Hell, p.19
Hell, page 19
Her mother closed the photo album, placing it again on the end table. “Tatiana, I’m not going to lie and say I understand what you’re going through. I want you to remember, none of this is your fault. Happiness did not end when you came, why, the day I first held you in my arms was the happiest day of my life.”
Tat looked up, sniffling, “Truly?” She asked.
Maria gave her a smile so wide that Tat could count every one of her teeth. “Of course, my treasure. There is no feeling on earth that I could liken it to, holding this tiny life within for so long, nurturing it, and then one day there you are, perfect in every way,” Maria kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry my treasure, I wish I could spend the rest of the day telling you just how much you mean to me. Unfortunately your father won’t be gone forever, and we have important errands to run.”
“Oh, Mother, I’m afraid I don’t much feel like going to market now.”
“Wonderful… because we aren’t going to market…”
When they emerged some twenty minutes later, a coach-and-four awaited them. The horses stamped and pulled at the reins, eager to be off, breath clouding in the chilly morning air. Climbing into the coach, Tat, having once more retreated into the baggy folds of her monk’s cassock, said silent thanks that she would be spared the intrusive eyes of passersby. The thought of the inquisitive stares of strangers was too much to bear, and though there was the distinct possibility that she might not be a fugitive, best not take any chances. Maria rattled off an address to the driver and they were away.
Tat looked out through the lace curtains as the sea of humanity parted to grudgingly allow their passage. It gave her a heady feeling of power to be able to observe people from the safety of the coach, hidden from view. Maria settled down on the seat opposite her and unslung the leather satchel she carried, placing it by her feet; she had refused to divulge its contents. The destination and nature of their errand was likewise kept secret. Tat’s curiosity was piqued.
Her mother seemed distracted as she nervously fidgeted with her watch, they were obviously doing something of which Yurgis would definitely not approve. Turning away from the grim reality glimpsed through the window, Tat finally voiced the question that had haunted her for her entire life.
“Mother,” even now the word sounded strange to her. She wondered if it would ever feel natural. “Was I really born this way?” She asked, indicating her illustrated skin.
Maria turned to face her, spending several seconds contemplating the question. Then she crossed over and sat next to her, draping an arm about her shoulders, drawing her close.
“Yes, my treasure, when you came out of me you were nearly black, so tightly coiled were your markings. I was shocked, to say the least, and Yurgis was furious. He demanded to know if I’d been trolling the bazaars at night, picking up African merchants.”
Both Maria and Tat laughed at this. It felt good to laugh; for so long her spirit had been shackled and confined, now it was time for her to abandon the past and let it learn to shine once again. In spite of her aversion to being touched, she found she was enjoying the close intimacy developing between them. Even going so far as to reach down, taking Maria’s hand in her own, tracing the deep tracks in her palm with her finger.
“But, why? What caused me to be born as I am? This isn’t natural. What can it all mean?”
Maria breathed a contented sigh, “Who can say? Not everything has a meaning. Some things just are. Would that be so terrible? Just to be, for the sake of yourself?
This time it was Tat’s turn to contemplate a question. “I suppose not,” she’d intended to leave it at that before words began pouring out of her. “Then again, whatever this is that’s wrong with me has profoundly affected my whole life. To find out now that it has no meaning, no purpose, would invalidate my entire existence in a way. All my suffering would’ve been for naught.” She tried to recall the last time she’d strung so many words together at once and had trouble.
Maria drew her closer still, stroking her hair as Tat laid her head on her shoulder, absentmindedly looking out the window as the coach trundled across London Bridge.
“Some meanings are known only to God, my treasure.”
Tat lifted her head, “Mother, does God really exist?”
At this Maria laughed, her voice sounding like spun silver shot through with molten gold.
“My dear, if I knew that, I might alleviate all the suffering in this world. In truth, nobody knows if it exists or not. That is a question everyone must figure out for themselves.”
Tat wasn’t satisfied, Dobra had avoided her question in remarkably the same fashion. She pressed the issue.
“Well, what’s the answer for you, what do you think?”
Maria lifted her arm from Tat’s shoulders, sliding back on the seat so they could better face each other.
“I’ll tell you a little story my father told me when I first questioned him about God. He said that our hearts and minds are like a mighty tree, and our spirit is a young squirrel at play within its branches, never stopping, forever looking and exploring; however, within this tree is another. A creature so old and wise, that it existed long before the tree itself grew out of the seeds it had once gathered together. And, if we can calm the restless squirrel of the spirit, to sit in the presence of this wise, old animal. We might know God, and eternal peace.”
Tat couldn’t grasp the full meaning of this analogy, so she filed it away for later rumination, deciding not to question further. For a while after that, they sat in comfortable silence, until nearly rocked to sleep by the gentle motion of the coach.
“I am about to betray your father.” Maria blurted out.
This admission caught her off guard, “In what way?” She asked suspiciously. It wasn’t as if she harbored any feelings of loyalty to that beast, but not even Maria could reasonably expect to escape his retribution. Of all the people who had tried, none were still living.
Her mother chose not to reply to her question, “I want you to know that, whatever happens, I am doing all of this for you… for us. There is a woman I must consult before going through with this, that is where we are headed now. There are going to be people there who will be very excited to meet you.”
“Ohhhhh! I hate meeting new people.” Tat whined.
“These are the best people I know, I would willingly place my life in their hands. Time is coming when I may have to,” she added cryptically. “Just be yourself, and remember, you don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to. I would prefer you don’t say much of anything, though of course, I leave that to your discretion.”
Chapter Ten:
The Tree of Life
They arrived at an old brownstone in a particularly unsavory neighborhood in the south of the city. The building immediately struck Tat as odd, but it was several seconds before she realized that its oddness stemmed from the fact that it was devoid of windows; not a single opening marred the monolithic brick façade save the front entrance. The building was enormous, four or five storeys if she had to guess, though without windows for reference it was impossible to say for sure. They disembarked, Maria handing the driver a five pound note.
The driver gave a long, low whistle. “Take your time, milady,” he drawled, climbing down from his seat and patting one of the horses. “We’ll be ‘ere when you need us.” After a decidedly lecherous wink, he affected an impressive swagger, approaching a clutch of giggling women in a nearby doorway from which raucous laughter issued.
Tat furtively scanned the crowded street. Even this far south of the river, the rampant filth and lawlessness one witnessed in ports and waterfronts had spread like an infection. People scurried like cockroaches while buildings, stained by decades of rain and soot, towered all around, making her feel claustrophobic as they pressed close on all sides. Who could they possibly be meeting with in this squalid district?
A smartly attired doorman emerged and addressed them, “Ahh, Madam Seldeen, it has been quite a while since you’ve graced us with your presence. I trust there is no problem?”
His skin was the color of a polished chestnut; tall, well muscled and lean, with a mean look to him that clashed with his fine suit. He did not strike her as a man one wanted to cross if they valued their life.
Her mother took her hand, protectively pulling her close. “That remains to be seen, Grayson. It is the reason for my visit today,” she then exchanged her gracious greeting voice for a hoarse whisper. “I would speak with Kether, is she available?”
In response, Grayson slid open the hatch of the tiny spy-hole, quietly spoke to someone within, and the door was promptly unlocked. It appeared that he trusted Maria so implicitly that he didn’t even need to inquire as to the identity of her shy companion. He ushered them inside.
“For a scion of the first tenant, Kether is always available…”
They entered a darkened chamber where a slight, bespectacled man with extraordinary mutton chops sat securely behind a solid metal counter that ran the entire length of the room, surmounted by a cage of steel bars. On the wall behind him were four identical clocks, each bafflingly displaying different times, hours apart. He greeted her mother as he would an old friend.
“Why, Maria! We ‘aven’t seen you in… well gotta be bout a year now I reckon. Lovely to see you again ma’am.”
“Hello Arthyr, I apologize for my long absence. I have been meaning to come around more often. Today I fear it is business of the utmost importance that has brought me.”
“Oh dear, well I’ll admit you directly, anything to check?”
“No, I require this for my meeting with Kether.” She opened the satchel, displaying its contents to the man.
“And who is your companion today?” He asked, turning his administrative attention to Tat.
Maria briefly hesitated, “…Would you believe me if I told you it was my daughter?” She queried in a sly tone.
The man gave her an odd look, then laughed, a little nervously, “Knowing you, not at all, I’m afraid, but your point is well taken,” and, taking up a quill, he signed the guestbook with a flourish. “Maria Seldeen and mysterious friend, at twelve-sixteen and nine seconds.” Then, satisfied that all was well, he turned and operated a large crank on the wall which unbarred the massive iron door at the other end of the chamber.
“Welcome to the Tree of Life.”
Tat was well-impressed with the security of this place. Even if someone of nefarious purposes did manage to get past the imposing doorman, Grayson, she recalled, they would have no recourse unless Arthyr opened the way from within his enclosure. Even if they threatened him with guns, he could duck behind the counter, and if they did succeed in shooting him, they couldn’t reach the crank. It seemed like a fool-proof system. What manner of establishment would require such stringent precautions?
Beyond the doorway, they passed into a long hallway echoing with the sound of Liszt, or Mozart; one of those frumpy classical composers. Tat had always harbored a strong aversion to symphonic music. It seemed to possess a sterile, intellectual bent that ran counter to her fundamental aesthetics. This was not music that spontaneously sprang from the heart, but from the brain, with its logic and reason and its cold, calculated poly-rhythms. From what she could hear it sounded like a cello, flute, and maybe a harp?
As they reached the main hall, they were confronted with the source of the offending music; three women sat playing their instruments at the foot of a fully-grown tree that reached up four storeys, its topmost branches nearly brushing a massive skylight. Each successive floor had a circular balcony that ran the entire circumference, looking down on this cylindrical, atrium-like room. Staring in muted wonder, she saw now from whence this place derived its name.
Feeling out of her depth, Tat hung back in the hall, trying to make herself unnoticeable as Maria brashly entered. There was an instant commotion as the music ceased, the ladies laying aside their instruments and crowding around, effusively greeting her. Her mother fervently returned their greetings, embracing each of them in turn in a blatantly motherly fashion which left Tat feeling more than a little jealous.
“Lady Seldeen, we thought you’d forsaken us.” This was spoken in a thick Scottish accent by the flautist, a slight, pale wisp of a girl with long black hair who appeared no older than twenty.
“Oh, Hod, you know I could never do that, you girls are like family to me.”
The apparent leader of the group spoke up in the restrained tones of a proper English lady, “Well, tell us, what has kept you away for so long? What adventures have so occupied your attention that you would neglect your family?”
The first thing Tat noticed about this impossibly beautiful creature were the positively enormous breasts that nearly spilled over the top of the tightly-laced bodice that bound her. Then her eyes wandered up to a cherubic face, framed by a glorious cascade of sun-yellow curls. As if aware of being observed, the woman turned, their eyes locking for a split-second before Tat gasped, looking down, sinking into the depths of her hood, feeling her face redden.
“Who is that?” She demanded, before Maria could respond to her original question.
Maria beckoned, “My treasure, don’t hide in the shadows, there is nothing to fear here.”
Reluctantly, Tat ventured into the room, being careful to keep the hem of her hood covering her eyes, cutting the world in half, rendering people nothing more than pairs of disembodied legs. Her exotic appearance was going to cause a scene, so she was putting it off as long as she could.
Maria introduced her to the legs, which drew slightly nearer in curiosity.
“Ladies, this will come as a shock to you all. This… is my daughter… Tatiana.”
The reaction was immediate as all three women began talking at once. Their voices amalgamating into a cacophony of birdsong.
“You’ve never mentioned a daughter…”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I don’t believe it…”
“Why does she keep her face covered?”
Tat steadfastly refused to look up and meet their eyes, keeping her gaze firmly affixed to the sun-baked flagstones. Maria let all their questions go unanswered.
“Please, girls, she is quite shy, and with good reason. There will be plenty of time for proper introductions later. We must see Kether.”
This caused the three to excitedly whisper among themselves for several seconds before the buxom leader again spoke.
“She is currently in communion with the supernals in Chesed, upon Briah,” her words striking Tat as being mostly nonsense. “And will be for the next thirty-seven minutes and forty seconds, thirty nine, thirty eight…”
It was at this point that Tat noticed the large grandfather clock that they were all facing. It was a remarkable, functional work of art, nearly twice as large as any she had ever seen. Recalling the clocks in the entry chamber, it was easy to surmise that whatever was going on here was of an obsessively punctual nature. She looked around, marveling at three other identical clocks marking the cardinal directions of the room, each displaying a different time…
She continued, “Twould be a heinous thing to interrupt, unless, of course, you insist…” Almost sounding as if she wanted her to insist.
Maria didn’t miss a beat, “I do…”
“Very well, but she must remain here,” she replied, obviously referring to Tat. “It is now the tide of Ain Soph, and only known allies may enter the Tree.” Tat was quite confused by all this, what was this place?
After a moment’s hesitation, Maria agreed.
“Good... Yesod.”
“Yes?” Her elfin features lighting up under an unruly nest of brown locks.
“Take her up to Chesed by the route Tau, Samekh, Yod. The world, temperance, and the hermit.”
The harpist nodded resolutely, “Please come with me, milady.”
Maria leaned close to Tat and whispered, “I will send for you to join us presently, relax and be yourself. Surely they will love you as I do.” She punctuated this terse farewell with a quick kiss on her forehead.
“Don’t leave me with them… please.” She begged, grasping for a hand, her mother already pulling away.
Then she was gone, the silence so thick it was nearly a tangible thing. Somewhere Tat could hear the muffled sound of running water.
“Hod, please leave us, I would talk with… Tatiana, alone. Go find Netzach and tell her what has happened here.”
“But Tiphareth…”
“Hod… go.”
The smaller woman stamped her foot and spun on her heel, a flare of skirts and petticoats, exiting the chamber in a huff.
“So, Lady Maria has been hiding a daughter for all these years. Where has she been keeping you?”
Tat remained silent, not yet sure about the woman’s motives.
“Don’t talk much, do you? The others will never forgive me if I waste this chance, Tatiana Seldeen…”
“Stannek.” Tat croaked
“Pardon?”
“My name, is Tatiana Stannek.” She replied with a little more confidence.
The woman, Tiphareth, sat down on one of the finely upholstered chairs that furnished the space, effecting a spread-legged posture both provocative, yet relaxed; she was clearly a cello player.
“No, it’s not. Anyone born into Esion’s family is a Seldeen, regardless of paternity,” she spoke playfully, her voice in many ways resembling that of her chosen instrument. “He built this place you know, designed it himself, bequeathed it in perpetuity to those who came before us, as well as to those who will come after…”
“What is this place?” Tat asked, hoping to shift the topic of discussion away from herself.
“As Maria said, there will be time for such things later. I am more interested in knowing how and why you have come to us, now of all times. There has been quite a bit of nervous tension flowing through the astral of late, portents of significant events. We’ve all been on edge for weeks. Now you show up, unannounced, and presented as the direct heir of the Seldeen line. Who are you?” Visibly flustered, Tiphareth stood and approached. “Remove your hood.” She commanded.
