Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) (18 page)

The great hall was lit by a thousand golden candles. Silas squinted and looked around, trying to take in the details as they emerged out of the glow. What he saw was more dream than dinner party, more phantasmagoria than family reunion. The harder he looked, the more he recalled the vision his great-grandfather had had when they were searching for his father: the high resplendent hall, the rich tapestries . . . the gathered familial throng. On and on their numbers went. It may have been a trick of the candlelight, but the hall seemed longer than when he first arrived, the front door, nearly a mile away to Silas’s distorted vision. All the particulars began to blend into a riot of sensation and color and texture suffused with an inexplicable and intoxicating joy, for in this hall he was no longer one person in isolation, but a part of a continuum, a family, a real family, so very much bigger than himself. The mighty presence of kin made him feel there was only clan, only tribe, only the long line of names stringing back to the first lighting of the world.

The glow of the fire playing off the crystal drinking glasses, shining off the silver settings, glinting off the jewels of the family’s rich attire, swirled before his eyes and colored the air of the hall with a prism, as though the entire scene was being viewed through an ancient, iridescent shard of Roman glass.

Maud rose from her chair and walked over, welcoming Silas and Lars into the hall. She showed Silas to a chair on the dais that stood before the fire at the high end of the table. He was to sit between Maud and Jonas. All the other seats were taken. Indeed, some members of the family sat upon the floors and stood about the hall, eating from trenchers they held in their laps and hands.

When Silas saw there was no seat for Lars, he said, a little dreamily, “Aunt Maud, I would like to sit with my cousin Lars, if it’s not too much trouble?”

Maud looked as though she was about to complain, but then said, “Silas, you are the guest of honor, so tonight, let it be as you wish.” She raised her hand and one of the grooms left the hall and returned at a trot with a chair that he placed between Silas and Jonas. As Silas and Lars sat down, Lars whispered, “You shouldn’t have done that. They won’t like it.”

Silas whispered back, “In large rooms, it’s best to keep your friends close. Besides, I’m going to need you to tell me what half this stuff is on the table.”

Lars put his hand on Silas’s shoulder and said, smiling, “Cousin, it will be a pleasure.”

“What’s this?” Silas asked more loudly than he’d intended, pointing at two bowls that had been placed in front of him as soon as he sat down.

Before Lars could answer, Jonas leaned over toward Silas and said, “Spelt and salt, as is fitting.”

“Am I supposed to eat that?” questioned Silas.

“Be easy. It is
for you
, but not for you
to eat
. The grain and salt are offerings. This is customary.”

“Offerings to
me
?”

“Offerings to the Janus. But very shortly, it will all be one and the same.”

More and more food was being brought in, and everywhere, people were piling it onto plates and into bowls. As Lars whispered into Silas’s ears the names of foods and drinks and delicacies of every sort, Silas’s feeling of inebriation grew, even before his third cup of spiced wine had been emptied. He wondered briefly about the safety of tasting the food at Arvale, the food of the dead, but Lars was eating with gusto, and the very air grew wonderfully heavy with music and familiarity, and all his questions swiftly dissolved. His blood mellowed and slowed, perhaps from the proximity of so many kin, so much consanguinity, as though the house was the one heart beating for all. And the wine was good and the air was warm and filled with voices and all of them spoke his name. It was hard to see where any one voice came from. All mouths were moving at once. Everyone was drinking, singing, and exclaiming, and the bright candlelight played on Silas’s vision, making the forms of some folks appear almost transparent. He could see bodies through bodies, every person framed within the form of another.

The table nearly buckled under the weight of laden gold and silver plates. More and more food was brought from outer chambers and the ornate sideboards that stood against the walls. Everywhere Silas looked there was wonder and distraction, and delicacies of every sort. . . .

A mansion of baked dough, housing live birds with gilt feet. They chirped wildly and then took to the air as the revelers’ hungry hands tore chunks from the pastry roof, allowing the birds to escape.

A course of quartered stag, two days in salt, served beside civet hare, stuffed chicken, and a loin of veal.

Pies of every size and shape, all silvered around their edges and gilded at their tops. Some colored with saffron and flavored with cloves.

Platters of cheese in elaborately shaped slices: crowns, skulls, and a pride of curd lions.

On pedestals running the length of the table were perched the gelatin forms of birds, eagles, ravens, swans, and peacocks adorned with their tail feathers. In the midst of the table on the dais was a wine-red gelatin head with two faces that jiggled so that the portraits rippled and their expressions seemed to shift from terror to joy to ambivalence as the molded mouths settled.

“Silas! Look! It’s you! In the jelly!” whispered Lars, discreetly but deeply in his cups.

Though his cousin protested, Silas refilled Lars’s cup and smiled, but was unsure of the likeness in the gelatin. He tried to stand to examine it more closely, but his own head felt heavy and he fell back into his chair.

Maud stood up, holding her glass high. “Welcome! Welcome, Silas Umber, to the family seat! Be forever welcome here. May the doors of Arvale always be open to you!”

Voices throughout the great hall flew up the cry. “To Silas! To Silas, Janus of the house!”

Jonas stood, and lifting a full glass, shouted,
“Ecce! Nos etiam hic stamus!”

The crowd cheered at those words. Silas lifted his glass and repeated them, not knowing what he was saying. The family, in one voice, began to chant their ancient motto, each time getting louder and louder until the beams of the hall shook in agreement:

“Ecce! Nos etiam hic stamus!”

“Ecce! Nos etiam hic stamus!”

“Ecce! Nos etiam hic stamus!”

The loud chanting only made Silas’s eyes feel heavier and the words of the motto became a charm, lulling him, drawing him down further and further away from himself, out into the mind of the throng.

“Ecce! Nos etiam hic stamus!”

“Behold!” said Maud, translating for Silas. “We are still here!”

And the company continued their revels far into the night. Silas no longer knew the hour, and he didn’t care. He was with his kin, and for the moment, most everything else had been driven from his mind. Lars had fallen asleep leaning on Silas’s shoulder. And as Silas lolled in his chair, the music continued, drifting down from some gallery high above. The music fell all about them, roaming from the hall out into the corridors and down, down through the unlit lower passages, down into the earth. The golden revel-notes tumbled into the blackest, most forgotten corners of the ancient crypts and catacombs, reminding those incarcerated souls that joy yet remained in some far-removed portion of the world, but not in theirs.

Far below the ground, in the lowest chamber of the sunken mansion, something heard the music and the sounds of the gathered company and began to scream until the stones of its prison shook with a mighty din. But those terrible lamentations did not travel far through the thick, deep clay and so troubled the revelers not at all.

“S
ILAS
? C
HILD OF
E
ARTH
? I
T
’
S TIME
.”

When Silas looked up, all the family in the great hall were staring, arrayed in concentric circles around him. Each person held a single candle. Jonas stood next to him, wearing a long gray robe. Three other robed figures stood next to Jonas, their faces concealed, each holding a sword.

Silas stared at the weapons, their long, well-used blades honed to wicked-looking edges.

Jonas’s voice rose to a shout as he addressed the members of the family.

“We gather this night to initiate one who wishes to serve as Lord of January and Guardian of the Threshold. Here is one who calls himself worthy—”

Silas began to protest, shaking his head, trying to clear it. “I didn’t say anything about being worthy!”

“Silence! Silence!” Maud whispered harshly in his ear. “It has begun!”

Maud’s voice pulled tight with desperation. Whatever was about to happen, she didn’t want anything stopping it.

But then Maud put her hand on his shoulder and said more softly, “This is what you have come here for, like all the Undertakers before you. It was for this that you were born. Do not let fear be your stumbling block. Take your place upon the Limbus Stone and rouse yourself to the obligation of your blood. Come!”

The great doors were opened and a thin, rising mist snaked about the surface of the dark stone on the threshold.

Without waiting for a signal, the family throng pushed in, moving closer and closer to where Silas stood with Maud by the open doors. Silas did not like being forced to do anything, but as the family edged toward him, he backed up until he realized he’d been moved onto the threshold. Looking down, he saw he was standing on the dark stone. His skin and nerves prickled with apprehension, and again, his hand began to warm uncomfortably. He waited, afraid to move. It was all happening a little too fast, and he didn’t know enough about what was expected of him. This was an unpleasant contrast to how he felt at home where he was already respected as the Undertaker. But this ceremony was part of what an Undertaker was supposed to do. This was his next step. Silas stood as straight as possible, wanting to appear ready for whatever was to happen next.

Maud looked hard at Jonas who Silas could see was not entirely pleased with these proceedings. Maybe he didn’t think Silas should be Janus. Maybe he wanted to wait. Why? Did he think Silas was too young? Silas knew Jonas did not respect his father. Could it be that Jonas was worried that Silas and Amos were too much alike? Whatever the case, it was clear Maud was the one driving things on.
Why does she want me to be Janus so badly? What is all this to her? The family has had many Januses before me and has been without one for a long time. By her own admission, I am too young. So why does she want me to be Janus now? What does she gain by my going forward?

Perhaps because he took Silas’s distraction and silence for assent, Jonas closed his eyes for an instant, his form growing very sharp and distinct, brighter. Then, resolutely, he spoke the required words. “Here is one who calls himself worthy of this hallowed office. One who shall govern the Door Doom with a will of iron and without prejudice, one who will settle accounts and make worthy judgments, one who will walk the Path of Virgil without fear.” Jonas stared at Silas, waiting for a reply.

Silas wasn’t sure what to say.

“Silas, you are about to be judged upon the Stone. Are you prepared for the initiation that shall mean life or death? Knowledge or oblivion? Are you willing to abide by whatever may befall you?”

Silas trembled at those words. Now was his chance to back out.

“What do you mean, ‘whatever may befall me’? I do not abide!”

“The question has been asked. Silas, now is the time for you to answer in the affirmative,” said Maud.

“Wait a minute! You cannot command or compel me to do anything against my will. I get to choose. I am the Undertaker.” He sounded desperate, pathetic.

Jonas hesitated, but then, perhaps trying to help him, said with a voice full of both surety and regret, “Yes. You could leave now, leave this house and abandon the obligations of your name.” He added, “There would be a cost for such action, but then, in time, you might return.”

But Maud was having none of it. She looked Silas in the eyes. “Leave, and you may never return, even in death! You would be an outsider, in all worlds. If you remain, you must accede to custom. ‘Silas’ does not exist. It is the will of the family that matters now.” Maud pushed forward toward the door, stopping just before the threshold, adding, “Your father, if he were here, would expect you to honor your obligations. Even he knew what it was to be, before any other thing, an Umber.”