Chapter One: A Melody for Monsters

“Eighteen valens,” a hoary voice calls out to a busy street. An antediluvian bell rings in one of the frail woman’s hands. The other flares about in the sky. Dirt-filled clothes drape over her head and upper body, acting as a blanket. Around the woman, on the ground, are white candles with hematite stones twined into the wax of each. The constant sound of the busy town centre becomes lost in the thinly coated winter air. When the old woman’s voice reaches Alexia’s ears, she halts and peers at the ground before her. A thin layer of snow collects upon the cobblestone. The elderly woman sits crisscross, still ringing her bell and calling, “Eighteen valens!”

Alexia asks, “Wasn’t it just fifteen valens last week?” Shivers travel through Alexia as her crisp breath shows ghostly visible. A hand grips the dark green cloak Alexia wears around her shoulders and tightens it. Her betrothed runs his hand along her side to create momentary warmth against her. Alexia’s long, thick, brown hair gets caught in the mix of her cloak and his fingers.

“Yes,” the aged woman draggingly croaks, “and that was last week–now it is this week. Another week without any magic crossings only means another week closer to one. So, eighteen valens.” 

Alexia’s betrothed, High Lord Remington, flattens his pale, dry hand on her back. He presses deeply onto her. His finely tailored tan wool jacket brushes against the back of Alexia’s neck and shoulders. Under his breath, he absently asks, “What is it?”

Although Alexia is not short, nor is she tall, Remington’s body arches over her. The high lord is tall but averagely built. While his statue tells you he possesses authority, nothing about him screams fighter. On the other hand, Alexia has indeed quired a few times about learning how to wield a blade. Her body is much more built to be athletic. Still, Remington has been careful to keep her away from weaponry. In his defence, the high lord sees no need to be skilled with hands or swords. All he commands—all his power—comes from his name and nothing more. Remington focuses far more on diplomacy and finding a use for political weapons. He inherited the ruling title over Telva at a relatively young age after his mother passed away two years ago. Telva’s sub-villages produce most of the land’s agriculture.

Being the high lord of such an important commodity would be difficult for anyone. As much as the other lords of Telva speculated, Remington has done an excellent job in preserving the agriculture Telva produces up to the long winter standards. 

Snow collects upon his brown locks that fall into messy loose curls. Alexia’s almond, emerald-circling eyes flicker to his. Remington has not been paying attention to Alexia’s browsing or conversation with the old woman. Alexia picks up a candle and traces her fingers over it gently. It’s a pity plea to buy one of the candles and believe it will accomplish any good against a creature crossing. However, an attack on the village is indeed a week past due. Around once a month, some creature, or creatures, come into the village and wreak havoc. No one in the town knows the origins of the creatures’ existence besides that they come through the forest border, and every time it’s a new type of creature, which leaves an unforeseen challenge. It’s assumed the creatures are created by some high force of magic. Nature alone could not produce such menaces.

Alexia daunts a haunting glance at the forest that lures in the snowy distance. That damn forest has been on Alexia’s mind since she arrived in Telva eight months ago. Past the forest lies what? What could possibly be creating such beasts that leave the masses weeping, begging for forgiveness from the unknown? 

“It’s eighteen valens for a protection candle,” Alexia whispers to Remington. 

His nose lightly traces her neck as he half-mindedly responds, “Buy it if you want; whatever will get us home sooner.” 

Alexia pulls valens coins out from her compact purse. “I’ll give you twenty-six for two.” 

“Fine,” the woman agrees with a heavy sigh. The woman crushes her stringy fingers over the cold coins and lets Alexia take her pick of two candles. Alexia had little intention of buying things that were not necessary. Yet she finds herself walking home with two protection candles, some fresh bread, a new cloak, and a bag of strawberries. To be fair, strawberries are unbelievably hard to find this time of year. 

As Alexia strolls with her fiancé through the back blocks of the town, she sees a new face leaning against a brick wall of the corner store. The unusual man reads a book with one hand and eats an apple with the other. Even against the rigid brick wall, the man’s posture is straight and poised. His unlined, tense face makes his hazel eyes narrow sharper than needed. He doesn’t match the coldness of the village with his shadowy, auburn hair that is cut clean. But with the lack of sun in the sky, his brown eyes do not gleam, and his hair does not reflect any pure red highlights. Alexia guesses he must be around twenty. He can’t be much older than her from the looks of him. He must not live-in town either; Alexia would remember seeing him if he did. 

“Remi.” Alexia turns over her shoulder. “There’s a new person in town–possibly a traveller. We should introduce ourselves.” 

“Another witch?”

“A warlock.” Alexia withholds her stare behind her. 

“There are too many warlocks in this town, and I have a meeting to attend. Another day.” He pulls her along to their manor house. 

Alexia’s grip tightens on Remington’s arm, trying to pull him back. “You can go to the meeting, and I can stay back, just a short bit, to speak with the traveller.” 

“Or you can go back with me,” he corrects. 

“Travelers come and go quickly, you know this. There is a high chance he will be gone by tomorrow. You know I adore the travellers’ tales.” 

Remington studies her face. His lips pinch in together while his shoulders tighten.

“Alexia, the village is not for you to wander alone in.” 

“It’s daytime—it’s safe. Please, just once.” Alexia stops herself in front of him. Her hands lightly brace to his chest. 

He grabs and lowers her hands, keeping them buckled into his. “Alexia.”

“And I will be quick. Before you can—” 

“Alexia,” he commands cholericly, “we are going home.” 

Alexia’s mouth opens to say something but clamps down after thinking better. Her hand loosens at her side in surrender. She turns herself around and walks onward to their home. Remington takes a few large steps to reach her pace. He wraps an arm around her waist and gifts a small warm kiss on her cheek as an apology. Alexia scuffs her boots through the snowy pathway. Remington watches her silently. He will need to buy her new boots soon.

Eventually, they make it back to the Manor of Telva. The world is still inside the manor. The manor walls blend together seamlessly, only creating depth through bronzing golden decorations and statement pieces. The interior white concaving ceiling creates a tense cold greater than the snow. Still, they manage to warm once inside. 

Alexia drapes her green cloak off and makes her way to the kitchen. The cabinets, with glass doors, are filled with bottles. The cabinets used to hold plates, cups, and all the dinner wear one could need. But now, they are overrun with potions. It’s the one vice of the high lord—potions. Not for the sake of drinking or using but rather for collecting. Hundreds of potions have been hunted down by the high lord. He scouts out witches and warlocks for their potions. At least half of the yearly income of the Manor of Telva goes towards his habits. The more he collects, the more expensive the additional potions become for their rarity and spectacular abilities. 

Alexia delicately sets her basket on the dining table. Her round cheeks still glow a soft red. Before she can unpack her items, Remington tells her, “The meeting will go far into the night. So, do not bother dinner for me. I will see you in the morning.” 

Alexia twists her mouth upwards. Thumb grazing upon her wrist, Remington takes her hands into his. “Very well,” she softly murmurs. Remington drops her hands and exits the kitchen. He cannot be bothered to explain further—he needs no permission. 

Once alone, Alexia latches onto the wooden handle of her basket harder than before. The kitchen cabinets are a dusky shade of blue, contrasting wildly with the fire-brought lighting in the room. One excessively detailed stone circular table with seven seats holds the centre. It’s the only informal dining area in the manor, and the one used the most by Alexia. Alexia makes a serving of soup, hoping it will bring fulfilment to her night. She takes a seat, with a single serving of soup, at the table. The soup slowly drips off her spoon, turning cold. 

The fireplace in the manor stays lit. Alexia sinks further into her chair. Six empty seats stare back at her. She drops the spoon back into the dense soup. Any interest in eating has disappeared. 

One of the groundskeepers, a young man, illuminates the kitchen further as he walks in, holding a lantern. Alexia traces his movements. She catches a glimpse outside the window—another snowstorm is starting to roll in. “Hello,” Alexia says. The stiffness drains from Alexia’s shoulders upon the groundskeeper’s arrival. 

“Oh.” The groundskeeper fiddles with the lantern’s brightness, decreasing it. “My apologies, Miss Alexia. I did not know you were here. I’m just here to fix a burner.” He sets the lantern on the kitchen top. A modest gesture singles out the top left stove burner out of the four. “Then I shall leave.” 

Alexia assures him, “There is no rush.” The man’s slow tinkering of the stove rattles through the kitchen. Alexia taps her foot softly, thinking of something to discuss with the man. “Help yourself to some food. I always make far too much.” Often, Alexia offers dinner to the manor staff. If she isolates herself to a status of muteness to the staff, she won’t have a soul to speak to on the estate besides Remington.

The man stops his work and grabs a serving of soup. Alexia gets up from her seat and comes to the counter side. She rummages through her basket and pulls out one of the candles. “And please take one of these protection candles. I know your little girl is coming into her first winter. Hopefully, this can bring you some further protection.” Alexia places the candle on the counter. 

The man holds the gift tightly. His other hand rubs the back of his neck. “Thank you, Miss Alexia.” His words have a nervous disconnect to them. 

A smile comes across Alexia’s lips, unbothered by the groundkeeper’s nerves. The groundskeeper indecisively sits at the other side of the circular table. Alexia and the man engage in a dull conversation. The words on both sides are hesitant and strained. Anxiety in the groundskeeper of his superior slices the social satisfaction Alexia craves into pieces. After waiting for the man to finish his own serving, Alexia brings her bowl to the kitchen sink. The suds of the soap spread over Alexia’s hands. The wood of the bowl brittles from Alexia’s frustrated movements of the rag against it. Alexia harps into cleaning the dishes, forgetting about the servant’s presence, the manor she’s in, and the world around her—for just a moment, she’s back at boarding school. 

A loud ring travels through the kitchen. The windows rattle as a second one follows. At the sound of a third, the bowl drops out of Alexia’s hands. It hollowly thuds against the floor. The rings sound throughout the whole town—three times repeatedly. The groundskeeper stands with trembling legs. The three rings are short and painful, but they are powerful enough to alert everyone a creature crossing is amongst the village.

Alexia’s leg muscles tighten as she prepares to run. She looks all around the kitchen with rapid blinks. Through shaky hands, Alexia grabs the groundskeeper’s lantern. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she commands, “Follow me.” 

If Alexia had been alone in the manor, she would have been frozen in fear in the kitchen. But, with the groundskeeper at her side, she knows her staying collected is the only thing carrying them through. Alexia and the groundskeeper sprint through the unlit hallways of the first floor. The faint light of the lantern paints the minimum outline of the house needed for Alexia to navigate. Alexia’s heart races, causing pains in her chest. Her actions remain still and quick, leaving no time for panic to advance. The bells stop ringing. Alexia halts her running and peers outside one of the hall windows. All nearly comes to a still. 

A growl sounds in the near distance. The clicking of a tongue reverberating is followed by multiple crunches of snow. A shadow whisks through the storm. Alexia’s heart drops as she peers outside one of the hall windows. She dashes down the hall with the servant still holding her hand. The gust of their running blows the lantern’s light out. Alexia latches onto the inner wall of the hall. Tracing a hand along the wall, Alexia finds the nearest door. She shoves the groundskeeper inside the room. In a scrambling panic, Alexia locks the door behind her.

The groundskeeper incoherently falls against the back wall of the room. The breath in his lungs is knocked out. He pulls his knees to his chest in complete darkness. The monster’s screams of terror unravel throughout the manor. Alexia had never before heard the sound of any beast. Creatures have always loomed in the mind of the village people, but Alexia has never been close to one. Unfathomable screeches ring through Alexia’s ears—forcing her to grasp that beasts are not just words on paper. They are real, and they are coming. 

Alexia feels cautiously around the pitch-black room. Her leg stumbles into the corner of something, cutting the side of her knee. The pain is lost in her panic. Alexia sustains her hands out until they met a hard wooden surface. Alexia grips the wood, feeling circular carved ridges. There is only one table in the whole manor with such a feel, and it resides in one of the drawing rooms. At the very least, Alexia can visualize the room in her head:

A dainty, petite, rounded table sits between two green leather chairs. There’s a desk with decorative books and a single clock on a stand in the left corner. Most prominently, in the centre of the room, before the chairs, is a piano. Alexia sprawls her hands out to find the piano seat. She clutches the side of the piano bench. Her feet move about only centimetres at a time as she sits. She focuses on listening to the outside world. 

A heavy crash shakes the ground. The shattering of glass— possibly plates hitting each other—echoes in the distance. The creature is officially in the manor. Sniffled tears muffle out of the groundkeeper’s mouth. He holds a hand over his mouth, trying to conceal the sound of his bawling. The clock’s faint ticking trickles over the room. Loud stomps reach the hallway. They grow greater with every passing second. Alexia shuts her eyes tightly. She was the one who offered the groundskeeper to stay. She’s the reason he is in this mess too. 

Using calculated memory movements, Alexia shifts around on the bench. The single duty to give the servant a fighting chance stings through her veins. The sound of the creature fades away. Alexia and the servant stop all movement, down to their breaths. They wait to see if the noises will return. After what feels like an eternity, Alexia unclenches her fist.

A loud, deadly screech comes from the other side of the door, so high and murderous its pitch cannot be apprehended. Alexia flinches. Her hand hits the keys on the piano accidentally. The groundskeeper cries heavy sobs as the piano rings out a note. Alexia’s hands shake violently. She might have just damned them both. Alexia does the only thing she can to distract whatever is out there away from the servant. Her fingers, already intertwined on the piano keys, sprawl out to play a deep, intense song. The vibration of music fills her chest. Alexia’s throat closes as tears blemish her face. She hears the door of the room smash open. The wood shreds apart by sharp digging braces. 

The song grows vicious and grave as Alexia’s hands messily slam against the piano. She cannot stop herself. A defence mechanism of melodies takes over the room; songs Alexia doesn’t even recognize she has engraved into her brain. The piano shakes the ground with deep chords being played short. The creature’s screams are no more, but Alexia can’t hear any outside sounds over the absorbing music. She plays onward. Eventually, the songs morph from pure venom to an antidote. Clashing ballads of melodies tremble into mournful songs that put the rest of the world to sleep.

After hours, Alexia’s hands become numb, and her figures can no longer play. They give out just as her consciousness does.