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NOVEL LINKS
NOVELS PENDING POSTING
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Part One: The Triptych Chapter Three
It was cold, icy frozen cold. I had left the damp coolness of London and ventured northwest. In the depth of darkness I watched the rolling landscape beneath me as my mind wandered. It was cold, frigid cold, but it did not bother me, and so my mind slowly meandered. Marie had been the first, but not the first I reborn. Marie craved death-I was there for her. Irene was different. It has been a century since I last saw her and still she chains my memory with iron shackles and carries my heart in her hands, though she is blind to the reality. Some people are ordained to meet, others fate with all her daughters conspire to break the will, heart and snuff the fire of the soul. I was in London. It was early May 1740 and on a chance and for no reason at all, I decided to visit Edinborough. The night could not have been better. It was strikingly clear and the billions of stars glittered spectacularly amid the inky emptiness of space. Venus and Mars were aligned and dominated the southeastern sky. Slivers of clouds sparsely sliced the sky, and the silver light of the full moon, ignited the clouds into a sweeping silver spectacle. It was perfect. There, perched atop Edinborough Castle, just after the earliest morning hours, I was startled by a woman weeping. There were no words only the moaning cry the pounding of the intermittent fear. I moved. She sat cradled among the strong roots of the ancient oak, knees drawn up to her chest, head buried into her knees, and her matted hair covering her. She heaved and sobs poured from her soul and crystal tears streaked her form and plummeted to the fertile earth, which offered no consolation. Only the old filter, comfort her, as all trees do. I crept, drifting from one slippery shadow to the next, slowly moving nearer to the intriguing woman. It was her distress, her total distress that captivated my senses and my eye. Slowly I drifted up, settling down softly on the soft, rich, soil only a few feet from her. She shook slightly and the sobs slowed, eventually ceasing. For an hour she remained motionless, held by the oak roots, while I listened to the rhythmic thumping of her pumping heart. It beat steadily and her once sobbing breaths had fallen into a rhythmic pattern. For many long moments I watched her resting-she was beautiful. Her stillness reminded me of the dawn, just before the sun breaks the horizon, when the world holds its breath. Then I realized I was holding my breath. Even now that image is chiseled into my mind. Something about her grabbed me, some insubstantial portion some unsure soulistic tethers were woven together. It is the feeling I get when quietly viewing a perfect painting.” And I dearly love his masterful work. I joined the shadows. I waited. She stirred slightly, then defiantly raised her head to the stars, “Orion” she whispered while pointing towards the stars. Each cheek bore the stains of old tears’ but she still managed a smile with her soft pink lips. “Why do I always share the stars alone? Why does no one know me?” Her voice was a whisper, a fading plea to some celestial body. Resistance and judgment failed me completely. “You share your stars with me.” I whispered while quickly moving about the shadows to give the sensation of being surrounded. “Who, from the darkness, wishes to share my stars?” She asked aloud with no fear or hesitance. I smiled, “Trenton wishes it.” “And who is this Trenton, who cloaks himself in shadows and throws his voice about the woods?” Her crystal eyes quizzically peered through the darkness and scanned the supernatural wood closely. I watched her eyes. They were warm and impressively deep-she held so much inside. It was a rarity, a blooming grace, which gradually clings to hope, while clad in due, and kissed by the spring’s morning sun. “I heard you cry in the night, I came to listen.” I did not move this time as I spoke, allowing her to gaze into the darkness which enshrouded my form. “You heard me cry?” “Yes, softly” “Then you were in the woods at this late hour?” “Passing through, actually.” She peered deeper at me, “How long were you there watching me cry?” Her eyes had narrowed slightly and her pink lips drew slightly tighter. “To be honest, I stopped to see if you were in need, and I found an angel entwined in mortal flesh. Your beauty captivated me and has held me spellbound. I had no intention of lingering” “So who is Trenton, the nightly traveler who checks on crying maidens in a wood after the late hour chimes?” A step from the shadows, exposing my pale flesh to the faint tree filtered light. Swiftly I spread my arms wide and bowed bending at the waist. “Greetings maiden, I am Trenton.” “So pale,” she stated softly. “Yes.” I answered cutting her off and standing straight again. “But you have such grace of movement.” “It comes with time and practice.” I smiled. Her lips curved up into a smile, “I am Irene.” “Irene." I echoed, “Why cry so deeply and amid such natural and primal creatures.” There was a pause, perhaps I had been too direct, then I heard her draw in a deep breath, and speak. "I have lost so much. Everything I thought was good in the world has failed me I have no time to make the life I had wanted. Love has sprouted demon wings and flown from me, leaving my barren womb to rot within my body and my final years to be stained in tears.” She paused a moment, forcing the lump in her throat down and choking back the tears, "There is no love in this world only the finding of sorrows." As for the trees, they rejuvenate the soul. They are my only solace and all that cares for me. The oak is my sanctuary and my bastion of refuge. In this oak I have carved my name, claiming it alone.” Her voice trailed off, her last few words only understandable by acute hearing. "Time heals wounds," I offered, "And the trees are a refuge and serene companion resolutely remaining at your side." I drifted forward as I spoke, bringing myself within her reach. "I have not enough time." Her eyes widen slightly in recognition. "You're Vampir." "Yes." "Why have you come to me?" "I heard you cry." Irene pushed up from the embracing roots of the trees that stood before me. Her low-cut dress combined with her lace corset exposed her round breasts and the supple cleavage. My eyes traveled from her sculptured chest to her arms, hands, fingers, and nails. I took my time scrutinizing her, and she allowed me to. Wide hips gave her the perfect curve of a woman and her shapely legs were well proportioned and powerful. "Should I turn for you Trenton," Irene sarcastically cooed as she was watching me look her over. "Yes." Though I said it to match her sarcasm, but to my wonderment she silently turned around. In the shadows I could still see the curve of her backside and the little turn produced a profound little wiggle. "Do you like what you see?" She asked turning her head and tossing her reddened hair over her shoulder. I deliberately stepped up behind her, placing my body against her molded back. My right hand slid up her side and under her hair comb where my cool fingers gripped it by its roots. Her head lulled to the side under my control. A soft moan escaped her lips, as her shoulders slumped against my chest. Sweet scent of raw flesh, womanly flesh, assaulted my senses that I found myself staring with probing eyes at the subtle pulsations within her neck. "I can give you all the time you need." There was not a word spoken, only a subtle nodding of her head, pleading to be taken forever. "Then," I stated, "Watch your last sunrise, then make your way to the graveyard and enter the sepulcher of Edwin Norson.” “Will I see you there?" I did not answer her─but vanished into the deep shadows. For the first time in many decades, I felt warm. From my solitude, I watched Irene pick up her shoes and walk barefoot through the dirt and grass. Silently I slid from the shadows to the tree, withdrawing a dagger I stabbed into the oak’s hard flesh. After many moments I stepped back, the tree bore the words, "Trenton and Irene." And it resides there still. She came an hour after sunrise, without hesitation entering the marble sepulcher. There was no pause as she crossed the threshold. It was clear she had made up her mind. Within the sepulcher was found the stone coffin and a few bare shelves. The musty smell was old, but lacked the scent of rot or decay. Edwin had turned Vampir and was destroyed many years ago-leaving the tomb empty, available for my use. From the glistening shadows, I lit the candles by thought and watched Irene's face. The stone coffin had seventy candles on it, all with varying heights, stages and diameter. Each shelf had candles too. The room was a glow with the softness of over two hundred candles. On the slabs in the empty coffin were spread a thousand white rose petals. Her face was awestruck. "Lay down," I whispered from behind her, "Lay down." My mouth nearly caressed her ear. Instantly she crawled onto the rose petal shrouded coffin, rolling silently to her back. "Do you have any questions? Once you cross this road there is no return." I asked softly while stepping from the shadows and standing over her. She nodded slightly. "Then ask me Irene." "Will it hurt?" "No." I lied. She was the first, and though my transition was painless, I had heard of traumatic conversions. "Will you be here when I awaken?" "Yes." The memory faded away as I drifted into Moscow. More pressing matters command my complete attention. I only had an hour or so until dawn and I had to find Marcus. A cold Moscow rolled out under me as I stretched my mind out, whispering to Marcus’s subconscious. The telepathic whispers came easily to me, Marcus had to strain and focus “to Archangel Cathedral" the thought was soft, but it was Marcus, and I turned back to the south, drifting into the cathedral. With soft steps I entered the cathedral and observed the appropriate Catholic rituals. Moments later I sat in the second row, waiting for Marcus to arrive. Thankfully I did not have to wait long. "Good evening Marcus," I said without turning my head. Marcus took the bench, sitting next to me, "do you always know?" "Yes." There was no need for additional explanation. "I figured you'd come." "Really?" "The Book of Mordant and this new seat on the Eldritch Coven, it was only a matter of time." Marcus said simply. "Have you met with Zion?" "These are challenging times and I will meet with Zion in a few days in Christiansburg, with Father Jarveck and Father Merrick." "The Triptych’s involvement?" "I am not sure." I stated. There was something about the Vatican's exclusion that lingered over the absolute certainty. "I hope to know more after meeting with Zion. Though, I can assure you of my involvement─I have no desire to have the Book of Mordant floating around at all." "That's good." Marcus stated earnestly. Then dramatically changing directions, he added, "Irene was in Moscow." "When?" I questioned looking at him now. "A few days ago. She said she was passing through." "I see." I said absently, and promptly changed the subject. "Marcus, what do you know of the dead vaults?" Marcus smiled wryly, "the Vatican houses a number of religious artifacts there, hoping those artifacts are forgotten. Most are mundane relics, others, like the Book of Mordant are powerful tools or weapons." "Where is the vault?" “Aleviz Fryazin Noviy built the dead vaults beneath the Vatican, a few years after the revisions to the Archangel Cathedral. The Original plans were destroyed after the vaults completion and only the Pope has the key and location." "Then how did Aamos get in?" "Every legend has its errors." Marcus noted, "It is possible there is a set of prints or he stumbled onto it." That thought had crossed my mind too. "Marcus, if Zion or the Vatican, for some insane reason, ignores the issue with Aamos, I will take up the task and may need your services again soon." "As always," he responded sarcastically, "I'm obliged to assist the great Trenton, champion of the good." We laughed together. "If you don't mind my asking─" "I do mind─" "What happened to you and Irene?" Marcus then asked, ignoring my opposition. Again, in a flash, I remembered her lying on the white rose petals rhythmically breathing. I'd watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, as her eyes closed. As if on instinct, she rolled her head away and exposed her neck, allowing her fingers to linger, gracefully tracing over the soft flesh. Eventually she slid her hand down her throat, side, and then rested it in a small pile of petals. I gave her no warning, no indication, I took a step up and bit hard in her exposed neck. Instantly she arched her back, and her fingers hungrily grasped at the snow white petals, while her toes curved up and she twitched in ecstasy. Warm blood filled my mouth and spilled down her neck staining the petals red. Carefully I pulled back and watched her twitching cease as her head lulled towards me. "I love you Trenton─I love you." She died. Trust is something I lacked. It was an inherited disability, a product of the incestual relationships between ignorance and hatred. Her profound confession overwhelmed me and I fled, never seeing her since. "I left her Marcus." I sighed at last, "she loved me and I loved her, and I ran." "She did not ask about you," Marcus said solemnly, "but her eyes said more than her frail breath whispered." "The past is the past." Marcus smiled, "you're right, just remember to learn from it and when the time is right-" his voice trailed off, "never mind." "You’re a good friend Marcus; I need the very few friends I have.” I leaned back against the heavy wooden pew, listening to the splintered creaking under the strain, "I will need my friends." In this world of light and darkness, I remained the brief twilight—neither claimed by the sun nor part of the dark night─instead I am the eternal in between. As such I am in life, an enemy to all, a friend to all, but alone. Not many could understand, or would want to understand who or what I am. Marcus tried to comprehend, tried to grasp what I am, and I call him friend. "Do you still safeguard the Rod of Michael?" I asked, hoping that Zion had not claimed it himself for some wayward reason. "It is safe." "Do you keep it safe?" "Yes." Marcus stated shortly, "I do." Unsure the reason for the sharpness, I just stared at him. He seemed to understand and just nodded. "I believe," I stated, "that a war is coming between the Eldritch Coven and the Triptych. I also fear that Zion and especially Father Merric are trying to ignore or downplay the events." "What about Father Jarvick?" "I don't know─but he seems to feel the gravity of the situation perfectly." "Good" Marcus said standing up, "You can count on me if that time comes, though we all pray it does not.” "Good day," Marcus, "I'm sure our paths will cross again soon, possibly as the Triptych convenes.” I watched as Marcus walked out of the Cathedral─I lingered for a long day and then silently left, heading southeast.
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