Work Text:
4 May.
Night had begun to fall across the countryside. Long, dark shadows stretched away from the setting sun. Those creatures which thrive in the darkness began to arise from their daytime slumber.
Wolves of scarlet tongues began to prowl, sniffing the air for the scent of prey so they may begin their evening hunt. Up above, wide, yellow eyes pierced through the landscape, accompanied by the silent sound of beating wings, searching for the minute movements of mice and vermin. A cold, rough breeze slithered throughout the forest, bending and shaking branches and boughs which ached under the heavy currents. Swarms of bats flittered out of their dank caverns, and like their nocturnal partners, began a nightly hunt for food.
With the final fall of the sun arose its opposite. Moonlight shone across the forest, highlighting an unnatural monument embedded deep within. Its silhouette, like a thorn, was unmistakable among the natural treetops. The castle was a tall, blunt, and square thing. A foundation of black stone, it would have appeared in shadow even in the daylight. And yet the towers and filaments which adorned the rooftops would give off a grand atmosphere to any bystander, who at the moment might have borne witness to the flicker of candlelight moving by the windows.
Inside the castle another nocturnal creature had arisen, darker and more sinister than the ones outside. He was silent, grasping the candle with uneasy steadiness which betrayed his decrepit appearance. The light he was holding shone onto the deep creases of his pale skin. Wispy hair reached his shoulders, framing a decidedly gaunt figure. His face would have indicated fatigue, but his eyes were shining, burning with intent. On his face was a long mustache, as white as his hair. A long, black cloak followed behind him, down stairways and halls to the grounds of the castle. At a window he paused and listened. He stared at nothing, and allowed the sounds of the forest to filter in. The gnawing and clashing of teeth, the last squeak before death, the cold wind, all made their way to his ears. He smiled. Soon, he too will have his prey.
Holding the candle aloft, he made his way to the stables at the side of the castle. As he entered, his light but barely illuminated the yellow hay which covered the floor and the wooden stalls which had been recently repaired. He could hear the soft breathing of his new steeds, each with a coat as black as his own. Work horses, built with great muscles and stamina from a long life of working fields and dragging carriages. Four sets of dark eyes opened and stared at him, pondering their new master.
There was a time he would have scoffed at the idea of using a workman’s horses. In the time of his peers, to ride one would have been degrading, an insult to his family line. No one of his kind would debase themselves in such a manner. But gone were the days he would have rode on a noble stallion, a warrior’s horse, one he could ride into battle with alongside his cousins. His new ventures simply required a more lowly profile.
By the side of the stables sat a carriage, one he had taken from a lost merchant some time ago. It was still sturdy, although the colors had faded away. Attached at the front was a harness for the horses, which had been broken at some point during the encounter.
He took some nails out of the inner pocket of his cloak, and sat the candle down nearby on the ground. Another indignity, having to fix his own equipment. He wondered to himself as to whether the servants in the new empire would be as skillful as he had read them to be.
With the harness fixed, he got up and began to make his way past the horses, when they suddenly began to yell. Their eyes, so calm a second ago, moved in mania. The neighing and whining filled the stable. Then through the cacophony he heard a low growling.
Turning behind himself, he observed a wolf, alone.
It was large, with gray fur bloodied and scruffed. Like the horses, its eyes were erratic, moving across each being inside the stable. Saliva dropped down from an open mouth taking slow and steady breaths. He lowered his candle, which could only just reveal the impression of a rib cage, protruding against skin as gaunt as his own. The muscles were lean, weakened likely from age or disease. The eyes stopped moving and stared at him. He stared back.
It was starving.
On a normal night, no wolf would have dared to venture near his domain unless it was he who permitted them to. But it was desperate. And in such a frail state, its mind would seek a source of nourishment regardless of the circumstances.
He had no desire to deal with a lowly creature, especially one already so near death. He compelled it forward, a simple matter with such an enfeebled mind. As it walked closer, the horses grew more excited. He ignored them however, and continued to stare at the wolf, luring it to him. He could see its legs twitch, eager to jump onto one of the horses in the stable, to stave off inevitable hunger and death and rot, but unable to, instead forced to walk to the eyes of the creature holding the light. When it was close enough, he reached around and squeezed its neck. The limp body dropped to the ground.
He waited, and eventually the horses calmed down on their own. They evidently no longer saw the wolf as a threat.
Time had made him forget just how easily horses could be startled. The ride tomorrow would prove difficult if they were to lose control of themselves. There will be much worse outside than starving wolves.
He picked up the body with one arm, and walked out of the stables.
The bedroom was clean. Or rather, as clean as he could have made it.
When he first began preparing for his upcoming guest, he was forced to open up one of the bedrooms, most of which had been locked since he had moved in. In fact, almost every room was locked. Apart from a few exceptions, he rarely needed to venture to any corner of the castle. He was content to ignore most of it, as well as the rising amounts of dust and cobwebs, the old metal rusting away, the walls crumbling, the cracked stone, leaking roofs. None of these things had concerned him before, and very soon he wouldn’t have to think of them at all.
Be that as it may, he was nonetheless expecting a guest. And while the solicitor would be a far cry from the noble houses he used to welcome and feast with, he still had the role of a gracious host, and would offer him reputable accommodations.
And so a few nights ago he had before him the task of choosing the solicitor’s room. Most were unacceptable, filled with broken tables and chairs and overturned bedding. Others had been left with their windows open, leaving the contents inside to the whims of the elements. He finally settled on one he had deemed to be the cleanest. Compared to the others, there was no mess, no disorganized bed or overthrown furniture, not even a stain on the carpet. Still, every night since then he had come back to make sure there was no blemish he had somehow missed.
Now, once again looking at the room with candle in hand, he began to look for any sign of a mark or smudge. Aiding him was moonlight reaching in through the window, casting itself into the chamber and giving the room a subtle glow. In the beams of light, trace amounts of dust could be seen dancing through the air. His dark eyes pierced through it though, wandering around the room.
No, everything was clean, as it had been the last time he checked.
He stared at the moonbeam then. His eyes traced the light out of the window and up high in the sky. It was a cloudy night, but at that moment he could see the moon in explicit detail. Memories of riding through those skies, air soaring around him to the beating sound of rain and thunder, flooded his mind. Old days, gone in the past. That was a time of great learning for him, knowledge he would now use to conquer new lands.
Another memory struck him then, though one far more recent. A reminder of a task he had yet to do.
He proceeded to place his candle down on a table, and stood in the face of the moonlight with his eyes closed. A moment later, out of the beams and dust traces came a thin mist-like substance. Fluid like smoke, it too danced through the air. Gradually, the mist divided into three, slowly getting larger and more defined. The shapes, now taking on human figures, moved around him. They swirled close and whispered into his ear words of hatred and subservience, before kneeling on the ground before him. Color finally filled into their bodies, solidifying into three women, one blonde and the others dark-haired.
The blonde woman spoke, “Have you brought someone for us?”
“No,” he responded.
“Then why have we been called? For what purpose?”
He spoke plainly. “My guest will be arriving on the morrow. You, all of you, are not to touch him.”
The two dark-haired women looked at each other, a brief flash of annoyance on their faces. They then looked towards the blonde woman, who stared up at him. “Why?” she said slowly.
“He serves a purpose for me, and so he is mine,” he said.
“And how long will it take for him to serve your purposes? How soon might he be ours?” she said, rising slowly from her position on the ground.
“When I deem it so. Until then, know I will not allow any impudent actions of yours against him.” He glared at her, before staring down at the other two women. Despite his frail appearance, they seemed to heed his warning and did not look back.
Except the blonde woman, who stared at him with a look that was almost angry. After a moment, her face contorted into an empty smile.
“Of course. I promise you we will not move towards him,” she said with a mocking bow. The other two women got up and followed suit, each bowing to him in a similar manner. “However,” she said as they straightened, “you would do well to warn him as you have us. Warn him of where we keep our places. Should he come towards us instead… I warn you, the desires of our kind can be overwhelming.”
With that, the blonde woman smiled, and grabbed her sisters. Together, they tittered at him before enveloping into mist and disappearing back into the moonlight.
He did not look back as made his way out of the room, grabbing the candle and closing the door behind him.
Slaughtered and salted.
In a small room behind the castle was stored the remains of lambs and pigs and cows and chickens, pilfered over the course of weeks before this night from the farms which were dotted around the countryside. They were crowded together inside one large case, their dead black eyes speckled with salt, which copiously covered the rest of their bodies and filled in the empty spaces between them. There was enough flesh inside the case to feast a dozen men, but not tonight. Tonight, he will be preparing a feast for one.
In his right hand he held his candle, and in his left hand a knife.
Looking down into the case, he needed to decide which of the animals would become the solicitor’s first meal. If the feast were somehow for himself, he would have chosen the pig, a fat one which was born to be eaten. But from what knowledge he could glean from the books he had, in the new empire, the chicken was a primary meal during times of celebration. What better choice then, for the first meal of the solicitor’s stay?
Putting down his candle, he reached into the case and pulled out the chicken by its neck. The bones might prove to be an issue, and it would have to be cut and roasted of course, however those tasks were ultimately trivial. The real problem now would be in choosing the drink to pair with it.
Tucking the chicken under his arm, he picked up his candle and walked to a neighboring room, one filled with various items from the various encounters he’s had over the years.
On the opposing wall from where he came in stood a tall shelf, stocked with dusty bottles. Stepping closer, he began to ponder which of the wines would go well with roast chicken. As he moved from the top of the shelf down, he spotted a bottle of tokay, a token from the encounter with the merchant, among many others. He grabbed it and tucked it underneath his other arm.
Now that he had everything he needed from these rooms, he began to walk towards the kitchen, and began to ponder what other accessories he would have to add to the dinner. He knew the kitchen contained a cheese of some sort, stored away somewhere that he would have to find. Perhaps he could include a salad and some fruit as well.
Either way it wouldn’t matter. He knew that the quality of the solicitor’s meals would diminish very quickly. And in the end, so too would the solicitor.
5 May.
The sky was gray, and wisps of sunlight had begun to peak above the horizon.
The castle stood tall and still, as dark as it was during the night. It continued to impose itself onto the forest, an ever-present invader of the natural landscape. The adornments maintained their grandiosity, giving the castle an unseemly atmosphere which was not swayed in the least by the growing daylight.
Inside the walls, no more candlelight might be seen. The sun’s rays were beginning to themselves invade into the castle, and their light bounced between the walls to drive off any remaining darkness. All except one.
He walked through the castle, empty-handed and as steady with resolve as when the night first began. His face was blank, although if an onlooker were to be there they might have noticed a hint of subdued excitement. Tomorrow was to be the beginning of the end for his stay at this castle. And the beginning of new beginnings, new conquests, new nations. Soon, he would sail across the sea to the world’s latest seat of power, and take it for his own. Soon, he will join his ancestors as the finest conquerors in history. Soon, he will rejoin the world.
But for now, day was breaking, and it was time for him to retire.
He wasn’t exhausted per se, at least not physically. Mentally however, he was ready to leave behind his evening errands. The next night would be a Saint’s day after all, and with the treasures he would discover, he could finally employ some workhands to do his drudgery for him.
Entering the room above his own, he looked out the window at the rising sun, only just starting to grow above the skyline. Daylight. He remembered when it used to be a joy to dwell in it, when a sun-filled sky was the sign of a good day and good fortunes. A battle to be won or a celebration of power, all to be done in the day. Now it was nothing but an obstacle, a restriction to him and his kind. He wondered at what point he first began to lose his delight of the sun and all the life it brought forward. Perhaps some day he would feel it again, but he knew it was an impossibility.
Outside the castle, he could hear many other creatures who, like him, began to rest for the day. Wolves went back to their caves to sleep together, their bellies fat and full of deer and misplaced livestock. Inside trees, yellow eyes closed themselves and wings folded inward. The night’s cold winds had died down, battered as they were by the dawning light. Blood dried and flies feasted.
The bats had already gone home.
He made his way down the steps to his coffin, surrounded by the dirt of his homeland, sullied with the remains of his long-dead enemies and kin. He stepped inside and laid down, but unlike the nocturnal creatures outside the castle, he had not had his fill during the night, and would rest with an empty stomach.
A breath escaped his body, and he closed his eyes. Soon, was all he could think. And with that he fell dormant, and deathly still.