O Foolish Struggles | With Constantine

A small campfire cast shadows in the evening gloom, flames shushing and crackling one another. Sat around them were Zubaidah and Constantine, words barely audible above the loud-mouthed flames. It was not necessary to hear their conversation, however, for smiles and laughter were words enough. Indeed, it seemed such circumstances were far-removed from their introduction, when Sasan had battled against her Reiman home. Of course, they had come even further since then, joined into an awkward partnership that had them travel across Reim and Heliohapt.

In the time since, however, she had introduced such experiences to Constantine that Sasan could not offer. He was beaten in several card-games against Fanalis; they taught him that talent was trumped with practice. He was given a necklace from a Plainsman’s child; she taught him that not everyone judges based upon appearance. He was treated with free medicine after walking in the Plains for days; this taught him that compassion had no boundaries. If he had been ignorant before, he was given no room for ignorance again. With each experience, he was given lessons that changed and challenged Sasan’s teachings.

And so, he was put to the test, when the campfire invited dark-cloaked shadows from Constantine’s past.

‘O Solomon, can it be?' A band of ten soldiers, dressed in Sassanian heraldry, came from the eventide gloom. ‘Is that you, brother Constantine?' A man coloured richer than his fellow soldiers, recognised as their captain, came forwards and looked Constatine from top to bottom. ‘It is you!' Indeed, even with his new appearance, it seemed that Constantine was unmistakable in the Sassanid’s eyes.

Since past interactions had not been favourable, Zubaidah placed on hand upon her hip, close to her spear. ‘Peace, Zubaidah.' He could sense the unease in Zubaidah’s demeanour, familiarised from months on the road.. ‘I would not have it any other way.'

‘You are brother Geranot, are you not?'

‘Indeed, brother. It is an honour to meet Leon’s apprentice. He will be pleased that we have found you.'

‘Pardon, lord Leon has been asking for me?'

‘Have you not heard, brother? Leon has been searching for you since he and lord Xerxes returned without you.'

‘He has? That does not seem fitting with his usual manner.'

‘Well, Leon has changed in many and other manners.'

‘I am surprised that he lives.'

‘As am I…'

‘And who might that woman be?' He stared at her dress and features with a discerning eye. ‘Hmm, purple hair and amber eyes!' A man helmed with vibrant plumes joined his stare with this Sassanian captain. ‘Yes, she matches the description from Leon…'

‘She must be the witch who hexed you!' An eyebrow raised, Zubaidah spoke with venom upon her silver tongue, ‘What do you mean ‘witch’?' Placing a reassuring hand upon her shoulder, Constantine ensured that fighting did not break out between her and the Sassanian soldiers. ‘Who told you that I was hexed?'

‘Leon informed us knights that a witch with purple hair and amber eyes had taken you from Sasan.'

‘Yes, she was enchanting your mind so that you might betray Leon and lord Xerxes!'

‘I have done no such - '

‘Quiet, witch!'

‘Stop, brother!'

‘There must have been some misunderstanding.'

‘She is no witch.' He looked towards Zubaidah with admiration in his golden eyes. ‘I chose to follow her after she bested me in combat!' His gaze was met with pure vehemence from brother Geranot and his right-hand man. ‘No, that is not possible. A woman beat you? You are the strongest knight bar Leon and lord Xerxes!

‘Yes, she must have used witchcraft.'

‘I ask of you, please listen to me!'

‘I am not hexed.'

‘I act with full thought.'

‘I was beaten fair and square.'

‘If you are not hexed, then why have you not returned to Sasan?'

‘I have decided that the world outside Sasan has power and experience that exceeds Leon or lord Xerxes.'

‘I want to experience such things.'

‘I want to become better through them.'

‘No, I need to experience them so that I might become better.'

‘Lies.' A sudden change came upon all the Sassanids, their hands going for their sword-belts. ‘Falsities.' It looked as though they were possessed, filled with such fervour for Sasan and against dissidents, such as they saw Constantine. ‘Blasphemies.'

‘You have been corrupted under this witch’s influence!'

‘You have been made impure from the stench of the outside world!'

‘Solomon decreed that lord Xerxes has more power than the entire world!'

‘If you are not hexed, then you have committed blasphemies against Sasan and Solomon himself!'

‘Do you repent?' He spoke with low-pitched monotone, as though his emotion were being drained from the conversation. ‘No, I will not be moved.' He was met with Constantine's gravel-like tones, strong and stable against his former comrades.

‘Then you shall be punished for your blasphemies.'

‘And the punishment?'

He drew his lance and his soldiers took out their swords in response.

‘Death.'

It was an unfair match, if she were being honest. Well, a band of ten knights against Constantine? That was not something fair, no matter the case. Then what was the reason for her being content with letting Constantine fight alone?

He was simply more powerful.

It did not matter whether he was outnumbered. He was strong enough that numbers were nothing. Indeed, he had been unmatched in strength before his transformation, but now? He was stronger than ever before.

‘Might I borrow this, milady?’ As she nodded, Constantine took the Vigilant Sands into his hands. ‘Prepare yourselves.’ He pushed aside one Sassanid, kicking him in the gut, and produced a Versatile Desert. ‘So you have made your peace?' A blade came flying towards Constantine in a Lance Charge, but Geranot made no dent in his metallic body. ‘Indeed, I have.'

Constantine struck another Sassanid, sending him flying into the muddy ground. With mace in hand, formed from the magic tool, he charged towards Geranot. He was met with a Brigade Block, his mace crashing into solid steel, but he simply poured more magoi into the Vigilant Sands. A hunk of metal was thrown towards the five Sassanids, then another and another and another and another. Each time, Constantine came closer and closer, hurling more and more metal until he loomed over the Sassanid’s blockade.

‘You cannot beat me.’ As if making his point clear, he wrenched their shields away while their lances were deflected from his body one by one. ‘Just stop.’ With two words, their resistance faded and the remaining knights cowered in terror.

‘I shall spare your lives.’ He could see that Geranot and his right-hand man were prepared for more battle, but Constantine gestured towards the terrified Sassanid. ‘I do not want to hurt more of my countrymen.’

‘You cannot call yourself Sassanid anymore.' As he sheathed his weapons, Geranot stared directly into Constantine’s eyes, emotion mixed between hate and regret. ‘When next we meet, it shall be when lord Xerxes comes for your head.' He gathered the other knights to his side and held Sasan’s banner aloft. ‘Until then.' And with that, Gernaot had left with his fellow Sassanids.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Zubaidah stood from her place beside the campfire, her spear untouched. ‘If you allow your comrades to leave - ’

‘You mean, my former comrades?’

‘Yes, I realise that they shall return.’

‘But I cannot kill them, can I?’ He looked at her with pain and resolve within his eyes. ‘That much you have taught me.’

‘I assume that you are prepared for the consequences then?’

‘Indeed.’

‘You know, I think that you did the right thing.’

‘So do I’

‘But…’ He looked skywards, wiping away the rain from his golden skin. ‘I cannot shake this feeling.’

‘This uncertainty.’

‘It is nothing surprising.’ She stood besides Constantine, placing a hand upon his arm in reassurance. ‘You’ve fought against your home and countrymen for the first time.’

‘It cannot be easy, nor should it.’

‘But what of you?’

‘How can I become peaceable as yourself?'

‘That is far besides the point, dear Constantine.’

‘Pray explain?’

‘Let me explain with one of my homeland’s stories, much as you have done with your own:’

A duckling saw a goose paddling about his pond and desired to secure for himself the same snow-white plumage. Thinking that the goose’s colour arose from him washing within his normal waters, the duckling left the altars in the neighbourhood where he made his living, and took up residence in the lakes and pools from where he knew the goose had come.

Each morning, he would swim within the waters, hoping that his feathers would pick the white colour from there. Each evening, he would mourn that he was not beautiful like the goose, wishing that his plumage would change soon. Over time, however, the duckling noticed that his feathers were becoming brighter as he took care of himself. Indeed, he would eventually find his plumage was more dazzling than any goose.

‘I think that I understand…’

‘You cannot change yourself to become someone else.’

‘No matter the effort in imitating them, because you are yourself, the end-result will always
differ.’

‘You can only ever become yourself, not someone else.’ She looked into his eyes, a gentle smile upon her lips. ‘Indeed, you should not want to change to become someone else.’ And he smiled back. ‘You change so that you might be better as yourself.’