She Rises

From the shadows and the ivy, she arose wielding a mighty staff. The brave Templar knight Ignatius took his rightful place by her side. Armando took the other flank.

The forest itself stood at attention. No birds sang. No squirrel scurried. No doe stirred. The wind itself held its breath.

Duessa’s form, sometimes clear, sometimes vague, shimmered between the trees. Ignatius slowly followed, sword drawn. The further they walked, the quieter the wood became. No birds. No creeping things. Only the soft, wet sound of their own steps on the leaf mould.

They came at last to a place where he waited.

The tree branches had been laid bare. The ground there had been scorched, black and seared, in a wide circle. At its center stood a figure. Not quite a man. Not quite a beast. An elk skull for a head, its body made of shifting shadows, riding a steed. A long scythe hung loosely from one hand.

What happened next survived only in old legends, as ancient battles do when only the trees bear witness.

Some say the green woman spoke first and the dark thing answered in a voice like water under the ice. Others will tell you that it was the Templar knight who charged before any word was given, steel rushing toward the place where a heart might have been. Others still claim the scythe swept once, and both the knight and the fae were cast backward against a tree with such force, the bark cracked behind them before the sacred stag alone charged Hauroth with rage.

Across the woodland, greenish light pulsed, rising and falling, like flames that threatened to consume the entire forest.

As night fell slowly, the Latin chants in the cloister of Saint Catherine shifted. The usual sung prayers turned into something stranger, more ancient. What began as a Marian plea for protection evolved and transformed into haunting, forceful echoes. The sisters’ recurring invocations sounded both processional and incantory. Their pale voices grew oddly and uncharacteristically desperate. Deep drum patterns began to issue from somewhere in the depths of the cloister, still secret enough to feel almost illusory; easily dismissed as stemming more from the imagination, rather than some tenebrous percussion from the bowels of a nunnery.

Just like Duessa’s ensuing battle, the cloister’s nocturnal prayer followed no set hours. Day or night made no difference as the doctors continued to work under the hypnotic and slightly feral chanting of the nuns; the cloister’s song of war.

As the great forest battle raged, the once silent creatures now scurried and fled. The stream itself cooled. The ivy braced itself for an unseasonal frost. Meanwhile, time slowed with the tolling of bells and the slow shifts in the light that fell across little Agnes’s face inside the abandoned chapel.

The doctors took turns on their watch. Elinor came and went, but the reality that she could do or influence nothing disturbed her, along with the haunting pallor that settled over little Agnes’s face. And so, the stern abbess Elinor found every excuse she could to leave.

For the first time, she felt frightened.

Once again, Alaric, the apothecary, tended The Raven’s Tavern, but even there the atmosphere felt tense and somber. Travelers and villagers were warned to keep to the roads and avoid the woodland. For no specific reason.

By the second evening, the pulse under Cedric’s fingers had grown slightly thinner. Little Agnes’s breaths were still regular, but fainter now. Lorenzo touched a wet linen to her lips.

In the forest, the air itself had shifted.

A harsh wind swept across Eatonbury, snuffing candles and scattering the flames of the campfires. Its strange might caused the villagers to rush home to close their shutters. Meanwhile, a great fog thickened over hilltops and rivers.

Perhaps this is why no one was able to see or hear the great knightly cavalry from Ansel, now approaching Eatonbury at full gallop.

At times, it seemed the woodland woman fought with living branches. Other times, she had only to stand, and the land itself turned against the spirit of decay with all its crushing thorns.

At the convent, the first of the armed men arrived at dusk.

Ten arrived on horseback. Answering the frantic bell, Abbess Elinor met them at the postern herself. Two senior sisters stood behind her in the shadows.

All the men were armed and bore the distinctive red cross, along with the weariness of travel. The oldest among them spoke first with cautious courtesy.

”Forgive the disturbance, abbess. We seek a Templar brother of ours known as Ignatius. Also a young child, and three physicians who were seen with him in Ansel.”

“Under whose ecclesiastical authority do you ask me questions?” Elinor questioned.

The man blinked.

“We… we come on behalf of the Archbishop of Ansel”

“Oh, Gregory! Is that so? A dear friend! How strange that he would not send word ahead of you coming. It would have given me time to prepare a proper welcome.”

”It is not hospitality we seek. Our order comes on behalf of…”

”Your order,” she scoffed. “Oh. Did no one tell you? That standard you flaunt is almost forty years dissolved by decree of Pope Clement himself. I’d say all of you look half as young as the years it’s been defunct. Is this more of a pageant group? Look, Sister Marianne, aren’t they a delightful bunch? ”

”Delightful indeed!” One of the sisters agreed. “Yes, very authentic.”

The leader among them cleared his throat, sensing they were being mocked.

“But I dare say you don’t even look like proper knights. No. Not knights. Just followers of something that no longer commands any authority. Certainly not here.”

”I shall ask you this one last time, Revered Mother. Is the child not in this convent?” the leader asked through gritted teeth, as if already losing patience.

”Your quarrel is with… a child?” Elinor almost laughed.

“We know she’s here and so is the traitor among us.”

”Sir, do not involve our peaceful convent in your tiresome Templar squabbles. There’s a great pestilence. Or has no one informed you of that either? Our doors are closed.”

”I tire of your uncooperative resistance, abbess.”

”And I of your interruption in the middle of prayer…sir.”