Chapter Six - In the Darkness

Oliver couldn't sleep that night. The light from the fire, soft and golden, outlined the face of Lise, sleeping close yet so far away.

After he had taken her on the walk today, he had felt raw, like a scab had been torn off. The paladins around him had long since retired; the soft sound of their breathing filled the air.

They had left him alone after he got back. He had picked up a book from the pile and read it off to one side.

It was a book about witchcraft and how to burn one. Feeling his stomach turn, he looked around at the female paladins around him and realized with a start that the Temple would have burned every one of them, given half a chance.

After that, he couldn't sleep. “Oliver,” he heard the wind whistle. “Come to me.”

He sat up, eyes peering into the dark. Everywhere he looked, dark shadows flirted. He didn’t want to admit he was afraid; it wasn’t exactly something a paladin knight admitted to, but he filled his hand with light and held it up over his head.

“Oliver,” the voice whispered to him, pleading.

“What do you want?” he said, his voice fading on the wind.

And then the shadow took form into a roughly dark cloud. “Come,” it said, “I have something for you.”

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“You know who I am. I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk.” The dark form gestured to him, and then moved off towards the cathedral.

A strange feeling came over him. He found himself, inexplicably, following the shade into the cathedral. It was as if his body was not his own. One foot went in front of the other. Not even glancing side to side in the darkness, he went straight to the ladder. The shade had ascended and was standing at the top, waiting for him.

He made it to the top and entered the study where they had been earlier. A faint light of the moon shone through the broken window, and he heard the coos of the birds, now roosted in the bookshelves they had cleared out earlier; their beady eyes seemed to follow him as he moved trancelike toward the back apartment, towards the gaping open door.

The minute his feet passed the threshold of the open door, he felt a sudden gust of icy wind from behind him. Oliver spun around and snapped to his senses. What in Hades was he doing here? This was foolishness to come here by himself in the dead of night and darkness. He shook his head as his eyes found the inky patch of darkness lurking nearby.

Standing before him was a shade, a dark and ghostly figure, emanating an aura of malevolence.

Oliver froze, unable to move as the shade stepped closer to him. Its eyes glowed red in the darkness, and its voice echoed through the room, sending chills down Oliver's spine.

"You dare to disobey me?" it hissed. "You have failed in your duty, and now you must pay the price."

Oliver tried to back away, but the door slammed shut behind him, trapping him in the small apartment with the shade. He felt the weight of its power pressing down on him, forcing him to his knees.

The force shocked him, and without a sword, he felt helpless. Would his magic even work on this spirit? "Please," Oliver pleaded. "I don't know what I've done wrong. I've worked hard through the years. I’ve become the best paladin I can be."

The shade sneered at him, its face twisting into a grotesque expression of anger.

“You are weak," it spat. "You have no discipline, no dedication. You are unworthy of the knowledge I have given you. You were supposed to lead the paladins, not become a mere knight. You were destined for greatness, and you let Rordan steal that from you!”

Oliver felt a sudden surge of anger rising within him. He had worked hard to master the skills he had been taught, and he refused to be belittled by a shade.

"I am not weak," he growled, overcoming whatever dark magic held him down and rising to his feet. "I have worked hard, and I have mastered every lesson you have taught me. I will not bow to you."

The shade let out a howl of rage, its eyes blazing with fury. It lunged at Oliver, dark claws emerging from the inky darkness, catching his shirt and ripping it to shreds. It was upon him, slashing and biting.

Flying backwards from the force of the attack, and with wounds now bleeding, he opened his mouth to scream, a primal roar ripping through his throat. He might only have seconds to live, as the shadow was above him now, and its red glowing eyes looked down on him.

“I’m not going to kill you,” it hissed. It raised its hand, and Oliver was gently lifted to his feet. “But if you want to live, if you want your sweet little love to live, you will do what I say.”

“Leave Lise out of this,” he growled, feeling frozen in place, his arms weighted down to his sides. He struggled against the invisible bonds that held him. Below, he heard a commotion; his scream must have alerted someone.

“Oh, she’s Rordan’s little daughter. The seed that ruined it all. If Rordan would have never fallen in love and broken his vow, all of this would still be standing. The Temple would have taken over Duvall and beyond. But now, I am trapped here. Bound to these stones,” the shade whimpered, covering its hideous red eyes with its claws.

“Let me go. I am not yours to command,” Oliver said, ceasing his violent movements.

“You aren’t mine to command, but you will be. Let me tell you what you must do. I know you are going to the East soon, to hunt down the men who are still loyal to me. I heard the men talking today, as they stole - YES, STOLE, priceless artifacts from me. It is not theirs to take. No, no, no. But you will pay me back. You must go to the East, and become the master of men. They will remember you and will accept you back. Then, you must retake your vows and work to rebuild the Temple and the order of the holy knights.”

“You’re mad. Why would I do that?” Oliver said, stilling his body from fighting.

The shade of Master Simeon laughed as voices appeared outside the door, and the men began hammering. With horror, he realized he heard Lise’s voice. Please, he thought, please don't let the master hear her.

But he had. His head turned, and an evil smile came to his face. “Oh, the pretty young thing comes to save her man. I could kill her now, I could. But then I won’t have anything to make you mind me.” The shade seemed to ponder for a moment as the hammering continued.

“Oliver, listen to me. There are worm eggs hidden on this continent. I know where they are, for it was written in a book I owned, but if you do not do as I say, I will cause the eggs to hatch, one by one, and they will descend on Eastmere and destroy them all.”

“Like the fire worm Rordan killed?” Oliver was shocked; the story of how Rordan and his men killed the fire worm was legendary.

“No, bigger and meaner. These eggs have been there for centuries and are much bigger and more dangerous.”

“I will not serve you!” Oliver yelled. He could hear the voices of his friends beyond the door, calling his name.

“Oh, you will!” the shade said, advancing towards him. One claw reached out and touched his shirt where it had been torn, brushing it aside. As the shade touched him, he shuddered; the claw was ice-cold.

The shade was so close; he could smell it, a smell like death, tar, and sulfur. Its red eyes were fixed on his own, and he saw only a mocking gaze. Then, using its claw, the shade began to gouge a design on Oliver's chest, closing the wound with fire as he went.

The pain was unbearable. Oliver screamed until he could scream no more as the shade worked. The shade finished and grinned, stepping back to consider his work.

Now, an intricate design, tattoo-like but a brand instead of ink, covered his shoulders and chest. It was a wolflike design, with a wolf's head at his sternum. His skin was charred, red, and angry. “What have you done, what have you done?” Oliver said in a whisper, his voice now gone. He slumped over and looked at his burning chest. His legs wouldn’t hold him, but whatever force still held him in place did.

“I have marked you. You are cursed now, by my hand. The brand will give great power but also bind you. If you fail, I will kill the girl first, and then you. Goodbye, Oliver. Serve me well.

The force that held Oliver released him, and the shade of Master Simeon slowly faded away.

The door flew open, and his fellow paladin rushed in, with Lise at the front. She found him on the floor, in pain from his marking. “Oh, Oliver. What has happened to you?” Lise cried, dropping to her knees.

“The master . . .” Oliver said, his voice filled with pain. Dean stepped into the room, his presence filling up the doorway.

“Heal him,” he commanded, and Patrick stepped up, knowing that Lise couldn’t do it.

Patrick filled his hands with paladin healing magic and then placed them on Oliver's chest, but the wounds could not be healed. Where the cursed markings were, the white glow of healing magic refused to touch.

“Cursed wounds,” Dean said, “They must be, if they are not healing.”

Oliver stumbled to his feet. “I can walk,” he said, as everyone eyed him dubiously. He slowly made his way to the door, panting in pain, and then through the study. He looked at the ladder that led down to the cathedral, now lit with lanterns, light spilling from the dark corners.

“I’ll go first,” Patrick said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “And then you follow.”

Slowly, painfully, he made his way down the ladder, his chest on fire, and several times, he wanted to cry out.

The rest of the paladins followed, leaving the darkness of the study and apartments behind. As they exited the cathedral and took the lanterns, an evil laugh sounded through the darkness.

“The Temple will rise again,” the voice said, and laughed again.

***

Oliver was forced to lie down by the fire, Patrick and Lise fussed over him. His wounds were washed by Lise’s careful hands, and he tried not to cry out, but the water seemed to set the brand marks on fire.

She leaned over him on one side, and Patrick on the other. She rinsed a clean wet cloth and went to make another swipe at his burning chest. Oliver grabbed her hand, grimaced, “Enough, please.”

“Sit up, let’s bandage this,” Patrick said, his forehead creased in worry, offering his hand.

Oliver managed to come to a sitting position, his face contorted in pain. Then, the clean bandages were wrapped around him, and he laid back down. Gently, Patrick covered him with a blanket. “Rest, my friend.”

They left him be, but he heard whispers all around as people settled back down to their bedrolls. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Knight Commander pacing back and forth at the edge of the camp, lost in thought. Every once in a while, Dean glanced up at the cathedral ruins, towering over them.

He couldn’t sleep, especially not when Lise moved her bedroll to lay beside him. He reached out and touched her side, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. “Lise,” he mumbled, his voice rough.

“Yes, Oliver. Sleep, so you can heal,” she said, turning so he could see her face lit up by firelight. “Dean has set guards at the door, so no one else may wander in or out, for that matter.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” he said, and for the first time, his eyes filled with tears.

“Oliver, you're being ridiculous. Nothing is going to happen to me. Go to sleep,” she commanded, scooting closer to him.

And that’s how they lay, the rest of the night. Her just inches from him, with his hand resting on her hip. Neither of them slept.