Blue Rose and Raven: Chapter Seven

Marius' fateful choice takes him to the mysterious manor within the woods where he meets his unlikely host.

The horse plodded through the forest at a steady pace, undeterred by the chill and ankle-deep snow. Its hooves left great craters in the white and effortlessly stepped over felled trees and sunken areas hidden in the snow. It seemed to barely exert itself as it breathed its strange hollow whistle. Despite the steed’s path veering off the roads and into the forest, branches barely caught at my coat and clothes. I still held tightly on the saddle.

            Our travel time was hard to discern. We started early in the morning, that was certain. But instead of morning breaking through the trees, the progression of the day instead went in reverse. The gloom of the morning diminished further and further until we were riding in complete darkness. Rustling and snapping twigs reminded me of the creatures hiding in the dark, as did their tiny pinprick light eyes. The horse continued its journey.

             My eyes and cheeks stung. I’d stopped crying when the village disappeared into the distance. The desire still lingered. As morning faded back into night and the cold forced my eyes shut, my thoughts returned to the family I’d voluntarily abandoned. I thought about how I’d never see them again, about the uncertainty I rode toward. Connie, August, Camille, Caesar, Elaine, M. DeRose, Mother. They would never see me again. Maybe that’s for the best, I thought. What could I have done for us? I just wanted to be a painter. The jaws of a hungry beast seemed better suited for me.

            Then, in the dark, I saw a flickering blue light contained in a lantern. Beyond it, a looming estate with great arched windows and snow-covered hedges. The blue fire reflected off the windows and polished stone of the place, giving it an eerie pallor. The place reminded me of a great mausoleum: Brooding, forgotten, forbidden.

            The horse’s grinding limbs bent to the ground. I carefully stepped off. I ran a shaking hand against the steed’s stone neck. It bowed its head in response before picking itself up. It did not move from its spot under the lantern. I turned around to face the manor. The massive doors were already open. I stepped inside.

            Mother’s story did this place no favors. It was so dark, so empty. I felt exposed and watched, feeling something in the pitch black ready to pounce on me.

            Suddenly a massive chandelier above blazed to life with a bright blue fire, followed by a succession of candles and hanging lanterns leading down the hall. I blinked away momentary blindness to see white statues in the corners of my vision. As I blinked and turned around, they changed poses and position. All pointed me to the trail of light. None seemed ready to hurt me.

            I walked the lit path. My footsteps echoed against the tiled floor in great pealing notes. Some of the lights seemed suspended in the air, floating like blue stars in the darkness. Others illuminated immaculately carved architecture and expensive furniture made of fine fabrics. The flickering lights caught the edges of the many sculpted images of ravens hiding in the shadows. It must be a crest, I thought, remembering Elaine’s story about the statues. We are all subjects of this place. Or were.

            The path stopped at an expansive room lit by a great roaring fireplace. It was a library and study, if the scattered desks and walls of books were any indication. A massive armchair sat in front of the fire, casting a massive shadow over me. A finely decorated cane laid against one of its arms. “You have come.” A deep voice resounded through the room and my body. “Good.”

            “I have,” I managed, fear stifling my voice.

            I drew a breath as a clawed hand clutched the cane. The creature emerged from behind the chair, long taloned fingers leaning on its third leg. Bright eyes stared behind a curved obsidian beak. Firelight danced against a silk robe of elegant floral designs. Its head was a ragged mass of thick black feathers tied back with a makeshift bun. At its full height, it was a full head taller than me. The creature looked at me with what I assumed was curiosity. Or hunger.

            “Come closer,” The creature asked, wagging a finger. I obeyed. “What is your name, sir?”

            My mind briefly went blank at the sight of the creature. I regained myself enough to answer. “Marius. Marius Dufresne.” I bowed my head.

            “Welcome, Marius Dufresne. I am the Lady Beast of this manor.” She bowed her great feathered head to me and held out a scaly hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

I took her hand and squeezed it gently in greeting. It was rough and callous. “A�"A pleasure, Madame.”

“You are afraid of me,” The Beast said in her deep voice.

I nodded.

“Do not be. You are my guest. I will give you anything you desire. You need only ask and I shall provide it.” She pointed a taloned finger. “A room has been prepared for you. The servants shall see you to it.”

I turned to see statues down one of the halls with outstretched arms, beckoning me to follow them. I turned back to the Beast. “I�"Thank you, Madame. But I must ask,” I said, swallowing hard, “What do want with me?”

            “I want you to rest.” The Beast replied. “And I want you to join me for breakfast tomorrow evening.”

            “Pardon me? Breakfast in the evening?” I asked, bewildered.

            “The sun never rises over this place. But give yourself a good night’s sleep and your body will adjust.” The Beast nodded in the servants’ direction. “Now be off with you. You look exhausted.” Without another word, the Beast hobbled away down a dark hallway, cane clack echoing through the halls.

            I stood alone in that great library. The heat of the massive fire was a great relief from the cold outside. I stretched my hands and felt my body glow with warmth. A roaring fire was little comfort, however, considering my circumstances. I was the prisoner, or guest, of this Beast now. But suddenly all this hospitality? Was this a ruse? Why shouldn’t I be afraid of her? None of it made sense. I guess if I was meant to, I would have woken up from this dream. But all the events of the recent present came flooding back: My hasty plan to leave the house, leaving my mother sobbing in the snow. Everything I knew was now gone behind unknown miles of forest and feet of snow and I had only myself to blame. Only a dream could be a reprieve from this.

            Solemnly, I followed the lights down the hall with the statues accompanying. We moved in silence down several hallways and up a flight of stairs past sharp-beaked raven statues, empty suits of armor, and vacant opulent rooms. I’d heard stories about forbidden castles with dark hallways. I suspected the worst to come and something to strike from the shadows. There were only the smiling statues and the lights casting ghostly flickering shadows on the walls. So far, they meant me no harm.

            My room was a spacious place with a large canopy bed, dresser, side table, desk, and a massive arched window to a balcony that overlooked the snowy garden. The winter night sky carried cold blue and scant traces of multicolored aurora through the sky. The colors mingled with trace clouds that seemed like torn bits of paper blowing weakly in the wind. Below, the forest stretched into the horizon. I noticed a small cluster of lights among the trees: Amersot, perhaps? I hoped so. At least I knew I wasn’t far away.

            I sat on the bed, sinking into the cushions. They were unbelievably soft. On the dresser was a set of nightclothes. I changed into them, folding up my old clothes and placing them on the dresser. The nightclothes were soft and warm, yet loose fitting and easy to move in. I realized how ragged my old clothes looked once they were off me: My shoes were worn and falling apart, shirt tearing and dirty from weeks of going unwashed, threads of my pants fraying. I’d forgotten what nice sleepwear felt like. I crawled into bed and without any prompt, the lights began fading until only the moonlight shined through the windows. I stared into the dark for a while, but sleep seemed to be easier here with the soft bed and warm sheets. Soon I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, but not before hearing small voices speaking imperceptible words and the quiet shuffling of feet.

 

            I didn’t dream that night. I hadn’t remembered my dreams ever since our troubles began. In nights past, my dreams reminded me of intensely detailed finished paintings, incidental images which stuck in my mind long after I’d stopped observing them. Sometimes it was the eye of a dog with its glossy wetness and tiny eye-crumbs and flecks of hair and swirling vortex of patterns within the iris. Once I saw my hand as a series of boxes, exactly like a model I was studying at the time. Other times they were what dreams were supposed to be: nonsensical regurgitations of memories recent and distant. I think I gave up my dreams the moment I decided to stop painting. They helped me during my days of study. Now those days were over. There was no use for them.

            I woke and stretched. Any aches or leftover fatigue I’d had yesterday were gone. That was the best night sleep I’d had in a while, possibly ever. Right on cue, the lights flickered to life and filled the room with their ghostly glow. There was no daylight. It was still evening, just as the Beast had mentioned yesterday. Or last night. I recalled she wanted me to join her for breakfast. So I slid out of bed and onto the marble floor, which chilled my feet. Right next to my feet were tiny slippers from which I slipped easily into. They were very comfortable.

            I left my room and looked around. The ghost-lights and lanterns were lit all down the hallways. I guessed it might’ve been to indicate it was supposed to be day. In any case, I couldn’t find my way around the place. The Beast hadn’t told me where she wanted to meet.

            Suddenly I felt a small tap on my shoulder. “This way,” a voice whispered. I twirled around in surprise. A statue of a jovial man with an apron and lopsided hat pointed me down a hallway. Suspicious, I approached the statue. I waved my hand in front of it, poked its face, snapped my fingers in its face. I narrowed my eyes at it.

            I blinked. The statue’s face transformed in an instant: Its eyes bulged in mock surprise and his tongue stuck out like a frog’s. I jumped back. I blinked again. The statue was now frozen in a pose where it was doubled over in laughter. Something clicked in my head, and I shut my eyes.

            “Ha! I was waiting for you to figure it out!” A happy voice boomed. “It’s what you can’t see that does the most for you, young master!”

            “But I’m not your master.” I replied to the voice. “That Beast is your master, isn’t she?”

            “As long as you’re here, I’m obligated to serve you! Them’s the rules. I don’t make ‘em.” The voice said. I imagined him shrugging. “You’ve got an appointment to keep, in the meantime. Come on. We’ll show you the way to the dining room.”

            “How am I supposed to follow you with my eyes closed?”

            “Open them, you silly bum!” I felt the servant gently tap me on the forehead. I listened, feeling sheepish. The servant-statue pointed in a direction. I shut my eyes again. “Make sense now?”

            I nodded and headed in the direction. I turned to down each successive hallway, the behatted servant and others appearing in an instant to direct me before disappearing literally in the blink of an eye to another end of the halls. Their movement was imperceptible in sight, but with every blink they changed position. When I kept my eyes closed, I could hear footsteps and tiny conversations everywhere. So strange, I thought. But consistent.

            The dining room was made of one large table and several smaller ones dotted with candelabras and exquisite china. The polished silverware caught the candlelight and glittered. At the middle of the table beside a candelabra sat the Beast. She bowed her beaked head and motioned a scaly hand to the seat across her. I sat down.

            We sat silently watching each other. Her glowing eyes bore into me. That massive ebony beak seemed twisted in an expression of displeasure. She stroked a claw against her hand, possibly in annoyance. I remained still, nervous to speak.

            “Well?” The Beast finally said. “What’s the matter?”

            I blinked once, twice. My mouth hung open, trying to determine what was done wrong. “P�"pardon me?’

            “Is there something wrong? Do I still frighten you?” The creature’s expression was difficult to read, but I noticed something like confusion, even nervousness in its avian face.

            “Well, to be honest, I don’t know,” I answered frankly. “I expected that you were trying to trick me or spoil me until I was ready to eat.”

            The Beast’s eyes grew large. “Is that what you think of me? Good God, it has been too long.” The bird cawed, which I interpreted as a mirthless laugh. “I am ghoulish in every sense, in attitude and appearance.”

            “What? That’s not what I meant. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend.” I said hastily.

            “No no, you are not at fault. First impressions have never been a strong suit of mine. It has been many years since this house has hosted guests.” She waved a hand around the empty dining hall. “Clearly I have been alone for too long.”

            “How long, exactly?”

            “I truly cannot say. All I know is that I have been alone with only my servants as company. But they only serve me. They are not ideal companions.”

            “I’m your captive and your companion?”

            “You are the latter.”

            “Then why did you threaten my mother over a paintbrush?” I said My words came out were more forceful than intended.

            The Beast sighed. “Because there are ancient laws of hospitality that must be followed. I opened my home to your mother. She violated my trust. It is customary for the affected party to choose the means of recompense. I chose companionship.” She turned up her chin. “I understand this is not ideal for you. But I commend your bravery for going in your mother’s place.”

            I hung my head in shame. “It wasn’t bravery.”

            The Beast cocked her head. “Then what was it?”

            I shifted nervously, unsure of how to answer. The events of yesterday were too close for me to properly reflect on them.

            “No matter,” The Beast held up a hand. “We may discuss this at another time. Let us have breakfast.” She clapped her hands twice. “Shut your eyes.” She said to me.

            I obeyed. Instantly, the sound of clinking china and rustling of fabric filled my ears before stopping just as quickly. I opened my eyes to several servant-statues bowing behind the Beast. A sumptuously prepared breakfast now laid between myself and my host. There were poached eggs, fruits, pastries of every kind, plates of bacon and ham. We could eat enough for ten people. When I surveyed the whole feast, I realized how hungry I felt. I looked up at the Beast, an amused expression on her strange visage. “Go on,” she said. “It won’t run away.”

            Nearly a year of eating cabbage and vegetable soup with occasional meats to break up the monotony was a massive shift. We’d always had enough to eat before and to depart it was difficult, but I learned to accept our current lot. To return to having everything was so shocking I could scarcely comprehend it. I felt myself regressing to an animal state, just grabbing whatever looked appealing and stuffing it into my mouth. It was all so sweet, so succulent, so filling and satisfying and savory. My previous palette was akin to a world cast in black and white and gray, with this field of plenty washing it all into bright color. Never had I realized how simple the joy of eating great food could be until that day. In my fugue-state of consumption, I barely noticed the Beast pecking away at bits of fruit and bacon, sitting straight with elbows off the table. Even as a beast, she retained her manners.

            The table wasn’t nearly empty when we finished, or rather I finished. Or more precisely, I was unable to eat without becoming sick. I felt full to bursting which considering my previous situation was a great feeling. The Beast clapped her hands again and we shut our eyes. A whirlwind of sounds, and the table was now empty save a clean white tablecloth. “Impressive. You could’ve eaten the plates if you weren’t careful.” The Beast said. “You act like you haven’t seen a bite of food in a dog’s age.”

            I rubbed the back of my head. “I apologize for my manners. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that much to eat. My family is destitute. We barely have enough to eat month to month.” A light went on in my head. “If I’m staying here, then what’s to become of them? Do they just miss while I live in luxury?”

            “They are being cared for,” The Beast answered. “They will never starve or sleep in the cold again. Your mother will not be dying of consumption either.”

            “What?” I exclaimed.

            “Oh yes. But I have seen that she and the rest of your family will remain healthy and happy for all their days.”

            I sighed in relief. That cough Mother brought home sounded awful, but contracting consumption? I’d heard of the damage that terrible disease could wreck. Losing Mother to it would’ve been too much to bear.

            “However,” the Beast said, raising a single talon. “You must remain here. You still rode the steed to my abode meaning you accepted the arrangement. To leave means breaking a vow.” She then crossed her arms, appearing like a mighty judge. “Breaking a vow is one of the most heinous sins that can be committed. Do you understand, Marius Dufresne?”

            I didn’t quite understand what she meant. However, I wasn’t about to doubt the credentials of a mystical being in an enchanted place. “I understand, Lady Beast,’ I simply said.

            “Very good,” she said, uncrossing her arms. “Now, walk with me. I wish to discuss further matters with you.”

 

Author's Note

General thoughts please.