Archangels of the Sword, on F Scott Fitzgerald Age of Manhattan
by Jacob Malewitz
A Novel
Mercenary Sword, 5 notebooks fifty game
Columbia, 2 vest Champions
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We went all the way to the sea. Went to the sea through Norman lands. Castles seemed to dot every few miles of land, crossing with farms and small hamlets. I was well traveled for a man of Europa, but it thing seemed different in the lands: It was as though the people were broken toiling around doing the same things.
The conversations were minimal; Rochelle seemed busy humming out words to the flowers, while Francis kept toying with his arrows. I busied myself with thoughts on my father, and waited to see if Rochelle would bring up the Green Knyght again. How could he know? I didn’t have the gall to ask. Archangels of the sword, that’s what he had said, and it reminded me of the painting behind the Knyght.
I had always thought my visions were mine. I was learning that I wasn’t the only one touched by such things. If the knyght served the devil I would have to fight him. Though, I was unsure of where my father was in all this.
Normans believe more in action than in destiny, but I had a feeling mine was about to go through some major changes. I looked at these minor dwellings, the small landholders, the farmers, and wished at that moment my life was simpler. I wished I didn’t see Knyghts in visions and didn’t have a father who traveled the world in search of power.
Though it took days, the journey pushed my spirits onward. I was ready to leave these lands, go past all the Europa kingdoms, past the blistering rains of Brittania. And hopefully find my father.
Chapter 3: The one-eyed merchant
I feel the tremors. Hear the screaming. Scattered through it all I see legions of an army of knyghts in red, green, black, and blue. These knyghts look bigger than normal. They are beasts of men, with cold eyes and tightened fists, and as I stare I hear a voice saying numbers out loud.
Africa had been called a wasteland by many before me. My teacher, Guyus, had different views. I could remember the words so well …
“It be a rich land of a rich people. Some will go against this, and you shouldn’t tell, but I believe that is where all tribes originally came from.”
“What of the belief of Christ?” I tried to show knowledge of scripture, which usually enticed Guyus to tell stories of things in the bible that, though false, had true connotations.
“Christ was not a white man, no matter what they tell you. They sought out the homeland of Christianity in the crusades, with Richard the Lionheart and Saladin, but he was closer to men you would find in northern Africa than an Italian pope with Roman ways.”
I didn’t always agree with Guyus, and didn’t on this occasion, but it did make me think. So much had been born in the heart of Africa I had to believe there was more to it than wild, warring tribes. I had heard Christianity had even spread there.
I thought on all this as our motley party of heroes approached my father’s ship. It was the basic caravel: made on the cheap for the most part, but with the best wood that could be found in Norman lands, and had firing holes on its sides, along with high arcing masts that could grasp the wind faster than a bird.
“What be in Africa?” I asked the druid, Rochelle.
“That isn’t what your thinking.”
“Maybe, but it’s what I’m asking.”
“No magic I know of. The shamans are masters of illusions, the chiefs lords of war, the woman wiser to the ways of men, and the animals have a stronger bite.”
I wasn’t sure what to think of that; everything was moving fast, and the least I needed was a lion hunting me or a shaman pulling something out of my chest.
“Me lord, this Dunn man, I must tell you more.”
He told me of the one eyed merchant, the man whom my father seemed to think would save me; for this wasn’t about him … and it never had been. He sought to quell my wild side. To show me the vicious world and make quibbling over grain stores in a castle more enticing.
It didn’t faze me: I understood what I wanted, and being chased by lions in Africa, and magic in the lands of the Yin, didn’t daunt my goals. I would be a scrivener. And when I grew bored, which I presumed might be often, I would design weapons for small amounts of money. Money could be made; and that was what ruled the lands most of the time. Perhaps I could be richer with magic, and with my father’s lands, but wealth was fleeting.
“He lost the eye in an exploration to India with your father. From what I heard, a queen sent them there to find a kind of tyger rare to those lands. The people there thought your father the second coming of Alexander the Great.”
“Why is that?”
“Know your history,” said Rochelle, “Alexander wanted to conquer the lands of India.”
“Ah.”
“And,” Francis continued, “Dunn had to defend your father from a vicious pack of warriors. He lost his eye in the fight.”
“Ever the interesting bard, aren’t you, Francis?”
“I tell it like it be, me lord. The best I can do to protect you once you go your own way, is tell you like it be.”
He was right. Why didn’t Rochelle trust him? I was beginning to have my own doubts as well, but the seeds the druid had put into my mind were already there. Something about this Welshman be different.
The seas were kind to us on our travels. The crew was small – a scant ten men – but the ship held well on our travels down the coast of Afrikana. As we traveled, I waited for Rochelle to enter my mind again, but he appeared either sick by the sea or disturbed by something else. I wanted to question him, but the seas put me into a sleep for a long time on the trip. I didn’t want to dream: I was afraid I would see the green knyght and his legions, or perhaps Satan and his archangels fighting for my soul.
We did hit a sharp gust of water at one point – the captain said this was half way into our travels – that broke the silence between our group. We all seemed to awaken, save the crew whom were already vigilant.
“Why must we skate across such a coast, where is all the rich lands of Africa?” Said Francis.
“Have you not forgotten, bowman? The lands be deserts along the coast. Rain has not frequented these parts for a generation. The people stay away from the western parts.”
I looked at Francis expecting a response, but he only grunted and went back to toying with his longbow. Rochelle looked at me with weary eyes, and he went back to looking at a piece of parchment.
I was left to my own thoughts, which was exactly what I had feared would happen on this trip. Doing nothing wasn’t something I was talented at, and neither was thinking.
“How much longer,” I said, looking at the dark skinned captain.
“One week, me lord.”
That was the first words this captain had voiced since we set out. All he had wanted to know was our destination. When I had told him south Afrikana, he hadn’t been surprised. But when I mentioned the Yin empire he had grimaced. “Be an evil land of Orientals,” he had said. “I wouldn’t trust them to board my ship.” I had wanted to question him as he might know things on the Yin, but he didn’t seem like the type who could hold much of a conversation.
I was hungry, had been since our voyage, but the small ship only had room for so many stores. I had wanted to take horses, but going so far with them would have been an impossible feat and likely ended a mare or stallion’s life.
I nibbled on hard bread, and finally pulled out my notebooks, a sketchbook, and a hard bound book on wealth by an Italian writer. Finances were something that bored me, but I had taken a book from my teacher Guyus on just that thing. The fact was, gold and silver ruled the world, so understanding the trade deadlines and money management was a market in high demand.
After an hour of reading I saw the eye of one of the sailors on the book. I handed it to him and he smiled. “Student?” He said, his eyes examining the book.
“Scrivener.”
“Oh, so you put the words on the page. I have heard of a thing that can copy what is put down on the parchment in India. They say it came from the Yin.”
“What do you mean, copy what is put down?”
“All I really know,” he answered as he looked at the book, “Is it is being used for the Christian bible, Chinese Philosophy, and the Torah is many lands to the east. The poor cannot afford to buy the books, so a press was invented.” He stopped talking after that and handed me the book. I wouldn’t have expected a sailor to be wise to the arts, but I lived in a world full of surprises.
I watched as he went back observing the deck for inconsistencies, which I wasn’t sure if he was doing by order or for amusement.
It began to rain on us, and I started thinking of this man Jon Dunn, the Dutch trader.
When we finally reached the coasts of South Afrikan, it became apparent a war was brewing between ethnic groups. It was obvious that the crew of our caravel was prepared for this, as they didn’t even flinch when arrows came our way amidst the shouting and screaming.
On the shoreline, I saw angry villagers with spears yelling curses in their native languages. One that surprised me was a young girl, maybe half my age, yelling the loudest. I saw in her eyes a rage, an unquestioned chaos, and it reminded me of my visions.
“Where could Dunn have gone in all this war?” Francis said. Not even he seemed disturbed by the presence of the Afrikans yelling curses at us. Though I saw they were dispersing as a group of warriors approached, obviously thinking we were traders with coin.
“We can fight them off, stay for a few hours at the harbor. Though I fear the Netuk will attack us if we stay long?”
“Who?”
The captain turned to Rochelle the druid.
“A race that think the earth be round, that Christ was an Afrikan, and that magic is the true spirit of mankind.”
“What are you talking about?” Said Francis. “They simply be a warring tribe; how is it you know so much, Rochelle?”
“I think you know the answer, Francis. For the same reason you joined: I have knowledge of many outside the lands outside Europa.”
“The Earth be round. They must drink much.”
Rochelle ignored the sailor. “The captain is right, we must find him quickly.”
“This isn’t good,” I said. “The chances of a white man surviving in a war such as this is small.”
“Me lord, Dunn be a wily, dangerous man. It would take much more than a war to take him out.”
“Let this wasteland be,” said the captain, “I sense powers at work here.”
“We find him,” said Francis. He seemed adamant about it, which made me wonder If I could trust this Dunn man. “He speaks the language of the Yin. And without that we might as well walk through the entire empire looking for him.”
“Francis is right,” I said. I looked at the captain and the nervous sailors. The captain was grimacing, the sailors holding there heads low. “I will double your rate if you stay off shore for one day.” I had no coin to back this up, but I was sure my father would be willing to pay his saviors well … if we could ever find him.
They didn’t say anything, so I took it as a yes.
We left the ship. No Afrikans met us at first, which surprised me because of their attacks on the ship. Perhaps the group had only been an angry mob sick of the white man taking their wealth away.
I watched the ship careen back into the silent, moving sea.
Finally a group of soldiers approached us. One held up his hand.. Rochelle went forward and spoke in a language with distinct consonants that seemed created more to confuse.
Trust me, he said in my mind.
I watched as one of the Afrikans – apparently the leader – nodded and took a few coins from Rochelle. As the druid walked back, I saw a flame in the hand of the leader which Rochelle had not created..
“Rochelle, you said there was no magic here.”
“It is all illusion.”
“Then why are they afraid?”
He pointed to a burning building. It was the only vestage of Europan civilization. I could tell by the craftsmanship it was Roman. Had they been here ages ago?
“This is recent. I fear the men who were following you are ahead of us. These men told me in so many words that a group came many days before. Perhaps they seek your father, for reasons I am unaware.”
I had forgotten of the burning fires outside of the druid fort. Why would anyone follow me all the way out here? They would have to know of our plans. I looked to Francis but our eyes didn’t meet.
“The Netuk didn’t do this.”
“This isn’t war. Whoever came ahead of us sought to kill Dunn before he could help us.”
“Bloody traitors, one of the sailors must have sold us out.” I didn’t want to believe Francis, didn’t want to trust him. Yet I doubted even he would have made a move so fast.
From what I had heard, South Afrikana was rich in diamonds, making it a country to be sought. Had we just moved in on a trade war? If the Dutchman were anywhere, it was apparent he would be close to the harbor.
The huts all seemed built using Egyptians style. I had studied ancient cultures before – the Babylonians, Nubians, Egyptians – and it was obvious this empire should have been rich. Either the diamonds were all going to lords, who used it for war, or something else was amiss. I wouldn’t have time to find out.
I heard a noise behind us as we crossed a street. The journey had been slow; Rochelle did all the talking, which made me wonder how a druid could know Afrikan languages. I was no historian – though I intended to try to be at some point– but there must have been dozens of native languages. And not one time had a person Rochelle was speaking to been confused by his words.
The noise made us look back, back to the streets and the city square and the small huts around it. “You seek Dunn.” It was a man covered in fur, which made me uncomfortable just thinking about. It was’t warm, the sun wasn’t out, but the humidity stuck to one’s skin.
“I be shaman.” Another master of languages: His tongue showed an Italian touch, perhaps with Latin influences. The questions lingered in my mind, but I was preparing for an attack. A small group of Afrikans was surrounding us, each in the same toned furs that the shaman had.
“Where is Rochelle?”
“That be me.” I turned and saw a man with one piercing eyeand a rather large axe. “Your friends tried to kill me. For some reason these Netuk soldiers saved my life.” I didn’t want to look at him too much, as his eye made me fearful. He held a red stained ivory dagger in his other hand, and he had a large gash on his face that needed to be cleaned.
“I be William Chapel the Second. My father –“
“Save the stories. I know what you seek. You smell of adventure.”
Catching up with a Dutchman is different than with a Norman. You can bring up art and trade, where a Norman would be more interested in war, steel, forts, and maybe even history. I had never planned on leading my father’s empire, but being a trader looked like it would be an interesting enterprise.
I call him the one eyed merchant now, but there is much more to him.
“You will change what you would like to do weekly,” my mother had told me once, “but you will always be seeking your own calling as I and your father did.”
I was going to tell you about Jonathan Dunn, a Dutchman who looked weathered from his travels, yet full of life. Still, he seemed to be happy, and as we marched back to the ship I expected him to say more than he did.
“I came here looking for peace. Not for the diamonds, or the history of the place … but for peace. I never found it. Being a white man in a land of a different color led me to believe I would have to go to the desert to find this peace.”
I asked him if he would help us, and he gave no answer. I watched this Dunn’s eye with curiousity, but I saw little there to mention. He seemed to want to be left alone. I pushed the issue – that is what Norman’s do – and asked again.
“Yes, I will help you find your father. But you must tell me the truth.”
I looked to the others, to Rochelle and Francis, but they seemed absent, focusing on watching for our trailers. “I do not understand.”
“What is it you truly seek?”
“I wish to live my own life, not one created for me.”
He put his arm on my shoulder. “Let me tell you about your true father. Not the one who married your righteous mother, or who took over a hamlet in Picardy, not even the one who fought off the Vikings from the coasts of Brittania…”
He went on to tell me many things, some I had heard, others that slipped off his tongue as though they were a legend. I understood my father was a great man, that it would be futile to escape my destiny as a Norman. Yet it seemed that this man understood my father more than anyone else ever had.
As we approached the coast, I felt the wind break, saw the skies open up, and could see our ship was gone. How had this happened? Why would they leave an heir to Norman lands in Afrikana? Something was amiss.
“They didn’t leave,” said Rochelle. “But I know we must leave soon. The Netuk will come for our hearts.”
Again I heard a noise behind us, a crack of something, perhaps a stick. A true warrior wouldn’t have given away his position so easily. Francis drew his bow and aimed, but I laid my hand on his shoulder, told him with my eyes what I meant. He stepped back.
I questioned what I was thinking at that moment. A true warrior might give away his position on purpose, but before this thought had come, I had stepped forward. The angles were all wrong for an arrow to hit me, perhaps they intended to split us in two.
Suddenly, I was split off from the group. I looked around, and saw I was surrounded by knyghts covered in white.
Chapter 4: Taking sides in war
… “They have been watching you,” the Green Knyght says. “You are the Red Knyght.”
I look at him, and wonder what the druid meant when he said there must be four. Why was this man speaking to me? Why must the dream torment me so?
The White Knyghts stood there like a pride of lions—not afraid of even man. These ghosts were most likely armored souls: dead centurions of another time and place. And they were almost were floating, as though they had wings I could not see.
Perhaps they had intentions for me, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out. I tried to strike one: The feint against the closest Knyght was expected, as he merely stepped into the blow before I could gain momentum. And by doing so he robbed me of any force in the blow. It glanced off his chest.
“What do you want from me, demon?”
“Demons we are not, young Chapel. It is a warning we seek to express to you.” The first knyght – the one my useless blow had struck – said the words. I looked closer at him, but it seemed much of his face was an ever-moving object, nothing staying in place as he moved except his eyes. I saw no evil in his eyes; more of a redemption, as though he had seen much through his time, making him seem wise.
“You will travel to Yin. You will have to take a side. The druid will help you –“
“A druid doesn’t believe in God, neither do I.”
“It matters not,” the Knyght said, stepping closer to me. “What matters is that you are ready to be an archangel of the sword when all of this is said and done.”
“What is it you really want from me?”
“That will be answered in time. Be wary of the magic of the east. It is tempting, but will drive men mad, as it did your father.”
I was sick of asking questions. But hearing of my father tempted me to ask more. What if these men knew where he was? I wanted to be my own man, not some Arthurian hero to be presented in ballads after your dead.
“Chaos is what it is. The Green Knyght will offer it to you, like Satan did Christ in the desert.”
“The cultures of the Yin empire are much different. They are dangerous for a young soul to be toyed with.”
I hated being called young. One might as well say child. It screams of the words inexperienced and confused.
“I still don’t understand where I am.”
“A different place, different time. We will take you back. We will see you again.”
The Knyghts all held up there hands in unison, like they be disciplined warriors marching to a cadence. I felt myself moving. Looked back at the knyghts as I went into the arrow, trying to remember, but feeling as though much of what I had seen would be forgotten. They had said there words. Would they allow me to say what I saw?
The real question came to me just before I went back into the real world. Would the others believe me?
“William?”
“I’m fine.”
“You fell off your horse,” It was Rochelle. He looked worried. “You were knocked out. You were saying words out loud.”
“What did I say?”
“Nothing that bears repeating, William.”
I pulled myself up. Pulled myself up and looked at the others. Francis smiled. Rochelle stared. The trader Dunn began walking towards the port. “I’m fine, we have little time, less the Afrikans decide to attack.”
“He’s right,” said Dunn, as he walked.
“And where do we go?”
I heard a yelling coming out from the sea. I hadn’t really looked at the ocean up until that point; it was all the same to me. But I looked out then and saw our ship. The sailors were screaming back to us as they approached, and I wondered why they had to be so vigilant in getting our attention. Was something wrong? I turned back and saw a pack of Afrikans. Francis hadn’t said a word, but his bow was already trained on one as he waited for the slightest movement.
Dunn and Rochelle didn’t say a thing when we turned back.
“We have no place to go,” Rochelle said. “If they attack us before the ship is here …”
“I didn’t come here to die. Let them come to us. I will show them what a Welshman can do.”
I looked at these Afrikans, and when Dunn said the word Netuk I thought these warriors might not mean to kill us. Perhaps they just wanted to trade.
“The Netuk do not trade. They take what they want and burn the rest. Much like Normans.”
If the words were meant to sting they did not. Dunn was right about the Normans. They destroyed and rebuilt the lands in their own image. That’s why I intended to rent out a small room and practice weapon design and scripting letters for small towns, as far away from all the illusions of power, war, and other evil deeds as possible.
The Netuk were covered in face paint. They too had bows, along with the spears, and many weapons that appeared to be from Italy, like the Sicilian mace one held. Sicilians, and Italians for that matter, were everywhere when a shilling could be made. I counted ten of these fiery warriors. All of them looked ready to fight, but I sensed in them a will to live. Even conquerors like the Normans and Romans couldn’t celebrate a conquest if they were dead.
“Do you speak their language?” I asked Dunn.
“I do, but I doubt words will solve our problems.”
I looked back to the sea. Saw the ship was closing, but it wasn’t closing fast enough. I surmised that it was probably best they had left or the Netuk would have killed them, burned our only way out of Afrikana, and left my father sitting in the Yin empire.
The Netuk moved forward fast. Francis released an arrow which landed at their feet. He was likely trying to give them every reason to turn back. They seemed out for blood. We didn’t have the minutes we needed. They saw the ship too.
One stepped forward. He appeared to be the leader of the group, and if there were shamans he had to be one. The Netuk were smart: They weren’t going to lose any men approaching us. Dunn moved forward and met the man, who had a lion’s coat of fur over his body, though it didn’t hide the eyes of black.
“What sort of magic do they practice?” I whispered to Rochelle.
“It is all illusions.”
“Are you sure? What of his eye?”
“I read much, and not one spell has ever been recorded here. Though they don’t record much.”
Dunn seemed disturbed about something as he closed with the shaman. At the minimum he could buy us a minute. I doubted he could do that, but stranger things had happened.
They spoke for a moment. I eyed the Netuk warriors. And the shaman held up his hand, made a gesture with his fingers, grunted, and walked away. They all began to slowly walk away, never taking their eyes of Francis and his longbow. I had thoughts on what Dunn might have said but, as I turned back, I saw our ship was a mere fifty yards from the docks. We all eased back, walking over the parched earth, and made our way there.
I didn’t ask Dunn what he had said as we went back into the caravel. Didn’t ask the crew why they had left. In my experience, some things were better left unsaid. As we all entered the ship, it rocked back under our weight. Such a small ship, I mused, and such a small crew, for a journey like this.
“The Netuk were eyeing us from the shoreline,” said the captain of the caravel. Once they began to approach I had to save my men a fight. Didn’t want to hurt too many of the natives here; this is their land, after all.” The captain was right: It be their lands, and we weren’t intended to stay there, to show what Europan influence would do to such a rich land. I found a new trust in this captain.
And as we pushed back, we began to banter about the Netuk’s eyes on Francis’ longbow. I doubted they were afraid of it, but the trained Welshman would have gotten off three shots before the Netuk had even reached him. He was a valuable person on this ship. “They shouldn’t be underestimated,” said Rochelle the druid, “they could make themselves invisible to his bow. Not even a trained eye could have escaped the illusion. He might as well fire at flies.”
We continued our chatter for a few hours trying to quell the nerves of being on guard for so long. I tried to engage Rochelle in conversation about magic, but he seemed distant even though I wasn’t interested in any secrets. I went to my books on accounting. It seemed the history of it would be boring to some: Who would want to know the value of a Caesar coin in Scandinavia or Siberia? I would, an accountant would, perhaps even an alchemist and a trader, but few on this ship would be interested. Such was the plight of the scrivener.
I grew bored with it myself, and as the boredom grew I felt the rocking of the ship over the light waves of the ocean. If it were all the same I would have loved to see Meredith at that moment. She would feint interest in all these boring subjects as I pushed my hand through her long, black hair.
I would have to make choices when I returned. She deserved more than a poor scrivener excited about a new weapon design. Yet that was what interested me, why I got up in the morning excited at the prospects of work. I could go through the trials of being a knyght, of chivalry, of understanding the heroic ideal, and I would never have the resolve to continue with it. Being a knyght made me think of the world differently than that of being a simple worker.
I focused, looked at those around me, and back to the book.
“What did you tell them, Mr.Dunn?” It was Rochelle, finally the question had been asked.
“I told them no illusions would work on a man who knew the ways of the shamans.”
I was interested. “Then you know of magic.”
“It be no magic, lord William. Simple plays of the hands, like something out of a Persian ballad. There is always a truth behind every action: They cannot escape the fact that there magic is just an illusion … a way to play with the eyes. Once you’ve examined it, it be not hard to see.”
I looked at the wood deck of the ship, trying to understand how true magic could be manifested. Was it all a play of the hands? Or were there true forms of chaos magic? I had heard, once, of another kind of “magic,” but it wasn’t called magic at all. Chaos Science were the words that had been used. I considered asking Rochelle about it, but I didn’t want him to believe I knew more than I did. A Norman was taught to be deft in times of trial.
I went back to the book , and triedto remember how every word was put together. My teacher Guyus had told me that it be important to not only understand the subject, but how it was put together. Word by word, a simple accounting book could be seen in many different lights. It would be interesting to write a book; it was a thought foremost on my mind. There wasn’t much coin in the enterprise—everything was ruled by coin—but perhaps late nights could be spent scribbling out something monks would slave over copying. What was needed was a way of making the book easier to be had. Such was the Yin printing press, or so I had heard.
This man Dunn, Rochelle said in my mind, what do you know of him?
I looked up, to Rochelle, but he was looking out at the moving sea.
Little.
He may be the key in pushing this Welshman away from our group.
Francis was the main reason the Netuk didn’t attack.
Because his life was in jeopardy. All disloyalties die when one is trying to survive.
Our eyes finally locked: He seemed disturbed. I hadn’t thought of what he mentioned about Francis in days—too much had been occurring.
I looked to Francis. Again he was fidgeting with his bow, making it bend just the right way for a killing stroke.
I acted.
Walking to him was hard. I could feel Rochelle’s stare on me. I knew this was a controversial move, and it made me wonder if Rochelle could see into my mind as well as speak in it.
“Lord, be it a fine day?”
“It be. I wanted to ask you a question, Francis.”
“I would be happy to oblige, lord Chapel.”
“What do you know of the Yin?”
“Fought the Mongols out many lands, past the great wall I have heard.”
“Anything else?”
“The riches there are … are for the taking, if you do the right things.”
A motive: Francis sought riches. Riches meant power; but it didn’t answer my main question. He wouldn’t reveal his true plans to easily either. I wasn’t sure how to ask it just yet, as we would need Francis’ bow in the future.
Yet I had to know of his loyalties.
“What are your plans when we return?”
“With your father?”
“Be so.”
“I plan to take to over a small hamlet in Tuscany, find a young, pretty las with the long hair I so admire in them. Perhaps have children.”
This was obviously going nowhere. He wouldn’t reveal his plans to me anyways. What was I thinking in the first place? That he would tell me he planned to stab me in the back in some farm in Yin, leave my father to die as he did me?
I had to ask, not to mention think it through. I had no experience with divided loyalties. I nodded. Nodded to Francis and looked back at the captain at the helm of the ship as it continued to sway. He seemed to be focusing—the captain— and thinking of so many things at once was hard for me to do. I felt sick. What if what Francis said be true?
I thought back to all the visions. A young boy who dreamed of Green and White Knyghts. There was something about seeing archangels on a regular basis that screamed of disorder. I had never thought of using the word to describe my life, but there it be. All the teaching, all the dreams, and here my destiny had to be inscribed out before I could make sense of all the sides. The Green Knyght. The White Knyghts. And I had heard something about me being a red knyght.
I went back to Francis for reasons I didn’t understand. He made a gesture to sit. So friendly, this Welshman, and I had seen many a grumpy Welshman. “Tell me about my father, Francis.”
“Me Lord?”
“Because I don’t think I even know the man.”
CHAPTER 5 Masts and angels
He was sitting at the same table. The same table with the painting of the archangel behind it. A women with fiery eyes who had a demeanor I thought inspiring. What was it doing next to the presence of evil? Be he evil? “What is it you want from me?” It was the first words I had ever spoken to the Green Knyght. They were ignored.
“There shall be four, Red Knyght.”
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