Death Itself Was Undone [VDM]

[Louvel von der Marck]

Louvel remained quiet while Judah dealt with the questions that Leonie presented. His own came to him as well. Was this something that each were prepared for? He glanced to those in the tight circle and hoped so. It would require all to make what Judah was proposing happen. His sense of purpose shifted into one of expectation with his pledge given. He reflected on the exposure to his mother’s abilities. The powers of sorcery. Those that he discovered at a moment when she had no choice but to reveal. The first awareness that his mother had more than that stern eye in her power to deliver when making her point. All of it would lead him to follow in her footsteps and beyond the role of lawn and estate guardian, the Keeper. Judah’s words rang true within him. It had been all for this purpose, for the moment at hand.

Taking a few steps away he found himself in a pocket of warm air. The space was needed while he watched Judah pull from the circle as well. A calm filled him while he stood in the formation of a storm. Soon it would all change. All the history they had been privy to could be hinged on the outcome of what Jude was proposing could be possible, within their grasp.

Louvel’s eyes took in the movements of those in the distance and while he did a name came to mind. Alaric von der Marck. They were potentially going to bridge all the time that had passed between the generations and essentially reach back and bring him forth. And what would be if or when he arrived? Would all that the was present be pleasing to the one who had slumbered through centuries with expectation or would they be waking one who had earned and desired his long rest. It could potentially be waking one who may not want it. His lips twitched at that thought as he spotted Judah on the move. His brow lifted lightly forming an arch of curiosity.

The Keeper closed the space that had separated him briefly from the group that his cousin had formed specifically for the purpose of conversing. While subtly eyeing those he stood with he was reminded that each of them represented branches of the same family tree. All equally in blood and veins were linked to the one and only Alaric von der Marck. It was an honor that did not have to be pondered or thought into. It was present in each new pulse that pushed the blood for another trek through their bodies. It was a gift that required confirmation of being accepted, received. Now they would gather as one to unearth the trunk, the heart of what was responsible for their existence. Their patriarch was coming home. Louvel held on to the hope that when Alaric arrived he would be half as exuberant as their beloved Judah was at the prospect.

[Leonie von der Marck]

There were those words again – Purpose. Power. But the way Judah put it shook Leonie from the panic that gripped at her heart and reminded her that there was more to them than their individual idiosyncrasies, so much more than even the sum of them, the six of them gathered there who must have represented those roles of which he spoke. Von der Marck was power, unto itself and beyond, even if it wasn’t quite the household name it used to be. Still, she wouldn’t have been able to live her life as she did without the absolute respect the name alone commanded among those who would know, and this prompted her to think carefully upon why.

Alaric. She supposed it was he who had created them, had made them into what they were. And wasn’t that the point of many of the stories of their long-dead patriarch – all he had given them and helped them become? But it didn’t change the fact he had been gone for centuries, and, if the rest of the stories were true, as Judah seemed to believe, then he was also something dark and deadly, poised for a long-overdue comeback. Perhaps through no fault of his own, but that also made him the stuff of nightmares, and Leonie wasn’t sure she had it in her to find out if vampires were real, too.

She swallowed hard as Judah’s words sank in, as another shiver traipsed down her spine and her middle twisted in another uncomfortable knot while the memory of those screams rose sharply in her mind once more. They’d discussed the roles in the not-so-tall tales before and it occurred to her then that he must have worked himself to a near frenzy to figure it all out. To separate fact from fiction, fantasy from reality. With the sheer number of ‘little stories’ she’d been told over the years, it was a wonder he hadn’t been driven to madness with the tangled web of it all. The layers were varied and intricate, and though her ancestry could easily be traced down, in a very straightforward manner, from Jorge von der Marck - who’s austere portrait hung over her father’s mantle to this day - she knew well that other branches of the large family tree were not quite so linear.

A deep breath was drawn as Jude’s attention turned to Mirella, and her thoughts touched upon this pact that might actually have the force to change everything. But why bother, she wondered, when everything seemed fine to her? The family might have changed, the gatherings might be nothing compared to what they had been a century before, but they still commanded a great deal of respect, wielded more influence than most, and she couldn’t fathom what they would ever need to take back. Surely it was a selfish and superficial thought process, but Leonie had been perfectly happy being Leonie, with little thought or care for much beyond herself and what far-flung location she might be off to in a given week. Her branch of the family was intact and had parlayed their share of the fortune into more of the same. Why would she want to change any of it, behold herself to the lineage more than she already had for something that seemed incredibly dangerous, if not laced with all the terror of the unknown? And furthermore, what unknown part did she play, or represent, to her beloved cousin? How could she fulfill such an expectation without any idea of what he needed her to do?

It all seemed too much.

But a little voice in the back of her head whispered defiantly, murmuring that perhaps she wasn’t as happy as she liked to believe. That perhaps there was more for her, a higher purpose than simply existing and living in the moment. More than the parties, sex, occasional drug use, and burning through an endless supply of money… the sheer hedonism she thrived upon for longer than she could remember. Boarding school had taught her well, but it hadn’t been literature and sums that had made up the bulk of her expensive education, she thought, as the memory of the look on her father’s face filtered in through her thoughts. Elated, knowing… as if something had finally manifested that they had all been waiting for. Maybe… just maybe, it was time to consider other things. More than, greater than, herself. After all, if it was true, if Judah was right and this is what the family had actually been gathering to do, what great heights could they reach with an immortal patriarch returned from the dead to lead them? What might von der Marck be capable of then? And… if it didn’t work, well then… at least they had tried, no? At least Judah would be satisfied they’d done everything they could and perhaps would one day make peace with the supposition that it wasn’t real, after all. It was a naïve hope, she knew, born of an absolutely chilling fear, because somewhere in the back of her head, buried deep, the knowledge was there that it couldn’t be anything but real. The stories… there were too many, they were too intricate. She had read through the old records, accounts from ancestors… Alaric had lived, well past the prime of any mortal man.

But then Jude’s lips brushed against her own in a sweet embrace, shaking her from her thoughts once again and her fingertips returned the gentle caress, almost automatically sliding over his cheek in response to his words. He was right… the feel of the very power he spoke of thrummed off the light contact and burned through her, a small spark that shocked her at first as her eyes widened, but was soon more than enough to leave her reeling with the fervor of it. His fervor.

Be my strength.

She trusted him, didn’t she? Implicitly, and more than anyone… even more than Melba. She had, and would, do anything for those two people, whether they knew it or not. He had no reason to lie to her, no matter the unspoken need, and likely knew, once she wrapped her head around it, that she would be whatever he needed her to be. She always had been, after all.

****.

Leonie drew in another slow breath as Judah departed then, with one last plea… one sure to have her denying him nothing.

****, ****, ****.

It would take her that long, the space of that entire moment, to gather her wits and strength, and be able to verbalize everything in her head. A resignation slowly filled her up, the foreign sense of resolve, when it wasn’t utterly self-serving, taking hold and lending her a sort of steadiness against the fear that she’d long been lacking. Without excusing herself from the rest of the group, she strode after him and grasped his arm once more, then leaned in close.

“I’ll do it,” she breathed softly to his ear, with conviction, then pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before she turned and made her way back to the others. Hopefully there would be quiet discussion to follow, the better to answer the rest of the questions already swirling in her head.

All in, then.

The Lioness had no idea what she was getting herself into, no idea if she could conquer the fears that had dwelt within since she was but a child, but if it was important to Judah, to their blood… then it was important to her, too.

[Mirella (DELETED 8125)]

Mirella looked from face to face, as she drifted to stand closer to Judah. To the man who'd stood at her side throughout her pregnancy, throughout the mess her life had been for some time. She had never told anyone but him the details of that, and if she could help it, she would keep those details from as many people as possible.

"You'll have to tell me what role I play here, though," Mirella told Judah, smiling at him. "I mean. I'm not from one of the strong lines of the family. I didn't go to college, never had a steady job - heck, I still live with my parents. Who am I to this? Where...like, what's my place?"

She looked almost more nervous than she had thinking of her little Adam, wondering what her role in all this was. "I mean...I'll do what you tell me to, Judah, but...I want to know first, at least."

[Judah Marck]

Louvel’s constant reassurance, his patience and support were part of why he was so committed to this cause. Had he or Gregor told Judah it was wrong, had they asked him to let it go he would have done his best to do so. They were his life blood, these von der Marck’s, they were at the very heart of him and he felt drunk on the power that swelled and crested around him when they stood together. It was beautiful, and intoxicating. Some part of him acknowledged that it was madness, it was addiction.

It was dangerous.

As he moved the nerves created a slow quivering within him, it was hard not to let it show externally, not to quake and run back into the open arms of his nearest and dearest. They were all family at this gathering, of course, but there was something unique he shared with the small group he’d walked away from. Barely a few paces away and he was caught by a hand on his arm, insistent and demanding of attention, he turned to look into the eyes of a lioness. “Leonie…” Her name felt good shaped by his lips, warm and powerful. “Thank you, my beloved Lioness, my strong one.” There was reluctance to let her go, to let her take away the lingering of softness of lips meeting the corner of his. He wanted to take her in his arms, to flutter his lips across her features and speak her praises but he merely watched her go.

Again he was not allowed to leave, another woman who held a piece of his large heart came to speak with him, to whisper her uncertainty. “I promise you, Mirella, that I will tell you everything I can. You are stronger than you know, you've got more power in your little finger than many of the depraved and damned souls that wander this world. Firebug, you are blood of my blood, you can do this. I will return to you, and give each of you every piece of advice I can muster.” Hands cupped her cheeks, leaning to brush a kiss over her forehead. “Trust me, I'm afraid too.”

And he was, as he walked up onto the stairs, when took a glass and clinked it to draw the family’s attention. “My von der Marck’s, tonight you have been called here to reach our greatest purpose. It is time we stand together, it is time we complete the ritual. Yes, some of you may think it stories, fairy tales whispered by your parents or legends told to frighten but this is reality. This is OUR reality…” Gregor, Louvel, Mirella, Leonie and Alisa all stood watching, amongst other faces he treasured, but it was from them he drew his courage.

“It is time to return Alaric, our Patriarch, to us.”

--- Later That Evening ---

The announcement had been largely met with support, everyone informed of their roles, asked to stay on the property until just after midnight, at which point Alaric would be returned, if all went to plan.

Judah stood between Louvel and Gregor, speaking quietly, two beautiful blonde heads lowered to better hear his words. It was almost time, to lead the others down to the room they’d found, to place them in position and begin. “Lou, G-Baby… I love you, you do know that? Are we ready?” Gregor seemed more alert, more intent on his surroundings than the aloof man often was, giving his agreement in a manner that had them both turning to Louvel. It was up to the Keeper now, to lead them down into the room. “Keeper, will you show us the way? We will finish our discussions in the room.”

[Louvel von der Marck]

The cool weight of keys that survived time by defying the change of hands that held them through the centuries was with Louvel only in thought. That is really the only place they existed. Physical keys that would fit the locks were lost, destroyed or perhaps even hidden away long before he, his father or grandfather were born. Maybe it was Alaric himself that made such happen taking anything like keys with him. It was too late to ponder such a possibility. The gears in the plans to return the man were already in full swing as the moment had arrived that he would lead a hike to the one place he felt comfortable leading his own blood to. He had made the trek a few times.

Every place in the manor was known to Louvel but one in particular was a constant source of curiosity. The space miles deep it would seem beneath the manor that could only be reached by a foot trip that would take fifteen minutes time if one was familar with where they were actually heading. If not it would be an eternity before ones bones ever saw the light of day. The space of mystery still giving him reason to pause was the room's existence that had been discovered when he was still young enough to resent being summoned down by his father to investigate. He groaned and complained over the pull his father had taking him from what he much rather do instead of listening to Otto von der Marck lecture him once again on his lack of respect for the role that one day would be his. The sound of the demanding deep voice of the impatient man filled his mind.

‘Alles, Louvel von der Marck! Alles!”

Yes, all the wild things in the dark woods aside young Louvel von der Marck would also be responsible for the crumbling interior walls, the preservation of the constantly in need of repair foundation. Alles. Everything beneath the roof that endured more of nature's wrath than any other structure within a twenty mile radius. Louvel was honest even then. He would much rather chase Judah up the tree where they intended on building a fort instead of looking at a seven foot high crumbling wall. He stared at it and he saw ruin, disrepair. As soon as he voiced his thoughts outloud he was met with a firm cuff of his father's hand to the back of his head. A rant of German followed naturally.

“Öffnen Sie Ihre Augen , Sohn ! Die Hände, die dies hier setzen, die geopfert mehr , als Sie jemals haben wird . Dies ist ein Vermächtnis. Jede und jeder Stein ! Sie lernen es jetzt. Sag mir, wie sie es gebaut. Welche Materialien sind drin! Bis du mir zeigen, sind Sie sich bewusst werden Sie nicht nach draußen in Ihre wertvollen Hölzern Schritt . Verstehe mich?”

“Ja.”

Louvel was deep in the bowels of the estate main house where he was far from the protective eyes of his mother, Mara, or his favorite childhood companion Judah. Distant footsteps echoed but still were no where close to where they currently stood. Even without back up he would usually challenge the man beside him much like the young one he was being groomed to eventually overthrow the old ruler above him and take reign. There were years that needed to pass before he could succeed and he knew it all too well. In the wake of Otto’s words there was a prick of awareness that poked through his immaturity and had the young von der Marck staying behind as his father moved on. His hand reached out and retrieved a palm size portion of brick and listened to the whispers of his father directing the one who he relied on for restoring the masonry portions of the family estate. The mason would be responsible for Louvel staying out of the darkness that was off limits. Louvel looked around for it, oblivious to the extensive passageways beyond the place he was standing.

The rant filled his head again. He would not see his favorite wooded refuge beyond the estate walls unless he could convey to his father what it took to create what was crumbling before him. Youthful fingers curled tight over the object in his palm and squeezed. The resistance against his limited strength inspired a decision. If it was created once then it could be again, perhaps improved even if only to be as close to original form as possible.

“Lehre mich , ja ?” Louvel asked the man who found him standing in the stone passway beyond the wall where the current repair would be the focus. A request to learn what he was expected to know was voiced from the golden headed heir that was prepared to abandon adventure outdoors to learn what was expected of him.
“Yes, I will but first things first. You keep close to me and don’t go any farther down that walk.” The rough, work weathered hand pointed to the darkness that was not far from where Louvel stood with the remains of brick in his closed hand. “You hear me? It is a good way to get lost and never find your way back. No one goes down there.”

The warning only fed the adventurer and explorer at heart in Louvel. It would not be on that particular day that he would entertain the pull to delve deeper. He would recruit his cousins at a later time for that when no one would be down there to stop them. His fingers opened and that was the first time he was aware of the seed of his responsibility had been planted whether he wanted it or not. The purpose was growing within to become what he was expected to be.

Louvel glanced evenly to both sets of familiar eyes on him. Each were full of expectation that he would lead the way. He studied them as if any sign of last minute change of plans would still have a final opportunity to surface. Nothing appeared and after several seconds of self-imposed silence he decided that they were not to be disappointed. His shoulders beneath the black suit jacket shifted back as if preparing to take on any unexpected weight that could come and carry it if need be. A stretch of one leg was followed by the other without a word.

A first series of steps would be common to those moving behind him. The grey brick work fashioned from the field stone of the past sheltered them in a rather plain pattern. Solid, intact and though it’s age was apparent from the general observing eye it was impressive in it’s nearly flawless condition. The constant attention to all details were visible as the passageway provided a purposeful route to follow. Brick and stone seemed to darken, though noticeably thicker in formation, the more their journey descended down into the cool isolation from the world above. The dampness of the walls was not enough to shimmer on the surface but was nearly impossible to avoid detection in each inhale of air that was drawn into their lungs. Centuries of earth and blood were hard at work in the path that had been prepared long ago for them to follow.

“Make sure to stick to where I am heading.”

Louvel sounded serious, focused and unusually distant. Whoever came with was still his concern but this was not a typical field trip through the family woods. He reached into his pocket as the minutes of walking had added up to a rather empty black visual field for those he was guiding. He counted the entire time they had been walking and was accurate in his estimation as he stopped and pulled out the petite silver case that was significantly smaller once it was in his palm where he cradled it. With the press of his thumb the top clicked back and the sounds of the small sparkwheel being forced to work by the pad of his thumb hissed until the release of a vibrant flame that jumped to life. He reached up and twisted his hand to reach into the iron sconce on the wall. Once the source of limited lighter fire exploded into a full fledge source of light it was apparent the minimal ceiling over their heads was decreasing in its height.

“You don’t want to get lost down here.” He continued on adding the sounds of his light steps crushing the tiny debriding particles of centuries old stone beneath his soles. “It took me nearly twenty four hours to find my way back to this spot the first time I ignored the warning.”

Louvel moved on while the memories of childhood tears, fear and near defeat flooded him. He learned all too well that what he had been told was in fact true. Men were known to disappear in the very pathways he was currently guiding them through. It could be unforgiving if was not respected. Intermittent bursts of light debuted as he paused only to leave a small flame to caress another sconce to rise and serve its purpose.

Twelve flames lit the return narrow route behind them. It was now the moment where he would turn around and reach down to pull up the small trap door beneath his feet. This was the only entry he knew of that would lead into the corridor that was the final stretch to reaching their destination. He casually pocketed the lighter.

“It will be dark from here on so follow my voice.”

With a firm grip on the solid iron ring the trap door creaked as Louvel pulled it to rise and fold back against the stone wall behind it. Without hesitation his foot settled on the edge while the other dangled then disappeared into the empty darkness beneath. His mossy orbs looked up at the witness’ around him. His body sank down quick as if pulled by some unknown force beneath. His golden head was instantly gone from view as there were brief seconds of silence followed by the sounds of his dress boots landing on the rough stone beneath them as he landed on solid ground. He could count on his two hands the times he had been this far in the extensive maze of elaborate passageways beneath the estate. Whoever got this far was considered fortunate, worthy and safe from the world above. It was designed to protect those using the route they were on and now more than ever he was inclined to believe none other than Alaric was the master designer.

Louvel kept a slow pace as he moved the numerous yards of distance left to reach the solid brickwork of a rustic door that he felt with the confirmation of his open hands. He knocked on the surface twice then turned to face the direction from which he came. Once again the sound of his lighter coming to life echoed. It was time for a last head count. Who had managed to make it this far and who decided to stay behind?

“Come to the light.” As ominous as it sounded Lou hoped they would. It would be a hell of a mess if they had to go search for someone who opted for another route. The door behind him would be left to the honors of his cousins to open.

[Leonie von der Marck]

Earlier in the evening…

After the announcement had been made, Leonie had excused herself from the small group and wandered off, trying her best to keep the panic at bay as Jude’s words had more time to sink in and remind her of just what she had agreed to do. Both those he’d spoken to the small group of them, and the ones to the rest of the lineage, rang in her head and seeped into her thoughts and though she wanted desperately to sink into the nearest bottle of booze to calm her mounting nerves, she instead opted for a finger or two of whiskey from a bar she’d spied, before she wandered through the manor.

Eventually, she found her way to the middle landing of a winding, people-free staircase and settled down. Low enough to watch the comings and goings of the lineage, but high enough that she’d remain mostly out of sight. Terrified as she was by the prospect of raising a man from the dead, the memories she allowed to surface contained thoughts of her father, and her grandfather, of their willingness to tell her all the old family lore, to allow her to pore over the old, preserved, crumbling documents made by ancestors she couldn’t even fathom, so far removed from them she was in both time and distance.

She’d often wondered why she, a young child prone to all sorts of mischief, had been allowed such liberties with priceless things. Why her father had been happy to spend hours with her at a time when he could hardly spare one for his wife… but she had learned early on that Oskar had no doubts over her paternity, where – in overheard loud, passionate arguments with her mother – he often questioned his ties to her two much older siblings. She had the eyes, he'd once told her, the very same strange pattern of hazel that was a von der Marck trait, prevalent in their lineage and possessed by himself and her grandfather both. They might skip a true child here and there, or an entire generation, but the blood always graced them with the eyes once again. Leonie was the only female child to carry the trait in generations, or so Oskar claimed.

Her thoughts turned once more to Oskar’s almost triumphant gaze that terrible night, one she had initially taken for mocking, as if she had confirmed she was everything everyone always said she was – a problem child, a troublemaker. No one who would ever take life seriously. But now… now, as she thought back to the other times and to the present, she could begin to see that perhaps he had been more hopeful than anything else. Another tremble moved up and down her spine as she picked at imaginary lint on her gown, once in a while sipping at the whiskey that did far more good than she could have predicted. Still, there was too much swirling in her head for much in the way of peace beyond what the liquor could work, and there was only one thing left for her to do.

With shaking hands, she managed to tug her phone free of her clutch and powered up the screen. No matter the distance, the freeze-out, or the conflict between them, Leonie knew there was only one person she could turn to now, no matter that she hadn’t called in over a year. And as the familiar voice filled her ear, an instant sense of calm filled her to the brim.

“Papa.”

----------------------------------------------------------

Leonie at last hung up and tucked the phone away once again with a set to her jaw that would barely cover the turmoil within. Yet the conversation, short and intense though it was, with Oskar, had done more for her than anything else, shoring up her strength and allowing her to remain steady in fulfilling the promise she had only hours before made to Jude. Oskar’s sheer distress that he could not make it to Harper Rock in time to take her place was clear as day – and it was not a selfish sort of distress, either, she had noted. Her father was stuck in Japan on one of his many business trips, and for once seemed extremely upset by that. It was a definite difference in Leonie’s understanding and memories of her father, but in their minutes-long conversation, he had also confirmed everything for her… everything. It was all true, all the stories, all the whispers... even the most fantastical notions of the past. He’d also briefly told her of her place, of the rest of the places, and why she had been chosen specifically, and that… that had almost had her turning tail and running out of Canada as fast as her designer-shoe-clad-feet could carry her.

But she’d made a promise. Her blood had been pledged before she was even born, and the slow feed of knowledge, of information, had been as deliberate as it had seemed benign. A sigh filled her lungs before it was slowly released as midnight eventually approached. With steady steps, the Lioness stood up from her quiet, private vantage, and made her way back down the stair to meet with the rest of the small group Judah had gathered together. As they all stood waiting, she nodded at each one, just as Louvel readied to gather and lead them to wherever the night would take them next.

She hung back quietly, until Jude joined them again and they began to walk at last, through a door and down a winding passage that slowly descended into a darkened, dank tunnel beneath the ground. The heaviness of the air was difficult to breathe inward, especially for her asthmatic lungs, but the Lioness kept up with the pace, only cursing the stupidity of wearing such a heavy, unrealistic gown for such a task. But she hadn’t known… if she had, she would have found a way to change into something far more practical.

A frown crossed her lips as they stopped at the trapdoor, silently cursing the soon to be absence of any light whatsoever. She simply wasn’t dressed for anything more rugged than what they had been through already. ****. It would definitely be a challenge to descend a hidden ladder, especially in those damned heels, but she was sure she’d done worse in her party-heavy life and so, with a shrug, she followed after without comment.

They were steeped in the darkest of darkness when her feet finally met earth once more. A sure step kept her from stumbling, even if she could barely make out the figure of the solid blonde male before her, even as her eyes slowly adjusted. And as the scratch of his lighter coming to life sounded off in the silence, the dark-haired woman could not help but drift closer, like a moth to the single flame.

She drew in a slow breath, waiting on the others to make their way down.

It was time. Time to see precisely what all the stories had imparted, what her father had confirmed for her for the first time that night. And, as a fresh case of nerves gripped at the woman, she drew in another slow breath, half eager, half dreading what was yet to come.

[Mirella (DELETED 8125)]

Hugging her arms around herself, Mirella wished she'd had the forethought to light the end of a baton and bring it down with her. But then, that would disgrace the integrity of the place.

Who would have expected a Von Der Marck to be afraid of pitch darkness?

Mirella drifted closer to Judah, one hand gripping his shoulder as she walked, slow, steady, following along behind Louvel. After a few minutes, she murmured to Judah under her breath, "Don't go too far..."

[Judah Marck]

Judah followed quietly behind Louvel, watching the space between his shoulder blades, brown eyes tracing the shape of the muscle struggling beneath the clothes that no doubt felt more and more like a prison to the free spirit. He had the strangest urge to tear off the blazer, to throw it down and stomp it into the dirt. Leonie had seemed uncertain, but had pledged herself to him, to the family before slipping away to make a call while his announcement was made.

To the lineage he’d explained the texts and their meaning, he’d explained what must be done vaguely and what he required of them. Merely to be there, to feel the strength of the family, for them to bond and connect, to share their power and their love for each other until such time as the ritual was complete. Simple. They all agreed wholeheartedly, to which end he found himself rather surprised, he expected disbelief or resistance from them, even though he’d tried his best to choose those who believed in the lineage. To read it and to hear it out loud were two very different things.

Upon his return to the group he’d whispered quietly to Louvel and Gregor, reminding them of the plan, and then had informed each of them of what must be done. There would be a placing of items, a combining of them while a text was read. Each must stand at a specific point to represent a strength, a part of the lineage. They would each have to shed a few drops of blood, offering part of themselves, part of that which was given to them by Alaric. One piece of the puzzle had alluded them thus far, had been difficult to decipher. It implied that the blood sacrifice would be sufficient, it was what was done before, but there had to be something of Alaric’s. All Judah had that he was certain on was the writings, and so he’d torn the tiniest piece of script, his soul aching to do so, and set it aside for this purpose.

If only they had the man’s bones, as morbid as that was, or some lock of hair. Who knew what it meant really? It was all guesswork, a ritual devised that had yet to succeed in its purpose. When the time came, each knowing their duty, to enter into the darkness he hovered back allowing Louvel to enter and Gregor not far behind as always. He smiled warmly after them, the three had already taken this journey into the darkness twice before, once upon early discovery and second to deliver the necessary ritual items so all was ready. He positioned himself between Leonie and Mirella, the two who seemed to lean on him most for support in this, for his warmth of presence.

He helped Leonie down first, hopping in himself shortly after. Mirella came next, Judah reaching up to guide her down beside him, smiling as she tucked close to his back. In the darkness his hand found Leonie’s waist, creating a sort of train between the three of them. Louvel’s voice guided them, Jude ensuring the group stayed close by. He wasn’t sure if Alisa had followed, he hoped she had, but it was easy to get lost in the dark. Did she hold onto Mirella? He wanted to call out, but doing so would mean distracting from Louvel’s guidance and assurance, leading them onwards. At Mirella’s words his free hand covered hers, giving a fond squeeze. “I’m here, Firebug, we are together.”

When they reached Louvel the great door loomed, Judah look at him expectantly but the man seemed content for someone else to do the honours. “I guess that’s me, then…” Jude sighed, giving him a nod and moving forwards to place hands on the aged door. With a mighty, groaning push it heaved forwards to reveal the room within, the room where he hoped their destiny would come rising up to meet them. “Welcome, family, to the room of rituals. God, help us.”

[Judah Marck]

CHAPTER2

GREAT FATHER I SUMMON THEE, UNTO ME

[Louvel von der Marck]

The base of the door scraping over the stone beneath their feet had his mossy orbs following the sweep of the heavy barrier over the aged flooring. It was an ominous sound every time he heard it. The last time he had seen it he was greeted with the same aroma of ancient earth followed by the deep undertones of the moisture that lingers with it and never fully evaporates. His nostrils flared slowly while he breathed it in deep. His feet stayed put like a soldier guarding a sacred tomb. One of the few in an ancient army that knew his place even in the uncertainty of the moment at hand.

While Judah introduced the room to the rest of their family he felt his chin lift as if there was a discovery being made and the formality was rolling out from his brothers lips with the presentation. Some may have never set eyes on it until that very moment. In his estimation few, blood descendant or not, would have ever been privy to going down so deep into Alaric von der Mark’s soil, let alone had a reason to. The room was introduced to him in the last months that Mara von der Marck was alive. It was the final confirmation that this was what she had been speaking of in all her ominous, riveting statements about duty, honor and the expectations that were placed upon him with his first breath of life. A life that he had spent, at times, frivolously in rebellion like a renegade climbing mountains, riding the rough waters between each and trekking to find natural wonders that would take him discovering to find they would never compare to what was revealed again right before his own eyes.

Once Judah had completed the unveiling Louvel took his first steps inside. Moving beneath the rugged iron enforced arch of the doorway he felt the small particles of debrided stone crunch to dust beneath the soles of his boots. The pop and subtle hiss of each as it submitted to its fate beneath his weight was louder than his own breathing. He held it deep. Air from the outside of the door, taken from the passageway went in with him. Taking his time he stepped further nearing the center of the room then ventured respectfully to the right until he was with the first wall that would be lit up as their route had been up until that point.

“I will get the lights…” His voice broke as he exhaled the air in his lungs. The lighter was retrieved from his front pocket and the roll of the pad of his thumb over the top flipped open the lid and brought forth the burn of a fresh flame. “The torches.” He added in self-correction. One after another the walls began to glow softly as his modern source of fire kissed the host fixtures of the past. Each flame born shed light on what surrounded the young vonder Marks, the heirs of what would or would not return to them in the very room they now gathered in. Like the one taking charge of the perimeter once the task of lighting was complete he took a final count of who was inside. His hand reached to the door that was still open and climbed upward as his fingers splayed to curl at the edge. The center of his palm absorbed the sharp, worn framework that was as expected given the time it had seen all but abandoned in the dark layers of earth that cradled it. “Are we all in?”

Not waiting for a confirmation The Keeper closed the door and with the turn of his sun kissed fingers he set the ironwork lock in place. A casual step forward had him giving in to the lure of the etched details in the stone above his head. Obediently his eyes lifted. The runes and carved records hovered over him, over all in fact, like maps to places visited and meant to be returned to again. The depth of the lines in the obstinate rock held the records for all to see. Some were discernable images of events, significant stages that coincided with what they could find in the treasured volumes of their early family history. His gaze traveled slowly to the corners then dropped to the chiseled out rustic nooks in the walls that were deep enough that they safely shelved objects that clearly were relics of importance. Many had been unseen to Louvel except for the room he now stood in.

As the room warmed with the contained fires he reached up and hooked his fingers to pull away the black jacket from the spans of his wide shoulders. While the material slid down and his arms freed their lengths from the covering he took in a slow and measured breath. His eyes found no one in particular to focus on and settled for the draw to the massive formation of iron that was needing the final sources of light. His silver lighter was up and the small flame took longer to summon up the ring of fire that finally rose. The scent of dust succumbing to the heat formed quickly. He brushed the cobwebs from the center. The cool black iron beneath his hand was familiar in the ornate detail. The family crest loomed over the center of the room in reminder and perhaps in warning as well. A shrug of his shoulders and a step back had the jacket in his hand deposited on the empty space in the wall behind him. The ritual altar caught his attention as he moved towards the massive table. His breath caught quickly as he passed it. The alter brought Mara closer than ever to his side.

Out of all things he had said he would do, managed to accomplish, nothing would equal what he was being expected to do. Louvel feared only one thing and it was far more possible in this place than anywhere else in the world that he had been with the blood shared in the room as witnesses. Failure. Was there such a thing when they were committed to making the dead patriarch come back? Failure seemed to barely touch it if they did not succeed. There was a consequence for every action. He couldn’t fathom what that could be when dealing with raising the dead. Piercing green eyes found Judah then drifted to the blue depths of which he felt like drowning in when all was said and done.

The pit at the center of the table was the symbol perhaps most of where he was at, mind and body. The narrow paths that originated from each spot at the table. The descending center that formed as a pit of collection for what was to be offered, sacrificed down the culverts. Soon the dry stone beneath would be wet, replenished again as it may have been in the past. Only one could tell them for sure if it was going to work. He was about to be summoned forth at all costs to those willing to attempt. With the lift of his eyes he moved towards Judah and stood at his side. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.