Tersias the Oracle

by G. P. Taylor

  At Tara’s feet was the wicker coffin, the lid shut tightly and bound with straps of leather.

  Jonah was thrown into the room and slid across the wooden floor with such force that he sprawled facedown at Tara’s feet. He looked up and saw her smile.

  “You like what you see, my lass?” Malpas asked as he stepped beside her and ran his cold hand across her cheek. “You were once good friends, conspirators and highway robbers, but you, my dear girl, are forgiven. Honourable Dobson,” Malpas cried out. “Can I hang him?”

  “Calmly, master, calmly,” warned Skullet, concerned at the excitement of Lord Malpas.

  Dobson was tied by his hands and feet to a small door at the side of the Great Hall. He dangled from his wrists by bands of thick felt that kept his feet suspended an inch above the floor. “If you stop hanging me, you can quarter him for all I care,” Dobson screamed as he kicked to be free.

  “See, Solomon, even the Lord Chancellor agrees that we should hang the boy. What say you, Dobson, about Magnus Malachi and the impresario Mister Thomas Danton?” Malpas shouted with great enthusiasm.

  “Hang ’em all,” Dobson shouted. “You will pay for what you have done with me and hang with them.”

  Malpas turned to Skullet and whispered in his ear. The servant laughed and rubbed his hands together as he signalled to four militia to cut the Judge from the door and take him away. “Let him swim for his supper.” Skullet laughed as he gave the command to the guards. “Take him to the sewer and let him float on the tide.”

  Dobson screamed in dire protest as he was roughly cut down with several sword swipes that missed his fingers by the shortest of breadths. “I will not be done for,” he cried loudly, sobbing like a small boy. “I curse you, Malpas, and your children’s children.”

  “Then you are too late, for I am already cursed by the vilest affliction, and for this life I have no more care.” Malpas looked at Solomon and then to Campion, who stood like a giant ogre behind his master. “You have the Alabaster?”

  “Yes,” Solomon said, and he nodded to a disciple who clutched the stone box.

  “And the boy?” he asked.

  “By your feet, wrapped in death and awaiting new birth.”

  “Good.” Malpas laughed as he ran his finger along Tara’s forehead, down her long thin nose and to her lips. “Shall he perform for us tonight?”

  “If it is your desire. That is within my power.”

  “POWER!” Malpas screamed. “Such a beautiful word. Do you have the power, Solomon, do you?” he begged as he began to slather with excitement. “Come then, get the boy, quickly. Bring him to life. Give him whatever is needed so that he will live.”

  Jonah crouched by the coffin within an arm’s length of Tersias as Campion strode boldly from behind his master and untied the lid. He saw the boy as the giant lifted the woven strands from him and unwrapped the purple gauze from his face. His lips were icy blue, his face white as if in true death.

  Solomon walked unsteadily towards the coffin, bent towards the boy and sprinkled several drops of thick liquid from a small bottle. “Wake, child,” he said as he rubbed the linctus onto Tersias’s lips and dribbled more into the boy’s reviving mouth. He shook and jerked as he chanted.

  “Just give him the linctus and not the act, Solomon,” Malpas said, jaded by the performance. “You are amongst the educated and he is no more dead than I. We are all aware of the poisons you use to drug your disciples when you give them birth.”

  Solomon looked at Malpas, aware he had been found out. “He will wake soon,” he said as he stepped away from the boy and held out his hand for Tara to take it.

  Tara didn’t move. Her hands rested in her lap and a sullen smile was upon her face.

  “She will stay near to me, Solomon. Don’t you think she would make such a nice queen?” Malpas asked as he again stroked her cheek with his now trembling hand.

  Tersias stirred as the liquid brought his heart to life. His small hands gripped the sides of the basket as he began feebly to pull himself upright.

  “Tersias,” whispered Jonah, holding out a hand to the boy and touching his fingertips. “Call your Wretchkin, he might help you.”

  Tersias sat up in the wicker coffin and stared blindly before him, his lips muttering quietly as he called for the Wretchkin. There was a sound of scurrying rats and from every doorway flooded a mass of long-tailed rats. They ran into the room, covering every surface, and then almost as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. And then the doorway rattled and thumps could be heard echoing through the house and into the Great Hall. The door burst open and a chilling stench rolled into the room as the ancient Wretchkin walked towards them in long bounding strides. In his glory, the Wretchkin discarded his veiled guise so he could be seen by all.

  “What brings me to this place, Tersias?” the Wretchkin said in a voice loud enough for all to hear. “Finally I am called by such a great council,” it said mockingly, Tersias mouthing every word as if possessed.

  Jonah gasped as the creature stepped into the room, visible for all to see. There before them was a half-man, half-demon, its skin dry as parchment and pulled tight over its old bones. Jonah looked at the forehead of the beast, on which a strip of skin had been torn away to reveal its bare bone skull.

  “I see that you take a great interest in me, boy,” the Wretchkin said as it walked towards him, speaking through Tersias.

  Jonah didn’t reply, struck dumb by the sight of the creature as it smiled at him through dry dead lips pulled tight across its charred black teeth. He noticed that the beast had an old dry wound to the side of its head.

  The creature spoke as if it could read his mind. “I have carried this for many years, boy. Once I was a man, I lived upon this earth. It was my hand that forged the knife’s blade, my fingers that scraped the Alabaster and smoothed it to a perfect shape. Then it was taken from me, ripped from my hands as I was smitten, to be a curse.” The creature looked at Malpas. “From generation to generation it was handed from the devious to the dangerous and I looked on, unable to be seen or dabble my hand in the doings of men. Then I found Tersias, and my strength grew as his faded, I grew in life as cruelty and shame burst forth in his. The more he suffered, the stronger I became. Now I am near the end of my life and one last thing I must endure.”

  “So what do you say to us?” Malpas asked as he gripped the chair.

  “I say I am done with human life and answering your futile questions of what is to come. Who shall I marry, where can I find my heart’s desire—is this the sum of human knowledge? Is there not one who will ask of me something that will tax my understanding?” The creature roared at the gathering as it paced up and down. “Look at you, look at you—magicians, charlatans and politicians. All of you corrupt and self-seeking. You, Malpas, wanted the boy to tell of your future plans to steal the life of a king and take what he had for your own whilst in your incurable body your death stalked you. And you, Solomon, slaving away with the name of a king and not a jot of his wisdom, fooling the world with talk of the world’s end and being a saviour. Oh, how many will come like you, shouting and quivering, fooling the poor and gullible, taking their money and twisting their minds.” As Tersias shouted the creature’s words, he grew weaker.

  Tersias began to groan in pain. The Wretchkin walked towards him as everyone stared.

  “Leave him!” Malachi shouted in anger. “What has he done to you but been your servant?”

  “How dare you?” screamed the beast as it looked at Malachi eye to eye. “You were one of the cruellest. Many a night I actually pitied the boy when he was in your care. Kept in a cage, starved and threatened with burning pokers. He saw it all. Blind you thought him to be, but through my eyes he saw everything.”

  Malachi bowed his head in shame as the grief welled from him. “Leave him, and harm me. Whatever wrong he has done to you I take it upon myself. Take my soul and set him free.”

  “Grace has touched your life,” the Wretchkin said scornf
ully. “Fine, sentimental grace. I need him no longer as death hovers above him. That is the nature of possession. I pass from life to life, but this time I have chosen wisely, for I have seen what is to come and my new victim stands openmouthed and gasping . . .” And on those words the Wretchkin leapt towards Malpas, taking him by surprise.

  Malpas’s eyelids quivered as a palsy gripped his body. The Wretchkin spun around him, transformed into a dark winged beast that clutched upon his neck and prised open his mouth—and then it buried its head deep within and crawled into his throat and in an instant had disappeared.

  “SILENCE!” Malpas roared as several drops of fresh blood issued from his lips and fell to the floor. The militia, seeing his distress, formed a tight flank around him, swords drawn to protect their master.

  “Skullet,” Malpas mumbled. “It is time . . . I am dying. The Alabaster—take the knife and open the doorway. It will do the rest. Have it near to me . . .” Malpas slumped to the floor. He looked to Tara. “Will you join with me in another land?” he asked as more blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

  Tara’s heart stirred as the memories of the Alabaster welled up within her. She looked at Solomon and then to Malpas, lying helpless on the cold stone floor. He held out his hand towards her. At once she stepped from the stone throne, throwing the blanket from her shoulders and wrapping it around his trembling body.

  Solomon reached out to grab her by the arm, but was brutally stopped by the captain of the militia’s sword. “Back!” he shouted as Campion stood to guard his master.

  Skullet ran for the Alabaster. He grabbed it from a disciple and stabbed the dagger into the lock. As the box began to open, he took it to Malpas, who lay gasping for breath in Tara’s arms.

  The stone opened, and a cold blast of quicksilver filled the room. Particles of fine dust fell like silver rain, shimmering before the eyes. The candles trembled as the air was sucked from the chamber towards the heart of the Alabaster, dragging the light and warmth deep within. Then a ghostly hand reached out into the world and Malpas grasped it.

  The guards fled from the Great Hall, covering their eyes as their master was consumed, their screams echoing down the long hallway. Solomon’s disciples cowered in the corner of the room, hiding behind the thick curtains. A dark gloom consumed the light as if the sun would never lighten the room again, and above the fireplace the painting of Lord Malpas was stripped of every piece of colour, leaving only the blank frame.

  “My brother—NO!” screamed Skullet, holding tightly to the ankle of Lord Malpas as he was pulled further into the shimmering mirror.

  Before his body disappeared, Malpas reached into the pocket of his frock coat and pushed a folded paper into Skullet’s hand. His hand that passed the will to Skullet waved feebly before disappearing into the Alabaster. “It is all for you . . . everything . . . I go to see our father,” he said weakly as he was finally consumed by the mercury and the dandy gun fell from his pocket.

  In that moment Lord Malpas was gone from the world, taken by the Alabaster into the mercurial land of the quicksilver.

  A blast of pure light burst from the stone box and showered the chamber, dowsing all who stood by in shards of dew. The doorway between two worlds stood open, and an array of spectral creatures swirled about the room with ghostly green and sightless eyes, singing in voices at the very edge of hearing. Hair billowed from each one like long strands of seaweed as they flew, and all in the room were transfixed by the voices of the choir that floated before their eyes.

  The dance quickened, the choir swirled faster and faster, mingling to become a mass of sea-green that filled the chamber. Tara got to her feet and reached out. She was lifted from the floor and taken up by a hundred hands to join the dance and swirl amongst the creatures.

  Jonah reached up and pulled at Tara as she floated high above him. By his side, Tersias somehow got to his feet. “Leave her alone!” he screamed before falling back down.

  All this time Tara was being pulled closer to the Alabaster as if the voice of Malpas was drawing her in.

  Malachi had lifted Tersias from the splintering floor and held him close, trying to breathe life into his mouth, as Danton hovered next to them.

  Jonah grabbed Tara’s ankles with both hands and tugged her back to him, his feet braced against the stone. But she was wrenched ever closer to the mouth of the abyss.

  “Jonah—the knife!” Malachi shouted as Tara was about to be consumed, the struggle heightening towards completion.

  Jonah grabbed the dagger and, with one hand still desperately holding on to Tara, attempted to pull it from the stone, but the stone refused to let its hold slip. All around him the creatures swirled and twisted as they were sucked back within the stone.

  “Again, Jonah, again!” Jonah heard Malachi’s words as if they were rantings in a dream. He pulled even harder, forcing his fingers under the small hilt between the dagger and the stone. The handle of the dagger burnt in his hand, scorching his skin to black, as Tara willingly allowed herself to be pulled closer into the Alabaster.

  “Let me go!” she shouted to Jonah. “There is nothing left for me here.”

  “Help me, Malachi!” Jonah shouted as he struggled to keep his grip on the girl. With one last effort, Jonah pulled at the dagger—and suddenly it snapped from the lock and fell to the floor, spinning across the wooden boards and landing at Skullet’s feet.

  The Alabaster slammed shut. Jonah fell to the floor holding Tara, who struggled to free herself from his grip. She grabbed for the Alabaster and scraped her fingers into the smooth stone in the hope of prising the two sides apart.

  “Give me the knife!” she shouted at Skullet. “Let me go, too!”

  No one spoke. The room was now silent. Malachi, Solomon and Skullet looked at one another, unsure what would happen next. It was as if the cause of their struggle had been taken from them and now they searched each other for a reason for enmity. Skullet fumbled with the folded parchment, given to him by Malpas, his eyes scanning the lines again and again. The others watched silently, no one daring to move.

  “Give me the knife,” Tara said again, holding out her hand for Skullet to give it to her.

  “Stay, my dear,” Solomon said as he crossed the room.

  “I want nothing of this world,” she screamed, the effects of the mind-numbing linctus gone from her body. “That is where I want to be. I have seen it. That is what I desire.”

  “But you are here with me, you cannot leave me,” Solomon said.

  “I want nothing of this world,” she repeated as she got to her feet, clutching the Alabaster.

  “Then I cannot let you go,” Solomon said, and he grabbed the dandy gun from the floor and aimed it at the girl.

  “NO!” Jonah screamed as he ran towards Solomon, grabbing his hand, forcing the gun towards the ceiling. Tara ran to Skullet, reaching for the dagger, as Campion pulled Jonah from his feet and threw him at Malachi.

  Tara stumbled as she ran, falling headlong towards Skullet and the dagger. She gave a sudden short cry and dropped the Alabaster. Together she and Skullet fell to the floor.

  “Let her go!” Jonah screamed as he got to his feet, held back by Malachi.

  Solomon turned and aimed the dandy gun at Skullet. “Give me back my wife,” he cried as he stepped towards them.

  Skullet pushed Tara from him as he got to his feet, realising that the life had left her and clutching the dagger that now dripped with Tara’s blood. He stared at Solomon, who raised the gun and pulled back the hammer.

  “She’s dead. . . . It was a misadventure, an accident . . . ,” he pleaded as Solomon pulled the trigger and a shot exploded from the gun, hitting Skullet in the chest.

  He held his hand to the wound and smiled at Solomon. “Not a fatal wound,” he said. The colour drained from his lips, leaving them icy blue, as blood seeped from beneath his coat and dripped slowly to the floor.

  He staggered to the throne and sat against the cold stone as he looked at t
he wound, unable to take his gaze from the sight of blood. “Malpas and I were brothers,” he said slowly. “My father was his father. I was born below stairs and he above . . . on the same day, at the same time. Now I know this is a cruel earth, for he is in one world and I shall go to oblivion.” His breath wheezed through his teeth as his head fell to his chest and he said no more.

  Jonah ran to Tara’s side. He knelt by her as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped her brow, his heart broken. Solomon began to step back pace by pace, and he gave a sign to Campion to steal the Alabaster and escape.

  Malachi looked and saw them turn to depart, no words to say in mourning. “Leaving so soon, Solomon? Nothing to utter for all you have done?” Malachi asked as he looked to Danton, who now nursed Tersias in his arms.

  “We are to avoid death . . . it pollutes us with uncleanliness. I can only be concerned with the living.”

  “You are concerned only with yourself. The writing is upon the wall of your Citadel, Solomon. You have been held in the balance and found wanting.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, Malachi. A haircut and a fresh set of garments do not make you so righteous. A failed magician, that is all you will be.”

  “That is true, but through love I have found a new life and one that you’ll never know. Be gone from this place, we will take care of the dead. The Alabaster stays here. I assure you that you do not want it.”

  “Very well, Malachi,” Solomon said as he stepped back through the great door and into the hall, fleeing from the house with Campion close behind and a straggle of disciples scurrying like frightened mice. “But leave the city if you know what is good for you. A plague is coming that may cut short your new life, and then we will see who will be king. Come, Campion—they came in a carriage fit for a king and now we shall depart in one.”

  XXVII

  VERITAS

  Jonah Ketch held Tara close to him. Tears streaked his face. He stared into her eyes that looked back in death and he thought how she had been changed. Gone was her red hair and raucous smile, no longer would she chide him with words only half-meant. No more would he feel the warmth of her hand held out to him in friendship. In his arms he cradled her chilling body as with every second the blood drained from her face.