GNO Chapter Excerpts Page ~ B1C6 Quick-Browse

Chapter Quick-Browse For Graven's Grotesque: A Gothic Epic

Chapter 6 Excerpt Teaser
Description: Lazarus and Friar Ivan in the Baston Crypt ~ 6 Paragraphs

Ivan strode hastily down the catacomb corridor with a small bowl and turned into a room. Lazarus stood beside a table, his back to Ivan, wrapping a fresh torch and laying it in a large heap of already prepared torches.
“I've nearly all of them, friar. I need more cloth to finish,” Lazarus stated. He turned and faced Ivan. Two blank eye-holes fell on the bowl of stew.
“Leave it. Come eat,” Ivan stated. He turned and left with the bowl. Lazarus trailed after him. They continued deeper into the catacombs, away from Lazarus' room, where Lazarus normally supped his stew.

“Friar, where are we going?”
“Come, son. We must speak alone.” Lazarus followed him, winding through tunnels. Ivan stopped at the door of the Baston crypt, a tomb dug and christened after Bishop Claire Baston, a former Gardiens Abbot of three centuries prior. With a pop and a twist, Ivan unlatched the door, whereupon he and Lazarus stepped inside.

Ivan gave Lazarus the bowl and lit the crypt candles. In the east and south walls, seven high, mummies lay lengthwise in two-foot wall slots. A simple wooden crucifix hung against a smooth west wall. In the centre of the room stood a rough wood-hewn meditation table; and beside the door stood a narrow candle table. Lazarus set the bowl on the table and sat down on a stool. Ivan approached and sat on a stool opposite him.
“Fish and bread. Yes, mostly bread, yet you must eat. Little remains in the refectory.”
“Yes, Friar,” Lazarus grumbled, complaining to himself. He had grown to dislike bread, the stale Abbey staple, intended more to swell a stomach than quench a craving. Meat was much more agreeable—especially fish. And on frequent occasion, when the hunk of bread in his nightly supping bowl loomed exceptionally large, he inwardly mused that 'a squire boy does not live by bread alone,' adding an irreverent twist to the words of scripture he knew by rote.

“You may address me as father now, Lazarus.” Lazarus glanced up and found Ivan's smile. When in private, Ivan always permitted Lazarus to address him as father.
“Yes, father,” he complied, tearing into the fish.
“We shall be leaving the Abbey on the morrow's eve, son.”
Lazarus froze. A burst of excitement exploded in Lazarus and he searched his father's face to confirm what he heard.
“And Yes. Friar Odino comes with us.”
Lazarus leapt up, rounded the table, and threw little arms about a broad and burly monk. Ivan embraced and patted him with a chuckle. “Eat now. We have but little time.” Ivan coaxed him back to his bowl. With fresh vigour, Lazarus devoured his meal.
“Fish bones are unforgiving, Lazarus.” Ivan preached.
“Yes, father.” Lazarus slowed and ate carefully, trying to quell the joyous whirlwind of emotions that surged within him, yet to little avail.

“I want you to bring up water from the Well Hole after your meal. Your robes and hoods need washing.”
Then a disturbance, like some cold wafting of air, interrupted his thoughts. Lazarus swung his gaze to the door—to the origin of the mental chill.
“They should be dry when we—what is it?” Ivan asked, his voice seemingly muffled and distant.
Lazarus could feel it—something outside the door, something quite new yet instinctively familiar. A trance swallowed him, washing away everything but sight, sound, and smell.
“Someone comes?” Ivan whispered. Lazarus' suspicions were correct. He heard the door crackle and pop, as though something quite large leaned evermore heavily against it. Ivan walked to the door and buried his shoulder in it. The door refused to open.

“Who is beyond the door, Lazarus?” Ivan whispered.
“The door presses on its own.”
“No, Lazarus. Use your ears. How many are out there?”
“There were no steps, no whispering of garments. And I hear no breaths—no one is out there,” Lazarus spoke. Ivan huffed.
“Father, I must confess a thing,” Lazarus whispered.
“What is it?”
“The other eve, when the Gatestone screamed—” Lazarus looked down.
“Out with it, Lazarus.”
“I, well—in my mind—I heard the Gatestone. It claimed to be my Mother—that it would come to visit me.”
“You spoke with—?!”
“Forgive me, Friar. I merely—”
“Mother of God! Lazarus, you have placed us both in great peril.” Ivan rubbed his face and frantically paced the room.
“I did not gather—and you forbade me to speak—”
“Speak no more of it. Clear your mind. We leave now.”
“Yes, Friar...

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