CHAPTER V - Hell is Empty, And all the Devils are here
They say water is a gateway to the spirit. Our memories, our past, a reflection of all that we have known. Looking into it, that was exactly what Aurae saw. Her face, a reminiscence of her parents. Mother’s eyes, wide and doe-like, seeking answers and ever-curious. The complexion of her father, patchy and chalk-like, winter itself. Her posture mimicked Vilja’s, her habits and expressions. She stood tall and tough, like the huntslady herself, but lacked the muscle and height to match her image.
And then, at the centre of her reflection, she saw something else.
At first, Aurae thought herself to be hallucinating. There it was, in the water, the spark of a fire, growing at her chest. She flinched back to look at her actual torso, but there was nothing there.
She looked back into the water, and the fire was still visible, growing faster and larger and mightier by the second.
Aurae was afraid. She was confused. What trickery of the eye was this? – She did not understand. She began to step away from the lake, but the moment she set into motion, something struck her: a sharp ringing in her ears, like the screams of an espeth. It hurt and it burned, as though the sun was descending down upon her, crushing her skull and melting her mind.
Then, she heard voices. Sullen, and low.
Deeper into the waters, she could only but stare, her hand clutching at her head in sheer agony. She noticed two others besides her reflection. One, a lady, eyes wide and doe-like. The other, a man, with a complexion that was patchy and chalk-like, winter itself.
Mother and Father.
The pain eased.
Aurae leaned forward into the water, her hand reaching out towards the strange visions. Closer, and closer, until the tips of her fingers barely touched the surface of the lake. The reflections of her parents did not seem to react, for they looked hollow, void of any feeling.
Yet that quickly changed. Their quiet murmuring became cries. Their eyes formed deep, black pits; their figures distorted.
Aurae didn’t hesitate now, she pulled herself away, this time with no intention to look back. Yet she did not need to - for at that moment, the lake seemed to come to life. The reflections crawled out of the water, like corpses emerging from their graves. Now there were several others, all ghostly apparitions, dampened and cold with melting skin and hoarse cries. Aurae felt sick to the stomach. The pain in her head had very quickly returned – the screeching and the voices. The apparitions cried and they cried, and Aurae would have too, if she had had the strength. Yet she did not. Her legs felt like jelly; her brain nothing more than mush.
“Leave me be!” Aurae sobbed, “I want nothing of this! Go!” But the apparitions only cried harder, until it felt like the entire world was bloody and shaking.
“The goddess has forsaken us!” They wept, “The afterlife is cursed! There is no salvation for the dead!”
The nausea was overwhelming, Aurae knew not what to do. The ground trembled, her knees gave in, and she fell. The world around her was spinning, and the colours of hell distorted her vision. Fleshy oranges, blood reds, sickly blues and decaying purple. Everything became blurry, yet within the midst of all the chaos, she saw something else. A figure, looming right over her. Like the arch of a pine tree, protective yet threatening. She saw dark hair, crow feathers; shadows danced around him like fire.
And everything blacked out.
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Do not grieve, for this is predestined.
It is predestined for all things.
Aurae woke up in a flash.
The sudden jolt of her rising brought a heaviness about her head, one that reminded her all too well of the strange migraines she had suffered. There had been fire, crying, every shade of hell. Her memory of it was fragmented, yet the colours remained clear in her mind, reminding her of death and decay and all things bloody.
Perhaps… perhaps it had been some lucid dream, which she had mistaken for reality. In the end, she could only come to but one conclusion.
She did not know what happened back at the lake.
Her vision cleared. She looked around.
The room in which she sat was not familiar to her. And yet it held the essence of home, so very tenderly, with the scent of sage and rosemary in the air. The bed which held her was made of an aged wood, the sheets cotton-soft beneath her fingers. The quietness of winter lay outside the window, and the evening breeze seemed to sigh in contemplation.
For how long had she been asleep? And more importantly - where was she?
Besides her, upon a little tabletop that resembled the stump of a tree, was a thick and round bowl. It held a clear liquid within and several, tiny leaves floated atop, like lily pads. Aurae leaned forward; it smelled earthy and fresh. Upon closer inspection, the water was not entirely clear. The colours of stars and planets glistened atop its surface, like the universe trapped within a mug, swirling eternally.
‘Twas a herbal potion; the type they used for medicines and teas. Vilja made ones just like this, they were always good for aches, pains and migraines. Even common colds or stress and weariness. In fact, this potion in particular seemed almost… too similar to the ones Vilja made at home. As though Vilja herself had prepared it. Well… had she? Was Vilja here with her?
Had she saved her from the apparitions?
Aurae moved off the bed. She felt the cold ground beneath her feet. The pain in her body had eased, yet she remained weak, her head was airy and light; her steps clumsy as though she had forgotten how to walk. Nevertheless, she was eager to know of her location, and what was beyond this room.
Upon approaching the door, her senses had recovered in their entirety. She picked up on sound - it was clear and constant. Bristles brushing, quiet humming, the crisp sound of flipping pages and folding paper. Simple things that made her feel that she truly was just at home.
The humming behind the door was a soft, soothing tune. It reminded Aurae of weather during autumn days. Of quiet winds that plucked dead leaves from their branches. Of rainy skies and dull clouds; all things sullen yet beautiful, that only the wisest of us knew best.
But what stood out to her the most, was that she recognised the tune. This very tune, a lullaby of death and rebirth, she had heard back at the forest. From no-one other than the necromancer himself.
Silas.
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He was here.
Aurae had been told to avoid the man at all cost, yet how strange of a coincidence it was for her to end up in what she could only assume was something of his home. What could she expect beyond the door, in this house of evil? The skulls of victims? Blood painted on his walls? Symbols of necromancy and books depicting rituals to raise the dead? Aurae could only imagine what he was reading this very moment, she could hear the flutter of paper against his fingers, how he briskly flicked from page to page, taking in all sorts of wicked and unnatural spells. The thought of it alone disgusted her - but she would not be afraid. She would find a way out of this wretched place just as quickly as she got here, and it would be as if all this had never happened. Aurae promised Vilja she’d stay out of trouble and she was planning to keep that promise.
Her first option was the window – but no, it was locked, with no key in sight. It was possible to break the glass, of course, all that was needed was a heavy object… yet that would alert the necromancer. It would be a reckless and foolish move. Aurae had to keep this subtle.
Second option? Well, to find another exit, which would undeniably require her to leave the room and venture further into the necromancer’s abode. It seemed a risky choice. Perhaps it’d be best to stay put, to wait for a better time to sneak out… but who knew what the necromancer was planning? What if he were conjuring up some ungodly magic in the meanwhile, that would leave Aurae wishing she had left sooner? She wouldn’t give him the chance. She would go, now.
The sounds at the door remained the same. Flipping pages. Bristling brushes. The crackles of a fire and pleasant humming. But now, there were also Aurae’s breaths, and her heart beat faster than she would have liked. She felt it pounding in her chest, like a wild beast trying to break free of its cage.
She grasped the handle, and twisted slowly.
The door clicked open.
Aurae pushed, quietly, onward.
And the scene before her left her speechless.
Fluorescent candles, low lights. Sparkling mirrors, bright as the moon at night. Divine wooden furniture, carved into shapes that resembled the woodlands. Vines and leaves coiled up the walls, they draped over the windows and dressed the room in the purest shades of green. Bookshelves stood as tall as the pine trees, they held knowledge and herbs of every colour imaginable; perhaps even more. The scent of sage was stronger now, it smelled of tea and storybooks and the earth after rainshower.
Nature made a home here. Or perhaps he had made a home in nature. The necromancer’s abode was a forest yet not, it was a mansion yet not. It was daunting yet comforting; eerie in the most beautifully mysterious way.
And besides a stone hearth, he was there, sitting undisturbed upon a cushioned stool. A floating comb worked at his hair, brushing the tall, dark locks. Yet they were so silk-like that the bristles glided right through, as though moving through water – a river of ink. In his hand was a book, one that Aurae had presumed to hold the words and spells of his dark magic… but upon looking closer…
Was he staring at an image of mushrooms?
Aurae didn’t really know what to say. Silas appeared to be looking through a book of herbology - one of fungi species in particular - and he seemed ever so fascinated by its contents. She glared at him from a distance. What was this? This was no necromancer. Vilja herself was more frightening- hell, even Florian was much more intimidating than the sight before her.
Aurae could think of many, many things that scared her and Silas was, very simply, not any of them. He was just a strange, mushroom-appreciating fellow that apparently liked to pick berries in his spare time. What was there to fear? She could not tell if it were disappointment or amusement that she felt.
“Why did you bring me here?” she questioned him, now standing by a fully open door. Her fears and doubts had left her completely.
Silas looked over his shoulder. For a moment, Aurae felt a little bad for disturbing his reading, but then she realised she was sympathising with a necromancer, which was completely absurd and silly of a thing to do.
He had settled his reading glasses down upon a table, and stood, his height rising and rising until Aurae had to look right up to make any eye contact.
The man sighed, wearily.
“The youth, so full of energy. Why are you so eager to get up?” He looked 25 at most, but spoke as though he had lived for too long.
With a flick of his finger, the hairbrush put itself away. Silas moved across the room, and his dark cloak fluttered besides his feet as though he were a floating, ghostly entity. He looked down at Aurae with an expression of nonchalance.
Perhaps he was a little intimidating… but no, the image of him gawking at pictures of mushrooms and flowers was engraved into Aurae’s head, and he just wasn’t frightening anymore.
“You’re Vilja’s, aren’t you?”
Aurae turned her head, hinting confusion. “...I’m her apprentice, yes. She is not my mother.”
A smile followed, “Then you must be Miss Ivanko,” Silas figured, “Miss Aurae Ivanko, the bringer of flames. One with a spirit as great as the sun and sea.”
“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Aurae shrugged.
“Certainly,” Silas pressed his palms together in thought, “I find it makes your inclination to cause destruction everywhere you go sound a little more… fateful, if you will,” he grinned. “After all, if we are to cause destruction, we may as well do it with style.”
“You’re not very good at answering questions, are you?” Aurae retorted.
The wind whistled against the windows. Silas wandered into the room Aurae had originally been in, and looked over the potion beverage settled beside the bed, “And clearly you’re not very good at taking your medicine.”
“Why would I take medicine from a stranger?” Aurae folded her arms, her foot tapping against the floor, “It might well be poisoned.”
“Hm.” Silas considered it for a moment, “And why would I poison you?”
“Because you’re a necromancer. You can't be trusted.”
A simple nod was given to acknowledge her response, but nothing more. Silas held the bowl in his palm, the potion was still hot and earthy. Its steam brushed against his ghostly white skin and his eyes slipped shut for but a second, to savour such warmth.
“Vilja makes this for you at home, does she not?”
Still, he had given no answer to her question. Aurae squinted, “...How do you know?”
“I was the one who taught her to make it,” Silas spoke, with a voice as gentle as steam itself, “I taught her many things. She has the knowledge of a necromancer,” he smiled then. “That is why her potions work so well.”
Aurae scoffed. Vilja, with the knowledge of a necromancer? “You jest. Vilja would never have anything to do with necromancy.”
He sighed an indifferent sigh, “Believe what you will. It matters not to me.”
“Well then why did you even–” Out of nowhere, everything hurt. The pain that had tormented her back at the lake returned, her mind seared and her brain boiled. Aurae groaned, she scowled at the potion in the necromancer’s hand, “Give me that.”
“Careful now, it’s hot–”
The girl snatched the bowl from his fingers, and Silas had not even a moment to react. Aurae began gulping down the beverage, but was almost immediately coughing it back up afterwards. Not only did her head hurt, but now her mouth burned, too. She felt like screaming, like ripping her hair out of her scalp.
“Make it stop,” she begged, “Please!”
Silas sighed another weary sigh. He leaned down, and pressed two fingers to Aurae’s forehead. A light emitted from his touch; a warm, sunshine glow, and it felt like the radiance of a campfire against her skin.
“Be still,” he told her, “This pain is but a fragment of your memory. The aches of your past, all returning to you at once. Focus on the present, my dear. You are safe, in the humble abode of a magician.”
“A necromancer,” Aurae grimaced.
“Focus.” Silas continued.
It wasn’t long before the pain began to melt; dissipate, until there was nothing left of it. Aurae leaned into the man’s touch, instinctively, her mind weakened from all the memories. Memories from her earliest years, ones embedded so deep in the past, that she had forgotten most the details. Yet the colours and connections to the memory remained, as a sort of cruel nostalgia, reminding her of every pain and agony and deep regret.
The light at Silas’ hands dimmed, and as soon as it disappeared, she stumbled forward and fell right against his chest. The black feathers of his cloak cushioned her like a duvet, and he looked down, unmoving, that same nonchalant expression written across his face. He knew not what to do, and so remained there for a while longer, his dark hair draping over her like the leaves of a willow.