Authors: P. Clinen
"Here..." he whispered, standing before the great dusty wardrobe.
He braced himself against the side of the cupboard and pushed hard. It was certainly heavier than he expected and as it budged from its resting place, the groan of it scraping the floor resonated through the room. Bordeaux cursed the sound, pausing for a moment to make sure nothing stirred.
With the wardrobe moved; an eerie light shone from the exposed entry, throwing the shadows of Bordeaux's ankles along the floor. The demon winced at the sight of grime on his burgundy coat, rubbed off from the face of the wardrobe with his pushing. Pedant even in this hasty mission, Bordeaux did not fancy dust on his refined clothes. Intrigued though he was with the light issuing at his feet, he still sighed awkwardly at his next task.
He got down on his knees and peered through the opening, the room on the other side was quite small, perhaps the size of a storage closet. Libra had not been able to fit through but Bordeaux had no doubt he could. He considered removing his coat to prevent further begriming, though he realised that his time may be limited.
Stealing himself, Bordeaux threw himself down to the floor and shuffled urgently through the opening, his broad shoulders being of only minor difficulty.
When he had pulled his legs through, he stood up and brushed down his arms and shoulders, grimacing at his now filthy hands. Bordeaux believed he had reason for suspicion of Libra; her protective defense and prolonged secrecy of this hidden room surely had some significance. And it was now before his very eyes that his accusation found proper footing.
Atop a small shrine there sat, as an egg is cradled in a nest, a beautiful relic, which glowed vibrant colours of red, amber and green. It was this very object from which the strange light was produced. Its beauty infatuated Bordeaux as he cautiously grasped it in his palms. The thing was roughly heart shaped and its glowing was not unlike that of a log in the fireplace, warm to the touch.
He shook himself out of the trance; time was not on his side at present. Libra could return at any moment. He pushed the thing through the entrance and followed in tail, crawling desperately back the way he had come. The colours that pulsed from the relic threw dim light on the floor surrounding and Bordeaux still on his knees, froze suddenly in terror.
Behind the relic, a dusky foot; now red, now amber, now green, belayed the presence of a figure looming above him. The Lady Libra's eyes struck fear in Bordeaux's heart as they tore into him with a hideous fury. The corner of her lip twitched and through her gritted teeth she hissed, "You."
"Libra," stammered Bordeaux. "This is..."
“Enough!” her voice was menacing. “I knew I should have stamped my authority sooner. I show you a little respect and suddenly you think yourself as my equal. Given my echelon, I knew reprimanding you without a more just cause would rob me of some dignity but you just couldn’t accept it could you? Instead of pledging fealty like a good little insect with the basic will of maintaining order, you keep coming after me! Well, you will not make a fool of me, Bordeaux. You want to know what you are dealing with? Let it be!”
Libra raised her arms slowly, her white limbs quivering with an unseen force. The room shook and Bordeaux cried out, his very being evaporating before his eyes. He felt himself plummet backwards, crashing headlong into a murky brine. A sharp gust of torrent cut his lungs as his vision vanished into a blackness deeper than the night of Tenebrae Manor.
END OF PART TWO.
PART THREE
22: The Conclave
In a certain part of the forest where the trees stood somewhat wider apart than elsewhere, the makings of a crude trail lay buried beneath a littering of pine needles. Like the matted stubble of an unkempt peasant, the rotting needles stuck to the soil, weather-beaten and uninspiring, blemished only by a protuberance of debris that broke the otherwise flat surface of ground. This debris, which lay directly in the centre of the badly worn path, appeared not unlike any other tree branch presenting itself so disconcertedly mangled in attempt to impede a jaded traveller. Of its construction, twisted wooden roots molding into the thicker bole of stump, riddled with rotten holes and knots, one would not give it a second glance. Yet given the now severe threat of wooden monsters in the area, closer inspection revealed it to be a perished wood golem that lay strewn across the road. Yes, its squatted humanoid shape was discernible, that horrid mouth of crooked stitches ghastly to behold. And in the hollow sockets of its displeasing face, where the eyes of the beast should have been, a rodent crawled quietly betwixt. Its whiskers twitched in the night air as it ventured ever cautiously across the gnarled body of monster.
A veil of ebony now swept upon it, as a savage raven drove its hideous beak into the core of the rodent's life. The dying rodent expired and as its life fled from its frame further death descended, as a flurry of black birds swooped down to try and claim the first raven's prize. They pecked and cawed and argued amongst themselves, kicking the wooden corpse apart.
Mindless to all but instinct, the birds took flight on a sudden, dispatched into chaos by a galloping horse that charged straight through their squabbling. The skewbald mare dashed onwards with the vigor of a wild bronco, though the urgency of her march was restrained by the rider, Crow.
The wood hermit closed in on Tenebrae Manor, the path ridden was one forged by him in years gone by, though not one he had traversed in some time. He looked to the sky and read the stars fluently; the manor was not far away now. Crow's chestnut curls streamed behind him in the slipstream, across his back the gilded beauty of his completed sword and shield lay strapped. The magnificent leaf shaped shield glittered in the dim starlight, as this light played along the iron edges overlaying the matted green wood.
His journey was hardly one of jubilance. Sprawled with him on the back of his horse, balanced precariously in his lap, a tragedy was wrapped in ragged blanket.
The mare slowed to a trot as it passed the old mailbox and reached the imposing front threshold of Tenebrae Manor; Crow swung from his horse and tied her hastily to a tree. Had he the time to consider the branches that leant inward and clung to the manor, he would have been greatly perturbed but now was not the time to take in the scenery. With nurturing arms he took the bundle of blankets in his grasp and ran into the front foyer.
"Usher, where are the others? Bordeaux? Anyone?"
"A few have congregated in the dining hall, sir," said Usher without tone or colour. "First floor on the right."
Crow could sense a commotion as he climbed the stairs and, on entering the room, saw Edweena, Arpage and Sinders ensconced around a tea tray.
"Ah ha! The crow man himself," cried Sinders. "Are you scared, crow man?"
"Be silent," Crow quipped, instantly hushing the rascal scarecrow.
The composer Arpage sat with a teacup quivering in his shaking hands and he was only further startled when Crow placed the bundled heap on the table before him.
"Crow..." Edweena whispered. "That can't be..."
"The kitchen girl," finished Crow.
Huddled indeed within the blankets, the lifeless body of Madlyn stared with empty eyes. Her skin was of bluish tinge, her neck bruised from the stranglehold that had been her end.
"I found her deep in the trees," said Crow. "Those golems attacked her. There was nothing else I could do."
They stood silent around the table; bewildered and in disbelief. Madlyn was dead and, unlike the other apparitions that hovered in Tenebrae's darkness with varying levels of higher mortality, there was no bringing her back.
"Someone inform Bordeaux," said Crow.
"He seems to have vanished somewhere, perhaps out in the forest. Though I cannot imagine a pleasant stroll, given the way things are," replied Edweena. "I paid visit to Libra however, concerning other issues, whether she turns up here or not is another matter."
"Not that she'd be of much use," mused Crow.
The dim candlelight of the overhead chandelier offered little comfort to the mournful assembly. It could have been said that Madlyn's face looked no different, as she had so often drifted into vacant daydream, though she was not one to succeed in fooling anyone. This was no act of feigned death; she was most certainly perished.
The silence that settled was broken by the ingress of Lady Libra, who immediately noticed the jittery Arpage sitting on the opposite side of the table. The composer jumped; his teacup flung in such a matter that its scalding contents stung his hands and the cup shattered on the dark red carpet.
"The composer dares to show his face in my home," said Libra. "Here I was, thinking the cold would have killed you by now."
"Die?" replied Arpage. "Oh that I could. That is, I think I could. Who could say? The years go by and I still l-live, m-miss."
"Shut up," said Libra. "Why are you here?"
Sinders rose. "Shut up, she says. Then demands locution. Little wonder he is so bemused."
"Have it your way, pumpkin head," replied Libra. "If the little music man has lost his voice, then you tell me. Why are you in my house?"
Sinders clasped his head in sudden despair. "What pain it is to say, my home is gone! Ruined!"
"Sacked by golems," added Arpage.
"They poured in on us unawares," said Sinders. "I had to set fire to my beautiful home so we could escape."
"You lit a fire in the forest?" said Crow. "Fool! You could end us all!"
Crow drew his sword and Sinders instantly lost the air of storyteller and huddled behind the equally cowardly Arpage.
"Sheathe your steel, Crow,” said Edweena. "They know they've done an ill deed."
"Just so, kindly vampiress," Arpage tittered. "We've learnt our lesson, honestly."
"Then perhaps you should inform Libra of the consequences of your irrational act."
Both turned their heads cautiously towards Lady Libra, who stood expectantly akimbo. The pair hesitated in the awkward silence, Sinders removing his tattered black hat as if to shield himself.
"Well?"
"The man escaped," shot Sinders.
It took Libra a moment to absorb this news, before she flew at both of them and grabbed at their collars.
"You let him escape?"
Arpage sobbed and Sinders kicked his legs, sending straw showering to the floor.
"Please miss!" cried Arpage. "In the chaos of the moment, he ran! There were flames everywhere and monsters and smoke! Oh my eyes, how it stung. I could not see him for my tears."
"You imbeciles have not only brought on the danger of forest fire; you've unleashed into the world a man with knowledge of Tenebrae Manor, of our eternal night! What if he reaches a town? We'll be exposed!" Libra bristled with fury.
"You need not worry about the former," Edweena interjected. "I saw the smoke while I was out hunting. By the time I arrived there, the place was a charred shell - the fire is out."
"Libra, though this matter of this escapee is no doubt important, perhaps you should take a look over here," said Crow.
From her current position, Libra could only discern the bundle of rags on the tabletop, where candle wax was beginning to drip down from the chandelier above. She dropped Arpage and Sinders to the floor and walked over to the table.
The others stared at her face as she considered the body of Madlyn. For some time she said nothing, her features betrayed no form of reaction. Then, calmed, though not without the hint of sorrow on her heavy heart, she turned to the door and took a step towards it.
"We will bury her in the cemetery."
Edweena moved forward and placed a hand on Libra's back. "The wood golems, Libra. It isn't safe to leave the manor anymore."
"The girl deserves a respectable interment. See that this is arranged."
None of them would respond, perhaps they were bewildered by the strange compassion that the lady of the manor usually lacked. Libra left and although she had not turned back to face any of the others who remained in the dining room, all could not deny the glimmer of a tear that trickled down her face.
23: A Sepulchral Valediction
With funerals so few in number in the chronology of Tenebrae, the very idea of preparing such an event threw the bemused characters into further disarray. In a place where the dead already wandered the halls and spirits seemingly incapable of perishing awaited a more promising afterlife, little knowledge of human entombment remained.
As such, most of the organisation was left to the zombie Rune, whose seemingly redundant wisdom was called upon to bear the brunt of such a distressing affair. Meanwhile, those that remained in mourning offered their assistance in varying ways, though the realisation of a duo of disappearances concerned them. Where was Bordeaux? And Deadsol? Lady Libra answered to their obvious omissions with a curious mixture of feigned ignorance and unprovoked aggression.
"The troublemaker Deadsol is serving a suitable punishment... For mocking the queen of Tenebrae Manor."
And of Bordeaux? With her heavy foot placed down so defiantly in regards to Deadsol's incarceration, it was unusual that she would be so elusive about Bordeaux's whereabouts.
"Bordeaux is..."
Libra would trail off in any manner available. A change of subject where suited, though she preferred to stamp her authority with added venom in her responses, so that eventually none dared approach her.
All the while, the mummy shuffled onwards. Rune rumbled purposefully about the mansion readying Madlyn's ceremony. With such peerless ethic with regards to the task assigned, one would easily believe it to be a swift and concise ceremony - respectful to a fault. Yet it was Rune's crippling capacity, both physically and mentally, that led the dirge of preparation towards clutter and confoundedness. Heartfelt intentions aside, poor Rune was at a loss to manage the situation entirely by himself - with the manor so large and isolated, his steps so painfully slow, he was unable to wring the appropriate level of help from any other.
As such, the moon rose and set several times as Rune embarked on his work. Though the world had spun several times, the endless hours of night blended into one, so that the others took little notice of his tardiness. A coffin had been found amongst an abundance of disused palls in the lower crypts beneath the house. Numerous as they had been, Rune had had to settle for a rather large box that blocked access to any others in the back of the crypt. Dust stricken and cramped with decades of cobwebs, Rune had to enlist the services of both Sinders and Arpage to remove the coffin and carry it upstairs. Though not the most capable of handymen, the pair made their feeble attempt - the coffin made its journey from the crypt to the first flight of stairs. And when Sinders' straw-stuffed arms gave way and sent the wooden box tumbling onto the feeble Arpage, Rune decided the job would be better suited to that of Edweena and Crow.
The latter pair obliged willingly and also took it upon themselves to repair one of the carriages that lay dormant along the western side of the manor. It was during this undertaking that Arpage was assigned a job more appropriate to his effeminate station, the writing of a short requiem on his violin and the arrangement of a wreath of flowers.
The sky swirled as though it was cloaked with smoke. A billowy screen of cloud poisoned the clear purity of night and spread like a used paintbrush spilling its dregs into clean water.
On an hour when it seemed that the gloom could not be more impenetrable, the horse drawn carriage set out from Tenebrae Manor into the ramose trees of the forest. Through the night there brayed the snorts of Crow's horses, three of which dragged the august freight not unlike a locomotive. From his perch atop the carriage, the Usher slouched with incredible bulk, clutching at the reins with his massive and scarred hands.
The carriage gave off no semblance of colour; its blackness glossy in the half-light, reflected by paint and velvet curtain. Tailing behind it was the coffin, gingerly confined on a trolley-like platform that rattled on its axles. The wheels of the freight cycled on with a rhythm disrupted by the unevenness of the terrain. Often times, the spinning silver spokes would halt abruptly; caught on a tree root or natural concave of ground. Though the horses muttered their protest; Usher needed not the use of his whip, for the equine engine carried on regardless. Perhaps the horses were conversing with their other sister through their whinnying; the skewbald mare rode in wide circles about the carriage, where the sword drawn Crow scouted for hazards. It had been agreed that the woods were undoubtedly dangerous and the comely hermit took it as his duty to keep guard over the others whilst on route to the graveyard.
The forest wept with the groans of a nearby terror unseen, though Crow was not alone in his scouting. At the pinnacle of the canopy there lurked a lithe shadow - the vampiress Edweena, scouring the floor from a lofty bough.
A movement fluttered the dark curtains of the carriage and at that moment, a small shaft of night threw its light on the apparitions that sat within. They brooded in the listless umbra, ensconced on two leather-lined benches adjacent, so that the quintet were left facing each other in uncomfortable congestion. Sitting with their backs turned to the destination - Rune, Sinders, Comets; the frightening abhuman trio of Tenebrae. Aligned on the bench, they were a terrifying treble to Arpage sitting opposite. The three stared down at the composer, who tittered nervously from his cramped position next to Libra. The magnificent bulk of the gourmand easily took up the space of two and, as such, Arpage was left overwhelmed and crammed between the carriage door and Libra's right hip. After a moment’s mourning the composer had conceded to the destruction of his violin bow - crushed under the weight of Libra as she sat herself down in the carriage and he was now trying to ward off the staring eyes of the opposing trio.
"He he, a rather imposing lot, one might say? Something out of a child's nightmare, no?"
Arpage was met with silence until Sinders spoke. "What of it?"
"Ah! What of what? Only that I find myself in the company of you fine monsters, you brilliant fabrications of distorted horror! My sanity is long gone, so I dare not vouch for my own deceiving eyes; yet how can it be that you three are... Shall we say, tangible before me? Truly you are fictional figments in my clouded sight."
"Laudable reality - I am very real, music man," said Sinders. "Animated straw indeed! And the head of decomposed vegetable matter, my life is a curse. You can blame Malistorm this for miserly existence."
The mention of the name caused Libra to stir in her seat.
"Ah yes, the old baron," mused Arpage. "A somewhat less chaotic reign."
The black veil across Libra's face concealed her eyes; though her plump red lips were visible, the bottom half of her pale face appeared to float in the sombre darkness as she treated her company with sedated apathy.
"And this specimen?" continued Arpage, grasping at a loose ribbon of Rune's wrappings. "I don't think we've ever spoken properly."
Rune's eyes had glassed over with a pasty yellow that polluted his irises. The slackness of his jaw grew presently, the listless thing slowly losing the battle against gravity. He had not noticed the conversation fall into his lap. Having been so generously ignored, Arpage grew nervous and again began to fidget with his broken bowstring. All attention fell towards Rune as he lurched forward on a sudden, broken free of his trance by a swat to the head from Comets. The runty jester had proven far more civil hitherto - no doubt due to the absence of Deadsol but the opportunity to rile his senior had established as far too tempting to resist.
"He's talking to you, silly," cried Comets.
"Talk?" replied Rune.
"Arpage!"
"... Page."
"Dreaming of books again," said Sinders. "You will never behold a senility so..."
"I was an accident," said Rune. "An embalming mishap. It wasn't Malistorm though, oh no. This was many centuries ago. I can't recall the name of Tenebrae's chieftain at the time but he used me for an experiment."
"He heard it all," muttered Sinders. "And still interrupted me..."
"Fascinating! Man plays god and you - the manifestation!" chortled Arpage. "What a laugh! And what of young Meteors?"
"Comets," came a husky voice.
"Eh, what?"
"His name is Comets, you halfwit." Libra's voice silenced them all.
Arpage felt his heart flutter with fright; he tried to steal a few inches of space on the bench. Yet he could only wish for more room, wish that the billowing that pressed against him was merely drapes of material from her dress but Libra could not and would not budge.
"He is truly enigmatic," Libra conceded. "We've no idea where he came from."
Infrequently sojourned, the cemetery stood at an isolated mile from Tenebrae Manor and, small though it was, the crippling decay of its ruins were no less imposing than the aforementioned mansion. Alone it brooded atop the crest of a light incline, yet despite its position, it remained difficult to distinguish at a distance from the trees encompassing.
The party crawled up the hill, the horses growing steadily more fatigued as they passed the rusted iron gates that swung lifelessly from their hinges. Once within the crumbling stone fence of the graveyard, a comforting sense overcame the characters; there had been no ambush along their journey and they found themselves feeling safely cradled in the cemetery's deathly embrace.
Headstones lay ruinous and disintegrated, jutting their mangled peaks from the dry brown grass that had overrun the entire place. The trees in the cemetery bore no foliage at all and their skeletal branches stretched in all directions. In an age long past, the graveyard had been tended to by various servants of Tenebrae but pertaining to its immortal nature, the few occurrences of death within the castle deemed the occupation as redundant. Indeed, the graves were few, for the mortals that stumbled upon the immemorial home were usually wont to suicide or disappearance. Their mark was left on no one and proper ceremony was unnecessary.
The grounds were rough and uneven; the stone pathways that crossed between headstones had burst in all directions by tree roots beneath. Having reason to be wary of their tread, for the ground was laden with the pits of open graves, they eventually uncovered a suitable burial place for Madlyn. The hole was less weather beaten by snow and rain than others, though it was the size that rendered it the most appropriate. Madlyn's coffin was of awkwardly large proportions to an extent most tragically comical; her tiny body shrunken so that such spacious confines seemed a touch disrespectful.
Clothed in a black tunic that dulled the green vibrancy of his youth, Crow lowered the box into the grave with help of Edweena, whose dusky attire was no different to what she usually wore. And as the characters gathered in a circle, the wood hermit hurled soil onto the wooden coffin, as Rune recited a eulogy from a leather book.
"As darkest shadows we gather, under a night without end. Where the umbrageous pitch conceals us from the light of day, so long forgotten to these ageless trees. We have naught to guide us but our lunar orb, whose very lustre is but only reflection. And thus we linger in the shadows of the world, where our fellow ghoul has met her end. We relegate Madlyn to the artless weeds of decay. We open the door to her subterranean gateway, where she must go alone and soil seals the gate in deepest darkness."
Having awaited his cue, Arpage then began his funeral requiem, though due to his lacking of a bow he could only resort to plucking at the strings of his violin. The effect of the elegy was somewhat jarring - though the tune carried a pretty melody, the unorthodox manner of leaping between notes by way of pizzicato did not display the same smooth emotion that would have come from the glide of a bow.
The others stood uncomfortably, seemingly awaiting the song's awkward end. And when the dirge ended, Comets began to clap, though he was swiftly silenced by the glare of Rune.
For a moment, the only sound was that of a series of dull thumps, of dirt striking wood as Crow filled the grave. Another thump - Rune closing the heavy book, a noise that struck a chord in the hearts of the others, who stood crestfallen. Rune twitched involuntarily and reached for a certain spot on his scalp; his hand came away soggy.
"Rain," came Libra's voice from the coach.
Unbeknownst to the others, the lady had already returned to the coach, despite her possession of the only umbrella and awaited departure.
"We should go," said Edweena, echoing their thoughts, though her deadpan expression was heart wrenching to hear out loud.
The coffin was gone and with it Madlyn; the last shovel of soil concealing her to her resting place. As they left, the rain began to fall soft and heavy, bruising the lonely grave with bloated droplets.
By the time the coach reached the midway of the journey home, the rain was turning torrential. Though no wind assisted its violent lashings, it fell in such a screen of haze that navigation became troublesome. The horses struggled to haul the carriage wheels through the muddy turf and Edweena found her steps increasingly heavy as she walked beside Crow and his mare. The downpour hissed in her ears, making conversation with the wood hermit seem ridiculous, yet a nagging cry in her mind forced her to speak.