The Knights of Aragon

Chapter 20

The magic in the manor leads me from corridor to corridor, taking me deeper into the house. Candles flicker on and off as I pass them but this time, the silver-blue dust swirls around me. It plays with loose strands of my hair and trail a path on my pale skin, almost as if it's attracted to me.

Various doors I pass are either closed shut, locked, or splintered by an incredible amount of force. "What kind of monster could destroy something like this?" I ask out loud. I eye the damaged state of the splintered wood that used to be a door. The kind that adores power. I jump at the unexpected response.

I gaze at the rumble one last time before continuing the path chosen for me to follow. The lights begin to dim considerably once I make one last turn. The walls are no longer decorated in finery but of cold, grey stone. A chill runs down from the other side of the corridor, raising the hairs at the base of neck in alarm. I halt at the unsettling feeling. Come.

"Do you know what's down this hall?"

Yes..

My mind takes me back to my first meeting with Merlin. He hid in the darkness as he spoke to me through that veil. But it's all different this time. This all feels rehearsed, predestined in a way. What is the meaning of all of this? Why did you go through such lengths, Lancelot? How did you know I'd come?

A set of steps interrupt my thoughts. They spiral up, leading to one of the towers that I saw outside, I'm sure. Go up and find your missing piece. The magic dust around me flares a bright metallic blue before vanishing entirely, leaving me in the dark. Not even a single candle is alight for me to make my way up. Never mind, I shall do this blindly. My curiosity cannot take much more of the intrigue.

I carefully place my hands on both walls and cautiously take my first steps. The light tap against the cold slabs are the only sounds that can be heard. The smooth surface of the walls guides me as I think of what could possibly be up here. A memory of being locked in the church's basement comes to mind. I shiver at the thought.

A red wooden door comes into view as I take my last steps up the winding stairs. I admire the gorgeous blue and gold designs painted on the wood, caressing them as I do so. Surprisingly, the paint has not chipped away, nor has it been eaten away by rot and mold. It's in perfect condition.

I give the door a slight push and it easily opens, revealing a breathtaking bedroom. A canopy bed lies next to an open bay window. It's moth-eaten curtains swaying with the cool wind. A small circular table occupies the center with piles on top of piles of paper hazardously thrown on it. A few have scattered on the ground caused by the winds blowing through the window.

I lean down and pick one up from the floor. A repeated sentence is written in each line in a child's handwriting. It reads: I am not defined by the sum of my parts but for how I use them is what defines me as great. My hand flies to my mouth as a strangled gasp escapes my lips. I've seen this before. I've written it with my own hands!

This sentence is what I constantly wrote in the dungeon when I was little. I remember how much I relied on these words without knowing why and how meaningless they become after being left all alone for so long. But I couldn't stop. I felt like I had to remind myself that I was better than how I actually felt. I carried these words with me all those years... and then I forgot. No, I was forced to forget.

Why is this here? I quickly walk to the table and shuffle through the pile. My hands shake in panic as my eyes scan at all the ink blotted words that have been written over and over and over again. "What is the meaning of this?" I harshly shove stacks of paper on the floor, hurriedly scanning every inch of stationary for a clue as to what this could mean.

I search until something different catches my eye. A yellow stained parchment with shaky, almost incomprehensible handwritting and a small drawing underneath. Gently, I separate it from the rest of the mess and read:

My name is Samsa.

I am 12 and three quarters today. I have long ginger hair and eyes that are as green as lily pads. At least that's what my friend, Nini says. I live in a grand castle like princesses from my bedtime stories do. But I live a life of a warrior, and no one will tell me why. Lance says that if I work hard enough, my name will become legend, just like a friend of his is. I cannot wait!

After reading her letter, I glance at the drawing down at the bottom of the page. It's of a red-haired girl with armor and a blade in each hand. This time I let out a chocked gasp as I let go off the paper and cover my mouth with both of my hands. I sharply turn around to inspect the room closely.

Slowly, I back away and head towards the princess made bed. The blankets are all strewn, half on the bed half on the floor. I rub the featherlight pink material in between my finger. The pillows are all ripped open. In haste, it looks like. Someone was searching for something in them. Whatever it was, they didn't find it.

Tiny whispers sound behind me. Voices of children and women call me from a wardrobe standing a couple feet away from the bed. I hear words but I can't understand them. I place my ears against the wood and listen.

I pry the wood open, and the whispers intensify. Different shades of pinks and purples dresses are stuffed inside. Worn out pairs of shoes fall out of the wardrobe. They look incredibly small and delicate. I bend down to take a closer look when something on the closet door catches my attention.

I graze the letters as I try to repeat the words out loud. "Unum et alterum adiungere." The whispers say the same words after me, louder than before. "Ferrum et formare novum." A small breeze begins to blow in the room. "Vivamus ut multus."

The whisper halt and I hear a rattle come from the floorboards underneath my feet. A faint light glow emits from one of the boards that is half hidden by the wardrobe. I immediately close it and begin to push it over. I firmly plant my feet, place my hands on the side and push. I grunt as it scrapes the floor loudly.

"This better be good," I groan.

Finally, the wardrobe is out of the way and the loose board can be easily lifted, but the years of misuse has made it tough to crack it open. My patient runs out after a dozen tries so I turn to more drastic measures. I stand and brace myself as I lift my foot and smash it through the floorboards.

My heart races at the adrenaline pumping in my body. I rummage through the splintered wood in a hurry. My hand comes in contact with a leather sheath. I take it out and blow away the sawdust. The sheath is made of black leather with delicate blue and silver threading. Sapphire gemstones of various sizes are scattered randomly on the hilt of this blade.

My eyes can't look away as I snatch the blade out of it. The hairs of my arms rise with static. "Unum et alterum adiungere," the words flow out on their own accord. "Ferrum et formare novum!" Thunder erupts from the sky above. "Vivamus ut multu!" At that moment lightning strikes outside the window. Once. Twice. The third one goes through the window.

The bolt lights up the room, spreading like a spider web, hitting the walls. Eventually, one of the branches makes its way towards me. The neon blue light blinds me, and I feel the hit on my body as I get thrown against the stone wall. The electricity filling my body with power and energy I've never felt before. I scream in agony as the burn sets in. I black out before I hit the floor.