The Pythagoras Curse Part I

To Live A Life One Must Give A Life

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part VIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion

The sounds of the old man’s screams still haunt me.

My name is Petra Allers and I’m alive on this world because of an old man I refused to kill.

When it happened so long ago, the agony of his death, his screams of pain and terror seemed satisfying enough. As I sat at the edge of the cave, my sword in hand I listened for the longest time wondering.

Wondering how the old man could continue to scream as he did and yet manage to survive?

Even then, my back leaned against the mountain side, a cool evening breeze brushing the edges of my beard, I knew the answer. As it was happening to the old man that night, it would one day happen to me.

Death would not come swiftly. It would be terrible and frightening, pain of such magnitude I would never be able to fathom it, an unbelievable and torturous death which would only take minutes yet seem to last forever.

The beginning of my journey was to be my last battle with my brothers in arms before returning to my family in Stuttgart. I as others, believed what we were doing was right and holy. As a Teutonic Knight it was my sworn Christian duty to defend attacks against the Kingdom of Jerusalem. When threatened by the Khwarezmians we banded together to fight the invaders.

It was the year of our Lord twelve hundred forty and four and it would be the last of the Crusades.

We met the marauding hoards at Gaza near a meager grouping of hovels known as La Forbie. Our Lord over the Armies of Christ, Walter IV, was eager to engage as were we all and yet, we were arrogant and unsuspecting of the enemies' power and cunning.

It soon became a blood bath. Of our entire band of Teutonic brothers only three survived.

I was one of the unlucky. Though severely wounded I was one of the three who lived. When I regained consciousness I found myself in the bowels of a cave laying next to the warmth of a fire.

Opposite me an old man sat cross legged, his hands clasped together as if he were praying. He was staring into the fire, his eyes wide, as if he could see something in the flames I could not.

I stirred and attempted to examine my wound. It had happened so fast and yet I remember the searing pain when the lance pierced my stomach.

There was no dressing against my stomach. There was no cut, no blood, no mark.

Perhaps I had only imagined it, and yet it had felt so real.

“I have healed your wound if that is what you wonder Templar.”

“What sorcery have you used to heal me old man? Where are my brothers?”

“Look about Templar. You will see it is only you and I this night. Your brothers have either been ransomed or sold into slavery. Before they left your side they each parted with a gift I bestowed upon them. A gift I shall bestow upon you this night as well.

“I have no need of your gifts old man, nor do I have quarrel with you.”

“Oh, but you do Templar. You have killed so many of us have you not?”

“In battle it is necessary.”

“Yes, but the taking of lives of innocent women and children Templar? Is the slaughter of thousands of our women and children necessary? How many have you killed in the name of your God? How many of our people have you trampled with your horses, or cut down with your blades and lances? Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands?”

“I do not answer to you old man. I serve the Lord and as such do as he commands.”

“Interesting. Your brothers spoke as you do this night. And so I gave them their gifts and sent them on their way. Just as I shall with you.”

“I seek nothing from you save safe passage.”

I watched as the old man struggled to stand and shuffled around the fire. He knelt beside me and placed his hands on the tops of his legs. For several moments he studied me, as if in an attempt to memorize my every feature.

“Remember this night Templar. You have tormented and killed so many of my people and now you will be given a path to make amends. I am to bestow upon you the souls of the many. I do not know the actual count, nor do I wish to know. Each year on the anniversary of this night you must give of yourself a single soul to one who dies. Your gift will bring them back to life. If you fail to meet your responsibility death will take you. It will be the most horrific of tortures, a death beyond comprehension, unendurable pain and yet for the longest time you will endure it.”

When he touched my chest I realized I could not move. I could only see his face, his mouth open as he leered at me, his teeth stained and crooked. My body grew warm. Tingling sensations rippled along the skin of my arms and legs, as if a fire had suddenly ignited from within.

“Ah yes Templar, you feel them inside of you now eh? And yet you know not how many?”

“No.”

“Another aspect of the Pythagoras Curse Templar. When you expend your last soul you will die as well and in the same manner as if you had failed to meet your commitment. It may be the first year, or the next or perhaps a thousand years from now, but you will eventually die a terrible death.”

“What have you done to me old man?”

“I gave you life Templar. And I give you one last chance to take a life. The souls I gave you were my last. It is not something I know, but something I feel. Eventually you will feel it too. You will feel the last soul as it departs your body and you will know your death is about to come.”

“I will kill you for this old man.”

“It is what I hope Templar. When I remove my hand my dying shall begin. I only ask that you cleave my head from body. Kill me quickly with your sword so that I may not suffer.”

He removed his hand and sat back on his legs. When he began to scream I stood and picked up my sword. He lurched with pain, howling as if he were a wounded beast, the expression on his face twisted in anguish, his eyes pleading with me to end his pain.

Then I turned and walked away.

I would not take his life that night as he wished. His death was of little consequence to me. The only thing which mattered was understanding how to break this curse.

This Curse of Pythagoras.

I’ve walked this planet for six hundred and thirty two years and have given an equal number of souls away in order to stay alive.

How many more do I have?

I may never know until the very second death takes me.

There is only one hope I have and that is to find my brothers. Perhaps they have the knowledge needed to break this curse.

For we must break it. We must.

Before it kills all of us.

READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE PART II

Let’s stay in touch: [email protected]

© P.G. Barnett 2019. All Rights Reserved.