Chapter 2
"Isaac, my sweet boy, what has happened to you?" Mirabel shrieked when her son returned home before supper with his fine clothes torn and dirty and his features disheveled. The boy looked a right mess from head to toe. She hovered after him, squeamishly picking leaves and branches from his flaming red hair as he continued in his swaggering gait down the hall, as if unfazed by how distraught his mother was. "Darling, hold still!" She growled, obviously fed up with his insensitive nonchalance, and finally reached down to grab hold of his wrist as she might have when he was a small child. Much to her surprise, he jerked it free of her grip forcibly, staggering away from her. They stared at one another for a moment in shock. Mirabel, because Isaac had never been even remotely violent towards her in his life-- in boyhood he had been a sweet child who honoured his mother and father as a good Christian child ought, and as he grew he learned to be quite suave with her, doing his best to satisfy her veritably massive ego. Mirabel didn't know it herself, but whenever she thought she was getting into her son's head, it was usually quite the opposite; Isaac was too like her, and because of that he was quite capable of giving his waspish, unscrupulous mother the proverbial slip.
Isaac was startled more at the pain that had jolted up his arm from the cut he had made to exchange blood with Hector. He had hardly been paying attention to his fussing mother, caught up in pleasant thoughts from earlier on, until she had grabbed his tender wrist. Now she was staring at him, her hazel eyes enormously wide. She looked like a cornered doe. "Mother, forgive me, that was--" He stammered, his usual guile draining quickly. His hands were at his sides, palms open to her, his posture slumped and almost pleading. He didn't have to say much. Mirabel let out a high whine before she was upon him again, his wrist cradled in her delicate hands. She tenderly peeled away the bloodstained kerchief.
"My son, my sweet boy, what happened to your wrist? Does it bleed still? What did you cut it on?" The words tumbled from her mouth quicker than the youth could respond.
"Mother, you're exaggerating--" He began, but was cut off as his mother waved for a few servants, thrusting him at them and demanding that they tend to him. Of course, that didn't mean she was going to leave him. She hustled him up the stairs, babbling imperiously as she ushered him down the hall towards his quarters, stopping infrequently to order that several passing servants fill his bathing basin with water. He noticed Julia's head poking out from the doorway to her own quarters. Her blonde brows shot skyward as she glimpsed him, and she elbowed her way past the gathering servants to walk next to him. She wore little more then a lazily donned kirtle and smock, and her golden hair was unbound, leading Isaac to wonder if she would be next to be fussed over. Not that he would spare her the ordeal.
"What happened to you?" She asked him, sounding thoroughly amused. She plucked at his royally dirty shirt sleeve, and a smirk found it's way to her face.
"Sister, you are too like me." Was all he responded with as they entered his quarters. She sat in one of his reading chairs as he waited for the servants to finish filling the basin next to his bed with water. His mother excused herself, likely to raise more attention to her son's 'predicament,' and Isaac took that as his cue to speak. "I was in the forest today." Julia nearly jumped up.
"But Isaac, you were forbidden to go there!" She exclaimed, raising a hand to her mouth for fear she'd spoken too loud. Isaac shushed her, crossing the room to place a hand on his younger sister's shoulder.
"I expressly remember getting around that edict with mother." He reminded her, much to her chagrin. She sighed, slumping as was unbefitting of a young lady. He nearly started to tell her about his rite of brotherhood with Hector, but something stopped him. He somehow felt sharing it with her would somehow cheapen it, so he remained silent, resting his hand on her delicate shoulder.
"Brother, what if you'd been attacked by monsters?" Julia finally piped up, resting her head in her hand. The girl sounded genuinely concerned, even a little sulky. She adored her elder brother, even if he was a bad influence. The idea of him being viciously ripped apart by some horrible, evil creature in those cursed woods made her feel ill. "That whole forest is an evil place, Isaac. Have you heard nothing of the legends?"
"Legends?"
"It is said that roughly three hundred and sixty years ago, that forest was controlled by an evil... vampire..." Julia shuddered slightly at the word, having been taught to fear such things all her young life. She could barely say the word out loud, but she continued on. "...Who used a black stone made with blasphemous magic to engulf the woods in eternal darkness. They say that he trapped people in the forest and made them fight through his dark castle because it was all a horrible game to him! Some say he even trapped a man there to provide weapons for the poor souls, knowing they would die!"
"Julia, where are you learning all this? Mother should stop letting you go out to the market and the square." Isaac admonished, rolling his eyes. She was getting overexcited.
"No, listen to me!" She stressed, grabbing the hand on his shoulder and holding fast. He stared at her apprehensively. "Legends say that he kidnapped maidens from Baronies, and that one Baron actually succeeded in stopping him. The Baron was said to be his best friend. But the castle collapsed, and even though the curse of eternal night was lifted, the dark Lord was not vanquished! They say that he lived forever..." It was starting to sound too familiar to a legend Isaac feared he already knew. "...While his friend died, but his friend's bloodline continued, destined to forever pursue the dark lord, and--"
"Julia, stop. You are letting your imagination run away with you. What does this have to do with my ventures into the forest of Jigramunt?"
His sister's blue eyes stared up into his, and she squeezed his hand desperately. "The ruins of the castle are full of evil power. I suspect the curse from the north could creep into their wake any day. Brother, I do not want you there when that happens."
Isaac shook his hand free of Julia's, casting a slightly peeved look upon her. "I take it that you believe I am not smart enough to steer clear of the ruins, then? Do you think I'm just going to... to foray into my own death?" He was unmoved. He would not look at her, he didn't need to hear any more. Much to his surprise however, Julia leapt to her feet, reaching up and landing a sudden, searing slap against his cheek with her little white hand. He looked at her then, stunned. Even the servants bringing water stopped to stare at the obviously enraged girl.
"It's that friend of yours, isn't it? He's making you stupid and headstrong and guileless, isn't he?" She snapped, her eyes glazing with tears of frustration. Isaac was still too busy rubbing his sore cheek in bewilderment to say a great deal. "One day when you die it will be his fault that you're dead! That stupid boy will lead you right into your own grave, because you are stupid too! There was once a time when you would have paid heed to me, but no more!" And with that she stormed out of the room. Isaac caught snippets of his mother's smarmy, meddlesome interventions ("my little lamb, what is the matter?") as the girl returned to her own quarters.
The servants were still staring until Isaac paid heed to their prescense, placing his hands on his hips and attempting to look lordly. "No more than a young girl's emotions running away with her," he attempted to explain, unsure as to why he was rationalizing to servants. "She is but ten years of age. She will grow sensible as she matures." This seemed good enough, and they carried on with filling his bath. When they had finally finished, Isaac was quite grateful. He dismissed them before undressing and sinking into the steaming water.
What his sister had said about the dark Lord and the Baron was replaying in his head. Could they possibly have been the figures that he and Hector had pledged before? Were the ruins once a great and horrible castle? He wasn't sure whether the concept of the woods having been damned once upon a time should repel him or attract him. A part of him wanted to know more-- perhaps venture into the ruins to attempt to learn about the Baron and the Lord who betrayed their friendship.
Isaac tilted his head back, soaking his hair and resting his head against the back of the metal basin in which he bathed. He shut his eyes, and a long, somewhat contemplative sigh escaped him. If the monument in the forest really was of those men, who had made it? Who would make such a tribute to a friendship betrayed? From Isaac's idealistic standpoint, he couldn't comprehend what would be worth giving up a bond like that for-- who could betray blood brotherhood? He couldn't see himself betraying Hector for any reason, not even eternal life. He had faith that Hector was much the same, as Hector had always been a frank and righteous young man.
Isaac examined the mostly superficial cut on his wrist with the reverence of a priest looking upon the holy cross. He hoped it would scar to remind him each day of his bond with his greatest friend. It was a sacred mark, and when he looked at it, it ceased to matter if the monument was of the Baron and the Lord or not. He had sworn his friendship to Hector there, it was sanctified enough. However, though the monument had ceased to nag his conscience, something had taken it's place. That spear, that beautiful bat-like spear. He found himself wanting it, and imagined wielding the noble thing in his own two hands. In his mind, it belonged to him. "Mon chauve-souris..." He sounded out in French.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Hector sat in a patch of scythe-mown grass, hidden in the overgrown alley that served as the halfway point between his home and Isaac's. Nearly every morning they would meet there, but for Sundays when they attended church (the church service was always very hard for the two to get through, not because they were so far apart, but because they were together, at a distance in a supposedly somber enviornment; and this of course could not be permitted without obvious difficulty. "Difficulty" in this case manifested itself in the form of ghastly faces, mouthed words, and oftentimes lewd hand gestures to and fro that overcame the two with hard-stifled laughter. They knew they were blaspheming, but truly the pair meant no offense. Their only intentions were to amuse one another).
Today Hector brought with him the spoils of a raided kitchen-- two short pastries wrapped in a fresh kercheif. It seemed odd though, that Isaac was late. Slim fingers of sunlight were beginning to work their way into the alley they had used since they were small boys, and Isaac usually arrived before they did. Hector smiled fondly at the repeating scene of the golden sunlight catching Isaac's red-orange hair and setting it brilliantly aflame to match the young man's fiery disposition. He leaned back against the stony wall, closing his eyes, and presenting himself as a shamefully vulnerable target for an ambush.
"Ha!" Was the only warning the blonde got as Isaac rolled from the thicket, and was upon him in a second. He only just stopped himself from retaliating before the devious redhead sat back, beside himself with amusement. Hector rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but grin.
"You're getting better. Last time you tried that you put your hand in the nettles." He approved, with just enough censure to tease. He dug into the pouch at the belt of his tunic, producing the pilfered short pastries and handing one to Isaac, who tore into it quite gratefully. "I suspect Lady Laforeze went into a royal convulsion about your state of appearance when you returned home?" Isaac about choked, spraying Hector with crumbs. At times he believed Hector had a gift for gross understatement that bordered on genius.
"My friend, her fastidious rage was comparable only to my sister's." Isaac never referred to Julia by name before Hector. He worried, perhaps needlessly, that Hector might use his closeness to the Laforeze family to bewed Julia, and Isaac knew better than anyone that such would not end well. "My sister struck me, in fact."
"Did she?!" Hector was taken aback at this. "Isn't she very young? Tis unbecoming of a little girl." Isaac shrugged lazily.
"She told me something very interesting about the ruins in the forest." This was all he had to say to have the blonde's full attention. "They're the ruins of a 360-year old castle, once ruled by a vampire."
"A vampire?!" Came Hector's hushed echo. Isaac nodded solemnly.
"He was vanquished by his own best friend, and the castle collapsed. Those ruins are of the castle." He stared at his mystified companion. "You know what this means, do you not?" Hector's pale brows furrowed.
"Surely you do not mean..."
"Of course I do. Hector, those ruins were the territory which we never dared to traverse as children. Why not enter them now, and make men of ourselves?" Isaac's hazel eyes glittered with an almost mad excitement as he grasped Hector's hand, staring straight into the blue orbs of the other youth. Hector burned with the temptation to go, the ruins would be a veritable rite of passage for them. Yet his rational mind questioned all the little things that could go wrong.
"What of monsters?"
"We will arm ourselves."
"If we become lost?"
"We may map it along the way."
"And if the ruins collapse on our heads?"
"Then we duck and dig ourselves free, we are two strong at least."
This seemed a good enough set of answers for Hector. "We are not going today, are we? I have no weapons at my disposal so soon." Isaac waved off the question.
"No, today is the market day in Cordova, have you forgotten? I want something good to eat! Those grimy ruins mean too little in the face of a good cut of lamb." Isaac grinned puckishly, both issuing forth a fit of laughter. Hector could admit to letting his stomach get the better of him as often as Isaac.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOo
She was not the "jewel of Cordova", nor was she the "lily of the valley, the rose of Sharon," or any other such efflorescent term. She was beautiful, but no more than the next good-looking young woman with flaxen hair and blue eyes. Despite that, Isolde had a certain charm to her, the kind that stems from being mostly ignorant of any chaos that might spring up around her. She was a calm and clear-headed girl who aspired to nothing more than her station as the daughter of a rich merchant's widow-- a station that meant that she would be married off to a well-to-do young man who she would then bear many children unto.
But Isolde was strangely unaffected by this. There was little more she wanted from life, and she considered it her duty as a woman of Christendom to do such. She never foresaw that ambition, or rather lack of ambition, changing; much less at a market stall. Yet there she stood, with a basket over her arm, conversing quite animatedly with the flustered merchant as she browsed a selection of local spices, not seeming to notice that she was talking the poor man in circles. He was saved quite suddenly by the sound of hooves approaching much faster than was befitting for a square full of people. He spun on his heel as the anticipated sound of chaos that cropped up shortly. He could hear a chorus of frightened animals coupled with shouts and curses, some of them round and bloody oaths, cresting like a wave and receding as the riders slowed down. It was not apparent to him who would ride like that through busy streets, but when he saw the perpetrators he added his disapproval to the lot.
"Oh, bugger me running. They gave them horses?"
"Gave whom horses?" He turned back to the young lady at the stall, calmly craning her neck to see what the commotion was. He had almost forgotten she was there in the wake of the uproar, and he had hoped she might not be there when he turned back around because he frankly couldn't stand to hear another word about pennyroyal and it's uses. At least she would stop talking now. She leaned past the shopkeeper to see who had rode in, and was rewarded with a dazzling glimpse of a young man with hair so blonde it seemed white. He was laughing, twisting on his mount to speak to someone behind him as he trotted the thing into the square. His companion made her jaw drop. His face was indistinct, but it was his hair that caught her attention. Hair like fire, red like a devil's. Isolde had never actually seen a real person with red hair, though she was aware that the colour was possible to achieve through dyes.
"What is so bad about giving them horses? I do not see the problem."
The shopkeeper cringed. Of course a woman would be ignorant to such misbehaviors as theirs. "Those two little demons don't give half a damn about anyone but themselves," he grumbled, trying to keep his voice low. "That red-haired hell-bastard and his friend only get away with their buffoonery because their fathers are officials. Boyars."
Isolde crinkled her nose. "And they act like that? What a terrible example to set for the people." She quickly ducked her head, however, as the pair approached. She chastised herself for allowing herself a moment of what, to her, was gossip. She would have been ashamed had either of them heard, it was not very Christianly of her. She quietly stepped aside as they moved up next to her, passing over to the next stall, at which a selection of bowls and plates was offered. Again, the blonde was the closer of the two, but past him she could see the redhead. Isolde hated to stare, but she was admittedly fascinated. They didn't harbor such troublemakers in Cordova, so she assumed they were from the town on the other side of the forest.
"You know, I had feared I would never escape my godforsaken tutor, he is like a wolf when it comes to tracking me down at the most inconvenient of--" Hector caught an image of a young woman staring at Isaac, leaned so far over the front of the stall the shopkeep could have kissed her without covering a great deal of distance. Hector nudged Isaac in his ribs as he sniffed over the lord's loaves at the stall (all of them smelled rather stale). "Isaac, did you not mention that you wanted lamb?" He remarked, his blue eyes darting over to a woman roughly their age leaned halfway over a stall staring at them.
"Mm?" Isaac sounded disinterested at first, but when he glanced up his gaze was subtly directed towards the young lady. He barked out a laugh at Hector's referring to her as a lamb, but was suddenly imbued with another one of his devious smiles as the girl looked away quickly, as if embarrased to be caught staring so intently. "Lamb, you say? Yes, I think perhaps it is time for us to pick out a good cut of lamb. Tender lamb." Hector snorted, but followed still as the redhead swaggered his way over to the young woman.
"Your pardon, my Lady, I had wondered if perhaps you--" Isaac hardly got time to work his charms, because what happened then came about so fast that he had no time to register until it was over. A rat scurried out under his feet-- quite common considering the enviornment, but the girl shrieked and staggered back, tipping over. His first instinct was to catch her, setting her back on her feet before grabbing a wooden bowl from the stall and lobbing it at the creature. The bowl landed top-down on the rodent, but that didn't by any means stop it, and it returned back in their direction. The girl screamed again and lunged into Isaac, for lack of direction, before he finally booted the approaching bowl, rat and all, to the edge of the square.
By then, all eyes were on him, and he was stuck with a frightened girl on his chest and another dish in his hand. Behind him, he could feel Hector slowly backing away, and he didn't blame him. However, this left Isaac looking like he'd done something possibly inappropriate. Slowly, he set the dish back on it's vendor, and stepped away from the girl, who promptly bowed, uttering apologies as she knelt to pick up her basket. People were returning to their business now. He knelt to help the girl pick up the spilled contents of her basket.
"You have my deepest apologies, my Lord, I did not mean to draw attention to you if I would have known I would not ever have let out a cry such as I did it is just that the rat--" The girl's words were all running together and she refused to look up at him until he cut her off completely.
"Be still." The girl visibly flinched at this, but Isaac went on. Hector briefly joined them in picking up the contents of the young lady's basket, but with a pat on the shoulder Isaac told him that he did not have to make up for a fault not his own. This seemed to satisfy Hector, who carried on down the street. "I hope you'll excuse me, rather." He continued on to the girl. She looked up at him with enormous blue eyes. He was vaguely reminded of a frightened cat. The two stared at each other, both of their hands ceasing to even pick up the scattered items. "Your name." Isaac didn't ask for it, in fact the words carried a sort of command. "Tell me your name."
"Isolde Jager, my Lord." She responded quietly.
"I am Isaac Laforeze." He bowed his head to her slightly. She smiled quite sheepishly and hastened to resume picking up her items. Isaac just watched her, seeing only the honey-coloured top of her head, her face partly obscured by her pale hair.
"I... I thank you." Isolde said after a time, daring to glance up at the young man again. "For ridding me of that rat." Isaac stifled a chuckle with only a small hissing exhalation. Isolde looked embarassed, finally retrieving the last of her items and standing. She rummaged in the endless ruffles of her skirt for a moment, before producing a delicately embroidered kerchief (from where, Isaac did not know, he couldn't fathom the journey amongst the heavy folds of a woman's skirt-- not for a kerchief, anyway). Delicately holding it out to him. He stood up next to her, noting how slight a creature she was. She had the features of a budding woman, but was a head and a half shorter than him.
"Please accept this as a token of my thanks." She proposed delicately. Isaac, opportunistic by nature, took this as his chance. He reached out, slowly, and ran his slim fingers along Isolde's wrist, gently, moving them along the back of her palm before finally enclosing the token, as well as the tips of her fingers, in his hand lightly. She was giving him that doe-eyed look again, petrified until he pulled his hand away. With that, she bowed lightly, turning on her heel and rushing away.
Isaac watched her go. Skittish waifs like that seemed to be everywhere he went. A woman like that never turned and looked back despite his graces. However, much to his surprise, Isolde stopped suddenly, and from afar, glanced back at him. With a self-satisfied smile, he turned from her. Hector was again behind him by some fluke of navigation, staring at his friend as though he had lost his mind as Isaac put the young lady's kerchief to his nose and smelled.
"I suppose you're quite pleased with yourself?" Asked the blonde. Isaac's hazel eyes darted open, and he lowered the cloth from his face.
"You act so uninterested. Would you have not done much the same?" Isaac placed a hand on Hector's back, ushering him along the street, arching his other arm around to wave the kerchief under Hector's nose quite deliberately. Despite himself, Hector smelled.
"With perfume like that? Perhaps so."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Isaac found himself standing at the entrance to the ruins again. Around him were the scattered remains of the vampire's accursed castle, overgrown with moss, great stones and small, some walls were still standing in intervals enough to give the illusion of a hall. He dared to step forward, towards the arch miraculously still standing atop two fluted pillars like some defiant monument against age and time. He didn't bother to look up at the words carven into the lone arch-- it always said something different, and he could never read it. But just like the last time, as soon as he passed beneath the arch, the sun struck his back, and his shadow stretched long over the dingy stones that paved the ground in patchy intervals. He watched it, fixated upon it, wishing he could look away, because any moment he knew that he would see wings appear behind him. And when he did, he would reach back and wrap his hand around the polished shaft of his bat-like spear, his Chauve-Souris, and it would feel right and perfect in his hands. It happened right on cue, every time. Isaac continued down the hall with it in his hands, only to hear a soft giggle originate behind him. It was always Julia, her small form disappearing behind a rock. And no matter how much he wanted to, Isaac could never follow her, because at that moment he would catch a glimpse of Hector rounding a corner, and to his lasting shame it would always be Hector he followed. It was always Hector whom he was two steps behind, no matter how fast he tried to catch up.
Hector would lead him through a labyrinth of overgrowth and ruined castle, until they were boxed into an area that strongly, sickeningly reminded Isaac of an arena. Hector would stop with his back turned. And then, no matter how hard he tried to make himself stop, no matter how he screamed, Isaac would heft the Chauve-Souris into both hands, and drive the point home, through his best friend's back. Straight into his heart. Only then would his will return, and he would withdraw the spear and drop it, falling to his knees and cradling Hector's lifeless body to his chest, wailing, screaming apologies because he couldn't stop himself, he didn't know how, he wanted to stop... And then Isaac would beg the Lord for forgiveness and compare himself to Cain, who murdered Abel.
The sky would open to him, and a figure would descend upon him. Not God, but a richly robed figure with dark hair and eyes. He had a noble countenance, one that glowed with malicious mercy as he looked upon the grieving boy before him. The figure would extend a hand to him, and Isaac would inevietably leave Hector's side to go to the beautiful figure, who would hold him to his chest like a loving father as Isaac wept pitifully. In the most gentle, beguiling tones, the man-- the angel-- would whisper to him.
"It is not your fault, child, it was not by your will that he had to die. The hearts of humans are too pitiful, too weak to withstand wickness, as it was for Cain when he murdered sweet Abel. But God is cruel, Isaac. God will only punish those things he created to be so imperfect, so sinful and weak." The angel would cup Isaac's chin, and stare into his eyes. "No matter what, child, God will damn you. He will steal everything you love away from you, just like this." One white hand would gesture to Hector's fallen form. "God will condemn you to hell. Look into my eyes, Isaac, and I will show you all that God will take from you."
It would always be something different, every time. Sometimes he would see the death of his parents, of little Julia, and more recently, Isolde. He would see the shambling corpses of people he knew wandering the desolate remains of his ravaged hometown, or even as far as Cordova, with rifts in the earth from some catastrophe. "I can make it all cease to be, Isaac." The angel would say. "Just take your spear in hand and bring solace to the sinners. I will show you how."
The angel's beautiful hand would settle on Isaac's chest, and suddenly push, sending him sprawling onto Hector's body, and the angel would pick up the Chauve-Souris; raising it with an ecstatic expression of benevolent mercy upon his inhumanly beautiful features, and plunge the spear into Isaac-- so deep that it would rip through him and pierce Hector again. And finally... only then would it finally be over. Isaac would wake up, drenched in cold sweat, gasping and choking as though he were dying. Each time he saw that horrid, beautiful vision he would be ill, and when he had flushed all bile from his body he would weep pitifully until dawn. After little more than a week of the same torment, Isaac could not take it anymore.