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The Death Knight’s Crusade
- The Death Knight’s Crusade -
Prologue: Unwelcome in York
There was a time when someone told him that perhaps he would do anything for love, even forsake Paradise. He would often answer that by saying that love was paradise. Such thoughts, in those days, were of course heretical... but he had to ever be himself! He was not a crusader, but he wore the armor of a knight proudly as his steed carried him from York. As was his custom, he competed in the local bard’s festival, but this year his poetry was more true to his heart than to what was politically correct for those times in which he lived. As a result, he had to flee York whilst the local bishop called him heretic and sought to sway him with pain and torture to the light. ‘As if I needed torment more than peace to teach me what enlightenment is!’ he mused, as the old road upon which he traveled seemed to wind on and on through a pleasant country of small hills and farms that seemed like any shire in the land. He was far from York now, having ridden the back roads until the bishop’s men had lost all heart for his pursuit. They would lose all interest in him with time, but right now the knight could not afford to be lax in his vigilance. Thus it was that the day wore long and there was no local inn to receive him. It was ill luck that brought him so far from rest, but if he found this backcountry to be inhospitable to outsiders than perchance nobody would pursue him there without some pause. His gloved hand knocked upon the door of the only manor house in the area after he had tethered his horse to a tree. A man with a deep voice bellowed forth: ‘Get ye away! We don’t have time for beggars, liars, or thieves.’ To which the knight did reply: ‘Then: it is that you are in luck today, for I am neither a thief a liar, nor a beggar. My name is Sir Geoffrey, formerly of the port town of Southampton and currently unwelcome in York. May I stay for the night in your home, good sir, and to be sure I will be well on my way with the morrow?’ the voice on the other side of the door was adamant, however. ‘If you were a knight of quality, sir, then you would not be unwelcome in York! Therefore, be on your way.’ But the knight was not to be put off by the man’s attitude. He offered the man as much coin as he would have paid an innkeeper for a night’s room, and so it was that greed won out, for the man who owned the manor house opened his door and allowed the knight to stay until dawn. During the night, Geoffrey swore he could hear a wolf somewhere far off, beyond the road to the west. The sound of the beast kept him awake for many hours before sleep overcame him, and when he dreamed it was of a forest filled with shadowy things with red eyes and sharp claws. A voice told him that such a place awaited in his future, but the knight stubbornly refused to be moved by fear. A white owl with large black eyes appeared before him and flew through the forest, endlessly. He chased it but could not catch it no matter how hard he tried. Behind him was a hooded man who was always just far enough behind to be hidden, and so he knew not who his pursuer was. A woman’s voice was singing sensually in the darkness… and the song woke him up.
Part One: The Baron’s Fear
Sir Geoffrey sat at the breakfast table across from his host. Morning had come swiftly, and his gold purchased a meal before he would hit the road once more. The man looked at the knight, whose manner was somewhat nervous around him. Geoffrey had piercing blue eyes with just a hint of gray in them, and his long auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail. He had a neatly trimmed beard, and was now wearing loose traveling clothes, having packed up his armor. He still wore a long-sword at his waist, as it was the knightly custom. His high cheekbones, long nose, and small mouth: could perhaps be considered handsome by some, but to the man who gazed upon him now, there seemed something predatory about the knight’s appearance. It did not help to see that the knight’s skin had a sallow tone to it that reminded him of half-Saracen blood. During the Crusades, the man had seen too much regarding Saracens and their kind. Far too much for him to ever feel comfortable around one again! He asked the knight if he indeed had such ancestry, and Geoffrey responded politely: ‘No, there is no Saracen blood in my family. But if it pleases your curiosity to know, my grandmother had in her bloodline some measure of what you would call savage ancestry, since one of her ancestors was from a continent across the ocean to the west, where a highly advanced people are said to live. In obscure records of the Norsemen, it is said those people are primitive, but family tradition attests to their nobility both of spirit and of culture.’ The burly man who shared breakfast with the knight seemed more at ease now. ‘You never asked me my name, sir knight! It is curious to have a man stay beneath my roof that knows nothing of me. Nay, do not ask it now! I will tell you… my name is William, and I am a baron. That is how I can afford so splendid a home as this, whilst my people are but farmers barely able to pay their taxes. Where do you go this day? I ask, because I can tell you much about these wild lands.’ And so Geoffrey explained that he had a mind to journey westward, to Wales. The baron’s face turned ashen at that notion, and the knight asked him what was wrong with the road west. The baron then explained: ‘My fear is because the road west, sir knight, will take you eventually through the terrible Blackwood, which is the name by which we refer to the forestlands of that region. The Blackwood is haunted, sir, and no Christian would willingly imperil his soul by venturing therein.’ The knight mentioned that he was not like the usual Christian, and the baron inquired why it was that he was unwelcome in York. When the knight explained his situation to the baron, the baron made the sign of the cross with his hand. ‘A Heretic! And one who seeks to pass through the Blackwood, no less. This is an evil omen upon my home, surely. Be on your way, sir knight, and do not return this way. If you pass into shadow, it is by your own soul’s wickedness, not my lack of hospitality. Be on your way!’ Naturally, the knight was anxious to get going.
Part Two: Within the Blackwood
Sir Geoffrey’s route ran along the tree-lined road westward from the baron’s house, and found less and less farmland whilst more and more the region gave way to wild country. The occasional peasant eyed him strangely as he went along, and sometimes a frightened villager would rush into his or her home and bar the door, shutting even the windows against intrusion. There did in them seem a terror of anything unusual in the land, be it strangers or strange happenings, and the knight was uneasy about his decision to ride seemingly into the very heart of the place that held them in this state of fear that bordered on terror. Perils of the road were common in those days, from highwaymen to plague victims desperate enough to steal a man’s horse to eat. But those were perils of this world! Something of another world was about this part of the country, and Sir Geoffrey was starting to feel the power of it. After half a day, the trees seemed to become more mighty oaks and tall pines, whilst the sparse spruces and yews of the farmlands were lost amidst the canopy of what was slowly becoming the forest known as the Blackwood. The knight did not so much enter the forest… rather, the forest seemed to close in upon him and engulf him as the hours went by. In the sky, he spotted a lone hawk, and that seemed to him a fair sign. Continuing his ride into the forest, he found the path was less well used than elsewhere, and less straight. It wound, zigzagging around the base of massive trunks of trees, and it was in places worn by time and the wild elements of nature. Yet still, despite this difficult way, Sir Geoffrey refused to turn back. Many difficult roads had he traversed before, and this one was no more terrible than those that ranged through the old highlands of Scotland, where of old he went hunting with friends. His mind then turned to the thought of animals, and it seemed to him strange that he had not seen any since entering the Blackwood. Only the occasional raven… but since seeing the hawk there had not been any other living things save lesser creatures such as insects that seemed to thrive in any environment. It was easy to see why the people claimed this place was haunted… and still did the knight have another half of day to cross this odd region before the fall of night. He desperately longed to be out of this woodland before then, but he knew that was impossible. Already, the golden shafts of sunlight were streaming through the green canopy above him, and that was the herald of the late afternoon. How long had he taken on the twists and turns of the road? The knight could not be certain, and only those golden shafts seemed to mark the passage of time in a place growing dark and thick with shadows. In the distance, a lone wolf cried mournfully, as if exclaiming that the day was dying fast. Soon, it would be the wolf’s favorite hour… and the knight was afraid. His heart pounded loudy, like a beating drum.
Part Three: The Bewitching Hour
A wise man would have perhaps made camp for the night, but Sir Geoffrey was also perhaps in this unwise. He lit a lantern he had brought with him, and guided his frightened horse farther along the path. He hoped to find the way out of the woods before it became too late at night, before the predatory beasts stirred, and so to reach the road that would eventually lead him into the country of the Welsh. He knew it would be a long journey when he set himself to it, but in his haste to be free of the bishop’s pursuit, he had come to the one place he could be certain no man of God would dare enter. He felt elation at being safe now, and certain of a new life before him… but he also realized that he had to survive this dark night, first. Somewhere far off, the sound of crickets making their music greeted the knight’s ears whilst fireflies danced between the trees. Of a sudden, a white owl flew before Geoffrey’s face, startling him with its’ large, black eyes, before flying off farther along the trail, which was a chore to follow in the dim light of the lantern. Where was the light of the moon, Geoffrey wondered, but perhaps this night it was a black moon, and so no light would there be from that great celestial lamp! A black moon had indeed risen, and had this fact been made known to the knight then his blood would now turn cold… for on such a night, it was said that the Devil’s time was at hand, when spirits of the dead and things from Hell itself might walk in places such as this, far removed from civilization. It was around midnight when the owl returned, and seemed to follow the same path as Geoffrey himself. Seeing this, the knight resolved simply to follow the owl, which was growing easier to do than to try and make out the path through the underbrush and shadows that closed in all around. After some time passed in this pursuit, the knight arrived at a strange clearing in which a circle of ancient stones stood. Eight stones were arrayed all in a circle, straight as gravestones, and in their center was a mound of earth the size of a small cottage. Atop the mound was another group of stones, five in total arranged in a pattern like unto a star, if one were to trace it. No sooner had he entered this clearing, than the knight’s horse decided to bolt, dropping the pack in which Geoffrey had placed his armor and supplies. He would have to carry them himself, now. Something unseen had truly bewitched the animal, he realized, and it was not something that a sane man should wish to confront. Striding toward the high mound, he spied the white owl sitting above what appeared to be an entrance into it. The scent of earth was thick here, as the vines of ages clung to the black opening. Ivy and moss covered stones, mound, and earth all about this clearing, whilst again it seemed that in the distance the wolf howled. Something told the knight to enter the mound, despite that there was no reason in such a course of action. But fear gave him reason enough, for he wished now to hide from the wolf that seemed to follow him.
Part Four: Beneath the Barrow
Barrows such as this were of old used to bury the nobility of ancient peoples whose names were forgotten by common folk. In his shaking hand, the knight’s lantern cast living shadows upon the earthen walls of the passage into the burial mound. Seeming to be the maw of some great beast, with Sir Geoffrey in its’ gullet, the mound kept its’ secrets well. For, as the knight made his way deeper and deeper within, there seemed to grow more darkness that obscured his surroundings, instead of less. He was now within a circular chamber in which several slabs were set into niches in the walls. The slabs, curiously, were empty and a large pit descended into the floor in the exact center of the room. Winding stone steps led down into that darkness, and prior to making that descent the knight made certain to relight his lantern. ‘Am I mad, to explore such depths?’ he mused aloud, and hearing the wolf growling outside was pinioned between two terrors. ‘If I try to flee this place, I will have to slay the wolf, or perchance become dinner for it. If I wish to be certain to lose the beast, then I must go deeper into the darkness.’ But he did fear less the darkness, and the wolf was a very real threat. How it found him so quickly, he cared not. There was something unnatural about the Blackwood, and at least those stone steps were solid enough. He hastened below, and as soon as his light vanished into the black abyss, the wolf gave up the chase and loped off into the black of night. Meanwhile, Geoffrey saw that the passage of the steps was becoming less manmade and more like the flagstones of certain natural caverns. After an overly long descent, he came into a vast cavern wherein huge columns decorated with winding serpents supported carved archways that themselves were decorated with chiseled images of demons whose faces were the stuff of nightmares. Following this odd, columned cavern led the knight to a vast chamber, which seemed to have once been a crypt. Within niches like the ones above in the mound, were more slabs. The whole crypt was a massive square room, with niches and slabs from floor to high ceiling. Stairs ascended each level of the room, providing access to all the niches, whilst lit torches provided more light than the lantern Geoffrey held out before him. In the center of the crypt, in a lower portion of the floor, was a massive statue of rough stone. It was carved in the likeness of a great demon with curved, ram-like horns and three terrible faces. Red rubies served as the eyes of the beast, and so there were six of them in total. The demon’s wings were folded, and the claws of the monster seemed to clutch the base from which this horrible idol seemed to rise up. There were bodies on the crypt’s slabs, this time. Each was a man or woman clothed in black gowns, with scarlet veils over each one’s face. There was breath beneath the fabric, and that was what made Geoffrey drop his lantern from fright! How could the dead breathe as though yet alive, in this demonic temple? This was a place of madness.
Part Five: The Children of Darkness
Strangely, the sound of the fallen lantern did not disturb the slumbering occupants of the crypt’s niches. Curiosity growing on him, the knight pulled away one of the veils to look upon the face of one of these sleepers. In this case it was a woman with pale white skin and raven black hair, whose body was otherwise perfectly healthy and warm, with generous curves and lips as red as the rubies of the statue. Her bosom heaved as she drew breath, and were it not for her being interred in this place not a thing would seem amiss about her save that odd skin complexion. Deciding not to wake her, for clearly she was some sort of witch, the knight made ready to pry the rubies from the statue’s eyes. They would fetch quite the price should he ever reach his destination in Wales, and surely that would ease the inconvenience of so ghastly a journey. ‘Besides…’ he thought, ‘I will be needing to purchase a new horse, somehow, along the way.’ Dagger in hand, the knight climbed up the massive statue and at last reached the three faces, where he set to work at the ruby eyes. The first two sets came away with ease, but the final two gave him great difficulty, causing him to drop one of them. At last he descended to the floor, all the gems in hand save that last one, and made to pick it up. That was when he felt a presence behind him and heard a woman’s voice whispering in his ear the words: ‘Thief that you are, did you think no one would notice your deed? You are no longer in the realm of the living, and so I will punish you for your transgression against our god, by making you one of us!’ And with that, a white claw-like hand wound around the knight’s body whilst another pulled his head back. The last thing he remembered before losing his senses and thus passing out was the sensation of sharp fangs penetrating the skin of the side of his neck. It was a sensation of intense pleasure, like lovemaking, and that was what made him swoon. When his eyes opened, Geoffrey was lying on his back on a cold stone slab. A scarlet veil was across his face, and he was wearing a black gown. Suddenly, he threw the veil from his face and his gaze fell upon his hands, which had become as white as bleached bone, as well as quite claw-like in appearance. He felt his neck, and the bites were still there, although they were bloodless wounds now. ‘What has been done… to me?’ he lamented aloud, as the woman whose voice he heard before suddenly appeared at his side, as though forming from mists itself. She said to him: ‘Sir thief, you are now one of the children, we who dwell in the dark places of the land. Were you a virtuous soul, then I could never have claimed you, but for your heresy and your greed, as well as for the lust I sensed in your heart when you did see me as I slumbered… for all that, you are damned.’ And the honesty in the woman’s voice showed him truth in her words. He replied weakly: 'It was not lust alone I felt when I beheld your exquisite face, milady. It was a love for which I knew I would pay any price to attain. God, in an odd way, has answered my prayers. And so, let my damnation be my eternal reward!'
Part Six: A Baptism by Blood
The bishop had been more persistent than anyone would have given him credit for being. He had tracked Sir Geoffrey all the way to the Blackwood, and still had not given up the chase. His men had all fallen to the savage packs of wolves, and only he did remain of his party. Yet still, the man of God ventured deeper and deeper into the Devil’s realm, defiant! He looked less a man of the cloth and more a common brigand in his leathers and hooded wool cloak. He wielded a short blade like a cutthroat and so did countless wolves this evening meet their end. It was a week since the knight disappeared into the woods, at least according to the baron, and surely the bishop suspected the man was either in hiding or dead by now. However, obsession of a most unholy sort drew the bishop onward. He had to have vengeance for the deaths of his men and so much time wasted in pursuit of that heretic… he had to know the man was dead, or else slay him at last. ‘The Devil shall have your soul!’ he once screamed into the darkness of the forest, at which the only reply was the howl of yet another wolf. It was as if they drove him in a certain direction, he began to realize after so many attacks. But what evil will was guiding them in this? Soon, the bishop was within the clearing where the ancient burial mound rose up from the mossy soil. Suspecting this of being his quarry’s final hiding… or resting… place, the bishop entered the mound’s entrance and, torch in hand, made his way down into the same massive chamber wherein the knight had passed before him. It was then that a terrifying sight met the bishop’s dark eyes: all around the demonic statue were gathered a great multitude of men and women in jet-black gowns. Every one was pale and had claw-like hands, blood-red eyes, and snow-white skin. In that midst was a woman who was obviously their leader and a man who was familiar, despite his transformation: Sir Geoffrey himself. The bishop called out to him, and the knight answered in a cold tune that showed a certain cruelty behind it: ‘Long have you sought my life, bishop of York, and it pleases me to tell you that had you not labeled me heretic and drove me hence, then this confrontation would not have ever had to take place and you may have lived to be a wise old man! Now, there is only death here for you.’ With that, the knight leapt forward and came charging like a maddened beast towards the bishop, who held his blade before him as if that could keep his enemy at bay. The knight stood ten paces from the man who had driven him to this fate, and called for the others present of his new kindred to hold the bishop powerless. In answer, the assembled children of darkness closed in about the bishop, moving with unnaturally fast speed. Some had even gotten behind him, though he swore they had not moved! The knight drew ever closer as the claws of the children clutched the bishop in vice-like grips, forcing him to drop his weapon with a clatter unto the chamber floor. The knight was now before him, and Geoffrey’s last words to his enemy were: ‘Bishop, prepare to meet your God!’ And as soon as those words were uttered, the knight and all his newfound brethren became fierce wolves, who literally tore the bishop into pieces. There was no going back now, for Sir Geoffrey… this was his baptism by blood, and he was bound by it for eternity. Henceforth, his nights would be like burning fire, raging within his very blood.
Epilogue: Vampires in York
It was a pleasant day for this year’s festival in York. The bards assembled, as they always did, but this time Sir Geoffrey was not amongst them. From a balcony overlooking the stage where the poets read their works to an eager audience, two people watched the proceedings. One was a woman with pure white skin and hair as black as a starless night. She wore a blood-red gown to match the color of her lips, and a pair of black velvet gloves covered her hands. Holding a fan in one hand, she was in all appearances most fashionable. The other person, who held her free hand lovingly, was a man whose skin was as white as his lady’s. His auburn hair was held back in a ponytail, and he had a full beard. He wore all black, from his leather vest to his silk shirt and baggy trousers. Black leather gloves covered his hands, and a blood-red cloak was thrown over his back, held by clasps of fine Celtic knot silverwork. Both man and woman had red eyes, but nobody paid them any heed, merely thinking the couple to be some sort of albinos. Sir Geoffrey no longer had a taste for competing in the bard’s festival, but he had not yet given up on poetry. He whispered several blasphemous lines into his lady’s ear, and the heresy delighted her. She smiled a satisfied smirk, turned, and kissed him fiercely… her fangs drawing just a tiny enough amount of blood to give him a tingle of pleasure. He had yet to learn that much self-control… but in time it would come to him. A pleasant side effect of drinking the blood of the bishop was that now the vampires of the Blackwood could go about by day, without fear of destruction through sunlight. In York, both the bishop and knight were considered to have perished following their disappearance. The man who had once been Sir Geoffrey now called himself Baron Wolfgang of Blackwood, since the old baron’s untimely death without any heirs allowed him to purchase the baron’s manor and lands for himself. His changed appearance made certain that nobody ever suspected him of having been the missing knight, who most certainly did not have a bull beard, red eyes, and milk-white skin… and his newly acquired noble title granted him privileges he could only have dreamed of before. Yes, there was that odd certain resemblance and similar voice, but perhaps it was merely due to some distant relation between Geoffrey’s family and this Wolfgang fellow’s! So thought the average wit about the whole affair, when it was talked about at all. The day had grown long, and the sun was beginning to go down in the west when the baron and baroness decided to return to Blackwood Manor, which was the newly christened name for their home. ‘Certainly, you must admit, my lady… that it does indeed beat living in a cave!’ jested the baron. His lady laughed merrily, and replied: ‘I am glad I gave in and sold the rubies… otherwise, we’d never have had the chance to start our lives over in so splendid a fashion.’ The former Geoffrey mused that in a way people had been right about him. He did do anything for love, and in his newfound love he had discovered a paradise so heretical that Heaven would not have him. But, when he looked into his lady's beautiful face, he knew at once that even in Hell he could know happiness with her! Night was swiftly coming upon the land. A hawk was flying in the skies above the Blackwood and in the basement of the manor house the other children were growing restless. Today was for pleasure, but tonight was for the hunt! The hunger blazed like fire within their breasts, and could never be denied.
The End
Prologue: Unwelcome in York
There was a time when someone told him that perhaps he would do anything for love, even forsake Paradise. He would often answer that by saying that love was paradise. Such thoughts, in those days, were of course heretical... but he had to ever be himself! He was not a crusader, but he wore the armor of a knight proudly as his steed carried him from York. As was his custom, he competed in the local bard’s festival, but this year his poetry was more true to his heart than to what was politically correct for those times in which he lived. As a result, he had to flee York whilst the local bishop called him heretic and sought to sway him with pain and torture to the light. ‘As if I needed torment more than peace to teach me what enlightenment is!’ he mused, as the old road upon which he traveled seemed to wind on and on through a pleasant country of small hills and farms that seemed like any shire in the land. He was far from York now, having ridden the back roads until the bishop’s men had lost all heart for his pursuit. They would lose all interest in him with time, but right now the knight could not afford to be lax in his vigilance. Thus it was that the day wore long and there was no local inn to receive him. It was ill luck that brought him so far from rest, but if he found this backcountry to be inhospitable to outsiders than perchance nobody would pursue him there without some pause. His gloved hand knocked upon the door of the only manor house in the area after he had tethered his horse to a tree. A man with a deep voice bellowed forth: ‘Get ye away! We don’t have time for beggars, liars, or thieves.’ To which the knight did reply: ‘Then: it is that you are in luck today, for I am neither a thief a liar, nor a beggar. My name is Sir Geoffrey, formerly of the port town of Southampton and currently unwelcome in York. May I stay for the night in your home, good sir, and to be sure I will be well on my way with the morrow?’ the voice on the other side of the door was adamant, however. ‘If you were a knight of quality, sir, then you would not be unwelcome in York! Therefore, be on your way.’ But the knight was not to be put off by the man’s attitude. He offered the man as much coin as he would have paid an innkeeper for a night’s room, and so it was that greed won out, for the man who owned the manor house opened his door and allowed the knight to stay until dawn. During the night, Geoffrey swore he could hear a wolf somewhere far off, beyond the road to the west. The sound of the beast kept him awake for many hours before sleep overcame him, and when he dreamed it was of a forest filled with shadowy things with red eyes and sharp claws. A voice told him that such a place awaited in his future, but the knight stubbornly refused to be moved by fear. A white owl with large black eyes appeared before him and flew through the forest, endlessly. He chased it but could not catch it no matter how hard he tried. Behind him was a hooded man who was always just far enough behind to be hidden, and so he knew not who his pursuer was. A woman’s voice was singing sensually in the darkness… and the song woke him up.
Part One: The Baron’s Fear
Sir Geoffrey sat at the breakfast table across from his host. Morning had come swiftly, and his gold purchased a meal before he would hit the road once more. The man looked at the knight, whose manner was somewhat nervous around him. Geoffrey had piercing blue eyes with just a hint of gray in them, and his long auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail. He had a neatly trimmed beard, and was now wearing loose traveling clothes, having packed up his armor. He still wore a long-sword at his waist, as it was the knightly custom. His high cheekbones, long nose, and small mouth: could perhaps be considered handsome by some, but to the man who gazed upon him now, there seemed something predatory about the knight’s appearance. It did not help to see that the knight’s skin had a sallow tone to it that reminded him of half-Saracen blood. During the Crusades, the man had seen too much regarding Saracens and their kind. Far too much for him to ever feel comfortable around one again! He asked the knight if he indeed had such ancestry, and Geoffrey responded politely: ‘No, there is no Saracen blood in my family. But if it pleases your curiosity to know, my grandmother had in her bloodline some measure of what you would call savage ancestry, since one of her ancestors was from a continent across the ocean to the west, where a highly advanced people are said to live. In obscure records of the Norsemen, it is said those people are primitive, but family tradition attests to their nobility both of spirit and of culture.’ The burly man who shared breakfast with the knight seemed more at ease now. ‘You never asked me my name, sir knight! It is curious to have a man stay beneath my roof that knows nothing of me. Nay, do not ask it now! I will tell you… my name is William, and I am a baron. That is how I can afford so splendid a home as this, whilst my people are but farmers barely able to pay their taxes. Where do you go this day? I ask, because I can tell you much about these wild lands.’ And so Geoffrey explained that he had a mind to journey westward, to Wales. The baron’s face turned ashen at that notion, and the knight asked him what was wrong with the road west. The baron then explained: ‘My fear is because the road west, sir knight, will take you eventually through the terrible Blackwood, which is the name by which we refer to the forestlands of that region. The Blackwood is haunted, sir, and no Christian would willingly imperil his soul by venturing therein.’ The knight mentioned that he was not like the usual Christian, and the baron inquired why it was that he was unwelcome in York. When the knight explained his situation to the baron, the baron made the sign of the cross with his hand. ‘A Heretic! And one who seeks to pass through the Blackwood, no less. This is an evil omen upon my home, surely. Be on your way, sir knight, and do not return this way. If you pass into shadow, it is by your own soul’s wickedness, not my lack of hospitality. Be on your way!’ Naturally, the knight was anxious to get going.
Part Two: Within the Blackwood
Sir Geoffrey’s route ran along the tree-lined road westward from the baron’s house, and found less and less farmland whilst more and more the region gave way to wild country. The occasional peasant eyed him strangely as he went along, and sometimes a frightened villager would rush into his or her home and bar the door, shutting even the windows against intrusion. There did in them seem a terror of anything unusual in the land, be it strangers or strange happenings, and the knight was uneasy about his decision to ride seemingly into the very heart of the place that held them in this state of fear that bordered on terror. Perils of the road were common in those days, from highwaymen to plague victims desperate enough to steal a man’s horse to eat. But those were perils of this world! Something of another world was about this part of the country, and Sir Geoffrey was starting to feel the power of it. After half a day, the trees seemed to become more mighty oaks and tall pines, whilst the sparse spruces and yews of the farmlands were lost amidst the canopy of what was slowly becoming the forest known as the Blackwood. The knight did not so much enter the forest… rather, the forest seemed to close in upon him and engulf him as the hours went by. In the sky, he spotted a lone hawk, and that seemed to him a fair sign. Continuing his ride into the forest, he found the path was less well used than elsewhere, and less straight. It wound, zigzagging around the base of massive trunks of trees, and it was in places worn by time and the wild elements of nature. Yet still, despite this difficult way, Sir Geoffrey refused to turn back. Many difficult roads had he traversed before, and this one was no more terrible than those that ranged through the old highlands of Scotland, where of old he went hunting with friends. His mind then turned to the thought of animals, and it seemed to him strange that he had not seen any since entering the Blackwood. Only the occasional raven… but since seeing the hawk there had not been any other living things save lesser creatures such as insects that seemed to thrive in any environment. It was easy to see why the people claimed this place was haunted… and still did the knight have another half of day to cross this odd region before the fall of night. He desperately longed to be out of this woodland before then, but he knew that was impossible. Already, the golden shafts of sunlight were streaming through the green canopy above him, and that was the herald of the late afternoon. How long had he taken on the twists and turns of the road? The knight could not be certain, and only those golden shafts seemed to mark the passage of time in a place growing dark and thick with shadows. In the distance, a lone wolf cried mournfully, as if exclaiming that the day was dying fast. Soon, it would be the wolf’s favorite hour… and the knight was afraid. His heart pounded loudy, like a beating drum.
Part Three: The Bewitching Hour
A wise man would have perhaps made camp for the night, but Sir Geoffrey was also perhaps in this unwise. He lit a lantern he had brought with him, and guided his frightened horse farther along the path. He hoped to find the way out of the woods before it became too late at night, before the predatory beasts stirred, and so to reach the road that would eventually lead him into the country of the Welsh. He knew it would be a long journey when he set himself to it, but in his haste to be free of the bishop’s pursuit, he had come to the one place he could be certain no man of God would dare enter. He felt elation at being safe now, and certain of a new life before him… but he also realized that he had to survive this dark night, first. Somewhere far off, the sound of crickets making their music greeted the knight’s ears whilst fireflies danced between the trees. Of a sudden, a white owl flew before Geoffrey’s face, startling him with its’ large, black eyes, before flying off farther along the trail, which was a chore to follow in the dim light of the lantern. Where was the light of the moon, Geoffrey wondered, but perhaps this night it was a black moon, and so no light would there be from that great celestial lamp! A black moon had indeed risen, and had this fact been made known to the knight then his blood would now turn cold… for on such a night, it was said that the Devil’s time was at hand, when spirits of the dead and things from Hell itself might walk in places such as this, far removed from civilization. It was around midnight when the owl returned, and seemed to follow the same path as Geoffrey himself. Seeing this, the knight resolved simply to follow the owl, which was growing easier to do than to try and make out the path through the underbrush and shadows that closed in all around. After some time passed in this pursuit, the knight arrived at a strange clearing in which a circle of ancient stones stood. Eight stones were arrayed all in a circle, straight as gravestones, and in their center was a mound of earth the size of a small cottage. Atop the mound was another group of stones, five in total arranged in a pattern like unto a star, if one were to trace it. No sooner had he entered this clearing, than the knight’s horse decided to bolt, dropping the pack in which Geoffrey had placed his armor and supplies. He would have to carry them himself, now. Something unseen had truly bewitched the animal, he realized, and it was not something that a sane man should wish to confront. Striding toward the high mound, he spied the white owl sitting above what appeared to be an entrance into it. The scent of earth was thick here, as the vines of ages clung to the black opening. Ivy and moss covered stones, mound, and earth all about this clearing, whilst again it seemed that in the distance the wolf howled. Something told the knight to enter the mound, despite that there was no reason in such a course of action. But fear gave him reason enough, for he wished now to hide from the wolf that seemed to follow him.
Part Four: Beneath the Barrow
Barrows such as this were of old used to bury the nobility of ancient peoples whose names were forgotten by common folk. In his shaking hand, the knight’s lantern cast living shadows upon the earthen walls of the passage into the burial mound. Seeming to be the maw of some great beast, with Sir Geoffrey in its’ gullet, the mound kept its’ secrets well. For, as the knight made his way deeper and deeper within, there seemed to grow more darkness that obscured his surroundings, instead of less. He was now within a circular chamber in which several slabs were set into niches in the walls. The slabs, curiously, were empty and a large pit descended into the floor in the exact center of the room. Winding stone steps led down into that darkness, and prior to making that descent the knight made certain to relight his lantern. ‘Am I mad, to explore such depths?’ he mused aloud, and hearing the wolf growling outside was pinioned between two terrors. ‘If I try to flee this place, I will have to slay the wolf, or perchance become dinner for it. If I wish to be certain to lose the beast, then I must go deeper into the darkness.’ But he did fear less the darkness, and the wolf was a very real threat. How it found him so quickly, he cared not. There was something unnatural about the Blackwood, and at least those stone steps were solid enough. He hastened below, and as soon as his light vanished into the black abyss, the wolf gave up the chase and loped off into the black of night. Meanwhile, Geoffrey saw that the passage of the steps was becoming less manmade and more like the flagstones of certain natural caverns. After an overly long descent, he came into a vast cavern wherein huge columns decorated with winding serpents supported carved archways that themselves were decorated with chiseled images of demons whose faces were the stuff of nightmares. Following this odd, columned cavern led the knight to a vast chamber, which seemed to have once been a crypt. Within niches like the ones above in the mound, were more slabs. The whole crypt was a massive square room, with niches and slabs from floor to high ceiling. Stairs ascended each level of the room, providing access to all the niches, whilst lit torches provided more light than the lantern Geoffrey held out before him. In the center of the crypt, in a lower portion of the floor, was a massive statue of rough stone. It was carved in the likeness of a great demon with curved, ram-like horns and three terrible faces. Red rubies served as the eyes of the beast, and so there were six of them in total. The demon’s wings were folded, and the claws of the monster seemed to clutch the base from which this horrible idol seemed to rise up. There were bodies on the crypt’s slabs, this time. Each was a man or woman clothed in black gowns, with scarlet veils over each one’s face. There was breath beneath the fabric, and that was what made Geoffrey drop his lantern from fright! How could the dead breathe as though yet alive, in this demonic temple? This was a place of madness.
Part Five: The Children of Darkness
Strangely, the sound of the fallen lantern did not disturb the slumbering occupants of the crypt’s niches. Curiosity growing on him, the knight pulled away one of the veils to look upon the face of one of these sleepers. In this case it was a woman with pale white skin and raven black hair, whose body was otherwise perfectly healthy and warm, with generous curves and lips as red as the rubies of the statue. Her bosom heaved as she drew breath, and were it not for her being interred in this place not a thing would seem amiss about her save that odd skin complexion. Deciding not to wake her, for clearly she was some sort of witch, the knight made ready to pry the rubies from the statue’s eyes. They would fetch quite the price should he ever reach his destination in Wales, and surely that would ease the inconvenience of so ghastly a journey. ‘Besides…’ he thought, ‘I will be needing to purchase a new horse, somehow, along the way.’ Dagger in hand, the knight climbed up the massive statue and at last reached the three faces, where he set to work at the ruby eyes. The first two sets came away with ease, but the final two gave him great difficulty, causing him to drop one of them. At last he descended to the floor, all the gems in hand save that last one, and made to pick it up. That was when he felt a presence behind him and heard a woman’s voice whispering in his ear the words: ‘Thief that you are, did you think no one would notice your deed? You are no longer in the realm of the living, and so I will punish you for your transgression against our god, by making you one of us!’ And with that, a white claw-like hand wound around the knight’s body whilst another pulled his head back. The last thing he remembered before losing his senses and thus passing out was the sensation of sharp fangs penetrating the skin of the side of his neck. It was a sensation of intense pleasure, like lovemaking, and that was what made him swoon. When his eyes opened, Geoffrey was lying on his back on a cold stone slab. A scarlet veil was across his face, and he was wearing a black gown. Suddenly, he threw the veil from his face and his gaze fell upon his hands, which had become as white as bleached bone, as well as quite claw-like in appearance. He felt his neck, and the bites were still there, although they were bloodless wounds now. ‘What has been done… to me?’ he lamented aloud, as the woman whose voice he heard before suddenly appeared at his side, as though forming from mists itself. She said to him: ‘Sir thief, you are now one of the children, we who dwell in the dark places of the land. Were you a virtuous soul, then I could never have claimed you, but for your heresy and your greed, as well as for the lust I sensed in your heart when you did see me as I slumbered… for all that, you are damned.’ And the honesty in the woman’s voice showed him truth in her words. He replied weakly: 'It was not lust alone I felt when I beheld your exquisite face, milady. It was a love for which I knew I would pay any price to attain. God, in an odd way, has answered my prayers. And so, let my damnation be my eternal reward!'
Part Six: A Baptism by Blood
The bishop had been more persistent than anyone would have given him credit for being. He had tracked Sir Geoffrey all the way to the Blackwood, and still had not given up the chase. His men had all fallen to the savage packs of wolves, and only he did remain of his party. Yet still, the man of God ventured deeper and deeper into the Devil’s realm, defiant! He looked less a man of the cloth and more a common brigand in his leathers and hooded wool cloak. He wielded a short blade like a cutthroat and so did countless wolves this evening meet their end. It was a week since the knight disappeared into the woods, at least according to the baron, and surely the bishop suspected the man was either in hiding or dead by now. However, obsession of a most unholy sort drew the bishop onward. He had to have vengeance for the deaths of his men and so much time wasted in pursuit of that heretic… he had to know the man was dead, or else slay him at last. ‘The Devil shall have your soul!’ he once screamed into the darkness of the forest, at which the only reply was the howl of yet another wolf. It was as if they drove him in a certain direction, he began to realize after so many attacks. But what evil will was guiding them in this? Soon, the bishop was within the clearing where the ancient burial mound rose up from the mossy soil. Suspecting this of being his quarry’s final hiding… or resting… place, the bishop entered the mound’s entrance and, torch in hand, made his way down into the same massive chamber wherein the knight had passed before him. It was then that a terrifying sight met the bishop’s dark eyes: all around the demonic statue were gathered a great multitude of men and women in jet-black gowns. Every one was pale and had claw-like hands, blood-red eyes, and snow-white skin. In that midst was a woman who was obviously their leader and a man who was familiar, despite his transformation: Sir Geoffrey himself. The bishop called out to him, and the knight answered in a cold tune that showed a certain cruelty behind it: ‘Long have you sought my life, bishop of York, and it pleases me to tell you that had you not labeled me heretic and drove me hence, then this confrontation would not have ever had to take place and you may have lived to be a wise old man! Now, there is only death here for you.’ With that, the knight leapt forward and came charging like a maddened beast towards the bishop, who held his blade before him as if that could keep his enemy at bay. The knight stood ten paces from the man who had driven him to this fate, and called for the others present of his new kindred to hold the bishop powerless. In answer, the assembled children of darkness closed in about the bishop, moving with unnaturally fast speed. Some had even gotten behind him, though he swore they had not moved! The knight drew ever closer as the claws of the children clutched the bishop in vice-like grips, forcing him to drop his weapon with a clatter unto the chamber floor. The knight was now before him, and Geoffrey’s last words to his enemy were: ‘Bishop, prepare to meet your God!’ And as soon as those words were uttered, the knight and all his newfound brethren became fierce wolves, who literally tore the bishop into pieces. There was no going back now, for Sir Geoffrey… this was his baptism by blood, and he was bound by it for eternity. Henceforth, his nights would be like burning fire, raging within his very blood.
Epilogue: Vampires in York
It was a pleasant day for this year’s festival in York. The bards assembled, as they always did, but this time Sir Geoffrey was not amongst them. From a balcony overlooking the stage where the poets read their works to an eager audience, two people watched the proceedings. One was a woman with pure white skin and hair as black as a starless night. She wore a blood-red gown to match the color of her lips, and a pair of black velvet gloves covered her hands. Holding a fan in one hand, she was in all appearances most fashionable. The other person, who held her free hand lovingly, was a man whose skin was as white as his lady’s. His auburn hair was held back in a ponytail, and he had a full beard. He wore all black, from his leather vest to his silk shirt and baggy trousers. Black leather gloves covered his hands, and a blood-red cloak was thrown over his back, held by clasps of fine Celtic knot silverwork. Both man and woman had red eyes, but nobody paid them any heed, merely thinking the couple to be some sort of albinos. Sir Geoffrey no longer had a taste for competing in the bard’s festival, but he had not yet given up on poetry. He whispered several blasphemous lines into his lady’s ear, and the heresy delighted her. She smiled a satisfied smirk, turned, and kissed him fiercely… her fangs drawing just a tiny enough amount of blood to give him a tingle of pleasure. He had yet to learn that much self-control… but in time it would come to him. A pleasant side effect of drinking the blood of the bishop was that now the vampires of the Blackwood could go about by day, without fear of destruction through sunlight. In York, both the bishop and knight were considered to have perished following their disappearance. The man who had once been Sir Geoffrey now called himself Baron Wolfgang of Blackwood, since the old baron’s untimely death without any heirs allowed him to purchase the baron’s manor and lands for himself. His changed appearance made certain that nobody ever suspected him of having been the missing knight, who most certainly did not have a bull beard, red eyes, and milk-white skin… and his newly acquired noble title granted him privileges he could only have dreamed of before. Yes, there was that odd certain resemblance and similar voice, but perhaps it was merely due to some distant relation between Geoffrey’s family and this Wolfgang fellow’s! So thought the average wit about the whole affair, when it was talked about at all. The day had grown long, and the sun was beginning to go down in the west when the baron and baroness decided to return to Blackwood Manor, which was the newly christened name for their home. ‘Certainly, you must admit, my lady… that it does indeed beat living in a cave!’ jested the baron. His lady laughed merrily, and replied: ‘I am glad I gave in and sold the rubies… otherwise, we’d never have had the chance to start our lives over in so splendid a fashion.’ The former Geoffrey mused that in a way people had been right about him. He did do anything for love, and in his newfound love he had discovered a paradise so heretical that Heaven would not have him. But, when he looked into his lady's beautiful face, he knew at once that even in Hell he could know happiness with her! Night was swiftly coming upon the land. A hawk was flying in the skies above the Blackwood and in the basement of the manor house the other children were growing restless. Today was for pleasure, but tonight was for the hunt! The hunger blazed like fire within their breasts, and could never be denied.
The End
Published 23rd Jan 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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29th Jan 2012 1:21am
Hey. I really like this and I would really enjoy to read it and post it to youtube. It is a new thing that I am trying out on youtube. I will give you 100% credit to the entire poem. It might be several separate videos for every part since I am not a partner and can't read the entire poem in the 15 minute time slot that youtube allows me. If you have a youtube account please personal message me through youtube. My username is 1mondo98. If you don't, just message me on this site. Thanks. Great poem.
I am very glad you enjoyed this short story of mine! Although I am certain you can understand why I would be hesitant to agree to having it read on YouTube since I would not want someone there mayhap contemplating stealing it or something. It is not that I don't trust you, I am certain you have only the best of intentions in mind... it is, rather, that there are many scoundrels on YouTube and it is them I do not entirely trust. Again, I am certain you can understand my feelings on the matter, my friend! I am quite happy you took the time to comment, by the way. Very appreciated! :D
