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GNO Chapter Excerpts Page ~ B1C19 Quick-Browse
Chapter Quick-Browse For Graven's Grotesque: A Gothic Epic
Chapter 19 Excerpt Teaser
Description: Lazarus Encounters the Ghost of Lord Medicci ~ 9 Paragraphs
But Lazarus turned away and made to leave, departing with last words; “I ought bid you Godspeed; however, in light of such a divine blessing bestowed upon you, with your call to Heaven, I cannot offer you a greater blessing. I am pleased to have known you, if only briefly. Forgive me and good eve, sir.”
Lazarus stepped into the darkness and strode toward the embankment when the Ghost bellowed, “A blessing bestowed?”
He stopped, turned, and questioned the Spirit; “Are you not pleased to be on your way?”
“Indeed not!” the Ghost exclaimed. It huffed and grumbled, “‘Tis a dreadful thing.”
Lazarus retreated from the weeds and sidestepped a grave. He returned, now confounded, and questioned the Spectre “How can Heaven be a dreadful thing?”
The Ghost glanced at the grave before approaching Lazarus with a face apparently wracked with emotion. It halted before Lazarus and searched his eyes. “Because I was afforded Heaven and my dear Sophia was not.” The Ghost shook its head. “For over two hundred years I have battled the wills and skills of angels to remain—to roam the world as a lost soul, so that the last memories of my wife stay alive—in me. I do not intend to go with this Angel. I've only come to pay respects to my dear Sophia once more – 'tis the day of her birth. The Angel knows to find me here every year, and awaits my religious return. And every year, we relive the same encounter: I come, She catches me, I pay respects whilst the Angel waits, and then I flee once more. I believe it may be more out of pity than stupidity that she has never given pursuit; although she may, one day—or even now. I should again slip away, promptly.” The hollow man looked away and stared through the trees, toward the cathedral ruins where he knew the Angel-in-waiting to be.
Lazarus followed the Ghost’s gaze. Then he offered, “I am sorry to hear of it.” They stood in silence and peered at the temple remains.
The Ghost looked back at him and sighed. “‘Tis I, who must beg your pardon. I wrongly suspected you for being a bearer of ill will; and I’ve no place to burden you with my woes.” The Spirit drew a quick breath, nodded, and put on a polite smile. He presented an inviting hand toward the gravestone, saying, “May I present my lady, Sophia, and me—we rest here.”
The Ghost looked squarely at Lazarus before snapping a bow of curt introduction. “I am the late Lord Gregorie Medicci, formerly of Florence. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you, Lazarus Gogu.”
Lazarus smiled and returned the bow. “Your Grace, the honour is certainly mine.”
“So what takes you to Italy, young sir?” The Ghost of Medicci fluffed his cape and leaned around to inspect Lazarus’ tucked wings.
Lazarus guardedly answered, “I must find a man and accompany him back to France.”
“If I may inquire, for what purpose?”
Lazarus looked away. “I mustn’t speak of it; forgive me.”
Medicci folded his arms. His elbows widened the cape that draped over him. He leaned forward, smirked, and quietly asked, “Is any secret so grave that it dare not be whispered even to the dead?”
Lazarus searched him, shrugged, and shook his head. “Perhaps not.” He divulged his mission. “A Gatestone has been opened. I seek a friar in Italy who can close it.”
Medicci retracted his chin, apparently perplexed as he inquired, “Gatestone?”
Lazarus fumbled with a suitable explanation. “‘Tis a seal of sorts—a gateway to—well, to Hell.”
Medicci widened his eyes. He hastily scanned the burial grounds, perhaps looking for the good Angel-in-waiting before leaning closer to Lazarus and whispering fiercely, “Say again—a gate?”
Lazarus nodded. His eyes also skirted the grounds, as though intently seeking to discover any subtle sign of his Mother or a Monster. Then he began to elaborate in a whisper, “‘Tis a doorway to Hell that now stands ajar. I swore with promise to find the friar and right this wrong. My word is a sacred pledge and I shall faithfully fulfil this final request, so long as I am able; as my very faith commands no less of me than to see its completion—a holy promise made and kept.”
Medicci leapt forth and grabbed Lazarus’ shoulders. “What manner of gate? Tell of it!” Lazarus leaned away, yet the Ghost’s icy grip remained firmly upon him. “Can Spirits traverse it?”
Lazarus eyed the Ghost’s clenched fist on his shirt. Beneath it, a deadening chill crept through his arm, as though his flesh and blood cooled quickly to the bone. He admitted, “Spirits have escaped from it. I suppose that they might likewise pass through it.”
A sudden air of desperation clouded Medicci’s demeanour He stole another wary glimpse over his shoulder and tightened his grip. “You must take me to this Gatestone!”
“I must find the friar, who is elsewhere,” Lazarus firmly replied, staring at the Ghost’s rather abrasive embrace.” “I am not en route to the Gatestone of which I speak.”
“Then, so you must—firstly, you find your friar in Italy! After which, you shall escort me to the Gatestone, yes?”
Lazarus clenched his jaw. He peered at the ruins that overlooked the broad hill. “And what of the waiting Angel?”
The Ghost shook him. “She can wait a moment more, as she faithfully does! There is no time, here! We must flee at once!”
Lazarus hardened his brow and yanked himself free of the Spectre's utterly cold grip.....
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