(Under editing to meet guidelines)
     
     The feathered Corpse.


Why some things are better left alone

 

Lightening danced along the window panes of the church.
Within a flash of it's silvered tongues, the strips of light lash at the glass; shattering one of the stained glass depictions of religious story form.
Evil had arisen from the soil that lay beneath the church floorboards. As unseen as a virus, and twice as deadly.

The man coughed. He had been stood at the font alter, gazing up at the Saviour himself.
'Forgive me,'He said, bowing his head.
He made a sign of the cross.

Dressed in a brown trench coat, sporting fur on his face that had been shy of a good shave for at least three months, the man gazed up towards the roof.
Droplets of yellowish liquid dripped from the man's open hand, a strong smelling liquid that left a trail after him.

Clutched in his right hand, was the cigarette lighter. Lifting it into the air, as though in some final grand gesture, he closed his eyes, and flicked the lid, setting off a spark.

Opening his eyes a split second before he and the whole place was engulfed in flames, he saw it.
Saw it swoop for him. Saw it reach out a vapourous hand. And then there was nothing. Nothing but the hot blackness swirling above his head. Silence .. Silence ..
 
                    
                
Delicate chasms of light filtered through spindly branches of a great oak. Branches stretched like grasping hands, desperate for the living.

It was beautiful here, and Seraphine ached. She wanted him more than ever, on the most beautiful of evenings, she needed him the most.
But, like many things in life, good or bad, it was not meant to be.

Seraphine was late. The Ceremony of Bated Breath was at twelve and it had gone 10 past the hour already. She gathered and lifted her purple white gowns, and, on tip-toes, she ran through the woodlands, as swift and graceful as any horse.



Running to a little clearing at the age of a stream, she took her place amongst the other elves, who gathered there to pray.


.. We reap thee well.'



'Nice of you to join us,' whispered Bude, grinning.
 
'Pastor Finney is on the warpath again! His missus has kicked him out twice moreover, for being as drunk as a moorhen! Rolling about in the fields like his cows and sheep alike!’

Bude slaps his knees heartily, laughter twinkling in merry eyes.

Pastor’s wife was a big lady, Sarag, hair as red as the flaming sun. Oh but it to be pure folly to anger such a Celtic beauty as she!
But Sarag had a much softer, more human side.She had a love of animals and small children, and it was often the Pastors turn to get annoyed at his wife when the addition of a new pet, a stray, and, on occasion; the odd waif or two, became obvious.

The latest addition to his already declining kitchen and home, was a young boy, named Shonne. He was a good-looking boy, fair haired with fair skin, eyes of the deepest skies.

Most, if not all the elven girls in the village had designs on this lovely creature. The only thing was, and Seraphine hated this, he was very pedantic.

A perfectionist in every way, and a suck-up too. If there was a way to get ahead, he would do it, spitting on his lowers to get there. He was cruel, and exceptionally vain. He would grow up to be very callous indeed.

The first night he had met Seraphine, he had fallen for her. He liked the way her cheekbones swept high above her cheeks, the way dark hair fell across her forest green eyes.

Perfectly symmetrical was this girl, that, in Shonne’s eyes, she was the most perfect girl he had ever laid eyes upon. And the fact that she didn’t immediately fall about his feet. She didn’t fawn and preen in an effort to make him notice her. She acted uninterested, and this excited Shonne. He liked to work hard, and there was something different about this girl.

She struck him as a dreamer, always thinking of something, and her eyes mirrored thought so intensely, he felt as though he could almost know what she was thinking. 

In truth, Seraphine barely noticed Shonne. She didn’t care for those who boasted and paraded imaginary talents. And she was already thinking of another. Someone like her. Shared the same dreams, the same hopes.

Her heart was heavy. She wondered if she would ever lay eyes upon his face again. Feel his fingers run through her hair. 

She prayed that she would.

Snapping back to the present, a rude girl behind her, poked her in the back. For some reason, a lot of the elfin girls were treating her bad of late, and she wasn’t sure why.

 Whispering in her ear;

’Is there nought something thee would rather be doing, oh fairy princess, than to be cavorting with the lowly likes of us and our mere customs and prayers?'

She hissed spitefully. 


Seraphine gazed towards the Pastor and his apprentices, who were busy chanting and burning some straw dollies. Pastor’s eyes rested briefly onto Seraphine for a moment, eyes narrowing, then averting his gaze , carried on with the chant.
  
When the harvest rituals had wound down, the girl who had poked her not long ago spoke again.

‘You have such pretty hair..dare I say the finest, most silkiest hair in all of Fair Green. Many a girl is jealous of the attention your raven hair brings you.

I would take care to guard it, in case one were to make the fantasy of cutting it off, a reality.’ She snarled, her poise a threatening stance.

Seraphine turned towards her abuser. It was Broma, an average looking elf, with a sullen, down turn mouth, and small, cruel dark eyes. Her own hair hung braided about her shoulders.

Broma continued.

’Steal a kiss from Shonne, and we steal your hair!’. And with that, she turned on her heels, running to catch up with a red-headed girl.

Bude floated back towards Seraphine. He had been called to do a certain duty which involved The Cutting of the Flower, meant to bless the women of Fair Green with fertility and vitality.

Each female elf had been given a red flower, cut fresh that morning. Bude handed her a rose. He smiled shyly. Each female was meant to give the flower to their love, in order to bless the relationship, or for some other reason they would keep it and wear it in their hair.

Seraphine muttered her thanks and fixed the rose into her hair. Bude looked away briefly, so that his eyes would not betray his hurt. Then he smiled.

‘What did Broma want?’ He asked.

Seraphine looked at Bude, puzzled.

‘Oh, I saw you two talking whilst I was performing the Flower Ritual. Is everything ok.. I thought that perhaps she was being a bit mean to you? I was a little, well, you know .. Concerned.’ He looked away.. not sure what else to say, worried that he had over-stepped the mark.

In face, he had heard a lot of the other girls talking badly of her. Everyone knew Shonne’s interest in Seraphine, and he made it no secret his fascination of her. He had had to listen to it for the past week or so in Self-Defence Class.

Of how the great Shonne was to win the heart of the most beautiful, most alluring girl, no woman, in all of Fair Green!

This was his best friend that Shonne was talking about, the girl Bude had grown up with, and had fallen in love with her. He knew Seraphine, knew her inside out. Didn’t just love her because of how pretty she looked, or how elegantly she walked.

True, he had adored the outside, but it was the inside that had kept him there, wanting more. She was the only girl he had ever known who wasn’t interested purely in herself, how she looked, how other’s perceived her. She was the truth. And because of that, she was the most beautiful creature in all of Fair Green. For she had soul. No hollow beauty. And when Seraphine took a breath, he drew breath. That is what true love is. He knew that Shonne saw Seraphine as a trophy and nothing else, and for that reason, and that alone, he must stop Shone from ever implementing his designs on Seraphine, and breaking her heart..

 One instance of this seemingly chivalrous tactic, Bude was paired up with the great Shonne, a wonderful swordsman.

‘So..’Shonne started, a little out of breath. Not too fit, Bude had thought, smugly. ‘How’s Seraphine today? I take it you’ve seen her? Will she be near the Orange Grove later on, do you suppose?’

 ’No, she’s sick today. She has a touch of the cold.’ Bude lied, crossing his fingers behind his back, the right hand clutching the wooden sword, jousting and jabbing his l opponent. Oh , how he wished this sword was real! How he would drive the blade right through his heart, and crow merrily, dance about like some madman. Oh how the mighty fall! The great Shonne, perfect at everything, but master of nothing!

A sharp blow to his head brought him back to reality. He was on his back. Shonne stood above him, crowing with delight, throwing his training sword high into the air, whooping triumphantly. Bude was rather quick on his feet and skilled in a fight, and so to beat him, was true joy indeed!
 Bude put his hand to his forehead. When he withdrew it, he saw crimson blood.

 He quickly jumped to his feet, anger engulfed him.
 
  ‘You treacherous Leech! Bude cried, lunging out for his assailant.
Shonne deftly manoeuvres out of the way, Bude missing him by mere inches.
 Bude attacks again, this time hitting his target, a place sensitive to a sharp kick. Shonne falls back, clutching himself, crying out in pain. 
‘Tis ‘gainst the rules, kicking!’ He cries out, close to tears.

So’s wounding someone in practice,!’ Bude screamed, pointing to the blood on his forehead.

‘You deserved it. You lie about Seraphine. I visited the female chambers only this morning gone! I asked the Lady Maid after her health, and she told me she was fine, and that she was able to meet me later on‘. Shonne stood up, straightening himself; wincing a little, poised to strike like a venomous snake.

 He bade his time, and struck Bude with such force, that Bude fell to the floor, winded. Shonne leapt to Bude’ side, and, instead of helping him up, he presses the sword to Bude’s throat. Bude grit his teeth.

What are we really fighting for, here? Shonne smiled, keeping the wooden blade firmly under Bude’s throat.

The Master of Arm’s shouts for his pupils to return

  Bude looked away, defeated.

 Shonne withdrew the sword.

 ‘I thought so, he called over his shoulder’.


 Bude studied Seraphine’s face a few moments. He loved those eyes. So secretive, so reflective.

 ‘Oh..she just wanted to know if I was to be picking oranges later on. She knows that do it a fair bit, and wanted to know the best places for fruit.’, Seraphine lied.
She bit her lip, tears dancing in the corners of her eyes.

‘Oh.’ Bude replied. ‘Did you warn them not to go near the Hanging Tree? It is dangerous business to go treading soil there, even in a gloriously sunny twilight, be a child’s play for sure!’


Years ago, before this land belonged solely to the elves, the people of England ruled here. In the times of Prince Albert, Old England was a dark and depressing time.

When the Legions of Drake came to spread their viral disease over the land, famine and ill-health was rife. Royalty was over turned and de-throned and the leader of this cult was a half-man half-demon breed. His was a hybrid of all the evil man could do, combined with the basic instinct and evils of that of a beast. He was Maoul. But where England’s heart once beat, mow beats a blackened heart.
  But, as with the phoenix, out of the ashes, a great land would rise once again. 

 But, left behind are a great many symbols of a traitorous dictator and ruler. And a land which lies haunted at night, with the souls robbed of their lives. And the cursed soil harbours memories that must not ever be disturbed.

‘Yes.’ Seraphin replied. Then, to change the subject, for she hated to lie she said;’ I figured a way to talk to him.’ She looked down again, not sure of Bude’s reaction.

 ‘Oh’. Came the reply. Him.The true keeper of Seraphine’s heart. Bude felt sad for Seraphin. He too knew what it was like to lve something so much, and not able to have it, for what ever reason. At least Bude was able to gaze upon her each and every day. Seraphine, however, was not. And since, she had been chasing ghosts. A mere ghost of a memory that once was, and never will be again.

 ‘I remember the very last time I lay beside him.‘ Bude winced, and it was not due to his wound received just days ago in Self-Defence class.

  I still remember the taste of him upon my lips.’ ‘The way he felt, so warm, his skin so smooth against my own.
She held out her small hands, as though she was touching him now.’ I miss him so much,’ Bude! she cried, turning to face him. Bude held her head, stroking her hair. ’Hush’, he whispered, gently. ’It’s ok’. Bude ached. He hated seeing her this way. He wished with all heart that he could do more, but he was afraid. 

 Bude looked back through his mind’s eye. Saw the image of Rooke. Saw his eyes, dark blue, jet black hair returned to him in an image so clear, he could have been standing before them. 

 Bude had been friends with Rooke since they were little, then Rooke had been sent away to study magic in the Broad Lands. When he returned, he was a full-grown man of twenty three. Seraphin was a woman of twenty one. And when they met, it was an explosive union.
 
 Bude and Rooke were friends, as before, and before long, Bude had learnt of Rooke’s talent with magic. At first, it was fun, watching him give Voice to the Silent, and other equally clever tricks (This being birds and other such creatures) , and learning of their ways, but it became a different matter entirely when he gave Breath to the Dead. He revived a young vole that a cruel Elf had murdered in sport.

  It wasn’t before long that Rooke’s talents and fascination’s had him dabbling in Black Magic. Before his demise, Rooke had been talking of the Art of Necronimium-Bringing back the dead. He had already called up two female demon’s, as revenge for one of the other elven men, drunk on Dragon’s Breath, took an unhealthy interest in Seraphin, by that, the Elf had almost committed a sin of the flesh, but Bude had found them in time, and dealt with the elf how he had seen fit, saving Seraphin from a stranger’s hand’s.

When Rooke heard of this, he had been enraged, and plotted revenge. Calling up the two demon sisters, Cathar and Milana, he ordered them to execute the elf. They did so, and took a certain body part as a souvenir. They buried him under the moon, in the Whispering Wood. No-one would ever find him there, should they even care. With the Code of Magic broken, using magic for murder, he had to be careful of the Ten-fold Karma Writings. If he performed too much magic of a negative nature, he would be punished. Over time, Rooke accumulated so much bad karma, that he feared not for his own life, but for Seraphin’s. He knew that the worst punishment was not the death of his body, but of his love’s heart.

 It was from these two creatures that Rooke learnt of Necronimium. Rooke longed to become a Master of Magic, to use it in combat, and to teach it to the elves of Green Land. He wanted to be known throughout the land for his genius. Have the Spirit World bow before him. Tall hopes from one so young. He would often go alone to the Orange Grove and the adjoining woods, the place crawled with spirits eager to tread upon the earth, and breathe in the air once more. Many of the spirits were not Elvin, but human. He had heard of the legends, and wondered in the truth of them.
 Often, whilst he lay by the side of Seraphine, he would regale her with tales of magic. She would always sit there, hands in chin, listening with awe and fascination, gazing at the man she loved most in the world. Rooke would never take her to the Whispering Woods, no matter how much she would beg and pleaded. ‘It is far too dangerous, my dear Seraphine. Should something happen to you, I surely would curl up and die upon this fair earth.’ He would reply. He hated declining her so.

 ’But I have no fear that you will not keep me safe by your side.’ Seraphine counted, impatiently.
 ‘My love, there some things even I cannot guard you from’. Rooke answered.

 Seraphine pouted. Seeing this, Rooke laughed, then gazed at her, head to one side. This is why I must never allow her to enter the web of the Dark Arts. Rooke thought. She is too pure, too innocent. Not to mention she is the only thing I love more dearly than life itself.

 Seraphine was prone to becoming possessed, should she ever venture out there alone. It fed off beauty and truth. Her body would be the very perfect vessel should a restless spirit wish to return.



All comments graciously recieved!

(c) Pandora Atkinson 2005

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