Edwin Brook: Dire Recompense

Chapter 1 - Wayfaring and Tragedy

The billows gather

How quick they are to gather

Gather in the night

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Matthew held his hand ready to knock at the grand oaken door, but his arm froze in indecision, refusing movement. Around him, the winds screamed and the shadowy darkness hung thick in the skies. The terror of the storm was nearly upon them and the thunder seemed to be laughing in its fiendish pleasure, barking to the clouds to hurry onward.

He pulled himself up to his full height, telling himself it was his duty to knock, but found himself only studying the door, motionless. The door was like the entire manor itself, ancient and imposing, ornate, but solemn. There was something about the door that was a lie. It was beautiful and inviting, but its form was like a barred gate—a sign of hostility. It was a sign of a double life. It was mystifying, full of uncertainty.

Matthew looked behind him at his mother. She smiled tenderly at the youth of twelve and nodded, though in her eyes there was a deep sorrow. She was young and beautiful, perhaps more so for her sorrow. She had smooth, dark hair. In one arm she supported a bundle of about two and a half feet, wrapped carefully and sparkled with lace. It slept, full of peaceful oblivion. In her other hand, she held the reins of their pack animal.

With the encouragement, Matthew made a resounding knock on the door. The silence was as chilling as the violent winds. He knocked again, but louder, pursing his lips. This time, the door opened and the face of a man poked out. He had narrow, sunken eyes and an angular face, but his expression was questioning rather than threatening. "What do you seek?"

The mother took a timid step forward. "Please sir—" she wrapped the bundle more tightly in her arms, "there is a storm coming and we have nowhere to stay. We ask only a roof."

The man peered out into the darkness, his eyes squinted. Trees were already swaying and both air and sky were menacing. "...Well, I would never..." He came to himself with a shake of his head. "Well, come in, come in." He swung the door open and gave a sharp whistle. Another man appeared who gave a slight bow to the first and was ordered to take the travelers' beast to the stalls. A last shrill gust of wind haunted them as the door was closed.

Matthew looked around him. Rich carpets blanketed the floors with warm, dark colors. On the wall were portraits of austere looking men and women who stared down at him, some with pity, some distrust. Matthew gazed longest on the latter. On the walls were a variety of arms—relics, no doubt, of some ancestral heroes. He followed along close to his mother with his eyes on the walls as the servant led them down the hall.

They came to the end of the hall and a wide room opened before them, replete with furniture of the most intricate workmanship. Matthew's mind had begun to wander, traveling down the road before them and meditating on the cares of his mother and how he would carry those burdens for her and of things older than himself. Now though, his mind gradually returned to the things about him and he surveyed the room with a quiet interest. Its tone was warm, and when combined with its wide-openness, gave it a feeling of solemn grandeur. A lone man was seated in the room with his back to them. He shot up at their approach and wheeled around. For a moment the man froze, then pulled his shoulders back while a faint color tinted his cheeks and he regained his cold composure, staring at them without a word.

"Travelers, my lord," said the servant, bowing. Though hushed, his voice seemed to transgress the all too still silence of the room. "I thought you would take them in. There's a terrible storm outside and there's nowhere else for them to stay."

The nobleman's eyes wandered away as he stroked his thin beard, short enough to show the sharp, commanding form of his jaw. He looked at the wall. "Lodge them in your room if you will." On the last two words, his gaze shot out across Matthew and the others and Matthew noticed an uneasy flicker in the man's eyes.