Geniuses

A heavy mist rose from the bog, all but blotting out the night sky and allowing the full moon to illuminate the marsh with an eerie yellow glow. The old man trod carefully along the muddy path. A dog howled somewhere off in the distance. Behind him, flames engulfed a castle, yet another sign of terrible defeat. His lungs fought the fog and smoke in order to grasp what little oxygen the dense air offered. The cold night chilled him to the marrow of his ancient bones. One hand grasped the walking stick that he used to support his uncertain steps; the other pulled his heavy woolen cloak and hood tighter around his tall body. He felt the familiar ping and knew he was getting nearer. Finally, he reached the cave. He bent low to pass through the small opening, his long white beard dragging along the ground. Once inside, he could stand again. From a pocket inside his cloak he drew forth a torch, which he lighted with a single thought. The cave was instantly illuminated. The light of the torch shone on the thick golden hair of his old friend, who lay wounded and dying not twenty feet in front of him. On the ground next to his pierced body were a sword and golden shield, the latter emblazoned with the man’s coat of arms and his signature double R crest. He hurried to his friend’s side and, with difficulty, knelt beside him. “Sir Reginald, I received your cry for help from a far off part of the kingdom. What has happened to you, my dear friend?” “Thank God you’re here,” his wounded friend said. “I’m dying. I will not last the night. How goes the battle?” “Before I speak of the tragic end to our noble dream,” the old man said sadly, “tell me what befell you, Sir Reginald.” “If the great King Arthur’s kingdom is lost, I have no more claim on knighthood,” Reginald said. “I am but a defeated and lost man, stripped of all but his last breath.” “Nay, old friend. For me, you will always be a great knight, Sir Reginald Reynolds, trusted friend to our liege lord, Arthur the King.” The bearded man looked upon his friend with sorrow, afraid to speak the terrible question that he knew he had to ask. “Your castle is ablaze. What has happened to you and your family?” Sir Reginald could barely breathe through his terrible grief and the pain of approaching death. “My beloved wife Rowena and my sweet young daughter Rachel were brutally murdered. The fiend who killed them also mortally wounded me. He left me for dead. With the last of my strength I escaped the castle and crawled to this ignoble grave.” By the light of the torch, the white-bearded man could see blood in his friend’s ears. A huge red stain covered his chest. His golden eyebrows arched over blue eyes clouded with the specter of death. “Sir Reginald, who did this great villainy?” “He is one of our breed,” Reginald replied. “He came from another land. I felt the ping. He asked me for help, which I gave freely. I trusted him and shared all that we had and all that I knew of our kind. I treated him as a friend, as part of my family.” After pausing to catch his breath, the knight continued, “Over time I came to learn that he was far older and far more powerful than I had realized. He seemed to share our chivalry. He claimed to hate tyranny as much as we. But when the fighting began, instead of siding with us to preserve freedom and protect the Ordinaries, he joined the traitor Mordred and the evil ones fighting with him. He turned on us without warning. He killed my family and has ended my life. He wants to destroy all we stand for.” Reginald paused to draw upon the last of his strength. “My only solace is that this beast does not know of my young son, Richard, who left home two years ago to seek his fortune.” With the last of his strength, Reginald grasped the old man’s arm and looked deeply into his eyes. “Tell me, dear friend, will Richard, will my line, the Reynolds line, continue? Use your powers to look into the future and tell me what you see. Will my family be avenged? Will Camelot be restored?” Reginald coughed violently, spitting blood. “Tell me, old friend, before I join my ancestors, will justice be done?” The pain of defeat fell upon the old man like the heavy cloak of death. “Brave knight, I cannot say whether my words will comfort you, but I will look into the dim mists of the future and tell you what I see.” He clasped Reginald’s right hand, held it tight, closed his eyes, and trembled before his vision. “Merlin, do you see anything?” Reginald asked as death raced toward him like a hungry wolf. “Yes, Sir Reginald. The distant future opens to me. This is what I see.”