The Chapel or Judge Eternity - Chapter 23
Anthon / Beowulf is drawn from Everin by an ancient evil
Breathe with me the warmth of summer,
Heart beating to some distant drummer,
Walk with me in autumn's golden sheaves,
Beneath the red and orange blazing leaves.
Hold me in depths and darkness of winter,
Whilst rivers freeze, thunder and splinter,
Lay with me in spring's sweet green grass,
While away days and nights as years pass.
Anthon's heart thundered. She was perfect, a vision of beauty. He was halfway to her before he realized what he was doing, and though he felt like a beardless youth, his cheeks and ears burning, he kept walking towards her. He wove in and out of the boulders, just as she had done, each turn a different vision of her. Blazing hair in brilliant sun, slim leg of alabaster contrasted against the rivers deep blue.
Then on the edge of his mind, there was a hint of a presence, far away. The thudding of his heart stilled and his blush turned to ice. For a time looking on her he had forgotten his past, forgotten the pacts forged in darkness and blood.
Twelve men of the Blood had journeyed with him to Hrothgar's palace, and while the poem maintained that he and eleven had come back, the truth was none came back except him.
Einar who had been the loudest reveler was the first of his men to die. None had known the troll had come into the hall. Grendel had ripped Einar in half in an instant; the theign had died without a cry and any sound the troll made while eating his heart was muted by the sounds of the feast. They only knew the enemy was among them when it flung the remains of Einar on the fire. Then and only then had Grendel let his presence be felt. It was a darkness that flooded their minds and took away every memory of light and suffocated it in clotted blood and hatred.
Some bit of that darkness touched Anthon on this the brightest and most hopeful of days.
Frozen where he stood he looked back in longing at 'her' as she basked in the spring sun, then he bounded for the tree line, toward the cancerous darkness that flitted on the edge of his mind.
Eleven men had strode beside him in the Danish fens all of them of the undying noble Blood, sworn against the undead and bound to Beowulf by word and deed. When the mire had turned to bogs with their black mirror surfaces, the troll had come again. Two men, who Beowulf had known for hundred of years, simply were pulled into the depths and died. Only ripples and red stained water marked their passage from life.
As he dodged through giant trees, Anthon felt her presence turn from the red of passion to a deeper red of anger. He wanted to stop and go back to her, to rekindle that sun warmed passion but a thing which could not be let to walk the earth, was stirring from darkness.
There had been two theigns who had dove into the mere alongside him. The water was strangely clear, the darkness of the water coming not the stain of peat but the depths. A dolmen sat in the bottom of the lake, its table stone held up by several huge uprights. Grendel came at them from the inky blackness beneath the tomb. He slammed Beowulf against a giant rock, driving the air from his lungs. Beowulf had tried to fight but the troll ignored him as it ripped his friends apart, only the blackness that clouded the edge of his eyes forced him back to the surface. He and the remaining six of his men waited at the surface for the monster to come up for air. Beowulf could feel the fear that was threatening to take his companions minds. He sang to them the Fafnismal:
"Hvgr er betri
enn se hiors megin
hvars reidir scola vega
thviat hvatan mann
ec se harliga vega
meth slevo sverthi sigr
Hva tom er betra
enn se ohva tom
i hildileic hafaz
glathom er betra
enn se glvpnanda."
"Valor is better than sword might,
When embittered foes meet to fight,
For brave men have fought and won,
When sharpest sword is dull and broken.
Brave will stand when the timid flee,
It is happier to stand with friend,
Then to live the longest life sadly,
Or smile with kinsman at life's end."
Beowulf could see them still themselves. They reached deep in their hearts and found memories that were worth dying for, but there behind their eyes he could still see the fear, could still feel it in their presence.
Beowulf moved to the center of the men with his back toward the lake. "I will go into the mere again, you run to Heorot and stand there with Hrothgar. If we must die here, then perhaps we can buy life for the young with our blood. I will come there if I win, if not...", he shrugged.
Thorwin who was the bravest of those remaining made to protest but the chieftain quieted him saying, "Do not lessen this which may be my greatest and last moment. Do what I have told you and what you are sworn to."
He stood on the edge of the lake ignoring the death that he knew laid there and watched them turn to go. His heart swelled into his throat for pride of knowing them, then he turned and dove into the red tinged darkness.
Heart beating to some distant drummer,
Walk with me in autumn's golden sheaves,
Beneath the red and orange blazing leaves.
Hold me in depths and darkness of winter,
Whilst rivers freeze, thunder and splinter,
Lay with me in spring's sweet green grass,
While away days and nights as years pass.
Anthon's heart thundered. She was perfect, a vision of beauty. He was halfway to her before he realized what he was doing, and though he felt like a beardless youth, his cheeks and ears burning, he kept walking towards her. He wove in and out of the boulders, just as she had done, each turn a different vision of her. Blazing hair in brilliant sun, slim leg of alabaster contrasted against the rivers deep blue.
Then on the edge of his mind, there was a hint of a presence, far away. The thudding of his heart stilled and his blush turned to ice. For a time looking on her he had forgotten his past, forgotten the pacts forged in darkness and blood.
Twelve men of the Blood had journeyed with him to Hrothgar's palace, and while the poem maintained that he and eleven had come back, the truth was none came back except him.
Einar who had been the loudest reveler was the first of his men to die. None had known the troll had come into the hall. Grendel had ripped Einar in half in an instant; the theign had died without a cry and any sound the troll made while eating his heart was muted by the sounds of the feast. They only knew the enemy was among them when it flung the remains of Einar on the fire. Then and only then had Grendel let his presence be felt. It was a darkness that flooded their minds and took away every memory of light and suffocated it in clotted blood and hatred.
Some bit of that darkness touched Anthon on this the brightest and most hopeful of days.
Frozen where he stood he looked back in longing at 'her' as she basked in the spring sun, then he bounded for the tree line, toward the cancerous darkness that flitted on the edge of his mind.
Eleven men had strode beside him in the Danish fens all of them of the undying noble Blood, sworn against the undead and bound to Beowulf by word and deed. When the mire had turned to bogs with their black mirror surfaces, the troll had come again. Two men, who Beowulf had known for hundred of years, simply were pulled into the depths and died. Only ripples and red stained water marked their passage from life.
As he dodged through giant trees, Anthon felt her presence turn from the red of passion to a deeper red of anger. He wanted to stop and go back to her, to rekindle that sun warmed passion but a thing which could not be let to walk the earth, was stirring from darkness.
There had been two theigns who had dove into the mere alongside him. The water was strangely clear, the darkness of the water coming not the stain of peat but the depths. A dolmen sat in the bottom of the lake, its table stone held up by several huge uprights. Grendel came at them from the inky blackness beneath the tomb. He slammed Beowulf against a giant rock, driving the air from his lungs. Beowulf had tried to fight but the troll ignored him as it ripped his friends apart, only the blackness that clouded the edge of his eyes forced him back to the surface. He and the remaining six of his men waited at the surface for the monster to come up for air. Beowulf could feel the fear that was threatening to take his companions minds. He sang to them the Fafnismal:
"Hvgr er betri
enn se hiors megin
hvars reidir scola vega
thviat hvatan mann
ec se harliga vega
meth slevo sverthi sigr
Hva tom er betra
enn se ohva tom
i hildileic hafaz
glathom er betra
enn se glvpnanda."
"Valor is better than sword might,
When embittered foes meet to fight,
For brave men have fought and won,
When sharpest sword is dull and broken.
Brave will stand when the timid flee,
It is happier to stand with friend,
Then to live the longest life sadly,
Or smile with kinsman at life's end."
Beowulf could see them still themselves. They reached deep in their hearts and found memories that were worth dying for, but there behind their eyes he could still see the fear, could still feel it in their presence.
Beowulf moved to the center of the men with his back toward the lake. "I will go into the mere again, you run to Heorot and stand there with Hrothgar. If we must die here, then perhaps we can buy life for the young with our blood. I will come there if I win, if not...", he shrugged.
Thorwin who was the bravest of those remaining made to protest but the chieftain quieted him saying, "Do not lessen this which may be my greatest and last moment. Do what I have told you and what you are sworn to."
He stood on the edge of the lake ignoring the death that he knew laid there and watched them turn to go. His heart swelled into his throat for pride of knowing them, then he turned and dove into the red tinged darkness.
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