Hood, clutching the book to his chest, steps from the portal, into the chamber where Mordette, standing over Madeleine like a triumphant conquerer waiting for obeisance, laughs darkly to herself. “You know…I could just crush you, don’t you?” she says leering at him.

Hood stands before her, staring in silence.

“Well?” Mordette says, raising an eyebrow, and pushing the cane further into Madeleine’s neck. “Answer the question.”

Hood can just make out a barely audible whimper coming from Madeleine - it is enough to know that she is still alive. He turns his cold burning eyes towards Mordette and swallows painfully. “Yes” he rasps.

“Well, that in itself is enough,” she says, breathing deeply, a wide victorious smile spreading across her face. “A sweetness of defeat that you may savour, my gift, as the two of you die down here. Ah well…at least you’ll have each other.” Laughing, Mordette lifts a hand from her cane, placing it expectantly, palm forward. Hood moving forward, reluctantly places the book upon it. “Now there’s a good little mouse.” Mordette says as she flicks her eyes from the scarred cover, to hold Hood’s gaze, pushing the cane more firmly into Madeleine’s throat, all the while smiling silently.

Hood’s hand twitches. Even though he knows it is a hopelessly futile situation he cannot stand idly by - he has his dagger at the base of his satchel. He is close enough to strike. He breathes deeply but just as he is about to draw it, Mordette laughs again, steps backwards and transforming back into a white crow emits a piercing Caaawwwww! Flapping her wings she flies up, through the now gloom darkened chamber, a twisting silhouette, before disappearing through the torn opening above.

Hood rushes to Madeleine and sitting upon the floor, cradles her head in his lap, stroking her auburn curls, and carefully placing a gentle hand upon her mask. The glowing pattern on the northern wall still pulsates dimly and after a moment, a shadow steps cautiously through, carrying within its twisted fingers a weighty tome that it places at the side of Hood, curling and rubbing its body against Hood like a cat. Hood reaches out a hand to pat M’A-bja but M’A-bja evades his touch and continues to bang against Hood’s side insistently. Hood’s eyebrows crease down in puzzlement, before understanding enlightens him, but it does so, not in the usual manner of excitement, but in a dull flattened way that seems to suggest almost disgust and weariness at any further development of events.

“This?” Hood rasps, pulling out the parchment from his pocket. M’A-bja smiles a needle smile and sits on hier haunches staring at Hood expectantly with glowing orange eyes, but too much has happened. Hood is lost, staring off into emptiness, assessing the bleakness of the situation and evaluating the sum total of his venture. He, it would seem, has fared the best of all of them. Though his throat hurts as much as his pride, and although exhausted and completely depleted of the energies required to reweave the real, his once shattered hand, although painful, is mainly fixed, and there is nothing really wrong with him. Madeleine on the other hand seems barely conscious, why he knows not, and, without immediate assistance to remedy her situation, assistance he cannot provide until knowing the extent and cause of her injuries, she may not survive. The irony is fully present to him. The very intent which aimed to heal her has made manifest the events which have lead them to this precarious situation. Helmet may very well be dead, Hy-Jinx blind and currently where? The litany of calamities mounts and the downward pressure of guilt sinks Hood into a stoop that threatens to overwhelm him. It is not surprising then that as much as M’A-bja stares and waits, Hood is oblivious to the potential help M’A-bja may be offering, may even outright reject it, for assessing his actions he can come only to the conclusion that every step has lead to his further downfall. No, Hood is sunk in darkness, his stare turning within himself to darkened corners and grim countenances of mind. Perhaps power will always elude him, perhaps that pursuit is one whose road he can no longer travel. Well, so be it he thinks darkly to himself. There are other roads to traverse, junctions which appear when betrayal and treachery have left their teeth marks in one’s flesh, dark paths of revenge which would better suit a being’s sense of purpose than wandering an avenue of despair.

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And thinking thus, Hood begins to laugh, to laugh again that empty hollow laugh devoid of joy or even humour. For he perceives himself at this moment as nothing but a metaphor, his situation an allegory. For although here he sits with his goal by his side - yes, he, Hood, has, against all obstacles, obtained the Book of Portals in a quest to satiate his thirst for knowledge. But what truly has he gained? Seemingly nothing, for all that he has accomplished is to travel from the lofty heights of the towers of his youth and the vistas that they afforded, to find himself here and now sunk in darkness, in the depths of despair. He broods over this thought like a crow nursing an egg and begins to realise his error. There were never any lofty heights were there? This all began beneath the towers within the archives, he has simply swapped one dungeon for another. Wherein one, knowledge was a thing to grasp - but at hand was his friend. Here, everything he has wished for has been granted, but the price paid?

Hood’s laughter trails to silence. Hood will always sit in silence, and in that silence his face becomes a mirror to a dark intent as he welcomes in vengeance and lets its claws dig into, and take hold of his soul. But the silence, like the darkening gloom, is not good company.

Hood heaves in a breath and wearily looks about, sad, angry and confused, not wanting to deal with the pressing situation. He lifts a hand and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, slowly noticing now the lack of an orange glow. He peers into the shadows. “M’A-bja?!” he rasps, his desperate rasp echoing into darkness then fading again to silence, but M’A-bja is gone, and in the deafening silence Hood, bowing his head, and staring at an expression that never did fit rightly with the beautiful face that it replaced, realises that he can no longer hear the breath of his masked friend.

Herein ends

The Adventures of Hood Part 1: The Book of Portals

Perhaps you may wish to read the next instalment of Hood’s adventures

Part II: The Legacy of Pomegranite