by Rob Mclean
“Don’t believe it.” In his mind, John could see an image of his father. His idea of what his father looked like came from only a few vague memories from their short time together in his early childhood, but a generous smile and a feeling of safe, unconditional love was the main thing that had stayed with him through his life.
The only photos he had of his father came to him a year or so after his father died. They had just moved to L.A. In the depths of his mother’s closet, John had found a shoe-box underneath a pile of clothes. Inside, along with a few Valentine and Christmas cards were a couple of blurry polaroids of his father. A few goofy snapshots of a vibrant youthful man with John’s dark features and the same vivacious blue eyes. He looked to be about John’s age, but his face was leaner and high cheekbones shaped his good looks. Although the photos had faded, he had a look of carefree naivety. The photos showed him happy in the moment, probably on a date with John’s mother, his future wife, Shelley, but fully unaware of how little of his life was left for him.
At the time, John remembered that he had been frozen with indecision. While sitting in the closet, hoping his mother, or worse, step-father David, did not find him there, he had waged an intense internal debate. It was wrong to steal, that had been instilled in him with a leather strap, but the photos were all he had ever found of his father.
Since David moved them to L.A. all traces of his father had disappeared. It was as if his mother had purged her husband’s death from her world and moved on. John would have put the photos back in the shoe-box, content enough to know they were there, but a bitter sense of loss welled up inside him. He was desperate to hold onto the only remains of his father, so he ignored the pain of the beatings and took the photos.
Back in his bedroom, he searched for some place to hide the photos. Some place where Jarred would not find them either. They meant nothing to him, but he would ask difficult questions.
John remembered that he had then been struck with a different thought. Maybe the photos did mean something to his mother though; perhaps that’s why they were hidden. Maybe David had demanded that she abolish all memories of the other man and these secret photos were all she had left. A stabbing guilt forced him to consider putting them all back, or at least keeping just one. Would she notice one missing?
He agonised for what seemed like hours. In the end he decided that they were his mother’s photos and that he should put them back. It was then that he heard, for the first time, that distinct voice that would guide him from then on.
‘Keep them,’ the voice had said. ‘Keep them safe.’ He knew intuitively that it was his father’s voice. It had been so clear and different from his own internal voice; he had no doubt that it was his father, speaking to him from beyond the grave.
He had decided then to put the photos away inside a snap-lock plastic bag and to hide them curled up inside the metal tubing of his bead frame. For weeks he had fretted that his mother would burst into his room demanding to know who had been in her closet, but in all the years since, his mother never asked him about the missing photos.
But now, with doubt and Jarred’s logic clouding his mind, his mental picture of his father also blurred. Was it all wishful thinking? Was he, like billions of other people, making it all up to avoid the finality of death?
“I don’t know.” John answered, but he didn’t meet his brother’s scrutiny.
‘I’ll always be here,’ his father said, but his voice had faded. It sounded small and far away. His features were indistinct and his face became shrouded in shadow. Loneliness crept in like a rising tide, rushing in to fill the void where his father had been.
Chapter 5
The silhouette of the ruined cathedral loomed dark against the setting sun. Sitting atop a small hill, the remains of the stained glass caught the last rays of sunlight, making a sparking distinction with the rest of the despoiled cathedral. Once majestic and beautiful, it now stood blackened, broken and bare.
John stood on an overgrown path that wound its way, through broken steps up to the church. Stumps of splintered trees lined the path like rotten, jagged teeth. With preternatural dream knowledge, he knew that he had to go up the path, up to the church, that Angela needed him to enter the ruins and confront whatever evil was hosted within.
The fading light ushered in an encroaching feeling of dread. Darkness thickened, enveloping everything in its sinister embrace. A dry, sharp chill sucked the warmth from the dying day. The pin-pricks of light from a few stalwart stars, which shone bravely despite the congealing gloom of a moonless sky, did little to light his way.
From within the ruins of the cathedral, John could see a dull reddish glow. As he climbed the steps, what he had thought were the broken walls of the cathedral became the outline of a turreted drawbridge. That the ruined cathedral had changed into a majestic, but abandoned castle didn’t cause him any distress. He accepted it, knowing that he still had to find out what was inside.
Before him lay a moat, filled with brackish, dank water. Venturing up to the edge, he saw that the drawbridge was down. The chains that would have raised it, were broken, their free ends had fallen into the murky depths of the moat.
“Where is your light?” A voice surprised him from behind. John recognised the deceptively sweet voice and felt the warmth of her golden glow before he spun around to see the woman in yellow. Her diaphanous robes flowed about her and her golden hair streamed behind her, carried on a current of other-worldly spiritual power. “Where are your weapons? Are you planning to go in there unarmed?”
John quickly scanned his body and saw, to his utter disbelief, that he was totally defenceless. He was sure he had started out with his full kit, but when he checked his pockets and patted himself down again, no weapons were to be found. He thought about turning away, but his self doubt prompted the woman in yellow to ask, “You are going in, aren’t you?”
“This is some sort of test, isn’t it?”
His only answer was a serene, sad smile that told him that she knew what the outcome would be.
“What am I supposed to do?” He felt frustration building. He was beginning to get annoyed with this enigmatic woman who not only plagued his dreams and refused to die, but presumed to give him trials; as if he needed to prove himself to her. Her reply was to silently point him in the direction of the castle.
He cursed under his breath and cautiously crossed the drawbridge. He expected the old timbers of the drawbridge to collapse under his weight. At any moment he would find himself in the murky cold waters below, wrestling with some unseen monster, but to his mild surprise the bridge held. The golden glow followed him as the woman in yellow floated along behind him.
Ahead he saw flaming torches lining the walls. He paused at where the portcullis should have been. The wrought iron lattice that normally blocked the entrance had been rent asunder from its rightful place and now lay strewn inside the tunnel that led through the thick, outer walls into the courtyard beyond. By the light of burning torches lining the tunnel, he saw deep grooves roughly gouged out of the sandstone floor where the iron teeth of the portcullis had been pushed out of the way. The twisted metal remains that hadn’t broken off were bent inwards, testimony to the incredible force that had been applied.
‘It could be fixed,’ his rational mind assessed the damage. The castle had been magnificent, but with neglect that followed conquest, it had fallen into decay. In his mind he envisioned the huge job it would be to restore the castle. He needed time, money and lots of labour, but firstly he had to find out why it was despoiled.
‘Someone must live here,’ he reasoned as he advanced through into the courtyard. He passed through the remains of another set of gates. The heavy timber gates that had once sealed the inner courtyard had also been smashed inwards. Inside he saw that the courtyard was also lit by dozens of burning torches. ‘Who keeps the torches alight?’
Around the courtyard were the remains of what had once been a vibrant marketplace. Tattered, once colourfu
l flags and banners fluttered forlornly. Smashed timber, ashes and blackened flagstones along with the mummified remains of produce told the story of their recent history. A marble statue, snapped in half, stood in the middle of a fountain. Green water, clogged with debris was fed from a pipe that dribbled from the centre of the statue like a severed artery.
John saw other ornate statues and carvings that had similarly been destroyed. The decorations and lack of serious defences led him to believe that this castle had been built for its aesthetic value rather than any strategic need. A show pony, not a war-horse.
The woman in yellow trailed behind him. She took no notice of the carnage, instead she watched him closely.
“Where to now Tinkerbell?”
A dark scowl crossed the golden glowing face. Sparks crackled from her outstretched fingers. “That is not my name.”
He could see her struggle to get her anger under control. She took a few moments of deliberate effort to regain her serene composure. John grinned at his small victory. He hadn’t seen any emotion in her before. His words had provoked a physical response from her just as sure as a slap in the face. He wondered if that was how things worked in this realm, if emotions were currency in the ethereal, dream world.
He decided to test his theory. “Well, Tink, if you don’t tell me your real name, then that’s what I’ll be calling you.
He watched as her golden glow flared. He thought she might be about to go nova again, but instead she lifted her arm and flung a column of liquid light at an archway on the other side of the courtyard. “That way.” A false smile masked her face.
John smirked with the confirmation of his new discovery, although what use it could be, he didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine that he could taunt his enemies into submission. He could see, as he advanced, that the doors in that archway had also been destroyed. “Okay, if you don’t like Tinkerbell, how about Princess?” He shot a quick look her way, not wanting to take his eyes from what might lie beyond the archway.
Her face remained impassive as she gave him the same pleasant smile. “In your level of existence, Angela and I are the same, but you may call me by her name, or whatever you will, it doesn’t concern me.”
“Really?” John let his disbelieve carry in his voice, but he kept his eyes on the archway. “So how is it that you know about this place? Did you do this?” He gestured at the destruction that surrounded them.
“No!” She strode ahead of him, into the archway. His question had caused her radiance to blaze brighter. By her light, he could see inside the room.
An aged medieval foot soldier sat on a stool. A gentle snore came from under his helmet as his head drooped forward, but his hand grasped a sword that lay across his lap. The other held a spear upright. John watched as the woman in yellow knelt before him and kissed the back of the soldier’s sword hand.
The soldier’s head lifted and his eyes blinked open. His head turned towards the woman’s golden glow, but John could see that his eyes were clouded and unseeing.
“Mistress, please forgive me.” He dug the sword into the floor and used it to help him stand. “I have been so tired.”
If she had heard his apology, she didn’t respond to it other than to turn him towards John. “I have brought someone to meet you.”
The old soldier sheathed his sword, then reached out and squinted in John’s direction. His hand groped about until it found John and with a series of quick pats, the soldier felt out his visitor. A grin revealed a gummy mouth devoid of all but a few worn down teeth. “He’ll do fine,” he said as he slapped John’s shoulder. “We’ll drive out that worm yet.”
John looked to the woman in yellow for some hint as to what the decrepit soldier meant, but she had turned away and was already moving deeper into the castle.
He watched her disappear through a wide doorway that John hadn’t noticed before. He followed and saw that it led to an even wider cascade of steps that descended into darkness. She glided down the steps, but her light soon disappeared as the steps twisted around a corner.
“Come on lad,” the old soldier handed John one of a pair of flaming torches. He had found renewed enthusiasm, but his stool had turned into a wheelchair and his spear, into a drip line stand. He yelled out a charge as he wheeled himself forward over the edge of the stairs, to follow after his mistress. He thin frame bounced and jolted within the wheelchair as it bounced down the steps and against the walls, defying real world physics.
John trudged down the steps behind them. The steps curved and snaked their way into the depths of the foundation rocks.
Soon the stairway ended and John saw the path opened into a vast underground cavern. It was lined with more flaming torches, but their light did little to brighten the void. They shrank into the distance, tiny against an impossibly big cavity. The whole castle must sit on top of a hollowed out hill. The castle that had looked so solid from the outside sat precariously over a void.
In the distance, he saw the woman in yellow. Her glow had shrunk, swallowed up by the vastness of the cavity. John moved towards her, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a wagon approaching. By the light of the four flaming torches that extended from the corners of the open wagon, he could see that it was being pulled by a wizened woman. Her long white hair swung from side to side as she strained. She made her way steadily towards the woman in yellow and by their combined light, John saw what lived in the cavern.
The woman in yellow stood before a black glistening lizard. About the size of a man, its sleek armoured head lay atop of a tail that was curled about its body. She knelt and stroked the side of the creature’s head. To John it looked like a caress, like they had a relationship of some kind, but his wonder was interrupted by the old woman.
From the back of her wagon, she had pulled out a couple of limbs; an arm and a leg. The wagon was loaded with body parts, but as he looked closely, John saw that they were bits of mannequins. She hefted the leg over her shoulder and dragged the arm over to the lizard. She grumbled and complained as she threw the limbs to the lizard.
The woman in yellow appeared at John’s side. They watched as the lizard open its eyes and focussed on the meal laid before it. It took a lazy bite at the leg, paying no attention to its audience.
“Is that why you brought me here?” John asked, watching the beast crunch the limb as if it were made of meringue. “Is this my test?”
The woman in yellow nodded in affirmation, but her serene features were troubled.
John studied his adversary. The inky black scales soaked up the little light there was in the cavern. The air of casual indifference the creature gave both worried and annoyed John. Was it so sure of itself that it didn’t need to worry about any newcomer? “You want me to kill this thing?”
The old lady looked up from rummaging in the wagon. “No,” she cried, “don’t kill him. He is beautiful. He is the chosen.” She stood between them and the lizard, brandishing a mannequin arm.
“You don’t have to kill it,” the woman in yellow said, placating the old woman. She extended her arm and from her fingertips, a globe of light left and drifted through the air. Like a miniature star, it quietly seethed with energy as it floated to a nearby wall. In the light, John saw an archway that he hadn’t noticed before.
The old soldier appeared from within the archway. He held his sword in one hand and a flaming torch in the other. “Get the beast out through here,” he said holding the torch in the archway. “I’ll keep it open for you.” John saw the passage beyond sloped downwards and he knew then that it was an exit. All he had to do was to drag the lizard-creature out through the archway.
He took another look at the lizard. It was hard to see, but its sinewy limbs ended in disturbingly long claws. “Why should I?” His dawning awareness of the danger prompted the question. “What do I get out of this?”
A seductive smile crossed her face. “If you evict this… creature,” she cast a sidelong look at the lizard beast, who had started to pulverise t
he mannequin arm, “you get to have all this.” She raised her arms to encompass the whole castle. Her arms then lowered to come together over her heart. “You also get to have me.” She bowed her head while John scrutinized her deferential pose.
“No, I don’t want you…” John shook his head. “Not like that.”
A smile lingered on her face. John knew then that he had misunderstood her. “I meant as an ally.” She ran her fingers along his arm, leaving trails of warmth that soaked into his skin. “And as a friend.” There was no mistaking the promise of more in her eyes.
John dragged his attention back to the lizard. The old lady was trying to tempt it with another morsel, but a warm touch on his face drew him back.
“I have told you before?” Her hand slid down his neck then along his chest. She playfully traced fiery patterns on his chest as she spoke. “I am Angela’s guardian spirit. She is me in your world as I am her in this one.”
Before John’s eyes, the woman in yellow had transformed herself into Angela, complete in every detail; the soulful blue eyes, the reserved, guarded smile and the wholesome complexion.
‘But she’s not Angela,’ his father’s voice whispered in his head.
Confused, he did nothing as her other hand moved behind his head and drew him to her. He found his hands now held her about the waist and had pulled her close. She felt soft, feminine, yet radiant and powerful. Holding her felt strangely familiar and so right. Their lips moved closer.
“The vow,” John forced the words out.
“It’s different here,” she said before their lips touched. A shock of energy suffused his mouth, spreading a golden warmth that permeated his body, filling it with her radiant light. He felt light-headed and dizzy, on an energy high, but also delirious and drunk on the essence she had shared with him. He wanted nothing more at that moment other than to immerse himself in her being, to soak her into his soul, even if it meant losing his own.
