Distract my hunger (10 page)

After we walked around the house for what felt like ages I was still wondering where Corbin slept, without getting absolutely any answer. We walked all around the house’s guts and ended in what is generally the beginning, we got all the way to the front door. The door was made of tough wood, and many bolts closed it securely from the inside to intruders. It made me feel inside a fortress. I imagined all the glass on the windows being of the special antitheft type, and knew with complete certainty that it was the only way they’d feel safe.

Beside the enormous front door was a small one. It was quite plain and almost seemed out of place. I assumed it was a closet of some sort, but then Jonathan knocked at the door.

“Come on in!” Corbin shouted from the inside and Jonathan opened the door.

We walked into a room much bigger than what I expected, though it was much longer than wide. It was quite austere in its furnishings; only a low double-bed with a white quilt and a simple wooden chair and desk set furnished it. Corbin was lying lazily on the bed watching the ceiling. He seemed to be silently waiting for something.

It was not until I looked at the walls that I guessed why he might have this as his room, and my darkest thoughts could picture what he might be silently waiting for. Uncountable weapons hung from the walls. No windows opened to the outside, but I guessed there was no need: his hearing was more than perfect to detect any intruder.

Long rows of copper swords and knifes decorated the left wall, and numerous sizes of crossbows lay ready to use, with copper arrows on the right. An intricately decorated claymore waited at Corbin’s side, waiting patiently to be of service when the time has come.

I must admit that I felt quite uneasy under the deadly decorations. They were all sharp and precise, ready to kill. Though they were not intended to kill any humans, they were specially designed to execute any unwanted vampire that was bold enough to set foot in this house.

“Could you get your beauty-sleep, doll?” He asked in his mischievous manner still gazing at the high ceiling, and smiled to himself. He then turned his face towards me and stared at my necklace, letting his eyes grow wide. A deep sigh escaped from his throat and as if he was carrying the heaviest load. He sat on the bed bending forward. His closed vibrant eyes hid behind his blond fringe and his mouth pressed in a thoughtful line. After long thoughtful seconds he combed his hair with his lean fingers and stood up slowly.

“I guess the time has finally come. It was bound to be this way, right Jonathan?” He asked and without expecting and answer stood up keeping his head hanging low. He looked as if he were holding the Earth’s weight on his shoulders. Taking his time as if he had to savour every last second of this moment, he moved his bed from its place. The movement was effortless, almost graceful and it was bound to uncover a secret.

A small trapdoor was barely visible on the floor. He bent forward and made it open. It didn’t quite move at first, but after fiddling with it for a fraction of a second it creaked open. With expert movements he searched in it and took a small cloth bundle out of it. Whatever he got from there was wrapped in some kind of yellowing silk cloth. It seemed old and tattered, but for some reason its oddity made my heart start pounding harder.

The dusty silk seemed to nearly disintegrate as soon as Corbin started unfolding it. Small pieces of rotten yellowish cloth and ancient cobwebs fell to the floor upon his measured movements. My heart seemed to explode with expectation, until I finally saw it. A small, black, leather-bound notebook emerged from all the wrappings.

The notebook looked very old and fragile, but as soon as I saw it I just knew it was the one I was told to look for in my dream. I hoped I could read it, that it was not too deteriorated or in a language I could not read. I had no idea of who wrote it, but I knew I was meant to read it. I believed Violet wanted me to see something in there, to discover maybe the meaning of this whole thing. Maybe I could understand something more about all this prophetic business. I honestly did not know why, but I knew I had to read it.

CHAPTER 10

The notebook

U
pon the sight of the little black leather book Corbin and Jonathan held their breath. Corbin looked as if he were unsure he should complete the unveiling of the secret while Jonathan’s eyes grew wide with curiosity. The three of us seemed to freeze upon its sight, each one quite unsure of what to do next. It was just a book, but Corbin held it just as if he were holding a weapon of massive destruction.

He caressed its cover and looked at it with sad longing. Maybe he was sad to part with it, or perhaps he was just unsure of what would be best.

His full lips pressed into a face I could not read completely and he looked at Jonathan, at the small item and then at me to only start all over again.

“This is yours. I haven’t set eyes on it for quite some time, and to be honest I wished I never would again. Sometimes wars are unleashed with mere words and sometimes nothing can be done about it once the sand-clock is turned.” Whispered Corbin nearly under his breath and handed me the package.

I stretched my hand to get it and then stopped to look at Jonathan. He almost imperceptibly nodded and pressed his lips into a tight, worried smile. It was his way of saying “go ahead, don’t be scared” I imagined, so I finally took it in my hands.

The notebook seemed less ominous and smaller in my hands. It smelled of pure leather and camphor. I could feel the weight of the thick pages and felt the roughness of its skin against mine. Its gold-lined pages glistened under the light and made me think of ancient magic books. I thought of books of shadows being passed on, generation after generation, adding new thrilling knowledge with each new bearer. Magic seemed to ooze from the small book, and I still had no idea of its content.

I turned the supernatural object in my hands, mesmerized by its promising power and absorbed its every edge. It had no title, no markings, no words on its outside but a softly engraved Iris; it was made of simple, soft, fragrant leather. The black leather was slightly cracked and fading in some places but besides that it was in perfectly good condition. I let my fingers run over it and marvelled in its smoothness, in the handmade stitches on every border and its perfect spine.

The notebook seemed to have life of its own, a perfect being in latent state, like a spore, simply waiting to be brought to life.

I could only wonder on its contents and who wrote it. I had no idea if it had one or several authors, and why it was so important. It was a mystery waiting to be unveiled.

A thin crimson bookmarker made of satin emerged between the gold-rimmed pages of the notebook. It seemed to be marking a page or pages; looking at it I imagined it was not put there on a random whim and caressed it between my thumb and index fingers. It was soft and slippery, its smooth surface slid from my skin like a snake. I felt that whoever wrote it believed it was important to highlight these pages; here was the connexion with an older time. In those pages were the words that hung unsaid, that waited for many years to convey a message. And now, it was me the one to end their silence.

If you ask me why I felt the bookmarker was important and why I believed it was not randomly set I can only say: I have no idea. It might have simply been the book’s energy, but I truly do not know.

What would I find? What was on those pages? What was so important to keep so tightly hidden? I was absorbed by the prospect of a secret and could think of nothing else than opening the book. I was anxious and somewhat scared. I felt at the brim of an abyss or awaiting a tempest. I knew that once I opened the notebook nothing would ever be the same, but I could not stop the sand-clock now. My destiny was set and I had to succumb to my curiosity.

With the soft carmine bookmarker between my fingers I finally opened it to admire the pages and let my destiny unfold.

It was all written with smooth and perfect handwriting in black ink. The pages were mildly yellow yet unstained by ink or time. It was impossible to imagine how old the small notebook was just by looking at it. The pages seemed too well kept though the handwriting looked very old-fashioned.

I traced the letters with my index, not really wanting to start reading yet and intending to savour every second of my encounter with the book. The pages where I opened it had no title, no drawings, only words. Words that were so evenly spaced, so perfectly drawn that I imagined delicate hands taking utmost care with them.

I closed my eyes and could almost see a female bent over the tiny leather-bound book and writing. She could be writing anything from cooking recipes to her memoirs, but she did it with utmost care. She treasured the words that tattooed each page and took her time to trace every word with utmost care. Don’t ask me why I felt such a strong female presence clinging to those pages, but I did. It was almost as if a ghost haunted them and showed me an image of its long gone life.

Who could the woman I imagined be? Did she even exist? I was sure she did exist, and that she was the author of the unread pages. I was as sure of that as I was sure that the woman that told me to look for the notebook was Violet.

In my mental image, this woman was writing with her back to me, I could not see her but her back and her hands. Her hands were very pale and perfect. They held the quill like an artist holds its brush, with divine perfection and care. Her hair looked very much like mine, it was a long flowing cascade of jet black hair. It looked glossy and I imagined it smelled like rosemary. I know it sounds funny to even imagine the smell of a probably imaginary woman’s hair . . . but I was sure I was not having an overactive imagination.

She looked like someone but I couldn’t quite match the picture with a name. “Where did I see that woman before?” I started asking myself, but linking her silhouette with a name was not easy, my mind felt foggy. I couldn’t make the connexion but I knew if I tried hard enough I would do it. I struggled thinking on this, feeling stuck for what seemed like a long time. And that’s when it came to me, she reminded me of the other woman of my dream. The one that was running. She looked tense then; she was with a man, running away from something. That’s why it had been so difficult for me to link the two; in this image I got from her she was calm.

I puzzled on why did this woman pop into my head again and who she was. She looked so desperate to get away from something in my dream, she and the man with her. Could I discover what they where running from? Would I find out who she was? I wanted nothing more than to immerse myself in her writing. I needed to know something, anything about her! The smallest data would suffice, my curiosity was too big.

So I just kept on standing there, in the middle of Corbin’s room dazzled with the notebook. I completely forgot my surroundings and started to read.

.
 . . 
“I
believe
they
are
sometimes
overreacting
with
all
this
nonsense.
I
can’t
believe
that
our
past
two
council
meetings
only
dealt
with
the
topic
of
a
nonsensical
prophesy.

Voting
in
favour
of
measures
that
prevented
its
fulfilment
is
one
thing
but
Aidan’s
obsession
in
stopping
it
at
all
costs
is
a
completely
different
matter.
With
this,
I’m
not
stating
that
I
don’t
believe
in
its
words
for
they
came
to
me
as
clear
as
the
clearest
stream
in
my
dreams.
I
felt
the
words
whispered,
like
a
hushed
lullaby
ringing
in
my
ears.
They
where
so
patent,
so
precise
that
I
can
close
my
eyes
and
feel
them
lingering
around
me:

Crossing
northern
seas
and
more
to
come

A
newborn
baby,
a
rising
sun.

From
noble
cradle
born

And
human
raised,

Strongest
blood

Will
someday
praised.

Raven
feathers
on
his
head

Eyes
to
see
beyond
the
dead.

Amethysts
will
crown
its
sight,

In
dark
moments
all
its
might.

For
when
the
time
shall
fall

Only
he
will
choose:

To
change
our
world

Or
doom
us
all.

He
will
see
beyond
the
hearts

And
make
us
see
beyond
all
fear.

The
purest
blood
will
make
him
come,

In
newborn’s
hands

The
truth
will
steer,