Isaac whistled a happy tune to himself as he stepped down his stairs from his homestead to his grounds. He swung his coat over his shoulder and placed his hat atop his head. He walked the short distance to where Vagiri was stabled. His constant companion for three years now, having picked him up as a yearling from a fellow hunter on his last tour.
He walked briskly across his well manicured estate. He hadn’t lived in his childhood home since before his first tour. Just last year he had acquired this particular parcel of land, a reward for his service that coincided with his knighting, and he loved it. It was verdant, green, and had a decent amount of forest for him to hunt in his spare time. He was less than half a day's ride from the city. All in all, he was contented.
“Good morning Isaac.” Isaac’s singular servant and closest friend greeted him with a smile as he led the horse. Vagiri was ready and waiting, with saddle shined and in place.
“Good morning George! How are you doing today?” Isaac asked with a smile as he clasped his friend's arm warmly. Embracing him close and sharing a brief intimate moment, with no eyes to judge.
He swung his leg into the saddle, and set off on the pleasant ride into the city. He bid George Littleton good day, and set off.
It was an exceptionally beautiful ride today, and he was excited as could be. He was headed out on the morrow for his third tour of duty; hunting in the north. Though he knew it would be his last, he couldn’t wait. The excitement, the adventure, the danger, they made Isaac feel more alive than he could explain to anyone. And of course there was the freedom… It was during the hunts, with just his strength and the strength of his comrades in arms that he felt the most free to be himself.
His mother was abhorrent of the idea of another tour of course, but as always, his father supported him, even if he wouldn’t speak his contrarian thoughts in front of Zadore. He sighed peacefully. Tonight would be tough, but he could make it through. Then came the sweet taste of freedom, if perhaps for the last time. Mother had presented a seemingly endless stream of potential marriage prospects for him, and she was getting more and more insistent.
They were nice enough girls, all very pretty, all very kind and for the most part demure. Isaac felt terrible every time, as he turned their advances down one after another, time and time again. His mother was growing frustrated, and the rumors began to spread. He couldn’t avoid marriage much longer, but another tour of duty would give him at least a year. He was twenty four… Twenty five and he would wed… he had until then at least.
The ride was gorgeous, and the crisp autumn air invigorated him as it ever did. The hustle of bustle of the town quickly subsumed him however, as the beauty of nature gave way to the more densely packed human presence. Much too quickly, he found himself dismounting and offering Vagiri’s reins to father’s stablehand. He bounced up the stairs, and burst through the doors to his family's mansion.
“Hello!” He shouted into the spacious, largely under furnished home. “Mother! Father! I’m here a bit early!”
A servant came to greet him, taking his hat and coat. “Your father is in his study young master.” He spoke curtly.
“Thank you.” Isaac responded with a polite nod and made his way through the quiet old house. He gave a light knock, and his father, a bit startled, looked up from his work with a smile.
“Hello! Isaac! So glad you came a bit early.” His father rose with an exertive grunt, his breath coming in the same ragged grating pattern that it had since his episode last year. He moved his massive frame with a cane now, and made his way slowly to greet his eldest son. They embraced, and Thibeault gestured towards the rear door of his study. “Let’s slip out the back and go for a walk in the garden shall we? Before we greet mother? I am feeling a bit under the weather today and wouldn’t mind a bit of activity to pep me up a bit before the big dinner.”
Isaac offered his arm, but his father refused him, as always. He may not be the man he once was, but he had his pride yet. They made their way down the stairs, slowly. Before they even made it through the flowery arches that dictated the Lamia family gardens, Thibeault was wheezing and gasping for air.
“Lets… *wheeze* just take a… *wheeze* moment… *wheeze*” He managed to get out, moving at his own languished pace towards an intricate marble bench. He sat panting, trying to catch his breath. Isaac sat alongside him.
“She’ll have me married off as soon as I get back…” Isaac sighed, leaning forward onto his hands. “There won’t be any avoiding it much longer I am afraid.”
“She means well enough.” Thibeault squeezed out between wheezing breaths. “She just wants for people not to talk.”
Isaac took his father's large hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I know dad, I know. You know I don’t want to bring shame on you or this family.”
“Never.” Thibeault responded firmly. “Never Isaac. You know I love you no matter what.”
“How are things for the office of the Duke? I like the new addition on the west side, what did you have done?” Isaac asked, gesturing to the new expansion to the Lamia mansion.
“Another study and private wing for your mother…” He shook his head dejectedly. “She has been... Entertaining a lot of members of the court lately.”
“Ah, well of course.” Isaac responded with a wry smile. “And how are Isabelle and Isley? I haven’t seen either in two months at least.”
Thibeault harumphed. He had mostly caught his breath, and spoke with a bit more vigor now. “Isabelle shadows Zadore nearly everywhere for the moment. The two have been quite a pair. I don’t know their plans, but despite Zadore’s efforts with you, Isabelle hasn’t give any of her suitors a second glance. Frankly I wouldn’t surprised if they intend her to pursue the position of sire-bearer for the boy emperor himself.” He paused for a sigh. “Isley is still in the thrall of that… succubus…”
Isaac laughed aloud. “Sharla? Come now father she isn’t all that bad. I mean, I know she is so much older than him, but they’ve been together for what… four years now?”
“Hmmpf, well you say that, but you aren’t the one who had to pay the bail and smooth the tempers on his son’s latest revolutionary activities.” Thibeault said derisively. “I love the boy, I do, but he grates me fiercely sometimes.”
“Revolutionary? Still? I thought they had given up on all of that after the Grand Duchess banned their organization from meeting.” Isaac said half interested, as he gazed at a pair of sparrows flitting between trees. “What were they doing?”
“Conspiring to incite a riot if you can believe the magistrate. Cost me a good bit of coin and more than a little back room promising to pull his ass out of that fire.” Thibeault responded gruffly. “And I swear, he completely missed the point of my gift at his coming of age party. Light, was it two years ago already? Just the other day, he brought it to bear against me again, and after I paid his bail!”
“The Melioran any-tool? I thought that was rather immensely clever of you.” Isaac responded with a kindly tone. “I mean, obviously he has no interest in the family business or life at court, I think giving him a symbolic gift showing that he can literally do anything he wants to pursue was thoughtful.”
“Well try telling him that, frankly I think he sees it as some grand offense to this day.” Thibeault sighed. “I’ve done my best you know…” He trailed off as he spotted Lady Lamia gazing briefly through a window in the new edition. He went silent, and Isaac gave his hand one more squeeze before Zadore made her way down the stairs from the house.
“Isaac, dear, how are you?” She said in her trademarked tone as she glided toward the garden.
“Hello mother, I’m well.” Isaac responded in a friendly manner, rising and taking the steps to close the gap to kiss her on the cheek.
“How is country life treating you? Still employing that… servant of yours?” She asked snidely.
“It’s beautiful mother, and yes, Littleton is a most effective caretaker of my holdings.” Isaac responded more curtly than he liked.
“Hmm, that’s well and good I suppose… I certainly don’t see how you manage things out there all by your lonesome with just the one man-servant.” Zadore said slowly, obviously pointing towards the subtleties of the arrangement that drew her suspicion. “Anyways, what are you two doing out here? Thibeault, you know the pollen from the star lilies can wreak havoc for you.”
“Of course, we were just heading in.” Thibeault went to stand, obviously pained, but trying to breath as smoothly as he could in his wife’s presence.
The trio made their way back into the main hall. Isabelle was there to greet them. “Brother! You look well as always.” She allowed him his usual warm hug for greeting, even though he knew it made her uncomfortable. “How is the country? And what is this I heard about another tour of duty? Have you not enough wounds to prove your manhood yet?” She asked slyly.
Isaac shrugged. “They need all the help they can get, and they are always in high demand for tactical minds and strong arms. Besides, I really do love it up there, it’s beautiful, in its own haunting way.”
“Well we need not focus on such terrible notions.” His mother interjected. “I have invited a friend of Isabelle’s for dinner tonight, I hope you don’t mind, Isaac.”
“Of course not mother…” Isaac responded, with a subtle wink to his father. “I am sure she will be a lovely specimen.”
“Yes, well…” Zadore was interrupted by a servant, entering the hall to announce the newest arrivals.
“Mr. Isley Lamia, and Ms. Sharla Ghazal, joining for dinner.” The servant gave a bow as the pair entered.
Isley was dressed in the most ostentatious new style, and Sharla was wearing a low cut luxurious gown in the style of Ma’alek. If it was at all possible, she was showing even more skin than Isabelle’s usual.
Isaac was the first the stand and greet them. “Isley, Sharla, how are you?” He asked as he stood. He avoided his traditional greeting, the last time he had gone to hug Sharla, it had nearly come to blows from the unreasonably jealous Isley.
Isley nodded brusquely. “Isaac. Back to the north for more nearly deadly blows from monsters I hear?” He turned his nose up. “Couldn’t bear to stick around and try and make this country a better place I suppose?”
“Come now Isley, none of that tonight.” Isabelle interjected and she floated across the floor to greet them. “Sharla, how are you? I heard the awful news.”
“Ha, a temporary setback. We will rise again, and we will bring change to this country.” Sharla wrapped herself around Isley’s arm. “Together we will make a difference in this whole bullshit theocratic mess of a nation.”
The servant interrupted once again. “Ms. Olivia Ribwell, joining for dinner.” He bowed low, as in walked a young girl that Isaac could only describe as adorable. She had a small button nose, and shortly cropped wavy hair. She smiled and Isabelle greeted her with a nod.
“Good evening all.” She said in a polite but meek way. “I am so pleased to join you this evening.”
“Yes, Isaac I do believe you’ve met Ms. Olivia? She had her coming of age ball just last month.” Zadore said as unsubtle as Isaac could stand. “You were invited I believe, but were unfortunately not in attendance.”
Isaac cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes… Well, lovely to meet you Olivia.”
“Here we go again… Another fucking trollop with rich parents set out for the golden boy to sample.” Isley said, slicing through the conversation and causing everyone to shuffle uncomfortably.
Thibeault coughed and rose with a grunt. “Well that’s enough of that for now. Come, let's go settle in for dinner.” He shook his head. “We can hear all about how the theocracy is ridiculous and the churches are robbers once again.”
Isaac silently noted his mother’s demeanor. She was practically grinding her teeth. She was always on edge around Isley, as long as Isaac could remember. As his rebellious notions grew, none of the most diplomatic minds could continue the claim that it was just a phase much longer. It grew harder and harder for the Lamia family to bear his antics. And it became more and more expensive for father to cover for Isley’s semi-legal behaviors.
Dinner passed as it always did. Isley grew blessedly silent after a particularly biting rebuff from his sister, and poor little Olivia did her best to stay afloat in the tumultuous social turmoil of the Lamia dinner table. Mother and father did their usual dance to avoid having the speak with one another, and Isabelle almost seemed to glow with glee from the entire debacle.
After the affair was through, Isaac set about saying his goodnights. Isley and Sharla slipped away without a word to anyone. He was obviously fuming, but it wasn’t Isaac nor anyone who could console him on the matter.
“Oh my, but you must stay, Olivia here is a quite talented songstress, and she intended to entertain us over digestifs.” Zadore said, her last desperate attempt to keep her eldest son from riding home for the evening.
“No, thank you mother.” Isaac said with all of the politeness he could muster. “It’s truly not a long ride and I have much to prepare before I set off on the morrow. Thank you for everything though.” He kissed his mother's cheek farewell, and gave his sister and father his strong bear hugs. He kissed poor confused Olivia’s hand, and thanked her for the lovely evening of conversation.
He made his way to the stables. It took some time to saddle Vagiri, but without any further pomp he set out on his way home. It was a beautiful ride, perhaps even more beautiful in the moonlit wonder of the late evening.
His mind was wandering, imagining the pleasures of the hunt that would be in store over the next year, when his finely honed skills as a warrior alerted him to danger just in time. From the shadows a bolt flew through the chill of the night air. He managed to dodge it, throwing his body to the side at just the last possible moment.
“Bandits? Come now, I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want to have to draw blood this night.” Isaac said with a confidence only a man well accustomed to the battlefield could have mustered in this moment. “Just away with you and this need not turn deadly.”
He reached behind him, drawing forward his long blade from its home on the saddle mounted scabbard. It lit up as he grasped it, shedding a pale red light, slightly illuminating the dim moonlit night. His eyes were alert and keen. He had always done well in darkness. He found it more comfortable than the light of day. He saw motion from the brush to the side of the path on the left, and Vagiri responded swiftly to the lightest tap of his knees. The combat reared steed danced to the right, dodging another bolt with ease.
“We have two roads to walk from here friend, and trust me, you won’t be breathing at the end of one of them.” Isaac spoke into the night. His head turned sharply to react to take in the almost feline movements through the shadows ahead of him. Through the darkness, a vaguely feminine figure, but far too big to be a woman, appeared. It was horrific, and unlike anything he had ever seen. He had faced dragons, but this monstrous abomination still filled him with a tinge of dread. It was unreasonably large, and had four long arms, scratching along the ground with sickle-like claws.
It laughed, a faintly familiar voice, but so very, very wrong. “Oh Isaac, you certainly don’t disappoint… This will go even better than I could have dreamt.”
It closed the gap in an instant. Vagiri was downed, and Isaac’s leg was trapped underneath the struggling beast. Vagiri lashed out, driving it’s hooves into the monster. Isaac returned the shadowed beasts blow as well he could with his blade. A gift from his father on his eighteenth birthday, it was a magic forged weapon of some great quality. He had sought further improvements to it during his tours. More than once, it had pierced dragonhide. It pierced this monstrosity now, and it screamed into the empty night in pain.
It reared back with a roar of rage and fury, and brought all four of its limbs slamming down into Isaac. Everything went black.
He awoke chained. A hard stone slab beneath him. He groaned from the pain and made his familiar post battle assessment. Four broken ribs… no… five… Right arm shattered, three places at least, and then the usual scratches and gashes. It wasn’t the first time he had been grievously wounded. He pondered for a moment what the healers bill would be at the end of this. Slowly he opened his eyes.
It was a small room, stone walled and poorly made. Some common family basement perhaps? He tested the chains with his good left arm. Not common at all perhaps. He was splayed out, each limb pulled away from his torso and tightly bound. He turned his head right and left, taking in the tableau.
Something nefarious had him in its clutches this evening. Like some evil conjurer’s lair from the stories, the room had been arrayed with symbols and runes. He didn’t recognize any of the letters or the words they formed, but he was fairly certain a good number of them were in Ma’aleki, and perhaps some other language he didn’t recognise. He could just barely discern that he was in the center of some sort of circle made with some fine white powder. Open torches flickered in their stands, four, one on each corner of the room.
Good… he thought to himself, a torch could be used until he found his sword at least. He wasn’t as skilled with his left hand, but he was confident he could manage… now, just had to get out of the chains. He struggled, pulling hard with his good arm. He was a very strong man, he had always found joy in maintaining a strong body. He could not budge it though. He tried, and tried, pulling with all of his might. It did not move an inch. He let out a scream of anger in his exertion and from the pain of his wounds.
“Oh, awake now?” A moment later a far too familiar voice echoed down the stairs behind his head and out of his sight. “Come darling, I told you I have a gift did I not? No reason to get all hesitant now…”
“But, that sounded like Isaac…” A voice that Isaac knew well spoke with a tinge of concern. “Oh Light Sharla, fucking Light. What… What did you do?” The voice that Isaac knew belonged to Isley pleaded.
“Come my love.” She was leading him, and led him down the stairs into the chamber. They walked to where Isaac could see them in the light of the torches. “Can you see? This is the next step. This must be done if you desire what I am.”
Isley looked around the room. “I know you described the ritual to me, but fuck, Sharla you didn’t say it would be Isaac…”
Sharla let out a gleeful laugh. “I know! I wanted it to be a surprise…” She went to her tiptoes to kiss Isley deeply. “Who else could it have been dearest? I explained it to you, who else could possibly fit our needs in this?”
“Isley, what the fuck is going on?” Isaac pleaded with his brother. “Whatever is happening here, you don’t have to do this…”
Isley turned round, anger in his eyes. “Oh? And what do I have to do Isaac?” He spat out with rage in his voice.
“Whatever is going on here, whatever that monster of a woman has told you, you don’t have to do... whatever this is. We can talk about this!” Isaac pleaded.
“Fuck you. I am done doing what you tell me to. I am done doing what mother, or father, or Isabelle tell me to fucking do.” Isley responding, hatred dripping from his teeth as he spoke.
Isaac shook now, more from the shock of his injuries, but also from this revelation of hatred from his brother. “Do you really hate us so much Isley? Do you hate me this much?”
“Ha, of course I do. You worst of all.” Isley was practically screaming. “Isabelle, that cunt just thinks she fucking owns me and the world. But she at least has the respect for me to admit that she knows what I am.” He was practically frothing at the mouth as he ranted. “Father, fuck father. If he hates his life so much he should have just killed himself long ago. Instead he just lingers on, half a fucking man. All of his power and control, all of his money, and what the fuck does he do? He builds her a bigger fucking mansion!”
“Isley, they love you, I love you…” Isaac shouted back, trying to cut through his brothers wrathful monologue.
“Hahahahaha.” Isley broke into sarcastic laughter. “Do you know what she calls me Isaac? Do you know what she calls me when she thinks I can’t hear? Or when she’s fucking drunk?” He was crying now, lost to his emotions. “She tells the fucking truth. She tells me I’m a monster.”
“You aren’t a monster Isley…” Isaac pleaded with his brother.
“Oh but I will be… That’s what I’ve always been to her, to everyone, and that’s what I will be…” Isley had stopped crying, and his eyes had gone cold… so very cold. “You are the worst of all of them Isaac. You are the one I hate the most. More than her even. The others at least know what I am… But you? You fucking mock me every fucking day with your kindness, and your love. Father and mother always loved you… Gave you everything… Everyone always loved you best… And you still pretend to love me, even though… even though…” He trailed off, not able to finish.
Sharla had gone to an altar on the right side of Isaac’s field of view, and she drew forth an intricately runed dagger, with a wicked curved blade. She brought it forward, and knelt down in offering it to Isley. “You know how to open the rib cage and remove the heart?” She asked, as plainly as if she was discussing a menu at a café.
“Of course.” Isley said flatly, taking the dagger. “Of course I do… I’m the fucking monster.”
Sharla stood and returned to the alter. She began to chant, something unintelligible yet horrifying to Isaac. She gathered up fistfuls of some foul smelling powder, and threw it vigorously up and down Isaacs body. He coughed and sputtered, it was overpowering, and the stench choked him.
Her chanting rose, turning round and round, filling the room. She took two more fistfuls, and threw them onto Isley’s body as well. It coated him in a grotesque ritualistic pallor, making him look even more sickly and weak than normal.
Her chanting rose, and Isaac could have sworn the circle of powder was beginning to glow and writhe around him. Isley stepped forward, raising the dagger above his head. His eyes locked with Isaac’s, and Isaac resisted the urge to scream, or beg, or plead.
“I always did love you Isley. No matter what anyone else ever said. I always loved you, and I always will.” Those were Isaac’s last intelligible words. The dagger came slamming down into his chest. He screamed in pain. The blade hurt, but that was a pain he knew well enough. The worse pain was from the powder and the chanting as it invaded him. He could feel it, and he knew fear, and he knew suffering like he had never known them before.
Isley brought the blade back up, dripping with blood. Isley jumped up atop Isaac, straddling his torso between his knees. He stabbed Isaac again. And again. And again. While Isaac screamed and howled in torment.
Isaac was still screaming while Isley began his more focused work. He split his brothers chest, sawing the bone with the serrated portion of the dagger, as he had learned as a child playing with animals… He made deep slicing motions inside his open cavity with the finely honed tip of the blade.
Isaac was still screaming.
He cut the last bits of connective tissue that he could find, and with a tug, blood spurting down his chest, he withdrew the still beating heart, leaking and gushing torrents of blood from the small slices that the dagger had made.
Isaac was still screaming.
The chanting rose, and the cacophony of wails and yips seemed to come from Sharla, and everywhere. Dozens of voices joined the chorus as she danced and chanted rhythmically with the disembodied crowd. She threw fistfuls of the dust into the air, chanting and stripping herself bare all at the same time.
Isaac was still screaming.
Isley seemed to go blank, his eyes rolling up into his head. He lifted the heart, still beating, above his head. His mouth opened to join the chanting, and his voice, and others, poured out. He brought the dagger to bear, and sliced a deep gash in the flesh of the organ. He brought it to his lips, and drank deeply. Taking gulp after gulp, as the beat of the heart pouring his brother’s life blood down his throat.
Sharla was completely nude now. Isley began to seize, and dropped the knife in his spasms.
Isaac was still screaming.
Sharla, without breaking her chant, picked up the knife, and in a fluid motion, drove it into Isley’s back from behind. Straight into his heart. Isaac howled in impotent rage. Changing pitch from his own torment, to the torment of seeing his brother killed in front of his eyes. Slowly, the screaming from Isaac was beginning to run its course. He was still conscious, somehow, but could feel his life ebbing, far more slowly than was right.
He closed his eyes to try and greet his end. Instead he felt a weight upon his open chest, and his whole body. Isley had been unceremoniously plopped atop him. Isaac opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with his brother. Their blood mingled, as the dagger, still driven into Isley’s back, drained the color from his unmoving face.
Isaac had one last coherent thought as his soul and spirit ceased to be his own. I’m so sorry Isley… I’m so sorry for everything, for all of it…
Isaac stopped screaming then.
He walked briskly across his well manicured estate. He hadn’t lived in his childhood home since before his first tour. Just last year he had acquired this particular parcel of land, a reward for his service that coincided with his knighting, and he loved it. It was verdant, green, and had a decent amount of forest for him to hunt in his spare time. He was less than half a day's ride from the city. All in all, he was contented.
“Good morning Isaac.” Isaac’s singular servant and closest friend greeted him with a smile as he led the horse. Vagiri was ready and waiting, with saddle shined and in place.
“Good morning George! How are you doing today?” Isaac asked with a smile as he clasped his friend's arm warmly. Embracing him close and sharing a brief intimate moment, with no eyes to judge.
He swung his leg into the saddle, and set off on the pleasant ride into the city. He bid George Littleton good day, and set off.
It was an exceptionally beautiful ride today, and he was excited as could be. He was headed out on the morrow for his third tour of duty; hunting in the north. Though he knew it would be his last, he couldn’t wait. The excitement, the adventure, the danger, they made Isaac feel more alive than he could explain to anyone. And of course there was the freedom… It was during the hunts, with just his strength and the strength of his comrades in arms that he felt the most free to be himself.
His mother was abhorrent of the idea of another tour of course, but as always, his father supported him, even if he wouldn’t speak his contrarian thoughts in front of Zadore. He sighed peacefully. Tonight would be tough, but he could make it through. Then came the sweet taste of freedom, if perhaps for the last time. Mother had presented a seemingly endless stream of potential marriage prospects for him, and she was getting more and more insistent.
They were nice enough girls, all very pretty, all very kind and for the most part demure. Isaac felt terrible every time, as he turned their advances down one after another, time and time again. His mother was growing frustrated, and the rumors began to spread. He couldn’t avoid marriage much longer, but another tour of duty would give him at least a year. He was twenty four… Twenty five and he would wed… he had until then at least.
The ride was gorgeous, and the crisp autumn air invigorated him as it ever did. The hustle of bustle of the town quickly subsumed him however, as the beauty of nature gave way to the more densely packed human presence. Much too quickly, he found himself dismounting and offering Vagiri’s reins to father’s stablehand. He bounced up the stairs, and burst through the doors to his family's mansion.
“Hello!” He shouted into the spacious, largely under furnished home. “Mother! Father! I’m here a bit early!”
A servant came to greet him, taking his hat and coat. “Your father is in his study young master.” He spoke curtly.
“Thank you.” Isaac responded with a polite nod and made his way through the quiet old house. He gave a light knock, and his father, a bit startled, looked up from his work with a smile.
“Hello! Isaac! So glad you came a bit early.” His father rose with an exertive grunt, his breath coming in the same ragged grating pattern that it had since his episode last year. He moved his massive frame with a cane now, and made his way slowly to greet his eldest son. They embraced, and Thibeault gestured towards the rear door of his study. “Let’s slip out the back and go for a walk in the garden shall we? Before we greet mother? I am feeling a bit under the weather today and wouldn’t mind a bit of activity to pep me up a bit before the big dinner.”
Isaac offered his arm, but his father refused him, as always. He may not be the man he once was, but he had his pride yet. They made their way down the stairs, slowly. Before they even made it through the flowery arches that dictated the Lamia family gardens, Thibeault was wheezing and gasping for air.
“Lets… *wheeze* just take a… *wheeze* moment… *wheeze*” He managed to get out, moving at his own languished pace towards an intricate marble bench. He sat panting, trying to catch his breath. Isaac sat alongside him.
“She’ll have me married off as soon as I get back…” Isaac sighed, leaning forward onto his hands. “There won’t be any avoiding it much longer I am afraid.”
“She means well enough.” Thibeault squeezed out between wheezing breaths. “She just wants for people not to talk.”
Isaac took his father's large hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “I know dad, I know. You know I don’t want to bring shame on you or this family.”
“Never.” Thibeault responded firmly. “Never Isaac. You know I love you no matter what.”
“How are things for the office of the Duke? I like the new addition on the west side, what did you have done?” Isaac asked, gesturing to the new expansion to the Lamia mansion.
“Another study and private wing for your mother…” He shook his head dejectedly. “She has been... Entertaining a lot of members of the court lately.”
“Ah, well of course.” Isaac responded with a wry smile. “And how are Isabelle and Isley? I haven’t seen either in two months at least.”
Thibeault harumphed. He had mostly caught his breath, and spoke with a bit more vigor now. “Isabelle shadows Zadore nearly everywhere for the moment. The two have been quite a pair. I don’t know their plans, but despite Zadore’s efforts with you, Isabelle hasn’t give any of her suitors a second glance. Frankly I wouldn’t surprised if they intend her to pursue the position of sire-bearer for the boy emperor himself.” He paused for a sigh. “Isley is still in the thrall of that… succubus…”
Isaac laughed aloud. “Sharla? Come now father she isn’t all that bad. I mean, I know she is so much older than him, but they’ve been together for what… four years now?”
“Hmmpf, well you say that, but you aren’t the one who had to pay the bail and smooth the tempers on his son’s latest revolutionary activities.” Thibeault said derisively. “I love the boy, I do, but he grates me fiercely sometimes.”
“Revolutionary? Still? I thought they had given up on all of that after the Grand Duchess banned their organization from meeting.” Isaac said half interested, as he gazed at a pair of sparrows flitting between trees. “What were they doing?”
“Conspiring to incite a riot if you can believe the magistrate. Cost me a good bit of coin and more than a little back room promising to pull his ass out of that fire.” Thibeault responded gruffly. “And I swear, he completely missed the point of my gift at his coming of age party. Light, was it two years ago already? Just the other day, he brought it to bear against me again, and after I paid his bail!”
“The Melioran any-tool? I thought that was rather immensely clever of you.” Isaac responded with a kindly tone. “I mean, obviously he has no interest in the family business or life at court, I think giving him a symbolic gift showing that he can literally do anything he wants to pursue was thoughtful.”
“Well try telling him that, frankly I think he sees it as some grand offense to this day.” Thibeault sighed. “I’ve done my best you know…” He trailed off as he spotted Lady Lamia gazing briefly through a window in the new edition. He went silent, and Isaac gave his hand one more squeeze before Zadore made her way down the stairs from the house.
“Isaac, dear, how are you?” She said in her trademarked tone as she glided toward the garden.
“Hello mother, I’m well.” Isaac responded in a friendly manner, rising and taking the steps to close the gap to kiss her on the cheek.
“How is country life treating you? Still employing that… servant of yours?” She asked snidely.
“It’s beautiful mother, and yes, Littleton is a most effective caretaker of my holdings.” Isaac responded more curtly than he liked.
“Hmm, that’s well and good I suppose… I certainly don’t see how you manage things out there all by your lonesome with just the one man-servant.” Zadore said slowly, obviously pointing towards the subtleties of the arrangement that drew her suspicion. “Anyways, what are you two doing out here? Thibeault, you know the pollen from the star lilies can wreak havoc for you.”
“Of course, we were just heading in.” Thibeault went to stand, obviously pained, but trying to breath as smoothly as he could in his wife’s presence.
The trio made their way back into the main hall. Isabelle was there to greet them. “Brother! You look well as always.” She allowed him his usual warm hug for greeting, even though he knew it made her uncomfortable. “How is the country? And what is this I heard about another tour of duty? Have you not enough wounds to prove your manhood yet?” She asked slyly.
Isaac shrugged. “They need all the help they can get, and they are always in high demand for tactical minds and strong arms. Besides, I really do love it up there, it’s beautiful, in its own haunting way.”
“Well we need not focus on such terrible notions.” His mother interjected. “I have invited a friend of Isabelle’s for dinner tonight, I hope you don’t mind, Isaac.”
“Of course not mother…” Isaac responded, with a subtle wink to his father. “I am sure she will be a lovely specimen.”
“Yes, well…” Zadore was interrupted by a servant, entering the hall to announce the newest arrivals.
“Mr. Isley Lamia, and Ms. Sharla Ghazal, joining for dinner.” The servant gave a bow as the pair entered.
Isley was dressed in the most ostentatious new style, and Sharla was wearing a low cut luxurious gown in the style of Ma’alek. If it was at all possible, she was showing even more skin than Isabelle’s usual.
Isaac was the first the stand and greet them. “Isley, Sharla, how are you?” He asked as he stood. He avoided his traditional greeting, the last time he had gone to hug Sharla, it had nearly come to blows from the unreasonably jealous Isley.
Isley nodded brusquely. “Isaac. Back to the north for more nearly deadly blows from monsters I hear?” He turned his nose up. “Couldn’t bear to stick around and try and make this country a better place I suppose?”
“Come now Isley, none of that tonight.” Isabelle interjected and she floated across the floor to greet them. “Sharla, how are you? I heard the awful news.”
“Ha, a temporary setback. We will rise again, and we will bring change to this country.” Sharla wrapped herself around Isley’s arm. “Together we will make a difference in this whole bullshit theocratic mess of a nation.”
The servant interrupted once again. “Ms. Olivia Ribwell, joining for dinner.” He bowed low, as in walked a young girl that Isaac could only describe as adorable. She had a small button nose, and shortly cropped wavy hair. She smiled and Isabelle greeted her with a nod.
“Good evening all.” She said in a polite but meek way. “I am so pleased to join you this evening.”
“Yes, Isaac I do believe you’ve met Ms. Olivia? She had her coming of age ball just last month.” Zadore said as unsubtle as Isaac could stand. “You were invited I believe, but were unfortunately not in attendance.”
Isaac cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes… Well, lovely to meet you Olivia.”
“Here we go again… Another fucking trollop with rich parents set out for the golden boy to sample.” Isley said, slicing through the conversation and causing everyone to shuffle uncomfortably.
Thibeault coughed and rose with a grunt. “Well that’s enough of that for now. Come, let's go settle in for dinner.” He shook his head. “We can hear all about how the theocracy is ridiculous and the churches are robbers once again.”
Isaac silently noted his mother’s demeanor. She was practically grinding her teeth. She was always on edge around Isley, as long as Isaac could remember. As his rebellious notions grew, none of the most diplomatic minds could continue the claim that it was just a phase much longer. It grew harder and harder for the Lamia family to bear his antics. And it became more and more expensive for father to cover for Isley’s semi-legal behaviors.
Dinner passed as it always did. Isley grew blessedly silent after a particularly biting rebuff from his sister, and poor little Olivia did her best to stay afloat in the tumultuous social turmoil of the Lamia dinner table. Mother and father did their usual dance to avoid having the speak with one another, and Isabelle almost seemed to glow with glee from the entire debacle.
After the affair was through, Isaac set about saying his goodnights. Isley and Sharla slipped away without a word to anyone. He was obviously fuming, but it wasn’t Isaac nor anyone who could console him on the matter.
“Oh my, but you must stay, Olivia here is a quite talented songstress, and she intended to entertain us over digestifs.” Zadore said, her last desperate attempt to keep her eldest son from riding home for the evening.
“No, thank you mother.” Isaac said with all of the politeness he could muster. “It’s truly not a long ride and I have much to prepare before I set off on the morrow. Thank you for everything though.” He kissed his mother's cheek farewell, and gave his sister and father his strong bear hugs. He kissed poor confused Olivia’s hand, and thanked her for the lovely evening of conversation.
He made his way to the stables. It took some time to saddle Vagiri, but without any further pomp he set out on his way home. It was a beautiful ride, perhaps even more beautiful in the moonlit wonder of the late evening.
His mind was wandering, imagining the pleasures of the hunt that would be in store over the next year, when his finely honed skills as a warrior alerted him to danger just in time. From the shadows a bolt flew through the chill of the night air. He managed to dodge it, throwing his body to the side at just the last possible moment.
“Bandits? Come now, I don’t want any trouble, and I don’t want to have to draw blood this night.” Isaac said with a confidence only a man well accustomed to the battlefield could have mustered in this moment. “Just away with you and this need not turn deadly.”
He reached behind him, drawing forward his long blade from its home on the saddle mounted scabbard. It lit up as he grasped it, shedding a pale red light, slightly illuminating the dim moonlit night. His eyes were alert and keen. He had always done well in darkness. He found it more comfortable than the light of day. He saw motion from the brush to the side of the path on the left, and Vagiri responded swiftly to the lightest tap of his knees. The combat reared steed danced to the right, dodging another bolt with ease.
“We have two roads to walk from here friend, and trust me, you won’t be breathing at the end of one of them.” Isaac spoke into the night. His head turned sharply to react to take in the almost feline movements through the shadows ahead of him. Through the darkness, a vaguely feminine figure, but far too big to be a woman, appeared. It was horrific, and unlike anything he had ever seen. He had faced dragons, but this monstrous abomination still filled him with a tinge of dread. It was unreasonably large, and had four long arms, scratching along the ground with sickle-like claws.
It laughed, a faintly familiar voice, but so very, very wrong. “Oh Isaac, you certainly don’t disappoint… This will go even better than I could have dreamt.”
It closed the gap in an instant. Vagiri was downed, and Isaac’s leg was trapped underneath the struggling beast. Vagiri lashed out, driving it’s hooves into the monster. Isaac returned the shadowed beasts blow as well he could with his blade. A gift from his father on his eighteenth birthday, it was a magic forged weapon of some great quality. He had sought further improvements to it during his tours. More than once, it had pierced dragonhide. It pierced this monstrosity now, and it screamed into the empty night in pain.
It reared back with a roar of rage and fury, and brought all four of its limbs slamming down into Isaac. Everything went black.
He awoke chained. A hard stone slab beneath him. He groaned from the pain and made his familiar post battle assessment. Four broken ribs… no… five… Right arm shattered, three places at least, and then the usual scratches and gashes. It wasn’t the first time he had been grievously wounded. He pondered for a moment what the healers bill would be at the end of this. Slowly he opened his eyes.
It was a small room, stone walled and poorly made. Some common family basement perhaps? He tested the chains with his good left arm. Not common at all perhaps. He was splayed out, each limb pulled away from his torso and tightly bound. He turned his head right and left, taking in the tableau.
Something nefarious had him in its clutches this evening. Like some evil conjurer’s lair from the stories, the room had been arrayed with symbols and runes. He didn’t recognize any of the letters or the words they formed, but he was fairly certain a good number of them were in Ma’aleki, and perhaps some other language he didn’t recognise. He could just barely discern that he was in the center of some sort of circle made with some fine white powder. Open torches flickered in their stands, four, one on each corner of the room.
Good… he thought to himself, a torch could be used until he found his sword at least. He wasn’t as skilled with his left hand, but he was confident he could manage… now, just had to get out of the chains. He struggled, pulling hard with his good arm. He was a very strong man, he had always found joy in maintaining a strong body. He could not budge it though. He tried, and tried, pulling with all of his might. It did not move an inch. He let out a scream of anger in his exertion and from the pain of his wounds.
“Oh, awake now?” A moment later a far too familiar voice echoed down the stairs behind his head and out of his sight. “Come darling, I told you I have a gift did I not? No reason to get all hesitant now…”
“But, that sounded like Isaac…” A voice that Isaac knew well spoke with a tinge of concern. “Oh Light Sharla, fucking Light. What… What did you do?” The voice that Isaac knew belonged to Isley pleaded.
“Come my love.” She was leading him, and led him down the stairs into the chamber. They walked to where Isaac could see them in the light of the torches. “Can you see? This is the next step. This must be done if you desire what I am.”
Isley looked around the room. “I know you described the ritual to me, but fuck, Sharla you didn’t say it would be Isaac…”
Sharla let out a gleeful laugh. “I know! I wanted it to be a surprise…” She went to her tiptoes to kiss Isley deeply. “Who else could it have been dearest? I explained it to you, who else could possibly fit our needs in this?”
“Isley, what the fuck is going on?” Isaac pleaded with his brother. “Whatever is happening here, you don’t have to do this…”
Isley turned round, anger in his eyes. “Oh? And what do I have to do Isaac?” He spat out with rage in his voice.
“Whatever is going on here, whatever that monster of a woman has told you, you don’t have to do... whatever this is. We can talk about this!” Isaac pleaded.
“Fuck you. I am done doing what you tell me to. I am done doing what mother, or father, or Isabelle tell me to fucking do.” Isley responding, hatred dripping from his teeth as he spoke.
Isaac shook now, more from the shock of his injuries, but also from this revelation of hatred from his brother. “Do you really hate us so much Isley? Do you hate me this much?”
“Ha, of course I do. You worst of all.” Isley was practically screaming. “Isabelle, that cunt just thinks she fucking owns me and the world. But she at least has the respect for me to admit that she knows what I am.” He was practically frothing at the mouth as he ranted. “Father, fuck father. If he hates his life so much he should have just killed himself long ago. Instead he just lingers on, half a fucking man. All of his power and control, all of his money, and what the fuck does he do? He builds her a bigger fucking mansion!”
“Isley, they love you, I love you…” Isaac shouted back, trying to cut through his brothers wrathful monologue.
“Hahahahaha.” Isley broke into sarcastic laughter. “Do you know what she calls me Isaac? Do you know what she calls me when she thinks I can’t hear? Or when she’s fucking drunk?” He was crying now, lost to his emotions. “She tells the fucking truth. She tells me I’m a monster.”
“You aren’t a monster Isley…” Isaac pleaded with his brother.
“Oh but I will be… That’s what I’ve always been to her, to everyone, and that’s what I will be…” Isley had stopped crying, and his eyes had gone cold… so very cold. “You are the worst of all of them Isaac. You are the one I hate the most. More than her even. The others at least know what I am… But you? You fucking mock me every fucking day with your kindness, and your love. Father and mother always loved you… Gave you everything… Everyone always loved you best… And you still pretend to love me, even though… even though…” He trailed off, not able to finish.
Sharla had gone to an altar on the right side of Isaac’s field of view, and she drew forth an intricately runed dagger, with a wicked curved blade. She brought it forward, and knelt down in offering it to Isley. “You know how to open the rib cage and remove the heart?” She asked, as plainly as if she was discussing a menu at a café.
“Of course.” Isley said flatly, taking the dagger. “Of course I do… I’m the fucking monster.”
Sharla stood and returned to the alter. She began to chant, something unintelligible yet horrifying to Isaac. She gathered up fistfuls of some foul smelling powder, and threw it vigorously up and down Isaacs body. He coughed and sputtered, it was overpowering, and the stench choked him.
Her chanting rose, turning round and round, filling the room. She took two more fistfuls, and threw them onto Isley’s body as well. It coated him in a grotesque ritualistic pallor, making him look even more sickly and weak than normal.
Her chanting rose, and Isaac could have sworn the circle of powder was beginning to glow and writhe around him. Isley stepped forward, raising the dagger above his head. His eyes locked with Isaac’s, and Isaac resisted the urge to scream, or beg, or plead.
“I always did love you Isley. No matter what anyone else ever said. I always loved you, and I always will.” Those were Isaac’s last intelligible words. The dagger came slamming down into his chest. He screamed in pain. The blade hurt, but that was a pain he knew well enough. The worse pain was from the powder and the chanting as it invaded him. He could feel it, and he knew fear, and he knew suffering like he had never known them before.
Isley brought the blade back up, dripping with blood. Isley jumped up atop Isaac, straddling his torso between his knees. He stabbed Isaac again. And again. And again. While Isaac screamed and howled in torment.
Isaac was still screaming while Isley began his more focused work. He split his brothers chest, sawing the bone with the serrated portion of the dagger, as he had learned as a child playing with animals… He made deep slicing motions inside his open cavity with the finely honed tip of the blade.
Isaac was still screaming.
He cut the last bits of connective tissue that he could find, and with a tug, blood spurting down his chest, he withdrew the still beating heart, leaking and gushing torrents of blood from the small slices that the dagger had made.
Isaac was still screaming.
The chanting rose, and the cacophony of wails and yips seemed to come from Sharla, and everywhere. Dozens of voices joined the chorus as she danced and chanted rhythmically with the disembodied crowd. She threw fistfuls of the dust into the air, chanting and stripping herself bare all at the same time.
Isaac was still screaming.
Isley seemed to go blank, his eyes rolling up into his head. He lifted the heart, still beating, above his head. His mouth opened to join the chanting, and his voice, and others, poured out. He brought the dagger to bear, and sliced a deep gash in the flesh of the organ. He brought it to his lips, and drank deeply. Taking gulp after gulp, as the beat of the heart pouring his brother’s life blood down his throat.
Sharla was completely nude now. Isley began to seize, and dropped the knife in his spasms.
Isaac was still screaming.
Sharla, without breaking her chant, picked up the knife, and in a fluid motion, drove it into Isley’s back from behind. Straight into his heart. Isaac howled in impotent rage. Changing pitch from his own torment, to the torment of seeing his brother killed in front of his eyes. Slowly, the screaming from Isaac was beginning to run its course. He was still conscious, somehow, but could feel his life ebbing, far more slowly than was right.
He closed his eyes to try and greet his end. Instead he felt a weight upon his open chest, and his whole body. Isley had been unceremoniously plopped atop him. Isaac opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with his brother. Their blood mingled, as the dagger, still driven into Isley’s back, drained the color from his unmoving face.
Isaac had one last coherent thought as his soul and spirit ceased to be his own. I’m so sorry Isley… I’m so sorry for everything, for all of it…
Isaac stopped screaming then.
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