The knight tugged on his reins, turning to face the feral uproar. There was a nobleman thrown off his steed with a hard thump into a pile of rabid peasants. They clawed at his face, ripping apart his deep crimson cloak along with the fine, embroidered tunic at his breast. The noble’s loyal steed whinnied in a panic, galloping away from the ensuing savagery.
The knight’s horse blew out, stamping his front hoof, as the noble desperately attempted to free himself from the animals who had attacked him.
Upon seeing the shining armor in the distance, he called out, fear trembling his voice, “You— knight!” His assailants were merciless as they beat down on him, interjecting his plea, “Save me. Save me and I will reward you. Handsomely!”
“Shut yer fancy gob,” roared a dirt covered man who struck his jaw, coaxing a pathetic whelp from the great Lord. The others followed suit, splattering his noble blood only for it to be heartily drunk by the soil below them. His pitiful screams filled the air underneath the dark, cloudy skies.
The knight sat atop his steed…watching,
“Have you no honor? Save me,” the aristocrat cried out, wheezing for air after being hit in the chest, unable to see through his bruised, puffed skin. The poor creatures continued until the blue blood had been battered into a pile of meat and bones.
The knight pulled at his horse to approach them, looking down at the corpse they had made with the same hands that toiled away for his riches. He thought of Lord Ignatius dying in the mud and of the relief that washed over him when he saw the light leave his eyes.
He took out his last, single loaf of stale bread from his saddlebag, handing it to the peasants who snatched it away from him, ripping into it just as they had done to their Lord. The gray stallion was commanded to move onward, leaving the destitute farmers to the measly offering he was able to provide. In the end, his scraps meant nothing, for those lost souls died of hunger by month’s end.
The knight ventured forth down his westward path as he had done for countless suns and many moons, searching for the island his sister had once told him about. He recalled her stories as the fog crept around the surrounding oak trees.
“It is real. Mistress Thatcher told me so,” She had argued back at him, her brown curls bouncing when she turned her head away in a huff, crossing her arms.
“And you truly believe that?”
“I do. She said it was called Edealon. It’s an island far to the west, farther west than any man has ever gone. It’s the most beautiful place,” Her eyes lit up as she imagined it, “The sun shines brighter there than anywhere else on Earth and there are more stars in the sky than the richest king has jewels. All sorts of fruit grow year round and even when you pick them, they grow endlessly.”
The young squire scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Now there are magical fruit trees? Aren’t you too old to believe such ridiculous tales, Arianne? What next? Are there talking dragons as well?” He burst out with a mocking laughter until his belly ached.
There was no biting quip in return like he expected. She glared back at him, her lip quivering, tears welling up in her eyes. Feeling a pang of guilt, he stopped at once, but said nothing as he stared back at her stupidly.
Arianne had run away from him before he could see her crying.
The knight’s head fell with shame, knowing he had done much worse since that time. How could he have missed all those nights she ran to her chambers holding her nightgown closed? All those days she had supposedly fallen ill? He knew that something was wrong. He knew…and when she tried to fight back against Lord Ignatius, it cost her life.
After this irreplaceable loss, he savored the Blackwood slaughter, but it brought him no peace. The knight looked up at the sky with no sun to shine down on him. And so, he persisted, knowing there was no mystical island at the end of his journey. He knew this and yet, he continued, drawing closer and closer still to the farthest west any man had ever gone.
He traveled in the woodlands for another day before finally arriving at a glen. The sound of burbling water filled his ears as dismal clouds covered the sky’s light. After dismounting his horse, he took off his helm and allowed it to fall to the ground.
“Young man…” an unknown voice said, “I have seen many just like you, on the same quest.” The startled knight whipped his head around to find the speaker.
A dignified man with gray hair and a long, coarse beard sat before the waterfall with a great sword resting on his crossed legs. His armor was old and rusted, but the plates had once been brilliant. Smirking, he carefully considered the broken warrior before him, “Yet another brave knight in search of the mystical Edealon, I presume?”
“I wish to see with my own eyes that it does not exist,” the knight replied.
The old man raised a single brow, “You do not believe the stories, then?”
“No such place could possibly exist,” his tired eyes sunk down into the lake. “My sister told me the sun shines brighter there than any other place on Earth, that there are more stars than the richest king has jewels. She said there are fruit trees that grow endlessly. She’s wrong.”
“And you came to prove that?” He asked, bewildered.
“I did, because if it’s not real—as I suspect—then I can finally accept death’s glory at last,” he drifted toward the glen’s opening, but the elder knight intervened.
“If death is what you desire, I will happily provide it for you should you choose to move forward,” he pointed his impressive blade at the younger knight.
Without hesitation, there was a clangor of swords as the two warriors battled in the water, droplets being flung across like small daggers with the swing of their blades. The young knight proved a strong fighter, but the old man’s blows were unnaturally mighty.
Letting out a powerful grunt, the elder knight’s great sword knocked his opponent down onto the lake stones in one fell swoop. The old man lowered his weapon.
Wearing a soft smile, he posed a question, “I ask you, young man, does it truly matter if Edealon exists?” He gazed up at the benevolent figure with the same stupid stare of those many years ago as the dark clouds made way for the sun’s embrace, “Is your sister’s hope not enough?”
Thinking of Arianne, tears uncontrollably fell from his cheeks, and for the first time, he allowed himself to hope that the island she believed in exists.
