Tomorrow's Shadow
Page 8
~ Surprises ~
Stefano sat through the remainder of the evening, hoping against hope that Gerik would make another appearance, but it was not to be. Lord and Lady Falow, convinced he remained to be in their presence, regaled him with story after story of things they wanted to do. Lord Fallow wanted to go on a hunting party to Africa. Lady Falow wanted to take a trip to Greece. Or perhaps to the Orient. Or maybe to both? When Stefano reached the point he wanted to scream “So go already!” in their faces, he stood and politely stated it was time to end their fine evening.
When he arrived back at the Keep, he bolted the door with a frustrated bang before trudging across the room to sit at the bar. Viktor looked at him a moment before speaking.
“I trust the evening was a success for the Falows. It does not appear to have been so much a success for ye, however.”
“I suppose you could say it was successful all around. They got to spend time with the “illustrious Lord from the island” while I am now able to strike their name from my obligation list. Which, by the way, I am still not certain should be necessary.”
“After ye have visited each house once, ye can disregard it. But the first visits ... I would say they are most necessary. ” He turned to fill a wine glass to two-thirds. “Here, have some of the Master’s bloodwyne”.
Stefano took the glass hesitantly. “Should we be diving into Sire’s selection without his approval?”
“But you have it always, son of mine.”
Stefano set the glass down as he stood and turned, walking briskly toward the balcony. “Sire, I did not know you were here. When did you arrive? Will you stay for a while before running off?”
“Run off? I do not ‘run off’. I leave that to ... snow melts and rain falls.” Vargon grinned before taking a sip from his own glass of wyne. “And, alas, I am to leave at the morrow’s evening, but entertain me with the story of your visit mainland.” He walked slowly toward the bar.
Stefano walked just behind him, taking a seat again at the bar. He took the offered glass and raised it. After taking a healthy sip, he sighed, and began his tale of the evening’s events. Twice during the telling he had Viktor add to his wyne glass. He spent time talking about the Falow daughters’ musical abilities, but left out his strong reaction to Gerik’s return. When he finally reached the end of his story, he was looking far more relaxed and at peace.
“So tell me more of this young Falow lad.”
“Not much to say, Sire. I only saw him briefly, and before that even briefer still at my ... open house.”
“There is more, it shines in your eyes. But I shall not force you to speak it - your life is still your own, my chylde.”
Stefano smiled hearing “my chylde”. Each time Vargon spoke it, he felt incredible pride, purpose, and peace - and a sense of belonging. “Nothing truly. Except he does resemble Nikolos...” He finished his wyne. He held up a hand when Viktor offered to refill it.
“From your youth? Actually that is not uncommon with our life line. We are here more than long enough to experience look-alikes, not to mention actual spirits and the like.”
“Father, are you saying you believe in ghosts?”
“Believe in them? I have seen the spirits of the recently deceased first-hand. They never linger; gone within a day or two, depending on how violent their death.” He finished his drink and indicated to Viktor he also was finished. “Contrary to some tales, the dead do not walk the earth looking for revenge or ‘true love’ or what have you. They die. And soon enough, they are gone.” He stood. “Come, walk with me.”
Stefano rose and followed Vargon out the balcony doors and down the stone steps toward the beach.
Still behind the bar, Viktor took the used glasses and stepped into the kitchens, handing them to the nearest servant to be cleaned. He stepped back into the great hall and began inspecting cleanliness and any need for repair - musing over his two friends. It is not much beach for them to walk along, unless they wish to retrace steps a few hundred times. Not that they could not shade-walk and go somewhere else. Although ... Lord Stefano usually speaks it if he plans on leaving Haven.
He stepped to the harp and gently ran his fingers over the strings, listening carefully to each note for tone, clarity, and pitch. They are an interesting two - that Master Vargon even has a chylde is remarkable. After spending so many centuries alone, I always figured he would stay that way. Calling on me when he needed a respite from the world.
Satisfied with the harp, he moved to the piano and repeated the process for each of the ivory keys and their ebony siblings. He admired their shine of the former, wondering about the brilliance of the white. Normally by now, with as much as Stefano plays, one would expect ivory to start yellowing. This are still pristine. Mayhaps it is because of his and the master’s ... nature. Not that it should matter, but a curiousness none-the-less. He paused to repeat a note two more times, his lips pursed, before returning to this running the keys.
Once finished with the piano, Viktor returned to his station at the bar, one of many stations he held around the Keep. He made himself a note to call Chadwick, a piano technician from mainland, to come and look at the grand. As he leaned forward to write, he bent at the waist, but his shoulders and back remained ramrod straight. It was as if his body was never fully “at ease”. If the man had to work at his posture, it never showed; he always appeared natural and at peace with himself.
It was nearly sunrise before Stefano and Vargon stepped back into the great room from the balcony. Still talking, both faces had a slight ruddiness, indicating recent feeding.
Vargon clapped a hand on his chylde's shoulder. “Another bloodwyne before slumber?”
“No, Father, thank you for asking. I believe I shall simply retire for a fine day’s rest.”
“I was wondering when ye two would be returning.” Viktor almost sounded upset or concerned.
“Yes, we were late my friend, but Stefano was telling me about his young days in the troop. But we are back and ready for sleep.”
“Very good, Master. I have already closed up the Keep, so once ye are to bed, I shall finish shutting down the balcony.”
Stefano set his empty glass on the bar. “Thank you, Viktor. I can see why my Father has always considered you a treasured friend and sometime companion. Your dedication to the Keep is exemplary.” He paused briefly. “No, your dedication to my Sire and I. The Keep could go to ruin if we wished ... I am sure it is us that you remain for, and that is beyond what any mere words of thanks can declare.”
Viktor’s eyes showed the tiniest piece of acceptance and peace at Stefano’s words. “It is so, m’Lord. And shall be. Ye are Master and Lord, but ye are also great friends. I treasure my place at your sides. Until the morrow, m’Lord. And to ye, Master Vargon.”
“Until then, my friend. I echo my son’s appreciation for all you are to us. Until morrow eve then.”
It was the middle of the next night before Vargon came down the stairs. Another hour passed before Stefano walked into the great room from upstairs. Dressed in his dark boots and trousers, this evening he wore a scarlet peasant’s shirt instead of his sand colored usual. The laces loosened for comfort. Viktor did a double-take as his friend and master practically sauntered across the room to take a seat at the bar.
“You look well rested, Master.”
“And pleased.” Stefano added. “Although my Sire does look even more pleased than I feel." He turned to his father, "The question is ... in what are you so pleased?”
Vargon laughed, the sound of distant thunder. “I am just content with my life and I am looking forward to getting back to my wagon.”
“Truly not eager to leave, Sire?”
Vargon paused to consider his next words. “Neither anxious nor eager, my chylde. But there is much to be done and people to see. No ... a person to see.”
“Person, Father? Do I know this person who is apparently important in your life?”
“Or I, M
aster?”
“No, neither of you have made the acquaintance.” He paused as if to build the tension. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised his wyne glass slowly, speaking just before taking a prolonged drink.
“...and I am thinking of taking a wife.”
Hopes and Regrets
Flames flared as Stefano’s glass broke in the fireplace. His face was a contortion of confusion and rage, the crimson of the fire echoed in his eyes.
“How could he decide to do such a thing? Take a wife? After so many generations alone suddenly he needs companionship? Am I nothing but a hindrance now – is this why he has planted me here?” He ran a hand through the waves of his hair slowly, pacing.
“M’Lord, mayhaps if ye sat a moment… Let me fix you a fresh cognac.”
“I do not wish to sit. I wish to walk, and yell, and break things.” With that Stefano grabbed the fresh glass and threw it also into the fireplace. He seemed to relish the sudden burst of heat as the alcohol ignited.
"’Tis better to throw a temper tantrum, instead? Ye sound jealous.”
Angry eyes settled on Viktor as Stefano spun to face him. “I am not some child. I realize you may work for my sire but I still manage what happens under my own roof. And no servant will speak to me in such a manner.”
“M’Lord, truly, I ….”
“Just …” frustration filled the young kindred’s eyes as his tone softened. “… just give me some time. I am sorry.”
Stefano turned and walked to the balcony, fading into shade and shadow before his foot hit the cedar planking. Viktor sadly shook his head. He finished tidying the bar area then headed for his room. Once inside, he bolted his door and sat cross-legged on the floor. His eyes closed and peace filled his face. Master Vargon ... we need to speak.
---
The tide tugged against his muscles as Stefano swam out from the beach. Too much was churning through his mind; swimming was one way he was able to empty himself of everything except the motion of him through the water. This was even more true when he swam against the rising tide. Moving just beyond the breaking waves, his moves became effortless – a dance lost in the moment.
Married. Why would Sire wish to marry? He has been alone for generations.
He spotted a narrow jetty and began to swim in earnest towards the stone outcropping. Like an otter he glided through the cold waters. He slowed as he neared the rocks and judged the tide flow. He made a slight adjustment to his angle of approach before swimming the remaining distance and climbing out of the sea onto one of the larger boulders. Moonlight danced off his naked form as he climbed to a mossy covering and sat, his gaze absent and unfocused toward the horizon.
Is Viktor right? Am I jealous?
---
Vargon finished washing up at the river bank when he felt Viktor’s request. He grabbed a large amount of dry grasses along the shore and dunked them in the water before he walked up to his camp site. He moved to stand before the fire and tossed the wet grasses on the flames. As smoke began to billow he stepped back and let Viktor know he was ready.
Let us talk, my friend.
White smoke spun and twisted, slowly taking the form of a man. Eventually the shadow image of Viktor stepped forward; smoke continued to twist and spin in the shape.
Vargon did not wait for his friend to give reason for reaching out. “Is something amiss at the Keep? Is my chylde all right?”
When the image of Viktor spoke, the voice was soft and ethereal, yet carried the tone and authority of the man’s voice, making it instantly recognizable. “He is well, Master Vargon, but he mourns the news of your wishing to wed.” The man’s voice had a light echo, as if from a cavernous space.
“I do not understand – why would Stefano mind my taking a wife?”
“I know not, m’Lord, only that his heart aches and his temper flares.”
“Temper? He has no temper.”
Viktor laughed and his image wavered and shook as if a breeze had come through. “I am sorry, m’friend, but your chylde has a strong will and volatile anger.”
“In what way could he be ‘volatile’?”
“I will simply say I may need to restock the glasses over the bar.”
Vargon stood quietly a moment before responding. “I must contemplate this news. Do you advise my return?”
“No, dear friend. Stefano has gone to the beach, most likely a swim, to regain his composure, I imagine. I felt you would wish to know.”
“I had felt an unease, but thought it was perhaps he had not fed yet. I take it I was incorrect. Thank you for telling me. It has been a long time since last we spoke this way.”
“Indeed, Master Vargon. As ye are at peace with this, I shall release the connection and speak with ye another time. Farewell.”
“Until next time, Viktor.”
As the manservant's image spiraled into nothingness, Vargon bent to pick up a large stone and tossed it out to the middle of the stream. He sighed as the sound of the splash hit his ears.
Not at peace, dear friend. Not at peace. The question is, what is to be done.
---
Stefano stretched as his body called for nourishment. He stood, dove into the water, and swam back to the beach. He walked the small sandy knoll until he was fairly dry, then slipped on his pants before walking barefoot up the stone stairs to the balcony. His eyes swept the grand room as he entered. He smiled at the dimmed lights and low fire, understanding Viktor had retired for the night. He muttered under his breath. “Oh my friend, how I regret my earlier outburst. I shall try to make amends later.” He slipped into his shirt before turning to step back on the balcony. Running fingers through the snarled waves of his hair he stepped into the shadows, headed for the mainland to feed.
Inside the great room, Viktor stepped from the shadows behind the harp. There are no amends necessary, but we shall discuss it when he is ready. With that thought he stepped back behind the bar, withdrew the ledger from underneath, and started to review the monthly expenses.
---
Far from the island, beside a rustic wagon, Vargon paced the ground. How shall I tell her? And will she ever understand?