Chapter 11
Gerold moved silently across the courtyard. It appeared empty, but the running and hiding had made him extra cautious. He wondered at the sounds he had heard. Where did they come from?
Moonlight created a mosaic pattern on the stone walls. Gerold felt his life was like those mosaics, a puzzle he was trying to solve. All he’d believed, the anger, the need for revenge, were being shattered—and he wasn’t sure the pieces would fit back together again.
A rustling sound halted Gerold in his tracks, but it was only a small animal scampering across the silent courtyard.
“Take hold of yourself,” Gerold scolded himself as he continued. A cry of anger, followed by another scream of pain echoed across where he stood. The blade in his hand began to hum.
“What?” Gerold asked as the blade pulled him forward. “I don’t know why you’ve chosen now to...” He continued forward, stopping short as another deeper cry cut through the night’s frigid air. Gerold noticed clouds beginning to build to the north. The air felt of snow, but the sky directly above was clear.
Cautiously, following the sounds, Gerold hoped to discover the source, but the blade had other ideas. So strong was its pull, it was taking all of Gerold’s strength not to rush forward as a deeper, angrier roar sounded.
Clouds crossing dimmed the moon’s light causing Gerold to stumble against the edge of a large stone. The blade dug into the earth stopping his movement, as he stifled a curse. Gerold remained in place, prepared to move either way should anyone approach.
Pulling the blade upward, it caught the light as the clouds moved away. He marveled at its craftsmanship, but had yet to comprehend the life he felt emanating from its length. “You’ve been leading me, keeping me safe,” Gerold said to the blade. “Why?”
He hadn’t expected a response, but the blade surprised him. Lifting of its own accord it positioned itself to reflect light on the stone Gerold had stumbled against.
Falling to his knees, left hand tracing the letters, Gerold felt sorrow, as tears clogged his heart and eyes.
The blade glowed with energy flowing up Gerold’s right arm. When it stopped, Gerold heard a deep cry of great pain.
Gerold didn’t know if it was the unknown voices he’d heard earlier, or his own voice giving release to the pain he’d carried for all the long years since he’d been the sole survivor of his family’s slaughter.
Gerold recognized the lettering on the stone—his family name. Home. He had found the home he’d been told was destroyed. Gerold lay his head against the stone, tears falling. The blade hummed, its light bright, showing Gerold a scene of carnage.
He recognized his younger self trying to beat at the man fighting his father. Stunned at the memories that had been hidden for years, Gerold watched as Niketas killed his father, then turned to strike him.
Gerold trembled at the remembered fear, when the large arm of the red-bearded man cut across and deflected the blow meant to kill him. This time, the scene did not end. He was seeing what happened after that glancing blow had knocked him out.
Gerold watched as the events that changed his life played out before his eyes. He wasn’t sure of what was bringing the past to life, but a part of him believed it was the blade, for since coming into his possession, his life had taken an interesting turn.
He continued to watch as the rest of his family fell to the blades of the soldiers, tears flowing afresh. Soldiers of the man Gerold had thought of as a surrogate father. He watched the bearded man stab and slash in an effort to stop the slaughter.
When the red-bearded man found himself overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, he stepped over Gerold and touching the blade to Gerold’s shoulder he whispered, “You will be safe until time for you to balance the scale.” Then, the man turned to his attackers, falling under the hail of blows.
“Forget… Forget…it will keep you safe,” he heard, as the life force drained from the man into the blade he held. Gerold realized the man falling on him had saved his life. But why?
The scene continued to play before Gerold’s eyes. Niketas ordered his men to place objects around the area, and place the red-bearded man to a position of guilt. Yet, the blade remained where it fell, invisible to the others. Gerold stood, eyes taking it all in, only to have a breeze blow it away, replaced by snow.
“How? How could I not—” Gerold asked the silent night. Was this a precursor of more remembrances, he wondered? He received no answer, just the sound of footsteps coming toward him. So caught up in the scene he’d just witnessed, he realized, too late, that these steps were real.