The Fallen

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

By the dying light of the second sun a grandfather clock chimes nine, and bitterness sails across barren sand--heading for the dome made of stone where one inhabitant still remains. Her boiled blood pulsing to fingertips and toes. Spontaneous combustion at any moment nudges and pulls in an unsettled mind. When lead drips heavy into her twisted stomach—snap! With eyes like full moons Emily heaves! Throwing soapy waves of bath water until eventually gripping the copper rail tight enough to settle herself.

‘Is everything well Peeress?’ The voice falls upon her prickly ears. She holds for a space, not entirely convinced with the answer. ‘I-I’m all right, thank you… Simon.’ ‘They are becoming more frequent, Miss Driscoll.’ Simon conjectures, gathering the mop and bucket. Emily washes over her flustered skin.

‘I can’t escape it.’ She says.

‘Remember what your father told you.’ Simon’s brow furrows. ‘Fear outside the mind is an illusion. Fear inside the mind is just pers—‘

‘Perspective! Yes, I know.’ Interrupts Emily, ‘That man never ceased to use the expression.’ The mop sloshes when Simon wrings it, his rolled sleeves catching a few drops. Never once do his eyes wander toward Emily. ‘Very well Peeress, if you need anything, I will be out in the hall.’

She watches as the man who has served the Driscoll family for a century fade to nothing in the Shadows. His retiring footsteps echo throughout the round library which some refer to as—Anneau de Vérité (The Ring of Truth). The grey-stone temple became home to those under the rule of the Driscoll family, ones who were in support of the cause. The only resident that remains apart from Simon himself is Emily, left soaking in a steaming tub with candlelight casting harsh shadows upon her pale, slender physique, in the centre of a life long forgotten. Emily sinks and curls into her milky anguish, recalling the letter which she had received a few days prior.

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By Sanction of the Dreki Imperium,

We require that you undertake an examination—Peeress Emily Driscoll, a test which cannot be named in this letter.

The High Seer of Krymordian—Myani Ohd Kye, will attend your residence—Anneau de Vérité, on the first day of the new Hiemal. She will administer the trial which will remain undisclosed until its commencement, and shall you pass, there will be no further contact.

We wish you luck Peeress Driscoll, may you find peace and enlightenment in the path from retribution.

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Emily wondered at what the next day could bring. What was the unspeakable in which she had to face? Who was the High Seer of Krymordian? She knew her name, but nothing of the nature wielded. Very few things ever illicit such secrecy, she thought—hypnotised by the whirls of upward steam, drifting off to dream of an Arkani Moon.

The morning due dissipates as quickly as it came. The Peeress waits on the promenade. Her angst doused by a silent fear, her narrowed green eyes scan the cold sand that is Arkani, and with a desire perching on each shoulder she prays. Emily hopes that the Seer will never arrive, that by some universal luck the test will pass her by. But on the other hand, if the High Seer of Krymordian bestows her appearance upon the halls of Anneau de Vérité, then she wishes to get it over with.

‘What do you know of The High Seer, Simon?’ She speaks, never breaking her disconcerted gaze. The crisp Arkani breeze ripples across golden sand lifting her dark curls. Simon’s eyelids flicker, ‘I have only heard things, Peeress.’ He states. ‘Well, go on then, don’t be shy!’ Demands Emily. ‘Your Grandfather studied with her… he said many things.’ Says Simon. ‘One of which, is that she cannot be trusted.’ ‘Do you know me to trust easily?’ Utters Emily. ‘No, Peeress, I only wish that you keep your guard.’ He replies. ‘She holds it, Peeress.’ ‘Holds what?’ Questions Emily, unfolding her arms as a black dot on the hill appears. ‘The Darkness!’ Simon confesses, breaking her gaze upon the ridge and retreating inside the protection of the grey dome.

Emily straightens, shoulders return to a position of courage. The silhouette which first appeared as a dot now grew into something more. A haunting figure. One with a black silk robe dancing seamlessly across shifting ground, the reigns of a horse that no sane-being would mount held in her gloved hand—its polished black hair glistening—the Seer’s face covered yet again in the colour of death. Emily leans forward into a soft curtsy. Something she is not used to performing.

’Emily Driscoll!’ confirms the deathly mother with a feline tone. Her voice crawls down Emily’s spine. ‘Welcome, your Imperial-Grace,’ She replies. ‘Simon mentioned that you knew my Grandfather? Did you know him well?’ ‘I did, Miss Driscoll.’ You have his eyes—she thought; but did not speak. ‘You studied with him, at The Polaris Institute in Krymordian?’ ‘Enough!' Croaks the old harridan. 'We shall begin momentarily. There is a challenging road ahead for you, Miss Driscoll.’

The words remain with Emily, rolling on repeat in her mind as she fidgets outside the chamber doors. The unknown is crippling, even to those who are born from high blood. The only comfort is the knowledge of a deceased grand ancestor being an acquaintance of her Imperial-Grace. ‘Emily!’ Summons the Seer, the call heart wrenching as Emily obeys. She gains a last breath before entering the library. The High Seer is barely noticeable in the gloom. Beams of warm light illuminating a chair in the centre, and a scent which is undeniably Hawcrest, a plant only used in the acquisition of truth. It is also not recommended.

‘Have you heard the tale of The Founding Fathers, Miss Driscoll?’ Emily looks to The Seer, stepping one foot inside, then another. The Seer’s raspy solemn words float around the young Peeress, she can feel them pulling at her tweed cargos.

‘The Founding Father’s were not of this world… a creature, very different from you and I, Miss Driscoll.’ The Seer ambles toward the chair. ‘They were said to have fallen from the stars painting the globe in shades of blood, when the first sun became two.’ Emily follows, listening intently. ‘A seed was sewn in their image, the image of something treacherous, a thing which cannot, and will not be tamed.’ ‘I have read the fable, Your Grace.’ ‘Very well then, you understand the importance of keeping such beings at bay.’ A deafening-quiet fills the room, save for the sound of Simon playing the piano from the study, the relics tune wafts down the lightless hall touching the ears of Emily and The Seer.

The High Seer cocks her head. Emily feels a breeze as the door slams behind her, turning her gaze to the closed entrance then back to meet Her Grace. The music plays on in the background. ‘Is that Hawcrest, Your Grace?’ Emily probes. ‘Indeed it is, Miss Driscoll. And I am sure that a young woman such as yourself would know of these practices.’ Are you afraid?’ Pries the old mother. Emily imagines her appearance alone is enough to put fear inside the mind of any man. ‘Should I… be afraid?’ She hesitates. ‘Only if the truth is not what we seek, Miss Driscoll.’ ‘I assure you that whatever it is you seek, does not lie within myself.’ ‘Even so, we must look!’ Emily attempts to read the Seer’s expression through the deathly vale; but nothing, not even the outline of her nose could be uncovered. ‘Please, sit!’ The dark figure standing before her wheezes. ‘It is time.’

Emily collapses to the chair, not entirely of her own volition. Moisture appears on her forehead and nape, arriving with the gentle tremors that soften her legs. A coldness grips her forearm, it is the gloved hand of Myani Ohd Kye strapping her in. ‘Is it safe?’ The question almost too quiet to hear, or maybe it was as no reply ever arrives. ‘Now, you must give in to it, Miss Driscoll.’ ‘Give in?’ ‘You must accept the pain!’

Panic strikes a little too late for Emily when she senses the touch of something invasive, something sharp at the edge of her skin. She loses her breath as the needle filled with tar-thick elixir buries itself inside her vein.

‘They say that the sensation is quite thrilling.’ Informs The Seer. ‘At first, when the concoction makes its way through the blood stream, a world of euphoria awaits.’ The vile already half empty. ‘When it meets the membrane on the frontal cortex, and the window into depths unknown suddenly opens, the pain of understanding things that might be hidden for a reason can be nonetheless excruciating.’ Emily shudders, eyes become a misty-glaze and roll backwards inside her skull.

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Simon felt it at first—the piano coming to a halt with the pause of his fingers. He felt it. Then heard it. It began as the wind, whistling outside. The skies grew grey and unsettling, the kind of clouds that bring pellets of cracking rain. The whistle now forms into a higher pitch, not unlike the jets of a Dreki Ship. The sound does not cease to grow. It climbs in pitch and gets louder—the wind is now inside toppling ornaments, and vibrating a lamp to its fall. Then louder it grows—the walls begin to shake, then louder—dust falls from the ceiling, then louder… and louder. Simon’s hands snap up to his ears. He heads for the library bouncing from wall to wall. The large wooden doors almost rip arm from socket when he turns the handle. Simon thrusts against the opposite wall, the impact cracks a portrait of late Sir Arthur Driscoll. He reaches a hand forward; but the invisible force does not weaken. Climbing to unsteady feet and bracing on the frantic door is when Simon notices.

In the thin, snow filled, burning air—a sinister cry so loud that it could shatter glass if there were any not already in fragments. The piercing howl of relentless pain. It is her. It is Emily. Her scream getting louder and gaining clarity with every second. He try’s to reach her but his body will not move. The ear-bursting cries anchor him. He wants to help her, he wishes it! He wants to end the terror which may never end.

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Emily rustles, awaken by the frost of an Arkani dusk. Stepping with caution as the sound of glittering glass and splintered furniture crunches beneath her winter boots. The scent of smoke and ash fills the white dusted air. Her eyes focus, adjusting to the dark and caught on a larger than usual lump among the rumble. Is it an animal? Why is it not moving? Emily creeps closer. A tear stains her dusty cheek. She remembers now. She remembers her heart breaking, when the cry of pain was no longer her own. When little by little, skin peeled away from flesh, then flesh from bone. All that remains now is Simon’s charcoaled skeleton lying against the wall. I did this! She thought. I killed him!

Emily stumbles, searching through blurred vision; but The Seer was gone, along with any answers that Emily wanted… needed. Her last words left aching in Emily’s mind. ‘You must leave, Miss Driscoll. Leave immediately!’ Where do I go? She questions, as if the answer would appear from thin air. And as if it did she heard the voice. ‘Find Polaris...'