[TS4] Divided: Act 1:15- Clouded

CONTENT WARNING: murder / death, horror elements, death of a loved one, mentions of blood, some horrific parenting, general creepy / horror stuff...yeah, it's one of those again.

Clementia

After all this time, I finally get to meet her. I must say, Reynold chose wisely. She has a domineering air about her that's making me a little nervous. Ugh, why do I fall to pieces like this in front of everyone? I almost envy her a little. She doesn't need to put up an air of confidence like I do...it all seems to be natural to her. We share a little idle chitchat, the weather and whatnot. I can't help but notice her staring at my face. The scar. She's looking at the scar, isn't she?

"I hope you're doing okay after..."

 

 

"It'll take some time, I think. Mother Joyce meant the world to me. She did an unimaginable amount for Reynold and I. She was like a second mother to us."

 

I'm resisting the urge to tell her. She looks like she could defend herself, even whilst she's pregnant- but he hasn't told her, has he? I know he hasn't. Surely his own partner, the mother of his child deserves to know?

 

No, I can't. I made a promise not to tell anyone...

Her concern seems genuine enough. It doesn't seem fake at all. Perhaps I was wrong in thinking Reynold had told her all about me and what I'd supposedly done.

"It always hurts to lose a mother, blood or not- but you have to keep the lessons she taught you with you. That's the only way you will get through the grief, Clementia. Your mother's lessons are all that are left of her-don't let them go, whatever you do."

 

Áine is right. Admittedly, I gave Mother Joyce no time to teach me anything before I left, but I will always remember what she did for me- for us. I try to think back to my mother, Blythe. It's only been two and a half years, almost, but I don't remember too much of anything she taught me. She always seemed more focused on Reynold than on me. I knew her for less than three days, and yet Mother Joyce was the closest thing I ever had to a mother figure. Whenever I spoke of Mother and Father, Reynold would tell me bluntly to stop speaking of them in the past tense and that it had only been three years- there was always a chance, he would always say.

"I appreciate that, Áine. I know this might be a bit awkward, but I've wanted to meet you for some time. I suppose I worried what Reynold might have told you about-"

"Whatever has happened between you and Reynold..." -she sounds a little unnerved, maybe even angry, staring into my scar again- "...it's nothing to do with me. He hasn't said anything about you other than that you're a Jacoban shepherdess and that you don't talk often. Even if he had said anything about you, I'm not going to judge you for a side of you I haven't seen."

I...did not expect that from Reynold's partner. Not at all, nor did I expect that Reynold has not said a bad word about me- and yet somehow, I believe her. Part of me almost wants to try and strike up a friendship with her; she seems like the kind of woman I wish I could be. Unapologetic and confident, yet loving and kind at the same time. What a blessing it must be, to not have to sacrifice one for the other.

 

"That's kind of you...You know, I didn't think you'd believe me at first when I said I was Reynold's twin sister. I mean, we don't really look-"

"Oh, really? I could see the resemblance right aw- Oh? Have I said something wrong?"

 

I know that Reynold is my twin, but do people really think I resemble a man so much?

Reynold

The sun is just coming up outside. I can't shake the thought of Mother Joyce's death off at all. I suppose this is one of those things that only time can heal. On top of that, There's a gentle knock at the door. Áine and Clementia were chatting away outside earlier, though I couldn't make out what about. I wonder what Clem had told her, if anything...

There's a gentle knock at the door.

"The sermon doesn't start for another few hours. You'll have to-"

They have the gall to enter anyway. I don't immediately recognise him when he's not in his domineering uniform, but...what's he doing here? Now? Is this the time? I want to be angrier at him, but I'm too much of a mess to be right now. Lucky him. 

He props himself down next to me on the pew, leaning on the back. "I'm rather late, I understand, but I came to pay my respects to Mother Joyce."

"You want to pay your respects to a Peteran abbess? That doesn't sound very Jacoban."

"I beg your pardon?" He gives me an awkward laugh. "Do you really think we're so cruel as to celebrate the passing of an abbess?"

"Given the various things we discussed when we first met, I wouldn't be surprised."

No, now isn't the time to start an argument. Not in the church. I'm not even abbot yet- can't make a bad impression now.

"Yes, I know- we didn't get along particularly well, were always butting heads, and never did come to anything close to a middle ground- but I always appreciated her fiery spirit. If anything, she'd have made the perfect Jacoban, though of course I'd have never told her that. She would have likely had me castrated for even thinking it."

"Now is hardly the time, Shepherd Julian."

"You see, Reynold, Mother Joyce and I were about the same age when we were ordained- almost twice yours, actually. I understand that it must be quite daunting to take on such a task at your age. When I was your age, it was all wine and women, you know. I had my fun before I became High Shepherd, but you..."

"Don't patronise me," I reply. All he does is laugh again. He can pretend to be my friend as much as he likes- I'm not buying it.

"I'm not patronising you, Prior Morgan. If someone like Mother Joyce thought you good enough to succeed her, well, I know she definitely wouldn't pick someone she didn't have any faith in. Don't think I wasn't paying attention during our conversation- you know when to be diplomatic and when to bite. Most don't know how to balance the two."

I hate having to listen to his snakelike voice at all, but at least he came to...sort of...pay respects to Mother Joyce. I guess I owe him a little respect in return for that. I don't think I would have gone all the way to the Jacoban cathedral if something happened to him.

"You may have the truth of the Watcher completely backwards, but even I have little doubt in you, Prior Morgan. I do wonder if you'll be as fierce as your predecessor. Either way, I look forward to locking horns with you sometime in the near future. Don't forget anything she taught you, will you? She was a good woman with a wise head on her shoulders- rather like your sister, actually."

It's taking the little energy I have to work up enough energy to say it...

"Thank you, Shepherd Julian."

 

* * *

 

Brádach

I'd been working ‘with’ Lord Volpe for a month and a bit now, scouring through the descriptions of witches, hoping one of them might possibly be my Áine. When I read William's summary of the witch...it was the closest I've seen yet. His description of the woman's accent, the long black hair, the blue eyes, and interestingly enough, she was apparently pregnant...it could be anyone from my home country, but it was the closest I had. I prayed to whoever was listening, and have been for years, that Áine is still out there somewhere. I've taken it upon myself to head out to the small village and hope for the best. I'm not just doing this for her, but for Gideon as well. He was right to be as furious as he was. Gideon was far from a perfect man, but even he would never put anything or anyone before his family- not even himself.

The early winter chill pierces at my skin. I think I've found the place- big red barn, a few small huts, high fences, just on the outskirts of Henford. Just as I carefully climb over the gate, I hear a familiar accent talking to a child.

I carefully approach her, and the closer I get, the more my heart warms to see her. It must be her. She looks so much like Saoirse did...all grown up. I feel a coldness in my chest straight away after the joy. I know what I must tell her, and it makes me sick to bring myself to do it. The closer I move towards her, the more unmistakable it is- especially when she stands her ground. I hoped she would do that. If she says something clearer, I'll know. She may be older, a father knows his daughter when she sees her.

"Come any closer, stranger, and I won't hesitate to take you down."

I notice fire balling in her palms...so she never did stop using her gift, and somehow, she survived despite it. No witchfinder had taken her down in the past few years. No doubt, that's it. Saoirse, all over- but she seems to recognise me straight away after the threat. The puppy-like look in her eyes, it's like she's sixteen again. I can't believe it- my own daughter, still alive, and having a child of her own.

But why? Why did she keep her magic, knowing it may get her killed? Perhaps.

She cries heavily into my shoulder and throws her arms around me. For a moment, I feel a gentle thud from the child inside her.

"All of this time...I thought you were dead. I thought I'd lost you- and...I didn't think we'd ever see each other again. I have so much to tell you- "

As do I, dear daughter, but you are not going to like what you hear...

"Only a couple of months left, and you're going to be a grandfather. I don't know how you thought to find me here, but we have so much to catch up on..."

Her childlike excitement soon melts into melancholy. I know what she's thinking, and I know what she's about to ask. I'm not ready, but this is not about me. This is about her. She deserves the closure she did not get. I'm shaking as I muster up the words. I put a hand to her shoulder, and she can't even make eye contact with me.

"Father... Were you there when Mother..."

I start to cry along with her.

"If I were around you any longer, Áine, they would have found you. Your mother didn't listen to me when I told her if you found your magic, you would get hurt-"

"But I'm not hurt. I'm right here. I survived," she tells me, anger on the edges of her voice. She has every right to feel that way.

"I understand. I did not want to take that risk, and so for your own good, I fled, knowing your mother would come after me."

Her expression turns to fury. "You told me you felt guilty. That you went to help make a difference."

I nod. "I did. In reality, I'd taken the Rite of Dissolution to protect myself. I had to do it, Áine, to protect-"

"Do what?! You took the Rite to protect yourself! How does this have anything to do with-"

My arms fall limp, as if the life has been drained from my body. I made a promise to Gideon- there's no going back now.

"If they found either of us, they would have found you. Saoirse would have never listened if I suggested the Rite to her, so I...I told a witchfinder about your mother...and they burned her."

 

For a moment, the air falls colder, and a darkness appears to gather...then I realise it's not in my mind. She shoves me to the ground, and my back cracks against the winter-hardened soil. Her eyes turn completely black, and a dark mist gathers around us. Her voice sounds like a thousand scorned women screaming at once.

You killed her. You murdered my mother.

She grabs me by the throat, and my entire body runs cold, yet it feels like lava is coursing through my veins. I've never seen anyone use this spell. Any witch who is even aware of it would know better than to use it...even Saoirse didn't bring herself to use it. 

I want to be happy, that I finally worked up the courage to tell her- but I'm pathetic. This isn't about me. This is what I deserve for what I did to her, for what I did to Saoirse.

 

 

Áine, my dear daughter, I was wrong about you. I underestimated your strength and your ferocity. 

 

I'm sorry.

 

Áine

Time has skipped. One moment, my father had my hand on his shoulder. Everything is dark. I can't see. I feel around for something, and all I find is an arm, cold and still. My vision clears, and my heart freezes over when I see him.

I was angry. So, so angry...beyond furious...did I do this to him? His hair is white. His skin is grey and dry, as if all the life had been drained from him. He looks as if he has been rotting in the ground for months...

 

My mind burns, and my limbs are on fire. I couldn't have done. I couldn't have did this to him-

 

"Áine...Go. Take one of the horses, and go, as far as you can. Far from here."

Abigail. She saw, didn't she? She heard?

"Abigail- what happened-"

 

"Just go," she spits, but not with ill will. 

 

"I can't go! What about-

 

"I can defend Mason, Thomas and the others. You need to leave, before anyone with even the slightest hatred of magic knows what you've done."

I turn to her, hands clawed in a mess of grief and confusion. "Just tell-"

"Go!"

I dash for the barn and stop at the door, careful not to wake the children. No, the children. They can't see this. What if they already did? 

I get a saddle and a bridle onto Dawn, the black and white mare. She can sense it. She's jumping about a bit, swaying from side to side. I try to balance time and not startling her, but as soon as I jump on her back, she charges off out of the door with a raucous neigh.

I'll miss this place. I'll miss Abigail. I'll miss the children. I don't know if I can even show my face around here again. Abigail's right. If anyone has caught wind of this, then...but how will Abigail fare without me? How will she deal with the body? All too much to think of, and not enough time to think it.

I'm running from home to start anew...again.

 

 

 

I don't know what I'll tell Reynold. If I'll see Kat again, or Abigail, or Clementia- anyone I'd call a friend, or at least someone I trust. I glance back at Abigail one last time before Dawn jumps the fence and heads in whatever direction is in her heart.

* * *

Dawn stops. I've no idea how far we've travelled, only that the cold has worsened, and the darkness has become further obscured with a thickening cloak of fog. I hitch her to a post somewhere near the outside of what looks like a town. 

I can't believe it. What he did. What I did.

 

The road ahead is far too quiet. I see no-one and nothing in the distance. I hear the noises of bats, and the low, melancholy howls of wolves.

I can't see terribly well through the dense fog, but from what I can see- the fencing, the architecture...this town seems to be frozen in the past. I see a large statue towards the middle- perhaps an old founder? Is this place abandoned? At least I'll have somewhere to stay. 

As well as the immediate disaster, one thing lingers in the back of my mind- Clem's scar. She mentioned she was a swordfighter and practiced often with Jacob's Sword, usually sparring with Shepherd Julian- but it doesn't look like a mark made by a sword. It wasn't straight and uniform- slightly jagged. I haven't stopped thinking about it since, but I know better than to ask about such things.

There's a small house just by the entrance- no lights on, no sound. I gently knock the door. If it's empty, I could stay here for the time being. If not, there's the off-chance that the locals could give me directions to somewhere more suitable.

I knock the door a few times, but there's no answer. As I go to open the door, however, I feel an eerie presence...as if a ghost is at my side. 

I turn around, and something otherworldly is standing, staring from the shadows.

I make out dark hair and a tattered off-white dress, and the most horrific of all...the piercing white pupils.

 

She lunges at me, A strip of streetlamp light reveals a mouth of sharp, monstrous teeth. I dive into the air, keeping myself afloat a little with magic power. I gather a ring of fire around me. I've already done it. I've already ended a life, at least, I think so. I think I did. I can do it again, can't I? I can do it to defend myself. I will not submit to any man or any woman.

Her screech shreds the silence to tatters. What is she? What demonic creature of lore could possibly look like this? Her claws are a hair's breadth from my neck before another shadowed figure tackles her out of the sky. She lifts herself from the floor. The other person moves slightly into the streetlamp's light, revealing silvery-white hair and a long black coat, almost like an old warcoat. The claws were as black and as long as hers were. I can't make out if they're male or female.

A vampire, perhaps? I thought they'd been long dead. Surely a vampire would not have teeth like that, though. In lore, they always had two long fangs.

"What do you think you're doing, Violeta?! Look at her!"

Definitely a man's voice. I recognise that gruff, harsh accent- slightly like a Windenburg accent, or at least somewhere around it. It sounds as if two voices are speaking in a nightmarish duet.

"Don't you sense it, Oskar?" Her voice sounds like scraping metal. "There's magic in her blood...Or did you forget what they did to us?"

What did witches ever do to vampires- or whatever they are?

"The war was years ago! And even if it wasn't- she's evidently with child!"

There's something about the manner of his speech, something archaic that I can't quite nail down.

"Go back home- and don't go anywhere near her!"

She flees towards the shadows again, and he turns his head, glaring blue eyes towards me. His skin is grey like hers, and dark veins cover his face. I stand my ground, just in case. I don't know that he hasn't driven her off so he can get first bite of his prey. 

There's something effeminate about his posture, not to mention the long silky hair.

"I almost mistook you for a-"

"Vampire?"

"No, I knew that straight away. I was going to say-"

"A woman? Not the first time. Won't be the last."

There's something oddly colloquial about his speech. I never expected a vampire of all things would have been so...laid-back. Still, this could always be a trap. But again, what other chance did I have? My entire adult life has been taking chances.

"Get rid of the spells in your hand, Miss," he says, bluntly. "Believe me, I can't drink your blood- you'd kill me quite easily if I did."

What about a witch's blood would kill a vampire, I wonder? Or is this another lie? Something about the way he speaks makes me want to believe him, but I wish it didn't. Men always find a way, don't they, to make you feel safe before they strike?

"Who is that?"

"You've taken a wrong turn, I believe. Luckily for you, I only drink the blood of animals, witchfinders and any that seek to do harm to Violeta and I. And you are not one of those people, yes?"

"No," I reply, with a stutter.

"Wonderful. Then join me at my home up on the hill. You don't want to be out here dressed like at the start of winter- especially not in Nebelstadt."

Oskar

We haven't had a visitor for some time now, especially not a witch. Violeta, Violeta, Violeta...When will you listen? The war was countless years ago.  

I don't think she expected it to be quite so cosy, but I know she has little trust in me. I don't blame her. Neither did Violeta when she first met me, and that was whilst I was still human. I don't take her cold shoulder personally. Women have to do what they can to ensure their survival, after all. I offer her some bread and jam, but she shows little interest. She doesn't even want water.

What brings her all the way to Nebelstadt? A wrong turning on foot? Many end up here on a horse or carriage or similar. Not only that, but who would travel all the way out here so heavily pregnant? Now I can relax a little, I return to human form. The warmth from the fire is a blessing. Winter has come early this year, hasn't it?

"So who was that woman?"

"That was Violeta, a long-term friend of mine. Whilst you're in here, she can't get to you. She can't enter my home without my say-so, and until she learns to control her bloodlust and let go of the past, then I won't let her in here whilst a witch is here."

"Your friend? You have a friend that kills witches, and yet you kill witchfinders?"

"It's far too complicated to explain. Violeta is very close to me. The war is still with her. I know that your generation would think your ancestors were pure evil for what they did, but she doesn't. I know it seems strange, perhaps even offensive, but be patient with her. I'll get her to come around, in time. For now, you'll have to stay here in my home, but there's plenty to do."

So many questions. So long have I been waiting for someone to tell all about the past one-hundred-and-sixty years. Violeta's heard about it so many times that I fear she'll slap me if I tell her again.

"What war?"

Ah, now I have to try and make it brief instead of going into too much detail.

"Roughly about seventy years ago, witches gave up vampires to witchfinders. Before they even came for the witches, they came for the Bloodcasters, our ancestors. Then it was us, and on top of that, the Lunvinchenaîné."

"Lunvinchenaîné?"

"Werewolves. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd all been wiped out...At least vampires can increase their numbers, though I've never turned anyone- oh, I'm going off-topic. Never mind. Do you have anywhere to go back to?"

She doesn't respond to that one. I'll take that as a no. I wonder what happened?

"Okay, then. What's your name?"

She looks into the fire for a while, slightly smiling before her face returns to its apparent default state of utter concern. "Áine."

"Different," I reply. "I'm Oskar- Oskar Nivelheim."

"Oh- like the furniture?"

Oh, no. Áine, don't say that. That's not a conversation you want to have with-

"Yes, like the furniture! You know, my family's business went on for almost two-hundred- never mind. But yes, you're correct...You know, I'm surprised you haven't asked yet."

"Asked what?"

"My age."

"I...I wouldn't like to guess."

"Go on! Give it a go. I'm intrigued."

"Okay then. Five-hundred?"

 

Owch.

 "No? Okay, hmm...two hundred?"

"Not quite."

"One hundred."

"One hundred and fifty seven."

She raises an eyebrow and nods. I don't think she's quite ready for my next question.

"So what brings you all the way out here to Nebelstadt, then?"

Ah, look at that. Guilt personified. A useless emotion, for the most part, yet the hardest to shake off.

"Whatever you've done, Áine, I can promise you, I have done far worse. Your secret is safe with me. It's not like there's anyone in Nebelstadt I could tell anyhow. I've had a fair few people come through these doors before. Many are merely lost and need a place to rest before they head off again. Others are running from something. I sense you're the latter."

She looks into the fire again. The tears have been streaming down her face since she arrived. It's almost nostalgic, in a strange way. I can't remember the last time I cried. Has it really been so long? I realise she's still on-edge. Perhaps I'm speaking in too flat-toned a manner. I try to move my voice around a little, in a gentler fashion.

"If there's something on your mind, now is the time to mention it- or it'll bury you alive."

After a few minutes of biting her nails, she finally spits it out.

"I had to escape. I...I don't know what happened. It's a blur. He told me something terrible and I-my father..."

Interesting. I do wonder what he did, but I suppose I've poked around enough for the night. I show her to her room, not resisting a little tour around the place. She seems to like my woodwork, at least, and her gasp when I tell her I decorated this whole place with my own two hands is quite validating. 

 

She takes a moment to remind me that, should I try anything, she will kill me. I try to be patient with her. She's had a terrible day, by the looks of things.

"Even if I wanted to, I probably couldn't kill you. Many other vampires have lived here over the years, and every time they've tried to drink from a witch, all the witch has to do is overcharge herself. The magic in your blood would overwhelm a vampire to a horrific death, one I shan't begin to explain. There's a reason only Violeta and I live here now."

The blood leaking from their eyes, the glowing irises, the way their bodies stiffened for a second before collapsing to the ground like a rag doll. The easiest, and most pleasurable way to kill someone was to drink enough of their blood. Vampires may be powerful, but witches were clever. They were tricky, as were their bloodline descendants. My guest seems to shrivel up and allows me to continue.

On occasion, Violeta dabbles in painting; I have a lot of her artwork on the walls. She has something of a fascination with painting wolves. Even with many of the werewolves dead, we still honoured them in our own way. Extinct or not, the Bloodmoon pact remains in any good vampire's heart.

I get around to showing Áine the room she'll be staying in; she seems pleased, although slightly unnerved by the eerie wolf paintings. If only she'd ever known a werewolf- then she'd know of their peculiar majesty. It's almost customary for me to walk past the mirror every time I enter this room, just in case there's a chance I might see my reflection again. She lays her satchel down underneath the vanity.

"Oskar, I apologise if I've been at all unpleasant," she says, putting on an air of formality. "It's been an awful day, and that's putting it lightly. I appreciate what you've done for me. The least I could ask for today is a safe place to sleep."

"No need to apologise," I tell her, forgetting to alter my manner of speech. "I understand that this is likely all new to you, and I apologise on behalf of my friend's actions. She cannot harm you whilst you are in here. Feel free to have a wander around, if you'd like. Just be sure to take it easy. You don't look like you're in much condition to be doing anything strenuous."

She lowers herself onto the bed with some difficulty, resting a hand against her stomach. If she's no other place to go, there's even the chance she may have the child here... I don't believe I'd be any good to lend a hand with a birth. Freezing cold undead hands shouldn't be anywhere near a newborn baby.

"If you need anything, anytime, don't hesitate to ask," I tell her, extinguishing the candle. She seems nice enough- a little troubled, perhaps, but who isn't? It's been some time before I'd met a witch. It'll be good for her to be here for a while, I think, especially with the witchfinders about.

"You have the curtains open? Don't you worry about the sun?"

"No, no, not here. The fog is so thick that no sunlight seems to enter Nebelstadt. A few of the local plants seem to have adapted over the years. I understand it may be a little dull as a result, but you'll get used to it. You'll realise soon enough that Nebelstadt is a rather beautiful place."

She gazes out the window at the silhouette of a dead tree. The wolves are singing again. I find it quite peaceful to rest to, but I don't know if she will.

"If you need to write a letter at all, feel free. There's a postbox not terribly far from here; I can take it down one night."

"I appreciate that, Oskar. I don't know how I'll explain any of this to my partner."

"That can wait until after you've had some rest. Sleep well, Áine."

* * * 

It's been a long evening, so I decide to settle in front of the fire. I can't be bothered to hunt tonight, so I settle for the a little bloodfruit wine. Not quite the same, but similar enough.

Any sliver of emotion, when I'm lucky to get them, makes me a little nauseous...if I dare hazard a guess, I'd say it's some kind of comfort in having someone stay here a while. Only having the one person to talk to will send anyone mad, no matter how close they are to you. I do hope my guest will stick around for some time. I'd be glad of the varied company. If she must write to her partner, I ought to do so as well- I don't think he'd react too well to his beloved being stuck in the home of a vampire.

I do nothing else for the night, listening to the song of the wolves in the distance. Sometimes. making the most of the time given to you is doing nothing at all, letting it pass by without a care in the world.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For anyone that missed it, the Halloween Special delves into some of Oskar and Violeta's backstory.