Prelude You are in luck, readers! I've only got a week to go before school! This is great news; I just miss school soooooo much! I am so bored in the dreary family-life…Ahh, I wonder what would happen if I hadn't my novels to keep me in good moral health. Well…anyway: read, enjoy (notice that I don't say try to enjoy, or I hope you enjoy: it is ENJOY! You have no choice what-so-ever.) But most of all: I beg you to review, or to e-mail me. No. I don't beg you, I merely ORDER you: REVIEW or E-MAIL me if you don't want to end your days with your head bent over your back. (Talking of which: have you seen Kung Fu Hustle? I saw it, and really: wi-cked…) Never mind, REVIEW or E-MAIL (which is the main point of this poetical Prelude.)
Chapter the Fourth
Prison of Black Silks
The next day, when she woke up, Ember found out she had not even bothered, or afforded, to take of her clothes. She was merely sprawled upon the bed, her face resting on the velvet patchwork counterpane, her feet on the pillows. Someone—doubtlessly Gold—had drawn a heavy blanket to keep her warm. And warm she was, comfortable, still not thinking about the events of the previous evening. She sat up, breathing out a heavy sigh of pleasure, and then another contented sigh, for now rest was lying before her. For the few months Opal's company would stay at Tal-Narra, the latter would not give her lessons, and she would not have to go down. The prospect of such peace was agreeable, comforting. Lying back down, Ember cuddled back into her sleeping position, and went to sleep again. She woke a few hours later, as light streamed through the multi-coloured strips of muslin, and lighting the room with lights of all tints and shades. Outside, some of the hoarsely squawking birds from the forest were harshly singing their joyful songs of summer, and sounds of laughter and chatting rose from the garden, which had awaken her in the first place. The guest, so Ember had understood, were to stay at Tal for several months, and even if the prospect was more of a dark one to her, it had enlightened the air in the whole manor, as if someone had swept out with a huge broom every single secret, old curse, dust and velvet of old, leaving the place neat and agreeable The Manor, it seemed, had the magical property to match newcomer's personality; for Ember it had been dark and secret, for those it was free and pleasant. The Manor was fantastic, and treacherous.
Ember, after having dressed herself, went quietly down, and stealthily dashed passed a buffet from which she took up a handful of creamy little cakes. She then passed by the library, scooped a few volumes, and went back up in her bedroom. Eating her cakes slowly, and reading, she spent the morning away from everyone, and would have probably spent the end of the day if Gold had not, after the luncheon, come in and told her a message from Opal.
'They are going riding, and Lady Opal would wish that you join them.'
'That's mean,' said Ember, 'Why does she want me to go and ride with those ignorant persons?'
'She only is going with Erudite Erelnirion, who is an Erudite of great renown, Lady Astralee who is a great cartographer of the celestial ways, and Lord Drake, who is famously know for his spirit and attractiveness of mind,' Gold recited dully.
'That doesn't prove anything,' Ember declared, but Gold cut her:
'Stop bemoaning yourself, silly girl, and dress; Opal isn't known for her great patience.'
'She is,' Ember grumbled, and Gold slapped her lightly on the cheek. After having grudgingly dress in a splendid riding dress of stiff, deep black velvet, with a scarf of azure-night gauze tied around her head with ends floating in the veil of raven hair, and long, slender boots of old lustreless black leather, Ember hastily went down. The dress was cut tight around the waist, and fell in a large sea of flexible velvet. The sleeves, extravagantly large, were in fact so large they kept in the crook of her elbow, revealing only a ribbon of creamy white flesh, the rest of the arm being covered by majestic gloves of fawn doeskin embroidered with blue satin. The neck of the dress lowered in waves down to the top of her breast, revealing the white throat, and a black ribbon hung with a little crowd of silver stars, moons, runes and carvings of animals that tinkled in a crystalline way as she ran down the stairs and corridors, holding her overflowing skirt in her gloved hands, and busily looking down.
Downstairs, just outside the door, she found Opal, Lord Drake, Erudite Erelnirion and Lady Astralee outside, talking animatedly about the powers of Zodiac. Opal was dressed with great elegance in a pale grey dress of satin that shimmered like pure silver in the sweet sunlight: a great sash of dark stormy grey velvet embroidered with pearly flowers was holding up a bosom that the low neckline revealed in all its beauty, and the skirt was narrow and straight, but opening all the way up to half thigh, revealing the boots of slight leather that climbed up to the top of her legs. The top of her hair was pulled in a snowy braid tied with a silver brooch, and was falling back among the free flow of hair, the all being lightly tied together by a long net of spidery silver. Opal's face was flushed; her cheeks rosy in the conversation, her lips deep dark pink, her eyes glittering pure emerald, her skin fresh and neat.
Lady Astralee was dressed in an emerald dress that was tight from her bosom to her hips, with a long large skirt falling from the bodice. The dress was of dark green silk, and it highlighted Astralee's loveliness: the peach of her skin, the hazel of her rich satin hair, and the sweet beauty of her clever face. And even through her determination to hate all of them, Ember couldn't help—liking, the woman.
Erelnirion was dressed all in metallic grey, watching his silver hair, and matching Opal's accoutrement. He looked very majestic and solemn, yet at the top of his good-humour. He and Opal looked at each other in a way never Ember had seen anyone looking at someone else. Lord Drake, slightly withdrawn from the conversation, was in deep dark blue, and Ember cursed Gold for putting this blue scarf in her hair. Damn the man, he really annoyed her. And his beauty was the worst of it. Such a calm, pale, unbearably attractive face, such narrow, pit-like eyes, such a perfect ivory skin, such silky jet-black hair, such a high marble forehead, such a stature, such a slimness and beauty of body…
Ember, disgusted with herself, turned her eyes away form him, catching the quick gesture of Erelnirion as his hand shot up, caressed for a second Opal's bare arm, and shot down under her eyes. Ember, struck deep, hurt to the heart, unbelieving, lifted accusing eyes to Opal's face, with the intense desire of stabbing the beautiful bosom to death.
'Let's go, then,' said Opal, as she noticed Ember for the first time, meeting her eyes when the knife-full look had died.
Gold came from the corner then, holding five horses by the bridle, including Night and Light. Ember, still grudgingly, climbed up on the saddle, and in a tearing movement, pulled her arms up, pulling on the bridle, turning the horse around the face the empty, sunned valleys across. Those valleys, those fields Ember had known in their ashen, velvety grey beauty, now wanly sunny and flower-filled. As they started to gallop, Ember holding slightly backwards, the conversation oriented in politics, then gossip, and the further they went in the ride and in the conversation, the more bored Ember got. This discussion seemed senseless to her. And the more on they went, the heavier, more bored, sleepier she got, until she finally fell half asleep on Night's neck. She was awakened too soon to be completely asleep, by the voice of Lady Astralee.
'Shall we split? I would greatly wish to show Lord Drake to the Tall of Dark-Living.'
'And I and Erelnirion are heading for the Woods of Tenebry Entrance. Which would leave Ember alone.'
The four of them turned to her. Ember started up straight, and said hopefully, in a tone she wanted purposeful and bright: 'Oh, but I specially wanted to go to the Ruins of Rebellion. I shall go, then, and shall we meet back at Tal in half an hour?'
'In two hours,' Opal said quietly, glancing at Erelnirion and smiling.
They split, and Ember quickly headed for the Ruins, triumphing of her lucky escape. When she finally reached the Ruins, which stood straight and white as a city of immense ragged fossils, she dismounted, and went to tie her steed to a tall, broken pillar. Then she went and sat on a half broken bench, on which a green moss had grown. A little flight of white butterflies passed by, and in their way they leaved a trail of silence and serenity, that slowly crept up in Ember, and released all her body's defences. In a few minutes, the weariness of the ride and of the tiring, annoying conversation caught up with her, and she fell asleep. Like a queen of night and winter in the middle of a murdering world of sun and spring, in her black dress, she slumbered down, her pale face all quiet and small and grave in her sleep, the tiny white butterflies flying dreamily around, the sun falling upon the white ruins, and the flowers growing all around. A terrible picture of beauty, a beautiful picture of terrible contrast, none of the world greatest artist would ever have been able to describe the beauty of the scene. And none ever tried.
She woke up a little hour later, as the sun passed behind a cloud, and the freshness crept like a horrifying chill all over her body. She sat up, yawned, and then thought it was time to go back in. She went to Night, who was peacefully eating the grass, and untied him, climbed on his back, and set off. Darkness, as the clouds grew thicker and greyer, screening the sun even more, crept over the land, until everything was of a metallic dusk colour. The clouds lowered themselves, and before Ember had time to finish her crude curse against treacherous weather, the heaven's ripped open, and down came pouring ropes of water in a thick fall of rain.
Ember, in a few minutes, was soaked wet to her bones, and feeling chilled and hateful, she clicked her horse quicker. When a dark, quick shape tore to a halt next to her, coming apparently from nowhere, all her anger was concentrated in her fright, and then, in the subject of her fright.
'What the deuce do you want?' she bellowed in the rain.
'I was sent to take you back home,' he said peacefully, meeting her eyes cold-bloodedly.
'I don't need you! Bog off!' she shouted at him.
When he didn't, she angrily tore the bridles to the right, and threw her steed on in a diabolical speed. Knowing he was unable to quite catch her on, he didn't follow her, and she soon lost sight of him. Until, like a thunder-strike, he bolted right in front of her, cutting short her race. Night, wildly, reared back on its powerful hind leg, and Ember, like a mere ragged doll, was tossed to the ground, were she sprawled in the mud. The abrupt fall ripped her whole dress all the way from the very bottom of the skirt to the top of the bodice, revealing the black silken chemise and the gossamer stockings, and the dazzling ribbon of opaline flesh in between. Ember, dazed, sat up, and shook her head, trying not to feel giddy. The muddy floor had cushioned her fall, but still she felt totally numb. Lord Drake, serenely dismounting, came to kneel next to her, but so violently he jumped back, she screamed:
'Don't you dare touch me! Don't you ever dare!'
He stopped in mid-motion, and looked down at her gravely. Shakily, hatefully, she stood up, staggering a little, and then, cursing her birth blessings to hell for the flight of wild Night, she set on her way back to Tal, limping slightly, and snarling with a corner of her upper lip raise over her shiny teeth. When he caught her up, under the arms, hauling her up on his steed and laughing quietly, she felt immensely good and joyful. Sprawling back in his arms, and rolling her soaked head of his shoulder, she raised a hand to his cheek and pressed her white palm to his skin, which was smooth and perfectly polished like a fine ivory carving. The muscle of his jaw was wolf-like, and savagely pure an angle. She said:
'I wish I could find the courage to push you away from this horse. Then, if I were lucky as well as courageous, you would break your neck. And leave me alone.'
'And what retains you to push me?' he whispered in the crook of her streaming white neck.
She did not answer, merely pressed her cheek to his, wishing she could feel his warm breath in her neck till the end of her life. When they arrived at the Mansion, nobody was waiting. Lord Drake dismounted, and lightly carried her on the ground. She stepped away from him, holding together each side of the largely torn dress.
'You told me they sent you,' she said, accusingly.
'I told them to go and have their siesta, and that I would go and seek you. I did.'
'I cannot believe this. Everyone would have separated to sleep, apart from you,' she said, still as accusingly.
'Sleep, I doubt it,' said Drake.
He sighed, and advancing to Ember, he took her by the arm, and led her in. As they walked up the corridor, they left a long river of rain water, but they did not notice nor cared.
'You see, Opal has taught you many things, but there are some things she simply cannot teach you. Come, Lady Ember, do you not guess what Lord Erelnirion and your tutor may be doing as we talk?'
Ember, unbelieving, broke form his grasp and stepped back.
'Oh, how I hate you,' she said quietly.
He reached for her and grabbed her once more, and dragged her up the large staircase, against her struggles. When they reached the top, he oriented her to the West-Wing.
'Come, Lady Ember. Let me put the fire back in the ash. Let me show you how sweet an hour can be.'
With a sob, Ember tore herself away from him, and back away. He smiled, his thin lips stretching delicately, looking grave and yet unbearably seductive. She didn't think, she whipped around, and ran. Up to the second floor, right to the East wing, right in a room, behind a tapestry, she ran up a flight of narrow stairs, stormed past a room full of red satin, sobbing, tore through mirrors, up another flight of stairs, and finally crashed down against the locked door of the donjon. There, she just slipped to the ground and wept, like a child, like someone who has just torn her heart from her chest, like the one who lost what it cherished most. And all of this, by her own hand. She was the one who stabbed happiness each time it approached. The murderous hand of her caring self, the one who wanted her safe and empty, who wanted to save her from all that love could bring of woe and horror.
As the sobs slowly calmed down, Ember finally wiped her eyes, and looked up. The door from which she had just come was wide open, giving on the dark, narrow winding staircase, ad the room in which she was known was fully in wood, each single inch of it carved in the same patterns of roses and eagles. The floor too was of wood, dark and glossy as if it was being wiped and burnished every single morning. No window came to add light in this small bell of wooden darkness, and the smell was old and ancient and antique, rich and fresh. The door against which she was leaning was very thick, and of pure, massif carved metal. On it the pictures of a ghastly, hauntingly beautiful, empty-eyed woman was stretching out her arms in a horrifyingly longing, desperate gesture, and under her words were traced in a gothic writing:
You who wishes to enter my realm, answer this:
What is better than life, worst than death,
And the only thing to appease man's hunger?
Answer my question, and hold the key,
To enter my doomed domain.
'Nothing!' cried Ember bitterly, 'Nothing can appease man's hunger! Nothing is better than life, nothing is worst than death! Nothing! No—'
She stopped in mid sentence, and gaped as the great metallic door swung easily upon its hinges, silently opened a dark passageway to a tall, narrow menacing staircase. Ember, without thinking, then stood up and walked into the staircase, not caring when the door slammed shut solemnly behind her, and leaving her in total gloom.
Groping blindly around to feel the smooth cold stoned walls and the uneven stairs, Ember slowly made her way up the steps, and eventually reached the top. She pushed at a thin fine wooden door, which let go easily, and presently entered a circular chamber. The room was beautiful. It was not large, and filled with only, uniquely, a large, round bed, with curtains hanging black all around it, mixed with aerial strings of fine spider-webs. Here and there, scattered upon the black sea of smooth black blankets, were black cushions, and at each all around the edges of the bed were black pillows propped against the curtained walls. The only space of the room which wasn't filled with the bed was the three climbing stone steps that led to it. No window, except from three ones in the carven, domed roof, which were narrow, and crossed with iron bars. The time Ember crossed the three steps, and sat on the bed, and that the door swung back shut and clicketed locked solemnly, Ember realised the dark beauty of the room: a luxurious cell.
'It is what suits me best,' she thought to herself, 'nobody will find me here, and even if I starve, at least I will die safely. Nobody will ever be able to find me here.'
And with a soft sigh, she snuggled her head against the pile of black pillows, closing her pale translucent lids over the dark silver of her sorrowful eyes, closing her flushed lips and settling her spidery milky hand next to her face. She wasn't feeling tired, she only wanted to rest her tired soul, to rest forever and never again be confronted to the hideous ugliness of the disgusting world in which she had been cursed to live in. She closed her eyes, willing to find herself in another world, willing with all her might not to wake up again, or to wake up somewhere else, be it in hell. It seemed to her weary mind that she couldn't take anymore of it, that her life had already been filled overflowingly with this cloying horror of this world in which she had been tossed by the winds of woe. Life had denied her everything she craved for. As a child, never did she possess the love of her parents. Or the affection of her sister. Or the admiration or even friendliness of her entourage. For ever, again and again, she had been tossed away, repulsed, she had been cursed away from this world; at such a point that she had had to be thrown away in this mansion of tenebrous gothic secrets. And Opal, here, had been her mother, everything she had lacked she had been given, in a desperate attempt to fill the aching void that would always desert her heart. It seemed as if it had been transformed in a giant, cruel snow desert, and then filled with howling, grievous wolves that would forever refuse the food it would be proposed, by fright and contemptuous refusal of any pity. Ember, morally, was dead.
Requiem Ahh, this chapter is soooo tragic. And the last sentence is soooo dramatic and sad. I love this chapter. Very poetical, very beautiful. Well, never mind what I think. You need to review now, I'm afraid. I said, I'm afraid, not because I am afraid of what you may write, but I'm afraid that you may not write. Oh yeah, and a little question, if you have time: If you had a magic mirror to which you could ask one single question the mirror would be forced to answer, what would you ask it? Please answer in a review or in an e-mail, I just wanted to know.