We shall see Vivian's fate and Ms. Willow's blatant wickedness, though it is much more extended than what is contained in this text. Thus, you may subtitle this chapter "The Second Metamorphosis," for fairly obvious reasons. With this said, read on, viewers! Read on, and review!
TENEBROSA
By A.G.M. Mendelssohn, 2006
Chapter Five
From the documented perspective of Vivian Jacques—
Darkness blanketed everywhere I looked. It was not a gentle darkness, either, one that grows as the light of the sun vanishes in the western horizon, but an impenetrable wall of blackness that sneered at my attempts to feel my way around. I couldn't even see the hands in front of me, the darkness repelling my fingers like an unconquerable barrier, trapping there in the space for all time. There were no hints of light anywhere, and for what seemed to be miles, I wandered aimlessly through the eternal tenebrosity, hopeless and irredeemable. I could hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing, and my bosom heaved in desperation, longing to find solace in the void: Renarde…where are you…? But even as these thoughts began to flood my mind, all at once a brilliant light pierced the dark blanket, emerging from seemingly nowhere. I shielded my eyes as the light spread across the entire oblivion. Where am I…?
It was a forest, unchanged by human hands, the sun shining brightly through the canopy, lighting every speck of dust floating across its warming beams. It touched the ground, lined with green grass, the bark of the many oaks, and nearby, a brook rippled and frothed as it flowed its supply of water downstream. The entire area breathed a mysterious presence, hazy and surreal like a dream most mystical.
In the low shrubbery, I noticed there lingered many tiny fox-like creatures, their eyes upon me as I stood amongst them. They crawled from their hiding places and approached me, unafraid and welcoming. Around me they circled, and they for a time did not come any closer, but merely looked upon me in an almost admiring manner. These Vulpix pups were perfectly silent—quite unnatural, I would say, but nevertheless complimenting the forest's atmosphere. Their sparkling eyes, their rich coats, every one of their tail sestets curled around their forepaws as they examined me. In sure moments, they began to approach me in knowledgeable recognition, as if just recently realizing who I was.
They were very persistent, gathering by my feet as if I was to be their motherly figure, hoping for me to care for them with great tenderness. But indeed, as they pounced upon my ankles, I pondered where their true mother could be. I gazed around the mystical wood for any sign of a grown Vulpix or Ninetales, but I found none—thus I began to suspect that these poor little things were orphaned, their parents probably scooped up by a trainer with an Apricorn, shot down by hunters, or injured beyond recovery. This saddened me immensely, and I immediately crouched to stroke the youthful creatures. They were happy at this attention, and they responded by affectionately licking my hands.A flash from the sky struck my vision, and I was no longer standing in the woodlands. Instead, I stood in midair over the vast ocean, colored a deep green-blue, waves stirring across the expanse in disturbance of an endless sheet. The sky remained blue, very blue, not a single cloud anywhere, the sun hovering above me, casting down its light. I looked down at the ocean—and silently gasped: the water had formed to the shape of a fabled monster, dragon-like, and bearing massive jaws from the surface, leering upwards to the sky, directly below me. My breath hastened, and I feared I would be thrown to the water, to be sacrificed to the feasting of the great monster. My apprehension, to my utmost horror, came true before I could even ponder a second thought. The sky seemed to repulse me, releasing me so that I underwent a sudden descent towards the creature, who then opened its mouth to gladly receive me. I shut my eyes, and screamed a quiet scream, feeling the gravity take me to my doom.
I bolted from my bed, sitting upright and rasping for breath. I grabbed my chest and allowed the calm air to settle my pulse, any disorientation clearing from my eyes as sleep lifted.
Just a dream…. I sighed, pulling myself to an upright position. There was nothing unusual as I sat in that bed, surrounded by the nightly clamor of rain and wind—that is, nothing unusual until I looked around the room for a few moments. I realized that someone was amiss—Renarde. He was nowhere to be found in this bedroom—he was not laying beside me, and the armchair by the blanked hearth was empty. I wondered exactly where he had gone while I had rested in dreamy slumber—and at what time he would return. I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes, thinking—just thinking; there were no specific thoughts in particular, for scraps of computation ran to and fro from one end of my mind to another. Dreams, dreams… I hoped that all matters would turn out fine in the end, and that Ms. Willow would turn out more pleasant than the mistress I had met hours ago.
As I sat there in quiet reflection, I began to perceive a coldness entering the room. It was a strange coldness, one the seemed to chill more than just my body, and it was a feeling akin to the farthest extremities of the world. I rubbed my arms wearily, pondering if I should strike up the hearth to help warm this place—but for some reason, I had the suspicions that this sudden chill had nothing whatsoever to do with weather. As it happened, I was correct.
And then, most unexpectedly, I looked up—and I started at the sight.
A tall figure, disfigured and paler than the moon, had materialized not two feet from my bedside. His face gave the impression of a corpse, yet it was mutated to the point that it did not seem human—it was a savage expression, though I found it somewhat familiar, a memory stored in the deepest extent of my brain. His hair was whiter than snow, yet several places showed the singes of recent fire burns; his hands and arms were frail, withered and almost canine-like, and he was garbed in a coat that appeared to have been worn through several parties, a royal ball, and full-fledged battle of blood. A faint mist emulated about this apparition, and when he raised his hands, almost complete claws, he let out an unearthly moan:
"Quake not thy wrath…"
He spoke in a pleading, desperate voice, as if he was one with nothing to lose and everything to gain. I jumped to the other side of the bed, scattering the sheets and blankets here and there, fascinated by this mystical presence and staring in open-moth awe.
"Fire upon ye bark of Meredith be…"
The ghostly gentleman remained unhindered by my retreat; he crossed through the bed like it didn't even exist, again stalking towards me. If I didn't know better at the time, I could have almost concluded that this was his idea of a greeting, as if meeting someone he hadn't seen in at least a century. He wailed another phrase:
"Thou shalt not yield…"
"Who are you!" I cried, swiftly backing up from the deformed gentleman. "What do you want!" Indeed, I was overcome with a foreboding curiosity.
The deformity breathed a rattle that bore reminiscence to death, and, slowly raising his claw-like hands to my face, he, as if it were a great strain to do so, opened his mouth and moaned one last utterance, the last remnants of his energy spent:
"King's piece taken…"
And then, not relieving himself from his rigid stance, his still mouth fixed open, his shadowy eyes vacant like one that is smothered, he vanished into the darkness, fading away like a lantern that is gradually doused. In seconds passing the apparition was gone, and the space where he had stood returned to the shadows as if it had never been disturbed by anything supernatural. The rain continued to fall, the lightening carried on its activity, but nothing ghostly remained in the room.
I sighed, pulling myself upright from the windowsill, reflecting over the strange sight I had just witnessed. Who was that man, with such a deformity carved into his face, his limbs, and his entire body? I, unlike Renarde, believed in such spirits appearing to people; not that I would ever tell him, of course—he never cared much for superstitious people. This was why I was not so much terrified as I was worried, wondering what this otherworldly appearance could mean to me. Why would he reveal himself to me, and what was the symbolism of his words? "Fire upon ye bark of Meredith be"? "King's piece taken"? These phrases made very little sense, and even after several minutes of quiet thought, I could not comprehend their meanings.
A sudden movement from the doorway caught my eye, and I peered across the span of the room to see who it was.
"Ms. Gaudium?" I called uncertainly. "Is that you?"
"Indeed, I have come," returned the nurse's voice. I at once noted a change in her character: no longer did she have that firm obedience retained when welcoming us into the manor or when serving Ms. Willow; rather, it was replaced with a hushed voice, quiet yet urgent, and it surprised me, for I rarely thought Ms. Gaudium was capable of such altered emotion. I strode across the room to where she stood—even by the poor lighting of the threshold, I could see that she was large in the eyes and seemed to had been recently mortified.
"Mrs. Jacques," she whispered, looking fearfully at every shadow that stirred, as if unsettled by an unseen monster lurking in the darkness. "I do not mean to bring any vexation upon you, as I believe you were recently asleep…well…"
"Yes?" I prompted, worry beginning to return to my bosom. "What is it, Ms. Gaudium?"
For a moment Ms. Gaudium seemed to be unable to bring the words to her voice. She opened her mouth, as one does to discourse something dreadfully important, but even from where I stood, her tongue was cleaved to her palate, fixed and unmovable. Her eyes revealed a terrible fright, like one that broods over mortality, and it was the same that she expressed when Renarde had injured himself earlier this evening. Finally, she was able to unstick her tongue, but even so, she spoke with great caution, treading in waters most sensitive.
"I apologize," she breathed, rubbing her hands wearily, "I have not been entirely honest with you…oh, help us, help us…"
Concerned that she would collapse in a faint, I gestured towards the bed, gently taking her arm. "Come, you must sit down," I offered. "You look like you're about to be overcome with anxiety—"
"Thank you," replied the nurse feebly, nearly falling upon the bed, a dazed look haunting her expression. "It—it has been a long day…I cannot describe…I mean, already it had begun…why must this be…? Lord God help us, for the sake of humanity and all that's good…I shouldn't speak…but I cannot bear my tormented mind any longer…cruel wretch…oh, help us, help us…." She wrung her hands repeatedly, as if trying to rid herself from an invisible coldness, or trying to wash her hands from an unpleasant substance.
"Calm down now…" I soothed, sitting next to her and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all right…tell me what is wrong…"
"I shouldn't speak!" gasped Ms. Gaudium, her eyes hinting the liquid of brimming tears. She was rapidly losing control of her nerves, and no amount of reassurance could seem to calm her system. "Not to you! Not to Renarde—oh, Mr. Jacques! I must tell him! Yes, yes, at any cost—but to you! Oh, she'll punish me so severely…but if I can't…but if I could…I should…nay, let me die…I must die…please end this…please…I cannot go on…." She grasped me by the arms, and she brought her face close to mine, her eyes pleading, full of tears. "Kill me, kill me…let my soul rest…there will be rest, of course…stars may shine for me yet again…oh, please, Vivian—Mrs. Jacques, good wife of noble Renarde—end me…!"
I started, pulling her from me, disturbed dearly by her anguished emotions. I stood abruptly. "Please, Ms. Gaudium, you know not what you say…"
"Please, please," she cried, covering her face with trembling hands. She shook all over, sliding from the bed and unto the floor, where she continued to shake all over. "Don't! Don't! Don't! Too many years—too many! Let me die in peace! This obedience is too much to bear—and to watch every one—every one of them! —To suffer as they do! Oh, forgive me! Forgive yourself! Forgive—forgive! God help me! Heavens above!" She heaved herself back and forth, her arms clamped firmly over her chest, shuddering as tears scattered on the ground.
"Sh…" I tried, hoping to restore her back to a serene state—to no avail. She seemed more than willing to curl up and die on that small space of floor, oblivious to the world yet utterly crushed by it. For several minutes, her sobs filled the room, covering out even the sounds of the rain and thunder outside. I sat back down on the bed and let her wail her woes away, for at this point I knew there was nothing else I could do to help her, not, at least, until she had calmed down a bit, so that she could confess whatever was ailing her heart.
Finally, once she had been completely relieved of tears, she brought her eyes back to mine, as if a wonderful idea had crossed her mind. "You must leave," she murmured in a desperate tone. "You are no longer welcome here—you must leave at once—yes, yes—that's what you must do!" She scrambled to her feet in a new conviction. "Out, out—Renarde cannot—but you can, oh yes, yes…." She was clearly delirious, a manic glimmer of hope in her eyes, and by now, I began to suspect that Ms. Gaudium, who only hours ago had been a working and stable person, was shattered in mind. "Out with you—go, go!"
I leapt up, backing away, unsure what Ms. Gaudium would do next. "But—my husband," I stumbled, frightened by the sudden metamorphosis of her soul. Indeed, my heart reminded me that Renarde was not present in this room, and my thoughts were beginning to miss him and wonder about his safety. "Where is he? What has happened, Ms. Gaudium!"
"There is no time," spoke the household head urgently, the distant torchlight touching her face, illuminating the deep creases beneath her eyes. "You mustn't stay here another minute! You'll be next! A twofold step—my God! What you would suffer is beyond compare. Please, you must leave!" She took me by the hand and unsuccessfully tried to pull me into the corridors.
"My husband," I returned, wrenching my hand away, "where is he? Please tell me what is bothering you, Ms. Gaudium, for love's sake!"
"The Servant sneaks expertly, ensnaring the hearts of the noble and worthy…" She cried this in a prophetic manner, glancing worriedly all around, up and down the hallway, checking for any dangers of the body. "Oh, lured to the mistress's study—again hoping to gain her selfish ends through horrible means—leave, now! Out! Before it is too late, before time dies for everyone!"
I gasped—my suspicions of Ms. Willow's involvement had been confirmed. At once inquiries of many kinds formulated at the peak of my voice, and I ventured to pronounce them despite Ms. Gaudium's enduring hysteria: "She? I thought it would be she! What has she done? Where is she now? What is she planning to do? Where is Renarde!"
"Trouble me no more," she shrieked, covering her ears and wailing nonstop. "Quickly! You can't help him now—it is your own safety that you should be concerned about! Please, Mrs. Jacques, I beg of you to disembark at once, and I make it my only wish that you survive these terrors!"
A mix of impatient frustration and worry crept into my tone: "I am not going anywhere until you tell me where—"
"An ode to death!" exclaimed the household head, raising her hands to the ceiling—she had begun crying again, sobbing her words to incomprehensible phrases. "Please, take me! Not you! I—you—she—he! How could I be—trusting—damned to the betrayer—gone—gone—gone!"
I winced, deciding that enough had been enough. "Really now, Ms. Gaudium! You must control yourself—!"
"Pix!"
My ears detected a noise amongst the pandemonium that stood before me—what was that? It sailed from over the rafters, coming a fair distance from where we stood, but I sensed its presence nevertheless.
"And if anything was to happen! If she means to lure—"
"Sh!" I issued forcefully, bringing a finger to my lips. "That noise—listen—!"
Immediately Ms. Gaudium inhaled a large amount of air and silenced herself so that there was nothing but emptiness filling the corridor.
"Vulpix—PIX!"
There indeed came a noise, a sound so chilling that it seemed to briefly freeze my soul into place—the cries of a Vulpix came from the upper floors, screaming a tortured howl over and over again, lamenting…. But there was something strange about the grief I listened to—it was a pleading call, a request for aid. How I perceived such an understanding, I perhaps would never know, but that voice reminded me of a person familiar…. Unusual, I had rarely seen Vulpix in my lifetime, only having had one as a pet when I was very little, yet a mystical presence drew me towards that voice, and it revealed to me in an instant a force that seemed to tell me to follow, to investigate, to help that poor creature in the floors above…. But what was it that made me suddenly so sympathetic, made me temporarily forget even the whereabouts of dear Renarde? Was it the dream I had recently that brought me this sensation, or was it something more ethereal? I couldn't grasp it—but in that moment I knew what I was to do.
"I must go there," I breathed, slowly stepping into the passages that seemed to lead into the distance above the manor. "Those wails…"
Ms. Gaudium's eyes widened even more and she at once let out a terrified squeal. "No, no, no! I won't allow it—no, no, it is a trap, Mrs. Jacques! You mustn't go—!"
But already I had begun to speed into the corridors, heading towards the place that heralded those vulpine cries. Something within my heart told me that all my questions would be answered if I merely responded, and, strangely, I wondered if Renarde would indeed be found in the same place. The happy thoughts of finding my husband safe provided better incentive to hasten through the halls.
A freezing hand halted my pace, squeezing upon my arm. I glanced over my shoulder—Ms. Gaudium had stopped me. "Mrs. Jacques—no! Do not go to that wretched place! You're only playing the role she has set for you…!"
"My husband is up there…" I stared into the ceilings, as if I could see through the great masses of stones and the exact location of Renarde. I cared not about whatever dangers there were in store for me, nor anything that Ms. Willow could befall on me; all I cared was to approach those pleading calls and to reunite with my husband. I still did not know how aiding a Vulpix would help me find Renarde, but my soul screamed that it would, even though my mind had yet to understand. "I must!"
I forcibly extracted my arm from Ms. Gaudium, who continued to gibber as I ran into the shadows, dimly illuminated by the fading torchlight. "All are ensnared! Curses—curses! The Half-life will survive!" Her shouted warnings faded into the darkness behind me while the cries before me grew in dynamic. I quickened my pace, stepping up stairwells, nearly crashing through doors, and hurrying past various sculptures that lined the passageway—a crystalline Dragonite here, a smashed relic there.
Finally, I discovered the source of these ceaseless wails: they projected from behind a final door at what appeared to be the summit of a rather large turret. The door itself was plain wood, but the doorknob was heavily carved with an emblem; but I took no time to investigate the handle; I grasped it, twisted it, and wrenched open the aperture, stumbling inside the room.
The scene that unfolded behind me was more chaotic than I could have imagined—that is to say, the sights of the room was more chaotic, as opposed to the actual events. The namesake Vulpix trembled in one corner of the room, howling at the ceiling in distinguished agony. A hearth of collapsed stones stood boastfully in the pride of the room; a bed of exuberant taste and wealth revealed itself in a far opposite corner; the third corner held a disfigured pile of papers more numerous than perhaps all the governmental documents in the world amassed; the ceiling towered high and vast, stretching into a dome-like fashion. This chaos seemed to affect me in a strange way: I sensed a malicious ubiety in this room—I knew not how, but I merely felt it.
"Well, well…" lulled a voice from the final corner, the one to my immediate left. "This is becoming more convenient by the minute."
I turned to face the owner of that voice—even though she was submerged in the shadows, I recognized it to be Tenebrosa's mistress, standing quietly in the fourth corner of what I knew to be her room.
"Ninetales, tales…" growled the Ninetales by her side, as if most amused by my sudden intrusion. A sneer-like smile appeared on its muzzle, a triumphant expression glinting dangerously in its eyes.
"I was planning to send Ninetales down to fetch you," continued Ms Willow in an almost cheery manner, but her face held promises of a hidden malevolence. "I never expected you to come here, Mrs. Jacques."
Behind me, the Vulpix had ceased its cries upon becoming aware of my presence, and with an uplifted bark, a rush of paws told me that the creature was charging in my direction. I turned in my place, and not a moment too soon, for the red fox had bounded itself into my arms. I held it close, no doubt surprised by its sudden vivacity, it no longer wailing a depressed air but leaping and running as if all its woes had instantly waned upon my entrance.
"Well, hello there, little one," I greeted kindly in spite of Ms. Willow's confrontation, gently petting its soft fur, who then responded with a friendly bark. Slightly rejuvenated by this, I returned my gaze to the mistress; her stare, her sharp green eyes, filled the room like a poisonous coldness, and thus I found it best to offer an explanation.
"You've been carrying on a disturbance all the way into my room, Ms. Willow—more correctly, this Vulpix had been hindering my rest," I stated clearly, hoping to dispel the cloud of tension that had promptly spread into the room. "I merely came to investigate."
"Of course," chimed the mistress smoothly, chuckling in an almost nonchalant sort of way—her eyes continued to tell differently, however; they revealed a disturbing look of ambitious hunger. "You supposedly came out of curiosity, as your dear Renarde did. Interesting…two Jacques fall to the same reason."
"What do you mean?" I inquired in my best stern voice, gripping a bit too firmly on the scruff of the Vulpix's neck. "Where is Renarde, Ms. Willow? Ms. Gaudium seemed to provide a bit of concern on such matters—"
The mistress's eyes squinted pointedly, suddenly acid-like. "Did she? Fascinating, she finally broke down after all this time. I warned her to hold her tongue—"
"I came of my own free will," I interceded quickly, not wishing to place Ms. Gaudium in further trouble. "But that is beside the point—what have you done to my husband?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," she replied calmly, countering my question with a question, "the real reason why you actually came here? I can well assure you it had nothing to do with being concerned about a pathetic little Vulpix. You came to find your husband, and by chance you happened to follow a Vulpix's cries in order to find him—something drew you to this particular place, the one with commotion but not guaranteeing the location of your spouse, yet you cannot explain it?"
Silence was all I could reply with; she had spoken accurately.
Ms. Willow issued a dry chortle. "That's very good, Mrs. Jacques—you love your husband so profusely that you can feel his presence in any condition, injured, dead…deformed. Don't try and deny it—I can see it in your soul."
"And you find that humorous, Ms. Willow?" I asked incredulously. "Romance separated and seeking to reunite? Good heavens, you could never understand such matters—you, one who had never loved before!"
I regretted my words the instant they flowed from my mouth, for they seemed to puncture the mistress straight through the heart more effectively than a sharpened dagger. Her sophistication had fallen, and she appeared almost petrified, staggering backwards by the force of my phrases; and her Ninetales no longer looked smug, but it instead snarled brutishly, lowering itself as if about to spring for my throat. I quickly backed up, terrified for my life, but the Vulpix in my arms, instead of staying where it was, leapt from my grasp and retorted with a matching growl and defensive pose, standing in front of me and guarding my well being.
"Oh, you shall pay for your words," spat the mistress, a dark glare etched into her face, making her less a refined lady and more an untamable force that threatened to cut across my life. "Oh, you foolish woman! Punishment is promised for you amongst my wrath—but fortunately, I had already planned such a fate."
"Fate does not interest me—but I've noticed that your uncontrollable tendency to punish has wrought misery on many people, especially Ms. Gaudium. I fear that cruelty is all that you have ever known. In addition, your place is full of ghosts," I breathed, trying to bid time into my favor, my senses warning me of danger, "and even they are miserable in this Tenebrosa! Indeed, you've never loved!"
I realized that my words had struck another blow in Ms. Willow's spirit. Her chest heaved uncontrollably, as if she would soon collapse and cry, and indeed, even as I tried to decipher her behavior, she staggered over to the ruined hearth. Gripping one end of the lopsided mantle, she continued her heavy breathing, staring piercingly at the fallen stones and dusted ash. Then, quite unexpectedly, she burst out a cascade of emotion, screaming at an ear-piercing level:
"No! Come back! Oh God—do come, come! Leave that place—I'll take care of it—! No—no—NO—just once more! Once more…! Please…!"
I watched in fascinated horror at this splitting of Ms. Willow's sanity. First Ms. Gaudium, now Tenebrosa's mistress herself—what on heaven's exultation was wrong with these people! It seemed that no one here was able-minded, and in the circumstances witnessed, I would probably mistake each person to be spiritually possessed.Nearly reeling backwards by such actions, I remained unsure on how to handle the scenario at hand: in one corner, Ms. Willow was displaying a person ruined and dismembered in mind; in another, her Ninetales opposed me with a vindictive stare, quite ready to literally tear my life to shreds; and in front of me, the odd little Vulpix held its defense, valiantly daring the white fox to take another step, teeth bared and everything brutish.
I attempted to pull my gaze away from the eventful chaos present—but as Ms. Willow wailed hysterically, something most unforgivable caught my eyes, something that made my heart shudder and my mind freeze: near the right side of the hearth, close to the desk full of papers and cabinets, laid a heap of garments, disorganized and tattered, as if the person wearing them had been attacked by many claws, lances, and other objects sharp and pointed. Moreover, the clothes were vaguely familiar—there was a sweater, a travelling coat, dress shirt, pants, and boots, and nestled amongst them all was the final symbol that told me my husband was not at all well: a wooden cross, crudely carved, strung upon a thin leather cord. I recognized that cross the moment I saw it—it was the very same that had been given to my husband by the Azure Cross innkeeper. I could not doubt it any longer: Renarde had been lured to injury! Dead, I feared the worst, but at the very least in conditions most vile and hostile!
"No…" I whispered in a hushed, disbelieving voice, sensing a profound loss in my being as if part of me had been violently undone. "My husband…Renarde…" One half of me willed itself to throw my body over the ruined apparel to mourn over the likely end of what had been a happy marriage; seven years were gone, as were my dreams and my life. But the better half of mind commanded itself to remain courageous, to confront the cause of misery as Renarde would have done. By this, I felt liberated from internal discord and demanded an explanation, despite Ms. Willow's shrieks.
"Quiet down," I spoke sharply, burying my own dismay. My eyesight on the Tenebrosa mistress hardened, and any sympathy I would have had for her had vanished. "I have had enough of your estranged, loveless attitude, Ms. Willow. You have done something to my husband—and you are correct, I perceived such ill happenings from down in my bedroom—and I demand from your words reasoning for your actions this evening. Explain yourself at once!"
Eerily, the very moment I had completed my discourse, she ceased her sobbing altogether, ending her tears and moans in an instant; it gave the impression that she had been merely pretending her anguish. A shadow of a smile returned to her face, and she therefore looked even less human than I had known.
"It would amuse me greatly," she articulated airily, her green eyes locking into mine, "if I told you that your dear Renarde is forever dead. I would very much enjoy your sadness, to think that your husband had been brutally torn to bits by Ninetales, and my entire evening would hence be more pleasant, my life light-hearted—"
"Your sense of humor is astray—death to romance, death to life—you are lower than any misanthrope, any murderer, or any demon to touch this earth," I replied heatedly.
"—But I shall not indulge myself this evening," conceded the mistress as if she had not heard me, shrugging her shoulders in an offhand sort of way, as if to make me miserable was an opportunity lost. "I assure you, Mrs. Jacques, Renarde is in safe hands."
My eyes widened, following with a suspicious glare. "How so?"
Ms. Willow laughed her rattling cackle, inclining her head as she spoke. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you can figure it out, if you put together what I am capable of, respecting my abilities and powers—not to mention that Vulpix who so persistently decides to guard your safety."
A whimpering at my feet told me that the Vulpix had returned to sit by my side. I glanced downwards, staring into the fox's grayish eyes, the red fur upon its face matted in some places. Indeed, as its tails swirled around its front, yet almost in a drooping manner, it maintained its regard upon me, its face bearing a saddened expression, as if I was to soon fade from the surface of the world like a dimmed memory. Particularly embedded in its eyes was a spirit forlorn and anguished, like one yearning to be freed from an inner prison, the key snatched away by external forces….
A glimmer of familiarity briefly illuminated the creature's features, and by this gaze, I at once comprehended a very disturbing truth.
"Renarde…?" I asked cautiously, kneeling down beside the fox.
"Vul-vul pix…" responded the Vulpix, giving another look most beautiful yet sorrowful, and it touched my emotions sensitively, my heart grieving, as I stroked him across the spiral-like crown. I knew it to be true: Renarde had fallen prey to the intangible, to a curse beyond my control, and here he sat in a foreign guise, his humanity detained by the same mistress who, hours previously, was his client.
"Ah, I'm under the assumption that you've found Renarde, Mrs. Jacques?" sighed Ms. Willow casually, hands behind her back. "I find him a better Vulpix than business consultant—he adapts rather quickly to his abilities…"
I stood up, true anger rising in my chest. "Change him back, Ms. Willow; if you had any shred of decency, you would change him back."
"Decency? These matters do not concern decency, chivalry, or refinement," returned the mistress, now sounding annoyed. "These matters concern only my plans and my ambitions. Renarde is an asset to my goals."
"Ensnaring an innocent man is an asset to your goals?" I repeated, fury shaking my thoughts. "Applying your sorcery on innocence is a concern to your ambitions? God have mercy on your soul!"
The mistress was plainly not listening, instead more intrigued with my apparent belief in superstitions: "I see you accept that I have powers attributed to medieval hags. You know of the enchantments I am capable of."
I inhaled deeply—truly Ms. Willow's antagonism was showing, and as confrontations were never my expertise, I began to feel a tinge of fear mixing with my ire. "Yes, I do. I've come to have a certain belief in the paranormal—after all, the proof lies here." I gestured down to Renarde, who seemed to be trying to project a warning to me, an advice to leave this place posthaste. Although leaving Tenebrosa was not far from the foreground from my mind, scooping up Renarde in my arms and fleeing, I found that I could not pull myself from the mistress's presence. It frightened me considerably: her emerald eyes were captivating, her cold gaze acting as a spell that I could not break away from.
"I'm impressed," said Ms. Willow, "though I must say that my power was given to me, believe it or not. I was not born as the mistress you see me this evening. Either way…"
"Change him back," I demanded again, although I by now doubted that she would ever do so.
"I will not," she stated simply. "He will remain as such forever—again, I find him better in this form—but I have not counted you out of the list, Mrs. Jacques."
I struggled to retain a steady pulse, a dreary fate creeping into my spine.
"You see," she continued, "I have no intentions of letting you stay here in Tenebrosa. You would only prove to be more of a nuisance than of an aid. I believe that through you the world will feel the pain and suffering of many centuries, weaving throughout the ages past. In addition—if I have foreseen correctly—" She gleamed in a moment of exultation. "—you perhaps will prove to be the perfect lure."
"Enough of this!" I cried. "You make little sense! Change him back—for the sake of a better world, Change him back!"
Ms. Willow smiled. "Oh, someone will change—but not Renarde."
I glared with what I thought was a tough stare, ignoring my rising trepidation. "Very well, then—who?" Somehow I felt I knew the answer before it could even come.
The mistress jabbed a finger directly at me, leeringly. "Why, you of course. Best you share half of Renarde's fate."
The attack was a blur; neither Renarde nor I had a chance to react. We had been successfully distracted with Ms. Willow's barbed words and had briefly forgotten the other fox—the Ninetales—creeping from behind to spring an offense. Many bushy things crawled across my back; though soft and thick in one sense, they emulated an energy that tore across my body in many lightening shocks. I stumbled forward to meet the stone floor, and Renarde let out a terrified yelp.
I tried to pull myself back to my feet, but I found that I couldn't, for I felt paralyzed by the mystical energy that had struck me to the core. The only sight I could afford myself was a triumphant face, that of the Ninetales who had assaulted me. Fear shook me uncontrollably, but an even greater fright occurred seconds thereafter—it had nothing to do with the newfound splinters that had lodged themselves in every bone of my body. It had nothing to do with the cracks and crunching that began to emerge from my limbs, hands, and all else, my organs shifting about, vanishing, reappearing, moving here and there. It had nothing to do with the thick red fur that began growing and an alarming rate from every orifice of my skin, smoothing into a fine coat. It especially had nothing to do with my facial features, my mouth lengthening into a vulpine muzzle, my head sporting large pointed ears, and my hair reshaping into something foreign to me. These details made very little impact upon me, for during this strange metamorphosis, I witnessed the cruelest action that had ever befallen from Ms. Willow's hand, one that fueled my seeking to avenge.
The Ninetales had watched me change into heavens-know-what, apparently receiving its content by viewing my transformation—and I could only stare back into that grinning face, unable to move aside from involuntary snaps from my bones. But then—how can I describe it! —Renarde, out of nowhere, leapt towards the creature's neck, teeth and claws flared. Even the Ninetales recoiled with a surprised whimper as a wound slashed near its upper chest, scarlet dotting its white fur. Words and threats flew across my growing ears, and my horror undertook these chopped phrases:
"Pix! PIX! Dare you! How dare you!"
"You wound me, young one? I'll have to punish you for this…"
"Let it be done, Ninetales. Let Mr. Jacques learn to respect whom he serves."And right before my very eyes, reflecting off of my irises and freezing the entire scene momentarily, the Ninetales reeled back and opened its muzzle wide. With a deep breath released, it exhaled a tremendous compression of fire, heat, and brimstone. Its merciless eyes kept its target close, very close, and he had lacked the agility to evade such a massive counter. It was the Fire Blast of a Ninetales—aimed directly into the whole of my husband. I opened my mouth in horrific anguish, and ailed tears formed before I could even half process the image. It was the image of Renarde—the body of a Vulpix—nothing more than a fiery lump of flesh and bones—flying well ten feet into the air, across the room, and landing in front of the collapsed hearth, at the mistress's feet…burning in the flame, emitting billows of smoke…
What I witnessed took several seconds for my brain to cognize it—then I screamed— truly screamed a horrible sound:
"Renarde…PIX!" I scrambled to my feet and endeavored to leap to the smoldering body, to extinguish if I could, the flames licking over the Vulpix that had held the spirit of my husband.
It cannot be, my heart reassured my thoughts…Renarde could not have just been…Ms. Willow could not have allowed…that Ninetales did not just…the Fire Blast didn't…
Renarde could not have died.
A sudden movement blocked my intentions. The Ninetales stood before my path, blocking me from the route to Renarde. Hackles raised, teeth clenched, blood dripping from its recent wound, it spat out a warning:
"Ninetales, tales-nine-nine…another step and you will get the same…"
I opened my mouth to retort, but the mistress cut me off.
"Best you listen to her, Mrs. Jacques," stated Ms. Willow smoothly. "You'd feel the torture of a Fire Blast much more than Renarde would, as you still retain some of your humanity."
I briefly scanned myself. My hands were claw-like, nails longer than normal, and climbing up my arms and the rest of my body, fur as red as dull flame covered every space. My face felt different without doubt, as it was reshaped into a vulpine, yet still human, manner. Six tails had sprouted from the base of my spine, fanning outwards. My limbs, many bent at a strange angle, felt stronger, more agile…. Yet I had barely noticed these changes beforehand, being preoccupied with Renarde…Renarde's demise.
The mistress smiled in false sympathy, folding her hands across her front. "Oh, cheer up, Mrs. Jacques. I shan't let suspense linger over your head for so long. Your beloved husband is not as dead as you would think."
My head snapped up, and I peered at the Vulpix, still smoking from the blast. Indeed, I perceived a few twitches of movement. To this I breathed a sigh. Renarde was still alive, thank God…
"—But he's no doubt in a world of hurt," completed Ms. Willow. "The body of a Vulpix, being a fire-attribute, protected him from an almost certain death. Fire does not work particularly well on fire. Had you been attacked in such a way, however, you would have died…only half a Vulpix…."
I paid the mistress a look of loathing, growling slightly. "Vul…you cruel fiend…pix…"
The sorceress laughed her rattling laugh. "Cruel? How so? Renarde is not dead. He won't be attempting any more foolish attacks against my Servant for a while, true, but he is not dead."
"You enjoy the misery of others," I concluded angrily. "You care much for bloodshed."
"Maybe so," replied Ms. Willow. "But enough talk. I ask you now to leave this place." She gestured across the room, to the door. "You are no longer welcome here. Out."
A silence beckoned forth, in which no one, not even poor Renarde, moved.
Ms. Willow inhaled, and calmly repeated her simple command. "Out."
Silence again; Renarde's humbled voice panted weakly.
"Out. Or else receive a similar punishment to your husband."
The Ninetales crouched low, as if preparing to launch another deadly streak of flame. I edged backwards to the door. I very much wished to leave…but Renarde…I would not leave without him.
"You husband stays," said Ms. Willow, as if anticipating my thoughts. "You leave. Now."
I could not make my feet work; Renarde was there, badly injured. I would not leave without him…the Ninetales inhaled deeply, about to burst fire.
Renarde's voice continued to breathe faintly—but slowly, it grew to audible whispers, sounds my ears could detect:
"Vul-vul pix…run…"
"Renarde…" I murmured, tears matting my facial fur. "Renarde…I can't…""Don't forget me…leave now…my love…"
The Ninetales arched its back, flames formulating at the corners of its muzzle. Ms. Willow seemed to settle back, apparently enjoying the sadness at hand, smiling serenely."Now! NOW!"
I, perhaps by instinct or perhaps urged by my husband's words, ducked beneath the fiery stream that erupted from the daemon fox, the heat licking the fur on the back of my neck. I crashed through the door and rushed down the stairs, shuddering with tears, stumbling as I did. I found that I could run faster than ever, helped by the Vulpix agility that now possessed my body.
I tore through one hallway, then another. At last, I ran into the foyer, where Ms. Gaudium, who had returned to the entrance, was fumbling with the key, unlocking the door. Once the lock was removed, she stepped back from the door, allowing me to pass. I fairly fell to the door handles, grasping the metal in both hands. Before parting them, I allowed one last glance to the household head, perhaps my final good-byes.
As I passed the nurse, I saw in her face a world of sympathy, compassion, and regret. No apologies throughout the entire earth could compare to the ones I witnessed in her expression. Though I felt a deep vindictiveness towards those who had contributed to Renarde's fate and my own misery, I spared a large portion of my heart towards those who had also fallen before Ms. Willow and her Ninetales, and I vowed that someday, perhaps not tomorrow or the day after, that I would help them all achieve their freedom, their liberation from this horrible place, the eternal darkness that was Tenebrosa.
With this one last look, I pulled the doors open and fled into the restless night.
And gone I was, away from the walls of the mansion, over the rainy hilltops and thunder claps, gone into the forest that would forever represent the emptiness of promise, the death to happiness, the torturing of innocence, the cruelty of heart, and the evening that would never find solace for as long as it remained upon this hateful land. The fox-like cries of a Vulpix echoed over the space, stretching over fields, the woodlands, the brooks, and perhaps even the frightened villages many miles away, coming both from where I stood and from the summit I had left. Stolen away in body, mind, and spirit, the dreary rain whipping across my eyes and the wind howling somberly in the branches, I submerged myself into the shrubs and trees and was lost amongst the darkness and distance.
One more chapter completes Part I of Tenebrosa. Where will Vivian go? Who will she meet? How will she adapt to her new form as well as her misery of Renarde's own fate? I'll give you only one clue to what the future holds: in almost any work written, in any proceeding installments, if a character is given a confirmed name, then this character will play a significant role in the upcoming plot. With this spoiler revealed, Chapter Five is thus concluded. Again, a better proofread version may be posted in the near future. Please post a review if you wish—thanks.
- A.G.M. Mendelssohn