See no Stars

"There he is!"1

The passers-by stared through the singing rain at the hooded figure walking their streets. They fell silent- terror and wonder in their eyes. The scene was still around this traveler as he made his way to the gates on the edge of the village, where stood the priest with eyes full of fire.2

"Devil!" He addressed the nameless figure, "we cast thee out from our home, from our lives! Be gone, confounded traitor to the throne of the Heavens! May the fires of Hell lick your feet as you walk!" The hooded man did not so much as turn his head, his determined step neither slowed nor faltered. Through the gates and into the untamed, dozens of eyes followed as he was swallowed up by the dismal evening shadow.3

This man aroused no trouble in his sojourn at Matuul, that simple town, but its folks would no sooner see Vitrael within it's gates again than they would have him strung up by his neck. Such was the hospitality of the time- ill news and dark rumors polluted the minds of these people years ago. In an air of fear they'd walled themselves in, never to trust or love again.4

He laughed. Vitrael, the traveler, for he needed neither their welcome nor their shelter. The rain's gentle pat upon his shoulder had long since become as comforting as a roof to him, and the soft, dark earth as fine as any bed. In wind-worn clothes fit to be a slave's he wondered, content with an unadorned life. Only the silver brooch of his tattered cloak held any of the luster of a  wealthy man. Just the same, Vitrael felt rich beyond measure, with nature and the sword for his company.5

He walked the winding roads in mud-caked boots, heading nowhere in particular. Rolling hills and sighing woods slipped behind him. An hour passed, and then another, as he went on in a thoughtless silence, deeper and deeper into the heart of the countryside. Twilight came and fell beneath the horizon, the sun slipped away, and Vitrael realized he had walked quite a ways. Before him, the hills fell flat for as far as his eyes could see, and the swaying fields of wheat stretched out in every direction before him. He had come to a farm-road.6

Quite tired now, Vitrael found no suitable place to sleep- only muddy road and thick fields. The rain was trickling to its end and Vitrael found a spot to sit between the puddles, but as soon as he'd relaxed, a rustling came from the crop-fields. Distant and first, then nearer and nearer, something clamored through the stalks of wheat nearby. In the darkness, Vitrael saw nothing, but rose to his feet and held a hand to his sword hilt. Frantic footsteps were audible now, and the winded panting of something terrified and on the run.7

A shadow burst out of the field and fell face-first into the muddy road. Vitrael had already sprung to the fallen figure and had his sword by its throat as it gasped in exhaustion and terror. Vitrael saw in this man's eyes the broken sadness of a man who had been owned as an object for many years.*8

"Please!" he exclaimed, "do not hurt me! Please..." it broke off in labored gasps and sputters of horror. "P-please! He is coming for me! Please, oh he will kill me! Please let him l-l-li..." and the figure was face down in sobs, certain of his impending death. When he heard Vitrael's sword slide back into its sheath, he looked up again, to see an extended hand. With obvious hesitation and mistrust, he took it.9

"Please let me leave, and do not tell him! Master is coming, he will kill me! I am Addhanir, a slave, oh please let me go now!  Vitrael firmly put a hand over the slave's mouth and turned his body around on the road, giving him a gentle shove on the back. He took off, the hobbling slave, with remarkable speed, back in the direction Vitrael had just come.  Vitrael turned and saw tiny torches in the distance- no doubt the pursuers of the helpless slave. His eyes fell to the ground, and then rose to the road where the slave had disappeared. The guards would be here soon, and they would find no one.10

For all his years of labor, this slave had an air of mischievous youth about him, Vitrael thought. It was not often that slaves ran from their masters; they had come to the conclusion long ago that they, as a people, were subservient, born to toil and die for their masters. 11

Vitrael had taken shelter under a yawning bluff, far enough from the roads for a campfire to go unseen. The slave had followed- his trust in Vitrael had warmed quickly. "Why have you run?" Addhanir looked up- he had been fidgeting with his fingernails. He acted as though he had not understood. "I know you're used to hearing orders," Vitrael continued, "but I need you to answer a question." Addhanir swallowed nervously.12

"I would have died. He would have killed me." He paused, seeing that Vitrael was not satisfied. 13

"A master does not kill his slave without cause. You have value to him."14

Addhanir understood. "I did not serve master," he decided, "as master would have liked.15

Vitrael could see the slave would explain no more. He smiled- the stubbornness of this man was surprising and fascinating. Long had he walked alone, Vitrael, trusted by no one, feared by all. To have another trust in him was a warm feeling. The tiny fire burned low while the moon rose high in the starscape.16

In lidless sleep, Vitrael felt eyes upon him. He stirred to wakefulness to find he and Addhanir were still quite alone. Addhanir was awake, dearly admiring the silver cloak-brooch on Vitrael's chest. Their eyes met. Addhanir's expression was of great admiration.17

"This treasure," he began, "belongs to a Knight Templar"18

The air was thick with the smoke from the burning bodies, the laments of the dying, the last drops of morning dew boiling away in the slaughter. Amidst the charred corpses ran rivulets of blood. It was there, in the swirling ashes, that Vitrael had found his father, or what was left, heaped among a hundred of his kind. The silver brooch on his chest bore the red Sign of the Cross, and a name: Procellus Vitrael. A hallowed name, a hero's- this was all that remained. The brooch was carried away in the hands of a child.19

"But they have all died!" exclaimed Addhanir, "Many years ago, they were all put to death. How is it that you carry their seal?" 20

Suddenly Vitrael's trust for Addhanir became somewhat lessoned. "How is it that you, slave, know the lore of the Knights Templar?"21

Addhanir was taken aback. It seemed to Vitrael he searched for an answer. "I read of it in master's books. He had many." 22

Feeling uneasy, Vitrael dismissed the conversation. He and Addhanir both lay down to drift into slumber again, avoiding any further discussion with one another.23

The freezing morning air awoke Vitrael with a cough. As he rose and rubbed his eyes, his cloak slipped from his shoulders to the warm spot where he'd lay. Alone- the slave was nowhere to be seen by the dying light of the campfire. A murky haze in the east hung still and opaque- the sun promised nothing today. Vitrael knew already he had been a fool. A bag of coins and his canteen were missing, and worse still, the brooch bearing the sign of the Knights Templar, and a name- Procellus Vitrael. All that was of value to him, his sword except, had gone missing with the dastardly slave. 24

A fierce helplessness overtook him as he searched the ground for a trace of his violator's tracks. "A gesture of hospitality, of respect, of moral action- just a hand extended to the frightened, the helpless, and what of it? I am in the same helplessness from which I pulled the deceitful brigand. And now, all that remains to be done," he paused, examining the deep prints in the mud, leading towards the road from which they'd come the night before, "is to repay it."25

Vitrael looked up to the sky like swirling ashes. No silver brooch held the hood over his face now. For the first time in many months, the sky looked upon his face and saw his sunken eyes. They were narrow, focused, full of decisive rage.  "For 19 years I've walked alone! Feared! Hunted! I own nothing but a name, and for that name I am to be killed! For the service I have done you, you would brush me aside like this?" But the sky gave no replu, and Vitrael took to the road to find the answer himself.26

A passionate hatred and genuine terror lent a swiftness to his legs off towards Matuul he ran, hoping to overtake Addhanir on his path back to the village, but as the walls of the rose up on the horizon he knew that there was no chance of this. He ran just the same.27

Through the open gates he sprinted. Behind him, swords sang as they were drawn, and he turned to see the guards' eyes fixed upon him. 'There he is!" and more swords were drawn at his flanks, and alongside a guard was Adhannir, gleefully showing the brooch to the man. "Yes, yes! It belonged to him! He is a Templar!" and the guards approached with their weapons drawn.28

"You are under arrest, Procellus Vitrael, by order of the King Philip IV."29

Vitrael laughed boldly at him, drawing his sword. "I urge you to reconsider your allegiances."30

"It is not our place to question the King."31

"No. It is not. It is your place to be mindless." With this, the guards closed in around Vitrael. "Let he who has love of life not cross swords with me!" But the guards had no doubt in their minds that, outnumbered a dozen to one, Vitrael would go easily.32

At once, two heads were cloven from their necks, and a sudden doubt in the once-stout hearts of the village guards lent them no favor in battle. Knights they were not, and all were soon dispatched at the hands of the Templar. Vitrael smiled a savage smile and laughed a savage laugh, wiping the blood of the a dozen men from his blade and his face, and laughing again. Villagers flew in terror, or stared in awe, and he addressed them with a mighty shout, "Let it be known that the blood of the Templars will be repaid at the hands of their child-" but Vitrael's speech was cut short by a wounding arrow. He fell to his knees, fighting the darkness in his vision. He felt as if lifted from the earth, and then all was black.33

He awoke with a stinging pain like roaring death in his gut. The arrow and wounded him badly, and he felt the fever in his blood right out. He would not live much longer. Sitting up was no small task, and he moaned as he straightened himself out.34

"So, the righteous one is back for a little visit, I see?"35

What a loathsome voice. He opened his eyes- the priest was opposite his jail cell's bars and grinning with malevolence and zeal. The Bible was in his lap. "Are you daft? Did you honestly believe you could waltz around bearing the seal of the Templar and go about your life as you so desire?" The priest laughed, a sniveling and snorting laugh that only made Vitrael's hate run hotter. He could barely speak, but his anger helped his tongue find the words.36

"You've made a grave mistake."37

"Ha! These words from you to me, heretic?38

"I am not this."39

"It does not matter whether you think you are a heretic, Procellus Vitrael, only that the Pope thinks you are a heretic."40

"I have no interest in your dogmatic notions of faith, behind which you have cowered your whole life. In right action I have invested myself for a lifetime, and if that is heresy, then truly you are blessed." Vitrael finished and coughed. His throat was very dry and he felt he could say no more.41

"You will be punished at the hand of God, as you so deserve. I have nothing more to say to you; my words now will mean nothing to you. I am only here because I must be, as I always must be, before an execution. You will die  tomorrow at high noon. How does it feel to know that Hell is a matter of hours away?" The priest stood to leave.42

"What fool foretells judgment in the name of God will surely find himself a victim of his own predictions." Vitrael mocked. And the priest laughed, and left Vitrael to his dying hours none the wiser.43

A clever con slept quite contented with the money he had made that night. The Knights Templar were hunted in the very lands that they defended, and the rewards for their whereabouts were great. Out of jealousy and vile hatred did the King condemn them to die; all, he said, were to be burned alive, regardless of the actions they have taken to protect the lives beneath the king.44

The priest looked up to the clear night sky but saw no stars. In his heart stirred a doubt, but it had long since been quelled by his guise of virtue. Its nagging remains tugged away their final moments as he paid no mind to their implications. Tomorrow, a blasphemer would die, and the next day, the world would smile upon his judgment.45