The false Aidalis was thrown back by the kick - as if though the girl was small and the kick was not very strong the kick had been dealt by a giant. The thing hissed, and clutched at it's chest. It's orange eyes glowed hot and fierce in its face. The lips pulled back from it's mouth, and it revealed white-canine teeth set in black gums. A tongue rolled out, a long pointed tongue that looked similar to a dog's or lizard's - or some cross between the two. The False-Aidalis' face elongated, creating the illusion of a wolf's snout and mouth. From the metal gloves of its gauntlet's bursted long white talons that looked as sharp as knives. It roared, now - and while its voice was still distinctly Aidalis' voice, it had a bestial quality to it, the sound of what would happen if Aidalis was a beast, rather than a man. "Whore!" It growled, the word spat out like a curse - for that's exactly what it was. The False-Aidalis' eyes seemed to sparkle with embers - flames leaping out around them. It gathered itself to stand once more, and what was left of its armor clattered to the ground before disappearing. There was no a large, wolven form of Aidalis before her, claws like knives, teeth like swords. It continued to curse her, "Slut! Your womb is the only thing he wants! I'll see to it that your--"
Malack reared as he was kicked - not used to being kicked so roughly - letting out a long whinny. He then, raced down the bridge, his hooves clattering against the ground drowning out whatever the False-Aidalis was saying. But Aidalis' iron grip kept Kieara on his back, even though the All-Sword was no longer conscious of the fact that he was holding onto her. He was still lost within himself. It was said amongst the common folk that All-Sword's carried with them, all the memories of the ones that came before them. It wasn't true, of course, but All-Swords cultivated the illusion by memorizing everything that they could from the previous lives of the All-Swords who had born their name before them. They memorized herbalism to aid them in their long trips for the Cleansing - they learned every language spoken in Donegal, regional and dead languages alike. Every All-Sword had to know every town in their respective region, and know the name of the leader of each county. They had to learn the personal motto's of each Governor. It was expected of all of them, and if they did not learn, they could not be All-Swords. But sometimes that information was overwhelming. Aidalis had to process the information coursing through him the memory. Though the pain had ceased - the memory of pain remained, and with that memory of pain came other memories of pain, memories of other All-Sword Saul's who had felt the same sting of pain. He had learned them, and through learning them, Aidalis had felt them.
In Aidalis' memory, there were the standing stones alongside the coast of Igris. They were carved with rectangles that had interlocking spirals and circles in them - circles that Aidlais knew were eyes, meant to be watching the coast for demons that rose up from the sea. The rectangles with the interlocking spirals were representative of shields to keep Igris safe. He was overlocking the white, carved stones as a wave rose up and hit them. But it wasn't really him that was looking over the stones. It was All-Sword Cuán Saul. He knew this memory. All-Sword Cuán Saul had raised his hands up high, white hands that were clouded with pink scars identical to the ones that Aidalis bore, and consulted the grim book before him. It was a book bound in human skin, skin that had been collected from all the tribes in Dongal, during the pagan days. A girl writhed and moaned on the hill before him - a fair maid with an engorged stomach; pregnant. She was painted with various knots and spirals, painted in goat's blood, salt, and iron fillings. He knew this memory. All-Sword Cuán Saul had tried to bring about the Slánaitheoir about, during the crisis with Sahariel. He had abducted twelve women, one from each region, and spilled his seed inside of them. He raised them in secret, in the dungeons of the temple of St. Saul in Igris - and fed them only the finest food and laid with each one every night, invoking Nathaniel's name each and every time. He believed that one of these twelve women would be the mother of the Slánaitheoir, and that only his seed would bring the Saviour about. When each of them were in labour - he separated them from the midwives, and tried to perform a ritual to force the child out from their mother. In Aidalis' memory - this was the Igrisian woman. She had red hair that was plastered to her forehead, pale skin and deep hollows beneath her eyes. When she gave birth, her breasts weeped blood, and her womb spilt out a sticky black and red mess ; with sharp white bones that had clawed her to bits on the inside. And then, she was dead. All-Sword Cuán Saul swore violently, and in a last act of dramatics - hurled the Book of Flesh into the sea, renouncing his dark deeds forever, praying to the Gods of All for forgiveness.
Malack rushed long and hard down the hallway. The walls were painted with frescos - some distinct, some a blur as they rushed by. These paintings seemed to depicting a story cycle. In one, a beautiful little girl - appearing a few years younger than Kieara - with dark hair and eyes - laid in a bed of feathers and roses. The next one in the cycle that was visible amidst the blur of colours and patterns was a depiction of the girl wearing a long white dress, wings streaming out from her back - while a dark figure bowed to her and kissed her hand. The colour of the roses was in her cheeks. In another, the girl was stretched to her breaking point - with a six men crowded around her - one dark figure between her open legs. She was screaming and crying in the depiction. Malack came to a rest, sides heaving infront of a painted depiction of a woman - tall and fair. Her skin was the colour of freshly fallen snow, her hair was black as night, and her lips were as red as blood. Her gown was fine, and the paints depicted it to have careful embroidery of leaves and flowers. Her figure was full and womanly, and from her back came long, blades - splayed to look like wings. She was pregnant, and clutched at her engorged stomach in the way that all new mothers do. Behind her, stood a man wearing bright white robes, with similarly coloured tendrils coming from his back, wrapping around the woman's breasts and stomach. He hands were on-top of hers - but they were not proper hands, they were encased in armor. He had no face - there was only a dark space, the shadow from his cowl. The painted depiction showed no girl, and no dark figures - no roses. Just a scene of what might be called a family.
It was at this fresco, that Kieara's words reached Aidalis. The All-Sword shook his head, recollecting himself. His memories fled him, and he realized where he was. Kieara was asking him something. He shifted slightly on the saddle, and glanced down at Kieara's face - scared and trembling. Aidalis briefly glanced over his shoulder - to see if the subject of his temptation, the woman was behind them. She was gone. There was nothing behind them save for a gauzy white smoke. Aidalis glanced back. There was still a long hallway infront of him - but the extent of it was covered in the fog. He sniffed the air. The sickly sweetness had returned, the rotten fruit stench. There was something else as well - the smell of iron and salt. Goat's blood. It was faint though - only a nose like Aidalis' would be able to pick it up. Why? Why was that here? Could it be that his memory had bled into reality - Gods he hoped not. But what else could explain the ancient method of protecting against evil being her? Unless of course - they were near the place where Sahariel herself was bound. If that was the case, the maid he had saw was no doubt one of her creatures. That song she had sung... Aidalis had known that song. That was the song that shepherdess girl had sung to him, before he had cut her down for heresy. Heresy. That was all that dwelt in this place. He must take care to remember that.
Aidalis adjusted his hands on Kieara - holding her by the midsection. She had asked him a question - and he was not sure what it was about. He could only imagine it was some sick lie that agent of heresy had told her. Something foul and perverse. Though he did not know what exactly had been said, he felt confident in shaking his head firmly - red braid wiggling as he did. "No, my lady." He said, softly, his voice low in his throat. He nudged Malack in the sides, and the horse continued forward. A slower pace; they would need to pace themselves, to make sure that they could get to the border of Perth within the day. "I won't let anything bad happen to you." He assured her, giving the angel a small, tired smile.