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Elizabeta. The name echoes in my mind, a constant as persistent as the beating of my heart.
Elizabeta, Elizabeta, Elizabeta.
Though it had been some days since I had the opportunity to gaze upon her, I can recall with utmost certainty every well loved detail: the cascading waves of marble that make up her hair, her vice grip that clutches the hilt of her sword, the full lips that form a scowl and dangerous eyes that stare down a most fearsome beast in her moment of triumph and fall.
Elizabeta.
A warrior goddess killed in her prime, her glory preserved in stone for unworthy onlookers such as myself to learn of her beauty and might.
Elizabeta, I love you.
Elizabeta, Elizabeta, Elizabeta.
***
As an initiate of a mages guild, my life could never be considered glamorous or fanciful. Day in, day out, my only intention was to study schools of magicks that I may one day become a master, or perhaps just enough that I might run from the guild and build a life for myself in the forest, away from bothersome politics and the pompous magisters that dictated such. Therefore, it was with great surprise that my fellow initiates and I found ourselves invited to a ball. Though the purpose of the party seemed to fall within the politics I so despise, I find it difficult to pass up a chance for free food and drink. Even a man of the cloth would be hard pressed not to, and I most certainly am not that.
This was how I found myself in a grandiose pavilion, nursing wine and eating fruit out of season. After many aborted conversations with the elite, my eyes were drawn to the only stationary being of the night, an older gentleman whose finery indicated him being the master of the house. With the intent of garnering good grace by complimenting the party I approached him.
“Your home is most beautiful, my lord. One can only imagine the rest of the estate is even grander.”
The only hint that he wasn't repulsed by my presence was a slight relaxation between his brows, though only just visible behind his eyeglasses. “Indeed. The gardens are the most beautiful you'll ever see. I've erected statues honoring my lineage along the paths there.”
I considered this with another sip of wine. It sounded like an invitation, and I was admittedly rather curious as to who made up the lineage to a family such as his. I had no doubt that the marble statues would make better company than the living I'd encountered at the party, besides.
“I should like to see the gardens if you're offering. You seem an interesting man, I'm sure your ancestors are just the same.” The older gentleman smiled, skin creasing lines around his mouth.
As we walked I learned his name was Roderich Edelstein, a man who found his fortune in imports and used it to support the Guild. Though not a mage himself, Roderich's ancestry was full of arcane masters, and it was only within his generation that the penchant for magicks ended.
“For as much influence as magicks have had on my life, neither I nor my wife ever had the talent for it. That's why I began contributing to the Guild, and they in turn gave her an enchanted blade in gratitude.”
I hummed in acknowledgment, though couldn't recall seeing his wife at the ball. “Is she in the pavilion, your wife? I don't believe I saw her.”
“No, no,” Roderich said, “the fairer Edelstein has passed, I'm afraid.” His thin smile indicated that his late wife had been dead for some time, for no man should be able to be cheerful for the recently mourned. “Twenty years ago she fought a beast, Palla, to protect a nearby village from destruction. The heroism cost her her life, but I can't say I was surprised. She always said she would rather die in battle than in bed.” The aged lines of his face smoothed as he gestured me to look at a canvas-covered statue. “This past spring her monument was completed, but I've been hesitant to expose it to the elements. I want to preserve her.”
I stood staring at it for a time, searching for wisdom in the heavy threads of canvas now that my wine glass was long emptied. There was no doubt that I was curious about what his wife may have looked like, but more than that I wanted to ease the burden of a new friend. “From what you've told me, I imagine your wife had no fear of the elements. Even as stone, she would no doubt flourish and inspire any that had the chance to see her.”
Roderich's eyes caught mine and became resolute. “You're absolutely right. Would you help me unveil her?” I grinned and approached the statue, my palms clammy as I gripped the canvas opposite Roderich. At the time I knew not why my nerves raged inside me, rioting for who knows what.
Surely, I know now.
The canvas slipped off and revealed all, a bronze plaque at the base declaring:
Elizabeta Edelstein
Slayer of Palla
I fell in love.
***
There wasn't a single day that her marble visage didn't plague my slumber. At night I would try to fitfully recreate her in my dreams, only guessing as to the color of her skin, the texture of her hair, the cadence of her voice. No matter what combination she was made of she possessed me, dominated my thoughts in death as she no doubt would have in life. After much searching I had found a precious few scrolls detailing her life and the battle that ended her, absorbing the words like a plant taking in water. Each snippet felt like new life and purpose being breathed into me, but I had no place to channel this meaning.
Meaning found me, it turned out, when I was tasked to clean out the residence of a magister, recently deceased.
Magister Braginski had been a notorious packrat, collecting artifacts and rubbish that could hardly be discerned from one another. I quickly found that, indeed, one man's trash is another's treasure; after studying what I had believed was a relic for some time, a fellow initiate approached me and pointed out it was only a cup that the magister had carved nonsensical runes into out of boredom. From then on I thought little of what I threw away, keeping only things that were visibly important or resonated with magicks. While part of me fretted that the reckless discarding of his “prized” possessions might put me in trouble with those above me, I decided that if I were to be caught, then at least I never will have to rummage another man's overstuffed bookshelves again.
And then I found, hidden away and used as a bookend for his diaries (all incredibly droll), my meaning. I had no idea of it at first -- it was a cylindrical statuette, obsidian, with runes etched in silver wrapping the circumference of it. Not one to be fooled twice, I brought it to one if my instructors, Magister Bonnefoy, as he specializes in the School of Enchantment, and asked his thoughts on it. The expression on his face was of horror, all color wrung from it and replaced with a ghastly white. “Where did you find that?”
“With Magister Braginski’s personal effects, sir.”
“Well throw it away,” he said, making a shooing motion with his hand as if the object was an offense to all of existence. Perhaps it was. “Get rid of it and pretend you never found it at all.” He pushed past me rudely, hurrying away as if outrunning the devil himself. Of course I was only intrigued further and would definitely not ‘get rid of it’.
There was very little that could make a mage such as Bonnefoy turn their nose up, and there was but one category it could fall into for him to react in such a way. Necromancy. The height of taboo, dabbling in the art of manipulating death itself. I was not entirely shocked by the revelation. Of all my masters, Magister Braginski was without doubt most likely to consort with the world beyond. I stored the artifact beneath my bed for safekeeping and returned to Braginski's chambers, every intent set on uncovering the secrets of it. The books I had cast aside were now my bible, and in secret I poured over them, hunting for even a single word about the enchanted item.
It was in my leafing through the fourth tome of nonsense incantations and items that I came across details of my dearest possession. Spanning pages was full description of it, and insight to its necromantic significance: to raise a loved one from the grave. Elizabeta was that and more, how she bewitched my heart. A gift from Eros himself, and now it was Hades who would bring her to me! I need only call upon the magick within to return my love to her former glory.
My inclination towards realms of magick rather than Enchantment damned me. What folly, what idiocy! I should have to study further if I was to succeed in my plans.
With my path set before me I delved deeper in my Enchantment course, performed my initiate duties, and visited my darling as often as I could. While the social calls to Roderich were pretence for my visits, I did begin to enjoy his company. His age and experiences had wizened him, and he had much to offer in philosophical conversations in ways my fellow mages had yet to demonstrate. Though entertaining, I preferred to hear him regale stories of my Elizabeta. He told me things public record had no reason to document: though known as Lady Edelstein, she was hardly ladylike, enjoying mead and bawdy humor in the comfort of her estate. She tended to the gardens personally, and in her youth had been taught smithing by her grandfather. Every fact made me fall deeper into the madness of love, making me all the more devoted to my cause.
Any gap I could find in my day was devoted to practicing with necromancy. Spare moments were difficult to come by, so much so that I sometimes skipped meals to hone my craft. Progress was made. Fragment by fragment I began to get reactions from my artifact, small at first, but gaining in power.
Weeks and months went by, and in the midst of revelation, Roderich's health began to dwindle. With a slow start, hardly even noticable, my friend developed a slight cough that evolved into body-wracking heaves that left him exhausted. It was only after months that he confided he found blood in his saliva as he deteriorated.
It was a sad day in autumn when I was visited by a servant of the Edelstein estate bearing a large parcel. The man informed me of Roderich's passing, and that he left to me a great deal of books and scrolls of the Edelstein family's history. All at once I was surging with emotion. Mourning surely, for Roderich and I had become close, but oh, the traitorous glee and relief! This must be a sign from the gods above of my destiny.
Now was the time to resurrect my love!
Under the guise of paying respects and condolences to the house I visited the estate once more, my winter cloak concealing the artifact I carried. If the remaining staff thought it strange they chose to remain silent, too absorbed in grief for their master. Curiously few were present, which made my mission all the easier.
Arriving at last in his chambers I removed the relic, holding it tenderly as if it were a babe. This was all I needed to be happy, I only need awaken the magick within.
The incantation flowed from my lips and fingertips naturally, as if I was always meant to cast this very spell. I could feel a crescendo as the art I had nurtured for well over a year finally came to fruition, a heavy darkness blooming from the object before exploding in bright silver. Windows shook, thunder cracked, and I did not know if the tremors I felt were true or a figment of my mind.
When the glow settled I blinked the spots from my vision, and before me sat a being so ethereal I'd have thought to dream her.
Elizabeta.
Elizabeta.
Elizabeta!
Hair like oak, eyes the color of its brilliant green leaves, and skin a sun-warmed peach. How could I have imagined any different? This was how she was meant to be, a gift from nature and a beauty as perfect as the earth! I felt humbled, this room my church and she my savior.
It's here that I find myself now, speechless before her glory. What can be said? I'd often dreamt of dedicating my life and love to her, but those are words far removed from this moment. For now, I must be here as her guide, for twenty years is a long absence indeed.
Her eyes are glazed and weary when she raises a hand to her waist, searching for damage where there is only scarring if my casting was true.
“What has happened? Where… am I?”
Her voice rasps with lack of use, but no angel could sing sweeter! I bow and smile, reverence and adoration echoing in my bones.
“Lady Edelstein. Welcome home.”
Elizabeta.