Chapter IV - He Returns

Finally, we get to be formally introduced to Him. This is the 'Him' whose seat remains empty at the Brazen Boar; the 'Him' whom inspires an almost religious zealotry in a certain class of person... but why is he back? Why is he so venerated? ...or is it fear?

He's still one of my favourite characters to write, I just hope he's as fun to read!

A chill northern wind was blowing across the rooftops of the Trade District, bringing with it the harshness of the frozen wastes far beyond the Ravenwood. Though it tossed his hair and duster coat, the frigid air did not cause him to shiver, in fact he showed no sign of discomfort at all as he stood rigidly still, balanced perfectly atop a rusted iron weather vane at the apex of an old clock tower, almost invisible against the bleak and cloudless night sky.

He looked down at the empty streets below. The clock tower was a part of a larger Chapel structure that jutted out of its base, with a steep slate roof and demonic grotesques roaring noiselessly out across the cemetery that surrounded the Chapel. He stepped forward and dropped feet-first towards the ground, landing in a kneel as softly as if he'd merely stepped from a table, not a five storey edifice of stone and iron. As he stood back up he found himself looking into the cold, unblinking eyes of a statue of Mor-Haig. He placed a gloved hand upon her cheek almost lovingly and stroked the smooth stonework.

"A fine and just depiction, my dear..." He spoke softly as if to the statue, "This artisan has done you a great justice."

Her thin and gaunt cheeks were beautiful and delicate, almost angelic. Long serpentine braids of hair twisted down from her head and around her neck onto the robes she wore. In one hand she held a great scythe that was lavishly detailed with rose vine twisting around the shaft. In the other, she was casting seeds from her pouch. With one hand she harvests, with the other she sows seeds anew. The cycle of life.

"Tell me," came a woman's voice from behind him, almost making him start as he turned away from Mor-Haig, "Where do you fit into her cycle, Pen?"

Before him stood a blonde woman clothed in soft blue clothing and with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

"Ealm." He said simply. He bowed courteously.

"The rumours of you being back in the city are true then." She smiled warmly.

He smiled in response, "So it would appear. You seem well."

"I thought I'd find you here." She continued, ignoring his lead, "After all, this always was your favourite haunt."

He chuckled lightly, "A good pun, Ealm. Did he send you? How is my brother these days? Keeping well, I hope."

"Gideon is alive and well." She opened her arms in gesture and he embraced her, holding her tightly for a measure, then stepping back she eyed him up and down curiously, "What of you? Where have you been?"

It was dark but his vision was beyond that of a human now, he could see her cheeks had flushed.

"It matters little," he said, curling his lips into a smile, "And to answer your previous question, I don't anymore."

Ealm paused briefly, unsure what to say. It had been years since she had laid eyes on him, yet not a day had passed without her thinking of him. They had been long and hard years for her and Gideon, yet here he stood before her, Melciah Penrhyn, utterly unchanged by time. His hair, raven black, hung to the sides of his sharp jaw, a stark contrast to his near porcelain skin, flawless and pale as a winters moon. His eyes were two pale orbs, shocking sky blue like gemstones sparkling in the night sky.

"What was it about this place, Pen?" She asked quietly.

He looked around as if searching for his answer somewhere out there in the silent sea of headstones and monuments. A light mist hung around the feet of the markers, like grey teeth in whispy white gums, but there in the distance was a little mausoleum. It was quite modest, simple grey stone with a single dark wooden door. The roof sloped into a small steeple with a little window in each facing, through which a silvery light flickered.

"I can show you." He said simply, taking her hand and leading her into the mists towards the distant mausoleum.

"Where are we going?" She asked, her voice betraying the slightest tremble of fear, and Melciah realised that her eyes could not see what his could.

"Do not worry," he replied, "It's quite safe."

"There have been strange goings on in Castelmaine recently... Is that...?"

He let slip a chuckle as he guided her carefully down the path, remembering that to her eyes, she would see only a few feet before her nose, "You mean the tower, the fiend of Berican, the dock-lights and such?"

"Dock-lights?"

"A thousand torch lights were witnessed drifting through the Old Town harbourage yet none were seen to carry them. We are here." He said, opening the heavy wooden door. It creaked on ancient hinges, letting the pallid light spill into the graveyard beyond. They both slipped through the doorway and he closed it behind them.

Inside was a single small chamber, rectangular in shape with a simple wooden bench along the length of each wall, just wide enough to seat them both. In the centre was a plinth of white marble, atop which sat a silver bowl full of a pearlescent liquid that was the source of the shimmering mercury coloured light. From the centre of the bowl rose a miniature statuette of Mor-Haig almost identical to the one near the chapel. Though the silvery liquid appeared to be burning, the idol seemed utterly unaffected and the chamber still quite chill.

"I would often come to sit here many nights when I was younger," Melciah said after a long silence, placing an arm around Ealm. She lay her head softly upon his shoulder, "Just to watch this spirit light flicker. It has always been lit, and many say if it should ever be extinguished, then Mor-Haig's cycle would be broken."

"How do you know all this?"

"I always wanted to study within the Onyx Tower. It's all an irony that has not been lost on me these years." He sighed, "But you asked me of the recent events."

"I didn't know about the dock-lights, but yes. Are those... Where those you?"

"No," Melciah said simply, "That was not I, but they are why I have returned."