SWNOVELS Chapter † 10 - mordmer †
White lights flash brilliantly through the great hall, illuminating crimson sashes hanging down the walls, brilliant splashes of blood red highlighting the drab grey stones hidden beneath. The large blocks of granite seamlessly stacked together, forming a smooth wall that rises high into the air, the roof arching far overhead, darkened by shadows thick and black. Scattered lanterns and chandeliers’, aflame throughout the vast chamber, cast light into corners and crevices, but failing to lighten the sombre setting of the great hall.
Two massive oak doors swing open soundlessly on well-oiled golden hinges; burly guards positioned either side stepping up with halberds held tightly in their meaty fists. Scarred faces hide beneath domed skullcaps, square jaws smooth shaven and slick from an oily balm jutting stiffly forward. Slashes of bright red jerkins move to cover the opening doors; tightly stretched material rippling over muscular arms and legs as the guards move closer to the entrance, their metal harnesses and vests gleaming brightly in the light cast through the windows set high in the vaulting chamber and the lantern light spilling from above.
A slight figure moves forward, inching hesitantly past the open doors and the silent guards, deeper into the vast reception hall. Peppery brown hair, combed back and slicked down tightly with oil, glistens with a soft sheen as he moves forwards. A bright blue shirt hangs loosely on a wiry frame, faded brown pants dusty and pale, a brown travel pouch slung over one shoulder hanging by his side. Mousy eyes peek from below thin eyebrows; a sharp nose set above lips stretched thinly, a tight grimace of fatigue.
A voice booms suddenly from behind the small man, echoing through the vast room in rolling echoes.
‘Simion son of Madlin, has returned, your Grace.’
Simion stops as the doors swing shut silently behind him, looking around in panic as the final path out closes behind him and the silent guardsmen move closer. Inching forward at the insistence of a spiked halberd, Simion looks around the great hall in astonished awe. Gazing upwards, he stares at the windows set high in the wall, their light bursting through the hall in dazzling arrays across the walls and floors. Sconces with flaming torches set against the walls, installed at intervals between huge pillars supporting the lofty roof. Crystal chandeliers hanging suspended in the air, lighting the chamber with a tinge of ephemeral orange.
Tip-tip-tip
A pitter-patter of light feet echoes through the chamber, barely loud enough to interrupt the oppressive silence. Spinning on his heels, Simeon tries to locate the source.
‘Come closer, Simion!’
The commanding voice echoes through the silence and draws Simion’s attention to the farthest end of the grand chamber, to a dais set to the back of the hall. A high backed chair stands alone, barely visible through the gloomy interior. Squinting, Simion looks at the dais, finally beginning to make out a bright splash of scarlet in the midst of the chair following a few moments of breathless scrutiny.
‘Your Grace.’ His voice breathless as he rushes forward, booted feet tapping loudly on the marble floor, deeper into the hall. Collapsing to his knees as he reaches the edge of the raised dais, he bends his head to the cold floor. In silent abeyance, he waits.
‘Simion.’
Soft and filled with care, the voice draws his eyes up. The folds of scarlet cloth move, a thin white arm extending from the billows of cloth beckoning Simion to rise and move closer.
Hesitantly he gets to his feet, his head bowed and eyes averted so as not to stare openly at the figure seated before him.
‘Simion. It has been long.’ The soft voice soothes his tightly drawn nerves, caressing the inner turmoil into a pool of quiet.
‘Your Grace. It has been five years since I left the Red Hall.’
‘And your news?’
A long silence hangs in the air between them, the white fingers gesticulating as the question hangs between them.
Looking down, feet shuffling over the smooth floor, Simion wipes at his face, his brown eyes glinting wetly in the sharp light as he looks back up, lips quivering, mouth slightly ajar.
‘I have brought what was sought. I succeeded in the mission you set before me.’
Reaching into the pouch under his arm, Simion pulls out a package wrapped in black cloth as he slowly edges towards the chair.
‘Stay back!’
The sharply ordered command slices through the calm in a panicked shriek. Halting, Simion drops to his knee and body trembling uncontrollably splutters.
‘For...forgive me Your Grace.’
‘Not to worry my child, it was not out of malice but lack of knowledge that you acted.’ The sharpness in the voice remains behind even as the voice slips into a soothing soft cadence, the sudden panic erased from the tone, ‘Open the cloth and show it to me.’
Simion places the package on the floor, gently pulling back the layers of black cloth. The hushed figure in the chair stirs excitedly in the chair before leaning forward to view the unveiling closely as the last piece of black cloth falls from the package, spreading in a dark pool around the white book. Crushed gems, diamonds and silver mesh fused seamlessly together binds the edges of the book, sparkling brilliantly in the far of light emitted by the scones set along the walls of the chamber.
Simion looks up at the figure before him, who hurriedly motions with a white hand for him to lift it up for closer inspection.
Reaching down tenderly, hands carefully placed, Simion lifts up the white book with shaking hands, one finger gingerly running along a sparkling edge before stopping. Using the tip of his finger, he opens the cover, a shimmer of silvery light reflecting starry patterns across his face with the turning motion.
A breath of pent up ecstasy escapes from within the folds of red cloth. Simion, a smile of contentment blazing across his face, glances up excitedly.
‘Well done my child! Well done.’
The whispered praise drifts to Simion, still smiling, bending his head in supplication before placing the book back onto the black cloth.
‘Take it to the upper level tower and then get some rest. We will prepare and start examination of the book as soon as possible.’
Simion nods his head, folds the black cloth around the book
and places it back into the pouch.
‘You may go now.’
With the command given, he gets to his feet, turns and walks back towards the great doors, his footsteps echoing in the silent hall as he nears the portal, doors swinging open soundlessly. Nervously passing the guards standing motionlessly at their posts, Simion glances over his shoulder, seeing the red figure still sitting quietly watching, a cold shiver of foreboding running down his spine and destroying the momentary feeling of elation coursing through his body.
Tracking Simion’s retreat through the great hall, eyes boring through the thin gossamer thread of the red shroud hanging over his face, Venere feels a painful hunger scratching at his innards.
A desperate need for the immense power and knowledge buried inside the book burning through him, he stares longingly down the length of the hall, the book’s pulsing presence fading away with each of Simion’s clip-clop steps on the cold, hard floor.
Releasing the pent up breath he has been holding, since the unveiling, as the doors close behind Simion, Venere sinks back into the high backed chair, hands tenting before him as he settles in deep thought.
Time flies by as he sits quietly in the hall, discarding ideas and toying with fanciful thoughts of the power residing in the tower above him. Looking up at the roof, Venere sits motionless for a few moments, eyes gazing into the air above him.
‘I can almost feel the power radiating from the book. Astonishing!’
Awed voice hushed rebounds loudly through the vast chamber. A brooding silence settles over him again as he lays his shrouded head in his hand, elbow resting on the chair arm.
Rays of sun moves slowly across the walls, slanting across the marbled floor at various angles, dazzling brilliantly as the sun begins to set unseen beyond the walls of the fortress.
Red robes flourishing, languidly flapping in the air behind him, as he gets up out of the chair and moves towards the wall rising up blankly behind him.
Venere looks at the wall, waves his hands smoothly in a pattern and steps back as a small shiver ripples over the wall.
A thin line appears in the gray wall, spreading quickly into the outline of a square doorway, through which he steps quickly.
Flames flare up in sconces set in the wall lighting the dark stairway as Venere walks past, his shadow flickering against the confining walls, illuminating various entrances that he ignores as he passes.
His steps hurried, he pushes on, launching himself up the narrow stairs leading to the next level.
A smooth wall blocks the stairs and he halts panting before them as he waves his hand again and the wall smoothly glides out of sight, the opening leading unto to a ordinary chamber, couch placed in front of a hearth, a large desk set in the back below a great window.
Large red drapes hang loosely, the darkening sky seen through the glass panels, sun setting below the grassy horizon.
Venere steps through and moves to an adjoining chamber, a large bed set in the middle, red and black linen neatly made.
A wardrobe set along a grey wall to the side stands ajar, and Venere moves towards it, loosening the red robes and shroud covering his body and face.
Dropping the garments on the floor in a bundle, he pulls the wardrobe open and reaches inside, pulling out a black robe.
Turning, he sees his reflection in a standing mirror to the side of him.
His pale white skin, stretched so tightly his bones protrude starkly against it; livid grey scars, lumps of puckered flesh dotting his chest; gleaming red eyes, set narrowly in a hairless face, glare at him in the faint light.
Disgusted he lurches forwards, grabs the mirror and pulls it to the floor.
Chrassshhhh!
The mirror’s glass bursts into fragments and scatters across the floor.
‘Argh! How I hate this frail ugly body, this pale skin. Disgusting!’
Thrusting his arms roughly into the robe he pulls it over his head, flips the big hood low over his head, covering his face entirely.
Robe hanging loosely and dragging on the floor behind him, he walks into the next room. Pale skin hidden beneath the voluminous material, he sits down heavily on the couch.
Tik-tik-tik!
A faint knocking sounds on the dark wooden door. Glancing up from the fire Venere answers softly, ‘Come!’
The door opens slightly, and a small voice asks from outside through the crack.
‘Master, Your dinner is ready. May I bring it in?’
‘You may Fil. But be quick about it!’
A small man hurries inside, his rotund body jiggling uncontrollably as he rushes about carrying laden platters to the table inside the room.
Without saying a word he turns at the door, bends his head low and retreats backwards out of the room.
The door clicks faintly as he pulls it shut, silence in the room again after the flurry of activity.
Sighing loudly, Venere gets up, walks to the table and picks through the food lying on the platter: smoked eel, fresh salmon, blue cheeses, white cheeses, salads, and strips of savoury meats, breads and crackers.
He reaches instead to the flagon standing to the side, pours a
goblet of greenish coloured wine and walks back to the couch.
Sitting down he turns the goblet in his pale hands, tapping the edge of the cup with a finger every few seconds.
His eyes glint reddish in the firelight, thin white lips pulled in a soft pout as he brings the cup to his lips.
Darkness falls rapidly and soon the fire in the hearth is the only source of light in the room.
Twee-te-tee-tweeea!
A hawks’ shrill whistle floats in through the window, the predator out hunting alone in the starry sky.
Grinning mischievously at the ideas forming in his mind, Venere drains the goblet and gets up.
Walking sure footedly into the other room, he undresses and slips beneath the red and black covers, the cool silk soft against his pale skin.
With a happy grin on his face he closes his red eyes and breathes deeply as he falls asleep.