Should a door be opened...close it. Part 3
Part 3 - ok - I know I promised this was three parts...I know...I know.
Previously in Part 2
From the Journal of Maestre Guyzance…
First day of the Sixth Month: Adventus Solsticium
Inquiry: Extra Ordinarius
In such a state of intellectual solitude I fell to instinct and resolved to end my peregrinations into the unknown place so strange and at once, so familiar. I burnt all of the messages that had passed between myself and the “Scientist”, lest this burden of mine fall to another. But no sooner had reduced them all to ash, than I realised my folly: no use could come of running, if what he had written was true. Quickly, whilst the memory of it was firm, I took up pen and quill and wrote down as much as I could recall.
Part 3
Baron Chollerford stood, arms raised as Tark, his aide, checked the fastenings of his armour and greased it for travel. The suit was seldom worn as the Baron saw no glory in combat. The steel of swords? Blunt hammers? These were tools of the foolhardy and short lived; a battle with wits alone was another matter. He felt a tautness of menace in the air; menace stirred up by his own newfound purpose. His wits told him to be prepared.
“Go quiet now Tark and ready our steeds; take a drab for yourself that can carry our packs and do not saddle my Guinn, choose another for me. Here is coin for the chandler; when you are done at the stables take yourself there and provision us for four days. We must travel lightly. I shall make my own way to the gate of the Sisters:First and wait for you there. Do not go armed; I shall bring you a dagger but you must not draw attention. Muddy your cloak, look mean and keep your eyes low. You must wed your life with mine now, Tark, for the Count has marked me and you know what follows.
Tark nodded; he understood all too well. The light of dawn and birdsong crept into the Baron’s chambers as Tark stole out upon his mission.
In the Porticus Ocultorum, Inquisitor Belsay and the Discipulus Corbis sat side by side at a paper-strewn table. Corbis chewed at the inside of his cheek and Belsay drummed his fingers, eyes red with fatigue. Neither had slept. Quarter-day candles, melted to their nubs, swam in pools of wax. One deep orange flame flickered out with a curl of smoke and the dim glow which hovered about the Librarians dimmed further.
“Maestre, shall I open the curtain,” asked Corbis “I sense dawn is arrived.”
“No! I will not greet a new day, will not concede another has arrived before we have fathomed what best to do with…this…this…” Belsay waved his arms in erratic frustration over the parchments and torn papers before them.
Inquisitor Belsay had disclosed to Corbis the journal of the late maestre Guyzance and the words of his Last. Together, they had pored over the stolen letter and the torn pages that had accompanied it. Reluctantly, Belsay conceded that, if Corbis was to offer the fullest assistance, the artefact and the secret chamber would have to be revealed. He led Corbis, blindfolded, up the Scala Mus and through the hidden doorway to the chamber behind. Corbis marvelled at the head of the other-worldly serpent, but Belsay would only allow him to touch the mirrored box to feel the energy of it. He would not not let him open it, nor even look within the Sacris; the message from beyond which Guyzance had transcribed filled him with dread:
I send warning.
The Angel deceived me and I am captive. Trust not the Scientisti.
The umbilicus joins worlds on either side. It is a beacon.
One heart-beat of the Gods’ beyond, ahead, behind. All is the same, all is different.
The mouse carried pestilence. Beware! Vengeance comes.
Seek out the Tractus de Mathematicus Physicae Arcana.
Close the door, sever the umbilicus, extinguish the beacon.
“It is a warning…but what pestilence? What vengeance? We cannot chance to open the gate…what might come through it?!” Belsay agonised and wrung his hands.
Eventually, with Belsay vacillating and complaining of fatigue, they had returned to his rooms. And so, with the sun kept at bay, the two sat, confounded. Corbis had a natural deference to his elders but patience for Belsay’s indecision and fear was worn thin by the hours and the arrival of morning. He had had next to no sleep for two days, but he believed his mind to still be sharper than the Inquisitor’s, who’s face, even in the umber glow of dying candles, showed an unhealthy hue.
“If I may, Maestre, a suggestion comes to mind; actions that I might undertake while you rest. You do not look well, and your tiredness concerns me.”
Inquisitor Belsay shook his head in resignation. “Very well. Speak and I shall listen; but help me to my cot first.”
Once Belsay was laid within his bed, Corbis took Guyzance’s journal and drew up a chair lighting sufficient candles to read by. “Let us return to what he wrote within after the warning - for a warning it most clearly was, we are both certain of that. Listen…”
Third day of the Sixth Month: Adventus Solsticium
Inquiry: Extra Ordinarius
My consternation grows yet deeper and one whole day have I spent agonising over the message sent through the artefact. I have scoured my memory and curse myself for consigning my papers to the flames, overtaken by fear as I was. I am as sure as I can be that I have captured the import of the message that was sent: it is a plain warning! Now I stare at the artefact, shut within the mirror box. I have even locked the doors of the Sacris, though no sound emanates from within. What shall be done with this dread knowledge that I have?
Three things come to mind which I am most certain of:
First: that the author of the message can only be the Wizard Telsantus;
Second: that the serpent was sent to kill me! The Zoologista has reported that the venom of its fangs is like to be fatal to any living thing.
Third: that I must locate this book: the “Treatise on the Mathematics of Arcane Physics.”
As to what else I can be certain of? Precious little. What was meant by “The mouse carried pestilence”? Does he refer to that which I sent beyond? What harm could it do; they run amok in every dark corner and spoil nothing but grain and sackcloth? Yet, perhaps within this other place - a single heart beat of the gods apart from ours - perhaps the mouse, or the fleas upon it, harboured some novel illness against which they have cure. Perhaps that is why vengeance comes?
And how can the Artefact be both an umbilicus and a beacon? Does he speak plainly, or in riddles lest his message be intercepted. I must act - the message is clear - sever the umbilicus! But how? Is it enough to lock the mirrored box? I fear it may not be. I must know more.
Fourth Day of the Sixth Month: Adventus Solsticium
Inquiry: Extra Ordinarius.
Today I made enquiry of our Archivist; my divinations were correct! A tome was received, some thirty years hence, to the Librarium with a note from the Wizard Telsantus, entreating the Maestre to assist with its decipherment and the realisation of its physic recipes and experiments. Being writ in the language of numeracy and of the physic sphere, it was instead sent on to the Forge of the Great Artisan for the attention of the Wizards:Alchemic. A runner has been sent and a bird ahead of her, such was my demand for haste in its retrieval.
I resolved that my only path to certainty lay in opening up the artefact once more and passing through a message in the hope that Telsantus could help me further. I wrote in common script, less likely to be understood by any but our lost wizard:
“I SEEK THE BOOK; I KNOW YOU. WHAT OF VENGEANCE? HOW TO SEVER THE CORD?”
It took not a little resolve to open the artefact again, its inky swirling darkness seeming now so dreadful and no longer a thing of wonder. I did not dare to put my hand within it, the allure of that strange visual trickery was gone; instead, my message on parchment and sealed with the black wax was dropped into the beyond, hidden within a hollow painted globe of the world. As soon as it was gone began a battle that was hard for me to conquer: the desire to close the mirrored box against the darkness versus the need to leave it open for any reply.
As I struggled with these competing thoughts I was startled when, after less than a turn of the sandglass, there came a sharp rap like a hand reaching from beyond to knock on the wooden door of the chest. With haste, I screwed shut the mirrored box and then, with one trembling hand took up my poignard and with the other opened the Sacris chest. Such relief! Within was the very same vessel I had dispatched; no serpent or other dread creature. But as I sprung open the globe, an hideous striped insect on shrill, whining wings flew out! I let fall the globe with a cry, the shock of it was so great and unexpected. The alien wasp flew to some dark corner that I could not discern. From time to time its buzzing started up and just as suddenly would cease.
As I cast my eyes about in the hope of spotting the invader, I saw upon the floor a square of parchment that must have been lodged within the globe; there was a message after all! Was it from Telsantus? No! Calamity! I had been discovered. The message was short but its intent was clear:
“We thank you for your creatures and send you another of our own.”
Was this to be the vengeance spoken of? Some poisonous thing now loose and sent to sting me? I backed towards the door, heart drumming, leaving the candles to burn themselves out rather than be left in helpless darkness. I fled the chamber, but behind me came the sound of buzzing wings. Panic took me! I hurried down the steps as fast as my bones could carry me, but at the last I lost my footing and tumbled, striking my head upon the stonework as I fell, crashing into the doorway. I lay there, stunned, immobile, and heard the whine of its approach –louder and louder and then as I tried to stand, the whisper of its myriad legs upon my face. I tried to brush it from me, but in vain –its sting pierced my neck; hot, then cold, then hot again. My pulse raced almost at once but then, as quickly as the pain had stabbed me, it was numbed.
I crawled into my chambers and called for my aide to summon Sisters:First. My injuries felt severe, but they proved not to be any more than abrasions and a single contusion which swelled rapidly to the size of a coot’s egg. As for the sting, the Sisters:First drew what poison from it they could, but it seemed that my imagined fears were most to blame for the hurt I had suffered; the sting was little worse than a horse tick, and far less irritating.
Of the insect, there was no sign. Perhaps like the bee of this realm, it perishes once it has delivered its sting.
Corbis laid down the journal. “Maestre, I read these passages plainly. The artefact is a passage from here to another world. I shall not trouble myself to doubt it - let us accept that it is so. Through it Guyzance passed creatures from this realm to the other, and with them went some plague. Those on the other side are now returning the favour, with vile creatures of their own. It is a miracle Guyzance was not killed by the serpent, and yet, perhaps this stinging thing did bring about his death.”
“Aye, “ said Belsay, weakly, rubbing at his face, “Indeed it may have. I…was stung, in this very room, and the same night, Guyzance died. I thought nothing of it then…but now? Something ails me most certainly.”
Corbis continued. “These torn pages must come from the book that Guyzance called for. He says it plainly, in the stolen letter, look…” Corbis took up the letter and tracing with a finger found the part he sought:
“...the tractus guides us first on the magic required to open an umbilicus and tap the limitless sustaining energy of the cosmos. Then, it warns against the use of such magic to pierce the veil of the Gods that separates the infinity of their worlds, all in existence at once; all as different as they are the same. Finally, it guides us, both to the use of an umbilicus as a source of power, and to its destruction. Once opened, it cannot be closed. Its presence will remain in the world like a belly knot on a newborn and its energy marks its place like a beacon until it is destroyed. I have cleft the Tractus in twain, though it pains me to destroy a book of learning. With the letter, you will find the even numbered pages. The odd remain in their binding, and trusted to the hands which kept them safe.
Belsay, this knowledge cannot rest entire in the hands of any but a wise and cautious scholar. The task falls to you, as my Heir. Seek the full truth and do what must be done. Heed my Last, destroy the umbilicus and when you are certain of its destruction, consign these papers to the flames.”
As Corbis finished the letter he saw that Belsay’s eyes were closed in sleep, his breathing fitful. I must fetch the Sisters…he cannot fade before our task is begun! He drew back the curtain, cutting a swathe of sunlight through the oppressive darkness. The sudden brightness of it opened Belsay’s eyes and as they grew accustomed to the light, he saw the horror on Corbis’ face as beheld the septic ravages of the sickness upon the Inquisitor’s face.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE CANNOT BE FOUND!”
Count Otho hauled himself upright from the velvet cushioned bacchanalus, swatting away the head of a concubine from his lap and scattering a platter of sweetbreads to the floor.
“My Lord Count,” said the guard, “we have searched his quarters; the baths, the gardens. He is nowhere to be found.”
With a gargle of rage, Otho was raised to his feet from the low banquette by both concubines and waddled to approach the guard. “Did I not order him brought to me?”
“Yes, my Lord Count.”
The Count looked about him, to left and right, with exaggerated sweeps of his arms. “But yet…I do not see him here with you? How can that be?”
The guard did not move; the two that flanked and stood behind him swayed backwards very very slightly. This was a scene that all had witnessed before. The twin concubines uncurled themselves from the bacchanalus and crept, sinuous and catlike towards their master’s side, hungry eyes on the guard.
“His man, Tark, is gone. And horses, my Lord Count. Two. The Gate say both left before dawn, one half hour apart. We were not to know of your wish before it was too late to honour it. My Lord.”
Otho seethed and leaned towards the guard, his face reddening, his bulk emanating rage so intense that even the giant guard rocked back slightly, his fists clenching in anticipation of the retribution that was sure to be unleashed. Sensing the inevitable, the guard continued, knowing that the two behind him would be reaching for their swords, that his life was about to end, he had naught to lose by speaking.
“We might send men to search for him, if you order it. But we do not know where he may have gone.”
Otho’s clawed hands drew into his chest as if to draw out a beast from within himself.
“Perhaps…” the guard started but then one of the concubines snickered, sensing this would be the word that set loose the hounds of his master’s rage. Instead, Otho turned upon the crouching youth and grabbed him by the throat.
“Does it amuse you that Vastus has escaped me? I saw him whisper to you! I see the want on your face; your wet and parted lips when ‘ere you look on him! What know you of his plans? What treacherous fuckery have you enjoyed within his bedchamber?”
“Naught, master! Never! I swear it!” the boy choked in terror, the swollen fingers and rings of the Count’s hands crushing his windpipe.
“Nothing? NOTHING? What was it that he whispered to you then, boy?”
The concubine shook, wilting with fear in the Count’s flabby grip. He could only whimper.
“SPEAK!” raged the Count.
“Tha….tha…that your heart was weak, master…and that I should think on that.”
The Count absorbed this for a few seconds and his face calmed. The concubine chanced a hesitant smile, eyes imploring mercy, but then, with a dismissive snort, the Count turned to the guard, drew the short sword from his belt awkwardly with his left hand and stabbed it into the boy’s side. His scream was throttled by the Count’s grip tightening on his throat, bracing against the sword thrust, but the blow was weak, hardly penetrating. The Count stabbed again, his eyes never leaving those of the boy, and this time, as the sword tip found space between ribs, he pushed and rived the blade in deeper and deeper. Blood began to bubble out of the boy’s mouth, turning his scream to a gargle, his eyes bulging with pain as the Count worked the blade in, inch by grunting inch. Blood flowed from the boy’s mouth onto the Count’s right hand and he let go of his neck, standing back, to shake it in disgust. The concubine slumped forward and the Count spat in disdain and pulled out the sword, swapped it to his right hand and hacked at the back of the boy’s neck.
“Treacherous…whore!” he hissed and screeched, over and over, punctuating each word with hacking blows, driving the boy into the floor, silencing his cries and spraying blood in arcs to splash the guards and the cowering twin. None dared move.
Eventually, his energy spent, the Count stood straight, panting, sword dangling in his hand, dripping warm blood from its point into the pool at his feet. The only sound in the room was his laboured breath and the sniveling of the twin behind him, to whom he turned and smiled.
“Which one are you? I can never tell.”
“Cass, my Lord Count,” he sobbed.
“Ah! Cass. Sweetest boy. Such a shame… your beautiful brother…”
Cass trembled.
“...But, what good is a twin…when there is only one? Without your brother, you are simply of no use. Do you see?” Otho offered back the bloodied sword to the Guard. “I tire. Kill him. Then take both to the Sisters. See that they are buried well. They were much loved. I shall honour their lives. It is only right.”
Otho waddled to the low banquette and collapsed upon the cushions. Cass squealed for mercy as the Guard, breathing again at his unexpected reprieve, hefted the bloody sword to strike.
“Not here you fool!” scowled Otho, flapping a hand to gesture them out of the room.
“As you command, Lord Count.”
In the woods close to the gate house of the Hospitium, the commune of the Sisters:First, Baron Chollerford waited upon his steed. He was close enough to the road to see who might approach, but far enough back to remain unseen. The morning sun was rising and he was nervous, but then he heard the slow, heavy clopping of a single horse approaching. It was Tark. The Baron spurred his steed and burst from the trees to greet his aide.
“Well met, my man! Were you seen? Were you followed?”
“I think not, sire. I have all that we need, as you said, and gold to spare.”
“Good. Good. Now, take this blade and let us hurry. We will be missed before another hour is up.”
The two cantered to the gatehouse of the commune where the female guards met them with crossed halberds. Their capes bore the sunflower emblem of the Sisterhood.
“Good morrow. I seek audience with Sister Livia Drusilla. Countess in exile. Let her know her Nephew, Vastus, Baron Chollerford, is here and the matter is of grave urgency.”
He drew back his hood and, seeing the rich golden glint of the Chollerford family chain about his neck, the guards let them pass and escorted them within the commune - a series of low towers arranged as smaller circles about a larger circular central keep, the whole forming the shape of a six petalled flower.
Soon after, within an anteroom, their horses stabled and their capes taken to be brushed clean of the road’s dirt, the pair were greeted by the elegant Sister Livia Drusilla. She wore the robe of the Order, but no bonnet held back the mane of her steel grey hair, one wave of which remained black as jet. She wore the chain of the Order, but also the heavy gold and ruby family ring. The simple garb could not disguise the nobility, the heritage which she exuded.
“Noble Aunt. Blood Sister to my late Blood Mother, Countess in exile, most worthy and learned Sister:First, Matriarch of the House Chollerford. Your Nephew greets you and thanks you for your hospitality.” He bowed, and motioned to Tark to do the same.
“Yes, Yes, Vastus,” she smiled “there’s no need for ceremony. We are not at court, thank the Gods, and I sense there is no time for dallytongue and pastries. You speak of grave urgency. Is it the kind that is wont to follow you here?”
“It is the Count…the most despised uncle. He has shamed me and I am surely marked for death by his hand. And with my death may come the death of all our family. So I come at once to seek your aid and warn you.”
The Countess inhaled a deep breath and then let it flow out. “This is a day that was always coming and I am not afraid, son of my sister. We thought that, if we were to put you in his nest you might learn how to fledge to his liking, win favour for the family, restore our fortunes, tip the balance. Outlive him. But I can see that your pride, like that of your father, has prevented this. And you have had no one close to guide you.”
“I cannot bend my nature to twist as his does, Aunt, nor gluttonously feed on flesh and meat when I have no appetite for such excess. Proud? Yes! And rightly so! It is my heritage, my pedigree. Pride is the oil which burns to heat my rage; rage that I be held down low, beneath my proper standing by a beast such as he. I plan my own way to beat him. I am one step ahead and with your help can make that two. But if you would look down upon my predicament instead of ask how you might help, then I shall depart at once and…”
“Enough!” She silenced him with her power and in a single word. “It was not an insult, it was an observation, and your ranting proves me right in judgment of your pride. Of course I am your ally, and of course you shall have such aid as I can give, but you must learn to curb this pride and still your rage or it will hasten your death. Now speak of what you need.”
“Our bannermen; the ones that were not slain. The ones in hiding. Tell me where. Tell me the names and the honour call of but five good and true swords. These will I need to execute my plan. It is best you know very little of it lest the Count seek to test your mettle with hot metals of his own. Suffice it to say that I have learned of a means to secure a treasure of gold. And gold will buy us our answer.”
To be continued…in part 4
Part 1 of this serial can be found here if you wish to know how it all began.
This is part three of something that began as the Small and Scary/Big and Beastly event created by
and hosted by of and illustrated by the illustriusI am totally taking the piss now. I sincerely intend NOT to make this a 12 parter like the Legacy - I really can see the end… I just get wrapped up in the scenes.
I don't mind in the slightest if you keep this story going up to 12 parts. I am thoroughly enjoying it. In fact, I may end up a little sad when it's done and there's no more parts...
And obviously I love the parallel world thing. Sort of goes without saying.
Before, I was thinking about how mean it was to put those animals into the darkness - now I see that it was foolish, too. I hope you're planning something especially nasty for that odious Count. Bleh... he's a wankerous one (Evelyn must be regretting having taught me that word by now, but it is so USEFUL! 🤣).