others, for he had spent the whole afternoon speaking with the bear, as he thought, and was fully convinced that he had previously been a human being.
“By the hairs on my back and the skin on my head,” he shouted, very confused, “It is the devil himself, and he has come to claim the souls of those who would defile the church. I am against you, Satan. But for now, let loose the flames of Hades!”
The leader of the bandits was hardly phased by this, but his men were panic stricken with the sudden thoughts of death and eternity put into their heads. The leader feared their courage was at an end, and spurred his horse forward. He commanded the others to follow, before they lost their souls – or rather, their courage.
“Onward, men,” he cried, “Onward to Eden and to safety! The only soul that will meet death there is yours, blasted friar!”
And with that, the soldiers of Gylain, with Oren Lorenzo as a prisoner, disappeared from sight around the bend in the road, galloping off at such a speed they could not be caught.
“To Eden,” Willard whispered to himself when they had gone. “You have not seen the last of the devil yet, Gylain.”
Chapter 17
From the meadow where Lorenzo was abducted, it was possible to get a good view of the ocean beyond. Atilta was an island similar in size to Scotland, and it was not more than ten miles from the monastery to the coast. In all the commotion that resulted from the burning of the monastery, Willard did not get a chance to look at the ocean for any length of time. If he had, however, he would have seen a gallant sailing ship, with four stout masts and a carved whale that stuck out from the bowsprit. Its sails where full of the wind, stretched out like clouds and pulling the ship forward.
There were a hundred men on deck, and twenty of them were bound tightly in chains. From their dirty, unshaven appearance, it was evident they had been prisoners for at least several months, and possibly several years. One of the prisoners was especially terrible, for his countenance was one of evil and malice, and his black eyes burned with the watch fires of hate. He sat on a bench beside the wheel, gazing at the shore of Atilta. Beside him stood a tall, muscular man with a flowing white beard and a weather-beaten face. In his hands, the latter held a telescope, carefully examining the area where the monastery was on fire.
“By the depths of the sea,” he grumbled, “There is a church burning up there, and a troop of Gylain’s thugs harassing the clergy.”
The prisoner laughed.
“Yes, but what were you expecting? This is Gylain’s land, and he is the power here, regardless of who owns this ship. You will get no joyful welcome, William, for the rebels are defeated by now. There is none left to greet with open arms the former Admiral of Atilta, least of all his former friend!” He laughed again, mocking the pride of his captor.
“Fifteen years ago I was captured for the second time by Gylain, Nicholas Montague, but you must know that. I was placed upon this ship, to be tortured by you and your heartless men. Do not think that I have forgotten the pain I felt as you hung me from the bowsprit day and night, with the cold waves breaking against my face and the sharp winds devouring my flesh. You left me there for months, and during the fiercest storms you did not do so much as cover me from the elements. Yet I am made stronger by it, and my fever has only grown. No, Montague, I have not forgotten.”
“But what importance does your memory have, William? You have no power for revenge.”
“Against you, I do. You were careless and let the loyal Atiltians catch you in your weakness. We returned to find that Gylain had only increased his power. The navy was his, and it chased us off to India and China, a lonely refugee in this world of pain. You have been chained there ever since, old enemy, and you know your fate: to never again be a free man. That is the reward for your treason. I need take no revenge, for your bitter heart can do more torture than I.”
“Fools will be fools,” Nicholas Montague answered. “Can you think the rebels are any closer to overthrowing Gylain? Have you not just said that Gylain’s men burned down a church building? Even in the forest the rebels have no strength.”
“Yes, Nicholas, the vagrants burnt the building. Yet they were chased away. Two men opposed them, and they fled.” He fell silent for a moment. “Perhaps it was merely the sun,” he hesitated, “But the one wielded a golden sword, the sword of the king. Either way, six against two, and the two prevailed. Is this the omen of our demise? No, but fools will be fools.”
The swarthy prisoner stopped his grin short, angry that his master’s forces were beaten. But he did not let that anger suppress his hatred.
“Do you hope to find Celestine still among the living? If she is, than she is no better than her mother! You must realize that she has long ago consented to marry Gylain, or has been slain. There is no hope for you to rescue your daughter.” The prisoner feigned laughing.
The Admiral, however, was not fooled.
“Alfonzo lives,” he said with conviction, “And he is more a man than Gylain, for he has the hardness of a man and the wisdom of a woman. Celestine still lives, and still retains her honor. Does not the sun still rise? And do not the stars still shine? If she were lost, then even they would hide their faces in disgust.”
A small tear fell down the old man’s rough face, and even the heartless Nicholas could not help but feel jealous of the love of the father, though it had been tried so hard in his younger days.
The ship rocked steadily up and down to the pulse of the water, with the occasional creak of a timber attempting to adjust itself to the change of pressure. With a slow, unstoppable attraction, the sun was being pulled down below the horizon, leaving the world behind for another dark night. The officer of the watch approached the Admiral.
“Sir,” he said, “Should we not turn to the sea, for the night is coming and this is a lee shore.”
“Yes, turn her to the south, Barnes Griffith. We will spend the night between Atilta and France.”
“And tomorrow?” the officer, Barnes Griffith, asked.
“We go ashore to hear news of Alfonzo and his followers. This is war, young one, and I plan to win.”
“We land outside Eden, then?”
“No, for that is too rash. We have no intelligence of their fleet and it is best to avoid it. We will send out the longboat when we are across from the Western March. I know of an Innkeeper on the forest road that runs out of there who will be able to give us the information we need. From there, we will travel to Eden in disguise and see what we can about the fleet. Gylain has no seamen as followers – none of those who served under me, anyhow – so the navy was full of rebels and lubbers when we last were in these parts. If he has done no better, we have but to overthrow the captains and retain the crew.”
“As you say, sir.”
The Admiral nodded his head and went below, leaving the control of the ship to his trusted officers. His quarters were directly under the bridge, a simple stairway connecting the two. The room was small and cramped, for a land building, but on a ship it was luxurious. There was a cot in one corner, and a grand oak desk on the opposite wall, in front of a large French window that gave a panoramic view of the ocean. A deck jutted out from another wall, projecting itself over the water. Each of the other walls were windowless, one leading to the main deck of the ship,
Admiral William Stuart sighed heavily and stared at a picture on the wall of a beautiful woman, muttering to himself, “I will not forget, Casandra, nor will Gylain. The love that I have given you, and the hatred that has been returned to me, are too great to be forgotten.”
The old man pulled off his shirt and looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror that rested against the wall, his eyes cold with a smoldering anger. His back was covered with the scars of a hundred lashes, each one slithering along his rough skin like a snake – a very deadly snake.
“I will never forget, Gylain, nor will you. What was taken will yet be avenged.”
With that, he went to bed.
Chapter 18
The capital city of Atilta was Eden, sitting on the southern coast, toward the eastern portion of the island. It was a magnificent city, without blemish on its exterior, though its interior was decaying. At this time, and indeed throughout its entire history, it was a large and important city, for no other reason than that Atilta was a small, wild place, and its only civilized region was Eden. The ancient forest stretched itself out all the way to the coast, even
