The Ascension Of Dorian Blackthorn

Chapter 4: Echoes of the Forgotten

Dorian sat at Isla’s kitchen table, and the yellow light of an old bulb was falling on the table. The room was small and cozy and furnished with different chairs and a countertop with cups, books and couple of dying herbs in jars. There was a slightly sweet scent remaining, that of cinnamon, which was a nice change from the clinical, icy smell of Emberwood estate.

Isla placed a cracked mug of coffee in front of him and sat down with her cup and saucer. She looked at him and her piercing eyes were replaced by worry.

“Well, tell me,” she said after a few minutes of the quiet. Dorian paused, the heat of the mug between his palms helping him regain his focus.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said. "It is as if most things are falling apart. The notes, the whispers… there is something going on and it feels as if I am getting more and more entangled with the Emberwoods’ affairs."

Isla leaned back, frowning. "You mean you think it is related to them? The notes, I mean.”

“It has to be,” Dorian said. “They arrived immediately after that party , and the timing is far too coincidental.” He paused for a moment, then said, “It is like someone is telling me something—or trying to tell me something.”

Isla scowled, crossing her arms. "Are you certain that this isn't just paranoia? The way the Emberwoods maintain order within the population is not particularly discreet."

Dorian did not have the chance to answer that when the front door groaned and swung wide open. The sound of heavy boots could be heard coming down the long, thin hallway, and soon a large, muscular man entered the kitchen. The collar of his old leather jacket was frayed, and his eyes were piercing.

“Connor,” Dorian said, getting up from his chair as uneasily as possible. Connor Fairweather, the older brother of Isla, scrutinised him from head to toe and said nothing.

“Haven’t seen you around here again,” he replied. “You’ve been gone a long time.”

“Yeah, well...” Dorian searched for words to justify his return to the house; he hadn't planned in advance. Connor looked at him with a slight raised eyebrow but did not say anything. He just slumped down in the chair next to Isla.

“What is this all about?” he questioned her, pointing at Dorian.

“He’s in trouble,” Isla said, as if it was obvious, and placed a mug in front of Connor. “Oh, and from the sound of it, it’s Emberwood trouble.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “You are mixed up with them?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Dorian retorted, his temper rising. Connor stared at him for a moment, then sighed.

“Alright. Tell us everything.”

Dorian sat down, his shoulders hunched up. Isla placed a new cup of coffee on the table in front of him and Connor slumped into the seat beside her.

---

The door of the kitchen opened once more and a middle-aged woman with a round face and gray curls stepped out. Mrs. Isla and Connor’s mother, Evelyn Fairweather, arrived carrying a basket of herbs from the garden. She was startled when she set her eyes on Dorian.

“Dorian?” she asked, and though she was surprised she couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Fairweather,” Dorian repeated rising to his feet. “It’s been a while.”

A smile appeared on Evelyn’s face, and she placed the basket on the counter. ‘You have become a good young man.’ Although you look like you didn’t sleep for days.”

“I have… had a lot on my mind,” Dorian said and he sat down.

Evelyn got up and walked to him, she put her hand on his shoulder, softly. “Well, you’re safe here,” she said firmly.

The gentleness in her voice had a choking effect on Dorian. He nodded, unable to speak.

---

The four of them sat up all night and discussed. Time, the speakers turned their attention to other more cheerful topics. They talked about the past days Dorian and the Fairweathers had together when they were children: how Dorian and Isla used to climb the tree in Fairweathers’ yard or steal apples from Old Man Griggs.

“Do you remember when you were trying to catch the fish and you fell into the river?” Connor said, with a half-smile on his lips.

Dorian laughed out loud, the image sharp and clear enough to ease the tightness in his chest. “I still say it was the biggest fish I’d ever seen.”

“You mean the biggest fish you never caught,” Isla said, laughing.

At least for a while, Dorian had the feeling that he belonged somewhere, that he was part of a family, he had a home. However, as soon as the laughter subsided, the burden of the mysterious notes and the looming presence of the Emberwoods came back into focus.

“I need answers,” Dorian said quietly, but the tone was rigid. “And I suppose that the library in Emberwood is where I will be able to look for them.”

The room fell silent. Isla looked at her brother and though both were frowning they did not say anything.

“Be careful,” Evelyn said after a moment. “Those people… they don’t take kindly to questions.”

“I will,” Dorian said, although the words tasted like sand in his mouth.

---

The next morning Dorian wakes up with a new goal in mind and heads back to the Emberwood estate. It was still early in the morning and the first light of the morning sun was filtering over the large area. He entered through the back door so as not to be seen by the servants who were already up and about.

Emberwood Library was a large hall with high shelves of books that were gold and worn at the spines. The light from the high windows fell on the room and it seemed that the dust particles floated in it. Dorian walked towards one corner of the room and his footsteps bounced off the hard floor of marble.

He systematically approached the shelves, running his eyes along the spines in an attempt to find something that might connect him to the Blackthorn family, or the whispers that had plagued him. They went on and on, the morning slowly turning into the afternoon, and he discovered nothing of interest.

Inclined by his failure, Dorian dropped into a chair and began to rub his temples. “Oh, come on,” he whispered to himself. “There has to be something.”

It stopped on an unobtrusive book placed between other books in the lower part of the shelf. It was smaller than the others, and the leather cover of the book was worn out with time. He stretched for it, taking it out gently.

The pages inside were also yellowed and covered with handwritten writings and drawings. Flipping through it, Dorian’s heart raced as he spotted a familiar name: Blackthorn.

It was a riddle, referring to a blood pact that was made between the Blackthorn family and the Emberwood family. Talked of shadows, power and something called the ‘Veil’.

“What is this?” Dorian whispered, his hand running over the worn and almost illegible text.

Nearing the end of the book there was a drawing of a luminous symbol; complex and ethereal. As soon as he looked at it, there was a kind of vibrant glow emanating from the paper. His hand rose almost involuntarily and he placed it on it.

The moment he touched the sigil with his fingers, he saw stars in front of him. The environment faded away and all that was left was a black expanse.

---

Dorian was at the edge of a huge dark pit and he was looking over it. The atmosphere was heavy and hot and there was a low buzzing sound that resonated in his marrow. Down on the ground, dim lights were similar to the flames of a dying campfire.

“Dorian...”

The voice was back, though this time not as loud but as eerie as before. He turned around to look for it and all he saw was blackness as far as his eyes could see.

“What do you want from me?” He yelled, his voice echoing around the room and into the black abyss.

A person stepped out of the darkness, and the silhouette was blurry. It exuded authority and threat, and Dorian’s gut told him to turn and flee.

“You have to discover the truth,” the figure said, and its voice sounded hollow. “The past cannot remain buried.”

Before Dorian could respond, the ground was pulled out from under him. He plummeted down, the lights below rising to him.

---

Sucking in a breath, Dorian was shaken back to awareness. He was lying on the library floor with the book by his side open. He tried to sit up and his hands shook, his heart raced.

The glowing on the sigil was gone, but the image of the symbol was engraved into his mind. Whatever he had just gone through, it was no dream that he had just had.

“The truth lies in the shadows,” he whispered, remembering the words of the second note.