“What's a woman like you doing out here all alone, far from the safe bosom of her husband?” The man spoke in a low-German dialect, which Astrid partially recognized from her studies. She walked over to the man before engaging in the conversation, and she prepared herself for the most realistic role-playing game she had ever played. She decided not to excuse herself, but to use her lack of a husband to her advantage.
“My husband is dead by the plague, and consequently, I have been taken into the employ of the Duke of Niederwald-Saxonberg as a chambermaid. My cousin who is a cook in his lordship’s household has arranged it. Now, I'm heading for his lordship's mansion in the city, but I seem to have lost my way.” She spoke with conviction despite the fact that she was sure that his lordship the Duke of Niederwald-Saxonberg had just been born wholly out of her imagination. The man looked at her and snorted before wiping a cocktail of beer and beef from his beard with the front of his mantle.
“My apologies, madam. The plague took from us all, reminding us that we are all sinners by both our own deeds and the deeds of our fathers.” He looked down at the piece of dried meat softening in the dark ale, appearing to contemplate whether to offer Astrid a bite to accompany his apology. However, if that was his thought, he decided against it and instead raised the mug to his lips and drank before taking a bite of the meat, passing wind as he chewed. He looked up at Astrid.
“Can you tell me how far off I am?” she asked.
“Well . . .” A trickle of beefy ale ran from the side of his mouth as he began talking with his mouth full. “I'm headed for tomorrow’s market in the city, but I'm planning to make it there by nightfall.” As he didn't offer her a ride, Astrid demonstratively refrained from replying, letting the silence do all the work. It took about thirty long seconds before the man cracked with an annoyed snort, spitting out an indiscernible yellow lump before continuing. “Now if you would want a ride on the wagon, I'm sure Elfi will manage to pull the extra weight.” He looked at her, squinting his eyes.
“That would be very nice, thank you,” Astrid said with a smile before walking over to the mule and patting it on the back. “I hope it's alright with you, Elfi.” The mule whinnied and nodded. She looked over her shoulder towards the old man, who had just about finished his lunch. “Should I remove the feedbag?” Astrid called to him. He reminded her of the mule as he nodded. She bent down to remove the feedbag from the mule’s muzzle, stroking its mane as she did. “It's time to move on, Elfi,” she whispered to the mule and unclasped the bag. It fell heavily to the ground and spilled its remaining contents of maggots and rotten grain all over. The mule looked at her with a thankful gaze and snorted violently, forcing the last maggots from its muzzle. Astrid nearly retched and felt tears well in her eyes. She turned around and stepped between the man and the mule, drawing breath to give him a verbal lashing, the likes of which the world had never seen. But as she saw the man walking towards the mule, she found herself completely disarmed. She saw not only the absence of guilt in the man’s eyes, but also a complete lack of knowledge of any wrongdoings. He'd seen the maggots and fed the mule, but seemed wholly unaware that there was anything wrong about it. The mule nudged her away and walked over to the man for a pat, leaving Astrid petrified. It had eaten the rotten grain and made no notice of it. Neither of them knew. It was as if it didn't matter to them and they had simply forgotten how it once was. She swallowed the spit that had accumulated in her mouth to lubricate her unspoken curses. The man turned to her.
“Get in the cart, madam, while I put Elfi in front. We'd better get going if we want to make it to the city by nightfall.” Astrid didn't know what to say or do other than as the man asked, so she lowered her head and got in the back of the cart, finding a vacant spot between cloth-covered crates and baskets. Soon the cart rolled on down the tracks with Astrid in the back and the old man at the reins. For a long while they said nothing, as the old man seemed to have no desire for talk and Astrid was preoccupied with overcoming the image of maggots crawling out of the mule. In her mind, the maggots still filled Elfi’s muzzle, silently and slowly gnawing their way deeper and deeper into the beast that was kept from the relief of death because it was already dead. Tracks became roadways, and as night fell, the cartwheels met the cobblestones of the main road leading to the city.
“Sir, how big is the city we're headed for?” Astrid asked, finally breaking the silence that only she had found uncomfortable.
“Well, it's the seat of the Holy Emperor,” he said. Astrid waited for him to continue, but he said no more. She gathered that it was because the man didn't know the numbers, and she told herself that she should have known that this man probably knew neither math nor how to read or write. She decided not to speak anymore, but instead lay down to rest as best she could. An hour passed before Astrid sat up to see what the man’s recently uttered, indecipherable grunts were referring to, and she saw the majestic city of Kaizerheim. Thousands of torches and braziers illuminated the miles of city wall and created a glowing halo that rose high above the countless tents and campsites that lay strewn around the fields outside the main gate.
“This is the end, madam,” the man mumbled, pulling back the reins and halting the cart.
“Thank you!” Astrid said as she got off the cart. She tried to make it around the side to give Elfi a pat goodbye, but before she reached the mule, the man shook the reins and Elfi trotted along the cobblestones, leaving Astrid behind. She started off toward the city gates, keeping to the main road. As Astrid walked the last mile to the gates, campsites lying side by side on either side of the road, she could feel the eyes of those around her, their gazes scrutinizing and penetrating her soul. They paused their routines and looked at her in silence with despairing gazes, awed by the presence of a being not long bereft of true purpose and determination – something most of these people had not witnessed for centuries. Astrid kept her pace and made sure that her eyes did not linger. She saw the empty faces turn back to their own dealings, each returning to their own memories and regrets, failing to relive the details of their past properly. Like a tailor working with his needle unthreaded, each of these souls went about their business, but to no reason or consequence. She pondered their strange behavior as she walked along the cobblestones. It felt as if she had been allowed to gaze into the past, only what she found was history breaking at the seams, decaying into patches of incoherence until each soul stood alone. It took her about ten minutes to make it to the city gates, and she eyed the soldiers keeping guard outside before making her next move. They stood straight with a proud pretense, wearing heavy armor with swords sheathed and halberds resting on the ground. But walking towards them, Astrid could see that they were broken inside and that time relentlessly gnawed at their souls. As Astrid approached, a young captain stepped out of the ranks and walked towards her, raising the visor of his helmet.
“My lady,” he said with a hollow smile, giving her a courteous bow that resulted in the clacking and rattle of his chain mail against the plates of his armor.
“Sir,” Astrid said with a curtsy. “I would like to ask permission to enter the city.”
“Then I would ask on what business, my lady?”
“I'm on my way to enter service as a chambermaid in the household of the Duke of Niederwald-Saxonberg, but for tonight I seek merely board and lodgings and the safety of the city walls.” She looked at the man with an endearing smile, trying to shield herself from further inquiries into her wholly imaginary story.
“In that case, I welcome you to our city and hope that you will find all that you seek.” He signaled with one hand for the guards to allow a door in the massive gate to be opened.
“Thank you, kind sir. Then may I, in turn, ask you a question before we part ways?” she asked.
“Naturally,” he replied, removing his helmet completely, letting a mane of blond, curly hair loose in the wind.
“I wish to light a candle and offer prayer and thanks to our Lord for the safe passage I ha
ve had coming here. Could you please tell me the way to the cathedral?” she asked in the most pious voice she could muster.
“As a lady, I would imagine that you will want to keep to the main roads. You head on from this gate until you reach the Emperor's Walk – the stretch of road leading from the emperor's castle on your left down to the cathedral to your right. So you should have no trouble finding your way.”
“Thank you, sir,” Astrid said. She walked through the gate and hurried down the cobbled street with massive brick and timber-frame buildings rising around her. By this time of night, the deserted streets, alleys and pathways that crisscrossed between the houses looked like a labyrinth of shadows to Astrid. The city was bereft of life or motion, save for the flicker of a lone torch flame and stealthy shadows of the odd man or beast hurrying on. As she walked past one of the many back alleys, a coarse, mechanical rattle ripped through the night, bouncing from wall to wall. Astrid picked up her pace, and she looked down the alley and into the darkness. A hooded figure of a man coming her way stopped and looked at her with old eyes that implored her to cease. Without letting go of Astrid's eyes, he put down the cart that he was dragging. She stopped and they stood still, looking at each other and saying nothing. Although her heart screamed at her, Astrid found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the man. He looked dirty and drunk or perhaps mad. Suddenly, the man shot his right hand out from the folds of his robe, violently shaking his rattle at Astrid. Had she, in fact, not already been dead, she probably would have died of fright. Then he began to laugh at her with his mouth open wide enough for Astrid to see into the depths of his toothless maw. Pocketing his rattle, the man turned from Astrid and returned to his work of clearing the gutters and emptying the barrels of feces that lined the back alleys of the city. Astrid hurried on towards the cathedral, but despite trying, she failed to shake the visage of the man from her mind. The image of his maddened eyes and toothless maw remained locked in her mind, threatening to consume her, like a promise of what was yet to come.
IV
Late in the evening, Bahij was interrupted in his studies by his house servant who informed him that He wished to see Bahij. Without delay, Bahij left his home and paced through the streets of Aquraa until he found himself walking through the castle courtyard atop the hill. It was a clear and cold night and the distant moon loomed above him. He knew it was not the same moon that he had set his eyes on in life, but merely a shadow of that moon, part of this world only to maintain the illusion of death being like life – although it was nothing of the sort. He eyed Teresa heading towards the servant’s quarters with two chambermaids trailing behind her. She kept her usual stride and dignified walk, but it was clear to Bahij that something had changed. She had changed. Yet he dismissed the thought of her, at least for the time being. He made his way through the castle to Mr. Ferre's private chambers, pondering the inanimate soul statues that He had displayed on the walkway that led to his study. Bahij knew those souls had all been chosen by Him as He had passed through the ages – each one selected for its own distinct and compelling display of sorrow and regret, the exact nature of which would forever be kept from the observer and left to the memory of the soul itself. Bahij walked in silence through the hallways until he reached Mr. Ferre's private chambers. He knocked and waited for a reply.
“Bahij, I trust it is you, my friend. Come in.” His dark voice filled the world and resounded down the hallways as Bahij opened the door and walked through the antechamber.
“Yes, my Lord,” Bahij called out.
“Join me in my study. We have much to attend to.” As Bahij entered the study, he found Him relaxing in a deep leather armchair with a glass of soul and Bahij's pile of notes on the manuscripts neatly arranged on the side table next to Him. Bahij bowed graciously. “Please, my friend. In private, I believe we have moved past idle courtesies. Take a seat.”
“I see that you have read my notes, my Lord,” Bahij said as he walked over and lowered himself into the armchair on the other side of the side table, lifting his cape slightly avoid sitting uncomfortably on it.
“Yes. It was most enlightening, but before we move into the matters of the ritual itself, I must ask whether or not you have attained the minstrel’s verse from the Danse Macabre?” He sipped his soul, deliberately looking at nothing, which was located just beyond the rim of his glass.
“My Lord. I am not yet in possession of the verse, but I am confident that I will be before the dawn, lest Vincenzo fail me.”
“Let us hope that he does not. I would be greatly troubled by that outcome.”
“I am confident that he will do all in his power to complete his task, for I have enlightened him to the consequences of failure.”
“And Beck?” He poured Bahij a glass of soul from the crystal decanter standing underneath the table on a small shelf.
“Well, I have made sure that Vincenzo can relay his findings to me with haste, but I would be much surprised if he did not remain behind to face Beck, who is surely on his heels.” Bahij nodded his thanks, closing his eyes in reverence before taking up the glass. “While I would have gone to Notke myself, I assumed that you would prefer for me to prepare for the ritual?”
“Yes.”
“My Lord,” Bahij started, but was promptly interrupted.
“I wish for the ritual to be held in Hel's tomb, and I wish it to be ready at nightfall tomorrow.”
“I am sorry, my Lord. This tomb . . .”
“Yes. Beneath the grave mound beyond the eastern gate, I laid her tomb centuries ago on the site of the last great battle. It is where she fell and was sent into the Grey. It is where I have commemorated and honored her undeath and love, and it is where I will have her returned to me. It is where our vengeance will arise!” His eyes sparked and Bahij could feel the anger like the heat of a blazing fire.
“I've never . . .” Bahij said.
“No. No one but I has ever set foot there, but on tomorrow’s eve they will. And those who attend will witness the rekindling of a fire that will burn this world into the ashes from which a new world will grow.” He looked at Bahij, eyes flaming and wreathed in hatred. “Our world!”
“Your word is my law, my Lord. It will be done as you wish.”
“I know, my friend. That is why you are the one sitting at my right hand.” He subdued his anger and shifted, offering Bahij a discrete hint of a smile. A delicate hand knocked on the door to the antechamber. “Enter!” He called out.
“Yes, my Lord,” Teresa replied, her voice accompanied by the sound of her heels tapping the stone floor as she made her way into the study.
“I've let Mistress Ammon summon those nobles whom I wish to have present at the ritual, and I am confident that she is merely here to inform me that this has been done.” Taking a deep breath of the stale, dusty air of the study, Bahij calmed himself despite the fact that each step Teresa took towards him tore at his heart. As she entered, her confident smile stiffened when she saw the pair of them rise from their seats to greet her.
“My Lord.” She curtsied, offering Him the smile of a daughter before she turned to Bahij to greet him. “Master Khaleel.” She lowered her gaze as she curtsied again to his bow. “I did not expect to have the pleasure of your company tonight,” she said with a shudder in her voice.
“Call me Bahij, please. Rather than for us to shield ourselves with titles and family names, I still wish us to be so close as to grant each other the use of our first names, no matter what words we may have exchanged in the past.” He offered her a smile to relieve her of any awkwardness, but much to his regret, she did not seem to notice as her gaze was still seeking relief in the cracks of the floor.
“Mistress Ammon, I expect that you have come to tell me that the nobility has been summoned?” He asked, sparing both Bahij and Teresa the silence that would otherwise have followed, pulling Teresa back from her own inner darkness.
“Yes, my Lord. I have sent your word to the lords of each of the houses, as we
ll as to those other members of the nobility that you requested.”
“Good. Then there is merely one last thing before you may leave us to prepare for the feast.”
“My Lord?”
“Until the feast, you will oblige Master Khaleel in any request or desire that he might have, setting his needs above your own and those of all others, save mine.”
“Master,” Bahij tried to enter the conversation.
“Until the feast, Master Khaleel's word is my word to you, Mistress Ammon. And his word will be done,” He said, leaving no room for uncertainty.
“As you wish, my Lord.” As her words died out, Bahij tried to catch her eyes to ensure her of his completely honorable intentions and irreproachable character, but again her attention eluded him. “My Lord. Master Khaleel.” She curtsied and then turned around and walked out of the room. As they heard the door close, He turned to Bahij.
“Should you still harbor the fondness for Mistress Ammon of which you have previously spoken, it seems now is the time to heed my words, my friend: the only man who stands in a higher favor to a woman than her lover is the man who saves her from herself.” Bahij lowered his eyes, knowing full well that He was right, but uncertain of his own desires and ability to save her. “Alas, we are not here to debate the matters of a lover's quarrel, but rather the matters of the ritual,” He said as He sat down and took up one of the heavy tomes from the side table.
V
It had been four days since Vincenzo had received his orders from Bahij, and Vincenzo finally reached the city of Kaizerheim with darkness falling. He had travelled across half of Shades with the knowledge that the agents of Dæth would be onto his every step, knowing that he was in great danger without a body to animate into should he need to flee into life. To draw as little attention to himself as possible, he had refrained from feeding, though his soul ached for nourishment and his mind tried to convince him that each and every soul he met along his way was a meal to be had. Wearing a simple dark robe and posing as a Franciscan monk, he glided with purpose through the camps that had been set up by traders and travelers outside the city walls. Most of the other souls ignored him, keeping to themselves, their own ailments of mind and their own private tortures. Only the odd call from an aching soul asking Vincenzo to offer God's salvation, along with the flickering flames of torches and braziers, threatened to uncover him. Vincenzo saw that the gates to the city had been closed for the night, so he made his way east along the walls until he was well away from the camps. Away from prying eyes, he stopped and looked at the damp stone face of the wall. He pulled up the sleeves of his robe and let his fingers find a minute crevice in the wall. Then Vincenzo began his climb. With a spider’s ease, he scaled the wall and paused only to make sure that the parapets were clear before making the final push over the wall and onto the parapet walkway. With the moonlight as his sole companion, Vincenzo made his way along the wall and down the nearest staircase, finding himself safely inside the city, just a stone's throw away from the cathedral. As he looked up, a black raven touched down on the roof of the cathedral, and Vincenzo noticed the Gothic spires reaching towards the dark night sky. A host of gargoyles grinned down at him – a telltale visage that revealed to Vincenzo that this was not the house of a merciful God. This was a house of God built by those who had been abandoned by God, and in a strange way, Vincenzo felt welcome. He made his way to the nearby side entrance, finding the heavy wooden door unlocked. As he pulled open the door, the hinges gave out a low moan. Inside the antechamber, the silence pressed down on him under the weight of the heavy stone vaults high above. The silence was broken by the sound of a wooden mallet masterfully directing a carving gouge through heavy wooden planks, creating bursts of sound that echoed through the cathedral.
Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck Page 20