Oh dear lord the trauma!! Wrestling with Ivy and her temper is not fun, I can tell you! All it needed was mud! Which maybe Siegfried would have enjoyed had he not been cowering under the table... Anyway, it's finally here, Chapter 4. Now I must go away and find a way for me and poor Siggy to survive Chapter 5, I shall see you all in a month.
The shirt is white cotton and of a weave so fine it feels like the kiss of rose petals against his skin. The best part though is that it fits across his shoulders and does not pull uncomfortably at the cuffs when he stretches. The breeches are coarser but still fine, and cinches at his narrow waist without recourse to the massive belt he has previously used. The black leather jerkin that finishes the ensemble is simple but well made and as Siegfried stares at his new reflection he feels the barest flicker of his youthful pride at the dashing figure he makes. Perhaps he will not cut his hair after all.
"Oh yes," Margaret Beckett's satisfied pronouncement floats from behind him, "most definitely an improvement. He looks like a proper young man now." She nudges her husband settled next to her with a mindful elbow.
William clears his throat and sits up straighter – in all honesty he'd nearly fallen asleep as he waited on his wife, primping and preening the boy, before she pushed him toward the mirror and sat down beside him. "Indeed, most definitely," he agrees. And it is an honest agreement at that, he reflects; for nearly a month the young man has been idling about the house in an old man's cast-offs. Lady Isabella had finally given her consent to calling in the tailor just over a week ago and now the result is before him. William thinks that it is a good thing only he and Margaret remain from the staff or else he'd be warning off the maid-servants.
Siegfried turns and gives the two of them a hesitant smile. "Thank you, it is...this is...good." his English is still heavily accented but steadily improving.
Margaret's satisfied grin widens and she gives him a generous nod while shuffling contentedly in place, almost reminiscent of a fluffed up hen. "Well off you go then my lad, go impress her ladyship with the turnout, I can't imagine she should be sorry."
Siegfried's brow furrows at the woman's words, he gets the impression she is dismissing him but not for what purpose.
"You will find Lady Isabella in the Library," William helpfully supplies.
Siegfried finally nods in understanding, giving the two a brief, reserved smile before departing the room.
Lady Isabella is indeed to be found in the Library, and scribbling furious notes from the rather aged tome she is consulting.
Siegfried quietly lets himself in, padding as noiselessly as possible toward the long table that takes up space between the wall of shelves and the galleried windows opposite. He can just make out the silver cap of her hair at the far end of the table, between piled books and various equipment she has transferred from her lab to make use of while she reads.
He comes to a stop at the other end, and after a moment in which she doesn't acknowledge his approach he clears his throat to call her attention.
Her head comes up immediately at the sound, and there is the barest tension before she realises who it is present and she relaxes again. Isabella comes to her feet only briefly to give him what seems to be a very cursory once over before sinking back in to her chair. "Very good," she mutters, and that, it seems, is the extent of her approval of his improved attire.
Another moment passes before she looks up again to find Siegfried still standing. "For heaven's sake, sit down will you, this place is untidy enough without you loitering."
Siegfried quietly does as she says and sits himself down beside the nearest pile of books. He pauses only for a moment before reaching for the topmost volume.
"Not that one," the order floats from down the other end of the table and Siegfried snatches his hand back as though he were a child caught filching from the desert tray.
"There is one to the right of you, red cover, read that."
Siegfried looks as she directs and indeed there is book, several inches thick and bound in red leather. The title is embossed on the front cover. "'A Child's Book of Fairytales'?" He queries, doubtful, lip curling almost in contempt.
A sigh reaches his ears and he hears Isabella get to her feet, marching the length of the table till she stands opposite him. She reaches, almost flattening her body against the table top, to grasp the book and push it directly before him. Isabella glowers up at him, hand still pressed to the cover. "You wish to be able to read English, I suggest you start here. I did."
With that she is gone, back to her work, and dutifully, though with an internal sigh, Siegfried turns the pages to the start of the first tale.
It is definitely a child's primer, the words are few and simple, and sounding them in his head he can match them to the spoken words he has been taught. Of course, it would be easier to sound them out loud, but Siegfried hesitates from even whispering, mindful of the quiet scribbling from the other end of the table.
"You wish me to read it to you?" He finally asks, dryly.
"In English, Siegfried," she reminds him.
Siegfried presses his lips together and wills himself to patience. "Do you want... that I read this to you?"
"Better," she congratulates, "and yes, you may."
And this is how today will be, he thinks. It isn't the first where she has completely ignored him and any contribution he might make to the ongoing research into the destruction of Soul Edge; setting him, instead, to learning the words, conjugations and tenses he needs to know for speaking her language.
Since their last altercation several weeks back he cannot help but notice the difference in her conduct toward him. True to his own word, he had confronted her about it after dinner, quietly explaining that while he will help her in any way he can, and give her whatever information she asks, in return she will have to tell him why she needs it.
Isabella had stared back expressionlessly over the cleared plates and empty wine glasses, the silence following his words stretching into the realm of uncomfortable. Then without a word, she got to her feet and left the room.
Siegfried reflected that at least she hadn't lost her temper and this might possibly be considered a success. And so it seems, because she hasn't said anything to directly provoke him since. That said, she certainly hasn't shied from asking the uncomfortable questions, either, and has had without fail an explanation as to why she needs an answer from him.
Occasionally, Siegfried suspects that she is still playing him, but this time by the rules he himself has set.
He wonders now if listening to him stumble over the reading of a child's reading book amuses her and if it is to make up for the fact that he is no longer forced to dress in mismatched and ill-fitting clothes.
Siegfried glances at her out of the corner of his eyes, and wonders if Isabella is even listening...
__________________________
Ivy stares down at the notes she has just made then presses thumb and finger to the bridge of nose before massaging her eyes. Her thoughts on the text are chasing each other in circles; there is definitely something there to be had, but it seems frustratingly out of reach. To break a diamond requires a diamond, nothing else will do. Yet that old alchemist's dream of transmuting lead into gold, death into life, seems also to have relevance. Equals and opposite... something equal...and opposite.
If one wishes to break a cursed sword, then perhaps instead of a cursed sword with greater power as she had thought to make with her Ivy Blade, how about a holy sword, with equal power? Not destruction, but balance, equilibrium?
She hears Siegfried's voice, droning softly in the background; he has a...good voice. It is deep, soothing, and almost hypnotic to her ears and racing mind.
Ivy props her elbows upon the table, lacing her fingers together and resting her forehead against the support provided. What if destruction of the sword isn't possible? What if it is like a diamond, only able to be broken by nothing less than another diamond? And unless something stronger in nature can be found, there will always be a diamond left, singular, eternal and unbreakable.
She doesn't know. Certainly it seems everything she has tried so far has ended in failure. While proving it comes apart very easily, in a way that she finds eerily reminiscent of a cat shedding it's coat, nothing she does to the cursed sword seems to bring the metal back into the realm of nature. No matter it's state it is consistently, uniquely Soul Edge.
So, perhaps the only option left to her now is balance and equilibrium. Something opposite and equal that will hold it until that something stronger is found. Ivy doubts she has anything like that to be found in her home, nothing to match Soul Edge at full power most certainly. Though in it's present state there maybe something that could be done with what she does have and what she has in abundance is knowledge and a library of arcana to go with it. For now, perhaps sorcery will provide what alchemy has failed to.
Ivy rises from her chair once more and heads with purpose to the shelves standing against the far wall of the long room. The bookcases here are closed and also gated for good measure; a key releases each of these barriers and she runs a finger along the edge of the third shelf down till she finds what she is looking for. By the time she has returned to the table, Siegfried has stopped reading and is now watching her curiously, from his expression it's clear he is debating asking what she is up to.
Well he may as well know, she will be in need of his assistance if what she plans is to succeed. Once more she marches the length of the table to stop before him; she drops the two volumes onto the tabletop and looks at him look at her expectantly.
"I have come up with a solution," she announces and in German, his English is far too new to understand what she is about to explain and while it might amuse her to watch him struggle she hasn't the patience for it right now. "Dead as Soul Edge might be at the moment, I have regretfully had to come to the conclusion that its ultimate destruction is beyond the realms of science alone," Ivy glances down at the books she has brought.
"You speak of witchcraft," Siegfried says, and it isn't a question.
"Witchcraft?" Ivy scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, this isn't a matter for potions and incantations. I speak of sorcery Siegfried, or have you so easily forgotten how my Ivy Blade came about?'
Siegfried visibly flinches at the reminder; pale cheeks flushing, he looks away from her, not quite squirming in his chair. Ivy does not feel like taking pity on him though, not now that she has also reminded herself of the role this boy has played in her life, whether he meant to or not.
"So what is it that you plan?" Siegfried finally asks, after an uncomfortable silence and still not looking at her.
"My plan is to make a prison for the sword, to bind it ultimately with its own power should it ever find its way back to life."
"You suspect its current state isn't permanent?"
Ivy stares at him with a look of utter frustration that he is only just realising this. "If Soul Edge were truly dead Siegfried, then why is the blasted thing still lying in my laboratory resisting all attempts to destroy it?!"
Siegfried doesn't answer her, unable or perhaps unwilling, his lips pressed together in a thin line and for a moment it is like his eyes are not even seeing her. Ivy begins to feel the frustration with him beginning to build further. She has suspected for a while now that he is deliberately claiming ignorance to some of the questions that she has asked him; most particularly questions that probe deep into his experience as Nightmare. Looking at him now, Ivy thinks that suspicion is beginning to feel vindicated. However, she once again curbs her usual first instinct: to strike out at him like a snake in the grass, in favour of the subtler approach she has been employing since he laid down the new rules to their interactions.
"Don't hide from me, Siegfried," she says softly, and his gaze is abruptly back on her again. "You promised me your assistance, and you have been generous," Ivy keeps her voice soft, coaxing. "So I can trust you not to withhold anything from me, can't I Siegfried?"
She sees him swallow audibly and she knows her suspicion is most definitely confirmed. "O-of course," he stutters.
It is an effort of will to suppress the surge of anger that rises up at him, and Ivy figures he must sense something of it as he is looking at her warily, body tensed for movement. She glances down at the books before picking them up once more, determinedly bringing her focus back to her original intention. This needed seeing to first, she would deal with the problem of Siegfried once it was done.
Ivy flicked her eyes back up at the German boy. "I must also have your trust in turn Siegfried, for especially what we are about to embark upon. I can't do this alone, but likewise I cannot take you into the circle unless I can rely upon you to do all that I ask without question. Can you do this?"
Siegfried considers for only a few, bare seconds before nodding firmly at her, his pride and conviction rising to the occasion just as Ivy thought it would. She holds his gaze for a long moment, long enough for him to start squirming and for the realisation to coalesce in her own mind that she can ask of him anything as long as it will not require him to delve into his own psyche.
"Are you ready?"
Siegfried rises from his chair in response.
"Then come with me."
__________________________
The ritual takes two days to construct, with Ivy working long into the first night and straight through the other. Another day is then spent in rehearsal, going over and over it till even Siegfried's seemingly never-ending patience finally runs out and he announces he is going to get some fresh air. She doesn't see him again till dinner, but Ivy is content to allow it for once; he had performed surprisingly well in the rehearsals and she feels quite confident that the ritual will go correctly and without complications.
"You may wish to retire early tonight," she advises him over the venison. "The correct planetary hour for starting the ritual will not fall till past two in the morning, and I would recommend being rested before it begins."
Siegfried nods in acknowledgement of her suggestion. "And do you plan to do the same?" He asks with far too knowing a look that says he is quite aware she hadn't been to bed the previous night.
Ivy purses her lips, glaring at his presumption. She bites her lip against a scathing response though, as she has to concede that he has a point. "Directly after dinner," she informs him stiffly.
Siegfried hides a smirk behind his wine goblet. The last few days have been... interesting. He'd never considered any kind of magic or mysticism before; even as a good Catholic boy it was all the province of the Church and not for him to even think about. What Isabella has introduced him to, though, is a fascinating, if somewhat intimidating, amalgamation of angels and demons, sigils and circles and triangles of art that all seem very complicated. It could be very dangerous, Isabella had told him, if you didn't know what you were doing.
There were times during the rehearsals, however, that she had fixed him with a speculative look that made him uneasy. It served to remind him of their conversation several days earlier in the library, when she had brought up the making of the Ivy Blade. It occurred to him then, that she might be aware of his internal struggle...
Siegfried glances up, cautiously, in Isabella's direction, and is relieved to see her concentrating on her meal. He hasn't dared mention the nightmares to her; that they are coming more frequently, that he worries it is something to do with the sword. Her words in the Library did nothing to put him at ease, and he is almost on the verge of confession: his sleepless nights; the inability to go inside himself to the place once claimed by Soul Edge, to tell her the secrets of the deadly sword; his fear that he maybe losing himself to it all over again.
He doesn't particularly want to turn in once dinner is finished with, either, but he climbs the stairs with her, bids her goodnight in return – an irony given that the sun still shines brightly through the myriad square panes of glass – and enters his room. Perhaps, he thinks, with dwindling hope, the light will keep the darkness inside at bay this time.
__________________________
When the knock comes on his door in the middle of the night, Siegfried is already awake and dressed, pacing the room with barely restrained impatience. He swiftly opens the door to face Isabella on the other side, holding up a lamp.
"Are you ready?" She asks.
Siegfried just nods his reply.
He follows her down the stairs and through the darkened house into her laboratory. He has only been in here a few times before; given his complete ignorance of pretty much all of what it contains this doesn't bother him. They come to a door concealed in the panelling of the room that Isabella quickly opens and ushers him through.
"I have already prepared everything we need to take with us," she tells him quietly, as she leads him down another set of steps that are narrow and steep. "I came to collect you last so we can be away immediately."
Siegfried puzzles over her words, are they leaving the house? It seems to him they are not, the stairs they are on are going down, but not at an angle that would take them from under the mansion.
"Where are we going?" He finally asks.
"Down to the river," she answers. "Though not all the way, the cellars don't extend quite that far; however, there is a passable tunnel that comes out in the boat house. I haven't used it in years though, so I can't quite vouch for that."
"I see," he replies.
"I doubt it," Isabella says with a touch of ironic humour to her voice. "It's pitch black down here, do not stray from me whatever you do or you may find yourself stranded."
The stairs finally end and he knows they must be quite deep underground now, the air smells of damp and dirt.
"This way," she beckons him, following a similarly narrow stone corridor with a low ceiling that Isabella would need to duck had she been wearing her usual heels. Briefly, he sees openings passing by on either side, some opening in to darkness, others into rubble. In the lamp light the stone work seems more reminiscent of an ancient keep than anything he has seen above ground.
"Did your family build this when they built the house?" Siegfried finally asks, giving into his curiosity.
"Not quite," she answers. "These were once buildings, sitting above ground centuries ago when the banks were lower. I believe they were Roman. My forebears discovered them as they were digging the foundations, and as is typical of House Valentine, made use of what they found by constructing cellars from them. As you can see, however, they have not seen much use in recent years, mostly I think due to the rising of the river. We are on the top most floor here, there were cellars lower than this but they are all flooded. It is there we are going now."
Sure enough, he can see light glowing from a distance, and quite quickly they are upon the lamp, sat at the top of another set of stairs that opens out on the right into a chamber. Siegfried picks up the light as he is directed and follows her down once more. They cannot have descended more than seven or eight steps before they come to water, and the boat.
Isabella pulls it round so the side comes up against the steps they stand on. "In you get," she orders him, and with great care Siegfried complies.
Isabella follows in after him, and reaches out to set the lamp she carries on the steps.
"Is that wise?" he asks. "What if it goes out?"
Isabella gives him one of her long, inscrutable looks, and he fears he has once more insulted her in some way. The venomous retort never comes, however, and truthfully it is beginning to worry him, as he hasn't been on the receiving end of one in some time now.
"Your concern would be well founded," she says instead, "However, it's not oil that is keeping either of the lamps we have here burning."
Siegfried double takes on that, before holding up the light he still carries to inspect it more carefully. Sure enough, in the centre of the glass casing there is light, but instead of a flickering flame, he sees what looks to be a stone, or fragment of glass, that is glowing quite intensely. It is held in some kind of apparatus within the lamp and he can only assume it is the product of alchemy.
"So you see," says Isabella, with no little self-satisfaction. "We are in no danger of running out of light. Just see that you don't drop it in the water, please."
With that she takes up the oars in the bottom of boat and begins to row. The water comes up high into the chamber, and after a moment they are forced to lie flat to the boat and use their hands to propel themselves beneath the lintel of a doorway and into another darkened room.
Siegfried watches as Isabella stows the oars again before carefully getting to her feet, bracing herself against the wall that is above the doorway they have just come through. "Pass me the lamp, Siegfried," she instructs him, and he does so.
He hears briefly the scrapping of metal on stone and suddenly he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the incredibly bright flare of light.
"Open your eyes, Siegfried," Isabella's amused voice floats from up above him.
He does so, and once he has managed to dispense with the spots clouding his vision so he can see properly, Siegfried's jaw drops.
They are outside the building they were previously in and it seems to have opened out into a vast marina. Except that there are colossal pieces of masonry jutting out of the water and leaping from the muddy walls, arcing high into the shadows above them. Siegfried tries to picture all of this once being on dry-land, how tall it must have been, but his imagination fails him.
"What...?" is the only word his hanging jaw seems capable of uttering.
"Magnificent, isn't it," and there is no disguising the pride in Isabella's voice, as though she were personally responsible for the grandeur laid out before him. "As far as I can determine, it used to be an amphitheatre, not unlike the Colosseum in Rome."
"Where's all the light coming from," Siegfried finally manages to speak. "Is it sorcery?"
Isabella laughs, a not completely unpleasant sound since she isn't actually sneering at him, "Good heavens no! Just a lamp and several precisely placed mirrors. Sorcery could never be used for something so mundane, and quite rightly, it's far too unreliable for such things."
Siegfried frowns at her words. "Yet you trust it will safely hold the Soul Edge."
"That is a quite a different matter," Isabella snaps, as she takes up the oars again and sculls them out into the underground lake. "Light is a thing found in nature. That sword, as I'm sure you'll agree, is not natural."
Siegfried has to concede her point. He does trust her, though, to know what she is doing.
She takes them to the far end of the cave, to a place concealed and partly raised up by a piece of the ubiquitous masonry. It creates a platform above the water, flat enough to stand on. Isabella gets out first and has him pass her the bundle of paraphernalia she had already stowed in the boat. Lastly he passes her the inert form of Soul Edge, still wrapped in the remains of his red cloak from the day she found him.
Siegfried knows well enough his part in what follows, and he goes through the motions he has learnt to the point of rote earlier that day. It's all somewhat underwhelming, really, when Isabella pronounces them done.
"Is that it?" He asks, just slightly concerned, because as far as he can tell nothing seems to have actually happened.
"Yes, that's it," she replies, before continuing scornfully. "What were you expecting Siegfried? Great flashes of lightning, a summoning of devils? It's done, believe me. I'm surprised you can't tell, given you were its host for so long."
Again, there is that penetrating look and Siegfried quickly averts his eyes from it. Instead, he stares at the sword, lying unwrapped on the cloak in the middle of a triangle, surrounded again by a circle and then again by a square, various symbols have been chalked in the spaces between and it looks like some child's drawing. He tries his best to sense something of the arcane power employed to create it, but there is nothing and he tells her so.
"Ah well," Isabella shrugs and starts packing away the equipment. "Sorcery is not the province of all, just something other that separates the gifted from the great unwashed masses."
"I had no idea you thought so highly of me," Siegfried replies with heavy irony.
Isabella raises an eyebrow at him as she settles herself back into the boat. "Not for a moment, Herr Schtauffen," she says in a soft tone laced with venom and a sneer curling one corner of her lips.
And with a single sentence she reminds him once more of his place in her world.
Siegfried sighs as he climbs back into the boat with her. Her reaction is almost comforting in way, he feels on surer ground when he is faced with her contempt; it makes dealing with her that much simpler when he is able to just let it roll of his back like a duck in water.
By the time they make it above ground again it is to find the sun having just edged it's way above the horizon. Siegfried squints into the light and suddenly feels a yawn rising in his chest. He is tired, he admits. He wonders, though, if he is tired enough that should he attempt to sleep would it be deep and dreamless?
"I will be turning in till the afternoon," Isabella announces. "I'd suggest the same for you, but if not... I request you try to keep yourself out of trouble."
He turns to look back at her, warily, something in the tone of her voice catching his attention. From the expression on her face though, his reaction was one she was waiting for; her mouth curves into an unpleasant, knowing smile that disturbs him greatly.
She knows, is the only thought that trips through his mind as they stare at each other. "No," he finally hears himself say. "I think some sleep would be a...good thing right now."
Without waiting on her response he swiftly leaves the Laboratory, feeling her eyes on his back till the door swings shut behind him. He does not stop till he reaches the safety of his room and leaning his head for a moment against the closed wooden panel of the door, he takes a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself.
She knows, he thinks, and she is going to want answers.