by Mark Tufo
Isabel stepped forward and did everything her mother asked her to. She was a shining gem among all who attended. None could take their eyes off her, including her intended, George, who greeted her at the end of the carpeted aisle. The two exchanged bows and he offered her his hand, which she took graciously. Escorting her to center of the dance floor, the two waited for the music to start then began their waltz. It was the first night in forever that Isabel felt normal. She laughed her worries away and danced into the late hours of the night.
Working up a hunger, she placed her hand upon George’s shoulder, “Please, M’Lord. Might take my leave to eat?”
George, already entranced by his intended, bowed and placed a kiss upon the back of her hand, “I could never deny you anything, M’Lady.”
Isabel’s eyes were dreamy as she gazed into his, but hunger won the battle and she finally pried herself from his company to settle down at a table. The wine seemed to flow like a fountain, never-ending. She and the other guests drank their fill and ate until corsets pinched at the figures of the ladies wearing them. Isabel was pulled in every direction to dance and play among her guests until she realized that she had not seen George for some time. Laughing freely at the silliness of the court’s royal cast as they performed, she searched the sea of faces for her betrothed. Not finding him, she grew somewhat concerned and made her way toward the dark hallways outside the ballroom. The staff brushed past her quickly, trying to keep up with the demand for food and drink, muttering apologies while balancing dishes and platters. Isabel smiled and dismissed them to their work as she continued her search.
There was a noise at the end of the hallway, in the shadows and she frowned but walked toward it. She heard rustling and thought perhaps one of the guests got lost or drunk and could not find their way through the maze of corridors. The music and laughter faded into the distance and Isabel walked slowly forward, her racing heart warning her of what she may discover.
More rustling and a woman’s groan made Isabel pause. She listened intently and heard the whispers of a man and woman engaged in a lover’s whisper. Not knowing what prompted her forward, Isabel moved forward suddenly and rounded the corner but was stopped short by the display before her.
George had his hand up one of her ladies’ skirts, and her legs were entwined around his waist. Her exposed breasts were mashed into his face while he grunted and pressed into her like a starved animal. Each thrust knocked the girl’s spine into the wall behind her and she was lost to the act until her half-closed eyes found focus on Isabel’s stunned face. The embarrassed girl began to slap George’s shoulder, each one a little rougher until he stopped.
“What, girl?! Don’t be coy, now!” His smile faded when he saw the look of fear on her face, her hands desperately trying to cover herself.
George twisted to see who had caught them in the midst of their stolen moment, only to be taken aback by the revelation that it was his intended wife.
Whispers filled Isabel’s head like a thousand beating, leather wings. Her breath came short and fast, causing her chest to rise and fall rapidly. They were saying something and reaching out for her but it rose from her belly. Her hand rose, finger pointed at the couple who were now in a state of panic. Isabel tried to fight it but could not restrain the horrible growl that tore at her vocal chords, overflowing into screaming condemnation.
“Whore!” the shout echoed off the corridor’s walls, stopping the music with the residual clinking of forks and glasses until everyone stopped.
Silence only fueled her tirade, consuming her with wrath as she stalked toward the girl striking her against her cheek, “Harlot!!”
George stumbled back, watching Isabel unleash fury on the girl who would not fight back. Slap after slap was followed now by closed fists that pummeled the girls face and head, “Devil’s Whore!”
The girl tried to fend the blows off with her hands while forgetting that her dress left her completely exposed. The crowd had started to rush in to see what was going on only to be stopped by the scene ensuing before their witnessing eyes. Isabel had begun grabbing fistfuls of hair, jerking and yanking them off the helpless girl’s bloody scalp.
The King forced his way through the awe-struck crowd and stumbled to a stop to the gruesome scene.
“Isabel!” He shouted.
His voice was lost to deaf ears, filled with the rushing of blood and the fire of her anger.
“Isabel!!” He shouted louder this time and grabbed his daughter, pinning her arms to her sides so that they could deal no more blows.
Isabel screeched like an animal and thrashed until all energy was spent, then went limp, sobbing in her father’s arms. Her father was filled with his daughter’s anguish and shame to which he dealt to the cowering couple.
“You bring shame upon my house!?” Words spit from between his lips and he spun Isabel toward her mother who was finally able to get beside her husband.
Catching her daughter, she tried to comfort her but peered dangerously over her head at the two who had ruined the night but most importantly, her plans for setting up her empire of power.
“George!” The voice came from his father this time.
John stood there, towering over the rest of the men in all his intimidating stature. The men moved quickly from the man’s path, allowing him through. A large hand swung across his leather bound chest, striking his son with such force, the boy crumpled to the floor.
It wasn’t until the sun was peeking over the horizon by the time the effects of the night began to wear off. Isabel’s lady was hauled off to who knows where, George was carried by the nape of his neck by his father who offered every apology he could to the King and Queen, and Isabel was carried upstairs to her room. In a rare show of kindness, her mother bathed her and consoled her, washing the blood and bits of scalp from her fingernails.
Isabel could only stare off into the distance between uncontrollable fits of sobbing. Curled up in her mother’s arms and dressed in fresh linen, Isabel drifted off into a deep sleep.
When consciousness left her, she became aware of a light shining in the distance. She was in a lucid dream and unable to move her limbs. She felt her body grow weightless and her spirit freeing from the shell of herself until she turned and was able to look upon her own sleeping form, nestled beside her mother. Blanche was drifting off, her head bobbing in steady rhythm as she fought against torpidity.
A voice called to Isabel, beckoning her to follow it. She moved slowly in this form but followed the compulsion to pursue. The curtains that covered the windows blew gently, giving hint to a bright red light from behind the thick material. With a slow, steady stride, she continued to move toward them, reaching her hand out. It was taking so long! She thought. Determination furrowed her brow and she focused, each step growing more coordinated and faster. When she reached the curtains, which were only a few feet from where her body lay, it seemed like hours had passed and she had exerted all of her strength. Lethargy was beginning to take over, but she did not give in.
She realized then, that she felt heat coming from behind the drapes, and her fear rose like a powerful wave. Forcing her limbs to move, she gripped the corner of the material throwing it back. A burst of heat and flames shattered the thin glass embedding the shards within her eyes and face. Trying to shield herself from the explosion, she struggled to make sense of it all. How can I feel this?!
Without further warning, something gripped her and she opened her eyes against the stinging pain, the heat of the fire and the veil of blood hindered her sight but she saw the face of a beast moving in. Isabel screamed and tearing at its face with her nails, digging at the hard flesh until something more hideous was revealed. She continued to throw her fists at it but was rendered paralyzed again. The blackness surrounded her, filling her lungs like the waters of a dark ocean. She could not scream, or cry for help. She was drowning!
Kicking and flailing as hard as she could, she came to the surface of the water with a deep, drag of
air into her lungs, forcing the dreams back to their world and her into reality. Her mother was screaming and her father was trying to restrain her. Isabel was consumed by the confusion and pushed to make sense of it all. Her eyes rolled around until they took in the sight of her mother’s face. What happened to her!?
Scratches cut deeply into her mother’s cheek and neck. The ladies were trying to press bandages and towels to them but Blanche was in hysterics, fighting them off of her.
“Get the girl out of my sight!” her mother howled.
Isabel could not control her own motor functions. She could feel her eyes rolling back into her head, then down again. Her fingers and toes contorted, painfully, and she began to froth at the mouth. Her entire body was rigid, forcing her spine to twist and her head to cock to the side. She was frozen this way for hours.
The next day, her father brought in the Holy See. He wanted a guarantee of his daughter’s soul, and to be convinced she was not touched by evil.
Isabel was once again bathed and re-dressed before being brought into private consul with the head of the Catholic Church. They spoke at length, dined together, and prayed with one another before finally emerging that evening.
The King stood there in his chambers, waiting for the Priest to come with word. When he did, Louis was relieved to know that she was in fact suffering from the Passion; A divine gift from God himself, a calling to do his work.
“Isabel has been called to join the nunnery.” The Priest dipped his jewel-adorned fingers into the bowl of fruit that was set upon Louis’ table.
The King sat in silence for so long that his Grace continued on, “You have a son and a fierce wife, Louis. There is no need to fear for your crown.”
The fat, purple grape was tossed between stained teeth, the dark skin visible as he continued to speak, spitting pieces of its juicy flesh as he did, “This is good for your cause. I give it my blessings.”
With a wipe of his hand, the grape juice smeared the otherwise perfectly white silk. The priest seemed to give it no mind as he held his hand out, exposing the royal signet that squeezed circulation from the male’s knuckle.
Louis swallowed back a small gag before pressing a barely-there kiss of his lips across the edge of it, hoping not to get anything in his mouth.
“I have a trusted friend that can take her into the abbey for training. Give me your permission to take her and she will head there with me on my way back to Rome.”
The King watched the priest’s chin waggle as he spoke before turning away and gazing into the fireplace. The heat caused small beads of perspiration to pool on his features and he wiped them away with his hand before nodding, in silence, giving his consent.
THE DARKNESS: AN INTERLUDE - LUCIFER
Father Raphael stood in front of the giant mirror. The surface was black and inky, swirling like oil. The tendrils of smoke slowly reached out for him like long spindly fingers to caress his chiseled form. He closed his eyes and allowed the touch before gazing deep within the dark abyss again. He would watch the humans from here, along with his minions whom he put into place to guide and manipulate Isabel’s path until he had her just where he wanted her.
A pious and chaste girl, he saw the favor she held with The Father. Her beauty moved him and provoked the already festering and boiling jealousy buried within his blackened soul. His eyes narrowed as he watched her, peeling away her clothing with his lecherous stare. She aroused in him a desire he’d never known before; the desire to mate.
Taking in a slow breath, he pulled the air into his lungs and held it there, absorbing the scents for miles around. Tipping back his head, he allowed the lids of his eyes to fall again. From each scent he knew exactly to whom or what it belonged. Images of what he inhaled appeared on the mirror’s surface before him; except one.
With a flick of his eyes toward the ceiling, Raphael’s senses went into high alert. Since the dawn of time he would catch whiffs of this scent but never could he place or to whom it belonged. Adding to the danger, the mirror reflected nothing – a Void.
With a growl, he turned and raced toward it, eager to hunt this presence down and to know, once and for all, who or what its owner looked like. Pushing past the faces of mortals who never saw him due to the speed at which he traveled. They seemed to stand there, unmoving, as he maneuvered through their lifeless bodies. Animals were a different story – they sensed him but could not see him, unless he willed them to. This sometimes spooked the beasts and caused them to jerk, or bolt, suddenly.
He came to the river and skimmed across the surface on his belly like a serpent, zigzagging across the motionless ripples before diving under then pushing his speed again until he reached the bank. Springing out of the water like the jaws of an alligator, he landed in a crouch, low to the earth. He kept his eyes upward but brought his nose downward to get a better catch of the scent within the damp soil. The world was unnaturally silent all at once. He caught a glimpse of movement outside of his peripheral, then growled. What was this …Thing?
He’d been there with the Father for every birth of every creation. Neither one of them understood the origin of the presence he was attempting to track now. Nostrils flared and he relaxed his muscles when the Old Man stepped out from behind him, out from the thin line of trees that lead back to the monastery.
“It’s here.” Raphael said gruffly. “The Void.”
The Old Man only nodded, then leaned forward on his walking stick and rested his chin upon wrinkled, old hands.
“I had it.” Raphael’s words seemed less confident as he spoke the words over his shoulder.
“No you didn’t.” Kind but stern eyes looked up at the Dark Man – his First Creation.
Within the older man’s eyes, which were crystal blue like frozen ice just above the water, was a light so brilliant that Raphael was forced to turn his eyes down in respect, whether he wanted to or not.
“I will find it.” He snarled, then turned to race back to his lair beyond the trees.
After a moment, the Old Man let out a steady sigh, “No, you won’t.” Then he lowered his walking stick into the earth and let the trees embrace him until he disappeared, but not before his ominous prediction was uttered into the wind, “It will find Us.”
BLASPHEMOUS RUMORS - MARCIEL
I waved to Father Dulante as I passed the large, open double doors to their room. He reciprocated with a smile and nod, never skipping a beat as his hands led the boys in their scales. The sound was the closest thing to Heaven I had left some days, and it filled each corridor I walked through until I ascended the stairs to the top floor where Isabel’s room was.
I saw that her door was slightly ajar and that familiar fear crept along my neck. Was Father Raphael going to be there? I approached the door and stretched out my hand, slowly opening the large door.
A soft haze of light fell down through the windows. The curtains were open and I saw Louis there beside Isabel’s bed, reading from scripture to his sister who was sleeping in her bed. I could not help but smile. Standing there for a moment I let that scene play for a moment before I looked down at Isabel’s wrists and feet.
She was bound again. Her wrists were bandaged but small spots of blood seeped through. She had fresh linen and clothes and her feet were bare except for the bandages around those wounds which had also seeped during the night.
Just as I frowned, Louis’ voice called to me. “She’s going to be alright.” He said.
“Of course she is.” I said before I stood looked at him, again.
Standing off the wall, I smiled and walked over to him. I looked toward the door again then back at Louis who was following my gaze. I could feel the same uneasiness in him that I felt.
“You feel it, too, don’t you?” he asked.
“Feel what?” I asked but I already knew.
“There is something about that priest.” He whispered, glancing every so often to the doorway.
I could only nod at first, too stunned that I was not the o
nly one that felt the evil that Father Raphael gave off. Even now as we spoke, I could feel the chill rise on my neck along with the fine hairs.
“I must stay here beside her.” He said. “If I don’t, I fear something will happen to her. I just feel it.”
“I’ll help you.” I said.
Louis looked up at me and a face of relief covered his features. He seemed to breathe then as if he was unable to before. He even looked older overnight. Sleep deprived eyes were blood shot and I knew he had been awake all night, keeping vigil over her.
“In my travels, and on the battlefield, I have seen many, many evils” he said, gazing from Isabel back up to me, “but never, have I felt fear and death as certain as I do, here.”
I had to try and ease his fear and pain, even though I knew what he felt was real and true, “No, my Lord. She will be fine. Just as before.” I stepped toward him, hopeful that I was able to mask my emotions well enough to actually lie.
Louis tried to smile but it was only to hold back the tears. Isabel lie in a deep, fitful sleep beside him. He took her hand within his own and brought it to his lips before letting the tears break and fall down his cheeks.
I tore my gaze away from him, respectfully and looked toward his companion Felipe. The man’s jaw tightened seeing his friend and sovereign reduced to such emotion. We both felt helpless. In battle, there was action and metal and swords. There was a result. In this moment, there was nothing we could do but stand and watch.
“Has she spoken at all?” I finally asked.
Louis shook his head, softly. “She speaks but it is nothing I can decipher. Languages I have not ever heard.”
My eyes snapped quickly over at Felipe to this revelation. He nodded his head to confirm before turning back toward the window. His eyes fixed on something in the distance that piqued my curiosity. Standing slowly, I pressed my hand to Louis’ shoulder and offered what comfort I could.
“Pray, my Lord. God will give us the strength we need to rise in victory.”
