She crooned her neck over towards his sunken figure. The day had taken it’s tole on Fievel. His small frame, fully cloaked in the remaining shreds of his Eilerian robes, was hunched as he fell back onto the dead wood.
His hood shadowed his face from the dying embers of the small fire.
“Tell me how these times came to be, how the fall of our city transpired unnoticed.”
Fievel now turned towards her. She could just make out the reflection of the last licks of flame shining from his black eyes.
He turned one last time to his consort, checking they had not yet stirred, before he began.
In his mind, the edge of the forest was still a long while from where they sat, with few hours before the blackness of the forest reclined into the darker shades of green. His thoughts were still of what was behind them, possibly not so far away as the city he escaped. The city he and the ones who lay sleeping, called home. But ‘home’ was a distant thought.
Fievel’s mouth curled as his mind wandered for the first time since the darkness fell. And though the silence was not broken, something stirred in the faint shadows surrounding them.
His mouth opened enough to keep her from repeating herself, but it took a minute for him to gather his memories.
“I’ll tell you once” he said faintly, his voice again breaking the silence that had been kept for several hours.
“And as far as anyone is concerned, this is once more than I ever told.”
He closed his eyes, and once again was stood by the fire. The warmth of his home engulfed his soul from the inside out.
The forest was behind him. The earth had turned to stone, the darkness of the surrounding trees, to four sturdy walls. The harsh black of night had turned to a dusky mellow as the fire lit the room in the dieing hours of the day.
He turned to the window, his memory hazy, scarred by the tormented memory of what was to be of the room in which he now stood.
He did remember the green. The Eilerian city in which his small cottage nestled would be a blossoming wonder in the spring. Small cottages led in neat rows along the paths which Fievel would often walk in the evenings. Every five cottages or so would be a small patch of green, a garden owned by no one in particular (only the city’s inhabitants), that complimented the sense of freedom and freedom-filled space the now orange sky projected around him.
The only thing that broke the skyline, which felt almost level with his head in the open evening, was toward the center of the city. Where, stretching towards the sky, was a castle. The only structure inside the city taller than three men’s height, was home to the King, but open and free to all who inhabited his land. The doors to the castle remained open day and night for his subjects to come and leave as they wished. For the King welcomed all visitors, more as friends than subjects, no one wasn’t important enough, or held in such low regard as to not be welcome or worthy to talk to him, or to make use of his home.
The King was a wise and revered man, and ruler of the city. He was accepted by his people as a trustworthy and fair keeper of the lands, traits which echoed the way of life held within the walls.
The walls, perhaps spoke more than the open sky, the comfortable way of life or the warming sense of belonging ever could. For the walls, the most out of place component of a ‘home’, stood over a hundred feet tall, towering and circling the city.
No traveller ever passed by or through the city, nor salesmen, soldier or wandering soul. As for why it was there, nothing of the great wall was so much as mentioned in the ancient books, it was as if they had always been, overbearing, impenetrable, but safe.
Though the inhabitants of the city had no need of this information, the microcosm that had developed rendered the outside world obsolete to their needs.
The only break in the wall that surrounded Fievel’s world, were the great gates; Higher than the wall, each spanning ten times the width of any house, and solid iron they seldom were opened, save for on the nights of the full moon. For the purpose of a message. For the only creature, spirit or being that did pass through these gates, was a messenger from the only other city known to the inhabitants. Even this was said to be a five day ride from the safety of life inside the great wall. The city of Greatia was said in the ancient books to be a Fortress, ten times the size of the Eilerian City. But Greatia was of little interest to the Eilerian people. The messenger was the only link to Greatia, he spoke to no one but the people at the gate, the King, and small number of his court. This was not due to any level of security, protection or secrecy, but purely because this was of little interest to anyone inside the walls, as it did not concern them.
The messenger came once a month. To bring word from the lone suggestion of life outside these walls.
Even this, was saved for the eyes of the King. To “keep the word of his order and protect his people”.
A quick note: There is little crucial to be known of the people of the Eilerian city. They are of peaceful and life-loving nature. Life wasn’t so much a time-line to them, as something that just seemed to happen. With a fine ruler, they had no need of a way of government. Their way of life is simple and pleasant.
They had no need of great knowledge, nor power amongst them and superiority was a distant complex to their minds.
They worked in feilds as farmers, in workshops as menders, carpenters and tailors, and in all manner of work that was required in the city.
More can be read about the people of the Eilerian City in the ancient reference section.It was entering winter, though the gardens of green, and still warm sky seemed to suggest little of this.
At the end of every month, the King would stand at the top of the tallest hill in the city, and would give a speech to all who would assemble below. This was an event the Eilerian people would look forward to. Their ruler was a fine man, when he spoke he spoke with wisdom. Some months he would tell tales of the ancient times, another month he would simply speak of life, to treasure what was close and to hold the ones who are dear to you close to your heart. Whatever the King spoke of, the assembly would listen intently, often for hours on end.
The King bought happiness to his people.
It was early in the morning. Three days before the King was due to address his people, the gates of the city opened once again for the Greatian messenger. Though this went largely unnoticed by the people of the city, even though the gates, tall as they were, were clearly visible across most of the land.
Unknown to the people, the messenger sped silently through the gates, along the path which led to the great castle at the centre. He spoke to no one as he moved swiftly towards the King’s court, to deliver his message.
His consort with the King lasted a full twelve hours. Had this been noticed by anyone, and had the monthly messenger’s visits been of any great interest to anyone, then this may have seemed strange, perhaps even worrying, but as things stood, the events of that evening in the castle were unknown to the people of the Eilerian City.There was a warm breeze as Fievel walked along the main path later that day. His evening would usually consist of dinner, often with a friend, followed by a quiet drink on the porch as the evening drew in. Then he would walk across the city. Through winding roads, bordered by symmetrical cottages either side. The patches of grass green as his eyes, even as the city was entering winter. He would walk around the fields owned by the farmers, sometimes through the corn fields that he and his friends would often have run through in the summer months.
The farms were a sight to behold, surrounding the city, almost as far as the great wall did, fields upon fields that ran forever, through tall grass, corn and gardens of flowers. These were the most magnificent of all, tall with Sunflowers and spread with a palette of wondrous colour, they symbolised the life of the city, their vibrancy combating the harsh grey of the great wall against which they leant and grew.
He would walk on, up to the splendorous sight of the castle from which he could survey the entire city, before he returned to his warm home and lit the fire as the evening closed on his mind. The darkness would overwhelm him and drift him into a deep sleep, something he had always been powerless to overcome. This was the way it had always been. This was the life Fievel was accustom to, this was the routine he had followed since he was a child. His parents were the same, they sat on the porch each evening as he now did, they too went for long walks while he would stay home with his brother and friends as an adolescent. This was a tradition he had not acquired, but one that was written in his blood, and to be Eilerian was to hold a strong sense of tradition.
As he walked up the path that evening, his mind travelled back to that childhood. To his father and mother, and to his old friends. In particular a girl he had know for longer than his memory would serve, called Amelia and again the wide fields filled with flowers slipped through his mind.
But as Fievel turned his mind toward the Castle not so far ahead, his eyes were drawn to a small gathering of people who had accumulated at the foot of the steps to the castle, and were busy in discussion. As he drew closer, he realised the look on ther faces was one of great concern. He quickened his pace. Drawing close enough to overhear the discussion, Fievel’s reminiscence disappeared.
“When did it happen?” A small woman asked a taller thin woman, in close conversation.
An elderly man was hunched over, leaning on a staff, and seemed to be generally addressing the small assembly that had gathered “What is this supposed to mean? I cannot remember a time when he has done this before”.
The sense of worry that seemed to hang in the air came to Fievel, though it took a few moments for this somewhat uncommon feeling to register.
“Did anyone see this happen” Came a voice from the front. The latter had a crest on her sleeve that Fievel recognised to signify her as one of the King’s court. As he reached the short congregation, the man whom he stood next to, and who’s mind seemed elsewhere, posed a question which each of us ask an inaudible amount of times in our life, a question to which we are rarely given a true answer:
“Why?”
A question to which there indeed came no truth of answer. As Fievel’s head turned in the direction to which the majority of the slowly growing congregation were now facing, his gaze ascended up the steps to the picture of the large wooden doors to the great castle, which were closed tight shut, bolted and barred by an extremely large block of wood, from which also hung a large lock.
The doors to the great castle appeared to be locked, from the inside and out.
A quick note: Within the Eilerian City, the King is the only figurehead. His position is not determined by vote, election or by picking the short straw, but by blood. The King descends from a royal line traveling back as far as the ancient books.
His right is not questioned, as tradition dictates he shall be bought up to respect, honour, serve and protect his people. It is his family’s duty to ensure that he is bought up in such a manor that would provide him with the means to become a worthy and just ruler.
Upon his crowning he swears an oath in front of the entire city; his order is to care for his city, to respect his position and more-so the people for whom he is ruler. He swears upon the ancient books to keep the word of his order and to protect his people. This includes all duties that have been passed down through the generations, which include maintaining the city’s land, and holding contact with the Greatian City.
More can be read about the Royalty of the Eilerian City and how they came to their high position in the reference section.
I think it is important to emphasise the implications of what happened that night in the Eilerian City.
The King was ruler, but he was also a friend to the people. He was a man who was never too busy, whatever the occasion, and he enjoyed seeing any of his subjects even for the most trivial of discussions. It was often said that he was the most personal and caring of all the royalty that any of the Eilerian City’s inhabitants had seen. And in his opinion, for all of the praise and good words there are to tell of this King, he believed his best attribute to be his friends, his people, his City or in a more accurate sense the City (as a community) in which he lived.
The King was widely accepted as a wise man. Not that he was knowledgeable, or well informed, but more for his outlook on life. As you can expect from such a person, he was not a superstitious man, or a sceptic. Furthermore you would not expect such a person to be easily scared, worried or frightened into hiding.
Indeed as the elderly man had said, there had not been an incident in many years (in fact there had not been in more than a few hundred years) when the large wooden doors to the Great Castle had been closed. This was not the only aspect of the scene that had worried the gathering; for the aged doors appeared to have been locked both from the inside and out, but whether to keep something in, or to hold something from getting in no one could know.
Furthermore, Fievel now noticed that more than a single member of the gathering bore the royal crest on their sleeve, it appeared that most of The King’s court were outside of the now secured stone structure, as was (as far as anyone there knew) everybody save the King.
By the next morning word had spread across the City of the locked doors, and a great assembly had formed at the base of the Castle steps, though it was after lunch before word of this reached Fievel, who arrived to a great clatter of debate and concerned tone that spanned around the castle. Many small groups of people had formed and were busy in discussion. Fievel walked amongst them, each seemed to have a theme of it’s own.
“Such a mystery, what could possibly scare our ruler in such a manor that he did not only hide himself away in such a hurry, but would close the rest of the city out also?” Came a man’s voice from one circle in excited debate as Fievel passed. The voice continued, “Do you suppose we are in danger, should we too hide ourselves?”
“If this fear was great enough to surprise our great leader, do you think it could be wise to open the great gates and flee?”, this response prompted many sceptical grumbles and shaking of heads from the rest of the group.
“Suppose whatever the King is hiding from is already outside the walls, suppose it is has a power great enough to penetrate the gate and that is why he has locked himself in the Castle” This too caused a minor uproar. To which came the responses:
“Do not be foolish, nothing could penetrate the Great Wall”.
“In any case, the King swore an oath to protect his people, and I, as I am sure many of you believe, am sure he would not so quickly abandon us. I believe whatever the reason he has for shutting himself away, it is a good one. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were to open the doors once more in a few days, and then we will see that his reason was just” To this last offering to the group came a general agreement, and Fievel moved on.
“…Dead!?” A cry from a group not so far away grabbed his attention. “Don’t be ignorant, how could he lock himself away if he was dead?”
“Well it stands to reason, if he was dead they would shut the castle, and what about his court, could one of them not have locked it?”
“Haven’t you seen? They’re out here too.”
“Even his court?”
“Even his court. I was talking to Gilbert Tillburn earlier, and he said neither he nor any of the court he had spoken to or seen the King since yesterday morning. They say he had shut himself in his tower, his personal quarters.”
“But do you not remember that day when you and I wanted to see him about the upcoming harvest last year? Old Tillburn told us that he was ill, that he had locked himself in his quarters and was unable to accept visitors. Now that was the only instance in my recollection when the King has refused to see us, when he was severely ill. By my thinking, he locked himself in his tower then, just as Tillburn said he did yesterday, if the King fell gravely ill, or if…forgive me for saying this, if he had passed on, then it would stand to reason that they would lock the Castle all together.”
“But the castle has never been locked before, even when our last great leader….” And Fievel was out of earshot.
As he walked through the crowd, the realisation of the impact this had had on the rest of the City came to him. Fievel climbed the first few steps to the castle, and looked out over the vast gathering of people around the castle. Around half the city had gathered there, most busy in discussion as to why they thought the King had locked his doors, but every so often there would be two or three people simply staring up at the castle, shielding their eyes from the sunlight as it peered between they grey clouds.
He continued through the crowd, weaving between groups of chattering people, huddled together against the wind that was now building and weaving its own way through the crowd.
He continued until his eyes glanced past a shock of blonde hair which stuck up on end that he recognised to belong to “Pete!” He called out over a large group of elderly women that were each wrapped up to their noses in cold-weather-wear.
There is little to speak of Peter Halloway, as there is little of Peter Halloway to be spoken of. He was always the shorter of the boys in his class, but his naturally spiky blonde hair more than made up for the height issue. They used to say you could slice a piece of paper down the middle with Peter Halloway; his thin wiry figure gave him the appearance of the incarnation of a stick man. He and Fievel had been friends since longer than either of them cared to think about, they had lived in cottages opposite each other most of their childhood. Peter’s great uncle had died and left him a farm near the great gates, where he had lived on his own since he was of age. But Peter would have a bigger part to play later in this tale.
As Fievel approached, he realised Peter was standing with two more recognisable faces.
One of which was Fievel’s cousin Phillip, a member of the King’s court. The other caused Fievel to hesitate before he entered the conversation.
“Fievel!” Peter had heard him call out, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him straight through the crowd of wrapped up women that seemed to resemble a small group of moles. “We were wondering when you’d turn up.”
“I’m surprised you managed to drag yourself up this early Pete” He nodded a quick greeting to Phillip. “So what does the court make of this Pip”
“We don’t know any more than you do Fievel, the last time the King was seen by any of us was at breakfast, I’m heading over to the steps to meet with them now, so I’ll tell you what the official statement is…if I manage to find you again out here.” At this point Phillip gave a quick nod in Peter’s direction and made his way between the swarm of people surrounding them.
Peter made to leave but turned back and looked towards the remaining two friends. “I was just about to head back to the farm for lunch, care to join me?”
“Thanks Pete but I’m more interested in hearing what the court has to say. It’s not like Pip not to tell us what the court is talking about. Usually we cant shut him up about them.”
“True, but you’ll be lucky if they let you into that conversation, I should think they’d want to keep it private, I wouldn’t waste my time.”
A quick note: To say that the Eilerian people are of a simple and peaceful nature, is not to say they aren’t prone to secrecy. Indeed it was said by one of the few outsiders who entered the Eilerian walls, that their secrets are what holds the City together, for they are thick as thieves when it comes holding information.
“I don’t have to be in the conversation, just close enough to be able to hear.” The two grinned at each other before parting ways. Fievel gave a final glance back towards Peter and the third party (whom he still could not bring his eyes to meet), before bowing his head and setting off back the way he came. He gave a small chuckle to himself as he passed the group still in a heated discussion as to whether or not the King was still alive.
As he fought his way across the crowd he began to make out the green and yellow colours that signified the Eilerian robes of the King’s Court.
Fievel sat down on the grass, the opposite side of the steps to the gathering of nine men and women, three of which had apparently just arrived.
“Tillburn! Lovely to see you” A smiley faced man with a large beard, who Fievel recognised to be the eldest member and head of the court, Cornelius Grenwich, greeted one of green and yellow-clad people who had arrived.
“You too Grenwich, you too.” The two men shook hands warmly.
“Did you all receive your message?” A general agreement emitted from the green and yellow ring they had formed.
“Then I am afraid there are private matters to discuss. Now, I would thank you all to lower your voices and follow me.”
The group began to move, lead by Cornelius, away from the castle, back towards the main path. It seemed obvious that the court would want privacy for their conversation, none the less, Fievel decided to follow at a distance.
The group walked on down the long main road, heading towards the great gates. Fievel followed from a side road, at as great a distance as he would dare without losing sight of them. Any second Fievel expected Cornelius to lead them off to one of the small cottages that sat in rows along the path, or to branch off in a new direction. But Cornelius continued to lead the silent group of followers down the main path until he stopped in front of the great gates.
Fievel felt a sigh in his throat. Surely he would not lead them outside of the city walls. Above everything else he daren’t follow them past that point, and although he was sure Phillip would tell all he had heard to Peter and him later in the day, this was much more fun than hearing second-hand.
Either side of the great gates were a relatively small, but thick, woodland area. Seldom thought for anything but another part of the scenery, it was into a thick patch of seemingly inanimate woodland towards the right of the great gates that Cornelius now led the snaking court member that gave follow.
At this point Fievel thought it safe to catch up a little with the group, although he was sure now that they had left into the forest, it would be harder to find them.
He waited a little at the edge of the woodland behind a large Sycamore tree before attempting to follow them inside.
As he began to carefully tread his way though the scattered branches and twigs that lay dead on the ground, he saw no sign of the consort that had lead him in, though hardly surprising he thought, as they were at a slight advantage dressed in green and yellow robes in a forest.
He wondered why Cornelius would lead them into the woods for a discussion, whatever the occasion; it was certainly something worth crawling between shrubberies for. He walked deeper and deeper into the wood, and had just come to the conclusion that soon he would walk straight out the other side, when something flickered in the corner of his eye. He pushed aside the branches of a tall fern, to reveal a small clearing that he had nearly walked straight past, in the centre of which stood a small wooden cabbin-type hut.
He bent low and sidled up to the window. As he peered over the sill he saw the nine seated round a small woman table in the middle of the single room, that one woman was wobbling and looking fairly annoyed, while the rest of the group hardly seemed to notice. The hut was an unusual sign of human life in the woodland. A small fireplace was enough to warm the small comfortable atmosphere. The walls were covered in clocks of all sizes, coo-coo clocks, wind-up clocks, ticking, swinging and well maintained. It was obviously well cared for and lived in, strange for such a secluded dwelling. It seemed imperative for whoever resided there to keep track of time. Above the fire was a fine piece of thick oak for the mantle piece and above this hung a large colourful patchwork canvas. It bore many emblems, some looked as if they signified royalty, whereas others Feival could barely look upon as more than scribbled drawings.
As Cornelius turned from the fire he had just lit in the fireplace, Fievel ducked back under the window.
“Now you are all sure you haven’t seen him?”
A woman with long black hair and a pointed nose replied to Cornelius first. “The last I saw of him was when he locked the door to the tower, that was where I left him”
“Indeed I haven’t seen him in days,” Came a voice from under the table where the woman was now attempting to fix the wobble she had discovered. “I haven’t been posted inside the castle all week, so I wouldn’t have”
“Well if none of us have seen him outside then obviously he is still inside”. Came the voice of the woman with the long black hair again.
“Obviously, but we still don’t know if he has anything to do with this” Cornelius had apparently moved next to the window.
“Oh come Grenwich it’s obvious where you are going with this and I have to say it’s ridiculous, he’s not the type of person who would do that”
“Tillburn, we can’t rule out…”
Fievel thought to himself; Why were they asking if each other had seen the King, no one had, that much was common knowledge by now. And why were they arguing about him locking himself in, surely that was an obvious thing, but then Gilbert interrupted Cornelius mid-sentence.
“Cornelius” This was the first time either of the two elder court members had called each other by their first name. “I have never known any member of the court to hold a grudge against anyone, it’s part of the reason we are chosen. But for you to suggest that on of our own would have something against the King of all people, it’s ridiculous. There isn’t a soul in this City that doesn’t admire the man we serve and show him the same respect you or I do”
The two men now stood opposite sides of the table, Cornelius was still standing by the window, for this Fievel covered his mouth and held his breath. The men stood in silence for some time, making it all the harder for Fievel to stay silent.
After what seemed was enough time for the entire forest to decompose, Cornelius moved back to the fireplace and spoke in so quiet a voice that Fievel had to strain to hear him over the crack of the wood in the fire.
“Whatever he’s doing up there, I think it’s quite obvious that we aren’t needed for it. I for one, and I think most of you will feel the same, think he’s up there of his own choice. Though he may not be alone, he certainly wants to be right now. But our part in this not yet over. Matilda, you and Joseph are to hold the position here at base point, if anyone hears anything, or see’s our lost boy, you come straight here. Tillburn and I will post ourselves at the castle. Adreil, ” – the girl who had just reappeared from underneath the table “Phillip, Gregory and Thomas you will resume your usual posts around the city. I want us all to meet here tomorrow when the moon is high”
Each court member in turn nodded, and then all except Matilda and the short blonde haired one called Joseph (who would take the first turn posted at the hut) left the table and made silently for the door. The sudden realisation of the danger of being seen hit Fievel, he felt trapped in the cold open air. Scrabbling for the nearest tree, he flew like a cat half way up before wrapping himself tightly round the trunk. As the court proceeded to file out of the small hut, only the falling leaves attempted to give away Fievel’s position. Once they had moved out of sight behind the trees, Fievel slowly made his way down the tree, brushed himself off, and made for a last look inside the hut where Matilda and Joseph were now alone. Again he looked over the sill, where the two inhabitants were mid-conversation, and felt the warmth the fire gave out against the cold breeze of the outside. Matilda was stood in the open doorway facing the blank green canvas outside.
Joseph was still sat at the table, his white-blonde hair and bright blonde eyebrows almost hurt Fievel’s eyes, Joseph seemed in complete juxtaposition with the bland surroundings.
“…but it won’t be long now, I think the rest are losing faith in old Grenwich. After what he said today I wouldn’t be surprised if he was out by the time of the next full moon.”
“Matilda, It’s hardly the time to be thinking about that, I know you’re eager to become leader but this is hardly the time to be-“
“Oh the Master is fine! You know how he likes to act when he’s in his tower. He’s the King, he’s entitled to a few days off a year. In any case I suspect he thinks this all quite funny, in case you haven’t noticed half the city is turning their brains inside out trying to figure out what’s happening.”
There was a long pause before Joseph replied to Matilda who was still facing the cold of the outside.
“The sooner all this is over the better. Makes me sick all this talk of secrets and conspiracies.”
“I told you not to listen to Grenwich, he’s just paranoid, and it’s painfully obvious all he’s thinking about is why he isn’t the one of us up there with the Master. I reckon Grenwich thinks that our missing member was chosen to stay there, he’s jealous. Poor old guy thinks he’s not the Master’s favourite any more. Senile fool.”
This was more than Fievel felt he needed to hear, he drew back from the window. And as he made his way back through the forest he heard the door to the hut slam shut somewhere in the trees behind him.
A quick note: The Eilerian Court are a group of people entrusted by the King to protect him and aid him in his duty to serve his people. They are usually a high order of citizens, who are trusted by the King as loyal friends. Every court has a high court member, this member is given the most responsibility as head of the court, usually the eldest member, though essentially the decision is the King’s alone. The court are essential to decisions made by the King, and are the first people he will go to in light of decisions appertaining great importance in the Eilerian City, therefore they must be the King’s most trusted personnel.
It is said in the ancient books that the Eilerian City used to be ruled by a high order of twenty citizens. It was not publicly known who these twenty were, it was not publicly known when they met, where or how often. But every so often a letter would be stuck to the town hall door, containing the decisions made by the order. They were known only as the Eilerian order, or ‘S.C’.
The only known member of the ‘S.C’ was later spoken of in the ancient books, his name was Theodore Blackwood. It was the Blackwood family that took the throne of the city. The last note pinned to the town hall door read:To whom it concerns,
The time of the order know as S.C has come to an end. A ruler of the Eilerian City has been appointed and will reveal himself on the great hill at the centre of the City to days from now.
The decision has been made by the order to hand over control of the City to a single leader. A court will be appointed by the leader to aid him in his duties.
Upon the new leader’s coronation he will swear an oath to care for his city, to respect his position and more-so the people for whom he is ruler. He wil swear upon the sacred books to keep the word of his order and to protect his people. This includes any duties passed down through past generations.
The right to rule the city shall be passed down in the blood of the family.
The right to rule shall not be questioned.
This is the word of the order that has served this city well for centuries.This is the where it begins.
This is the final order.
S.C___
Fievel met with Peter at the farm that night, as the darkness drew in. The farm on which Peter lives was more a great state of residence that would have served royalty, though the outside appeared no different from the other farms that clung to the great wall, the inside was lavish and vibrant. Or at least it would have been, but as it was such a large place, it would have been had work for Peter to maintain, and Peter was never one to indulge himself in anything that might require motivation or effort if avoidable, so the banisters to the stairs were worn and unvarnished, the wall paper peeled in many places and a large number of the floor boards creaked (although to his credit it was an extremely large residence for one person, which is why Fievel often dined there) as he and Fievel made for a comfortable place to sit that late evening after the large dinner Peter had cooked. The large warm living room beckoned as an ever more inviting scene, walls clad with tall paintings of Peter’s deceased relatives decorated with thick cobwebs, and as Peter sat back into a tall somewhat gothic arm chair, Feivals thoughts returned to the same subject they had been immersed in for most of the day. Apparently something travelled through the air and penetrated Peter’s thoughts, as he posed the question Fievel had been waiting for him to ask;
“So what is the…” He pulled a stern face imitating Phillip “ ‘Official word from the court’? Are they in on something the rest of us aren’t? More than a few people think that the court knows what is happening, are they privy to something the rest of us aren’t?”
Fievel receded back into the corner of the armchair in which he sat not far from Peter. He cleared his throat before speaking.
“Well you were right they wanted their privacy, so I followed them to a small hut near the great gates.”
“So, what do they know about the castle being locked?”
Fievel took a long breath in. “Nothing. They don’t know any more than we do.” Above all else, his mind had been running over the implications of what he had overheard becoming public. As he didn’t understand half of what he had heard himself, he didn’t want to tell anyone what he had actually heard inside the hut.
“They’re as clueless as we are.”
Peter grinned. “Ah I half expected you to come out with some great conspiracy theory there” he laughed.
“I know, disappointing really. Almost makes you wish there was some great scheme behind it that we’re missing.”
Feivel didn’t know how close he came to getting his wish that night. For as the black canvas coated the sky and as the City slept, not so far away from where the two friends settled that night, three figures appeared inside the great ‘impenetrable gates’. Cloaked from head to foot in long black robes, the three figures moved silently through the City, passing silhouettes of cattages where the unaware citizens of the Eilerian City slept, they made no sound, nor stirred earth under foot, even the faint breeze that had lingered in the air seemed to disappear as they glided silently toward the centre of the City. Their arms folded as they moved they made no sound, nor gesture nor any indication to each other, their attention placed solely on their path ahead, determined their figures sliced through the cold air. The barely visible figures bore no signs of individuality, as if uniformed in their march towards their goal.
In complete silence, stirring no blade of grass or pebble and seemingly unnoticed by the flowers, they slowly climbed the long stone staircase to the great castle. As they came face to face with the barred door, their slender black figures fell still, and with them the City became a picture, all time seemed to cease and all evidence of life within these walls with it.
The first cloaked figure turned to the one centre, his teeth the only visible sign of a creature that stirred underneath the shadow of the hood, the silence was broken by a near silent voice.
“It ends tonight.” The two identical ally’s slowly nodded in response.
The three cloaked figures turned and proceeded down the staircase, they would have been but shadows on the ground, save for the emblem they bore on their chest.
The only break in their perfect austere darkness and the single identification they bore was a symbol, a red stricken circle.
