Chapter Text
Prologue
Annabelle Fielding paused before the hallway mirror to check her hair. She was a grey-furred mouse with dark hair that she usually liked to keep tied up in a simple bun, but for a night out with friends, had first braided it. Satisfied with her appearance, she turned to her son, Aurelius. “Are you sure you'll be all right on your own, sweetie?”
Aurelius had brown fur like his father, but with a fur pattern that he had inherited from her. He rolled his eyes. “Mother please, I'm seventeen. You would think I'm old enough to look after myself for a few hours. Besides. You could use the cheering up.”
“So could you.”
Aurelius looked away briefly and mumbled. “It's fine, Mother, it's fine. I'll probably just… I don't know, veg out to the telly or something.”
She cupped his cheek with one hand. “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“All right.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. “Love you, sweetie.”
He smiled. “Love you too, Mother. Have fun.”
“I will,” she called back. Then she pulled on her shawl and bonnet before heading out.
He heaved a sigh once she had gone and turned to the painting that hung on the main wall of the hallway. Three faces smiled back at him; Those of his mother, his father, and his seven year old self. His father had been the one to commission the portrait and had insisted that they all look happy for the occasion. Annabelle recalled that their faces had ached after each sitting but couldn't deny that the end result had ultimately been worth it. And Aurelius was glad that he had, because the only picture he had of the man was this one painting of his smiling face. And if not for the painting, Aurelius would have long forgotten what he looked like as he had long forgotten the sound of his voice; He had died not long after the picture had been painted. “Father,” he said aloud. “I found something in the Library at Goldpaw. A spell. One that can bring you back to life. I'll have to… I'll have to hurt myself to cast it, but I… I'll do it. If that's what it takes, I'll do it.” He gripped the painting's ornate frame, one that had been carved out of wood. “I won't just have this picture of you anymore, Father. I'm going to get you back.”
Aurelius took his travel cloak off the cloak stand and pulled it on before heading upstairs to his room to collect his satchel – since he was not in possession of an arms band to store his items – and his CeeDlink, which was a mobile communication device with Leafbook integration that had been invented by the creative minds of Broadleaf. He also kept a wand in a small case in the top drawer of his desk, so he pulled the drawer open and removed the wand from its casing. It then joined his CeeDlink in the satchel. The next item on the list was a bandage from the first aid box they kept in the bathroom, then back downstairs to the kitchen to collect a knife. He hesitated, staring at the knife in his hand with an apprehension that took some moments to quell before that too was packed away. That left one final item – the household lantern – before he was ready to depart. Aurelius pulled out his wand, focused on his destination and then Travelled away.
He rematerialised in the Cat's Cradle tripdoor and glanced around. Some soldiers were on patrol, but they were moving away and hadn't noticed his arrival. Ding Dong Dell didn't have a curfew per se but any soldiers he ran into would certainly have cause to question a lone seventeen year old running around the city at this hour, and he had no answer to give; By now his destination would be closed to the public. He repacked his wand, pulled up his hood and stole away in the direction of the cemetery.
Aurelius stopped before the gates and paused to look up. Metal had been twisted into letters which spelt out “Ding Dong Dell Cemetery” in Dellian script and formed an arch over the entrance. He looked down. The gates had been locked by the groundskeeper so he pulled out his wand again and tapped the lock. There was a click and both lock and chain fell to the ground with a rattle and a clunk. The gates swung forward on rusted hinges and a squealing noise pierced the night air. He stole a furtive glance back down the cobbled pathway before pressing on. Before commencing the search for his father's grave, he needed to borrow a shovel from the groundskeeper. But to do that, he first had to find the groundskeeper's toolshed, a task that took him a good half hour in the dark. The door to the toolshed fell easily to a Spring Lock and a shovel was soon in his hands. Now to find his father's grave. This was easier said than done with the cemetery looking very different under the cover of night. In the general area where he knew the grave to be, he searched the gravestones with the aid of his lantern, reading name after name until finally coming upon the one he was looking for. Casting one last look around him, he placed the lantern down beside his feet, and began to dig.
Thunk. The shovel at last struck wood. Aurelius paused to wipe his brow before continuing to shovel soil until he had excavated the lid of the coffin. He paused to straighten and pull back his hood as he stared at the coffin, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do next. “Do forgive me for this, Father,” he murmured aloud. He knelt, wedged the blade of the shovel under the lid and pried it open. Instantly the stench of death hit him and he fell back, coughing and spluttering, eyes watering, the lid falling closed. He tried again, but this time he took a deep breath and pried open the lid with his head turned away, until he could wedge the fingers of one hand in the gap and push it back. He threw the shovel to one side and clamped his other hand over his nose as he peered at the corpse that had been buried within. If it not for the painting in the hallway, Aurelius would not have been able to glean his appearance from his rotting cadaver; Years of decay had eaten away at parts of his face, rendering the man nearly unrecognisable. And his clothes, now faded and in tatters, were a far cry from the bright colours depicted in his portrait.
Aurelius tore his gaze away from the sight and pulled out his CeeDlink. Frowning at the screen, he mumbled to himself as he read, “The blood must flow into their mouth.” And sighed. “Of course it must.” He placed the device down and gingerly and hesitantly pried the corpse's teeth apart, then he pulled out the knife and gulped. He hovered the knife over an upturned palm and held them both over the corpse's open mouth but his heart began to thud in his chest and his hands began to shake. He wasn't squeamish, but still, here in the moment, he quailed at the thought of deliberately wounding himself.
“You can do this, Aurelius. Just one cut and you'll see him again.” He worked up the nerve to run the blade across his hand and gasped when he felt the metal bite into his flesh. Then came a sharp, stinging pain and tears began to build in his eyes. Now breathing hard, he held his bleeding hand over the corpse's mouth and with his CeeDlink in the other began to recite the words to a spell.
“With my blood I pay the price
With this blood, come back to life
Take of mine, all that you need
Only mine will this succeed.”
He dropped his CeeDlink and clutched his hand to his chest. It hurt, it hurt! Cursing the fact that he had not thought to bring any painkillers with him, he pulled out the bandage and wincing and whimpering, wrapped it around his bleeding hand. He watched the corpse, waiting for the spell to kick in. And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
But nothing happened. “No, please,” he begged. “Please work. Please come back to me.”
But still nothing happened. Aurelius bit his lip as tears stung his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Had he done something wrong? Had he not given enough blood? Had he messed up the words? Had he overlooked something? But consulting his CeeDlink through blurring vision suggested that he had done everything right, and that the spell should have worked. Well, everything but the amount of blood required that is, it was extremely vague over that little detail. The only other explanation he could think of was that perhaps he just wasn't strong enough yet. Or maybe it was one of those cases were if something seemed too good to be true, it was probably because it was. Well whatever the reason, the spell hadn't worked.
Aurelius hung his head as he accepted this fact then cast one last look at his father's corpse before reluctantly closing the lid of the coffin. He picked up the shovel to begin the arduous task of reburial. It was difficult with an injured hand, but he managed to achieve it by pinning the handle of the shovel under his armpit and holding it with the other. The end result was sloppy but it would have to do. He just hoped it would be unnoticeable by the time they next visited his grave. Now there was but two things left to do before he could go home; Return the shovel to the groundskeeper's toolshed, then go to the hospital to get his hand properly tended to and hope they wouldn't ask too many questions. After gathering up his belongings, Aurelius cast one final look over his shoulder before pulling up his hood and leaving the cemetery with a heavy heart.