by J. C. Hanna
After the excitement had died down, Rufus took Amy to a grand set of rooms. He informed her that the rooms were to be her new living quarters. Still dazed by her own death, she remained subdued. As she lay on top of the large, comfortable bed, she kept replaying the events in her mind. Through it all, she sensed two very important things. One; Rufus was not a bad person. He simply did what he thought was for the best. Two; Rufus didn’t truly understand what was happening. The second thought worried her gravely. If a great battle between the forces of good and evil was coming, what chance did they stand if the wisest amongst them did not understand how to achieve victory? She felt lost.
Chapter Forty-seven: Amy’s Birth
Branna came to Amy’s room early the next morning. She entered cautiously. There was no need for care. Amy had slept little during the night, and she was wide awake when Branna arrived.
“How do you feel?” Branna asked, tentatively.
“Pretty much as you would expect,” Amy replied.
“There is nothing that I can say or do to make any of this better. It is done. We must find a way to move on.”
“Indeed,” Amy said, with doleful resignation. “We seem to do a lot of casual, moving on, around these parts.”
“If you are going to stay in this place and make it your home, then I must take you on a tour,” Branna said, to redirect the conversation and the mood.
Amy rolled over on the bed. She sighed.
“I suppose,” Amy conceded.
A short time later they set off for a walk through the town. In the rush to slay the other Amy, there had been no time to take in just how magical the place was. On the surface, it looked like a quaint town from medieval times. Streets lined with shops, and homes on every street. The shops were curiously specialised; a cobbler, a fishmonger; basket maker; candle maker; a pub; and various charming little eateries—and those were merely the ones that she encountered on one of the streets. The cobbles of the street were laid evenly and they were spotlessly clean—no mess, which was strange given the number of horses that were wandering around freely—she counted six before losing interest as they became part of the wonderful background.
The population of the town was mainly human, or some magical derivation thereof—witches and wizards, Amy reckoned. There were also fairies, and similar sprites, darting around, in a mad rush to get to somewhere only they knew.
A small man with a sun-wrinkled face was standing on a little stool next to a fountain. He was trying to take a drink; though the nervous shifting of his body suggested that he was none too clear on how he might achieve that goal. Amy and Branna approached the tiny person. A girl with long, curly, red hair, wearing a long, white, summer dress, and nothing on her feet, causally walked up to the little man. She pushed the small man into the fountain. The girl giggled as she skipped away from the scene of the crime.
“Who’s the jerk?” Amy asked.
“She used to be the Queen of England,” Branna said.
“Hmm. Nice people skills. No wonder America went its own way.”
At the end of a long row of houses, topped with thatched roofs, a plain rectangular stone tower stood at odds with the architecture of the surrounding buildings. Branna entered the structure. Amy followed. The inside of the building was dark and it smelled of putrid damp. Four torchlights burst into flame as they moved along a short corridor.
“I assume this is where your vampire friend hangs-out,” Amy said, knowingly.
“This is his prison.”
“And why are you showing it to me? I am already sold on the whole, good versus evil, thing.”
“I need for you to see the evil that we face close-up. The real evil that we face.”
“The vamps back in New York weren’t real enough?”
Branna did not reply. She pushed open a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. They walked through the open doorway into a small room. At the back of the room, under the illumination of a small shaft of sunlight that bored through a slit high up in the wall, there was a prison cell. Behind the bars of the cell door, a figure sat on a wooden bench. The creature had a dark woollen blanket draped over its head and upper body.
Branna walked up to the cell. She kicked the metal bars of the door. Amy jumped at the sound.
“You have a visitor,” Branna said.
The creature did not move.
“Fine,” continued Branna. “If you will not greet our guest, then you will go without food for another month. Or two.”
Amy looked at Branna with suspicion.
Branna slowly slipped her right arm through the bars of the cell.
“Last chance,” Branna said, in a teasing tone.
With decrepit unease, the thing began to stir. Amy stepped back as the blanket fell away from the demon as it stood up. Amy tensed as she prepared for a sudden burst of movement from the vampire. The sickly being groaned as it lurched drunkenly towards Branna. Its skin was dark grey and hairless. Its ribcage and the bones of its mean arms were visible. Amy lost all fear of the creature as it approached Branna and took her arm; she felt sorry for it. Amy winced as the vampire bit into Branna’s flesh. Branna smiled as the vampire fed lazily on her blood.
Amy did not like what she was witnessing. The condition of the creature; the disgusting pleasure on Branna’s face—she had power over the demon, and she enjoyed it.
“Why?” Amy asked, simply.
“This monster killed my family. It tried to kill me. My mother cursed it before she died. It can only feed on my blood.”
She smiled again.
“I could leave the door to this cell wide open and it would never flee from me,” Branna continued.
“How long have you been keeping it here?” asked Amy, with alarm.
“Over one thousand years.”
Amy stepped forward. She drew the sword from its sheath along the length of Branna’s back. Branna pulled away from the vampire.
“What are you doing?” Branna demanded.
“This is not a punishment. This is torture. I am going to end its suffering.”
“This creature was sired by the demon that dwells in the black mountain. It is our only link to that creature. I do not keep it alive to torture it. I keep it alive so that it will provide us with information. The torture is simply a happy coincidence.”
Amy shook her head with dismay as she handed the sword to Branna.
“It’s torture,” Amy said. “If you haven’t got all the information that you can from it after one thousand years, then it clearly doesn’t have anything more to tell you. At least, nothing more that it will tell you.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about. You are still a child,” Branna hissed.
“Even children eventually move past the pulling legs of spiders, stage of their lives.”
“What are you saying?” Branna asked.
“I’m saying that it is time for you to grow up. Kill the damn vampire. End its suffering.”
“The demon will die when the time is right.”
Branna left the room. Amy turned back towards the vampire. It had changed. A slight, barely perceptible difference, but it was somehow profound. Branna’s blood had restored some of its human characteristics. It was enough for Amy to see a trace of the boy that had once been. She swallowed hard and then left the room.
As Amy stepped into the sunlight the door slammed shut behind her. As Amy scanned the street, Branna could not be found. As she walked back through the town she felt uneasy. The story that she had been told of good and evil no longer held true.
For the rest of the day, Amy walked through the town looking for Branna. The witch did not want to be found. Amy then went in search of Rufus and Dee. They too were keeping their heads down.
The town was deceptively large. Around every corner she was met by eye-pleasing wonder—the old-fashioned and varied architecture of the buildings; the oddity of the inhabitants, and their almost complete lack of interest in the newcomer in their mids
t—perhaps there was something of the New Yorker in all creatures, she mused.
At the limits of the town, she came across a small collection of worthy looking buildings. The assortment of structures put her in mind of some of the great universities back home.
As she approached the high stone arch that marked the entrance to the first building, she stopped and looked up. Above the point of the arch, a sculpted marble tree perched precariously. The leaf-less tree was at least ten feet tall. Amy could not fathom how it was secured. She shifted from spot to spot in a vain effort to solve the mystery. On entering the building, she was struck instantly by the fact that there was not a living soul in sight.
The single room went back a very long way. It was filled with row after row of high, dark-wood bookcases. Countless volumes stuffed the bookcases—leather-bound, and arranged in perfect order, by some unseen someone. She was awestruck as she walked the rows of books, and in no time at all an hour had passed.
“It is an impressive collection,” said a voice, from behind a high stack of books, that were built with care, on a large table that sat between the rows.
The owner of the voice stepped out from his hiding place. The man was in his forties, by Amy’s reckoning. He had a craggy, yet handsome face. His brown hair was not long, but it was in need of a trim. As he approached Amy she automatically perused, and then judged, what he was wearing. He was dressed like a man of the field rather than a man of scholarly pursuits.
“I assume that you are not the librarian?” Amy said.
The man smiled warmly.
“Whatever gave it away?” asked the man, jovially.
“The smile, for one. All the librarians that I know are very serious, and always poised to disapprove of this or that. And if I’m honest, they are all women. So, if you are not a librarian, why are you lurking amongst the books?”
The man held out a hand and Amy automatically took it. The handshake was firm but brief.
“I am Branna’s father. And I am lurking here amongst the books because the people that should be lurking amongst the books are too busy feeling sorry for themselves. All of history, both seen and unseen, is held in this place. The secrets to unlocking power and understanding. If they want answers, then this is the place to find them. And yet they hide. Caught up in self-pity.”
Amy sighed.
“Tell me about it,” she said. “I haven’t seen any of them for hours. What’s with that?”
“They are confused. They are worried. And most of all, they are frightened about what the future holds. I think that they should be here, looking for answers, and putting together a plan. But what would I know? I’m merely a simple country boy. I feel like a bit player in this great drama.”
Amy smiled.
“Same here,” said Amy. “Though, less of a country boy.”
“Then there’s nothing for it. We will simply have to sit back and wait until the great minds of this place come to the same conclusion that you and I have already reached.”
“What conclusion is that?” asked Amy.
“Things may be bad, but it is time to get on with it. All knowledge; everything that ever was, and everything that will ever be, can be found in this place. Besides you, the only other person that I have seen in here in weeks is the mad queen. I’m pretty sure she was trying to start a fire; or at the very least, she was thinking about starting a fire.”
Amy smiled again.
“I met her earlier,” said Amy. “Unless there is more than one mad queen?”
“No, there is only one mad queen. Thankfully. But I’m not fooling around,” he continued. “This place has it all. The only problem is, it would take as many human beings as there are stars in the sky, many lifetimes, to get through a small fraction of the wisdom to be found here. At least that is what Doctor Dee says. In my humble opinion, that is a poor reason not to make a start. Who knows, we might even find something useful? It has happened before. They are also right about you. I don’t know how, or why, but this land knows you. You are important. And if you spend enough time in this building, and look hard enough, you will learn why you matter.”
“Really?” said Amy, with mild doubt.
“Really,” he said. “You can see how far back this one room goes. You haven’t looked up yet. This place is full of all kinds of useful information.”
He pointed upwards with the index finger of his right hand. Amy’s gaze followed the finger upwards. The bookcases, stacked in multiple levels that went much higher than the building, as viewed from the outside, came into view and confused her greatly.
“One piece of advice; do not become trapped by the wonder of this building, or of this land. You belong to the world outside, and that world needs you. You must find a way back, one day,” he said, and then he paused for a moment, to give the advice time to make an impression. “I must be getting home. My daughter has been off somewhere practicing her very best frown, and I would like to be there for her when she returns.”
“It was nice meeting you,” Amy said.
“And you too,” he replied.
He left the building. Amy watched him closely as he went. As he approached the exit, something caught her eye. A strange, fleeting distortion in the space around the man. The shimmer melted into a deep-grey, shadow. She blinked and her view of him returned to normal. She shook the moment with rational ease, but something unsettling burrowed into her stomach and twisted into a tight knot. As he left the building she rebuked herself for not asking his name. Branna’s father was fine as a label, but not as a proper name.
She resolved to return to the extensive library, and to explore the buildings beyond, as she walked back towards her new home. The lone adventure had been a distraction, but it had not provided her with the answers to the many questions that were flowing through her head. By the time she arrived back at her rooms she felt abandoned. When she moved to the bedroom her mood changed. The sword, the one she bought back in New York, was sitting neatly in the middle of the bed. If Branna had still been angry with her then she would not have taken as much care with the weapon. It was a hopeful sign. She picked up the sword and smiled. She lay back on the bed with the sword by her side. As she drifted off to sleep in the paradise, a small flame of hope burned deep within her.
Across the town, and throughout the surrounding countryside, the creatures, and the chosen humans went to sleep. From the grandest townhouse to the lowliest hovel; all found rest easy to come by. There was no foretelling the great change that was coming. No sense that change had already begun. Their world and the world beyond would never be the same.
Chapter Forty-eight: The Other Boat
Tarish dangled in the air above the water in the Seeing Chamber, with determined stillness—the hushed beating of the little creature’s wings observed only by the fairy itself. The lone source of light in the room emanated from the tiny being; the fairy light that reflected and scattered off the highly polished marble surfaces, and the water below, was weak, and cold.
The images in the quiet water were in constant flux—no obvious pattern became apparent in the fast-changing scenes—they simply came and went.
The little thing waited. And it waited. Its tiny face remained expressionless as the images moved on. Tarish did not shift from the spot, and its bead-like, black eyes did not blink for more than an hour. Eventually, slowly, Tarish blinked. The fairy drew in a long breath and his wings slowed to the point where the creature began to lose altitude. The fairy descended slowly towards the image that it had been waiting for. The murdered Amy, lying on a metal table in the morgue of one of the city’s hospitals.
The mystical body of water had provided the creature with the answer to its unspoken question. As the fairy continued to float downwards, it twisted its body slightly to get a better look at the girl’s face as she lay on the cold slab. Amy was dead. Tarish continued to watch the scene for a short time from just above the water’s surface. Nothing changed. The body of water had given its answer, a
nd by remaining fixed on the scene from the hospital, the water was making an emphatic declaration.
It was not the answer that the fairy had been hoping for, but it was an answer, and the creature reluctantly conceded defeat. Tarish dolefully flew out of the room. The chamber was instantly returned to absolute darkness as the fairy exited.
The image in the water changed once again. A rundown warehouse in New York City. An unfortunate soul lay sleeping on a cold, concrete floor under a thin covering of newspapers. An elderly man wearing a long, dirty raincoat, walked into the scene. The newspapers twitched. The newspapers began to fall away. Amy stood up from beneath the paper blanket. As she rushed towards the man, her face transformed. The demonic Amy leapt onto the man, knocking him to the ground. Instinctively, she pinned the struggling man to the floor before sinking her teeth into the vagrant’s jugular. As she finished feeding, she calmly stood up and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. She walked away from the body.
The imaged changed. Amy lying on the table in the morgue. Another transition. Amy sleeping peacefully in her room a short distance from the Seeing Chamber, her sword by her side. Then finally, the demonic Amy as she left the warehouse; fed, but still hungry, and ready for her next kill.
Chapter Forty-nine: Of Desperate Acts
The Seeing Chamber burst into light as the cauldrons began to flame in turn as Dee and Rufus entered the cavernous room. It was the early hours of the morning; but both men were fully alert.
“I believe we should wait,” urged Dee.
“I have been waiting for over one thousand years,” Rufus replied, irritably. “The world of man is fighting a war, and they do not know who their enemy is. We do not know who the enemy is, most of the time. Amy was supposed to change all that. I must try to make this right. If I am unsuccessful, then all hope will be lost. The boy is one of the few constants. Along with Amy. He appears here every night at this time. First as a child, and then as a young boy. It must mean something, John. If you know of any other way, then I am listening.”
