On the Wind – Chapter 1

This is a Character Development bit delving into Gabriel’s past. It’s also the first piece of Kreuzfahrer I wrote, so I’m not entirely sure how well it’s going to fit in with the later chapters. Enjoy anyways! ^_^ The name of Gabriel’s wife has been change from “Sibbohan” to “Aisling.” Heh.—————

The cowled figure that strode from the horse-drawn coach toward Gabriel moved in a strange way. As Gabriel shifted his weight in apprehension, his sword fell further to one side, jingling slightly. He didn’t see Aisling anywhere, but she could have been in the wagon for all he knew. His eyes searched the forest line but it was dark and the heavy wind moved the leaves and branches in deceitful ways. It was late autumn and the weather was growing colder. Michael, his ever-present servant stood directly behind him and to his left. His armored bulk stood motionless, a giant broadsword held securely across his back. He wore a huge tattered scarf that was wrapped tightly across his chest. Gabriel turned and nodded to his friend, his presence providing at least some small comfort. This would all be done soon enough. Just one more trade and they both would be back in Leinster with his son and his wife and life would continue as it had before all of this had happened.

By this time, the cloaked figure was standing only a few yards away. “Place the package on the ground and step back. No sudden movements. Cliche, I know, but I’m sure you are aware by now that I’m done with games.” The speaker in the coach was hidden behind a thin curtain but even over the wind his voice was clearly heard. Gabriel produced a small parcel wrapped in plain paper from underneath his own cape and walked forward three paces before carefully setting the rectangular object down in the middle of the road.

“Yes… Everything should be in order. Where’s Ailsing? Where’s my wife?” Gabriel had returned to Michael’s side and was now staring defiantly towards the covered coach windows.

“You’ll be told momentarily. I want to know you’ve kept your end of this bargain first. No tricks I hope?” replied the voice. It was silky-smooth, devious-sounding and thickly accented. Michael had suggested it was Spanish. But either way, now he knew that voice familiarly.

“No tricks, you can be sure of that.”

“We’ll see shortly.” By now, the figure was on its way back to the coach with the box. Michael folded his arms which caused his armor to scrape together. The sound was small but to Gabriel it was excruciating. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. His heart pounded and his mind raced. Was this a trap? They could be surrounded by a hundred men at this very minute and never know until it was already too late. He glanced at the forest again. The trees grew thick here. This road was very isolated. Some sort of sickness had gripped the forest and dying trees were scattered here and there. The result added to the tension of the situation. “Hmmm… yes. Everything seems to be in order. Good…” The voice ripped Gabriel from his thoughts and focused his mind instantly. “Very well then. My associate will reveal the location of your wife and I’ll be off. I regret the way in which we were required to do business but we need not ever see each other again. Of that I assure you…” The words rolled across the night like a dirge.

The driver of the coach began to turn the carriage around as the cloaked figure once more slowly moved towards the two men. There was something strange with the walk. Gabriel couldn’t place it. It was like watching someone who was thinking desperately of running but knew they couldn’t. The effect was very subtle.

This time, however, the figure didn’t stop and moved in closely on Gabriel. By now, the coach was facing down the road from them. The horses seemed impatient. Or scared. It was hard to tell which. “Please keep your distance. Just tell me where my wife is.” Gabriel addressed the figure but got no reply. It was impossible to see a face, the hood on the cloak being as large as it was and the night being so black. There was almost no moon which was unfortunate. The figure reached into a large pocket and drew something swiftly.

The light of the coach’s running lanterns caught a bright glimmer of silver as the figure raised something metallic over its head. Instantly Michael sprang into action, shoving Gabriel aside and drawing his massive blade. “Wait!!” Gabriel shouted as he was thrown to the ground. Michael’s sword tore a wide arc into the night sky and came down hard onto the figure, knocking it back and sending a spray of crimson into the dark. A long stiletto dropped to the road from the cloaked figure’s hand. A crack of the driver’s whip and the coach raced off into the night. The wind died momentarily and all was still.

Finally Gabriel shifted off his back and got up. The figure was crumpled and motionless, a small pool now forming beneath the folds of the cloak. Michael was breathing hard and was focused on the product of his work. Slowly, Gabriel moved towards the figure and dropped to one knee beside it. As he did, his sword clanged against the ground. He sighed loudly, looking towards the heavens a moment before carefully pulling back the oversized hood.

“What!?” Michael hoarsely gasped. Gabriel felt his breath catch in his lungs. His heart jumped into his throat. His pulse seemed to cease.

“No!” Michael declared towards the body. Gabriel didn’t hear him. He didn’t hear anything. He stared. He didn’t see anything.

Michael shouted primally into the night. He slashed at trees, cleaving them in two. “NO! What!? I…NO! I didn’t mean it!!” Gabriel finally rose to his feet. Minutes passed. Michael dropped his sword heavily and slumped to the road beside the body of Aisling. “Lord, Sire…Gabriel.” he stuttered. “I didn’t… I mean, uh, I couldn’t… I’m sorry.” Gabriel didn’t move. Michael broke into a sob. He was transfixed upon the cooling gory mess of folds and blood that lay spread out on the ground before him. Gabriel’s wife lay gazing upwards towards the night sky, her features cold and white and beautiful and lifeless. He couldn’t think. Or perhaps he was thinking too much. He couldn’t focus. He didn’t know what to do. Michael was crying silently beside him and the wind howled mercilessly, but Gabriel heard none of it.

—————

I imagine some day…

There are about four different places I have written extensively in the last few years. Four websites, I mean. I imagine some day, once I’m long dead, some kid is going to want to do a history paper on me but there will be no journal, no diary that he can tap into to learn my inner-most thoughts. No, instead he’ll have to scour the internet for all of those scattered blogs, web journals and art sites in order to piece together how I viewed life as an angsty teenager-slash-twenty-something.

The lack of written words is something I think future generations will lament about ours. Someday, all of our hard drives will be rusted to crap and the thousands and millions and billions of words that are stored digitally will be gone forever. I suppose paper has a tendency to decay even more than magnetic disks, but there’s just something about leaving behind a leather-bound manuscript of my life that Microsoft Word or Myspace just can’t compete with.

I guess it’s slightly ironic that I am using a blog to grieve the shift in paradigm from paper to digital. I suppose if I weren’t such a blatant hypocrite, I would be writing these words down in a journal somewhere. But the honest truth is that this is just plain easier. I can type almost three times faster than I can write by hand and this way I am able to avoid those annoying wrist cramps. The convenience of word processing is undeniable, and yet I can’t help but think that the world is worse off for the lack of actual substance.

At any rate, there is no mind-breaking take-away. I was just up a little late thinking about how interesting it would be to go forward in time and watch as someone tried to do a research paper on my life. I’m sure they’ll just re-write whatever it’ll say on my Wikipedia, just like every other paper-writing student does today.

Oh the marvels of immediate digital publishing.