CHAPTER TWO
The Obsidian Brotherhood
With the genuflecting monks looking on, Dirk finally gave up on his efforts to extinguish the Flaming Sword in his hand, and decided instead to simply throw it down onto the sandy floor of the cave. This proved to be a good idea because, once there, it stopped burning immediately, while simultaneously shrinking to its former, dagger-like size.
"This is all some kind of mistake," Dirk said to the kneeling monks as he struggled to pull off his helm. "I didn't pull that Sword from the stone, and I am not your Flamer." He emphasized the last word as if it were somehow obscene.
"Apparently, the Sword would have us believe otherwise," said the old man with the long grey beard, grunting slightly as he pushed himself back to his feet. When he was standing again, he entreated his fellow monks to do likewise. The way that they deferred to him made it clear to me that he was the one in charge.
Dirk had finally figured out how his new helm was secured, and he tore at the leather strap to release it. It was obviously an effort made all the more difficult because of his chainmail gloves, but he persevered, even as he cursed his current lack of dexterity. Although I moved forward to offer assistance, I was too late, because he had finally pulled the last of the straps free and had torn off the helm, tossing it to the ground where it rolled away, eventually coming to a stop at the foot of Kathryn's statue.
At first, I had a hard time recognizing my best friend's face now that the helmet had been removed. I had rarely seen him this worked up; his eyes were wide and frantic, his lower lip quivering, and his nostrils wide and flared. He looked equal parts scared and pissed off, and I genuinely felt sorry for him. A few of the monks actually fell back on their knees once they saw his wild expression.
The old man stepped forward and stared silently at Dirk, his eyes narrowed. His wrinkled gaze flicked briefly to me, but didn't linger long. Then, he stood for a moment, his hands clasping each other within the broad sleeves of his monk's robe.
Finally, he spoke up. "We will talk more. But not here. If you would both please follow me."
I was honestly a little surprised to be included in the old man's invitation, after all, I wasn't the one sporting the new armoured look, and they very well could have asked me to leave. But, for some reason, he seemed to want me involved, and I wasn't about to argue with him.
Abruptly, the old monk turned, and walked swiftly out of the cave, without waiting to see if we were going to follow him.
This was obviously a man accustomed to getting his own way.
Most of the gathered monks shuffled off quickly after the old man, but five of them stayed behind with us. Every single one of them seemed to be attempting to summarily master the art of invisibility, and each wore the same expression of deep regret that they hadn't started practicing the skill at a much younger age.
Dirk and I both watched the bulk of the monks leave, then we turned to face each other for a moment. Dirk had a detached look in his eyes. I'd like to say that it was the kind of look that a deer would have in response to headlights, but that didn't quite apply here. Deer were known to freeze and be unable to move out of danger's way when caught in the bright lights of an oncoming car. The look in Dirk's eyes said to me that he was ready to bolt and run like hell the first chance he got.
"Are you all right?" I asked. I reached out to touch his elbow in a show of support, but it never got there. My fingers were stopped about an inch away from his body by something that made my skin tingle. Quickly, I pulled my hand away.
"What was that?" Dirk asked, the tone in his voice clear that he didn't want any more surprises.
"I don't know," I answered as I reached out to touch him again, gingerly this time. Once again, my fingers were blocked before they could reach his body, almost as if a transparent piece of plastic were in the way. It was apparently some kind of invisible force field, and as I rubbed my fingers along it, I watched as tiny tendrils of blue electric sparks radiated out from where my skin made contact with it.
"Hmmmp," I voiced, intrigued by what I was seeing. I stepped back to get a better look at the entire outfit, and as I watched, a couple of water drops fell from the ceiling and bounced off the same transparent barrier, leaving behind the same fleeting blue electrical bolt design.
Now, it all made sense.
I'd always wondered why the Flaming Knight didn't actually wear a full suit of armour. Sure, the chainmail and boiled leather may have been more of less sufficient for protection from some medieval weapons, but I never could figure out how the Knight of the 1930s had been able to stand his ground against more modern weapons like bombs and guns-until now that was.
"It's a force field, or something." I finally offered. "Some kind of passive defensive shield."
As I studied Dirk's intangible screen, several more water drops hit it in rapid succession, causing several more blue sparks to branch out and connect, further defining the field's overall form.
"I want to try something," I said as I bent over to pick up a handful of sand.
"Allen," Dirk cautioned. "This is not the time for?"
Ignoring my friend, I tossed the handful of sand in his direction, interrupting him in the process. The individual grains of sand collectively hit the invisible barrier pretty much at the same time, causing hundreds of blue electric points of impact to radiate out and then join together. For a brief moment, before the sand bounced away, I could see that this was more than simply an amorphous magical shield, it was actually the exact shape of a completely transparent suit of armour.
"Fascinating," I added.
If it's magical, I wondered. Just how impenetrable is it?
Where I was absorbed by this awesome new discovery, it appeared to have an obverse-even claustrophobic-effect on Dirk. Indeed, it seemed to actually be alarming him, because he had begun to scratch at his outfit uncomfortably, as if his body was suddenly crawling with insects.
At that moment, one of the remaining monks cleared his throat quietly, and reluctantly said, "Um, gentlemen, the Grand Master is waiting."
Grand Master is it? Well, I suppose that makes sense, it being a brotherhood and all.
I looked over at Dirk who was shifting around inside the chainmail as if it were irritating him. He knew what I was going to ask before I even opened my mouth to give voice to it.
"I don't want to talk to him," he said pulling irately at his spaulders (I couldn't help but notice that his fingers weren't repelled by the passive defensive shield in the same way that foreign objects were). "I don't want to talk to anybody. I just want to go home."
"We need answers about what just happened to you Dirk. He's the only one who's got them."
Dirk stopped fidgeting and looked at me coolly. Once again, I'm forced to wonder what I would be doing were I in his position. I had to admit that, no matter how much I would have wanted this transformation to happen to me, I'd likely still be a little freaked out by the strangeness of it all, and how quickly everything was moving along. Then, there was this mysterious brotherhood, who seemed to be pulling all of the strings, save one that was arguably the most important one: the Sword's selection process.
If the Brotherhood really were in charge of the Sword, then why shouldn't they also be able to decide who wields it? And, more to the point, how much control do they expect to have over the person who ultimately does?
In front of me, Dirk rolled his eyes and grunted. "Fine," he finally acquiesced reluctantly.
We both turned towards the cave entrance, but hadn't even taken a step when the same monk that had spoken earlier cleared his throat again, and pointed at the floor. "Would you um...please bring...well, the Sword?" he stammered. "Please," he added quickly.
We both looked down at the tiny red-bladed Sword lying on the ground between us.
"I'm not touching that thing again", Dirk answered roughly, through a mouth that sounded like it was full of marshmallows. "There's no way I want it catching fire again. You pick it up."
> I regarded the Sword for a moment. It didn't look hot.
Would it light up for me? I wondered hopefully. Now that it's out of the wall.
I crouched down, reached out for the hilt, and touched it lightly with the index finger on my right hand.
Nothing happened.
I think I was more disappointed than relieved.
I wrapped my fingers around the grip, and clasped it tightly.
Still, nothing happened.
The Sword was warm to the touch, just as it had been earlier when I'd tried in vain to pull it from the wall, but not nearly as hot as I would have expected for something that, not just ten minutes ago, was enthusiastically aflame.
Picking the Sword up off the ground, I became aware of something that could only be described of as a tactical illusion. The Sword just felt bigger than it looked; not just in weight, but in the way it balanced. If I'd closed my eyes, I would have sworn that I was holding a long Sword.
I held the weapon well out in front of me with the blade pointed up towards the ceiling, knowing full well how awkward I looked. Then I nodded at Dirk, and we set off through the cave system together with the monks-three of them leading the way, and two hanging back as sweepers.
By the light of their lanterns, the brothers led us out into the corridor beyond the Cave of the Sleeping Sword (I'm guessing that they're going to have to rename the cave now aren't they?) and into the first side tunnel on the right. This led to a long wide passage that eventually narrowed into another winding corridor.
I cleared my throat to warn Dirk that I was about to speak. "What happened anyway?" I asked. "I mean, when you picked up the Sword."
"I dunno," he answered, his voice small and far away. He was either still in shock, or barely containing his anger. "The moment I picked up the dagger, it caught fire and expanded to its full size, as fast as an air bag inflating." He was still fidgeting inside his outfit, only now he had begun to tug on the cape attachments in earnest. "At about the same moment, this damned costume appeared." Finally, he figured out that the cape was hooked onto the spauldings, so he tore the whole thing up over his head and tossed it unapologetically onto the floor of the corridor behind us.
We followed the monks down another set of stone steps, and through a smaller tunnel until our way was eventually blocked by a slightly oval metal door that looked like something that you'd find on the front of a safe. On either side of this door stood brothers that were dressed more like soldiers than monks. They wore a full-body suit of dark boiled leather, with several vicious looking weapons strapped strategically onto their bodies. Each of them held a thick spear whose end was planted in the ground by their feet.
There's more to this brotherhood each and every minute now isn't there?
The monks leading us spoke briefly to the guards, who then looked at us suspiciously. I became very aware of the dagger that I was holding awkwardly out in front of me, and hoped that they didn't assume that I was being belligerent. I lowered it as much as I dared, but I still had no desire to get any closer to the blade, in case it did decide to flame on after all. Beside me, Dirk was examining his gloves and vambraces, presumably trying to figure out how they were secured.
The guards turned to face the metal door, and spoke something aloud simultaneously. Apparently somebody on the other side of the door must have heard them, because there was a metallic click from within the door, and it immediately swung smoothly open towards us.
Our tour guides gestured for us to enter, and then stayed outside with the guards. We stepped in and, as the door swung weightily shut behind us, I could hear the internal locking mechanism sliding back into place obediently.
We walked forward until we were standing in the middle of a cave that was much larger than the one that formerly housed the Sleeping Sword. This one featured a high vaulted ceiling over most of it, and had multiple levels that were accessible here with carved stone steps, and there with wooden ladders. The walls of the large cave indicated that the space saw a fair amount of use, as there were shelves, cabinets, and display cases spread about, as well as three recessed alcoves directly across from us that, considering the amount of clutter everywhere else, seemed curiously empty. In fact, the whole subterranean space felt like a cross between a museum and (considering how thick the steel door at the entrance was) a secure storage area, and it was one that I suspected also doubled as a meeting area, due to the long wooden harvest table in the center of the cave. It was around this long table where several brotherhood members were now gathered, including the old man with the grey beard.
Aaron was standing beside the man whom we now knew to be the Grand Master, talking fairly rapidly into his ear. I'm assuming that the monk was telling his master all about everything that happened earlier in the cave, although I couldn't hear any of the details. Curiously, Aaron appeared to be gesturing towards me now with his eyes, and the old man seemed to be smiling subtly. After a moment, the leader of the brotherhood made a hand gesture, and the monk stopped talking immediately, and stepped back.
The Grand Master looked us both over again, the fingers of his right hand playing with a well-worn leather satchel that hung from a string around his neck. Finally, he nodded courteously and, speaking directly to Dirk, said, "We've been waiting a long time for you Gilmat. Welcome."
Nobody spoke. Everybody appeared to be waiting for Dirk to respond, but he was too busy pulling his laptop bag over his shoulder and handing it to me to hold before continuing to tear at the straps that held the vambraces on his wrists.
Finally, I spoke up instead. "Gilmat?" I queried.
It was Aaron that answered, even as he gazed at Dirk. "It's Gaelic. Translated literally, it means Sword-bearer. Every Flaming Knight is known by that name within the brotherhood." It's funny how his voice had a more pronounced Scottish lilt to it, now that he was surrounded by his brethren.
The old man hadn't spoken since his initial welcome. I could see him staring at Dirk now, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"I said Welcome Gilmat," he repeated directly at the disrobing Dirk.
Dirk's response was pointed. "I didn't ask for this," he spit, not even looking up at the old man.
The Grand Master forced a smile, trying to make light of an obviously tense situation. "I'll be honest," he said. "Your reaction is not what I would have expected. I would have thought that most people would be honoured by such a gift."
"Yeah? Well I'm not most people then. I wasn't even trying to pull the damned thing out." He had at last released the straps that secured the boiled leather wrist guard on his left arm. "It came out by mistake." Finally, the vambrace was loose enough so that he could slide it off, so he threw it to the floor, and began to work on the right one.
"Yet still, the Sword chose you," continued the Grand Master in a tone of voice that one would normally use with a small child. "That's clear from the fact that it woke up for you."
"But I didn't ask for this," repeated Dirk.
"You swore an oath!" spoke up one of the monks who I recognized as having been in the cave during the tour. "Aaron asked you to swear an oath to take up the mantle of the Flaming Knight should it choose you, and you swore to it."
Dirk's temper was flaring now as he violently ripped off the last vambrace, followed quickly by his chainmail mitons. "I thought it was part of the show! I never once for a moment thought that this was real!" His voice was muffled slightly as he was in the process of pulling the tunic up over his head.
"Are you telling me that you choose not to accept the gift?" The Grand Master's voice was low and measured.
Dirk stopped, a look of relief on his face, though his voice was steeped in sarcasm. "Oh good, then I do have a choice." He struggled to remove the chainmail, which wasn't all that easy because of how heavy it appeared to be. Once it was off and on the ground with most of the rest of his outfit, Dirk expressed relief that he was still wearing his regular clothes under the enchanted armour.
"You always have
a choice." The words from the Grand Master were drawn out, and delivered with more than a little obvious reluctance.
Dirk responded almost immediately. "In that case," he said while gathering up the outfit he'd so far removed, and throwing it all onto the table in front of the old man. "My answer is NO. I officially decline the offer."
The pursuant silence lasted only a moment before it was interrupted by a tiny voice that appeared to be my own. "Can I have it instead?" I asked sheepishly
Everyone ignored me.
Dirk continued. "And besides, the fact that I 'swore a vow' as you claim doesn't matter." He was bent over now, taking off one of his boots. "I didn't actually try and remove the Sword. It got caught on one of the straps of my laptop bag as I walked away, and got pulled out by mistake."
"I'll take it," said a voice that I was once again alarmed to discover as my own. This time though, one of the monks glowered at me in response.
"The prophecy can't be wrong, and can't be denied," said Aaron.
"Well the prophecy was wrong then," retorted Dirk as he kicked off his final boot.
"Give it to me..."
Just where is that voice coming from anyhow?
"You don't understand," spoke Aaron with a considerable amount of passion in his voice. "The need is great. We need you. The world needs you now. There is a danger unlike..."
"I've already told you," countered Dirk as he leaned on the conference table to pull one of his legs out of the thick pants. "I don't care." He was breathing heavily from the effort it took to extricate his other leg before kicking the pants aside. "I never asked for this, and as far as I'm concerned, you can keep the Sword!"
Without thinking, Dirk reached out and grabbed the dagger from me, intent on giving it back to the old man. Once he touched it though, it immediately enlarged and sprung back to life dramatically, a jet of flame shooting up from it and licking the cave's ceiling, while simultaneously melting a light fixture.
"What the hell!" yelled Dirk frantically, his voice once more muffled by the helm that-despite having been left in the other cave-had reformed over his head, along with the rest of the costume that he'd just worked so hard to remove. Immediately, he dropped the Sword on top of the table, where it turned the wood around it black and smoky before fizzling out and shrinking. Then, Dirk tore off the helm again, and practically spit at the gathered members of the brotherhood. "How do I take this off? Permanently!"
Without a word, the old man stood up, retrieved the tiny Sword from the table, and walked over to a shelf along the wall. Pulling what appeared to be a leather sheath from the shelf, he slid the dagger into it, fiddled with it somehow, and almost immediately, Dirk's armour disappeared.
The Grand Master turned to face Dirk again. The friendly old man was completely gone now, having been replaced by a bitter version.
"If you do this," he growled. "There's no coming back. Not ever."
Dirk considered the old man's words. "Works for me. I'm assuming that we're free to go then?" he asked of the Grand Master. The old man growled in response, but didn't actually say anything intelligible. Instead, Aaron stepped forward placing himself physically between the two men.
"There's a ferry within the hour," Aaron said through a forced smile.
"Thanks," answered Dirk. Then he turned to me. "Let's go."
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