Myr: A Final Rose

Prologue i: Time is a Fleeting Thing

It is cold. Like a plague, the darkness of night has crept into every corner of the unkempt graveyard. As though at war, the forces of wind and rain struggle across the heavens, but the graveyard below does not care. After all death doesn't change, can't change; for it is the only constant in this world. It needs nothing to exist, yet at the same time there is something it craves more than anything else. Company. And this small monument of death, forgotten upon the hilltop in the shadow of an edifice even older than the dead, craved a visitor.

A flash of lightning. Suddenly a cloaked figure stands atop the tallest gravestone, eclipsing the full moon above. Motionless, he stares down at the woman draped in his arms. His beloved, his world, his wife. A mechanical ticking begins from within his cloak and it bulges outward. Sharp metal protrusions pierce the cloak in countless places and it is soon ripped to shreds, the sounds of tearing drowned out by the howling wind. Unsheathed, the man’s iron wings unfurl majestically around him like those of a cyborg angel.

Yet his glowing black eyes whisper of unquantifiable sin and his visage belies the truth— this man will not be saving any souls tonight.

Extending to their full span, all the gears and screws and mechanisms glow in unison one last time, before falling apart lifelessly to the ground, clattering upon the slick gravestones below.

With a small shutter, the man joins them, sprawled out in the mud and rocks. A shooting pain smashes through his mind. The pain is unimaginable, complete, all encompassing, and then suddenly gone completely. The drizzle of the rain suddenly eerily contrasts the silence of his mind. He wonders then, although it is more of a fleeting hope, if it could be that his deepest wish had finally come true?

And then he just lays there, limply, for a very long while. And for just a few seconds he contemplates closing his eyes and dying right there.

But then a soft a groan escapes the lips of his beloved, and he is grudgingly on his feet once more. The thick mud has nearly consumed her, totally ruining her pale wedding dress. He fights her back from the mud dutifully and then tires for a moment. But he does not tarry long, for he knows that she will not survive long in her state. With a deep sigh, he begins earnestly out of the graveyard and towards a looming fortress.

At the edge of the graveyard of broken headstones and wilting flowers lies a rusting metal gate, which clatters noisily in the wind. Being slightly ajar, the man easily pushes through with his foot but then in hindsight turns back and struggles to latch it behind them.

A dry voice comes from the stormy darkness behind the man, “Do not bother with the gate, it hasn’t latched properly in decades. And do not bother explaining the situation, sir. I already know why you are here...”

“Oh really, and why would that be?” the man asks suspiciously, turning slowly. He finds himself on the edge of a huge, regal garden. A path leads from the graveyard to a courtyard with a small pond, and from there up to a dark citadel with a domed tower looming above it. The courtyard is perfectly round and lined by exactly thirteen rosebushes, identical in all ways except color. At its center is a fountain topped by a life-sized angel looking up into the sky, her hands reaching out to the heavens. Beyond the courtyard are a dozen unblossomed cherry trees and a dusty shed. The rain picks up but the winds subside.

Sitting alone on a bench looking out across the tranquil lake amidst the fierce storm is a dark man in a black-leather cloak. Without turning to greet the other, he waves his gloved hand absently, a gesture that blends into the blurry night.

“Well obviously you must hurry to attend to your sick mother,” he responds with a slight turn and a sardonic, pale flash of teeth.

"Mother? How old do you think she is? Or I am, for that matter?" the man hurriedly begins examining his face with his free hand. Although his stubble seems thicker than usual, his chiseled features are just as he remembers them.

He then turns his attentions to his wife. Her smooth, pale skin is almost white in the moonlight but her cheekbones are more prominent and a few soft lines have appeared around her cheeks. And before his very eyes, her wavy, ashen hair begins to silver around the edges.

“Cella, my love,” the man whispers softly in her ear. “What is happening to you?”

“Oh?” the other remarks with a second flash of teeth and a gleam in his lavender eyes. “I meant no offense, I only assumed such considering your ages. But, yes… I can see now. What a cruel trick fate has played upon you both.”

“If only there were a way that I could help you, as you are a visitor in my garden,” he muses with his Cheshire cat grin. “Oh wait! There is.”

“You can help me? How?” the man replies, choosing his each word carefully. “And what will it cost me?”

“Ah, as clever as you look,” the cloaked man replies, leaning in such a way that his satin skin and sneering smile can be seen in the moonlight. “They call me Headmaster Gallinger, just as they call you Waltz. And just like you I know many secrets.”

“But of course, the price will be steep,” his smile disappears and is replaced by a piercing stare. “You will be required to stay within the premises of my domain at all times. You will be expected to complete certain duties without a moment’s hesitation. But worst of all, you will be condemned by fate to one day be forgotten by everyone you’ve ever known. Are you still interested?”

“Exactly what kind of duties are we talking about?” the man known as Waltz speaks clearly, for he knows about cost more than anything in the world.

Gallinger smiles again, for he knew this question would follow. “It may not look like it, but this building up ahead is the most acclaimed boarding school of our time, Ecclesiastes. It is protected by powerful, ancient, now lost, magic. Magic strong enough, perhaps, to suppress your wife’s aging curse.”

Waltz looked out beyond the garden and the storm, and tried to imagine the citadel before him as a learning facility.

“The world has changed without you Waltz, and you will need a place to catch back up with it,” the Headmaster smiles. “How does Professor Waltz sound to you?”

Slowly, a smirk reaches Waltz’s face. “I think I can learn to cope.”

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Forward: This is the beginning of my third full-length novel and (I am excited to say) the first I will not be writing as part of the National Novel Writing Event. However, this ultimately means that although I call it a "novel" I haven't actually written all of it yet. As such, I ask that you try to be understanding if I'm occationally a little late on my deadlines. That said, I plan to release a new chapter every Wednesday until it's completion, so I'd be very happy if you checked back in next week! Also, feedback would be much appretiated!