Hellward Bound

Early morning hours are known for three things: darkness, mist, and misfortune. At the third stroke of the clock, darkness and mist were abounding. Several silhouettes broke off from the daunting shadow, that was the forest’s edge. In the middle, hung a man’s limp body, the young master of the castle. Flanking him were his steward, Sebastian, and stable hand, Grayson. The men neared the castle, their pace slow, weary.

“Why do I feel so awful? What dire straits befell me?” moaned the young man.

“You’ve been in a nasty carriage accident, dear. Have a pint of patience and you’ll be good as new,” answered the comforting voice of the maid, Mrs. Tabitha.

“Rest easy, my boy. There’s no haste,” added the steward.

The castle staff stepped into the hallway, leaving a dying fire in the mantle to watch over their master. The men and woman whispered amid candlelight and stone walls.

“Thanks be to the good lord, you found him when you did, else he would’ve gotten away,” whispered Mrs. Tabitha.

“We must take precautions,” said Sebastian.

“Aye,” nodded the stable-hand.

Faint flames parted the darkness as their discussion led them through the halls.

Come morning, the man awoke. The sun’s blessed light caressed his face, as he lay gathering his wits.

Weakly turning his head, he asked, “Am I running a fever? Try my forehead Sebastian, I can’t tell.”

The steward placed his hand on his master’s forehead and darted a look at Mrs. Tabitha.

“As normal as can be, sir,” he said, hastily casing his hand into his vest pocket.

“Do try and eat some’ing, dear. You need thy strength,” offered the maid, as she motioned to a young woman, the cook, to enter. Two and a quarter spoonfuls of soup were enough to send the young lord into a vomiting fit. Mrs. Tabitha and the cook exchanged a few silent gestures before the man turned to them.

“I can’t keep a morsel down,” he said, exhausted, “tis due time to ring the doctor.”

“No need, dear, no need,” she waved the notion, “Dr. Benjie tended to you while you slept. I’ll go brew some of that tea he prescribed.”

The master spent the day in bed. By evening, will overpowered weakness, as he took to meandering about the castle. A guest room with powder-blue walls beckoned him.

A wide ornamental door fame divided the two halves of the room, both identically furnished.

“One would think I’d remember it being so large.” he said aloud.

He leaned forward in an attempt to examine the second half and hit his head on some flat hard surface.

“Ow!” he cried out, whilst searching for the culprit, but found nothing.

Just then, Mrs. Tabitha’s voice resonated from the courtyard. Walking over to the window, he saw her. She stood akin to an orchestra conductor, directing workers on a higher level of the castle’s right wing. Joining her on the grounds, he watched a draped panel be lifted into a room through its window. The sun was setting beautifully. He was feeling better.

“Breakfast is served,” announced the maid, upon seeing her master enter the dining hall. Heavily dropping into a chair, he overlooked the spread and remarked, “What unfamiliar cutlery is this? What hast thou done with my goblet?”

“Oh, ‘twas long overdue for cleaning, dear. We sent the silverware to the Smith,” she answered nonchalantly.

He sighed, “The ill-fated incident hath left me upturned. Days to nights; ravens to doves.”

“Patience, dear,” Mrs. Tabitha instructed.

A rapping noise emanated from beyond the dining hall, disturbing breakfast.

The door knocker exposed a guest.

“Who beckons, Tabby?” he asked, between spoonfuls of porridge.

Walking up to the entrance, she peered through a green panel of the mosaic window.

“Ol’ Fr. Jeramiah,” she yelled back, “no doubt, seeking alms.”

“Why, now, would he cometh? Honestly, a man of God, who hails at such an ungodly hour. Can’t believe I ever thought well of him,” mumbled the master, irritably. “Deal him his pittance, Tabby, and get him hence.”

 “Good morn Father. I’m afraid the master is ill and won’t be entertaining guests.” She disappeared from view for a moment. “Here, take this.” Grabbing a large shimmery metal cross off the windowsill and handing it hurriedly to the little priest. “A bequest to the church, in the name of Sir Alerton.” The oak door shut with a ‘thud’.

Whilst clearing the table, the cook cautiously eyed the master. Rising from his chair, he gave a great yawn. She stepped back, spilling some sugar. Her stare escorted him out of the room.

Evening cometh, and with it solace. The young lord took to roaming the courtyard. A clear sky unfolded above, as the night orchestra commenced below. Chirping crickets filled the grass, whilst the woodland wolves began their serenade. The orchard paths led him the stables.

“Ho! What’s this I see?” he exclaimed, peering beyond the barn door. “How’s it that my carriage rests wholesome, and horses too?!”

He sought out his keepers for answers as dust clouds rose trailing his running steps.

 “Wake. Pray, don’t tarry. What said you bout my ill-fated trip? How is it that my carriage stands unscathed and horses each in rightful place?” demanded the young lord.

“You don’t recall, sir?” began Sebastian’s drowsy voice. “‘Twas three days prior, whence we urged you postpone a meet, for your stagecoach wasn’t ready. You took to bareback and left for town, regardless. Tired from a full day’s toil you arranged for a cabby to transport you home. ‘Twas then it happened.”

“I see,” he said, dropping his head, “forgive my assault on your dreams.” Bidding them ‘good night’ he left.

“How long now?” asked Tabby.

“Too soon,” Sebastian answered.

The evening inherited the warmth of day. The still, hot air, overflowing with floral aromas, made for strenuous, yet pleasurable, breathing. With the garden in full bloom, the roses held a pageant, showing off their velvety draperies in all hues imaginable. The young lord chose a winner. His favorite wore blushing pink petals, laced with white. Holding firm the stem, he cut it away from the others. Its thorns pushed into his skin, as if to push away his advances. A smell so delicate, he sensed it in his soul. He grasped too tightly, paying the price, unfolding his hand as the flower fell. Curiously, the pricked finger had not given a drip of blood. He retrieved the rose from the ground, yet his stare remained firmly planted upon its lonely shadow. He searched for his own familiar outline.

“Doth the sun recognize me not? By what means are such unheavenly laws governed?” he thought, astounded. “Light cast, yet no shade makes.”

Panic overtook him. His heart raced his legs back to the castle. He felt faint and lightheaded. So light, that he could swear his feet were rising off the ground.

“Am I imagining? A dream, surely, this must be,” he attempted reasoning with absurdity.

Earth, in fact, no longer had a hold on him. Grabbing the nearest wall, he forced himself back onto ground. Something was greatly wrong. Clouded in disorientation, he began dashing, as a madman, from hall to hall.

“Sir, stop!” and “Oh, heavens dear!” the maid’s and steward’s voices trailed after him.

He found himself before a locked room. His unnerved state provided only one solution, entry at all costs. Breaking through the wooden door, he plummeted to the floor amid shards of wood and glass. The room was filled with mirrors. Mirrors of every shape and size, hanging and leaning on every wall, and spilled across the floor. Each infinitely reflecting another, yet he was missing from all of them. His keepers burst in, breathless.

“What’s happened to me? Is this your sorcery, fiends? What for, have you turned to treason? Tell me, what for?!” he cried, holding his face in his hands.

They ran to him, knelt on either side, held tight his shoulders.

“I’m so sorry, my boy,” said Sebastian shaking his head, “you weren’t in a carriage crash. Rather, the cab was overthrown by night demons and you were taken by them.”

“Sebastian and Grayson went out searching, and found you in a horrid state. We weren’t sure if you’d make it through that night, but you did!” Mrs. Tabby changed to a softer tone. “The transition is inevitable, dear. We’ve accommodated the castle to your new needs, to save you some pain. You weren’t meant to see this room yet,” she explained.  

“Woe! Tis done, my sun has set!” he fell limp sobbing.

“You mustn’t give way. Tis no end, but the start, my boy. There is much more to overcome. We are with you,” assured Sebastian.

Thus, they stayed for the remainder of the night, supporting their fallen angel, involuntarily hellward bound.