Darkest Night Battle Begun

Reads: 154  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

A historical fiction piece based upon the journey of a knight of early Saxony.

Submitted: July 13, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 13, 2018



The meeting point is found where blood is shed, falling to the ground like rain where it is accepted as something of natural life. It is upon that bloody, muddy field where I will meet my future.

I was one of the Legion, the Knighthood brought fourth by the first king of the realm. Before it was to be called Saxony it was understood that he was a man chosen by God to reign. And with his faith and that of others the monarchy began. A castle was built to remember a Kingdom, to seperate the chosen from the rest.

As we entered the knighthood through the trials, those who passed would join the fight.

My name is Thomas and this is my tale.

To become a knight of the Kings Legion, you must be strong, at the age of eighteen I believed I was. Standing before the Sergeant, the one who would decide the worthy, there were others beside me seeking different things, but we all sought the test of strength.

The first trial was Call To Arms, and presented  before us was sword and shield, the Sergeant speaking of what was most needed to become a knight,  "choose your weapon...you'll know it as you take it up...it will be light as you grip it...and know it as you wield it." As we took them up with a favored arm the Sergeant said, "don't think that shield isn't of weaponry...when used right and well it can shatter bone." But mine, I knew within the moment I took it up, was the sword, the grip was right and it indeed felt light within my hand.

"Present Arms" We were told to hold our weapons before us, arm straight and level with the chest, the hardest to keep. With forearms held taught, minutes passed and some arms dropped. I also felt the weight, the heavy of it, the  ache of straining muscle and sinew. But instead of dropping my arm, I willed myself to continue, and redoubling I held.

"Pass To Arms"  Meeting the next level I was one among four, moving to a different field we stood before straw stuffed figures of men, red painted where a fatal could be delivered. To the Swordsmen such as me it was spoken, "drive until the hilt." The hilt being where the blade meets bone, that of resistence where soft flesh has been cut. "When the hilt is met...draw back the blade a bit and twist...dliver the fatal with it."

The lesson learned of the fatal blow, we were given our horses, then told, "never give name to your mount...it will cause you to care...and caring makes you weak.

With those final words I was of the knighthood, and with the cross upon my shield I knew I was of righteousness as we fought and vanquished the godless barbarians, pushing them back and out of Saxony. The many I had defeated and had met death by my sword were Gods enemy, and thus mine as well. And the good king of God awarded me, and I grew in pride. I was of Gods Legion, fighting evil under a Christian king and I was certain of everything.

My last battlefiled of a lie I had lived came within my seventh year as a knight. It was upon a cloudless mid-day of summer when from behind me was shown the brightest light.

Standing from the body of another enemy dead by my sword I turned to see before me a glowing being brighter than the sun. It stared at me as it spoke, "Thomas...you know within your heart that heaven for you does not await. I feel sympathy for you, for the place that you would will to be is now not meant for thee, for you have killed you brothers, and you have done it with pride and in glee." 

As it faded from my view I fell to the ground, vomiting up nothing. The truth of my future struck me, sharp as a sword driven to the hilt, there deep within my soul. Stumbling, I left one battlefield that day only to be traded for another. As night fell, horror had replaced pride inside me, and my inheritance became a  different fight, one far reaching and beyond this life, as I sought to find peace at my death, and the struggle, the fight, became to not wake up in a Hell I had helped to create.

© Copyright 2019 LE. Berry. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Historical Fiction Short Stories