Chapter Five

Marcel’s POV

I stand in silent contemplation for a moment and consider my options. The answers to every question I have asked could be right behind this door and honestly, now that I’m potentially stood on the precipice of finding what I have been searching for, I’m terrified. If these people are descended from Hikura, they could be the answer to everything, the key to the lock I have been unable to open thus far. Well… they could have been had I found my voice and spoken out against my father. I know that not a single person survived this culling, Halen came here with the sole intent of wiping out the entire coven and that is precisely what happened. When it comes to witches my father becomes a whole different kind of beast and I get a glimpse of the pure evil that resides within his comparatively innocuous shell.

As I reach out to push the heavy looking door open, it moves just a bit, as if of its own volition and my breath sticks in my throat. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the air around me fizzes with possibility and something surprisingly calming, like the building is calling me inside. It’s an energy I have never felt before, not even from Evangeline or Annekka, but I know it can only be magic.

“Hello. Is anyone in here?” I feel rather foolish as I whisper loudly into the empty building. I listen for a response but the sound of my own voice being sent back to me by the bare brick walls is all I hear. Shaking my head at the foolish notion of there being any survivors I steel myself for whatever I may find in this place.

I cautiously push the door open until I can step inside, then close it quietly behind myself. I doubt it will be long before my father’s gaze turns this way, and this place meets the same smouldering end as the rest of the small hamlet. The interior is not like the other churches or meeting houses I have seen, though the sampling is admittedly a small one. It is almost bare, with only an alter table in the north recessed wall and three other smaller tables. One each to the east and west, and another to the south. I have learned enough from my secret visitors to know that the placement of the tables is not mere coincidence.

The floor is rough dirt and littered with leaves and petals, the paneless windows are framed with woven branches and appear to held to the wall with climbing ivy. The entire building has an abandoned air about it, like it has been surrendered to time and nature has taken it back, but I can see from the dim light of an almost extinguished candle and the distinct footprints in the dust and dirt, that this place is most certainly still in use.

Celebratory chants and cheers from outside steal my attention, the feeding frenzy is drawing to an end and I don’t have long before Halen and the horde look this way. They will be here any moment to burn the building to the ground. My father is nothing if not predictable, and he will not leave this place until it has been reduced to a pile ashes and dust to be carried away by wind and rain, leaving nothing behind but scorched earth.

An almost inaudible rustling noise brings my attention to the main alter table only a few feet in front of me. The pure white cloth floats towards me as if disturbed by a breeze. I almost laugh out loud at the ridiculous thought that someone managed to escape and find refuge in here. It’s more likely that a draught from the door or windows disturbed the pristine alter cloth.

My gaze passes over the objects on the table, white candles, willow branches, bundles of herbs, trinkets and tchotchkes. My eyes settle upon an open book, the pages are loosely bound and the gilded illustration depicts a woman being lifted into the clouds by two sets of hands. In my awe of the tome I forget about the potential stowaway. I must have this book, the people are no more, so it will not be missed and I cannot fight the urge to reach out and pluck it from its resting place. It is cumbersome to hold, even with both hands and I have no idea how I will hide it from Halen.

As I trace the outline of the gilded maiden with the tip of my finger the effervescent tingle of magic seeps from the pages and into me. I have never felt such a sense of calm and possibility and the emotions I work hard to supress flow to the surface, unsettling the deepest part of me.

“That, is not yours to take.” A firm but apprehensive voice stalls me as I try to fit the ridiculously large artefact into my inside cloak pocket. When I sat in my tower adding the pocket to my cloak, it never occurred to me that I would be trying to stuff it with the largest book known to man. Fortunately, my sewing skills are somewhat lacking and the stitches on one side easily pull apart allowing the book to fit at an awkward angle. I suppose it is secure enough for me to make it to my horse.

“Show yourself.” I demand, stepping back from the alter table to allow a young woman enough room to emerge. She is not like the people outside, they are, were, farmers and fishermen. This woman has a glow about her, not in the metaphorical sense, and actual feint white glow which appears to emanate from her entire body. Her dress is made of several layers of finely woven, almost transparent fabric and on her head sits an intricate ring of silver and gold twisted branches. She looks remarkably like the golden image that had captured my attention only moments ago.

“Why are you here and not out there with your clan? Should you not be relishing in the destruction your kind brings?” She narrows her eyes at me with suspicion through the gap in her mop of glistening blonde curls which hang in front of her face. “You are not like them, are you, Marcel?” she continues to examine me from a distance and even if I wanted to, I doubt I could move from this very spot, her intense gaze has me fixed in place.

“How do you know my name? Have we met?” I ask. A mixture if curiosity and vulnerability swirls in my mind. My father’s reputation precedes him, but I had thought my name and my face were unknown by anyone not residing inside Blackledge Castle or the few visitors I have Evangeline or Annekka bring to my tower under the cover of darkness.

“You need not concern yourself with what I know, let it be said that your kind are not the only ones who can see into a man and know his soul. I would thank you to cease your wanderings into my mind. You shall find nothing of worth available to you in there.” The young woman stands tall, as if remembering who she is and the obvious power she has. My surprise that she could sense my attempt to penetrate her mind most likely shows on my face. I am not used to being caught on the back foot and in all honesty, it makes me nervous. She makes me nervous.

She doesn’t appear intimidating at first glance. She isn’t short, in fact she is almost as tall as I, and she looks like she is well fed and fit and healthy, not in a gluttonous sense, more.... well conditioned I suppose. Like she could defend herself if need be, or run far and for long if called for. But something about her demeanour stands out beyond physical appearance. She is no ordinary witch, of that I am certain, perhaps a Priestess or powerful witch of the old ways. I have never met with anyone like her, in all of my enquiries and acquaintances, she is an oddity indeed.

“Will you not tell me your name? If you refuse to open your mind to me, am I to refer to you as golden haired maiden?” The words tumble from my lips as if I am in a dream state and have no command of my own actions. My thoughts are spoken aloud and I realise that she is the reason for my lack of control. I would never had said those words out loud if I had command of myself.

“I am Imelda the und... never mind. Imelda will suffice.” She cuts herself off and shakes her head. Must everyone have a descriptive title attached to their name? What would mine be I wonder? Marcel the unfeeling? Marcel Lord’s bane? Or perhaps, Marcel the long suffering? I prefer plain, simple Marcel. If my life cannot be simple, at least my name can.

“Imelda, my father’s attention will fall on this building any moment. We must away, now.” I reach out to take her hand, my intentions are to lead her out of the small door behind the alter and away into the surrounding woods. She recoils at my touch which bruises my ego more than one might expect. I have never come across a woman who is repulsed by the thought of my touch, having said that I have not met many women and it is clear that this one knows precisely what I am.

“It is nothing personal,” she reassures me as she leads the way to the door, “I do not do well with physical contact and now is not the time for what would come of it.” Her floor grazing, sheer grey dress flows and billows like wisps of smoke as she hastily opens the door and makes for the cover of the trees.

The book weighs heavy in my pocket and thuds against my ribs as I lengthen my stride to keep up with her. For a moment I think she may have forgotten about my taking possession of it. A voice screaming inside me tells me that this is what I have been searching for. Call it instinct, magic, fate, whatever, but I can not let it go.

“My book please.” Imelda stops and turns to me with outstretched, open hands and a slight labour to her breathing.

“I mean you no harm, but I have been searching for answers for longer than you can possibly imagine. If this book contains them I cannot hand it over.” I let my desperation pour out in my tone. I don’t care if it makes me look weak, my instincts tell me that truth and honesty is the way to reach this woman, so I let her see me. The real me, not the facade I put up for the sake of the clan.

“The answers you seek are not within the pages of any book. You must look inside yourself, take ownership of your decisions, and act upon your thoughts and feelings and what you know to be right. A spell can not set you free. Only you can change the course you have been set upon by your father and your clan. You need to choose to take your freedom, not fantasise about it from within your tower.” Imelda tells me what I already know to be true but have been stalling for far longer than I care to admit. The accuracy with which she speaks, feeds the unease which has gathered into a heavy ball in my stomach.

“How do you know this? I can’t feel you in my mind, we have never met. What magic do you have?” An indescribable feeling of vulnerability fills me until my skin feels tight and itchy. I have never met a witch like her, I hadn’t even considered that anyone more powerful than Halen could exist in this world. Most witches are healers, seers, and occasionally we might stumble across one who remembers or has been taught the old ways. If one should be unlucky enough to be taken alive, Halen sees to it that they are killed as quickly and mercilessly as possible, before they can use their magic against him and retake their freedom or end his life.

Father’s cullings have stunted the evolution and multi generational growth of witch’s magic. Whole family lines have been wiped out before their birth right can be passed from one generation to the next and built upon as their knowledge grows. They are fewer in number, now more than ever, and this fills the monster with sadistic joy.

“My magic is old, older than you, and you would do well to remember that what you see from the top of your tower is only one very small sampling of the world beyond your father’s domain. You think your kind is at the top of the food chain? You need to open your eyes to the magic all around you. Halen is blind to what is right in front of him. The Blackledge wolves who live by the light of the moon, the scaled beasts of the mountains, the others like me, we are greater in number than you could fathom, and your father’s days are numbered.” Imelda issues a warning. Her threat is not aimed at me, in fact I have learned more from her in the last two minutes than I have in years of searching. Her threat towards my father does pull on something I thought I had lost long ago.

Despite his heinous acts and treatment of me, I still care about the bastard, or at least the man he could have been. The thought of what might become of him, and especially my mother, makes my stomach drop. My mother is innocent in all of this, she is as much a puppet as I or the vampires. If Imelda is any indication of the powerful beings out there, my father should be concerned for his safety, that much is abundantly clear.

I am not leaving here with the book, I know that. Part of me wants to see what this witch is capable of, but my common sense takes over and tells me that I should be careful what I wish for. Given everything she knows and the fact she was able to remain hidden from Halen, I do not think I would come out on top if she chooses to use her magic against me.

“My book.” She thrusts her hands towards me and the weight in my pocket disappears in the same instant that the oversized leather wrapped tome appears in her grasp.

“How....” I open my cloak and check my pocket in astonishment. I can clearly see that it is the same book, materialised out of thin air, but my mind cannot grasp how such a thing is possible.

“As I said, you have no idea what lies beyond Blackledge. Now it is time I took my leave. Your father is looking for you and I  have no desire to engage him at present. If you decide to break out of your gilded cage, I suggest you make your way north, through Blackledge forest and towards the islands. You will find some enlightenment to set you on your path.” Imelda shifts the heavy book into the crook of one elbow and reaches out to lay her empty hand on my arm. I thought she was averse to physical contact.

“I am, but you are an unexpected occurrence. My curiosity is one of many traits I’m sure my mother would have liked to banish.” Her voice comes to life in my head and she smiles outwardly. “Your path will be long, perilous, darkened by loss and lit by hope and faith. Past acquaintances will aid you on your journey but beware of those who would lead you further from your destiny. When you stumble, and you will, pick yourself up and keep forging ahead. There is more resting on your shoulders than you know, and you will find what you seek if you persist and keep faith.” She delivers a cryptic warning of sorts before turning and disappearing into the trees as if scattered by the wind.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts and settle my nerves which are crackling with a potent mix of excitement and trepidation. Imelda’s message was clear. I need to leave Blackledge, for myself and by the sounds of it for some reason she didn’t feel inclined to disclose. Her words, though nondescript, were exactly what I needed to hear to cement my decision. Tonight I will leave Blackledge Castle and my father’s tyrannous rule behind. If what I seek is out there somewhere, I will find it, even if I have to travel to the ends of the earth. I will find peace and acceptance.