The Heir of Garstwrot

by Veras Alnar

  “That doesn't sound like rats,” Fulk said, “it sounds like nails against the wall.”

  The nightmares he'd had threatened to overwhelm him but Amis closed his eyes and forced himself to think rationally, as he was awake and not asleep in his bed. He refused to conjure up great beasts or burned up grotesque faces.

  “Could be animals,” Amis said, “like cats.”

  “That's not a cat,” Fulk said.

  From the table he grabbed a candle.

  “Get your sword,” Fulk said.

  “What?” Amis said.

  “I said, get your sword,” Fulk said, “we'll follow it.”

  Amis did as he was told and together they followed the scrambling scratches down their hallway, through the stairs and all the way past the alcoves with the smashed saints into the very kitchen itself. But it was empty and nothing more was heard until Amis noticed that it was coming very faintly from the small stone hall.

  “What do you suppose it is,” Amis asked him, fearing his answer.

  Fulk shook his head and the candle trembled.

  The scratches were coming from behind the tapestry in the great hall, the one that hung a bit lop sided and had beautiful embroidered trees all over it. It was part of a hunting scene with deer and unicorns and all manner of cheerful looking animals. Amis tugged at it fruitlessly until Fulk shoved him aside and yanked it down, tearing it apart.

  “Someone made that,” Amis said, flustered.

  “And they're probably dead,” Fulk said, “and wont' be fussed. Look at that, there. It's plaster put over a wall, fresher than the rest.”

  The scratches it seemed had quieted and Amis desperately wanted to go back to their room but Fulk had other ideas, from the kitchen he got his shovels and handed Amis one of them.

  “And now,” Fulk said, “we chip through it and see what the devil all that noise is.”

  Amis felt uneasy but he did as he was told. It was surprisingly easy to do, the plaster hadn't been put up with a professional hand, it was clumpy and poorly done as if it had been slapped up in an enormous hurry. Once a hole had been broken through, Amis jumped back away from all the insects bursting through, just like the flies and beetles from the well, they flew around in great swarms. And then on the air came the smell just like before.

  “Something dead is in there,” Amis said.

  “So it is,” Fulk said.

  After they had made a large hole it was easy enough for Fulk with his long reach to begin pulling the plaster chunks from the wall itself in great pieces. Amis was just trying to stay out of the way of the falling bits until he caught sight of something strange through the falling plaster. At first he thought he was looking at some creature moving but then when the slight breeze stopped he realized he was looking at a woven banner, rough sewn with a dancing devil on it that had been crudely drawn. It had painted red dots for eyes and an accentuated male genital and its mouth was twisted up like a crooked red line.

  “Dear god,” Fulk said, snarling backwards, “the smell!”

  It was awful and putrid and Amis jumped back covering his face as the last of the plaster fell. And to his absolute and numbing horror he saw the room. He saw the woman laying over the great stone sarcophagus rotted nearly to the bone. The insects all over her were crawling and had almost covered the short sword stuck so hard in her breast it had pierced the stone underneath her body. And her mouth wide agape as if in a soundless scream while her gossamer white clothes lay in a pile of putrid juices.

  “Lady Anna of Lorix,” Fulk said, “there she is. You were right.”

  “What's all that,” Amis said, “those symbols all over the wall.”

  Drawn on the walls were all manner of diabolical images, symbols in strange tongues Amis had never seen before. Stars and circles and measured shapes with figures dancing all around. They looked as if they had been scratched in blood in some frantic hand. But worst of all was when Amis drew a little closer, as much as he could stand, he noticed the sarcophagus had been slightly shifted open just a crack. Across the side of the coffin were big letters that had been carved into the stone centuries before, while Amis was no expert the letters he could recognize together as words spelled out a familiar name.

  GARSTWREN

  The scratching began again and this time it was coming from inside. Amis let out a panicked scream, he took off through the kitchens and up the hall his feet pounding, sword clutched at his side and Fulk following. They ran in desperate, thundering steps until Amis realized they had went too far and were instead standing at the top of landing, the library door cracked open just a bit as if drawn by some invisible hand.

  “The library,” Amis whispered, “it's in there.”

  “The doors up here are blocked up,” Fulk said, his voice gone rigid from fear, “any idea why?”

  A great rending metal sound was heard and it was coming from behind the blocked up walls. Then a rattling, scratching sound that resembled tiny feet clicking along the stones.

  “I don't want to know,” Amis said, and turned aside, “go away!”

  They ran back to their room and Fulk slammed the door shut and pushed a chair against it when they were inside.

  “God damn this keep and its evil legends,” Fulk said, “god help us! What kind of place is this?”

  “I don't know,” Amis said, “I don't know!”

  “We could go back and see,” Fulk said, “and relieve our fears, knowing its nothing.”

  “No!” Amis said, “It's not nothing and I never want to see that horrible face again!”

  Fulk was evidently brought to the edge of his nerves by Amis saying it so surely.

  “We'll wait until dawn then. Daylight weakens evil things,” Fulk said, “or so I've heard.”

  “I've never seen anything like those symbols,” Amis said, “nothing-”

  But that hadn't been true, the sigils and symbols on Lord Guain's desk had rather resembled them.

  “He's a witch,” Amis said, “or something worse.”

  “Who is?” Fulk said.

  “Lord Guain,” Amis said, “Gessetto, whatever his name is. I kept trying to tell you, I had these awful dreams and then I'd sleep walk into his room and-”

  “Then what,” Fulk said.

  “Then I'd,” Amis sucked in a breath, “drink his blood, while some monster leered at me.”

  Fulk moved his hand off the door and slowly backed up until he was almost at the shuttered window.

  “Did you ever think,” Fulk said, carefully, “that this place is haunted- or rather, made worse by you?”

  “Don't be stupid,” Amis said, “why the hell would I want to terrify myself?”

  “You're the heir,” Fulk said.

  “And I never had an inkling until today,” Amis said, “I don't know any black magic or understand a word of it. Please believe me!”

  The worst terror overtook Amis, he didn't want Fulk to run away.

  “Don't leave me here alone,” Amis said.

  “Why?” Fulk said, “Because you'll starve to death from lack of blood?”

  “Because!” Amis shouted, desperately, “I don't know anything! I'm an idiot just like you said, I'm not a diabolical fiend or an un-dead heir, I'm just the son of a gong farmer who is nothing without your help!”

  “You're not nothing,” Fulk said, quickly.

  Amis panted and he could feel wetness on his cheeks; he was scared. More accurately, he was completely terrified. He didn't want to be left by himself, in a lonely place that scratched and burbled behind blocked up walls some horrific secret.

  “Stay with me and tomorrow we can go,” Amis said, “I want to go-”

  Amis closed his eyes, painfully. He was about to say that he wanted to go home but he had none, not anymore. Sighing, he put his sword back under the bed and sat on its edge afterward, his hair covering his face.

  “This is more of a mess than I thought it would be,” Fulk admitted, “I thought our escape would be so easy. For what it
's worth, I'm sorry about the hair.”

  “It's fine,” Amis said, clutching himself.

  Fulk had peeled himself away from the wall and sat down next to him, with a heavy breath.

  “Wasn't supposed to be like this,” Fulk said.

  “No, it wasn't,” Amis said.

  Unsure of what to do they sat next to one another miserably, Amis with his arms tight around his own chest and Fulk with his head in his hands, trying to work out some other plan.

  “Our candle will run out,” Fulk said, “before morning.”

  “Put it out then,” Amis said, “I'll open the window.”

  Fulk leaned over him, his pale wrist in front of Amis' face.

  Desire burned and licked inside of him, it bloomed like flowers growing over a cemetery plot. He felt like the honey bee, come to dip its tongue in deathly nectar before flying off to sting. With a quick flickering motion, he whipped the candle out with wind and then after seeing Fulk's surprised face in the darkness, which had gained some unearthly light all draped in midnight blue, he lunged for his pale throat.

  There was a shout followed by the most delicious bloom of blood against his tongue. Powerful fingers tore at his hair and tried to rip his head away but to no avail. He drank his fill until he lifted his head and then felt Fulk hit him across the face sending him tumbling.

  Leaning against the wall while gasping and clutching his neck, Fulk was very pale and Amis crawled across the floor ready to lunge again.

  “Oh no you don't,” Fulk uttered, picking up his mace, “little leech.”

  Amis found himself biting the metal handle of the mace as a horse would a bit and denting it, while Fulk used the grip to fling him backwards onto his own bed.

  Staggering towards Amis who was grimacing, his teeth hurting since they had so unkindly bit against metal, Fulk shoved Amis onto his stomach and tied his arms behind him neatly, with a bed sheet.

  “Damn!” Fulk said, “And now what am I to do with you.”

  Amis managed to roll himself over onto his back and squirmed. Fulk certainly knew how to securely tie a person up, though where he had learned such a skill Amis wasn't sure he wanted to know.

  “It's a bit tight,” Amis said.

  “Shut up, idiot,” Fulk said, wincing when he pressed his hand to his neck, “this is going to leave a scar. Lucky I wasn't killed.”

  “I wouldn't kill you,” Amis said, nearly drunk with blood.

  “Put those fangs together and keep quiet,” Fulk said, “I've got to think our way out of this. Dawn's our only hope, you're almost half normal then. As normal as you can get, anyway.”

  “I haven't seen the dawn light in at least three days,” Amis said.

  Amis began laughing and this, above all else, seemed to disturb Fulk.

  “You're like a wolf,” Amis said, peculiar visions flooding him, “set upon by his own pack.”

  Fulk loomed over him, his face so serious and stony.

  “Six sets of yellow eyes glowing in the night,” Amis murmured, feeling dreamy, “while an owl watches not to help, but to wait his turn for the kill.”

  The far away look on Fulk's face was so unlike the grave master that Amis almost laughed again but it was when his eyes turned stricken that Amis felt that he had come upon something that he didn't understand and that only Fulk could someday tell him.

  “Why did you let me go with you to complete your tasks,” Amis said, “I couldn't do them as well as the other men and still you paid me my quarter in gold.”

  “Because your blockhead wasn't the one that would betray me, at least not on purpose,” Fulk said.

  Amis let out a slightly, hysterical sound. All the blood had really rushed to his head.

  Amis said, stumbling over the words, “I think you understand me better than sometimes I understand myself.”

  Huffing a sound between his teeth, Fulk shook his head.

  “Not so,” Fulk said, with a far away gaze.

  Fulk then used his spindly legs to hover over Amis and hold his chin in his hand. Amis had a mind to snap his teeth at him and Fulk just laughed, mockingly.

  “Not another bite,” Fulk said, “doesn't matter how comely your flushed skin is, I'd like to keep my neck in one piece.”

  It was the blood, Amis realized, that made him drugged and not the wine. It put strange thoughts inside of his head or maybe, they had always been there he just had the mind to recognize them now. It made him acknowledge that as repugnant as the grave master could be, Amis had always held him in esteem for his cleverness that was so well beyond his own it might as well have been the top of a mountain. Maybe the grave master had a point, Amis was forced to admit, and he did admire people with far greater brains than his own more than any other.

  Pushing Amis' upper lip aside, Fulk observed his pointed fangs. He pressed a hand to Amis' chest, resting against it as if checking for a heart beat. It was then that Amis realized Fulk was transfixed looking into his eyes, that there was a power in them, just like rubies drew men to look at them with desire.

  “I think you're not completely dead,” Fulk said, “but nearly. Devil knows what that means for us.”

  It was then, as Amis felt his own wrists press into his back in a slightly painful way, that he became aware there was something else he wanted besides blood. When Fulk re-lit the candle the soft glow made the grave master's face seem forlorn and serious.

  “Untie me,” Amis said, “please.”

  Like the whisper of the wind, a softness on a breeze and a gentle shove that would be at home pushing a barge into the fen water, Amis knew he had accomplished some trick when Fulk began undoing the sheet around his wrists. His hands trembled, like they were working against his better sense but Amis felt just a little triumphant, the grave master was finally doing something that he asked.

  “You asked how Durgia loved me,” Amis said, “I can show you.”

  It was an evil thing to say but also, he knew it was a perfect challenge. His neck was gripped by the grave master's long fingers and tightened to the point Amis wondered if he could still get air. Fulk observed him with crafty, hungry eyes that resembled the hunger of the wolves Amis had seen in his head and that, beyond anything else, excited him.

  Clothes were scattered and removed with haste and Amis had no fear to ride Fulk, who he had pushed onto his back in bed, because he had already been with a man before. The nervousness about the unknown had been wiped away and instead he found himself grinding against Fulk's bony hips with a wild kind of abandon. It did hurt a bit but the pain was overwhelmed by the feeling that rushed through him, that finally he had a power that he'd never had before.

  “Spiny waif,” Fulk panted, “I can feel the shape of your bones through your arse.”

  Perhaps he should have been offended but Amis heard himself laugh, that was until Fulk grabbed him by his throat and twisted them around so he was the one bearing down on Amis with his murderous eyes and cruel grin.

  “You've shown me what she did to you,” Fulk said, “let me show you what I did to her.”

  Amis was driven into so hard he felt the bed creak and had to grab the edges to stop his teeth from clacking together in an unpleasant way. Leaning his head backwards, Amis opened his eyes to see a great, dark shape looming behind him. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out, his mouth was filled by a dark red tongue and he felt the hot breath over his face while Fulk was driving into him. Closing his eyes briefly, the beast seemed to disappear and Amis felt instead the mouth of Fulk closing over his in some desperate, biting kiss. More agreeably, Amis felt him grab his own manhood without hesitation to be sure he felt as much satisfaction as the grave master had.

  There was an awkwardness after they parted from each other. Amis felt a bit of a loss that he hadn't bitten Fulk's neck again but Fulk was staring at the curtain of their bed, lost in thoughts that Amis knew nothing of. Amis got cleaned up and half dressed and after some moments, Fulk did the same. Amis collapsed into bed, noticing h
is limbs beginning to go heavy.

  “I think dawn is coming,” Amis said.

  He glanced at the bedside table and noticed the candle had long gone out, which was funny because Amis recalled being able to see everything even without it. Closing his eyes briefly, he saw the face of a hungry white wolf looming over him that no longer caused him fear. Instead he heard its pounding feet in the snow, felt the rush of its fur under his fingers and knew it was running on ahead of him, looking with its great yellow eyes, watching for any danger.

  Some moments later Fulk was resting his head in his hands while he sat at the bedroom desk and felt that he had crossed some line that shouldn't have been. Picking up the mirror from the desk that Amis so liked to use to straighten his half cut hair, Fulk saw that Amis was once again apparent in its reflection, though very, very still.

  If the state of Amis' living but not living flesh wasn't proof enough of supernatural influence than his recitation of the worst night of Fulk's life had certainly been, as he had ever told anyone about it and had expected to go to the grave with the knowledge still buried inside of him.

  In his mind's eye he could still see his brothers in their gray coats mimicking the town watchmen and his sister all of fifteen with hair she had cut short to try and blend in. She had been so insistent on going with them but lately, Fulk could only remember how she looked with the red tinged sewer water flooding around her and her glassy, pale blue eyes staring up at him, as if shocked that anything bad should have happened. His Uncle had worn brown because he was supposed to be the guardsman of Micidea's great palace and that, Fulk had always wondered about. What his role had really been. And with all that battling at his gates, he still thought of Durgia and her plots. She had been so very much like his sister, which in part had been the attraction but that had all gone south as it always had done with women who were far too clever for his schemes.

  One day Durgia had cornered him outside his grave keeper's shack while he was putting away the tools of his trade (along with some finds, slipped into a wooden strong box) and pestered him with questions about Amis. The day had been cold and bleak, ash had fallen the night before as if it had been a winter storm. Fulk was sure that had been an evil sign, the beginning of the end of Garstwrot only he hadn't the foreknowledge to realize it at the time.