One Crown & Two Thrones : The Prophecy ( Book One) - Prologue

Chapter Twelve - Valley of Shadows

XII

Valley of Shadows

What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives; who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves?

Friedrich Nietzsche.

Mary awoke abruptly from her unconscious state of sleep as the loud noise shook the Georgian house. Sitting erect in her bed, she gasped as her door forced itself open, a cold and unyielding gust of air sweeping into her room. Freezing with fear, she brought her Egyptian sheets up to her shoulders and sat very still, listening intently with her eyes wide and her heart thudding violently within. Her eardrums rang out with the throbbing sound of her heart as the room began to fall prey to silence once more, the cold air still ventilating the air about her with malevolent intent. After several minutes she began to draw in deep breathes, feigning to calm her tense body, the hairs on her skin still standing tall and erect as though suspicious of foul play. As she fought against the fear that trickled up and down her fragile frame she found heat beginning to run through her veins, warming the tips of her fingers and toes. There was no light in which to bring comfort to the terror that still lingered. Mary closed her eyes tight and sought any streams of courage within before opening them once again and climbing out of her four poster bed, carefully tip toeing over to her chair in which to find her heavy nightgown, shrugging her body into it whilst also slipping her slight feet into their slippers.

A long breathe left her body as it sighed with comfort, her nightgown and slippers raising a flicker of hope within. She was abashed that no one had awoken like she and claimed terror as she had. Pensively she made her way over to the doorway and stood, observing the swaying door before dipping her head out into the dark corridor. Her room was on the second floor, the guests rooms located on the first floor. With shaking hands and a faint intake of breath she made her way down the corridor, lifting an oil lamp and turning it on. The corridor, its walls a soft cream came a live as the oil lamp filled it with reassurance. Her hands still shaking she picked up the oil lamp and made her way quietly towards the stairs. She stopped, her feet steadying themselves upon the top step. With caution she bent her body over the banister slightly and held out the lamp, looking downwards, her eyes scanning the winding stair case and resting upon the ground floor, filled with silvery light. With furrowed brows she began to descend the white marble steps slowly, the cold air biting at her face and eyes. As she came to the first floor she walked away from the stairs and held the lamp high, her gaze turning up and down the corridor in search of life. It was empty, the guests asleep and unaroused by the terrifying noise and gush of wind that had awoken her so suddenly. With another deep breathe she made her way back towards the stairs and once more descended the steps, her hair dancing amidst the swirling air. The sound of a door swinging against a wall filled Mary's ears as she came to stand upon the first floor, her eyes wide with fear as they beheld the sight before her. The large black, Georgian front door had been flung open, now swinging hauntingly against the coat hanger as a cloud of snow filled the reception hall, lightly covering everything in its midst. Her body stood frozen as she digested the sight before her, acknowledging the increasingly possibility that someone had invaded her house. The cold air wound its way up her nightgown and strangled her internal organs, the pinch of coldness deep and inconsolable. With shivering contemplation she made her way to the door and set the oil lamp down on a nearby table. Cautiously she found the door handle and curled her fingers about it, forcing it over to meet with the door frame, quickly she locked the door and with an anxious sigh leaned her body against the large black door, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

The house remained quiet as Mary quietly, guided by her oil lamp searched the rooms of the ground floor. The doors had also been forced open, but she found no evidence of an invader. Instead the rooms had been subjected to the force of the gust of wind that had consumed the sleeping house, causing paper to fall to the ground, books to fall from their shelves, vases to crash onto the floors and blankets to be cast from the sofa's, lying unceremoniously on the ground. Without a thought, Mary began to put things to right, starting in the dining room. Becoming active helped to take her mind off the fear that still caused shadow and doubt to linger ever so heavily in the back of her mind. In little time she entered the library and began to tidy its contents a little more calmly, she was adamant that if there was a burglar they would have shown themselves, but such an assumption did little to calm her nerves, how could she explain what had happened? As she closed the door of the library behind her she made her way to the stairs. As she ascended the marble steps once more she heard a door opening on the first floor and stopped, lowering her oil lamp and turning the light down, the house falling under darkness once more. Mary moulded her body to the wall as the sound of footsteps came from above. As she stood frozen, her eyes fell upon a black figure that came into view, stopping by the banister of the first floor and turning. Mary placed a hand over her mouth as the figure bent over the banister to get a better look. After what seemed to be eternity, the figure moved away from the banister and disappeared from view. Mary found herself the centre of a conundrum, what was she to do? Her mind began to hyperventilate as she searched for options. With a deafening thud in her ears, an answer sprung from within. The kitchen. Ada, Bram and Peter had decided to take refuge in the large kitchen below, having been too tired to return to their own lodgings so early in the morning. With a quick leap of her heart, Mary turned quickly and tip toed down the stairs, wounding her way round the bottom of the staircase and heading towards the servants stairs, which lay beyond the library. As she tip toed with quite some speed she heard the sound of footsteps once again, this time on the stairs and with haste made for the door of the servants stairs and opened it wide, marching with focus down the steps until she reached the kitchen, bathed in darkness. Three bodies lay slumped over the large, wooden table that was positioned in the centre of the large Georgian kitchen, filled with utensils and the smells of food, particularly baked bread.