Ashes of Iris

by Stephanie Poscente

  An hour later, Sophie, having escaped the clutches of her mother, stopped for a bite to eat in the kitchen. Pulling open the door of the oversized stainless steel fridge, her arms and neck were assaulted by the cold air inside, goose bumps raising all over her body. She pulled out a half-eaten meringue pie and set it down on the island in the center of the room.

  A short search led her to a canister full of utensils and she helped herself to an expensive looking dessert fork. It surprised her that the kitchen was vacant, considering the amount of food constantly being carted onto the serving table in the dining room. However, she enjoyed the quiet and solitude – there was so much on her mind, and she needed time to revisit Rausch’s words.

  As she plucked a scoop of pie straight from the tray, a thought came to her mind. Rausch had told her about Lukas, but he had also mentioned that they all were shadows of their former selves. It sounded as though he meant that they were not the only ones supposedly still living in the castle, invisible to everyone around them for over a century.

  As she pondered, forgetting the piece of pie in her hand, the face of the man in the breakfast room flashed before her eyes and she dropped her fork with a clatter.

  “Oh,” she spluttered, glancing around her. She was suddenly fearful of her solitude. Though no one had made a move to harm her in the past few days, the calculating eyes of the man she had seen were etched into her memory. Surely Rausch would have warned her of any possible danger.

  With an air of absolute calm, she retrieved her fork and scooped the dropped morsel of pie onto the prongs. Her eyes did not stop roaming the kitchen as she chewed slowly, barely tasting the sweet filling as it coated the inside of her mouth. Every nerve in her body was on edge. The man had been lurking in the shadows, mysterious and silent. His eyes had not left her as she watched him. It had seemed strange then, but in light of her new information, it was frightening.

  Another face filled her vision as she stood at the counter, lost in thought. The cold eyes still haunted her, though she refused to allow thoughts of them to penetrate her mind while she was awake. The warmth of his fingers still seemed to linger on the skin of her arm.

  Lukas.

  The name brought something to the surface, something that she had not remembered during her conversation with Rausch. Perhaps the weight of what he was telling her had pushed it from her mind, but now, without his presence to fog her thoughts, she remembered clearly the pages of the diary she had pulled from the chest in the tower. Closing her eyes, she could see the flowing cursive behind her lids, the way it had morphed in the final pages and the name that had been scrawled in almost every sentence of those last few entries.

  “Lukas,” she whispered.

  Unaware that she had still been holding the fork aloft, a fresh piece of pie on its end, the sudden rush of air from behind her made her screech in surprise and send the food soaring, the clatter it made against the floor echoed through the kitchen, followed by another sound. It was not loud, but constant, a low moan piercing the silent air.

  Spinning in a circle, Sophie tried to discern where the sound was coming from, sure that someone was in the kitchen with her, but she was entirely alone.

  Or so I think, she thought.

  Abruptly, the wind ceased. Her heart raced and her hands shook, but she did not flee. Instead, she waited for a moment to gather her courage, balled her hands into fists, and spoke again.

  “Lukas.”

  More than a whisper, but tentative, the name echoed in the silence.

  As soon as the breath left her lips, she could feel pressure on her lungs. Her body felt compressed, pressed upon by a heavy weight. She gasped for air, clutching at her throat, but she could only suck tiny mouthfuls of precious oxygen into her body. Terror seized her then and tears welled in her eyes. Hot breath struck the back of her neck, hissing a violent whisper. It was not words, at least none that Sophie could discern, but a harsh sigh. The weight on her body intensified and flashes of white burst before her eyes.

  “Please,” she gasped. The word came out silent, no air remained to give it life.

  Just before she crumpled to the ground, she watched helplessly as the figure of a man approached her, his hands outstretched. He was crying out in a language she could not understand. As he spoke, the pressure vanished and air crashed into her body and she accepted it greedily, tasting life in every particle.

  Buckling under her own weight, her knees scraped the stone ground as she fell. With one hand still clutching her throat, her breath quivered as she inhaled. The man standing behind her was all but forgotten.

  “Stupid girl,” his hoarse voice met her ears. A cold hand gripped her upper arm, pulling her to her feet. She winced in pain.

  “Wh-” she started, but he held up his free hand in her face. His eyes were locked on hers, as they had been in the darkened corner of the breakfast room.

  “We do not speak here,” he growled, his thick accent difficult to understand. Sophie nodded, silently praying that he would loosen his grip on her.

  He led her from the kitchen, leaving the mess forgotten on the floor.

  She was not sure where he was taking her, not sure she wanted to find out, but the moment they passed the doorway to the dining room Aunt Marilyn called out her name. The man immediately released her arm and stepped away, leaving her to greet her aunt alone.

  “Hi,” she said, waving meekly, ignoring the pain his grip left under her skin. She did not dare shoot a glance over her shoulder.

  “Where have you been?” Aunt Marilyn panted, heaving a basket full of empty spools. “Do you mind?”

  Sophie stepped forward and grabbed the basket before they tumbled to the floor.

  “What are these for?” she asked, trying to guide her aunt toward the next room. A tiny sweep of her eyes told her the man had gone and she let out a relieved breath.

  Looking back toward Aunt Marilyn, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes. The sparkle that was so familiar had vanished, replaced by a dull green that her forced smile did not touch.

  “Oh,” she responded, rubbing her knuckles over her eyes, “something for Katie. I- um- I was supposed to find y-”, a huge yawn cut her off.

  Sophie reached forwards.

  “Auntie,” she said quietly, “why don't you go lie down? I'll find Katie, or Mom.”

  “Lie down? No, no, no. I'm alright. I'm fine. I think I just need something to eat. That should do the trick.”

  “Are you-”

  “I'm fine, Sophie.” Aunt Marilyn crossed her arms in front of her and turned to leave. Sophie hastened behind, balancing the basket on her hip. The tone of her aunt's voice did not invite further conversation, so they walked to the dining room in silence. Aunt Marilyn’s low-heeled shoes clacked against the cold floors. Despite the harshness in the noiseless corridors, the sound was comforting.

  “Is everyone eating?” Sophie asked, trying to make small talk.

  “Hm? Oh, no, I don't think so. They are all so busy with the plans, you know. I don't understand it, really. The wedding is not for another five days. What's the point of having it done this early?”

  “I thought that, too, but I guess she's just excited,” Sophie was glad her aunt was not angry with her, but could still hear the exhaustion in her voice.

  Once they reached the hall, she dropped the basket onto a table and took a moment to look around. The tables, having once been scattered throughout the room, were now organized three on each side of a wide dance floor. She moved to brush her fingers against the thin lace hanging from the front of the head table, admiring the tall vases surrounded by unlit candles. Long lines of glittering crystals hung from the ceiling, giving the room a starry ambiance and she noticed that the old fashioned sconces her mother so detested had been covered with sheer fabric, fastened with a thin length of rope.

  “Wow,” Sophie breathed. “This looks beautiful.”

  “Doesn't it?” Aunt Marilyn stood beside her, resting her hand on her forehead.
“It's hard to imagine we could have made this room any more spectacular than it already was, but I think we did it.”

  “Yes, I think you did too.”

  “I'm sure your mother said she would wait here for you,” Aunt Marilyn said. “She must have gotten impatient.”

  “Do you know what she wanted?”

  “No. Something about dresses. I can't remember.”

  Sophie watched with concern as Aunt Marilyn waved a hand through the air and closed her eyes. She swayed slightly on the spot, and Sophie reached out to seize her arms, afraid she might fall.

  “Are you sure you're okay?” Sophie asked.

  “Yes, yes,” the exhaustion in Aunt Marilyn's voice turned to frustration. “Why is everyone trying to coddle me? I am fine. Now, stop pestering me and let's go find your blasted mother.”

  Sophie's eyebrows raised in shock as she watched her normally even tempered aunt stomp through the doorway and out of sight. It took a minute before she could convince herself to follow, but she made up her mind to drop the subject until she felt it necessary to press the issue further. Nothing about Aunt Marilyn's bearing appeared fine, and worry had already begun to grow in Sophie's mind.

  They travelled the halls for nearly ten minutes before Aunt Marilyn threw her arms up in anger and stormed off, saying something about needing a drink. Sophie let her go without a word. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, and she was not keen on the idea of anyone trying to convince her to wear something other than what she had brought, so she hastened to the double doors near the now familiar patio. Sunlight came through the windows and she was hopeful that the weather would feel as warm and inviting as it looked.

  As she pulled the door open, the warm air stroked her face, bringing with it the scent of heated pine needles and freshly cut grass. The lure of the woods – of its musky, warm scent – was intoxicating and Sophie smiled in response. She had been waiting for the chance to escape, telling herself it was only to enjoy the sunshine. A small voice in her mind countered, reminding her of what, or who, might lie within the confines of the trees. She pushed the thought away and stepped into the light. Though it was shrouded by a thin haze, as usual, it still made her eyes burn and moisten.

  Her feet left imprints in the soft grass as she navigated through the courtyard and into the boundary of trees where the light was muted and dull. As the light faded, so did her confidence, every flutter of wings above her and rustle of wind in the branches sent her heart hammering in her chest. Though she was not sure what exactly she was afraid of, her body had taken over. The rich scent of heated brush and bark around her was heightened by the lack of fresh oxygen that encapsulated the underside of the treetops. She recognized the smell and let it soothe her, her fears calmed by the relaxing sound of the wind rustled leaves and her own muted footsteps.

  A foolish bravery seized her as she stepped over a fallen tree trunk. The trunk was familiar, though it could have been one of hundreds in the area. She thought she could remember stepping over it as she was being led home from her previous trip into the woods. The courage she felt was nothing more than pride at possibly knowing his secret, but without stopping to consider her actions, she spoke his name with a surprisingly solid voice.

  “Lukas?”

  Low, quiet, but loud enough to send a bird screaming overhead, the name felt foreign and unwelcome on her tongue. With lips pressed firmly together, she waited. No reply came. She kept walking. Her previous experience of losing her way flashed in her mind, causing her to pause mid-step. Glancing around, she thought she could still see the break in the trees where she had entered from the courtyard.

  “Maybe I need breadcrumbs,” she muttered to herself, turning around and contemplating whether or not to continue. The shadows shifted as the sun brightened above the cover of trees. Picking up a large stone, she took quick strides back to the fallen tree and placed it on top. It created a barely visible landmark, but it was better than nothing.

  Plodding on through the trees, brushing branches out of her way as she passed, she paused every so often to speak his name, only to be met with silence. It was not until she paused to re-tie her shoe that she felt an anxiety building in her chest. Her heart began to thud in her ears and every hair on her body prickled at an unseen stimulus. The feeling was becoming increasingly familiar.

  Whipping her head around, she scanned the area. The strange feeling was growing, as though whatever was causing it was coming nearer and nearer.

  “Hello?” she called quietly.

  With her breath coming in shallow heaves, she took a tentative step forward, turning her head in every direction. The expectation of a sudden attack played havoc on her nerves causing her to change her course and head back toward where she had come.

  It seemed that her body recognized her submission. Her heart began to slow and her breathing steadied. She continued on, not wanting to discover the source of her fear, when a low voice spoke from behind her.

  “Why are you here?”

  The anger coursing through the words bit through Sophie's skin like a blade and she froze on the spot, not even daring to turn. She forced her breath to remain calm, clenching her hands into fists.

  “I'm walking,” she answered, hoping the fear would not bleed into her voice.

  “You are not welcome,” the voice said, and Sophie heard the now familiar growl in its depths.

  Turning slowly, she looked up into the face of the man she had been looking for. At that moment she could not remember why she had ever wanted to see him again. He glared at her with such ferocity that she stepped back and raised her hands in front of her. Her short reply faded on her lips and she found herself apologizing.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “I just needed to get out.”

  The man eyed her with suspicion, observing her stance of surrender, and stepped back.

  “I warned you not to come back here.”

  “I- I know. I just-” she stammered, her words failing and her previous bravery crumbling into dust. “It's just… I was talking to someone, and he said he knew you.”

  The cold anger in Lukas's eyes was replaced with shock, but only for a fraction of a second. The suspicion returned and his voice was hard when he spoke.

  “There are none who know me.”

  Sophie did not want to argue – he looked so angry and spiteful – but she wanted to let him know that she had spoken to Rausch. Despite her reservations, she took a step forward.

  “Yes. His name is Rausch. He lives in the cast-” her words were cut short as a harsh breath burst from Lukas's lips and he loomed over her, his face fierce and terrifying.

  “I said it before,” he spat at her, “no one knows me.”

  His proximity stopped her breath and she could only nod, letting her eyes drop from his face to the rips in his faded shirt. His deep growl was frightening, but she refused to turn away. Instead, she changed the subject.

  “Why don't you have an accent?” she asked, not daring to look up into his eyes.

  “What?” The sudden change in his tone satisfied her, and she continued.

  “An accent. You know, like the others?”

  He did not answer her directly and she glanced up to see his face. His eyes were locked on a point above her head and his lips curved into a tiny smile. As she watched, he shook his head before glancing down, catching her eye before she twitched her gaze back to his chest.

  “I do not spend much of my time around others,” he said. “You need to leave here.”

  “Why?”

  “It is not a suitable place for a young woman to wander alone.”

  Her heart thudded in her chest, but she ignored it and pressed on.

  “No, I mean, why don't you spend time around others?”

  A low sigh brushed over the top of her hair. She did not have to look up to see the frustration on his face, it was written on every line of his body – in the way he stood completely rigid, his hands balled into fists. Something inside of her screamed cau
tion, but she waited in perfect silence for his answer.

  “Why are you here?” His voice had changed. The swelling anger had been replaced with a whine. It sounded like a resigned and confused admission of her presence.

  “My sister is getting married.”

  The answer sounded false, but she wanted to drive the conversation in a different direction. She wanted the anger in his eyes to fade. She wanted him to look at her.

  He did not reply. Stepping around her, he started to lead the way back to the castle, and Sophie forced her feet to follow. She stumbled to keep up, watching the way his feet barely dented the brush underneath.

  “Wait,” she panted. “Please.”

  He paused, but did not turn.

  “Is there something else?” His voice was quiet.

  “Please,” she said again, “please, I just wanted to tell you something.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “About Rausch. He saw you,” she hesitated, “well, not really. He saw me and assumed it was you beside me. He was happy. He thought you were-” she trailed off.

  Lukas's body had gone still, the wind rustling his dark hair.

  “Dead?”

  “I think-”

  “He was better off with those thoughts.”

  Saying nothing else, he began walking again, ignoring every one of Sophie’s pleas. By the time they reached the opening in the trees, she had stopped questioning and resumed the silence he so obviously desired. He stopped a few feet from where the sunlight touched the ground, turning his body to let her pass.

  “Um,” Sophie started, “thank you. Again.”

  He nodded once, keeping his gaze locked on the tall windows of the castle. His brow was furrowed, his jaw set, the dull crunch of grinding teeth coming from inside his cheeks. Sophie followed his gaze, noticing that behind the thick curtained windows stood a motionless, shadowed figure. A chill crept down her spine as she realized it was not the form of Rausch, who was much shorter, but the man that had seized her – and perhaps saved her – in the kitchen.