Home again

[Tanda Knighthawke]

Quietly my bare feet pad across the hand hewn wood floor of the log house in Malas, hands clasped behind my back as I pace the floor searching for a solution to a puzzle missing pieces. Joylah and Galen sleep somewhere in one of the rooms on the upstairs. I try to remain as silent as I can, while wandering around this floor. I have reviewed the entire family lineage, historic notes from my mother,her mother and her mother's mother about who has been born or married into the Herbbinder-Kristensen homes. I have read and re-read the books on demonology written by members of my clan. "Och, Gran he's nowhere to be found! Nae have ye been since they appeared." I mutter to myself as I pace.

"Beware of strangers bearing gifts. That is what I was always told. I should have run from the old castle of King Bruce, but nae... I couldnae." I whisper to myself. It was all the history of Minoc and the Highland Guard rolled into one massive stone and mortar bundle. I knew Galen felt guilty for putting me in touch with Maera Greycloak, but in truth it wasnae his fault. The Goddess or something wanted me there. From the roof top I could spit and hit the house that now stands where the Grotto was. I was destined to return home.

I remember walking into the King's throne room, the floor covered in animal furs, the grand stone chair sat along the wall. A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of all the people who had been brought to this room or had requested an audience with the Thane. M'lord Greycloak asked me a good many questions, recalled many stories of Minoc's past in the days of The Knights of the Emerald Tartan. They had commissioned the Highland Guard, given them their charge to care for the King's lands and uphold his laws.

As a young child, we lived a simple life, careful to stay in relative obscurity. My father fought daily with my mother to control her pagan ways, and conceal her magical upbringing. As wee lass, I had no clue why my father's rules were so important. I knew when I walked in with M'lord Greycloak full well how many had been sentenced to death for being users of magic. The atmosphere of the old castle felt all at once hostile and oddly familiar.

From the first night in the castle, I could hear Gran talking away. The other voice was a low growly grumble to me, but Gran was periodically laughing so I knew she could understand him.In one of our many conversations, held in my book of souls she left me a note telling me that she believes she was able to comfort King Bruce as he was mighty upset a witch had taken up residence in HIS castle. With the cobwebs removed, and the dust cleared the place was finally beginning to take shape. The artifacts Jakob Covenant had left in my care were on display in the throne room.

Life settled into a rather peaceful co-existence. I’d often hear gran talking to me about how little the old rule of Minoc knew about magic, and that some of their fear had been misplaced. I was feeling at home at last, back in the place of my ancestors, back where I had built so many memories. Wandered about the outside of the building now standing in the Grotto’s stead, looked to see what had replaced the old store house, Covenant’s memorial all those things I had abandoned when the last of the old guard left.

The air in Minoc was thick with emotions, voices, images in my mind of the lads in their green and blue kilts, people milling about the city streets, laughter inside the Grotto. At times it was if I could smell the ale, the nightshade smoke, the aroma of sweat soaked leather armor and horses. I longed for those times when Minoc was home to people I loved and cared for.

The longer I lived in Minoc the stronger the sense became that not all had fully departed. My dreams were vivid, seeing myself with my red hair blown by the breeze, the guard lined up in formation near the bank and provisioners, looking up to see the faces of Cain, Joe Duvala, Papa, Atreus, Dekeyon seated on their horses awaiting orders or the next patrol. The dreams were warm and comforting of a time when a lass with a pleasant face and comely body felt truly appreciated about town. Slowly the dream began to be interrupted by a face, terror stricken and shrieking, first it was a flash, a brief image and gone. The dream became a reoccurring one, the shrieking face becoming more and more of a presence, until it was no longer a dream but a nightmare. The man now had a face I could see when awake when I closed my eyes, long auburn hair, middle aged, no facial hair, green eyes his voice horrified and panic filled pleading that he didnae deserve t’ die.

As time has progressed, when I am in the castle I see him while awake now. I know not who he is, but am certain he died here in this building or on the grounds. He cannae utter but “I didnae deserve t’ die” Try as a may to speak to this soul alone, I am not strong enough or something is blocking him. At times I can smell the smoke, the strong stench of burning flesh. I know how he died. Many had been burned alive or drown in Minoc in times of old.

Sleep has been eluding me for many nights now, I can no longer block this spirit out of my mind, and his frantic nature is draining. Slowly I climb the ladder up to my bedroom, crawl into the pile of furs on the bed and nestle in to try to find some quiet, thankfully exhaustion has set in and sleep comes quickly. Shivering I awaken, to find it still dark, the stars are shining brightly above me. Perhaps sleeping in a roofless tent isn’t always a prudent idea, the air this night is crisp, as is often case as Yule approaches. I carefully tuck the furs in around me tighter and snuggle back in to their warmth, it is nights like this I miss the body heat from another most. Closing my eyes I attempt to find sleep, laying there I realize for the moment my frantic ghost is gone, the quiet seems almost deafening. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as the warmth returns to my body.

Morning arrives with the first rays of sunshine rising over the edge of my walls. I stretch, sit up, grab my gown slide it over my unclad frame and put my feet on the floor. “It’s still quiet Gran, where did he go” I think to myself. After a few moments pause with no reply from Gran it strikes me I haven’t heard her voice about in a few days now either. I walk over to the wash basin, splash some cold water on my face and make my way down to the kitchen. Rummaging through the things in the kitchen I tear off a chunk of bread and cut a wedge of cheese and wander back toward my desk to eat.

As I nibble at the bread his face appears, lunging at me, I instinctively flinch and pull back. *sighs* “scary it’s comforting to have him back.” I mutter to myself. Absently I pull off little bites of bread and break off morsels of cheese, alternating which goes into my mouth. Suddenly I jump at a loud bang behind me in the corridor; I lean and turn to look to see the heavy iron door swinging closed. I set the last of breakfast on the table top and move down the hall to secure the door. I peer outside, no one, no one was in the hallway, and I drop the bar back across the doors and start back toward my desk, past the items on display. *chuckle* I turn to look behind me for the source of the sound, no one. I sit back down on the stool at my desk pausing a moment. I must be hearing things. He’s never laughed before. I return to my breakfast thinking nothing more of it.

Over the next few days, doors opening, items shuffled to new locations on the display tables, my quill removed from its ink well. Many little things are making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. My old familiar screamer is back, but he had never done any of these things before. I sat quietly by candle light in the second floor study, reading yet again the history of my family. My eyes kept returning to the entry Mephisto Zoren Solaren… executed, Minoc 12 November 320. Whoever this person was it would have been from that time or before, by the time I began my political career the Highland Guard had mages in its ranks, the Thane was dead and magic was becoming somewhat accepted if used for the defense of the innocent.

Mephisto was my grandmother’s brother; it seems all my kin with that name were obsessed with the dark arts. My great great grandfather Mephisto Solaren, my great grandmother Ignigena Mephitis even my little sister Francesca Mephitis obsessed over how to use the demonic powers to create eternal life, the power to control the dead and experience the carnal pleasures of the world in a way only a demon might. It destroyed Fran, I held her as she crumbled into ash and dust in Trinsic. Was this ghost screaming at me Mephisto? Or was he some other lost soul who really didn’t deserve to die. The more I read the stronger the sense of dread, I couldn’t rush in and try to help this soul what if he truly did deserve to be dead and endlessly roaming in unrest? Suddenly I felt something brush through hair; I turned in the chair expecting to see someone trying to get my attention, there was no one. Another *chuckle* and the book in my lap floated to the table.

It was time to seek someone else’s opinion. Having mentioned the first ghost briefly in a High Council meeting, I decided to go talk to Galen. After all Joylah was a weaver of spells of some sort perhaps together we could find an answer. I sat and answered dozens of questions trying to give Galen some clue of who or what was haunting me.

With the feelings of unease rising, I decide that it was time to pay Edgar a visit over in Newcastle. Landing in Newcastle, I remove my armor, pull out the skirt and shirt I had brought to wear and tuck my armor away, re-shoulder my pack and ask Edgar for a cup of tea mixed with a pour of rum. Galen joins me at the table, and Luicfer also, a new face has the place lit up. It’s been a good long while since any new faces have wandered into Newcastle with so much personality. Having consumed more than my fair share of rum and tea, Galen carried me from Edgar’s fine establishment and poured me onto the sofa of Serenity’s house out on Artic Isle. Ever the gentleman, he tucked me in and sat watch over me.