Sanctus Espiritus - Chapter One

1  Fate of the Unfortunate

Lavender scent seeped into my brain.  I twitched feeling stiff all over my body.  Blood cracked dry covering my numerous wounds from the previous night.  Was it actually only last night?  Had I lost my family only a few hours prior?  Soft silk fell over my broken body.  Everything smelled so clean.  Was this heaven?  Surely, it could not be hell.
         "Zane...wake."
         That strange yet familiar voice commanded.  My soul longed to obey him.  I fought to open my eyes.  They felt heavy.  I could only manage slits.  A faint stream of light illuminated my surroundings.  The room I was in was richly clad and smelled still new.  Once again, a dark man stood by my side.  The light provided minute details.  Long thick wavy gold hair fell on broad shoulders.  The man dressed in a black robe and only his eyes blazed brighter than the light.  A wild majestic emerald.
         I groaned and swallowed twice trying to find my voice.  My throat protested.  I knew it was swollen.  Without hesitating, I grabbed tightly to the edge of his robe.  Tears fell from the slits of my eyes.  The pain seemed more than I could bear.
         "I understand Zane." The man placed a hand on my forehead.
         I sighed.  His hand was icy cold calming my fever.  The cold was refreshing especially after all the heat running through my veins.  I smiled almost in a dream.  Kneeling, the man held out a glass of water, tilted my head and helped coax the cool liquid down my scarred throat.  I gasped.  For one moment the cords in my throat seemed to hiss as if the impalpable flames were being quenched.  It felt like heaven, a sanctuary of life.  I gulped sucking in the cool water.  I became obsessed with ridding myself of the pain riddling my body.  The man tried to pull away but I clamped onto his arm with my hands to keep the glass there.
         Please do not stop.  I pled in my mind.
         Out of the corner of my eye I saw the man smile and nod softly.  He came closer and braced my head with his other arm.  Drink then Young One. 
         I looked up startled.  Some water dribbled down my chin before I lapped it up with my tongue.  Had I just heard him say something?  I couldn't recall seeing his lips move but I could swear I heard his voice.  It confused me.  I shook my head knowing that I was still dizzy from the previous events.  That must be the reason.  I am hallucinating.
         I drank the glass nonstop until every precious drop dripped out of the glass.  Immediately, I could feel my throat knitting tender tendons.  Air traveled in smooth waves sliding over unscarred cords.  It was as if the water itself healed me.  That's ridiculous!  I chastised.  But...maybe...if there was water that healed...what other strange things existed in this new place I found myself.  One thing I knew for certain, my life had been given a new beginning.  I could feel a strange mystery.  I just hoped I wasn't going to regret my rebirth into this exotic, intoxicating yet mysterious world.

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Light streamed through the curtains infiltrating a dark sleep.  My head thrummed dully.  It echoed loudly drowning out all thought.  Slowly, I clutched the blankets and twitched my legs.  To my surprise they groaned and shook but they moved.  They were no longer broken.  Straightening my spine, I pulled myself into a sitting position.  Pushing backwards, I leaned against the smooth wooden headboard.  I gazed down at my legs.  They were pale devoid of any scars.  My eyes widened.  In fact, nothing on my legs ever suggested them being broken.  What the hell is going on?
Only the dull pounding in my head gave me evidence of the tormenting events.  Tilting my head upwards, I glanced at the ceiling.  "Why..." I groaned rolling my head this way and that.  "Why torture me?"  I glanced up as if I could see the angels mocking at me.  It angered me.  "Why not let me die?"
"That is not your purpose Zane Carpathia."
I jerked nearly falling out of the bed.  Looking out the window was the man from before.  He had his back toward me.  Had he been here all this time?  How did he know my name even?  I stared at him conspicuously.  Did he have nothing better to do than to stare at half-dead boys?  Why was he doing this?  What reason did he have to keep me alive?  I have never met this man in my life.
Are you ungrateful?  The man just saved your life.  How can you say such things?  You have no right! 
Giving in, I slouched over myself.  "Who are you?" I whispered still unsure of how my voice would sound.  It creaked and grated but it felt repaired enough to speak.  I decided to press forward with my question.  "Why did you save me?"  As soon as those words left my lips I could mentally picture my mother chastising me for my sudden lack of manners.  I quickly rectified the problem, "Thank you."  Still, I felt as if I was saying it to assure myself more than to show gratitude.  I really wasn't grateful.  I wanted more than anything to die and join my family.  But I knew that as long as I kept myself alive, my family would not truly be dead.  Not their memory anyway.
With effortless grace, the man twisted his body towards me.  It both fascinated me and scared me.  I shivered but watched him walk slowly to my bedside.  "My name is Desmond Trueblood." The man introduced inclining his head slightly showing more manners than I possessed.  "I saved you because you were not meant to die."
Not meant to die?!  That was crazy.  How could this man determine who was supposed to die and who wasn't?  I glared at him.  Bitterness swept over me.  What gave him the right?  I wanted to die!  Besides, if he truly could have changed the outcome, why didn't he save my entire family and not just me?  Was it a just fate to thrust on a seventeen-year-old boy?  A wash of anger instantly came over me.  "What makes you god to change time?  I was meant to die!" I whispered through clenched teeth though I really wanted to scream.  I knew my throat was not healed enough for such volume.
Sorrow filtered through the man's eyes.  He smiled sadly as if he knew what I was feeling.  "Zane, listen to me."  I felt a hand on my shoulder and tried hard not to wince.  This man named Desmond must have sensed it because his hand left my shoulder immediately.  "Zane," He began again in a gentle whisper, "I can't decide who lives and who dies...all I can say is that I knew you needed to live.  I can't explain why."
I glared up at him.  Tears burst the floodgates open.  I leaned down placing my head in my hands.  I wept.  I was frightened and overcome with grief.  My family had been slaughtered.  Never, in my life, had I ever thought of the possibilities of losing my family.  Through my tears I could think of nothing else but how I lived and they hadn't.  "You damned my entire family...for me?"  I hissed accusingly.  I really couldn't blame him.  I was probably the only person with a slim chance of surviving.  Still, I could not help but think my family had been slighted.
To my surprise, Desmond's face did not change.  He peered down at me with loving eyes almost like a father would a child.  His voice remained cool and level.  It irked me hearing his composure.  "I had no power to save them.  They were already dead, Zane, you must understand.  Your father would have-"
"My father is dead!" I snarled feeling hurt about him mentioning my father.  "Clearly he is not here to defend you."  I could not believe this man.  He spoke as if he personally knew my father.  But that was stupid.  I had never seen Desmond in my life before the massacre.  Father would never hide his friends from his family.  I knew them all.
Desmond shook his head.  "Zane..." He sighed.  "...bitterness is not going to bring your family back to life."
It played on my nerves that he did not flinch from my comment.  My soul hurt.  I knew he was right but...nothing could make me forget.  Could anyone forget such a terrible event?  The agony refused to fade.  The images were forever burned into my head.  I sunk, laying my throbbing head in my shaking hands again.  My shoulders quivered as I felt a heavy burdening weight lay across them.  I cried into my palms.  I should not have lived.
"Why....why couldn't I have gone with them?" I whimpered.  Guilt washed over me.  It wasn't fair.
"You tell me Zane Carpathia."  Desmond whispered gently.  "After all, you were the one who said yes."
My breath caught in my throat.  I lifted my head gazing into Desmond's green pools.  He was right.  I did plea for life.  I did it subconsciously because I was half-dead that night.  Does my subconscious know something I do not?  Or had I been so scared of death that I would accept the coward's way out?
"Living is not cowardice."  Desmond said as if reading my mind.
Could he read my mind?  I shook my head and glanced out the window.  That is impossible.  I narrowed my gaze.  Piercing beams blinded me until I averted my eyes to the dark wall.  My body shook again.  So now what?  I still did not know why I had lived other than I had chosen to.  Rage boiled inside me.  I thought about my selfishness but mostly, I thought about the man who had been responsible for slaughtering my family.  My eyes widened.  Realization hit me.  That's why I was spared.  I had to live...to kill him.
I glanced up into Desmond's calming eyes.  "So...where do I go from here?"
"You will live here...however it is not free."  Desmond stood up and walked to the door.  "When you are well again you will meet with Gretchen, my Head Servant, and begin your work."  He closed the door behind him leaving me alone.
Work?!  Head Servant!  Did he mean for me to work for him as a servant?  I looked down at my hands.  New raw welts raged across my palms.  The pain hurt so badly.  I found myself chewing on my lip fighting back tears.  If these tiny wounds hurt so badly what would it feel like if I did hard labor?  I hoped for my sake I never got better.

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         It took all the power in my being to take my eyes off Gretchen's hideous, hairy mole.  Worse yet, it appeared to be the only appealing feature she had.  She was neither pretty nor handsome with her burly build, gnarly dirt brown hair and yellowing teeth.  She reminded me of the fat cook you would see in old-fashioned medieval movies.  I swallowed hard trying not to imagine how easy she could snap my own gaunt frame with those meaty mitts for hands.
         "Are you listening boy?!"
         I felt her hand connect to my head giving me a smart blow just above my cheekbone.  The blow almost threw me to the floor but I retained my balance.  I straightened up surprised that she hit me in the first place and outraged.  Seeing my frightened expression must have pleased her because her lips curled into a tight smile.
         "Good.  A sharp crack always instills fear into a new servant.  Especially one who has been pampered his entire life."  Gretchen laughed spewing spittle into the air.
         "It was not pampered!"  I snarled before considering my words.  She hit me again.  This time she caught me off guard shucking my legs out from under me.  I sprawled onto the floor on my stomach.  The air escaped my lungs and I hissed at the pain.
         "Stay down slave!"  I heard Gretchen howl as I struggled to rise.
         Lowering myself immediately, I waited.  My body shook.  I didn't want to admit it but I was afraid of her.  No woman had ever spoken to me in harsh tones as these before.  I really didn't know how to react.  I gulped.  I could feel her eyes boring down on me.  I felt humiliated sunk beneath that of a dog.  Rage enveloped me.  Who did she think she was?  I growled deeply praying she could not hear me. 
         "Now..."  Gretchen grunted.  "Jonathan!  Get over here and show our new skut around the manor."
         I twisted my body slightly to see who this Jonathan was.  Out of the corner of my eyes just barely out of my blind spot, I saw a young man walk in.  He was scrawny with clothing twice his side and disheveled black hair.  As he walked in he stared up at Gretchen and then down at me.  I wrinkled my nose.  He smelled awful and he was so drably dressed that he looked more like a dog than I did.  What type of work make these people look so ragged?
         A hand landed softly on my back and a soft voice whispered, "Come, let's get you out of here."
         With Jonathan's help, I found my strength and struggled to my feet.  Looking down I saw where a small pool of blood remained where I had fallen.  Pain seared up my legs and I knew that some of my old wounds had broken open from that fall.  Jonathan placed my arms over his shoulder and helped me walk out of the room, or rather limp out.  I stared at him out at the corner of my eye confused.  How could this man be so strong?  I should have knocked him down with my muscled bulk.  After all, I used to weight lift so I knew I could easily have overpowered him.  Yet, Jonathan showed no sign of being burdened.  It was impressive.
         "My name is Jonathan Cayne by the way."  He spoke gruffly breaking the thick silence between us.
         "Zane Carpathia."  I huffed trying hard to concentrate on walking.  Really, I needed to gain some strength back.
         We stopped suddenly.  Confused, I looked up to see Jonathan staring down at me with a mixture of horror and awe.  He would have had to stare up at me if I wasn't hunched over.  Really, I was taller than him.  No matter how he stared at me, it was unnerving.  My body shook for reasons I did not understand.  I reeled away, looking down at the floor.  His amber gaze unsettled me.
         "What?" I asked incredulously.
         Jonathan shook his head.  "Nothing."  Grabbing my arm as if I were a china doll, he pulled me into a room.  It was dark reminding me of a closet.  He shut the door briskly behind us and turned around.  Even in the darkness I could see his face had paled.  "It is not safe here for you Zane Carpathia.  The Deceiver is near, he seeks to kill you."
         Raising my brow, I looked confused at him.  What did he mean?  Who was this Deceiver and why was I not safe?  Gritting my teeth, I cut out all words that threatened to surface.  I was afraid of what I didn't know but the fear wouldn't cease.  I look up at Jonathan.  He smiled sorrowfully almost the same type of smile Desmond gave me.  Slowly he opened the door and backed into the hall.  Grabbing me again, he started to walk.  No words were uttered as we walked throughout the hallways until we entered a spacious room.
         "This section is the West Wing, Master Desmond's quarters."  Jonathan waved his hand throughout the room.  His gazed darkened and he glared seriously at me.  "You are not to enter this room unless instructed by Master Desmond himself either through his own lips or through Mistress Gretchen's."
         I nodded.  Seeing me nod, Jonathan quickly shuffled me from the West Wing to another room after another.  After the first two stops, I found I had regained my strength.  I straightened up and stopped leaning against the short, lanky man.  Walking through the manor I looked in awe at all the sights.  It reminded me more of a drafty old castle than a modern house.  Every hall was dark and dreary with black velvet curtains draped over every window and black velvet carpets underfoot.  Along every wall painted portraits hung.  The people wore medieval clothing in silks and furs.  They were impressive in their stiff elegant poses.  However, it was curious to see that their paint looked completely original and brilliant as if painted yesterday.  Their frames, though, could have used a healthy portion of polish but there was no wear on the paintings themselves.  How can that be possible?
         At times I caught Jonathan staring at me.  It was very eerie and it made me shift uncomfortably.  I hope he isn't gay...I'm not like that.  Looking at him, I sighed irritable.  Sometimes I wished I knew what he was thinking every time he glanced at me.  However, every time I glanced over at him, he moved his eyes quickly to the floor or straight ahead.    This made my heart drum in my ribcage, an unsteady beat.  Being in this place was still too much shock for me.  It had all come too fast.  I really wanted to be home in my own cozy bed.  Stop that Zane!  You cannot go back to that life.  It no longer exists.  I looked around and frowned.  This life was mine now.

         When we came into the ballroom, Jonathan turned to me.  Despite his plastered on smile, a funny look lingered in his eyes.  "Well, you have seen the manor.  Remember it is your duty to make sure the manor stays spotless and everything asked of you is performed efficiently and effectively."  His gaze hardened.  "The most important thing is to do your task without word.  Do not talk back and do not ask for an explanation.  Just do what you are told."  He smiled slightly.  "Good luck Zane Carpathia."  The strange way he whispered my name caused my body to shake again.  I stretched out my arm trying to grasp his overly large tunic.  I wanted to ask why.  I wanted answers.  But before I could do anything to gain his attention again, Jonathan left the room.
         For about ten minutes I stood there in the open ballroom.  No further instructions were given to me so I really didn't know what else to do.  Moving my head around and twisting my body, I gazed around the room.  This seemed like the best time to take in the splendor.  It was lavishly decorated.  White marble floors and walls constructed the majesty of the room.  Tapestries draped over the walls in rich reds and blacks, a snake coiled around a flat palm hand, both were embroidered gold.  They were odd.  No where in any textbook had I ever seen a tapestry like that.  Was this the Trueblood Clan's crest?  Where did Desmond come from?
         Shaking my head I lowered my gaze to the portrait beneath it.  Slowly I walked over to it.  My eyes widened.  Desmond Trueblood, my new Master, stared back at me in that portrait.  But it couldn't be!  The man in the picture had been painted in the same renaissance type clothing as the other portraits.  My eyes caught on the plaque at the bottom.  It was encased in gold.  I read it and then reread it.

Desmond Trueblood
B. 2996 B.C - Present
Purest of Us All

         I couldn't see it but I knew that my face had paled.  My head swam and I kneeled to catch my bearings.  There must have been a mistake.  If what that plaque had said was true, my Master was over five thousand years old!
         "Zane!  Here!  Now!"
         Whirling around, I saw Gretchen curling her sausage-sized finger towards her.  I wanted to ask her about the picture but Jonathan's words hammered through me.  Without word...  Getting to my feet, I walked proudly to her.  Why should I cower to her?
         "You have guts boy!" Gretchen sneered.
         I found myself flinching despite how I was determined not to cower.  Apparently her blow had affected me more than I had initially realized.  I waited for another blow but nothing came.  Opening my squinted eyes, I saw she had her back to me and was doing the same gesture to something in the shadows she had done to me prior.  The shadows shuffled and distorted until they began separating.  More servants stepped into the room out of nowhere.  They were different in shape and size but they were all grimy, as if they had been through hell.  I didn't want to be in their hell.  I twisted my eyes trying to see their features better.  I couldn't tell what emotion they displayed but none seemed pleasant.
         "These are the rest of the staff."  Gretchen hissed, a thin smile pursed on her lips.  "Their names are not important just obey their every order."
         "Why?"  I asked without thinking.
         Gretchen balled up her fists and placed them on her meaty hips.  She belted out a raucous laugh, which the servants echoed.  Their laughter mounted to deafening tones.  When she waved her hand, everyone fell instantly silent.  To me they were like robots always following their Maker.  Bringing my attention back to Gretchen I puffed out my chest trying to appear formidable.  She took a step forward and narrowed her eyes.  "Because you are lower than they."
         I opened my mouth to protest but clamped it shut before any words could escape.  I was lower?!  If anything I should have been higher!  After all my father was...but I was no longer part of that life.  That Zane Carpathia was dead.  He died when his family perished.
         I sighed.  My shoulders slumped.  I was defeated.  Gretchen's smile grew to a cruel grin.  She knew as well as I had that my harsh reality had sunk in.  And she reveled in my downfall.
         "I am glad that you have come to terms with your new life, Zane Carpathia." She cooed poisonously.  I wanted to wipe that grin right off her fat face.  She purred like a well-fed cat.  "Now...tonight you will obey my Second-In-Command, Jonathan Cayne." Whirling around, she glared at the other servants and snapped her fingers.  "The rest of you back to work!"
         She smiled wickedly at me once more than with a sweep of her tattered fading blue frock, Gretchen ushered all but Jonathan out of the ballroom.  I was so relieved that Jonathan was my first boss.  He seemed like a nice enough man.  Smiling, I took a step forward looking down at Jonathan.  A hard smack sent me sprawling onto the floor.  This one was harder and with more force than Gretchen's.  It left my head ringing and I knew I would have a bruise.  What happened?  Why had I just been smacked to the ground and by Jonathan no less?  Wasn't he my friend?
         "Do not look at your betters, boy!"  Jonathan snarled glaring daggers at me.
         Sitting up, I nursed my head a bit.  "But...why..."
         "Silence!" He threw a practically shredded rag at me and placed a bucket down at my feet.  "Now you filthy slave, I want this floor spotless.  You have the rest of the night to perform this task.  Anything less than perfect will land you with a withholding for your breakfast."  Turning briskly on his heels, Jonathan walked out closing the doors behind him.
         I stared at his retreating back in disbelief and then at the bucket.  What the hell just happened?  It seemed too surreal that that guy was the same guy who helped me out of Gretchen's room earlier.  I stared at the bucket again, at the water sloshing inside it.  It was so full of soapy water that it even sloshed over the rim of the bucket.  I guess I better get this done as quickly as possible.  Snatching the rag from the ground, I plunged it and my hand into the bucket.
         "Ouch!"  I yanked my hand out of the warm water.  Automatically it glared back at me an angry red and stung like a thousand bees.  New welts were forming along the broken skin and I could see a thin trickle of blood starting to form.  My stomach did flips.  The smell was acrid.  I knew the substance from my mother's cleaning closet.  She used to mix it together with milder soap just to get a good effect.  This is lye!
         My eyes glazed over with anger.  I wanted to march out and give Jonathan a piece of my mind.  How dare he think that I was going to do this!  This was servants' work!  I got to my feet, stomped furiously to the doors and threw them open.  I was met with a swift kick to the gut and sent sprawling across the ballroom floor.
         "I do not suppose you have finished the job yet!"  Jonathan growled slamming the doors.
         I lay there stunned.  Confusion warped my brain forcing my body to move on its own.  Numbly I remember picking the rag back up and washing in a circle.

         By the time I was halfway done, my conscious took over.  Liquid soaked my cheeks and neck.  I reached up and swiped the liquid away.  Tears?  Had I been crying this entire time?  Why?
         Looking down, I noticed my hands and nearly screamed.  My skin bubbled and peeled back exposing raw gaping wounds.  Blood trickled down my wrists.  I was surprised that somehow the water seemed clean regardless of the blood.  I don't know what hurt worse...the actual pain or just the fact that my hands looked like this.  Have I been working with my hands like this the entire time?  Raising my hand to my face, I tried to close it.  Pain shot through me but my palm refused to close.  I decided against forcing it.  It hurt too much.
         The large grandfather clock in the corner chimed midnight.  I jumped almost knocking the bucket of lye onto the floor.  Half the night had already passed.  I still had half the room to complete.  Glancing down at my bloody hands, I grimaced thinking about how they would look come morning but I knew it had to be finished.  Gritting my teeth, I plunged them into the lye regardless of the pain.  My skin hissed and I had to wrinkle my nose to avoid taking in the fumes of burning skin and lye.  I had no choice but to continue, to persevere.  I knew without a doubt, I was now a slave, an unfortunate.

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         Four in the morning, I shuffled to my new quarters.  I opened the door.  It creaked so loudly my heart jumped.  The room was about the size of a walk-in closet with a grimy broken cot thrown in the cobwebbed corner.  The cot itself took up three-fourths of the room.  One small musty window on the far wall provided the only light.  I closed the door behind me.  Sneering, I walked over to the window and peered out.  The moon was full expending her light on my face.  She was beautiful.  How come I had never noticed her before?  Thinking back, I remembered all the times I took the moon for granted and relented.  I made a pact with the moon that night.  From now on, I decided, the moon was the only friend I had.
         Walking towards the broken cot, I silently bid the moon goodnight.