Mythangelus

by Constantine, Storm

  After dinner, I went to Lathorne’s room, where Abisarah was feeding her a bowl of soup. Abisarah at least was interested in what I had to say concerning Othman’s behaviour that afternoon. As a precaution, she decided that Lathorne should be confined to her room for the duration of Othman’s visit.

  ‘Do you think he suspects all is not well with her?’ I asked. ‘But if so, why? She has been a perfect lady in his company, as I recall.’

  Abisarah pursed her mouth and shook her head. ‘Celestine, there are Grigori among us who have taken it upon themselves... well, their sole function is to weed out those of us who are perhaps rather non-conformist, who might, to the over-cautious, be seen as a threat to our racial security.’

  ‘Lathorne? A threat?’ I had to laugh.

  ‘It is not a subject for merriment,’ Abisarah said. ‘Perhaps I am being too cautious, but for all we know, Othman’s purpose might well be the elimination of miscreants. I know these hidden invigilators regularly inspect all cases of suspicion. And, despite poor Lathorne’s weak mind, her utter docility, she could be termed a threat in the manner I described. It is best to be circumspect.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Othman might be here for the express purpose of examining Lathorne?’

  Abisarah shrugged. ‘As I said, I could be being too cautious, but the possibility should not be dismissed out of hand.’

  ‘But how could he have found out about her?’ I argued. ‘It is impossible. Lathorne never leaves the grounds. Not even the males of this household are aware of her shortcomings.’

  ‘Of that you cannot be sure,’ Abisarah said grimly.

  ‘But would one of our own betray her?’ I found it hard to believe.

  Abisarah nodded. ‘It is possible. In truth, it is we who are at fault in concealing the problem. We are guided by our affection for Lathorne, I know, and sometimes I worry about it. However, I could never hand her to the Kerubim’s arm.’

  ‘Kerubim!’ I had not imagined it could be that serious.

  ‘But of course. What did you think? That miscreants are incarcerated somewhere - or simply told to behave? Celestine, have sense in your head, what else could happen to them? You know as well as I do it is imperative we conceal ourselves from the burgeoning humans in this world. And if you do not know that, it is time you reapplied yourself with zeal to the study of our history!’

  I was stung by her sharpness, although I recognised the wisdom of her words. Was it possible Peverel Othman was here for the purpose of culling poor Lathorne from the throng? I shuddered to think there might be an informant within the family breast; a serpent who had nestled there, with fang concealed, until it dealt the fatal bite. Who could it be? Also, would I and my female relatives be seen equally culpable as Lathorne, because we had shielded her? Would we also be regarded as risks?

  ‘Should we speak with Letitia?’ I asked. ‘Surely, we should do that!’

  Abisarah frowned. ‘Not yet. Letitia’s first concern is the family unit. If she feels it is threatened, she might well take unprecedented action.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Abisarah turned her head to regard Lathorne preening happily in her mirror, totally oblivious to our exchange. ‘Sometimes, sacrifices have to be made, and as the Kerubim are creatures of the Parzupheim, their will cannot be contested.’

  ‘Are you suggesting Letitia might let Othman kill Lathorne?’ I hissed out the words, not daring to utter them too loudly, because they would surely penetrate the murk in Lathorne’s mind.

  Abisarah shrugged. ‘I am not saying that. We must be vigilant, that’s all. We have no proof Othman is what I fear he might be. I may well be over-dramatising the situation. It is just that I have dreaded something like this happening for a long time. I sincerely hope my fears are unfounded.’

  As I left Lathorne’s room with its sad perfume of reptile musk, I felt utterly depressed. I realised how little I knew of what went on in the world beyond our estate walls. Perhaps it was time I turned to the study of it.

  Great Uncle Gerhard was in the library, smoking a pipe and enjoying a globe of brandy before the fire. Most of the family had gone to bed; it was a time of day I loved. I adored the quiet of it, when all the bustle had gone away. Nodding politely to Great Uncle Gerhard, I crossed to the lofty glass-fronted bookcase that Letitia kept locked. Fortunately, because on occasion I had been called upon to help with the accounts - having a mathematical mind - I knew where the key was kept. The accounts book resided in this cabinet, along with volumes of a more esoteric nature, ones which normally I would have to seek permission from Letitia to peruse. Assuring myself that Great Uncle Gerhard had his back to me, I pressed a certain section of panelling in the wall, revealing the shadowed slot where the small key lay. However, when he heard me opening the lock, Gerhard looked round his chair at me. I expected a facetious remark, but he said nothing. For a moment or two I felt strangely guilty, and reluctant to examine the spines of the books within the case. I felt a sense of disapproval emanating from my Great Uncle.

  He took his pipe from his mouth. ‘Hardly light reading to take to your bed, young lady.’

  Nervously, I brushed my fingers over the books on the second shelf. ‘No... But there was something I wished to look up.’

  ‘And what is that, my dear?’

  I saw little point in lying; it might open an unwelcome dialogue. ‘A sensitive subject,’ I said bluntly. ‘Kerubim, and their office.’

  Great Uncle Gerhard laughed in a manner I could only find offensive. ‘And what possible interest could you have, my dear, in such a grim topic?’

  ‘Soon, I shall begin my own travels,’ I replied. ‘I feel I know so little about the world, or even about my own people.’

  ‘But this is such an odd time to begin your research; it’s the middle of the night!’

  I shrugged. ‘The whim struck me.’ Becoming annoyed with his patronising attitude, I took one of the books from the shelves. For the sake of security, all books concerning my people were carefully encoded, so that they appeared only to be fictitious travelogues, or fantasy histories. Many humans must have these books upon their library shelves, and had read them as novels. The book I had chosen was a double fiction; it was a novel that was supposedly written by a Kerub, yet the author was, by his own admission in the Preface, a teacher.

  ‘The Reaping. Hmm,’ said Uncle Gerhard. ‘Most of that is conjecture.’

  ‘How do you know?’ I asked.

  ‘I met the person who wrote it. It is dry reading too’

  ‘But will this book tell me how to recognise the Keruim?’

  Great Uncle Gerhard regarded me thoughtfully. ‘Are you really afraid one of them might come after you, out there in the world? What transgression could you possibly commit, dear girl?’

  ‘I find the idea of Grigori preying on Grigori repugnant, whatever the reason. Neither am I convinced that innocents might not, on occasion, be erroneously culled. I wish to protect myself.’

  Gerhard nodded. ‘That is sensible, I suppose. But come, put your book away. I can tell you all you need to know.’

  I complied with his wishes and went to sit before his chair, next to the fire. He puffed for a few moments on his pipe and then sighed. ‘Celestine - it is Celestine, isn’t it? - you cannot recognise the Kerubim when they wear a human-like form. How could they possibly carry out their work if they were recognisable? And you are correct in assuming that some of them are somewhat overzealous in their vocation. Yes, the idea is repugnant, but these creatures are necessary, my dear. We cannot risk exposure - ever. If you follow the requirements of our laws, you will be safe from Kerubim. That is all you need to know. And if, in the future, you do feel the need to transgress - well, you will simply have to be extremely careful, won’t you.’

  I was shocked that my Great Uncle could even imagine I would ever transgress. ‘I would never consider such a thing!’ I said.

  He gave me an astute glance. ‘Of course not... pre-supposing you could help
yourself, should the time ever come.’

  I thought immediately of Lathorne. Was Gerhard implying he knew something about her? I shuddered inwardly and cast down my eyes, afraid my acquaintance with these unhappy facts would shine from my countenance.

  ‘We embark upon our travels to learn,’ Gerhard said, ‘to experience life. It is not wrong that you know so little now. Your education awaits you and there will be many to be your teachers along the way; human and Grigori alike.’

  ‘Human?’ I did not understand him.

  ‘But of course. Don’t you know that we learn from everyone we meet in life? They themselves might not realise they are teachers, but they are. Every one of them. Books can teach you very little, Celestine. Lock that cupboard you were delving into with such secret intent. There is nothing for you there. Cherish your innocence while you have it. Later, you will remember this time with affection and, yes, even a little sadness.’

  I wondered, at that moment, whether I should tell him what was on my mind. I felt he would be sympathetic and trustworthy, and yet, my tongue would not form the words.

  ‘You look pensive,’ he said. ‘It is late. Empty your head of heavy thoughts and go to your bed. And kiss me goodnight before you leave. You are a bright little thing, Celestine. I feel confident your path will not crumble before you.’

  I felt strangely buoyant as I went upstairs to my bed. However, this mood evaporated abruptly once I entered the corridor that led to my room. Peverel Othman was once again lurking outside Lathorne’s door.

  ‘If you are looking for Bayard, you are sadly off course,’ I said. ‘What do you really want, Peverel Othman? What interests you so much beyond that door?’

  He said nothing, his expression unreadable.

  ‘There is a snake in there,’ I said. ‘Have you smelled it? Can you hear it slither? Is that what fascinates you so?’

  ‘And who is the snake?’ he asked. ‘A member of your family perhaps?’

  ‘Nobody. Just a snake. It belongs to my aunt. She is very fond of it.’

  He nodded, as if I had answered some question of import.

  ‘You trust my answer?’ I said.

  He smiled. ‘I can tell you are not lying.’

  ‘How tedious of me to be so transparent,’ I said. ‘Well, I am glad to have been of service to you. Goodnight, Mr Othman.’

  I began to walk past him, but he reached out and stayed my arm. ‘I thought that was your Great Uncle’s room,’ he said. ‘You have just been in the library with your Great Uncle, haven’t you?’

  ‘Your interest in my family seems unduly macabre and intense,’ I said, in an amazingly calm tone, considering how unnerved I felt. ‘You put such sinister inflection upon your words, Mr Othman.’

  ‘Well, that might be because the Gravewell throng has a reputation,’ he said.

  ‘Really? For what? Tedium?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I can see at one glance that you are ignorant of the situation, despite the fact you were in residence here some seven years ago.’

  ‘I expect you are referring to the accident,’ I said. ‘Yes, I was here, but the tragedy did not occur in the house. Certain of the menfolk were preparing a bonfire for the celebration of Letitia’s birthday. A barrel of fire-crackers ignited. It caused many deaths. Is that sorry episode the cause of our reputation? If so, our distinction cannot be for tedium as I imagined, but carelessness.’

  Peverel Othman shook his head again. ‘Poor child,’ he said. ‘I said this to your lovely nephew, and I will say it to you. If you would keep your innocence, get out of this house and seek sanctuary with another throng as soon as you can.’

  I laughed. ‘Whatever for? Are you planning something?’

  He smiled. ‘The majority of your people are ignorant, and act as an effective screen for the activities of those who are more worldly. You are part of the screen, and I suspect, as such, rather dispensable.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about,’ I said coldly, although inside my curiosity was pricked into life.

  ‘I have been monitoring the movements of Gerhard Gravewell for some months,’ he said. ‘And those of his immediate kin, who are widespread. Obviously, there are family secrets in this house, but I suspect that Gerhard’s return heralds a more candid era. He will desire the recruitment of other throng members to his creed.’

  ‘What creed?’

  Othman narrowed his eyes at me. When he spoke, his words held disapproval, yet strangely, his mouth grinned widely around the words. ‘The creed of the Anakim who disinter the past and what are seen as the least savoury aspects of our race.’

  I was shocked by Othman’s words. Anakim went beyond mere progressiveness. They were rebels of the first order, who worshipped the Hanged One, and whose views were regarded with the greatest disapproval by conservative Grigori. It was said they called upon the power of the Ahriman, the Great Lie, and made human sacrifice to attain power. Humans were an irritant to them, something to be used without compassion. Most Grigori saw Anakim as a great threat to our security. Great Uncle Gerhard’s amiable visage sprang to mind. That he could conceal these sinister traits was a ridiculous notion. ‘You are insane!’ I said. ‘By what authority do you speak this lunacy?’

  ‘Celestine, your male relatives did not carelessly ignite themselves with fire-crackers seven years ago. If you were not so naive and shielded from the world, you would know that certain disappearances took place in the nearby human community at that time. A ritual was to be enacted, which went awry. Need I say more?’

  ‘Frankly, I’d rather you didn’t! There are no mavericks in my family.’

  Othman uttered a caustic laugh. ‘Oh, fold your wings about your face, my dear. Believe the feathers are not tinged with red! But if you are sensible, you will heed my warning.’ He paused. ‘Or, you could face the reality of the situation and become something greater than you are.’

  I struggled to fix a scornful smile on my lips. ‘I cannot tolerate such nonsense! Believe me, I yearn for excitement, and if there was any whiff of it within the house, I would sense it. But no, life is and always has been a staid, ordinary business at Gravewell Park.’

  He studied me carefully for a few moments, almost as if he was considering my words seriously.

  ‘You’re no ordinary traveller,’ I said. ‘Tell me why are you here.’

  He did not answer, saying only, ‘Go to your bed now. I have further business to conduct.’

  It was the second time some male in this household had ordered me to my room that night, and I was mightily sick of it. ‘I think you are of the Kerubim,’ I said. ‘Or at least you think you are. Well, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time here. Gerhard is a docile old gentleman. Anakim indeed! Hah! There’s no-one here for you to slay, Peverel Othman, unless you’re not particular about whom you kill or why!’

  Othman looked thoughtful. ‘Clearly, I have been too open with you,’ he said. ‘And perhaps overestimated your intelligence. But it does not matter.’ With that, he turned on his heel and marched off towards the stairs.

  For a few moments I stood without moving, totally aghast at this recent conversation. There was no doubt in my mind whatsoever now that Othman was all Abisarah feared he might be. Not only that: he was mad! Totally deranged and intent on victimising my relatives! Clearly, Letitia would have to be informed at once. I could not sleep with this unspeakable terror and outrage thrashing through my brain.

  I went straight to Letitia’s bed chamber, knocked once and entered directly. To my disappointment, the room was empty, lit only by a pleasant fire flickering in the grate. Now what should I do? Letitia could be with any of her husbands or wives, and I had little desire to invade every room to find out. Perhaps Great Uncle Gerhard was still in the library. He was the oldest and wisest of us all. I would go to him, unburden myself, pass on this dreadful fear. He, after all, was the one being slandered by Othman. I was convinced he would know how to deal with the situation.

  G
erhard was not in the library. Surely he would not have retired to his chamber so early? Rather aimlessly, I went back out into the hall. The house was so quiet, as if everyone was hiding somewhere, holding their breath. My spine flexed and a wave of heat passed through me. Somewhere, something unusual was happening.

  I was breathing quickly as I ventured down the long, dim-lit corridors of the house, searching for a sound or a feeling hanging in the air. I did not know exactly what it was I hunted, but I knew I would recognise it when I found it.

  Instinctively, my feet led me to the cellar stairs. Below, beyond the labyrinthine, vaulted chambers where the wines and meats were stored - and perhaps one or two immobile relatives - lay the great doors to the family temple, the black room, the room of perpetual flame. Here, upon the eves of the great festivals, we would gather to commune with the memory of the Source, long lost to our race through the follies of the Fallen Ones.

  Something moved in the air above the throat of steps that swallowed me down. I could feel it. Power and intention had passed this way. My heart was beating frantically now. I had yearned for adventure. Now I feared I’d found it. I replayed in my mind the conversation I’d had earlier with Peverel Othman. I realised now he had offered me an invitation.

  The carved doors to the temple were closed, but orange light leaked from around their heavy frames onto the stone floor ahead of me. I went forward and pressed my face against the wood, listening for sounds. The cedar panels were warm beneath my cheek. Beyond, faintly, were the sounds of murmured chanting; a rite was taking place. To my knowledge, no private ceremonies were ever enacted in the temple, but then perhaps I knew less about my own family than I thought.