Tenebrae Manor Page 11
Veering from the pathway Bordeaux crept, apprehensively following the noise that seemed to arise from the side of the house. A creature, a flitting shadow of bemused grunts was huddled against the wall, preoccupied with a hasty endeavour. It did not take Bordeaux long to realise, with a sinking heart, that the creature was a wood golem. His pulse raced; what was this thing doing here and so close to the house? Never had he seen such practicality and determination in what was usually a mindless monster. The golem had heard the intrusion of Bordeaux and turned its bulged eyes towards him.
Turning to leave, Bordeaux would rue a momentary lapse in reflex that saw the golem lunge at him, grasping him by the throat and wrestling him to the ground. He and the monster struggled in the dirty snow. The cruel hand of the beast closed its grip about Bordeaux's neck with vice-like strength and left him gasping frantically for breath.
Bordeaux pressed his free hand into the wood golem's face, trying desperately to gain an advantage. Despite his best efforts to ward away his panic, it was mounting as each of his frantic efforts to fight off the monster fell short of effect. The demon managed to withdraw the rapier from his sword cane and soon his wild swings found contact with the wood golem's body. The creature's hide was of thick wood and his best blows seemed wastrel and ineffective. He needed to breathe, his vision began to blur, until, by freakish luck, he was somehow able to thrust forth his sword into the beast's side. It was the moment he needed, as the wood golem reeled away but for a moment and Bordeaux stole away his throat from its clutches and gained back precious ground. He leapt adroitly to his feet and charged, his instincts kicked in and landed a calculated blow on the neck of the golem. It attempted a counter shot with a lumbering swing of its cudgel arm but Bordeaux was too swift. The crimson demon kicked forcefully at the beast's chest, throwing it helplessly onto its back, before plunging his blade straight through the chest, impaling it to the ground where it expelled a deathly groan.
Bordeaux gaped for breath, keeping his cautious eyes fixed on the dying wood golem. His strength was sufficiently exhausted and feeling not the fangs of the cold snow, collapsed to the ground. He had won; his life had been spared.
Dazed as he was, eventually he made a move to inspect just what the golem had been doing before its death. He stepped past where his sword jutted like a flagpole from the lifeless golem and ran his hand over the wall of Tenebrae Manor. The rough touch of wood and stone was blistered with shards of snow, unchanged under the touch of Bordeaux’s fingers until for a moment, when his hand slipped into nothingness. Nothingness where there very much should be something. With a realisation both confused and concerned, Bordeaux understood immediately; the wood golem had been tearing apart a wall of the manor.
12: The Perimeter
Spread like a spilt pot of ink, Tenebrae’s night creeps across the land, staining the hills black and the trees a mess of greys, deepest greens and navy blues. The manor is that pot - exuding the darkness from its very core, standing at the centre of the stain as the antithesis of the sun. From the summit of the house itself, where Libra resided in luxury, the ancient spell channeled the murk in its impenetrable shades bereft of geniality.
Through the icy forest came the sound of slow footsteps, crunching softly in the deep snow. A svelte shadow slid between the trees, head hung in deep and melancholic thought. What possible reason could this figure have to be out in the harsh taiga, roaming with such directionless and mechanical strides? Such remained a mystery. Where the warmth of mortal would soon perish from the chilling fatigue of the winter snows, the bloodless soma of Edweena was indifferent.
Edweena’s movements lacked the tenacity of her mission, her steps were heavy and weighed down upon by the thick snow, which rose to her waist at some points. Haste was noticeably absent, the vampiress was fighting an internal apprehension that possessed her faculties and prevented her usual enthuse - namely leaping with speed through the treetops. It was this apprehension that nagged in the back of her mind. Turn back, it said; naught will come of this little expedition. And while Edweena was most certainly within her own element out in this unpredictable wilderness, she felt now a looming vulnerability, a disclosure of mortal weakness. She had walked further in the last few hours than she usually dared to, each step bringing her closer to peril; she was toying with her own death. For the concealment that came with the night’s darkness did indeed have its outer limit, Edweena knew that every step away from Tenebrae Manor brought her towards the wide world, where blackness encompassed only half the time and hours of deadly daylight would instantly disintegrate her body to ash.
What was it about this very moment that directed the sails of her determination towards this destination? Her brooding had found a channel and, no longer willing to remain in an idle ferment, had churned to life and surged headlong into ambition. It may have been that the sky was indeed a shade lighter, though perhaps it was naught but a trick of the mind. She had not kept track of time. And why should she? When Tenebrae was so indifferent to advancement, content in its shadows, why would Edweena bother herself with acknowledgement of hours? Yet there lingered the frustration of her oversight; had she taken note of the time when she left the house she might have been able to gauge the progression of her journey somewhat more effectively.
There was something so foreign about the sky, as though it had been replaced with a twin so subtly differing in appearance, yet altered enough to evoke a nagging in the back of the mind and suspect the trickery of a duo of charlatans. Yes, there was something unusual about its hue. For the first time, Edweena became aware of the clouds that stretched across the canvas of sky but it was a certain reflective quality that held her transfixed. It was only a colour, a simple pink that lined the clouds on one side and contrasted brilliantly with black shadows opposing it.
Edweena's breath slipped from her lips in an exhalation of intrigue; could she have reached this fabled perimeter, which had eluded her until now? Her Valhalla, the unseen reward of the faithful, could very well greet her over the crest of the next hill. She was by now quite unable to disguise her excitement and her slow trudge broke out into a dash. The slope and the hindering depth of the snow made her ripe with frustration, though it did not slow the pace of ambling, nor the pace of her racing mind.
The crest was several metres away, at which point stood two pine trees that were not unlike any others in the forest, yet held the significance of a gateway, parted to form a path over the summit.
Edweena stopped suddenly, her reckless legs restrained by a flood of caution. Her life was at risk; she had to remember that she was indeed a vampire and that she would be swallowed up by the very power she hoped to observe if she were not careful.
As she crept up the last steps of the hill, she felt a strange heat, not of the weather surrounding, for it was still most certainly wintry but a heat from within her core. Edweena winced at the sting of this heat that only increased as she neared the peak. Then, steeling herself, she took the last step that brought her to the top.
The other side of the hill was exactly the same - an ocean of trees heaved by the waves of mountains. But this did not concern Edweena, for she was hypnotised by the light before her - the dawn. She had reached the outer perimeter of Tenebrae's night.
The sunlight was subtle, only as discernible as the hour before dawn, though Edweena had to squint her eyes to absorb what lay before her. The sky was a magnificent forum of pinks, oranges, navy and grey. True, there was no sun visible; it would appear if she travelled a few miles further but its presence was undeniable in this twilit portion of Tenebrae Forest. The pines glistened with snow like fragile figurines in a stain-glass scene. Not since the commencement of her accursed vampiric afterlife had Edweena gazed at such marvellous colour. The earth that had covered memories of a life long past was shoveled away, leaving behind a euphoric realisation; the world was still out there. With all its rapid pace, its inconsiderate change, the globe spun and naught was stagnant outside the Tenebrae night.
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Sweat soaked Edweena's skin as the heat from within her being increased to near unbearable limits. Still she stared in wonder at the morning and its endless possibility. Her skin was aglow with a vermillion that smothered her usual whiteness with its vibrant brushstroke. It was only when the pain became all too much and her skin began to burn and hiss that she took a few steps backwards into the shade of the hill. With a sigh she drank in the darkness of the umbra as feverishly as she had the dawn, the burns on her skin suddenly more intense, as though her amazement had numbed her pain receptors hitherto.
It was there in the gloom that she pondered the possibilities laid out before her. Would she wait until the outside world fell under the coverage of nightfall? Only then would she be able to make a break for it, run the risk of instant incineration and pray some refuge from daylight would appear to her in time. There would be twelve hours of darkness at her disposal, surely she would run into some cave where the sun's rays wouldn't reach and she could hide safely until the next night. The restrictions were there to be sure but the challenge they imposed excited her; dashing from refuge to refuge with no promise of a tomorrow. There would be no more boredom; the idea of mortality was almost relieving to her.
Either way, she had hours to wait until the dusky horizon fell into blackness and the ensuing time added hesitancy to her ambition. She had responsibilities at Tenebrae Manor; what if her vagabond nature ended up being accountable for the revealing of the manor to the world, of its supernatural oddities, of its impossible residents? If the forest were revealed, what hope of refuge would these immortal wayfarers have and where would they go if their immemorial home no longer offered concealment?
Edweena turned her gaze to the crest of the hill, where the light shone like a halo between the two trees. No, she was not ready to meet the challenge. Not this time.
With the pang of defeat she turned her back on the dawn and trudged back into the oily tide of darkness. Her stride was slow and crestfallen, her composure drained significantly by the physical sting of sunlight and the harsh criticism she so often struck herself with.
The vampiress felt painfully daunted by the endless sea of trees surrounding her, unchanging as she moved like a somnambulant. Anguish tore at her heart with an aggression that threatened to burst from reticent ribcage. The trunks of black trees stood dominant over her until it all became too much and she collapsed down onto a fallen log. The rotted wood gave slightly under the dead weight of her exhaustion; she buried her face in her hands. Edweena could not recall a time when she felt so lethargic and it was this weakness in her carnal disposition that only heightened the sense of failure in her mind. The arch of her slouched back heaved with laboured breathing, as she convulsed with sobs an ignorant squirrel descended the neighbouring tree and nosed about Edweena with a perilous mixture of confusion and curiosity.
Even in her debilitated state she made no error in seizing the rodent in a flash and savagely snapping its spine, leaving it lifeless in her hands. She tore at its flesh eagerly and sighed as the red life fluid filled her with renewed vitality.
Edweena stood, strong again, focused suddenly on her present; she was bound to Tenebrae Manor. The scales had tipped back in favour of her ancient home and the fresh ideas of a new world of danger to explore seemed less appealing. Perhaps it would only be a short time until the yearning to escape crept up on her again but until then, the darkness had won.
13: Bordeaux Amongst Old Books
Through darkled shadows there flitted a movement. Though no light reflected upon it, a certain change in the hazy gloom made it discernible, as one is aware of wind only by its brush on the cheek and the shuddering of treetops. This apparition moved all but silent, only a click of clumsy footsteps and short bursts of breath broke through the echoic halls.
Madlyn crept with haste. She made her descent down and down the stairs into the pit of the manor without a second thought, a route so familiar to her. This time however, the urge to escape the wrath of Libra had doubled and her heart fluttered furiously like a rabbit racing away from a gnashing greyhound. Each step drew her further away and it was with great relief that she reached her room and slammed the heavy wooden door shut. She was safe now. Lady Libra was not one to leave her quarters unless absolutely necessary; her distaste for physical exertion coupled with Tenebrae's innumerable stairs meant that Madlyn could breathe easily in her own abode. It was a dank and windowless cavern of grey brick, more likely to have served as a storeroom before Madlyn had made it hers. Its proximity to the kitchen was only the lesser of its two advantages. The other of course was the room's isolation from the rest of the house.
Madlyn plunked down heavily onto the straw mat that served as her bed and tenderly removed a clump of cloth from her cradling smock. She unraveled the cloth covering with the embellished gentleness and gasped when she caught sight of the hidden token within. The sight of it confirmed in her the rebellion she had undertaken. A flash of glossy ebony caught her sunken pupils and held her completely hypnotised by coveted beauty. It was the black rose brooch that had sat on Libra's vanity and Madlyn had stolen it. The kitchen girl had been overwhelmed with fear up until this point, where she was able to gaze at the thing's great beauty and let the thrill of her rebellion surge through her veins. Her breaths were still short, her mind too feeble to comprehend why she found this brooch so captivating. What she planned to do with it was now her main concern. Stealthily snatching it for herself while Libra was preoccupied with her own reflection in the mirror had been the easy part.
The walls of her room would have driven the more claustrophobic being into a frenzy but to Madlyn, this room was all she had to call her own. Wrapping the brooch in its protective cloth and stuffing it under her pillow, she presently stood and made her way to a pitiful little desk in the corner. It was not a long trek, to be sure, for so small was the room that she was there in two steps.
On the splintered surface of the table lay Madlyn's meager and adored possessions. A few scraps of paper whereupon she had scribbled her thoughts and creations, a quill - merely shed plumage of a no doubt long dead owl and a small shard of glass that had once been part of a mirror.
Madlyn contorted her back to an awkward angle as she reached down to scratch at the back of her shin. The pendulum swinging of her disorderly blonde pigtail failed to wrest her attention from the mirror shard. She smiled vaguely, an expression that would bemuse even the greatest psychologist. The stonewalls sighed in the silence, for a moment Madlyn felt a presence unsettlingly close.
Turning about her tiny room and confirming no visible haunt disturbing her silence quenched her momentary fear, so she was able to return her gaze to the reflection in the shard. Swimming through its triangular surface, the swollen globe of Madlyn's right eye reflected back at her a dead expression. The effect of the sunken skin about her ocular jellyfish, darkened by fatigue, was one that seemed to smolder with a billowy smoke encircling. The blue iris dripped with a malice that frightened her, a malice she did not know herself capable of. But it was a poorly developed malice, more like the expressionless hostility reserved for strangers in which one has no desire to acquaint.
As though only to fill convulsive impulse, Madlyn dashed to her bed and leapt onto it to confirm the presence of the brooch. It was still there. Her heart tingled with a glow. The virgin innocence of her misled love had its embers rekindled. The black rose brooch, which was to become an embodiment of her very affection, should be gifted to the crimson demon. Her love was a confused thing, oblivious to its blatant notions that left it obvious to others. He should have the brooch, Madlyn had decided. Of the consequences, she was untroubled - even of the obvious fact that Libra would no doubt see the stolen brooch on Bordeaux's lapel. Such considerations were abated by her incubated innocence. The seed of her love had been planted long ago but only now was action to be taken; the plant was to be watered, tended to, with every hope that it would soon spill forth in pulchritudinous blossom.
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The wind that howled about the castle wailed like a newborn, having only whipped itself to life an hour previous. And yet its cold hostility carried with it an omnipresent air, as though it had always been hurtling its gusts across the surfaces of land and sea, only to have just reached Tenebrae Manor, where it would soon pass on through and around the cavernous seashell and never be seen again. The gale moaned with an aptly intimidating warning; a warning of a danger that threatened the very livelihood of the castle’s residents. A danger that had filled Bordeaux with an increasing sense of doubt and pushed him into action. It was this dread that sent him on a grave errand to the library of Tenebrae Manor, where there stood the hope of answers; any answers would assuage the fears that weighed his heart.
Much has already been described of Tenebrae Manor, its echoed corridors, its stairwells of eternal incline, drawing rooms rotted by their own antiquity but what of the manor’s western side? It has been said that the auditorium juts from the house like a boil upon the western side but what can be said of the rooms that stood in its shadows several storeys below? Through a maze of halls, penetrating far and deep, identical in their adornments of stone and wood, there lies an immense library. Access to this archaic cavern would seem a confusing pathway that would turn any jaunt sour and indeed it seemed that it were only Bordeaux’s years of acquired knowledge of Tenenbrae Manor that had ingrained the correct path to the library into his head. There were four of them that made their way through the candlelit darkness, though three of them were unaware of the other that completed their tetrad.
Accompanying Bordeaux were not only the tweed clad Deadsol and Comets the jester, whose composure was one of lesser apprehension but also Madlyn. The girl lurked in their shadows, a few paces behind them, following on a restrained tiptoe that took up all of her lagged concentration. Though she pursued three, she saw only one, the man with his deep red coat - the figure of her affections. She wrestled with her shyness and spent every step trying to exert the extra effort that would push her into his presence. Oh, to be noticed by him! But every time she thought the time had come to burst into their candlelit view, she hesitated and slunk defeated back into the gloom.