Tenebrae Manor (14 page)

Bordeaux rushed to help the old citizen to his feet but was waved away and soon Rune had arduously returned to his feet with the book in his arms pulling him floor-bound like a sack of flour. He stifled a grunt and plopped the huge book onto a table and ran his fingers across the cover.

“Wood. Golems.” he said strenuously.

The book fell open at a random page but again, Rune seemed to know exactly where he had turned.

“An ancient monster to be sure,” he began. “Although only recent to this area. They are born of the Black Rose Tree - an archaic magic in the form of a mighty tree. It says here that Wood Golems sprout up around its roots like shrubbery, before they are ripped from the ground with noose-like vines of the host tree. They are endowed with life from that moment.”

“Well yes, all well and good to know where they come from…” bustled Deadsol impatiently.

Rune ignored Deadsol’s impropriety and continued. “The host tree is said to sprout beautiful roses upon skeletal branches, black as onyx. The entire effect is very pleasing to the eyes; the Black Rose Tree is both stunning and deadly. It is known to strangle intruders from its mighty branches and display them as ornamental warnings to any foolish enough to venture near it.”

“Interesting,” said Bordeaux.

“Indeed,” replied Rune. “I had always known Wood Golems to be very territorial but they rarely venture past the boundaries surrounding the black Rose Tree. The host tree feeds the golems with the hearts of intruders. This is very much a perplexing conundrum.”

“Perhaps their revolt is something territorial,” suggested Deadsol. “I don’t know why Tenebrae Manor is in their line of fire but perhaps, perhaps, perhaps fire! Of course!”

“What are you on about, Deadsol?” sighed Bordeaux.

“Why B, we could set them all on fire! That would be rid of them!”

“Unwise,” said Rune. “While such a move would surely exterminate their excess numbers, what of us? What would become of us all if Tenebrae Manor went up in flames? The risk is too great.”

“But the destruction, oh what fun!” cackled Deadsol.

“Be
quiet
, Deadsol,” said Bordeaux. “Rune, might I borrow this book from you? Perhaps further reading will reveal some clues and offer a path to solution.”

Rune grunted hesitantly. “Normally, I would not lend my books to
anybody
. But for you Bordeaux, I will allow it this once. You are far more level headed than the other rabble rousers in this manor.”

All eyes turned to Comets, who was tearing pages from an unfortunate novel and eating them.

“Rune, I apologise profusely for the actions of my little friend here. I assure you that your book is safe with me.”

As Rune accompanied them to the exit, Madlyn fell from the top shelf with a squeal and hit the floor forcefully. She winced through her teeth and clasped at her elbow, which had born the brunt of her weight in the fall. She was mostly unhurt and fortunately remained unnoticed by the others. Her mind swam with the promise of great beauty. There were more black roses out there. She could get another to impress Bordeaux! If only she could find the courage to give him the one she had already!

Rune sighed. “Bordeaux, you and I have lived here so long, I can tell you this; never have I felt so uneasy about the future. Libra, lovely girl I am sure but she lacks a certain something that has left me apprehensive.”

“I know,” replied Bordeaux. “She does not fill me with confidence but what choice do we have? She is untouchable. Her magical skills have spiked so much recently, who is there to challenge her leadership?”

Deadsol shook his head, “Tut-tut, if only Malistorm were still around.”

“Yes well there is little benefit in dwelling on his disappearance,” said Bordeaux. “I hold the belief that he simply ran away to pursue other things. That said; he was a fine leader.”

“Could the loyal Bordeaux finally be showing a little rebellion towards our lovely Lady?” taunted Deadsol.

“I will stand firm to whoever reigns Tenebrae. For the good of the manor, for the retention of our seclusion from the outside world.”

“Malistorm was the best we ever had.” Rune was reminiscing and had not followed the conversation. Next to them, Comets sung softly to himself,

Deep in the forest

Where all is still,

The wood golem lurks

Against its will.

Endowed with life

By some magical curse

And ripped from the ground

By a noose made it worse!

Wandering restless

And instilling fear,

It isn’t quite certain

Just why it’s here!

They hide in the fog

And emit chilling grunts.

They’ll devour the hearts

Of lost folk they confront.

It doesn’t know better,

So don’t blame this creep.

All that it wants

Is to go back to sleep.

The poem, eloquent in its form, confused the listeners who had just witnessed unruly ribaldry from Comets not moments earlier.

“Very nice, young man,” said Rune. “If only your manners were as graceful as your poetry.”

Comets ignored him.

“I would love very much to hear from you, Bordeaux. Should you require anymore assistance…”

“Of course,” replied Bordeaux.

Their footsteps echoed in the hallways and Madlyn was able to disguise her own as just another echo. Bordeaux clutched the great tome under his arm, his other hand clasped at his crestfallen chin, his eyes locked on the ground with an expression of repressed turmoil. Comets and Deadsol were many metres ahead of him, prancing whimsically through the gloom. Madlyn capitalised on her chance and ran up to Bordeaux, tapping him on the shoulder. He stopped and turned.

“Madlyn?”

Without a word, she held the brooch before him in both hands. Her knees quivered as fast as her heart, which raced like a butterfly.

Bordeaux stared at the black rose brooch and took it in his hands. Madlyn hid a smile behind her emaciated hand and turned her head from him.

“What is?” began Bordeaux, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

What is this? What is the meaning of this? From where did you appear? Is this a present for me?
But before he was able to elaborate with any form of question, Madlyn had run off into the distance, pushing past Deadsol and Comets.

Bordeaux stood nonplussed, gazing into the black, the book under one arm and the beautiful brooch in the other. From the darkled hallways there drifted the sound of Madlyn’s nervous laughter.

14: Libra’s Dream

She travelled an obscure route, hidden from waking consciousness. A path concealed by sweeping branches draping moribund in the haze of narcosis. The mountain of sheets that covered her twitched and reformed in reaction to her weighted but steady breathing and conjured up frightful visions of a living crag overwhelming in its girth.

Libra's face glowed amongst the mess of dark linen - a moon and sky fallen from the heavens laying lethargic on the bed. A convulsion of her eyelid, lasting only a second, belayed how deep her slumber was. Between her softened cheeks, her lips had set in that smile of content; the smile that covered her ignorance - be it intentional or no, to the chaos that was going on about the manor she claimed as her own.

In her mind's eye she recalled the life preceding luxury. It appeared to her in flashes, vignettes of times past that were vital to the plot of her life's outcome. It always began at the same point, her memory only managed to recede so far; what lay beyond the shallows of the lowest tide were hidden to her, she could not say why. But Libra remembered an agony seemingly unending and when that pain was all too unbearable, it had ceased. What was left behind was a euphoric rush of adrenalin, a feeling of unstoppable strength and vitality. Just as a branch is pruned with the expectation of it returning in greatest blossom, so too had she endured pain for the greater result.

Tenebrae Manor had always been her home, at least the only home she could remember. Then there was Malistorm, the former baron of the house - who had taken her under his wing and taught her the ways of magic and the extent of her potential. He had been a world-weary sorcerer who had never divulged more than his intention. As such, Libra never did discover how Tenebrae Manor came to be or how Malistorm had become its baron. All she knew was that the house was old - perhaps older than time itself or of some other realm where time is negligible. Then, pervading all other thought was the insatiable thirst to have the house as her own. She remembered Bordeaux from the beginning, Edweena and Rune too. And Malistorm, with his crest of shock-greyed hair and a cloak of brilliant violet….

The violet curtains in the bedroom fluttered with the arrival of a frigid wind from the open window. In her sleep, Libra twisted her face with discomfort as the wind brushed her cheek with its icicle fingers. Under the spell of the gale, Libra's dream turned bitter and her wanton violence aimed itself at those who threatened her. She was the Lady Libra; Tenebrae Manor was hers. Behind her eye lids in the depths of her dream, the gloom swirled and from its syrupy murk emerged the malicious grinning face of Deadsol. His thumbs plucked at the lapels of his copper coloured vest as he bounced gaily upon his feet, his mouth silent yet moving as though prattling on excessively.

Though no words were discernable, the sight of the demon revolted Libra to such an adequate degree that she began to toss her head about on the pillow. Deadsol rambled on and on, carrying the same sanguine countenance that Libra found repulsive. Her heart lurched in fury as the apparition of Deadsol was suddenly plucked off the ground by his moustache. He thrashed about feebly; his attempts to free himself resulted in a prominent lengthening of his whiskers, so that soon he found himself strung by the neck and swinging from a gallows.

Libra rolled over in her bed so that her heavy body faced the other direction, having conquered Deadsol, she hoped to return to a more pleasant dreamland. But almost immediately she was met with the ghastly vision of Comets, who stared at her vacantly with his hollow eyes of mismatched size. His head twitched, the bells of his red and yellow cap chimed and he began to hop from foot to foot. The jester circumnavigated Libra, so that she could only see him each time he passed the hour mark - gliding from left to right out of view then appearing from the left again.

"Away! Pest!"

She caught him by the ears of his cap and spun him in the opposite direction; her speed increased as she wound up her shot like a hammer-thrower. With a flick of her wrists, the jester went flying and screamed as he was struck down in mid flight by a bolt of lightning. Comets burst into a shower of fireworks that fell like rain onto the shoulders of Edweena.

Edweena – she who had been her loyal friend from the beginning. The vampiress stared at Libra with those accusing eyes. Why did she hold such a grudge? It had to be jealousy, what else? Well, that was her own fault. Someone had to reign over the Manor, why couldn't Edweena be happy for her friend? Libra spared her from her dream wrath and became immersed in melancholia. Edweena turned and took her leave, the stately Bordeaux taking her place.

"Ah, Bordeaux. Such a gentleman. How could I delegate harm unto you?"

It took only a moment for her sympathy to reek with envy. Bordeaux stood as the biggest threat to her position!

"But so weak-willed, my sumptuous little B. Weak as water, I say! Yes, you are naught but a sponge that mops the mess of peasants! Mop you shall!"

In her mind's eye, Bordeaux transformed into a soiled cloth that was held firm in the scrubbing hands of Madlyn. "Madlyn, the stupid girl! She could snap like a twig, let it be!"

Libra was on a roll now and had reserved her most potent destruction for last; appearing before her was the composer, Arpage.

"You!"

The ghost of Arpage fidgeted nervously. Libra took a lustful delight in the howls of his anguish as she dragged him by his bottom jaw through fields of jagged glass and scolding coals.

"What was it that you called me, Arpage? Be gone!"

When she clapped her hands the composer vanished into dust as though he were never there.

The Lady Libra awoke. Her amber eyes glowed from the tangled mess of her dark curls. Her beauty was flushed with the rose-cheeked flutter of her fury's wing beats. She arose to her feet effortlessly, as though her bulk was a thing that did not trouble her and flew to the open window. The wind struck her face and carried the blanket of her lush hair in the same direction as the purple curtains. She did not feel the cold. She would not be defeated. Raw tenacity surged in her veins, culminating in a bitter clenching of hatred, jealousy and arrogance. Libra was the queen of Tenebrae Manor; nobody would take that from her.

****

While the calls of crows clawing through the air were prominent, it was discernible that another cry had uprooted itself and joined the dirge. A gravelly moan with such depth of baritone hummed repetitively in the forest. The wailing was not of a single anguished creature, echoed innumerable times; it seemed almost certain that a manifold of voices had compiled themselves together and dispersed to random outposts in the trees surrounding Tenebrae Manor. Carrying with them a chill to the spine more bloodcurdling than the growl of a hungry wolf, the cries nestled into the hearts of the manor's inhabitants and left behind a residue of anxiety that affected Bordeaux more violently than any other.

It was true that his recent brush with destruction at the hands of a vagabond golem had shaken him. He sat in his quarters, coughing with each turned page of the book leant to him by Rune, as the ageless dust spun away in spirals. There was little room left on the surface of his desk but the efficient demon had found a space for a leather-bound notebook and quill with which he was taking notes. At the head of the desk sat Madlyn's brooch.

From the other side of the room, his painting of a seaside dawn impressed into him a new beginning of change; an emancipation from responsibility and anxiety, away from the burden of eternal night. Bordeaux lifted his head from the book in an effort to rest his eyes momentarily from his intense reading, when his vision became locked onto the colourful canvas. The painting called to him, of that he was conscious; it beckoned him with fanciful notions that he refused to yield to. Bordeaux would certainly find enjoyment in the outside world, he knew from centuries long past the thrills of travel, the blessings of the sun's kiss.

But to what purpose would a return to the wayfarer's life achieve? Eternity was indeed a long time and even reclusive figures such as himself found themselves in need of companionship at times. The stability of Tenebrae Manor was of great comfort to Bordeaux; he could not leave it, yet now it seemed he was confronted by the possibility of its annihilation. He picked up the rose brooch and twirled it in his fingers, sending a kaleidoscope of blacks shades into weavings of impossible patterns.

The moaning outside his window continued its omnipresent thrum. Bordeaux removed his person from the chair and stood at his window; the painting behind him bore into his mind, though now there was a polar force that tugged him in the opposite direction. Framed as it were in his window, the nighttime forest lulled Bordeaux into maudlin reminiscence. The pines cut their saw-toothed verdure; the snow cloaked the land in silvered brilliance. Though the moon did not shine at present, the forest was alive and however foreboding its atmosphere was, it remained his home. In the corner of the window, a spider spun its web quietly, oblivious to the adoring eyes of Bordeaux.

"How beautiful the night is."

For several minutes he stood enraptured. The moans grew louder on a sudden and knocked him back to his senses. Bordeaux knew where they were coming from. The echoes were the very same unmistakable groans that were uttered by the wood golem that had attacked him. What could have possibly disturbed them? On a sudden he became aware of another disturbance; he leant out the window to get a closer look.

The trees nearest to his room were bending inwards towards him. On the outside walls surrounding, their branches gripped at the house's facade like vines as a parasite constricts its host. Soon they would enwrap the entire residence in their ligneous limbs. As an experiment Bordeaux snapped off a small portion of branch within his reach and gasped as it reeled in pain, only to reposition itself and stretch out to the house again.

Bordeaux started as though struck by revelation and strode back to his desk. He flicked back through a few pages in the book and read furiously.

"Wood golems are steadfastly loyal to the Black Rose Tree that begot them. They will defend the host with their own lives."

He looked up in thought and found himself staring at the brooch given to him by Madlyn; its black petals appeared suddenly menacing.