“When I hear that trumpet sound, I'm gonna rise right outta the ground. Ain't no grave can hold my body down.”
“Are you ready to take this upon your soul, Mr. Beck?” Dæth asked in a low, friendly voice as if he was inviting Blake into his arms.
“Yes,” Blake replied, his eyes still on the floor.
“Then rise as a champion of death and receive my blessing so that you may wield my powers in my stead.” Blake got up, feeling the weight of death lifted from his shoulders – feeling as if he had made his way home by uttering that single syllable. “Let the trumpets sound to tell the world that a new champion has risen from the grave!” Dæth bellowed. In response, the four trumpeters sounded their trumpets and the robe-clad figures began to chant melodious sounds and words that made no sense to Blake. As the sound of the trumpets died out, the chanting figures lowered their voices to a near whisper, allowing Dæth to continue. “Receive Death's blessing at the hands of those who are now your equals. Receive the blessing so that you may carry out my bidding.” Dæth stepped back, allowing four of the robed figures to step forward, each carrying their own symbol. One held up a sickle, one bore a handful of earth, one carried a heavy, leather-bound tome, and the last one had an ox heart in his hands. “First, we present you with the cold earth. From now on you shall be the master of the earth that is your grave until the final day of judgment. You shall have life in death,” Dæth said as the robed figure knelt down before Blake, placing a small mound of earth in front of him before stepping back to the wall. “This tome represents the knowledge that you now possess and that which you will come to have. Knowledge that will guide you and let you stay true to your calling, even when darkness tries to corrupt you.” The tome was laid down next to the earth before the figure stepped back. “Into this heart you shall pour all your dreams and ambitions – all that which serves only to distract the Hunter from his true course.” The third robe-clad man knelt down as Dæth spoke, placing the ox heart at Blake's feet before stepping back with a ghostly glide. “And lastly, you shall take up the sickle. A symbol of the weapon you will wield in death – a weapon blessed to strike both living and dead so that you may reap the souls you hunt.” The sickle was laid down next to the heart and there was a short silence while the last figure walked back to the wall without a sound. “Now take up the sickle,” Dæth commanded. Blake knelt down and picked up the sickle as Dæth continued. “The first soul is now yours to reap and destroy. Take up the heart and slice it through to let your master and peers know that the Blake Beck that once was will be no more – that before them stands naught but a Hunter.” As Blake rose from the floor, the chanting stopped. He held the sickle in his right hand and the ox heart in his left. He drew a deep breath, slowly raising the sickle before slashing downwards and severing the heart with remarkable ease. As he did, he felt death once more. It seemed like an eternity to Blake as he watched the severed heart fall to the floor. All his dreams and aspirations came tumbling down with it, and the silence of the room was unbearable to him. Just before the heart hit the floor, his master took mercy upon him and began to speak again. “Then I give you the blessing of death. You shall serve me and be allowed to share my powers. You shall be absolved from judgment for as long as you serve death. You shall be a Hunter!”
CHAPTER 3
- BACK IN BLACK -
I
Astrid Sigurdsdottir was an attractive and bright young woman about to turn the dreaded 30-year corner. She was a woman of many gifts and talents, but unfortunately for her, she seldom put them to much use. Instead of using her gifts to make an extraordinary life for herself, she had – unconsciously – chosen to use them to make an easy life instead. She had skated through a life's worth of schooling, enjoying the free education of the Danish state, always getting above average grades by making a below average effort. Her free time she spent with friends or nurturing one of several hobbies. She was the lead singer in a small symphonic heavy rock band that was – she had recently admitted to herself – not going anywhere, and she played role-playing games twice a week. She was also a volunteer guide at the cathedral in Aarhus, which earned her a lot of goodwill with the parish administration and the church servant. Goodwill she relied upon in her research for her master’s thesis, which she was writing at Aarhus University. She had been studying history for six years and was writing her thesis on the religious art of medieval northern Europe, with a particular focus on the Lübeckian painter and sculptor Bernt Notke – the Michelangelo of the north – and the altar he had created for the cathedral in Aarhus in the late 15th century.
Astrid was on her way to the cathedral to study the altar for the hundredth time – a sort of acceptable procrastination, as she could reasonably argue that it was relevant to her thesis. She had permission to study the altar up close where she could better see the details of its many sculptures and painted wings that were opened and closed according to the liturgical calendar – an undertaking which took some effort, as the altar stood more than thirty feet tall. On this particular day, she was on her way to study the left wing of the predella where Bernt Notke had depicted the mass of Saint Gregory.
Astrid took the bus downtown and got off at Cloister Square, which was aptly named after the adjacent cloister. From there she walked to the nearby Small Square, which was right next to Large Square. To Astrid, it was as if these uninventive names were a manifestation of the lack of vision and imagination she found to be missing not only in her own life, but in the entire nation around her. Over the years, her views on these kinds of matters had become more and more jaded, and with her thirtieth birthday on the horizon, they were threatening to cause a total eclipse in her view of the world. However, while Astrid believed that she was just about the only person in the world to clearly see what was wrong with everything, all of her girlfriends seemed to agree that Astrid's negative outlook would be wholly cured if she found herself a man. To Astrid's great annoyance, these very same girlfriends constantly insisted on aiding her in the search for this cure through well-meaning advice and forwarded links to profiles on various dating sites.
However, as Astrid walked across Large Square, the dark thoughts fighting to ruin her day received a forceful knockout. It happened every time she walked across Large Square to the cathedral. She snickered as the two large side buildings, with the massive church tower standing between them, obscured the rest of the cathedral from her view. It left a vision, which – even in the mind of the holiest of nuns – could be seen only as a giant phallus reaching toward heaven. The fact that the contrail of a long gone airplane drew a thick white line from the top of the tower into the vast blue emptiness of the morning sky didn't help at all. She snickered to herself all the way to the church door where she took a deep breath. Then, with a somewhat somber look on her face, Astrid entered into what was, in her mind, a gargantuan penis rather than a grand Gothic cathedral dating back to the late 12th century.
II
The Earl had asked Teresa to join him for a morning stroll through the streets of Aquraa, and she couldn't wait to see him. She found that the night she had spent with him had awakened all sorts of feelings inside her – feelings she had forgotten existed. She had gotten so used to being part predator and part servant that she had not felt such affection and longing for hundreds of years. It was as if he had touched a part of her soul she had thought long gone, and he had thrilled her with both his words and affectionate gestures. She yearned for him.
He had asked her to meet him at the gates of the innermost city wall so that they could take a walk in the misty morning sunrise. Even though she savored the sunrises in Shades, she recalled the colors in life being, in a strange way, more real and colorful. Ever since her death this had filled her with a touch of melancholy, but on this day it did not – she simply had other things on her mind. She was meeting the Earl and she felt joyous. She walked across the courtyard of Aquraa castle, and from there she followed the street that sloped down the hill towards the gate
of the innermost city wall. From a distance, she could see the Earl standing by the gates, looking as gallant and confident as ever. He wore a beautiful lace and embroidered Baroque walking suit and held a silver-tipped ebony cane in his hand. As she approached, he turned to her, lifted his feathered hat and gave a deep bow before offering her his arm to walk.
“You are extraordinarily pleasant to behold, even to the eyes of a nobleman, I would say should you permit me to,” he greeted her.
“You may,” Teresa tittered.
They walked side by side out through the gate and into the city of Aquraa, savoring the beautiful autumn morning. While the inner city and castle had been kept in the Gothic style of medieval Europe, the city has much more to reveal as one walks through its streets. Aquraa is home to thousands of undead, all from different times, places and cultures, and like Shades, the city is a patchwork of quarters where different times and cultures prevail. On this particular day, the Earl sought to lead Teresa down the hill to his native Baroque quarter and back up to the castle through the exotic medieval Arabian quarter. They walked through the streets for several minutes before Teresa broke the lingering silence that the Earl had left for him to savor and her to break.
“John, please speak to me of love. They say you are a great poet and I long to witness your talents myself,” Teresa pleaded.
“I thought you experienced my talents just the other night, my dear,” the Earl replied, raising his cane slightly, making no uncertain insinuations.
“John,” she said, shaking her head in disdain, though her smile gave away her true thoughts on the Earl’s manner and ways.
“Very well. I shall conquer you with my words, rather than by my scepter. But do not retort and revenge should my words leave you weeping for eternity or hungry for more, like the drunk hungers for the barrel and the lecher longs for his whores.” As they turned down a small alley enclosed by half-timbered houses standing several stories tall, the Earl began to speak to the world, with Teresa as his sole audience.
“An Age in her Embraces past,
Would seem a Winter’s Day;
Where Life and Light with envious haste,
Are torn and snatch’d away.
But, oh! how slowly Minutes roul,
When absent from her Eyes;
That fed my Love, which is my Soul,
It languishes and dies.”
As he spoke, Teresa held his arm tightly and drew herself in closer to him, as if it would somehow help her grasp his words.
“For then no more a Soul but Shade,
It mournfully does move;
And haunts my Breast, by Absence made
The living Tomb of Love.
You wiser Men despise me not;
Whose Love-sick Fancy raves,
On Shades of Souls, and Heav’n knows what;
Short Ages live in Graves.”
She looked at him with eyes that told him that she wanted him to never be absent from them, and that she wanted him to never have to rave on about the despairs of love.
“Whene’er those wounding Eyes, so full
Of Sweetness, you did see;
Had you not been profoundly dull,
You had gone mad like me.
Nor censure us, you who perceive
My best belov’d and me,
Sigh and lament, complain and grieve,
You think we disagree.”
For a short instant, the Earl's words conjured up the image of Bahij in her mind. She knew that he would disapprove of her actions and feelings for John, but who was he to judge?
“Alas! ’tis sacred Jealousie,
Love rais’d to an Extream;
The only Proof ’twixt them and me,
We love, and do not dream.
Fantastick Fancies fondly move;
And in frail Joys believe:
Taking false Pleasure for true Love;
But Pain can ne’er deceive.
Kind jealous Doubts, tormenting Fears,
And anxious Cares, when past;
Prove our Hearts Treasure fix’d and dear,
And make us blest at last.”
He let his words ring out and linger in the morning air before he turned to face her as they walked along.
“It was beautiful, John! You truly are a man of many and surprising talents, I have to say. Not at all what I had wrongly judged you to be,” Teresa said.
“My dear Teresa, you should not be so hard on yourself, for I am sure that your judgment is not wholly unjust and that my character is indeed one to judge,” the Earl replied before Teresa stopped the stream of his words with her lips. She felt alive as she kissed him, alive and free. Sadly for Teresa, she had missed a subtle point in the Earl’s poetic praise of her. He had spoken to his mistress, not his true love.
They walked on with the taste of each other still on their lips, saying nothing until they reached the Earl’s majestic home in the Baroque quarter. With a gallant gesture and unmistakable ulterior motive, the Earl invited Teresa inside and led her through his house, upstairs to the master bedroom.
III
At the banquet that followed his initiation, Blake got the opportunity to meet his fellow Hunters who had come from all corners of Shades, and he found himself enjoying the company. He was one of them now. As Dæth's guest, Blake had been given the use of one of the mansion's many guest rooms, and he only made it to bed just before the break of dawn. The following day he slept until almost noon, and after lying in bed for a few minutes, he figured that he had better get up and get on with things – whatever those things might be. He got out of bed and found that his clothes had been washed and dried since his arrival the day before. They were laid out for him on one of the beautiful Rococo chairs that formed the small sitting arrangement in a corner of the room. As he put on his pants, he felt the fading warmth of the autumn sun on his back through the window, and he looked down at himself. He was pleased with the way he looked. Fit and rather muscular, especially for a man around fifty years of age, and he found himself wondering if he would now look this way forever. If that was the case, he was glad that he had kept himself in such good shape and had not just let himself go as his workload had shifted from field to office. He finished putting on his suit and walked out of the room in search of someone he knew or had at least met the day before. He made it all the way down to the hall before he found Elijah Butler. Blake was just about to hail Elijah with a “good morning,” but then Blake realized what time it was and decided to draw his attention with a “Mr. Butler?”
“Good day, sir,” Elijah replied, immediately turning to face Blake coming down the stairs from the guest quarters. “I trust you have slept well following last night’s festivities, sir?”
“Very well, thank you.” Blake decided not to inquire into whether or not the butler had slept well, as he thought – correctly – that this would not be a pleasantry pleasant for any of them, least of all for Mr. Butler.
“I took the liberty of having one of your suits cleaned after your journey here, and I had it laid out for you to wear. I hope it was not a liberty taken too far, sir.”
“Not at all, Mr. Butler. It was very considerate of you.”
“Thank you, sir. Mr. McCoy and my master have kindly requested that you join them in the lounge. I would have offered you a spot of breakfast prior to this, sir, but unfortunately Mr. McCoy was adamant in his request that you would join them as soon as you got up. And besides, lunch will be served in just forty minutes. Is that alright with you, sir?”
“It's perfectly alright, Mr. Butler. It's not like I become hungry anymore, is it? These days it seems to be more the ritual of it.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“But thank you for the thought. I'll find my own way to the lounge so that you can get back to business.”
“Thank you, sir!” Elijah said before going about just that.
Blake walked down the east wing hallway, still finding himself enthralled by the beauty and reality of
Dæth's Mansion and Shades in its entirety. He walked in silence, soaking up all the impressions as best he could, but he was far from able to hold them all. Blake reached the lounge doors and knocked. From behind the door he heard Dæth's calm voice asking him to come in. As Blake walked in, Dæth and McCoy got up from their seats as a simple courtesy to welcome Blake into their midst.
“Good day, Mr. Beck,” Dæth said.
“Good day, gentlemen,” Blake replied, trying his best to not look like someone who had slept until noon on his first day of work.
“Please join us,” McCoy said, gesturing to the chair next to him. Blake walked over and sat down, eyeing an unfinished game of chess on the side table next to the sofa where Dæth was sitting. A letter with the words “Bishop B7 to C8” lay open on top of the chessboard. Blake could see that the black player had just taken out the white rook that had previously held the black king in check. “Thanks for joining us, Blake,” McCoy started.
Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck Page 6