Mistress of Helena

Chapter 29

Peering out from Dr. Mortier’s second-story window, Carrack found his view obscured by a film of grime and relentless rain. He wiped away a patch on the glass with his sleeve, pressing his face close to gain a clearer perspective of the square.

Through the smeared window, blurred by rain beads, he could barely make out the crowd clustered around a towering, monolithic figure. It seemed to be crafted from a dark, coal-like material, possibly obsidian, standing stark against the gray backdrop of the square. Its details were frustratingly vague, masked by the distortion of the weathered glass.

Despite the limited visibility, Carrack discerned a few individuals standing sentinel around the figure. The muffled, rhythmic thuds of two drums echoed from the center, their slow, deliberate beats resonating with a deep, unsettling cadence. Carrack felt a chill run down his spine as he watched, the thumping of the drums weaving an eerie atmosphere over the gathering.

The scene below, shrouded in mystery and rain, left Carrack with more questions than answers. The nature of the figure and the purpose of the vigil remained elusive, the obscured details only adding to the sense of unease that gripped him.

“This strange devilry, what is all this?” Carrack asked, his focus unwavering from the scene unfolding below.

Dr. Mortier, clearing off a chair of books, settled himself in front of the second window. “It’s the machinations of Lady Matilda’s dreams coming to fruition. She calls it the next Great Awakening. Those whispers she claims to hear from her God led to that monolith down there.”

“Brought forth? It just appeared one day out of nowhere?” Carrack questioned, still peering through the window.

“Heavens no,” Dr. Mortier responded, sitting back in his chair. “I saw them start this a few days ago, right after the dock fires. Lady Matilda and her acolytes, they spoke of a dream or vision of her God. They claimed deliverance was on that derelict ship.”

Carrack gestured toward the window. “That thing came from the ship?”

“Indeed, it seems so. I watched from here as they hauled that massive structure into the square. They had ropes, logs, and even set up a pulley across the street. They thought about using my shop as a support, but I was having none of it. Would’ve risked the whole structure,” Dr. Mortier explained.

“Pulled it from that inferno … Surprised it survived. Well, ‘survived’ is a light way to put it, considering it looks charred black,” Carrack observed.

“Burnt or not, it’s become quite the center of attention,” Dr. Mortier remarked, gazing out the window.

Carrack, lost in thought, murmured more to himself than to Dr. Mortier, “It’s only been four days since we withdrew, and a damn cult has already gained this much traction … How?”

“The desperate are ripe fruit for the devout,” Dr. Mortier sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. “Times have been hard here since the dock incident. With you all shuttered in your fortress, the rations stopped … Four days may not seem long, but here it’s felt like an eternity.”

“How bad has it gotten?” Carrack asked, his forehead resting against the cool glass, bracing himself for the answer.

“It takes time for starvation to kill, but not everyone knows that. The fear of uncertainty, especially after the rations ceased, that’s enough to make people think the hunger they feel is death’s approach,” Dr. Mortier said solemnly.

Carrack’s voice was low. “Cannibalism.”

“I can’t say for sure. I’ve stayed mostly within these walls. But, it’s been four days, and who knows how well people were fed even when rations were distributed. Sometimes, in the quiet, I hear sounds carried by the rain … sounds that speak to the worst in us,” Dr. Mortier said, his tone laden with the weight of his words.

Carrack remained silent, the gravity of Dr. Mortier’s words weighing heavily upon him. He knew not all the blame was his, but as a leader, the burden felt immense. His gaze dropped to the floor, his mind swirling with “what-ifs”, though he knew most were never viable options. Shaking off the grip of these thoughts, he refocused on the present situation.

“So what does Lady Matilda and her … gift do for these people to warrant such reverence?” Carrack inquired, looking back towards the window.

Dr. Mortier gazed out at the towering figure. “That thing?” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and begrudging respect. “You’ll see soon enough.”

The two men watched, their eyes affixed on the ceremony that continued in the howling rain. The rain hammered against the glass, punctuating the rhythmic drumbeats and the chant that echoed from the square. It was a mesmerizing mix of sounds, blending with the howling wind.

Amidst the cacophony, a central figure emerged, commanding the crowd’s attention. They circled the dark monolith, their movements deliberate and purposeful. Carrack narrowed his eyes, straining to make out the figure amidst the blurred glass and rain. The voice, though muffled, carried a familiar cadence—it was unmistakably Lady Matilda. Her lead in the chant was clear, and when the others fell silent, her solitary voice continued, resonant and firm.

Even from a distance, Carrack felt the impact of her presence. Her words may have been inaudible, but their weight was evident, reverberating through the walls and air that separated them from the ceremony. The crowd, visibly entranced, seemed to hang on with every gesture and inflection, even as the rain obscured the finer details of the scene.

Dr. Mortier murmured, “Her influence is intoxicating … I’ll give the Lady that.”

Carrack could only nod in response, his gaze fixed on the surreal scene unfolding below. At Lady Matilda’s command, the drums fell silent, and the crowd hushed in anticipation. She uttered a few cryptic words before positioning herself in front of the monolith and lying down on the damp earth.

For a moment, she lay still on her back, then something extraordinary happened. Carrack watched, his eyes widening in disbelief, as the ground beneath her shimmered. The mud seemed to come alive, undulating gently, and then, incredibly, Lady Matilda began to sink into the earth. It was as if the ground itself were swallowing her, pulling her into its embrace.

A wave of shock and discomfort washed over Carrack as he witnessed this impossible scene. He felt a tightening in his chest, a mix of awe and apprehension, as Lady Matilda disappeared into the ground. The crowd remained eerily silent, captivated by the spectacle.

A moment, stretching into what felt like eternity, passed in silence. Carrack felt an urge to break it, but Dr. Mortier quickly raised his hand, signaling for quiet. He let out a low whistle, his eyes fixed on the scene below. “And here comes the finale,” he murmured.

Carrack’s eyes remained on the spot where Lady Matilda had vanished. The earth where she had lain began to shift and transform, blossoming into a lush meadow of green and gold right before their eyes. Flowers sprouted faintly among the new growth, but most striking was the sudden emergence of fast-growing plants. Carrack felt the weight of the apple in his pocket, a tangible reminder of the surrealism of the moment.

“Is that what I think it is?” Carrack wondered aloud, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

“Pumpkins, apples, corn, wheat,” Dr. Mortier listed. “A regular cornucopia, same as yesterday and the day before that.”

Carrack and Dr. Mortier continued to watch intently as the followers around the verdant patch began harvesting the bounty it offered. Initially, a few overzealous individuals dashed forward to grab what they could, their excitement palpable. But they were soon guided by calmer members of the group, who demonstrated a more respectful and restrained manner of collecting the gifts.

Carrack’s thoughts churned as he observed the scene. This was the kind of miracle he had hoped Alaina could achieve—something even greater, perhaps. But the lingering question of Lady Matilda’s fate and the cost of these gifts nagged at him. Magic—as he knew all too well and as Alaina often reminded him—always came with a price.

As the crowd picked over the food, they lined up to pay homage to the monolith, either placing a hand upon its surface or bowing their heads in reverence, their arms laden with food. Gradually, the square emptied, the followers dispersing into the city, leaving behind the lush greenery surrounding the monolith.

Then, as though responding to an invisible summons, the once-vibrant grass retreated, withering into rapid decay, and leaving the ground as barren as before. It was in this desolate scene that Lady Matilda reemerged from the earth as abruptly and mysteriously as if she had vanished. She rose to her feet, covered in mud, wiping herself off as best as she could, and then she left the square back toward where her chapel was, stopping only briefly in a moment of hesitation before continuing onward.

Carrack remained motionless, his mind grappling with the surreal spectacle, questioning the reality of what unfolded before him. It was indeed real, as the surreal event was anchored in reality by Dr. Mortier’s confirmation. The same ritual had been practiced every day since the monolith was pulled from the shipwreck. Each day, he told, the crowds grew as more people grew curious at the miraculous claims no doubt circling the city. Despite the miraculous display, skepticism lingered, manifesting in the hesitation of some to join this burgeoning congregation, based on Dr. Mortier’s witnessing of scattered gatherers running away from the area when seeing the ritual bear its fruit.

“That object … It’s a powerful thing,” Dr. Mortier began, breaking the long silence that had settled between them. “Ancient, I’d venture to guess.”

“Countless tales could fill volumes about artifacts like this,” Carrack mused, his thoughts scattered yet weaving into precarious sentences. “Arcane sources of power, miracles … perhaps even evidence of divine existence. Legends abound of cities, even entire societies, built around such objects.”

“It’s a curious thing,” Dr. Mortier observed dryly, “those stories that revere such objects … The people who worshipped them, they seem to have vanished, haven’t they?”

Carrack turned toward Dr. Mortier, a grave expression etching his features as he peered out the window.

“Nothing ever gives without taking something in return …” Dr. Mortier remarked.