He looked out the window. It was narrow, affording himonly a slice of the ocean and sky above, the edge of a wooden deck below. It was cloudy today, gloomy, making the interior of his cell full of shadows. There was no one on the deck today, at least no one he could see. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen anyone.
The bars were spaced evenly about eight inches apart. He was thin enough now, he might have been able to squeeze between them – at least if he let every molecule of air out of his lungs. But he wouldn’t try that.
Although he was only a few feet away from the window, from that tantalizing view of the world outside, it might as well have been miles from him. His cell was built on a platform, with no walkway or bridge on any side. If he managed to squeeze between the bars, as weak as he had become, he didn’t think he could hold on long enough or jump far enough to reach the window. The drop from this height was at least fifty feet, maybe further. The interior of the tower was silent – was he its only occupant?
He leaned against the bars, eyes drawn again and again to the only view he had. How long had he been here? Was anyone even still looking for him? Had the ransom been paid?
Once he had been Miles Sterling, the favored son of a wealthy family. Then, the not so favored son. He’d been born to money without responsibility, and had taken advantage of everything that offered. His hedonistic lifestyle had at first brought fame to his name, and then infamy,and finally shame. His “old-money” family had tried therapy, interventions, even threatening to cut him off entirely.
When it became obvious to him that his parents, his father in particular, were serious about tossing him out to make it on his own, he’d gone to them and sworn to change hisways. He would stop partying and getting arrested, stop making a mockery of the family in the tabloids. He would straighten up and act like a Sterling. And he’d tried. He really had, regardless of what anyone thought.
But that last night, he’d been caught with Felicia. She was a lovely girl, with an enchanting smile. He hadn’t realized she was not quite eighteen yet, and he’d never cared that she was his cousin. His mother Siobhan had been furious, her gaze cold enough to turn molten lava to ice. In fact, Miles didn’t remember ever seeing her quite so angry. And the words that had come from her mouth were pure Gaelic.
“Feadfaidh an Fhir achur ort agus tu a choinneail, agus tu ag aon mac mianach,” she’d cursed and cut her eyes away from him. Then she’dtaken Felicia and left the house.
Miles did not speak Gaelic, he’d never had any interest. But he’d grown up hearing his mother and grandmother speak it to each other. And he recognized the words “Gentlemen” and“no son of mine”.
Outside the surf crashed and rumbled against the base of the tower. The tide was coming in; perhaps a storm a swell, for the water, what he could see of it, seemed to churn and boil.
Miles closed his eyes, remembering Felicia, tracing her features with his mind’s eye. She’d had long red hair, peaches and cream skin, and eyes so blue they didn’t seem real. She could have stepped out of one of his mother’s fairytale stories, which she’d read to him when he’d been a small boy.
“How could I not want her?” he said, his voice hoarse and rusty from disuse. “She was like a Selkie from one of your stories, Mother.”
The day drew down, the sky growing darker, and the waves crashed and retreated from the tower again and again, until he wanted to scream from the monotony of it.
“The Gentlemen,” he said, trying to think of something besides his beautiful cousin, and his current predicament. “What did Mother used to say about the Gentlemen?”
But it hadn’t been his mother who’d spoken of them; it had been his grandmother, who’d been born and lived most of her life in Ireland. The Gentlemen were what you called dark spirits, dark elves, if you wanted to stay on their good side. They were known to cause harm for the tiniest slight, to take offense from the most casual word. They were neither good nor evil, Grandmother had claimed, but tended to be unforgiving. And a human should never deal with them lightly.
“Feadfaidh an Fhir achur ort agus tu a choinneail, agus tu ag aon mac mianach,” he whispered, trying to work out the meaning of the words. “May the Gentlemen claim…” He remembered the way his mother’s eyes had blazed when she’d hissed those words. She hadn’t tried to hide her contempt for him; he was an embarrassment to her, no doubt about that. “No, that’s not right. May the Gentlemen take you, and keep you,” he said, eyes closed in concentration. “You’re no son of mine.”
The wind blew, reaching into his tower prison, making him start. He opened his eyes, pupils dilating as he strove to see in the darkening air. Shadows were moving up the spiral stairs that climbed the interior of the tower. Like men in long dark coats, they moved around him, glowing eyes watching him.
“The Gentlemen,” he whispered, and as one, they bowed.
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©2011 Rose Blackthorn
Rose Blackthorn lives in the high mountain desert of Eastern Utah with her boyfriend and Australian Shepherd. She divides her time between reading, writing, photographing the surrounding wilderness, and doting on the aforementioned Aussie. She has published stories in Encounters Magazine, Realms Magazine, the Absent Willow Review, and shortly in the anthology New Dawn Fades to be released in late 2011/early 2012.
Tags: Rose Blackthorn
October 6th, 2011 at 8:10 am
Rose
Is one of the best writers in todays market
October 11th, 2011 at 6:43 am
Yeah, this is creepy brilliant. I love the way it unfolds; Miles working out the meaning behind his mother’s words. Enjoyed this tale a lot.