, not even the thick summer air. The trunks lean inward. Light barely makes it to the mossy ground, and no sparrow song softens the jangle of armor. Ike sniffles, stumbles again. They should be fleeing, why isn't his father going in the other direction?
His father pauses, helps Ike back to his feet.
He is slowing them down, Ike's child legs are slowing them down, and Titania's house is so far away.
Ike begs for five minutes to catch his breath. They don't have minutes.
Finally they reach the crossroad. On one side, the path climbs upwards through roots and boulders and ferns so thick a man can make a misstep and never find his way back. At the end of that path lives Titania.
Ike almost runs into his father when he stops. The ground shakes with the rumble of hooves. Why is his father stopping, why can't they go back home where it's safe and where the smell of fruit loaf still hangs over the mantlepiece? Ike will apologize and never touch Urvan again, he will behave as long as they go back now.
His father kneels down, and Ike has never seen such a serious expression on his face. "You remember the way to Titania, don't you?"
Ike wants to say no. He remembers nothing, and he would allow his father to drag him by the hand now if they could just go back home. But he nods. Like a good soldier to his captain.
"You have to go to her straight away. Don't take any detours and don't look back. Never look back. Do you understand?"
Ike wants to shake his head and crawl onto his father's lap like he did when he was small. But he nods.
"And I have to ask you to do another favor to your old man." His father hands him the wrapped parcel. It's heavy and longer than Ike is tall; his arms can barely hold onto it. Out of the cloth peek a cross guard and the sliver of a golden blade.
"That is Ragnell, my sword. Carry it with you. You see, how tired I am?" Ike's father isn't even out of breath. "I could barely keep up with you this far. I'm sure Ragnell will find a better hand in yours. You will carry it the rest of the way, won't you?"
Ike wants to drop the stupid sword, and he wants to cry and for his father to say that everything will be alright. The drumming of hooves thunders closer. And closer. The spruce trees have swallowed the light. And Ike nods.
His father smiles and straightens Ike's headband. "I love you, Ike."
This is the only time Ike remembers his father saying these four words. There must have been other times, cuddled on the bear pelt at the fireplace, when his father tugged him in for the night, or in the grove behind their house whenever Ike came back with an armful of leaves and challenged his father to name each tree from which he plucked them. But this, with an oversized sword in his arms and the roaring of hooves in his ears, is the only time he remembers.
"Now go," Ike's father says. When he straightens, he casts off the role of father to become Gawain, a captain of soldiers and a hero of Tellius. "Remember that you promised not to look back. You just keep running as fast as you can. Whatever you hear, you keep running. No sacrifice cripples the determined man." Gawain squeezes his son's shoulder a last time. "Now run."
And Ike runs. Ragnell weighs heavy in his arms, and he almost stumbles over the blade. He scrambles down the crossroad and a little farther into the thicket. His child shoes drum on the forest ground, but it's not enough to drown out the shrill neigh of a horse. He trips over a root.
This time, he doesn't get back up.
He should follow Gawain's orders. He should act like a knight and carry Ragnell to Titania as duty commands. But Ike isn't a knight. He is a seven-year-old boy with a bleeding knee and a greater man's sword in his hand, and when the thundering of hooves reaches the crossroad, he looks back at his father.
Past the twigs of the bush where Ike cowers, a massive war horse scrapes the ground. Its harness jingles. Steam curls out of its nostrils, as though even the warmth of the sun has fled the beast's presence. Even with the dual-bladed axe Urvan in hand, Gawain looks small in its shadow.
Ike bites his lips to stifle a whimper. The rider has brought a sword for executions.
Black is the armor he wears. Black is the expressionless helmet that rests on his shoulders. And black is the steel-clad hand with which he points at Gawain.
"Where is it?" the Black Knight asks. His voice combines a rumble and a hiss, and Ike freezes in his skin. Cold creeps from the forest ground up his legs, so much cold, and everything smells of spruce needles.
"There will be no need for you to travel farther," Gawain says. "The village beyond this point has nothing for you. You came for me, and here I am."
The Black Knight answers with silence. The voices scream only in Ike's head, and any moment the deep, dark slit in the helmet will shift over, and the black-clad evil will hear the frantic beating of Ike's heart.
The Black Knight dismounts. The ground shakes with his steps. Slowly, his armored fingers clack around his sword hilt, and the bare steel consumes what little light has been left.
Gawain raises Urvan.
He slams the blade into the Black Knight's, side, and a horrible, otherworldly shriek erupts as the armor fends off the axe. The counterattack robs Gawain of his balance. He stumbles.
Urvan and the greatsword collide, and Ike grabs Ragnell tighter, so much that it hurts. In the tales, knights fight heroic battles, and the bards sing of mighty blows that split the earth. In the tales, knights die heroic deaths for their loved ones.
Gawain doesn't die heroically. The Black Knight slaughters him.
A heavy swing knocks Urvan out of Gawain's grasp. He screams when a black armored hand strikes his face. Blood runs down his forehead. Blood stains his cape. Blood drops between dry spruce twigs when he crawls towards Urvan. In a final surge of hope his hand finds the hilt, and he rolls over in time to block the greatsword poised to cut him in half.
Urvan shatters. In a hundred shimmering fragments, one of the blades bursts asunder. They cut into Gawain's face, find the weak spots in his armor, a hundred shimmering death blows, but he raises the remainder of his axe against the enemy anyway.
The Black Knight knocks the weapon aside like a disobedient twig.
Ike cannot move. He cannot even scream. Every breath clogs his lungs with the smell of spruce needles, and soon he must choke on it.
Gawain chokes on blood when the Black Knight rips his side open. He crawls on his back, reaches for something, anything, but his hand only finds the dirt of Tellius.
Then the Black Knight crushes that hand under his boot.
"Where is the sword?" The faceless voice echoes in Ike's head, shatters everything else until he has no other thoughts than to answer the question if that changed anything.
Gawain screams as, one by one, the bones in his fingers splinter. An answer could save him, why won't he answer? And why can't Ike let go of Ragnell and walk home with his father so that he can wrap clumsy bandages around his hand?
Another voice, stronger even than the roars of the Black Knight, gives the answer. Because no sacrifice cripples the determined man.
So Ike sits still, chokes on the smell of spruce needles, and watches as the Black Knight picks his father from the ground by the neck.
"Your reign of terror over Tellius won't last forever." A pained groan escapes Gawain's mouth, but he continues. "Every tyrant has learned it the hard way. One day, someone will drive a sword through your poisoned core, and then you will know that right here, I bested you."
"You fool. I unite the power of gods within me. Only a hand with your blood can wield the sword to kill me. Your hope dies with you."
Gawain's legs kick the air, struggling. Then they stop. The Black Knight lets go of the wrangled throat. In a heap of limbs, Ike's father drops to the ground, and with wide eyes he stares at the bush where Ike hides.
Above rustle the spruce trees he will never see again.
The Black Knight returns to his horse. When the dark shadows in his entourage chase northwards, the sparrows resume their summer song. The village too small to earn a spot on the map survives another day.
Gawain, last true knight of Tellius, dies without a fanfare and without a pyre. His son follows his final orders; he is running without another look back. With his small child arms, he presses a golden sword to his chest.