Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy)

by Ari Berk

  “Silas Umber, where did you get that ring?”

  It sounded more like an accusation than a question. Silas looked down, embarrassed at being examined, and pulled his hand back. But not wishing to seem rude, he reluctantly held the ring up to the light so Jonas might see it better. “My great-grandfather gave me this. I believe it was my father who gave it to him.”

  “That was a generous gift both times. Your great-grandfather, you say? You mean Augustus Howesman? Of course, from your mother’s long-lived side of the family,” Jonas said with a barely hidden sneer. “Very kind of him to return it to the Umbers. I am pleased that you’re wearing it. Such relics should remain in the family.”

  A cold light came from Jonas Umber’s eyes and his brow furrowed as if in intense concentration. Then he put his hands together and looked down at his own bare fingers. “Yes. It is well that you wear the ring your father kept and his father before him.” Silas could see that though he continued speaking, Jonas’s thoughts were now focused elsewhere. He looked at Silas with an expression of resolve. It was clear that he had set his mind to some action or other. “It was a fine day when your great-grandfather put that ring on your finger. A fine day, indeed. Such a beautiful stone . . . he must miss it terribly. But now, as the ring’s keeper, you will always remember his generosity, and his sacrifice.”

  Jonas’s voice had drawn into a low growl and Silas regretted telling him where the ring had come from. He thrust his hand into his coat pocket.

  Despite his tone, Jonas smiled broadly, then called into the open doorway from whence he’d entered. A man wearing a herald’s surcoat walked quickly into the hall. Jonas leaned over to the herald and whispered something into his ear. Silas couldn’t hear what Jones told him, but the man ran off, and a moment later that deep bellowing trumpet sounded again, very similar to the blast Silas had heard at the gate with his great-grandfather.

  As the sound faded, Silas noticed that Jonas and Maud were conferring in low tones. Still uncomfortable after the conversation about the ring, he stepped away several paces to give himself some space and appear polite. Acting the part of a guest, he pretended to take an interest in the carvings that adorned the wood paneling on all the walls. Jonas and Maud faded, and their forms became transparent. Silas could tell they were talking, but it was like watching a movie with the sound turned off. When he said their names in his mind, however, and closed his eyes, he could hear portions of what they were saying, as if he’d already heard their conversation a long time ago and was only now remembering. The longer he listened with his eyes closed, the clearer the conversation became.

  “Really, Jonas! Your haste . . . zeal . . . unwarranted . . . will regret it . . . fear . . . you harm who he loves, for . . . reason . . . turn away from us.”

  “Maud . . . must insist . . . let me see to things in my own way. I am trying to help him. You should know . . . and . . . if he passes through the fire, he may yet undo what the father has wrought upon . . .”

  The room went quiet, and suddenly self-conscious of his eavesdropping, Silas opened his eyes to see the two ghosts staring at him, their forms filling again with detail and presence.

  Perhaps realizing Silas had been trying to hear them, Maud said, “It’s all right, child. We were just talking about how everyone here, each in his or her own little way”—and she gave Jonas a sharp look—“is trying to help you . . . to welcome you. Ah! But here is more of the company!”

  Lines of relatives began filling the great chamber from the many open doorways that emptied into the hall. Their attire was as various as the architecture of the house. Some wore wool dresses and tunics like Maud’s and bore an aged countenance, patient and upright, their faces calm and pale as those of the carved caryatids adorning each side of the fireplace and supporting the mantel. There were some who wore doublets and bell-shaped gowns of rich velvet with collars of ermine or lace, their clothes stitched with patterns of pearls and jewels that glowed and glinted against the dark fabric like stars in their constellations. Some men on the far side of the hall wore open silk jackets revealing richly embroidered waistcoats. Gold buckles glinted from their shoes, and three-cornered hats sat jauntily atop their heads. Their female companions wore dresses so wide that they had to turn slightly to pass through the doorway into the hall. Others wore fitted jackets and dresses of the last century with high starched collars on the men, and the women’s dresses gathered up into large bustles, their collars buttoned up tightly against their necks. The ghosts of his relations filled the hall, and the closer Silas gazed, the more varied the clothes became: robes of rich silks, turbans set with gems and feathers. And scattered here and there throughout the hall now, standing a little apart from the others, were people wearing long robes of heavy fabric, with great hoods that, if drawn up, would swallow their heads entirely. Thick gold chains of office hung across their chests and shoulders. They never took their eyes off Silas.

  “Here is your family,” said Jonas with pride. “In time, you may come to know them all, though it is not likely. Some are more ‘present’ than others. You will understand what I mean.” Slowly, the crowd began to move past Silas. Some bowed slightly, some looked him up and down, one or two turned up their noses, others seemed not to see him at all. Some reached out their hands to him, but as Silas stepped toward them, they fell away from the company, drifting back to their own particular zones of the house, Silas guessed. Most merely spoke quiet words of welcome as they approached, then swiftly vanished.

  “There are so many folk filling the hallways and hidden chambers of this mighty house. They are your family, Silas. Every last one of them! This is not nearly all. You’ll meet more at the feast. Even the most ancient corners and towers are full-filled with relations. Some have ‘retired’ and no longer attend family functions because of forgetfulness or willfulness. Others are merely bound up in their own affairs and explorations. A few find that a more predictable schedule suits them, and even helps. So we dine regularly.”

  Jonas looked around, moving his eyes from one end of the hall to the other, trying to find someone or something.

  “What is this? When are we? What season? Where is the contingent from the summer house?” Jonas asked.

  “The cousins have not yet appeared. But soon, I think,” said Maud. “You remember . . . they no longer enter the house.”

  “Yes. Then word should be sent to them. All must know Silas is in residence and must know him on sight. I want no misunderstandings or accidents.”

  “What do you mean?” Silas asked, not liking the word “accidents.”

  “Some of the family are more territorial than others,” replied Jonas, scanning the throng.

  “Don’t worry,” said Maud, answering them both. “I shall keep a good eye on our Silas.”

  “All right, then.” Jonas’s voice became a trumpet, filling the great chamber with its call. “Let us embrace our relative, Silas Umber! Let him be welcome here! Let him find peace within this place! Let him rise nobly to his most hallowed office! May the work of the family continue!”

  From all about the room, cheers and cries of welcome went up.

  “Yes,” Jonas continued. “Be welcome, Silas Umber. And may the Door Doom, so long abandoned, now continue in its ancient and accustomed business.”

  This received a mixed endorsement from the crowd. At the mention of the “Door Doom,” many of the relatives began to exit the room, continuing their welcomes to Silas by waving behind them as they departed from the great hall. Jonas bowed to Maud and Silas, saying he’d return later to familiarize Silas with various family affairs and other needful matters. A moment later, Silas and Maud were alone again in the great hall.

  “Maud, have I been called to here to fulfill some obligation? To take part in this Door Doom? I think I’d like to know what is expected of me.”

  “Silas, as I’ve said, such matters will be discussed in due course. Patience. Let all things reside in their appointed season. Besides, Jonas is particula
rly looking forward to discussing it all with you. Let’s not deny him the pleasure.”

  “But I didn’t get the impression he was very glad to see me for some reason. Did my coming here upset him?”

  “Not at all. I think he was just surprised. You are very young. That is unusual. In Jonas’s time, the Undertakers would come to Arvale much later in their lives. But times change, do they not? We are all very happy you have come, I promise you.”

  Silas was willing to play it their way. He looked about the hall, but Maud pulled his attention back. “You are moving rapidly through the spheres, nephew. You only recently became Undertaker. How goes your work?”

  “I think I am doing well. Probably it’s best that I just keep pressing on. It’s what might happen if I take time to stop and think that worries me.”

  “You are wise, I think, in that. Alive or dead, I’ve always preferred an active existence, a daily regimen.”

  They circled the room and approached the front door.

  There was more to this simple conversation than the words they were exchanging. Silas could tell that she wanted things between them to be pleasant and for him to trust her, and he could sense that she had a reason for asking him about his work. She wanted something from him. He didn’t like being scrutinized or set up. If she wanted something, she should just say it.

  To push the focus from himself, Silas pointed to a cloth-hidden chair, prominently located near the door.

  “What’s this?”

  “Furniture,” she replied flatly, moving away, trying to draw him away with her.

  Silas didn’t move. “Why is it covered?”

  “It is an ancient thing. You’ll find this house is full of relics.”

  Maud’s tone had grown taut. Silas could tell he’d stumbled on something interesting.

  “Everything in this house is old,” Silas said, “so why is this particular chair covered?”

  “I would like to tell you more about it, but I think, just yet, the others wouldn’t approve. Not everyone has as much faith in you as I do. Leave it be for now. You’ll see it soon enough, I promise you. There is nothing in this house that can’t be yours if you just show a little patience and perhaps a bit of restraint. This is not for you, at this time. Not yet.”

  But Silas couldn’t let it go, now that his curiosity had been aroused. “Why all the secrecy about an old chair?” Maud had already begun walking toward the far end of the hall.

  “Now, where has Lars gotten to?” Maud called out, changing the subject, gesturing for Silas to follow her. She drew up a little silver bell that hung from a cord about her waist and shook it. Lars, who had been waiting just beyond the archway, looked in.

  “Lars, perhaps it is time to allow our guest to take his rest?”

  Lars nodded.

  “Yes. A little rest would be much appreciated, “ Silas said to Maud very politely. But to himself he thought, I’m not on my home turf. Family and familiarity are not the same. I am a traveler. I must abide by the local customs and let it be for now.

  Led by Lars, Silas and Maud walked to the arch before the hallway where the stairs could be seen. Cool air came through the archway, and the smell of dust and mold and wood filled his nostrils as he breathed. He wondered how long his family had occupied this house. Then a thought came to him. “Aunt Maud?” Silas tried out the title, which somehow, considering their distance in the family tree, seemed appropriate.

  “Yes?” Maud smiled at the cordial, familial term.

  “Do any of my more recent relatives reside in this house? Is my grandfather about somewhere?”

  “He is not, Silas. He preferred a quiet afterlife, and soon took the waters and went the way of Peace. His last years were difficult, and he wished only for rest. He made the decision himself, and was under no compulsion.”

  Silas nodded. There was brightness upon her face as she spoke. Her words rang true. Slowly, without looking up, he asked, “Is my father among the company of this house?”

  “No,” said Maud, looking back at the door. “Your father is not presently within this house. As you know, in life he often insisted on his own way. He was no different in death.”

  Silas’s heart began to race at her words. Could he find his father again, even in death? He had imagined that Amos had simply gone to his rest after a troubled and tragic life. Their last meeting in the bell tower in the Narrows had been calm and loving. There had been no mention of shadowlands or wandering. Now Silas began to feel, with a strange hopefulness, that he and his father might meet again.

  “Do you mean he was here? Where did he go?”

  “He used to come to Arvale regularly until he broke with many of our customs. He was very proud, you see. He made a perfunctory visit after his demise, but followed his own path, leaving us here to . . . our own business. I cannot say where his business might have taken him, only that he was, it seemed, under obligations that would not allow him to remain among us.”

  “When was he here, exactly?” Silas asked, his voice growing desperate. He could see Maud was becoming uncomfortable again. The details of her face began to darken and blur. She was slowly drifting away from him.

  “Silas, the nature of my existence does not lend itself to exactitude where time is concerned. I believe your father was here very recently. He did not enter the house, however. I doubt he ever shall again. He made it very clear that Arvale was our place, not his.” Maud’s voice grew bitter and she looked away from the door as if it hurt her eyes.

  Lars shifted impatiently from foot to foot.

  “Normally, Silas, those who come to this house must find their own way. But I’ve had rooms put at your disposal very close to the hall. That way, there will be less chance of getting lost. I hope you will be comfortable. Lars will take you now.” She turned to Lars and added, “Please stay close to him, will you?”

  Lars nodded in agreement, but did not look Maud in the eyes.

  “Rooms? That sounds lovely. Thank you,” Silas said. “But I wasn’t planning on staying here long enough to require ‘rooms.’ ”

  Somewhere past one of the smaller doorways, a light laughter broke out among some lingering members of the family, who hadn’t yet faded back into their accustomed regions.

  Maud waved her hand dismissively and looked at Silas. “Silas, you may stay as long as you want. You are not a prisoner here. You are free to come and go.” She glanced quickly at Lars who, for the briefest instant, looked wistful. “Lars can show you something of the house. Let me say this to you, however. Now that you are here, the traditions of the house must be met. It would be unwise to attempt departure before you have undergone the initiations into your appointed place. By coming here, you are now subject to the laws of this house and certain . . . obligations must now be met.”

  “Can you just tell me if—”

  “It would be better for you to rest before we discuss anything further. You have come a long way, farther than you know. Let us leave any questions for another time. Settle in. Be comforted by the presence of your kin. Prepare yourself.”

  “For what precisely?”

  “Lars!” Maud said, apparently finished with the conversation, pulling him from his wandering thoughts. “Please show Silas to his rooms.” She turned back to Silas. “Dinner is at ten, by custom. Return to the hall at that time and you shall know something more of this place and its dependents. Do not be late. A moment beyond the appointed hour and I cannot be responsible for where, or in what company, you may find yourself.”

  LEDGER

  In my Father’s house are many dwelling places:

  if it were not so, I wolde have told you:

  I go to prepare a place for you.

  —JOHN, 14.2 (UNDERLINED IN RED INK ON A PAGE TORN FROM A COPY OF THE GENEVA BIBLE, 1560)

  LARS AND SILAS LEFT THE HALL and climbed a staircase bearing massive carved newel posts in the shapes of standing lions, their paws clawing at the air. When they reached the landing, a short hallway lay befor
e them, lit with candles in bronze sconces. Lars kept saying, as though it were a hope and not a fact, “Almost there, at your rooms! Your rooms should be just ahead. Yes. We are almost to your rooms.”

  Did he need to repeat it for some special reason? Silas remembered the first time he went into the shadowlands. He had needed to focus his mind on where he wanted to go. Was this the same? Did the house contort and alter its topography to accommodate the travelers of its halls and corridors? If so, what kind of a shadowland was this?

  And there was to be a dinner. This made Silas mildly uneasy—it meant there would be food he would be expected to eat. Otherworldly food was often taboo. But this was a complicated matter. In some cases, the injunction against eating was severe, but only because it then bound one to the otherworld in some way. But as an Undertaker, Silas was already bound to the otherworld. Indeed, his job was to traverse it. So for Silas, the rules were different. He had to judge each shadowland individually. In one that he knew of, the Peony Lantern Teahouse, eating meant forgetting, very dangerous even for an Undertaker. Yet here at Arvale, Silas surmised, eating from the ancestral table represented obligation, respect, and perhaps in some way embodied another aspect of his initiation into the family mysteries.

  Just as Silas came to the conclusion that he would eat what was offered to him, he arrived at the end of the hall. The architecture made the breath catch in his throat.

  That was his door.

  He was now, in Arvale, standing before the door to his house back home.

  As they approached, he could even see the word “ARVALE” scratched into the wood as it had been just before he’d left.

  “Here we are!” said Lars with visible relief, oblivious to Silas’s mounting confusion.

  Silas backed up. “What is this?” he gasped.

  “Your rooms,” said Lars, unsure of what was wrong.