Heart of Darkness (35 page)

Wolfe nodded his head, silently thanking him
for that support and spun around to run up to his bedchamber and
the armory, where the castle stored its weapons.

****

Three young men lay lax on the floor. A scent
of illness seemed to permeate the room and that, combined with the
thinness of their bodies marked this chamber as a sick room of
sorts.

There was a young dark-haired boy, an older
boy with a similar visage and then a dark blond lad. Their hair was
lank and greasy and merely augmented the suspicion that they were
all suffering with some kind of ailment.

A jolting sound echoed from the door and the
eldest boy shot up away from the bed and sent a pointed look to the
other two, who swiftly nodded and whose bodies became impossibly
limper. They were almost sprawled on the bed now and their heads
were turned to an uncomfortable angle; so close to their
collarbones were they.

Five men walked into the room, each clad in a
black robe but with the hoods down. There was a sort of concern on
their faces, but also boredom and a sense of disinterest, as though
they were wasting their time.

They walked in a 'V' and the man at the head,
stepped forward and walked towards the eldest boy's bed. The
mattress' upon which they were laying, were almost a foot off the
floor and the robe-wearing man kicked the boy's foot. When he
didn't stir, the man kicked harder, then nudged the leg. The boy
finally groaned and the man smirked then headed further up the bed
and kicked his arm.

The eldest child's eyelids fluttered and
another moan escaped his lips. They were stained with white, as
though he were severely dehydrated and desperately needed a
drink.

“Get up. Tis time,” the man said with a grunt
and then bent down to grab the boy's arm. When it flopped limply
back down to the thin mattress and he jerked the child's body, it
was as though he were lifting a rag doll. He grunted with a strange
mixture of satisfaction and dissatisfaction. Content perhaps that
the boy was weak, yet unhappy that he could not do whatever the man
wanted him to do.

Two others separated themselves from the main
group and did the same with the two younger boys, who were even
responsive than the eldest.

“They're too weak, Samuel,” a blond robe-clad
man muttered.

“They're not too weak,” Samuel spat. “Magick
is integral to their beings, David!” He shot the man a glare and
then kicked the eldest again. “Control the air,” he ordered and
when not a spark was evident, literally swung his leg high into the
air and with enough pressure to make the boy cry then grunt with
pain, Samuel jolted him with his foot.

The younger dark child cried as the other man
did the same and grunted, “Make fire!”

“James, don't touch that one. Remember?”
David yelled as James made the move to kick the blond boy.

“I'm not an idiot! No reason I can't hit the
boy just because he can suck the sound out of the room and drench
me so I look as though I've pissed myself!”

Samuel grunted, “Be quiet!”

“They're obviously weak. Doesn't matter if
magick is integral to them or not, they're not worth a bloody
thing.” David rushed over to Samuel and grabbed him by the shoulder
then dragged him back towards the door. “Leave them.”

Samuel shrugged off the hand but nodded and
stomped towards the door. “We'll be back tomorrow. Have Justin feed
them and make sure they eat,” he said with a grunt before he left
the room and the others joined them.

The grating of the lock sounded loud in
the room and as soon as the door was shut and there were
footsteps
away
from the
chamber, the dark blond boy sat up slowly and then hissed.
Instantly, the other two shot up and rushed to him and sat around
him. The boy closed his eyes and raised his hands but had them so
his palms faced the floor. Slowly, drops of water trickled from his
palms and the other two collected it in a cup they made of their
hands.

After they quenched their thirst, the eldest
said, “Wolfe, how close are you to burning the window frame?”

“Very close. Tonight should do it.”

“Good. They should have thought about
reinforcing the exits!”

“It won't stop the bars, Jaegar.”

“No, Gerard, it won't but I can do that. I've
never done it before but I should be able to separate them. You
already know this, Ger, you're not bottling on us, are you?”

“No. Just trying to hold the
faith,
mon ami
.”

“Well, there's no need. We're there. It's
taken us nine fucking years to exit this damned hole, but now we
are ready. They've underestimated us for the last time, all
right?”

In unison, the other two spat, “The last
time.”

****

“I think I shall vomit,” Isabeau murmured
under her breath as she dressed herself in the attire that Jaegar
had laid out for her and thought about the dream that had overtaken
her subconscious the night before.

She grimaced at the memory of a young Wolfe,
so unbearably thin and ill-looking and her heart weeped for all of
them. The kick that the man called Samuel had delivered Jaegar,
made her own ribs ache.

Isabeau closed her eyes and shifted her focus
from the three men's, who she had so recently come to know, past
and concentrated on the present. For at this moment in time, she
was relying upon two of them to save her from the other.

She was in no doubt that Gerard would be
helping Wolfe. The two were best of friends, after all.

She sighed at her predicament and could do
naught but shrug it off. Twas that, or she'd break down and start
sobbing!

The robe she wore fit so perfectly,
that a part of her wondered how long Jaegar had planned this.
Unlike the dress of yesterday, which had poorly fitted her and had
been in the old Empire-line style, this one appeared to be
more
a la mode.
With its
puffed sleeves and lace at the décolleté and wrists and the
fullness of the skirt.

Whilst she was certain, thanks to Wolfe's
dream, that Wolfe had been seeking her for a long time, she also
knew that there was no love lost between the two half-brothers. It
would not have surprised her if each man had planted a spy within
the other's camp.

Isabeau assumed that the rivalry was mostly
on Jaegar's part and if she were honest, she could understand his
bitterness but not towards Wolfe, towards his father. The man who
had abandoned him and ruined his good name. Wolfe hadn't done
that.

This intense dislike she saw upon Jaegar's
face whenever he mentioned his brother's name, told her that where
Wolfe felt sad, weary and cautious about the enmity between them,
there was active negative emotion on Jaegar's behalf.

If Jaegar knew that Wolfe was seeking her due
to a legend, one that would possibly help him revert to his
original form of a child of the light, then Jaegar would more than
likely do everything within his power to stop that.

As she walked down the corridor and walked to
a salon that was next to Jaegar's study accompanied by a footman,
Isabeau realized that the man who fancied himself as her fiancé was
taking sibling jealousy and rivalry to another level. And she,
well, she was caught in the cross-hairs!

She took a seat in the salon, which again was
perfectly delightful to the eye yet left her as cold as though
she'd been left in the cold storage for the entire night. It took
only a few minutes for Jaegar to enter the room, and she felt the
crawl of his eyes over her body and felt almost sickened by it.
Isabeau could only liken it to the feeling of a slug creeping along
the contours of her flesh.

He had repulsed her the first time she had
seen him, in her sharing of Wolfe's dreams. But now, it went far
deeper than that. Yesterday, he had simply compounded it by both
abducting her and his desire to force her to abort Wolfe's child.
If she did indeed turn out to be pregnant. To simply look upon him
was to have her stomach turn upside down.

She pursed her lips and kept her head turned
towards the fire. It was cold again and the fires had been lit over
the entirety of the castle. The dress, she wore, was scanty, whilst
covering every part of her, but the strategically placed lace
inserts left far too much flesh bare to the eye. She felt most
discomforted by it.

“Would you like something to drink or eat
before the ritual starts?” he asked suavely and she shot him a
glare of immense dislike.

“No! I would not.”

“You haven't eaten all day, Isabeau. There
are ways of ensuring you eat, you know?”

“What? Are you going to force feed me now?
Not content with suggesting you make me bleed to death as I rid
myself of a child I want but that you don't, you want to damage my
insides by forcing food down me? What a charming husband you shall
be,” she retorted bitterly and turned her head back to the
flickering, bright flames.

Isabeau thought back to yesterday, when she'd
been sat before an equally warm fire and had never felt happier.
The only doubt on the horizon had been whether her love for Wolfe
was shared or not. Now, she had far more to contend with and not a
clue of how to save herself.

The manor house was laden with armed men.
They lounged about the halls and rooms in a most discomforting way,
for when she walked along the corridors and halls and they spotted
her, she felt their leering gaze and detested it immensely.

Wolfe had yet to come for her and even though
she was certain he would, she feared that he would not be in time.
She had waited all day, knowing all the while that it was futile
for his body did not function as perfectly during the day as it did
at night, and that to wait for him was ridiculous. Now, it appeared
that the ritual would be happening almost immediately and she
wanted nothing more but to run away and hide.

If she could have pretended to be ill, then
she would have done her very best to do so!

“If you do not wish to drink or eat, then
come, the ritual awaits.”

Her eyes flashed up at him and sweetly, she
said, “Actually, I find I'm quite ravenous. Please can you ask the
kitchens to send me something?”

She damned herself for not having taken
advantage of this delaying tactic moments before, but that was all
that was left to her and now she realized it, she would take full
advantage of it!

“Of course. I thought you might change your
mind, my dear.”

Isabeau wanted to spit at him and demand he
not call her his anything, because she wasn't his. She was Wolfe's.
Even if the foolish man didn't understand it!

Within moments, a lot more swiftly than she
had hoped, a small table was placed before her. Upon it were
daintily sliced sandwiches, a large tea cake and a silver tea
service and caddy.

She looked at him questioningly, but said
nothing, just waited for him to tell her how he wished his tea
prepared, for there were two cups and she nodded her head, when he
said, “Milk with two sugars please.”

She placed two sugar cubes into his dish then
settled the small sieve on the rim and spooned some of the loose
tea into it. Pouring the water through the tea, she then added his
milk and proffered it to him.

She herself took a sandwich and ate as slowly
as she dared. Nibbling the outer edges first then the inner and
then taking another four more and doing the same. She made a
palaver of eating the damson tea cake too. Picking the fruit from
the slice she cut herself with her dessert fork, then eating what
felt like a crumb at a time.

By the time he had started to look dreadfully
impatient, she felt as though she would never be able to look a
damson in the eye ever again!

He held out a hand wordlessly and equally as
silently, she took it and raised herself to her feet.

Isabeau was led out of the room, to the main
hall and then down the other off-shooting corridor. At the bottom
of said-corridor, was a single door. There was something ominous
about that door. Perhaps it was because she knew that her fate lay
behind it, or there was genuinely something frightening about its
wooden aesthete.

Rolling her eyes at the thought, she stepped
through the door as Jaegar opened it for her and walked into what
was similar to the chapel at Wolfe's home, but it was less ornate
and less purpose built.

At the foot of the room was an enormous
stained glass window. It depicted the sun and the moon merging
together--another portent perhaps?

Before the window was an ornate golden altar.
It was simply shaped, like a narrow table, but it was decorated
with numerous carved, metal rosettes. She assumed it was gold, from
the lustrous gleam, she knew it to be. But the sheer amount of the
metal positively perplexed her!

Upon the golden table was a large plate
and
upon
that was a large bowl
in a dull copper that was burnished and tarnished mottled-green
with age. It was in a huge contrast to the opulence of the
altar.