Ashes - The Special Edition: The Tales of Tartarus Read online

  With the second rap, the lock gave. It amazed Antoine that it had still held so prominently after so many years, and despite it being covered in rust, dirt and grime.

  Antoine tossed the pickaxe out of the grave, and winced as it clanked against the other tools in the bag. It was time to open the casket.

  The grave liner was caked with dirt and mud, the insignia was rusted out, but overall it was still intact (as was the lock) and it held together like an expensive grave liner would be expected to. As Antoine shifted the lid with a deep grating and rumbling, the small, wooden casket slowly came into view – rotted from years of decay. And there, beneath the six nails, beneath the wood and satin, would be Darius.

  *~*~*

  Darius Savauge was truly the demon extraordinaire!

  It was Darius, who spotted Antoine from a distance, Darius who followed and seduced Antoine into a life of darkness -drawing him away from his mortal life of misery. It was Antoine, the one who lived a life of debauchery, incest and thievery who had called to Darius. Antoine had called for Darius to come, sit at a table, to watch Antoine closely...and wait. It was Antoine who beckoned, not Darius. Darius heard the call – the call that was not of a spoken word, but a call of actions. Antoine made the call so many years ago like he was now. His sins, his life then, had made him chosen. His life now, made Antoine call Darius once again.

  Why did Darius first come? It was in Darius’ eyes that Antoine could see that look of a lover - the kind but mysteriously fascinating eyes that commanded attention and following. And beckoned his eyes did. While Darius’ eyes were firmly locked on Antoine’s, they pleaded for an introduction and conversation. Darius couldn’t help but smile.

  But there perhaps something deeper deep within that smile. Perhaps something evil.

  Whatever it was, the transformation took place. Darius was the cocoon, Antoine became the butterfly. And then, Antoine was born again.

  Yes, Darius, the artist that used his brush and canvas to mold Antoine into what he became. Darius the creator, Darius the web spinner. It was Darius all along – who watched and waited until the best, most precise moment in time to meet Antoine.

  Darius, the lover and the warrior, who for so many years was what he was. Who had been chosen himself, who was visited in the early mornings by Tramos. It was always Darius, who probably would never change…and who never wanted to die, and might never choose to forgive.

  Now, he lay in this exposed casket underneath a thin layer of sand and dirt that was caked on the top of the coffin.

  But what was left of him? What was left here after years of burial? Would he still be the Darius that had been so beautiful and treasured and loved? Or would he just be a rotted corpse, or a pile of dusty bones?

  Antoine dug through the bag for a hammer so he could find out.

  He pried at the first nail in the coffin with the back end of the hammer, and easily glided the nail out of the rotting wood, with a bit of the corner of the coffin falling apart in his hand. Antoine began to tear away at the lid, and the wood gave way with ease. It continued to crumble in his hands. Faster and more frantically, he tore away at the lid. Gradually, the satin interior of the casket came into view, faded and gray against the early morning sky; more of the satin lining came into view as the wood tore away.

  Darius, now I am finally about to see you again. I am finally about to set my eyes upon your beautiful body, lying here in this casket since I put you here. I plead with you again, I need your help, not your anger. I will let you out of this confinement. But you must be honest and true and loyal, do not fear me and do not come to me in anger. Is the anger still there? Are you still feeling malice after all these days?

  Antoine paused for a moment, before he was to pull the largest, most concealing slab of wood that made up the lid. When this piece was pulled away, Darius would be revealed. Would he still be as beautiful, as he was in life? Or would he be a horrid, piling mass of rotted flesh? Either way, it was Antoine’s job to resurrect him. Darius was needed. But when Darius would be resurrected, would he be become? Antoine had no choice. He could not dwell on such insignificant matters. It was risk that must be taken.

  Antoine sat for a moment on the edge of the grave, amidst piles of freshly dug earth scattered about, thinking to himself, remembering days past.

  I may be placed into this grave.

  Yes, that was the reality.

  Darius, and the type of fierce demonic personality that he possessed, would not be too happy at all at Antoine for placing him in the grave, for going against his maker, and rebelling. But now, perhaps Antoine could convince Darius to spare him, to restrain himself from attacking as a way of revenge, but rather to listen to what Antoine had to say.

  Of course, Antoine was digging up Darius because he had something to say.

  It was just simply one benefit of being an immortal. Humans, of course, die and their death is final. It is, ultimately, the last word. Once a person goes into the grave, there will be no more communication. Now in the immortal world, death is simply a different state of existence. With keen senses that remain present and aware as the body decays and withers, there is the distinct possibility for reanimation.

  Quite a difference.

  Antoine, the fierce leader and healer, who has been respected in the mortal world as a figure of mystery and awe, has now been humbled at the grave of his creator.

  It was time for Antoine to ask for help.

  No longer would Antoine be able to control Miami alone. He needed some assistance, someone at his side to give him guidance, to continue instruction.

  And Darius was the one to be there at his side.

  Knowing Darius, he would take over, as he tended to do back in the days in Lyon, when Antoine had been newly transformed, still learning the ways of darkness.

  Given Antoine’s dominating personality, the personality that he had during his short time as a mortal in Sri Lanka and also in his current life in Miami as a well -respected city socialite and businessman - could again cause conflict between the two. Antoine may have to put Darius back in the grave.

  But Antoine did not want to think that far ahead in the future. If Darius remained stubbornly dominant and refused to concede to Antoine’s plan, then he would deal with it then. Now, Antoine needed to deal with the grave. He arose from his sitting position. And started to deal with that last piece of wood on top of the casket.

  Taking a breath of air into his lungs and holding it steady, Antoine tore away the last piece of rotted wood from the wooden, dirt caked casket with a cracking and crumbling sound, as it came apart in his fingers. The wood fell into an empty satin-lined casket.

  Empty it seemed, at first.

  But underneath the wood pieces - in the dark corners - there was something. A presence. Antoine knew it.

  Deep in the darkened crevices of the coffin, Darius was lurking.

  Hoisting the coffin to the ground above, he set it there with a slight thud. He lifted himself out of the grave and bent down to his knees next to the coffin, and reverently lifted the remaining pieces of wood away, of all different sorts and sizes.

  He piled up the pieces of wood on the ground next to the casket. With his eyes transfixed on the unexpected emptiness, Antoine replayed in his mind the night that Darius was buried.

  *~*~*

  It was not long after Darius had transformed Antoine that it happened. It was the evening that the two shared in the chateau with the soaring columns in front, reaching up to four small windows on the second level, nestled into the stone, which strangely peered down like eyes.

  It was in the library on the first floor, at the end of a small hallway and a grandiose foyer, where the two had been discussing Les Livre Des Vampires when Antoine had realized where he had come to in his state of existence. Sitting at a small, wooden table overlooking a glass pane window, Antoine buried his head in his hands. He grabbed at his hair as tears streamed down his cheeks. He slapped his head multiple times. “I just can’t
understand this,” he said, slapping his hands down on the table.

  Darius came to the chair, placed his hand on Antoine’s shoulder, and looked lovingly down into his eyes.

  Darius - the long, flowing dark brown hair, framing a white, chiseled face; Antoine and all of his sexual trysts and selfishness brought him to Darius' keen eye, and the selection was made. During Antoine’s short life, he became somewhat of a ladies man, despite being tender and young. It was Antoine’s youth and beauty that women - and men - both desired, and Antoine was no inhibitor of passion. He did not care what others thought of the taboo and forbidden, and he had indulged in them quite often.

  And that is how Antoine was selected for immortality. Darius, an immortal for hundreds of years before he first laid eyes on Antoine, shared many of the same opinions and had a similar mortal history. As through the passage of time, and how society becomes more accepting of previously shunned activity as years progress, it was apparent that Antoine did indeed have a more scandalous life. But that did not mean that Darius was without a dark side.

  “My dear Antoine,” Darius said softly, as he bent down, and placed his arm around Antoine’s shoulder as if a father. “Don’t obsess over the obvious. Look at you, sitting there like a schoolboy studying for a test.” He let out a laugh as he said this. “You will learn soon!”

  It’s not that Antoine did not like or appreciate the life of an immortal. He actually rather enjoyed it. In what other state of existence can one live forever? Shortly after his transformation, the pair attended the operas, shopped on the finest promenades, took trips across the sea and lived a life of opulence and indulgence.

  Still, Darius’ behavior began to eat away at Antoine gradually and methodically, like termites slowly disintegrating wood. Each outing, Darius would reveal his plans, speaking like an excited child, to form a secret society and overtake the world. Antoine was more rational, and scoffed at the plans regularly. To him, Darius seemed like a young and inexperienced novice at social matters despite the age of the two partners being the same.

  *~*~*

  Antoine had one more nail to pry away, and then he could lift the last piece off and see the remains. Partially he knew what to expect, but this was the first time that Antoine had silenced a member of his species, and he had only read about what would take place during a reanimation.

  He also heard several accounts of immortals that had claimed to be present when a reanimation was taking place. Some said that Satan himself has been known to appear. But Antoine thought that a lot of what he had heard could have been hearsay, as the evening seemed to be progressing fairly well so far.

  The last nail was pried out and splintered the wood. He held the hammer in front of his face, studying the bent nail, hanging from the giant teeth of the dulled, rusted hammer, pulling bits of dried and rotted wood wedged between the nail and hammer, letting it drop to the ground.

  And then he stopped. He heard a rustling coming from the woods.

  He snapped his head, following the sound. All he saw was the dark green forest canopy. Looking up, he saw the tree tops were blowing in a light breeze. He listened attentively but the rustling ceased.

  Glancing back down at the casket, the rustling started again, and this time a small tree branch snapped. The rustling continued and grew louder; it most certainly was not the wind – branches snapped over and over – and the rustling became more methodic and more determined. It started to grow with bass and grumbling.

  And it was getting closer and louder.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Antoine ducked inside the grave, and looked towards the woods from the side of the casket which was lying on the ground in front of him. He scanned the woods, and despite his youthful and keen sense of sight, he struggled to see what made the deafening noise in the forest. The noise was so loud he could feel the ground shake around him, so loud that bits of dirt on the side of the grave wall broke loose and fell to the watery mess at his feet.

  At first, he did not believe it could be what he was thinking it was.

  During the crash, Antoine jumped and ducked at first, but managed to see beyond the casket in time to see the leaves ruffling, branches and twigs snapping, and a cascade of leaves and branches falling towards the earth in a wave of dark green.

  It was not just branches and twigs falling to the ground.

  It was an entire tree.

  Whatever it was in the woods, whatever or whomever was watching Antoine…was big. It was big enough to bring down an entire tree; a tree large enough to cause the ground to shake when it fell to the earth below.

  Antoine had to reanimate Darius – and fast. Time was running out. Daylight was steadily approaching. The sky was growing deep blue to pale blue ever faster, and each time that Antoine looked above, it seemed the sky was significantly lighter than before.

  Antoine would just go ahead and begin the process of reanimation, but the woods were demanding his immediate attention. And he was too close to the edge of the forest to run.

  “Antoine…” hissed a steady voice, which Antoine first dismissed as the howling of the wind. But it rang above all other sounds. It came from the direction of the forest.

  Antoine’s breathing grew to a rapid pace. His heart beat rapidly against his chest. What seemed like the first time in his immortal life, he was out of breath. And he remained still, feet perched on the edge of the cement grave liner, this time ducking below the surface of the earth. He was afraid to speak.

  The sounds in the wood organized into a deep, bass-filled booming sound – like quaking footsteps. Whatever was making the steps was big – and each step taken shook the ground – slightly, not like an earthquake – just enough to shake the dirt loose on the walls of Darius’ grave.

  Antoine settled further into the grave; quietly as if a cat huddling into the liner, and lay down in the watery mess. He struggled getting himself situated in the grave as whatever was making the footsteps was massive. With each step, the earth again broke away from the side of the grave wall, now raining sand and clay down onto Antoine’s face and torso.

  He closed his eyes, feeling the cold and damp dirt land on his eyes, so if he opened them they would be gritty and grainy. He felt more of the cold, clammy sand on his torso and legs – all with each booming step – the steps that grew more powerful…and closer.

  The water that Antoine lay in smelled foul and of death. Like water that has been stagnant for a long period of time, that has developed an odor of decaying and rotting flesh – and a smell so pungent and overpowering it would cause a mortal to vomit. But Antoine tuned out the stench, and concentrated on the sounds coming from above.

  The rustling and cracking of the trees ceased. And the footsteps stopped for a moment. Antoine assumed that whatever it was had reached the clearing from the woods. And now was standing at the edge of the cemetery…perhaps as close as ten feet away from where Antoine was laying in the grave.

  The coffin was being moved.

  He heard the sliding of the wood on dirt, as if someone were dragging the casket away from the grave. The coffin was most definitely being moved. Antoine was sure of that. The footsteps stopped just above the grave, right next to where the casket sat.

  Something was breathing.

  Deep, grating.

  Raspy and wheezy.

  He could tell that now. The breathing sounded congested and very nasal.

  Through closed and sand covered eyes, Antoine pictured a horrible demon-like monster above the grave…with a wolf-like face, super muscular manlike body…down to a long spiked tail like that of the devil.

  But that was just Antoine’s speculation. He did not know with certainty who or what was standing above the grave. But he knew one thing. Whatever was up there had to know he was lying below. One look over the side and into the grave would reveal a dark skinned immortal lying in a lake of putrid water.

  *~*~*

  The dawn was coming fast.

  But there was still plenty of time t
o resurrect an immortal. The process had already begun – it had been put into motion when Antoine’s shovel first hit the hard earth, and the progression would not stop until Darius was reanimated. The graveyard was much more active since the appearance of The Protector who diligently stood guard at the gravesite.

  Numerous other trees fell, but The Protector did not move. He was perched at the edge of the grave, wheezing deeply, each breath full of mucus, emitting a rotten gas from his nose and mouth into the air like a light smoke.

  From the fallen trees came several other man-demons all with super-muscular bodies like The Protector, all with spiked tails and dog-like faces. Each was adorned with rusted, dirty steel armor – a shield and sword – and all ready for battle.

  Each demon lined up beside the graves – the first stood at the foot of Darius’ grave and so on down in a long line as if preparing for a battle standoff. The line grew and grew as again another demon emerged from the forest, until the line reached the entire stretch of the cemetery.

  The Protector reached inside Darius’ coffin, and saw that there was nothing inside except for a heart.

  Darius.

  Even deep inside the grave, Antoine could see what was happening.

  The Resurrection.

  The Protector raised the heart out of the casket and held it up to the sky. He chanted something that Antoine could not understand – and the voice was so deep and discordant if it had been in a human dialect he probably would not have been able to discern it either.

  Chanting, over and over. He was repeating it.

  The sky opened up. The pinks and blues that had began to creep through just a short while earlier were instantly covered with dark black swirling clouds. The clouds were so black they made it seem as if the night had returned in full force, and that there was no hope of daylight or a rising sun.