Knights Dawn

• Jeremy Blades, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2013

The man glanced back down to the heavily-covered bundle behind him; he stared at it passively. He peered into the night, grey eyes glinting under the dark hood in likeness to that of a hunter.
A wolf howled.
The man shivered, his eyesnrising to the heavens, now to the stars. He made short sound in his throast – was it a growl? –then lowering his mouth to his horse’s ear; his mutters were lost as the steed took off. The moon came into view, throwing light onto the man’s face; scarred, unshaven yet filled with a knowing. The two lone beings of the night galloped alongside the towering trees whose limbs stretched above the foliage that hid them. Yet hiding them from what?
The horse came to a stop in a clearing. The rider peered into the foliage. Three figures suddenly emerged from the front of the foliage from the direction the man faced. They were enclosed in a grey cloaks and hoods, with a clandestine and sinister quality. The monk-like figures moved with the gracefulness of dancers yet with the slow, dangerous synchronization of warriors. The man on the horse hissed, pulling back his horse that neighed its indignation. There was silence.
The hooded figure in the middle, purposefully moved forward, pulling back his hood.
Revealing the eyeless, earless, bald head that was beneath.

The trees that surrounded the clearance now rustled, fraudulent murmurs in the night. The hooded deformation of a man – if it was at all – stepped forward again, closer now with perceived antipathy as he opened his mouth. A moan was heard. The man on the horse looked back at his saddle, hurriedly glancing at the bundle. He turned back, considering the warped figures beneath him; a rhythmic moaning slowly seemed to escalate from the three hooded beings’ black-looking lips. The man clapped his hands to his head; alienated magic, harmonized song of moans spiraled into his head. It was shards of ice impaling upon him.

Rain began the pour upon the four persons in the clearance, each drop unto the ground bringing clamor to the earth,powers of estranged forces battling. Whispered echoed in his head, they demanded of him; 'Give it to us! Give it, inferior knight! He is ours! He shall be the solace of this prolonged silence! The dawn shall come! Give us what is ours!'
The man finally lost himself in the engulfing turbulence that festered against him, unaware of his being, falling into the abyss of his memories and dreams, struggling to maintain hold of the golden thread that attached him to reality.
*The aging king stuttered his last words, blood trickling from his mouth to the man kneeling at his bed. Shouts could be heard from outside the room, while pandemonium struck the outside castle walls to which the inevitable siege would commence. It would signal the end. Tower bells struck, their rings singing to the gods, representing a dying age. Yet a new dawn. The man on his knees gazed in last veneration to his king who whispered in his ear what was, is, and would be. Inhuman screams intensified from outside walls indicating falling last fragments of the empire. The knocking of a door in the chambers grew louder. The man stood up, glancing once more at his dying king. Shouts from the chamber door galvanized him, gathering into his arms a bundle, from which he heard s soft cry and—*
The memory passed, the hooded figures no more. The rider looked upon the night, only from the bundle a soft cry of a child was heard.