Gray Ellis - Hunmanby

Armisanda

The air hung thick with tallow and sulfur. Flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows around the basement leaving far corners and crevices in darkness. The gargoyle Vizu-el, in his current form of cold smooth stone, observed the man with a menacing scowl. The man laboured in silence; confident, and certain of the outcome.

Standing before the table he studied the deep scores in the thick oak; a smile stretching his thin lips.

Turning his attention the golden cover of the thick, leather-clad tome the smile waned. He carried out the final checks in his mind, touching numerous small vessels formed from the horns of exotic animals, and each containing one element of the required ingredients. To one side, the flames within a small woodburner burned bright.

Albemarle removed the silken robe, revealing the body he had forged in the fire of his own will. He ran a manicured finger long the lines of the embossed design; the gold-leaf had well endured aeons of time.

Finally, he lifted the cover to reveal age-old tainted parchment, the creaking of the spine an aspect of its authenticity; along with a binding process that had been carried out by true artisans, so many centuries before.

The candles adjacent the book fluttered and settled as he lay the book open. A scrolling script, scribed by those with a superior intellect, and a burning need to protect the information within, had used an ancient language that most would never understand. As far as he was aware, after endless years of searching, only two other copies of the text existed; thanks in part, to the incessant and deliberate attempts to remove such works from the world of man. One could easily blame the Holy Inquisition for such blatant and ignorant destruction, only most copies of this work had been burnt by adept’s; to keep the knowledge contained within, in the hands of a few.

He turned to the correct page, running a smooth finger down flowing lines of script. At once he began to murmur in a low tone, casting the written word to the chill air of the basement.

Reaching over the table he moved a large copper vessel close, without a pause in the murmurings. Meticulous in his preparations, he now followed the ancient protocol; collecting the first element, which had been specifically selected according to its purity. A black powder from ground wolf’s claw was sprinkled into the copper vessel as his murmur turned to open chanting; his voice becoming rich, with a deeper, darker tone.

To the vessel was added a small locket of thick grey fur, along with an ivory powder obtained from the ground canine of an alpha male, selected for his bloodline; a descendant of the most ancient species of wolf to ever have stalked the Carpathian valleys.

Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, and still chanting in the long forbidden language, he placed the vessel onto the woodburner. His tone deepening, the chanting grew louder as he collected a glass vial that reflected yellowish candlelight. Holding the vial close he studied the bright, life-giving fluid before closing his eyes.

Speaking words long cast to memory, he began pouring the warm crimson liquid over the contents of the copper vessel. The chanting intensified, before his spirit stirred. Opening his eyes, a wry grin crossed his lips; shadows and colours grew vivid with new eyes. A scurrying reached his ears; beneath the shelving a cockroach stared back at him.

All chanting ceased, and Albemarle looked with admiration at his trembling hands. After all this time, he was still amazed at the way his blood flowed through his veins.

Forty candles located around the basement flickered in unison, momentarily casting a blue light over cold walls as Vizu-el took form before him; giving him the promised power of transformation and prowess.

Closing his eyes once more, Albemarle allowed the force to enter his being.

He had learned not to fight it, but the ferocity of the experience had never once diminished.

Dropping to the cold flagstones, he cried out; a wavering reluctance filled his conscious mind, before he found acceptance, ultimately revelling in the ethereal energy charging his very spirit.

His mortal body expanding, bones elongating, sinew stretching as muscle thickened. He screamed as sharp probing stings gradually rose from the base of his spine, dancing from vertebrae to vertebrae until reaching the base of his skull; with each dancing step his screams grew darker, ultimately deep guttural growls reverberated around the basement. Albemarle’s incisive and spiritually ameliorated mind imagined being stung by some powerful spectral wasp; his face protruded, skull widened and his canines grew out of his gums like sabre’s.

Vizu-el observed as the basement fell silent.

Suddenly a large furred hand slammed onto the tabletop, adding to the deep scores in the oaken surface.

The moon cast a blue glow over the gardens of Abramelin Hall.

His amber eyes saw through the veil. Intensity of audio and olfactory senses informed him of every living thing; all so close, and usually so well hidden. Bright round eyes observed him from the low bough of the aged oak. Ignoring her he moved among the bushes; broad leaves glowing and chromatic. A myriad of scents reached his broad nostrils, and he paused to take in his familiar surroundings. The trees stood silent and still, under a radiant star-filled sky.

Armisanda, protector of the forest realms, sat silently on the lowest bough of the aged oak, prepared to take flight should he try once more to reach her; an old rivalry that could never be resolved.

The pungent scent of his preferred live viand reached him from beyond the garden wall, causing him to salivate.

Ignoring the familiar, he made his way to the edge of the garden; the masonry wall topped with spear-tipped ironworks. He paused to cast a glance back to the old oak; taunting her, before his gaze rose to the tainted lunar disc. She was not yet in her full splendour; but she was, oh, so bright.

Revelling in the cold light, it invigorated and energised his very being.

He fought the urge to call to the mother, remaining silent as the forest.

Beyond the wall they remained ignorant of his presence; rustling, scurrying, scratching. Their scent reached him from everywhere, all at once; overwhelming his senses.

Turning to focus on her heart-shaped face—her eyes resembling twin moons glowing bright—he held an air of admiration. Armisanda—the one who sees all—was the only one who understood his transformation.

He could hear her heartbeat, sense her disapproval. Moments later the old sage blinked at him, leaping from the thick, coarse branch she soared into the shadows; her wings glistening as she passed through a moonbeam.

Alone in the garden, he focused on the world beyond the wall. Sustenance beckoned and in one bound he was over it. The sense of freedom filled him as he ventured deeper into the shaded forest.