Meaningless Murder Pony Portal Pals

I was back home, in the forests of Pomerania. Tall trees stole the light from the forest floor, leaving everything in grimy darkness. There was a bow in my hands. I must have been hunting.

A feral howl carried through the trees. It was no wolf or bear, but a human sound. The sinister nature of the sound brought me to attention. I was not hunting, but being hunted.

I snuck quietly about the black trunks of the forest. I was unable to recognize where I was, each direction looked identical. The howl came again closer.

Terrified, I ran. With little undergrowth to impede me I raced forward, only caring that it took me away from the beast that sought me.

The howl came again and again, hot on my heels. I weaved desperately, my breaths coming in fearful gasps. I risked a glance behind me. As soon as I did, I tripped over something. I tumbled and rolled over the forest floor. I scrambled to my feet and brought my bow up. I waited, I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

The next sound was not a howl, but a voice, directly behind me. I froze. I didn't recognize the soft female voice, but the language was my own.

“You can't run any longer, deserter!"

I dared to glance at the speaker, but saw only more forest. When I looked forward again the beast which had been chasing me was in my sight. It was the biggest, blackest horse that had ever been. It slavered and drooled, it's eyes were wild. It whinnied piercingly, but it's mouth hadn't moved.

I took aim and loosed and arrow. The horse jumped towards me, over the arrow and scant underbrush. It collided with me and...

-

Once again, I was roused from sleep, for real this time. The alley was still dark, night still gripped Jerusalem. I could not properly remember the contents of my dreams, but I knew they had been nightmarish. Some inkling of doom and despair was working it's way through my consciousness.

I glanced over at the wall for some reason. There was something odd about that wall, I was sure of it. It had driven Zackary insane, and was now working it's wiles on me.

“No chance, wall. You have nothing on me.” I said.

The ancient wall remained still and silent. It did not have to say anything, it knew my threats were empty. This structure of rock and mortar had stood a hundredfold my own lifetime.

-

“Ah, Handridg! I was missing you yesterday." I found Aethal and company in the upper city, watching breakfast in the plaza of a sepulcher. "The boys and I toured the walls. I think you would have liked that."

"I was otherwise engaged." I said. "But I should be happy to be with you today."

"Yes well we are not here to visit, my dear Handridg." Aethal said between bites of his leg of goat. "And I doubt you would find fighting heathens to your liking."

"Here? Fighting here?"

"No, no. The grandmaster is sending us north, to join the knights at Karak de Chevaiais."

My heart sank. I most certainly did not want to leave Jerusalem so soon after arriving. In fact, all I'd seen so far was some of the palace, the exterior or some of the churches, and that evil wall.

"Your grandmaster seems have it out for me." I said in resignation.

"You know what they say about the devil, holy man?" A voice behind me said in german. I turned to see the white knight, the grandmaster, approaching with a pack of retainers.

"Monsieur." Aethal bowed. I stood resolute.

"I do not think we have been introduced, my lord." I replied in German though it seemed nobody besides the grandmaster understood. He stopped several paces away, his white cape fluttering in the light breeze.

"No, but our reputations preceded us." He turned to Aethal. And said something in Frankish. Aethal and the other English knight tossed aside their meals and quickly scuttled out of the plaza. "I shall see you tomorrow before we leave." Aethal said as he passed.

The grandmaster took their seat. At his gestural invitation I sat beside him. "My name is known to most as Lucain de Loir. I am the master commander of the Knights of the Accolade. His highness King Bauduin d'Anjou has entrusted this city to me."

"I am Handridg." I replied. "I'm a farmer."

"Are you sure you are not a holy man?" Lucain asked with an eyebrow cocked.

I laughed nervously. "No more than any other man with a god."

"Perhaps." He looked thoughtful. "Would many gods make a man more holy?"

"Sir?" I gulped nervously. Had I been revealed?

"I am just fishing for nonsense. Don't mind me." He got up. "Shall i see you tomorrow then, holy man?"

What he should want to see me for I had nary a clue. "Certainly, my lord."

"Until then." He strolled away, retainers in tow.

-

I spent the rest of the day in the markets. I was hungry, and out of money. There were no kindhearted bohemian monks here to help me either, and even if there were there were already so many poor and destitute. I needed to find some way to eat.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see one of the lombards from the camp at the wall. He spoke at me, hurriedly and urgently, though I could not understand his language. I pushed a bag of coins into my hands and disappeared into the crowds. I wished that I knew how to thank the man.

Thankfully commerce is it’s own language, and it is one I had learned when I sold my wares in Venezia. I purchased myself a meal, some simple coarse bread and some fish, and found a spot to eat. The lombard had given me a near fortune, more gold than I had ever seen in my life. I suspected I could live off the amount for a year. The motivation for that kindhearted jew were inscrutable, but I liked to think it was for the value of my companionship. It was an arrogant though, to think my passing acquaintance was worth so much, but it helped sooth the still aching bruse of Zachary’s death.

I returned to the wicked wall. It’s vicinity was empty of people. It was just as well, I wanted solitude. My sole concern was that death could find me unprotected in the night, if a murderer desired my coin. By that thought I buried the gold in the dusty ground, and lay my head down for another night.

-

I awoke somewhere in the arid hills around Jerusalem. I lay in the dirt, among the scrub and rocks. It was a dark night, and the only source of light was the burning city.

Flames engulfed the top of the hill, pouring out of the palace and temples, melting the inner walls. Gouts of flame burst out of the lower city, tossing houses and people into the air. I could see guards running along the walls, cut down by burst of light and spontaneous infernos.

The city gates opened and hundreds of people burst out. Men and women trying to escape the conflagration and unseen enemy. Before they had gone very far, the hill before them came alight, boxing them in. One by one the hysterical peasants died by some sorcery, bursting into energy or vaporizing.

I could feel a change in the wind. The fire was seemingly blown out, leaving Jerusalem a smoldering ruin. However, life seemingly came back before my eyes. Enormous shadowy ravens alighted on the rooftops and circled overhead. Out of the ruined gates a million black horsemen streamed out, swarming over the hills in all directions. Towering dragons clambered over the city walls, and crawled menacingly over the landscape. I was no longer safe on my distant hill.

"I am coming for you."

-

I found the english knights at the northern gate of the city, among a large crowd of soldiers. Their company was a plurality of franks, but included many italians and germans as well. I overheard some german swordsmen making jokes about the local prostitutes, so I arrived to my friends blushing.

“Hot, isn’t it.” Aethal said, fidgeting in his tunic. “Bhors wanted to leave the city in resplendent glory, but we would cook inside our armor.”

“Cooked englishmen for the saracens to snack on.” I joked, and Aethal laughed.

Every conversation died away as Grandmaster Lucain arrived on horseback. I thought he looked the very picture of chivalry on that gallantry, spotless white and silver armor, his white hair blowing in the breeze.

He repeated his speech several times, once in frankish, german, italian, and arabic. Amazingly, every soldier paid rapt attention through the entirety, though many could not have understood the language he was then speaking.

“My brave brothers of christendom, I tell a sad truth. The Kingdom of Jerusalem is mortally threatened. The syrians and egyptians have united against us, and soon we will be facing their armies on our very doorstep. Many of you are pilgrims, taking up arms for the first time. Many of you are knight on an adventure, with no idea of what we face. I recognize those among you who have made your home here, or whose fathers did.

There is a new threat on the horizon, brothers, and for our survival you must carry out your orders diligently. You march north, to Karak de Chevaiais, the home of the Hospitaller Order. The commander there will decide whom among you continue to Acre.”

After he concluded the speech in every language, the soldiers began to murmur among themselves.

“Acre is the safest city in the kingdom.” Aethal said. “Why would they need reinforcements?”

“It is a port. Maybe he plans to move you around by ship.” I speculated.

“That would be folly. The expense of hiring vessels would impoverish us.” Aethal said. “That is before mentioning all the danger of sea travel.”

“Salut, farmer Handridg!” Lucain steered his horse beside me. German seemed to be his language of choice today. “Feeling inspired to fight and die for my king and my god?”

“I would not live very long in a battle.” I said, reaching out to stroke the horse. The beast, watched me wearily, but let me touch it.

“Neither will most of these poor fools!” Lucain laughed.

Aethal looked between us, and I felt embarrassed enough to translate. “He wishes us all a glorious death.” I said in latin.

That provoked an amused chuckled for Lucain. “You knot words as though they were twine. Come, Handridg, and walk away with me while these champions of Christ leave the holy city for the last time.” The man had a bizarre sense of humor.

I said a hurried farewell to Aethal and company, and jogged to catch up to Lucain on his horse. We wound our way up the city.

“Are you an optimist, Handridg?” Lucain asked of me.

“To leave one’s home in search of answers far greater than one’s self takes a certain measure of trust in the favorable outcome of one’s endeavors.” I said. “Or I am a very brave pessimist.”

Lucain laughed heartily. “I certainly understand that. It is unfortunate that years as a warrior has made me always expect the worst. Tell me your optimistic appraisal of the situation the kingdom is in.”

“I’m terribly ignorant of all that sir.” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I optimistically hope that the armies of god prevail. It is a sad world where circumstance would decide against them.”

“How gloriously noncommittal! I could hear you speak for a thousand years and never grow tired of it.” Lucain remarked. “Hellene philosophers may speak with honied tongues, but yours practically hissed with temptations.”

The metaphors were beginning to disturb my comfort. I began to suspect that he knew me for the heathen I was and was now using me for his amusement.

“Tell me farmer Handridg, do you feel alone now?”

I guessed that he asked this generally. “I am a stranger in a strange and wondrous city. I will have time to make friends.”

That answer did not seem to satisfy the grandmaster, be brought his horse around across my path, stopping us both. “If I told you that you are unique here, and that this would lead to something more between us, how would you respond?”

His stare was not harsh, but I felt as though I was laid bare before it. There was no hiding the truth from him. He knew about my pagan, heathen ways.

“I would accept any decision you come to regarding me.” I mournfully said.

Lucain cheered up immensely. A plethora of possible tortuous deaths for me were no doubt playing out in his mind. “Excellent! Tell me, Handridg, where do you reside each night?”

“A bare alley, next to this wall which-”

“By the ancient western wall? You are braver than you look.” Lucain spurred his horse back around. “Very well, I shall meet you there tonight. Do not trifle with me now Handridg!”

The horse cantered up the hill, carrying the white knight with it. What had occurred was… unclear, and the debate raged within me to oblige Lucain’s demands. That he had not immediately struck me down or brought me to the dungeons told me I was being spared death. Perhaps if I fled I could escape, but court a worse fate.

-

The bow I bought was well crafted, but of a much different adjustment to the hunting bows of my home. It was smaller, pulled more easily, trading power and range for speed and weight. With practice I could be as accurate with it as I was with the longbow. With it I purchased a quiver which hung at my waist. So armed, I returned to the wall and awaited Lucain.

He arrived before dusk, his armor traded for a fancy tunic, without any retainers. I contemplated putting an arrow into his head, and silencing the possibly incriminating tongue, but I left the bow unstrung and tied to my back.

“You never disappoint.” Lucain beemed. “Now I shall start from the top, and you may feel free in interject with whatever you fancy to say. Now, look into my eyes.”

I scrutinized his face. He still looked 30 odd years old, but his cloudy green eyes betrayed some eerily familiar secret.

"Do you see something, farmer holy man?" He read my thoughts. "They say the eyes hold all a man's secrets. I wonder about the scope of that truth. Do beasts or birds lie to each other?"

"Who are you?" I could feel a certain strained eagerness in my limbs, ready for a fight. I could likely put three arrows in him before he reached me.

"We are not unalike, you and I. What was it you said? Estranged men in a strange land’, knowing not for what reason they came to be there. Perhaps that is why I can... hear you, so much more than these other men. And you can hear me?"

"And you can hear me?" His voice echoed in my head, as if placed there by the hand of god. My eyes widened, and I felt Lucain’s hazy eyes grip me from across the space. Had I gone mad, or was I in another nightmarish dream?

"Oh yes! You can!" He smiled as his voiceless words resonated in my mind. "Then I was not mistaken two days ago, holy man."

"What kind of madness is this?" I asked aloud.

"The best kind. Real madness." Lucain replied in kind. "Sit down please, or the fall might hurt you."

-

"When I arrived in this city with my crusading father, I was not unlike any other boy squire of 10." Lucain said. "But then I began to hear thing. Things no other human could hear. Whispers from dark recesses, the truth behind sugared deceits  the dreams of men and mouse. Not words proper, but meaning, ideas, emotion, a language common to all beings. I was afraid, certain a demon had taken ahold of me.

"I suffered this for ten years, hiding any sign of abnormality. I fought to keep it silent, tuning out the voices of the shadows and of men's very thoughts. But then the king of this city died, and the Saracens attacked. I was a poor knight then, under the old grandmaster. The battle proved to be too much for me, the agonized thoughts of thousands of dying me overwhelming my weak mind. For my hesitation, the grandmaster turned on me intending to kill me. But he was cut down by a Arab charge.

"A Saracen knight faced me then, planning a lethal blow. But I could hear his thoughts, his intention, and I countered him. It was the first time I worked with the voice instead of against it. I played with him, that knight, testing the limits of my comprehension. Another Saracen came upon us, and I held them both off. Then a third and fourth. I knew what they would do before they did. I went from a scamp to the greatest swordmaster alive. Every life I took, I could hear the corresponding whistle of a withering soul. By the time a countercharge arrived I had killed a dozen Arab knights.

“In the next battle I charged ahead of my comrades, directly into the well formed Arab cavalry. But every move I made, I did with the knowledge of how every man and horse would react. I panicked their steeds and trampled their men. For that single handed victory I was bestowed the job of my fallen grandmaster, and several popular nicknames."

"You can read my mind?" I thought.

Lucain grinned in a manner which was more predatory than friendly. "I can feel your curiosity, salted with fear and indecision. You are compelled by an urge to flee from me yet you want to know more. A hint of recognition, perhaps?"

"Why tell me all of this? What do you want?" I asked.

"Why should I want anything from a poor thing like you, holy man? I only tell you because you listen very well."

"My name is Handridg." I tell him.

"You are Saint Handridg, the farmer from the far north. All the humans like you, the good listeners, are holy men."

I did not know how to feel about Lucy's blather. From what power he'd displayed and what he'd said, I could only guess that this body to which I was speaking was a shell for a powerful spirit, which had taken the identity of the original man. Yet I only had his fanciful story to go on. But still I could not grasp why he would say so, besides to brag. Pride or arrogance had overcome his sense and discretion for secrecy.

He was dangerous. Spirits very rarely have the best intentions for the humans they grace with their presence. The only reason I could think without panic was the knowledge that he would know and prey on it. Still, it struck me as ironic that the city of men would house such a supernatural being.

Lucain continued. "Oh yes, you aren't the only one, but you are the best so far. They always leave after a time. Holy men indeed, far more holy than any priest, for you can hear..."

"The voice of a god." His word in my head completed his thought.

Not a very good Christian, this one. "Truly, a god?"

"I am certainly more than any man."

"What are you god of?" I challenged innocently.

Lucain seemed taken aback. After a moment of thought he gave his answer. "Everything, I should think. I've never met anyone else like me."

I thought to the wall. "You say that, when you have challengers in this very city."

Lucain’s eyes burned with anger and for a moment I could his displeasure resonating in my mind. But then his gaze softened and the storm in my mind cleared. "Kings and princes are no concern of mine."

"There are more dangerous things than kings or princes." Outside of the human realm, that is. Arrogant spirits and hellish walls for example.

"What have you been nosing about in the lower city for?"

"I had no alternative when you turned me away from the barracks."

"It was to help you. You would have fraternized with those english, and I thought it best you keep away from their ilk."

Not very in line with the philosophy of deus vult. "I thank you for your concern, but Aethal was a good friend and help to me."

"You don’t know how good a friend I could be.” Lucain intoned. “If you know of a threat to me, say it now.”

“That wall.” I pointed to the ancient brick fortification.

Lucain looked intensely at the wall for several seconds. His eyes widened. “It is near.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have heard their call for years, growing ever louder in the city.” He said, looking as though something at a great distance had taken his attention. “Beasts from hell are breaking loose, and they will do so very soon. Here at the gate, their presence is almost overwhelming.”

He turned to me. “The new threat is rising faster than I thought. I can not afford to be sublet anymore, sending out a few at a time. All of Jerusalem must be emptied before the wrath of hell descends upon it!”

Lucain egomaniacal though he was, seemed to be genuine in his concern for the people of his city. I could not deny that my dreams near this wall had been demonic, and perhaps, with the collected deluded dear of myself and Lucain de Loir, a truth may be summed.

Still, for anyone else to believe out words a suspension of convention must be necessary. Looking at it again, the old yellow stone wall looked nothing like a portal to hell.

“Lord Lucain, what is the significance of this wall?” I asked, but when I looked, I was alone in the alley. “Lucain?” I yelled out. He had left me here.

Then, pain. An otherworldly banshee screech tore through the air. A wave of hot air and white light filled the filled the alley.

The wall was rippling, like the surface of a pond after a stone was thrown in. Every stone and groove waved impossibly, motes of light jetting out around me. The wall looked very much like a portal to hell now.

Then a dark form pushed out of the wall, straining against the stone from within like a bee escaping a bubble. The form pushed, and the bubble popped, letting out the painful sound again. The thing from hell was in the alley with me.