by P. Clinen
Deadsol, possessed as he was by a self-righteous ramble, had provided more of an irritation to Bordeaux’s frazzled mind than any manner of support and he prattled endlessly. “To relax, Bordeaux. That is what one needs! Oh yes, my yes, I know, oh! Let matters deal with themselves, I say, or better yet! Let us let Libra deal with it! But no! Stupid fool that I am to suggest the very idea, that idea that she would take action!”
“You will do well to follow quietly,” said Bordeaux. “Your joining me was by no means compulsory.”
“Always trying to be rid of poor Deadsol! You are lucky I am so patient, B.”
Bordeaux paused before the great oak doors of the library, “Maybe you are right, Deadsol. Maybe you are the patient one.”
They entered the library and stood a moment near the door. Rows of shelves loomed around them, from which innumerable books stared silently. The smell of literature lingered, clinging tenaciously to the air with its mustiness. Faded leather wings hugging dried pages and ink, these books perched themselves on their shelves as the three apparitions moved towards a light glowing faintly in the heart of the aviary-like library.
Madlyn hung near the entrance, still able to discern all conversation in the echoes of the room. A far corner of the room established itself as a small sitting area, where a fireplace roared with life and flung shadows of book towers across the carpet.
It was there that the mummified zombie, Rune, had ensconced on the floor and stared absently into the flames. Enveloped in gauze, he displayed the patience of his age through his quiet hours of reading. Rune was the eldest remaining resident of Tenebrae Manor and after several centuries of restless wandering, he had settled for a life of researching the history of the mansion and its surroundings. His jaw hung listlessly open at all times, as though it were tired of conversing with that upper row of yellowed teeth. Above his gaping maw, betwixt rows of bandages, two yellow eyes peered from a decayed blackness.
There he sat, legs crossed and ignorant to the company behind him and yet once their presence was made clear; namely by Comets prodding at the mummy’s arm, he showed signs more akin to annoyance than fright. His head turned about its axis and seemed to slowly consider his intruders.
“Is that Bordeaux and Deadsol?” he croaked in a strained voice.
“The very same, Rune,” replied Bordeaux. “Well met, my friend.”
The mummy rose to his feet, rising higher and higher until he towered over them all. He was a creature of great lank, pushing towards eight feet in height, his arms hung low beside him, reaching the knees of his spindly legs. With a considerable delay, Rune limply shook the hands of both Bordeaux and Deadsol.
“I have not had a visitor in some time,” he said. “Yet something tells me that this is more than a casual meeting.”
“You are not wrong in that assumption, Rune,” said Bordeaux. “We come with a request for information most critical. The very livelihood of Tenebrae Manor depends on it.”
Rune scratched his head absently, though he was not wrestling with the words of Bordeaux but rather the actions of the jester Comets, who was making a nuisance of himself about the library.
“Comets!” barked Deadsol.
Comets leapt upon the shelves as swift as a simian and with unmatched zeal, began to fling unfortunate tomes about the floor. The fluttering of the soaring pages contradicted the dull thud of book spine upon carpet, as birds of printed words, stitched and bound, crash-landed upon the floor.
"Must the young boy do that?" said Rune.
"Comets, you rascal! Descend from your perch at once, good citizen!" Deadsol ordered.
The jester made several unmentionable gestures of ribald obscenity before obeying the command of his friend, stamping down onto the ground and jumping on the spot repeatedly. He muttered an incomprehensible curse and scratched crudely at his rear. Rune was visibly peeved at the actions of the imp; though his body was old he showed no apathy in reprimanding the lad with a swift clap across the head. Comets slurred dizzily as the bells of his cap jingled.
"These books are all that connects Tenebrae to the world beyond the night! One would do well to treat them with respect."
Comets wasn’t listening but had calmed down significantly now that the others were paying attention to him.
Rune turned back to Bordeaux. “My friend, I have lived here for centuries. I remember your arrival to this place like it was yesterday. You know that I have devoted the long years of my afterlife to researching the history of not only Tenebrae but also the entire world! If there is some threat to my old home, I will do all I can to bring my knowledge forward in assistance.”
He rung his hands passionately, causing the bandages swathed about his limbs to rustle softly.
“Then please, divulge all that you know about Wood Golems.”
“Wood Golems?”
There was a hush amongst them. For Rune, it was an air of perplexity that plagued his mindset. Bordeaux was pressed with grave concern and, in the shadows, Madlyn gasped with fascination. She had climbed a nearby shelf and crouched behind dust-coated tomes so she was able to look down at the others. The ceiling was within her reach, pinning her somewhat between shelf and roof, amongst the decades of dust that irritated her nose. Madlyn fought back the urge to sneeze and continued to observe Bordeaux with her bulbous eyes.
“Wood Golems, you say?” repeated Rune, “Well for one, I know that they can be quite deadly if you give them a chance. But what possible threat could they pose to us?”
“My friend, I found one trying to destroy the walls of the house. I was then attacked by the creature and was startled by its aggression.”
“It was destroying the house?” said Rune.
“I kid you not and their increased numbers throughout the forest lead me to believe that there is something very wrong. We must act fast, lest they destroy the foundations of our home and it collapses.”
“They have removed a certain joie de vivre from our lives,” chimed in Deadsol eloquently.
In the meantime, Rune had produced a stepladder and propped it against a shelf. It was a shelf not unlike any of the others, though it was seemingly obvious that the zombie knew what he was searching for. His knees trembled under the weight of the monstrous book that he had slid from a high shelf. It was a mammoth thing of brown leather, precariously balancing on the shoulder of the now top heavy Rune, who presently fell from the ladder with the book landing heavily next to him.
Bordeaux rushed to help the old citizen to his feet but was waved away and soon Rune had arduously returned to his feet with the book in his arms pulling him floor-bound like a sack of flour. He stifled a grunt and plopped the huge book onto a table and ran his fingers across the cover.
“Wood. Golems.” he said strenuously.
The book fell open at a random page but again, Rune seemed to know exactly where he had turned.
“An ancient monster to be sure,” he began. “Although only recent to this area. They are born of the Black Rose Tree - an archaic magic in the form of a mighty tree. It says here that Wood Golems sprout up around its roots like shrubbery, before they are ripped from the ground with noose-like vines of the host tree. They are endowed with life from that moment.”
“Well yes, all well and good to know where they come from…” bustled Deadsol impatiently.
Rune ignored Deadsol’s impropriety and continued. “The host tree is said to sprout beautiful roses upon skeletal branches, black as onyx. The entire effect is very pleasing to the eyes; the Black Rose Tree is both stunning and deadly. It is known to strangle intruders from its mighty branches and display them as ornamental warnings to any foolish enough to venture near it.”
“Interesting,” said Bordeaux.
“Indeed,” replied Rune. “I had always known Wood Golems to be very territorial but they rarely venture past the boundaries surrounding the black Rose Tree. The host tree feeds the golems with the hearts of intruders. This is very much a perplexing conundrum.”
“Perhaps their revolt is something territorial,” suggested Deadsol. “I don’t know why Tenebrae Manor is in their line of fire but perhaps, perhaps, perhaps fire! Of course!”
“What are you on about, Deadsol?” sighed Bordeaux.
“Why B, we could set them all on fire! That would be rid of them!”
“Unwise,” said Rune. “While such a move would surely exterminate their excess numbers, what of us? What would become of us all if Tenebrae Manor went up in flames? The risk is too great.”
“But the destruction, oh what fun!” cackled Deadsol.
“Be quiet, Deadsol,” said Bordeaux. “Rune, might I borrow this book from you? Perhaps further reading will reveal some clues and offer a path to solution.”
Rune grunted hesitantly. “Normally, I would not lend my books to anybody. But for you Bordeaux, I will allow it this once. You are far more level headed than the other rabble rousers in this manor.”
All eyes turned to Comets, who was tearing pages from an unfortunate novel and eating them.
“Rune, I apologise profusely for the actions of my little friend here. I assure you that your book is safe with me.”
As Rune accompanied them to the exit, Madlyn fell from the top shelf with a squeal and hit the floor forcefully. She winced through her teeth and clasped at her elbow, which had born the brunt of her weight in the fall. She was mostly unhurt and fortunately remained unnoticed by the others. Her mind swam with the promise of great beauty. There were more black roses out there. She could get another to impress Bordeaux! If only she could find the courage to give him the one she had already!
Rune sighed. “Bordeaux, you and I have lived here so long, I can tell you this; never have I felt so uneasy about the future. Libra, lovely girl I am sure but she lacks a certain something that has left me apprehensive.”
“I know,” replied Bordeaux. “She does not fill me with confidence but what choice do we have? She is untouchable. Her magical skills have spiked so much recently, who is there to challenge her leadership?”
Deadsol shook his head, “Tut-tut, if only Malistorm were still around.”
“Yes well there is little benefit in dwelling on his disappearance,” said Bordeaux. “I hold the belief that he simply ran away to pursue other things. That said; he was a fine leader.”
“Could the loyal Bordeaux finally be showing a little rebellion towards our lovely Lady?” taunted Deadsol.
“I will stand firm to whoever reigns Tenebrae. For the good of the manor, for the retention of our seclusion from the outside world.”
“Malistorm was the best we ever had.” Rune was reminiscing and had not followed the conversation. Next to them, Comets sung softly to himself,
Deep in the forest
Where all is still,
The wood golem lurks
Against its will.
Endowed with life
By some magical curse
And ripped from the ground
By a noose made it worse!
Wandering restless
And instilling fear,
It isn’t quite certain
Just why it’s here!
They hide in the fog
And emit chilling grunts.
They’ll devour the hearts
Of lost folk they confront.
It doesn’t know better,
So don’t blame this creep.
All that it wants
Is to go back to sleep.
The poem, eloquent in its form, confused the listeners who had just witnessed unruly ribaldry from Comets not moments earlier.
“Very nice, young man,” said Rune. “If only your manners were as graceful as your poetry.”
Comets ignored him.
“I would love very much to hear from you, Bordeaux. Should you require anymore assistance…”
“Of course,” replied Bordeaux.
Their footsteps echoed in the hallways and Madlyn was able to disguise her own as just another echo. Bordeaux clutched the great tome under his arm, his other hand clasped at his crestfallen chin, his eyes locked on the ground with an expression of repressed turmoil. Comets and Deadsol were many metres ahead of him, prancing whimsically through the gloom. Madlyn capitalised on her chance and ran up to Bordeaux, tapping him on the shoulder. He stopped and turned.
“Madlyn?”
Without a word, she held the brooch before him in both hands. Her knees quivered as fast as her heart, which raced like a butterfly.
Bordeaux stared at the black rose brooch and took it in his hands. Madlyn hid a smile behind her emaciated hand and turned her head from him.
“What is?” began Bordeaux, unsure of how to finish his sentence.
What is this? What is the meaning of this? From where did you appear? Is this a present for me? But before he was able to elaborate with any form of question, Madlyn had run off into the distance, pushing past Deadsol and Comets.
Bordeaux stood nonplussed, gazing into the black, the book under one arm and the beautiful brooch in the other. From the darkled hallways there drifted the sound of Madlyn’s nervous laughter.
14: Libra’s Dream
She travelled an obscure route, hidden from waking consciousness. A path concealed by sweeping branches draping moribund in the haze of narcosis. The mountain of sheets that covered her twitched and reformed in reaction to her weighted but steady breathing and conjured up frightful visions of a living crag overwhelming in its girth.
Libra's face glowed amongst the mess of dark linen - a moon and sky fallen from the heavens laying lethargic on the bed. A convulsion of her eyelid, lasting only a second, belayed how deep her slumber was. Between her softened cheeks, her lips had set in that smile of content; the smile that covered her ignorance - be it intentional or no, to the chaos that was going on about the manor she claimed as her own.
In her mind's eye she recalled the life preceding luxury. It appeared to her in flashes, vignettes of times past that were vital to the plot of her life's outcome. It always began at the same point, her memory only managed to recede so far; what lay beyond the shallows of the lowest tide were hidden to her, she could not say why. But Libra remembered an agony seemingly unending and when that pain was all too unbearable, it had ceased. What was left behind was a euphoric rush of adrenalin, a feeling of unstoppable strength and vitality. Just as a branch is pruned with the expectation of it returning in greatest blossom, so too had she endured pain for the greater result.
Tenebrae Manor had always been her home, at least the only home she could remember. Then there was Malistorm, the former baron of the house - who had taken her under his wing and taught her the ways of magic and the extent of her potential. He had been a world-weary sorcerer who had never divulged more than his intention. As such, Libra never did discover how Tenebrae Manor came to be or how Malistorm had become its baron. All she knew was that the house was old - perhaps older than time itself or of some other realm where time is negligible. Then, pervading all other thought was the insatiable thirst to have the house as her own. She remembered Bordeaux from the beginning, Edweena and Rune too. And Malistorm, with his crest of shock-greyed hair and a cloak of brilliant violet….
The violet curtains in the bedroom fluttered with the arrival of a frigid wind from the open window. In her sleep, Libra twisted her face with discomfort as the wind brushed her cheek with its icicle fingers. Under the spell of the gale, Libra's dream turned bitter and her wanton violence aimed itself at those who threatened her. She was the Lady Libra; Tenebrae Manor was hers. Behind her eye lids in the depths of her dream, the gloom swirled and from its syrupy murk emerged the malicious grinning face of Deadsol. His thumbs plucked at the lapels of his copper coloured vest as he bounced gaily upon his feet, his mouth silent yet moving as though prattling on excessively.
Though no words were discernable, the sight of the demon revolted Libra to such an adequate degree that she began to toss her head about on the pillow. Deadsol rambled on and on, carrying the same sang
uine countenance that Libra found repulsive. Her heart lurched in fury as the apparition of Deadsol was suddenly plucked off the ground by his moustache. He thrashed about feebly; his attempts to free himself resulted in a prominent lengthening of his whiskers, so that soon he found himself strung by the neck and swinging from a gallows.
Libra rolled over in her bed so that her heavy body faced the other direction, having conquered Deadsol, she hoped to return to a more pleasant dreamland. But almost immediately she was met with the ghastly vision of Comets, who stared at her vacantly with his hollow eyes of mismatched size. His head twitched, the bells of his red and yellow cap chimed and he began to hop from foot to foot. The jester circumnavigated Libra, so that she could only see him each time he passed the hour mark - gliding from left to right out of view then appearing from the left again.
"Away! Pest!"
She caught him by the ears of his cap and spun him in the opposite direction; her speed increased as she wound up her shot like a hammer-thrower. With a flick of her wrists, the jester went flying and screamed as he was struck down in mid flight by a bolt of lightning. Comets burst into a shower of fireworks that fell like rain onto the shoulders of Edweena.
Edweena – she who had been her loyal friend from the beginning. The vampiress stared at Libra with those accusing eyes. Why did she hold such a grudge? It had to be jealousy, what else? Well, that was her own fault. Someone had to reign over the Manor, why couldn't Edweena be happy for her friend? Libra spared her from her dream wrath and became immersed in melancholia. Edweena turned and took her leave, the stately Bordeaux taking her place.