Post by Midnight on May 28, 2017 18:20:08 GMT -5
A Fateful Meeting
By P.Michael Hodge
They saying goes that graveyards are as silent as death itself.
Whoever said that had never been to this particular graveyard, long forgotten in a part of Louisiana that had been reclaimed from man decades ago by the encroaching bayou. This cemetery was anything but quiet as the sounds if cicadas and bullfrogs filled the night air with the occasional squeal of a swamp rat being eaten by one of the larger predators of the wild, unkempt region.
But there were other sounds that night. Sounds that most mortal ears could not hear. These were the sounds of the dead, awakened from their eternal rest by something amongst them that did not belong. Something that frightened those who should have nothing left to fear.
The cries of the dead often go unheard but this night there was one who heard them. One who even now emerged from the swamp to walk amongst the half-submerged tombstones to answer their mournful cries; as he did so calling out to them to comfort them in their unrestful state.
Baron La Croix had come in answer to their calls.
Try as he might he could not get the spirits of the dead to calm down enough to explain to him what had disturbed them from their slumber. He needn’t have tried. Two words from out of the darkness explained everything to him.
“Hello, Baron.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Baron La Croix turned to look upon a full-figured young women, with auburn hair and a greenish hue to her skin that made her all but impossible to see as she blended into the bayou surroundings on this warm, Louisiana night.
“Greetings, Gladiola. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company.”
“I wish I could say that it was pleasure that brought me here this night.”
“Perhaps we could retire to more comfortable surroundings, your presence here has disturbed many of the local residents and, were it possible, I would prefer that they be disturbed no more.”
“We cannot. I chose this location very carefully. Due to compacts that were old when your forebears were still learning to pick up sticks and hurl rocks as weapons, I am prevented from speaking openly to you of a matter of some import. I chose this location as this ground is hallowed as sacred and therefore beyond the purview of certain parties. It is enclosed within a place of great power by me and my people so none my question my presence here and I knew that the disturbance of the local ‘residents’ would bring your attention when I may not contact you directly.”
“So no, young deathwalker, we may not retire to more ‘comfortable’ surroundings.”
As the import of Gladiola’s words sank in upon La Croix, he chose his next words carefully, lest he offend the being in front of him.
“As you wish, my lady. Might we then conduct our business of which we may not speak as quickly as possible so that we may be on our way and let the dead rest in peace once more?”
“Would that you knew of which I speak, you would not be so quick to cast aside whatever ignorance you may possess on the matter for the sake of a few restless souls. I do you no great service by coming here tonight but I do so for the sake of these mortals that have found my favor. I come here knowing that you will be unable but to throw yourself between them and that which comes for them.”
“M’lady, what more can you tell me that may better prepare me to carry out my defense of the mortal world?”
Gladiola turns to look past La Croix to look over his shoulder and stare off into the swamp at things unseen by even La Croix’s imagination, and continues on as she looks almost wistfully into the distance. “Beyond the green, just there is a city of man. An evil city were dark things are done. Darkness calls to darkness and something has heard these calls. And something comes to answer those calls.”
La Croix half-turns in the direction she faces and realizes what lay beyond the swamp in that direction. “St. Nicolas?” He replies. “You have come to warn me about St. Nicolas? If you mean that pathetic ‘Cult of Blood’, they are nothing but children play-acting at sorcery. I’ve checked them out and they haven’t got enough power between the lot of them to even conduct a halfway decent séance. I think that...”
“Silence!”
The harsh brevity of this single word made La Croix’s blood run cold as the flora and fauna of the swamp all responded to Gladiola’s sudden anger. As every form of animal life became suddenly silent, every leaf and branch rustled at the bristling anger of this lady of the green. And in the midst of all of this, Baron La Croix, the hero of Louisiana and champion of the dead, suddenly felt very, very small and insignificant.
“Foolish mortal! Even though I may walk upon this world as one of you, as a friend and an ally in this nation’s league of heroes, you of all people are aware of what I truly am. I have taken great personal risk to be here today and impart upon you knowledge that I am forbidden to. And you shall listen.”
“Within that city, which acts as a cancer upon your beloved Louisiana, is a dark, insatiable heart. That heart has won the attention of something yet darker still. It is coming. You had well be prepared to act when it arrives. Of more I cannot speak knowing that I have said far too much already. I have taken a great risk coming here today for fear of the greater risk had I not. My question to you now is, are you ready to defend this world from that which comes?”
As Gladiola finished, La Croix sought to find his voice as, even now, he realized that he was on his knees amongst the mud and moss of this forgotten graveyard.
“Yes...” he replied, “...yes, my lady. I am ready.”
At this, Gladiola’s features softened and she looked down upon this brave warrior brought low by her power, here in the seat of that power, and smiled. She reached down to take his face in her hands and said “No. No, my brave champion of the dead, you are not ready.”
Leaning in, she gave him a soft tender kiss and as she pulled back she looked deeply into his eyes and said, “But you will be.”
A subtle breeze then picked up and, before his eyes, Gladiola seemed to dissolve into a million leaves that simply fluttered away on the wind.
And Baron La Croix found himself, once again, alone amongst the dead. The dead that were, once more, resting in peace.
As Baron La Croix picked himself up, leaning heavily upon his walking stick to do so, he looked off in the direction of St. Nicolas and began to think thoughts that only were only for himself.
As he started his long walk back home through the Bayou, he could be overheard talking to himself – or perhaps to the dead – and wondering aloud, “I wonder how Jessie would feel about relocating to St. Nicolas?”
By P.Michael Hodge
They saying goes that graveyards are as silent as death itself.
Whoever said that had never been to this particular graveyard, long forgotten in a part of Louisiana that had been reclaimed from man decades ago by the encroaching bayou. This cemetery was anything but quiet as the sounds if cicadas and bullfrogs filled the night air with the occasional squeal of a swamp rat being eaten by one of the larger predators of the wild, unkempt region.
But there were other sounds that night. Sounds that most mortal ears could not hear. These were the sounds of the dead, awakened from their eternal rest by something amongst them that did not belong. Something that frightened those who should have nothing left to fear.
The cries of the dead often go unheard but this night there was one who heard them. One who even now emerged from the swamp to walk amongst the half-submerged tombstones to answer their mournful cries; as he did so calling out to them to comfort them in their unrestful state.
Baron La Croix had come in answer to their calls.
Try as he might he could not get the spirits of the dead to calm down enough to explain to him what had disturbed them from their slumber. He needn’t have tried. Two words from out of the darkness explained everything to him.
“Hello, Baron.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Baron La Croix turned to look upon a full-figured young women, with auburn hair and a greenish hue to her skin that made her all but impossible to see as she blended into the bayou surroundings on this warm, Louisiana night.
“Greetings, Gladiola. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company.”
“I wish I could say that it was pleasure that brought me here this night.”
“Perhaps we could retire to more comfortable surroundings, your presence here has disturbed many of the local residents and, were it possible, I would prefer that they be disturbed no more.”
“We cannot. I chose this location very carefully. Due to compacts that were old when your forebears were still learning to pick up sticks and hurl rocks as weapons, I am prevented from speaking openly to you of a matter of some import. I chose this location as this ground is hallowed as sacred and therefore beyond the purview of certain parties. It is enclosed within a place of great power by me and my people so none my question my presence here and I knew that the disturbance of the local ‘residents’ would bring your attention when I may not contact you directly.”
“So no, young deathwalker, we may not retire to more ‘comfortable’ surroundings.”
As the import of Gladiola’s words sank in upon La Croix, he chose his next words carefully, lest he offend the being in front of him.
“As you wish, my lady. Might we then conduct our business of which we may not speak as quickly as possible so that we may be on our way and let the dead rest in peace once more?”
“Would that you knew of which I speak, you would not be so quick to cast aside whatever ignorance you may possess on the matter for the sake of a few restless souls. I do you no great service by coming here tonight but I do so for the sake of these mortals that have found my favor. I come here knowing that you will be unable but to throw yourself between them and that which comes for them.”
“M’lady, what more can you tell me that may better prepare me to carry out my defense of the mortal world?”
Gladiola turns to look past La Croix to look over his shoulder and stare off into the swamp at things unseen by even La Croix’s imagination, and continues on as she looks almost wistfully into the distance. “Beyond the green, just there is a city of man. An evil city were dark things are done. Darkness calls to darkness and something has heard these calls. And something comes to answer those calls.”
La Croix half-turns in the direction she faces and realizes what lay beyond the swamp in that direction. “St. Nicolas?” He replies. “You have come to warn me about St. Nicolas? If you mean that pathetic ‘Cult of Blood’, they are nothing but children play-acting at sorcery. I’ve checked them out and they haven’t got enough power between the lot of them to even conduct a halfway decent séance. I think that...”
“Silence!”
The harsh brevity of this single word made La Croix’s blood run cold as the flora and fauna of the swamp all responded to Gladiola’s sudden anger. As every form of animal life became suddenly silent, every leaf and branch rustled at the bristling anger of this lady of the green. And in the midst of all of this, Baron La Croix, the hero of Louisiana and champion of the dead, suddenly felt very, very small and insignificant.
“Foolish mortal! Even though I may walk upon this world as one of you, as a friend and an ally in this nation’s league of heroes, you of all people are aware of what I truly am. I have taken great personal risk to be here today and impart upon you knowledge that I am forbidden to. And you shall listen.”
“Within that city, which acts as a cancer upon your beloved Louisiana, is a dark, insatiable heart. That heart has won the attention of something yet darker still. It is coming. You had well be prepared to act when it arrives. Of more I cannot speak knowing that I have said far too much already. I have taken a great risk coming here today for fear of the greater risk had I not. My question to you now is, are you ready to defend this world from that which comes?”
As Gladiola finished, La Croix sought to find his voice as, even now, he realized that he was on his knees amongst the mud and moss of this forgotten graveyard.
“Yes...” he replied, “...yes, my lady. I am ready.”
At this, Gladiola’s features softened and she looked down upon this brave warrior brought low by her power, here in the seat of that power, and smiled. She reached down to take his face in her hands and said “No. No, my brave champion of the dead, you are not ready.”
Leaning in, she gave him a soft tender kiss and as she pulled back she looked deeply into his eyes and said, “But you will be.”
A subtle breeze then picked up and, before his eyes, Gladiola seemed to dissolve into a million leaves that simply fluttered away on the wind.
And Baron La Croix found himself, once again, alone amongst the dead. The dead that were, once more, resting in peace.
As Baron La Croix picked himself up, leaning heavily upon his walking stick to do so, he looked off in the direction of St. Nicolas and began to think thoughts that only were only for himself.
As he started his long walk back home through the Bayou, he could be overheard talking to himself – or perhaps to the dead – and wondering aloud, “I wonder how Jessie would feel about relocating to St. Nicolas?”