An Aftershock of Hope and Fear: Chapter One

             Interitus 3: Short Story #1: An Aftershock of Hope and Fear

Chapter One

 

            “Some souls are so hopeless that they are stained from the start; they are born into this world already fated to eternal lamentation. They are so vile that even the earth itself will not cradle their corpse, and thus they are rejected from death and forced back to life. This is my birthright, as my mother explained it. She said that I was simply born wrong in every sense; my body was just as twisted and broken as my condemned soul. My heart stopped beating days after my birth, so my body was committed to the underground where it stayed for just three days. I returned to this world on a blood-red morning, and it was then that she said she knew the truth. Her grief transformed to terror as she came to accept that I was meant to be a devil. I was marked as a monster from the very start. In her confession, she whispered that she had committed a traitorous crime against humanity itself, simply because she did not kill me in the moment I returned. Her filial affection became a filial infliction.”

            Having finished his explanation, Abraham sat with temerity on the three-legged chair in the alchemist’s lair. Even as candlelight pierced the darkness of night, the shadows were so unyielding that they felt solid; the light was dim even in the space above the candle. The fragrance of sandalwood lifted from the candles to combat the stench of chlorine which flooded the old lair. Nearly trembling with discomfort, Abraham pulled his dark bangs away from his face. The alchemist sat on the other side of a small table with an empty glass in her right hand. Tattoos of symbols and runes scattered her pale skin. A dusty book sat half-open on the table beside her elbow.

            “How long ago was your rebirth? When did you find out?” asked the alchemist.

            After a moment of trepid contemplation, Abraham admitted, “It was seventeen years ago that the crypt rejected my death. It was hours ago that my mother confessed this truth. I must admit that this answers as many questions as it creates. My younger brothers were always treasured, and though I suffered no mistreatment… I lived a different life. The family outcast, if nothing else. The friends I’ve made both love and fear their parents, but it was always the opposite for me. She was afraid of me, and now I know it is because I was meant to carry this unknown curse.”

            “Which naturally led you to my library, isn’t that right? I can explain your curse, but I cannot do it without your name. This island bears many secrets, but few can be condemned to the grave only to return,” answered the alchemist.

            Abraham paused for a moment as he glanced around the alchemist’s lair. His blue-green eyes shimmered in the light of the flickering candle, quickly inhaling the maps and symbols strewn upon the walls. Wooden bookshelves stood in the shadows, and beakers glistened in the dancing light. Though a rainstorm pounded upon the roof of the old building, the only noticeable sound was that of intermittent dripping. A rosy liquid fell slowly from a burette into a small flask, splashing tiny droplets of pinkish light into the air.

            “My name is Abraham Tamatoa, son of Gabriella Tamatoa. The thing is, I have seen your home many times. I have hunted many times in the forest that surrounds us. I never dared to approach until my mother confessed the truth of my rebirth. She said that she was once your student,” he explained.

            She nodded slowly and admitted, “There was a time when that was true. Many wandering souls have approached me over the years, desperate to learn secrets that can save their sordid lives. Nearly all who came here have suffered because of the knowledge they once sought. Your mother is no exception. The dark arts condemned her to carry a cursed child, and now you bear the mark of the Taenarius. I have only seen one other in the time I’ve spent wandering this world.”

            “What exactly is the mark of a Taenarius?” asked Abraham, unable to hide his haunted gaze.

            But the alchemist did not respond. Instead, she stood up from her cast-iron stool and wandered to a bookshelf in the back corner. Though the shelves were concealed by shadows, Abraham could practically see the cobwebs and dust from a distance. She paused before the bookshelf as she examined tomes of long-lost knowledge. Her dark hair flickered from the gentle ascension of steam from a beaker beside her titrant flask. Her bony fingers slid along the books until she eventually reached the one for which she had been searching. When she returned to the table, she gently slid it along the glass toward Abraham without a single word. He wiped the dust from the cover and opened the book to glimpse the clue to his curse. The paper was thin and yellow, but nearly every page detailed a dead body; every illustration showed a supposed victim of the creature.

            The alchemist explained, “It happens every time a Taenarius allegedly strikes. There is an account in said area of a person returning to life from the clench of death. Sometimes the rebirth is recent, sometimes it is not. The victims are found in varying conditions. Sometimes they are simply torn, and sometimes they are burned. Sometimes they are frozen, and sometimes it is far more grotesque.”

            “If the victims never match, then how can you be sure that they were all slain by the same thing?” Abraham asked with apprehension.

            “It is because the victims have their heart and their stomach torn from their bodies. In all my research, only one other person has seen a Taenarius attack and survived. It was after the kill was already complete, but the witness watched in silent horror as the creature devoured its victim’s stomach. He explained that it was hard to see beneath the darkness of a nighttime rainstorm, much like the one that falls upon us now. But the Taenarius illuminated itself with bursts of fire, revealing that it had already discarded its human form. I suspect the same is cursed to be your destiny,” supposed the alchemist.

            Abraham narrowed his eyes as he contemplated this potential fate. He remembered stories he overheard as a child, sometimes in legends but usually in whispers from imaginative children. There were tales of creatures preying on innocent villagers, but they masqueraded as ordinary humans until the time was right. He had always dismissed these stories as tapestries of dreams and lies, but now he suspected that there may have been a fraction of truth to the legends.

            “I know I have no right to ask anything, but I cannot help but notice that you are holding back information. You have shown me evidence of my fate, but you have not explained my destiny. I understand that even great detectives may not understand the Taenarii, but their ignorance is your discipline. It always has been. Please, Dr. Elisara; I need to know my destiny,” Abraham pleaded.

            With a subtle nod, the alchemist crossed her arms and answered, “The Taenarii are seeds of evil scattered into this world long ago by the ultimate dark sorcerer. His name was Sirius Andromeda, and it was his strength that split the continents in the first place. His power at the time was not enough to overcome the perils of aging, so he instead unleashed a curse with the dark arts as his conduit. He said in time that the consequence of his curse, the unholy Taenarii, would rise and rebuild him from the abyss. To put it simply, those who bear your mark are cursed to devour life force until you become powerful enough to resurrect the sorcerer inside yourself. It is your destiny, and I doubt that resistance is possible.”

            Betwixt the impending sense of doom and the gravity of unanswered questions, Abraham slowly closed the dusty book. He stood up from his three-legged chair and retreated from the sphere of dim light that the candle created; he inched his way into the dusty shadows for security as if there were safety in the darkness. With a quick glance around the alchemist’s lair, he noticed a crimson elixir and a mirror which would not reflect him. It was now that he slowly came to realize that the alchemist herself posed a true menace. There was a reason why she lived in the forest instead of the town. There was a reason why she knew about dark sorcerers and the monsters they unleashed. There was a reason why her dark arts had cursed his mother in the first place.

            “Are you saying that I am damned to assail this world?” Abraham asked.

            Dr. Elisara gazed up at him with listless eyes as she answered, “You are cursed to become an engine of destruction; that much is certain. It could be said that you might wield this strength to serve a good purpose, but I will withhold my optimism. The fact of the matter is that humanity is condemned to carry a curse just as destructive as the demon’s mark. Just as a Taenarius will eventually succumb to their lust for blood, we as people are under constant attack by our own lust for power. It is the superposition of the two that fuels a Taenarius, and the life they steal is the catalyst for their unholy power. They grow stronger with each kill. Tell me honestly, Abraham. Have you felt the icy specter of bloodlust whisper into your skull?”

            With a forlorn grimace, Abraham said, “I think I felt the inkling for most of my life. I always wondered if there might be something wrong with me. I even convinced myself that everyone has these undesired thoughts from time to time. Life is a series of self-delusion, isn’t that right? That is what I forced myself to believe. Perhaps I was too quick to dismiss the reality. Perhaps I merely wanted to rewrite the reality. Try as I might to dismiss it, those undesired thoughts arise again and again. It grows with time. Is there any way to stop it?”

            With a somber sigh, the alchemist rose from her seat and trudged toward a map on the wall. As she walked, her cloak brushed against a pair of shackles and knocked them from the counter. A metallic clang echoed across the dusty lair. The map was adorned with various symbols and a stylized drawing of the sun and the moon. She gazed across it quietly before reaching a town on the other side of the forest. This town was close to the western sea, and the alchemist set her pale finger upon it.

            “Tell me, Abraham. Have you ever been to the ruins of Hartorville?” asked the alchemist.

            “It was many years ago, but yes. I wandered away from the beach and into the wreckage. No one was left there,” Abraham answered as he angled his feet to face the exit.

            “That is correct. Do you remember when I mentioned that I myself have encountered a Taenarius before? When we first met, she stood in the same place as you—halfway down a shadowed path without having made a single false move. She knew of her curse and stood neck-deep in the bloodlust, but she did not surrender to the unholy desires. There was a sister she had, or perhaps a friend so close that they were practically family. Someone to keep her anchored, like a child clinging to a rock to resist the rushing river. It was enough to suppress her desires for some time, but the monster always emerges in the end.

“Hartorville was once a sweet seaside town, but she killed every last one of them with the power of fire. Even the shambles are stained with cinders to this day. To tell you the truth, you are fortunate that you entered the ruins and emerged with your life. Most wanderers are not so lucky. Perhaps it is because she could you sense that the two of you were one and the same,” the alchemist explained.

            Feeling discomfort deep inside his stomach, Abraham took several backward steps and said, “I see. I did not realize that there was another monster like me on this island. A murderous monster should not have survived for years in the same shambles.”

            “Where do you think you’re going?” asked the alchemist as Abraham grabbed the doorhandle.

            Abraham felt his blood run cold as she asked this, but he attempted to twist the handle anyway. To his dismay, it rigidly resisted his pull; the door was locked even though he had not seen her lock it. He turned around calmly and glanced across the lair in search of another way out. The only possibility was a window on the other side of the room. Thick curtains concealed its dimensions, but he saw just enough outside light to reveal the cascade of rain flowing down the glass. He nervously dragged his gaze over to the alchemist herself, standing beside the flickering candles as her pale skin shimmered in the fiery light.

            With a pained grimace, Abraham asked, “Why do I feel like you were the one who set the other Taenarius on the path to ruin?”

            “Do you remember the dark sorcerer I mentioned before? Sirius Andromeda set the seeds for your curse. After your powers take root, you and your kind will blossom in a pool of blood. With enough bodies and the impulse they create, the Taenarii will call the dark sorcerer back into our world! I intend to lend my help. I intend to open the gates of death itself,” the alchemist said with a solemn stare.

            Though he felt like his blood had turned to ice, Abraham asked, “How did you manage that? How did you unleash the monster hidden inside her?”

            “Most people cave to their own lust for power when they see their true abilities for the first time. At least, that is what I heard of other Taenarii. But as far as I could tell, Ophelia was the exception to this rule. As I mentioned before, she had her spiritual sister to anchor her madness and carry her conscience. A barrier to protect this world from her madness. So once I tore down that barrier, there was nothing left to stop her apotheosis. I felt a pang of remorse, watching her slaughter throngs of people with a power which only grew. In the moment before she left her human form, I saw tears pouring down her face. It was a necessary sacrifice to return Sirius Andromeda to this world,” explained the alchemist with a lurid stare.

            Abraham watched anxiously as the alchemist grabbed a small flask from the counter behind her. The rosy liquid inside it sent shimmers upon her pale skin, reflecting the fiery light of the dancing candles. She took a single forward step, causing Abraham to retreat until his back struck the locked door to the alchemist’s lair. He knew he had nowhere to run; she was seconds away from doing the same thing to him that she had done to Ophelia.

            “What power am I destined to have? What form am I destined to take?” Abraham asked with an obvious stammer.

            With a sinister smile, the alchemist answered, “You seem to have suppressed your true form from a young age; it probably won’t return until after you devour many hearts. But if it is any consolation, you are seconds away from learning the identity of your unique power. Let us see, Abraham Tamatoa, what is the power that this impulse gives you?”

            In that moment, the alchemist threw her flask across the lair at a startling speed. Abraham lifted his right foot and set it upon the door behind him, preparing to push off and launch himself out of the way. However, he was suddenly transfixed from within; a latent sensation seized his body and stole his desire to escape. Instead, he remained in place as the flask struck the ground beneath his feet. With a sudden shatter of glass and an endothermic shift from liquid to gas, a cloud of unknown substance lifted all around him. It spiraled as it ascended, shimmering in the candlelight as it converged upon his skin. With a deep breath, Abraham closed his eyes and inhaled the gas. The impulse set sail to his airways and invigorated his bloodstream; he could feel the transformation echo across his whole being.

            As the ground beneath them trembled, the alchemist smiled widely and whispered, “I think I see it. You have inherited the earthquake.”

            Abraham widened his blue-green eyes with shock as the entire lair began to quake incessantly. Flasks and beakers were thrown from the counters and onto the floor where they loudly shattered. The candles slid across the swaying tables, and framed documents fell from the walls. Old books and journals fell from the bookshelves and clamored on the floor as the tremor intensified, catalyzed by Abraham’s terror at his newfound weapon. Unclear how to control it, he tried to throw himself into motion, but his legs slid across the swaying ground; it was all he could do to stay upright. The glass window behind the alchemist shattered in that moment, overwhelmed by the pressure of the undulating earth. Even the alchemist herself clenched onto the counter for stability, grimacing as she watched the damage to her lair.

The earthquake grew stronger by the second, but Abraham dashed across the lab and retrieved a sword from a mantle on the wall. He then stumbled toward the alchemist as the world shook violently around them, clenching his weapon as he made his approach.

            “Can you feel it awaken inside you, Abraham? Can you feel the power itself ask that you quench it with human blood? As your power grows stronger, this tremor will be nothing but an aftershock of the weapon you control. Your human body will be nothing but a mask to disguise the monster you become,” announced the alchemist.

            But once the earthquake finally stopped shaking, Abraham lunged at the alchemist and slammed her against the rocky wall. Her dilated eyes shimmered with both terror and excitement, and she showed a similar smile when he held the edge of the sword against her throat. In the background, a candle had been tossed by the earthquake such that it ignited the tablecloth. The burgeoning flame illuminated the dusty space with a fearsome glow, and reflections of the fiery light glimmered on the surface of his sword. Scarlet light flashed in the alchemist’s eyes as she stared at the weapon held to her neck.

            “I can feel it awaken exactly as you said. The impulse alone was enough to spark this power. It screams inside my skull that it can blossom only with blood. My own lust for strength put the sword in my hand and its blade to your throat. Everything inside me wants only to feed the monster, and if I do, then there is nothing that can stop me,” Abraham declared as he glared into her eyes.

            “Is that the course you will take?” she asked betwixt the hold of hope and fear.

            “No. I’m only a minute in, and I already see the strength of this monster. Humankind is doomed if they’re meant to fight the Taenarii alone. I will find the other monsters that roam this world, and with their same unheavenly power, I will destroy them.”

            In that moment, Abraham jolted back from the alchemist and swung his stolen sword. It struck what remained of the shattered window, and then he jumped through the opening himself. When he landed on the ground with a splash, standing beneath the pouring rain, he lifted his sword and faced the northwest. Even in the darkness, his silver sword shimmered in the light of the growing fire behind him. Nevertheless, he stared at the forest which separated the alchemist’s lair from the ghost town of Hartorville. He forced the earth beneath him to tremble, and then he erupted into motion, scanning the trees with his blue-green eyes.