VII. Those Youthfully Dead

Louise was floating, again. This time, it wasn´t over a room, but over a meadow overlooking a dam. There were a group of kids sitting on the grass, all looking unusually solemn under the light of the sun. That same redheaded boy, Bill, is there too, but she doesn´t recognize the rest. Apart for him, there were four more boys.. They all look about the same age. The smallest one took off something from his pocket, something

(an aspirator)

she has never saw before, and held it nervously, looking like he was waiting for something terrible to happen any second now. Taking out that thing seemed reflexive to him. She would bet that he hadn´t even noticed it.

"C-Can I tell you g-g-guys suh-homething?" Bill said. Uh, that was strange. She had fully expected for him to sound confident, powerful, unreachable. Just like mother. Because

(he was their Leader)

of no particular reason, but it was still strange to hear. It was expecting too much of a child, though, now that she thought about it. All the boys turned to look at him.

"Sure, Big Bill." one of the boys quipped. "What´s up?"

"I-If you guh-guh-guys l-l-laugh, I-I'll never h-hang around with you again. It's cuh-cuh-crazy, but I swear I'm not muh-haking it up. It r-r-really happened."

"We won´t laugh." one said, a different one. This one was built like Marlicone. He looked around at the other boys in the meadow. "Will we?"

They shook their heads, all but the smallest boy. He just stayed quiet, with his head down, clutching that strange thing like his life depended on it. Bill started telling them something, and Louise immediately recognized the story. It was what she had see before, all that happened with that George´s photograph album. Oh, enveloped by a sudden feeling of sadness she didn´t really understand. So George had been his little brother, and he was dead. By the end, the poor boy was shuttering even more badly.

The smallest boy was next, still clutching that thing. He told the others about his nightly wanderings, and that, one time, a hobo had crawled out under the twenty night house at Niebolt Street and offered him-Eddie, that was his name- a blowjob for a quarter. She hadn´t never heard that word, but, somehow, she still understood it. It was... dirty stuff. Eddie had backed away, saying he didn´t have a quarter and the hobo had keep on walking towards him, saying that he do it for a dime. Eddie said that he didn´t have a dime either and ran for his bike. The hobo ran after him, screaming into the night: come back, kid. I blow you for free! Come back here. But Eddie had managed to escape safely, thank the founder.

Yet the stupid kid had come back. He told the others that a had got a sort of horrible fascination with the house since that happened, and she guessed she could understand that, but still... And not only had he come back, but he had also entered the house. He had found a hobo, the same one, under a blankets. Only he was rotten, more like a corpse that a human. With the way that boy had described the hobo´s state, it couldn´t possible be human.

"How about a blowjob, Eddie? Bobby does it for a dime, he will do it anytime, fifteen cents for overtime. That´s me, Eddie. Bob Gray." for some reason, those words stabbed deep at her heart.

(because its pennywise´s name the name of that thing)

Eddie managed to escape, yet again, but it was a close one. When he finished the tale, he burst into tears, and was shaking all over. She wished she could reach out and hug him, give him at least some comfort, but she couldn´t. Still, she wished so with all her heart. All the boys were looking at him awkwardly, yet none extended a hand to him.

The one... Ah, Ben. Ben Hanscom. Yes, that was his name. She didn´t know how she knew it, but she did. Anyway. He was next. That he had saw a walking corpse, wrapped in bandages, standing on ice that casted no shadow had called out to him. A mummy. That term didn´t help any meaning to her, but it seemed to awe the others, even frighted them. The mummy was wearing a clown suit, and was holding in his hand balloons that floated against the wind. Ben had run for his life, and when he got the courage to look back, it wasn´t there. He tried to convince himself that it hadn´t be real as he hurried home, that no monsters were real except those wrapped in human skin. That it all been a nightmare. And it was really one, Louise thought. The nightmare of reality.

Eddie said to one of the remaining boys, the one that had called Bill Big Bill, who doubted Ben´s story, that: nothing like that ever happened to you, huh? The boy simply answered that the scariest thing he had see lately was Mark Prenderlist taking a leak in McCarron Park. She had never heard that expression either, but the meaning was clear. Gross.

Ben asked the same of the remaining one, and called him by name. Stan. He told them no, almost ran away, stopped himself and said it wasn´t a clown. When he was about to elaborate, an irritating, rough booming voice interrupted them and

Louise waked up, sucking in a breath and beheld a familiar ceiling. It was the ceiling of her own room. For a moment, a wild hope overtook her. It was a dream, after all. It hadn´t happened, none of it. Her family was still alive, and Pennywise was still Pennywise, and he would come any second now to wake her up with that warm smile painted red on his face. Then, she sat up. The covers slid off her. She looked down at herself, and saw that she wasn´t wearing her nightclothes. She was wearing a simple, blue, long, flowing dress with flower patters on its helm and boots. She didn´t sleep without some pajamas and, in any case, the clothes she was wearing now weren´t not the ones she had put on when the headmaster made the announcement. It wouldn´t make sense for her to change into another dress, right before going to sleep. Which means some servant had changed her clothes. And that mean it had happened.

All of it.

A sudden dizziness assaulted her. She brought one hand to her temple as the room started spinning wildly around her. There was a click in her throat. She rushed out of the bed, nearly feel over, slammed open the door of the bathroom, bend over in front of the sink, and violently retched. She was like that for what feel like hours, expelling a burning, disgusting mess through her throat. When she finished, she watched dispassionately as yesterday´s dinner mixed with blood went down the sink and disappeared, feeling awful, feeling something approaching the closeness of death.

Some person knocked at her door twice, and then stopped. She considered not answering, simply curling herself into a ball on the bed and pretend nothing was happening, but she quickly discarded that idea. No. She didn´t have the right to run away from everything. She had brought It-she didn´t know why that name sounded so right for him, but it did- to Tristain and into the Valliere state. All that happened was her fault. Surely, It was a demon send here by the founder to punish her for even trying to summon a familiar, when she hadn´t casted a successful spell in all her...

Wait.

She though back to yesterday, to that strange chant that had suddenly come to her mind, and what the spell had done to Pennywise. It had dissolved its shape, until all left had been only an amorphous yellow blob. It may have killed It too, even though she thought that was unlike. Maybe... maybe that spell was a sign from the founder, telling her that she had to deal with It, her responsibility, if she was to become a proper noble. Or something like that.

She went to the door, and opened it. A maid was behind it, her hands primly crossed on her lap. She tried to remember her name. She didn´t mingle with the cleaning staff, but mother insist-had always insisted that it was only proper to know the names of your servants, and take care so they were in prime condition and happy with their work. Even if it was only so they wouldn´t stab you in the back first chance they got. Try as she might, though, she couldn´t remember it, so she gave out.

"What is it?"

"Lady Eleanor´s body was discovering inside a room with a broke down door. But we were unable to discover Karin´s body, despite that we searched high and low for it. I am sorry, for everything." it didn´t really surprise her, she had thought as much various times before, but hearing that for her lips, finally knowing for sure, hurt more that she expected. "A letter was written, and send to Lord Erwin. We though best to postpone the funeral until your father get´s here. Do you have anything you need, Lady Louise? Or any questions?"

"Just one thing. Tell the staff that I will be here in my room, and that I will lock the door. They are not to disturb me in any way, unless it is for a truly serious matter. Not even to bring me food. I... I need to be alone right now. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Lady Louise. I understand. I shall do so." she said, bowed and went away. Louise closed the door behind the maid, locked it and put her back against the door. She let out a breath she didn´t even know she was holding, put her hands over her mouth and broke down. Her body was wracked by spasmodic shakes. She dragged herself towards the bed, wavering as if drunk. Shit. It had been so hard to hold back tears when talking to that maid... it was not only that she couldn´t let the staff see her cried, but that she didn´t want to cry in front of anybody at all. Just Cattleya. But she was gone.

She sank to her knees, quietly whimpering, and buried her face in the mattress of the bed. She stayed like that for quite some time, until she gathered enough streght to calm down. She wiped her tears off with the back of her hands, and got into bed. She curled into a ball. She tried to sleep, but couldn´t. So she laid there, awake, staring at the blank ceiling, trying to not think about anything yet thinking all the same.

Completely alone.

It twitched in that amorphous blob that It had be reduced to, calling on Its will, trying to meld the scattered parts of Its form into another, solid one, no matter which and was meet only with pain, great roaring pain all over its form that blinded all conscious thoughts, leaving only shock and, yes, fear. Its only weakness was thus: that, for all Its power, It must obey the laws of the shape It took. It was Eternal, but It could die. Even if was just for several thousand years, while Its soul and Its body reformed in the deathligths, It could.

Once again, something new had happened. Those children had crossed his path before, twice. By the power of their combined imaginations, because they were guided by the hand of the Other, or both. One had burned Its eggs, crushed them under his foot and another- because It had been weakened by the Ritual Of Chud- had took of Its heart from Its true shape with his own hands. But It had never been reduced to such a state, when It couldn´t even muster enough streght to take a new shape. All of it was preposterous, utterly unthought of, and, most of all, humiliating. Because It was suppose to be the one in control, and the world and all the meaningless squabbles inside nothing but presumptuous toys.

It dragged itself into a forest, and there It waited, shrieking and insane in the deathlights which were Its eyes, Its shape trembling with fury. It didn´t realize when, It was for too gone for such a thing, but at some point It feel the pain fading into nothing, and that weight that seemed to push against It every time It sought to transform did, too. It changed, assuming Its favorite shape, the clown that he called Bob Gray or Robert Gray, and knelled in the darkness of the forest, spitting out blood, howling, mewling and screaming into the night upon a pool of Its own strange blood not caring if It would be heard, because It was once again back in Its proper place, and Its power worked to ensure that no sound It made could be heard and Its own shape was invisible.

It had endured, like It always did. It was here like this because It had let that girl, that stupid little girl that called herself Its master, hit It with a spell and against all that was conceivable, she had managed to wound It. It couldn´t have possibly foresee that, but It was alright now. Alright. Because next time, It wasn´t going to let that girl prepare that spell, whatever it was, nor even let her see It. But not after this, after It had recovered fully, but later. It would spend up Its plans, though. It would throw the four kingdoms into disarray, and would throw the Elves against them, creating a war between all those pathetic mewling things immersed in a hate they didn´t understand for reasons they didn´t understand. And then It would come for her, and let her watch every moment leading up to this whole puny universe being turned into Its private game reserve, and the people being forced to acknowledge It as their supreme emperor, watching how her spirit crumbled with the knowledge that it was her fault, that even if she didn´t know nothing beyond the egg of her own universe, that It had even looked at this level of the Dark Tower was because of her actions.

It would fed well, oh yes, it would been a feast to remember, and then It would reinstate the cycle of eating and sleeping here until this world laid bare, like so many others.

Only then would that insolent little bitch join the deathlights.

Joseph was alone, sitting in his throne, one hand cupping his face, contemplating the recent happenings. All was moving according to his designs. Soon Reconquista would take over Albion, and prepared the stage for the invasion of Tristania. His own familiar, Sheffield, would ensure Oliver Cromwell, that pathetic fool who though himself the leader, wouldn´t screw it all up. She do it, because the familiar runes had made her fall madly in love with him to ensure her obedience. He didn´t care. He just wishfully wondered if he killed her, if he stared into her eyes as life went out of her, saw her betrayed expression, would he cry? It was wort a shot, in time.

Wardes would be there on a mission from Reconquista, to kill the prince of Albion and take the Princess letter, so Germania would abolish the alliance. That man was a traitor, and you couldn´t trust traitor´s too much, but whatever it succeed or not didn´t matcher. The prince was dead either way, and when the invasion on Tristania began, the Germania´s would seek an alliance with them. Tristania hadn´t no chance of winning, and Germania couldn´t face them alone, so that was indubitably what would happen.

The recent happenings with that girl, Tristania´s Void user, were noticeable, but they didn´t held any meaning towards him. For all he cared, that girls familiar could murder the entire country right under the noses of everybody. It sure as hell would make his job easier. He laughed, just because he though this was how it was supposed to be. His laugh resonating in the empty, vast throne room, sounding even more hollow that it already was.

Oh, he didn´t have conclusive evidence for that. All he he was that the murders-for each one of them were murders- had begun happening after the summoning of that strange 'man'. But it was possible, and that was all it mattered. As for the girl, she may as well be dead with all she could affect things. The Tristanian´s didn´t even know what she really was, so they wouldn´t seek to use her, and she couldn´t go to war against his forces... Which was a shame, really.

He almost wished things were different, than that young Void user could march to war and stop his plans. Maybe he feel something, then. When his plans came crashing down around him, the crown for what he had killed his brother made meaningless when his city burned, and he was killed. Yes, maybe then he could feel. Regret, anger, despair, sadness. Anything at all was fine to him. Joseph didn´t care about his familiar, about the people he was supposed to protect, about the things he claimed to support or he claimed to go against. He didn´t care about anything but his own heart.

Joseph heard a strange sound, a crack, turned towards the noise and there was his brother Charles, right in front of him, just like the day he had killed him. He was dressed in tattered brown robes, the robes he had been buried with. The skin of the right side of his face, from his temple to just below his eye, was torn up and drenched with dried blood. Numerous small cuts were all across his chest, and a large one was just over his heart. His mouth was half open, showing that he had several broken teeth. Puke, mixed with blood, was stiffening across his lap. He had never believed in

spirits. Even with the wonders magic made possible, there were limits. But this made him doubt. With something approaching to ecstasy, he realized his heart was beating fast. He was scared! Finally, he was able to feel!

"Why are you here, Charles?" he asked, his tone firm, even though he had already knew the answer.

"Revenge, obviously." Charles said. His mouth moving produced a strange, grinding sound. Like he had it full of earth. Earth from his tomb. "You killed me, and you even got away with it. I hate you."

"Uh, that´s fine. I hate your guts too, Charles." he sounded calm, but his heart was beating even faster that before. His brother started advancing towards him. His footsteps didn´t make a sound. For the first time, he noticed that his brother didn´t cast a shadow.

"And why did you kill me? For self interest, and nothing more. You were more worried about that scrap of metal that of your own family."

"It was only natural. I didn´t want to do it, but I had to, Charles. You were going right under my nose, threatening the retainer and bribing my subjects, so you could take what was mine by right, what father had entrusted to me on his deathbed." Joseph let out a sigh. "Or so I though, at that time. Now, I didn´t care. I don´t care about anything at all, Charles. I am already as good as dead. So, go on. I won´t even fight back. Release from this world."

Charles stopped near him. He could felt his stale breath on his face, blowing back his hair. Joseph´s hands started to shake, despite everything.

"You are disgusting, brother. You cover yourself in a shell of Void to not have to look at your true self. But it doesn´t matter anymore. At least, be grateful for that." Charles said, and laughed. Joseph closed his eyes, and waited for his dead. This had been it, after all. His locked feelings had been a punishment from the founder, from God itself, for staining his hands with the blood of his own brother. He couldn't see anything wrong with killing him. Charles dead was the best for him, and the kingdom himself. It was better for the people to think the brother of the king had be murdered by some crazed killer, that for them to know he had been a traitor. Even planting clues in the house of a suitable scapegoat, and arranging for false testimony so that man would be condemned and executed for killing Charles had been justified. He couldn´t let the people think there was a craze killer among them, and nobody was doing anything to fix that. But evidently, this was how things were. Maybe in death he could find some sort of peace.

He waited patiently, without opening his eyes. And when that cold, dead hand finally touched his neck...

Joseph smiled.

It took some time before they found Joseph´s body. He had not let out even one scream while It tore him apart, wearing the skin of his brother. He had just laughed, shrilling, piercingly, a laugh appropriate only for a mad man, so even if some people had passed next to the throne room during that time, they would surely have changed their minds about going inside. Also, he had worked to set himself up as an incompetent, childish king, so nobody sought his opinion for anything nor his company. The only times somebody other that Sheffield visited him was when they needed him to sign something, and even those times were rare. So when some servants thought about checking on the king, night had already fallen. And they found him.

What was left of him, anyway.

His torn and mangled body was on the floor, in front of his throne. His left eye had be torn up, leaving only an empty socket. Half of his left arm was missing, and was full of bite marks. All his teeth had been broken, and his mouth was filled with blood. There was big, bleeding wound on his gut, leaving his entrails hanging out. Both of his legs had been broken, and twisted in inhuman angles. On the wall behind, there was a message written in the king´s blood, framed by the kings entrails. It read: I meet the king. We had a nice chat, and then, well... things happened. And I will come from the rest of you bastards next, so take care. Sleep tight. Next to the message, there had been draw the face of a court jester with creepy ear to ear grin.

The first person to seen it, a servant named Evan, fainted on the spot. He was but a commoner, so he never got the physiological help he needed. He couldn´t also seek it himself, since, even though he was a servant at the royal palace, the pay wasn´t that good. He tried to forget it all, but Joseph´s corpse, all that blood, the message and, especially, that drawing of the jester followed him up to his deathbed.

The other servants also couldn´t stomach it, but they didn´t faint. They ran out of the room, and sounded the alarm. There was a fuss, of course. Some guards were left on the throne room to investigate the crime scene, and the rest searched high and low for the culprit. They didn´t find it, nor even a trance of it. Obviously. The culprit, It, had already left Gallia hours before Joseph´s body was discovered. Then again, finding It was impossible from the beginning. If It didn´t want to be seen, then It wasn´t seen. Simple as that.

The news of Joseph´s killing quickly got out, and there was much panic. To reduce that, the nobles of the royal palace took the easy way out. They found a scapegoat, and publicly executed him so the common rabble could be satisfied, then continued their investigation to find the true culprit in secret. Not because they cared about Joseph, but because that, if somebody had managed to kill the king in his throne room without nobody being the wiser, the same could also happen to the next king. Which was another problem, as of itself. Joseph hadn´t never fathered an heir. None that was know about, anyway. Charlotte was thought dead, and her mother couldn't rule in her state. So the king´s adviser was crowed king. He wasn´t in any way related to the monarchy, but still, this wasn´t disputed by anybody. That was the only proper solution they had left.

And It, the only remaining macroverse dweller, the Eater Of Worlds, watched all of this from the shadows, laughing in the darkness of its hideout, all of its little smoke and mirrors discarded for the moment, letting itself stand in the magnificence on the closest approximation of its real form the world could handle. Just for the moment.

Louise spend the rest of the day in bed, unable the sleep. She felt kind of angry, but she couldn´t muster enough effort to care about it, so she didn´t eat anything. The following day was just the same. She though a lot about that dreadful morning in which Cattleya had awoke her so suddenly, the harsh truths that had come with it and, most of all, the moment in which It, hidden in the shape of a wolf, had tore up her sister´s body. She could still remember the blood that had got stuck in his claws, impossibly bright under the light of the sun. All that blood that had flowed out of the huge gash It had made on her sister´s neck. She remembered all of it with clarity.

Her mind furiously worked over those few minutes-it seemed like it had been so long, but in reality it had been only a few minutes- thinking about she did, if she could have found a way to prevent Cattleya´s brutal murder and came to the conclusion that she could have. True, She didn´t know how she had done what she did to hurt It, so she couldn´t have found about that strange spell sooner. But, in she hadn´t chosen to believe Bob over her own big sister, she couldn't have passed out, and so Cattleya would have not be taken off guard. She would have had a chance to fight back.

It still couldn´t have changed anything. It had even defeated mother, so Cattleya didn`t stand a chance. Regardless of that, though, that it had gone down that way had been her fault. Not to mention, that It was even a threat had been her fault, as well. She was guilty, there was no two ways about it. No matter how much she wanted to run away from responsibility of it all, the facts remained what they were.

At the night of the second day, she had trouble staying awake, but she didn´t feel sleep. She made sure of that. She took off one of her old sewing needles from one of the drawers, and pitched her index finger with it every time she started feeling a little drowsy. It was far for a perfect solution, and she pinched herself hard enough to draw blood a couple of times, but it worked. She didn´t get a wink of sleep that night, either.

When the sun set again, she didn´t have any more urge that we she had when she locked herself in her room, but still, she got out of the bed and changed her clothes. Father would surely arrive today. There was also the possibility that the message had be delayed a little, but if so, she could just go back to bed. Didn´t change anything. She combed her hair carefully. When she finished, she looked at herself on the mirror. She was mess. Oh, her hair was fine, and she looked pretty and prim. But her eyes were puffy, red and there were dark shadows under them. Unseemly, mother would surely say it.

Not like it matters, though. She is dead.

She winced. It was true, but it seemed kind of harsh. Like she was being unfair. Then again, mother had always been unfair with her, no matter how much love she showed to her, no matter how much she admired her. Fair is fair, after all. She laughed. Her laugh was empty, and in the silence of her room it kind of freaked her out, so she shut up almost immediately. She clenched her hair. Calm, calm. There was no meaning in lose time like this. She had to advance forward, if anything was to change. She could do this.

She took a novel she hadn´t read in a while from her shelf, and went out. Some servants tried to approached despite what she had told that maid that come to her room two days ago, but she politely dismissed them. When she got out and into the courtyard, she couldn´t help but notice a huge hole in one of the walls. She grimaced, and looked away from it. She looked around for the closest seat, approached and settled down, put the book down on her lap, opened it and started reading, waiting for the arrival of her father´s carriage.

That Burning Heart was one of her favorite novels, from one of her favorite authors, but she trouble concentrating on it. Every now and them, she looked up from the book and into the distance, even though she hadn´t heard anything, and there would still take hours for him to arrive, if he arrived today at all. Though, somewhere around the middle of the book, when the main character was brutally murdered and crucified by the antagonism, she started to lose herself in the reading.

After several hours, she heard it. The creaking of wheels. She stood up, set the book down on the table, and prepared to greet her father properly and for the conversation that would follow. When she realized what was in front of her eyes, her heart almost stopped. Almost at the entrance to the Valliere estate, there was her father´s carriage, no doubt. And trailing behind him, there was the Princess carriage, with Griffon Knights flying above it in their mounts.

Henrietta was here.