Sepulcher Heart - Volume One Part One

[Celestial_Bleh 224]

 

Sepulcher Heart
Volume One Part One

For a fully illustrated pdf: Sepulcher Heart - Volume One Part One

 

Prologue

Lord Raithorn lounged by the window, wine sloshing in his jewel-encrusted goblet. He listened to the screaming howls from below. They were the unmistakable, guttural warble of beasts. Sometimes with the bark of a command, sometimes with a whine of pain, and, sometimes, a dark howl drowned them all, laughing in its own cruel way. No purpose to it than for the sheer joy of exulting in bloodshed. 

A dribble of Fortengue’s 1300 made itself acquainted with Lord Raithorn’s collar. What a mess. A finger flicked. Nothing happened. The lord grew truly irate. His hand swayed but not in the way he wished it until the third try, beckoning towards himself, at last, the ever-present guard. 

“Vellikor.” Lord Raithorn drawled, the wine making him sound out the beginning longer than necessary for it sounded rather pleasant on the ears. Far more pleasant than the howls that drew ever closer. “I believe it is time to prepare for my death.” 

The stalwart guardian showed no sign of surprise. The lord wondered if it was capable of feeling such. “I can prepare your will.” It rumbled. 

Despite being the one to have suggested it, and still feeling it very much needed, Lord Raithorn grew frustrated at Vellikor’s quick acceptance. “My will?” He cried, aghast. “Prepare my death!” 

“What method would you prefer?” 

The jewel-encrusted goblet of silver clattered against Vellikor’s armor. It didn’t flinch. “Listen! Bend that ear of yours to the drabble outside! I know you possess a keen one for I ensured such craft myself.” He paused and, whether for its own benefit or his, Vellikor tilted its head towards that narrowed window. 

“You hear it, yes? It is the siren song beyond Death’s gates.” 

The guardian could certainly hear a pounding upon wooden gates but it knew this to be the work of beasts and that howling, ferocious Direheart. There was no singing. It judged, accurately, however, that Lord Raithorn did not wish to be corrected. “How shall I prepare?”

The lord slumped within that chair, shaking his head as though it were the most ridiculous question in the world. “I need time and resources and damn the thought of a will. I need an heir.” 

Vellikor awaited further words. When none came it prepared a mental list of questions to ask. It decided to start with the most difficult one. “Am I to bring you a wife then?” 

“NO!” The lord was kept from a following rant by the sudden, piercing crack of wood, the shattering of those gates quickly drowned by triumphant howls. He reached for his goblet but it was well across the room. 

“Vellikor.” A tremble had taken possession of his voice. “Go. Fulfill your duty and protect.”

Vellikor bowed. It left the room and descended the narrow, winding stairs without a fleck of fear or even mild concern. Rather, in the time it took for it to stroll across the inner courtyard, Vellikor had already drafted a list of still living relatives and narrowed it down to the best potential candidates. Presuming Lord Raithorn lived past the night. 

 

 

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I

It was an undeniable fact that a Lord Raithorn lived in a manor in a secluded wood a long, long ways away. What was not known was how this Lord Raithorn fit upon the family tree nor even what he looked like. The oldest of the eldest recalled there being a lord when she was young but not much elsewise. While some did investigate, nothing came up to discredit this lord in a manor that shared the family name. Nor did anyone truly wish to find something to discredit it. For certain members were given a decent allowance and birthday letters always came with much appreciated well wishes and coin. But no one ever visited and no one was ever invited. No one. Until, one day, an invitation came for Eric, Ernst, and Ezra. 

The invitations caused such a stir that the city guards thought a murder had occurred in the family. But, no, it was simply the Raithorns wondering about gold, treasures, trickery, and the health of the lord in the manor. For of the current living members, the brothers were not too old, not too young, not too abandoned and not too coddled. The perfect candidates from which to choose an heir. Or a meal. As the crotchety Goldhere continued to insist to all who had the misfortune of being within earshot.

The eldest, Eric, was of course presumed to be the obvious choice. Perhaps the other two were invited as a formality. Or, perhaps, the lord was to test all three and choose one from among them. Already were the invitations unconventional. Maybe he didn’t much care for age and the rights of the firstborn either. Whatever the plan, the brothers and their parents scrounged up the money for mended clothes, two fine horses, and a few more amenities. Quite a few were willing to donate. With the understanding that they would receive an invitation from whoever became the new lord, of course.

And so it was that Eric, the eldest, left upon a stalwart mare, fine clothes dyed a deep blue in remembrance of the Raithorn standard that no one remembered anymore. Ernst, the second eldest, rode on the other horse, a chestnut beauty, with an old dagger that supposedly belonged to a Raithorn knight once upon a time. Ezra, the youngest, rode behind Ernst, arms wrapped tight about his brother who took up much of the saddle. He bore nothing new save for a small book of children’s tales that Goldhere had shoved into his hands. ‘To keep you from being a meal,’ the crazed old man had claimed. 

 

 

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II

As the youngest, Ezra enjoyed the trip the least. Riding on the back of a shared horse was not the most comfortable. Nor was having the threadbare blanket on the floor of inn rooms nor the smallest portion of meals. Not even the promise of becoming a lord could make such a journey worth it in the end for much everyone had agreed that Ezra was the least likely of the three. No. What made it worth it was something else entirely. 

A deal that gave Ezra a blossoming hope to cling to. The mere thought of it put a smile upon his face even when Eric would suggest that Ezra walk beside their horses to give Chestnut a rest. Such a hope carried him through Eric’s stubbornness when going the wrong direction and Ernst’s proclivity for sleeping through their intended time of departure. It held strong when rains buffeted him and nearly caused him to slip from the back of Chestnut. It comforted him all the way to the last town upon their journey and up to that town’s gates, where the three lingered before the woods the manor lay within. Then did it desert him. 

The town itself had been odd. The woods were foreboding. Lengthening shadows stole across the heath, crafting shapes that clawed at where they stood, drawing closer as the sun sank below the grasp of the trees. A large, gnarled oak kept watch over the path that led deeper within, its knots seeming to come together akin to eyes, boughs splaying as many-armed limbs that danced in the evening breeze. It watched the brothers, or so Ezra felt, waiting for whether or not they were foolish enough to continue at night. 

“Lord Raithorn’s words feel all the more wise now that I see the woods at dusk.” Ernst spoke.

Perhaps it was Lord Raithorn’s words that were causing each brother to feel as though a maliciousness lay beyond. For the invitation had expressed many things, one of which was the insistence that they do not travel at dark nor stray from the path. 

“He had also expressed urgency.” Eric replied, straightening then with his chest puffed out. 

Ezra groaned. Nothing made Eric feel more like the eldest than correcting his siblings. And nothing made him more stubborn than needing for his corrections to go unchallenged. Ezra wondered if he might bid Eric and Ernst farewell so that he, himself, could set out in the morning. But with how great a fear had sunk into his heart, he wasn’t certain if all of it would be gone come day.

“If we prevail upon him at dark, we will be interrupting his sleep, which has never put any in a good mood.” Ezra ventured.

Ernst nodded eagerly. “Then the lord would not look favorably on any of us. That’d be a poor start to our visit.” 

For a moment, Ezra thought that Eric might readily agree for once. 

“The servants could tend to us.” The very thought of having people attend to him put a dangerous, stubborn glint in Eric’s eye. He shifted in the saddle to look towards his brothers, head tilting up so that he could peer down his nose to them. “Stay at the inn if you wish but I plan to prove myself worthy of being heir.” 

Ezra would normally pay little heed to Eric and simply let him do as he wanted. But the darkness twisted branches into foul shapes and a horrid whispering lay on the wind. His older brother was a nuisance, and often parroted ridiculous rules at him, but he did not wish him harmed. Or worse. 

“We’ve already taken longer than the journey ought to have been.” Ezra ventured. “A few hours more so as to travel by day matters little.” 

Ernst went to agree but Eric cut him off sharply. “It is not my fault the map was outdated.” The map was not. “And that is ever more reason to not be later than we already are. When one holds rule over people and lands, every moment counts. Something that should be impressed upon you if you wish to reside in the manor once I am lord.” 

Ezra was no longer adverse to the idea of Eric being harmed. At the very least, a startled fall from the horse that would bruise the ‘lordly rump’ would be good. And so it was that his arguing with Eric was at an end. Ernst had reached a similar conclusion. 

“Go forth if you wish to.” Ernst declared, pulling on the reins to turn Chestnut about. “We’ll stay at the inn and join you in the morning.” 

The thought of going into the woods on his own seemed a great blow to Eric’s determination. As they cantered back to the gates, Ezra half expected their brother to follow. Perhaps saying that ‘it was a test’ and ‘clearly they would make fine advisors to a lord.’ But a final look back as the watchman let them in did not show such a thing. Rather, Eric had urged his horse onwards, the flickering light of his lantern appearing small and frail in the gloom of the woods. 

At the inn, Ernst was beside himself with uncertainty. 

“Perhaps we should have joined Eric.” He wondered. 

“Not at all.” Ezra insisted. 

“But what if Lord Raithorn finds his stubbornness impressive?” 

“Then you can spend the rest of the visit showing that you are far more impressive.” 

“If only that were so.” 

“It is. And even if it were not, I will be helping you.” 

That eased Ernst some. Though Ezra was not to be lord, he knew well which of his brothers he did wish to take up the mantle. In exchange for his help, Ernst had promised Ezra a permanent stay at the manor. He would not be disturbed nor ruled over and the marriage that the family had been pushing Ezra towards would be all but forgotten. For once in his life, Ezra would be free. That was well worth journeying alongside his brothers and braving the woods in the morning. 

The morning, however, had other plots. 

Ezra awoke to a letter and an empty bed where Ernst had slept. Dearest Ezra, the letter read, I cannot help but think that Eric is right. Every little bit counts. And so I set out before the sun, aiming to arrive right when it does. I believe I can insist on my being both early and polite as opposed to Eric disturbing Lord Raithorn during his slumber. Once pleasantries are done and we break fast, I will have a horse and escort sent for you. 

Ezra packed his bag and hurried towards the woods, a terrible dread nipping at his heels.

 

 

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III

A mist had rolled lazily down the northern mountains, pouring through the woods at night before settling over the town come day. It coated leaf and branch in a glimmering film to catch the morning rays, turning what was once a frightening venture to an inviting, picturesque landscape. It was so great a change, Ezra felt entirely ridiculous. Ridiculous for ever having feared the path and for ever having thought his brothers would come to harm. Even without a horse, he could reach the manor early afternoon, but why do so when a horse and escort would be sent for him? 

A flitting shadow caught his eye. A sparrow, swooping low before landing on that gnarled oak. Unlike the rest of the woods, the make of that tree had not changed. Its eyes stared back, gloomy in those mists, unminding of the stranger that leaned against its trunk. Ezra started. He had not seen anyone there a moment ago. 

“G-Good morning.” Ezra spoke. 

The stranger bore a dull hood and cloak, arms crossed before a tunic that had seen better days. The mist obscured much but Ezra thought he could see a sword at the stranger’s side and, quite possibly, the vague shape of a quiver. There was no horse nearby, however. This was not the escort Ernst had promised. 

“To where do you go?” The stranger inquired. 

“Nowhere.” Came Ezra’s response. “I am returning to the inn.” 

“You left whatever city you had come from…to stay at this town’s inn?” 

“No, but I…I do not see what business that is of yours.” He worried for a moment that he had been overly rude but the stranger had an oddness about him. One that reminded Ezra of the fear from the night before. 

“If you are one of Lord Raithorn’s guests, it is my business. I am to aid in protection.” 

Ezra hesitated. “I was told that a horse would be sent.” 

A snort. “I can carry your bag but I will not whinny.” 

He glanced at the sky. Surely his brothers and Lord Raithorn had broken fast already and the promise was fulfilled. But he could not be certain and he did not wish to be within the woods at dark, with an escort or not. Ezra drew closer to the oak and the sparrow and the stranger. 

“...Who are you?” 

Locks of blond poked out from the hood, falling just shy of violet eyes. “Alwin. A forester for the lord’s lands.” 

With that distance closed, Alwin moved forward, taking hold of that bag and slipping it away himself. The startling eyes had properly stunned Ezra so that by the time he thought to protest, Alwin already had his possessions slung over a shoulder. “Come. You do not want to see the path at dark.” 

Ezra felt his cheeks begin to flush. He hurried forward before the forester could notice and so add to his embarrassment. “I have seen it at dark.” He said indignantly. 

The two travelled in silence for a time, Ezra uncertain of what to speak on and Alwin content to speak of nothing. Oak and beech dotted the woods, not nearly as clustered nor as sinister as the night before had suggested. Occasionally were there swathes of heath so thick, to step from the path would be to drown in an ocean of twig and leaf. But, for the most part, it was clear and inviting. Wildflowers dotted the ground. Moss crawled over rock and branch. If it were not for the forester, and the desire to reach the manor before sundown so much as neared, Ezra would have stepped away a few times to look closer at a flower with intriguing petals or follow the sound of what must have been a pleasant, babbling brook. Not a fleck of that fear lingered and he felt all the more ridiculous for it. Yet even Alwin had spoken of not braving the path at dark.

Ezra glanced to the other, whose hood remained even as the midday heat fell upon them. “I can carry my own bag.” He offered. 

“So can I.” 

There was little reason to argue against such. As they continued, Ezra realized he had yet to break his fast and he was beginning to feel it. He was glad for the bread the innkeeper had offered and that his rush hadn’t been so great as to have denied it. Upon pulling it out of his bag, the scent of doughy goodness filled the air. All a sudden, Alwin’s face was looming beside his own, the other’s words brushing too close for comfort. 

“Oh? That smells like Maude’s. Might I have a bite?”

So flustered was Ezra, he merely stammered a “If you wish…” Not at all thinking anyone of polite manner to actually accept. But Alwin had spoken in honest earnest and he leaned forward, not bothering to shift his grip on the pack and so free a hand, but took a direct bite of the bread. 

 

“Thamf u.” He said. 

Many were the emotions of Ezra then, none of which he wished to think on. His mind fumbled for some other distraction before blurting out. “What is Lord Raithorn like?”

The silence that stretched after was so long, Ezra feared he shouldn’t have asked or that the ruse was easily seen. But eventually Alwin spoke. 

“Impressive, at first. Then you talk with him and think that there is a man who should not have been entrusted with a manor. Let alone lands and people, even if it is only the town at the edge of the woods. But you work with him and are continuously surprised until you once again consider him impressive.” 

“Oh.” Was all Ezra could think to respond. It was an odd description. He could not tell from it whether such a thing would make Eric more likely to be chosen as heir or Ernst. 

Further along, the path slipped through a clearing. Alwin took a moment to point out a distant view of stones, peaking just over the trees. The blue of the sky intermingled with their darker color.Little else could be seen, but it gladdened Ezra to be close to the end of the journey. And it emboldened him. 

“Lord Raithorn had instructed us not to travel at night.” He said. “It made my brothers nervous but I suppose it was to keep us from getting lost.” 

The expression on Alwin’s face was so startling, Ezra nearly tripped over a root that had stretched out over the path. 

“There is more reason than becoming lost.” The forester warned. “Reasons the townsfolk speak of often when comforted by drink and a fire.” 

“What reasons?” Ezra regretted such a question the moment he asked it. No more was the sunlight and closeness of the manor such comforting thoughts. 

Alwin’s face screwed tight with a confliction before violet eyes fixed to Ezra once more. “Ask the lord if you want proper tales. I won’t speak a word of them out here.But whatever name the King has written for this place on maps, all within a league know it as the Witchwood.” 

Terrible thoughts of curses and hexes plagued Ezra then and he wondered for the wellbeing of Eric and Ernst. He was so distracted that he did not catch Alwin’s next words for a moment. 

“You spoke of others. Do they remain at the inn?” 

Ezra’s reply was interrupted by a scream. It drove his heart into his throat and bled the color from his face. For he recognized it from the time Ernst had suffered terrible nightmares. Alwin’s instructions were lost on him. He sprung away from the path, running towards that shout as quick as his legs could carry him. 

 

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IV

Ezra didn’t know what he was thinking. Rather, Ezra was fairly certain that not a thought was going through his mind. The grass of the clearing gave way to roots and rocks and low-hanging branches. Several times he went to move forward only to find that the ‘even ground’ was, in fact, a short drop hidden by vegetation. Each time that he nearly twisted an ankle, some bit of sense drove its way into his mind and he considered turning back. But Ernst’s screams did not cease, instead growing more desperate as time went on and Ezra drew closer. 

“Ernst!” He shouted, heart pounding. The mist was no longer pleasant. The sun had somehow dimmed. Trees that were once gentle held that same menace as the night before. Fear clawed at Ezra’s mind. This was the Witchwood. 

“EZRA!” 

He bounded beyond a fallen trunk, stumbling across an imperceptible decline until he managed to dig in a heel and regain his balance. A bush rustled beyond, the raucous caw of crows sounding as wings flapped to escape whatever prowled just out of sight.
“E-ernst?” He had meant to shout it but now Ezra did not feel comfortable speaking louder than a whisper. He pushed onwards. Needed to push onwards. To find Ernst. To keep from being a standing target. 

He could no longer tell whether snapping twigs came from his own steps or from something keeping pace just a few feet away. Shadows of leaves raced past but so too did a loping darkness that wove ever closer. He could hear its grunts. Feel its breath. If Ezra looked back, he was certain that gleaming teeth would meet him.

Sunlight broke without warning, the trees giving way to open air through which flowed a rushing stream that sloshed against the banks. An old bridge served as a place of crossing but what lay beyond rooted Ezra to the spot. It was Ernst. He assumed. For the body that was slumped against the tree was covered in muck, limbs twisted in an off-fashion. Was he…dead? 

Ernst stirred, head raising. Ezra clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting. What he had presumed to be some pack or other object twisted behind the other’s head was an arm. 

“Ezra…?” It was hoarse and trembling. 

Ezra stepped towards the bridge but just beyond the treeline, eyes glinted in the shadows. Cruel. Violent. They drew closer, some other sound joining the rushing water. He looked to Ernst. Ernst looked back, eyes wide in terror. Terror at something behind him. 

 

Pain shot through Ezra’s shoulder as it was pierced, a heavy force knocking into him from behind, causing the air to escape from his lungs. The ground rushed to greet him, the thud of impact drowned by a sharp SNAP. Ezra screamed. Or, at least, he figured he did. But it was difficult to hear with the searing, throbbing pain that engulfed his mind and radiated throughout his arm. Black swam through his vision. He was barely able to turn his head to look up at what was atop him. Ragged, wild fur surrounded the snarling jaw of a wolf, wet with blood and slobber. A crimson gaze met Ezra’s and in it was a ravenous hunger. Its maw opened. 

Suddenly, from the midst of its forehead, a tip of metal sprouted, a black liquid seeping from it. There was a whine and the wolf stumbled off of Ezra, shaking its head. The black ichor spattered about. An arrow had pierced it, feathers rustling with the movement. He tried to stand but that pain grew all the greater and he fell back to the ground as tears streamed down his cheeks. Across the way, howls sounded, joined by the frantic shouts of Ernst. His brother. Who was soon to be eaten. 

Boots came into Ezra’s view and a rough hand took hold of him, forcing him to a stand despite his cries of pain. 

“Rodraugr!” Alwin shouted. “They’re crossing the bridge!” 

A deep voice bellowed back. “Take the lad and get to the manor! Cedric, Lauwry, hold the bank.” 

Shouts of acknowledgement followed and growls intermingled with speech, the twang of bows never going without an accompanying whine. Ezra was barely able to keep from falling back down, wishing that he would soon awaken at the inn. But Alwin turned him about, a steady arm and a string of encouragement helping him move forward. But what of Ernst? 

“He will be fine. The others will get him. It- get back!” 

Ezra was pushed backwards, the support of Alwin suddenly gone as the other slipped away, a dagger drawn from beneath the cloak. That wolf, arrow still lodged in it, snapped at the forester, growls flecked with its own blood, black as night, gurgling on it. Ezra’s head pounded, hardly able to keep standing. His left arm still spouted flames of pain. He didn’t dare look at it. But his heart was pumping, adrenaline flowing through, and at the sight of Alwin and the wolf clashing in a ferocious wrestle of fangs and dagger, one thought pierced the growing haze. Run. 

Any moment he could fall. Any moment he could die. Ezra did not have the wherewithal to keep his steps silent, crashing through branches and crying out each time his arm jostled. Where was the path? Where was the manor? If he kept straight, perhaps he could come across it. But there was thick brush he could not cross and steep terrain his arm could not be used to steady himself upon. Shadows lengthened within the woods and upon his mind. The darkness of a curtain falling closed. 

He wasn’t aware when his steps first shifted from grass to well-packed dirt to cobble. Ezra hadn’t noticed the high stone-walls nor well-trimmed hedge. It wasn’t until he was passing a bubbling fountain that he realized the Witchwood had been left at the gates. Or, perhaps, he was dreaming. He must be. For clanking down the steps to greet him was a motley of metal contraptions, ranging from lanky coils and grinding gears to humanoid figures with shining eyes. They surrounded him, babbling with questions. 

“E-ernst.” Was all Ezra could say in reply. “Ersnt needs help.” 

“Terrible thing! Do they all come like this?” 

“Of course not. Look at the arm! They are not supposed to do that.” 

“I thought there were two more?” 

“My brother!” Ezra tried again. “My brother is going to be eaten!” 

“You need help.” 

“Oh someone should get Vellikor. Or Lord Raithorn!” 

“I don’t think the lord–” 

“There he is!” 

The odd crowd parted. Down the manor steps walked a man just as odd as those who had come before him. Jewels glittered from his hands, from his neck, from his ears, upon his clothes and even on his shoes. His arms were outstretched in a welcome, several layers of robes splaying out in a dizzying assortment of colors and patterns. 

“Welcome–” Lord Raithorn’s voice boomed “–to Wolfsbane Manor.” 

 

To Be Continued

For a fully illustrated pdf: Sepulcher Heart - Volume One Part One

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