by Veras Alnar
Amis turned red, he was trying not to cry and failing.
“Instead of accepting me as his son born of his blood, he acted like I was nothing to him,” Amis said, “I slept in a room away from everyone, he kept all good things from my reach. Always heckling me for spending money on anything, harshly rebuking me for going to fight highwaymen encroaching on our own borders. I missed over half, I was only there for four skirmishes! My armor never gained a dent that couldn't be fixed but he tried to hide it from me! The sword was my only joy and he tried to take that too! So I stole, I stole all the gold I could hold from the town coffers to buy myself a sword to run away from this place! Damn him! Damn them all!”
It was Amis turn to pace, his eyes red rimmed and his face splotchy.
“What evil did I do, what crime could I have committed that made them this way? Was I meant to fall this far, so quickly? Cursed by God for some unknown reason,” Amis said, twisting his hair in his hands, “and now we're trapped with two evil men. Why is everything like this?”
Why was it that in his worst moments Fulk always looked at him with such pity? Same as Durgia had, like they all knew something he didn't.
“And for all your hatred, you still you did as she asked,” Fulk said, “our girl. And became the town pariah.”
“Shut up!” Amis snapped, “You don't know anything, you know less than nothing!”
“I know you're a child still in some ways,” Fulk said.
“It would have been better if I had been an orphan,” Amis said, “at least then I'd have some reason for my suffering, some rhyme to how events played out. It all just seems so senseless now.”
“There's a reason to all this,” Fulk said, “but you won't like it.”
“Then TELL ME!” Amis screamed.
The ground rumbled under them, the crag had caused the earth to tremble once again and a few stray books fell off the crooked shelves and landed on the floor. Fulk got up off his seat and picked one up and flipped it over.
“And ere I behold Garstwren's line,
Whose dry bones can call up thickest dread,
And black hair beautiful enough to turn Satan's head,
A devil's blessing is upon my darkened brow,
And shapes my love like a burning star,
That falls from the ground at night
As my friends return to me from the battlefield of death,”
Fulk looked at Amis with a curious cock of his head.
Fulk said, “what do you think it means?”
The stillness in the library and Amis' harsh breathing were loud and as thunderous as the earth's rumbling.
“I don't know,” Amis said, “but I'm tired. Of this. Of you and of everything.”
Snatching the book from his hands, Amis flipped to another underlined stanza.
“I called the powers of Garstwren's land,
From blood sacrificed unwillingly,
And bled my sorrow across its ground,
Until the earth cracked in its great span,
And then I spoke aloud the words, I-”
Amis paused.
“I can't read it,” Amis said, curiously, “the rest is just symbols-”
Like the symbols in his father's book.
“My god they're the same,” Amis said.
“What is,” Fulk demanded, “show me!”
“In my pocket,” Amis pulled out the little book.
“Goodness that's fine,” Fulk said.
“Keep your sticky hands away from it,” Amis snapped, “look at them. Tiny, little symbols. What do you think they mean?”
“Another language,” Fulk said, “looks old. Nothing like what I've seen in Adelaide, nor anything like the druids chip on their big stone markers. It looks like little hooves, all in rows with funny hats.”
“I suppose,” Amis said, turning the book sideways, “I wish I knew what it meant. It was in my father's coat.”
“Keep it close,” Fulk said, “never let it out of your sight. It's all we've got to bargain the devil with.”
“What do you mean?” Amis demanded.
“For once in your life, just do as your told,” Fulk said, “and for god's sake, pretend that you know nothing or we'll be done in come morning.”
And then quick as anything, Fulk had left the library slamming the door behind him. To what purpose or end, Amis had no idea. After slamming the book shut and putting it inside his pocket, Amis felt uncomfortably chilled. He left the library and wandered the hallway, unsure if he could go to bed at all. In the second solar Amis saw Lord Guain helping to wrap Nethir's feet in bandages, there were a few basins filled with water and crushed petals, along with an alarming red tinge from blood. He didn't look like some fairy tale monster or a man made from witchcraft and evil spells. Only very tired and still just as handsome, as always.
“I hear you Amis,” Lord Guain said, “you may come in, if you like but I'm leaving as soon as I'm finished.”
With sudden swiftness, Lord Guain pushed passed Amis and to his discomfort the expression on the lord's face seemed pained. His hand touched Amis on the shoulder and gripped it just for a brief moment, though for his own benefit or for Lord Guain's, Amis couldn't be sure.
“Never mind him, he has only ever longed for what he can't have. I knew Martin,” Nethir said, “your father was it?”
“Yes,” Amis said.
He felt like an intruder here, some unwanted guest but Nethir bade him to sit down. He took the chair in front of the bed, where Lord Guain had sat to bind his brother's feet. It was with some reluctance that Amis admitted that Nethir looked like any old man from the village and not a nightmare of death and blood the way Fulk was describing. But it was too much to hope that Fulk was that much of a liar.
“He was in the military many years ago and I hear he still remained the cold and calculating master bowman that I knew,” Nethir said, “did he treat you well?”
That his father had worked at anything hard enough to be called master was news to Amis.
“No,” Amis said, shortly.
Nethir had the gall to let out a little chuckle, “I don't suppose he would. Kept you apart from your fellows, didn't he? Made you sleep in another room, shorted you the goods of the common lot?”
Amis looked away, “if that's all you have to say then I'll leave.”
“No that's not all,” Nethir said, “I must ask a question, terrible and personal though it may be. Did you have sexual congress with a woman in the village?”
Amis stared at him, “what the hell does that have to do with anything?”
He wanted to call Nethir an old pervert for such an impudent question but held himself, just.
“And foist a child on her,” Nethir said.
Amis clamped his mouth shut.
“If you have no children then you have nothing to fear,” Nethir said.
“I had none,” Amis said.
The cry of the infant and its wail as it died was in his head, rattling around his skull. It hadn't been his, he was sure of it.
“No infant my lover ever had was my own,” Amis amended.
“When the crag burst two days ago do you know what night it was?” Nethir said.
Amis shook his head.
“It was Walpurg's Eve, as the men from the west call it. An evening of diabolical witchery, when the old druids say that Garstwren would go to the crag and leave his body as a great bat to have sexual congress with all the witches of his land,” Nethir said, “if some blood sacrifice was made on that night, in this place at the exact moment when all dread things were awake and watching, who knows what might happen.”
Amis trembled all over, a shake that wouldn't stop. It had been that night...when he had...
“What have you done on that night,” Nethir said, “tell me.”
“I-,” Amis tried, “I've done noth-”
“I'm a Bishop boy,” Nethir said, “I've heard all manner of confession. Unburden yourself to me without fear, I won't be taking you
to court as everyone left to judge you is dead. Let off the weight that slopes your shoulders and anguishes you in your sleep, allow the release to wash over you like a purifying wave and clear you of your dread. I will forgive you as God would, no more or less. And from Christef's forgiveness a new dawn will break and all the terrible things you've done and heard, and seen with those sad dark eyes, will be disappeared like a bad dream.”
Such smooth and sinuous words had never been spoken to his ears but he didn't want to hear them, he knew with such certainty that to tell Nethir anything at all would be a grave mistake, even if he would be uncountably relieved in the telling.
“I-,” Amis hesitated, “I've killed...some men in battle that I regret.”
“And?” Nethir said.
“That's all,” Amis said.
Picking a strand of black hair from Amis's head, Nethir rubbed the blunted ends between his fingers. He leaned in close, his sharp and aged face blocking out the light of the fire behind him.
“They say that Garstwren's line was known for its thick black hair and long limbed stature but it was their eyes that left all who beheld them shaken,” Nethir said, “they were red as blood, an unnatural trait that wouldn't go unnoticed if it were to appear today.”
If someone had told him Nethir had been one of Garstwren's children, Amis wouldn't have been very much surprised.
“I've never seen a man like that here,” Amis said, “or woman.”
“For all we know,” Nethir said, “the family is dead or halfway across the world, enjoying the court as any noble would with no tainted mark of infamy on their lives.”
Nethir let go of his hair and Amis tried to repel the feeling of his skin crawling.
“Regardless,” Nethir said, “my darling brother has had an interest in this place since his adolescence. An unhealthy interest that I fear has gone unchecked for far too long, he very much wishes to keep the hold no matter what blood has to be spilled in the doing. And blood spilled here is never to some natural end, keep that in mind, boy. If you have done something profane then it will have surely changed your life for the worst, forever. The stories about Garstwren may be nothing but fairy stories now but some four thousand years ago when he walked this keep's haunted halls, they held a germ of truth. An evil seed now growing from his dusty old bones is indeed, something to fear for even a legend restoring itself has certain repercussions on the worldly stage and I have no doubt it would bring terrible things that ought to be forgotten, back to life. Would you want that on your conscience, boy? Or no? Let that sink into your head until it sticks there.”
When Amis made his way to his upper solar it was with a heavy conscience. Guilt swirled in his stomach and made him nearly sick, he didn't want to remember it. He didn't want to think about it. He went back to his rooms where Fulk was lounging next to the embers of the fire.
“No prayers tonight?” Fulk asked.
“God can't save me now,” Amis said.
“That's a bit grim,” Fulk said, “what did the old man say?”
“He asked me to recount my sins so I told him that I regretted killing the men that I did, that's all,” Amis replied.
Fulk chuckled low, “all those sins you count are nothing but seeds dropped in front of birds. Easily whisked away by prayers and devotions, he nearly had you there I bet.”
“There are some that are far worse,” Amis reminded him, “he also asked me if I had made love with a woman. Why would he care about that?”
“Perhaps he finds you pretty,” Fulk said, mockingly, “and wants to hear your sordid tales.”
“Shut up,” Amis hissed, turning his back to him.
Fulk laughed, “whatever the reason, you did well not answering him in whole.”
“I wonder,” Amis said, after some time, “if Lord Guain is the heir of Garstwrot.”
“Could be,” Fulk said, “Gessetto was supposed to be old, as old as Nethir and now, if that really is him, he looks young again. Think about that for a minute and it might turn your hair white.”
“He certainly doesn't have long claws or cloven hooves,” Amis said, “or blood red eyes.”
“I doubt any man had those attributes,” Fulk said, “but Nethir had hair black as pitch when young, that's true.”
“In Lady Anna's diary,” Amis said, “she made note that Lord Guain's had a fascination with the land that bordered on an obsession. If this is true, perhaps if he isn't the heir he might know who is.”
“Then perhaps we're caught in a power struggle between two evil men and the devil's get,” Fulk said.
“You're more of a devil than any man I know,” Amis said.
“And through love and stupidity,” Fulk reminded him, “you've become more than my equal.”
“That's different,” Amis said, “I had no choice.”
“If that's what keeps you cooler in hell,” Fulk said, “so be it.”
V
It was a restless night for Amis as the words Nethir had said rattled in his head. They twisted and turned and echoed until they became an insensible buzz like flies flying around heaps of dung. But he did, eventually fall into some manner of sleep.
Behind his closed eyes he saw a shape form from its darkness, a great rhythmic movement in some unreal place made of gray stones. There were eyes that glowed like red ruby drops and a heavy and fearsome wind that howled and rattled echoing over the land. Then appearing from the darkness was a great, enormous bat that flapped its wings, mouth agape and hungry, flying, flying through the endless night like some hopeful spark born from his broken-hearted wish that the dead could rise, time could turn backwards in a violent spiral and all could be unwritten, even his own unforgivable birth.
But as its great wings slowed, Amis saw it land on a massive stone carved throne and saw it stretch its wings to an enormous size, as big as three grown men. The windows in the room had red pained glass and the light pouring through them was dark like blood spattering across the floor. There was a sound booming through the stone room that sounded as a battle would, complete with thrashing swords and heavy armor. The bat flapped its wings and let out a triumphant shriek that rattled the very windows and caused the earth to rumble and Amis felt his own terror shake him to the very bones.
In his own bed Amis felt his fingers clenching over the pillows, he knew he must still be somewhat asleep. But when Amis opened his eyes next, he was in the little library as its musty smell assailed his nose first and hard books were pressing into his back, and the rest was cast in a shadow so dark he could barely see. In a tiny smattering of light, Amis saw a familiar face moving amongst the piles of books that had grown into a small mountain.
“Where is it, where is it” Lord Guain said.
Getting up from the ancient chair Lord Guain frantically pulled volumes from their shelves, checked their contents and hurled them to the floor. Whatever he was looking for was not to be found and it was putting him in a wild agitation. Suddenly, Lord Guain turned in Amis direction; it was like he had seen him, sensed his presence. His normally green eyes were a shining blood colored red. Amis backed up as much as he could until the books hurt his spine but it didn't matter, Lord Guain's hand brushed by his face while searching for another book. Amis closed his eyes, fearing what might come next.
Lord Guain had only grabbed a book from its shelf, checked its inside and hurled it to the floor in a fit of pique.
“Damn them,” Lord Guain hissed, “Damn them!”
And then Lord Guain let out a most horrific scream of frustration the likes of which Amis had never heard and never wanted to again. Lord Guain's body spasmed in a most peculiar way and then he lifted up the hand of his left arm and reached towards his right shoulder, grabbing and clutching it like a rend of frustration. Immediately after, he forced himself to lower his hands and calmed his face until the handsome features were as a placid lake, dappled with icy coolness under the spring sun. Amis had leaned so far back in his fear he felt the books pressing straight into the wall a
nd then, with a terrible wrench, the wall behind him flipped around depositing him into a grim stone hallway. He stumbled, fell to his knees and in a panic righted himself onto his feet in a few jerky gestures. A single, half shut up window at the end of the hall was letting in a red light but where the light itself was coming from Amis couldn't say.
The footsteps of tiny skittering animals were unwelcome in such a darkness and Amis swore he could feel tiny furry feet stepping across his own bare toes. He spun and turned, the red light illuminating darkened shapes and giving him no real sight except directly in front of its grimy glass. Amis was absolutely horror struck when he felt the hot breath by his ear and heard the rumbling, terrifying voice growl into it.
“GARSSSTWREEEEN”
Shuddering, Amis clenched and unclenched his fist wishing desperately for his sword.
“Leave me alone,” he tried, “go away you fiend, I'm not for the devil yet. Not yet!”
A low and rumbling laugh assailed his ears and he saw a clawed hand thrust itself by his face. Looking over he saw in its palm a ring, like the one Lord Guain himself wore. It was made of curled gold and had an ancient black stone at its center and strange writing all around its tarnished metal edge. It was thrust upon him, like a gift he couldn't refuse.
“I don't want your gold, devil,” he said again, “go away!”
The tail flicked between his legs, raising higher up his thighs in a playful way. He staggered backwards into the great, massive body of something definitely not human and felt its clawed grip around his waist. The thing was pulling, hauling him further and further into the darkened stone hallway until he found himself clawing at the walls to try and keep himself from being pulled further. Against his nails he felt the plaster wear away as he scratched and fought, and struggled as the beast laughed and laughed, it's loamy rumble echoing and vibrating the great gray stones.
“Amis,” a voice called to him.
Was he being groomed for hell's underbelly by the devil himself? All sinful lust and longing twisted until it was this great, evil mutant thing clawing its way up his thighs?
“Amis!” more insistent this time.
