Reading Time: 9 minutes

Mother of Crow

By Jenny K. Brennan

Chapter 8 – All the birds?

Last updated: February 2, 2019 at 19:24 pm [bctt tweet=”Ch 8 from Mother of Crow, the novel I publish as I need to making an idiot of myself, edit, revise, despair, and look for interesting words. #houseofimp #fiction”]

There were no birds in the monastery gardens. They had gone silent along with everything else. As humanity went insane and nature lost its purpose for being, the forests and gardens grew still. With the dead quietly losing their meaning as well as their colouring, they faded in memory as well. With time they lost their place in the collected consciousness of the remaining human population. They turned into faded images. There were no birds. That’s what went through Frederico’s mind in the moment he saw it. There were no birds.

The bird was beautiful. Clad in a deep blue feathering that gradually changed through indigo and dark purple to shimmering charcoal at the crown of its head. It was a creature so magnificent it would have taken Frederico’s breath away. If he hadn’t been breeding his butterflies. Stunningly close to perfection but still only a bird.. It was no larger than could easily be cupped in a mans hand,
“Oh.” John exhaled “
Oh.”, He said again and started moving past Frederico who let go of the door they had just come through.

John didn’t make it past. “Fred, look!”
But Frederico didn’t need to look to know that John had just made the first of many mistakes he would make in the world outside. There was a bird. On a branch. Just outside the only place anyone could exit the monastery. A bird.
There were no birds. Unless….
Before the thought was fully formed in his mind, His arm shot out and in the fraction of a second it took for the bird to decide to take off, he caught it just as it raised its wings. It never made a sound when Frederico tightened his fingers around the tiny body. He robbed it of air first. That way it couldn’t call out. It flapped its wings but Frederico ignored it and tightened his grip. The bird struggled in wild panic. It drove its sharp beak into the hand that held it, again and again, but to no avail. Frederico ignored the pain and finally, tiny bones cracked, and other things whirred and buzzed one final time before going still. The bird grew limp. Gabriel held on until he was sure it wouldn’t move. Then another minute. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He let out his breath and dropped the creature on the ground. “Be quiet now, little one.”, He mumbled. John moved beside him and he opened his eyes to turn his attention to john. Blood dripped from Frederico’s finger tips and he let it fall to feed the parched ground at their feet.

“Fred?” John said. The name was muffled because both Johns big hands covered his mouth. Suddenly his hands moved to cover his eyes instead. “Fred, I can still see it.”

Frederico pulled John’s arms down. “I know, my brother, I know.”
.

Both of them stood a moment and looked down at the bird that was not a bird. Frederico hadn’t known for sure, but now they both knew. And John had to see to understand. The body at their feet lay exposed to them and the metal parts of the bird were easy to see. Tiny gears, springs, and scalpel blades appeared to have grown along with the birds natural anatomy in ways that Frederico could never hope to understand. John stepped closer and bent down to look at the remade pretty little bird. His fear was suddenly replace with curiosity. He poked at it. Frederico looked around while John satisfied his curiosity. “Yeah, be quiet now, silly little monster. You didn’t think you would get away from Fred, did you? Silly thing. Fred? Did it hurt you?” John’s expression was grim when he stood up. “Fred!”

Frederico ignored him. He plucked one of the remaining camouflage rags from John’s metal clad chest and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. He still didn’t know how he had caught the guardian. He only knew that he had and if he hadn’t, it would have brought the rest of the guardians within moments. It must have been posted there for that purpose alone.

“Nasty.” John said with finality. “Birds are bad.” He nodded. “Nasty bad monster birds.”

To Frederico’s dismay, John wasn’t looking at the bird, or even at the sky where there may be a swarm of guardians sailing around looking for them right that moment. He was looking at Frederico, seemingly searching for something that wasn’t there. Frederico wanted to look away.
John asked, “All of them? All the birds? Even pretty birds?”
Frederico nodded. He wished with every fibre of his body that it wasn’t true. But it was better that John believed it. “Yes, John, all the birds.”, He said, “All the birds and maybe all the other animals too. We don’t know. Maybe they are all nasty bad monster things now. Let’s always remember that. Okay, John?”

John sighed and wiped his nose with a metal sleeve, then wiped the sleeve on a piece of an old polishing cloth tied around his other metal sleeve. “Okay,” he finally muttered. He wouldn’t look at Frederico. He shuffled his feet and glanced at somewhere other than on his fellow monk, dead guardian bird, or glimpses of sky above them.
Frederico sighed inwardly and looked up. “We have to go, Brother. Now.” There were but a few patches of sky seen through a ceiling of wood and vines carefully arranged to grow grapes. All was quiet. What was happening within the stone walls would not be heard on the outside. But it was happening nonetheless. When would they figure out that someone was missing? He turned away from the stones that had been his home for the last three decades. A crumpled leaf crackled beneath his foot and suddenly he recalled the plenty that had been before. When all the monks had to do was walk outside and pick grapes from just above their heads. Now, the vines were a tangle of dry cracking branches and long crumpled leaves.

Beyond the protective ceiling of vines, tight rows of fruit trees took over, and beyond that, the forest on the other side of the monastery gate continued into the eastern paradox, a vast forest stretching far into places Frederico didn’t know. As far as he had heard, , it didn’t stop until it reached the ocean. That was several days travel by horse, on a decent road. But that wasn’t where they were going. He frowned. Where were they going to go? He pulled John behind him, and they made their way through the tight rows of fruit trees, glancing back at the monastery door and the spot where a tiny guardian lay crushed. “Shit.” He said and stopped, He looked more carefully at where they had come from.
John plucked at his coat. He was impatient to go.
“They will know,”Frederico whispered and stared at the bloody rag wrapped around his hand , “the bird. We should have brought it.”
“But why?”
“Well, we could have buried it, or hid it, or kicked some dirt over it or something.” Frederico felt his focus scatter. He wanted to run back and hide any evidence of them escaping the monastery. He wanted nothing less than to go back there. They he… had killed a guardian. A small scout, an insignificant messenger to be sure, but still a guardian.
“Fred! Come on. We’re going to Severin. He knows what to do.” John started pulling at his friend. . Suddenly at a loss, thankful to let that specific complication turn out however it may, , Frederico allowed John to take the lead. They reached the wall in a few minutes. To Frederico’s relief the gate was still open. That had always been the way of the monks. ‘Always leave somewhere for the unfortunate to find their way in. If they eat well from our garden and disappear again, so be it. If they come openly and make their way to ask for our assistance, so much the better. Leave it half open so it appears open by mistake. It makes them feel safe to come to us.’ Memories of those words and the gentle man who had uttered them him were painful. The abbot’s words and attitude had surprised Frederico at the time, but now he wondered. Perhaps making it easier for strangers entering the monastery was not the only reason for leaving a gate open. He glanced thoughtfully over his shoulder. Perhaps the conveniently hanging vines had been more than for simple convenience. And suddenly it was obvious that the carefully constructed hanging vineyard was there for a very good reason. “Oh, Mother, how did you create such an ignorant one like this one?” He shook his head when John looked at him. He wanted to ask forgiveness for stupidity, but John was not the person to hold a grudge and wouldn’t understand the need to atone for anything, especially not for being a bit slow in the head. Frederico did however thought a quick apology for that sentiment. Slow indeed.
They slipped through the narrow opening and stopped for a moment on the far side. The forest was ancient and had been left to its own devices for hundreds of years. But the foliage was limp and offered sparse protection from above. Frederico scanned the patches of visible sky and saw nothing but misty blue. It was the same relentless unnatural shade of not-quite-right blue as he recalled from the last time he had-seen it, several months ago. Or was it years?
“Don’t do that.” John said quietly. He stood close to Frederico and glanced surreptitiously at the same glaring blue as Frederico had.

“Do what?”

John looked down and trampled nervously in the same spot. “Don’t look.”

Frederico didn’t ask. He knew why. If the guardians were coming, seeing them wouldn’t help. He reluctantly turned to the trees surrounding them.

Despite this, Frederico felt safer away from the monastery grounds. There was no logic to the sensation of relief he felt. The weight of innumerable tons of monastery granite and marble slid off him like a silk scarf swirling off cool skin. He was momentarily taken aback by the thought of skin and he blinked. John pulled him between tree trunks and over dry ground and crackling moss. “Do you know where to go?”

“Of course I do.” John pulled and Frederico followed, confused.
“How?” He brushed a spindel off his arm and watched it scuttle under a rock, turn and glare at him. Before he was pulled deeper into the woods, he could swear that the spindel, a creature that had never existed before the Mother disappeared, stared at him. Spindels had no eyes but Frederico knew it was looking at him. What did it want? Then the thing was out of sight and he focused on his confusion again. “John, how do you know? Did someone tell you?”

John squeezed his big form through a pair of dormant ash trees and pulled Frederico through behind him. At the same time, he seemed to both shrug and wave aimlessly at something somewhere. “They told me.” He went to push a branch out of the way and it broke off the tree with a loud snap. Frederico froze. John carefully put the branch down on the ground and stared at Frederico for a second. They glanced around the silent scenery but nothing moved except for another spindel, now situated prominently on John’s shoulder. Frederico went to brush it off but John took a step back. “NO.”

“But..”

“No!” John glared. Actually glowered at Frederico who gawked at the wiry bug. “But it’s a…”

“No.”

John grabbed Frederico again and hauled his fellow monk through a stand of trees that Frederico couldn’t identify. They were not quite dead, not quite alive, standing silently with their limp leaves and dusty smooth bark. They could have been silvery white once. The ground rustled and branches protested when they pushed their way through. Frederico kept an eye on the spindel. It clung to an edge in John’s armour, traveling quite contentedly with the big man’s protection. It bobbed and wiggled to keep the balance but some how, some way, it always managed to keep an eye on Frederico. “I don’t trust you.”, It appeared to say, “I’m just going about my business, you stupid human, you tend to yours why don’t you? See? We’re all friends here. Got mi eyes on you, Sir.”. Frederico frowned. Spindles didn’t have eyes. Or mouths. Or even a mind as far as the monks ever discovered. But this one had gained the full protection from one of the full metal monks. Now that was a feat even the most important of humans had a hard time achieving. “This one has its ways,” the spindle continued in Frederico’s mind. “You’re a bug.” He said to the bug and looked away before it could inspire further conversation between Frederico and… Frederico?
John stopped. “See?” He pointed, “Severin’s house.”

John’s attention was wholly on the ruin of a cabin ahead of them. Frederico pulled a twig out of his hair and poked at the spindel with it. The bug jumped out of the way and scrambled over to John’s other shoulder., out of reach. Frederico bared his teeth at the thing. He didn’t know why. It was the right thing to do, he was sure of that. The spindle reared back and raised its four front legs, wiggling them back and forth. Frederico grinned wider and leaned closer. The spindle dropped its legs and backed into John’s linen collar and crawled in behind it. “Shit.” Frederico breathed through his aching teeth, glancing at John who turned o grab him again. The spindel looked like nothing more than a tuft of trash tucked behind Johns slightly dingy tunic. “That’s right,” Frederico mumbled at the spindel, “ I am bigger than you.”

“Fred? Are you sick? Are you going to puke or something? Fred, you look really sick.”

Frederico stared at his companion. “What?” and then he felt the stiff grin on his face. A grimace. He let his face relax and tried to smile. No good. . He tried harder and on his second attempt he managed an actual smile, however awkward it must have looked. “Sick? Oh, no. Not at all.” Satisfied, John waved at the overgrown little cabin in the withered forest and nodded. Frederico took a closer look and scrubbed at an itchy spot.“Severin’s place? That? Well, what do you know? It’s there. I can’t wait to meet the maker of this…marvel of a … err, home?”

About the author

Jenny K. Brennan is a Swedish/Canadian vocalist, songwriter, and writer living in Ontario, Canada since 2002 with one husband, one dog, and unfinished projects in the thousands. Find her on
The House of Imp,
kompoz.com,
Icarus Machine official,
JennyK Productions Youtube,
and other places. She is the lyricist and vocalist in the melodic metal band Icarus Machine since 2015. She studies braille at The Hadley Institute for the Blind and Visually impaired. On her free time, she learns Wordpress by trial and error, audio production using Apple Logic Pro, and carpentry by association.

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Mother of Crow

By Jenny K. Brennan

Chapter 7 Fred, can we go now?

Last updated: January 30, 2019 at 7:38 am [bctt tweet=”Ch7 from Mother of Crow, the novel I publish as I write, edit, revise, and despair. John and Frederico in a dark corridor. #houseofimp #fiction”]

The old man didn’t actually scream. Frederico heard it nonetheless. An echo of his own cowardliness followed him when he escape the monastery corridor with John. Despite the old man’s assurance of a painless death, Frederico was sure he heard the old man dying. Not from poison. From claws and razor sharp blades tearing him apart. Even when the small door closed., cutting off all sounds as well as light, he imagined it. His spine prickled in the need to move. Away from what would become nothing but death and carnage in just a few moments. He had left the old man to die and the shame burned him, urged him to turn around. To open the door back to his duty. To be with those who would all be dead within minutes of their betrayal. But damned the duty. He had done his part and look where that had gotten them. The abbot had known it would come to this. Even John hadn’t been surprised. The only one that hadn’t understood was Frederico. So blinded by his work that would somehow pay off. The guardians would keep them safe. Maybe even reward them for their loyalty. But of course it had been wishful thinking. If he just worked hard, made it happen. He would give them what they had requested and things would work out. He dropped that useless thought and grabbed John. The passage was dark, void of any openings to the outside or oil lamps. These waslls . Not even the simplest torches hung on these walls. It wouldn’t have halped as Frederico hadnt thought to bring anything to start a fire with. No torches, no lamps, no windows. For some inexplicable reason, that had been one of the odd things about the monestary that Frederico knew without knowing why and how he knew. That was the way it had to be and that was that. Trailinga hand along the rough stone wall, they entered the system of maze like passages running through the huge construction. Frederico brought up the mental image he had memorized years ago. It came willingly enough but it never dawned on him that maybe it was strange that he had done so in the first place. John clanged and banged his armour against the wall. But it couldn’t be helped. Another few steps and they reached another door. Without a word, John handed the ring of keys to Frederico who unlocked the door on his first try. Once through, he stopped and pulled John to the side. Panting, he carefully closed the second door behind them. Still quiet. He quickly examined the ring of keys and locked the door. He glanced toward the sound of John’s wheezing breaths.
“Don’t move.” Suddenly, all air seemed to leave him and his skin alternated between burning and freezing. He shivered, gasped for his next breath. . He gripped the ring of keys in a damp hand and pressed it to his chest. There was a hint of movement from his friend. A nod? A sob? Didn’t matter. For no reason at all, Frederico nodded with a stiff neck. His entire body felt like a rung out rag and he fell back to lean on the door. He stood there a long silent moment, before he heard a controlled breath from whom, he didn’t quite know. The oppressive silence slowly turned into a good thing. Something more blessed than cursed. He could breathe again and fifty inhales and exhales later, he thought that maybe they wouldn’t rip through the door and shred them both to bird feed. The door, none of the doors between them and the killing ground back there would protect them from weaponized guardians. That meant that they simply hadn’t noticed the door. Not yet and maybe not for a while. But those left behind wouldn’t be so lucky. What would happen to those who did not die instantly? That was another thing Frederico’s mind fought against. Fought and failed. His fragile control frayed at the edges and he turned to the silent John. Don’t move,” he said again to the monk who hadn’t moved. “It’s okay, John. Are you okay? John? This is not so bad, is it?”
After a moments hesitation, john said, “I’m not afraid of the dark, Fred.”
Frederico swallowed hard, not listening. Calming John could be difficult when he got that way. When the world became too much for the slow minded monk and he had to shut himself away from the others for a while. A soothing voice often helped. But now, he didn’t know what to say so he said, “Not so bad. We’re fine, john. It’s okay here. No birds, see?” His voice rose in pitch for every statement. His throat narrowed and words exploded into the air in strained bursts when he said, “No birds… here.”
“I know,” John said calmly. His voice was clear and careful, soothing a friend who was fast becoming hysteric.
Frederico continued, “They can’t get in here. The birds… out there… doing things.”
“Fred,” John touched Frederico’s shoulder, “I know, fred. They can’t come in here. You locked the door, remember?”
Frederico struggled to keep the monk calm. “ You know. I know. You don’t need be afraid. Not in here…”
“Stop it,” John snapped. Then he sighed and whined, “Fred, don’t whine. I don’t like it when you whine.” John sniffled, “don’t do that, Fred.”
Frederico stared blankly into the darkness for a moment of embarrassed recalibration of reality. He pulled a tentative breath and let it out slowly. “Oh,” he finally said, “sorry.”
John shrugged in the darkness and the metal parts in his suit jingled and scraped. “Yup.”
Both men took a careful step away from each other and the silence stretched.
. “Go?” Frederico finally said with a squeak in his throat that couldn’t have been his. A giggle escaped the big figure and Frederico collapsed in relief. He reached for the big dumb monk with an overwhelming feeling of love and hopeless responsibility warming and hurting his heart. He hesitated. They had to hurry. But would it be any safer to try to escape? Wasn’t it just as well to stay right there, in the dark, and hope for the best? The guardians would kill everyone and then go. They would search the … kill everybody. They would search… everywhere. Guardians did not leave jobs undone. They took their time…
“Kill everyone.”

Frederico jolted up straight. John’s whisper was not a question. And it mirrored Frederico’s own thoughts so precisely that for a moment he thought they were his own.

“Fred? Can we go somewhere else? Can we go to Severin’s house now?”
“Severin’s house. Yes, that’s where we’re going.”
“Oh good.”
Frederico didn’t have the heart to tell him that maybe it wouldn’t be that easy. He said, “Severin’s place. Sure thing, big boy.”

Frederico got John moving. With the corridors so narrow, one could touch both walls at once and that’s how they navigated . Only once did John walked face first into a closed door. He shook it off and grunted to Frederico to open it. After passing through each door, they locked it again. They moved quickly through several more doors, passed years of dust, they reached the final door in only minutes. “He’s dead now, isn’t he?” John said once they stood at the door. Frederico stood still, wondering if there was any point in hiding the truth from John. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, John. I think he is.” He wanted to say something more but there was nothing more to say. The sign of the Mother made his fingers twitch. But they resisted the comforting gesture. There was no comfort to be had in empty symbols and hollow words. He tightened his fingers in a hard fist around the longing for ritual. The mother hadn’t been there for so long, for so many hopeless prayers. He touched his fellow monk on the metal clad shoulder and let his fingertips pull from the big man what he couldn’t find within himself. A measure of comfort. But also a sliver of innocence that had always shone so purely from the man who’s mind had never caught up with his body. A warmth that came from nothing and without reason, without shape or form, filled Frederico and he surrendered to the moment. “They are all with the Mother now, John. All safe. Safe on those wings of chaos, John. Safe.”
John said nothing. Frederico pulled his fingers away. “We trust this. We wish this. And she knows this.” Frederico mumbled the familiar phrases and waited. “And she will return.” He finished with his own desperate wish. He wasn’t sure he did believe it. But John might. And maybe that would be enough.
John mumbled the rest of the childish prayer, so softly that the words faded before finding a surface to bring them back. “Mother of Crow, save us for we are weak.”
Frederico smiled. “We certainly are.”
They turned to the door. Beyond it was the outside and the garden that the guardians did not know about. As far as he knew. Oh, Mother, you cruel bitch, you better save us now. He pushed open the door.

About the author

Jenny K. Brennan is a Swedish/Canadian vocalist, songwriter, and writer living in Ontario, Canada since 2002 with one husband, one dog, and unfinished projects in the thousands. Find her on
The House of Imp,
kompoz.com,
Icarus Machine official,
JennyK Productions Youtube,
and other places. She is the lyricist and vocalist in the melodic metal band Icarus Machine since 2015. She studies braille at The Hadley Institute for the Blind and Visually impaired. On her free time, she learns Wordpress by trial and error, audio production using Apple Logic Pro, and carpentry by association.

Reading Time: 15 minutes

Mother of Crow

By Jenny K. Brennan

Chapter 6 – never fear for this has been known

Last updated: January 13, 2019 at 11:15 am

“Wait here.” Frederico whispered to John. “Remember what to do? Okay?” John opened his mouth. Frederico silenced John with a raised hand. “Push. That’s all you need to remember.”
John nodded carefully beneath his disguise. He whispered to Frederico’s feet, “Push. Fast.”
Frederico nodded and stepped back. “Be quiet, be still no matter what happens, and hurry when I say. Again, John, you can do it.” John squeezed his eyes shut. He was as ready as he would ever be. Frederico draped a piece of a torn undershirt over John’s head and stepped back. It would have to do. He opened the door wide, leaving the room exposed. John stood behind the door, for the occasional watcher perhaps resembling a vertical pile of laundry, broken broom handles and a coatrack covered in dust and grime. After one quick critical look, Frederico added the final touch on John’s disguise, a polishing rag infused with years of rubbing oils and dirt. The disguise wouldn’t fool a man, even the dullest of the dullest. And birds were smarter than some. The hope was not to hide, it was for no one to actually look. Could birds smell humans? Did they hear heartbeats? Well, if they did, They would be on Frederico within moments. Mother would have to do something. No prayer came to mind. mother of Crow would help them if she so wanted. But that, the monk conceded was a big fat if. he peered out in the dim corridor and listened to the approaching clatter. They had just run out of time. To the left, the passage lead to a narrow doorway, inside was a dark stairwell, and at the bottom, winding passages slowly opened up into the vast catacombs. The resting place for centuries of believers, sinners, and nobility with the money to pay their way to the heavenly realms of sky and all knowing. The space beneath the monastery stored Tens of thousands of bones mingled with treasures guaranteed to pave the way to bliss. The place gave Frederico the creeps. Even if it hadn’t, it was a dead end in every meaning of the words. There was no way in or out of the catacombs other than that door. But it could also be the perfect place for what Frederico wanted.
The corridor to the right lead after multiple turns and confusing passages to the kitchens, the sleeping areas, and the offices. Corridors branched off into various workshops, chapels and contemplation chambers. The butterfly breeding room, the catacomb door as well as one oddly placed metal shop turned storage room were on the far side of the cloister building, far from the contemplative silences that were the heart of the monastery, . where monks bustled and performed their duties, prayed and punished themselves in every thought for every thought they ever had. He didn’t stop to listen. Judging distance was near impossible in this stone monstrosity. With a final look at his butterfly sanctuary turned death trap, he .
rushed across the corridor and through the opposite door. He went from dim lamplit shadow to darkness. He stopped before venturing far inside the workshop. Inches and shelves to along the left wall, storage cubbies, malfunctioning machinery, and projects in progress littered the opposite wall. The back of the roughly rectangular room hid crates and boxes , stacked high . What Frederico wanted was back there, tucked behind a stack of illicit tomes, confiscated over an unknown number of years. Dusty tomes and and scrolls not suited for the faithful. Frederico knew the title of every book,, had read none. Frederico started through the narrow passage, rushing past tools piled on trays piled one atop the other and by some miracle retrieved the servant automaton without toppling everything around him to the floor. Frederico was responsible for cleaning and organizing the machines the cloister kept, even though they were never used. He kept the few items that were still working in good condition and despite strict rules against it, tested them every now and then. He placed it in the doorway where he had entered. The small rolling drinks table vibrated softly beneath his fingers when he positioned it just right. He left it there and hurried to the stairwell door that was slightly ajar. John had been the last person there. Oh, grace to you, Brother. for never remembering to close doors, putting away the brooms, sealing the water jars. As carefully as was humanly possible he pulled the door wide open, but it didn’t squeak, didn’t even creak. The heavy door opened with barely a whisper. This was too easy. Too, too easy. Since when did anyone tend to creaking doors? But Frederico had in fact oiled this door along with his own just days ago. He had no memory of doing it, and would never recall such a thing. And at this very moment,, even his noticing of something so unusual faded and disappeared completely in-between one beat of his heart and the next. He peered down in the dark stairwell, but there was nothing to see but dusty shadows draped thick over rough stone steps. A hundred of them. Frederico hadn’t counted but that was the word. A hundred short, steep, traitorous steps winding down in an uneven half circle. A hundred steps, a fair number of broken bones to be sure, and one suicidal machine. Frederico cringed when he rushed back to the metal shop door and his robot. He didn’t know if the machines in his care had a sense of self preservation or not. But it was too late to think about that now. it was far too late. The sound of rustling feathers, clicking scraping talons , and a constantly talking old abbot was clearly audible. He crouched next to the Madam and placed a hand on the polished flat top. He regretted what he would do to it. He spoke softly, “Wait, little one wait,” and waited. The sound of visitors grew louder and in another second they were there. They rounded the corner with the ticking of bird feet, a rustling of wings against stone floor, and the slow shuffling from human feet in sandals. The abbotT. Frederico inhaled and readied his command to the automaton standing ready beneath his trembling hand. They just had to get a little bit closer. Suddenly the abbot spoke. Hesitant but accommodating as ever. The old man had stopped at the corner and the guardians halted. “I must let you go on with your business, honoured guests. I shall wait in my quarters. The monk you wish to see is right over there. That open door. Brother Frederico will be pleased.” The old man nearly shouted those last words. Frederico frowned. The old abbot never raised his voice but Frederico had but a fraction of a second to realize that the abbot was doing all he could to prepare Frederico for what was coming. Too little, too late, old man. The guardians didn’t wait for the human to finish talking before starting to move down the new corridor towards Frederico’s room. Ten steps, five. They moved faster than he expected and they were nearly at the open door before he removed his hand from the little servant automaton. It hummed quietly and rocked back and forth in its eagerness to obey. They would have to see how far that obedience would “go.” The robot took off in a straight line to the open catacomb stairwell. It’s sirens screamed at full volume as instructed. Frederico ducked back behind the wall and pressed his back against the stone. . The screaming robot shot along the corridor toward the open door at the end. Frederico held his breath and waited for the reaction. It came a second later when the guardians answered the shrill cry with their own. Three of the remade killers, each as big as a man and a half, shot past Frederico’s hiding place in per suit of the racing madam. Unable to take flight beneath the low ceiling, they rushed forward, half hopping, working their wings that hindered more than helped their progress. Despite that, they moved fast and a domestic servant drinks table was no match for them. Another ten paces further would have left the robot the loser. But before they reached her, the robot made it to the end of the track, the corridor, and the floor. The robot shot through the doorway and over the edge to the stairwell and into darkness. It was airborne for the briefest of moments until it hit the curved stone wall, the siren stuttered and died. The automaton dropped and hit the one stone step after another, going down into darkness. Delicate machinery torn loose and scattered along the way down the stairwell. The birds followed. In quick succession, the three guardians entered the narrow door and out of sight. They clattered and cried, each bird pushing to get ahead of the others, caught up in the hunt. The remade killer birds were still predators by nature and a chase for prey would win over logical thought every time. This was no exception. Screeching calls for death followed the birds down into darkness. Frederico let out his breath. The sound of the guardians grew distant and Frederico stepped away from the metal shop wall and turned to the open door and the corridor. He opened his mouth to shout for John. When he saw what was ahead of him he froze.
The fourth guardian, an obsidian beast roughly resembling a hawk but the size of a tree stood less than three steps away. Frederico pulled hard on air that wouldn’t come and felt every part of him radiating his presence to the killer in front of him. Unable to move, he stared at the beast that stood in the doorway to the butterfly sanctuary, extending a long neck past the doorway to look in. Its sleek head brushed the ceiling as it slowly moved it back and forth. Suddenly it leaned down and with its beak almost touching the floor, it tilted its head and peered under the tables and cabinets. It jerked upright and Frederico could do nothing but watch as the bird stepped into the room. Its restless wings merely a step from the open door. Feathers and razor sharp blades scraped against the stone floor as it shifted to inspect the inside of the big cage that stood empty and silent against the back wall. Click. Click. Metal scratched and talons scraped lightly against the floor as it sidestepped along the front of the cage. It thrust its head against the crisscrossed copper wires to the cage to look closer. A thin high pitched whine rose from the creature. Disappointed, the bird pulled its head back. To Frederico’s relief, the sound stopped. There was nothing to see in the cage Not anymore. Frederico, unable to close his eyes, found himself staring at the guardians wings as he waited to die. One sound, one wrong move, one random impulse to turn around and it would all be over. So he found himself fascinated by the re-makers artistry. Each feather seemed to have grown alongside a thin blade, serrated and polished to an obscene deep sheen. The dust stirred up didn’t stick to the metal even when the tips of the shiny black feathers were grey from dust. Strange, that, Frederico thought. Distant cries from the catacomb stairs drifted to Frederico. Were they coming back up? Did they find the robot and decided it wasn’t what they thought? He couldn’t tell from the fractured echoes if they were coming or going. The obsidian bird jerked its head around, tilted its head for a moment as if listening to the same sounds Frederico had. But something else caught its attention. It looked up with an inquisitive crooning. It was looking at the ceiling. Puzzled despite his dull horror, , Frederico followed the direction of its gaze and his breath caught. From the ceiling hung cocoons. Frederico had attached each one to the ceiling with string of braided silk and tar. There were two-hundred of them at last count, all of them Frederico’s failed attempts to breed a new butterfly. Frederico had done it to remind himself of his failures. But seeing the collection was a shock. He didn’t remember putting up so many of them. Three, maybe four, he could account for. But two hundred? And when had he counted them? He didn’t know.
The obsidian guardian crowed softly and plucked one dry husk from its string in a quick jerk. Carefully, it lowered the chrysalis to the floor and rolled it around with its beak. Finding nothing but a dry exhausted cocoon covered in dust. The guardian jerked upright and plucked another one from the ceiling. Dropped it on the floor and crushed it, again finding nothing but dust and fragile silk. Frustrated, it turned from the cocoons, toward the doorway. It stepped out of the room, swung its head quickly from side to side and started to turn toward Frederico. Just A few steps, away was death and Frederico knew it. It had all been for nothing. The darkness in the metal shop wouldn’t save him. He closed his eyes, damned the mother and hoped for forgiveness in one and the same thought.
Birds may be smart and ruthless. They certainly were clever and superior in many ways. With weaponry seemingly built in, they had no natural enemies that could take them on. On top of that, the phantomthergy which gave them mental and spiritual abilities beyond any humans, made them hard to hide from. But they were also single minded, their attention-span could be considered intense but short. So when a particularly loud screech followed by a sudden clamber arose from the stairwell to the catacombs, the obsidian guardian immediately lost interest in the corridor and the room it had just searched. It failed to see Frederico where he stood frozen. It turned to the open stairway door and the noise beyond. It made a mad rush through the opening and disappeared into the dark beyond.

Frederico opened his eyes. He breathed. The corridor was silent and empty. He damned the trembling in his legs and thanked the mother all in one thought as he rushed forward. “John” he wheezed and rushed around the open door. “John, time to go!”

John didn’t move. He trembled and wouldn’t respond. He stood as he had moments ago. “John, come, push!” Frederico wheezed in his impatience. He pulled the rags off of John’s head. “Now, John. Now.”

John stared dully at him. “Now?”

Frederico forced himself to be calm and put his hands on John’s shoulders, “Yes, now.”

“Bird.” John said quietly and glanced around the room. “Bird? Bad bird?”
Frederico nodded and tried to pull John out of his stone posture. “They’re gone, Brother. “ John was nearly as movable as a brick wall and shook his head. “Birds gone? Are you sure?”
Frederico shut his eyes and thought desperately. John could stand there for hours. He spoke through clenched teeth, “Gone, John, gone. But if you don’t move. Guess what. They will be back. And they will find you. And they will kill us both.”
“I’ll hide.”
Frederico lost his patience. He glared at John and raised his hand. If there was one thing John didn’t like it was pain. And with few other places on a metal armoured man to inflict pain upon, he poked John in the eye.
The big man jerked back with a squeak and covered his face.
Frederico pointed at him, “So now you can move. A poke in the eye is all it takes? Is it? Well, do you want another one?”
John stared at Frederico in shock. And then he snapped out of it. “Move, push, poke bird in the eye.”
“No, John, just push.”
He kept staring distrustful at Frederico as he shook off most of his attire. “Now?”

“Now!”

John rushed out of the room and stomped his way through the corridor. Astonished, Frederico watched the slow minded giant slam the door to the catacombs. He even drew out his key from a pocket Frederico didn’t know about, and locked it. Then with considerable determination and a hellish noise, John put his shoulder to the stone statue that had lived in the corner for over a century. Mainly because it was too heavy to get rid of. The figure depicted three-headed, absurdly muscular dog. It had its spiked tail wrapped tightly around several smaller winged characters, all with their backs twisted in unnatural angles and heads turned backwards. . The statue had always made Frederico shudder but now. It would finally do some good to make up for being created in the first place. Grunting and breathing hard, sweating, John pushed the statue in front of the door. He turned to Frederico and grinned.
Stunned, Frederico gaped at John, looked at the monstrous statue, looked at John. Until that very moment he hadn’t truly believed that John could do it. He opened his mouth but nothing came out of it. Instead he looked along the corridor which was their way out. Maybe they could bring the others with them. Get out and be gone. There had to be a way out somewhere, where they could hide. Or run. Or… he hesitated when the implication of what he had done hit him. There was nowhere to go. If there had been, they would have gone long ago.
“Fred, don’t just dream. Go.”
John stood beside him and pointed at the corner of the corridor. He had shed most of his disguise in his rush to block the catacomb door and he plucked a few more items off his metal suit while Frederico tried to interpret the dusty darkness ahead. Flickering light cast uneasy shadows on the stone and the various idols adorning the walls. Hanging haphazardly on the walls were carvings of faces. The two monks passed a morose row of long dead holy figureheads, now they spent their time impassively watching the last humans to ever walk their floors pass them by.

John and Frederico made it as far as around the corner. A feeble voice spoke to them. “Frederico. John. Best you not go that way, Friends.”
John shrieked and stopped suddenly ahead of Frederico who ran into him. “Father?” Frederico peeked out from behind the mountain of John. When he saw the Abbot standing in the middle of the corridor, smiling at them, he hurried to greet the abbot in a proper manner, “Father, may the Mother be with you.” He stumbled over his words and glanced back to where they had come from. The screeching and scratching told him that the guardians had discovered the trap and worked to break out. “Father, we don’t have time..”
The abbot raised one hand and spoke quietly, “I know, my son. But this is not the way. Our..” The old man grimaced at the word he was about to utter, “benefactors are at the front gate. And every other entrance to our house. We are not meant to leave this place.” He raised a barely visible eyebrow toward Frederico, “I presume that this means your communicator failed to take to the spirits?”
Frederico nodded, with his ears focusing on the birds beyond the catacomb door. How long would it last?
The abbots smile was one of sadness, but also obvious knowing. Frederico fixed him with a questioning stare, “You knew.”
“I have known for many years, Frederico. It would never work. Within these walls,” he made a gesture to encompass the entire monastery, or perhaps the entirety of the world outside. He said, “It held them at bay for longer than I had ever hoped. The original communicator transformed by the mother herself. Before she faded into her oblivion.” He nodded at Frederico’s stunned silence, “She created a ward to keep an eye on those left. A creature that could relay to her how things progressed without her. Well, we know how that turned out. She made a mistake. The communicator fell ill quickly after that. And it suffered the influences of many.” A loud crack echoed in the corridor and the Frederico whirled around, ready to see death come around the corner. But the door held.
“Father, we have to leave. All of us.”
The abbot shook his head, “None of us will leave this place, Frederico my son.” He reached into his robe and pulled out a key of rings. He gave it to Frederico. “No one except for you two. And you need that to do it.” Another loud crack from splintering wood made John jump. Fred?”
The abbot pulled a small pouch tide with a s=drawstring and placed it in one of John’s hands. He looked the big monk in the eyes for a brief moment and nodded. “You will need this, my son.” Come now,” He walked past them, back toward the corridor. He stopped in sight of the catacomb door. Birds scraped and tore at the wood from the inside. Several cracks had formed between the boards. The abbot ignored the birds. But he held out a hand to make them stop at the corner, out of sight. He turned to them and dug at the collar of his robe. A small vial hung around his neck from a silver chain. He smiled again. He indicated something on the wall opposite Fred and John. A small door. Frederico immediately knew what the abbot was intending. The back gardens. There was another way out.
“Come with us!” He desperately urged the ancient monk who just shook his head. “I will not suffer. None of us will.” He caught Frederico’s expression and crinkled his eyes in amusement, “Come no, we are not as ignorant as all that, Frederico my son. Trust me, Frederico, I’m done on this world. If there is something other than this, then I will know.” He grasped the small vial as a life line – a line to an easier death – and looked at the two monks in turn. Finally he nodded one last time and said, “Severin will know what to do. He is back there in his hideaway.” One more crease appeared among the many already on the abbots wrinkled face, “if he is still alive.”
“Severin?Frederico must have heard wrong. Severin was a tale, a story.
The abbot didn’t reply. His watery blue eyes focused on the closed door at the end of the corridor. “That abomination can’t hold them there for long.” He drew a whistling raspy inhale and quickly formed the sign of the Mother and smiled at something taking shape in within his mind. “It is my time.” he whispered, almost whist-fully. “It has been my time for a long time. may the Mother be gentle with us. As and afterthought he said to a spot between John and Frederico, “May she protect all of you on your way to find her.” With that, he started walking toward the failing catacomb door. To Frederico, the man seemed suddenly larger than life, step by step shedding his age, straightening his bowed spine, broadening his form. He took up more space striding down the corridor than was possible. John pulled Frederico’s arm and pulled his mind from his stunned reverie. Then the abbot started singing. His voice filled the space, amplified and distorted by stone surfaces and Mother knows what hidden strengths the abbot tapped into. It was loud, creaky, and strangely pitch perfect. The guardians reacted instantly with a screaming symphony of their own as their assault on the door intensified. The heavy lock disappeared into the wood, ripped out from the other side. Frederico saw the gaping hole for a fraction of a second before the view was obscured by the abbot’s back. But what he saw was enough to jolt him into action. A talon the size of a hand poked through the hole, probing the space beyond. The enormous statue held the door in place but once the door had been destroyed board by board behind it, the statue would be no barrier.
“Fred?” John tugged Frederico’s robe. “They’re coming. Fred?”
And with that, the statue holding the door shut, started to move. Just a fraction, allowing just a bit more darkness to leak out of the frantic turmoil. Frederico didn’t see it, he didn’t have to. The Fred selected a key at random from the big key ring and the door clicked open. “Too easy,” Fred mumbled as he pulled the door open. Oiled hinges, a key that should not fit, a singing abbot. The abbot’s voice couldn’t compete with the birds cacophony anymore but not for lack of trying. Frederico hadn’t recognized the melody but now he knew what it was. It was a hymn never used, never heard. Although all children had to learn it at an early age, they were strictly prohibited to sing it, or even speak of the ancient tune. The song to be performed only in the most dire of circumstances. A text only for the end of days. Something to gather all spirits and all life to celebrate World’s end. He had not heard it sung since his childhood lessons, but the words came to him. Just as fast, he made a point to not hear. As if singing the ominous bittersweet words would make it happen. That was what they were taught. he pushed John through the door and followed him through. Pulling the door , his final view was a frail old man, singing, and the fast glint of torchlight reflecting in a small glass bottle raised as in a toast to the monsters that would rip him apart in seconds. A glimpse of questionable relief for the old faithful man. A shade away from the worst that could happen. But a significant shade. He pulled at the door when John’s considerable hand suddenly squeezed his shoulder. “Fred!” He shoved Frederico out of the way and extended a hand through the opening and shook something out on the floor. Moments later the door was closed and Frederico stared dumbly at the darkness surrounding John. John who suddenly held the ring of keys, locking the door. He had no memory of giving them up. He backed away from the door, expecting it to crash open, for the guardians to rip it open, for something. But it was silent. “Too quiet,” he mumbled through his numb lips, “Ttoo easy.” When a handful of breaths passed and nothing happened, he exhaled, “Okay then.” They turned to face their way forward, “Okay then, okay. This shouldn’t be too difficult,” he said to the darkness ahead. ”

About the author

Jenny K. Brennan is a Swedish/Canadian vocalist, songwriter, and writer living in Ontario, Canada since 2002 with one husband, one dog, and unfinished projects in the thousands. Find her on
The House of Imp,
kompoz.com,
Icarus Machine official,
JennyK Productions Youtube,
and other places. She is the lyricist and vocalist in the melodic metal band Icarus Machine since 2015. She studies braille at The Hadley Institute for the Blind and Visually impaired. On her free time, she learns Wordpress by trial and error, audio production using Apple Logic Pro, and carpentry by association.