Black Wings of the Hawk part two
Oct 21, 2017 8:09:02 GMT -5
Post by themirrorthief on Oct 21, 2017 8:09:02 GMT -5
Solomon Kane felt that he had a measure of advantage over his very savage and experienced rival. His style was more economical, even restrained. The gaunt swordsman fought a defensive battle at first. Hawk attacked with rare fury but try as he might, no opening, even a slight one, presented itself. Hawk laughed and renewed his assault with murderously quick thrusts and effortless parries. However, Kane knew that his opponent's frustration must surely be mounting even as the blond corsair's strength might soon be waning.
The Puritan was no overconfident fool, however; the limit to the Hawk's endurance was something that could only be guessed at. That it was considerable, the somber Kane held no doubts. But just as certain as he was of this fact, Solomon Kane had even less doubt as to his own magnificent strength of limb and will.
The sullen hulk Abner looked on with dark fire blazing from his deep set eyes. However, he continued true to his oath and remained passive, though hardly approving. Once or twice Hawk glanced towards his ally as if he might request assistance at last. Then he would merely laugh at the hardness in Abner's face and dance away again to match his steel against Kane's until the old house literally became an awesome, ringing, spark-strewn inferno. Both swordsmen became drenched in sweat despite the coolness of the long night. At last the Puritan sensed a slight abating in the storm of Hawk's assault.
Taking the offensive, Solomon Kane discovered his hunch was correct. Hawk's features took on a much more serious aspect and his attempts to breach Kane's defenses gradually fell to naught. The blond corsair found the tables turned as he began to fight a defensive battle.
The intense struggle had turned, but despite having weakened noticeably, Hawk left no opening that might allow the point of Kane's deadly rapier to bite with deadly effect. Seeking to gain an advantage with higher ground, the Hawk of Basti took to the stairs where he managed to parry Kane's precise strokes more effectively. Slowly the two combatants worked their way upwards, Kane attacking with unrelenting fury and Hawk defending with expert skill and even a surprising measure of economical finesse. Both men realized they were locked into a rare battle . . . and neither was surprised. Whatever lay in the hearts of the two men let it be said they were warriors of the oldest, most uncompromising kind. Neither would ask for mercy or expect to hear a request for the same, nor did they fear death for they had walked hand in hand with the reaper for decades. And on it went.
How much time had passed was impossible for Solomon Kane to guess. It might have been a relatively short while since the battle had been joined, but for the two combatants it seemed uncommonly long; both were known for making their work with the blade swift indeed. Hawk's splendid physical prowess was perhaps not quite what it had once been. Years of heavy drinking could do that to the best of men. His breathing became ragged gasps and his face became set into a mask of near desperation . . . even the dancing gray eyes seem to gleam less brightly. Kane had only little confidence that the battle was near to an end. Like a cornered animal, Jeremy Hawk could certainly be expected to call on a final reserve of strength born of sheer force of will. The Puritan, on the other hand, fought on with no obvious waning of will or swordarm endurance. Despite this, he made a mistake that would have proven fatal for most men.
Hawk slipped beneath Kane's guard with an impeccable thrust that would have certainly gutted Kane had the blond corsair's arm not grown wearied by a measure. With an enraged shout, the gaunt Puritan dropped his blade to defend with a quickness that drew a flash of astonishment from his opponent's gray eyes. Despite the lightning-flash recovery, Kane only barely blocked Hawk's darting steel. The contact was not heavy but the blade glanced away from the gaunt swordsman's midsection and bit into Kane's lower thigh. It was not a great wound but the Puritan felt warm liquid on his knee. That meant bleeding and bleeding meant weakening.
Kane's face drew into a mask as hard as death itself. Now he must press the attack and end the duel . . . if indeed he could. "So you can bleed like any other man after all," Hawk smirked, his efforts at last rewarded and his spirit bolstered with a sliver of newfound confidence. "I had began to wonder!"
Kane said nothing but pressed the attack with fearsome flurries and a display of flashing skill that caught the Hawk offguard for a split second. Hawk flung his body backwards, and to the side; just enough to avoid a death stroke. However, he crashed hard against the aging banister. There was a loud crack as the wood gave way and the blond swordsman disappeared with a curse into the darkness below the stairs.
It was a hard and awkward fall to be sure, followed by the awful sounds of a body slamming hard against whatever objects lay in its path. This surprising turn of events gave the dark-clad swordsman a moment's pause. The second of hesitation passed near instantly and he turned, but only to suffer a terrible blow against his shoulder. Abner was much more clever than Kane had anticipated. He had waited patiently for the precise moment when he might best catch the embattled Puritan unawares. For reasons Kane could not fathom, Abner had chosen to strike with his massive fists.
The mighty blow had been aimed at the back of the gaunt swordsman's head. Had it landed cleanly, Kane would have surely been rendered unconscious. The half turn had saved him but not entirely. The diamond-edged rapier fell from a grasp that had been turned numb by Abner's cowardly blow. The blade made a rattling descent down the stairs and was soon followed by Kane himself as Abner gave the Puritan a powerful shove that sent him tumbling head over heels down the long flight of steps. After crashing hard at the bottom of the stairs, Kane struggled to gather himself. Isaiah's still warm corpse had softened his final landing but the gaunt Puritan's head had absorbed a number of sharp blows during his tumble.
Kane's vision was blurred and his brain seemed equally out of focus. He struggled pitifully to raise himself at least to his knees; the wounded left knee had begun to throb miserably and his right arm was nearly useless. Kane shook his head violently as he kneeled there at the foot of the stairs. His vision cleared slightly and he glanced up to see the candlelight playing frightfully off the smirking features of the behemoth, who must have fancied himself very clever due to the ease in which he had brought his enemy so low.
Abner descended the steps deliberately, savoring his triumph. "I intend to kill you with my bare hands. It would have been easy enough to split you with my blade but such is that fool Hawk's way, not mine. I'm going to pick your worthless drab self up and crush you with nothing save my own good arms. Perchance this sword and dagger I found on the stairs belong to you?" Abner taunted Kane, obviously enjoying himself.
The huge man tossed the deadly blades much too far away for Kane to even dare a chance at reaching them. "You're a cold-blooded murderer," the Puritan growled, whilst simultaneously fighting off a wave of nausea. The contents of his stomach threatened to spew out of his mouth in a final display of indignity. He kneeled there on hands and knees without the strength to stand.
Abner chuckled and Kane felt massive paws grasp him about the shoulders and collar. "Let me help you to your feet, my friend, I want to look into your eyes whilst I squeeze you 'til the blood rushes from your nostrils."
"Burn in Satan's favorite part of hell, you son of a bitch," Kane exclaimed as he drove the dead Isaih's cutlass deep into the innards of the startled Abner's great round belly. He twisted the blade with all the power left in his good left arm as the huge man's guts began to fall out and a torrent of blood burst from his nose and mouth. The enraged Puritan wrenched the blade free with one final, horrible yank and the massive frame of the killer sank back against the stairs where he whimpered like a frightened baby.
He was not quite dead, but Kane could not have cared less. He crawled a few feet away and concentrated on chasing the murkiness out of his head. At last he vomited his last meal with one great heave. Miserable as he felt, the Puritan's head righted itself to a reasonable degree.
Kane fumbled in his dark blouse and found a flask. He tilted it to his lips and savored the fire as the brandy burned a path down to his stomach. Steadied and refreshed, he struggled to his feet. A bit of the liquor he splashed onto his wounded thigh. The sting brought a slight grimace to the swordsman's face but his expression turned to relief when he discovered the wound has ceased bleeding. It pained him like the devil, though. He looked to Abner and saw that the big man was finally dead. "Bon voyage to hell," Kane said. "Tell your master Satan that I'll come for him after a time."
Solomon Kane took a few brief minutes to gather himself. He staunched the wound as best he could with a bit of bright cloth torn from the sash of Isaih. He finished the flash with a gulp and let the gore-strewn cutlass drop from his hand. With candle in hand, he searched and found his blades. The hilt of his own deadly rapier against his palm felt very good.
Kane suspected the danger was past, but perchance not. He heard, or perhaps sensed movement somewhere . . . Hawk! It seemed that the rampaging seadog had not broken his neck after all.
The Puritan squinted into the shadows; his search was not a long one. Jeremy Hawk's long form lay stretched where he had fallen. Kane took a cautious approach to the man despite the fact the big blond appeared in no condition to mount a threat. Hawk groaned, seemingly dazed, and his feared right arm lay beside him at an unusual angle . . . most likely broken, and badly so.
With his good hand the stricken man feebly massaged his head. He gave no care to his surrounding and hardly seemed aware of anything save his pain. Still, Kane took no undue risks. The Hawk was full of tricks and clever deceptions. A ruse was far from out of the question.
Solomon Kane placed the razor-keen tip of his rapier against Jeremy Hawk's Adam?s apple. The sensation of cold steel pressed against his throat did good service as a sobering agent. The haze lifted quickly from Hawk's eyes and he stared up at the dark avenger.
"Satan's own blazing overcoat, what happened?"
"Ye took a passably hard fall from yon stairs."
"The last thing I recall was a rousing good fight; it?s a good thing I landed on my head but I think my arm?s broken." The corsair glanced about curiously. "Where's Abner, dead, I suspect?"
"He is, and now it?s off to the gallows for ye, lad . . . or if it pleases ye more, I can make a swift end to it and ye'll cheat the hangman for good at last." Kane's tone was somber and there was no mistaking his intentions.
Jeremy Hawk only laughed, "Both fair choices fer sartain, Kane! But if I might, I would offer a much more sensible course."
"And what would that be Hawk?"
"I'll not beg for my life like a dog . . . but why not set me free? There be too few of the old brotherhood alive as it be. That seems best from where I'm looking, you see. It's not my fault that I can't duel you proper with a busted swordarm, and I don't believe you'd do a helpless man in . . . even if I asked. That means you'll have to take me back to swing. I'm no saint true enough, but I deserve better than dancing for the queen at the end of a rope . . . and all the killin' I did for Her Majesty, too!"
Kane grimaced and spoke in measured words. "The truth of it, Hawk, I would be inclined to show ye mercy . . . save for the way ye used that poor lass that's hiding up there half frightened to death I'm sure."
Hawk shook his head and spat furiously. "Are you stone daft, man, I've seen no such lass. Yer arm's is strong as ever but by Satan's own eyes I swear yer head has plainly gone soft or take me for a damned fool! I always said that Solomon Kane was a man who couldn't let his yesterdays be damned, and drink them off his mind. Now look what's happened to you at last, talking like a lunatic. Why force some sweet country lass when I can get all I want in town for a few coppers?" At that moment Kane saw something in Jeremy Hawk?s restless gray eyes that he never expected to see . . . the truth.
Instinctively he withdrew the deadly blade a few inches. "I'm a fool, for I believe ye, lad."
"Then let bygones be bygones and we'll heave off from these dusty old haunted ruins. We'll find ourselves a tavern and we'll toast Drake, Bellefonte, and Grenville, and slobber oaths about those red days and high times driving the dons mad!"
"First swear out an oath that ye'll change yer ways and become an honest man."
Hawk frowned indignantly, "I'll do no such thing." Then he paused, not at ease with the icy glint he saw in Kane's eyes. "What I will do is never allow my shade to darken the Queen's soil again. I'm not welcome and there's a far better life elsewhere, where crusty old salts like we two belong. I'm done with England for good. Why not come with me and we'll hail a ship back to the slave coast, and march back to Basti and reclaim my throne. The two of us, each armed with a good musket and half a dozen pistols, could do it easy enough. Why then, with a thousand armed savages marching at our back we could carve out an empire proper . . . what say you, Kane?"
Kane said nothing for a moment, then he answered with a voice deep and almost haunting. "Don't think I've never thought of returning to that same strange land and many's the time. I cannot count the restless nights when I've woke from some mysterious dream of great beasts, endless horizons streaked with lightning, bizarre and ancient rites no white man could ever truly understand . . . and savage women dancing naked beneath a full moon with no care of tomorrow. Aye, I see these things nightly and I would return. But when I go, and whatever the direction my path takes me . . . I will go alone. No, I seek no empire, no gold or diamonds. What draws me there will be revealed at a chosen time and place, and ask me not what that be . . . for I can't answer ye."
Kane watched as Hawk struggled to gain his feet. The Puritan grasped the big blond's good arm and yanked him erect as a man might lift a babe. "I'm a fool, but get ye gone from here, Hawk, before I change my mind. And if there's a copper's worth of wisdom beneath that straw colored hair, ye'll take a care to never cross my path again."
For once, Hawk didn't chuckle. "Hand me my blade then, I'll be needing it when I take sail . . . a fine merry life it be, but a hard one, as you well know."
Solomon Kane did as the corsair requested. Hawk took the blade and sheathed it in his worn scabbard, and he did neatly despite using his left hand. "Well, farewell to you, Puritan, you're quite mad but I can't think of a better man I'd want beside me in a hard fight."
Kane touched the brim of his shapeless hat. "Goodbye, Hawk, take this new life that's been granted ye and live it well . . . though I daresay I seriously doubt ye live it good."
Hawk paused for a moment at the door and seemed to be admiring the gaunt Puritan?s work as he stared at Abner's great ruined mass. "Satan's own eyes Kane, but you meted out a fair measure of the old cure to Abner and that?s fer sartain." Then the tall blond man vanished through the door and into the night, leaving behind only the sound of a long hearty laugh.
Kane stood motionless; his mind had drifted far away, it seemed. He did not understand why his path had crossed Jeremy Hawk's so many times and in so many strange places. He had only the questions and not a hint of answer. "Thy will be done," he finally muttered, his tone reverent. Then the strange gaunt man's brows knitted as if puzzled.
But what of Cassie Bowe? She had no more than crossed his mind when a sudden blast of cold air swept through the dank old mansion and extinguished his faithful candle at last. It was a cold chilling wind with no source as far as Kane could see. Hawk had pulled the door to behind him and no window was large enough to accommodate a gust with strength the likes of that the swordsman had just experienced. Kane was seeing to the candle when a second weird blast assailed the house. This was not a cold wind but rather a blinding flash of light.
The Puritan shut his eyes tightly to avoid the stinging pain. He re-opened them only barely to see much of the uncanny brilliance had subsided. What remained was encompassed within the eerie blueish glow that emitted from a large orb at the top of the first flight of stairs. Solomon Kane was not a man given over to fear, but he forced away a shudder as the gleaming oblong orb began to slowly and deliberately descend the stairs.
"Is there no end to the sorcery within these walls?" Kane asked himself as the thing drew ever closer, until he noticed something inside the light . . . the form of a frail lass. And unless his keen eyes lied, it was none save that same girl, Cassie Bowe!
Kane knew instantly that he now dealt with something not of the flesh but rather the spirit, and a powerful one at that. Utterly amazed, Kane watched as this spirit simply passed through the mountainous corpse of Abner. Astonished, the Puritan witnessed the cadaver twitch and tremble nervously when the ghost passed through it.
For a half second Kane expected to see even Abner raise himself, but the apparition moved on and the dead man lay still again. It was a truly unnerving sight that none but Solomon Kane could have witnessed and not gone mad. Of course it might be said the Puritan was already mad.
As the ghost slowly traversed the distance betwixt herself and Kane, she became more like that image of a sweet young girl he'd encountered earlier this unholy night. She paused a mere foot and half again from the statue-like Kane. "I would like to thank you, Solomon Kane. Thank you for cleaning the filth out of my house." Her eyes were sad but the voice, while detached, carried more than a hint of authority behind the words.
"Your house?" Kane asked.
"Yes, I was here when these walls were erected nearly 140 years ago. And I will remain here . . . we will remain here."
"We?" Kane asked, recalling that other strange spirit he'd glimpsed earlier.
"Yes," the girl said. "There are many others. I am not alone. And now I would ask you to leave us as well . . . and quickly; although, as I said, you have our thanks."
Having spoke thus, she turned and traveled slowly back the way she'd come, glowing with the weird light all the way. Kane watched until the light gained the second landing where it disappeared. All was enveloped in liquid blackness yet again.
He wasted no time in re-lighting the candle and creeping back up the flight of stairs himself. His brain burned with feverish curiosity that he could not have possibly resisted. He cautiously entered the woman's bedroom as before, with rapier point seeking first entrance. He seriously doubted the blade could challenge a ghost but he felt better just the same because of it.
There beneath the candlelight was no flesh and blood woman quivering in fright. The crumbling old bed contained only bones, the remains of a woman long dead. She lay there with arms crossed. The pitiful remnants of a once fine dress clung to the ghastly skeleton only here and there. In one hand was the hilt of a long dagger; the blade was seated within the skeletal bosom. A suicide. One left unburied within this room for all these decades.
Local knowledge of such an act would have disgraced the family so they had left her here. Kane hoped that the room had been sealed away from the curious eyes of children and grandchildren, but he had no way of knowing for certain. Little wonder then at all, the madness that ran in the Doak family. No doubt they were the others that Cassie Bow had spoken off. Having seen enough, the somber Puritan took his leave of the house.
Solomon Kane paused on the creaking veranda and once again fell into a deep musing. He stared long and hard into the candle he held.
The drab, darkly dressed man rode across the overgrown farmland framed by the fresh light of a new dawn and a huge billowing cloud of black smoke. Wisps of gray ash settled against his hard, pallid features as he rode on barely noticing and without glancing back.
The nervous little magistrate clasped and unclasped his hands after a fashion that suggested a high degree of agitation. "But why in heaven's name did you have to burn the place down, Kane? Lord Downing will be outraged, I'm certain of it. According to old records, the artwork alone in the house must have been worth a fortune. Oh my, and what am I to tell him now?"
"Tell him what ye think best. Say I went mad out there last night if it pleases thee. I believe a man shouldn't allow himself to be used, not by living flesh nor restless spirit. And ye Lord still has the land, well worth the paltry sum he paid I'm sure. He can build another house . . . but I'd advise him to vary the location of it . . . were he to be a wise man." It was a long speech for Solomon Kane. He wearied of it, wheeled his mount about and rode away.
The End
The Puritan was no overconfident fool, however; the limit to the Hawk's endurance was something that could only be guessed at. That it was considerable, the somber Kane held no doubts. But just as certain as he was of this fact, Solomon Kane had even less doubt as to his own magnificent strength of limb and will.
The sullen hulk Abner looked on with dark fire blazing from his deep set eyes. However, he continued true to his oath and remained passive, though hardly approving. Once or twice Hawk glanced towards his ally as if he might request assistance at last. Then he would merely laugh at the hardness in Abner's face and dance away again to match his steel against Kane's until the old house literally became an awesome, ringing, spark-strewn inferno. Both swordsmen became drenched in sweat despite the coolness of the long night. At last the Puritan sensed a slight abating in the storm of Hawk's assault.
Taking the offensive, Solomon Kane discovered his hunch was correct. Hawk's features took on a much more serious aspect and his attempts to breach Kane's defenses gradually fell to naught. The blond corsair found the tables turned as he began to fight a defensive battle.
The intense struggle had turned, but despite having weakened noticeably, Hawk left no opening that might allow the point of Kane's deadly rapier to bite with deadly effect. Seeking to gain an advantage with higher ground, the Hawk of Basti took to the stairs where he managed to parry Kane's precise strokes more effectively. Slowly the two combatants worked their way upwards, Kane attacking with unrelenting fury and Hawk defending with expert skill and even a surprising measure of economical finesse. Both men realized they were locked into a rare battle . . . and neither was surprised. Whatever lay in the hearts of the two men let it be said they were warriors of the oldest, most uncompromising kind. Neither would ask for mercy or expect to hear a request for the same, nor did they fear death for they had walked hand in hand with the reaper for decades. And on it went.
How much time had passed was impossible for Solomon Kane to guess. It might have been a relatively short while since the battle had been joined, but for the two combatants it seemed uncommonly long; both were known for making their work with the blade swift indeed. Hawk's splendid physical prowess was perhaps not quite what it had once been. Years of heavy drinking could do that to the best of men. His breathing became ragged gasps and his face became set into a mask of near desperation . . . even the dancing gray eyes seem to gleam less brightly. Kane had only little confidence that the battle was near to an end. Like a cornered animal, Jeremy Hawk could certainly be expected to call on a final reserve of strength born of sheer force of will. The Puritan, on the other hand, fought on with no obvious waning of will or swordarm endurance. Despite this, he made a mistake that would have proven fatal for most men.
Hawk slipped beneath Kane's guard with an impeccable thrust that would have certainly gutted Kane had the blond corsair's arm not grown wearied by a measure. With an enraged shout, the gaunt Puritan dropped his blade to defend with a quickness that drew a flash of astonishment from his opponent's gray eyes. Despite the lightning-flash recovery, Kane only barely blocked Hawk's darting steel. The contact was not heavy but the blade glanced away from the gaunt swordsman's midsection and bit into Kane's lower thigh. It was not a great wound but the Puritan felt warm liquid on his knee. That meant bleeding and bleeding meant weakening.
Kane's face drew into a mask as hard as death itself. Now he must press the attack and end the duel . . . if indeed he could. "So you can bleed like any other man after all," Hawk smirked, his efforts at last rewarded and his spirit bolstered with a sliver of newfound confidence. "I had began to wonder!"
Kane said nothing but pressed the attack with fearsome flurries and a display of flashing skill that caught the Hawk offguard for a split second. Hawk flung his body backwards, and to the side; just enough to avoid a death stroke. However, he crashed hard against the aging banister. There was a loud crack as the wood gave way and the blond swordsman disappeared with a curse into the darkness below the stairs.
It was a hard and awkward fall to be sure, followed by the awful sounds of a body slamming hard against whatever objects lay in its path. This surprising turn of events gave the dark-clad swordsman a moment's pause. The second of hesitation passed near instantly and he turned, but only to suffer a terrible blow against his shoulder. Abner was much more clever than Kane had anticipated. He had waited patiently for the precise moment when he might best catch the embattled Puritan unawares. For reasons Kane could not fathom, Abner had chosen to strike with his massive fists.
The mighty blow had been aimed at the back of the gaunt swordsman's head. Had it landed cleanly, Kane would have surely been rendered unconscious. The half turn had saved him but not entirely. The diamond-edged rapier fell from a grasp that had been turned numb by Abner's cowardly blow. The blade made a rattling descent down the stairs and was soon followed by Kane himself as Abner gave the Puritan a powerful shove that sent him tumbling head over heels down the long flight of steps. After crashing hard at the bottom of the stairs, Kane struggled to gather himself. Isaiah's still warm corpse had softened his final landing but the gaunt Puritan's head had absorbed a number of sharp blows during his tumble.
Kane's vision was blurred and his brain seemed equally out of focus. He struggled pitifully to raise himself at least to his knees; the wounded left knee had begun to throb miserably and his right arm was nearly useless. Kane shook his head violently as he kneeled there at the foot of the stairs. His vision cleared slightly and he glanced up to see the candlelight playing frightfully off the smirking features of the behemoth, who must have fancied himself very clever due to the ease in which he had brought his enemy so low.
Abner descended the steps deliberately, savoring his triumph. "I intend to kill you with my bare hands. It would have been easy enough to split you with my blade but such is that fool Hawk's way, not mine. I'm going to pick your worthless drab self up and crush you with nothing save my own good arms. Perchance this sword and dagger I found on the stairs belong to you?" Abner taunted Kane, obviously enjoying himself.
The huge man tossed the deadly blades much too far away for Kane to even dare a chance at reaching them. "You're a cold-blooded murderer," the Puritan growled, whilst simultaneously fighting off a wave of nausea. The contents of his stomach threatened to spew out of his mouth in a final display of indignity. He kneeled there on hands and knees without the strength to stand.
Abner chuckled and Kane felt massive paws grasp him about the shoulders and collar. "Let me help you to your feet, my friend, I want to look into your eyes whilst I squeeze you 'til the blood rushes from your nostrils."
"Burn in Satan's favorite part of hell, you son of a bitch," Kane exclaimed as he drove the dead Isaih's cutlass deep into the innards of the startled Abner's great round belly. He twisted the blade with all the power left in his good left arm as the huge man's guts began to fall out and a torrent of blood burst from his nose and mouth. The enraged Puritan wrenched the blade free with one final, horrible yank and the massive frame of the killer sank back against the stairs where he whimpered like a frightened baby.
He was not quite dead, but Kane could not have cared less. He crawled a few feet away and concentrated on chasing the murkiness out of his head. At last he vomited his last meal with one great heave. Miserable as he felt, the Puritan's head righted itself to a reasonable degree.
Kane fumbled in his dark blouse and found a flask. He tilted it to his lips and savored the fire as the brandy burned a path down to his stomach. Steadied and refreshed, he struggled to his feet. A bit of the liquor he splashed onto his wounded thigh. The sting brought a slight grimace to the swordsman's face but his expression turned to relief when he discovered the wound has ceased bleeding. It pained him like the devil, though. He looked to Abner and saw that the big man was finally dead. "Bon voyage to hell," Kane said. "Tell your master Satan that I'll come for him after a time."
Solomon Kane took a few brief minutes to gather himself. He staunched the wound as best he could with a bit of bright cloth torn from the sash of Isaih. He finished the flash with a gulp and let the gore-strewn cutlass drop from his hand. With candle in hand, he searched and found his blades. The hilt of his own deadly rapier against his palm felt very good.
Kane suspected the danger was past, but perchance not. He heard, or perhaps sensed movement somewhere . . . Hawk! It seemed that the rampaging seadog had not broken his neck after all.
The Puritan squinted into the shadows; his search was not a long one. Jeremy Hawk's long form lay stretched where he had fallen. Kane took a cautious approach to the man despite the fact the big blond appeared in no condition to mount a threat. Hawk groaned, seemingly dazed, and his feared right arm lay beside him at an unusual angle . . . most likely broken, and badly so.
With his good hand the stricken man feebly massaged his head. He gave no care to his surrounding and hardly seemed aware of anything save his pain. Still, Kane took no undue risks. The Hawk was full of tricks and clever deceptions. A ruse was far from out of the question.
Solomon Kane placed the razor-keen tip of his rapier against Jeremy Hawk's Adam?s apple. The sensation of cold steel pressed against his throat did good service as a sobering agent. The haze lifted quickly from Hawk's eyes and he stared up at the dark avenger.
"Satan's own blazing overcoat, what happened?"
"Ye took a passably hard fall from yon stairs."
"The last thing I recall was a rousing good fight; it?s a good thing I landed on my head but I think my arm?s broken." The corsair glanced about curiously. "Where's Abner, dead, I suspect?"
"He is, and now it?s off to the gallows for ye, lad . . . or if it pleases ye more, I can make a swift end to it and ye'll cheat the hangman for good at last." Kane's tone was somber and there was no mistaking his intentions.
Jeremy Hawk only laughed, "Both fair choices fer sartain, Kane! But if I might, I would offer a much more sensible course."
"And what would that be Hawk?"
"I'll not beg for my life like a dog . . . but why not set me free? There be too few of the old brotherhood alive as it be. That seems best from where I'm looking, you see. It's not my fault that I can't duel you proper with a busted swordarm, and I don't believe you'd do a helpless man in . . . even if I asked. That means you'll have to take me back to swing. I'm no saint true enough, but I deserve better than dancing for the queen at the end of a rope . . . and all the killin' I did for Her Majesty, too!"
Kane grimaced and spoke in measured words. "The truth of it, Hawk, I would be inclined to show ye mercy . . . save for the way ye used that poor lass that's hiding up there half frightened to death I'm sure."
Hawk shook his head and spat furiously. "Are you stone daft, man, I've seen no such lass. Yer arm's is strong as ever but by Satan's own eyes I swear yer head has plainly gone soft or take me for a damned fool! I always said that Solomon Kane was a man who couldn't let his yesterdays be damned, and drink them off his mind. Now look what's happened to you at last, talking like a lunatic. Why force some sweet country lass when I can get all I want in town for a few coppers?" At that moment Kane saw something in Jeremy Hawk?s restless gray eyes that he never expected to see . . . the truth.
Instinctively he withdrew the deadly blade a few inches. "I'm a fool, for I believe ye, lad."
"Then let bygones be bygones and we'll heave off from these dusty old haunted ruins. We'll find ourselves a tavern and we'll toast Drake, Bellefonte, and Grenville, and slobber oaths about those red days and high times driving the dons mad!"
"First swear out an oath that ye'll change yer ways and become an honest man."
Hawk frowned indignantly, "I'll do no such thing." Then he paused, not at ease with the icy glint he saw in Kane's eyes. "What I will do is never allow my shade to darken the Queen's soil again. I'm not welcome and there's a far better life elsewhere, where crusty old salts like we two belong. I'm done with England for good. Why not come with me and we'll hail a ship back to the slave coast, and march back to Basti and reclaim my throne. The two of us, each armed with a good musket and half a dozen pistols, could do it easy enough. Why then, with a thousand armed savages marching at our back we could carve out an empire proper . . . what say you, Kane?"
Kane said nothing for a moment, then he answered with a voice deep and almost haunting. "Don't think I've never thought of returning to that same strange land and many's the time. I cannot count the restless nights when I've woke from some mysterious dream of great beasts, endless horizons streaked with lightning, bizarre and ancient rites no white man could ever truly understand . . . and savage women dancing naked beneath a full moon with no care of tomorrow. Aye, I see these things nightly and I would return. But when I go, and whatever the direction my path takes me . . . I will go alone. No, I seek no empire, no gold or diamonds. What draws me there will be revealed at a chosen time and place, and ask me not what that be . . . for I can't answer ye."
Kane watched as Hawk struggled to gain his feet. The Puritan grasped the big blond's good arm and yanked him erect as a man might lift a babe. "I'm a fool, but get ye gone from here, Hawk, before I change my mind. And if there's a copper's worth of wisdom beneath that straw colored hair, ye'll take a care to never cross my path again."
For once, Hawk didn't chuckle. "Hand me my blade then, I'll be needing it when I take sail . . . a fine merry life it be, but a hard one, as you well know."
Solomon Kane did as the corsair requested. Hawk took the blade and sheathed it in his worn scabbard, and he did neatly despite using his left hand. "Well, farewell to you, Puritan, you're quite mad but I can't think of a better man I'd want beside me in a hard fight."
Kane touched the brim of his shapeless hat. "Goodbye, Hawk, take this new life that's been granted ye and live it well . . . though I daresay I seriously doubt ye live it good."
Hawk paused for a moment at the door and seemed to be admiring the gaunt Puritan?s work as he stared at Abner's great ruined mass. "Satan's own eyes Kane, but you meted out a fair measure of the old cure to Abner and that?s fer sartain." Then the tall blond man vanished through the door and into the night, leaving behind only the sound of a long hearty laugh.
Kane stood motionless; his mind had drifted far away, it seemed. He did not understand why his path had crossed Jeremy Hawk's so many times and in so many strange places. He had only the questions and not a hint of answer. "Thy will be done," he finally muttered, his tone reverent. Then the strange gaunt man's brows knitted as if puzzled.
But what of Cassie Bowe? She had no more than crossed his mind when a sudden blast of cold air swept through the dank old mansion and extinguished his faithful candle at last. It was a cold chilling wind with no source as far as Kane could see. Hawk had pulled the door to behind him and no window was large enough to accommodate a gust with strength the likes of that the swordsman had just experienced. Kane was seeing to the candle when a second weird blast assailed the house. This was not a cold wind but rather a blinding flash of light.
The Puritan shut his eyes tightly to avoid the stinging pain. He re-opened them only barely to see much of the uncanny brilliance had subsided. What remained was encompassed within the eerie blueish glow that emitted from a large orb at the top of the first flight of stairs. Solomon Kane was not a man given over to fear, but he forced away a shudder as the gleaming oblong orb began to slowly and deliberately descend the stairs.
"Is there no end to the sorcery within these walls?" Kane asked himself as the thing drew ever closer, until he noticed something inside the light . . . the form of a frail lass. And unless his keen eyes lied, it was none save that same girl, Cassie Bowe!
Kane knew instantly that he now dealt with something not of the flesh but rather the spirit, and a powerful one at that. Utterly amazed, Kane watched as this spirit simply passed through the mountainous corpse of Abner. Astonished, the Puritan witnessed the cadaver twitch and tremble nervously when the ghost passed through it.
For a half second Kane expected to see even Abner raise himself, but the apparition moved on and the dead man lay still again. It was a truly unnerving sight that none but Solomon Kane could have witnessed and not gone mad. Of course it might be said the Puritan was already mad.
As the ghost slowly traversed the distance betwixt herself and Kane, she became more like that image of a sweet young girl he'd encountered earlier this unholy night. She paused a mere foot and half again from the statue-like Kane. "I would like to thank you, Solomon Kane. Thank you for cleaning the filth out of my house." Her eyes were sad but the voice, while detached, carried more than a hint of authority behind the words.
"Your house?" Kane asked.
"Yes, I was here when these walls were erected nearly 140 years ago. And I will remain here . . . we will remain here."
"We?" Kane asked, recalling that other strange spirit he'd glimpsed earlier.
"Yes," the girl said. "There are many others. I am not alone. And now I would ask you to leave us as well . . . and quickly; although, as I said, you have our thanks."
Having spoke thus, she turned and traveled slowly back the way she'd come, glowing with the weird light all the way. Kane watched until the light gained the second landing where it disappeared. All was enveloped in liquid blackness yet again.
He wasted no time in re-lighting the candle and creeping back up the flight of stairs himself. His brain burned with feverish curiosity that he could not have possibly resisted. He cautiously entered the woman's bedroom as before, with rapier point seeking first entrance. He seriously doubted the blade could challenge a ghost but he felt better just the same because of it.
There beneath the candlelight was no flesh and blood woman quivering in fright. The crumbling old bed contained only bones, the remains of a woman long dead. She lay there with arms crossed. The pitiful remnants of a once fine dress clung to the ghastly skeleton only here and there. In one hand was the hilt of a long dagger; the blade was seated within the skeletal bosom. A suicide. One left unburied within this room for all these decades.
Local knowledge of such an act would have disgraced the family so they had left her here. Kane hoped that the room had been sealed away from the curious eyes of children and grandchildren, but he had no way of knowing for certain. Little wonder then at all, the madness that ran in the Doak family. No doubt they were the others that Cassie Bow had spoken off. Having seen enough, the somber Puritan took his leave of the house.
Solomon Kane paused on the creaking veranda and once again fell into a deep musing. He stared long and hard into the candle he held.
The drab, darkly dressed man rode across the overgrown farmland framed by the fresh light of a new dawn and a huge billowing cloud of black smoke. Wisps of gray ash settled against his hard, pallid features as he rode on barely noticing and without glancing back.
The nervous little magistrate clasped and unclasped his hands after a fashion that suggested a high degree of agitation. "But why in heaven's name did you have to burn the place down, Kane? Lord Downing will be outraged, I'm certain of it. According to old records, the artwork alone in the house must have been worth a fortune. Oh my, and what am I to tell him now?"
"Tell him what ye think best. Say I went mad out there last night if it pleases thee. I believe a man shouldn't allow himself to be used, not by living flesh nor restless spirit. And ye Lord still has the land, well worth the paltry sum he paid I'm sure. He can build another house . . . but I'd advise him to vary the location of it . . . were he to be a wise man." It was a long speech for Solomon Kane. He wearied of it, wheeled his mount about and rode away.
The End
