The Shadow Crucible

by T. M. Lakomy

  “I have two spare rooms in the upper quarters ready for guests,” she said. Her eyes never left the count’s unwavering stare, and he felt her seeking futilely to pierce through to his thoughts. “As I am not interested in your business, nor where you come from, all I require is the knowledge that you won’t harm the children under my care.”

  “I carry a sword, but I have no intention of hurting your children,” said the count crisply. “I am a count from lands east of the Frankish kingdoms. I have important errands in town. My man here,” he extended his palm towards Elmer, “is here to accompany me and aid me with my travels. I will pay you handsomely for accepting us so late in the night.”

  “Excellent,” she clapped her hands and stood up. “I have a retinue of archers with poisoned arrows ready to stick into wriggling, running fools if you prove otherwise,” she added, her eyes glittering with amusement. “Dolly will lead you to your rooms. I trust you can carry your own luggage. Good night then, gentlemen.”

  “Good night, Lady Estella.” The count stood and rested his hands on the back of the chair as Estella, smiling knowingly, turned toward the staircase, gently humming a soft tune.

  2

  BURNED BY MIND GAMES

  For you cannot flee the beast that fed from your broken light

  Nor elude the precipice hollowed from your tears and wails

  So cast yourself to die, as a meteor hurtling into rapid flight

  Fanned into a vivid final exploding beam before it fails

  THEIR ROOMS WERE CLEAN AND ADEQUATELY FURNISHED. THE manor, as he soon discovered, was the house that Duke Delcour had purchased for his Portuguese wife. When she died, he had abandoned it and returned to his country estates. He had intended to donate it to the church, but his sister, Lady Mab, preserved it as a legacy for his child, who was not yet of age. As Lady Mab aged, she had taken the vow of the cloister and turned the manor into a home for the needy. Estella, growing up under the influence of Lady Mab, had decided to continue her aunt’s charitable deeds. She had carried on her legacy assiduously, but had unceremoniously turned out the nuns, thereby obtaining the full control that suited her.

  The count opened the windows to his room and leaned forwards, taking in the night scents and observing the dances of moths in the moonlight.

  “Well, this is better than we expected, isn’t it?” Elmer said as he entered the count’s room.

  “It is, though I wish she didn’t try to disrobe our minds as though we were commoners. I expected better from someone of her background, to be truthful. And I never expected to encounter such a careless seer here.” He turned to face Elmer sourly.

  “She was wary, my lord, a lady alone, guarding this place with only her wit and charm to aid her. We cannot fault her too much,” Elmer shrugged.

  The count flicked his fingers toward the window casually. “She wasn’t merely jesting, she meant it. That’s what’s protecting this manor, and I don’t doubt she conceals other surprises as well.” He flexed his fingers and began undressing while Elmer, having been dismissed, made to depart. “She isn’t the duke’s daughter, you did understand that Elmer? I wonder if even the duke ever realized it.”

  Elmer stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn back. “She didn’t strike me as the daughter of an Englishman, but then women do have their own ways, don’t they? And not all men are Templars with God-given gifts,” Elmer added wearily as he opened the door. “Goodnight my lord,” he said, closing the door behind him respectfully.

  The count lay awake in his four-poster bed. As his mind sought Estella, eager to unravel her facade and delve within, he eventually felt himself slip into a stupor of dreams.

  DAWN ARRIVED, COLD and white, its slender fingers finding fissures in the darkness to leak into, slowly breaking it apart, conquering its gloom, and replacing it with the dull grey of morning. The count arose with the first hints of light. He could sense the little ones going about their morning chores. In fact he could feel every one of them; the sick and the healthy, the weight of their small thoughts and worries, and amidst it all the deep heaviness of someone who stirred reluctantly in slumber. It was Estella, not yet fully awake, but neither truly asleep, her mind racing somewhere he couldn’t reach.

  Generally it was easy for him to reach out and ensnare the thoughts of others. Even the proudest of men were feeble and petty, wearing masks that would slip to reveal the ragged, beggarly souls plagued with fears beneath. Yet as hard as he tried to reach her, all he encountered was an impregnable, iridescent mirror. Her presence betrayed nothing except for the weight of her thoughts. The count frowned and leapt from bed, washed his face, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Inhaling deeply, he caught the faint scent of musk—Estella had been here, and while she was, she had brought with her thoughts that had left an imprint. There was a single, feeble strand of concern over a man, inhuman and unearthly, dogging her steps, offering and bartering for her soul. The thought was stale but still potent, and the count seized it curiously.

  There was a soft knock at the door. Elmer stood in the doorway awaiting his master and looking refreshed. The count nodded to Elmer as he strode down the hall and descended the stairs, adjusting the silver signet rings on his hands as he went. He was met with the clattering sound of china and cutlery in the main hall where he had met Estella the day before. Standing at the entrance, he surveyed the room with interest. There were paintings both sacred and profane. On one wall saints with golden halos bent devoutly and angelic hordes grasped bitter spears held heavenwards. Another depicted maidens with russet and gold hair lying naked on beds of leaves or regal cushions, their expressions languid and seductive. And then there were scenes of temptation; the devil and the prayer, the maiden bathing, and the warrior heeding the angel’s warning.

  “The dichotomy in our family,” came a voice behind him, “is that we can’t seem to decide whether we would rather abandon ourselves to pleasure, or devote ourselves to an asceticism that would guarantee our souls entry to heaven.” Estella had been surveying him all along. The count turned sharply.

  “Oh, do forgive me,” he said bowing apologetically. “I didn’t see you. And I seldom appreciate being crept up on.” He kissed her hand, flashing her a chagrined smile.

  Today she was dressed in black silk embroidered with white lace and pearls. At her throat a choker burned with fiery rubies. She didn’t smile, and the incandescent light in her eyes remained threateningly feral as she glided past him.

  “Do join me for breakfast, you are my only guests this morning, and maybe you can finally tell me your name, O nameless one,” she said, leading the way to the table where she gestured for the count to seat himself. Elmer, who had been slinking along behind, uneasy at the tension between Estella and his master, followed suit.

  Estella rang a small silver bell and instantly two elderly ladies bustled in pushing a trolley. The aroma of freshly baked breads and fried meats quickly permeated the air. The ladies set to work loading the table with large silver platters of fried eggs and bacon, pheasant rillettes and foie gras, a multitude of cheeses and butters, milk, buttermilk, piping hot bread, and an assortment of jams and fruits.

  Estella helped herself to eggs and foie gras with a glass of buttermilk and gestured to them to help themselves. While he reached for the pheasant, the count’s mind was ablaze, seeking Estella’s, insidiously reaching out into her mind—yet it was still blank and inviolable. Scratching further, using his will as a chisel, he renewed his onslaught, as strained intakes of breath from Estella amid her dining alerted him to the fruition of his endeavor.

  Then, without warning, she lifted her gaze from the plate and the light in her eyes deepened. Suddenly—for a moment—the count was struck blind. He roared as he stood up clasping his head in rage. Elmer blanched, unsheathing his sword hesitantly while his eyes darted frantically between the count and Estella. Estella was scalding the count now with unconcealed fury in her gaze. She stood up abruptly and the count lunged for her as she d
eftly drew a dagger from her robes.

  “By God I will slit your throat if you try to come near me. Don’t play games with those that gave you hospitality, you base dog!” she hissed, her golden skin flushed with rage.

  The commotion had attracted many of her children and in unison they ran towards Estella, standing between her and the count, forming a human barrier. He looked from the children to Estella, who still held the dagger high, her chest heaving and a strange whispering darkness emanating from her.

  “I demand to know what you did to me and how,” the count’s voice was low and composed, and he gestured to Elmer to sheathe his sword. He took one step forward, towering over Estella. The room grew dark in his wake as the children huddled around her like chicks to a mother hen. But she felt it too, the aura of danger and inexorable power, and she inhaled deeply, her eyes betraying alarm.

  “You tried to violate me,” her voice was soft as she lowered her dagger warily.

  The count took another step and sensed her strength of mind interspersed with little cracks. Within was a fragility adorned with thorny scimitars wrought of her defiance. He felt a fleeting sense of shame, which he dismissed thoughtlessly. Face to face with her, he was acutely aware of the dagger still gripped firmly in her hand and the children’s wild thoughts of kicking and thrashing him in the loins.

  Estella and the count observed each other, parrying thoughts.

  You’d better go, she spoke to him in his thoughts. You’ve crossed a line with me, feel free to find your way out of my manor. Then she turned on her heel dismissively and left.

  A chill descended ominously on the manor as the count and Elmer returned to their chambers to pack their things. The count could see the mists gathering outside, but it didn’t account for the unnatural cold that had settled within. He paced restlessly while Elmer bent dutifully over the luggage packing. Suddenly, with a gasp, Elmer shrank backwards. In the doorway a tall, slim man with malicious blue eyes observed them. He grinned with an impish malevolence, then disappeared. Groaning, Elmer clutched at his chest. The count instantly knelt by his side. Elmer was in a frenzy, robbed of breath, while faint laughter resounded in the hall. The count closed his eyes and began muttering an incantation beneath his breath. Elmer instantly eased, regaining his breath, and the heavy atmosphere lifted. The count stood up and fiddled with his rings, looking at Elmer speculatively.

  “Stay put till I return. I must pay my respects to our lady.”

  Elmer’s pallid face blanched further as the count stormed out of the room.

  ESTELLA WAS LYING motionless on her bed. She had removed her black dress and slipped back into a nightgown. Frowning uncomfortably with eyes screwed closed, she had lazily draped one hand over her bedside dresser clutching a crystal glass of wine. She indolently ignored the movements around her, the prying eyes of the petty demons clawing to obtain her attention. They lounged near her dresser leering, shadowy figures swathed in darkness, but still minions with no real power.

  “Isn’t it too early in the day for that?” came the count’s voice as he eyed her glass of wine. “And you, filth! Be gone before I bind you!” His cold tone of command sent the demons scurrying to their feet with indignation as they one by one disappeared.

  Estella lifted her head from the pillow drowsily, her eyes unfocused from the wine. Her chest heaved with exasperation and she slammed the glass on her dresser, sending crimson liquid flying. Then dismissively shifting to her side, she turned her back on him. Her hair was undone, streaming over the red silk of her nightgown, and she seemed every inch the portrayal of the captivating thoughts the paintings of her hall depicted.

  “Get out of my bedroom before I have someone shoot you dead,” she whispered threateningly.

  The count disregarded her warning, stomped towards the bed, and yanked her arm back roughly. Estella’s face flashed with restrained fury, and despite her torpor she aimed a good slap at his face. Concealing her dizziness, she lifted herself up to a sitting position and faced him snarling.

  “I’m warning you now, you impudent dog, get out or I’ll invite them back to drag you to your own personal hell.” Her eyes had lost their striking incandescence—only the traces of sorrow remained.

  The count grabbed her arm and shook her with unfeigned disgust. “Save your warnings, I am a Templar and have the right to pass where I deem fit! You profess to care for the orphaned, yet you live with the lowest filth. Have you sold your soul to the wretches of darkness to deceive the people into thinking you’re the duke’s daughter?”

  Estella’s countenance stilled in surprise and she drew back her hand to slap him again, but the count caught her arm and pulled her towards him while she struggled, hiccupping drunkenly. Her free hand felt for her dagger, but he found her hand first and held her close, his mind boring into hers, demanding answers.

  “Tell me the truth. I want to help you if they are plaguing you, but first I must know if you invited them in,” the count urged her, tightening his grip. Estella resignedly stopped struggling and the count released her. As he looked into her pained eyes, he found himself involuntarily reaching toward her to sweep aside the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

  Estella met his gaze and found the ice and winter had departed from his eyes and instead there was a mild spring, inviting and safe. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow, smiling dreamily. Then she yawned, her head slumping against his shoulder as she nodded into sleep. He caught her and held her gently, deeply alarmed. Then he smelled the gentle waft of laudanum floating in the air. He sighed, perplexed. Her body was warm, and her gold skin was lush and healthy. He found himself admiring her beauty despite himself. Then something ice-cold seized the breath from his throat.

  Near the window stood an exceedingly tall, thin figure leaning suggestively against the sill. Shadows curled at his feet, the tendrils conjuring a heavy fog around him. One eye was a deep ocean blue, arresting and dominating, while the other was blind and milky white, fixing the count with a corrupting intensity. His features were confoundingly androgynous. His brown hair fell to his waist, and he toyed with it negligently, watching the count with his single clear eye almost seductively. The count spat sideways with disgust as the demon at the window laughed a hollow, ringing sound.

  “Come on, wouldn’t I be the most delicious tasting experience you ever had?” he breathed, his voice surprisingly melodious.

  “What is your name, demon?” the count inquired quietly.

  “Please, tell me you won’t ravage her? Wait for my turn first!” he cackled lecherously while Estella stirred awake with a listless groan. Staggering out of bed, she seized her crystal glass and hurled it unceremoniously at the demon. He disappeared before it hit the wall, where it smashed into a hundred pieces, the crimson wine splattering over the carpets and curtains.

  “That’s enough for today, I am weary of this nonsense,” Estella was striving to remain awake, still visibly befuddled with her sleeping draught as she turned to face the count. “Get off my bed, will you? I have enough courting men as it is. What is your name anyway?” she added haughtily, her eyes narrowing. The ruby on her choker glinted, and its reflections danced across the count’s ivory pale face and onto the golden cross around his neck.

  “I am Count Mikhail, but that hardly matters. The question is, who are you, Estella? I didn’t think to meet women such as yourself here in London—women of such skilled sight who wield it so aptly and who entertain more than guests in their bower. Especially not here in the house of the pious family of Duke Delcour, so highly esteemed by the church.” His severe face betrayed no emotions but Estella flinched.

  “Ah, and a man of the church such as yourself, what would you know of its demons? What your confessor of a monk taught you, perhaps?” She wielded her words viciously like a striking hammer, and Mikhail responded grimly, reaching out his hand adorned with silver rings. Estella peered downwards curiously and recognized the sigils of the Templars inscribed on one ring, and the crest of t
he Northern Order of Christ on another.

  “Oh Christian holy men,” she sighed dramatically, and rolled onto her side. Mikhail averted his eyes from the soft curves, visible through her clinging nightgown. “See, I believe you are all impotent, the lot of you.”

  Mikhail incredulously choked out a protest, but Estella leaned agilely forwards and pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him. Her incandescent eyes were alight again with maddened ardor. “You don’t know me, though you know my name. Go about your errands—go read something useful in the halls of confiscated books your filthy church has amassed, stolen from good people. Read about that symbol round your neck, that cross of yours, and find out its true meaning, Templar. Perhaps you will pull your own eyes out when you discover that your illusion, Christ, was just another initiate of the great mysteries of the threefold death, just like Horus, Mithra, Odin, Merlin, and Lug.”

  Estella threw her head back and laughed as Mikhail’s face darkened into a rictus of rage. He stood abruptly, as though being in close proximity to her was too tempting for his impulse to strike her. But he quickly regained his cold impassivity.

  “Do you even know why I am here?” Mikhail spat. “If you knew what I knew and saw what I saw, you would abhor yourself and your ways. The world outside is fighting a cruel game, and you dare sit here imbibing in sin and speaking of the Christ?” he whispered furiously, shaking his head in revulsion. “I should have known; the last resort of failed women, cavorting with demons and rebelling against God. You think to obtain parcels of power by bartering your soul. Little do you know the mysteries of the divine. What you say is blasphemy, and the only reward dabbling in witchcraft will bring you is a swift and painful death.” His tone was thunderous and he burned with the desire to punish her. But for the moment, there was nothing he could do. Scowling, he swept from the room, leaving Estella to laugh after him.