He is a gentle child, though he has watched violence decimate his home.
He has kind eyes, though they have seen blood being painted across his mother’s hide.
Despite the hardness of his life thus far, hardness that could have chipped away at his upbringing, leaving him a rough-hewn version of himself, he has overcome. He is not really a boy anymore. Not physically, at least. However, his spirit retains that same vitality. So close to his third birthday, Eldrian has filled out and shot up, becoming more of a man every day. His green-flecked eyes are still soft but wiser now, too – less apt to focus on the whims of his imagination. For there is a lingering darkness in heaven, even a year after its’ burning, that reminds him that the world does not carry a torch for its inhabitants. Sometimes, he puts his nose to the wind and thinks he can still smell the smoke. It should be impossible, all this time later, but he does.
He is older and wiser than that brown boy he used to be, but the greyed man he now is still has a lot to learn.
Unlike many of the others, he waits to leave his mother’s side. After nearly three years, perhaps he should have felt the urge to press on into unchartered territory. And perhaps he would have, if the Chamber hadn’t pushed their advantage so many months ago. But Eldrian is desperately loyal to the woman who took him in. She is his mother for all intents and purposes (though he knows in his bones that the metal mare is his true dam) and for a long time he is loath to leave her alone, even for a quick visit to the common lands. Only after much coaching and coaxing on the painted woman’s end does he eventually make his way to the meadow.
And for the first time in a long time, he is so overwhelmed by the new sights that he doesn’t dwell on the state of the Gates. It’s chaotic, but wonderfully so. The bodies press together in little bands, grazing and conversing in the cool, autumn air. Their colors are as varied as those of the dying leaves, an earthy palette broken up by the occasional pop of unusual color. A smile creeps over him then, when he thinks of all he can learn here. How many stories linger on the late morning breeze, eager to be taken in by his ashen ears? How many places their collective eyes have seen; how many worlds have they travelled? He immerses himself in the place, drinking in the sights and sounds until he is full with all he’s learned.
Sunset is imminent by the time he slows his pace. The Gates seems so far removed from him in that moment, the horror all but gone from his memory banks. Eldrian knows the second he steps foot in the willow-filled kingdom it will all come back to him. He sidles up next to a tree, resting against its rough bark. His eyes flutter closed, guarding against the searing red of the low-slung sun and something else, too. Perhaps if he rests here for a bit… Maybe he’ll stay for a moment longer, delay the inevitable for as long as he can…
A blinding light wakes him from the deepest sleep he’s ever experienced. Even his limbs seem to quake from the – but no, they truly are quaking (changing). Eldrian opens his eyes. Different eyes, not the ones he is used to, but he finds he is already accustomed to the change. There’s a depth to his vision now, an emphasis on the sights directly ahead that hadn’t been there when he was a horse. But what is he now? Human, he knows, I am a human. This discovery (and the next, when he takes his first steps with all the confidence of a bipedal) is at the same time shocking and the most natural thing in the entire world. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on the surprise. The new-boy is in a confined space that would have given him fits in his old body, but now he realizes he is quite comfortable in. Two cut-outs in the wall (doors, the word comes to him easily) stop his progression further into the place. It’s obvious he has a choice ahead of him.
“Pick a door.”
I’m dreaming, he thinks, dazed. One too many tall tales has wrapped around my brain from earlier. But it feels real, all of it, especially the voice that commands him to make his choice. So he obliges. He walks towards the doors, one red and weeping and the other black and aglow with some unnatural light. Both seem ominous in much the same way, but the one reminds him of home, reminds him of all he has been trying to escape. His pulse quickens when he remembers the glow of the fire that decimated the Mother Tree. He turns from the black door and grasps the handle of the red door, some of the liquid coating his hand like a glove. Without another thought, Eldrian steps through the door –
- and emerges into the gloom of Victorian London. Unconsciously, he wipes his hand on his trousers as he looks about the place. It’s nighttime, but the streets are hazily lit by dozens of lamps that extend far away into the distance. There are shops pushed up against the cobblestone street, pressing together in defense against the few people wandering by. There aren’t many at this hour and in this location. Eldrian stops and catches his reflection in one of the shops as he begins to meander down the path. He’s rather tall, he thinks, with unkempt black hair and grassy green eyes. His body is covered in several layers of clothing, all of them scratchy and heavy. The hat’s a nice touch, though. He tips it to his reflection, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he makes a half-bow. When he looks back up, though, he sees he is no longer the only one reflected in the window.
“’ello chap. Fancy yourself, then, douya?” Spinning on his heels, the young adult comes face to face with two others. One of them, the source of the voice, is a young man dressed in raggedy scraps that can hardly be considered clothes anymore. There’s soot smeared across his face with a prominent spot on the tip of his nose. But his eyes are warm and genuine – especially when they turn to his companion. “Don’ startle ‘im like that, Roy. Can’t you see he needs our help?” Eldrian is about to shake his head when the woman steps close. “Your bowtie. It’s all wonky.” He can feel her delicate hands at his neck, fixing the adornment, but he doesn’t shy away. There’s a depth to her blue eyes that he thinks he could lose himself in, if given the chance. She smiles at him, stepping back when she’s finished. Roy’s gaze narrows when she looks at him, fear pushing out the warmth it once held. “There’s a madman on the streets an’ you’re worried about his fashion sense? Nellie, you are somethin’ else, I tell – “
But a loud cry rending through the air cuts off the rest of Roy’s chastisement. Three heads swivel as a woman runs around one of the alleyways just down the street, still screaming. Her arms are loaded down with fabrics (a seamstress or a washer, Eldrian’s brain supplies the information for him) but this isn’t what will be her downfall. As a lanky, tall-hat-wearing shadow chases her, her plain gown catches on the edge of a cobblestone. She tries to tear free, tries to pull herself from her impending doom, but her attempts are futile. The hunting creature changes then, much like Eldrian had but in reverse. He becomes less of a human. His arms extend, impossibly long as if they are stretched rubber, and he wraps them around the woman in a cocooning embrace. Unbalanced, she falls, and the different shades of material look like the leaves of the meadow as they fall around her. The softness of the fabric will be little comfort for what happens next, though. But what is this monster?
“It’s bloody Jack. Jack the Ripper!” Roy nearly shrieks as he tugs on his and Nellie’s arms. “We need to find the key and get ta’fuck outta here!” They begin to run, but Eldrian lingers behind. He’d been too shocked to react to the poor washer woman, too stunned to make a move to help her when it might have done any good. Now, he watches as Jack finishes his work. He carves a line down the woman’s torso with his terribly long fingernails, a serrated line he soon renders with the force of his hands. Eldrian can hear a crack as her sternum splits, her ribcage falling apart at the seam into two sections. The blood flows freely around her and Jack leans over his victim and immerses himself into the gore. The once-horse’s stomach turns violently; he thinks he’ll lose it, but his blossoming fear clenches his tremors down. If the monster sees him, it’ll be over for him. Before he turns, though, he sees the killer pull something from his victim. Delicately, he plucks the stringy organ from within, the intestines shining in the sooty glow of the gaslights.
He forces himself away and towards the retreating forms of his new companions. The movement catches Jack’s eye, though, and Eldrian’s fear becomes a tangible, pulse that starts around his heart. He can hear the advance of the monster on the jutting stones; can hear the haunting rhythm of his measured breaths. Unlike his own which are high and rasping after only a short time. This body is too new, he thinks, panting, these clothes are too much. He wiggles out of his overcoat, dropping the heavy wool thing behind him as he goes. When he looks ahead again, though, he realizes he can no longer see Nellie and Roy. With no other option, the young man continues on. A distant clanging almost makes him jump out of his skin, but he realizes it is only Big Ben counting off the late hour. How queer that they – we – don’t simply use the position of the sun and moon here.
The fleeting thought evaporates when a pair of hands wraps around his forearm, reaching out of the darkened alleyway to his right. This time he does jump, and squeal a bit too, much to his embarrassment. “You’re a righ’ chicken, like my brother, ain’t you?” Nellie’s blue eyes alight in mirth as she regards him. He relaxes a bit and smiles at her before Roy’s fingers press against their lips, shushing them. Eldrian notices how she isn’t wearing a long gown like the other women who had passed him were. Her outfit is simpler, cleaner, more form-fitting as it hugs her body. He sort of appreciates it, really, for her safety of course. Roy seems to notice his lingering glance and smacks him lightly on his cheek. It doesn’t hurt, but the once-horse understands the need to focus. Surely Jack is not long behind them.
“We found the key while you were busy eyein’ the spectacle.” Roy shoves a key against Eldrian’s chest, the tip of it digging into his skin, even through the many layers of clothing. He has no idea what the man is talking about, though. A key? What for? “It was lodged in the library’s cornerstone, jus’ like we was told.” He must realize the blank look on Eld’s face as he regards the bone-white object, because the tone in his voice becomes even more urgent. “The door! We need to find the door, lad. Must be around here somewhere.” The threadbare-clothed man moves away, down the narrow passageway. Shrugging, Eldrian follows behind, Nellie bringing up the rear. Her arm rests easily on his shoulder, tethering them together against the dark night. Warmth spreads from the place of contact until he finds it hard to concentrate.
There are many doors along the way, most of them wooden, and he tries all of them. Nellie and Roy jiggle the handles, even after he tries the key. They are desperate to escape a world he has just entered, and their terror should drive him, but it doesn’t. One death is nothing, not when your homeland has burned and your people dispersed. Surely they can take out a single threat here, in London. But he starts to feel like he’s being watched. The skin on the back of his neck prickles with the feeling; cold shoots through his marrow until he wishes he hadn’t abandoned his coat. Each door that doesn’t open becomes a personal failure, a responsibility he will have to live with the rest of his life, if he survives this. Jack is watching. Jack is waiting. Very soon, he’ll be on them.
And all too soon, he is.
They don’t hear the shapeshifting killer. They’ve come to another alleyway, but Eldrian thinks this cannot possibly harbor a gateway to another world. It’s pitch-black and seedy; rats clamor over the trash and each other along the way. Their high-pitched squeaks send shivers along his skin each time he hears them. But Nellie and Roy insist on trying everything, no matter what the circumstances. He can feel the terror emanating off of them – he shares it, now, too. They huddle around each door, filled with trepidation each time Eldrian jams it into the slot. His fingers shake and his palms grow sweaty; sometimes he misses the keyhole entirely, and he senses their growing frustration and fear with each miss. “C’mon, we’re counting on you mate. C’mon!” Roy whisper-yells into his ear, Eldrian feeling the humidity of his breath. “I am trying! These hands are still strange.”
The shadow blends seamlessly into the darkness behind them. Nellie’s frantic eyes only see the sharpened fingers as a shadow against the wall in a patch of streetlight. She screams, but he is here. Jack is here for them, and they haven’t found the damn door. The monster yanks her feet out from under her, his signature move, and her panicked blue eyes find Eldrian’s. He has the key nearly in the old wooden door, though, and for the first time it slips in easily. Jack’s claws leave lacerations in Nellie’s exposed legs as she struggles to rise from the ground. Blood trickles from the wounds, runs in scarlet rivers down the length of her legs. Eldrian nearly abandons the door, remembering the weight of her delicate hand on his shoulder. But Roy measures the situation, sees that this is it, that this door will free them, and he dives at Jack. Surprised at this turn of events, the monster staggers backwards just enough to mostly release Nellie. One claw lingers in her calf, though. Eldrian feels the lock click open. He turns the handle and then turns back to the scene behind him. Jack has already overpowered Roy, pinning him with one clawed hand to the cobblestones. Roy’s tattered clothes are even more so, his mouth hangs open in slack-jawed shock. It is over for him, they all know. If they try and help him, Jack will surely escape through the door, continuing his reign of terror in a new place.
Eldrian pulls at Nellie’s outstretched arms, backing into the open door at the same time. With a final tug, she rips free of the last claw embedded in her leg. Blood sprays into the air, falling and splattering the street with crimson rain. Jack ends Roy’s life slowly, pulling him apart piece by piece. As Eldrian lurches forward to slam the door, he can see that the monster isn’t even trying to reach them, hasn’t noticed their fortunate escape. He’s too busy ripping off the arms and legs of a boy from London. He’s too immersed in shredding the skin from his face, his neck, his chest. When he hooks one claw around a rib and pulls (the light finally fading from Roy’s eyes) Eldrian closes the door, shaking uncontrollably.
Eldrian
gentleman son of Jason & Talulah