Discordant Apple: Two

“I take it that she has been safely delivered then?” Lord Ultralon asked. His voice was like refrigerated brandy as he stared fixatedly at the fire blazing in the grate. The heat did not appear to perturb him despite the quilted velvet robes he wore.

“Yes, my Lord,” Lycurgus replied avidly yet humbly, “She was in the Chief Warden of Edinburgh’s collection-”

Lord Ultralon started violently. He jumped out of his chair and whirled to face the wolfman, his robes billowing as he bellowed, “WHAT?”

His servant, who faced the world with aggression and defiance, flinched and raised his furry hands to protect himself.

“She’s undamaged!” He whined like a dog, “I made sure! Agrippa hasn’t laid a finger on her-!”

“It’s not his finger I’m worried about!” Ultralon gnashed his teeth, thrashing, “And you are sure it is her this time? Not some murdered woman mummified and boxed for the gold-?”

He glowered dangerously at his hairy servant.

“Positive, my Lord,” Lycurgus grovelled, snivelling. The man before him was one of only few that could put the fear of death in him and he had seen firsthand what the blond could do in his paranoia. The second he imagined smelling disloyalty, he killed the perpetrator and never once felt remorse.

The man in question regarded the hirsute chimera for a moment and then brushed past him. He made his way along the dusty corridor and unlit staircase; excitement bubbled within him and Ultralon struggled to contain it. He wanted to run to the loggia as though he was a child running down to the living room on Christmas Day, but he used restraint instead. He walked calmly and composed down the staircase and across the hall.

He did, however, fiddle with the heavy, golden signet ring on his right hand ring finger as he made his way into the loggia, where, on the mahogany dining table, there was a large box covered by a black silk pall. It was this he tore off in order to see the unadorned pine that was made of planking like wood for a chopping board would be; neither did he fail to notice that someone had nailed it together like they would a crate. He glared at the hirsute beast hovering worriedly in the doorway.

“Is the dungeon prepared?” Ultralon asked him as he fearlessly placed his gloved hand on the splintery lid. He caressed the rough wood with what was almost tenderness.

“Yes, my Lord,” the wolfman told him. His voice was as cold and empty as a grave.

“Did you fetch the necessary…equipment?”

Lycurgus bobbed his head obediently and replied, “Yes, my Lord. Three young men as you said and a big mirror too.”

Ultralon smiled thinly, although more himself than his hairy servant.

“Good. I shall retrieve the book.”

His servant stiffened in alarm, spluttering, “You are going to perform the ritual now?”

The other man froze and turned on the latter with flashing eyes. The wolfman realised his grave mistake immediately and trembled in abject fear.

“Never question me again, cur,” Ultralon breathed, softly but icily, “And do not forget your respect. I am Lord Tork Ultralon and I do what I want when I want, and if that entails me wanting to perform a midnight ceremony, then I shall perform said ceremony tonight.’

He glared at Lycurgus, who quivered without dignity at his feet. A rap on the doorframe, however, spared the werewolf any more retribution as Ultralon turned and spied another one of his henchmen.

“Yurei-assist Lycurgus in taking my delivery to the cellar, and be careful about it! She is very fragile and any damage done to her will be taken from your flesh!!

The second servant, who was short with yellowish skin, bowed, and remained bent as his employer swept arrogantly out of the room.

“You mangy fool!” Yurei hissed as the sound of footsteps grew faint.

Lycurgus bristled angrily.

“I am not a fool!” He snarled ferociously, “Quite the opposite, actually. A ritual like that is highly dangerous! It has not been performed in centuries and none of us know what will happen exactly. He will be severely drained at the very least and to wake her up-it’s madness!”

“We are his servants,” Yurei hissed back, “he pays us a pittance more than anywhere else, has us fed, clothed and gives us a roof to sleep under for obeying his every word! We should not question him, mutt, or it’ll be the work farm for us all-!”

“But his Lordship should prepare himself!” Lycurgus argued back, “He should eat a legume diet and drink a vial of some vitamin concoction for three months beforehand! He should study other rituals that are better known-sleep well-do memory exercises-not leap into performing a resurrection like a schoolboy at the start of-!”

Yurei smiled thinly.

“He probably has, but you’re just unwilling to be at the beck and call of someone else who’s better than you-”

The wolfman sneered and grabbed the makeshift coffin. His yellowy fellow took the foot of it and together they manhandled the box into the hall and down to the corridor a little, where, beneath the staircase, there was an open door. A cold gust of damp air was spewing out of it, ruffling Lycurgus’ fur as they edged their way down the stairs, which were worn smooth and unlit but for a green glow that was emanating from the cellar itself.

The cellar in question was carved out of the same cliff-face as the house and was quite possibly even chillier and gloomier than the rest of Lord Ultralon’s sandstone house. A copper brazier of green stones was glowing in the fireplace at the far end of the cellar, into which a table had been brought and a mirror hung on the wall. A fresh coating of white pant had been applied to the reddish stone and the numerous animal cages removed.

Lycurgus could vividly remember a time when the cellar had been full of pitiful creatures that Ultralon had bred for sale, such as parahumans, whom he kept as though in a piggery. There had been satyresses for milking and a short-lived fur farm followed by a sweat-shop full of children skinning snakes for bibliophiles and rich women who wanted them for shoes and purses. The snakes had been bred in the same cellar until the losses mounted; now there were no cages and lectern stood in their place as he and his fellow slid the coffin onto the table. The stone floor had been pounded smooth as part of the cleansing process; an iron chandelier was waiting to be lit above them as it hung from the vaulted ceiling. Yurei hurriedly put a flame to each of the eight candles, which were made from beeswax. He narrowly avoided setting the silk tablecloth alight as a spark or two rained down on it; from a tap and sink in the corner, Lycurgus fetched water in a small gold bucket that was not thicker than a piece of foil. He pulled the mahogany chair closer to the table as well, having carried it down from the loggia earlier that week.

“Go fetch them,” he told Yurei, who scampered off and soon came back with three young men in tow. The trio had been lodged in the front room under the belief that the master of the house desired their services; surprise made them silent as the alien hybrid manacled them to the left hand wall. Their chains clinked as he backed up and turned to look as feet sounded on the eroded stairs.

Ultralon had a look of malicious glee on his face as he took in the wretched looking men chained to the wall by an icy bar of wrought black iron. He smirked broadly and turned to admire himself in the huge mirror that his wolfish servant had purchased. It had an ornately gilded and stuccoed frame and even to the most uncultured yob it would have been a thing of flawless beauty.

“My Lord…?” Yurei breathed.

The former had had a wash and put on a fresh set of quilted purple robes that looked the same as the ones he had just been wearing. His had brushed his long blond hair too and clutched a seemingly antediluvian book in his hand. It held together with new white twine that contrasted boldly with old pages, which were yellow and spotted with mould and all manner of other secretions. It smelt funny too, so much so that Lycurgus wrinkled up his nose as Ultralon elaborately, if somewhat indelicately, placed it on the lectern and looked for his page.

“Open the coffin!” He barked once he had found it, “And be careful with her!”

Yurei dislodged an axe from under the table; with a dull thud, he brought it down and chopped his way through the lid, stirring up a cloud of dust as he did so. He waved it away and threw out the pieces of wood that were in the way, coughing as he did so. He briefly ogled the occupant before Ultralon shoved him aside, sneering as he tensely reached in and pulled back the woollen blanket covering the corpse. A cloud of fibres made him cough and sneeze quite violently, enough for him to drop the half-hearted shroud as he waited for the dust to settle before reaching back in.

He dropped the blanket as though he had been burnt. He huffed, irritated at himself as his servants remained motionless, and snatched at the woollen covering again. He dragged it out and threw it onto the floor, angry at those who had buried her in such an inferior material. The moved caused the candles to flicker alarmingly and the temperate in the cellar to suddenly plummet from cool to freezing.

“Well done, Lycurgus,” he grinned, “you’ve got the right corpse-”

Ultralon moved out of the way to let the wolfman and half-Martian lift the grisly grey relic out of the butchered box and place it on the table whilst he took the blanket and tossed it into the grate to be burned. He pulled an elaborate athame with a wicked obsidian blade out of his pocket as he returned to the lectern and perused the rather loose pages. A mass of cramped, spidery writing covered them in a mixture of languages; Greek, Latin, Aramaic, French and very old English. He glanced from the ancient tome as up as Lycurgus made a noise of disgust and Yurei cackled; they seemed to have discovered a nest of dead spiders between the coffin and the corpse.

The former returned to studying the book. It was fragile and decaying before his very eyes. He had had it taken from a library in Southern England and almost regretted doing do so as the robbery had shaken the dry leather binding and made it crumbled somewhat; more than a handful of the brittle vellum pages had slipped loose of the gum holding them as well. It was as though they were breaking free of frozen toffee as he flipped through the book with the greatest care not to tear of jerk it from fear of making the precious artefact disintegrate. A fool in the past had spilt some sort of wine over the book and it had seeped through; Ultralon scowled.

His line of vision fell on the mummy that lay in state on the silk covered table. It was a woman was thick, wavy hair and a cadaverous face grey face. Her skin was stretched taut over her button nose and proud cheekbones as death consumed her. He touched her grey skin and discovered that it felt like shagreen, which was what the book was also bound in. He withdrew his hand sharply and stared at the human husk, which was swathed in a gown made of scarlet velvet that age had not diminished the beauty of. It was tasselled too and Ultralon lifted his gaze back to her regal face. Her lipless mouth was slightly agape as her spindly fingers snarled themselves up in her tailored dress.

Lycurgus glanced into her coffin, where, amongst the mummified spiders, he saw a scattering of dried flowers, which he reached out to touch. However, they turned to dust and all he brought out was some her coarse hair that had snagged on the nails. He looked at Ultralon and made to show him, but the blond was engrossed the whole mummy and not the pieces. The wolfman watched the other man touched the old body without revulsion and even caress the papery cheek with the slightest hint of anything other than tenderness and achievement.

He snatched his hand away and wiped it on his robes when he realised that he was being watched. His eyes fell on Yurei who stood guarding the three male whores with a look of pure morbidness on his flat face.

“Let us commence, then,” Ultralon muttered, picking the athame up again. The handle was decorated with gold and big bloody ruby, his hirsute henchman saw, as the blond held it over his colourless left palm.

“Begin the spell,” the latter said, nodding at the open book.

The wolfman moved closer to the delicate item. He gingerly lifted and placed the front cover down on the table before gently flicking through to the bookmarked page, which was illustrated. The verses had been written in Latin sometime in the ancient Middle Ages when the language was commonplace amongst men; in the seventh millennia, however, it was deader than cuneiform had been in the twentieth century.

Nonetheless, the deathly defunct language had been drummed into him for a sole purpose of reciting the spell, for which he took a deep breath and started to chant.

Prior filia
Mors decepta
Fatum meum, exsecratio mea, spes mea
In manus tuas
Mihi viam monsha
Qui dormit expergisci debet

As he spoke, Ultralon drew the honed edge of the blade across his hand, which he tipped over so that blood spattered onto the corpse’s grey forehead. The blond painted a crude crucifix shape by with his own crimson liquid by drawing it down her thin nose to her parted mouth where it began to seep in.

The doorbell rang and Ultralon flashed an angry, determined glare at Yurei, who jumped too and hurried out of sight to answer the front door. His charges wore completely bemuses on their pallid visages as they listened to the Latin; everyone jumped violently when the inert body had a sudden fit and let loose an ear-splitting of pain.

The mummy kept on screaming and writhing in agony. Ultralon took half a step back and Lycurgus cringed as Yurei came running down the stairs in fear.

“Bolt the door and get them men!” Ultralon shouted at him as the little man stood dithering on the other side of the room.

The latter let the trio go and cackled nervously as they ran for the looked door. It was only when they realised that there was no way out that they huddled on the top step and covered their ears against the corpse’s horrid, banshee like shrieking. Her thrashing was so furious that she fell off the table and rolled over. She crawled over to Yurei who ran for his life, hitting and kicking the men until they came down and tried running across the room to evade the sluggish zombie creature.

“Dim the lights!” Ultralon ordered, and the half-Martian obeyed, plunging the cellar into blinding darkness.

It became a supernatural game of cat and mouse. The corpse dragged itself across the stone floor which meant they could not stand still in the hope that she would miss them because they could not see where she was. The noise echoed and disorientated one’s hearing; someone knocked the book flying with a flurry of crackling paper as they tried to flee. She soon caught all three men, however, as they thundered over the flagstones in a bid to escape.

Ultralon smirked as he heard each young man yell and fall to the floor with a whump noise. A muffled scream and a rattling noise later and each of their lives were slowly extinguished as they flailed in the dark.

“Light, please, Yurei,” Ultralon called.

The chandelier was slowly re-lit by touching a smouldering coal to each wick. A scene of death was revealed to them; three corpses lay grey and desiccated around the cellar. She was still clinging to her last victim by the hair; arching her back, she seemed to hump the cadaver as she attached herself to him by the mouth like a lamprey.

Lycurgus moved to retrieve the book and froze as her head snapped over to him in order to look at him with a pair of soulless black eyes. She lurched closer to him, still rasping and rattling despite tat a most remarkable transformation had taken place. Her grey flesh had flooded with Ultralon’s blood and become pallid white with a hint of rosy pinkness high in her fuller cheeks. Her thick, wavy hair had lost its salt-and-pepper colour and was now a radiant shade of gold as she clawed her way across to where the wolfman stood petrified by the sight of her.

“Make a note,” Ultralon said, smirking, “She is sensitive to movement.”

He did not add heat because she would have found them all out through the cold dungeon air if she had. He kept an avid eye on her as she dragged herself back to the man’s shrivelled corpse. It crumbled to dust as she passed it, jerking a little as her nerves came back to life. She even threw her head back with enough force to break her neck and gulped down a lungful of air like a stranded fish.

“Complete the incantation!” Ultralon hissed at Lycurgus, adding, “She responds to sound too.”

She turned to face them, blank faced. The werewolf bent down and picked the book up with trepidation. He could feel her watching his every move as he hunted for the page he needed, which had been shaken free in the tome’s brief flight. He picked it out of the loose handful and brushed it down before turning to speak to the zombie, who was, he noticed, a travesty beautiful young woman.

Usque ad finem
Usque magicum ad vitam reditum
Mortem decipere

The soulless female started to drag her statuesque, rejuvenated body over to where the wolfman stood; at the same time, Ultralon threw the bucket of water at the mirror, spattering it as she turned sightlessly towards the noise and the movement. It was Yurei who noticed that the surface of the mirror was steaming and beginning to move, for Ultralon was too transfixed by the zombie to pay attention to anything else.

He glanced over when Yurei made a noise and pointed. The blond’s eyes widened as he saw the mirror glass become molten, yet it did not drip out of the ornate, gilded frame. It seemed to write about instead and form faces as a sort of mist emanated off it and spiralled over to the vampiric female, whose arms and ample bosom slowly became entangled in the sinuous silver smoke.

It distracted her. She looked down and tried to grab a vaporous tendril like a child would a grasshopper, and was met with the same success as she came away with nothing. She kept grabbing at it, and Ultralon saw that the fog grew darker and thicker as the minutes slipped by. He watched, fascinated as she was gradually hidden entirely from view as the strange soul-stuff swallowed her up. She flinched a little but it was more like a nervous tic than a full blown spasm.

Ultralon broke in with his three lines.

Non diligamus verbo, nec lingua, sed opere et veritate
Da mihi quaeso virtutem ad dititius durandem
Statin ut manum tibi dedi, imsom tibi dedi vitam

He glared at the wolfman, who swallowed nervously. Lycurgus’ mouth felt like sandpaper and yet his fear of the self-styled “Dark Lord” forced him to finish the incantation.

Ortus, vita, mors
Lux sit!

There was a bright, momentarily blinding flash of light akin to indoor lightning. A scream of pain later signalled that the zombie’s soul had attached itself to the body again by means invisible stitches. The veritable smog that enveloped was sucked back into the mirror in a matter of moments.

The pair of violet eyes that drifted onto the trio were impossibly wide with alarm and shock. She was sitting up but wobbled anyway from being limp and very cold; as if in slow motion, she began to fall backwards. With a distressed sigh, she cracked her head on the stone floor and blacked out to Ultralon’s immense horror.

“E’va!”