The Sacrifice of a Hero: Revival Page 2

  Noble values like honesty, dignity, and affection were no more efficacious. Many people accused the monks of being abandoned by God. The devil started to rule instead, demons were beginning to show up and walk clearly in front of the people and on their soil. The pestilence they suffered from looked even more furious and dangerous because they were facing an enemy they didn’t know how to fight or how to defeat. And believing that the disease was carried by animals, they slaughtered even their own cattle, pets, horses, and the use of black magic spread in a desperate attempt to find a cure if it was ever possible for the illness.

  Many people would kill themselves believing that they were possessed by an evil power; they saved no efforts to find a way and free their land from the long curse that ruined their lives; they tried everything from witches to mystical powers to magic to magicians, but every time they would only hear a thunderous storm in the sky and a mysterious sound they were never able to know its source. Even the soil was no longer enough for them to bury their dead corpses and the decayed bodies started to be seen in the streets. Piles of rotten bodies swept the paths and valleys. At that time, people started throwing their dead corpses in the streams and the rivers. And because the situation couldn’t be worse, England and Northumberland sought to gather up their young male populations and a ferocious war started as the Vikings started to strike again everywhere in England. The worse and the darkest years started throwing its dark cloak over the English nation and to be more specific over Northumberland. Knights could be seen everywhere, with their bows, swords, axes and cries. Famine spread the nation, cannibalism swept the land and children were all abandoned. It was said that the parents made their choice and chose to starve to death so that their kids would survive the severe famine that struck mercilessly.

  Malnutrition swept the lands, unknown diseases, death, and neither the king nor the Church was able to save Northumberland from the net of that anarchy. War and diseases made a toxic death prescription that people didn’t choose. Tragic events ripped Northumberland and England apart; their lands were destroyed and their fortunes if any disappeared as they were pillaged and plundered by the Viking warriors. Commoners started to make their wishes even for a vampire force to save them from their lives.

  Chapter One: Chaos

  Come back thy shadow is still dancing around the fire

  Oh! Watch Knight; ride forth in thy cloak of safety

  Roar the world with your cries and your honest songs

  Wherever you go, you will find life, love, and dignity

  Don’t even worry about your friends and powerful foe

  Let the maid of the seas, the glen, and the grail bring you back

  Let the flags carrying your name be hanged forever on the trees

  Even in thousand bloody paths of woe and wrath of unhealed wounds

  You will rise again from underneath your armor and your shield

  You will rise again from behind the black chains and links

  When everyone thinks death is crouching, think back again,

  For the blade of your sword will be sharpened and bright again

  There in the scabbard sphere, cut the thread and heal your wounds

  Raise your voice and tell me when you will pull back your sword

  To dance again, the dance of victory over sin

  Northumberland 1315

  The rise of a hero was hoped to bring back peace in the hard times Northumberland was experiencing. It was exactly the year AD 1315; the stable was located in a deserted location in the countryside near a road full of dirt, it was apparent there was nowhere to head to for any human being. The roaring sound of hammers and sword blades were reverberating, awakening the darkest souls and dominating the dark mist of the night. A strong, well-built man was stripped completely naked on a block of dry logs by the side of a huge fireplace. It was obvious his body was lacking the strength it needed and got weak from terror of being unable to fight back or even stand up. No power at all could be seen in that thin, yet muscular body that prevented him from making any effort to free himself and walk away letting his heaviness behind his back.

  As he started to feel the heat of the fire pit that was surrounding him, that brave man, remembered some words that he would accompany him to his death bed

  “You are going to sail amidst the red shaded oceans of dark blood that will keep seething and boiling ferociously. You are going to leave everything behind your back and dive into a world of terror, your family will mourn your absence for there will be said to be bloodshed on your hand, it is the blood no one in Northumberland would be able to stop its drought across the lands, they all want you to go, but they are unaware of what will be awaiting them,”

  The man could still recall the words of that old hag whose fingers were shaking unsteadily like a feather in the wind. But her words didn’t look like her hands; they were steady and certain as life and death. Her eyes shone as she looked at the man and told him what she saw; was it the future? Was it what she had felt; for some reason, he believed her words, he felt that she knew from the confidence that covered her voice as she addressed him as she told him about her vision. He had never believed in witches until that day when everyone betrayed him and his soul,

  His heart pounded; his breaths paced; it was a death he didn’t deserve, everything was painful starting from the glances of commoners to the accusation of the elders, how could be a man judged for being loyal to his kingdom; as the fire started to dance and get closer from his skin, he began to sing and repeat those words as his the grease of his skin was melting on fire. People couldn’t even look at that horrible scene, but only he kept saying “To die is not an ever existing pain, O warrior; it is no more than a slow passing pain. My present is a burning penalty that I will overcome, a penalty for a crime I never claimed. Hey, you Pope, do thou call your cheap life an eternal state? Then you’d better wait and die like July, and try to escape my woes and those of the land!” Hearing those touching words moved the king’s heart, but it was too late; he remained silent and undecided for a few minutes, yet the guards were told to carry on with their mission.

  The heat of the fire was getting ferocious as if the flames were dancing off the poor man’s withered skin through which his ribs could be seen. Burning… burning… burning; every day a new victim. That day, many men were burned, including a poor lad whose only crime was to steal food. Yes, stealing food for his wife and his little three kids; was considered a horrible crime; what was he supposed to do? Let his kids die from starving. That poor man did everything that he could including gathering logs from the dark forest, he picked up everything including roots, some black berries, whatever plants and grasses he could land his hands on, whenever he would find some nuts, that poor commoner would consider himself lucky, but no matter how hard he worked, it seemed that it was never enough. His youngest kid was suffering from an illness and he would pass out every time he wouldn’t get enough food; it was a matter of life and death. That poor man didn’t steal it for himself or for nothing; he did that as he had no choice. And the worse thing for which they arrested him was that he stole no more than handfuls of seed; no more than a few seed grains, seeds that were not even meant for human consumption, but rather for horses. Yes, that poor man stole grain seeds from the stable of his master; maybe he should have never tried it, but it was too late to regret; for masters never forgave.

  Alfred Andrews was a man who never felt sympathy towards any human being; no one knew where he came up with such a steely heart; maybe it was all because he was the supreme commander of the elite of Knights. He was a thick man, muscles made his body look as hard as a rock, he seemed to have a special look, but his heart seemed to be more powerful than a rock and merciless like a hurricane just like a blacksmith; he had scars all over his body and he was wearing a leather apron that was cinched around his big belly. It became scary as he picked up a tiny sharp knife, then pulling off the leather, cloth of the body of his prisoner, that muscular man seemed to enjoy
drawing a map of lines on the face of that poor captive; he made sure to inflict him with some pokes with that knife right at the top of his cheeks, over his forehead and even over his neck. The scenery was quite unbearable to watch even for the most powerful creatures. The ritual was about to start. No one had ever enjoyed seeing torturing, but that merciless man did as he peeled off, on the first place the man’s facial skin letting that man’s skin exposed bare without any skin covering it; flesh could be seen as the master threw the skin on the ground.

  “No, please m’ lord, I’m begging you, for the sake of the knighthood you made an oath to, please, for the sake of the long years I have spent serving you, forgive me,” The poor man begged bitterly.

  The man kept begging; his eyes became as red as blood from bursting into tears. Yet, it seemed that neither his cries, nor his wild screams that pierced the pure air flailed against the ruthlessness of that man. Everyone turned out a deaf ear to the helpless screams of the poor lad; no one had even heard him as he started to scream in agony uncontrollably. Or maybe the man’s cries ignited more desire for torture on the side of Alfred. The latter shut his eyes tightly and like an eagle, he ran his wet disgusting tongue over his thick lips, as if he was about to eat a feast. It was something irresistible; the smell of blood seemed to be a drug that made him feel happy like an eagle finding its prey. Females were already starting to lay their big sized eggs; the caterpillars were ready to hatch in a few days. Alfred’s plan was to continue his ritual on the man’s body and he wouldn’t stop until he would peel the skin from his entire body expertly. He wouldn’t feel satisfied until he would manage to expose the man’s internal organs and even his blood veins then see how he would bleed slowly like a slaughtered lamb. The only time he would stop in wasn’t to give the poor man a chance to take a breath, but to wipe the blade of his sharpened knife from blood so that he could enjoy continuing the process he had already started.

  They started by burning the poor man’s flesh, while the latter seemed to be shocked with the sensation of fire burning his skin. It must be hard for him to see the drops of sweat of his killer falling onto his face, but the torturer didn’t stop and continued peeling the skin of his victim all along his hip. That young man was already dead even before his torturer reached his waist; no one else could experience such pain and endure it. But, Alfred didn’t even care; shook his head, placed his knife down. It was no more than another death, another soul to take, but also another quick death, he felt grief as his victim died even before he could satisfy his desire for blood, it was all like a blink of an eye to him, and again, Alfred felt cheated; he had always wanted his victims to suffer more before they would die, and the main reason as well as devil that offered him his pathetic victims was famine that swept the land of Northumberland. All the people were suffering from the repercussions of their deteriorated conditions and death didn’t matter to them anymore; that victim died without even struggling. However, the worst thing and the pain was to know that his family; his dear wife and his children would die out of famine; fear of death wasn’t digging them anymore, but rather the torture of having to go through the pain that inflicted them.

  There in Northumberland, where it started to be seen as a forgotten land and continent, that problem and also drought devoured the lives of the commoners. In the unfortunate eye of the rebelling nature, the crashed homes, the devastated spirits and everything was shaking with horrible violence, mouths of innocent people and victims were crying out for food and bread or anything they could chew, just to carry on their lives. In their home that was shaking with an inner turmoil, they desperately tried to be as humbly patient as possible; they were hiding their voices even though they wanted to be heard. And in a tick of a minute, another breath was taken from them; and a new soul was ripped apart; just because they wanted to belong to that world. Yet, that type of sudden and quick death brought no satisfaction at all to Alfred; he would have enjoyed the erotic scenery of the naked man in front of him; the pleasure that peeling the man’s skin would have been much better. Alfred smoothly strolled towards the fire pit and laid down that knife he finally cleaned. The steel plover echoed with the cracking sound of his cumbersome hammer that was rattling the extremely hot iron. Sweat continued soaking Alfred’s dark beard that wasn’t allowing seeing his shadowed face as he rolled the iron poker over his big, robust hardened hand; it seemed as if he wanted more lives to ripe that day.

  It was when Alfred rested a little bit; waiting for the next victim; a carriage showed up on the horizon, it was made of four black-drenched horses. Their nostrils were blowing as they rolled up. Six men stepped down pushing Clement Woodland down the ground. His hands were completely tied behind his back as he fell down on his face on the ground but the poor man couldn’t even scream as his mouth was fully stuffed with wool, and what a kind of wool, lamb’s wool. Those men seemed to be enjoying kicking the man with all the power they had; they were pushing him, kicking him, and they dragged him over his face though the entire yard full of dirt; they didn’t stop drugging him until they arrived at a heavy door, and then they delivered him to the stable. It seemed that it was the man’s final destination that he would ever be able to see. They slammed the man down to the ground as hard as they could that it seemed he would die even before he could stand up; the man was finally facing that cut oak table that didn’t look more than a torturing tool. Another man, his legs were dangling. It was only then when the driver of that carriage that brought him, wrapped the reins of the brakes, settled in his place and rushed away towards the woods leaving the man behind to face his fate.

  His captors didn’t leave yet; they yanked a black hose down, towards the man’s legs. The latter was striving to stand up or even reach the floor; but all he could see was the blacksmith; he was honing his metal tool that looked like a sharpened sword; it was then when he raised his eyes and looked straight at the man; their eyes finally met, and the prisoner seemed to have recognized the merciless blacksmith who was in front of him, it was Alfred. How wouldn’t he recognize him while all the people used to; everyone could tell it was Alfred Andrews from the disgusting smell of his body, his breath, his over dropping sweat, the urine that made white spots over his dirty clothes. He had already heard the rumors that spread about the man’s betrayal of the Night Watch Nights; it was something he had struggled to believe until he finally saw it in front of him. Clement was the one who took Alfred to the Nights Watch Knights ever since he was nine – years – old. He was an orphan and didn’t even have a place to go to or to stay in. He had always felt Alfred was like a son to him; he had watched how he grew up, he even helped him learn everything, he helped in promoting him to reach his position as the highest commander of the Night Watch Nights.

  Clement was emotionally and physically more than exhausted; his bones ached as he laid his head on that table in front of him. Death could be seen in his eyes; tears dropped from the corners of his narrowed eyes as he looked at the man who used to be like a little boy to him. Alfred passed his miserable youth doing nothing he desired; he was forbidden all the pleasures any boy would enjoy just because he had no family and no known blood ties. When everybody left him, Clement stood by his side and was a like a father to him, but that day came to an end as the man was looking at how much Alfred change. Clement was gazing at Alfred as if it was the first time he would see him in; he was different; everything about him was different, his glances, his eyes, his behavior, he turned out to be a living monster or more like a human beast. Nothing was left for Clement, but to wait for the pain Alfred was going to inflict him.

  “Every day,” Clement asserted as loud as he could so that his captors were able to hear him clearly, “It is our duty to help our brothers and the people for whom we made an oath to, and didn’t we promise to protect the brethren that we owe our lives to? Didn’t you swear to protect each other when death hovers around? Speak out, why are you pretending to be like a dead horse and a deaf eagle? You have never been this way, I find it
hard to recognize you, just tell me where you, have you lost mind brother are?” Clement screamed as loud as he could, but Alfred remained silent for some minutes pretending that he didn’t hear anything. Yet Clement didn’t stop talking and added.

  “Where are the words you said you are going to keep? The promises of accepting no reward at all, to be always an obedient servant to the Night Watch Knights, the chance you were given to escape the sins you committed and live like you used to, charitably to be affectionate, helpful and compassionate,” Clements’s words were so painful and felt bitter as he pronounced them that he choked after finishing up with talking. The man was proud of being a knight even though he knew that those would be the last words he’d ever been able to utter, yet he couldn’t remain silent, not after he had undergone through all of that. Clement gathered what was left of power with his soul; there was only one thing he was proud of until the very end; Frayne didn’t betray them, he didn’t betray his companions and the brotherhood of the Night Watch Knights, the only Knight who never betrayed. Clement still had a hope that everything would come to a perpetual end when that evil would be eradicated.

  Alfred brushed his thick dark hair away from his wide face; held up a hot burning rod that looked as if it was melting from its high temperature, swung it as if he as checking if it was working, then Alfred gave a large smile after seeing his tool. It seemed he was satisfied with the way it was working; it was perfect, the torturer thought to inhale as deep as he could, enjoying that moment, it felt as if he came out victorious one other time, he had always relished such opportunity in which he felt he had power; he was alive and the feeling of taking lives had always helped him to make him forget the pain he had always suffered. It made him feel absolute control over people. Both the physical and the inner rape of the victims made him feel satisfied with his life; how couldn’t he be in time he would be given the strength and absolute power of taking the lives of human souls. But, Alfred knew already that Clement would never grant him his wish and tell him about the location of the treasure and the golden bow, even if he already knew the location, he would never lead him there. Anyway, Alfred knew the king wouldn't keep Clements's life for anything mattered to him more than figuring out the place where the treasure was hidden. Clement’ card seemed to have been burned.