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By Emily C. A. SnyderChapter XIXA Brief Narrative, Pertaining to the Surrounding Countryside and its Amiable Inhabitants, and which Discloses the Entirety of Fra Andreas’ Conference with Our Heroine. For those just joining us at this juncture, I should like to state that first, what follows is the near the conclusion of this novella. Hence, this is the chapter that “explains everything;” and as Henry and Catherine Tilney – although our heroes – are not directly involved with those mysterious events of the past, they are not overtly mentioned in this particular chapter. Second, I would like to warn any and all reading, that this particular chapter is almost certainly the longest of all, and also contains a bit of violence. The necessity for this latter is, of course, the result of my own humble attempt to parody Gothic Novels. Enjoy! It is at this juncture in the narrative that a respite is best taken from the harrowing adventures of our heroes, to examine, in brief, the nature of the village that lay in the shadow of Nachtstürm Castle, by means of a history. I say brief, only because the activity of our hero will allow for no more than a summation of over three thousand years of battles and empires than a single chapter, although a work of this magnitude and, certainly, in this admirable style, requires no less than an entire volume dedicated to the doings of the first Baron of Brandenburg in 1296 down to the present day; with memorable, wandering, Herodotian asides about the mythological names of the foliage, and another whole volume dedicated to the Werreischan Counts of Ulrich, who held Nachtstürm between the little-lamented second Baron and his eventual heir (re-established to his title in 1515); an accurate Homerian account of the number of carts of ale brought to the Council of 1185, whereat the brewery ancestor to the modern Barons acquitted himself magnificently; and the curious affair of Herr Johannes Andreas Schneider’s, the local tailor’s, remarkable defeat of no less than seven rabid beasts during the years of 1315 to 1342, laid – in the mode of the Venerable Bede – at the intercession of St. Francis of Assisi. Poetry, too, we should incorporate – as the muse Calliope is often wont to cover both, were we to believe Virgil – but with a sole chapter at our disposal and so much to impart, we must content ourselves with these few lines, taken from our own noble Bard, in a play of no less renown: I weep for joy It were, of course, too much to quote the chorus of play of quite another of his early tragedies, set in near-by Verona. The village nestled in those glory Alps, just visible from Nachtstürm’s brooding towers, possessed from the year 1027 the unremarkable name of Nachtväl, derived from its location. The Romans, who had, of course, founded the village in 298 B. C., had named it Valerus, after the general who had defeated the current tribe there, and the Italians, in the nearby town of Gesette, to this day refer to Nachtväl as Valere. The inhabitants, having rare cause to leave the environs even to travel to the next town, rarely call it by any name, except a sort of politic “Väl.” Brandenburg, over which the Barons of that title held dubious rule, actually consists of the ring of five mountains within which Nachtväl settled, and upon the highest peak of which Nachtstürm Castle towers. The Välich are, as you might imagine, the sort of people one might find in any tight community: cheerfully xenophobic, recalcitrant to strangers, formal amongst themselves, apt to keep their fiery escapades to the shadows and the late-night pipes and ale, full of the usual array of queer folk – the hereditary beggar, the brood of gossip-mongers headed by the local dame, the eccentric tobacconist, and the mendicant friar some mile away on the same slope as Nachtstürm. Together they constituted the last Austrian village near the borders of Italy and Switzerland, where through the southernmost mountain pass nestled the aforementioned village of Gesette, with whom they reluctantly traded goods; and to the west, a good seven hours’ hike, the Swiss town of Ulrich, against whom the people of Nachtväl held a quaint grudge. Of course, the natural result of such sociologic geology was that the inhabitants of the village all spoke Italian nearly as well as they spoke German, and that anyone speaking with a Swiss accent in the largely superfluous inn were immediately given hard bread and no cheese. The bonds between Italian city-states and our Austrian stronghold were strengthened in the aforementioned years of 1315 to 1342 by the tailor’s remarkable victory over the savage beasts that terrorised both Nachtväl and Gesette. Schneider himself attributed his success to the mendicant friar of Assisi, already a canonised saint within the people’s minds, and thus the arrival of Friar Guiseppe to the village of Nachtväl in the spring of 1345 was a pleasant if not jubilous one. Within the space of twenty years, however, the venerable Friar impressed himself so favourably upon the villagers that several of their own young men – much to the aggrievement of the young ladies – joined the Franciscan order. And in time, the friars of Nachtväl were entirely comprised of citizens tithed from the same – including, in 1782, the youngest son of the then current Baron of Brandenburg. This gentle soul took up the name Andreas – and was, indeed, the same friar who spoke to Catherine – and it is his voice we shall allow to recount the remainder of our lamentably brief history. “My grandfather,” the friar said to our heroine, some hour ago, “had the curse of wanderlust that pervaded so many of my ancestors. But rather than exploring eastward to the Indies, or westward to the Americas, he chose to tour the remainder of the continent, and even to visit your isle. There he fell in love with the only daughter of the Baron of Branning, Miss Matilda Fitzgerald, my grandmother. So enraptured was he with all things English that he not only took her to wife, but also her faith – which is your faith also, Frau Tilney. This conversion proved politic, for his father-in-law ceded the title to my grandfather, thus binding the Barons of Brandenburg more firmly to your isle and its ways. My father was born in the ancestral castle of the Brannings, and always regarded Nachtstürm Castle as a second home. In time, he took to wife a cousin from his English heritage, and was content, as eldest son, to leave the care of his Austrian estate to his younger brother, Thomas. As our uncle had no children, I became his heir and was sent to live with him, here, when I was young. The beauty of this land gripped me immediately, and as my grandfather had turned so wholly away from his heritage, so I completely embraced mine. The people of the town below I grew intimate with, as well as those few neighbours who visited. Indeed, I spent as much of my time without Nachtstürm’s boundaries as within! This place,” gesturing to the tiny room beside the chapel, “I especially loved. And by the time I came of fifteen years, I begged the priest to take me as his disciple, and to become a priest in time myself. “My uncle was pleased with my vocation, and immediately gave me his blessing. But as a follower of the mendicant friar cannot be also a Baron, my decision still left Nachtstürm without a master. Very carefully, my uncle and I crafted a letter and sent it northward to my father. No letter came in reply, but my father himself – irate at his youngest son, as well as at his brother. My own brother, William, came with my father – and a strange meeting was that for two men of blood so utterly strangers! I learned that day my father arrived that my own mother, who I remember only faintly, had passed away several years ago. The more fool I! For upon learning this, I promised to ask the priest to offer the next mass for her soul – for I had not yet been ordained. My father flew into a rage and threw me out of the castle forever. What words he had with my uncle or with my brother, I know not. Except that my uncle left shortly thereafter, and turned his sights southward to the city-states, and my brother took up his place as heir of two titles.” The good friar stopped to sigh and pour more tea. “I must now introduce two characters you well know: one by acquaintance, the other by reputation. I am speaking of Edric and Cecelia, known as Fortuna. “Edric came with my father. How that demon came into my father’s employ, or what his true origins may be, I have never learned. As a man, I must admit to Edric’s claim on our race; as a priest, I am sure his soul – or what is left of it – is already consigned to the deepest Hell. Edric came as a young man, perhaps a few years older than my brother, but even then an ancient malice seemed to burn within his eyes, and I was glad of my erimatical life. My father left Edric here in place of my uncle, to watch over my brother, William, and to ensure that he did not fall as I did. A few times my brother crept out to visit me, although he refused to meet me within the church, and so we conversed in silence by the tomb of our ancestors. Frequently, he entreated me to give up my habit and to take my ‘rightful’ place. I remained stubborn, and plied him in turn with questions about the demon our father had brought. But William could tell me little more than I could guess. Edric had joined them somewhere along the journey, he could not precisely remember when, and that he was a good servant and devoted to the family. “ ‘To a family with no honour!’ I cried. ‘What tree can stand that has uprooted itself, and then cut off its branches?’ “ ‘Yet for a tree to bear fruit,’ William retorted, ‘it must be pruned.’ “We did not speak again until the year I was ordained, two years since my father had come and gone. The ceremony took place in Vienna, for although my father had disavowed me, yet my connexions afforded me some privileges within the Church, and a prince of the same himself laid hands. The celebration, however, took place in my beloved Väl, and was largely attended both by the souls I now shepherd, but also by some few townsfolk of Gesette – for my own mentor had been from that town. The usual traders came, but many brought their families with them, for the celebration should last a whole week, and many wanted the blessing of a newly ordained, to claim the right to the first baptism or communion or anointment from my hands. And so it was during this week that the Välich first set eyes upon Cecelia Botelli. “I need not describe her to you, Frau Tilney. You need only glance in a mirror to see her reflection. Nor need I describe how her beauty affected any man who beheld her – yes, even I, although my love for my own celestial bride proved much stronger. Yet, it was my brother who fell completely under her spell. As heir to Brandenburg, William could not entirely avoid the celebration without causing greater distrust and turmoil within the heart of his citizens, and so half-way into the week he descended to pay his grudging respects to a brother he knew not at all. As he distributed largess, his eyes fell upon Cecelia, and I knew in that moment that my long-time prayer – for the reconciliation of brother and brother – might yet be answered. In a whisper, he asked me her name. I responded, adding her parentage, which might have made a less smitten man come to his senses. But my brother only said, ‘And she is not spoken for?’ “ ‘No,’ I replied, hiding a grin. “ ‘I must meet her,’ he said, giving the last of the bread away. ‘How shall I do it?’ “Such was my joy and my pride that I devised a fantastic plan which, I fear, brought more pain and heartache than a more direct course might have. But I was young and enthusiastic, and still heady with the oil of anointing. Instructing my brother to remain where he was, I went up to Cecelia and asked her – among many pleasantries – if she had yet been shriven. She had not, although she had hoped to before she left for Gesette in three days’ time. I invited her to my hermitage that afternoon, saying with a smile that I feared the last day of celebration should keep me day and night in the confessional with travellers unwilling to brave the mountains with sins still upon their souls. She smiled and promised to meet me. Although I wonder if she did not sense my plan, for I later came to know her as a wise and gentle woman, and perhaps she did not look at me that day, but past me at my bewitched brother. “That accomplished, I turned and spoke with William, informing him of my intent. ‘If it would not burden your conscience overmuch,’ I said carefully, remembering our own father’s reaction to a similar offer, ‘perhaps you might come within my chapel and be likewise shriven.’ “If my brother’s heart was outraged, he did not shew it, but agreed to come at the time I specified. So fully satisfied with myself, I enjoyed the remainder of the afternoon among my flock, until the hour that I had predetermined. The climb to the chapel took little time, for my heart was buoyant as were my legs, and I reached the church before either William or Cecelia. Gladly I lit the candle, and offered a quick prayer of thanks. My brother entered first, as I had hoped, and with much prompting I heard his confession, although he had not as yet been confirmed. Then I called him into my booth, and I went outside to wait for Cecelia. She came quietly – so quietly, I might have thought her a ghost, except that her hand splashed a little of the holy water from its basin. I greeted her and waited for her to enter the confessional before myself. Once her door closed, I opened my own and gestured for William to wait outside until I signalled to him. For although I was young and foolish, and for all that I thought to use the confessional for purposes other than the sacrament, yet still I had respect for its seal. “Thus much I will tell you of what transpired in this place so many years ago: once I had absolved her, I laid on Cecelia this further penance, that she should wait within the confessional and speak to the man I would bring to her. Thus saying, I opened the door and gestured for my brother to come inside. I myself waited without the building, staring down at the village below with no more thought of my former castle or the demon now living within its walls. Half an hour I allowed them, and then I brought out my brother and sent him on his way, and afterwards Cecelia, who turned to me and said, ‘There is more here than you will tell me.’ “I nodded. Her face was very grave, I remember, and yet there was a faint blush to her cheeks that told me my brother’s suit had not been entirely unwelcome. “ ‘Then do not tell me what more there is. I do not wish to know. What time shall I come to you tomorrow? The same?’ Something of surprise must have crossed my face, for she smiled and touched her hand to my arm and said, ‘I have long thought that my life should not be like my mother’s or my sister’s or any of my kin. Father, I have dreamt that the Blessed Virgin offered me two drinks: one of milk and one of wine. The milk smelt like honey and I knew if I took it I should live a long and happy life. But the wine was thin and red and bitter and promised me martyrdom. And yet, when I looked at my reflection within the chalice of wine, I saw a greater goodness than the milk could offer.’ “ ‘And do you wish to be a martyr, my child?’ I asked. The last phrase stuck on my tongue, for I was unused to saying it; and the thought of the lovely girl before me somehow mangled for a faith I had just abused ground into my conscience. “But she answered only with another smile, and a kiss upon my cheek. ‘I shall call you Fra Andreas, although you are a father now, for I recognised the voice behind the screen although you would not let me see your brother.’ “With that she left. What joy overcame me! Enough that I ignored the promptings of my heart to tread more warily the treacherous course I had laid. That evening I hiked up to the castle and demanded to be let in. The poor boy at the door knew not what to do, for he recognised his old master and came to mass regularly, yet he also feared what his new master, Edric, might say. At last I made my way in; promising the boy that no harm would become him for demonstrating courtesy. But no sooner had I entered the great hall than Edric stopped me, saying, ‘You are not welcome in this place any more, priest.’ “ ‘I am come to see my brother,’ I explained, silently chastising myself for not recommending this quest to the angels. ‘He is expecting me.’ “ ‘The Baron is not at home,’ Edric said. “ ‘Then I shall wait for his return,’ I replied. ‘Tell him I shall meet him in the Baroness’ chambers.’ Then, before that demon could say more, I left. “Subterfuge is not the place of the holy man, and yet, as I have said often this night and will say more again this evening, I was a foolish, passionate youth, with the added pride of my lineage. For as long as I had lived at Nachtstürm with my uncle, I had learned all the secrets of my home, and so knew the stairways, corridors and rooms hidden within the walls – as no doubt you know some now as well, Frau Tilney. More tea? One moment.” Fra Andreas busied himself with the kettle as he continued. Our heroine herself dared not interrupt him, for he told a story well, and so we shall not hesitate to listen again to what he had to say. “I crept about the back of the castle to a certain hidden door I knew that led up to a spiral stairway that led to many rooms – some secret, some not. I went up this, and thus round about until I came to the master suit, where my brother doubtless slept. I urged open the door, for it was heavy stone, and was gratified to find my brother within, hunched over a much abused desk. Paper lay everywhere, although no sand had been used on any of the discarded sheets. William looked up as I entered, and his face went very white, for I must have seemed to walk through walls, instead of opening them. Quickly, I assured him that I was no haunt, and told him to come to me the following afternoon, in the same way. “ ‘You must have a golden tongue to woo and win so quickly,’ I said to him. “ ‘No more than you,’ he answered. ‘To think I should enter your chapel of my own accord! You take advantage of a man in love.’ “I could not argue the point, and so I inquired what had inspired my brother to litter his room. “ ‘The same that you take advantage of. I attempt to write poetry, Andrew. But although of necessity I learned German, and although my beloved has proven she is fluent in that language, yet I would write to her in her native tongue.’ “ ‘Then dictate to me your poem,’ I said, taking the quill from him and applying the knife to its dulled point. ‘And I shall translate as you speak.’ “A lover’s poems, Frau Tilney, are almost never any good, and my brother was no poet to begin with. Perhaps, had he the charm you attribute to your husband, he might have made a passable attempt, but I fear that as he dictated, I felt impelled of necessity to tidy up the verse as best I may. “At long last we parted, as close as brothers as though the years and space had never separated us. That afternoon both Cecelia and William came to the chapel at the same time, and when they saw each other, I felt something that might have been great happiness or great dread. It is hard to discern emotion, sometimes, and I had not thought to bring the matter to the old friar who had taught me, for he had been ill for some time. I left them for the remainder of the afternoon, and employed myself in matters of the little land I tended. That night and the next day passed in similar fashion to the ones before, except that on the third day Cecelia brought word that she had her father’s blessing to stay longer than her family in the Väl. “That evening I did not go up to Nachtstürm to converse with my brother, but offered mass for all those travelling with the morning light. My little chapel was filled, and I was a long time sweeping after all those blessed feet that set out across the mountains. I had just finished, when a knock came at the door. At once I went to answer it, and was irked to see Edric waiting there. I invited him in, but he refused, as I knew he must, for he clung to no faith –neither mine nor yours, Frau Tilney – and could not pass a church door without peril. “ ‘I can stay but for a moment,’ said he, bowing a little. ‘I have a message.’ “ ‘If it is from my brother,’ I retorted, growing hot, ‘I will not believe you, unless it bears his seal, and is in his hand.’ “ ‘It is not from him, it is from my master.’ “At this a chill hand caught at my stomach, snaking up towards my throat. I glanced at his feet but saw no hooves; yet I was not relieved. “ ‘He told me to give this to you, lest you corrupt his house further. Bid you good night, Herr Wiltford.’ “My face stung with his parting words, and yet curiosity could not let me spend the night with the letter unread. These are its contents; I have memorised them, although I consigned the original back to the flames long ago: Sir, “The letter was in English, a language almost half forgotten from my youth, although my uncle had schooled me in it. No sooner was it read than I burnt it, and no sooner burnt it than I retreated to the chapel to spend the night in vigil. The next morning, as I stood to ease my aching legs and back, I heard the first whisper of my father’s curse, for the old friar who had nurtured me in the bosom of Mother Church, cried out from our hermitage – such a cry of despair I had never heard before! I rushed to his side as quickly as I could, and found him crumpled by his bed, clutching his heart. Gently, I cradled him in my arms and returned him to his cot, and stood over him all that day and the next, even saying mass within his cell. I know not if my brother and his beloved visited the chapel that day, I could not leave my predecessor’s side. Anxiously I watched over him, praying that the price of my stubbornness would not be this good man’s life. He suffered many attacks that day and next, and had only a few hours lucidity to receive the sacraments. “However, the night of his death, as sometimes happens, he regained enough strength to fix me with his eye and say in a voice nearly as strong as I remembered from my first days in Nachtstürm, ‘And now I will hear your confession, Andreas, for you will not find another priest to do so for long, and I fear you have much on your soul.’ “I bowed my head in shame, for I realised then that I had not sought out this holy man not merely from forgetfulness or high spirits, but from fear. Among the Välich it was whispered that he could read hearts and tell men their sins, but I tell you this was no legend, Frau Tilney, for that very evening, when I was not one month a priest, he told me every one of my actions as though he had travelled by my side. When he had done, he asked me kindly, ‘And so what will you do now, Andreas? How will you remedy what you have set in place?’ “I told him that I did not know. But that I hoped to confirm my brother and perform the marriage between William and Cecelia before the Spring was out. “ ‘And this will right all your wrongs, Andreas? This is penance enough?’ “ ‘What more can I do?’ I asked in despair. “ ‘Will you not write to your father, or have William write, for his blessing on such a marriage?’ “ ‘Why should my father bless such a union, any more than he blessed me?’ “ ‘He is, perhaps, not the monster you think. Restrain your passion, and restrain your brother. Travel to England. Speak to your father. Make amends. And then you shall see.’ “ ‘But Edric,’ I cried, when it seemed my dear friar would drift into sleep. “ ‘Ah, Edric,’ the old priest muttered wisely, his eyes closed, his thin, blue-veined fingers resting lightly on the thin blanket. ‘Think, Andreas, what does one usually do with a devil?’ “He said no more after that, although I waited by his bedside. Just before dawn, as I read Matins, he slipped away into eternity, with the smile of the blessed upon his face. “I mourned him silently, and kept his parting words with me deep within my bosom. His passing put the whole Väl into sombre colours, and black ribbons waved from posts where before the town had decked itself in reds and greens and yellows. I determined to carry out the friar’s commands to travel to England and make amends with my father, except that events conspired against me, and an outbreak of the pox kept me by Nachtstürm, tending mostly to the surviving families and blessing from a distance the quarantined houses. By the time the pox passed, Autumn had come, and travel became inconceivable. Several times during those long months, William sought me out, but I’m afraid I had nothing but sharp words for my brother – words born more from exhaustion than from any anger. “But early in October, Cecelia herself came to me, and begged to speak with me. Tears streaked her face, and her hair lay in ragged tangles down her back. Barely had she entered the chapel, than she fell to her knees and clutched my ankles, weeping. ‘Father,’ she cried, ‘I have committed a terrible sin! I have betrayed the Virgin’s trust in me! I have dishonoured my father and my mother!’ “She might have continued on that way but that I stopped her and asked her to explain herself more clearly. Amidst many sobs, she finally related to me that, although William had often sought me out to wed them, I had turned my brother away. And so, unable to gain the blessing of either father or brother, William had convinced Cecelia to pledge herself to him and to live with him as though they were married. He had even given her the locket that had belonged to our mother, and our grandmother, when first our house joined with the Barons of Branning. That had been September. But now Cecelia found herself with child, and could not bear the shame. “The doom my father had written to me came clearly to my mind, as did the words of the good friar, as I comforted Cecelia as best I could. At last, I sent word by way of a boy whom I had employed to help me tend the hermitage to William to meet me at the chapel. The wedding ceremony was performed with none of the pomp the marriage of a Baron should entail, and yet the union was now valid, my brother confirmed, and the child legitimate. No witnesses were there, except perhaps the soul of the good friar – and that lack, my dear Frau Tilney, proved to be the ruin of us all. “Young Wilhelm Wiltford, heir to the Baron of Branning and Brandenburg, was born eight months later, and one year after that news came of my father’s death. We none of us had ever told him of his eldest son’s fate, although perhaps his faithful Edric wrote. William held the two titles, his wife was beloved of all his people, and his son likewise. Those were merry days, when comings and goings between Nachtstürm and my hermitage were many. I can still seem to see the young, foreign Baroness riding down the hills on her white pony, with her husband at her side and her son in his arms. Already, the Välich called her Donna Fortuna – and I prayed the name might be well chosen. “One canker only remained: Edric. “What does one do with a devil? Commend him to Christ? Cast holy water at him? Offer a thousand masses? Believe me, all these things I did, and still he remains. We could not rout him, or feared to, and perhaps the prayers of an unclean priest cannot be answered. I could comfort myself with thoughts of Job, but that I am unworthy of such a comparison. “Seven years passed, and young Wilhelm grew to be a fine, strong lad, beloved of all whom he met. And yet a shadow that had lurked on the edges of our memories chose to haunt us that same year. “ ‘I have dreamt again, Fra Andreas,’ Donna Fortuna said to me one chill morning, sitting just where you are now, Frau Tilney. I prompted her to tell me more, plying her with tea – a tribute to my dual heritage. ‘Again I saw the Virgin,’ she explained, and I remember her face was very white. ‘Again she held forth a glass – a single chalice. I took it and looked inside and smelt the cheapest of wines that even Herr Fougerous would be ashamed to serve to the vile Ulrich. Drink, the Virgin said, but I could not. My throat had clenched with the bitter smell of it, and so I pleaded for respite. Again she commanded that I drink. Again I refused. My child, said she, and her eyes were so kind and sorrowful I could barely look into them without weeping myself, my child, have you forgotten your oath? Then I did weep, and begged her to plead with her Son for another martyrdom, for vintage of another sort. But she only said, You have tended the vine yourself; I bring you your own harvest.’ “ ‘Did you drink at last?’ I asked, when it seemed my dear sister could speak no more. “She shook her head slowly, the veil wavering like a fallen bit of moonshine. The Virgin was not without mercy, she explained. Cecelia had been granted leave to consult me. I nearly wept then with her, for all my plans had gone awry and compromised my office. What could I do? I sent her away with a blessing, and then turned myself to prayer. “That evening, I climbed the hill to Nachtstürm, and a heavy climb it seemed to me, Frau Tilney, for I had heard no answer for all my supplication, although that is sometimes its own response. No sooner had I come to the courtyard than I was met by my brother, who seemed in a rage to fair shake the foundation of the mountains. “ ‘One side, Andrew,’ he said to me, between his teeth. Two dogs bayed at his heels, fine sleek hunters eager to be off. His hands clutched a gun; another gun was strapped across his back. Powder horns hung by his side. Several servants came rushing out just then, some carrying more weapons, others handling dogs. From one side, I could hear the clop of horse’s hooves upon the stones, running towards us. “ ‘Are you going to war, William?’ I asked with a nervous laugh. “ ‘Against Edric, yes.’ “I kept the horror from my face as best I could, saying lightly, ‘And you expect to find him without your home?’ “Never shall I forget the look my brother gave me then, for I have never seen such anger before or since; no, neither from his son who has every right, nor from my father who took every advantage. ‘He has insulted my wife,’ William said at last, and the steadiness of his voice shook me more than his raving might have. “ ‘Have you the ocular proof?’ “ ‘I have her word, and my own knowledge of what he is. Long have I suspected that he had some design upon her, but I kept my peace lest I disturb hers. Already I have banished him from my son’s presence – for I have caught the demon weaving horrid stories to him, maligning my family’s honour with fanciful tales of the Barons’ long-gone wives. He speaks to Will of spells and curses – I have even heard him say that the locket Cecelia wears holds magical properties akin to a love posset. He would make a heathen of my son, and a whore of my wife – and I tell you, Andrew, I will not have it!’ “ ‘But what proof have you?’ I pressed. “ ‘Rest assured, Father, I have the proof.’ “His voice chilled me. ‘What do you intend?’ I asked at last, although the answer stood baying about me. “ ‘To kill him, if such a thing as he may be killed.’ “ ‘You would have murder upon your soul?’ I cried. “ ‘I have you to shrive me,’ he answered with a sad grin. Then, laying one hand upon my shoulder, he said, ‘This is no place for a priest, brother. Tend to your flock; I to the wolves.’ “He left me then, swinging up upon his horse and cantering down the narrow path, the dogs running with him and his retainers galloping after. Where he intended to find Edric, or how, I had not thought to ask, and perhaps my brother had not thought to consider. Since I was already at the castle, I entered its confines to be with my nephew and consult my sister. I found Will in a dark corridor, staring solemnly at one of the tapestries – the Saracen abducting his bride. Even in the shadows, I could see that his breast rose and fell erratically, as though he stifled tears. “ ‘Has Papa gone?’ he inquired as I came behind him. “ ‘Indeed he has,’ I replied. “A minute passed where we neither said anything. My nephew ran his palm across his eyes and took a little breath. Then, almost too low for me to make out the words, he said, ‘I hope he gets him.’ The words fell silently to the floor, like the dust we had stirred up from our passage. Will rubbed more vigorously at his reddened eyes, and said again with a dreadful vehemence, ‘I hope he gets him!’ “For answer I lay my arms around his slim shoulders, and let him weep. When the saint chose this habit, my dear Frau Tilney, he chose well – for a finer cloth would have been ruined with the wracking sobs my nephew rained about my neck that day. At last Will found voice again, and still upon my shoulders he said, ‘Tell me, Uncle, will Papa save her?’ “Unsure whether the question referred to a general or specific grievance, I asked him to explain himself. I will tell you a summation of what he said, Frau Tilney, for the whole story amidst my questioning and his tears took the better part of an hour. “Donna Fortuna had woken in a poor mood, that morning, and though William had asked her ailment, she would not say, beyond that she must see me. Apparently, though, shortly after she had set off for my hermitage, Edric had managed to have a private word with Will in the garden. “ ‘Do you know where your mother has gone?’ he asked my nephew. “Will, honest to a fault, had answered truthfully, adding, ‘But you cannot follow her there, can you!’ “To my nephew’s surprise, Edric had not stormed away, but said, ‘Why should I wish to pursue one who will come when I call?’ And with that, the vile monster had grabbed my nephew’s arm and pulled him down the corridors and to Donna Fortuna’s rooms. He threw poor Will into the boudoir and locked it, and then, like a tyger, awaited his prey. “Donna Fortuna arrived an hour later, and gave a little shout when she saw Edric within her chamber. And what did he want, she asked. Oh, nothing of import, he replied, merely an academic study of human nature. This last, throwing open the boudoir and holding close my poor Will, so terrified he could not even scream. Donna Fortuna’s fine dark eyes widened, and she flung out her arms to her son – but Edric held fast. With burning cheeks, she asked the price of ransom. “ ‘What is he worth?’ Edric had replied, stroking Will’s cheek. ‘This bastard son?’ “ ‘No bastard, as God is my witness!’ Donna Fortuna had said. ‘What do you demand?’ “ ‘No bastard? Then he is worth more than my price.’ “ ‘You have yet to name one!’ “Edric ceased tormenting the child with his caresses and looked at my sister with eyes that reflected the eternal inferno. ‘Your life, Frauline Botelli. What else?’ “ ‘Then take it,’ she answered, without so much as a glance at her son. “With one swift leap the beast threw aside young Will and grasped Cecelia’s hand, and dragged her out of the castle, leaving my nephew to wail after her. So traumatised was he, that for several minutes he could do nothing but shriek as though to crumble the stone down upon them all, and when he came to his senses so much time had passed that he hardly knew where he was or why his throat was sore. His scream had roused the household, and his father soon came and divined the necessaries. Soon after William had set out after his wife’s abductor – and I had arrived. “We waited all that night and the remainder of the next day for my brother to return from the hunt. We heard the dogs defeated whimper by sunset of the second day, as well as the clack of exhausted hooves upon the cobblestones. We need hardly see William to know that he had failed. With the aid of the servants, I attempted to cajole him to rest, but he could not – and so helplessly I watched him pace the length of that room in which he had composed his first sonnet. During that night, he related to me how he had found Cecelia, dead in yonder valley, her neck broken. He himself had buried her, and placed a simple cross at her head. As for myself, I kept the counsel of young Will silent – surely, my brother did not need another grief. “The morning seemed to bring some peace, as did the brief year after, when we neither saw nor heard of Edric. The tragedy had caused Nachtväl to once again clothe herself in deepest mourning for full six months, for Donna Fortuna had been well loved by all she met. I myself suggested that Will be sent for some little time to live with his cousins in Gesette, while my brother slowly recovered. This was agreed to, and the following Spring, I brought my nephew across the Alps myself. Our neighbours are little different than ourselves – they are more vocal, and given to acting upon their feelings – and the tragedy which had precipitated this fostering touched their deepest souls and helped them welcome the poor boy with arms open wide. “I remember that day, as Will sat sombrely by my side whilst I conversed with his aunt, Donna Fortuna’s sister, that his young cousin, Lucia, played outside the small villa within the bright garden. Occasionally, her black tousled head would peek through the open window, and her black eyes would shine mischievously inside. Her aspect, even at that age, reminded me so of my dear departed sister, that I could not help but notice her – although my nephew, raised to be a Baron, stalwartly refused to even glimpse in her direction. Some little while later, as my cousin walked us to Will’s rooms – which were across the courtyard – our party was suddenly accosted by pert little Lucia, who demanded to know what sort of thing we’d brought who would not even look at her! “My nephew gave his name stiffly, as well as his title. Lucia frowned and stuck out her tongue. ‘Bah!’ said she. ‘What do I care for border lords? I shall call you Will, for that is your name.’ Sly creature! Perforce, of courtesy, my nephew must now inquire after her name, which she gave readily – rattling off a long list of Virgin Martyrs, and ending with: ‘And do you think me pretty?’ “ ‘I do,’ my nephew replied, somewhat shocked at her impertinence. “ ‘Good,’ said she, and flounced away: her work accomplished. “I cannot relate to you the remainder of their courtship, for I returned to Nachtväl after only a few days. Upon my return, I was informed by one of the townspeople that since I had left, a figure not unlike Edric had been seen flitting about the forest. The servants claimed that they had not seen that devil, though – and so I let pass the report as another superstitious fancy of my people. “Alas the day! I had, perhaps, become better at my office, but not in my disposition. I had learnt temperance as a priest, but not as a person – and, although I had not compromised the sacraments in many years, yet I had not learnt true discernment for all my trouble. And so, unbeknownst to me, the next five years were my brother’s private Hell – for Edric had found purchase to Nachtstürm, hiding within its deserted passageways and first whispering in my brother’s ear whilst he slept, and then when he woke, until finally the demon reinstated himself as the master of the castle. “I first knew of the change when, some three years after the tragedy, I decided to visit William, since one of the groomsmen had told me that his master had seemed particularly unwell the last few days. I found him slouched in the library, far in the most dismal corner. The malady I first conceived to be a depression of spirits – and in this I was partially correct: my brother was, actually, in the very fist of despair. He had let his head sink upon his breast; one white hand shaded his brow. Beside him lay an open Bible – the same that you would now find in my chapel, Frau Tilney. The fingers of his other hand lay upon the first page, upon which was neatly listed our family. His hand obscured his own name, as well as that of his wife and child, as though he could not bear to read them. Gently, I called his name. He was a long time in looking up at me, an even longer recalling my face. “ ‘Andrew?’ he said at last, something of the old smile shadowing his lips. ‘Is it you?’ “ ‘Indeed!’ I cried. ‘Although I might ask whether you are quite yourself.’ “ ‘I am,’ said he in a distant voice. His eyes wandered to the candle, which illuminated the book by the light of its guttering flame. My eyes lingered that way too. The wax would soon consume the old wick. “ ‘May I trim it for you?’ I asked. William did not seem to either understand or hear me. I was obliged to repeat the question. “The confused, helpless look that crossed my brother’s face touched me to my very bone. And the words which followed only confirmed my suspicion – dull as I am – that something more than a complaint of the body were at work upon my brother. ‘Trim the candle? I – I do not know. He may not like it.’ “ ‘He? Whom do you speak of?’ I demanded. William could not reply directly: his words wandered. A fear that I had not known for many years gripped me. I seized my brother’s shoulders and shook him, thundering out my question again and again. “ ‘He speaks of me, Herr Wiltford,’ came the silty reply behind me. “I looked and saw emerging from the shadows the blackest fiend that ever walked the earth. My brother gave a sob that put a little courage in me – although a very little. “ ‘You have no power here,’ said I, reaching within my robes for this crucifix. “Edric only laughed politely. ‘It is you who have no power,’ said he. ‘You cannot chuse for your brother; and he has welcomed me.’ “ ‘You speak truth when it suits you,’ spat I. ‘Yet I may chuse for myself!’ And with that, I flew at him, brandishing my small crucifix at him. I have never been a strong man – the ways of the hunt or the sword never thrilled me – and yet in that moment I felt a power within me I had known only a few times in contemplation. In a rush, I flung him against the wall, and jabbed the image against his breast. Such an unholy shriek rang up from him, mixing with the smoke from the charred clothing upon his body! Still I pressed on, until his skin began to boil against my fingertips, and sear my own skin. The pain and heat nearly made me faint, yet harder I pressed, muttering fierce ‘Aves’ as though they were swords. Frau Tilney, I have never killed a man, nor did I that ghastly night, nor could I kill a man who had no heart to tear from within him. I burnt a hole through Edric’s breast, and found within him no beating organ, but a hollow cave, so cold it seemed to burn my arm. What a look of ill-got triumph shone in that fiend’s eyes as I stood in horror. I can still hear his slow chuckle. “ ‘Very noble, priest.’ “I withdrew my arm, touching the scalds gingerly. The pain was deceptive: my arm had been spared with only a few light burns. ‘Go, Andrew,’ William whispered. ‘This is no longer your burden.’ “How I long to tell you that my brother prophesied true, Frau Tilney! But as you have witnessed, Edric remains master at Nachtstürm, my nephew – retrieved a mere four months before the death of his father from his foster home – no better than a servant within its walls, myself barred from my ancestral home once again, and Lucia very much in danger of following Cecelia’s fortune. I shall not relate to you the long, oppressing years, watching my brother deteriorate under Edric’s tyranny, and I cannot relate to you the far more charming courtship of Will and Lucia – having only been privy to its tempestuous nature these past few years. That you, yourself, should have stumbled so unwittingly into our sad affair, I grieve! I wonder, was it Heaven or Hell that so fashioned your features and brought you to this place? But I know my answer. And so I beg you, Frau Tilney, to return to Nachtstürm, to reconcile with your husband, and to leave this accursed place. Perhaps, in this small salvation, and with your prayers and the prayers of your husband, we might ourselves gain some small indulgence.” Such a narrative as this demands some sort of physical consolation for its spiritual tribulation. Our heroine received it in one last cup of tea. The reader may be advysed to do so likewise. Back to Cult of Da Man Fan Fiction E-mail The Author | Visit The Author's Website Copyright © 1999, 2000 by Emily C. A. Snyder. All Rights Reserved.
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