An Instrinsic Fault (Part One)

[Kebab 120]

The Sapphire Halls in its prime days.

 

An intrinsic fault

(The tale of my character, Eligius Woolwich)

 

An intrinsic fault, the great flaw embedded within the fabrics of humanity that is our deep lust for glory. Glory, the valiant knight whose likeness has been cast in pure bronze whilst lesser men look upon him with envy; the kingly chalice aggrandized with many-colored gems raised in celebration of one’s triumphs. So powerful is our longing for renown that it may inspire us to reach new heights and exalt oneself, or coupled with imprudent counsel, foster rapacity and lead us astray from our morality. It is our motivation and our downfall. It is our seraph, but also our devil. It is our saving grace, and yet our bane.

 

It is with this duality that I then inquire how would one, limited in foresight, deem his or her desires to be rightful? We know not what the future may hold nor wholly the implications of our actions, how then can we judge for ourselves the nature of our wants? And how would we act in accordance to these desires so that we may choose righteously? Our protagonist is neither hero nor saint, simply a man who has lived through both ends of this duality, and his story is one that shall answer my questions.

 

Mystery is often enshrouded in guise, the most guarded secrets hidden in plain sight veiled as another. This was certainly the case for the man’s beginnings. In the early days of his youth, he oft passed a stoned building tucked away in the far edges of Riga, frequenting the street on his way home. Its foundations were greatly weathered as its goldenrod limestone showed signs of greying, yet moss teemed with life with bundles sprouting, lining the brickworks. The lonesome building grew desolate over many an age, its crumbling masonry now burdened with decay, with what remnants of the bustling boulevard that was paved before it now waning, fading away with all life it once clung to save a few defiled trees that were barren of leaves.

 

To most, this building seemed an abode bereft of any care for many ages of men, yet it intrigued him greatly for in his keen eyes, he saw but glimmers of its bygone grandeur lying deep beneath the layers of ruin, fragments of Riga’s once famed masonry standing the test of time and the vestiges of a respected lineage, and he grew lost in wonder of what lay behind its barred doors. But a strange feeling dawned on him each time his eyes looked upon those lonesome doors that for too long awaited the soft hands of its master, an unnatural surge of belonging to a place he never even set foot in, a deep-rooted but inconceivable connection that drew him closer and closer. He felt every muscle in his body yearning to walk into those halls, as if the very blood that runs deep in his veins had been seduced by a call to arms.

But never did he dare to set his foot in, fearing greatly for his own life, and for years upon years, the building continued its enduring wait.

 

It was only on the eve of his fifteenth that it would be awoken from its great slumber. Darkness had crept over the western hills as a wintery frost stormed the darkening city. Its labyrinth of streets grew empty as the boy threaded through the familiar pathway behind his father’s lead, and as he gazed before him, the towering figure seemed like a silhouette of pure black against the paleness of a full moon. It had been a time since he last crossed this path, and his eyes wandered about the canyon of houses close at hand in remembrance of his childhood, but they were quickly lured to the distant right for there it was. The grey building hidden in the shadows, and the feeling returned. The dreadful struggle of mind and body, the great trial of resolve against an innate longing, and a single word escaped from his lips, a deep thought he could not hold back from uttering: “Home.” It was at that exact moment that his unfathomable yearning triumphed over all else, his mind was set on one thing and one thing alone, to return to the place he truly belonged. With each step he unknowingly took towards the building’s arched gates, his pace was quickened and before long he found himself in a desperate scurry.

 

Already it seemed that the mossy walls lay before him; but as he raised his hand to meet its gates, a great white light pervaded the lonesome alleyway and soon the crackle of thunder. It dazed him, and impaired his vision temporarily, but it was in his blindness that he saw the building’s age-old veils being drawn, the full picture of a masterpiece he had only been given glimpses of as if passing into an era long forgotten. He witnessed the sun and moon reverse their ever unbroken cycles tens of thousands of times in an instant. Night become day, day become night over and over again, and as he returned his focus to what lay before him, he saw not the deserted hearth he had always known, but one returning to its blossoming youth. The barren trees were now adorned with their old cloaks as dried leaves upon the ground returned to their branches, regaining their greenish hue and alive once again. Banners of crimson red hung on the walls fluttering about in the ancient breeze, its trough now embellished with their venerable motto: Forged with blood. The words of an artisan family long revered for their crafts, surmounted only by its sigil, a phoenix of pure gold, wings spread far beyond its own beak to surround the thick outlines of a hammer and anvil.

 

He knew those words, better than any concept that has ever crossed his mind, and he repeated it constantly as the banner shone proudly before him- “Forged with blood, forged with blood.” commanded by family tradition and a regained sense of pride. Yet, as his gaze ventured downwards, it rested upon the chiselwork by the gates, the same phoenix now of limestone hue, carven into the very walls of the building itself. “T’is the phoenix of Woolwich.” he heard a familiar voice say. “The beast who conquered flame, our forefathers hath yearned for many a generation to equal its mastery of fire in our forges.” The dream-like world faded from his sight whilst the present held sway, and he turned around. It was his father that spoke, the towering black figure that stood against the moonlight. “It is time, Eligius. You have been plagued for years with a desire you have yet to understand, but know that it is in me too for the same blood runs in our veins. Know that you hath been called upon to fulfill your godgiven purpose as all sons of Woolwich since the days of Talon. Now is the hour that you come of age.” he continued solemnly, scaling up the crumbled flight of stairs and passing through the gates, beckoning for his son to follow.

 

A single torch was lit as they entered, its searing presence meagerly reflected upon the cold steel of a lengthy display of blades that hung upon the walls. But overwhelmed would its light be as torrents of moonlight draped from panes high above, reminding Eligius of a rushing waterfall that fell gently upon the rocks beneath. The sapphire tinted rays cascaded upon the swords on either side of him, and their surfaces, as if they had been struck by the conjurings of a Mage, expulsed an aura of greater light. “This place..” cried Eligius as his eyes looked yonder to the mother’s tales of his childhood. “Yes..” replied his father at length, for this was indeed the Sapphire Hall, a place of Woolwich legend and of many childhood stories that Eligius held close to heart. A feeling of deep bliss then fell upon him, and his heart rested at ease for this was, truly…

 

Home.

 

But too soon did the euphoric moment come to pass as a shadow of doubt reigned. “Th-Then it is.. finally time..?” he stutters, now breaking into cold sweat. His father nods. “Near is the hour that you shall relieve the great burden upon my shoulders as I have done, many long years ago, for my own father. This family’s legacies will rest on you, as a roof would its pillar, and you shall bear the pride of our forefathers till another willingly carries it in your stead.” said Eligius’ father as he blessed his own son with a trinket from his neck. A pendant, sculpted in the shape of their family’s sigil.

 

The weight of it felt almost tormentful as it was being wrapped around his neck, as if he was laden with the weaponry of an entire brigade of men. And the steel of its chains scorched his neck like an aggressive flame he was unprepared for. So he fell. “Please..” cried Eligius, his cheeks now covered in tears. “I- I have not the heart to bear this! Please, father!” Yet even as his son lay upon the ground sobbing, his father tried desperately to hold back his remorse, maintaining an unmoved composure. It was then that he realized a greater burden was to be borne as the pendant was passed down. He had to remain strong against overwhelming emotions for his son’s sake.

 

“Only pride may ease your pain now.” he said. “Only pride will keep you going.. Hold close the long lineage of this family, and be ever honored that you alone hath been chosen to continue it.”

 

The weight of a thousand year long lineage rested upon the strength of a young boy, the legacies of great smiths from bygone seasons, the esteem of an entire house held upright only by his conviction. Pride alone was not yet enough to keep him going, to keep him sane, and what morsel of the yearning that had brought him before the very doors of this hall held new allegiances. “Run!” he berated himself in his thoughts as a chill blast rushed in from the entrance. “Run!”

 

(To be continued)

 

P.S. I do greatly apologize for the amount of detail used at times, I cannot help it.