A Murder of Crows - Chapter 12

And old letter that I once wrote comes to mind. "We part this day, that we may meet again on the morrow. We leave this world for a better one, but seek to return to this once the better has trained us to seek our flaws and see them gone."
"I sent that letter to my Alicia, before I left on a job for the Legacy. If I must die, then let it be in making this world a better place, for I will one day return, and hope to see the world prepared for my soul to improve, and perhaps remain in the Great Vale after its next passing. To the trophy room, then. I wish you all luck." I turn towards the door, my hand holding my cane again.
"I thank you for your company, Trent. By the way - does anybody know which way it is? I know that we lack time, but I believe that we might be best served by planning our attack first, avoiding mishaps that waste more time.
"Besides, if we can hold out until morning, I believe that the House's power will be gone. For with the coming of the light, dark shadows flee the world."

William seems to grow with his courage and determination, but this isn't his fight.
"Brave William, this is my battle. You must take another route, one that leads you to... happiness. There are people who will come to need you in the future. There are people who need you now."
I take a stern look at the short man in front of me. How different he seems now, without that facade of sleazy reporter. Amelia will need him, and he will need her. I, on the other hand, need only redemption.
"Don't worry, mate. I won't be alone..."
A rugged smile.
"... I have my ghosts."

"This is not just your battle, Claude.
Amy and I have been there before - not in this house, but the burial grounds up north.
I have lost a part of me to whatever specter haunts that place."
Weasel returned to Amelia's side, sitting down next to her.
"But if you want to play hero, go ahead. I would like to know how you plan to get to the mausoleum though.
If we can't leave the house, as you say, how can we get there? As far as I know it is a free standing building, unless there is an underground passage."

"Playing hero never got me anywhere before, William... But you're right, this isn't just my battle. You can come along."
I mentally retrace my knowledge of the House.
"As for leaving the House, the Heart of Darkness will sense our true intent - go to the Mausoleum - and may let us pass. If we approach the doors trying to leave the Manor grounds, the House will keep us in. At least that worked thirty years ago, when I tried to reach the well near the stable doors."
I see some puzzling stares.
"Friend. Couldn't swim. He died."

Trent grins.
"Somehow I was sure you'd be back Math, look after the others."
Turning to Claude.
"None of us should be alone at this time, for even the worst eventuality."
"If we meet back here if the night is still with us, otherwise outside by the stables in the light of day, I hope."
He draws his revolver and cocks it.
"After you Karl."
He pauses and turns to the others.
"Oh, if I don't make it would somebody look after Discord, my horse."
He winks at Math.
"That was IF!"

Listening to their plans, Amelia felt torn...between the desire to see them all safe, and the need to defeat the House. But the one hinged upon the other.
She turned her attention to William, met his eyes as he struggled with his decision, watched the past repeat itself. Of all the things she could lose to this House...
She reached for his other hand, held them both in her own. "You realize of course, that I would be most upset if you got yourself into trouble while I wasn't around to look after you," she said with feigned severity. Then she grew serious. "But it's dangerous for Mr. Lafitte to go alone. I'll have your promise though, that if you go you'll take great care. And you as well, Lafitte," she added. "You were quite right. There are indeed those who need William. His silly little fool of a fiance most of all."

"I... you mean... uh..."
Weasel looked at her, helplessly.
"You... still want me now that you know what... I am?"

My smile seems to refresh my very soul.
"Were this a ship, I'd perform your wedding right here and now. But we'll have to wait for the 'morrow. Sails out, mates."
I take the doorknob in hand, but turn before opening it.
"Remember, Trent. Save those four bullets for the last."
I measure up this motley assortment of types. The immortal sorceror. The self-conscious cavalryman. The were-reporte and his psychic bride. The German warlock and the young Boston would-be witch. The quiet scholar. And myself, the last pirate. I feel some long-lost humanity surging and have to fight back some tears.
"I must say, it was an honor meeting you all. Godspeed to all."

"I would try and come up with some quote to add to these, but I can only add a warning - Denn die todten, reiten schnell. For the dead travel fast.
Beware them - this place has, to judge by what some are saying, taken loved ones away from us. Avoid being tempted by them. Especially you, LaFitte - no matter how strong the will, any father might be distracted by the sight of his dead daughter. Distraction, here, is fatal." Would we play the part of Pyrrhus' armies? Or, perhaps, this would be Saint Crispin's Day for us all.
"Above all, if you should be unable to escape, at least take precautions to avoid being captured by this damnable shack of stone. Good bye...my friends."
I walk out the door, towards the stairs leading to the tower, wondering what I would face on the way - and if Trent would start shooting at shadows again...

"I always have, William. All of you please be careful," she said again. "I'll have my hands full enough here keeping an eye on Math." Amelia smiled and reluctantly released William and stood up, ready to face whatever might happen.

I reach for the Chapel's doorknob, a few minutes after Trent and Karl leave. For a moment, I turn to William.
"Ready?"
After a quick glance at Amelia, he turns to me, with a stern look.
"Let's do this."
I fling the door ajar, quickly sidestepping into the corridor. Behind me I hear the distant echo of Trent and Karl's advance for the trophy room. William steps by me and I hear Math closing and barricking the door.
"Where to, Lafitte?"
"Back to where we came. The Entry Hall."
Our shapes disappear in the dim corridor, and it seems as if we are leaving the whole world behind. Each step sounds more distant, as if the floor itself was melting into an inky, shadowy web woven by a fiendish spider. It seems as if I am walking on quicksand.
"Quick, William. Hold my hand so we don't get lost." - I reach backwards with my hand.
But I find nothing.
"William...?" - I turn around.
And it's all pitch black.

Her momentary resolve faltered somewhat as she recalled their circumstances, and Amelia found herself looking once again to Math, unable to guess at what he intended to do.
"What is it?" she asked quietly. "This spirit that's brought you here. I know it wasn't human...and not because it was a ghost or shadow. It was like nothing I've seen in the waking hours. As I've said before, if I'm to be killed here tonight, I'd at least like to know what I'm fighting." She recalled the crawling shadows and the terrible beauty of the spirit as it tried to touch her.
"What did I see, Math?"

I turn from the altar, holding a knife in my hand. Amelia blinks at the knife, having not seen it before. As she begins to repeat her question, I respond.
"It's not what you saw, lass," I begin. "It's who."
Strolling towards her, I note that Sarah and Frank are talking near the door. Not caring particularly for their conversation, I continue towards Amelia.
"His name i-... was Cuthien. He was one of the Sidhe. We have much work to do, Amelia. You must learn your birthright."

"Sidhe." There it was again. "Birthright?"
Amelia frowned uneasily at the cryptic words and the knife, unconsciously retreating a few steps. She had almost given up the notion that he might ever speak plainly to her.
"What would you have me do?" she asked.

Following Amelia's glance, I look down at the knife in my hand. Sighing quietly, I flip it over in my hand, holding it out pommel first to Amelia.
"Watch the blade," I begin. "'Tis cold iron. It might just be what wins our battle here."
Amelia takes the knife, her face still confused. Sighing again, and for the first time since I have been here, my age begins to show. A great weariness finds me, and my voice speaks with a quiet calm and power.
"Stories are like circles," I begin, "it matters not where you begin, lass, for you will reach all points eventually.
"Cuthien was a Sidhe, one of the fae, a being of the Splendour. Immortal and soulless, they ruled in what humans called Tir Na Og since time forgotten. Both evil and good, the Tuatha De Danan existed in a realm of beauty both angelic and terrible. That was, until the Advesary came.
"How it first found them, it is unknown. The Advesary twisted them, turning many into Fomori. Those that remained pure of the Advesary's touch fled. The fled to the reality of our world, in what is now called Ireland. They met with the humans on occassion and hid from them, for they were the masters of iron, the only substance capable of killing them.
"Humans, lass, have souls. We have an immortality that is not threatened by cold iron. So they started exchanging children with the humans. There were two children who were chosen for their sensed power. We were to... "breed" sorcerers for the Sidhe to study. The boy was me."
Pausing, I place my briefcase on the ground. Kneeling beside it, I open it, and continue.
"The girl was Mab. We grew up rivals, both powerful and skilled in the Sidhe magics. I, though, was the better of the two. And then, the Advesary found her. She accepted its guidance willingly, crossing over into evil as easily as a cat lands. Her touch was poison for the spirit."
I pull some candles from my briefcase and continue.
"I, and the other changelings, were protected by our human souls. The Sidhe, though, weren't. Not as twisted as the Fomori, the Sidhe became cruel and evil thoroughly. Some of the changelings crossed over, feeling the power of the Advesary. Those of us who remained Seelie cast our greatest magic ever. We banished the Sidhe back to the Splendour, erecting a seal that they could not break.
"That was almost 2000 years ago. The seal is breaking, which is why Godefroy was able to drag Cuthien across and sacrifice him. With that knife, I would be willing to wager, lass. The seal will last another twenty years, thirty if the world's luck holds out. When the seal breaks, the Sidhe will return, with two thousand years of vengeance. Humanity will pay its price in blood."
I set the candles in a large circle. Touching each wick between my fingers, they burst into flame. I begin lighting each candle.
"That's where you come in, Amelia. You are of the line of the most powerful sorcerers this world has ever known. You are the last scion of the line of Merlin. Magic is your birthright."
Finishing the circle, I sit down, crosslegged. There is room in it for one more person.
"It is your destiny to restore the Sidhe to their state of purity, lass. I have been waiting for a very, very, very long time for you."
I look at Amelia from the circle, watching her reaction to the long story of her heritage.

Amelia listened, absorbing it all in silence for a long moment as he finished. She felt strangely numb, unable to accept or deny his words.
"You are a two thousand year old changling, a hero from the pages of a world and a time that to me has always been legend," she said finally. "And you claim now that my destiny is born of yet another of those legends." He watched her, his expression unchanged.
"That's how you knew so much about me, about my family. Why you've been protecting me since I arrived. Because you believe that I can somehow-" No. Because she was the only one left...with the death of her father that night, there was no other choice for him. Fate couldn't have selected a weaker champion for you, Math, Amelia thought grimly. She might have laughed but for the solemn, expectant expression on his face that nearly choked her silent.
He believed every word of it. Everything he'd worked for for over two thousand years was in his eyes as he studied her. She just hadn't seen it before. The sight of it now filled her with a terrible sorrow.
"How," she whispered. She spook calmly, but her hands were fisted tightly against her sides, the knife all but forgotten in one of them. "I don't have your strength, your power." She shook her head in helpless denial, but still his expression remained unmoved. "Even if I am the person you say, how can I do what you're asking, Math? How can I ever? I'm not my father, and the blood of the most powerful sorcerers this world has known can't even help me to protect those I love," she said bitterly, thinking of her family, her mother and William. "It's impossible."

My eyes still holding that expectant glimmer, I sigh slightly. Remaining seated, I close my eyes for a moment, focusing. As I open them once more, their green shade almost flashes in the candle light, then return to their normal vibrance.
"One thing I have learned, lass," I speak, wisdom deep in my voice, "is that where your line is involved, nothing is impossible. You may be weaker now, Amelia, but you will learn. In time, you will be greater than I ever was, Amelia. That is your destiny."
I gesture to the spot in front of me in the circle of light.
"Come, child. There is much work to be done, and not much time to do it. If you wish to see you beloved William again, then I recommend that you hurry."

She had to give him credit, for knowing precisely where to strike. Surviving was their priority now, and helping William and the others in any way possible. The rest was better left for the future, if there was to be one.
Gathering her skirts, Amelia stepped cautiously into the circle and seated herself in front of him on the floor, her eyes never leaving his.
"All right then. You'll have to believe enough for both of us, at least for a little longer."
She held up the knife. "Tell me what we have to do."

Focusing my mind for the steps ahead, I speak quietly.
"Hold the knife with both hands, lass," I say. "You must hold it point down above the center of the circle."
I place my hands over Amelia's, continuing.
"Close you eyes, Amelia. Relax all but your arms and your mind. Relax... feel the room around you... feel my hands..."
As Amelia begins to relax, I pause, closing my eyes as well.
"Now I want you to focus on your dreams, Amelia. Not anything in particular, just that sensation that you get while you dream... Feel yourself drifting deeper and deeper into the dream... you are not sleeping... but you are dreaming..."
Keeping my eyes closed, I mutter a short prayer to whatever God may be listening that this works.

Amelia concentrated on his instructions, letting her mind slip slowly into the strange otherness between sleep and wakfulness. She could feel the draft of the chapel air on her bare skin, and Math's hands on her own as they held the knife, but distantly.
She tightened her grip ever so slightly, needing an anchor to hold onto. She did not want to get lost again.
A strange sensation begain to work its way down her spine, as Amelia felt something stirring around them. She could only hope it was something good.

Sensing Amelia's readiness, I warn her once.
"Whatever you feel, hear, or smell, Amelia, do not open your eyes. We are crossing over into a realm where the rules of reality are far, far laxer, lass. There is great peril to your sanity if you do not listen. You will know when it is time to do so."
With that, I begin to chant, singing in an ancient tongue that died more than a thousand years ago. To Sarah and Frank, we begin to fade. Amelia feels a tingling, almost electricity, coming from the dagger as I continue the ritual.

Amelia felt the strange force pool around them as she continued to concentrate, opening her mind to Math and to the energy that had become nearly tangible. As Math's chant intensified, she felt the dagger pulse with sudden warmth beneath her fingers. The electric heat grew and spread, until her hands were numb with the pain of it.
It burns, she thought faintly, though her mind only dimly registered the pain. She could no longer feel or smell the musty air of the oratory. They were somewhere else, somewhere in between. A place she had never been, even in her dreams.

Feeling Amelia's power join with mine, I turn my chant louder. However, to those standing in the oratory, my voice grows fainter. The candles seem to burn brighter and brighter, but only shadow seems to fill the circle.
Pausing for a moment between verses, I speak to Amelia, my voice clear and steady.
"Focus on the knife, Amelia. Focus all of your dreams on the knife."

Sweat beaded her forehead as Amelia attempted to comply. For a long moment she felt nothing, but then, as if a barrier had suddenly been stripped from her mind, Amelia felt the magic come from inside her.
Her dreams flowed with it, pleasant visions half-remembered and nightmares she'd never forget-blended together as it never had before. All of it she poured into the connection between the two of them, into the dagger.
"Help me," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Guide me, or I'll lose control of it." She was afraid, terribly so, of what might happen if she did.