Thursday, July 15, 2010

The Second Chapter of: The Evernight Chronicles




Thursday, July 15Th, 3:05 P.M.
Mood: Tired, Creative
Music: Let's Do The Things We Normally Do, by Dido






The Evernight Chronicles,


Book One:


Nightfall.


*********************




*******************************************************************




Chapter 2


In Which We Learn Somewhat of Victor's Past


*************************





October 21, 1736,

London, England






Victor leaned back in his chair and began to study the letter. "It's written on vellum parchment", he thought to himself. "Most likely from one of the northern districts."





He reached over the piles of designs on his desk and retrieved a small monogrammed box, which he opened. He quickly looked over the instruments it contained. Seemingly satisfied, he extracted a scalpel and proceeded to scrape a small sample of wax off of the sealed letter. He then removed a small set of silver tweezers from the box, and using them to gently lift the scraping, deposited it into one of the large bell jars that sat next to him on his desk.











He lifted it up and shook it, smiling and singing quietly to himself as he worked, a simple tune he had learned in his boyhood.




For He was a warrior,
Away across the sea
A warrior and a tarrier,
Jean-Fran├žois Belasier!





He emptied a small vile into the jar and watched as the liquid swirled and churned, dissolving the flake of wax. It continued to swirl and as it did, it turned a dank yellow green.





"Hmmm, traces of sulfur", Victor thought to himself, "most likely not from the writing." "It must have been carried across the Thames for it to acquire such a residue." He slid his chair over to a wall that was covered in ancient maps, many of which bore ancient designs of sea serpents and castles. "There is only one place this could have come from, to meet all my discovered criteria." he said to himself, frowning as he eyed the yellowed maps "Looks like I have a bit of traveling to do, but first, the letter itself."




He slid his chair once more to his desk, and picked up the letter.

He slid one of his metallic fingers under the fold, breaking the seal, and began to read the hurried script scrawled inside. This is what the letter said:





Dear Mr. Evernight,


My name is not important, but I fear the problem that faces my organization as well as myself is most grave. Certain events that have recently come to light force me to retain the exact details of the problem that faces us until I can meet you face to face.





This catastrophe that I speak of is not one of London, nor one of Europe, but one that faces the entirety of life as we know it. It is of the utmost importance that you contact us, as we are in need of your, shall we say. "special talents."






Victor sat up in his chair, this letter was starting to get more and more curios by the second.



Yes, Mr. Evernight, we are aware of the circumstances that lead to your gift. And yes, Mr. Evernight, we know about your abilities and how you attained them. That is why we contacted you.






"Abilities." Thought Victor, "As if they knew."


"As if they could ever know..."






Victor thought back to his childhood. He thought of things that he had tried, for so long, to forget.





"I remember," he said bitterly "Those "circumstances"."


He thought back to that awful day.



The day he had received his "gift."





He remembered how the papers had put it.


"Explosion rocks home, one left alive, though badly injured."






"The explosion." he thought, putting his head in his hands.



He remembered the blackness, the people shouting, the clatter of running feet on the cobblestone streets.




But most of all, he remembered the blackness.


The blackness and the pain.





The doctor said he had to lose his arm. He did not care. He could barely see anyway. He had resigned to the fact that he was going to die. He had simply lost the will to live, as the doctor said, there was nothing for him.





That is when he saw them.




The crowded around his bed, staring mournfully down, some stroking his face from time to time, some weeping. He remembered asking the doctor about them, who they were, but the doctor only shook his head sadly.




"Delusions" he said.






He thought of the woman who sat by him during the night. Though he could barely see her he knew she was there for him. He would never forget her, her sad expression, her dark hair, her kind smile. She looked so frail, from what he could see. Almost translucent.




But most of all, he remembered what she said. "Don't give up", she whispered. "Never give up."





Back in his workshop Victor looked once more to his metal hand. He lifted it and gently caressed the rim of his mirrored goggles, deep in thought.





"I never gave up." he said.





Since that day Victor had always seen them. The people, thin and frail, walking in and out of his life. It was at the orphanage that he had learned what they truly were, and why he was the only one who could see and speak to them.





He was an outcast at the orphanage, always lonely. The other children would have nothing to do with him. The tall, dark haired boy with one arm and an eye patch. Though it was not for the reasons of his deformities that the children ostracized him, indeed many of the children in the city's orphanage had been injured in one way or another.




No, it was for the fact that he was always speaking to thin air, and he did not care for the things that the other children held to be of importance.




While the other children kicked a bundle of rags around the street in the fashion of the players they adored, Victor would stand in front of the the local clock shop and watch the clocks. His one eye followed the gears as they whirred and turned as he stood, until the orphanage dame called the children in for supper.The other children mocked him. Calling him "loony", and "mad as a march hair."



Victor never cared, the other children could never know of the things he had discovered. But one day something they said caught his attention.


He was standing in front of the clock shop, as he always did, when one of the boys yelled across the road: "There's loony Victor! Always Talking to Ghosts!" That was when he knew.


***********


Victor shook his head, trying to clear it of the memories he had tried so hard to forget.

"Gift." He whispered to himself before he continued reading.




We require your help in this most difficult matter, and hope you will contact our informant as soon as possible. The following is the address in which you can find him.




An address was listed. It was some distance from Victor's home.

"I'll have to use a cab." he thought.





Mr. Evernight, the very fabric of existence may hang in the balance.

Please respond to this letter as soon as is possible for you.





Sincerely,





No name was given.




"Hmm" Victor thought to himself "At least these people are somewhat clever."

He glanced up at the ornate clock that sat above his desk.

"Ten O'clock." he muttered.




He got up from his desk, flinging the letter onto the desk in the process, and grabbed his gloves up off of it. He retrieved his coat and walked to the door. Glancing around the workshop once more, he flicked the switch and shut the door, locking it before he left. He walked up the stairs, pulling his long black coat about him as he did so, and put on his gloves before pausing in the front hall.









He glanced about, then patted the small object in his pocket once more before placing his top hat upon his head. He snatched up his cane and walked out the door. He bolted it, looking at the plaque that adorned it's carved face as he did, and sang to himself once more as we walked out into the dank London morning.





For He was a warrior,
Away across the sea
A warrior and a tarrier,
Jean-Fran├žois Belasier!



*******************************************************************




End of Chapter Two




Stay Posted for more chapters of :The Evernight Chronicles