Archangels of the Sword, Red Knight Rising, Chapter 2 of the novel, by Jacob Malewitz

Archangels of the Sword

by Jacob Malewitz

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Chapter 2: Bringing Thunder

… I look up at the fiery eyes of the green knyght in the painting. Something changes: the clouds move, the walls of order are broken. I feel I am falling yet I cannot understand why. It’s as though I am being punished for something outside of my scope.

I had thought that Francis was a devoutly Christian man: I had always seen him reading scripted bibles after all. But when he said we needed a Druid for this journey I was more than a little surprised. Bringing a priest on a journey is one thing, bringing a druid into any affair is in my experience quite another. “Trust me, lord, he will be the key to finding your father.” I didn’t want to know much more, but, of course, I had to hear the whole story. 

Francis had met the druid after his travels in Babylon with my father. They had been cursed – he offered no other explanation – and the coy druid had taken advantage of the situation and saved my father. They were told that the stars looked kindly upon them, and if ever in need again to call upon him.

“I am still not quite sure about this,” 

Let me tell you about magic, for as I thought on bringing this druid into our group, it was dominating my mind. Relating it in company is suicide in Christian lands; priests are serious about making it an evil, secretive enterprise. But the lines between dreams, illusions, and visions are small if you’re a Norman. Reality always fades in; it cannot be defeated. I was brought up with magic as a reality, something that few possessed the power to manage. I have found that few men want glory; they want answers. And questions on magic are always foremost. There were tales of men … but that is another story. I was going to tell you about a druid.

Druids are one of those people who, throughout time, have gotten into a lot of trouble. Whether it be playing to the hearts of pagans or erecting huge stones, they have a knack for not only power but raising distrust among the commoners. 

As we approached a massive wooden fort set against a hill, I saw fires blazing shooting colors of blue, red, and green into the skies. I had never seen fires shooting so high into the air with such colors. Magic. Whether I believed in it or not didn’t matter. It was a reality.

“It be magic, me lord.” Francis seemed to have no worry in his soul. I was afraid. Druids were a dangerous lot, and even the most galled hero would have blinked at the face of such magic. But be it magic or just a trick? 

“Magic is banned in these lands, Francis. Is it not?”

“I have yet to meet a baron willing to send his men to face druids. It be earth magic, they don’t practice the dark magic here in Europa.”

This made me curious: Where else could they practice it? How did Francis know of all these rules, yet I did not? They were only known to dwell in the lands of Europa. It didn’t add up. 

We closed. The wooden fort came into view, the burning fires and the colored flames all encapsulating around it, shining off the wood like a reflection in the water. And I couldn’t get the image of the Green Knyght out of my mind. The wooden table was there, as was the archangel. A dark presence overwhelmed me, made me feel sick to my stomach. I tried to hold it off but the sickening feeling overwhelmed me. Francis grabbed me before I fell. 

“Lord –“ an arrow hit the path before us. 

I heard the voice yell “Walk no further.” It surprised me that Francis, the brave, stubborn Welshman, had a smile on his face as he stepped in front of me. Always the protector this soldier. And I had doubted his loyalties. 

“We seek Rochelle,” Francis yelled.

“We know of no Rochelle.”

“You lie.” 

I heard voices yelling. My senses told me we had escaped the normal world, this place wasn’t cursed, but it certainly wasn’t blessed. The language was nothing from Europa. It seemed more like decadent Babylonian words. Guyus had made me study documents on Hammurabi and on the Babylonian empire; many called the things they did demonic, but I found them more bookish than something that was a definite evil.

The gate to the fort opened with a creaking sound, as though it was never opened and the druids just flew over the walls whenever it suited them. I turned back and looked at the darkening lands that we had passed through. Had they not known we were there all along? In all my studies, not once had Guyus told me of magic. It was as though it were some archaic, dangerous object not to be touched. 

I grabbed Francis’ arm. “I don’t like this. Something is wrong.”

“Nothing is ever right with Druids, they grow mad with power. But without Rochelle we are flying blind into a land of chaos.”

We walked forward, past a group of cloaked druid men, and one that looked suspiciously like a woman. Which was Rochelle? I doubted even the eyes of a deft bowman could tell one from another. The woman was the only one who, with her body and coy grin, stood out at all. 

“I be Francis, servant of William Chapel the First. We seek Rochelle for a journey. Where shall I go to find him?”

“You have found him.” A man in red came forward. One hand was shaking while the other was positioned on a cane which dug into the ground. I could see his eyes, yet even with the torch showing his visage I couldn’t make out much. It was as though he was shielding his true face. “What sort of journey?”

“To the east. The Yin empire, Rochelle.”

He walked to me. Looked into my eyes. I felt the magic within him, and I wondered how I could sense this. 

He turned away from me to Francis. “It has been a long time.”

Francis didn’t respond. And the druid looked back to me. 

“Do you know of the archangels of the sword?”

“What?”

“It is a simple question. Orders of chaos magic we venture to. You must have the visions. I was here when Arthur was strong.”

“That’s not possible. You would have to be hundreds of years –“

“It be true. Immortality is more a curse than a blessing. What do you know of the Green Knyght?”

My heart skipped a beat. How could he know? There was no way unless the Knyght practiced some kind of magic that he sensed. I thought it was only a dream. But it still didn’t answer where my father was and how we can help him. Francis looked to me. He was obviously curious about what the druid was talking of.

“I know nothing of him, except of the legends and stories.”

“Now you lie. Never lie to a man you seek for help.”

“Francis we don’t need this man.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Who are these archangels?” My mind went to the painting, the one behind the 

Green Knyght in my vision. It had to be an archangel, a fighter for … for someone. Where was God in a land of magic?

“There are three. There must be four. They are the knyghts of a demon from the underworld.”

“The devil?”

“We have other names for the beast.”

“Where is my father in all of this?”

“Closer than you might think.”

#

It be as though he already knew of the green knyght. I thought that perhaps he could provide me answers; but I was afraid. I had told no one of my visions – ever toeing the line between the reality of the situation and the fact that I would have to face something I didn’t want to. 

The table was an opaque homage to a man destined to work with wood. I recognized the handiwork, but couldn’t place which wood worker had created the table. Had it not been made by natural means?

Francis and I were sitting in a cold room with Rochelle, but words seemed to have failed us. I would have thought Francis were friends with this druid, but they seemed to eye each other with suspicion.

“Tell me of magic,” I asked the druid, Rochelle. 

“There is no magic in the lands of Europa.”

“Then how do you pull the stones from the ground and arrange them to the stars? How do you survive? I see no farms, no fighters, this is a time of great upheaval yet you seem to do nothing but stay in your castle.”

“Europa isn’t ready for the kind of magic you speak of.”

“What other kinds be there?”

“Stone magic.”

He leaned forward and his eyes were drilling through my defenses, as though he already knew everything that was going to come out of my mouth.

Do you truly trust this Francis? Do you really want to see what your father hath  become?

He was in my mind. An empty silence filled the room. It didn’t feel like magic; more something akin to something the celts had toyed with … called Gal. I had heard of it; the Romans called it something different: witchcraft. 

Why should I not trust Francis? I said it in my mind, as though it be a natural thing for me to speak to my someone in my own mind.

He be a great warrior. I wouldn’t trust your father’s lands to him; they might not be here when you return. The only reason your father told you this, was that he knew this Welshman desired power more than anything else. Keep your enemies close …

I didn’t look at Francis; didn’t dare. I remembered my father joking with him on many occasions on how skinny Welshman always were: he never saw one with a gut. He mentioned nothing of his true desires. I would have given the land to Francis right there, but my father had built it, and maybe this Welshman would do things with the lands that was evil. 

“What is Stone Magic?” I said, breaking the silence.

“It be the only magic the druids practice.”

I’m lieing.

I know you are.

“I have a question,” Francis said. “Why do you bring up the old ballad of the Green Knyght? Why do you ask Francis of it?”

“Druids play with absolutes instead of with God.”

“What does that mean.”

“You will understand. And that is unfortunate.”

We stayed the night at the fort. The small rooms cut into the halls stayed cool. The druids treated us like royalty, but I knew they were hiding something underneath the smiles and the mead. I looked out and saw things in the woods, craven eyes, lights from fires, all things that told me we were being followed. Why would we be followed? And why would they make themselves so visible?

I went to Francis’ room as I had trouble sleeping, and found him eyeing scripture so I didn’t disturb him.

A man of God would betray me? Was it an act? Had he heard me walking to his room?

I didn’t sleep much that night. I eyed much of what was around me, biding my time. The questions were overwhelming really, but I tried not to think on them. Druids play with absolutes instead of God… just one of the many riddles I had heard in my life. Even the Green Knyght seemed logical in comparison to the Druid: He answered questions with questions.

By morn we were gone. The druid had a young mare that looked as though it was intended to move a massive stone. The questions all lingered, giving me the most painful headache I had had since first drinking half a barrel of ale on my 16th birthday. 

The druid, Rochelle, wore a cloth that appeared to be made of silk, as it was a fine tailored piece. Silk was expensive, but, being a druid, and having an understanding of magic, would likely make him a master at alchemy. He held no weapons; at least none I could see. Druids were feared across Europa, but Stone Magic wasn’t. I would find out the truth behind it before this journey was over. Though, I wasn’t planning on stealing anything from a single druid, lest my luck run out. 

The horses pushed out of the fort, only passing a few druids. There were no goodbyes from this group – just a few nods. 

“Where are the others?”

“In a time and in a place.”

It didn’t make sense to me, but Francis nodded.

We went all the way to the sea. Went to the sea through Norman lands. Castles seemed to dot every few miles of land, crossing with farms and small hamlets. I was well traveled for a man of Europa, but it thing seemed different in the lands: It was as though the people were broken toiling around doing the same things. 

The conversations were minimal; Rochelle seemed busy humming out words to the flowers, while Francis kept toying with his arrows. I busied myself with thoughts on my father, and waited to see if Rochelle would bring up the Green Knyght again. How could he know? I didn’t have the gall to ask. Archangels of the sword, that’s what he had said, and it reminded me of the painting behind the Knyght. 

I had always thought my visions were mine. I was learning that I wasn’t the only one touched by such things. If the knyght served the devil I would have to fight him. Though, I was unsure of where my father was in all this. 

Normans believe more in action than in destiny, but I had a feeling mine was about to go through some major changes. I looked at these minor dwellings, the small landholders, the farmers, and wished at that moment my life was simpler. I wished I didn’t see Knyghts in visions and didn’t have a father who traveled the world in search of power. 

Though it took days, the journey pushed my spirits onward. I was ready to leave these lands, go past all the Europa kingdoms, past the blistering rains of Brittania. And hopefully find my father.

Chapter 3: The one-eyed merchant

I feel the tremors. Hear the screaming. Scattered through it all I see legions of an army of knyghts in red, green, black, and blue. These knyghts look bigger than normal. They are beasts of men, with cold eyes and tightened fists, and as I stare I hear a voice saying numbers out loud. 

Africa had been called a wasteland by many before me. My teacher, Guyus, had different views. I could remember the words so well …

“It be a rich land of a rich people. Some will go against this, and you shouldn’t tell, but I believe that is where all tribes originally came from.”

“What of the belief of Christ?” I tried to show knowledge of scripture, which usually enticed Guyus to tell stories of things in the bible that, though false, had true connotations. 

“Christ was not a white man, no matter what they tell you. They sought out the homeland of Christianity in the crusades, with Richard the Lionheart and Saladin, but he was closer to men you would find in northern Africa than an Italian pope with Roman ways.”

I didn’t always agree with Guyus, and didn’t on this occasion, but it did make me think. So much had been born in the heart of Africa I had to believe there was more to it than wild, warring tribes. I had heard Christianity had even spread there.

I thought on all this as our motley party of heroes approached my father’s ship. It was the basic caravel: made on the cheap for the most part, but with the best wood that could be found in Norman lands, and had firing holes on its sides, along with high arcing masts that could grasp the wind faster than a bird.

“What be in Africa?” I asked the druid, Rochelle.

“That isn’t what your thinking.”

“Maybe, but it’s what I’m asking.”

“No magic I know of. The shamans are masters of illusions, the chiefs lords of war, the woman wiser to the ways of men, and the animals have a stronger bite.”

I wasn’t sure what to think of that; everything was moving fast, and the least I needed was a lion hunting me or a shaman pulling something out of my chest.

“Me lord, this Dunn man, I must tell you more.”

He told me of the one eyed merchant, the man whom my father seemed to think would save me; for this wasn’t about him … and it never had been. He sought to quell my wild side. To show me the vicious world and make quibbling over grain stores in a castle more enticing. 

It didn’t faze me: I understood what I wanted, and being chased by lions in Africa, and magic in the lands of the Yin, didn’t daunt my goals. I would be a scrivener. And when I grew bored, which I presumed might be often, I would design weapons for small amounts of money. Money could be made; and that was what ruled the lands most of the time. Perhaps I could be richer with magic, and with my father’s lands, but wealth was fleeting.

“He lost the eye in an exploration to India with your father. From what I heard, a queen sent them there to find a kind of tyger rare to those lands. The people there thought your father the second coming of Alexander the Great.”

“Why is that?”

“Know your history,” said Rochelle, “Alexander wanted to conquer the lands of India.”

“Ah.”

“And,” Francis continued, “Dunn had to defend your father from a vicious pack of warriors. He lost his eye in the fight.”

“Ever the interesting bard, aren’t you, Francis?”

“I tell it like it be, me lord. The best I can do to protect you once you go your own way, is tell you like it be.”

He was right. Why didn’t Rochelle trust him? I was beginning to have my own doubts as well, but the seeds the druid had put into my mind were already there. Something about this Welshman be different.

The seas were kind to us on our travels. The crew was small – a scant ten men – but the ship held well on our travels down the coast of Afrikana. As we traveled, I waited for Rochelle to enter my mind again, but he appeared either sick by the sea or disturbed by something else. I wanted to question him, but the seas put me into a sleep for a long time on the trip. I didn’t want to dream: I was afraid I would see the green knyght and his legions, or perhaps Satan and his archangels fighting for my soul.

We did hit a sharp gust of water at one point – the captain said this was half way into our travels – that broke the silence between our group. We all seemed to awaken, save the crew whom were already vigilant. 

“Why must we skate across such a coast, where is all the rich lands of Africa?” Said Francis.

“Have you not forgotten, bowman? The lands be deserts along the coast. Rain has not frequented these parts for a generation. The people stay away from the western parts.”

I looked at Francis expecting a response, but he only grunted and went back to toying with his longbow. Rochelle looked at me with weary eyes, and he went back to looking at a piece of parchment. 

I was left to my own thoughts, which was exactly what I had feared would happen on this trip. Doing nothing wasn’t something I was talented at, and neither was thinking. 

“How much longer,” I said, looking at the dark skinned captain. 

“One week, me lord.” 

That was the first words this captain had voiced since we set out. All he had wanted to know was our destination. When I had told him south Afrikana, he hadn’t been surprised. But when I mentioned the Yin empire he had grimaced. “Be an evil land of Orientals,” he had said. “I wouldn’t trust them to board my ship.” I had wanted to question him as he might know things on the Yin, but he didn’t seem like the type who could hold much of a conversation. 

I was hungry, had been since our voyage, but the small ship only had room for so many stores. I had wanted to take horses, but going so far with them would have been an impossible feat and likely ended a mare or stallion’s life.

I nibbled on hard bread, and finally pulled out my notebooks, a sketchbook, and a hard bound book on wealth by an Italian writer. Finances were something that bored me, but I had taken a book from my teacher Guyus on just that thing. The fact was, gold and silver ruled the world, so understanding the trade deadlines and money management was a market in high demand.

After an hour of reading I saw the eye of one of the sailors on the book. I handed it to him and he smiled. “Student?” He said, his eyes examining the book.

“Scrivener.”

“Oh, so you put the words on the page. I have heard of a thing that can copy what is put down on the parchment in India. They say it came from the Yin.”

“What do you mean, copy what is put down?”

“All I really know,” he answered as he looked at the book, “Is it is being used for the Christian bible, Chinese Philosophy, and the Torah is many lands to the east. The poor cannot afford to buy the books, so a press was invented.” He stopped talking after that and handed me the book. I wouldn’t have expected a sailor to be wise to the arts, but I lived in a world full of surprises. 

I watched as he went back observing the deck for inconsistencies, which I wasn’t sure if he was doing by order or for amusement.

It began to rain on us, and I started thinking of this man Jon Dunn, the Dutch trader.

When we finally reached the coasts of South Afrikan, it became apparent a war was brewing between ethnic groups. It was obvious that the crew of our caravel was prepared for this, as they didn’t even flinch when arrows came our way amidst the shouting and screaming.

On the shoreline, I saw angry villagers with spears yelling curses in their native languages. One that surprised me was a young girl, maybe half my age, yelling the loudest. I saw in her eyes a rage, an unquestioned chaos, and it reminded me of my visions. 

“Where could Dunn have gone in all this war?” Francis said. Not even he seemed disturbed by the presence of the Afrikans yelling curses at us. Though I saw they were dispersing as a group of warriors approached, obviously thinking we were traders with coin.

“We can fight them off, stay for a few hours at the harbor. Though I fear the Netuk will attack us if we stay long?”

“Who?”

The captain turned to Rochelle the druid. 

“A race that think the earth be round, that Christ was an Afrikan, and that magic is the true spirit of mankind.”

“What are you talking about?” Said Francis. “They simply be a warring tribe; how is it you know so much, Rochelle?”

“I think you know the answer, Francis. For the same reason you joined: I have knowledge of many outside the lands outside Europa.”

“The Earth be round. They must drink much.”

Rochelle ignored the sailor. “The captain is right, we must find him quickly.”

“This isn’t good,” I said. “The chances of a white man surviving in a war such as this is small.” 

“Me lord, Dunn be a wily, dangerous man. It would take much more than a war to take him out.”

“Let this wasteland be,” said the captain, “I sense powers at work here.”

“We find him,” said Francis. He seemed adamant about it, which made me wonder If I could trust this Dunn man. “He speaks the language of the Yin. And without that we might as well walk through the entire empire looking for him.”

“Francis is right,” I said. I looked at the captain and the nervous sailors. The captain was grimacing, the sailors holding there heads low. “I will double your rate if you stay off shore for one day.” I had no coin to back this up, but I was sure my father would be willing to pay his saviors well … if we could ever find him.

They didn’t say anything, so I took it as a yes.

We left the ship. No Afrikans met us at first, which surprised me because of their attacks on the ship. Perhaps the group had only been an angry mob sick of the white man taking their wealth away. 

I watched the ship careen back into the silent, moving sea. 

Finally a group of soldiers approached us. One held up his hand.. Rochelle went forward and spoke in a language with distinct consonants that seemed created more to confuse. 

Trust me, he said in my mind. 

I watched as one of the Afrikans – apparently the leader – nodded and took a few coins from Rochelle. As the druid walked back, I saw a flame in the hand of the leader which Rochelle had not created.. 

“Rochelle, you said there was no magic here.”

“It is all illusion.”

“Then why are they afraid?”

He pointed to a burning building. It was the only vestage of Europan civilization. I could tell by the craftsmanship it was Roman. Had they been here ages ago? 

 “This is recent. I fear the men who were following you are ahead of us. These men told me in so many words that a group came many days before. Perhaps they seek your father, for reasons I am unaware.”

I had forgotten of the burning fires outside of the druid fort. Why would anyone follow me all the way out here? They would have to know of our plans. I looked to Francis but our eyes didn’t meet.

“The Netuk didn’t do this.”

“This isn’t war. Whoever came ahead of us sought to kill Dunn before he could help us.”

“Bloody traitors, one of the sailors must have sold us out.” I didn’t want to believe Francis, didn’t want to trust him. Yet I doubted even he would have made a move so fast.