Hello there, again! Shorter and kinda interludish chapter this time. Just building the road for the end of the third book. Next will come the duelling tournament and the Quidditch camp.
Many a lord would claim that the signals were not so plain to sight, that their hearts could rest in peace as they had no blame on the matter. Yet I do know such a thing is but a lie. A lie I will not tell myself, may what little honour I have left remain unscathed. As I look back now, I can but admit it all was as clear as water.
So a question comes to my mind. Why was I so blind? Because of my hubris, as I never came to even think I could be the one to fail in a task none of my ancestors failed to carry out? Because I had grown lazy and stupid, as the Frontier had been unbreached for centuries? Because I had so much faith in my Guardians and their skills? I have yet to find the answer. Mayhaps it was bound to happen. Mayhaps I just had the bad fortune to be born at such an age. Fate dictates what it shall to either the lowborn and the highborn, after all.
All I know is the Pact has been broken, though by their hands. Now they are free to roam this world and make a hell of it. I also know that I will not get to see such horrors. I have become a disgrace to my House, therefore I will wear the black as I breathe one last time.
Magic have mercy on this world and its people, for the Storm has come.
Epitaph of a haunted lord, recorded by his own hand right before his death; date unknown.
Chapter 54 - Looming shadow
A faint whispering was all Levitt could hear; so had been for hours. He stood with his back against a wall, far from all these experts and their debates. Not as if he had been invited to join them, of course. His eyes were closed, as he had no need for his sight as of that moment. Not when his hearing was all he required.
The darkness of the chamber, barely repelled by dim torches and bars of dull light embedded into the walls, did nothing but to increase his uneasiness. More so when it did so little to warm it.
An enraged roar rose stronger and mightier above all those whisperings; yet not so thunderous anymore. Weeks of torment and torture did that to anyone. Even to such a monster of a beast. A Men's Bane, it had been called. A creature which once preyed and feasted upon human flesh and bone, many centuries ago. He could believe such tales.
Levitt had seen, and done, plenty of horrendous things since he had a memory. He had grown up in one of the most dangerous places on earth, the underground city of Blackdusk; a place where weakness was taken for a wish for an early grave. To survive, he had earned his bread and water in the Tartarus, the city's arena and main spectacle. He had seen friends drop dead in front of him; some even by his own hands. He had robbed, killed and tortured for the pleasure of some rich lords of the Underworld. Then he had won his freedom, just to become a mercenary. Nothing changed, save the fact his friends did not fall dead anymore. Not so oftenly, at least.
Yet none of that could compare to what he had felt the day he felled the Men's Bane.
Death was the end for all, no matter who. Rich and poor bleed and die the same, so did weak and strong, young and old, wizard and muggle and beast. So had this creature die as many others before it, by his sword and magic. Just to take another breath minutes later. Extremely weak, yes, but alive. Levitt had never felt such shock like that he felt that day. Nor had he felt so much dread.
If Death could not take them into her boat, then…
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden banging of the door. His instincts seized control and put him on the edge; ready to jump like a spring at the slightest sight of danger. But what came into the large chamber was not a danger, but a wounded Hunter being carried by two of his comrades.
His robes were untouched, and what little skin of his could be seen was not tarnished by any wound nor blood. Still he was so pale, flesh so milky one could but assume the worst. He was dropped on a bed at the end of the chamber, and a bunch of those arrogant erudites were quick to swarm him; as if ravens drawn to carrion.
For a few minutes time seemed to still in the chamber. The whispering returned even fiercer than before as they undressed the man and brought their medical tools to them. Even the Men's Bane seemed to halt its roaring.
The man's howls and weeping soon became a sombre melody.
Levitt finally reached the end of his ever short patience. "What happened to him?" he asked one of the Hunters who had brought that poor soul.
The woman, a short lass of dark hair and scar-ridden face sent him a dark glance as she walked past Levitt. So he grabbed her by the arm. "Listen to me, woman," he said before she could open her mouth. "I've been jailed in here for more than two weeks, standing like a fool as I see that no danger comes to those bastards dressed in red. And all for nothing, as if anything could breach the wards around this place. I need answers, and I asked you a question. Else I will find the need to interrogate one of those fuckers, and I doubt it will end well."
Whether it was work of his words or the cold glare sent at her, the woman replied as she shook away from his grip. "That man has a name, and it's Desmond. We were deployed in Argentina, to see if some rumours were more than gossip. For days and nights we walked the country and searched for any damn track of this so-rumoured beast, yet we found nothing. We grew confident then, so it took us all by surprise when the creature fell upon us. Such hellish monster against a squad of five seasoned Hunters, yet it managed to tear one apart and to… To do whatever it did to Desmond. I would have put an end to his suffering myself, but we had orders to bring him here so these damned Asclepios's Acolytes could run some tests on him. I pray for his soul to find peace."
She spared Levitt a last glance; one full of contempt. "You and your lot may wear our colours now, mercenary. You may call yourself a Hunter. But you aren't one of us. I can see it in your eyes, how low you think of us and our cause. Stupid, isn't it? To die in the field for some bastards who will never know it was us who fought for them. Well, this fight means all to us. You should do well remembering my words." That said, she stormed out of the chamber.
Levitt waited a few minutes, then stepped out of the chamber. Outside waited a wide, dimly-lighted hallway. Walls, floor and ceiling were of grey stone alike, devoid of any decoration save the many doors of dark wood which broke the pattern. He just walked past them all, feeling no desire to know what loomed inside. Finally he reached the end of the hallway, and he was welcomed into a large hall, as austere and cold as the rest of the place.
A bald man stood close to a wooden corbel, so still under his dark and red cloak he could be mistaken as a statue. Only the sound of a quill scratching paper told Levitt otherwise. Before he could think better he found himself walking toward the man whose name he recalled. Gerard, the Hunter who had been tasked to watch him on his first mission.
The tapping of his boots against the rough floor made Gerard halt his writing, closing his notebook as he turned around. "Long time no see, Levitt." He seemed to have aged ten years in the span of a few months. White strands filled his beard as they now outnumbered their black counterparts. Deep bags sunk his eyes into his skull, and his face made a show of two new scars; one across his forehead and one across his left cheek which made a dent on his beard.
"You've seen better times," Levitt said bluntly, coming to stand a few steps from the man. There was no chair around, so he spared no mercy to his tired legs and asked of them to keep up.
Gerard could but show him the hint of a mirthless smile. "Indeed I have. And so have you, it seems to me. This is no place for a man such as you, Levitt, of few words and so little patience."
Never one to exchange pleasantries, Levitt went straight to the point. "Who are these Asclepios's Acolytes?"
"Hell if I know anymore," Gerard muttered. "Though I can tell you what they are supposed to be and do; the purpose why they were created. Their order is but another part of the Hunter's Union, born out of pain and misery. Once, it was formed by wounded Hunters who no longer were able to fight and serve, or by Hunters who had not the spirit to fight yet wanted to help the cause. The books speak of them as great healers and erudites; men and women who made a vow to never raise a hand nor a word but to heal and help. Nowadays many wonder where such vows went, however. I myself am one of them."
"How many friends have you led to their deaths?" Levitt asked suddenly. It almost surprised him to hear those words coming out of him. Almost.
His question drew a scowl on Gerard's face. "Far too many to count them," he still answered, "but far less than I will ten years from now. If I'm still alive then, of course."
"Why? For the sake and whims of a pureblood lord who may never know your names and faces? For money, perhaps? Or is it glory that many of you seek? We are not so different, Hunters and mercenaries, if so."
Gerard's eyes fell upon him, yet there was no trace of rage nor contempt in them. But there was of surprise. "Who was it that made you think so?"
"That woman who brought that dead man inside," Levitt said with a shrug.
"Oh, so it was Maria! You won't find a fiercer and more honourable woman for much you seek. Say, do you know why many Hunters speak ill of you and your people? Why are you met with distrustful glances anywhere you go?"
"I know the reasons, yet I don't understand them. Answer my question, please."
"Oh, but I'm doing so already!" Gerard said with a smile. "You asked me whether it was money or glory which we sought. Neither of them, I say. Perhaps many are seduced by such things, just as you were seduced by Lord Kovanen's protection. But all it takes is a few years of service to know better. One may find plenty of money and glory in this living, but also plenty of death. One may survive, if skilled enough. But many of those whom you shared a meal and a drink with will perish in front of you. Perhaps even innocent people, too, such as children and elders. It is then when one no longer finds gold and glory so beautiful a thing. Say, why do you think those who survive the first years are so loyal to the cause?"
"You tell me," Levitt said sourly.
"Because we found in the Union a great cause, one far greater than oneself." These were no words said out of the spur of the moment, Levitt could tell. For one reason or another, this was a prepared speech. "No matter one's upbringing or nature, all is long forgotten once you wear these colours. Many people think of us as wands for hire to get rid of a problematic pest or beast. Mercenaries in all but name. They couldn't be more oblivious to the ugly truth. We are the watchers of horrors no man should ever know, Levitt. It is us who protect the people from things worse than death, even if our names are to be never known by them. Isn't that a wonderful cause to fight, and die, for? So I came to understand long ago. So it goes for my brothers and sisters in arms."
Levitt considered his words for a moment. "You are a bunch of fools and dreamers," he could only say. "There's nothing worse than us humans. Life is but a game for the strong. A game in which they enjoy watching the weak fighting for what little crumbs they are left, up there in their seats of gold and blood. There's no honourable cause to fight for. Just one that may allow you and your loved ones to survive easier. Back then it was my life as a mercenary, now it is that as a Hunter. Different words, same shit."
He walked away without further word, so fed up with this place and the orders he had been given that one thought rose above all else: he needed to get out.
"Fighting is all you have ever known, is it not?" Levitt halted, much to his surprise and annoyance. "Ever the loyal and rabid dog, you have been. Never one to bite the hand which fed you, nor one to love it. A broken toy, going from one hand to another. You can put an end to such life, you know? I want you to look into the eyes of each and every man and woman you meet in the Union. I want you to see their resolve, their faith in this cause. Sometimes a fight can be made for a good cause, even if you do not believe so. The storm is coming, I'm afraid, and the world is to know of its horrors. You and your people included, whether you like it or not. Think of this conversation. We could use a wand such as yours."
It was Gerard who walked away as Levitt was unable to move. The sound of his footsteps waned as the man ventured into the dark hallway. The fainter they became, the louder echoed his words in Levitt's head. Who did he believe himself to be to assume so of Levitt?
Still he found himself thinking about their conversation once dusk came. A fair cause to fight for. Could such a thing exist? He doubted so. But what once had been certainty had now turned into doubt, he realised. By the time the moon crowned the sky Levitt was still confused. So it happened once the sun dispelled the night away.
And he got up from his bed not having slept a second. All he could think about was one thing—could it be possible to at last find peace?
Morning was dark and cold. So was the afternoon. So was the night. From dawn until dusk. For so long that it felt like a dream, almost endless. Though it was not, for dreams were not meant to feel so real. So alive.
It did not matter how bright the sun shone atop the sky, how its warm rays fell all over the manor and its fields. How the birds sang and how the nature spirits flew over the lake. How could it matter, when all Elend saw where the corpses of those Lethifolds he had slayed one after another?
They filled the once so beautiful fields of the manor; spots of darkness amidst the bright picture. And where they had bleed, a thick and black fluid their wounds secreted in negligible amounts, the flowers had died and the soil had rotted and the water had darkened.
And their screams had also rotted Elend's mind, that he knew.
Even after death, their screams haunted him. And they did not leave for much he closed his mind to them. Once, he had believed for his so great Occlumency to be a feat to be proud of. And now he realised how useless it was; as if a wall of hay to a firestorm. Not against these creatures of hell. Pictures of violence their screams brought upon him. A hell he had believed to be forgotten, or at least deep buried under way happier memories.
All he had lived during the Great War had come back to him. The faces of those men and women whose lives he had ended. The faces of those friends and allies whose smiles and laughs had once filled the feasts and halls. That demon in flesh and bone by the name of Lord Voldemort.
But that was just a small part of all he saw. The most beautiful one.
His mind was also sieged by memories which did not belong to him. Of an ever dark sky in which the sun never shone anymore. Of dead and rotted forests and fields in which no ounce of colour could be seen. Of dry oceans. Of hideous creatures which feasted upon the flesh and bone of those Elend loved. Of a never ending cycle of blood, and then of light, and then of darkness. His story and that of his House, erased from all memory. His son and daughter, corpses to be feasted upon, too. Of a crimson star in the dark sky, which fell and fell, getting closer and closer.
And then it hit. And the world exploded in flames.
Just then did Elend Shawn open his eyes. He stood atop the roof of his manor, with a ragged breath and a tired sight. His sword, Legatum, felt heavy on his hand. Perhaps due to the amount of black blood that soaked its blade. But he was woken up by the screams once more. They had come yet again, those damned Lethifolds.
And Legatum rose to answer them once more. Though it rose by a most exhausted hand, which trembled not only in exhaustion but also in fear. And the Voice then rumbled all over the place, akin to the sound of a glass being scratched yet far more terrible. Far too inhuman.
"Soon I shalt return. Reap thy soul I shalt, as commands the oath my King once giveth me. Dareth not die this soon, Elend Shawn. Thou shalt become my prey. Thus our return shalt be announced to the world."
They came and Elend lunged forward with a shout.
Only to be stopped by the touch of a warm hand upon his shoulder. "What?" the lord mused. How long had it been since he last felt anything but cold and despair? "Have they won, finally? Am I dead?"
The warm hand rose, and it fell upon his face in a powerful slap. It tumbled him down the rooftop, and his eyes finally saw the world again. It was a warm day, sunny and windless; the bright rays fell upon the black tides as if seeking to warm the polished stone.
"The hell has happened to you, Elend?" He knew that voice, he realised. It belonged to Shana. So he turned around, and there he found her. Of fiery and wild hair, with a scar which ran down her entire face, it was her green eyes which caught him off guard. For it was worry and fear what they showed.
"Have I won, then?" he asked again. The words came out so raspy through his pained throat. "Have I defeated them, Shana? Am I free of their torment?" Legatum was casted away due to a dent in his focus; he felt a wave of panic at such a loss. His sword, his ever loyal companion, had been all which had protected him from those monsters.
She stood at a loss for words. Instead a new pair of hands seized him and helped Elend to stand up on his feet; though rough and calloused, they kind of felt soft on his shoulders.
Nathan, that was his name. His most loyal servant. "Win? Hell if I know, my lord. But I do know you killed plenty of that vermin. I have never seen so many corpses in such a small place. Was this your mighty plan? To face a swarm of Lethifolds by yourself? If so, allow me to call out your stupidity, just for once."
"It was my plan, yes," Elend answered, still dazed and lost. He took in every detail as if they were a new sight, every flash of colour and soft noise; they felt as wonderful as water would to a thirsty man. "I needed to bait them here, a place of my choosing. I needed to kill them all. They would not leave me alone, you see. Every night they came to visit my dreams, and I could not fight them there. I told Jiru to lower the manor's wards, now I remember. I wanted to make this place a hell for them. To send the Voice a message."
Nathan and Shana glanced at one another.
"I'm not mad," Elend almost hissed. He took a step away from Nathan, but he found it too arduous a task. His legs wobbled and his sight darkened. And yet again was Nathan there to support him.
"No one questioned your sanity, my lord," he said. "But you are exhausted and dehydrated, that's evident. Famished too, most likely. Allow me to summon Jiru. It will be just the four of us."
Food and water, and a warm, soft bed and a hot shower. He had no heart to refuse such wonders as of that moment. "Rise the wards once more and take me inside," Elend mused. "I need to rest." And so he closed his eyes and the world turned black yet again.
It was a peaceful sleep that he had; one long and restorative.
It felt far too long and short at the same time. On the one hand, Elend knew he needed to wake up and rise in answer to the Voice. On the other hand… He just wanted for it all to end. To surrender and never wake up. But then all he had to do was to remember his name. He belonged to the Great House of Shawn, therefore weakness was not a choice for him.
So he did, though his eyes took a few seconds to get used to such warm and soft light. He'd been laid on his large bed, blue and gold covers draped over him. And it was through the wide and oval window, that with views to the pond, through which the sunlight seeped through.
"Feeling a bit better?" Shana's soft voice woke him up. The young woman had taken a seat close to the bed on a pillowed stoll of golden leather. She dropped the book she'd been reading on the bed; 'History of the Wizarding World', its cover said in white over black.
"A bit, yes," Elend replied hoarsely. "Is there any water?"
Shana flicked her fingers and a long glass of water appeared on her hands. She handed it to Elend, who made quick work of it. "You had us so worried," the witch began. "No matter how many times we wrote to you, there was no answer. At times I thought you had lost your head and gone to attack the very Tower of Merlin. Your son wrote to me, then. He told me about his concerns; that he had been denied entry to his own home but knew you were still here. So I decided to put an end to this foolishness of yours. Nathan had the same idea, it seemed."
"This is not foolishness." Though better, it still felt tough to speak aloud; had it been so long since he last did so? "It's a mess I got myself in. Now I need to get out of it myself, too."
"Lethifolds," Shana observed curtly. "Hundreds, perhaps. Too many to count them. Dead, all of them. By your sword if not by your wand." She took a moment to observe him, but no reply was there to answer her wordless question. "This mess is all caused by the Nightwalker Potion, isn't it? God, so the legends were true…"
"The legends are always true," a harsher voice cut in. It was Nathan's, who stood across the large chamber, leaning onto the door, like a stalking shadow. "Look at you, my lord. Not even the Great War could put the proud Elend Shawn under a tomb, so the mighty lord decided to do so himself."
Such impertinence needed to be punished or at least called out, Elend knew. Had the circumstances been different, he would have done so. But the little strength he had left allowed him but an annoyed scowl. "After I took the potion, nothing happened for months," he said, at last. "It was on a cold day of winter when the Voice came to me. Here, in this very manor; a place I had believed to be impregnable. It was after my soul, it told me. That its sons and daughters, the Lethifolds, would come to reap it from me as it was yet unable to reap it itself because of some old oaths."
There was no other source of noise save for his voice. Even the sun seemed to share their sombre mood, for its rays now shone darker and weaker through a river of clouds.
"Then the nightmares began," Elend went on, almost lost in his own tale, "so frequent, so vivid… Was all I saw real or a dream? I could no longer tell them apart. And the Lethifolds then came, as the Voice had promised. A few touches against the wards was all they tried at first. Then grew in numbers and boldness, and I knew there was no other option but to confront them. It's been months since the fight began, or so I think."
For a minute no one dared to break the silence, as if waiting for Elend to finish his tale. But the once mighty lord could only look at his right hand, so calloused and thick-skinned as it was. Such a hand had wielded Legatum for days and nights, slaying countless creatures worthy of tales to scare children at night. A glorious song could be composed about it, he thought with a mirthless smile. One of those epic songs Elend, as a child, once dreamt to protagonice.
"I'll clean the gardens out of that vermin," Nathan said suddenly. "Your daughter already visits you on so little occasions. You better not scare her with such dark spectacle, else her lady mother will come here herself to murder you. I reckon she won't need further encouragement." And he left with a grim smile on his face; ever one to enjoy such humour.
"I would have helped you," Shana sighed. "All you needed to do was to ask. After all we've gone through, a few Lethifolds wouldn't have scared me."
"That's exactly why I did not ask your help," Elend said as he pulled the covers down. It took him quite the effort to stand up on such tired and punished legs, but he did so without a gesture of pain nor complaint. "Besides, you already had your own plans. I could see it in your eyes."
Shana kept her seat, glancing up to him. "I couldn't find Levitt," she said at last. "Well, I did find him, but he was out of my reach, as the Hunter he's become. What's more, he didn't bother to answer any of my letters; damned be that gloomy midget! Knowing I had lost him, I myself tried to hunt down Jordan for a while. But every lead I got led to a dead end. And there was my dear Order of Merlin, too. I bumped into them in every dead end I met. Well, I took a bit of relief from that, but… Anyhow, I failed; that's it. There's no excuse."
Elend dressed himself in gold and blue; a robe to fall over his trousers and shirt, cleaned and scented, which Jiru had prepared for him. "So you settled for another plan," he observed. "Which, if I may venture, could possibly lead us to Jordan?"
"I myself don't know," Shana admitted. "Is but a gamble of mine. Regardless, I'm afraid I cannot tell you much about it. The less it's known about it, the more chances for me to succeed."
"If so, I will ask you no questions. It was long ago when I learned you were of trust, lady Shana." Elend closed his eyes and casted Legatum to his hands. The sword, cold and pale as ice itself, clashed against his wand, warm and alive. Together, so different and unique in their own regard, they brought a sense of strength back to him.
"This Voice you mentioned, is it back?" Shana asked as she sprung up, a guarded gleam in her eyes.
"No," Elend said. "It isn't, surprisingly. Not because I grew strong enough to repel it, I'm afraid, but because it has decided to remain silent, for one reason or another. I should feel happy and grateful, but it's dread that fills my heart instead. I fear our conflict against the Order of Merlin has angered the world, for too much blood was spilled. I can feel the storm coming, my lady. A storm as the world has not seen since Voldemort fell."
Elend could feel her eyes on his back as he made his way out of the chamber. "What about the Ring? It's Herpo's horcrux, and Jordan has it in his power. Could it not be the cause of this storm?"
He stopped a moment close to the door, and said without turning back: "Let us worry about such a storm come its time. Now I must finish the battle I started. There's a dozen Lethifolds yet to be slayed."
And Legatum roared, delighted, anxious to purge the world from such horrors.
