Brothers in Arms; the re-awakening

The wild geese landed on the water in a rush and a whirl of freezing spray, wild wings from the southlands, honking triumphantly as dawn’s early light gleamed coldly on their silver-grey feathers. The migrants were coming home, and the land of Finn and Oisin was awakening and returning to life under the waning stars. Crouched on the shore, young Donal O’Connell watched them, disregarding the cold and the bite of the stiff wind that was whipping in from the sea. He had come to hunt, but for now his mind was distracted from his hunger; other needs, other yearnings, other dreams were assailing him. He had always loved the sea, and now again he could feel it’s unrelenting pull, could feel it calling to him, wave after wave, tide upon tide. He listened, rapt, to the cries of the geese, the music of the pack recalling the wild music and dance of the night before and the soft promise and sweet kisses of Caitlin Ruane. Where have they come from, he wondered, stirred by the dream of far countries and distant lands, castles and towers and minarets and gleaming spires; what glorious sights have they seen?

He looked south to the dark spine of the Wicklow Mountains, from over which the birds had come, and saw more flocks spiralling down the wind, more weary pilgrims returning to their homeland, their hearts brimming and full with gladness.

“Some day,” he whispered to himself, “Some day I will go there.”

Ethan was the first of the companions to rouse from his stupor. He groaned and rolled over once, staring dazedly upwards for some moments before rising unsteadily to his knees and then to his feet. Holding his head in both hands as his senses gradually returned, he saw the others also struggling to get up, each of them hampered by the spider-silk which still clung to them in great grey-green strips and wedges; by now it had become decayed and rank, it’s stickiness largely

worn off. He felt weak and groggy, but he knew it could have been a lot worse. He sank quickly to the floor again as a wave of nausea swept over him, and he shuddered at the memory of the spiders running up and down his face while he had been bound and helpless in the web.

As his head cleared more fully, he looked around.

They were in a small gloomy cell, with grimy stone walls glistening with dampness and one high, barred window which let in whatever little light there was. The door was massive and heavy with no obvious lock or bolt and the floor was covered in dirty rush mats. Targon was retching in a corner.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you guys again,” Ethan said, helping Kitti to her feet and brushing the remnants of the web from her clothes. Her face was pale and strained.

Ethan grimaced; what was a kid like her doing in a greasy joint like this anyway? She should be wearing pretty dresses and going to barn dances every night, and being made Prom Queen and things like that. Yeah, he thought, glancing round at Jac, also stumbling to his feet, she could have been a real heartbreaker, instead of being stuck here, cold and damp and terrified, with who knows what kind of ordeal still in front of us; even worse, he thought with a chill, we might be stuck in here for good.

“Are you alright?” said Jac to Kitti, taking her hand gently and looking at her face closely.

“I feel fine, really I do;” she gave them a faltering smile, “It’s just that I’m not used to so much attention.”

“That’s my gal,” said Ethan, giving her a playful cuff on the jaw, “You’re a real plucky kid, aren’t you. Oh Jac, by the way, just in case you were worried, I’m fine too, never felt better really, it’s wonderful what a good night’s sleep can do for you, ain’t it, and thanks a whole bunch for asking.”

“What about Donal?” Targon broke in.

The Irishman, alone of all the company, had not risen. He lay on the floor, unmoving, still wrapped in the coils of the spider-web. Jac knelt down, pulling away the noxious strands, and examined him quickly while the others looked on anxiously over his shoulder.

Ethan felt a clutch of fear that Donal might be dead or mortally wounded. Ever since they had arrived in this volatile new world the two of them had been together through thick and thin. The Irishman had been like a rock; steady, patient, secure, reliable, dependable, whatever you called it, always calm and controlled, however

desperate the situation, however great the peril. That something might actually kill either of them had never really occurred to him; that something might kill Donal had been unthinkable. Their new world had been almost like an adventure playground or a theme park to him, or like being in a film, that he could safely step out of at any time, and where nothing could really hurt him. He had felt invulnerable, and he had felt that Donal was invulnerable as well. It was shocking to have this idea so abruptly crushed, and to see his friend so pale and ill. It would be a far more uncertain world without Donal at his shoulder, he knew.

“He is unconscious from the venom, but I don’t think he is in any danger; in fact I sense he is having some very pleasant dreams, from which it would be a shame to disturb him. Our current circumstances will be a lot less attractive than wherever his spirit roams at present,” Jac said eventually, and despite his detached tone they could sense his relief.

“He must have had a much bigger dose of the spider toxin,” he continued, “but then he and Ethan are twice the size of the rest of us.”

“Hey,” said Ethan, “it’s all muscle.”

“Donal had far more to contend with than we did,” said Kitti, “Deep into the web where he was fighting the spiders were much bigger. A bite from one of those monsters would have killed me, or sent me to sleep for a year at least.”

“That damn-fool Irishman; he would go bulling on ahead without waiting for me to look out for him and watch his back. Just begging for trouble, wasn’t he?” said Ethan.

There was a pitcher of water by the door. It was oily and brackish but they had little choice.

“Don’t drink too much,” warned Jac, as Ethan took a second gulp, “It doesn’t look too clean to me; also we don’t know when, or if, we’ll get any more.”

Ethan set down the pitcher reluctantly.

“So much for your short cut,” he said to Kitti, “I thought you said the spiders were harmless.”

“Targon and I have crossed the Splinter many times before, and we have heard many tales from others who have also crossed it; the spiders have never been known to attack before, nor to spin their webs across the path, and surely never to act in concert as they did,” said Kitti.

“I have also not seen spiders of such great size before,” said Targon, “Not only their behaviour has changed; something is causing them to grow bigger and fiercer.”

“The venom was not fatal then,” Kitti asked Jac.

“Fortunately for us, no,” answered Jac, “Like many other insects, spiders don’t use poison to kill their prey, but only to paralyze it; that keeps it fresh and juicy, and tasty to eat; and they might have wanted Ethan to hang for a while and maybe soften him up a bit.”

“So why aren’t we hanging from a shelf then?” demanded Ethan.

Jac shrugged; “I don’t believe it is too hard to guess - it must have been someone powerful enough to control the spiders. Not just to rescue us, but to spur them to attack us in the first place, and to coordinate their attack as well. And if whoever rescued us were on our side and trying to help us, why would they have dumped us in here?”

“Out of the frying pan into the fire, you mean,” said Ethan.

“It can only mean one thing,” said Kitti, the fear in her voice undisguised, “We are in the dungeons of the Inquisitors.”

“And they wouldn’t have gone to such trouble just to let us rot here,” said Jac, “So they must surely intend some further mischief for us.”

“Well, that’s as good news as we are likely to get, I reckon; maybe they’ll let us out soon, say it was all a big mistake, give us a voucher for the Holiday Inn. And when they do, I’ll have a complaint for the manager; there are too many damn fleas in the cell,” groaned Ethan, beginning to scratch furiously under his armpits.

“You need not worry about fleas, Ethan,” said Jac, bending down and picking up something from the floor, “I have found the perfect solution to your problem; something that will soon get rid of all your little pests.”

He uncupped his hand and they saw a tiny money spider.

“Give that critter to me,” said Ethan. He placed his hand alongside Jac’s and without hesitation the little spider scurried across. It stopped and sat placidly on his palm; Ethan could almost feel it looking up at him. If it was a pup it would be wagging it’s tail, he thought. With greatly exaggerated gentleness, he set it down in a safe corner of the cell where it would not get trampled.

“There now, little feller,” he said, ““You be a good boy and git away home to your mom and dad; no hard feelings, I swear.”

The next few days passed slowly and Kitti and Jac’s surmise about the identity of their jailors was proved to be correct. Small portions of food and water were left for them each day by a guard wearing the dark robes that they recognized all too well.

As before, the Inquisitor did not speak a word, despite their attempts to prise information from him, and their questions were answered only by a blank stare. Donal had slipped from unconsciousness into a drowsy half-sleep, but at least then Jac had been able to coax him to drink and he had slowly recovered his wits.

Their food usually consisted of a large slab of coarse tasteless cheese, with a meat gruel which looked and smelt about a week old. But it at least was filling, and they were not in any position to be choosey.

“Hey, Mary Kate, come on over and dip your cheese into the sauce,” said Ethan to Kitti in a sing-song voice, “As neat as you please.”

“What are you talking about?” Kitti was perplexed by the strange accent he had affected.

“Oh, just a memory of long ago, Kitti,” Ethan’s smile was for a moment distant, “But a very sweet, sweet memory indeed”.

There seemed no way out, though they endlessly discussed the possible methods of escape.

“I have an idea, though it’s a bit of a long shot,” suggested Ethan, “They used to try it in the movies and it always seemed to work alright then.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Jac, “It can’t be any worse than your last brilliant plan,“Set the mats on fire and burn the door down,” - and all of us with it, I think.”

“One of us could pretend to be sick,” continued Ethan, ignoring the sarcasm, “We call the guard, and then, when he comes in to check it out, we sneak up behind him, overpower him, take his keys and hey-presto, we’re gone with the wind,” he finished, jumping up with excitement.

The rest were silent, looking at each other with dubious expressions.

“I see,” said Kitti slowly, “So you are suggesting we take advantage of any good nature the guard might have left after all the indoctrination he has undoubtedly undergone, and then, when he tries to aid us we repay his kindness with a crack on the head, as well as whatever severe punishment he would undoubtedly incur for letting us escape, probably execution if he was lucky. The moral poverty of your society never fails to amaze me.”

“Hey, it was just the movies,” Ethan was deflated, “What kind of sucker would fall for that stunt in real life?”

Donal insisted they take regular exercise, despite the little space they had available.

“If we do get a chance to escape, we must be ready and fit and able to take it,” he said, “It needs only a few days lying in a cell for the body to weaken and the muscles waste, and the mind to become dulled and slow. I should know; I spent some time in the dungeons of the Saracen, long enough to know how wits can become addled and enfeebled by inaction and despair.”

Ethan was chagrined to find that, despite the daily programme Donal had been putting him through since their arrival, the others were still much fitter than he was. Donal seemed tireless, made of stone; Jac and Kitti were agile and supple as cats. Even Targon seemed relatively fresh after the exercises.

“Do not be concerned,” Donal reassured him, “You are doing well - we just suffer much more silently than you do.”

Their confinement seemed to last for an age but, as Jac had recorded each day by scoring on the wall with a small chip of flint, they knew that it really lasted only ten days. Even so, they had begun to wonder if they indeed were simply to be left to rot and forgotten about forever when one morning their guard was accompanied by six others, all heavily armed and as silent and grim as ever.

The company was firmly bound and blindfolded and their hands tied tightly behind their backs. Then they were ushered roughly out the door and up a number of flights of stairs. Despite his blindfold, Donal tried to maintain his sense of direction. The chance of escape might never come, but if it did, Donal wanted to have some idea of how to find his way out of their prison. He counted not only the number of stairways, but the number of steps in each. He also noted which of the

stairs were smooth and well worn, implying that these were much used and probably leading somewhere important.

The first few sets of stairs were narrow and steep; Donal could feel his shoulders brushing against the side-walls, but after that the passages became wider, and the steps gentler. He guessed that they must have been imprisoned in a very deep dungeon indeed.

At last, from a cool draught of air on his face and from the echoes made by their footfalls, Donal surmised that they had entered a large open chamber. The sound of their steps became dulled as they moved from crude stone flags onto a lush pile carpet. He wondered if his time had come again, as he had seen many executions in his time; for years the prospect of death had been a constant companion, and when it had finally laid it’s hand upon him it had not been a surprise. For himself, he was unafraid, but his fear ran deep for his companions. He was stopped by a firm hand on his chest and he sensed the others being brought forward and pushed into line alongside him.

There was silence in the chamber, broken only by a swishing noise that to Donal suggested the soft sweeping of a robe, approaching them from across the room; the exotic scent of burning incense drifted in the air. He heard the sweeping noise move behind him and then he felt his hands being seized and turned up and down as if being examined closely. Then he heard whoever it was moving along the line, presumably doing the same thing to the others. He remembered Jac also examining their palms with great interest on the very first morning they had arrived - it seemed a lifetime ago now. He wished now he knew exactly what Jac had been expecting to find, but so much had happened to them since then he had not remembered to ask.

Then his blindfold was whipped off, and he blinked for a moment, blinded by the light. He looked round at the others, who also had had their blindfolds removed and were gazing around nervously at the large airy chamber in which they found themselves.

To Donal it looked like a church; stone walls generously hung with richly decorated tapestries and wide arched stained-glass windows through which bright sunlight streamed in contorted, grotesque colours. Great stone flags made up the floor under the deep red carpet they now stood upon and a few wooden benches leant against the wall. At the far end of the room was a raised dais with a richly carved wooden chair upon it, like a throne upon an altar.

The bearded man now standing in front of him, inspecting the company with an expression of predatory interest and amusement, was as tall as Donal and Ethan, although slimmer and less stoutly built, and he was dressed in crimson robes of fine velvet, with a hint of steel armour beneath to belie their softness. He wore a hairless scalp like a badge of rank, and his eyes were ice-blue and showed little warmth, despite his smile. The smile, the beard, were all too familiar to Donal; he had seen them once before, in the glade, by the Summoning Stone, but he let slip no sign of recognition nor surprise.

The man stepped closer to them; his voice was soft and his accent cultured, but his authority and menace were unmistakable.

“We could have taken you at any time in the desert, of course; your whereabouts were known to us at all times. But it seemed gainful employment for our new pets, and a good way of testing how obediently they would cleave to our will. However, you were almost undone by their enthusiasm for the task. It was indeed fortunate for you that we have such firm control of them, or else they would not have let such tasty morsels go. Fortunate for you also that we possess an antidote to their venom, as it can be fatal in high enough doses, which all of you received, particularly the Warrior.”

“Most fortunate of all,” he continued, “You now have the opportunity to move forward and to fulfil a higher destiny”.

As he said this he looked straight at Donal and slowly, with an elegant, unhurried movement, traced a symbol in the air. Donal, for all his steely composure, could not hide his astonishment; his eyes widened in shock and he felt as though an icy hand had reached across the worlds to seize his heart.

“Templar!” he hissed.

Their captor bowed gracefully in reply, laughing in satisfaction at Donal’s reaction.

“At your service,” he said, “I am gratified you recognize our order; clearly our fame, or should I say our notoriety, has spread widely across the Levant – perhaps even back to Europe and Rome itself. But alas, not all the rumours about us were true. I am Richard, Richard of - well, it does not matter now from where I came, does it? Our old titles mean nothing here. We are born again and we have been given our second chance; we are of this world now, the past is gone forever. Best to shrug off the old and the dead and embrace the new, the alive, what has been a gift; a fresh bright shining world to be experienced and to be explored- and to be plundered.

“And you, Crusader, you who come here surrounded by your little rag-tag band of mendicants, by what name are you known in this exciting new kingdom of ours?”

“I am called Donal O’Connell, of Ireland, as I was before, since my father held me high and named me thus on the day of my birth; it was my name in Ireland, and on the Crusades, and it shall remain my name here. I am not ashamed of it, nor of my birthplace, and I never shall be.”

“Damn good name, too,” Ethan broke in; Richard gave a slight nod and a guard struck him a crashing blow on the back of the head. The force was frightening; Ethan staggered forward. Jac moved to steady him, and received the same punishment. The young healer rocked for a second, then collapsed to the floor and lay there gasping until a guard pulled him roughly back to his feet.

“Our Chieftain wished you dead at first,” continued Richard, still addressing Donal directly, “But I persuaded him that there might be a more mutually profitable course. My particular skills were of great benefit to our movement - and yours might prove to be as well. After all, we Crusaders always had an eye for plunder – plunder and conquest and cruelty, hadn’t we?”

“Some Crusaders, perhaps,” Donal replied, “But most of them were poor deluded fools searching in vain for their own salvation. Any barbarity they committed was forced on them by starvation and despair and bitter grief and betrayal.”

“True, true,” agreed Richard, “It was not quite the garden of roses we had hoped for, was it? Instead we inherited a pasture for savage beasts, a paradise only for monsters and heathen savages. We needed strength, not devotion, in order to prevail against them; brutality, not piety, was our salvation, and the Templars were not too proud to deliver it. “Lead us not into temptation, and Deliver us from evil;” we took that commandment very seriously, as you know, and observed it with utmost rigour.”

“Aye, we needed strength,” Donal nodded grimly, “But not brutality and cruelty, and not greed and avarice. In the end we shamed ourselves before the Saracen, and your order and it’s love of bloody slaughter and wanton savagery shamed us most of all.”

The Inquisitor’s laugh was incongruous in response to such hostile words.

“So the old fool summoned the right man this time, after all his failures, “Pray for a brave heart, that does not fear death;” well, of course, that equally applied to me; an unpleasant surprise for your wizard. But, “The warrior a man whose arm is as true as his heart;” we had surely thought that no such warrior could truly exist. Still, it shall give me even greater satisfaction when you do finally join my command – and join it you will.”

“Listen closely to my words, Templar,” said Donal, “By my sword, by my country, by all I hold dear, I never will join with you or with your accursed movement.”

This time Richard did not reply. Instead he turned to Kitti and Targon who stood next in line.

“Ah, previous guests of the Mfecane, I see. The Mfecane was one of my most profitable and productive little innovations, along with this magnificent fortress in which you are again our guests today. Terror, I told my Chieftain; random terror will be our deadliest weapon, I said, remembering how splendidly it worked in Palestine. Kill one and terrorize ten thousand; their will is already enfeebled by decadence and sloth, we will erode it further by our matchless brutality and ruthlessness. They are too fond of their little lives and their trivial comforts, we shall send them scurrying into their holes in fear. And it has been successful, has it not? The Free Nations cower like whipped curs, afraid even to defend themselves like men.

“But, I grant, you have done well to survive your stigmata; I believe such as you usually receive short shrift in the Free Nations, for all their fine talk of freedom and equality. The fearsome hand of the Mfecane laughs as it reaches right into their cowardly hearts, and squeezes hard, and then harder still.”

He reached over and slowly, almost tenderly, traced Kitti’s scars. His hands were fine and the nails were carefully manicured, but she shrunk back as if burned by his touch. Then he looked more closely at Targon, circling behind him twice, and nodded in understanding.

“Though I deem the hunchback may not be with us much longer, by the look of him. Having difficulty with your breathing, my friend? I understand your pain, because I recognize the handiwork.”

Neither Kitti nor Targon spoke, though Donal could sense their fear.

Jac looked pale and groggy, and a guard, at a signal from William, held him upright.

“I’m still not sure how you fit into the picture, boy, but we can find out if we need to. We found your medicines and your little knives, but you will have little use for your healing skills here; an Inquisitor survives either by his own strength or not at all. But even so we might yet discover something else you can do.”

Jac, still dazed, did not answer.

At last Richard came to Ethan.

“And you, the strangest and most unexpected apparition of them all. By what odd chance did you come among us? No doubt you were the reason the Crusader survived the shrikes; that was a puzzle for me at the time, although it could yet be a useful turn of events. Still, even for two men such as you, it was no mean feat to overcome the shrikes. You look softer and clumsier than your double, but it is possible that you may have hidden talents.”

Ethan did not reply, but looked steadily at the man. Whatever you say, say nothing, he thought to himself. This guy is a sharp as a knife, and I don’t want to let anything slip out. But he mightn’t know as much as he thinks he does; he surely knows about the Jewel, although he hasn’t asked about it yet. Perhaps he thinks he can find out about it whenever he wants. But he mightn’t know about the spear, or the prophecy that includes me and Jac, or that Kitti and Targon are agents of the Brotherhood.

A thought struck him; had she brought the jewel with them? He’d clean forgotten about it. Or had she left it in Kyram’s safe keeping? No, probably not, she had emphasized too many times how important the Jewel was; this Keeper feller she had talked about, whoever he was, would surely want it back. The man called Richard seemed chiefly interested in Donal and himself - best to keep it that

way, and then the others might have a better chance of surviving this ordeal.

“Yes,” the Inquisitor continued, “We shall soon discover if you have any hidden depths. And your name is?”

“Ethan Edwards, from the United States of America, the Land of the Free, and the Home of the Brave,” he said proudly. Even here, so far, far, away from his native land, the words still gave him a thrill.

“Despite your brave words you were plainly not a soldier; you look soft-bellied and weak,” said Richard, and without warning he slammed an iron fist into the pit of Ethan’s stomach.

With a supreme effort Ethan took the blow and remained expressionless, although he felt as if he’d been cut in two. Richard seemed both surprised and impressed.

“Perhaps I am mistaken about you; perhaps there is some iron in there somewhere that we can put to good use. I shall look forward to you joining my command also,” he said, turning away.

“That’ll be the day,” said Ethan, regaining his wind.

Richard turned back to him, displaying for the first time signs of irritation. His tone became sharp.

“There is too much insolence in all of you. We shall have to put a stop to that.”

He paused for a moment, thoughtful, his smile reappearing, as if considering something new which greatly amused him.

“This is truly proving to be a most fortuitous coincidence. We have some sport planned for tomorrow, and now that you have so conveniently turned up, and are proving to be such reluctant recruits, I have decided that one of you will be our sacrifice - do not fear, it will be a warrior’s death, so I shall choose a warrior from among you. Perhaps the Crusader or his double, or maybe our young healer could wield a sword with enough skill to give us a worthy spectacle. It will spare me

having to ask one of my guards to prove his devotion to our order.”

As he said this he glanced briefly at the guards; goddamn, thought Ethan, even those brutes are absolutely terrified of this guy.

“I will not yield my sword to such a charade,” said Donal, “nor take any part in any sham to suit your vile purpose.”

“Nor I,” said Jac.

“Include me out”, said Ethan.

Richard was untroubled by their refusals.

“That, of course, is your privilege,” he said dismissively, “Even I cannot force you to participate. But alas, if all of you decline the invitation it will leave me with only one serious candidate; young girls, I deem, are equally acceptable to the ritual. The combat is perhaps a little more predictable, but accordingly more piquant. Yes, yes, your recalcitrance has proved most persuasive, very eloquent indeed. Our

congregation will find the spectacle enthralling, if less prolonged; the girl it is.”

Ethan stepped forward; “Alright, alright, I’ll do it.”

Donal also spoke out; “I am the only experienced warrior here; you must choose me if you wish for a meaningful combat.”

“I would also stand in her place,” said Jac.

“My, my, what a rush, how keen we all are of a sudden,” laughed Richard, “Such chivalry, such selfless gallantry; you are teaching your charges your values well, Crusader. It is a shame they will have to lose them sooner or later - or suffer and die. But I am always open to a reasonable argument, and your eloquence has persuaded me; I shall give my choice some further consideration; and do not worry, the rest of you will be able to observe the whole spectacle.”