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Part 3: The Returning
***
On dusty roads I walked
And over mountains high
Through rivers running deep
Beneath the endless sky
And so it came to pass
I'd come here to...
And many a year it took
Till I arrived here with thee
***
It was a beautiful day. The entire countryside was shimmering slightly in green. The rays from the sun occasionally reached the land as the white clouds entwined and danced across the sky.
Angel was not so far away from home. A half a day's walk perhaps. Taking the rein of his horse in his hand, he slowly headed toward his castle, drinking in the beautiful scenery that surrounded him. To a man who had not been able to enjoy the sun and the scent of the wind for years, it was quite a luxury to be able to enjoy peace for a moment.
Peace...did he deserve peace?
"Get her! Get her!"
And as if to prove that he didn't, shouts and barking of dogs broke the serenity. They were coming from the field over the hill. At once, Angel rushed to see what it was.
A girl--no, older, a woman--was fleeing from a group of brutal looking men on horses. The woman reached the hill, but the dogs were catching up with her rapidly. Seeing that, the brown-haired woman climbed up a tall oak tree that Angel used to climb up to play when he'd been only a boy.
Angel was angry. Attacking a woman? Since when his homeland had became so ferocious and heartless? Instantly Angel slid down the mild slope and stood in front of the four men who were shouting and yelling at the woman on the tree.
"Hold!" he yelled.
Every pair of eyes was on him now, including the puzzled eyes of the woman.
"May I inquire what kind of fearsome creature would take four men to attack it?" Angel attempted to be polite. After all, he was a nobleman with a respectable heritage, no longer the hot-blooded boy he'd been some time ago. However, it was difficult not to ridicule their actions.
"It is no affair of yours." One of the men on horseback, presumably the leader, glared at him. Angel noticed with a slight shock that the man's face was partly mutilated. Looking at the long scar on the man's left cheek and his fiercely cruel eyes, Angel realized this was not a man to underestimate. However, the years of numerous battles and his experience in the prison had taught him not to be intimidated under any circumstances.
Angel said with a smile, "Let see, would it be the devil itself?" He pretended to take a long look at the woman on the tree. "Ah, a lady. A truly fearsome creature indeed."
One bulky man who was reining back the hunting dogs answered curtly, "She stole the fruit from the Sheriff's garden."
"Because I was starving!" The woman yelled back, angry.
The man snarled, "Now, just come down you filthy..."
Angel cut him off, seeing the frightened look on the woman's face, "Or what, sir? Take heed what you say, for it may come back to haunt you later."
The leader glared at him. "I advise you to move on, pilgrim. It is the Sheriff's land you're standing on."
"Wrong," Angel spoke emphatically, "This is my land. This is my tree. Therefore whatever is in it also belongs to me."
The scarred leader looked distinctly infuriated. "May I have pleasure of your name before I have you run through?"
How polite. And he'd thought his homeland had become ferocious and heartless...
"Locksley," he held his chin high with pride, "Angel of Locksley."
It took a few seconds for the leader to register what Angel had said. His face was hardened as he muttered, "Well, well, well. Welcome home, Locksley."
Angel was contemplating if he should answer this, but his thought was cut short by the next two words that came out from the man's mouth.
"Kill him."
Kill him? They barely shared few civil words and this man said 'kill him'. Even on his homeland, the rule of the game was the same as in the East.
Ferocious and heartless indeed.
The man standing closest to Angel rushed toward him. Angel quickly turned and whirled around the man and snatched the crossbow that was hanging at the man's belt. Looking up, Angel found another man was onto him so he let the arrow fly directly to his chest. The other two agitated men rushed toward him but he effortlessly pushed them back and kicked one man's groin and shoved the other man to the tree.
"Release the hounds!" The scarred man yelled out.
Hell.
He didn't have time. The quickest way to end this was...
Angel jumped from his relatively higher position on the hill and before the scarred man had any time to react, tackled the man and shoved him to the ground.
The man frantically looked for his sword, but Angel quickly grabbed it. Slightly panting, Angel raised the sword and aimed it at his prisoner's neck.
"Now sir, would you be so kind to give your name before I run *you* through?" Angel stared him down, expressionless.
"Gisborne. Lindsey of Gisborne. The Sheriff's cousin."
Angel found this news extremely disturbing. Since when had the Sheriff's scum had the nerve to intrude on his property?
"Go on, Locksley," Lindsey yelled, his eyes shining in mixture of fear and anger, "Finish it!"
Angel drew back the sword, sighing inwardly. "I've seen enough blood to last two lifetimes. I don't intend to see more of it."
"Now," Angel straightened, "Get off my land. All of you. And tell the Sheriff don't ever think of stepping on my land again."
Lindsey blazed at him but Angel stared right back at him.
Barely repressing his anger, Angel commended, "Now!"
Lindsey slowly retreated, eyes still fixed on Angel and the others followed him, tending their various injuries.
Angel sighed as the men disappeared. His fighting days were supposed to be over.
"You're good. Not as good as Xander, but good enough."
He looked up at the tree to find the woman staring back at him, half-applauding. He'd almost forgotten about her. "Come down. You do not need to fear me."
She slowly descended from the tree and Angel finally took a good look at the slim, brown-haired woman. Her clothes were those of a peasant and her hair was disheveled horribly.
"Is it true that you stole fruit from the Sheriff's garden?"
"Yes," she said nonchalantly and snatched out an apple from her pocket with pride, "Who'd have thought those mongrels would follow me?"
"Where do you live?" Were many people without food? What was happening? Angel knew for a fact that his father would not let anyone starve on his land.
"I don't have a home." She took a bite of the apple. "I just ran away from a nunnery."
Angel almost choked. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me. I'd rather die than go on living in that nunnery." She shrugged and turned away. "Good day."
Angel watched with bewilderment as she ran into the woods. Had he lost himself in some sort of bizarre dream?
"You're welcome, " he muttered to himself.
This really wasn't the homecoming he'd expected.
***
The stories are woven
and fortunes are told
The truth is measured by the weight of your gold
The magic lies scattered
on rugs on the ground
Faith is conjured in the night market's sound
***
Lindsey had never been fond of the armor room. It was dark and gloomy with no window for sunlight or fresh air. And that was precisely the reason the Sheriff of Nottingham enjoyed being in this room.
"Cousin, he's returned."
The Sheriff, commonly known as William the Bloody, stood in front of the weapons displayed on a wooden table, his eyes concentrated on a sword. He tilted his head slightly as he picked it up. "He?"
Lindsey dreaded the fact he had to inform the Sheriff of bad news. Cousin or no cousin, the Sheriff was known to lose his temper on some occasions. And there were quite frequent 'occasions' on Lindsey's account. "Locksley. Angel of Locksley."
William angrily threw the sword away to the stone wall, making an unpleasant crashing sound. "Its pommel is too heavy. You'd *think* they could make one bloody sword with the right balance!"
He moved to another long sword and gripped it experimentally, then spoke smoothly, as if the display of anger a few seconds ago hadn't happened, "So the prodigal son returns. I trust you've gotten rid of that hindrance?"
Lindsey licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "As a matter of fact, cousin, he was quite capable--"
William cut him off, touching the sword's sharp edge with his finger. "How dull. I like my sword sharp enough to slice *things*--" he pointed the end of the sword at Lindsey,"--without putting too much effort."
Nervously, Lindsey took a few steps backward.
"So," William flashed a cocky grin, "Just how capable?"
"Um, he killed one of my men."
William moved close to him, petrifying Lindsey with his steely eyes, "Yet you're still here, alive and well."
Lindsey realized he was sweating.
The Sheriff was pointing the sword at Lindsey's throat. "This is rather ironic."
Gulping, Lindsey asked, "What is, cousin?"
"I hate using a dull sword," he whirled the sword in one hand and whispered to him in a low voice, "but it is just so much more painful that way..."
The sudden crash sound startled Lindsey. He realized the Sheriff just 'killed' a perfectly fine wooden chair.
"My cousin, you're bloody incapable." Spike's eyes blazed at him, but then, he turned and smiled at his handiwork. "Not bad. I like this one."
A slow and mesmerizing voice murmured from behind Lindsey, "Spike?"
All of William's attention was on the owner of the voice now. "Dru."
Lindsey watched uncomfortably as William slowly walked toward the black-haired witch who stood shakily in the shadow. Lindsey did not care if he had to make a pact with the devil himself to gain power, but seeing the powerful witch who had an affiliation with the Sheriff was always an unnerving experience to him.
"Pet, you should stay in bed..."
"Spike..." Her low, seductive voice whispered with fright, "Miss Edith speaks to me."
Lindsey didn't understand what she meant, but it obviously was of great importance because William became alert and supported her to sit down.
"What does she say now, Dru?"
Some said the witch could read the future. Of course no one had spoken about her in public; everyone wished to remain alive. However, it was the hushed rumor that this witch was the reason Spike--William, Lindsey corrected himself. William didn't like to be called Spike, only allowing the witch to call him by that name--was now the most powerful man in this country while King Richard was gone.
Dru looked up with her blank eyes and spoke in her rhythmical tone, "She says someone returns. Someone returns from far away place and ruins everything."
William and Lindsey spat out the name simultaneously, "Locksley." Lindsey closed his mouth quickly as William glared at him.
William groaned and began walking in small circles, "He couldn't have just died like the thousands of other dumb idiots in the battle. Nooo, he had to come back and give me headache."
"Spike..." She spoke like a little girl, pouting slightly, "Kill him."
He stopped dead on his tracks and looked at his mistress, snarling, "Of course I will kill him. What did you think I'd do? Invite him for a freakin' dinner and have a nice little chat?"
She giggled childishly, and with a strangely joyful voice answered, "But the others. There will be others from the woods. Kill them all."
William looked annoyed. "From the woods? Now if you could be a bit less ambiguous..."
Lindsey intervened very cautiously, "Perhaps the lady is referring to the bandits who have been quite an inconvenience to us."
With a twisted smile, William turned to him. "Very good, cousin.
You prove to be useful...sometimes. Now go." He made a dismissive
hand gesture. "Find them. And kill them all."
***
Give me release
Witness me, I am outside
Give me peace
When the rage in me subsides
In this white wave
I am sinking
In this silence
In this white wave
I am sinking
In this silence
In this white wave...
***
"Father..."
The first word that came out from Angel's mouth was one of an utter confusion and shock. He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. The place where his castle had stood was now nothing but a ruin, covered with soot.
"Father!" His scream only echoed back to him, reflected back from the piles of stones that used to be majestic stone walls.
Oh God. What had happened? What could possibly have happened?
Angel was suddenly stricken by panic and fear. This couldn't be. This just...couldn't be. If there had been a fire, where would his father be now?
"Master...Master Angel?" A shocked, boyish voice shouted back at him from the rubble. "Master Angel? Is it really you?"
Trembling slightly with shock, Angel found himself embraced by a young boy who dashed out from the shadow.
"Oh, Master. You're back! You're back! I knew you'd come back!"
Angel blinked hard with surprise. Was this... "Liam?"
The blond boy answered, his face wet with tears, "Yes, Master. It is I, Liam." He broke away slowly, a look of embarrassment passing across his youthful face. "I am sorry, Master Angel. I just..."
Liam was no longer the little joyous eight-year-old servant boy who used to follow him around everywhere. Angel took a notice of a nasty scar on his forehead. This boy was worn and tired, hurt. "Liam," he squeezed the shoulders of the boy, "Liam, what has gone on here? Where is my father?"
Liam straightened himself and looked at him with his intense blue eyes. "I will take you to him and others." Then the boy added, his voice tight with repressed sorrow, "I have waited, Master. Waited for this moment to come. So you would not hear this from anyone else."
Everything became clear to Angel at that moment. It did not take the poorly made graves Liam showed to him, or the boy's grievous explanation that his father had been accused of practicing witchcraft and killed along with the servants who had denied the accusation. He understood just at that moment that he would never see his father again.
"My parents told me to run. Like a coward." The boy's lips were quivering. "But I promised them that I'd tell you the truth before someone tells you otherwise. So I'm here, Master Angel. I've kept my promise."
God.
Angel broke down in front of his father's grave, in front of the scanty wooden cross Liam had put up. The boy, perhaps now thirteen, had brought all the exposed bodies--the ones of his father and other servants--buried them with his small hands.
"This," Liam handed him a small gold medallion of the shape of a cross, "is from your father, Master Angel. His last thought was of you."
Oh god. Why?
He asked, but the only answer was the sound of his hollow cry.
He had returned at last, but it was too late.
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TBC
--"Skellig" by Loreena McKennitt
--"Marrakesh Night Market"
--"Silence" by Delerium & Sarah McLachlan