Drei

Das fluchtling

iii.

To Danveur's immense shock and bewilderment, the moment he arrived home from one of their great stables, no one was there to greet him, not even a servant. The house was too quiet without the normal bustling it should have at late evenings. His instincts quickly brought him to the drawing room and when he pushed open the lofty double doors, he was greeted with such a horrible sight.

On the pristine carpet laid two lifeless individuals. The lady, who Danveur assumed was his own mother, was crumpled as if every bone was dislocated and fractured. Her skin was wrinkled and she looked exactly what a dried plum should look like, her hair scattered beneath her head as if pillowing her sudden fall. His father, Lord Berthram Alehot, was lying on his back, both ankles twisted in an unnatural angle. His neck was snapped in a clean ninety degree angle that his ear managed to touch his shoulder.

Their glossy eyes, devoid of life, stared at him. They were ashen, their faces contorted in a frozen terror, and they were dead.

Danveur had not moved an inch, he was completely aghast and was motionless on his spot. It was not until he could smell the gas in the air that he started to stir back to reality and before he could detect where it came from, a loud, ear piercing explosion resounded from the kitchen. He stumbled as the manor shook and everything suddenly felt hot and distorted.

Somewhere within the house, the phonograph screeched. Then it began to play.

He scrambled to his feet as his brain whirred on what was happening. Everything was rapidly moving and Danveur was barely catching up. He wasn't sure if running away was the best thing to do as of the moment, but he did.

And he did it as fast as he could.

By the time that Danveur was out and nearing towards the gate, another explosion was heard, and along with it was unmistakably a scream of a grown up man.

Lucius.

Danveur turned back and helplessly stared in horror as the fire engulfed and licked every corner of the great manor. He was audibly panting, breathing too hard to be exact as his lungs needed to be refilled with air. Running back and saving Lucius was his top most notion, but deep down, he knew it was too late. He could never dart back and heroically swoop his older brother without putting himself in danger.

Whatever killed their parents had already found Lucius, and saving him would only be nothing but suicide.

He didn't want to verbally admit it, but he strongly believed that the man in dark coat, the one who appeared thrice in Danveur's short life- the one who owns a pair of red luminous eyes, was behind all of these.

Then the only proof came. He caught a glimpse of him by the window on the second floor and that was all he needed before scampering past the imposingly big walls.

He ran all the way back to the stables, boots thudding against the ground and cold wind slapping against his cheeks. His mind was racing and his heart was erratically beating beneath his shirt.

He knew he was next, he has insufficient knowledge as to why but his guts were twisting and howling at him that he was next in line. Whatever sort of creature that man was, Danveur knew he was after him.

With a black stallion, Danveur traveled towards the nearest town, alarming the watchtower and the awake citizens with his rumbustious arrival.

They knew him, and despite the fact that they were entirely baffled by his spontaneous and almost scruffy appearance, they welcomed him nonetheless.

"I need to see Father Willford," He blurted as soon as his boots made contact with the gravel. His hands were trembling and his face was pallid. Cold sweat had pooled on his forehead and his lips were numb. He had the impulse to retch but he pushed the idea at the back of his mind for there were more important matters that had to be attended.

When he entered the church, that was the moment he lost all composure and he let himself release a grief-stricken moan as he gradually slid to the marble floor. He cried almost to no resistance, his hiccups and angry noises filling the empty space, reverberating against the walls. He wailed to the point that his throat felt scratchy and abused.

"What's the matter?" The priest marched to where he was and he clamped both hands on his shoulder in a somewhat reassuring gesture.

Danveur looked up and stared at him for a very long time, his green eyes misty and almost grey, and they were empty. He reached up and grasped the other's elbow, leaning ever so slightly until his lips were almost brushing against the priest's ear.

"I have to be one of you," He whispered. "I need to be safe from whatever that was."

iv.

He suddenly became a seminarian.

But, the dark cassock along with a dark capelet, clerical collar, and the significant cross dangling in the middle of his chest were not enough for Danveur to be safe from the man who had murdered his entire family. The evidence to that was that he found him again, lurking meters away from him when he visited the market.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating, traumatised even that his brain would come up with an absurd, misshaped image of him, but he concluded that the man was really there. He was prowling, waiting for the perfect moment to move.

As soon as Danveur's senses came back to him, he scrambled to his feet and rushed back to the church.

v.

It had been two weeks since Danveur stayed in the ministry, devouring books and learning amongst fellow seminarians, and one late afternoon, the town had heard the news of the disaster of the Alehot Manor.

He was the first one to be questioned by the constables but Danveur could never speak, never provide anything that could deny him from being the number one culprit. They had found several bodies burned to crisps and Danveur wanted to tell them the truth without sounding delirious and looking like a madman.

But, he didn't know how even if he strained and squeezed everything in his vocabulary, and so he remained silent; his own words that would excriminate him from the crime trapped within his throat.

He was then immediately- albeit secretly- accused as the murderer, and the gossip had spread very quickly that he was behind the massacre. Later that night, as Danveur laid on his bed, about to drift to sleep, he heard murmurs and quiet talks centering him and his wrong deed. He listened quietly until he heard them talking about the constables plan of abducting him.

"My God!" He cried, jolting himself fully awake. He was deeply discombobulated and fear instantly ran through the course of his veins. The thought of townspeople gathering around and watching as the officials immolate him made his blood run cold.

This was not a deed that he should pay.

The moment dawn began to settle, Danveur had his pack prepared and his horse ready for departure. He needed to escape from this town, away from the jurisdiction, away from the accusation, and away from the real murderer.