Eventide Scriptures I - The Shattering of an Era

Chapter 7.1 - Phantom (Part I)

The Dragon Fang Cliff loomed like the tip of a blade, separating the town on one side from the lake on the other. The painter was unsure if the cliff deserved its name, as no one had seen a dragon for hundreds of years. However, this detail did not deter travelers from far-off places.

The crowd around the Dragon Fang Cliff was larger than usual. They did not come for the cliff; they came to see him painting al fresco. In his right hand, he held a brush made of black sable winter fur, his arm extended in front of his open eye. After a moment, the brush returned to the canvas, capturing the essence of the cliff in its strokes.

He had painted the Dragon Fang Cliff from various angles, in the morning, afternoon, and evening. The side sunlight created sharp contrasts in the cracks of its surface. He was about to dip the brush into alizarin crimson when, after a moment of hesitation, he switched to rose madder.

The day was turning into evening, and his eyes were not as good as they used to be. He packed his tools into a wooden case, wrapped his painting in wax paper as attentively as he would change his grandson's clothes, and headed back to the inn.

In a single-story building, lanterns illuminated a row of his works from the past month. He set up an easel, leaned the day's painting against it, pulled a chair, and prepared to evaluate it.

A knock on the door interrupted him as he half-bent his knees. Grumbling, he reached for the doorknob. If the visitor belonged to an uncivilized horde, expecting free portraits to be painted and sold for a comfortable living, he would slam the door.

But he smiled. Wide.

"Lord Patron! I've been waiting for you. Please, come in." He stepped aside from the door.

The Patron wore a long robe with a mask covering his eyes. His short black hair combed to one side. He had a slightly pointed chin, and a gentle jawline. He did not recognize him. One day, the Patron appeared and gave him a large sum to paint the Dragon Fang Cliff. From his stature and voice, the Patron was still young, perhaps a teenager. Perhaps the son of a noble.

"Are you here to collect the painting?"

The Patron nodded. He walked around, hands clasped behind his back, examining his works.

He did not expect to receive another commission after the incident with that arrogant noble. The limping, one-eyed noble wanted himself painted. He painted him as he was, but the noble got angry and chose another artist who portrayed him as a hunter kneeling and aiming a crossbow. Uncivilized. Did not he know that god is in the details?

His body tensed as the Patron stopped in front of his masterpiece. Fortunately, like most nobles, the Patron was not an art connoisseur. Instead, he took the worthless sketches and skiagraphs from his table.

As he closed the door, a sense of gratitude filled his heart for not having to part with his beloved works.

***

Phantom scaled the Dragon Fang Cliff from the town side when the moon was only a thin slice. His fingers explored every crevice, gap, and protrusion on the wall. The tips of his boots searched for footholds, all relying on memory.

He had been planning this for a long time. His target was the Viscount's mansion at the top of the cliff. To be able to climb it in the darkness, he had to study this cliff by degrees – impossible to do it by himself. Therefore, he paid a painter known for his meticulous attention to details to depict it.

The tip of his boot slipped and dislodged a piece of rock. Phantom looked up; the dry autumn air would carry even the slightest sound to the ears of the guards. Crickets ceased their chirping at his presence, but he had brought a bag of crickets dusted with ragweed pollen that would keep them chirping.