Domini Mortum

by Paul Holbrook

  I moved my head to look around me and saw that I was not alone. I was in a large room of red-painted brick and around the room, lining the walls, stood men in golden cowls. A few yards away from me stood a plinth similar to the one I lay on. There was another person laid on that altar, but they were covered in a black silk sheet; from the shape and size I guessed it to be a woman. By the wall, past where my feet were bound, were two large chairs; they too were covered in black silk, and they were at present empty.

  My arms and chest burned as if stuck with a thousand needles and I looked down at myself as best I could. The top part of my body had been shaved and I only wore a pair of short grey trousers which came to the knee. It was not my state of undress that most shocked me, however; far from it. It was what covered the skin of my chest and arms; for, as with the women who’d lain nailed to the floor in Boston Place, my skin had been carved: neat intricate cuts of many shapes and sizes. There were spirals and circles, triangles and lettering; carvings of such detail that they reminded me of the hieroglyphics that I had once seen on a visit to the British Museum soon after my arrival in London. There were other symbols there too which were similar to Chinese writing: swooping arcs and carefully placed dots, each marked in my own blood on my skin. It would seem that the whole of the upper half of my body was covered in the marks. I was reminded of the last time that I had visited the circus, where I had seen a man tattooed from head to toe. I was not covered in ink, however, but in cuts that would become scars – if I were to live beyond this point.

  The heavy perfume of opium hung in the air, its smoke cloying and grabbing at my senses, desperately trying to enter my body and spread further confusion. I coughed and spluttered in an attempt to free myself from it but could not fight and it numbed my mind, painting pictures in front of my eyes, corrupting my thoughts.

  I called out to the men standing around the room – desperate, pleading words – but they stood like marble sentinels, waiting. Their faces remained impassive, despite the cries and insults that I screamed at them.

  Suddenly I was aware of another presence in the room, of someone appearing at my side. It was the man Mávnos. He was dressed in a long golden tunic marked with bright silver and red decoration; there were patches of patterned fur upon his shoulders and large black feathers woven into his bright white hair. He smiled down at me.

  ‘Soon,’ he mouthed.

  The sound of a door opening behind my head made me aware that someone else had entered. They walked past me and took their place on one of the silk-draped chairs; it was Falconer. He too was dressed in ceremonial robes, brightly decorated and beautifully sewn; he looked every bit a king.

  I called to him, but he too did not respond. This moment was too important for petty squabbles now; he was too close to achieving his dream, I thought.

  Finally, Falconer stood and spoke to the room.

  ‘Loyal guardians, men of Dolor, Domini Mortum; we have come to this place tonight to bring death and rebirth. The death will be of this man, chosen for his task and providing us with the organ of life. Yet death is not the end; death is never the end. He will give to us but he will live on; he will provide, and continue to give, for his work here has only just begun. Stubborn and unconforming he may be, but in the end he will follow the path set for him.’

  As he spoke the cowled men around the room nodded their heads in deference. Their master spoke and they listened like children, awestruck and full of wonder at their great work.

  ‘And by his side,’ he continued, ‘here lies our Queen, soon to be reborn in this world through the gift of life, given gladly.’

  At the stroke of Falconer’s hand, a man stepped forward from the wall and took hold of the black sheet covering the woman. With a sharp tug, it fell from her and she was revealed to me.

  It was Alice.

  I screamed then. I screamed in pain and in anger. I cried and howled, cursed and struggled, but to no avail.

  Alice’s head turned towards me. She was in a drugged state, her eyes milky and glazed, unable to fully focus. I saw that she was not bound to the altar and I called out her name, hoping to draw her out from her daze, to spur her into action, but it was not to be. Her mouth began to move, a hoarse whisper as she tried to form words, but such was her state that I recognised only one utterance before her eyes closed and she was lost to me: ‘Benjamin.’

  I began to shout again, pulling at my restraints, desperately trying to free myself to save us both, but the straps holding me down had no give in them. It was over for us.

  Mávnos smiled beside me and brought his dagger into view. It was long and sharp, curved and wicked, and held above my chest. He began to chant under his breath; words that I did not understand in a harsh clicking tongue that I had not heard before.

  ‘We are entering a new age!’ said Falconer, his arms spread wide. ‘An age where our Queen, Louhi, will take control once more! And what better way to bring Louhi to the world and begin her journey back to power than by giving her the black heart of the killer who loved her host. It is almost poetic. Master Mávnos, bring it out!’

  I did not feel the blade enter my chest. I did not feel the slice as it opened me up, nor the hand of Mávnos as he reached inside and clasped my heart within his hand. When he withdrew it from my body I only felt a slight tug as it came free; I saw it beating in his hand and I screamed, I screamed until my voice was hoarse and my lungs could breathe no more; I screamed until death took me, finally.

  17

  And in the End

  Darkness.

  At first I wondered whether all of those stories that Father expounded were true: whether there was indeed a heaven and hell, and I had been sent to the eternal damnation of the latter. It was as my eyes became accustomed to what little light there was, that I realised this was not hell as anyone would imagine it to be, but that I was indeed back in my cell at Surrenden Manor where I was laid upon the cot bed.

  My hands reached up and carefully touched my arms, and the scars carved upon them, symbols which I was now destined to keep. It was as I felt my chest, though, that I came across the wound left by Mávnos where he had cut into me with his blade. There was a line running down from the base of my throat to my navel, a line which had been stitched together with coarse thread. The skin had been joined again and would, in time, repair itself until only a long scar remained.

  But what of my heart? Did I not see it pulled from my body and held up above me? I was sure that I did, or perhaps it was just the opium affecting my senses and fooling my eyes. My right hand settled on my chest in an attempt to feel the gentle and steady beat of my heart, surely still within me. There was no such sensation. I moved my hand desperately to the left and then back to the right of my chest, but I could feel no rhythm. I felt down my arm, to my wrist, touching it with my fingertips for sign of a pulse; there was none. Finally I touched at my throat: it was cold, no precious blood flowing through it from my heart, for the heart was no longer there.

  How could this be possible? How could I still live? I thought on the Golden Woman; if Mávnos could summon life from inanimate gold, then what was skin and bone to such a magician? It would be child’s play.

  I tried to sit up, but my body felt numb, without strength, immobile. So this was indeed hell; trapped in a lifeless body for all eternity. I lay and stared at the darkness of the ceiling, trying to sit up every now and then; until slowly, over a period so long I cannot give it a value, movement returned to me.

  I raised myself slowly, my body stiff – as stiff as a corpse, I thought. The darkness in the room remained and there was no sound of life outside, no voices or footsteps; I had been put in the cell and abandoned. Over the next few hours I managed to stand and finally to walk, although I would have resembled a newborn foal to anyone willing to watch.

  Still no one came.

  My movements became more fluid, less rigid and forced, and I found myself returning to some kind of normality. Why had I been left here? Where were Falco
ner and Mávnos, come to view their new creation? I was alone here; left to die perhaps, although I knew that my time of death had passed.

  I do not know how long I remained there. I did not hunger nor thirst; what use is food and water to a dead man? It would matter not if the air ran out in my cell; what use was air to a man who did not need to breathe? I was in limbo.

  After a period of time too long to count, I heard footsteps approach. Bolts were pulled open and the door pulled wide, letting in a shaft of cold yellow light.

  A figure appeared in the doorway.

  His face was still in darkness and I leaned forwards to see him, thereby illuminating my own face.

  ‘Good Lord, Samuel Weaver. I thought you were a dead man!’ exclaimed Inspector Langton, as he rushed forwards and took me by the arms, helping me to my feet.

  ‘How the devil have you survived in here for so long – and what has happened to your arms? Your chest? You look like they certainly put you through the ringer.’

  ‘It is a long story, Inspector, and one which I will tell gladly, but first please tell me, how long have I been shut away?’

  He stood back from me for a moment and looked me up and down.

  ‘You mean you do not know? Gods, man, it has been nearly two months since you sent me that message and came to Surrenden. The house has stood empty for most of that time.’

  ‘Empty?’

  ‘Yes, sir. When I received your note I gathered as many men as I could and we travelled down in force to come and assist you. From your files, and the notes left by Abe Thomas, I knew that I would have enough to seek a warrant to search the place, although it proved a hard job finding someone not in Falconer’s pay who was willing to provide one. By the time we had the means to come, they had got wind of our arrival and cleared out in a great hurry. We did not get here until late the next day, after your note. When we arrived, the house had been abandoned and there was no one left. Well, no one except you it seems.

  ‘It worried me that we had never found you, either alive or dead. I have been coming back here as often as I can to search the house. I saw in your notes how there were many hidden and secret passageways within the house. I hoped to be able to find you in one; but I never expected to find you alive. How did you do it, man?’

  I thought for a moment. So Falconer had fled, forced to leave me behind. How that must have galled him! It would seem that a role as his new weapon would not be mine after all. There was, however, the small matter of my death. Now was probably not the best time to announce my demise to Langton; would there ever be a good time?

  ‘I was left with a store of food – not much, but it has kept me going. Tell me where is Falconer? Was he caught?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. He is long gone, last seen boarding a ship at Southampton and heading to New York in the company of a young woman and a short, white-haired man. His Cavendish Square house has been cleared out too – it is an empty shell. No one saw them leave, of course. Many others have disappeared also, high-up, prominent figures; you would be surprised at who was involved in their operation.’

  ‘Oh, it would take a lot to shock me,’ I said, allowing myself a smile. ‘Tell me, did the verger, Mr Williams, come through?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mr Weaver. He was found dead in the church, his throat cut.’

  The anger within me burned but I did not show it. There would be a time in the future to take revenge, but it was not now. The amiable George Langton led me from my cell and, after suitable clothing was found to cover my scars, I was taken back to London.

  ***

  It has been three years since the events at Surrenden Manor and my death and rebirth. In that time much has happened. I have returned to York, to the Rectory, where I now live with Mrs Coleman, Mr Morgan, my mother and you, Benjamin. I have written these words above, so that you may know the truth about how you came to live here, and of how your sister disappeared from our lives. As you now know, her body still lives, out there somewhere, but it is just a shell: your sister does not exist within this world.

  As you know, my father’s estate is now in my hands and, in the future, it will be yours to own; when this future is, I shall tell you shortly. You are growing up into a brave young man. You have dealt with the wound inflicted upon you on that terrible day in Amberley Road with great grace and courage, and it has not stopped you from developing into a bright and intelligent boy. When I told you that your sister had disappeared and was lost to us, you kept a firm face and did not cry. This is why I have trusted you with my secrets; this is why you must now know what became of our dear Alice.

  I hope that you will understand the things that I have done and will not think ill of me. A man could have no finer son than you – and I am proud to call you such. Mrs Coleman and Mr Morgan think dearly of you and they will always be there to protect you, as they did with me. My mother, in her own way, thinks greatly of you also; and, although she lives a solitary life, I know that she watches you in the gardens from her window and takes joy in seeing you flourish.

  My body is beginning to fail me, Benjamin. I have felt it coming for some time. The time of my death has long since passed. My body, once kept alive by dark magic, is starting to decay and I fear that soon I will be able to hide it no longer. My limbs are wrapped with bandages to hold them together and, despite the quantities of cologne in which I douse myself, the stench of death grows ever stronger about me.

  It is for this reason that I will be leaving our house, never to return. I have made arrangements with my solicitor to pass all of the estate over to you upon your eighteenth birthday, and until that time you will remain under the legal care of Mrs Coleman and Mr Morgan. I am glad to say that your future wealth is as secure as I can possibly make it. The sales of my book about the Dolorian Fellowship are strong and should provide you with a steady income for the foreseeable future.

  I do not mean to return, but I have a goal in mind. Somewhere out in the world there are three people whom I must find.

  One is a man who I once called my friend, but who turned out to be my most terrible adversary.

  The second, a woman whom I once loved, but who is now lost, her body inhabited by a most horrifying danger to the world.

  And the third is the man who holds the power to keep my own long-dead body alive to me.

  I doubt I shall return to stain your life any further; I have always been a curse on those around me and now I must suffer the consequences of my mistakes.

  As I said to you at the beginning of my story, there is no heaven and there is no hell, not in the sense that all God-fearing men and women upon this earth believe. However, we all make choices in our lives and we all must pay for our actions.

  There is goodness and glory, as well as sin and defeat; I made choices, many of them bad, but towards the end I think I made the right ones and stood against what I saw as evil in the world.

  Yet we are judged by fate and it seems that my wrongs outweigh my rights, and I must live in penance and suffering for the rest of my days.

  However long that may be.

  For death is not the end.

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