Sci Fi & Fantasy / Oneiroid Pathos - Chapter 2
Aethier set off for the Great Castle alone and on foot. Having spent the last few days alone, she considered her upcoming meeting with Lord Curtea with equal amounts of anticipation and dread. Mordel had not returned, and she wondered where he had been finding his shelter. It wasn’t unusual for him to stay away from their castle overnight, but his absence had been long this time. Somehow, Aethier knew he wasn’t coming back soon. She wondered if she would ever see him again.
Although her journey began among fields, she found herself walking down streets lined with modest castle homes within an hour. More fields followed, and after another hour, she finally approached the iron gates that led to her destination. She expected guards, but saw none. She expected the granite pathway to continue on for miles, but it took her only fifty steps to reach the end of it.
To her left, young girls played on a rock path leading up to a small castle made of some rough-hewn gray stone. Glass windows were set high on either side of the plain wooden door, peering like judgmental eyes out toward her. This, she thought, must be the Mistresses quarters. This would be the place that the young girl who had summoned her, Julia, called home.
Quite clearly, the imposing structure ahead of her was the Great Castle. It was much larger than her home – perhaps four or five times larger – and was made of basalt, which gave it a breathy, molten appearance, as though the whole structure were somehow in motion, flowing within itself. Approaching the large oak door, she stopped and took a deep breath, trying to dismiss the pictures in her head of a fat, stuffy, bearded Lord Curtea. Using the plain brass knocker, she made her presence known, though a part of her wondered if she could be in the wrong place; surely the home of the egotistical Curtea would not be so modestly ornamented and visibly unguarded.
The door opened to reveal a tall gentleman in a black suit such as one might wear to a formal party. He was fair skinned, like all of her kind, with high cheekbones and a prominent nose. Eyes of a milky gray color expressed a sense of certainty and knowledge. He was handsome, with a bearing that commanded notice, and a tall and thin stature. She watched him for a moment, taking in his delicate facial features and shoulder-length straight black hair. Though one might find the Lord himself an offensive character, she thought to herself, one could learn to enjoy the company of his servant.
“Yes?” he asked.
She smiled. “Mistress Aethier. Lord Curtea summoned me.”
He returned the smile and stepped aside to let her pass. “Come in, Aethier. I’m pleased to meet you at last.” Turning slightly, he glanced over his shoulder before continuing. “Your Mordel has already arrived, as you can see, and with a close friend of mine.” His eyes rested on hers again with a sobering expression. It was almost a look of pity, and Aethier found herself reacting with a stiffened neck and firm stance, as if to say she needed no one’s pity. “Come in,” continued the servant. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Stepping inside, Aethier briefly spied Mordel. He sat on a black satin sofa to her right, a matter-of-fact expression on his face. She quickly turned away from him to look around the room. It was huge, with a fireplace set into the wall opposite the door, and a set of stairs leading up in the far right corner. The sofa on which sat Mordel was nestled under the stairwell, along with a few white velvet chairs.
Aethier’s gaze rested on a woman sitting in one of these chairs. She was expressionless: light gray eyes icy and distant, though somehow penetrating, in a stone white face. She was beautiful, with long silver hair and skin like delicate powder. Her body and face looked so young, and yet her eyes betrayed something beyond wisdom and experience, a look that could only be ascribed to having lived long. A powerful aura hung about her, as though years of pain had left scars within, invisible to the naked eye.
“I am Mirror, from Amthera,” explained the woman, her eyes friendly although unsmiling. ”I own the castle on…”
“…the Champaign. I know,” Aethier finished for her.
Mirror raised her eyebrows curiously. “Really? I thought no one knew who I was except those living on the Champaign.”
“Well, I guessed,” Aethier admitted. “I had a feeling that Mordel might go there. He’s been obsessed with it for years.”
Mirror finally smiled, but the gesture was stained with the hint of unhappiness, or perhaps it was displeasure. “I tried to persuade him to return,” she explained. “But he is young and doesn’t understand much about our ways.” Aethier wondered if these words were a rebuke, as if to say she should have taught her mate better. But Mirror looked down then, into the lap of the purple satin dress she wore. Her eyes downcast, there was almost a hint of shame, and Aethier realized that if any rebuke was intended, it was only meant for herself. “Anyway, I didn’t want him to wander the
Champaign alone with no source of light.” And her eyes met Aethier’s again, the icy blankness having returned to them. “I let him stay with me for a few days. We arrived a bit earlier.”
Aethier was dumbstruck by the woman, mesmerized. There was such beauty in her, mingled with wisdom and an unspeakable sense of pain. She opened her mouth to offer a reply, but could find no words. The man at her side came to her rescue with his own surprising introduction. “My lady, I am Vehoos Curtea.”
All infatuation with the Lady Mirror was washed away by the shock of this new revelation, as Aethier turned to her host. “That must be very nice for you,” she retorted caustically. She felt somehow slighted, as if he had intentionally tricked her into liking him despite herself.
“Please excuse her, my Lord,” Mordel offered hurriedly. “She is a bit ill-mannered.” His voice was panicked, and Aethier noted with some satisfaction that the right person could in fact intimidate her mate. She held back a small smile.
“It’s quite fine.” Vehoos said with an amused smile, dismissing the matter in a way that Aethier found charming despite her better judgment. He moved toward Mirror and took her hand gently, pulling her up off the sofa with an intimate familiarity. “Will you show Mordel to a room please? I’ll take care of the Mistress.”
Aethier noted a sly expression on Mirror’s face as she nodded, and wondered if that was for showing Mordel to a room or for the Lord’s ‘taking care’ of her. Mordel watched as the Lord of the Mara Lands took his mate’s hand and led her up the stairs and out of sight.
The stairway opened up into a long corridor of plain wooden doors. It was so quiet up here, with a sense of haunted stillness, that it gave Aethier a slight feeling of dread. That feeling was quickly overcome by curiosity as she passed through corridor after corridor, all totally silent and empty. Where were all the chosen Mistresses? And surely there must be guards about?
They finally stopped at one of the doors, which Lord Curtea opened, stepping aside with a gesture to indicate she should pass within. It was a large but simple bedroom, with a fireplace, emerald colored velvet chair, and of course a small bed, covered with linen to match the furniture.
“What are all these rooms up here?” Aethier asked as the door closed behind them.
“They once housed my father’s favorite Mistresses,” he answered. “They’re being saved now for the young Mistresses in training and their mates when they grow older.”
Aethier turned to him. “You mean you actually allow them to have mates of their own?” she asked, barely trying to conceal her sarcasm. Just because this man happened to be charming and attractive was no reason to let her guard down. There were still many things not to trust about him.
He smiled, seemingly unmoved by her apparent censure. “I don’t disallow them,” he explained. “I don’t tell them what they can and cannot do. When they come of age, they can stay here and find mates, stay here alone, or leave and do as they will.” He paused then, watching her gravely for a moment. “You don’t know what the Mistresses really are, do you?” he said, clearly just discovering her ignorance now. “They aren’t chosen Mara. In fact, most are not. Some few are Mara orphans, but most are children of the Stigovi who were sent as gifts to keep the peace. To refuse them would be considered an affront to the Elders. Others are Ephemera who were brought into the dreaming by one of our own before the age of transfer, and abandoned to find their own way. They are brought here to receive training. Mirror usually boards the boys and trains them, but there are far fewer boys than girls.”
Aethier raised her eyebrows, for he was speaking of the crime she herself had committed in her youth, and she had thought her sin far more unusual than he was making it sound. His nonchalant comments surprised her. Either the crime was not so bad as the Stigovi had led her to believe, or Lord Curtea was not so judgmental as she had guessed he would be.
She sat down in the chair and stared at the man before her. This was not the great, conceited Lord Curtea she had imagined, and she could not decide whether to be angry or relieved at the realization.
He sat down beside her on the arm of the chair and beheld her with a forgiving expression. “What’s wrong, dear?” he asked. “Were you expecting me to be a little more like my father?”
“I must admit, I am a bit surprised that you haven’t forced me to bow at your feet and address you only as ‘My Lord Curtea’,” she said, offering him the first smile since she’d discovered his identity.
Vehoos laughed. “No, I like my first name. If I went around as everybody’s Lord Curtea, there would be no way of telling me apart from my father. I have spent much time trying to dispel the opinions built up during the reign of my father about the Lord of the Mara Lands. “
“So, you want me to call you Vehoos?”
He shrugged. “You can call me Vehoos, or Curtea, or Lord, or whatever you wish. I’ve more important things to worry about than names and titles.”
“I’ll call you Vehoos, then.”
She looked around her room again, allowing herself now to truly take in her surroundings. Having become slightly more comfortable with her host, she now felt it more appropriate to consider her purpose here. It struck her to wonder how long she might be here and just what she was here for. But these things, she suspected, would be told to her in good time. And the oddities that she found in this place were at the moment far more curious to her.
After taking in her surroundings, she turned back to him. “I noticed something strange,” she said. “There don’t seem to be any guards or servants. Are they all invisible or something?”
He chuckled. “Invisible. Now that’s an idea! No, I’m afraid there are no guards or servants.” He watched her for another moment, smiling almost mischievously. “I also cook my own food, as well as that of the Mistresses. And no, they don’t receive the same dinner every night. I believe that if someone can’t keep their own castle in order, they surely can’t do very well with all of the Mara Lands. And what would be the use of guards when we don’t typically harm our own kind and everyone else is afraid of us?”
Now that the anger at having her previous assumptions about Lord Curtea proved wrong was subsiding, Aethier felt vaguely guilty. She found herself liking the man that she had previously labeled as a fat, stuffy, bearded slob.
“I apologize, Vehoos,” she said. “It appears that I had judged you wrong.”
He shook his head. “No need to apologize. My father’s reign was one of terror, even over me!” It was said with a chuckle, but there was the hint of bitterness beneath the mirth. “It’s quite understandable that you would have thought me more like him. I do, however, hope that you are more pleased with what you’ve found.”
His smile gave way to a sober expression and his eyes became suddenly sad. “But we have more important issues to speak of,” he said, the tone of his voice seeming forced to a sudden steady firmness. “I’m afraid that I have some very disturbing news for you.”
She frowned. “It has to do with Mordel, doesn’t it?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if searching for words and dreading the discovery of them. “I’m afraid so,” he said, his tone soft. “I wish that there was time to explain more slowly, but I do not have temporal luxury.” He paused, watching her worriedly. “Forgive me, Aethier. It came to my attention much too late, and if we are to act with empathy and spare your mate any pain, we must act quickly.” Steadily, he held her eyes. “Mordel has brought upon his own death.” He waited for a response from her, but there was none; she simply stared at him. He continued, but appeared to be choosing his words carefully, monitoring her face for reaction. “He has brought upon himself a disease of our kind which will never let him go, but will hold him in a torturous netherworld forever.”
With blazing eyes, she stood quickly from the chair, shaking her head vehemently. “It’s not possible!” she exclaimed. “I never touched him!”
He stood too, and reached for her as though fearful she might run. But she stood firm, staring down at the long white fingers gripping her arms. Wondering if his grasp was for comfort or confinement, she looked up and held his eyes. Within their gray depths, she found only tenderness, and so she relaxed slightly.
As though sensing her trust, or testing it, he let go her arms and took one
step back. “He has brought this on himself, Aethier,” he offered. “It was not your doing.”
She might have screamed or cried, had her relationship with Mordel not been wrought with tragedy from its very beginning. The truth was she had been expecting something like this for quite a while. In a way, she found the news almost a relief. Shamed by the thought, she looked down at the deep green marble floor.
“Is there no way to stop it?” she asked.
“There is a way to release him, to make the death a final one,” he answered. “This is what must be done tonight.”
She raised her eyes to his again, shocked. “Tonight? This has already begun? So quickly?”
He nodded gravely. “The disease moves very quickly and takes its victim by surprise. As I said, I myself found out too late. I’m afraid that it has to be tonight.”
“How…?” She began, but stopped, trying to control the urge to cry. She stared at him for a moment, filling her head with thoughts of nothing, thinking meaninglessly of Mirror’s beautiful silver hair. And then she continued, “How did you know?” Despite her resolve, the tears would not be denied.
He put an arm around her lightly, as if to comfort, but offered no verbal response. Aethier wondered sadly if her own lack of devotion had helped to cause this fate for Mordel, despite Vehoos’ claim to the contrary. Had it already begun? Was her mate in pain at this moment?
She allowed herself to be comforted only briefly, and then pulled away, wiping her eyes. If he was in pain now, she didn’t want to wait and make his suffering last longer than necessary so that she could be consoled. The least she could do was release him quickly.
“Should we go now?” she asked Vehoos.
He nodded, but seemed hesitant, watching her with a worried expression. He seemed to search her eyes, but she displayed for him no weakness there, but steeled herself to offer no sign of the emotion that might lay behind them.
Finally, he stood, leading her back into the hall. They continued down the corridor to its end, where he turned into a room. Aethier stood for a moment in the doorway, peering inside fearfully. The room was round and black, and smelled of death. The emerald floor was covered with dark purple roses, and the scent of incense and flowers filled the place. Stretched out across half the room was a large black leopard.
“This room is exclusively for death ceremonies,” Vehoos explained. “It has been consecrated for that purpose, though it’s been a very long time since we’ve needed to use it. The cat is Pardlia.”
The leopard made a purring hum and stood, as though recognizing its name, and moved gracefully across the emerald toward the door. Aethier threw her hands to her face in shock, for the cat had been obscuring the view of a Mordel’s body centered on the floor.
He was naked and injured, his flesh cut cleanly in inch-long horizontal slices from head to foot. Blood dripped slowly out of the wounds and onto the floor. He looked as though he could not possibly be alive, though his body still cried out in pain. Aethier jumped at the sound.
Vehoos moved before her, obscuring her view, and she dropped her hands as he kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Hold yourself together, my dear,” he said. “You are going to have to be strong for this.”
She nodded, her eyes blurring with tears, and followed him to her mate’s bleeding body. Kneeling at Mordel’s side, Vehoos looked up at Aethier. “Go out to the garden,” he instructed. “It lies beyond the door at the end of the hall and down the stairs. Bring back every last red carnation, bloomed or buds, and do so quickly. There is a chest outside the door, use it to carry the flowers back.”
She did as he said, finding the flowers he requested quickly, despite the darkness. Though the chest was heavy, the strength of her race allowed her to carry its weight easily enough. Once her task was completed, Aethier moved back to the room again, telling herself not to think of what might be to come. Standing over Mordel, she lifted the chest and spilled the flowers out next to Vehoos.
“Make a circle of the carnations around him thrice, but leave a few of the flowers behind,” he told her.
She obeyed, watching as he kissed Mordel’s forehead and then touched it lightly with his entire palm. He removed his fingers slowly, and she beheld the mark of a burn where they had been. So, his unique power was of fire, she noted, and wondered briefly what her own might prove to be.
“Drop the remaining flowers over him,” he said.
She began to do so, hating the task. “What are we going to do to him?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“We are going to burn him,” he answered simply, without looking up.
She stopped dropping flowers and stared at him. “We are going to do what?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re joking, right?”
He looked up at her then, a serious expression on his face. “I have better
manners than that,” he said.
“He is alive!” She was becoming defiant.
Vehoos looked up into her face, held her eyes steadily, and once again seemed to muster the command his office provided him. “He won’t feel it. This is the only way, Aethier, and a much better fate than he would receive were we to let him continue going through this pain for eternity. All the nightmares of his Ephemeral life, and all the nightmares he has caused as Mara, are now manifesting through his body. He is being tortured by his own soul.”
She watched him warily for a moment, unsure of what to do. What if everything he said had been lies? There was no way for her to know. She had to obey him, for he was the Lord of the Land and the ruler of her people. Something in her wanted to trust him, despite her previous feelings. Perhaps she merely had to believe that there was a good reason for what she had no choice but to do. Reluctantly, she returned to her task. How could she do anything else? Her fate had been set in motion before her birth and she was powerless to change it – this she had been taught all of her life.
When there were no carnations left to drop, she knelt beside Vehoos, took Mordel’s hands and kissed them. “I never loved you, did I?” she whispered.
“Make sure you stand behind the circle,” said Vehoos. He obviously hadn’t heard her last words to her mate. It was probably a good thing, she thought, he would have hated her for them.
She stepped back and took a deep breath, watching as Lord Vehoos Curtea extended his hands above her mate’s body. A slow crackling sound permeated the room as Mordel’s flesh began to bubble, burning fiercely from within.
Deep red blood seeped out of the circle of flowers. Aethier turned away. How could she be standing here and watching her mate burn and bleed to death?
When she gathered enough courage to look back on the scene, Vehoos was on his hands and knees sucking at the puddle of blood like a cat lapping up milk.
For a moment she felt nauseated, and then she began to feel the images moving toward her with the blood spreading across the floor. She could feel the dreams of her mate exiting his mind with the blood that seeped out of his charred body. Feeling the familiar tug of mental exhaustion that reminded her she needed to feed, Aethier dropped to the floor in a cat-like motion and joined the Lord in his feast, sucking the visions of death, nightmare and reverie alike, from the blood of her mate.
When no blood remained on the floor, they stood and quietly left the room. Neither spoke as they stepped off the stairs into the main room. Any doubts Aethier had felt were now gone. Instead, she found herself unable to accept the entire situation at all. Silently, she reminded herself over and over again that Mordel was gone, searching for a reaction, but there was none. She felt nothing. Feeding on Mordel’s dreams had not given her the sense of vitality and pleasure that feeding on an Ephemeral would have done. Instead, it had rendered her numb. The exhaustion was gone, but it had left her without sensation to take its place.
Vehoos poured two glasses of red wine and handed one of them to her. She took the drink gratefully and stretched out on the satin sofa, realizing numbly that she was being impolite, but that she really didn’t care. Had she completely lost touch with her feelings?
They emptied and refilled their glasses several times as the sky rapidly lightened. Vehoos finally closed his eyes and drifted into sleep in his chair. Aethier wondered where the Lady Mirror had gone, and smiled to herself with the irony of it: she had helped to burn her mate to death this evening, and the only thoughts she could find were those of curiosity about a woman she didn’t even know. Had she grown completely cold? Or was she denying her feelings in shock? Or something more sinister – had feeding on the dreams of a dead man generated a death of emotion within her, just as feeding on the dreams of the living revitalized her?
She stood up from the sofa and quietly built a fire. For a while she merely sat in front of the fireplace, emptying glass after glass. What feelings she might have had were being numbed yet further by the wine, and she wondered if she would ever find them again. After a time, she felt thin arms come around her waist.
“Let’s go to our rooms and get some sleep,” said Vehoos.
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at the beginning it was sort of like boring really, but of course that could have just been me. I think it may need to move a little slower, or more description. But as i got into the story i really couldnt stop reading it. You captured your reader really well. What i am puzzled about is how old is she? At first i thought she was a teenager, and then you said”...she herself had commited in her youth…”. Does that mean when she was very young like 5, 6 years old or when she was 20? Overall i think this is really well written and i cant wait to see more,
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