Battle Since Past

Awakening from a peaceful sleep the Raven takes in the small room around him. Across there is a small table next to a large comfy chair where his clothing, washed and folded, lay.

There is a soft knocking from the door and the priest, from the other night, opens it slightly before coming in. “It has been a long time since I last had a guest in my house. I was hoping that you’d be willing to stay for a while Victor.”

“You know my name?”

“Milbourne was my colleague for many years, and friend for many after that.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, but for your own good I must leave. It’s safe for neither you nor me if I stay here.” Victor says heading for the door.

“Though the forces of night recede in the dawn, shadows still lurk in the shine. Give a chance to time, only two days have passed. Yet still at heart it remains your choice I won’t stop you. But, you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

Turning Victor looks into the middle-aged priest’s light blue eyes and asks, “If you knew him you as you say you did you must know.”

“The condition of your birth, I do.” states the priest with an unwavering gaze “My name is James, please sit. If you don’t mind me asking how long has it been since you last?”

“Three weeks,” Victor says sitting back down, “No one was harmed. I’m not that savage anymore …” Victor’s voice falls silent, and a mournful stillness takes the room as the young man becomes lost in days since past. James places a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, holding there for only a moment as he senses Victor’s inner strife, and walks away slowly leaving Victor to his thoughts.

“Father?”

“Yes Victor?”

“I have some supplies that I would like to be retrieved if you would be so kind.”

“I’d be happy to.” Slipping out the door James enters the high arched halls of his church. The rising sun filters through stained glass and his footsteps echo against the hard oak floors as he strolls past scenes of biblical tales stitched upon grand tapestries. James stops before an ancient door of fierce white oak accented by a knob and lock of cold iron. Looking down both end of the hall to be sure he is alone he quickly slips through the door locking it behind him.

The dimly lit room is decorated with only that of a pedestal upon which sets derelict bible stained by the blood of its former owner. Its ruined pages remind him of a time since past and of a friend long ago lost.

“David, my old friend” placing his hand on it “what have you brought to my doorstep now?”

9 years earlier…

The old preacher barks words of fire and brimstone at the “wrongs” successors of his generation’s sons. The elder folk within the small congregation nod with approval to his harshness, while the young feel nothing but distain towards him. They see nothing before them but a senile old man, who understands nothing of them.

The preacher finishes his sermon and to men clothes of black and collars of white wait as the room clears.

“Greetings Father Hathworth,” says one of the young men as they approach the altar, “We heard you and this small town of yours had a slight ‘problem’.”

“I know nothing of what you speak of, who are you?” Hathworth demands.

“I am Father David Milbourne my colleague is Rev. James Baker. We’ve been sent here by some friends of the Vatican to help in your time of need.”

“What allies?”

“Now if you would to be so kind to take us to this trouble began.”

“Mary, I’m going out for awhile, but I’ll be back before lunch” says James walking into the small kitchen.

“How’s our guest doing?” she asks turning to face him.

“He’s awake and their doesn’t seem to be any other damage”

“Do you think he’s hungry?”

“After two days I know I’d be”

Mary begins to cook as her father leaves. She watches him as he gathers his hat and coat. Mary caches a brief glace of an old bible she had only once seen at her mother funeral. What’s going on? She wonders to herself, all the years of trusting her father come beckon to her, and she realizes if there was anything of importance her father would tell her.

With the turn of a dial the sweet sound of sizzling bacon can be heard. Mary sings Beetles tunes softly to herself as she ponders on the stranger in her home and the story he must have.

“Father Hathworth; what brings you here?” ask the deputy lowering his gun.

“It’s a matter of the church Frank” replies the old preacher. “These gentlemen are here to investigate the ‘incident’ from last week.”

“I don’t see what’s here to in investigate; some weirdo broke in and took some blood that all, probably some Goth punk high or something.”

Milbourne steps forward from the shadows into the deputy’s headlights all the while glaring at the deputy. “That’s not for you to decide. Now let us into the building”

“I’m sorry mister but the Sheriff told me not to let any-” Grabbing his neck the deputy suddenly falls to the ground. Out of concern Hathworth checks to see if the deputy is alright. Then he notices a small dart protruding from the man’s neck.

Milbourne coolly walks over and removes the diminutive projectile “Nice shot James.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Keep your collar on Hathworth; it was only a tranquilizer he’ll wake up in a few hours well rested. You can return to your home now. We will handle things from here on.”

The old priest can’t help but wonder what he has done by bringing these strange young men to this place, yet he cannot in his wildest dreams imagine the severity of the situation.

Victor lets himself relax a little knowing for at least right now he is safe. He begins to plan is next move as he tucks away memories of the past. From outside he can hear footsteps heading towards were he now sits. From the sound he determines it’s someone of a lighter figure most likely female, close to his own age. His deduction is proven correct as the angel from the night before opens the door. Her brunette hair shines softly and blue her eyes glimmer in the light her slight smile does much to brighten his mood. In her hands she holds a metal tray which she places on the table next to him.

“Good morning, I’m Mary, how did you sleep?” she asks.

“Better than usual, name’s Victor, thanks for the food.”

“You’re welcome”

Victor begins to eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon. The girl sits down across from him not saying a word. She just watches him as he eats.

“What is it?” he says mildly bothered.

“I don’t mean to pry but, I can’t help but wonder how did you end up on our roof?”

“It’s a long story.”

“How did you know Father Milbourne?”

“Milbourne was my foster father, what’s it to you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to offend -” He looks away and continues his meal.

“Just forget it.”

“I guess I’ll leave you to your meal.” She leaves him to his meal which he finishes alone in silence. A slight feeling of remorse over takes him as he takes the last bite. Mary returns to the kitchen and cleans up after the meal.

The second hand ticks past the sixty mark and the minute hand slides onto the thirteenth minute of the final hour. The quite grip of night holds the air the world still. All the town slumbers except for one. The foreigner creeps through the darkness towards the small town clinic where the local deputy lays dozing in his patrol car.

The glass on the door melts to his touch and he passes into the dark interior the footsteps echoing against the hard tile floor. Off in the distance he hears the tick and tock of mechanized time pieces, and faint breaths of two others. He stops.

“Baker now he’s on to us!” Lights suddenly flash all around. The man yells out in pain as his flesh burns and boils. His blood spatters against the ground as he draws his blade. Moved by an unseen force the blood forms a ring around him. As he slams his palm onto the symbol in the center of the ring his blood ignites into flames. A sound too low to be heard by man sweeps the area. Their eardrums scream as glass shatters all around them. With the lights now gone the foreigner rises from the circle of scorched tile around him. His skin repairs itself while a dark grin spreads on his face.

James’ ears ring as he dusts the glass off of himself. It is at this moment he notices that Milbourne is shouting his ears ringing too loudly for Milbourne’s words to penetrate. Turning to the direction that Milbourne points, a savage punch sends James reeling backwards. The man leaps after him, with his blade held high in anticipation of the final strike.

The world slows to Milbourne’s eyes and he draws his blade. Swiftly he parries the foreigner’s dagger. The two men exchange blows both of their blades resonate from every hit. The dual of daggers grows in fierceness and complexity as the battle rages on. Milbourne’s strengths begins fault as the second hand ticks by.

Bright light washes over the two. The twang of reverberating of cord is heard as Milbourne’s adversary is struck by a luminous arrow. The foreigner falls to the floor as the cruel poison flows through his veins. Milbourne turns to see James clutching a bow of pure crystal and his blaze with white light.

“Kill me and get it over with” coughs the man.

Milbourne gives the man a solid kick in the ribs knocking him on his back. “We’re not done with you yet. So tell me, what is a blood mage doing so far from Azerath?”

“I’m not telling you shit, human scum.”

“Now we’re just going to have to change that attitude of yours. James …” The man screams as an arrow flies through his right knee. “Now answer my questions, or do you want us to do this with the rest of your joints?”

“I was bounty hunting.”

“Now that’s a good little Bloodlord. Continue.”

“I only had a small squad myself and two first generation slaves. I figured go after an easy target, he is only a boy. I underestimated, little prick killed the slaves and used their weapons against me.”

“Who was your target?”

“It’s in my pocket” Milbourne pulls out a dirty parchment.

“The Raven” He states reading aloud, “A vampire-human hybrid, approximate age twelve to thirteen years, wanted dead or alive by Lord Night” Milbourne steps away from the man placing the paper into his coat. “Ash him.”

James draws his bow white light surrounds the tip and grows with ever greater intensity. The arrow strikes the man strait through the heart his body quickly burns and turns into a heap of ash.

“Milbourne, we should call HQ and get a clean p crew to come through here.”

“Here take this” Milbourne shoves the vampires curved dagger into James’ hands. “Your kill, your trophy.”

“Thanks”

Sunlight washes over the city streets. Rev. Baker sits alone at a small café. Carefully he examines the violin in front of him. Its worn surface gives away the hours upon hours that it has sang. Flipping it over he notes an engraving on the back, To the Son that I love, with this may your soul sing forever, placing the weathered instrument back into its case. Baker suddenly becomes aware of a man standing next to him.

“Hello kind traveler, with what wind do you ride?”

“I am a man that travels along the west blown winds, it has been many a day since I left my home. So tell me what kind of man are you?”

“I am a guardian, dawning from the lost Isle.”

“We were surprised to hear from you,” the man says as he sits across from James. “It’s been so long since your last message we thought you were dead.”

“I had a daughter to raise after Melissa died and this sector has been quite for some time. I didn’t see the point of reporting nothing every day. Tea?”

“What? Oh, no thank you.”

“It’s quiet good here,” Baker states refilling his glass. “Tastes like the brew she used to make.”

“Baker I have no intention to be rude, but can we get back to the matter at hand.”

“Ah, yes the boy.”

“What code did he use?” he asks writing in a small note book.

“He used the Milbourne code.”

“The Raven?”

“Yes”

“I’ll call HQ and have them send a detail of men to your church to escort hi…”

“He’s not ready.”

“What do you mean, he is destine to end the war. After six hundred years there could be peace, life could return to Avalon. We have been waiting for him for six hundred years.”

“I don’t think he cares. You’ve hunted him as has our enemy, to him your no better. Something is keeping here, last time he was wounded like this he was gone in 48 hours. I didn’t expect to see him today. If you try to capture him now he’ll run, and we will never get him back. I will do what I can to convince him to come of his own free will.”

“What if you fail?”

“Then God help us all.”