TCOTNK Season 3.17

The Castle Of The Naked Knights. The origins of the picture book that will change so many lives....

New to TCOTNK? Reading along is free for everyone…discover the slow joys of a weekly serial and enter the The Castle Of The Naked Knights. A whole other world is waiting for you. Go to the INDEX for the introduction and links to all episodes

back to chapter3.16 (last weeks episode)

---

XVI

I've waited too long. I open my eyes because the cold has entered my skin. The orange ball has dropped out of sight. The glow bouncing off distant clouds. Darkness coming in from the landward side.

I stand up stiffly. Grumble at myself for my carelessness. I have to keep a better eye on the time. Time is hard for me. Slippery. Unsteady.

Down is harder than up. My back a blank canvas for new abrasions. I have an itch in my crotch from that stupid wet rag. Or crawling visitors. And now it is too dark to fetch walnuts. The light fades so fast. I circle round avoiding the spiky pods. Away from the tree it is only slightly brighter. All colours disappear. I can't go back across the water. Not today. That's too dangerous.

The stone has warmed my dress. My chilled feet eagerly soak up the heat while I slide into the warm fabric. I have food and a blanket. It's going to be a late picnic. Ha, I have brought walnuts myself. But de-hulling them is too much trouble. I dig into the cheese and sandwiches. Drink the cloudy juice and moan in surprise. Nothing at Samanthe is ordinary. I taste apricot, raspberry, pear and elderflower. And more. Food tastes better the longer you wait. The dim light also intensifies the taste. It closes your eyes for you. With difficulty I save some for tomorrow.

I would like to make a fire. But I didn't bring anything to make that possible. Sitting still makes me restless. Which annoys me. I need to work on that. The still sitting skill. But not now. I will make myself a bed. On these warm flat stones near the water. In the blanket I collect four or five loads of oak leaves for a nest. Then I pull a few branches from the conifers and place them on top. I'm knackered. When I go pee my leg muscles shake from exhaustion. I roll up in the blanket and stare at the star theatre setting up tonights performance. Stars slowly sliding into focus. More and more of them arrive. There's an intergalactic meeting right above me. One by one they come to look at that silly goose, while orbiting their fallen brother. Center stage just for a moment, for the length of the song.

I cannot sleep.

Finally I give in to my restlessness, wrap the blanket around my shoulders and walk up to the edge of the lake. The water is a dark portal to another universe. The moon has appeared. Still full. Both in the air and in the mirror at my feet. The sharp contours of all things unified in black surround me. Black absorbs colour. Holds all shades for safekeeping. 

A smoke-like cloud rolls in from my left. The moon and some of the stars disappear within seconds. Darkening the pale landscape with a disturbing speed. Someone is putting a cloth over the cage. A full cloud cover removes all light. While my eyes try to pierce into the dark, my ears are scanning. The wind picks up. Suddenly everything is full of little sounds. I hear something running behind me. At the edge of the forest. The change in atmosphere is dramatic. The temperature drops. The dry leaves around my bed rustle. I pull the blanket closer.

Something is coming closer. And I don't just mean different weather. The atmosphere condenses. No, reality is getting thin spots. For a brief moment I feel betrayed by the island. Outraged. But that quickly gives way to something else. A calm certainty that I am ready. For whatever lies ahead this night.

That's the starting signal. A short series of blinding flashes crack open the nightsky.  Instantly followed by dry thuds of thunder that hit me straight in the heart. I almost get knocked over. The sound is tangible. Fat. And I can literally hear the waves rolling away in all directions. Wodan is right above me.

A second drummer replies a little further on. Answering the request. Obeying the order.

Maybe it's my fear that attracts her. Maybe the racket woke her up. But at the same time as a strong wind comes roaring over the rock and down through the treetops, there is that screaming woman. She runs out of the darkness towards me. Big as a house. Everything is shadow about her. The rags she is dressed in. Her blackened legs. The emaciated face distorted by the gaping hole of her scream. Very quickly she leaps closer, arms waving hysterically. I can't go anywhere. She's not real. She's horrible. Two more seconds and I'll be trampled. She's blind. I know that for sure. She's not on her way to me either. But to something behind me. I don't dare look back. Don't have time to turn my head. My breath is squeezed from my lungs. A collision is inevitable.

Then she is stopped in her tracks with a horrible jerk. The chain around her neck stops her like a rabid dog. Her neck bends at an impossible angle and her entire thin body is thrown back as if someone is actually pulling on the leash. The sound of tearing tissue twists my stomach. She crawls back up and makes another attempt. Another attack but weakened and disoriented. The giant woman is almost dead. Or she was already dead and made one last desperate run to freedom. Or she tried to scare off whatever is behind me. The wind is furious. Screaming in my ears. Slapping my face. Grabbing my skirt. Pulling my hair. I turn around.

There's a man standing there. A little further away on a stone. Very quiet. He looks at me with total calmness. The sky is full of flying things. The water moves. The trees are in commotion. The stones beneath my feet vibrate and I have trouble staying upright. The silent figure is the centre of it all. It's not a man. I am pushed by the wind. Venture closer against my will very slowly. It starts to rain. Like a curtain being drawn. To my right the lake is being lashed, to my left it is dry. I catch a drop every now and then.

Then I know. It's me. The silent figure standing there is me. As soon as I think that, I change places and look at the spot where my makeshift bed is. It lights up in series of short bursts.

The flat stone is now full of crawling bodies. Naked desperate humans. Empty shells searching. No wonder I couldn't sleep there. I got out just in time. They look like normal people. That have lost their souls. Alive but empty. Without awareness of each other. I am alone, but they are empty. Dwindling. That's not a word but it's exactly what I see. They don't repel me. They're looking for me. But I am invisible in my silence. 

As the intense darkness returns the rain continues. Declines to regular heavy rain. I can no longer see anything of my surroundings and get wet quickly. I won't go back to my bed. Not this night. It is not done yet.

I hear music. Through the pounding rain. To my right a brightly dressed guy has appeared as if vaguely lit by a single spotlight. He is singing. With a lute. It is a long poem he recites. And it is beautiful. I don't understand a word but I find myself listening breathlessly. It is part of my silence. There are more who are listening. The listening never stops. Then the rain lifts a little and I see them. Figures like myself. Far apart. Scattered. But all around. Listening to that bard. There are familiar faces among them. Someone who reminds me of Pierre, my sculptor. Another who could be Uncle Toek sits with a typewriter at the back. Unsharp and only barely visible. Like the stars, more and more appear. 

I can now also see the singing poet better. He is on a horse. Mounted like an Amazon. Enchanting his audience with great skill. I feel moved to tears by the whole situation. Carlos is close by. Gorgio and his sister have appeared. There is laughter. The people are somehow different. Sit separately in small groups. Constellations of ones. And yet they are together. There are so many. As I look around me I discover more and more. They're everywhere. I walk around. Climb a little higher. The entire bowl of the island is filled with people listening to the troubadour. It feels so good. His singing and lute are beautiful in a way I have not experienced before. Like he is weaving some unknown cloth from all who attend this meeting. Gathering the threads. That's what he does. He gives it his all. Puts feeling and knowledge into the task, lards it with humour. Plays the full register of emotions. The song wasn't his. As soon as he finishes I recognise the words as ancient. The applause merges with the rain. Apparently his contribution is ready. I clap along with the adoring crowd.

Then out of nowhere a buzzing arrow appears and pierces the performer's temple. A sickening sound. The metal spike gets stuck in the middle of his brain. Its bony container pierced like an eggshell. He drops silently from his horse. The thud of dead weight snaps the lute with a twang that cuts deep into my nerves. The horse startles. A wave of indignation ripples through the crowd.

A juggler stands up behind me. I can hear because of his belled costume. He throws torches. A beautiful sight. Hissing flames defying raindrops and gravity. The glowing faces of bystanders look surprised and are immediately distracted. I do not get it. And look back at the still bard. Why is no one is helping him? I run towards where he lies bleeding. But of course it's too late. His corpse lifeless and forgotten among the watching crowd. Nobody looks at the poor bard. They are fascinated by the fire dancer who has enormous appeal with his glowing torches. I feel it too. The pull of this new artist. But I'm also looking for the archer. Who committed the murder? Did the arrow come from outside the circle? I scan the dark edge of the forest. Then I see the next arrow being shot. A flare just like mine but with a completely different purpose. I know where it is going and I try to get to the juggler with fierce determination, but I am hopelessly too late. The burning projectile penetrates the entertainer's chest. The torches fall into the grass, which catches fire despite the rain. It illuminates the faltering performer. His heart is burning. His outfit rapidly eaten by aggressive orange flames. His facemelting, he is contorted with pain. The blood welling from his mouth boils and bubbles. Smoke comes out of his popped ears. My tears are streaming. I hurt my throat in trying to break the silence. The people get restless without a performance to hold them. Some stand up. I feel the insecurity rising. I think we have to get out of here.

A flat barge floats on the water of the lake. Several actors climb up. Dripping. Dressed in drama. I can't help but smile at my thoughts. Once again the attention shifts to this next show. The play is complex and intense. I can see why it holds so many people. But I also realise we have to take action. I try to get people moving. They don't understand me. I am only disturbing their new found calm. Interrupting the play keeping them captive. 

A tank rolls over the edge behind me. Abruptly ending my desperate attempts. A solid steel monster. A moving castle that ruthlessly rolls over the viewers. The sight of crushing bodies is unbearable. 

There is no time left. I have to lead by example. Or at least try to escape myself because soon it will be my turn to perform. The barrel of the huge canon has started aiming for me. And I run crouched. Stumbling and struggling. I have seconds left to get away. I've stopped alarming people. They just don't want to see it. The tank spits fire. The deafening bang makes everyone cringe. The impact is right behind me and I’m slammed to the ground. The explosion wakes up some of the bystanders nearby. Now they start running. I get up and feel utterly grim. Many are looking at me. See the direction I take. One by one they start following me. Wake up others. And then I realize that this will be my performance. This is it. Gradually all attention turns to me. I have made a mistake. But it's too late to undo it.

I know what I want. I know how. But try to shield that. It comes down to timing. Placement. I draw lines. People look at them but don't understand. Someone will translate this for me. For them. They really come after me. Follow me. Once again I'm on my way up. I'll do my thing up there. Clearly. Not down here. My feet are those of a goddess. They barely touch the ground. I grab a long stick. The staff of a fallen woman. A spear. And in the meantime, I hear the slaughter among the viewers, among the listeners, continuing. It is a war. It is the war. Hundreds of people are dying around me. And I know they represent others. So many others. I clamber forward. Have to climb over the corpses of fallen outlaws to get to the top. Just to be safe, I take a shield from one of the dead defenders. I carry it on my back like a turtle. A rain of arrows is now coming from the sky. Battering every surface like a hail storm. Sharp enough to pierce the stone. I also grab a helmet. Slide it over my hair. 

Invisible blind creatures populate the night sky. It is a swarm without end. Deadly insects in light and impenetrable armour. Their senses extend to every fiber of life around me. They hook their arrows with invisible strings in the flesh and collectively start pulling up the suffering souls. They hang helplessly detached from the ground. Struggling. Panicking. Still alive but without hope of salvation. I am almost there. I get exhausted. And repleted. In quick cycles. My equipment is heavy. With the lance I cut every cord that touches me. That's my only chance. I keep cutting every connection. I charge and take a swipe at the air creatures.

My dress is ruined. Torn and heavy with blood and rain. Half climbing, half flying, I claw at the earth with my free hand. My spear seeks support. I grab the plants. The wood. Mud sticks to me, making me even more heavy, but I emerge and reach the plateau. I am here. And I'm not alone. Not the only one. In the distance, others are waiting in their own high place. It's almost time.

I'm exhausted. I’m roaring. The wind howls in my ears. The rain lashes my shield and bare shoulders. I see lightning through my closed eyelids. The air is filled with my anger. The thunder rumbles and rolls. And then there is the dragon. All the helmet wearers lower their visors. I slide mine over my eyes. Look through the narrow openings at the angry monster. I'm afraid. I'm shaking violently. I'm ready to die.

This is the moment. The darkness has returned.

I take my shield from my back. Immediately struck by a strange sensation. I can handle it, hold it, but I can't see it. Is that because of the helmet? I don't see my own hands. And the spear I am clutching is also not visible. My eyes seek out the other posts. I scan the surrounding ocean. But don't see any. I am alone. And I am invisible.

The monster reaches above the clouds. Legs planted deep in the earth. Arms and heads are everywhere at once. It uses things to make itself strong. Objects. It uses humans to reproduce. Tentacles empty the seas. Jaws crush the old trees. It mimics what it absorbs. it is all face, all front. All head. Unending voices wear out words in wailing howls that contain all suffering. It lets its victims live. Killing in arbitrariness and indifference. The roar of its radiance eats life. Trapping it. Attracting the energy like a darker shade of gravity. I feel the pull rushing forward. Everything bending towards there. Bowing. Getting on their knees. And I just stand there.

I don't want to fight. No need. It would be pointless. I just have to look. To see. Observing is why I am here. The spear is a pointing rod. Shield and helmet safeguard me from the monster's senses. I am a guardian. And this is my protection until the day I can become visible again. Then the helmet can be taken off. The shield laid down. On that day it is enough. On that day many will see. When guardians step out of their invisibility and the dragon turns into a strong friend.

The creature moves on. For now, this little tamer has lost interest. He couldn't see or smell me. Despite my high position. In full view. My mask works. It's an old mask. I am grateful to wear it. To have made it. I made it. 

XVII

It is still dark when I wake up shivering from the cold. I'm wet and stiff. I am alone. Lying next to my makeshift bed. The wool blanket is wet but still blocks the wind. The storm has passed. It's a different wind. Colder.

Shaking top to toe, I eat something. Have a drink. Then spit the juice out again. I don't trust her drinks anymore. I roll into the damp blanket as best I can. Cover myself with leaves and branches. The hard stone is still a little warm.

Someone is licking my ear. The morning sun pale and sharp. There is a goat next to me. A white one. He woke me up. She. She has udders. And bleating babies. My bones are frozen. I can barely move. My head is pounding. My hands are black and battered. I really dug around in the dirt. My nose has been bleeding. My whole body is sore.

The difference with a dream is the memory. A vision does not fade into the background. No, it digs itself in to never disappear. Still all is well. Of course I was scared. But this was the reason for my visit. I got a glimpse of something I don't yet understand. And it is mine to keep.

There are three goats. No male. Well, two of the little ones are boy-goats. They are curious. And soft. Playing with each other and with me. Driving away my loneliness. I count nine little ones.

They did feast on my apples and cheese and walnuts. I don't have any breakfast left. I have to get moving. The dress is soaked and has holes. That will only cool me down further. It has to come off. I rub myself warm. Warmer, at least. My feet are made of ice. I loosen my hair. Carefully finger-comb out the many knots. It still is very early. Soon the sun will become more powerful because the sky is blue again. Yet it is different. As if it's suddenly winter. Now I do drink from the lake. It's almost sweet. Wash my hands. Clean the little wounds. I dribble back and forth. Watched by my new family, I pet the big goat that is nursing. She's nice and warm. She lets me hug her. Her wool is soft and silky. I recognize Samanthe's wool. With this she was spinning. I smile. The goats are her three goddesses.

Now it's time for the walnuts and blackberries. With my knife at the ready I set off. First the walnuts. My goat family naturally follows me.

I break open the shells by putting the tip of my knife between the halves and turning. The nuts are small and brown and moist. Very different from the dried ones. Bitter and juicy. The goats love them too. I have to be quick and share when peeling. Otherwise I'll get headbutted. Not very mean but clear enough. I am getting a little less cold.

Then the blackberries. They don't care about those. I barely feel the spines. My whole hands are purple from the ripe berries. Presumably my face too. Picking and eating awakens a primitive pleasure in me. I am an animal. I am grateful. Greedy. Self-indulgent. I smell and moan and eat. All my senses are on edge. I am sensual to the core. Would just give up thinking for this. But that is also a thought.

It's getting warmer. I thaw further in the sun. My clothes are steaming. The world is steaming. I am cold and hot at the same time. The valley around me is empty and full at the same time. I am alone and surrounded by many. I am vulnerable and strong. Dark and light. I am lost and at the same time more safe than ever before.

I shan’t dwindle.

I'm grinning stupidly. See myself sitting as a minstrel on Uglee warbling words like that bard. I don't think anyone will come to listen. They'd dwindle delipitously if they dared.

I don't think it will get much warmer today. I turn the dress around. The back is still drenched. And I have to keep shooing the kids away. They suck on the fabric. A bit further away I find a tree branch to hang it on. A red flag in a bare birch. As soon as it's dry I’ll go back to the mill.

Because I am close to it I go to look at the boat. The sea has turned into a foaming mess of waves. The water is dark. No boat. It is gone. Not where I left it. I walk along the high edge. Maybe it's further away. Nothing. No trace. Not even when I search further. All the way to the steep wall. Opposite the second island. I'm a decent swimmer, but I wouldn't dare. I'm stuck. Maybe I can build a wooden raft? With a paring knife?

They sure must have missed me last night, right? Carlos was busy of course, but would he leave without seeing me again? He's on the road. Will a chance encounter keep him from leaving? Will the circus wait for my return? Samanthe knows where I went. She understands that I have weathered the storm, right? Oh drat, I lost her boat. She can't even come get me if she wanted to. I peer over the water. Looking for something that moves. There’s nothing. The beaches also seem empty. Doesn't everything wash up eventually? Cadavers do.

Then I see movement. To the right of the river mouth. Just visible to the naked eye. A truck drives along the narrow coastal road. It then stops. Are they already looking for me? It looks like it. Why else would you stop there? Do I see people getting out?

Then a second car comes along the same road and stops behind the first. And before the third comes I already know that the circus is leaving. I'm jumping and waving. I scream with my hands to my mouth until I go hoarse and have a coughing attack. I run back. Hurt my feet. Pull my dress from the tree and break off a dead stake at the trunk. Again I have the spear. A flagpole. While speed walking I tie the sleeves to the long pole.

I find an open high spot close to the edge and lift the heavy package into the air. That must be visible. I wave myself an infinite muscle sore of lazy eights. Slicing the thick morning air like an accomplished flag bearer, sending signals through all available channels and shouting like a licensed idiot. I see that the line of vehicles has grown to the bend where it disappears from view. I raise my efforts. It is now or never.

It is now and never. With a crack my rotten tree breaks off near my top clasping fist. I only have the first meter left. That shuts me up. The red dress dips down with a smooth fluttering arc. Like a superhero. With flowing skirt and outstretched arms. A beautiful pike dive that ends rather inglorious. It remains hanging on a piece of rock. Half in the water. At the bottom of a steep cliff. Unreachable. I look at it in puzzled amazement.

Very softly I hear the engine noise of the advancing column. They're leaving. I already am invisible.

---

Season 4 starts on May 12

15 episodes. We enter the world of Yeshe. She is shadowing Michael and Thalia. But her narrative has other plans. Will she ever get to the last festival?