Standard Disclaimers: I do not Own anything of any true value including Rurouni Kenshin or any of those tantalizing charachters. Besides, there is not enough furniture in my house to put everybody on. (shrug)
Glassary:Diablo's=Devil's, Demono's=Demons, Bruja=Witch, Querido=Dear, Dios=God, Mon=My,
Chapter Three
Secret Rooms and Mysterious Books
"You must face the truth, Master Christian. Your Mother is dead. You know this is true, My Child. You felt her die that night, and you, yourself, spoke the words of the Son's vengance, so why do you persist in this travasty of waiting for her to return?"
The Old Woman, who had raised the young Spaniard from an infant, now stood wringing her arthritic hands in dismay as she watched him setting still as stone in front of the massive glass window that looked over the main grounds of the great Granite Castle and Keep. Since that terrible night nearly a year ago, he had begun this habit of setting in the same spot beside this particular window, which offered a grand view of the the approaching drive all the way from the Metal Gate that closed the barrier of the massive grey stone wall.
Senoria Magdelana Castillos and her Husband, Senoir Marco Castillos had been torn from their bed in the middle of the night hours by the terrified and anguished screams of their Ward, young Master Christian de'Angeles. When they reached his room, frightened and out of breath, they found him writhing and screaming on the cold stone floor with his long-fingered, slender hands grasping at his throat and chest as he sobbed in pain and terror, and while in this state, he had cried out a curse of vengence in the name of his Mother, a woman he had never seen. His high thin boyish voice had condemned someone called 'The White Warrior', and he had sworn to kill this man in order to avenge his Mother's murder. An event he could have known nothing about. They, themselves, would not know anything about for several months until a high ranking official of the Spanish Court came to the Castle bearing the news of Lady Elsbeth Katsura's mysterious disappearance, and her husbands subsequent arrest and imprisionment for high treason. That news, in itself, was the first contact the two old retainers had recieved concerning the whereabouts of their Young Mistress, Lady Elsbeth de'Angeles, since she had left her 3 month old infant son in their care almost 10 years ago.
Despite their best efforts that night, Magdelana and Marco had been unable to calm or quiet the boy for hours, and neither had either of them been prepared to answer the questions he began asking once he did become calm.
He wanted to know 'where' his Mother was?
He wanted to know 'why' he had felt his Mother's pain when she died, and how it was possible for him to 'know' she had died at all?
But most of all, He wanted to know WHY she had left him behind, and WHY she had never come back to see him once?
Not long after, the day came when Christian demanded to know 'who' and 'where' HIS Father was and why 'He' had never came to the Castle to inquire about the welfare of his son. Magdelana and Marco were at odds ends with themselves over what they should tell the boy about any of his questions, because their Young Mistress had been sworn them to secrecy on the very night he was born, that they would never reveal to him anything about either of his parents.
Magdelana remembered the night Christian had been born as if it had happened in only recent days and not nearly 10 years in the otherwise, long forgotten past. It had been a horrible day from the very dawning of sunrise at 'Raven's Keep' Castle. That was the name Mistress Elsbeth had given the old grey castle and keep after her Honorable Father, Senior Ramon de'Angels, had past away and she had inheited his fortune and holdings.
Magdelana remembered it had been raining for nearly a week, and the weather around the the old Castle was bitterly dismall and cold from the constant damp and freezing winds. Misty fog hung in the air and clung stubbornly to the heavy evergreens like a woolen blanket as it drifted upward from the ocean coastline only a few leages away. However, the people in the neighboring town-province of Navarre, were being even more harshly effected than the occupants of Raven's Keep because they were much closer to the actual coastline, and were suffering the full force of many of the worst storms. Galacia, it seemed, was doomed that Autumn to remain drenched and freezing in the rain and fog until Winter came, and the death tole within the population of the elder and the younger was hit the hardest as both succumbed to raging fevers and suffocating ailments of the lungs.
It was on one of the more particularly wet and foggy days that, after being absent for more than three years, a drenched to the bone, violently shivering, and very pregnant Mistress Elsbeth de'Angeles had appeared on the front landing of Raven's Keep gray granite stone steps. It was obvious within only a few moments of ushering her inside that the girl was also long into the second stages of labor, and clearly beyond rational explanations. So, consequently, the explanations would have to wait until after the birthing was done.
The birthing of Elsbeth's de'Angeles son, Christian, had been a terrible thing. One of the worst the older woman had ever seen. She had struggled and strained long into the night as Magdelana wiped sweat and blood from her small shivering body while trying to croon and soothe the frightened screaming girl by reassuring her the worst was nearly over, and she would soon be holding her baby. But instead of producing the fruit of her womb, hours and hours passed by without the girl getting any nearer to birthing the trapped babe from the convulsing agony of her womb, and both she and the older woman began to fear that death might yet come and take one or both of them.
"Maggie," It had been a groan laced with agony and determination as a pale sweat dampened face turned to capture the old woman's frantic gaze.
"Yes, Mistress?" The fear in the quavering old voice was more than evident as Magdelana sat down on the bed next to the exhausted girl and took one of the cold limp hands into both of her warm ones.
"Go into the Study and get my Father's Book."
"HIS BOOK??" Her old brown eyes had blown open wide with shock and fear and she had immediately stood up shaking her head violently side to side. "Oh, no my dear, you do not mean that. The pain has confused your thinking, and you do not know what you are asking me to do. You cannot use the power of the Book on yourself. You cannot know what you are saying, Mistress."
"Yes, I do, dammit!." Even though the voice was small and filled with pain, the fiercness that had always been unique to this young girl's personality shown through her weakened state valiantly. "I know very well what I am saying, and I am NOT confused. Now go get my Father's Book. You know the one I mean... the black leather." The beautiful gray-green eyes had narrowed into dangerous slits that frightened the old woman, but she had still stood wringing her hands in anxiety refusing to obey.
"Your Father would never approve, Mis..."
"I don't give a shit if He would approve or not, Maggie! He is not here anymore, is he? No, He is NOT, and I'll be damned if am going to lose MY baby. Do you hear me, you old hag?" A trembling, but surprisingly strong hand had snaked out from beneath the blankets, and wrapped itself around Magdelana's wrist causing her to wince in pain. "NOW GO GET THAT DAMNED BOOK, MAGGIE. BEFORE I GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT AND RIP OUT YOUR IDIOT'S TONGUE!!"
What had happened next had remained locked within Magdelana's heart and memory ever since that horrible night. She had not even shared it with her husband, Maro.
Standing at the foot of the large four poster bed, she had watched in horror as Elsbeth had taken Senior Ramon's most treasured black-leather Grimoire and opened its aged yellow pages to search for the incantation she wanted. It was a special and very specific spell that midwife-witches used to assist 'other's' in childbirth, but it was not meant to be used on one's self because of the disasterous effects that were known to have happened to those who had in generations long past.
It was well known that when a Witch used magic on her or himself for any reason, it could cause a serious and even dangerous warping of the mind and soul causing irreversable insanity, and, in some cases, even hideous disfigurement of the flesh and body.
Ramon de'Angeles had always been very specific while educating his young daughter in the Family Craft that she was never to use her own gifts ON herself, but that if she required assistance, she must seek out another Witch to help her. He had insisted she must never put herself in danger when manipulating the black magicks, but she had ignored everything he taught her when, during that fateful night, she raised her hands above her own swollen womb, and spoke the dark powerful words that would help her birth her child.
Magdelana had started screaming in horrified terror almost immediately as swirling masses of translucent grayish mist began to appear out of thin air and surround the birthing bed. Hell had answered the call of the de'Angeles Witch. Elsbeth had used the hereditary power of magick burning in her blood, and the ages old witchcraft recorded within her father's Grimoire of dark incantations and spells to call for midwifery assistance, but the Demonio's had arrived in place of the healing spirits that should have come at her bidding. The Demono's were going to help Elsbeth birth her child and Gold only knew what repercussions that might bring about.
"Mon Dios..." Magdelana had unconsciously crossed herself with the sign of Jesus Christ, and then fell to her knees hiding her face in trembling hands refusing to watch what the Demonio's did. The rest of the birthing process seemed to be over quickly and almost painlessly, but she never knew how that precious baby boy had been brought into the world. She never knew or understood how his small body had been extracted from his mother's without so much as one scream, one drop of blood other than had already been lost, and without any noteable trauma to the babe himself. She heard only the loud lusty cry he made as he drew his first breath of life, and when she raised her face to see him, she found the room empty of all the Demonio's. The only souls to remain were the pale exhausted girl, herself, and her newborn son. Otherwise, the room was as vacant as a tomb... and felt as dark and dank as one as well.
There were no joyful smiles and mother's tears for this child. No crooning, no singing, no laughter. There was nothing. Instead, Elsbeth lay still as death and pale as alabaster upon the soiled bedsheets looking at the squirming scrap of new life layin in her arms with flat dead eyes. The tears of pain were drying quickly on her face and leaving shadowy stains along her pale colorless cheeks, but no flickering of emotion could be seen anywhere in that ravaged yet beautiful face. If it were not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, Magdelana would have almost believed the girl to be dead.
"Mistress?" Magdelana approached the bed carefully and once more sat down next to the girl. She watched, in horrified fascination, as the newborn thrashed and struggled searching for the warmth and security his natural survival instinct was forcing him to find, but he was becoming weaker by the moment as his tiny reserve of energy quickly exhausted itself. It did not seem to matter how loud he screamed or how fraantically he struggled, his new Mother did nothing in response to his fight for his basic survival nidded. In fact, She hardly seemed to noticed him at all as she stared blankly off into space. Magdelana's grayish-brown eyebrows furrowed worriedly as she reached out and gently lifted the squalling infant out of the girl's lax embrace, wrapped her arms firmly aound his tiny body, and brought him close to the warmth of her ample bosem. He immediately quietened and instictively began to burrow against the warmth of her flesh.
"Mistress?" Once more she tried to rouse the young, nonresponsive mother, but not even an eyelid flickered at the sound of her voice or the touch of her hand. "Misress Elsbeth?" She reached out and gently cupped the cold face and turned it towards her so she could look directly into the flat, expressionless gray eyes. "Can you hear me, Querido? Are you all right, my dear?" The eyes remained unfocused and glazed over as if Elsbeth were heavily druged or lost in a deep stupor or trance, and Magdelana was not quite certain how to approach her. This girl had proven herself to be more than violent in the past, and both Magdelana and her husband bore the physical scars of that truth, but this was HER child and HE needed her, and Magdelana knew she had to do something fast if the boy were going to survive.
"Querido... You must wake up now. Listen to the sound of your own son's voice crying, Mistress. Can you hear him? He cries out for you, Querido. He needs you... he needs the warmth of your body and your mother's milk. Without you he will die, and I do not think that is what you want, is it?" She stared hard into the blank face trying to see if there were any response from the girl at all. "You fought so hard to keep him alive. Do you remember, Querido? Do you remember how hard you fought for his life? You even tried to call the spirits to help you birth him so he would not die. Do you want him to die NOW because you do not acknowledge him and take him in your arms and hold him to your breast? WILL YOU LET HIM FREEZE AND STARVE TO DEATH AFTER FIGHTING SO HARD FOR HIS LIFE!?" In frustration and anger, Magdelana responded to her Mistresses behavior in a way that was completely out of context and character for herself. She slapped her viciously acrossed the face. First one cheek and then the other, splitting Elsbeth's lower lip and in the process, splattering little droplets of blood on the front of her starched white blouse and the babies skin.
"WAKE-UP AND HOLD YOUR SON, ELSBETH DE'ANGELES! In the name of your father, Senior Ramon de'Angeles, the finest Lord there ever was, and the most powerful Warlock I ever served, I command you to wake-up and take charge of your child! NOW! NOW! NOW!" And then Elsbeth had come sputtering and sobbing back to the surface of consciousness.
Elsbeth had stayed at Raven's Keep taking care of her infant son, whom she named Christian de'Angeles, for three months, and then one day she had walked into the main parlor with a cold look upon her classically beautiful features.
"I am leaving." She announced abruptly to the old woman, who had served her family sence before she was born.
"Leaving??" Magdelena had been confused and worried. "I do not understand. Where are you going?" There was something wrong with the girl. She was acting very strangely.
"To Japan." Again she was short and abrupt. Her features were hard and cold as stone, and her lovely gray-green eyes shone like brilliant ice-tipped daggers as they bore into the confused face of the old retainer.
"Japan? Mon Dios... that country is filled with Buddhist heathens, Mistress. What is in Japan for you to go there? Why would you take the young Master to such a place?"
"I am not taking Christian with me, Maggie. I am leaving him here with you and Marco. I want you to raise him." It was not a request nor was it a demand. It was a statement. A statement spoken in a tone of voice that said the choice had already been made, and there would be no further discussion about it.
"You are l-l-leaving him here... You are not taking him with you?" The older woman had slowly stood up as her pale face registered shock and alarm at the same time. "Why?" The question was spoken in a low horrified whisper. "Why would you leave your son behind, Querido? Why do you leave him here with us to raise him? YOU ARE HIS MOTHER. I do not understand... please explain this to me, I beg of you."
Elsbeth had sighed impatiently as if she were dealing with a very dense or stupid child, and then, in a degrading tone, replied to a woman whom she had known all of her life, but had rarely respected. "Really Maggie, I swear you are getting more senile every time I see you. Why else would I leave Christian here for you to raise if I did not think it was the best thing for him? Besides, I do not wish to take him where I am going... He would get in the way." Liquid gray-green eyes glittered strangely in the dim candlelight, and Magdelana had taken an involentary step back as they bore down on her. "Now, listen to me, Old Woman, because this is very important, and I want to be sure you understand exactly what I am saying to you. I want you and Marco to raise Christian in the Church, Maggie. I want him to grow up believing in God and Jesus and all of that christian-crap." She lifted a hand to her mouth and tried to supress a tumble of girlish giggles. "I want him to be a real christian, and I want him to go to mass and take communion, and learn to say all of his 'Our Father's' and 'Hail Mary's'." Then suddenly her good humor was gone and her glittering silver-gray eyes darted back to the other woman's face impatiently. "Are you listening to me, Old Woman. I want him to grow up to be a respectable man in Galacia, and I do not want him to ever know anything about me, my father, Maggie, or ANY of the de'Angeles. I do not want him growing up in the Family Craft or knowing anything about it. He must be better than we were... he has to make up for all of our mistakes... for my mistakes."
"What mistakes? What are you talking about... what mistakes?" Silver-glinted eyes met dark brown ones, and Magdelana withered beneath the power she saw reflected in those pales swirling depths. "Mon Dios... What have you done?" 'She has sold her soul to the Diablo... She is a servant of The Diablos... Oh my beautiful Querido, what have you done to yourself? Why? Why have you done this thing? You have become a Bruja of the dark world. Dios have mercy on your soul.'
"That does not concern you, Old Woman. What concerns you is my son and his future. You have to promise me that you will never tell him about his Family or WHAT we were. NEVER Maggie. Do you understand me? NEVER! I do not want him to EVER know anything about us. I expect you and Marco both to respect my wishes."
"But, Mistress. What do we tell him when he asks us about his Family? What do we say about you? For the love of Heaven, Elsbeth, what do you expect us to tell HIM?" Magdelana watched those strange and terrible eyes narrow into slits of shifting liquid silver, and gasped as the unmistakable sensation of pure evil and malevolence reached out and closed around her heart squeezing painfully effective cutting off her free breathing.
"You tell him nothing, Maggie." Elsbeth hissed viciously. "You tell him I am dead, his father is dead... tell him we are all dead, I don't care. Tell him whatever you want, but you do not Ever tell him the truth. Do you understand me? DO YOU?!"
"Y-yes, yes, I-I understand. But..." The malevolent gaze locked with the frightened brown eyes once more as the older woman struggled to maintain her composure in the face of the terrible Bruja that used to be her Mistress. "Who is his father? You have never said His name to me. Not once since you have been home have you said His name. I will keep ALL your secrets from your son, but only on the condition that I know the name of the boy's father. I believe that is a fair exchange."
"YOU BELIEVE....!" Elsbeth had roared in response and charged the old woman with the seeming intent of throttling her or something worse, but in the end she had stopped herself just before laying her hands on the terrified soul withering before her on the floor. She had stood for several moments with her hands clenched into hard fists at her sides as she fought to bring her raging temper under control, and then she had looked down at the cowering woman and spoke in a tight hate filled voice. "Himura." She rasped between clenched teeth. "His name is Kenshin Himura."
"A Japanese man?" Magdelana's voice was barely a whisper as she spoke the astonished words. "How could you have gotten yourself pregnant by a Japanese man?"
"I did not. He is not Japanese, although he was raised in Japan,he is not of japanese descent." Elsbeth drew a ragged breath and held it for a long moment before letting it out in a slow 'whoosh'. "I beleive he must be of some other European descent. Of which country I do not know, but he was the most beautiful man I have ever known, Maggie." Elsbeth's voice drifted off and became dreamy and wistful as her face took on a sad lonely look. "Red hair like the volcano's fires, and eyes the color of spring violets... so beautiful, so strong..." A pale fluttering hand rose to cover her heart, and she dropped her eyes dismally. "He was a Samurai... a great and powerful Samurai... the most feared Samurai in all of Japan, and I... I-I loved him." Her eyes closed and tears of true sorrow slid down her porcelain cheeks falling to the floor as they dripped off her chin. "He was so perfect, so beautiful, so kind, so loving, but... so sad and so weak... I-I had to leave him behind. He could not give me what I wanted so I had to leave him behind."
"A Japanese Samurai is Christian's father?" Magdelana's voice was hoarse with disbelief and shock. "A powerful and feared man, yet you left him because he was... weak? How can this be? If he was the most feared Samurai in Japan, how could he possibly have been weak?" She raised her eyes and looked at the delicate profile of the young woman as a level of understaning began to filter into her mind. "Or was it that he was weak in YOUR eyes, My Lady? What was it about such a man as you have described him to be that made him weak in your eyes?"
"All he wanted out of life was to find a place where no one would find him..." Elsbeth's voice was low and deeply sad as she spoke. "He wanted a place where he could find peace... where he would not be hunted by his enemies, and he where he could build a home and a family."
"But those are wonderful things, My Lady. Why would they make him appear weak to you? Those are the kinds of things that make a man truly strong." Shaking her head in puzzlement, Magdelana turned and sat back down in her chair. "It is a rare thing to find... a man who wants to build a home and a family instead of running around the countryside spilling his seed wherever he finds a pretty maid willing to let him between the sheets of her bed. This land, and many others, are littered with the Bastard son's and daughter's of such men, and they grow up without a father shunned and persecuted by society for something that is not of their doing." A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she contemplated a disturbing thought that had just occurred to her. "You have made Master Christian a bastard, My Lady."
"I know." Was the soft almost inaudible answer.
"Why did you not stay with this man and give him the chance to try and make you happy if you loved him as much as you say? The weaknesses in him you left him for are qualities long sought after in the men of our coutry. They were not his weaknesses, Querido. They were his strengths."
"No. They were not." Her eyes had changed completely, and were now shimering pools of limpid silver that shifted and swirled within themselves. "They made him weak because he had no ambition for power, wealth, or status. He no desires to ever be anything more than what he was, and I could not live like that. I wanted a mansion with servants, and I wanted prestige and wealth." A heavy sigh cracked on a sob as Elsbeth struggled to control her wayward emotions. "I wanted more, and he could not... would not give it to me. He believed I should be content with what we had together as long as we were happy... as long as we loved one another and we were togother... I should be content and wish for nothing more, and if we were meant to have more, then it would come to us when time was ready to bring it. I could not live like that. I wanted more."
"So, you took his unborn child and left him behind." A deep sigh of sadness passed from the older woman as she shifted her weight in the cushions and faced the young woman she no longer knew. "Did he know you were carrying his child when you left?"
"No."
"I see. So I do not have to worry about him showing up here trying to claim, Master Christian as his son and taking him away?"
"No." Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I had to leave before he guessed because if he had known.... "
"He would have never let you leave... or he would have come after his child... yes?"
"Yes, on both counts. He is like that. Honor and devotion and all that bullshit. He would have forced me to get married so the baby would have a name."
"Hmmmm... You mean he is the kind of man who would WANT and LOVE his child simply because IT was HIS child."
"Yes." She turned an infinitely sad face towards the huge window and stared outside. "Himura would have been a wonderful father... he would have loved Christian more than anything else in the world... anything." Elsbeth sniffled and wiped her cheeks and nose with the back of her hand.
"Including you??" The question was spoken in a soft low tone meant to be as nonthreatening as possible. "Was that part of the problem as well, Querido? Were you jealous of your own unborn child?"
"Perhaps..." Thin shoulders shrugged in feigned nonchalance. "I do not know, but it does not matter anymore because he will never know Christian exists, and Christian will never know who his father is."
"No, he will not. I told you I would keep your secrets if you told me who his father was, and I will."
"Will you do everything else I asked you too, Maggie? Will you make sure my son is raised as a christian, as a Catholic?"
"Yes, My Lady. I swear it to you, on 'The Blood of Life' I swear it. I will do everything that you have asked."
"Thank-you." And then, just like that, Elsbeth de'Angeles had walked out of Raven's Keep and never returned.
Now that infant son had grown into a boy of nine and one half years old, and he had questions he wanted answered but was finding no relief to his emotional quandries. And so, since the night he had felt the pain and anguish of his Mother's death, he had sat in front of the large front window watching the main gate... waiting. Waiting and waiting, and all he would say to Magdelana when she asked him why he waited was the same flat phrase over and over again.
"I am waiting for my Mother to come home, Maggie. I will get up after she comes home, and not one moment before." And it was no different when she asked him today. Even after nearly a full years time passing, he stilled insisted on maintaining his vigual at the window. "What if I am not here and she does finally come home? What sort of son would she think I am if I was not here to greet her the very moment she passed through the gates?"
"But, Christian Querido, you know she isn't coming home. You know your Mother is dead, dear one. Why do you do this day after day? Why must you cause yourself so much pain over and over again?" and then suddenly, as if some long suppressed volcano of boiling fury hand finally broken through to the surface, Christian exploded into seething vicious rage.
"BECAUSE EVERYONE IS LIEING TO ME!" He shouted furiously at the top of his high-pitched childish voice. The ferocity of his anger caused Magdelana to take several involentary steps back from him in shock and fear as he flew out of his chair at an astonishing speed, and lunged in her direction. She could FEEL his fury dancing around the two of them like thousands of burning flames, and she was afraid.
"YOU HAVE ALL BEEN LIEING TO ME EVER SENCE I WAS A SMALL CHILD! MY WHOLE LIFE IS A LIE! EVERYTHING I KNOW IS A LIE! EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER SAID TO ME IS A LIE! YOU ARE A LIE!!" Christian's fury carried him across the space that seperated him from his guardian in only a matter of seconds, and, when he reached her, he grabbed the front of her pleated black skirt in both fists and began shaking her. "WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY HAVE YOU LIED TO ME,MAGGIE? WHY? WHY HAVE YOU NEVER TOLD ME THE TRUTH ABOUT MY MOTHER? ABOUT MY FAMILY? ABOUT... ABOUT... about myself?" Suddenly all of the fury and fight seemed to drain out of the boy, and he slid to the floor in a sobbing heap at the woman's feet.
"Master Christian?" Magdelana cried in concern and quickly knelt down next to the distraught boy taking him into her arms and holding him close to her heart. "It is all right, child. It is all right. Shhhhh... there, there. You mustn't cry so, Dear One, you will make yourself sick. Everything will be all right." She cradled the boy in her arms as she felt all of the guilt she had been harbouring for the last nine years surge up in the back of her throat threatening to gag her. The boy was right of course. Everyone was lieing to him and had been lieing since the day he was born, but Magdelana did not know what to do about it. She had sworn an oath on 'The Blood of Life' never to tell this child anything about his family, and that was not something that could be easily cast aside. She sighed in regret as her concience and her loyalty engaged in battle over her honor. It was time to make a decision, and it might not be the one her Mistress would have wanted her to make, but this was no longer about what the Mistress wanted. It was about what her son needed to know in order to make sense out of his life and the things that were beginning to happen in it. Things that could not be explained through the usual channels used on normal children.
Christian was not a normal child.
He was the descendant of a very long and destinguished line of Witches and Warlocks whose natual power and gifts had been well documented within the Families personal Archives, but it had also been well documented within the Archives of the Spainish Inquisition throughout the generations. Many of the de'Angeles had suffered through the horrible tortures of the Inquisition's 'questioning', and a few had even met their demise upon the grand pillars of flames while being burnt at the stake in order to purify and save their souls.
Christian had inherited some of the power that ran through the blood of his family, and it had allowed him to 'feel' his mother's death as if it were his own. That was one of the inherent gifts unique to the de'Angeles Witches. They were each psychically connected to one another through all thought and feeling, but the connection between Christian and his Mother was poor because he had not grown up with her at his side; therefore, he did not know her, but his spirit recognized the death of hers and grieved for it by cradling the pain as its own.
Now, he wanted answers. He wanted to know 'who' he was, and 'what' he was.
Marco Castillos rushed into the room responding to the furious screams he had heard only moments before. As he came to a halt in the middle of the floor, his frightened eyes locked with those of his wife and he could see the heartbreak and dismay reflected in hers.
"It is time, Marco." She whispered brokenly.
"Maggie?" He cocked his head to one side in confusion as he searched her face for an answer. "Time for what?"
"Time to tell Christian the truth."
"The Truth??" Alarm rang loud in his gruff voice as he rushed to her side and knelt next to her and the boy. "But we cannot. We swore and Oath, Maggie. We swore and Oath on 'The Blood of Life'. We cannot break the Oath."
"Yes, I think we can."
"How? Why?"
"We made it for the wrong reasons. Marco," Her eyes begged him to understand her plea. "We have to tell him the truth about his family... He has to know WHO he is and WHERE he comes from... and, God forgive me, he has to know about his Mother. We cannot keep it from him any longer. It is his birthright, his inheritance, his life. He is who he is, Marco. All the Oaths in the world are never going to change that."
"Sweet merciful God, Maggie. Do you know what you are saying? Do you?"
"Yes, I do. We cannot change who he is no more than SHE could. He is still a de'Angeles, and the de'Angeles were what THEY were, and we cannot change THAT either."
Marco's sad brown eyes caressed the face of the woman he had loved for more than 40 years, and then he nodded in agreement. "You are right, of course." An indulgent smile curved his mouth. "But then, you usually are, aren't you, Querido?"
She laughed a soft sad sound and leaned her forehead into his. "Not always, Dearest. Not always."
"Well, you are this time." A work roughened brown hand reached out and gently stroked the soft aubourne hair covering the boys head where it was nestled against his wifes ample bosem. He had fallen asleep. "We have to tell him, but we will tell him together."
*******
He sat in awed silence with the stack of old dusty books that he had piled on the end of the heavy wooden table, and looked around the huge room he had never known existed within his own home. The walls were lined with shelves that ran from floor to ceiling and corner to corner, and each one was filled to over flowing with books.
Books. More books than he had ever seen in one place in his lifetime. Not even the Cathedral in Santa de Compostela, where the Tomb of St. James was, held this many books within the sacred walls of its infinite Libray. He knew this to be a fact because only two years ago, his Guardian's had taken him to the grand Cathedral by way of 'The Way of St. James' which was the route worshipers had been taking to the Tomb for hundreds of years. Once they had arrived in Santa de Compostela, he had been facinated by the amazing architecture of the surrounding buildings, and had begged until the two adults had taken him to visit the Grand Cathedral.
He had eventually ended up inside the Cathedrals massive Library amongst all of those beautifully tooled and engraved leather bound books. For hours upon hours he had sat at the tables looking at the glorious illistrations, the intricate hand written script, and all of the endless meticulous details that made each book unique, but even with all of that care and careful consideration, there could still be no comparison between that Library and the sheer magnitude of size and ambiance of this one.
Hundreds upon hundreds of volumes organized by date and year, chronicaled nothing more than generation after generation of family history, and he had sucked in a shocked and awed breath when he saw how far back into the past the dates read.
The early 1400's were the oldest dates he could read, the rest were to smuged and faded to make out, but the fact that there had been de'Angeles alive and recording their life history nearly 500 years ago was enough for him to deal with at the moment. Anything more, and he was certain he would not be able to comprehend the enormity of such an idea.
On another wall, carefully covered with long drapes of cloth to keep all elements and dust out, were the true treasures that Christian could not yet bring himself to even look at, let alone touch.
The de'Angeles Family Grimoires.
There had to be thousands of them, and each one a meticulously kept record of a single life's research written in the Witches or Warlock's very own hand. Hundreds of years of Wiccan and Coven history lay secure and preserved within the thousands upon thousands of sacred pages those priceless books represented. Proven incantations, spells and charms; medicinal heabs, teas, potions, and poltices; sacred cerimonies for the changing seasons and the harvesting of vegetables and other foods; recipies for curing and drying meats, friuts, and vegetables for storage;instructions for the binding of brocken bones and the healing of wounds; there also existed the odd incantation or cerimony to cast a curse, send a hex, exorsise a demon presance, or prevent an area from being occupied by a demon or devil.
Magdelana and Marco did their best to try and explain to Christian that most of the 'Craft' was used to bring about good will, protect ones family from evil, heal the sick and afflicted, and banish that which destroys the harmony within the balance of nature. They explained to him that Magick was only Evil if the One wielding it was Evil. Christian had tried very hard to understand the things they were telling him. He tried to understand that for hundreds of generations HIS family had been practicing witches and warlocks, and the reason he had felt his mother die was because HE was a Warlock as well. He was the Heir to the the natural power that flowed through the viens of the de'Angeles blood, and there was nothing he could do about it. They tried to impress upon his young mind that being a Warlock was not the terrible thing he seemed to believe it was. Magdelena referred him back to the wielder of the Magick.
"If the Wielder is Evil, the Magick will be Evil. You are not Evil, Master Christian, and if you choose to use the power that is inherent in your blood, it will not be an evil thing either." But with his Catholic upbringing, it all rang of devil's and demon's and he just could not bring himself to acknowledge any of THAT just yet. For now, he would be content with the family historical records. He would approach the other when he was ready... if that ever happened.
As he read, Christian began to understand why his family had eventually moved into the mountain lands of northern Galacia. Everywhere the Family had fled trying to escape their panels of 'Inquisitors', The Inquisition of The Catholic Church had dogged their heels like a pack of bloodhounds of the scent of a wounded rabbit. Sadly, many memebers of the de'Angeles had perished while in 'the care' of the Inquisition, whether it was within the secluded and oftimes neglected walls of a forgotten prison cell, screaming for mercy as their bodies were stretch and broken upon the unyielding twist-turns of the rack, or writhing in eternal agony as the flames of purity devoured their souls whle they stood helplessly bound to a stake atop a blazing pyre of dried branches and coal oil.
Several of the volumes Christian had chosen to read were not chronicaled histories, but actual fist hand accounts written by one of his ancestors. He was reading actual diaries.
There was one diary in particular that held his attention for several days as he found himself engrossed in the life of a young woman named Alyse. She was about 16 when the diary was written, and, in many ways, Christian fell deeply in love with her despite being only nine and one half years old. Alyse was the strongest, most beautiful person he had ever 'met', and he admired her greatly for her beliefs and convictions. It was her story that changed his mind, and his life.
When Christian finally decided to embrace his de'Angeles heritage, he did it for His Love of Alyse, not for the Vengance of His Mother.
It was true, He loved his Mother very much, but He never could bring himself to fully accept the part of him that belonged to her way of life, Christian could not allow himself to become a Warlock, he could not allow himself to wield Magick whether it be in the name of Good or Evil. It was not within him to embrace that way of life; however, to understand WHAT IT MEANT to be a de'Angeles was something he could learn how to do. He had learned that from Alyse. So, He read, he learned, and he evolved, and then one day, at the age of thirteen years, he packed what few belongings he felt he would need, and he left Raven's Keep in search of a Teacher.
As he traveled the countryside, young Christian spent long hours reading and rereading Alyse's diary and soon found that he could no longer, in good concience, call himself a Catholic, and so he had renounced his beliefs in The Church and her 'ministering shepherd's'. From that point, he simply called himself a believing christian who worshiped God, The Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ. He swore his sword and his life to the service of God and the sancitity of Truth and Holy Justice. On the day he made these life altering decisions, Christian had felt the undeniable sensation of a warm, pure, beautiful presance enter into his life, and it had remained his companion ever since. In his heart, he knew what it was, but it took him many years before he was able to accept it for what it was.
Alyse de'Angeles had come to be with the boy-man who loved her.
The Teacher he found was Lord Ferdnado Riveros, 2nd Duke of The Red Rose, and he was the finest Master Swordsman Christian had heard of in his travels. He was fifteen years old when Master Ferdnado began teaching him the way of the sword.
Christian trained with his Master for five years during which time he learned to fight using both Sabre, Scimitar, and short sword. He had also asked his Master to teach him to fight with his fists and body, but the proud Spaniard had refused telling Christian he would have to find a man of much lower morals to teach him such a vulgar technique.
They had laughed, cried, and hugged one another affectionately before the young man left, but Master Ferdnand was not sorry to see him go because, from the day Christian arrived, he had felt a strangness about the boy that he had never been able to reconcile. He knew he would miss the boys company, but he would not miss the odd presance that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.
It was almost as if 'two' walked where only one should be.
At the age of 16, Christian joined a Spanish Gallion off the port of Leon called, 'The Bloody Queen', and onboard he finally had the chance to learn how to fight with his fists and feet. For the next five or six years, he sailed the high seas with the 'Queen' and her crew, who happened to turn out to be a bunch of very lucritive Pirates led by a man named, 'Whiskey-Jack', which was short for Jaques que'Pikard. He was a swarthy Frenchman who seemed to hate just about everyone, except the Spanish, the French, and whomever happened to a member of his current crew. But there was one thing that Jack hated more that anything else; one thing that he would rather see dead than waste his spit on, and that was the Japanese. Now, he could not tell you specifically why he hated the Japanese, he just did, and that was enough.
That was enough for Christian too. After all, the man who had murdered his Mother was Japanese, but he was not sure how Jack would look at his Father. His Father was not a true Japanese man, but he HAD been born and raised there. He could not help but wonder if that would make a difference or not, and decided to stay on the safe side just in case.
He never told Jack about his Father... nor did he tell him about his reasons for wanting to be left in Japan when, at the age of 22, he asked to be released from Jack's crew and dropped on the coast of the main island. Jack had looked at him quizically for a few moments, and then shrugged in agreement saying, "Oie, my friend. Eef that es what you want, then be my guest, but Japan es full of dose terrebul Japanese, you kno." He spoke in heavily accented spanish, and it had always made Christian smile because it sounded so comical.
"Yes, Jack. I am aware of that, but I am certain I will be all right." And they had parted ways.
From there, Christian had embarked upon another adventure, and that was trying to learn another language (which he found all but impossible), and looking for the ever illusive White Warrior. It seemed no one had heard of any individual calling himself by that name, but he there was one name he kept running into over and over again every time he asked about the whereabouts of any 'great swordsmen'.
"Hitokiri Battousai". The Manslayer. A vicious assassian from the Revolution over 25 years ago. Chrisian would only shake his head. This could not possibly be the same man that had killed his mother. There were dozens of rumors that the Battousai was dead, and Christian would not accept that he had been cheated out of avenging his Mother's murder, but he also did not believe that the White Warrior and the Battousai could be the same man.
One day, as he walked the streets of Kyoto, he reached into the front of his shirt and extracted Alyse's diary, which he had decided to take with him and keep the day he had left the Keep. The long, limber fingers of his brown hands caressed the soft worn leather of the cover as he cradled the small book lovingly. It was his most prized possession. It was the only contact he had with the woman he loved, and he had carried it next to his for nearly ten years. As he carefully opened the cover, Christian thought about what he should do. Should he continue to search for this ellusive swordsman, or should he set that task aside for now and start looking for his Father? The palm of his right hand pressed tenderly against the elegant script that flowed across the yellow parchment, and he could feel the burning warmth of another hand as it gently settled down on top of his. A beautiful smile of pure joy crossed his angelicly handsome face, and the deep blue of his eyes brighten to a brilliant royal purple.
"You are right," He whispered quietly as he carefully rubbed his thumb across part of the writing on the fragile page. "I should try and find my Father."
The words he touched read, 'Usted mi Angel.' You are my Angel.
This is one of the most difficult chapters I have ever written. I wanted to make sure that I covered where Chrisitan came from and WHO he was, but I did not want to give too much away either... Plus, I needed to lay the ground work for the main plot without giving away too much there either... I have worked on this chapter for a full week. I know when you read it, it won't look like that much work went into it, but there are at least 6 six hour days of writing, editing, and rewriting locked up right here.
I really need some major review feed back for you guys to let me know if this makes sense and if it holds up to your expectations or if I really blew my nose on this one. PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW. I NEED MAJOR FEED BACK ON THIS CHAPTER. Thanks everybody. Tsuki-san.
Glassary:Diablo's=Devil's, Demono's=Demons, Bruja=Witch, Querido=Dear, Dios=God, Mon=My,
Chapter Three
Secret Rooms and Mysterious Books
"You must face the truth, Master Christian. Your Mother is dead. You know this is true, My Child. You felt her die that night, and you, yourself, spoke the words of the Son's vengance, so why do you persist in this travasty of waiting for her to return?"
The Old Woman, who had raised the young Spaniard from an infant, now stood wringing her arthritic hands in dismay as she watched him setting still as stone in front of the massive glass window that looked over the main grounds of the great Granite Castle and Keep. Since that terrible night nearly a year ago, he had begun this habit of setting in the same spot beside this particular window, which offered a grand view of the the approaching drive all the way from the Metal Gate that closed the barrier of the massive grey stone wall.
Senoria Magdelana Castillos and her Husband, Senoir Marco Castillos had been torn from their bed in the middle of the night hours by the terrified and anguished screams of their Ward, young Master Christian de'Angeles. When they reached his room, frightened and out of breath, they found him writhing and screaming on the cold stone floor with his long-fingered, slender hands grasping at his throat and chest as he sobbed in pain and terror, and while in this state, he had cried out a curse of vengence in the name of his Mother, a woman he had never seen. His high thin boyish voice had condemned someone called 'The White Warrior', and he had sworn to kill this man in order to avenge his Mother's murder. An event he could have known nothing about. They, themselves, would not know anything about for several months until a high ranking official of the Spanish Court came to the Castle bearing the news of Lady Elsbeth Katsura's mysterious disappearance, and her husbands subsequent arrest and imprisionment for high treason. That news, in itself, was the first contact the two old retainers had recieved concerning the whereabouts of their Young Mistress, Lady Elsbeth de'Angeles, since she had left her 3 month old infant son in their care almost 10 years ago.
Despite their best efforts that night, Magdelana and Marco had been unable to calm or quiet the boy for hours, and neither had either of them been prepared to answer the questions he began asking once he did become calm.
He wanted to know 'where' his Mother was?
He wanted to know 'why' he had felt his Mother's pain when she died, and how it was possible for him to 'know' she had died at all?
But most of all, He wanted to know WHY she had left him behind, and WHY she had never come back to see him once?
Not long after, the day came when Christian demanded to know 'who' and 'where' HIS Father was and why 'He' had never came to the Castle to inquire about the welfare of his son. Magdelana and Marco were at odds ends with themselves over what they should tell the boy about any of his questions, because their Young Mistress had been sworn them to secrecy on the very night he was born, that they would never reveal to him anything about either of his parents.
Magdelana remembered the night Christian had been born as if it had happened in only recent days and not nearly 10 years in the otherwise, long forgotten past. It had been a horrible day from the very dawning of sunrise at 'Raven's Keep' Castle. That was the name Mistress Elsbeth had given the old grey castle and keep after her Honorable Father, Senior Ramon de'Angels, had past away and she had inheited his fortune and holdings.
Magdelana remembered it had been raining for nearly a week, and the weather around the the old Castle was bitterly dismall and cold from the constant damp and freezing winds. Misty fog hung in the air and clung stubbornly to the heavy evergreens like a woolen blanket as it drifted upward from the ocean coastline only a few leages away. However, the people in the neighboring town-province of Navarre, were being even more harshly effected than the occupants of Raven's Keep because they were much closer to the actual coastline, and were suffering the full force of many of the worst storms. Galacia, it seemed, was doomed that Autumn to remain drenched and freezing in the rain and fog until Winter came, and the death tole within the population of the elder and the younger was hit the hardest as both succumbed to raging fevers and suffocating ailments of the lungs.
It was on one of the more particularly wet and foggy days that, after being absent for more than three years, a drenched to the bone, violently shivering, and very pregnant Mistress Elsbeth de'Angeles had appeared on the front landing of Raven's Keep gray granite stone steps. It was obvious within only a few moments of ushering her inside that the girl was also long into the second stages of labor, and clearly beyond rational explanations. So, consequently, the explanations would have to wait until after the birthing was done.
The birthing of Elsbeth's de'Angeles son, Christian, had been a terrible thing. One of the worst the older woman had ever seen. She had struggled and strained long into the night as Magdelana wiped sweat and blood from her small shivering body while trying to croon and soothe the frightened screaming girl by reassuring her the worst was nearly over, and she would soon be holding her baby. But instead of producing the fruit of her womb, hours and hours passed by without the girl getting any nearer to birthing the trapped babe from the convulsing agony of her womb, and both she and the older woman began to fear that death might yet come and take one or both of them.
"Maggie," It had been a groan laced with agony and determination as a pale sweat dampened face turned to capture the old woman's frantic gaze.
"Yes, Mistress?" The fear in the quavering old voice was more than evident as Magdelana sat down on the bed next to the exhausted girl and took one of the cold limp hands into both of her warm ones.
"Go into the Study and get my Father's Book."
"HIS BOOK??" Her old brown eyes had blown open wide with shock and fear and she had immediately stood up shaking her head violently side to side. "Oh, no my dear, you do not mean that. The pain has confused your thinking, and you do not know what you are asking me to do. You cannot use the power of the Book on yourself. You cannot know what you are saying, Mistress."
"Yes, I do, dammit!." Even though the voice was small and filled with pain, the fiercness that had always been unique to this young girl's personality shown through her weakened state valiantly. "I know very well what I am saying, and I am NOT confused. Now go get my Father's Book. You know the one I mean... the black leather." The beautiful gray-green eyes had narrowed into dangerous slits that frightened the old woman, but she had still stood wringing her hands in anxiety refusing to obey.
"Your Father would never approve, Mis..."
"I don't give a shit if He would approve or not, Maggie! He is not here anymore, is he? No, He is NOT, and I'll be damned if am going to lose MY baby. Do you hear me, you old hag?" A trembling, but surprisingly strong hand had snaked out from beneath the blankets, and wrapped itself around Magdelana's wrist causing her to wince in pain. "NOW GO GET THAT DAMNED BOOK, MAGGIE. BEFORE I GOUGE YOUR EYES OUT AND RIP OUT YOUR IDIOT'S TONGUE!!"
What had happened next had remained locked within Magdelana's heart and memory ever since that horrible night. She had not even shared it with her husband, Maro.
Standing at the foot of the large four poster bed, she had watched in horror as Elsbeth had taken Senior Ramon's most treasured black-leather Grimoire and opened its aged yellow pages to search for the incantation she wanted. It was a special and very specific spell that midwife-witches used to assist 'other's' in childbirth, but it was not meant to be used on one's self because of the disasterous effects that were known to have happened to those who had in generations long past.
It was well known that when a Witch used magic on her or himself for any reason, it could cause a serious and even dangerous warping of the mind and soul causing irreversable insanity, and, in some cases, even hideous disfigurement of the flesh and body.
Ramon de'Angeles had always been very specific while educating his young daughter in the Family Craft that she was never to use her own gifts ON herself, but that if she required assistance, she must seek out another Witch to help her. He had insisted she must never put herself in danger when manipulating the black magicks, but she had ignored everything he taught her when, during that fateful night, she raised her hands above her own swollen womb, and spoke the dark powerful words that would help her birth her child.
Magdelana had started screaming in horrified terror almost immediately as swirling masses of translucent grayish mist began to appear out of thin air and surround the birthing bed. Hell had answered the call of the de'Angeles Witch. Elsbeth had used the hereditary power of magick burning in her blood, and the ages old witchcraft recorded within her father's Grimoire of dark incantations and spells to call for midwifery assistance, but the Demonio's had arrived in place of the healing spirits that should have come at her bidding. The Demono's were going to help Elsbeth birth her child and Gold only knew what repercussions that might bring about.
"Mon Dios..." Magdelana had unconsciously crossed herself with the sign of Jesus Christ, and then fell to her knees hiding her face in trembling hands refusing to watch what the Demonio's did. The rest of the birthing process seemed to be over quickly and almost painlessly, but she never knew how that precious baby boy had been brought into the world. She never knew or understood how his small body had been extracted from his mother's without so much as one scream, one drop of blood other than had already been lost, and without any noteable trauma to the babe himself. She heard only the loud lusty cry he made as he drew his first breath of life, and when she raised her face to see him, she found the room empty of all the Demonio's. The only souls to remain were the pale exhausted girl, herself, and her newborn son. Otherwise, the room was as vacant as a tomb... and felt as dark and dank as one as well.
There were no joyful smiles and mother's tears for this child. No crooning, no singing, no laughter. There was nothing. Instead, Elsbeth lay still as death and pale as alabaster upon the soiled bedsheets looking at the squirming scrap of new life layin in her arms with flat dead eyes. The tears of pain were drying quickly on her face and leaving shadowy stains along her pale colorless cheeks, but no flickering of emotion could be seen anywhere in that ravaged yet beautiful face. If it were not for the slow rise and fall of her chest, Magdelana would have almost believed the girl to be dead.
"Mistress?" Magdelana approached the bed carefully and once more sat down next to the girl. She watched, in horrified fascination, as the newborn thrashed and struggled searching for the warmth and security his natural survival instinct was forcing him to find, but he was becoming weaker by the moment as his tiny reserve of energy quickly exhausted itself. It did not seem to matter how loud he screamed or how fraantically he struggled, his new Mother did nothing in response to his fight for his basic survival nidded. In fact, She hardly seemed to noticed him at all as she stared blankly off into space. Magdelana's grayish-brown eyebrows furrowed worriedly as she reached out and gently lifted the squalling infant out of the girl's lax embrace, wrapped her arms firmly aound his tiny body, and brought him close to the warmth of her ample bosem. He immediately quietened and instictively began to burrow against the warmth of her flesh.
"Mistress?" Once more she tried to rouse the young, nonresponsive mother, but not even an eyelid flickered at the sound of her voice or the touch of her hand. "Misress Elsbeth?" She reached out and gently cupped the cold face and turned it towards her so she could look directly into the flat, expressionless gray eyes. "Can you hear me, Querido? Are you all right, my dear?" The eyes remained unfocused and glazed over as if Elsbeth were heavily druged or lost in a deep stupor or trance, and Magdelana was not quite certain how to approach her. This girl had proven herself to be more than violent in the past, and both Magdelana and her husband bore the physical scars of that truth, but this was HER child and HE needed her, and Magdelana knew she had to do something fast if the boy were going to survive.
"Querido... You must wake up now. Listen to the sound of your own son's voice crying, Mistress. Can you hear him? He cries out for you, Querido. He needs you... he needs the warmth of your body and your mother's milk. Without you he will die, and I do not think that is what you want, is it?" She stared hard into the blank face trying to see if there were any response from the girl at all. "You fought so hard to keep him alive. Do you remember, Querido? Do you remember how hard you fought for his life? You even tried to call the spirits to help you birth him so he would not die. Do you want him to die NOW because you do not acknowledge him and take him in your arms and hold him to your breast? WILL YOU LET HIM FREEZE AND STARVE TO DEATH AFTER FIGHTING SO HARD FOR HIS LIFE!?" In frustration and anger, Magdelana responded to her Mistresses behavior in a way that was completely out of context and character for herself. She slapped her viciously acrossed the face. First one cheek and then the other, splitting Elsbeth's lower lip and in the process, splattering little droplets of blood on the front of her starched white blouse and the babies skin.
"WAKE-UP AND HOLD YOUR SON, ELSBETH DE'ANGELES! In the name of your father, Senior Ramon de'Angeles, the finest Lord there ever was, and the most powerful Warlock I ever served, I command you to wake-up and take charge of your child! NOW! NOW! NOW!" And then Elsbeth had come sputtering and sobbing back to the surface of consciousness.
Elsbeth had stayed at Raven's Keep taking care of her infant son, whom she named Christian de'Angeles, for three months, and then one day she had walked into the main parlor with a cold look upon her classically beautiful features.
"I am leaving." She announced abruptly to the old woman, who had served her family sence before she was born.
"Leaving??" Magdelena had been confused and worried. "I do not understand. Where are you going?" There was something wrong with the girl. She was acting very strangely.
"To Japan." Again she was short and abrupt. Her features were hard and cold as stone, and her lovely gray-green eyes shone like brilliant ice-tipped daggers as they bore into the confused face of the old retainer.
"Japan? Mon Dios... that country is filled with Buddhist heathens, Mistress. What is in Japan for you to go there? Why would you take the young Master to such a place?"
"I am not taking Christian with me, Maggie. I am leaving him here with you and Marco. I want you to raise him." It was not a request nor was it a demand. It was a statement. A statement spoken in a tone of voice that said the choice had already been made, and there would be no further discussion about it.
"You are l-l-leaving him here... You are not taking him with you?" The older woman had slowly stood up as her pale face registered shock and alarm at the same time. "Why?" The question was spoken in a low horrified whisper. "Why would you leave your son behind, Querido? Why do you leave him here with us to raise him? YOU ARE HIS MOTHER. I do not understand... please explain this to me, I beg of you."
Elsbeth had sighed impatiently as if she were dealing with a very dense or stupid child, and then, in a degrading tone, replied to a woman whom she had known all of her life, but had rarely respected. "Really Maggie, I swear you are getting more senile every time I see you. Why else would I leave Christian here for you to raise if I did not think it was the best thing for him? Besides, I do not wish to take him where I am going... He would get in the way." Liquid gray-green eyes glittered strangely in the dim candlelight, and Magdelana had taken an involentary step back as they bore down on her. "Now, listen to me, Old Woman, because this is very important, and I want to be sure you understand exactly what I am saying to you. I want you and Marco to raise Christian in the Church, Maggie. I want him to grow up believing in God and Jesus and all of that christian-crap." She lifted a hand to her mouth and tried to supress a tumble of girlish giggles. "I want him to be a real christian, and I want him to go to mass and take communion, and learn to say all of his 'Our Father's' and 'Hail Mary's'." Then suddenly her good humor was gone and her glittering silver-gray eyes darted back to the other woman's face impatiently. "Are you listening to me, Old Woman. I want him to grow up to be a respectable man in Galacia, and I do not want him to ever know anything about me, my father, Maggie, or ANY of the de'Angeles. I do not want him growing up in the Family Craft or knowing anything about it. He must be better than we were... he has to make up for all of our mistakes... for my mistakes."
"What mistakes? What are you talking about... what mistakes?" Silver-glinted eyes met dark brown ones, and Magdelana withered beneath the power she saw reflected in those pales swirling depths. "Mon Dios... What have you done?" 'She has sold her soul to the Diablo... She is a servant of The Diablos... Oh my beautiful Querido, what have you done to yourself? Why? Why have you done this thing? You have become a Bruja of the dark world. Dios have mercy on your soul.'
"That does not concern you, Old Woman. What concerns you is my son and his future. You have to promise me that you will never tell him about his Family or WHAT we were. NEVER Maggie. Do you understand me? NEVER! I do not want him to EVER know anything about us. I expect you and Marco both to respect my wishes."
"But, Mistress. What do we tell him when he asks us about his Family? What do we say about you? For the love of Heaven, Elsbeth, what do you expect us to tell HIM?" Magdelana watched those strange and terrible eyes narrow into slits of shifting liquid silver, and gasped as the unmistakable sensation of pure evil and malevolence reached out and closed around her heart squeezing painfully effective cutting off her free breathing.
"You tell him nothing, Maggie." Elsbeth hissed viciously. "You tell him I am dead, his father is dead... tell him we are all dead, I don't care. Tell him whatever you want, but you do not Ever tell him the truth. Do you understand me? DO YOU?!"
"Y-yes, yes, I-I understand. But..." The malevolent gaze locked with the frightened brown eyes once more as the older woman struggled to maintain her composure in the face of the terrible Bruja that used to be her Mistress. "Who is his father? You have never said His name to me. Not once since you have been home have you said His name. I will keep ALL your secrets from your son, but only on the condition that I know the name of the boy's father. I believe that is a fair exchange."
"YOU BELIEVE....!" Elsbeth had roared in response and charged the old woman with the seeming intent of throttling her or something worse, but in the end she had stopped herself just before laying her hands on the terrified soul withering before her on the floor. She had stood for several moments with her hands clenched into hard fists at her sides as she fought to bring her raging temper under control, and then she had looked down at the cowering woman and spoke in a tight hate filled voice. "Himura." She rasped between clenched teeth. "His name is Kenshin Himura."
"A Japanese man?" Magdelana's voice was barely a whisper as she spoke the astonished words. "How could you have gotten yourself pregnant by a Japanese man?"
"I did not. He is not Japanese, although he was raised in Japan,he is not of japanese descent." Elsbeth drew a ragged breath and held it for a long moment before letting it out in a slow 'whoosh'. "I beleive he must be of some other European descent. Of which country I do not know, but he was the most beautiful man I have ever known, Maggie." Elsbeth's voice drifted off and became dreamy and wistful as her face took on a sad lonely look. "Red hair like the volcano's fires, and eyes the color of spring violets... so beautiful, so strong..." A pale fluttering hand rose to cover her heart, and she dropped her eyes dismally. "He was a Samurai... a great and powerful Samurai... the most feared Samurai in all of Japan, and I... I-I loved him." Her eyes closed and tears of true sorrow slid down her porcelain cheeks falling to the floor as they dripped off her chin. "He was so perfect, so beautiful, so kind, so loving, but... so sad and so weak... I-I had to leave him behind. He could not give me what I wanted so I had to leave him behind."
"A Japanese Samurai is Christian's father?" Magdelana's voice was hoarse with disbelief and shock. "A powerful and feared man, yet you left him because he was... weak? How can this be? If he was the most feared Samurai in Japan, how could he possibly have been weak?" She raised her eyes and looked at the delicate profile of the young woman as a level of understaning began to filter into her mind. "Or was it that he was weak in YOUR eyes, My Lady? What was it about such a man as you have described him to be that made him weak in your eyes?"
"All he wanted out of life was to find a place where no one would find him..." Elsbeth's voice was low and deeply sad as she spoke. "He wanted a place where he could find peace... where he would not be hunted by his enemies, and he where he could build a home and a family."
"But those are wonderful things, My Lady. Why would they make him appear weak to you? Those are the kinds of things that make a man truly strong." Shaking her head in puzzlement, Magdelana turned and sat back down in her chair. "It is a rare thing to find... a man who wants to build a home and a family instead of running around the countryside spilling his seed wherever he finds a pretty maid willing to let him between the sheets of her bed. This land, and many others, are littered with the Bastard son's and daughter's of such men, and they grow up without a father shunned and persecuted by society for something that is not of their doing." A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she contemplated a disturbing thought that had just occurred to her. "You have made Master Christian a bastard, My Lady."
"I know." Was the soft almost inaudible answer.
"Why did you not stay with this man and give him the chance to try and make you happy if you loved him as much as you say? The weaknesses in him you left him for are qualities long sought after in the men of our coutry. They were not his weaknesses, Querido. They were his strengths."
"No. They were not." Her eyes had changed completely, and were now shimering pools of limpid silver that shifted and swirled within themselves. "They made him weak because he had no ambition for power, wealth, or status. He no desires to ever be anything more than what he was, and I could not live like that. I wanted a mansion with servants, and I wanted prestige and wealth." A heavy sigh cracked on a sob as Elsbeth struggled to control her wayward emotions. "I wanted more, and he could not... would not give it to me. He believed I should be content with what we had together as long as we were happy... as long as we loved one another and we were togother... I should be content and wish for nothing more, and if we were meant to have more, then it would come to us when time was ready to bring it. I could not live like that. I wanted more."
"So, you took his unborn child and left him behind." A deep sigh of sadness passed from the older woman as she shifted her weight in the cushions and faced the young woman she no longer knew. "Did he know you were carrying his child when you left?"
"No."
"I see. So I do not have to worry about him showing up here trying to claim, Master Christian as his son and taking him away?"
"No." Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I had to leave before he guessed because if he had known.... "
"He would have never let you leave... or he would have come after his child... yes?"
"Yes, on both counts. He is like that. Honor and devotion and all that bullshit. He would have forced me to get married so the baby would have a name."
"Hmmmm... You mean he is the kind of man who would WANT and LOVE his child simply because IT was HIS child."
"Yes." She turned an infinitely sad face towards the huge window and stared outside. "Himura would have been a wonderful father... he would have loved Christian more than anything else in the world... anything." Elsbeth sniffled and wiped her cheeks and nose with the back of her hand.
"Including you??" The question was spoken in a soft low tone meant to be as nonthreatening as possible. "Was that part of the problem as well, Querido? Were you jealous of your own unborn child?"
"Perhaps..." Thin shoulders shrugged in feigned nonchalance. "I do not know, but it does not matter anymore because he will never know Christian exists, and Christian will never know who his father is."
"No, he will not. I told you I would keep your secrets if you told me who his father was, and I will."
"Will you do everything else I asked you too, Maggie? Will you make sure my son is raised as a christian, as a Catholic?"
"Yes, My Lady. I swear it to you, on 'The Blood of Life' I swear it. I will do everything that you have asked."
"Thank-you." And then, just like that, Elsbeth de'Angeles had walked out of Raven's Keep and never returned.
Now that infant son had grown into a boy of nine and one half years old, and he had questions he wanted answered but was finding no relief to his emotional quandries. And so, since the night he had felt the pain and anguish of his Mother's death, he had sat in front of the large front window watching the main gate... waiting. Waiting and waiting, and all he would say to Magdelana when she asked him why he waited was the same flat phrase over and over again.
"I am waiting for my Mother to come home, Maggie. I will get up after she comes home, and not one moment before." And it was no different when she asked him today. Even after nearly a full years time passing, he stilled insisted on maintaining his vigual at the window. "What if I am not here and she does finally come home? What sort of son would she think I am if I was not here to greet her the very moment she passed through the gates?"
"But, Christian Querido, you know she isn't coming home. You know your Mother is dead, dear one. Why do you do this day after day? Why must you cause yourself so much pain over and over again?" and then suddenly, as if some long suppressed volcano of boiling fury hand finally broken through to the surface, Christian exploded into seething vicious rage.
"BECAUSE EVERYONE IS LIEING TO ME!" He shouted furiously at the top of his high-pitched childish voice. The ferocity of his anger caused Magdelana to take several involentary steps back from him in shock and fear as he flew out of his chair at an astonishing speed, and lunged in her direction. She could FEEL his fury dancing around the two of them like thousands of burning flames, and she was afraid.
"YOU HAVE ALL BEEN LIEING TO ME EVER SENCE I WAS A SMALL CHILD! MY WHOLE LIFE IS A LIE! EVERYTHING I KNOW IS A LIE! EVERYTHING YOU HAVE EVER SAID TO ME IS A LIE! YOU ARE A LIE!!" Christian's fury carried him across the space that seperated him from his guardian in only a matter of seconds, and, when he reached her, he grabbed the front of her pleated black skirt in both fists and began shaking her. "WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY HAVE YOU LIED TO ME,MAGGIE? WHY? WHY HAVE YOU NEVER TOLD ME THE TRUTH ABOUT MY MOTHER? ABOUT MY FAMILY? ABOUT... ABOUT... about myself?" Suddenly all of the fury and fight seemed to drain out of the boy, and he slid to the floor in a sobbing heap at the woman's feet.
"Master Christian?" Magdelana cried in concern and quickly knelt down next to the distraught boy taking him into her arms and holding him close to her heart. "It is all right, child. It is all right. Shhhhh... there, there. You mustn't cry so, Dear One, you will make yourself sick. Everything will be all right." She cradled the boy in her arms as she felt all of the guilt she had been harbouring for the last nine years surge up in the back of her throat threatening to gag her. The boy was right of course. Everyone was lieing to him and had been lieing since the day he was born, but Magdelana did not know what to do about it. She had sworn an oath on 'The Blood of Life' never to tell this child anything about his family, and that was not something that could be easily cast aside. She sighed in regret as her concience and her loyalty engaged in battle over her honor. It was time to make a decision, and it might not be the one her Mistress would have wanted her to make, but this was no longer about what the Mistress wanted. It was about what her son needed to know in order to make sense out of his life and the things that were beginning to happen in it. Things that could not be explained through the usual channels used on normal children.
Christian was not a normal child.
He was the descendant of a very long and destinguished line of Witches and Warlocks whose natual power and gifts had been well documented within the Families personal Archives, but it had also been well documented within the Archives of the Spainish Inquisition throughout the generations. Many of the de'Angeles had suffered through the horrible tortures of the Inquisition's 'questioning', and a few had even met their demise upon the grand pillars of flames while being burnt at the stake in order to purify and save their souls.
Christian had inherited some of the power that ran through the blood of his family, and it had allowed him to 'feel' his mother's death as if it were his own. That was one of the inherent gifts unique to the de'Angeles Witches. They were each psychically connected to one another through all thought and feeling, but the connection between Christian and his Mother was poor because he had not grown up with her at his side; therefore, he did not know her, but his spirit recognized the death of hers and grieved for it by cradling the pain as its own.
Now, he wanted answers. He wanted to know 'who' he was, and 'what' he was.
Marco Castillos rushed into the room responding to the furious screams he had heard only moments before. As he came to a halt in the middle of the floor, his frightened eyes locked with those of his wife and he could see the heartbreak and dismay reflected in hers.
"It is time, Marco." She whispered brokenly.
"Maggie?" He cocked his head to one side in confusion as he searched her face for an answer. "Time for what?"
"Time to tell Christian the truth."
"The Truth??" Alarm rang loud in his gruff voice as he rushed to her side and knelt next to her and the boy. "But we cannot. We swore and Oath, Maggie. We swore and Oath on 'The Blood of Life'. We cannot break the Oath."
"Yes, I think we can."
"How? Why?"
"We made it for the wrong reasons. Marco," Her eyes begged him to understand her plea. "We have to tell him the truth about his family... He has to know WHO he is and WHERE he comes from... and, God forgive me, he has to know about his Mother. We cannot keep it from him any longer. It is his birthright, his inheritance, his life. He is who he is, Marco. All the Oaths in the world are never going to change that."
"Sweet merciful God, Maggie. Do you know what you are saying? Do you?"
"Yes, I do. We cannot change who he is no more than SHE could. He is still a de'Angeles, and the de'Angeles were what THEY were, and we cannot change THAT either."
Marco's sad brown eyes caressed the face of the woman he had loved for more than 40 years, and then he nodded in agreement. "You are right, of course." An indulgent smile curved his mouth. "But then, you usually are, aren't you, Querido?"
She laughed a soft sad sound and leaned her forehead into his. "Not always, Dearest. Not always."
"Well, you are this time." A work roughened brown hand reached out and gently stroked the soft aubourne hair covering the boys head where it was nestled against his wifes ample bosem. He had fallen asleep. "We have to tell him, but we will tell him together."
*******
He sat in awed silence with the stack of old dusty books that he had piled on the end of the heavy wooden table, and looked around the huge room he had never known existed within his own home. The walls were lined with shelves that ran from floor to ceiling and corner to corner, and each one was filled to over flowing with books.
Books. More books than he had ever seen in one place in his lifetime. Not even the Cathedral in Santa de Compostela, where the Tomb of St. James was, held this many books within the sacred walls of its infinite Libray. He knew this to be a fact because only two years ago, his Guardian's had taken him to the grand Cathedral by way of 'The Way of St. James' which was the route worshipers had been taking to the Tomb for hundreds of years. Once they had arrived in Santa de Compostela, he had been facinated by the amazing architecture of the surrounding buildings, and had begged until the two adults had taken him to visit the Grand Cathedral.
He had eventually ended up inside the Cathedrals massive Library amongst all of those beautifully tooled and engraved leather bound books. For hours upon hours he had sat at the tables looking at the glorious illistrations, the intricate hand written script, and all of the endless meticulous details that made each book unique, but even with all of that care and careful consideration, there could still be no comparison between that Library and the sheer magnitude of size and ambiance of this one.
Hundreds upon hundreds of volumes organized by date and year, chronicaled nothing more than generation after generation of family history, and he had sucked in a shocked and awed breath when he saw how far back into the past the dates read.
The early 1400's were the oldest dates he could read, the rest were to smuged and faded to make out, but the fact that there had been de'Angeles alive and recording their life history nearly 500 years ago was enough for him to deal with at the moment. Anything more, and he was certain he would not be able to comprehend the enormity of such an idea.
On another wall, carefully covered with long drapes of cloth to keep all elements and dust out, were the true treasures that Christian could not yet bring himself to even look at, let alone touch.
The de'Angeles Family Grimoires.
There had to be thousands of them, and each one a meticulously kept record of a single life's research written in the Witches or Warlock's very own hand. Hundreds of years of Wiccan and Coven history lay secure and preserved within the thousands upon thousands of sacred pages those priceless books represented. Proven incantations, spells and charms; medicinal heabs, teas, potions, and poltices; sacred cerimonies for the changing seasons and the harvesting of vegetables and other foods; recipies for curing and drying meats, friuts, and vegetables for storage;instructions for the binding of brocken bones and the healing of wounds; there also existed the odd incantation or cerimony to cast a curse, send a hex, exorsise a demon presance, or prevent an area from being occupied by a demon or devil.
Magdelana and Marco did their best to try and explain to Christian that most of the 'Craft' was used to bring about good will, protect ones family from evil, heal the sick and afflicted, and banish that which destroys the harmony within the balance of nature. They explained to him that Magick was only Evil if the One wielding it was Evil. Christian had tried very hard to understand the things they were telling him. He tried to understand that for hundreds of generations HIS family had been practicing witches and warlocks, and the reason he had felt his mother die was because HE was a Warlock as well. He was the Heir to the the natural power that flowed through the viens of the de'Angeles blood, and there was nothing he could do about it. They tried to impress upon his young mind that being a Warlock was not the terrible thing he seemed to believe it was. Magdelena referred him back to the wielder of the Magick.
"If the Wielder is Evil, the Magick will be Evil. You are not Evil, Master Christian, and if you choose to use the power that is inherent in your blood, it will not be an evil thing either." But with his Catholic upbringing, it all rang of devil's and demon's and he just could not bring himself to acknowledge any of THAT just yet. For now, he would be content with the family historical records. He would approach the other when he was ready... if that ever happened.
As he read, Christian began to understand why his family had eventually moved into the mountain lands of northern Galacia. Everywhere the Family had fled trying to escape their panels of 'Inquisitors', The Inquisition of The Catholic Church had dogged their heels like a pack of bloodhounds of the scent of a wounded rabbit. Sadly, many memebers of the de'Angeles had perished while in 'the care' of the Inquisition, whether it was within the secluded and oftimes neglected walls of a forgotten prison cell, screaming for mercy as their bodies were stretch and broken upon the unyielding twist-turns of the rack, or writhing in eternal agony as the flames of purity devoured their souls whle they stood helplessly bound to a stake atop a blazing pyre of dried branches and coal oil.
Several of the volumes Christian had chosen to read were not chronicaled histories, but actual fist hand accounts written by one of his ancestors. He was reading actual diaries.
There was one diary in particular that held his attention for several days as he found himself engrossed in the life of a young woman named Alyse. She was about 16 when the diary was written, and, in many ways, Christian fell deeply in love with her despite being only nine and one half years old. Alyse was the strongest, most beautiful person he had ever 'met', and he admired her greatly for her beliefs and convictions. It was her story that changed his mind, and his life.
When Christian finally decided to embrace his de'Angeles heritage, he did it for His Love of Alyse, not for the Vengance of His Mother.
It was true, He loved his Mother very much, but He never could bring himself to fully accept the part of him that belonged to her way of life, Christian could not allow himself to become a Warlock, he could not allow himself to wield Magick whether it be in the name of Good or Evil. It was not within him to embrace that way of life; however, to understand WHAT IT MEANT to be a de'Angeles was something he could learn how to do. He had learned that from Alyse. So, He read, he learned, and he evolved, and then one day, at the age of thirteen years, he packed what few belongings he felt he would need, and he left Raven's Keep in search of a Teacher.
As he traveled the countryside, young Christian spent long hours reading and rereading Alyse's diary and soon found that he could no longer, in good concience, call himself a Catholic, and so he had renounced his beliefs in The Church and her 'ministering shepherd's'. From that point, he simply called himself a believing christian who worshiped God, The Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ. He swore his sword and his life to the service of God and the sancitity of Truth and Holy Justice. On the day he made these life altering decisions, Christian had felt the undeniable sensation of a warm, pure, beautiful presance enter into his life, and it had remained his companion ever since. In his heart, he knew what it was, but it took him many years before he was able to accept it for what it was.
Alyse de'Angeles had come to be with the boy-man who loved her.
The Teacher he found was Lord Ferdnado Riveros, 2nd Duke of The Red Rose, and he was the finest Master Swordsman Christian had heard of in his travels. He was fifteen years old when Master Ferdnado began teaching him the way of the sword.
Christian trained with his Master for five years during which time he learned to fight using both Sabre, Scimitar, and short sword. He had also asked his Master to teach him to fight with his fists and body, but the proud Spaniard had refused telling Christian he would have to find a man of much lower morals to teach him such a vulgar technique.
They had laughed, cried, and hugged one another affectionately before the young man left, but Master Ferdnand was not sorry to see him go because, from the day Christian arrived, he had felt a strangness about the boy that he had never been able to reconcile. He knew he would miss the boys company, but he would not miss the odd presance that seemed to follow him everywhere he went.
It was almost as if 'two' walked where only one should be.
At the age of 16, Christian joined a Spanish Gallion off the port of Leon called, 'The Bloody Queen', and onboard he finally had the chance to learn how to fight with his fists and feet. For the next five or six years, he sailed the high seas with the 'Queen' and her crew, who happened to turn out to be a bunch of very lucritive Pirates led by a man named, 'Whiskey-Jack', which was short for Jaques que'Pikard. He was a swarthy Frenchman who seemed to hate just about everyone, except the Spanish, the French, and whomever happened to a member of his current crew. But there was one thing that Jack hated more that anything else; one thing that he would rather see dead than waste his spit on, and that was the Japanese. Now, he could not tell you specifically why he hated the Japanese, he just did, and that was enough.
That was enough for Christian too. After all, the man who had murdered his Mother was Japanese, but he was not sure how Jack would look at his Father. His Father was not a true Japanese man, but he HAD been born and raised there. He could not help but wonder if that would make a difference or not, and decided to stay on the safe side just in case.
He never told Jack about his Father... nor did he tell him about his reasons for wanting to be left in Japan when, at the age of 22, he asked to be released from Jack's crew and dropped on the coast of the main island. Jack had looked at him quizically for a few moments, and then shrugged in agreement saying, "Oie, my friend. Eef that es what you want, then be my guest, but Japan es full of dose terrebul Japanese, you kno." He spoke in heavily accented spanish, and it had always made Christian smile because it sounded so comical.
"Yes, Jack. I am aware of that, but I am certain I will be all right." And they had parted ways.
From there, Christian had embarked upon another adventure, and that was trying to learn another language (which he found all but impossible), and looking for the ever illusive White Warrior. It seemed no one had heard of any individual calling himself by that name, but he there was one name he kept running into over and over again every time he asked about the whereabouts of any 'great swordsmen'.
"Hitokiri Battousai". The Manslayer. A vicious assassian from the Revolution over 25 years ago. Chrisian would only shake his head. This could not possibly be the same man that had killed his mother. There were dozens of rumors that the Battousai was dead, and Christian would not accept that he had been cheated out of avenging his Mother's murder, but he also did not believe that the White Warrior and the Battousai could be the same man.
One day, as he walked the streets of Kyoto, he reached into the front of his shirt and extracted Alyse's diary, which he had decided to take with him and keep the day he had left the Keep. The long, limber fingers of his brown hands caressed the soft worn leather of the cover as he cradled the small book lovingly. It was his most prized possession. It was the only contact he had with the woman he loved, and he had carried it next to his for nearly ten years. As he carefully opened the cover, Christian thought about what he should do. Should he continue to search for this ellusive swordsman, or should he set that task aside for now and start looking for his Father? The palm of his right hand pressed tenderly against the elegant script that flowed across the yellow parchment, and he could feel the burning warmth of another hand as it gently settled down on top of his. A beautiful smile of pure joy crossed his angelicly handsome face, and the deep blue of his eyes brighten to a brilliant royal purple.
"You are right," He whispered quietly as he carefully rubbed his thumb across part of the writing on the fragile page. "I should try and find my Father."
The words he touched read, 'Usted mi Angel.' You are my Angel.
This is one of the most difficult chapters I have ever written. I wanted to make sure that I covered where Chrisitan came from and WHO he was, but I did not want to give too much away either... Plus, I needed to lay the ground work for the main plot without giving away too much there either... I have worked on this chapter for a full week. I know when you read it, it won't look like that much work went into it, but there are at least 6 six hour days of writing, editing, and rewriting locked up right here.
I really need some major review feed back for you guys to let me know if this makes sense and if it holds up to your expectations or if I really blew my nose on this one. PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW. I NEED MAJOR FEED BACK ON THIS CHAPTER. Thanks everybody. Tsuki-san.