A Requiem Eternal

Chapter 3 - Sorin Ladislov

Under the iron rule and massive debt of King Philip IV, the lands and assets of Sorin Ladislov's forced benefactors the Order of the Knights Templar were confiscated. Charges of blasphemy against the Holy Roman church were sure to follow. His haven on the Isle of Cyprus was well known to the King. Each passing day brought the tribunal soldiers closer to him.

Crouched on the chalky limestone of his stark barracks, he kept watch at the window. A Norse ship anchored in the harbor. The thoughts of the humans aboard this vessel called to him. He thought the essence of unbridled evil was appealing, as a reckoning of sorts. So cruel their intentions, he reasoned the world would do well to be rid of them. He approached them with the motive of joining with them to perhaps achieve his freedom while learning the trade of a sailor.

After months of a journey by sea the sight of land was a welcome one, though he soon came to know why he would not want to see it in their company. Their deeds of conquest invaded his mind through the emotion of their victims in the intensity of their cries from shore. No effort on his part would keep their anguished cries from him. With every woman they violated, every child whose caretakers they butchered and every village they set ablaze, his hatred of them grew.

Each night, he fed from one to the point of death until the pain of their victims to his mind mercifully quieted. There was merely enough Viking scourge left to sail the ship. To his surprise, the remaining few had the presence of mind to trace their hardship to him. Sorin knew then he made a grave error in not continuing to take one each night. They lingered together, never far from one another.

The largest man among them approached. He lifted him high throwing Sorin into the black waters of the night. Sorin's body rose and his head bobbed on the surface of the water. He turned in the water looking for any life to swim to. Through the fog of salty eyes, he saw a dark mass with a hint of green in the distance. This place, their minds called "Vinland".

The Vikings expected Vinland to be a suitable exile. At the first night of wandering the expanse of it, he felt it to be more of a death sentence. In every direction his eyes drank in the dream-scape of pristine forest. He sensed no human thought. No human heart rang out in over a day of searching. He laid down to die in the beautiful silence of his mind not heard since being made a Child of Psyon.

His will flowed from him into the mist, until he sensed a presence. He grasped the air hoping somehow to reach the warm flesh near to him. Language of an unknown dialect occupied his mind and for a moment eased the hunger. He fed from this being at once to save himself. This essence so peaceful was considerable shock after the prolonged taste of Viking brutality. He took just enough to quench his thirst. His strength half renewed, he opened his eyes to see a dark skinned, dark haired beauty with soulful eyes to melt a man to his core. From her he heard "Croatan". He thought this must be the name for this race among humans as they discussed where he came from.

The Croatan called him "Night-walker". They knew he was not human, yet showed no fear when he fed from them. Sorin never witnessed this before them. Their wonder in the ways of his survival inspired them to create a new ritual in his honor. In some way they worshiped him as one of their many gods of nature. His kinship with these wise and mystic people was one of such respect he continued to feed only enough to survive. He wondered with each passing sunset how he had the will to carry on.

Though the time passed agonizingly slow for Sorin, it was after a fortnight when he noticed the thoughts of the Croatan grew anxious. They turned to men who were like Sorin. The men came by boat to settle the land near the shore. Men like him, Templar's or Psyon who hid in this new land?

This he had to see. He followed a warrior by night to observe the strangers. He sensed from them no amount of evil equal to the Vikings, but an eventual leaning toward it. It was a much better condition for his survival than living with the Croatan. He bid the warrior farewell.