Arrival
Shadow, callous and cold and suffocating. Despair, vengeance, restlessness, benevolence, sickening, sulking rapture... Maedus Brigham knew them well, and loathed them all.
What disgusting vices on the mind, what pitiful grips of spirit in hope! What use were they but none, when there is the mind to hold true to its sleight and deliver the truth of the world and its splendor? He needed nothing but his sciences, and the secrets of the Grimoire. He yearned for them to shield him from the horrors of the world - so it was in his study that he once again delved into the darkness, once again seeking secrets in shadow.
The room was pitifully dark, with nothing but the light of the moon peering through a threatening sky, and the flicker of flame dancing upon a candlestick on an aged and worn oak desk. Crouched across the flame, embracing the light cautiously though it give no grace of receding the shadows about him, a man - young, with intensive stare and flesh all too pale - peered into the folds of an ancient text.
He appeared to a level of desperate fatigue; in fact, he had forgone sleep for days in lieu of his pursuits. Head propped on a hand in a state of arrogant annoyance, he gazed across the pages mumbling the transcriptions of the dead text to himself in a jumbled, inane babble. He continued with barely a breath between words before reaching the next page. It had been hours, and it seemed he had made no progress from where he had begun that morning.
Upon turning to the next page and taking but only a glance, he stood from his desk with a ferocious and agonizing yell as he gripped the candlestick and hurled it through the window behind him. The glass broke with a crash that seemed to signal the storm raging beyond the stone walls of the castle, and it called back with a flash and rumble of lightning as Maedus' adrenaline made his heart race and his mind spin.
It was the sound of rain, so soothing and calm - an ever-welcomed sound - that was broken by the discontented and broken clopping of horseshoes striking the cobblestone. Huddled over his desk, drops of sweat dotting the old pages of the book below, Maedus turned to the window at the sound of approach as curiosity overtook him. He stepped cautiously towards the window and peered through the broken pane at a lone horseman approaching his domain along his broken and perilous drive.
How he loathed visitors! He was certainly more filled with disdain than curiosity as he pondered who would have business with him in the first place. He was expecting no parcels, and there was no cause for anyone from the township to dare near on a whim. Maedus seemed frozen in place as he watched the stranger ride alone in the harsh downpour, and in a moment of self-satisfying brilliance his mind returned to the text, to what he'd read only moments ago: Temagr uma ku Ragara, "spirit in the place of one". Such archaic texts, so vague and in riddles... he placed no merit in the "human spirit", but their meanings proved no less true.
She will take care of him, he thought to himself as he watched and schemed. She would greet him, attempt to send him on his way, for no business was to be found here... but offer him shelter from the storm nonetheless.
Though spoken softly, the words slipped into the cracks of the mortar, permeating into the walls and whistling out a hundred feet higher through the frigid tower room of Chalea Brigham-Rodkolz. She shivered, turning restlessly onto her other side as she huddled in front of her filth-encrusted fireplace, wrapped in a quilt that was hardly equipped to keep out the winter cold.
She grit her teeth as she attempted for the third time to light the fire with what little magic she had left within her, and a heavy burden was lifted from her shoulders once the log crackled to life. She sighed. Now that the infinitesimal reserve of energy she had been storing within herself was drained, she was even weaker than she had been before. Determined not to push herself past her physical limits of endurance, she ambled over to her small bed and sat, resting her weary body on the threadbare linens and pulling a dilapidated quilt over her bare feet.
The reason for this was simple; despite the fact that Chalea had not physically seen him for days, she knew full well that he was, once again, poring over the scripts contained in that pernicious book in search of something she would never know. She fidgeted restlessly in the cold, attempting to ignore the ominous whistle of the wind as it proclaimed its vengeance through the innumerable cracks in the stone of her tower. Though she had never laid eyes upon the words, she knew they held untold darkness; whenever she was near it she had always felt uneasy, though years ago she would have still been content to ignore it, and let Maedus go about destroying himself in pursuit of answers.
Suddenly, the tips of her fingers began to tingle, and she sat up with a start. That tingling was not the same as the tingling she felt when her toes were thawing after she wandered the corridors of the castle, fulfilling another one of Maedus' inane tasks. This was the kind that Chalea felt when she knew that Maedus wanted something, that he was pervading her mind and pulling the strings on her thoughts and intentions to mold them into something he thought up. She drifted out of her bed and walked back over to the fireplace, peering at the flames as though they would give her the answer she was yearning for. Something within her began to move her towards the window, where she gazed down upon the rocky cliffs that led up to the main gate of the castle. She squinted through the rain and yes; there was indeed a person riding up the dark way towards what she was forced to call her home.
Chalea sighed, walking towards the small archway that deemed as her door, though it offered no privacy. She wandered down the stairs slowly, her white dress dragging behind her as she descended towards the main hallway. Her shoulders shivered slightly, an involuntary reaction to a sensation that she was already used to, and the darkness followed her, eagerly consuming the corners and edges where she passed, and leaving a dark, omniscient void where her candle failed to reach its feeble tendrils of light.
She passed through the library and the hall of statues, past the corridor of unexplored rooms, and down through the dining area where she once shared five-course meals with Maedus, the Alchemist from Hell. Her bare toes made no sound as she entered the foyer, and she let down the white fabric of her dress as she took the last daunting steps from the carpeted stairwell. Holding her candle shakily, she inhaled sharply as a desperate knock was heard on the door. Leaning her weight against the heavy door handle, Chalea opened the door to the storm, only to find a hooded young man who seemed to be soaked to the bone.
She gasped, putting the candle onto the marble floor as he stumbled inside. She caught him before he fell, her arms strong despite the fact that she had spent many sleepless nights before this one.
"Sir!" she cried, not knowing what else to say. "The weather is simply dreadful, what on earth would draw you out in this tempest?"
The young man was clearly fatigued, muttering an incomprehensible reply as she guided him over to a small end table. He leaned against it wearily, and Chalea immediately set herself to work, lighting the candles in the room and bathing the entire hall in a soft, orange glow. She ran to the guest, offering to take his cape. Smiling gently, she said, "The Master of the house is not in favor of receiving visitors. Nonetheless, may I offer you to stay the night, or at least until you may be on your way again? I simply must insist."
She darted behind him and grasped his cloak, drawing it off of his shoulders. When he turned around, she gasped - and immediately, her eyes filled with malice. She grit her teeth as the water dripped onto her feet, and glared at the new arrival. Her heart beating furiously, she asked, "Sir... who are you, and why to you bear such a striking resemblance to Lord Brigham?"
The young boy offered the doormaid a look of confusion, that quickly changed to one of defense when he took notice of the razor sharp glare he received from her.
"I do beg your pardon, miss..." he said with a voice so familiarly kind and tame. That voice... how could she ever forget it? It was the very same voice that had enchanted her oh so long ago, when she still had the hopes of redemption. The young man seemed bewildered at the malevolence that Chalea had greeted him with, so she softened her gaze upon realizing that he intended no harm towards her. The cloak was dripping onto the marble floor, and she hurriedly gathered it in her hands, lest it make a puddle and upset her master.
"My name is Aesus Rocleitz Brigham, I've come to see-"
"My nephew!" Maedus' voice carried with a haunting and stern echo, paired with a crash of thunder outside that sent strobes of light through the main hall. From his perch atop the grand stair, he let a hand rest lightly on the railing. The young man looked up, past the girl at the man slowly and deliberately taking each step down the stair. Though his voice carried a sort of benevolent but otherwise cordial welcome to his home, Maedus' gaze went no further than to pierce Chalea with malicious ire.
The woman turned around to face him, openly defying his authority by refusing to bow. Their eyes met, if only for a moment, and she could feel his powerful authority radiating over every person in the room… particularly her.
"It has been so long, and how you've grown," Maedues boasted with an uncharacteristic smile, finally reaching the bottom of the stair. "How is my dear, dear sister?"
Chalea's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Had he made another breakthrough? He seemed in an unusually jovial mood tonight... strange... last she remembered, he hated every single one of his relatives, his 'dear, dear, sister' in particular.
In truth, Maedus didn't care in the slightest. He hated the wench with every ounce of his being. She was a harlot, a social degenerate, and Maedus carried equal distaste to her many bastard sons... yet Aesus admittedly showed some level of promise, though Maedus would never justify himself to to speak such praise aloud. No - Maedus' intent in welcoming the boy was far more bent, far more devious and cruel, than the simple mending of lost time.
"I--I'm afraid, my mother passed away..."
Maedus kept a stern expression, but his eyes, if only Chalea would be able to tell, showed his true delight and elation in the death of his sister. Chalea's icy gaze followed Maedus as he strode past her, and it took everything she had not to launch herself at the demon, limbs and claws bared, to tear him to shreds. She shivered as something behind his eyes changed at the mention of his sister's death. One would normally expect a brother to be sad at hearing such dismal news, but Maedus' face changed undetectably, the gleam in his eyes revealing a much darker intent. And this benevolence! It was unheard of... well, perhaps it wasn't so, but it was something she hadn't received from him in what seemed like an eternity.
After some pause, Maedus broke the lingering silence in grief.
"Well then... fear not, my lad," he replied, patting the young man firmly on the shoulder. "You are welcome here for as long as you find the stay to your liking."
With that, he glanced at Chalea's likely bewildered gaze - after all, if she even remembered the last time Maedus was so forthcoming and welcoming, it would be a faded distant reminder, and a state of being that in his eyes did not not extend to her. The amusement on his face left as a rage awakened.
"What are you waiting for, Chalea!?" he shouted suddenly, taking Chalea by the arm and thrusting her towards the kitchen, nearly causing her to fall. "Tell the cook, I hunger; then prepare a room for my nephew."
Chalea yelped, lurching forward in a less than graceful manner. Her long white dress nearly tripped her as she hurried in the direction of the kitchen to relay her master's harsh message. She grit her teeth; that shove would leave another bruise on her arm by morning.
"No, no, It's fine. I can..." Aesus attempted to interject, a look of concern and disapproval melting onto his expression, but Maedus had none of it; he interrupted immediately.
"Nonsense!" he replied, seeming almost jovial as he dismissed the boy's concerns. "I know her uses and they are few. Now come with me, we've lost time to mend and a bottle of brandy to see it done."
With a final callous glance at Chalea, as if he expected his request would likely prove too much for her, he placed a guiding hand on Aesus' back and led him towards the den, consciously ignoring the fact that Aesus seemed to turn his gaze to look back on the servant girl as she departed.