What Manner of Man: Chapter 13 🦇

That forest — dense, alive with green, divine —

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JOURNAL ENTRY

Undated.

At long last I have ended my term of self-imposed isolation.

It was late evening and I was standing at my window, staring, dull-eyed, with troubled thoughts, out into the deepening gloom. Suddenly I perceived the glow of amber-coloured light emanating from some distant part of the manor. It poured like liquid gold across the still, black surface of the water far below. The sight of it awoke poignant, half-forgotten longings in me. It was like the warmth of hearth-fire, of companionship — things I’ve been so long without I scarcely dare to name them. The source, I surmised, was somewhat below and to the west of my chamber.

It was enough to lure me from my fearful vigil. I had grown weary of dwelling on the possible implications of it all — on the fate of all those countless others, like myself, who had come before me to this heathen place. How many sleepless nights have I passed since discovering that dreadful door at the foot of my bed? At times I thought I heard the low clink of the iron handle beginning to turn — merely my imagination, no doubt, or perhaps the push and pull of air currents through this draughty old place.

Leaving my room by the conventional door, it took me some time to make my way to the part of the manor which lay in the direction from which the light had come — (The corridors of Whithern Hall are so oddly convoluted.) When I found the place, however, there was no mistaking the light spilling from all around the door.

I found myself inside an enormous room with walls of glass, now brightly lit by rather intricate bronze hanging lanterns. On all sides, I was surrounded by green: there were china bowls of nodding orchids and lacy ferns; rows upon rows of sweet-smelling herbs and flowering plants of all kinds. Below me, emerald-coloured moss grew between the stones of the floor, while, above, a network of vines crept up the iron lattice that held the panes of glass in place. Above all there were the beautiful trees — oak, willow, ash and thorn had all been tamed into the space. It all had the appearance of being just on the verge of bursting out of its confines of iron and glass; of taking the whole house for its own — kept in check by just a hint of a human hand.

I knew that there was a conservatory, of course, and that Lord Vane spent much time there, but I had never seen it in all my time at Whithern Hall. Certainly nothing had prepared me for this bewildering, palatial greenhouse. After so long being holed away in my room, the profusion of life and colour was overpowering. I walked under that sky of glass scarcely believing my own senses. There was a freshness and purity about the air that seemed almost holy; a welcome reprieve from the unrelenting darkness of recent days. I felt as if I were walking through the lost nave of the cathedral, the green canopy a soaring Gothic arch above me.

By the time I saw him, it was too late to pretend I wasn’t intruding. Lord Vane’s back was to me as he gazed out over the top of the cliff to the sea far below.

Had some change occurred in the time since I had looked upon him last? The difference in his appearance was both subtler and more profound than the changing tint of his hair, though this was now more silver than black. Perhaps it was a quality of the strange lamps, but there seemed about him a deeply unnatural palour. Where had his rich, dark colour gone?

Even faded as he was, however, I could not help but be enraptured by that lonely figure looking out across the sea. Too soon he turned, his eyes finding mine.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said, lamely. Evidently the soft carpet of moss had not entirely concealed my footsteps.

Something in the look of surprise that flashed across his face arrested me, mid-motion, though I cannot say what it was. A careful smile took its place, and something tentative and warm quivered in me in return. “Father Ardelian! Dear man, how pleased I am to see you. Are you well again?”

I was braced for my own sinful response to his presence, but quite unprepared for the evident sympathy and concern with which I was met. The demon must be fully ascendant within him, in order for him to have consumed my mind as he did, and yet there was a note of unmistakable sincerity in Lord Vane’s voice that I cannot account for.

“My illness was rather unexpectedly prolonged,” I said. Even to my ears, the words rang false — if it was an illness, it was purely spiritual. “I must be better now, though. The spirit which moves the heavens and the earth has taken it upon itself to move me.”

But Lord Vane only met me with compassion. “You haven’t suffered much, I hope? I couldn’t bear it if you were in agony because I made you think it was worth your while going down into those catacombs.”

“Unrelated entirely, I assure you.”

By this time I had come next to him — there, against that wall of glass, it seemed as if we stood on the cliff’s very edge. The sea, far below, had begun to churn with signs of approaching storm.

“I ought never to have have brought you here, I’m truly sorry.” Abruptly he looked away, as if unable to continue.

I realized, then, that it might not be the demon to whom I was speaking after all. This change that had come over him — was it possibly the soul, wearied, wounded, emerging from his spiritual battle? After everything that has happened, I scarcely dared to hope.

“I understand,” I said, “I know why you needed me, my friend. How much you’re suffering; how you must war with yourself to keep it at bay. I would be so afraid of losing myself.”

I think something about these remarks must have hit a mark — rather too closely so, for Lord Vane seemed unable to meet my eye, and when he spoke next it was not in response to me.

“I haven’t spent much time in the conservatory in recent days. I’ve been avoiding it, though it is perhaps the only place that might offer me any relief now that I’m —” Here he broke off abruptly again. He paused a moment, gazing out at the sea, then moved on, leaving the sentence incomplete. “I’ve felt — unworthy, I suppose. I did wonder, though, when I lit the lanterns, whether it might lure you out.”

I didn’t know what to make of this, but before I could ask any questions, he continued.

“The ancient peoples of this island believed all these grounds to be touched by the divine, and, much as I scorn such things, even I cannot turn from it here. I think you feel it too.”

“Yes,” I whispered. I could not deny it.

“The plants you see around you are all native to this place; preserved by one of my ancestors from destruction that preceded the building of the manor. Some are unique to Swallow’s Rest — grown from cuttings of plants almost as old as the island itself. They occupied this spot long before us, and perhaps they have more right to be here than any of us. More than me, certainly. I think perhaps you know that, Father.”

Surely this was tantamount to open acknowledgement. With growing excitement, I found myself saying, “I believe I understand, truly. In all this time, there has been nothing I have wanted more than to help you.”

“Of your help, Father, I am even less worthy. It was selfish of me to want to see you again, I know — but you deserve rest, and I thought that this place might bring you a little peace.”

This moved me and I spoke impulsively. “Not worthy? Absurd! You — you are one of the most magnificent men I have ever come to know. I can hardly find words to describe how I admire you, how I — well, if a man cannot find true brotherhood with his fellows, there’s little hope for those of us who have taken our vows.”

“Dear man, you cannot know what you’re saying.”

I felt emboldened to speak openly of my purpose, then. “Allow me to perform the rite of exorcism. Let me drive this demon from you, so that we can be together in the light of God.”

At this, Lord Vane stiffened, all trace of softness vanishing from his expression. A darkness came into his eyes, sharp and cruel. “A barbarous ritual,” he said, coldly. “Can you really believe in it? Come now, Father, you must know such things are beneath you.”

Having opened myself so recklessly to him, this rebuke struck me like a blow. It was anger, then, that commanded my tongue. “Do not mock my faith! You summoned an exorcist, is this not what you wanted from me? Why would I not believe?”

“I am not questioning your devotion, only its wisdom. For doubt you have to look within yourself. Have you no feelings that fall outside what is permitted by your church? Is your nature not condemned by the very god you worship?”

The feeling this provoked in me shocked even myself. I was flooded with shame, assaulted by memories both new and old. There was dirt on my hands — and blood.

“I don’t have to listen to you, you fiend!”

Lord Vane stood tall and imperious. “And why should I listen to you? For a moment I believed you were different, but no. Trying to entice me to submit to the rule of a church which twists your heart into a weapon against itself — which demands you keep half your spirit in shadow and shame. Nature in its mindless, instinctual cruelty is better than that.”

For the moment I was too angry to speak — I could find no answer to the demon’s blasphemy.

Lord Vane stepped toward me, then. “Did you not enjoy it when I touched you? You seemed to, when you offered yourself to me on the altar.”

My anger burned so hot that I did not immediately process this. “Enjoy it? I’m not an animal! What was there to enjoy? How dare you accuse me of sin when it is you who taint my thoughts, you who pour poison into my ear. Defiler! Seducer!”

“Dear boy, you flatter me. You’ve elevated me far above my station — why, it’s almost as you think I am the Devil.”

It was too far. His mocking, his gloating pushed me past some precipice and I could feel my foundations beginning to crumble.

“Why did you not kill me?” I spoke brokenly; the words seemed to come from somewhere outside myself. I could only watch myself in helpless terror.

To my surprise, Lord Vane did not seize his victory but seemed to recede into himself.

“I —” he rasped, “I couldn’t. I don’t understand it, but something stayed my hand. I couldn’t complete the ritual.”

Then, at last, the blow fell.

It was shattering, far more damning than any words spoken in anger; this last confirmation. I had known it all along, of course — in some dark corner of my mind. Only when I heard him speak of it with that sober confusion, however, did the full weight of reality finally begin to fall onto my shoulders. It had all been utterly real — everything that had happened in the stone chamber. It was only my desperate cowardice that had made it into a dream.

I could not allow myself to dwell on it, lest the last of me crumble away. I looked at this man before me in mad, vain hope that this was indeed a man — that I was right, and the nobility of soul I saw in him was genuine.

My voice trembled as I spoke. “Then the part of you that matters is still human.”

This was a mistake. Lord Vane turned on me again, clearly incensed. “Still human?” He scoffed. “Wretched, foolish man — your world truly is so pathetically small. I don’t think you could even begin to imagine what is happening around you. Father, nothing about me has been human for a millennia.”

I was not mistaken before — some vital essence of that humanity which he once had is fading rapidly. As he stood there, now, he seemed a creature of emptiness and shadow — of pitch-dark and pale, ashen white. He appeared to me, then, utterly malevolent.

What a terrible final blow this was, and what a fool I have been. It should have been obvious to me long ago. There is no demon in that man, neither is there an imprisoned human soul — there is only Lord Vane. There has only ever been Lord Vane.

Summoning up my strength, I replied, “Then there is nothing in you worth my breath.”

With that, I turned and left. I have no plan, and, spiritually weak as I am, I can do little to protect myself from what retaliation may result from this — but perhaps I may yet salvage what is left of my soul.

P.S. FROM 2024:

Hello! 👋 What you’re reading is a draft version of What Manner of Man. I’ve made some much-needed improvements to the dialogue in this scene, rewriting most of it and improving the general build of the conversation. Plus, this is, of course, no longer the first scene that takes place in the conservatory.

(You can get the complete, edited and expanded novel DRM-free on Itch.io or at the retailer of your choice.)

Thank you, everyone, for your patience and understanding with regard to the lack of a chapter last week. (Thanks especially to those who took the time to leave a kind message / comment. 💜) I can’t say things are 100% back to normal yet, life-wise, but we’re getting there!

-St John

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