Are you going to stop me?
21st Day of Autumn
767 Karloman’s Peace
“Are you going to stop me, Cnut?” Ekkehard asked. His voice was monotone, as if the mind thinking the words wasn’t entirely connected to the body speaking them.
Standing before the walls of Werth once more, Ekkehard examined the contingent of two dozen guards gathered outside the sealed eastern gate with ambivalence. The purple-cloaked men had formed a four-ranked shield wall, each pointing a spear to ward off Ekkehard and his entourage. News of Ekkehard’s impending return had preceded him, as had the stories of the red shadow at his back.
“I don’t know what you’re here for, Ekkehard,” Captain Cnut replied, his eyes fixed firmly on Ekkehard. “But this isn’t a place for you anymore.” The captain stood before the guard formation, still wearing the trappings of his office. Ekkehard didn’t know what had happened in the city since his departure, but he was glad to see Cnut had managed to hold on to his command. That was a good thing; he had supported the Reubkes when they needed it most, and Ekkehard could reason with him.
“This is my home, Captain,” Ekkehard declared. “What other place would I go?”
A heavy, raspy sigh escaped Cnut as he looked down at his feet, kicking the dirt, his hands on his hips. Beneath the weight of his open-faced helm, the captain looked tired, with deep creases of stress on his face that hadn’t been there the last time Ekkehard had seen him. The cycle since Ekkehard fled the city had clearly been trying for the man, and he obviously wasn’t eager to face further stress.
“Ekkehard,” the captain said, “I’ve barely gotten things under control here. The city went crazy after what happened. The riots lasted days, and we still have unrest every night as it is. If I let you in, I’d be throwing wood on the fire that consumed half the city already. I can’t do that.”
Ekkehard felt a pang of sympathy for the man. It tremored in his chest, slight but present, just beneath the bulwark of his resolve. He regretted adding to the captain’s burden. Cnut had betrayed his superiors when he helped Ekkehard and his brothers escape. By returning, Ekkehard was spitting in the face of that kindness, putting the captain in an awkward position.
His gaze shifted to the guards waiting a few meters behind their commander. Each was eyeing Ekkehard anxiously from behind their shields. No, Ekkehard realised they weren’t looking at him; they were looking at the being behind him. He followed their stares, glancing over his shoulder at the Red Angel, taking in the majestic beauty of its immeasurable form. It was magnificent, magnanimous, and marvellous. He understood why the men before him could not take their eyes off it.
Yet, there was fear in the eyes of those guards, and Ekkehard wondered if that was telling. If men look upon such a perfect being and feel fear, is it because they should be afraid? Whenever he looked upon the being, he felt... strength. No, that wasn’t it. Purpose, the word resounded within his mind. That was what the Angel made him feel: purposeful. He took a deep breath, feeling bolstered, and the aches and pains of his trials ebbed a bit further away.
He strummed his fingers along the spine of the Book of Heaven, the tome nestled against his hip in a sling he had fashioned. These guards feared the Angel, and rightly so. All men fear the truth of the world—the truth of what they are. This Angel stood as proof that the lies told to comfort oneself in the darkest times were just that: lies—a fallacy invented to brainwash the mewling multitudes into ignorant subservience. Facing the reality that life was meaningless was a terrifying endeavour. Still, that truth had set Ekkehard free, and it would do the same for these men if they had the strength to listen.
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“This can’t be your home anymore, Ekkehard,” Cnut stated, interrupting Ekkehard’s contemplations. The captain’s voice was stern and unwavering, and Ekkehard imagined the man believed himself possessed of sufficient authority to settle the matter. He was wrong, of course. Ekkehard turned back to the man and gave him a nod of approval for the effort, regardless of how in vain it was. “The lords just won’t accept that. If you try to enter, they will have you killed,” the captain added.
Ekkehard noted the many archers on the gatehouse ramparts, all waiting with bows nocked but undrawn. Most wore the same purple cloaks as Cnut and his retinue, but Ekkehard spotted the odd red, yellow, and white cloak here and there. The captain was being observed. Whatever happened here would make its way back to the city's senior leaders. Cnut had been willing to challenge the lords once before, but Ekkehard suspected that came at a significant cost, and the captain wasn’t about to do it a second time.
Yet, Ekkehard didn’t want to see the captain and his guards dead. He respected the man's bravery and dutifulness. He was the type the world would need when it woke from the poisonous dream that trapped it in a coma of stagnation. Ekkehard decided to settle this with words, and as the thought crossed his mind, he felt the tension in the Angel’s shoulders shift and loosen as if the being was standing down.
“They would try, I am sure,” Ekkehard stated. “But I am here, and I am going to enter this city. So, I ask again, will you stop me, Cnut?”
Cnut paced back and forth, hands on his hips, shaking his head as he looked from Ekkehard to the ground. “What are you trying to do, Ekkehard?” he asked, his voice a little desperate. “What are you hoping to get out of this?”
“I am here to collect the bodies of my family, Cnut,” Ekkehard informed the captain. It wasn’t a lie. Having discovered the truth of the cosmic joke that was mankind’s existence, he would never be so cruel as to lie to his fellow man again. But that didn’t mean he had to tell Cnut everything. Collecting the bodies of his wife and brother was one of his reasons for being here, but he kept his other intentions a secret.
Cnut stopped pacing and turned to look at Ekkehard, his face a dour mask of pity. “I don’t think that is a good idea,” Cnut said, his voice chillingly sour. There was something grief-stricken and haunted in the words. Hanib had not treated the dead respectfully, it seemed. Bile caught in Ekkehard’s throat, but he swallowed the bitter flavour, unwilling to let Cnut see him react. The Angel, however, shifted, a metallic groaning emerging softly from its form, just loud enough to make the captain and his guards flinch.
“I don’t think anyone gets to tell me what I can and can’t do anymore, captain,” Ekkehard declared.
Cnut’s eyes flicked past Ekkehard and toward the Angel for the first time. Ekkehard wasn’t sure if fear or defiance had kept Cnut from acknowledging the being, but when he saw the disgust on Cnut’s face, he realised it was dogmatic fervour. Cnut refused to recognise the being's existence as if he could rob the Angel of its power by doing so. Whether Cnut wanted to believe it or not, the Angel was real. Slowly, that zealotry drained from Cnut’s face, replaced by a creeping sensation of terror. “What is that thing?” Cnut asked.
Ekkehard smiled. “That is my angel,” he told the captain, “and I am its god.”
Cnut’s eyes darted to Ekkehard, his expression grim as he mulled over the meaning. He sighed and muttered, “That answer doesn’t make me feel any better, Ekkehard.” Cnut returned to his pacing, clearly thinking better than to pursue his inquiry further.
Most of the hunters Ekkehard encountered on his return to the city had died at the hands of the Angel, but a few had run fast enough to carry the tale with them. The captain would have heard the same stories as everyone else in the city: stories of how over a dozen patrols had fallen in pursuit of Ekkehard and his brothers, how a devilish giant walked beside them, and how that devil could not be killed. Ekkehard wondered if the captain believed them. He wondered if the captain was brave enough to test the truth of those tales. He hoped, for the captain’s sake, that he was not.
“If I let you in,” Cnut said, halting his pacing and standing with his back to Ekkehard, “we go to the old butcher’s place. We go quickly before word gets back to the lords. You get your dead. You leave.”
“Those are your terms?” Ekkehard asked.
“Those are my terms.”
Ekkehard smiled at the captain and nodded. Both knew Ekkehard would break those terms, but he liked the captain and would let him hold on to his sense of control for as long as possible. The man had honour, and Ekkehard would not insult it. Cnut ordered the east gate opened, and he led Ekkehard, his two surviving brothers, and the Red Angel through.
In a slow, sombre parade, flanked by Cnut’s retinue, Ekkehard, his two brothers Gerwald and Florentin and the Red Angel were escorted into the city and back to the road that ran past Vedast’s house.