The old book, cover tattered and bent at the corners, lay facing up at Ambrose from the old table. Table and book were out of place in the dank cavern; a taste of class in a rocky, murky shell of nothingness. Ambrose sat at the head of the table, wrapped in a large, antiquated chair with ornate sweeping and coiling carvings on the arm-rests. His long, bony fingers were steeped in front of him and his dark, veiled eyes were framed by the long black hair that fell about his shoulders. Ambrose's normally solid and devious features were now masked with cracks of doubt cutting through the self-confidence. The Covenant sibling was pondering something he had seen earlier in the night, something that troubled the tall and foreboding Ambrose. Ambrose reached down and picked up the pen resting beside the book, and twirled it like a baton between his fingers, watching it dance around and over his knuckles. Next he opened the book and flipped past hundreds of pages of undated writing, words penned by Ambrose's own hand through his life.

When Ambrose was just a boy, his father Joseph gave him the journal as a way to hopefully curb the lad's trouble-making. A vein hope that putting words to paper might soothe the tumultuous soul trapped beneath the skin. Contentious and arrogant, Ambrose railed against his father's attempts, fighting against Joseph's need to control the wild urgings of boy that unbeknowest to all was nurtured fostered by the King. Yet, through no explanation Ambrose could fathom, he continued writing. A compulsive need buried deep in his psyche pulled at Ambrose to spill thoughts upon page. He found a blank page and let the pen's tip hover over the page as his thoughts congealed while the silence around him waited with never-ending patience. Finally, he began writing, starting with only the simplest of questions. "Why does Jeremiah remain?"

Ambrose sat back and pondered the words. It had actually been something that Ambrose wondered about for quite some time along with how the elder brother still lived. He had a sickness, that much was obvious and it drained his body and soul of life so much so that it appeared that Jeremiah shriveled more and more each day on an ever hastening march toward the abyss. And unlike the rest of the siblings: the twins Bethany and Aaron, Lizabeth and himself, Jeremiah had somehow escaped the family's curse and withered in his own dire health. So why stay? Why not move to the city, Belfast maybe, or at the very least the small town up the road from the estate where he could live out the rest of his days in relative peace, free of the haunting that closed off the mansion from sanity. Because, as Ambrose already knew, he wouldn't be welcome. The family was known amongst the people in the town and the area and because of the estate's location near the strange and frightening standing stones. For this the family was feared and rightly so Ambrose thought. So why? Ambrose tapped the tip of the pen against the paper before writing again.

"Jeremiah has no place here at the manor. Because of his state he is an outcast amongst the heathen, and yet he remains and he spends a suspicious amount of time in father's library, plying over the books not pilfered by Bethany. I can't imagine there is anything remaining of any use, but every night now for months I can not count he returns there, searching for something, fingering the titles of these books with palsied hands." "And now this interloper. What is his purpose? A day ago, my spies alerted me to this man Patrick Galloway making for the estate at my brother's request. I know only that they are friends from the war, but aside from this I know nothing of him. I've considered speaking to my brother, but that could endanger my plans set so long ago so I must wait and remain patient; something I admit I sorely lack. With any luck my feral sister Lizabeth and those mangy creatures that follow about her heals will take care of my problems. Perhaps even Aaron? But no. His spirit is deranged and held to leash like a whipped dog." "Still I must keep a wary eye on this stranger while at the same time try and surmise Jeremiah's true purpose for remaining at the manor, especially after what I have witnessed this night." Ambrose leaned forward and stared into the flames of the hearth bored into the rock opposite him. Just what had he seen? Around midnight Ambrose had left the caves of the Pirate's Cove for two separate destinations. The first was the isle of the standing stones to speak with that hag left behind by his sister Bethany to guard against the theft of secret magics buried there. The witch worked with Ambrose on occasion, scrying the future for him. He surmised Bethany was spying on him along with the others, but Ambrose didn't much care, though the day would come when she would have to be dealt with. Of all the cursed siblings, Bethany was by far the most dangerous; an obvious threat to his own conceived notions of future grandeur and Ambrose knew it. Ambrose certainly did not trust his sister nor any of her minions, but the handmaiden had proven far more valuable than the Trisanti witch currently sharing his bed so he continued to dance with the devil of risk.

This night, however, the handmaiden shooed him away like some pesky insect, saying she was busy and had not the time for him. Ambrose would have dealt with the wretch in his own way, but in truth he feared her just a little and that led back to his fear of his sister so he left the isle carefully simmering under the surface and made for the manor. At the time, Ambrose couldn't explain why the need to return to the manor, but he felt it nonetheless. Ambrose entered through a coarsely hewed and secret tunnel leading into the manor's wine cellar and then up some connecting stairs to the kitchen. A fire was burning but the kitchen staff was gone, so he swiftly cut through the kitchen and into another hallway that eventually led him into the bowels of the house. A quick walk brought Ambrose into the large and central hall of the house. A large staircase climbed then split at a large stained-glass window to lead further up to a walkway on the second floor that wrapped as a halo around the first floor. Ambrose climbed the stairs, running his hand along the cracked varnish of the railing with its tarnished brass inlay. He took the left branch, followed the walkway around and entered through the open first of three doors he came to that led into the east wing of the mansion. He entered with haste and almost paid for it. A maid was in the crook of a right-hand turn of the hall, attending to some sickly looking plants on a small table. Ambrose held his breath and moved back in the shadows of the dimly-lit hall as far as he could until the maid made one final adjustment in how the flowers sat in the vase and then moved off down the hall. He listened until he heard a knock on a door then the squeaky sound of old hinges swinging the door open. There was hushed conversation and then the door closed again. Footsteps carried the maid through another set of doors that closed with a loud bang.

Ambrose moved down the hallway, turning when he was forced and came to three doors, the biggest a set of double doors, doors he faced were lifted on raised steps. He paid little attention to those doors or the door to the right as he faced them. Only the left door drew his attentions and he went to it. Ambrose very quietly put an ear to the door and listened. From inside he could hear the faint crackle of a fire but little else, though he guessed by the muffled words that Jeremiah was inside. Ambrose was about to leave when he heard movement from inside, followed by the sound of footsteps accompanied by a third noise that sounded like wood on wood. A cane. The sounds of walking moved towards the door so Ambrose quickly ducked across the hall and into the opposite room, closing it swiftly but quietly behind him. The doors to Jeremiah's quarters opened then closed followed by the sound of a key turning the lock. Ambrose opened the door again and peaked through the crack, just in time to see Jeremiah disappear around the corner. Ambrose slipped out and followed quietly, catching glimpses of his brother moving around each corner like a ghost. Jeremiah, with Ambrose lagging behind, moved out into the main hall and went down the stairs leaving through double doors that led into the west wing. Confused, Ambrose continued following, losing Jeremiah at one point before picking up his trail once again leading out to a small patio and stairs leading down to an inner courtyard. Ambrose hid in the shadow's of the patio and watched Jeremiah limp across the courtyard. An eerie, flickering light danced in the window of a structure built onto the main of the house caught Ambrose's attention. Aaron's studio and the insane specter was at home, but Jeremiah paid it little notice as he crossed the decayed inner courtyard, a testament Ambrose admitted. His brother had grown accustomed to the macabre that infected the manor like a cancer.

Ambrose leapt over the side, avoiding the stairs and padded softly across the grounds. Thunder rolled in the distance; a threat issued by an oncoming storm and as if to punctuate things, a curtain of lightening raked across the clouds opening up the courtyard to sudden daylight. Ambrose froze and suddenly felt as if he were a child, snooping on his older brother. The thought sickened him because Ambrose didn't sneak anywhere. But after another moment the fiery Ambrose realized that quiet observation would be more prudent here and so, when the light of the lightening faded, Ambrose followed again. This felt too important to simply let lie. At first Ambrose thought Jeremiah made for the stables which was odd. Nothing there except a dead and rotting mule; the remains of a meal for one of Lizabeth's hounds. Or maybe Lizabeth herself, Ambrose thought with an inward, derisive chuckle. But just when he reached the stables, Jeremiah turned and moved away from them, toward the strange tower that anchored the manor. Ambrose hated the tower for to him it was even more unnatural than himself, but curiosity was killing him and so he continued. Jeremiah reached the doors and fumbled for some keys. He inserted a key, turned the lock and opened the doors, disappearing into the gaping maw of the tower. Ambrose faced the beckoning doors from about midway across the courtyard and for the first time was uncertain on how to proceed. Ambrose knew he should follow him closer and find out what Jeremiah was up to, but he found he was unable to bring himself to move. At that moment though, after such a short time in the tower, Jeremiah staggered out, falling against the side of the tower. Ambrose quickly sprinted to the wall of the manor and hid within the murk, watching Jeremiah stagger out into the courtyard. It was an agonizingly long time, but eventually Jeremiah made his way back across the courtyard, up the stairs and into the house.

Ambrose turned back to the tower, then the door into the manor and then to Aaron's window half expecting the male twin to be watching him. Not sure how he really felt about that disturbing thought. His mind made up, Ambrose separated himself from the wall of the house and treaded carefully to the doors of the tower and was taken aback. Jeremiah had not even so much as gave the doors a passing glance when stumbled from the doors. He didn't close them and didn't lock them again, yet strangely they were now closed. Ambrose tested the door and found it locked again. He frowned, studied the door and then look up the height of the tower. His brow knitted. Was there a light coming from the tower? It was light and tinged pink, but yes there had most definitely been a light emanating from the crown of the tower. Frowning further, Ambrose was about to turn and leave when another flash of lightening lit the courtyard. Something at his feet flared briefly in the storm's lightshow and then faded. Ambrose crouched down and picked up the object he found. It was a medallion of some sort, dusted by the dirt it displaced about the door. He blew on it and cleared the dirt away to reveal the medallion, a sigil really. Ambrose shuddered because he recognized the sigil for it was the same image carved into the largest of the standing stones. Ambrose, his thoughts returning from earlier, began writing again.

"So my brother is not so weak after all; not as weak as Bethany seems to think at any rate. I can only conclude that he is onto us and is trying to stop the curse he alone brought upon us; damn him for it. Perhaps this friend of his, this Patrick Galloway, is coming to help put an end to all of this madness. I laugh at his attempts because it is far too late now. Things are coming to a conclusion and soon this world will not be the same." Ambrose thought about this Galloway for a moment and seemed to recall something he heard Jeremiah say once to a servant. "Patrick, I hope, will be here soon," he had said. "He is an old, dear friend, here on an urgent favor so treat him as you would treat me. I will need his talents to hopefully put this manor at peace." This Galloway WAS a man of talents it seemed, Ambrose thought and if so then he is not to be taken lightly. Ambrose learned a long time ago, not to take people lightly. "But why wait so long? "Ambrose wrote in the journal, the thought coming of a sudden to him as he pondered his own course in these unraveling events. "Why wait so long to put right such a blight he himself put into motion so long ago? Father tried unsuccessfully, so perhaps Jeremiah simply waited for the right time when all was prepared. But no! That is not right. Something else sits at the center of my brother's plans. He has always been a man of resource. Galloway I fear will be a thorn by the time this is all done. I must be ready. I cannot trust Lizabeth and her feral ramblings to end things, nor Aaron or Bethany, even if I did know where she has disappeared to." "No, I will not leave my fate in the hands of the King even as much as my siblings are so prepared to do. I will chart my own course and assure my own safety. I must be prepared to act against Jeremiah and kill him while he is so weak and while Galloway is still distanced from the manor."

Ambrose stared at the words and felt a twinge in his stomach. A knot growing from some recess of his mind, and though he was loathe to admit it, Ambrose was frightened. Somewhere, he knew he would not act on these written threats. Perhaps it was the King, or some side of him he did not want to admit existed. Rather, Ambrose knew he would sit and wait and watch. He finally concluded that to act suddenly like this, without fully knowing what Jeremiah was doing in the tower, even for such a short time, would be irrational and dangerous. Additionally he had to know exactly what Galloway was up to. This was difficult for Ambrose, for by nature he was impatient, but it had to be done. A man came down then, a Trisanti running from a tunnel askew from where Ambrose sat. "What is it?" Ambrose growled. "This Galloway, he does come now to the front gate of the manor," the Trisanti said. Ambrose looked up, staring the man hard in the eye. The man shrunk under the gaze, but continued, "He carries a great many weapons with him and has a strange stone about his neck and curse me if it does not glow." Ambrose stood, and grabbed the man by the shirt color, lifting him while simultaneously pulling him closer. "Are you sure?" he rasped. "I am," the Trisanti said, stuttering and tripping over the words.

Ambrose let the man go. The Trisanti for his part, realizing he was no longer wanted hurried from the cavern, leaving Ambrose once again to himself. Ambrose immediately began to write hurriedly. "As a hurricane opens its eye to the ocean, so does my fortune it would seem. This Galloway brings with him the Stone of the Gel'zabar, something I have searched out for many a long years. With that stone, my plans can come to fruition so now I must let this Galloway come and if luck holds I can kill two birds with one stone." Ambrose sat back with a malevolent grin splitting his ace. His eyes sparkled with deep seeded evil. He let out a loud whistle that echoed through the chamber and halls and then pulled out a sheaf of paper; beginning by writing: "Beware my Trisanti this Galloway...." As he wrote another Trisanti hurried from yet another cave next to the fire. He stood beside the table waiting until finally, Ambrose handed him the piece of paper. "Get this to Liam and the rest. Do not waste time." The man took the paper and left, leaving Ambrose to one final thought and that thought took him back to his words on the hurricane. "The hurricane's eye always passes," he murmured, loosing himself to dark thoughts and the sounds of the fire.

Fan fiction, © Deathscythe 2007