O Cursed Fate
By Sapadu
Chapter 11: Garibaldi Courtyard ~ Abandoned Castle
Within his first month in the castle, Hector had become accustomed to the surprises of the architecture. Hidden passages, secret doors, and unhallowed shifts were no longer surprises, and he was becoming increasingly aware of the tell-tale signs that signaled a false wall or some other such mischief. The first time he saw them, he was astonished by the rooms in the cellars, filled with metal chains, gears, and assorted mechanics that seemed to move of their own volition and gave off an unnatural light that made his eyes smart. Slowly, Hector grew to understand that Lord Dracula had an inclination for the greater mysteries of the world than the nature of God – perhaps, even, a greater desire to understand the world than Hector himself possessed. Truly, he had chosen the right man to learn from.
Thus, when he was summoned by Lord Dracula one night, Hector was surprised to be summoned to one of the tallest towers. Lord Dracula stood by the window and stared out across the mountains. Hector did not know if his Master was surveying for something in the misty distance, or if he was just lost in thought.
"A storm hearkens from the east." His Master stated, simply. Hector did not reply – he had learned long before even coming to the castle to await a noble's leave before speaking, to say nothing of speaking directly to him. When Lord Dracula turned, he fixed Hector with a withering glare, "I suspect we shall see thunder with the rain. Tell me – do you know why that is?"
Hector thought for a moment, before bowing his head.
"My Lord, I fear I do not." He answered, "I have grown to understand the nature of the rains – that we may expect it when certain clouds can be seen, and they alter the heat of the wind, but the cousins of the clouds are still unknown to me."
It had, indeed, been one of the first studies his Master had set him to. Hector had been astonished to see the bevy of tools the Lord had at his disposal for any sort of study. He'd been given texts from Italy to read, and the design of a tool to measure the winds in speed and direction. Still, for the time he'd been given, Hector had only come so far. It was enough to make him wonder if his talents were no as impressive as he'd hoped.
Lord Dracula watched his face for a long moment – enough to give Hector pause if this was the answer is Master had desired – before nodding.
"Then you still seek to learn. That is well enough." He turned back to the window and pointed to a spot, nestled in a clump of forest between the mountains, "Unlike them."
He snarled the word with such disdain, that Hector wondered who they were. Then, he saw the faint stream of smoke rising through the air – only when he noticed the trail of how it moved did he realize it was a different color from the fog.
"Come – there is something I wish you to see." His Master turned and began to descend the stairwell. Hector followed in silence, very well aware of Lord Dracula's imposing stance, and luxurious clothes and cape, and that he was still very obviously a boy and in the clothes of a servant in comparison. Even the horses, when they reached Lord Dracula's stable, bore a marked difference.
Still, Hector could not bring himself to have any regrets or disdain. Even if the yearling was not as beautiful or powerful as Lord Dracula's steed, it was a horse. Hector had never seen horses as healthy and kept as these, let alone had one of his own.
The journey was arduous to reach the village. The forest had an expanse dense enough that any number of dwellings could have hidden themselves, just out of sight of the footpath. Once through it, Hector noted that the village, while small, was beginning to compose itself in an entirely different manner.
Of all the humble abodes and structures, each was fairly simple and box-like in shape. The roofs were slanted and drove into each other, and the streets already had cobblestones laid to a smooth path. It was one of the more sophisticated villages that Hector had seen in his time. Yet, it was not this detail that Lord Dracula drew him to – instead, a smooth, wide pathway just past the center of the town was the focus of all the attention. A wide courtyard had been cleared and paved, with pillars and iron wrought gates on all sides. Walls were being erected and wooden beams and tiles held what was undoubtedly meant to be a roof.
With all the evidence before them, Hector recognized the signs of a walled courtyard being erected. Lord Dracula steered both their horses away from the construction and onto a hill that was still, as of yet, bare. From here, they could observe the villagers scurrying about with their materials as they built. It was also clear from this view that the village would soon out-grow it's name and become a town.
"Look at them." Lord Dracula sneered. Hector did as he was bade and struggled not to allow his confusion to show – what was it his Master wanted him to observe? "Do you see what they do?"
"They do nothing but build, My Lord." Hector replied, simply. Even what they built was still it's own form of impressive – these people without anything, not even the wealth his Master possessed, still had enough of their sensibilities intact that the simple edifices were elaborate and well-crafted. The homes had had glass in their windows – meaning that this would likely bear the same qualities.
"Yes – a church." His Master pointed, and Hector saw, at last, that this was the truth. The pillars formed archways, and the stones were cobbled together into several stories. The homes held their shape because they were pressed together, while this was clearly meant to stand on its own. Even the detail of the window shapes were more exact to the nature of a chapel than any other building around.
Hector did not say anything to this, instead continuing to observe.
"They waste their time – squander their lives – drive themselves to such wastes. They see the crops fail, and decide the only way to save themselves is with this display." Dracula continued, clutching the reigns in his fists, "They see something they do not understand, and instead of seeking to learn, they throw themselves into a deeper commitment to their worship, and believe it will save them."
This, Hector knew to be true – it had been that same thought which drove him from home and to Lord Dracula's castle as his only hope.
"...My Lord, do you wish..." Hector began, quietly, before he was silenced by a severe look from his Master. Immediately, Hector bowed his head, ashamed of being so foolish to speak without being bidden.
However, Lord Dracula did reply.
"You are to do nothing. I shall deal with them in my own way, when the time is right." His Master pulled on the reigns and turned the horses around, leading Hector back through the forest and to the castle, "But remember this – they build this as an affront to me. I will ensure they suffer in equal measure."
On their journey back, Hector thought of the churches he'd seen before coming to the castle – their simple, yet elegant design, the careful art of the murals and windows, the serenity of the candlelight – and wondered if his Master had ever known such things.
He also thought, however, of how easily that beauty could fade, and how the ugliness that replaced them was so much more enduring. Perhaps, he thought, Lord Dracula knew of those things, too.
~ Garibaldi Courtyard ~ Present ~
Through the gateway, Hector was greeted by a long set of stairs. These were different from the steps he might have seen back in the mountains – those had been jagged and rough, worn by the endless nights of wind and rain, and the rock they'd been cut from had clearly been uneven to begin with. This structure was straight and smooth.
On all sides, there were walls, directing the flow of the path, and those too were in order, save for vines of ivy carpeting the stone from years of being left abandoned. Hector even noted the exact cut of the stones. They were cobbled from very precisely cut pieces, and laid together, as though by a master mason.
Slowly, Hector began his descent. Each step echoed, making the silence more foreboding. At his shoulder, Saul was silent, even the beat of the fairy's wings nearly imperceptible. Hector rounded the first corner and noted even the precise cuts of each turn – instead of rounded paths and roughly cut walls, these had firmly geometric corners.
It was more akin to being in a corridor, as though in a palace or a church, than a passage carved into the mountains. Even the torches that lit his path were tall, skinny brass poles, rather than crude wooden posts or stone carvings.
Of course, Hector's musings were cut short as he saw the summoning circles glow on the ground and several Skeletons emerge from the smoke. He cut through them in sure, broad strokes – the long sword he carried did most of the damage in one blow, making the monsters fall with little effort. The only disadvantage Hector had was the swarms that rose, almost the moment he was finished felling the others. He paid it no heed and continued to chop at each Skeleton that rose to challenge him.
Finally, the last Skeleton disappeared, crumbling into dust, and Saul took each evolution crystal as it's due. Hector would have paused to note his own growing strength – he felt nearly no exhaustion, nor any burn in his arms – but pressed on, through another doorway and down another set of steps. More Skeletons rose and fell before his blade, along with a few Orcs muddling his path with flaming arrows. The narrow stairs were only an encumbrance when he slipped on a step, or nearly lost balance, but the passageway was wide enough that he found bearing quickly and the plateaus between steps were easy spots to make a stand until the Skeletons had dispersed and the Orcs were felled. At the base of the last stairwell, he passed through a final arch and into a courtyard.
At last, he noted, there was green, soft grass beneath his feet, and a whole expanse of open space. This was a space that had not been disturbed in many years – standing in the center of the yard, there was a large, stone pillar, easily wide enough that it could have hosted a set of stairs and been a tower of some sort, and as far up as Hector could crane his neck to see, it was thickly covered in ivy.
That mattered little in a moment – Hector heard the crack of gates, and realized that behind him, the familiar red bars had risen from the ground, trapping him inside the enclosure. On the far side of the courtyard, there was another passage, also barred to any entry or exit. Before the gate, there had sprung up two flaming Efreets, and as Hector realized, ducking behind the tower, three stiffly moving Orcs.
In but a moment, he had retrieved David from his deck and the Innocent Devil was on the field with him, slicing through the Orcs and leaving whatever dropped from their remains on the ground. One had left a nugget of aluminum, and another slip of parchment that went into his pack. Hector had to duck and roll as a pillar of fire was blasted in his direction, and he saw his Devil step in close to the first Efreet and begin to slash at the monstrosity.
Certainly, these were more of a challenge. The Efreets slithered away and out of the reach of David's spear, and when Hector started towards them, sword drawn, they hovered out of reach, around the tower.
"Damn." Hector muttered, again ducking from another blast of fire. Neither of them seemed willing to allow either his Innocent Devil, or himself within striking range – as though they were smarter than the average monster. Hector paced as the Efreets hovered in the distance, and David swayed at his side.
Then, it occurred to him what he could do.
"David." He commanded. His Innocent Devil glanced his way, before raising the lance and Hector saw a rain of magical swords come down on one of the Efreets. The motions stuttered, before the creature began to float back towards them, as though finally willing to do battle.
Hector charged from behind the tower and swung his sword into the side of the flaming monster, even as the other one came up along his other side and swung directly at his head, sending him toppling head over heels. David sped out from behind the tower and plunged the lance into the monster's side, also forcing the creature to stagger and spin away, spitting flame and melting flesh.
Back on his feet, Hector dove at the Efreet again and this time managed to land a blow over it's head and split the first one down the middle. It dissolved, leaving another slip of parchment fluttering to the ground, even as the second pounced and wrapped its arms around Hector's head.
Panic flooded Hector's mind, washing away anything but the urge to fight back. The creature sputtered and smoked, and Hector struggled as best he could with his arms encased by the Efreet's molten bones.
"Master! Now!" Hector heard through the fog of choking heat and searing pain. David's lance severed the Efreet's arm, just enough for Hector to push his way out. When he glanced back, for a moment, he saw something gleam out of the Efreet's side, and without thinking, he quickly snatched it out before barely stumbling out of the way as the monster exploded in a flash of blinding flame and smoke.
Whatever was on the parchment was of little concern, but Hector took a moment to examine what he'd stolen – it was a chunk of amber, the same color as the flames that enveloped the Efreets' bodies. It shone with the same warmth as the sun, itself – something that Hector hadn't realized he'd not seen or felt for so long until just now.
"Sun tears?" He murmured, cupping the glowing drop in his hands. Even through his fingers, he could see it's light glowing – though, he realized, one of his hands still felt naught but cold. He must have been wounded in the fight, and promptly summoned Saul to heal the injury.
However, as soon as his arm was repaired, Saul flitted over to his still outstretched hand and landed right next to the sun tears, "Ooh."
Upon further reflection, Hector realized he had a greater question, "Saul?" The little fairy turned at the sound of its name, "You can speak?"
The little Innocent Devil tilted its head, then seemed to actually ponder the question.
"Yes." Saul finally said.
This was of greater interest than the new materials he had, "But you cannot say much?"
Again, Saul tilted its head before allowing a single-word reply.
"This will require further inquiry." Hector mused, finally tucking away the spoils of the battle into his pocket, "For another time. Come – we must press on."
Saul seemed amenable to following Hector through the passageway that was now open to them.
On the other side of the tunnel, there lay a simple path – with naught but pale trees and bare, stony slopes on either side, he strode along, wondering where it would take him.
~ Western Village ~
Rosalee's abode, Hector would come to learn as the weeks turned into months, was the only church in the meager hamlet – for many miles around, even. It was only on the rare occasion that a friar might make it out to this remote place in the wastelands of Valachia, did the townsfolk gather in the chapel altogether. That, Rosalee informed him when he inquired, had been months ago. Indeed, they might not hope to see another one for several more months, especially with monsters roaming as freely as they were, nowadays.
Whatever else might be said of the place, Hector could tell it was well-kept and sturdy. When he was well enough to walk, he shambled after Rosalee and observed her for her daily routine. Every day, she would sweep out the interior of the building, and then set about whatever needed repairs or keep for the day. If a part of the walls needed a patching, or the floor washing, or the windows – open holes with wooden doors that could be shut at a moment's notice – scrubbing, Rosalee did it herself. If the task was too much for her, Rosalee would find help from one of the villager's. One day, it was the door itself that needed new planks, and Hector noticed that, for all Rosalee's industrious efforts to make patches for the roof, she was forced to call on a team of able-bodied men to make the treacherous climb and repair the leaks and gaps.
Once those labors were completed, Rosalee left to help the other villagers in their pursuits for the day – still weak enough that he was of little help to the village, Hector would observe them from the church windows. Nearly the entire village could be seen toiling in the nearby fields, trying to wrest some crop from the ground. He saw many young faces, some of children who could not be more than ten years of age. But, more distressingly, he saw mostly a sea of old, weary heads – of men whose hands might not last them another year, or whose spirits might give out even before then.
And, from this whole crowd, Hector always could pick out Rosalee – even though she was no more or less extravagantly dressed than the other villagers, her movements were distinct from theirs, and her cap, despite always being dusty or smudged with dirt or soot, was the only white veil in a sea of dusky browns and grays.
Still, Hector grew to realize the place he had found himself in. This was not a township that welcomed strangers, nor one given to be charitable to those who would not repay their kindness. More than once, while he'd been dozing by the fire, he'd heard the sharp knock of someone at Rosalee's door and myriad voices – some gruff, some bitter, some soft – insisting that she could not continue to tend to a strange man who did no work.
At first, Hector ignored them – he was too tired. He was still too numb inside, too cold to ever think of facing the bitter winds. He owed these people nothing.
But, one night, Rosalee returned from her day's labors and Hector had been unable to ignore the way she sank to the floor, even before she had fixed the latch. Because she had been the one to shelter and feed him, Hector had felt no such disregard for her welfare and immediately sought to lift her from the ground and back to her cot. Her weakness had only been a moment, but it had been enough for Hector to note how little a thing she was, that even at half his strength, he could support her weight.
Rosalee was, of course, sufficiently apologetic that he'd put himself to any trouble on her account.
"Tis the least I could do – you have attended me for many nights in much the same way." Hector noted, only for Rosalee to shake her head.
"You are a guest in this village. I would be remiss if I did not..." She struggled to keep her eyes open and when she could no longer deny her exhaustion, Hector gave her over to her repose.
That night, while the village slept, Hector ventured out to begin his first task – mending the fence about the chapel. His first movements were clumsy, his hands so used to quill and ink, parchment and desks, that his palms grew chapped and bled before the moon was high in the sky. But, slowly, he progressed in his task. By morning, when the first of the villagers stirred and passed the chapel for the well, the work of the night was apparent, and all wondered what benevolent spirit had visited in the night to do it.