Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) Read online

  Beyond the Crimson

  Book One in the Crimson Cycle

  Danielle Martin Williams

  For my family, without whom I would be nowhere…

  Contents

  Chapter One: The Face in the Painting

  Chapter Two: Brendelon

  Chapter Three: Freed

  Chapter Four: The Other Side of the Vortex

  Chapter Five: Face of Gold

  Chapter Six: Arthur

  Chapter Seven: Unworthy

  Chapter Eight: Stars in the Sky

  Chapter Nine: Crimson Deep

  Chapter Ten: Holding the Sea

  Chapter Eleven: Unconditional

  Chapter Twelve: Heartless

  Chapter Thirteen: Not Alone

  Chapter Fourteen: Of the Fairies

  Chapter Fifteen: Stone of the Well

  Chapter Sixteen: Into the Darkness

  Chapter Seventeen: The Emerald

  Chapter Eighteen: The Black Army

  Chapter Nineteen: Deception

  Chapter Twenty: Blood of the Pendragon

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Black Sword

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Blood for Blood

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Return

  Epilogue

  “Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.”

  -Albert Einstein

  Chapter One: The Face in the Painting

  The knight watched carefully as she took a few steps back in the open field. Now was the time. He would destroy her; she would never take what was his. She smiled at him, eyes dancing, and enticing him to come closer. He gripped his sword, grinning back wickedly… and then he charged…

  The yellow-toned fluorescent lights lit up the large hallways, but it still appeared dark with secrets hidden in every shadow, full of ancient cryptic messages that I could not quite understand but ached to discover. Only the slow, quiet, and calculated patter of my footsteps were heard, careful to not wake the sleepy past from its peaceful slumber as I ambled down a different dusty hallway.

  I shifted through a pile of large dusty journals stacked on top of each other, still searching for a piece that would correspond with my history project but finding myself too easily distracted by the treasures I was uncovering. I flipped one open. The pages were yellowed but the dialect of the writing was too recent. New Mexico cattle raids, I read, dating it back to the late 1800s. I closed it and gently ran my hand across the worn leather binding, branded with the name surname Taylor, and in sync with my stroke, a small tickle ran from the back of my neck down to the pit of my stomach.

  I whirled around, heart beating frantically as I was enveloped with a feeling of being watched.

  But the only predator behind me was the dangerously stacked shelves, piling with more marveling pieces of history.

  I took a deep breath, reminding myself the only person here was Stacey, and she was on the other side of the museum. It was just the eeriness of the forgotten past playing with my mind and feeling nothing short of foolish, I returned to my search pushing the books aside as my hand grazed across a delicate design engraved into the top of a beautiful hand-carved wooden chest, instantly appreciating the person who had taken so much time to do this work. The fluorescent lights flickered and instinctively I turned to the flash, suddenly feeling as though a feather had been lightly trailed across my cheek and the tiny hairs on my head rose as a new sensation quivered down my spine. I whipped back around, now faced with two dark and terrifying eyes peering maliciously through me.

  Adrenaline spiked through my body, and I leapt back nearly toppling over the wooden chest, heart beating wildly and filling with fear at the knowledge that these eyes did not belong to my friend.

  But the eyes remained motionless, only staring forward. Taking deep breaths my heartbeat slowed down, coming to terms that it was only an incredibly real looking portrait, mostly sheltered by a tattered crimson cloth that hung from the shelf above it. Get a grip, I told myself, feeling embarrassed at my own jumpiness.

  I kept my gaze on the painting, mystified by the realness, and carefully pulled the long curtain back to reveal the rest of it, gasping as I stared into what was inexplicably the most beautiful face I had ever seen.

  The tight fitting crimson tunic embroidered with two golden dragons over chain mail and the well-polished metal plates at the shoulders and forearms revealed he was certainly a knight, and the dark colored cape hanging from his shoulders hinted royalty or nobility at the very least. His armor was without a helmet, exposing fairly short black hair mostly straight except for a small chunk that curled upward directly above his right ear, softening his looks and almost giving him a childlike appearance. It could quite possibly have been adorable had he not had his sword swung across his shoulder ready to come down in a slicing motion, showing his daunting demeanor.

  He looked to be in his early twenties, skin smooth and flawless with a masculine squared jaw line and perfectly set nose symmetrically aligned with eyes that were fierce and terrifying— tinted with green but appearing to be almost black with malevolence— and a mouth that flashed brilliance as it twisted upwards into a crooked joker’s grin, resting somewhere between playful and smug.

  The paradox was puzzling; the eyes and mouth contradicted each other completely, and I couldn’t stop staring at the absurd combination of it. He was in battle; every bit of his appearance screamed it… except for that smile. The smile was charming; it was out of place. Why would he be smiling during battle? No, grinning, I decided. Yes, it was a half-grin: cocky, amused, and absolutely fascinating.

  I continued to stare; it was as though he knew something. A secret, one that tried to seep from his tantalizing lips but was mired in dark petrifying features, and I found myself overcome with an unwavering desire to free it, willing to do almost anything to know why he was smiling like that.

  “Katarina!” Stacey’s shrill voice echoed through the warehouse, snapping me out of my stupor. The light footsteps danced closer and a strange sense of protectiveness overpowered me. It was ridiculous, that I knew, but I couldn’t help myself; I was surmounted with a strange sense to keep him guarded, so I yanked the curtain back over the picture as the eyes burned into me and for a brief moment, I could have sworn they were laughing.

  “Um, hello!” she said curtly, flipping her long curly brown hair over her shoulder. “Haven’t you heard me calling for you?” She was clearly annoyed.

  I shifted my weight, darting my eyes around the room. “Sorry…” It was weak, but it was all I had.

  “Gosh Kate, I swear, sometimes you are so odd.” She glanced at me suspiciously and looked around. “So… did you find anything interesting…” she started.

  “It’s all interesting,” I replied honestly.

  She looked at me, half in disgust and half confused. Then her eyes lowered to the stone bracelet around my wrist. “Whoa! I didn’t know that thing glowed!”

  I glanced down at my bracelet, just as shocked as she was. I didn’t know it glowed either, but there it was radiating with swirls of green and purple.

  “Is that like one of those mood ring things?” she asked still confused, eyes entranced.

  “Um, I guess so,” I said, dumbfounded.

  “I thought your grandfather made that out of a stone for you a long time ago?”

  “He did,” I replied, still not sure where she was going with all this.

  “And… you’ve never seen it glow before…” She lowered an eyebrow, staring at me dubiously.

  “I don’t wear it that often,” I lied, a defensive feeling taking over me. My chest burned as my eyes shifted to the hidden knight; I didn’t wa
nt her to discover the painting. What the heck was wrong with me? “Let’s go get Mr. Riley,” I blurted out before she could ask any more questions.

  “If we can find our way out of this creepy warehouse,” she said coldly.

  Creepy? The museum’s storage place was remarkable and full of astonishing treasures, but I decided to not argue with Stacey. I learned from the past that no matter if I were wrong or right, I would never win. I felt a strange vexation grip onto my insides as I walked away from the beautiful knight; it was almost fearful, as if I was leaving him vulnerable and weak. Then I grimaced. Stacey was right; I was odd.

  “Well, I guess your mood is coming back to normal,” she said wryly, as we shoved the heavy warehouse doors open, making our way back to the main lobby.

  I looked down; the bracelet was back to its dull gray color. Weird. I pulled the long sleeves of my white zip up sweatshirt down to hide it. She was making me uneasy.

  “Hello girls,” Mr. Riley called from the front desk. “Did you find what you needed?”

  “No,” Stacey sighed dramatically, resting her elbows on the well-polished mahogany counter as she placed her face in her hands.

  “Well, maybe I can help you. What exactly are you looking for?”

  She sighed again, and I tried to listen as she rambled on about our medieval lore project, but my mind was entwined with images and thoughts of the knight. I heard her mention needing ideas on weapons, utensils, and attire. She wanted artifacts and pictures. My stomach did a guilty nosedive. That painting would be a great piece. He was surely from the medieval era. I didn’t understand why I was being selfish but despite my reasoning, I still could not bring myself to mention it; it felt traitorous.

  Mr. Riley scratched his round chin thoughtfully before pushing his glasses up. “I’m surprised you girls didn’t find anything. I have an extensive amount of medieval artifacts. I can’t let you take them out of the museum, as they have been donated, but I’m sure it would give you a better insight to your project and of course, you’re more than welcome to take pictures.”

  Stacey’s shoulders slumped. She wanted an object to show the class. I did too, but I understood why that was not possible. The people who donated the pieces entrusted Mr. Riley to keep them safe, and no matter how well he had known my late grandfather, he had a responsibility to protect the artifacts. I had known it was a long shot, but nonetheless, it was still a letdown.

  Mr. Riley pulled out an enormous book and leafed through some of the pages. “Ah ha,” he said, “yes, most of our medieval pieces have been stored away on aisle B6.”

  She looked at me, clearly annoyed that we hadn’t been given this information earlier. I shrugged helplessly.

  He continued to talk, thankfully not noticing Stacey’s rude behavior. “We usually store a lot of pieces when they aren’t being exhibited, after some time we change them out. Keeps the museum exciting,” he explained, eyes twinkling. “Although, I can’t remember the last time we opened the medieval display…” he added quietly, more to himself this time, as he tapped his index finger on his chin. Then he chuckled. “You know, that is how I first met your grandfather.” He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “He came into see the exhibit. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He gave me a wink, and I smiled. Mr. Riley and my grandfather had been close friends, but he had recently passed, and I missed him terribly.

  As he chattered on about the museum, Stacey looked at me raising her perfectly plucked eyebrows, lips twitching. I smothered a smile. Old man Riley was rumored to be crazy. Everyone said he believed in magic and such, but in my opinion he was just passionate, and I appreciated that.

  “Shall we go look?” he asked with a smile.

  Stacey’s face dropped. She glanced at her watch. “Oh wow, look at the time.” She was a terrible actress. “I have … to meet someone soon.” She shifted her weight. I knew the last thing she would want to do was go back through the storage areas. “Do you think you could just pull some of the artifacts? Then we could come back and see them tomorrow. ”

  “No,” I cut in sharply, stabbing her with my dagger stare. “It’s fine, Mr. Riley. I have time to look with you. We really appreciate your help,” I added quickly, scowling at her.

  Stacey raised her eyebrows at me again, slightly surprised, but mostly just relieved.

  I gave her a fake smile. “It’s alright Stace. I’ll fill you in later.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Alright, see ya later Kate. Bye Mr. Riley, and thanks again.” She waved a slender hand before swinging open the large glass front doors.

  I didn’t mind being alone with Mr. Riley. In fact, he reminded me of my grandfather, and I found it almost comforting. He turned and smiled. “You’re going to love this Katarina,” he said kindly. “It’s a shame Stacey will miss it. I have so many interesting artifacts…” he continued on excitedly, but all I could think of was taking another look at the knight. Quickly, I stopped, scolding myself for becoming so pathetic.

  I looked around the huge storage area that was probably as big as four large gymnasiums placed side by side. Maybe this place really did make people crazy. I glanced back at Mr. Riley who was still cheerfully chattering about all of the astonishing pieces inside his museum. He even talked about how he had collected some himself in his younger days and how a quite a few of the pieces had been handed down from generation to generation in his own family. I tried very hard to focus and answer with the correct “hmm” and “wows” at the appropriate times, but I was really struggling to keep my mind off of that cocky half-grin on the beautiful face with terrifying eyes.

  He passed the aisle where the mysterious knight resided. Aisle B4. My stomach fell with disappointment. I yearned to sneak a peak, even for one second, feeling a thirst to make sure he was still there, but I couldn’t be rude so I continued to tag along behind Mr. Riley, suffering through my parched throat.

  He turned down corridor B6; it held an unimaginable amount of old items, clearly impossible to miss. I supposed I would have found it eventually had I not been stupefied two aisles down.

  He lingered a few minutes browsing for a particular relic in the mass amounts of items. I waited patiently but kept tilting my gaze back to B4. It was all I could do to stay put; the portrait was pulling me like a magnet, and the force to stay away was almost unbearable, but I resisted, somehow outsmarting the forces of nature with the instinct of common courtesy.

  “Ah ha!” he cried gleefully, straightening his glasses. He pulled out a giant old book. The brown cover was decorated beautifully, covered in gold and jewels. It looked magical, like it belonged in a movie, bursting full of secret spells, and the itch to peek inside slightly weakened the compelling pull I had been fighting. He glanced around and found a metal cart that was used to haul the items back and forth, wheeling it back to me as he laid the book flat on top of it.

  “This book is a rare artifact,” he began softly. “Back in the medieval era it was very uncommon for anything to ever be written down. Only the nobility were educated in reading and writing and even so, it was difficult to transfer everything by hand. They didn’t have the resources they do now.”

  I was slightly offended that he would assume I didn’t already know the lack of writing they had in this era, but I nodded my head politely to humor him.

  “This book came from one of the royal families, hence the beautiful decoration.” He winked. “It has been in my family for hundreds and hundreds of years.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “Royalty?”

  He laughed. “Well, I’m not royalty, but a great ancestor of mine was a scribe and worked in the castle for one of the royal families.”

  “Wow, that’s incredible Mr. Riley!” I said, and I meant it. I couldn’t believe he had an ancestor who had lived in a castle. I had to force myself to not bombard him with questions.

  He smiled cheerfully. “Well, anyway, this book has been passed down. A lot of historians have begged and,” he lifted up his
pointer finger, “on a few occasions have even tried to steal it. You see, even though some might call these stories, or myths, or legends, it can actually hold some historical value considering it was one of the few written documents on Arthur and his Knights.”

  “You mean King Arthur?”

  “Yes,” he said, clearly pleased at my interest.

  “But Mr. Riley, King Arthur is just a legend.”

  He laughed. “Or is he?”

  I shook my head, not willing to argue fact and fiction with a man who believed in magic.

  “My family has always been very protective of this book,” he continued. “Every generation had it engrained to never let it get into the wrong hands. So naturally, it was best to keep it in the family.” He smiled excitedly, and I figured it was most likely because he finally had company to tell his crazy stories to, but maybe I was just as crazy because besides drooling over sinister eyes, there was nowhere else I would want to be at the moment but here listening to his tale.

  He flipped through some pages that were written in a language I couldn’t decipher.

  “Is that Latin?” I asked, knowing it had been a language they used.

  He stopped on a page that had a large cross drawn on it with a man kneeling beside it, but the most interesting part of the picture was the way the clouds swirled into eyes that looked down upon him.

  “Yes,” he said smiling, “and here,” he pointed to the large print below the cross with the words Ego vobiscum sum, “says, ‘I am with you.’ Arthur and his knights fought to spread Christianity to the land; they fought against wickedness and shared the word of Jesus Christ’s love, and that the Lord was always with them. It helped many of the men get through the dark times of battles and long harsh winters away from their loved ones.”

  I nodded my head, recognizing that the language matched one from an old journal my grandfather had from his ancestors. “I think my grandfather had a journal with Latin in it,” I told him.