Grey October (East Hollow Chronicles)
Page 19
‘Do you really think he’d be interested in dark spells and… whatever is inside the other one?’ I watch him curiously.
‘I do believe, dear Elli, that whatever is inside that book, that young Evan of yours will know.’ His voice is wispy and unclear, the same with his eyes. I watch him, cautiously, closing the lid to the jewellery box and placing it next to me, I reach out a hand to touch his knee. His brow is perspiring and his eyes are glassy, tiredness lines his eyes with hollow bags and I cannot help but feel worried about him. Maybe I should check on him later, swing by his house and see how he is.
‘Are you okay, Charlie?’
‘Fine. Fine. My dear.’ He waves off my concern, a smile meeting his thin lips. ‘Can you do me a favour?’
I nod, still watching him with curious eyes.
‘Can you box up these books, the jewellery box and whatever of those gothic pieces that slipped through to the front? I think it’s about time they were returned to their rightful owner.’
‘Were they on loan or were you selling them for someone, Charlie?’ I ask, doing as he asks and piling the books all together, dusting off the covers and the spines.
‘Like everything in life, Ellison, everything must go back to its rightful place.’ He pauses, ‘When deals are made, we always have to pay up.’
He gets up, using the cabinet as leverage, I offer my arm and he takes it in gratitude, creaking and panting as he lifts his old limbs up to his feet. I am unsure what he means; his faraway look, his tired eyes. I don’t think he has slept much the past few days. He stands for a moment in silence, soft eyes looking down at the books and the jewellery box.
‘There are things that should never be in a mere mortals grasp, Ellison. Our small minds, we cannot comprehend the vastness of this world and what surrounds It.’ he touches my cheek with his hand; it’s warm and slightly sweaty. But still so comforting. He nods to me and slips back to the front, to the counter, where I see him rummage around for some paper and a pen.
‘Yes, yes, box it all up and use some of the tape in the box to your right. I want to make sure it’s all in there.’
‘Charlie, what’s wrong?’ I ask, feeling goose bumps trail my arms, feeling my heart ache for his tiredness, his weary voice. What’s wrong with him all of a sudden?
‘My dear, nothing is wrong. I’m just an old man with a lot of aches and pains. I just have a few loose ends to tie up. When you’re done with that box, you can leave early. I doubt we will have many more customers.’
‘Don’t you want me to lock up if you’re not feeling too good, Charlie?’
‘No, Elli. I’m fine. You might catch that good looking gentleman if you hurry.’ He winks at me before turning back to the desk, poising his hand with the pen and waiting to write. Somehow I think he is waiting for me to go, maybe the letter is private, maybe all these artefacts, all this demonic looking stuff belongs to an old lover, maybe a wife long forgotten?
I have no right to assume, so I do as he asks. Dust off the jackets of the books, brush the spines and stack them neatly in a cardboard box. When I take the black book in my hands, I feel a warmth radiate from inside.
There is something strange with these things. They almost feel alive.
Like the gold necklace around my neck, the red jewel pulsing against my chest.
So strange, so very strange…
Evander –
My father’s throne fills too big, too grand for me to sit upon; the gilded armrests so vast it swamps my hands. A thought passes me and I can just imagine Alpheus using the armrests as a book stand, piling it high with his novels and his tomes. Sometimes I wonder what he is really reading; is he really trying to broaden his mind with knowledge or is he just diving deep into a forlorn mortal’s mind? Hoping to find the secrets inside of their weak little brains?
I yawn, stifling a second with the back of my hand. I’ve been sitting here for hours already, listening to the Lieutenants and Colonels of the Army, insist that the new recruits be put through harder tests. The last hundred they had brought forward had passed the first few tests but when it came to the tough trials of combat, they cowardly fell. I tried to think what my father would say, imagining his words coming out of my mouth. But then I realise, sitting in his vast throne that I am not ready for this burden yet, I am not my father, I know nothing of these things. Part of me, the green-eyed part, thinks of Alpheus and Kaiser and how they’re probably still flitting through the halls with their heads in the shadows, no feeling and no thought of throne sitting and decision making. I can think of better things to do than sit here.
Like seeing Elli, for one. I still have to pick up the talisman, I need to have that in my possession, my darkness, and the shadows in my veins would be complete with that around my neck – why had father even given them away? Did he know, did he see the future? Could he possibly know that I would be given the mission for the Twins and that I would fail, only to find her a year later… how conveniently so. I do wonder…
‘Prince Evander.’
I look up, my fingers message the side of my temples; my day is not through yet, I still have another few meetings and then I must sit and write down everything that has gone on, everything I have sanctioned I must write on a scroll, tie it with scarlet ribbon and leave it for my father. I scowl slightly as I think of Alphie and Kaiser – their jobs were easy, it wasn’t their fathers who governed the leagues, who sanctioned the majority of the army. They had it easy. In fact all they had to do was sign a few documents, stamp their family’s waxy seal and be on their Princely ways.
Not like me, not like me at all…
Lucifer is standing before me, by his side is Mason, the quivering human looks so ill, so gaunt and pale. Bruises line his cheekbones, the fading yellow stands out around one of his swollen eyes. I look down at him from my golden throne and feel a pang of regret. Mason came into our family to be my servant as well as my father’s, but it is because of me he is here. Now I look down at him, seeing just how my father abuses him, runs him ragged, and I feel like letting him free. I don’t need a servant, I can pick up my own tray, I can choose my own meal.
‘Prince Evander… I do hope that you are taking your role seriously today.’ Lucifer hisses, bringing me out of my wistful state.
‘Of course, Lord Lucifer. Unless someone has mentioned otherwise?’ I curl my fingers around the serpent’s head on the armrest, running my fingertips over his golden fangs. My other hand presses against my cheek, holding my head up, lest it fall to my lap in mental exhaustion.
‘No.’ he says, his eyes narrowing upon me, clicking his finger and giving Mason a push into my direction. ‘Give the Prince his instructions, won’t you?’ he barks at him, a voice so cold, I can feel the ice fall from his lips and suffocate the poor human’s throat.
Mason is silent; he never says much. Too scared to utter a word, he gets beaten enough as it is, he has seen things in Hell that no mortal should see. The blood, the death and the torture. It is for eyes only of those that have no heart to tug, for those with no soul to weep. The mortal reaches out to my feet and drops a small note, it is rolled into a tube and tied with blood red ribbon. I raise an eyebrow.
‘One of your orders, is it, Lucifer?’
‘No, not mine. I have not sanctioned anything out of the ordinary for you – I know how tough it is to sit upon a chair that is too warm with the behind of another.’ He pauses, his eyes like slits, glaring through me as though I am not even here, ‘Oh, wait, I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never been given the chance.’ He says no more and skulks off. Mason stays, his feet dancing beneath him. I wave a hand and beckon him off, telling him to go and take a break; I am met with a confused look but he doesn’t question it and runs out of another door, I am sure there is a ghostly smile upon his chapped lips.
I take the tube from my feet, my fingers untangle the sleek red ribbon; unravelling the thick yellow scroll and letting my eyes roam the parchment. What are my orders now?
The Torture Pits. As soon as his Royal Highness allows.
I lean my head back into the sleek metal, it feels warm and slick against the back of my neck. For a moment I stay there, silent and unmoving, before screwing up the paper in my palm and throwing it on the floor.
As soon as his royal highness allows, is right now. I can’t bear to sit here any longer.
***
Screams are rife, they pulse through the air like an orchestra of pain; cries of anguish and yells of agony. The red haze of smoke spirals and coils up from the fiery pits where they are throwing the bodies that have had enough; bodies that have no longer got limbs or even heads. The torturer has gone a little overboard I dare say. I tread over the burning pyres, the crackling coals and hissing rocks dance beneath my feet as I step over them and find the path leading into the aisle of cells. Is this about Madison? Has she been causing trouble? Stirring things in her cell again? Screaming murder and preaching the sins of God?
No.
I stop dead in my tracks, eyes narrowing upon the three men who are dragging a body through the red earthy trenches; blood stains his brow, his grey hair mats against his forehead. He looks sickly pale and ghost-like against the flicker of red flame.
‘Charlie?’ I ask, my voice stopping the three torturers. I quicken my pace, stopping them in their path.
‘Great Princes shouldn’t be in the realm of pain.’ One of the demon’s gnarled and gangly face twists into an ugly scowl, I raise a hand to silence him and meet the grey old man’s eyes. They are broken and sad, tear-stained and painful.
‘Evan?’ he says, his voice hoarse and croaky, sounding like his throat has been cut and knitted back together with razorblades and course wire. His crooked fingers outstretch, but one of the demons kick him, right in the ribs and he falls face first into the red dirt.
In one swift movement I have two of the demons in each hand, my fingers curling into the flesh of their bare necks, my fingernails biting into their pale skin, drawing a fine line of blood.
‘Leave him be.’
‘Orders from your father, lord.’ The one who is still standing above the shackled Charlie speaks, he is young, a little younger than I am, but his eyes are worn from the job already. Blood. Death. Decay. It can really brighten anyone’s day.
‘I am in my father’s stead, and I implore you to leave this man, leave him with me for now.’ I growl, my eyes narrowing, ice blue shattering their eyes and suffocating them with fingertips of ice.
‘What use is an old man to a Prince?’ the one on my right spits out, a fine blood trail falling from his lips, tainting his white teeth as he bares them in a psychotic grin.
‘Drop him, now.’ I say and the one standing above Charlie drops the chain from his hand and it allows Charlie a bit of room to breathe, to take in a breath of stagnant hot air, filled with salt and blood.
I drop both of the demons, their hands curl around their necks and hold palms against their wounds, hissing at me, growling inaudible insults, but they say nothing that I can hear and scurry off. Most likely to inform the Pit Master of my actions. I whip around and stand before the crumpled old man; his fingernails tainted with red earth where he has clawed his way at the ground in desperate attempts to get out of the chains that wrap around his neck. I lean down, crouching low enough to lift his head, I try to be gentle but it hurts him nonetheless, his face winces, his eyes knitting closed.
‘You weren’t meant to be here for a while.’ I say, again trying very much to be soft, to be gentle – he is so used to Elli and her soft and sweet ways.
‘Evan… Evan… I was right. You are his son.’
‘Charlie?’ I question, eyes trained upon his weary face, the trail of clotted blood that tangles his fine silver hair to his brow.
‘Beleth… your father if I’m correct. He’s a bit early on his agreement.’ He smiles, a toothy, weary smile but all too soon regrets it, his shackled wrist moves to his chest, his fingernails clawing at his heart. ‘You know, you look just like him, just younger – oh what it is to be young again.’
‘Charlie. Tell me… tell me what happened.’ I urge, my voice low, gruff. I am not cut out to be soft, to be gentle or kind.
‘My time is up. I knew, I felt it. That’s why…’ He breathes, a sudden and wheezing breath, clutching at his chest again, ‘There’s a box. In the shop… it has everything in there, but not what you already have.’ He smiles again, even through the pain, the heartache, he still smiles. His weak hand finds mine and he touches the ruby pentagram ring, before withdrawing it back to himself and leaning back into the dark red earth, bits of bone rattling by his feet.
‘There’s a letter… a letter... My will. You need to find it—‘ he coughs, wheezing and I see him choke up a little blood, he spits it to the ground; even in hell, when dead and gone, he still feels pain, pain is a very large part of being down here.
‘You have no children, no wife, and no heir.’ I say, remembering my father, feeling the gaze of onlookers as they walk past, I can feel a shadow looming, I see a flutter of red velvet and gold armour in the reflection of the old man’s eyes. I know who is behind me. Which is the reason why I pull Charlie closer, my ear to his mouth, urging him to whisper his answer.
‘My will. It’s back in the shop, with the box… give it to Ellison, she’ll know. Tell her I didn’t mean to leave her so soon, tell her I’m sorry.’ The light in his eyes die out and the shadow behind me grows darker and closer. I get up, staring down at the grey haired man, his body twisted in the shackles, his worn eyes closing, giving up. He’s had his life, he’s giving it to Elli now.
‘You shouldn’t be sorry. You gave her what you could.’ I murmur, before turning around and seeing Lucifer; his dark velvet cape fluttering in the hot breeze, his hair, all spun gold and light, a contrast against his blood rich eyes, eyes so dark, so fear-provoking, knitting together with pale eyebrows.
‘Evan.’ He says, he has never called me that, never informal, not even once.
‘Lucifer?’ I speak, but he puts up a hand, he takes mine with the other and slips something cold into my palm. Slick silver, cold like ice. I don’t have to look down to know what it is, I can feel the ridges of the crown, and I can feel the softness of the gold, the red horns, and the eyes.
‘My father’s medallion…’ I stare into Lucifer’s eyes; it’s the first time I notice anything bar disdain in his features. His alabaster skin shines, just below his eyes, you would think he has been crying, but then you catch the hue of red and I know its blood. I gulp a breath, one that stays trapped within my throat.
‘As Heir, you are to step up in your Father’s place. Your father, Great King Beleth—‘
‘He can’t. He can’t have…’ I shake my head, feeling my eyes bulge in their sockets, finally staring at the cold metal in my palm, I run my fingers over the chain, fingertips hauntingly light as they touch the etching of the crown.
‘There will be a ceremony, not for a few days. I will sit in place for you, until you are ready. But Satan, our greatness, he urges you by the ceremony to be ready. You have no choice, Evander. You are of king’s blood. You are the heir.’
I don’t hear him, all I hear is the winds whisper words, my father’s words.
I will talk more when I return.
I’ll never know what you wanted to say… I will never know...
The witch. She was right. My future… the glass orb, showing me as a king, even without Ellison in hell… that means…
The screams of the tortured echo in my ears as I turn upon my heel and run, the sound of Lucifer shouting after me merges with the wails of pain and I cannot tell them apart the further I get away; I open up my wings, all black and light and expansive, stretch out and I soar up and up, towards Hell’s gate.
Ellison –
Blood. Rain. Blood. Rain.
I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it…
Images flash in my mind, blurring my tear-stained eyes with fragments of the past hours.
It was only yesterday I was talking to him, only yesterday when he was offering his advice, laughing and showing me all of the hidden gems within the treasure troves of old. I can’t believe it. The pain, it tears at my heart, it claws at my chest and I cannot breath, I cannot speak. My limbs feel like lead as they stumble over each other and I trip, stagger forward until I finally come to a stop.
Disorientated and teary-eyed I can just make out that I’m behind the Mall; the ramp that the lorries transport the goods in and out merges with the brightly painted grids to warn others away, it blurs as I squint before staring up at the dark, dismal clouds above.
Have I done something wrong? Have I said something to someone, done them wrong somewhere in my life? Why me, why again? First Madison, first you take away my other half, my life. And now, now you tear away from me one of my only crutches, keeping me stable, keeping me together. He is like a father, a kind old grandfather that pulls you into a never-ending hug and whispers that everything will be okay. He is Charlie, good old Charlie Beaumont. Why him? Why someone so good, so kind, so gentle? Why him?
The dark clouds shift, I can see just the last bit of grey light penetrate the clouds, darkness comes hand in hand with my misery; the cold that bites through my clothes as the wind attacks me, the iciness of the air as I try to catch a breath, it feels just like I am. Cold and numb. Hollow. I feel so empty.
I feel rain touch my face, the cold droplets feel like shards of ice cutting into my skin, my cheeks, and my forehead turn to stone. I just stare up at the blackening sky, watching as the streetlights flicker on, and their glow lights up my way, but not my heart, not my soul. It feels black, it feels cold. It feels dead.
No, Charlie, not you. Not you…
The rain soaks me now, webs my hair against my face, it soaks my hoodie, and my t-shirt underneath; the wind takes the sides of my open sweater and rips it away, it whips at my waist, cutting into me with the same harshness as the cold wind, the icy rain. All I see is a blur, a blur of tears and rain and flashes of memory.