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The church was small and ancient, remote from any sign of civilization dating
back less than three centuries. It was a nice spring morning, fresh and clear, one of those mornings where you feel light-hearted
and relaxed. And Jason was burying his father.
Jason caught the eye of several so-called friends of his father, movers
in the world of the occult, dealers in shadows. He saw them looking for something else, something spectacular, less . . . mundane
than a simple burial in a simple church, with a middle-aged priest and the close relatives wearing black in the front rows.
But that was all there was, all there would be. Any consequences of the strangeness of John Asters' life were already dealt
with, in places far away from here. Places that would never know a simple spring morning or
resonate with the sound of
the cool water running behind the church.
The ceremony ended. Jason stepped out of the church and steeled himself before
meeting the guests.
*****
Elena thought that the Manor looked much different in the light of day. She was still
uneasy, not sure of why exactly she should be there.
It had just been so fast. Only two days ago she didn't even know
Jason. The first words he told her were an order, and he frightened her with his aggressive manner. And now she was standing
at his side, wearing a long black dress she didn't even know by whom it was bought, while he greeted people paying their respects
to his deceased father.
She remembered waking up in the middle of the night, that first night when she came to the
manor. She wandered out of her room, looking for something to drink, and maybe although she wouldn't admit it for Jason himself.
When she found him, he was crying in the dark, holding a badly damaged photograph in his hands. Without thinking, without
realizing that the guy was as cold as an iceberg, she wrapped her arms around him and let his sorrow and reserve melt away
by the sheer force of her inner warmth. She was gifted for that kind of thing, and needed oh so much right now. He calmed
down ever so slowly, until his cheeks had dried and his breathing had returned to the carefully regulated rhythm he was used
to, and he disengaged himself to face her and thank her and tell her that really, he was alright now. Finally she came back
to bed.
When she woke up, in the morning, it was to the sound of a telephone ringing downstairs. She hated being woken
up by a phone, especially on a Sunday. So it took her a good twenty minutes to get out of bed, another five to find her clothes
and dress up, and finally it was more than thirty minutes later that she headed down the stairs, fresh as a rose, led by the
smell of frying eggs and bacon.
A forty-something lady, apparently some kind of helping person she wasn't really used
to people having servants greeted her with a healthy country accent and served her an enormous platter of breakfast. When
she was done, she wandered off along the manor to find Jason. She found him in a dressing room, trying on a black suit and
tie, tying on golden cufflinks.
*****
Mari didn't like funerals. She should have been used to them, though.
In the circus, it sometimes just happened. There was no particular reason, just bad luck, a training accident, an ill-prepared
number, someone messing with the wrong people. You gave them a simple burial, and the circus left, and never came back, because
when a place was marked by that kind of pain, nothing could make you go back.. And although smugglers or the Freiburg underground
weren't really ceremonial people, and mostly kept to themselves, you could always find one or two of them hovering around
when someone like them had died. And she had buried friends, too, too many of them, too many
with whom she had been more
than intimate. She had cried for three days after Louisa's death. She had remained alone and miserable for months. Then life
had gone on. Maybe that's why she didn't like funerals. Too much time spent remembering what you thought of people, not enough
remembering them.
She hadn't even known John Asters, for Theus' sake. And she knew for certain that his body wasn't
down there, in that coffin. And she didn't know anyone in that church, no one at all.
The pallbearers took it up and
started down the way, to the graveyard. A young man, apparently Asters' son, followed them with an expression of grim determination.
But what stunned Mari was the girl that walked just behind her. She was amazingly beautiful. With tan skin contrasting with
her beautiful black dress, her black hair held back behind her head in a complicated knot, she looked like an angel of mercy,
hovering over the miserable to bring them grace and hope. Her face was thin, her eyes lightly marked by an Eastern heritage,
surrounded with freckles and dispensing a holy gaze from their brown irises. She walked delicately, trying not to attract
too much attention, supporting the young man in the most discreet way possible, and catching as few eyes as possible.
Mari
wondered how many of those eyes could have missed her.
*****
It was done. The coffin was in the ground, and
most of the guests were leaving, apparently disappointed, after a few unoriginal and insincere words.
Alexei left
the place in his rented car, getting away as fast as he could.
*****
Jason was relieved to see the first couple
to approach him.
- Hi Mum. Hi Walt.
- How you doing, Jason?
- I'm managing, I guess. But I'm happy to see you.
Are you staying in town?
- Yeah, Jason, your mother and I took a room in a bed and breakfast
nearby.
- You sure
you don't want to stay at the Manor?
- No, you know I couldn't come back to the place, even if I wanted to.
- But do
call us anytime. And if I can help you with the legal stuff,
you know I'll be glad to.
- Sure.
- I'll see you later,
Jason, said his mother before whispering: and maybe you'll introduce me to your friend there
Jason could only blush
while his mother and father-in-law left. Unfortunately, he was returned to reality quite abruptly when he saw his next
visitor.
- Padre Estevez.
- Señor Asters, I wish to express our
Jason's
voice was icy when he abruptly interrupted him.
- Estevez, as for myself, I would gladly throw you out of this graveyard
right now.
Estevez didn't answer, simply watching Jason.
- But as Lord Asters, you are welcome to the Manor
for as long as you will want. Your presence is an honor.
Estevez simply bowed in acknowledgement.
- Just don't
honor me too long.
Jason turned away, negating Estevez's presence, and focused on his golden cufflinks.
*****
The
next in line was a young man, dressed in a very conservative attire, having made very conservative law studies, and coming
to do a very conservative duty in the name of Jones and Wills, Esq., a very conservative firm set in a very conservative neighbourhood
of Carleon.
Inside his briefcase, among various legal papers, some of which bore the royal seal of His Majesty of Avalon,
was a simple letter. Jason would receive it and read it much later, but as readers of this story, we are entitled to more
than our fair share of secrets, and here is what it said:
Jason,
Our world is not as it seems. I would say
I am sorry to have brought you up the way I did, secluded from some of your friends, evolving in a world most cannot even
comprehend, but I am not. I know I think I know that in the end, you love this world of night and smoke more than I ever did,
if possible.
The occult is a trap for the foolish, waiting to crush them and digest their energy. Nothing is as it
seems. Feed someone a lie, then when they get through it, feed them another and tell them they have passed the test and reached
another level of consciousness, and on and on and on. They will thank you for it and call you Master. And all the while, neither
you nor your puppets see the real things in the dark, moving to engulf all, and not giving a damn whether they are occult
or not, so long as they can feast on your souls.
We are here to protect the innocent from those dangers. The Asters family,
for more generations than you suspect unless you are even more clever and tortuous than I think have been the Keepers of the
Charts of the Kingdom. We are here to keep track of what is real and what isn't, to go into the night and challenge those
things to prove their existence, even at the risk of our very lives, so that we may shed light on all the lies that pretend
to shroud a too harsh to contemplate reality, and that often do.
The Manor is the result of centuries of information
gathering, but it is also much more. Even before it was built, during the Elainian renewal of the mysticks of Avalon, it was
a very ancient ritual site used by druids. Now the Manor is intimately linked to what we are and what we do. It shapes us
as we grow up, and it houses us and protects us. Just as knowledge is power, our library emanates things that live with us
as we live, and grow, and give birth to the next generation of Asters.
Our family has much more history than it seems.
When Octavio Astorius, first knight of the Talionis Legiones entered the land for the first time, he was the ears and the
eyes of the emperor. But it was when he married into an old and respected family of druids that the founding stone for our
family was laid. Since then, every Asters, hunted through the Dark Ages, revered during the Enlightenment Era, falling tragically
to forces unnumerable or living to a ripe old age to teach and protect, every Asters worked to bring light into the darkness.
Our workings are not all glorious, and some of them haunt us yet. But we fight, year after year, generation after generation,
century after century, because if we don't, none will. None have the strength and knowledge to, and we have no right to throw
that responsibility over anyone else's shoulders.
If you read this, now, it will be because I have died. One day you will
write such a letter for your own child, and maybe only then will you really believe what I will say, but listen and remember
this: With all I know of what our duty means, and with all I know of what it takes to be the Keeper of the Charts, to be an
Asters I would not want anyone else but you to be.
Farewell, my son.
John Asters
*****
Before
he met the young man, though, Jason concentrated for a few moments on the cufflinks. They were his father's. He had tried
them on for the first time two days ago, when he was preparing the outfit for the funeral. He remembered looking at himself
in the big mirror, wondering if that was going to be the way he'd look, the way he'd think of himself for now on.
Then,
looking up, he met Elena's eyes.
- Hey.
She seemed worried, and a bit puzzled.
- Hey. Did you sleep well?
-
I should ask you. What happened last night?
- My father died.
- Oh Theus. Um how how did it happen?
The answer
sounded detached, far away, as if he was preparing to say it numerous times over the next days.
- I don't know exactly.
Someone saw him enter a building in Freiburg, and then it went up in flames. They tried looking for his body but couldn't
find it. Finally they gave up and called me this morning.
- I don't get it. How did you know yesterday night?
- He told
me.
Elena seemed completely lost. Jason finally stopped concentrating on his suit and finally turned to face her.
-
Don't try to understand it. I told you, this place is weird. I am weird. And so was my father. I'm sorry you fell into this.
I'll call a taxi to drive you back to Carleon after lunch.
He smiled, a bit apologetically, then turned away to try
another tie. He was struggling to make a correct knot when he heard her soft and soothing voice, suddenly strong.
-
No.
He turned back, a quizzical look on his face.
- Huh?
- No. I'm not leaving.
- I don't really get it
-
You're looking terribly alone to me right now. And, if you could have called someone to be here with you, they'd already be
here, right?
- Um You don't think they could be on their way right now?
- I'm assuming they aren't.
- Right.
-
So, I figure, I'll stay around and help you with all this. The funeral, the inheritance and maybe admitting it means something
to you.
He looked for some time for an answer but couldn't really formulate any.
- Well, I can't stop you
-
Oh no you can't. Right, now you tell me who to call for the church, the ceremony, funeral offices, things like that.
-
You look like you've already done that sort of thing before.
- I grew up in the Gallegos country. We go to weddings and
funerals the same way: it's part of the village life.
- Still, this doesn't involve you.
- Well then, maybe I'm just
planning on seducing you in order to have my share of the inheritance.
- Maybe.
- Then again, if that was my plan, I
would have seduced you much faster and much stronger.
A shadow of a smile on Jason's face answered Elena's wolfish
grin.
- I'll go get you the addresses then.
- Sure. Off you go! Oh, and one last thing.
- What?
- I'll cook
lunch, all right?
*****
One of those particular rules of geography that you only notice when you
get really homesick is that the higher the latitude, the slower the sun sets. Elena had always been very nocturnal, and when
she thought of home, one of the things that came to her was that it was either day or night it didn't drag on for dozens of
minutes, like it did in Avalon, or worse, Vendel.
Which is why she was surprised when night fell on them in instants.
She turned to watch Jason's face, now only illuminated by the car's dim lights. It was every bit as closed and determined
as it had been during the funeral, a few hours ago.
Funny. Now that she thought about it, it really took a long time
to get back to the Manor. Much longer than it had took to go to the church. These little country roads inside the hills all
looked the same, and at night it looked very different, of course, and she had somehow lost a bit track of the time she figured
she must have dozed off or something but really, it wasn't normal. She caught a glance from Jason into the rear-view mirror.
It was only when she turned around that she noticed the big black car that was behind them.
- Are we being followed?
-
Uh-uh.
- Theus. Who could want to follow us? Do you think they're dangerous?
- Not as long as we keep driving, anyway.
She
turned around again. The car didn't seem to actively pursue them. It just followed them around, like a toy attached to a bit
of string. It was all very silent, drowned in the fog and the moves of the headlights, and seemed at once calm and odd. Suddenly
she got afraid that the driver of the following car might see her looking at it, and turned back.
- But one day we'll
have to stop, won't we?
- Well, we're going to the Manor.
- And what will happen there?
A small smile appeared
on Jason's face.
- Don't worry. It has ways of not being found when it doesn't want to.
- Huh? What do you mean?
-
It's not really that people who don't know it don't see it. And it's not really that only I know the route to it. It's just
a bit of both. I figure it just doesn't want any unwelcome guests.
Elena kept silent. She started getting used to the
"it's-weird-but-it-works-that-way" explanations of Jason. And it was true that she'd seen no one in the Manor except Jason,
and herself, who'd been brought by him each time. And
- What about that person who came to take care of the house the
other day?
- Mrs Cotter? That's different. Her family's lived in the region before anyone else. The land and them, they
have an understanding, I guess. There's much more to her than meets the eye.
- Makes me think of a fantasy book character.
Actually, so do you.
- Yeah, well, you should beware of books. Most of them tell the truth. All of them, in a way.
Finally
the headlights rested on the gravel entranceway to the Manor. Elena looked behind her. The other car had disappeared.
*****
The bar, if you could call it like that, and its general feeling, could be entirely
described in one word: metal. Every single piece of furniture was made of industrial iron sheets, vibrating with the bass
lines of the music that penetrated the whole place, so loud that you couldnt really listen to it, it just seeped through your
world, intricately wrought within your thoughts processes, pounding against your skull with each coherent word you formed
in your mind. Somewhere a red light beamed regularly and colored everything, as if the whole universe was suddenly bathed
in blood for a few fractions of a second. Outside of these flashes it was so dark you barely had time to adapt your eyes before
the next beam that changed your world again, with motions out of very old movies or the fractioned consciousness of alcohol
or drugs. Alexei saw pale faces, young people dressed in black, trying to look cool when they just seemed bored, trying to
mate with each other and give free reign to their hormones. He was probably older than any of the patrons.
Beam.
Beam.
-
Right, said a voice. Alexei turned.
Beam.
- Where were we? Alexei saw a young, eager face, almost too symmetrical,
too perfect for its own good. The man in front of him had a very fake, very
polished smile on his face that angered Alexei.
Beam.
Beam.
Alexeis
own grave voice spoke.
- You were telling (Beam) me that I was (Beam) going too slow.
Beam.
- All right
(Beam).
His face seemed to change in-between the bouts of light, looking a lot like
something very bizarre, very
dangerous, and not entirely human.
- We dont need (Beam) to tell you how (Beam) to do your job. But (Beam) my employers
are (Beam) getting very (Beam) impatient.
- Now (Beam) look. This isnt (Beam) a shopping trip (Beam) were talking (Beam)
about. Its a (Beam) bloody hitman contract (Beam)! Its a damn (Beam) murder, for (Beam) the Prophets (Beam) sake! You already
(Beam) messed up once (Beam), and if you (Beam) dont want it to (Beam) happen again, youll (Beam) let me do what (Beam) you
pay me for.
Beam.
The young predator opened his mouth to answer, but it was no use. Between
two flashes,
Alexeis impressive frame had just disappeared. He turned away
to order another cocktail.
*****
Elena startled when she heard the main door close. Two drenched figures came
in, every single feature of their body language - she had studied acting, hadn't she? - betraying mistrust and defiance.
One
was Jason. She had waited for him to come back, for at least an hour now. She didn't mind it, it was just that . . . well,
she felt welcome enough in the Manor when he was here, but when he wasnt she just felt like a stranger in it. She had turned
the TV on, turned it off when she saw the moronic programs, she had tried to find a radio, or CD player, or anything. She
didn't really trust herself around the books in this place. So she had looked for his room, reasoning that if anything came
close to being remotely normal and young and alive . . . no, scratch that, the place was alive enough as it was . . .anything
remotely linked to her own world, it would be there. There wasn't much. A few CDs, mainly independent pop, a few old blues
classics from decades ago, one or two classical recordings. Paperback novels, the kind you read on a train. There had been
posters on the wall, but over all, she had gotten the feeling that when he was a kid, the entire house was his playground.
She had left the place with a novel in her hand and settled on top of the stairways in the main hall.
From up there
she could see the other figure. It was a girl, well, maybe she should say a woman. She was small, with short blonde hair that
could, or not, be peroxide. The eyes were blue, and the skin lightly tanned. She was sexy, in a rebellious, defiant way. She
was wearing black jeans and a heavy black leather jacket with a brown sweater underneath. She felt a little twang of jealousy
from the way Jason looked at her: wary, attentive, he seemed to consider her a dangerous opponent, worthy of respect. He looked
up at Elena and said:
- Come down. Were all going to have a little chat.
They moved to one of the rooms, a drawing
room with large windows
overlooking the night outside and several armchairs. Jason motioned for Mari to sit down on one
of them, while he sat on the sofa facing it. Elena sat on the armrest on the other side of it, watching the two of them. She
caught several long glances from the girl before Jason decided to finally break the silence.
- Now. Who are you, again?
-
My name is Mari Stauffenborg.
- Marie? Isn't that a Montaigne name?
- Not Marie. Mari. Short for Margareta.
- Isn't
that a Castillian name?
- Yeah, well, I could tell you all about my godmother who was a witch in the Zepeda country, but
its not the point, is it?
- Right. What is the point, then? Why were you following us?
- I thought you might be someone
I'm looking for. Who are you, then?
- You've got to be kidding me.
- Hey, I introduced myself, it'd only be good manners
that you do, too.
- All right. This young woman here is Elena Colledos
- Elena Beatriz Colledos y Sarran, corrected
Elena.
Once again, she got one of those glances from Mari.
- And my name is Jason Asters.
Mari relaxed
with relief, and sagged a little in her armchair.
- That's what I hoped. Well, I'm here because, um, I've got a message
for you. From your father.
- You knew him? Jason asked, a puzzled look on his face. Mari didnt look a bit like the kind
of people who dabbled in the occult.
- Well, I met him just before his death. He kinda, you know, died in my arms.
-
. . . Oh.
- Yeah, and, uh, he told me to find you and tell you . . . She shot a sideways
look to Elena. Can I . . .
you know?
Jasons attempt at an answer was cut short by Elena who, in the sweetest voice possible, which is quite a
lot for someone as graceful as her, said:
- If you try to cut me off now, Ill rip your throat out.
Jason kept
his eyes away from her and on Mari.
- Go ahead.
- Right. He said to tell you to look into something he called the
diaries.
- The Journals.
- The journals, that's it. Decimus 43, he said.
- You sure about the date?
Mari chuckled.
-
Quite, yeah. 17 Decimus 1943, surrender of the Northern Army, that's when the UWP forces set foot in Eisen for the first time.
Beginning of the end for Gaster's army. Any Eisenr out of primary school knows it.
- Good, then.
- That's not all. He
said to tell you that the charts would be well kept . . . whatever that can mean.
- It, uh, it Are you sure that's what
he said?
- Well, I could be wrong, but you know, when a man dies in your arms in the middle of a burning building, you
don't really forget it easily. Sometimes I think I can still smell the smoke.
- Was he . . . Was he hurt?
- Y-yeah.
He was. But he was, I don't know collecting himself. Concentrated. And he knew what was coming, and he was as calm and tranquil
as can be, you know. I hope I'm like him when my time comes. I really do. It's just . . . they say that's when you really
see what you are, those last moments. Well, I've seen his last moments and . . . if you're half the man he was, then
you can be very proud.
There was a moment of silence. Jason seemed at a loss for words, and simply let his head down.
Elena met Mari's gaze, and something strong passed between their eyes. The common feeling of mercy for another human being.
The common sense of being out of place. The sympathy one holds out for the other at such a time, when, one's pain is so immense
that no one else can even comprehend what it can be like.
That's when the windows shattered under gunfire.
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