Fog
Morgana Swift
Copyright Delirium Ed.It 2011
Published by Delirium Ed.It Publishing at Smashwords
Cover and illustrations by Daniel Comerci
I love England for several reasons. One of these is the golden shimmer of its drizzling afternoons, when at sunset the clouds give away to the shy rays of the sun, that show their brilliant sway in this suspended universe of water molecules. It was one of these glorious afternoons, and I contemplated through the clear glass of my windows the drops that decorated the flowers in the garden, so similar to precious gems, my cup of tea all but forgotten on the table, while I distractedly listened to the purr of my cat, Jordan.
Kristen didn't mind my contemplative mood. I had known her long enough to see her meditate more than once... and I knew her well enough to have also seen her in action, a definitely more perturbing view. She usually taught martial arts in a gym in Holland; however, she always had her (sharp) katana around and in some occasions she had shown no scruple in using it.Nice, France... the adventure we had lived together had created a bond of friendship between us, despite the differences in our personality. Kristen is a fighter, naturally fierce; but my anger, generally dormant, has much graver consequences when aroused. Clearly, we both use magic. Nothing obvious (you learn very soon to keep your knowledge to yourself) but enough to underline our natural human skills. Or so I thought.
The doorbell rang.
“Miss Swift?”
An elegant man, apparently arrived on a big dark car, very vintage.
“Yes... it's me.”
“I'm James Gray. Count Wyatt has asked me to deliver an invitation for you. Miss Van Der Rohe is also welcome.”
I began to suspect that my essays on esoteric philosophy had started to attract the attention of someone working in the field, or of people who could guess some of my skills outside the strictly philosophical field; for this reason I wasn't surprised that the momentary presence of Kristen in my house seemed somehow to be known.
The paper of the invitation was thick, slightly discoloured. An elegant handwriting invited me for tea at the count's castle the following day. I looked at Kristen, who seemed as curious as I was about this peculiar visit, and reading approval in her eyes I gave James my answer; he was politely waiting for us to read the invitation.
“We'll gladly accept the Count's hospitality.”
“Excellent!” he exclaimed, smiling for the first time. “I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon around four; the castle isn't near, but it's a pleasant journey across the British countryside.”
Thus said, he left us with a small bow, inviting us to prepare a light bag in case we wished to stay in the castle for the night. Kristen and I exchanged a look that probably indicated the same feeling we had, at the borders of our senses: the electric tingle along the spine that announces the arrival of a storm.
***~~~***
I remember feeling a similar sensation while James' efficient driving was taking us towards the castle; there was nothing disquieting in the soft hills we were crossing, and nothing more familiar than the light and constant drizzle, and yet for a moment a shiver seized me while I was watching the sun pierce some clouds with its spears of light; as if in that moment I had somehow caught the epiphany of new world destined to bloom, without being able to grasp anything of its meaning besides the anxiety of its birth. A blink of an eye, and already the mind was withdrawing from the confused perception of moments to come, giving away to the faint restlessness of a forgotten thought.
The castle was impressive; not that it looked like Count Dracula's abode, not at all. Modernity had managed to seep into the folds of the ancient structure without ruining in any way its elegant beauty. The fact that a small heliport had been created on one side of the park took nothing away from the charm of the ivy growing on the ancient walls, or from the silent atmosphere created by the shiny suits of armour skillfully placed in the vast entrance of the castle.
“I'll inform the Count of our arrival” nodded James, polite as always, before leaving us alone in the hall.“Nice place” whispered Kristen.
“Yes...”
I was about to answer more fully, when a small figure attracted my attention. She was watching us from behind the small wooden columns of the handrail of the stairs taking the first floor. I barely had the time to catch a glimpse of a cloud of curly hair and grey eyes too sad for such a young girl; feeling observed she retreated in a rustle of silks and chiffon.
“Cynthia? Come, my dear, let's go play with the swing, without disturbing your uncle's guests.”
I wanted to answer the babysitter that the child wasn't disturbing us at all, but the girl had hurried away with her, while she left us with a smile.
“Strange”
I thought, but I didn't linger on the shy behaviour of the girl. I must have shrugged and credited the education of the noble (and recluse) she was receiving for the behavioural anomaly.
Not long after that we were escorted to the Count's study by James. In doing so we crossed an enormous library where shelf upon shelf hosted hundreds of books, both ancient and modern. Despite I could give only glancing looks, I noticed some were catalogued, and some were not. I couldn't avoid admiration. Obviously, I also have several volumes, even rare ones, divided between the University and my library-arranged garage, but in what I was glimpsing at here... there was some hidden treasure for sure.
The Count's study looked on the library; James open the double mahogany door and we finally found ourselves in front of the noble Wyatt. The Count had nothing in common with the red-faced burly image of tabloid English nobility; the man I was looking at was young and wiry, besides being extremely handsome. His blue eyes were looking at us carefully.
On a sofa of the study was another man, who got up at our arrival. Eastern Europe whispered a voice in my mind; I wasn't surprised when he introduced himself as Simon Guildstern.
Rather, I was astonished by his profession.
“Simon Guildstern. Exorcist.”
I raised an eyebrow. I have no special liking for the Catholic church and its ministers, but that bizarre individual wasn't dressed as a priest.
“I'm not a priest” he added. “Let's say I'm freelance, since I'm not tied to a religion in particular; I serve God my way.”
I mumbled a perplexed answer.
“Morgana Swift. Philosophy researcher in Oxford University.”
Fortunately Wyatt decided to join that jammed conversation.
“Well, I see you have met Mr. Guildstern; he also was invited here today, like you, because I have a job proposition for you.”
No eye-openers up to now... I thought to myself.
“But we can deal with the details later. Did you enjoy your journey? We can talk business while we drink our tea.”
He rang a small silver bell and immediately James entered the room with a small trolley bearing, along with biscuits and cakes of all size and nature, elegant porcelain teacups and a silver teapot. Wyatt smiled looking pleased.
***~~~***
***~~~***
“Thank you James, you may go.”
He personally poured tea for us, and for some strange reason I thought of the legends according to which if you were transported in the Faerie Kingdom, you never had to eat, unless you were willing to stay forever in that enchanted realm and definitely abandon the world of men. Amused by the odd thought, I drank my tea enjoying its flavour.
Wyatt started speaking with a different tone of voice, lower and eager, finally explaining the reason of his invitation.
“I have recently inherited a castle. It rises on an island on the Scottish coast; inside the castle are some documents regarding the history of my family that I absolutely have to retrieve.”
His tea remained forgotten and almost cold in his teacup. He started walking restlessly up and down the room, followed by our curious eyes. His voice became harder, and he lowered it of yet another octave.
“There are others looking for them, to hide them forever. I had sent my lawyer and some of my men to retrieve them; the helicopter they were flying on crashed – due to bad weather, I've been told.”
He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists.
“I knew my men, they knew what they were doing.”
“Who is looking for these documents, apart from you?” Kristen, practical as always.
“The Catholic church. This is where you enter the story.”
For a moment, the silence was almost physical.
“You have... different perceptions of the situation. You aren't helpless against certain dangers.”
I looked at Kristen and Guildstern. They both looked very self-confident in their field. As for me... I do my best among books. I don't use samurai blades with the power of my superior chi, nor do I fistfight with the devil, to use Guildstern's definition of his profession. I receive and transfer. Sometimes I manipulate; but at the time I had more fears and more scruples.
“What are the means we could dispose of, in case we accepted?”
Wyatt smiled at me, pleased, as if he had understood we were seriously considering his offer.
“You'll have at your disposal anything you might need; and some of my men will come with you. Naturally we still have to discuss your remuneration.”
I looked at him straight in the eye.
“I'm not interested in money.”
Wyatt answered my statement with a smile.
“You are wise, Miss Swift. What do you wish for, then?”
“Free access to your library.”
“Of course. You are welcome.”
“If the Church really wishes for the documents that are in that castle to disappear, I only ask for the possibility to study and publish them.”
“This also is not a problem.” Wyatt answered, nodding at Guildstern.
“And you, Miss Van Der Rohe? What do you wish for?”
“A sword. I'll let you know which one.”
Yet again Wyatt smiled at us, pleased.
“I take it you're accepting the job?”
***~~~***
Evans. Anja. Daniel. The following day we met the men that would come with us in this mission. Evans must have been the first vassal of the Count for generations; the most trusted, reliable and organized of Wyatt's men. We quickly stopped by my house to gather some clothes, then confidently driving the jeep across the British countryside Evans took us all the way to a military base, all but hidden in the hills; he evidently was at home in that place.
I immediately understood that Anja and Daniel had worked together before; their auras looked almost as if they were somehow attached, as if a blood bond or shared experience had drawn them together beyond a simple understanding.
Anja was definitely an interesting view. From her dark hair cut short beneath her chin to her stern features, to her wiry muscles, everything suggested she came from some country in Eastern Europe, perhaps from Russia itself. I soon noticed the thick golden chain disappearing under her tank top. Kristen's eyes studied her with interest.
Just like Daniel's eyes followed me; with polite curiosity, and scarcely concealed attention. He probably came from the British special forces, I considered to myself; a good-looking lad with kind and easy-going manners. He shook my hand with a smile, a surprised look on his face.
I could understand his amazement; I was with all chances the only unarmed or physically unimposing person of the group (even Guilstern had a strong and determined look) and in my sober black skirt suit I looked exactly like what I was: a researcher that had ended up in the middle of a bunch of soldiers. There was more in Daniel that what met my eye at first; similarly, in me many hidden things endured. I answered his interested glances with curiosity, then he and Anja threw their bags in the jeep and we began our journey for the village of Darrowshire.
Darrowshire is a small village of fishermen on the Scottish coast; our inn (the only one in the range of kilometers) was right there, since the village grew in the very shadow if the island we wanted to visit.
Considering the fate of the earlier expedition, we were all intentioned to try to understand what had happened before venturing in our quest for the castle's documents... wisely so.
***~~~***
The car lights cut the night fog of the Highlands. The road shrank to a white ribbon separating the lanes; all the rest was a white wall of humidity.
There were no voices, no sounds in the muffled silence, except for our conversation regarding the dinner that awaited us in the inn; a conversation that was abruptly interrupted by a fleeting but remarkable vision. Actually, more than remarkable; an omen of what was to come.
She proceeded at the edge of the road, oblivious to the weather, the night, the cold, the fog, our astonished stares. Her flowered dress was a sudden dash of colour that suddenly exploded in the mist, immediately gone and followed by the chorus of our voices, that after the interruption, started off with a totally different music.
***~~~***
“Stop! Go back!”
Evans slammed the brakes, immediately going in reverse. Daniel was counting, and I guessed he had approximately calculated the distance we had travelled since we had seen her.
A girl, barefoot, wet clothes and hair. She couldn’t have been older than thirteen. A strange vision in itself, considering the surrounding. But what had clenched my stomach were her eyes… blank, expressionless, almost watery; dead.
We quickly got out of the car.
“She cut through the fields after seeing us.” Evans and Kristen had arrived to the same conclusions after a quick look at her footprints.
I advanced a little in the tall grass. Everything was clouded by the fog, and we could only imagine the presence of the sea at the end of the moor.
I extended my perception. Every living being has its own energy, visible to those who have trained their senses to detect it. In the grass I should have seen a trace, clear as a neon light, of the girl’s path. And yet I felt and saw absolutely nothing.
Either my gifts were betraying me, and it wasn’t so, since I could feel intensely all around me Evans’ anxiety, Daniel’s worry, the determination coming from Kristen, Anja and Guildstern; or that girl was not part of the energy all living things share – she wasn’t alive.
And yet, she didn’t look like a ghost: despite my limited experience in the field, I knew that spirits don’t appear to everyone’s eyes, and don’t leave footprints.
“Are you cold?”
I realized I was shivering when Daniel placed his coat around my shoulders. I shot him a nervous smile.
“Let’s go and look for her.”
I nodded at Kristen, while Evans drew his gun.
“I’ll stay here near the jeep, you never know.”
“I’m staying with you.”
Once again I was grateful to Daniel. I was following Kristen’s progress with my eyes closed, allowing the light of her vital energy to guide me across the space she was covering.
I suddenly snapped out of this connection. It was as if the temperature had drastically fallen and a stranger had materialized beside me. With my physical eyes I saw the barrier of fog that from the sea came rolling towards us at an unfathomable speed for any natural wind; I glimpsed Kristen and Anja doing a quick somersault (“forward fall, not somersault!” Kristen would say) to avoid the mass of water, while Evans quickly dodged sideways.
There were voices in the white wall of water I suddenly found in front of me; there was a will guiding them, and never before had I seen a spectral manifestation of similar entity. I didn’t even have the time to try and get out of its way.
The mass of water slammed me violently against the jeep; stunned, I tried to get up and pull myself out of that brackish mist that was invading my lungs. In the distance I could hear Guildstern screaming the words of some kind of exorcism.
“So that’s what pissed them off” I fleetingly thought – then I fainted.
I recovered quickly, in the car. Martin and Kristen were at my side, while Guildstern was looking at me with a worried look while the jeep hurried away in the Scottish countryside.
“Look at me.” Guildstern was staring at me with a piercing look, but I found it somewhat hard to sustain his gaze.
“I’m fine” I stammered. It was Kristen’s worried look that convinced me that something was wrong. I concentrated for a moment and I found it. A lump of putrid water, alien to my being, somehow installed inside my body.
“Look for a church. Quickly.” Guildstern was talking with Evans when I started to vomit violently; I don’t know if the spirit that was trying to possess me was reacting to the thought of an exorcism by Guildstern, or if my defenses were beginning to expel the intruder.
I was expelling seawater as if I had risked drowning, but I was regaining my clear head with every retch. They were behind us, I knew it perfectly well. They had probably retreated at Guildstern’s words only to charge again after gathering their strength.
Evans was driving at a crazy speed; Guildstern wanted consecrated soil and I have to admit that, for once, I agreed with his idea of looking for refuge in a church.
At last we found it, a small country church; catholic. We pounded on the door with our fists until the old priest opened the door for us, sleepy and unhappy about having been disturbed in the middle of the night.
“Let us in, for heaven’s sake!”
We shoved him aside, quickly entering and barring the door behind us.
“We need to do an exorcism, father. Help me.”
Guildstern was resolute, while I was starting once again to feel terrible.
“An exorcism! But I’m no exorcist!”
“I am. Your faith will help be, but I need your cooperation.”
Kristen had placed herself in front of the window of the church and had drawn her katana. Anja was at her side, and now I could see the pendant hanging from her golden chain: an enormous crucifix decorated in rubies, of Renaissance workmanship. I had no time to wonder where she had acquired it.