The Ascension Of Dorian Blackthorn

Chapter 2: Beneath the Gilded Facade

The cold night wind blew on Dorian’s face as he remained on the gravel path outside the mansion of Emberwood, panting as if he had been running. He could still hear the hissing of his name in his ears, a low hiss that made his blood turn to ice. He slowly swung around and looked at the path behind him but there was no one there. And the wind breathed through the trees, whispering the cold laughter in response to the dead silence.

For a moment, he remembered Ashenrow, the district of Silverhaven where he had grown up. There were no wide streets; the houses were so close that the sun rarely penetrated the dark alleys and the pavements were made of cobblestones. During childhood, Dorian used to run away from troubles, to escape from gangs of older kids who liked to tease an orphaned Blackthorn.

He recalled one time he was trapped in an alley years ago.

“Where’s your fancy Blackthorn coin, eh?” a boy named Grady asked and laughed showing that he was missing some teeth. His gang surrounded Dorian, and all the time they were laughing, their voice reverberating in the walls of the building.

“I don’t have any,” Dorian had said, and while his voice was barely audible, he was not trembling.

“Liar!” Grady rushed forward and got his hands around Dorian’s collar, the material of the shirt frayed and faded. ‘It is common knowledge that the Blackthorns are wealthy,’ he said. You’re just hiding it.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” Dorian had struggled, but the other boys pinned him against the wall. They searched his pockets and looked through them inside out to find nothing but dust.

“Pathetic,” Grady said and pushed Dorian to the ground. “You’re not even worth the name they gave you.”

The boys had left him there bruised and humiliated but Dorian had not cried. He knew from a young age that crying did not help in any way. Instead, he had risen from the dust and promised to make them eat their words, to let the world know that he was not just another name that had been swept under the carpet.

Now, having been at the Emberwood estate for a year, that promise seemed as far away as the twinkling lights of the sky.

---

People were dancing inside the mansion; laughter and music could be heard but only in the lowest pitch due to the thick walls of the building. Dorian shivered, and not with the cold, so he started massaging his arms. The whisper was still with him, a voice, barely audible but persistent, impossible to silence.

His mind wandered to Isla Fairweather, the girl he had grown up with and the only person who had faith in him. Isla had been so tough and unyielding, ready to fight for him when the whole world turned its back on him.

“You don’t need their approval, Dorian,” she had once said to him, her dark eyes flashing. “You are better than any of them. You’ll see.”

Her words had been a source of comfort when things in Ashenrow were at their worst. But even Isla couldn’t alter the perception people had of him – from a poor orphan to Lyla Emberwood’s undesirable husband.

---

A sudden rustling brought Dorian back to the reality. He gasped and swung round towards the sound. A figure moved from tree to tree with incredible speed and stealth, like a ghost.

“Wait!” he exclaimed, barely able to speak.

The figure didn’t stop. Dorian looked around, and for a moment he contemplated running back to the safety of the mansion. But something drove him to do so.

He proceeded slowly along the path and the sound of shuffling gravel under his feet. Lanterns were placed all around the garden and the light that they provided was struggling to reach him and the darkness appeared to thicken the more he ventured.

As he walked further, he saw something at the periphery of the estate by the stone wall that separated the Emberwood estate from the rest of the world, a piece of paper. It swayed a little from the wind as if inviting him to come nearer.

Dorian gets down and picks it up; his hands are shaking slightly. The paper was quite crumpled and the edges looked torn and the ink was blurred as if the writer had little time on his hands. He unfolded it carefully and read the words scrawled across the page:

The answers are right under your nose. Do not be blinded by gold and glass. Trust no one."

His breath caught. The script was different, but the message froze his blood in his veins.

“Who wrote this?” he said softly to himself.

He received no answer, but the wind swept the leaves of the trees in a strange whisper.

Dorian looked around once more, but the figure, if there was ever such a thing, disappeared. He looked at the note, deep in thought. What answers? But why now after all these years?

He heard laughter coming from the mansion and that brought him back to reality. Taking the note and folding it, he put it in his pocket. Whatever this was, it wasn’t something he could solve tonight.

As he walked back to the mansion, he heard the whispers in the wind and the sound of his feet seemed to merge with the whispers. For the first time in years, Dorian felt a ray of something he believed to be long gone from his life – hope, barely glowing like the flame of a candle.