Ruben's Reliquary | S&S Monthly Short Fiction Writing Invitational : September

Heavy rains and saturated grounds surrounded the three-story manor. The estate and its lavish, meticulously manicured gardens stood for more than two centuries. Its family was elusive. Intricately carved gargoyles displaying unleashed strength protected the manor's occupants. They would be called upon once more. Suddenly, flashes of electrical pulses settled near the fence at their feet. The latch exploded. The gate creaked, slowly opening inward.

Identical carriages, customized to individual tastes and transporting descendants of the manor, arrived.

The engraved, gold carriage arrived promptly. The eldest grandson, Daniel St. Marquette, a red-haired, short but stout cloaked gentleman who, even in his mid-thirties dared not decline the urgent invitation, sat reading the gazette.

Daniel's wife, Rosalique, of equal statue, with shoulder-length brown tresses, sat opposite. A silent scowl aimed at the back of the tabloid.

They waited impatiently. Henrique rushed to deposit the steps and hurriedly opened the gold-studded door.

Aided by Henrique, they stepped from the carriage. Sensing Daniel's presence, a howling, low then intensifying, pierced through the woods behind the manor. Her tightened grip on his arm amused him.

"I'm sure, my dear, nothing in this century would dare rise up against you!" He turned toward her. She cast off his disdain look and menacing thoughts with a soft incantation.

In the distance, Daniel sensed clothed animals, standing nearly his height with red piercing eyes, waiting cautiously. Other predators emerged from the bush. They paused as if recognition wasn't immediate. Daniel nodded, then cringed. His back itched uncontrollably as though a previous wound hadn't yet healed.

Henrique repositioned himself behind his master. His hands shook. His heart raced. He was handsomely paid, but relieved the need for his services was infrequent. Shaking his head, he surmised the weekend would be interesting.

Zachary St. Marquette, of average build with a long black beard, secured with the family's insignia, was the second to arrive. He stepped from his carriage, surveying the estate. Henrique shook hands and welcomed his return. Familiar yet foreign. Zachary took in the unforgiving stench of the manor. Can you love and hate your heritage in the same thought?

Unwed, his pulse surged at the acknowledgement. He could feel the boiling waters rise up. The displeasure from the elders he knew was coming frightened him. He'd seen beforehand his remaining choices among the coven.

His realization of their kind was distasteful; mainly the sacrificial rituals. He wanted no part of Rosalique's family.

However, disobedience wasn't tolerated. His mother's untimely demise after bearing four sons was proof. In Zachary's recollection, his father stood by idly. Whether it was by choice or decree, Zachary wasn't privy to the decision. Her death still ached. To return there only intensified the deep depression that followed.

If only he could break free, he thought.

Oliver St. Marquette, a tall, thin young man, exited his carriage. The fresh aroma of rain overshadowed the stench and filled his nostrils. Life as it was meant to be lived..outdoors.

The third son, he didn't relish the refinement enjoyed by the aristocracy. The simpler, the better was his philosophy.

As his boot separated the soil, the sky opened up with dark rays penetrating the clouds.

Closing his eyes, he commanded heavy rains cease and fog dissipate. However, remembering his brother Ruben still hadn't arrived, he revoked his order. Smirking, he continued toward the manor unsoaked.

He was happy with his life situation. He'd long settled the question of an arranged relationship. He'd do his duty as to the summons. However, his tastes lie elsewhere.

Henrique's brother, Harry, smiled at the easiness in which Oliver's temperament defied the surroundings. His duty finished there, he rushed to the servants' entrance with the last step in hand.

Ruben St. Marquette, swung open the door. Within seconds, he stepped from his carriage. Thigh-high boots protecting expensive trousers warded off huge droplets.

Harry? Why he endured inept staff was a source of bewilderment among the manor. Ruben knew their hearts; their thoughts; and, he sympathized with their plight.

Like a bothersome insect, he brushed aside gossip as nothing worthy of his attention.

The youngest son, he was most fierce in words and action. He knew the minds of his ancestors. In fact, he knew the minds of men. He relished in both.

He strode across the field and entered the manor from the rear. Let them wait a bit longer, he thought.

Freshened after the journey, they convened in the large hall to dine.

To the right off the great hall, Sir Drukollan Marquette, their grandfather, stood poised in uniform in the portrait lining the entrance to the sitting room. His son and heir, their father Draken Marquette, stood next to him. In the shadows, their piercing red stares behind empty eyes sent chills racing through you body the staff frequently lamented.

That weekend, servants presented a lavish spread for the menu. They did so with their own humble tables in mind.

"No coven maiden whetted your appetite yet! One must leave himself open to exotic tastes, Zachary." Smiling, Daniel sipped his wine.

If you're so taken with blood thirst, ask father to allow you a second." Zachary glanced across the table, his gaze settling on Rosalique.

She returned the stare. "You could do worse." Zachary's attempt at condemnation enraged Rosalique, but she merely laughed cautiously after responding. He'll realize my power soon enough, she thought. She'd already received permission to choose for him. Her remaining brothers-in-law refused to discuss their marital situations.

Suddenly, Henrique interrupted the heated conversation.

Next to each brother, he laid a gold-sealed envelope. "Gather at the edge of the moat tonight at the appropriate time" read each letter signed by both ancestors.

Without further discussion, they pocketed the letter, then headed to their favorite solar.

Four hours later, the heavy black brocade curtains swayed. Sir Drukollan eased effortlessly toward Ruben's bed. Placing his left hand on his grandson's temple, he poured into one side, then extracted from the other the writings inside the reliquary. Silent and sweating, thrashing his head sideways, Ruben murmured the words received. As if unable to restrain himself, he rose, dressed shirtless, then proceeded, lantern in hand, down the back stairway toward the family graveyard.

In the same ritual, Sir Drukollan then invaded the sleep of his remaining grandsons.

Satisfied, he disappeared.

The brothers left no impressions as they traipsed through the gardens, joining Ruben behind the manor at the rusty gate. Already unlocked, their ancestors stood inside the entrance.

It was a dark, isolated place. However, the family crest atop each reliquary burned crimson, infused with a yellowish blue, sufficient to provide the lighted passage.

Sir Drukollan repeated the incantation. His blazing Civil War sword steered toward Ruben.

Designated the chosen one, Ruben stepped forward.

With his ancestors, he entered his own dedicated reliquary engraved with his name. His brothers followed.

"Bare yourselves and kneel." Draken stepped forward.

As if in a stupor, each brother knelt and extended their hands. Suddenly, four sets of chains, ablaze with different markings, latched onto their wrists and lurched them forward against the wall.

"It's time." Sir Drukollan's sword obeyed his spoken words as it traced their backs with fiery symbols of dominions charged to them. They screamed, then fainted as flesh met burning steel.

They woke with renewed powers.

Daniel's Unicorn would continue his dominion over animals; Oliver's Ouroboros, over air; Zachary's Inverted Triangle, over water.

But it was to Ruben, the chosen one, highest priority was given. The Anhk would continue over the mind of men.

The next morning before daybreak, Ruben glanced over his shoulder. The manor stood remote and haunting, covered in vines and moss. No manicured grounds, no ornate carriages, no servants.

He held onto his cane, now missing its family-crested handle. Applying pressure, the stick broke causing him to stumble. His shoulder-length gray hair blew in the wind.

His gait was slow. However, he managed to navigate his way across the moat, careful not to careen into the black depths below. The murky water cast an eerie mahogany glow. Large empty sockets attached to a broken head stared back. Even the moon wouldn't accommodate his failing eyesight.

Ruben stepped into the portal.

There's no place like home, he mused. He flipped on the magnetic sensor viewer. Tapping four digits, the screens lit up simultaneously.

"Wasn't that an enjoyable weekend, chaps?" Together, they laughed.

"See you in five, Ruben. Daniel laughed. "Until then, mind everyone's business, except ours!" Daniel pictured Ruben's smile. Enough of the past. He switched his monitor and directed the locator beacon pinpoint his adoring wife.

Ruben reached into his pocket momentarily expecting to retrieve his fob watch. The digital time counter read: 23:59; Year 2199.

"Lieutenant Zaphyra, an appointment, please."

"Sir, when?" His trusted advisor waited.

Ruben's reliquary materialized. He smiled, then responded: "23:59; Year 2204."