Chapter 4

The Account.

Daphne found her mind abuzz with questions. Was the book for real? Could the story of Seraphia be true? Of course not, she mentally scolded herself. Science told her that centaurs, dragons and the other creatures of that ilk were myths. Pure fantasy. And yet, a nasty corner of her mind asked, isn't it true that many of the greatest scientific discoveries defy the generally accepted theories of their time? Perhaps creatures of legend did exist at one point in time. Then like in the story, they travelled…somewhere…where they lived today. The place was somewhere that no one had thought to look for them, somewhere where science held no sway.

These thoughts and others held Daphne captive at the top of the ladder as she stared at the dusty, leather-bound book. It was just impossible that it could exist at all. Unless Jonathan Forbes really did exist at one point, and perhaps the story hidden in the pages was very different from the one that her uncle told her. Mayhap Seraphia was simply a foreigner who had simply fallen into a power struggle between the duke and the count. Daphne found herself touching the diary with trembling hands, as if to assure herself that it was real. Its cover felt solid, with plenty of thick dust on the cover. She fingered the edge thoughtfully, feeling the brittleness of the pages. She was half afraid that if she opened it, the book would crumble. Yet something told her that wouldn't happen.

Abruptly, she grabbed the book and set it on the ladder. She would read it tonight when her chores were done. Finishing off the top of the bookcase, she was startled to realize that more than five hours had passed. The light from the windows was nearly gone and her uncle had built a fire in the fireplace while she was working. She got down off the ladder, groaning and rubbing her aching calves. The throbbed painfully, mute testament to her efforts. Yet the bookcase looked great. All the dust was gone from the books and the wood of the shelves carried a slight sheen to them from the wood polish.

Her uncle stepped in through the doorway with a plate of steaming food in one hand. He stopped to admire her handiwork. "The library looks amazing honey. You did a great job." "Thanks uncle. What is that?" she asked, pointing towards the plate. "Oh, Mrs. Gillycuddy dropped this off. Thought we might appreciate it." At her blank look, he chuckled. "Maude from the store? Her last name is Gillycuddy." Her face cleared. She moved aside a stack of books she hadn't put back on the shelf yet and sat down in the plush reading chair. Her uncle passed her the plate and she took it gratefully. She was so hungry that she began quickly shoveling the food into her mouth. Her uncle laughed, "Slow down girl! You don't want to get a belly ache." Daphne froze with a mouthful of food. Swallowing, she muttered a quick apology and continued eating, albeit in a slower manner. When she had finished her plate, she set it on the reading table near the chair and sank back into the stuffed chair. It creaked slightly as her weight shifted, its ancient wood protesting, but it soon settled. She listened to the fire as it crackled and pop, the light flickering off of her face. Her uncle got up and took her dish to the kitchen. As Daphne watched him leave, she happened to spot the old diary where she had left it and her curiosity got the better of her again. Grabbing it, she returned to the chair and opened the book. Inside the cover was a note written on the top page. Journal of Jonathan Forbes, Count of Grimesmore Moor. Excited now, she flipped to the back of the book, and found the last entry. It read:

MY NEIGHBORS FEAR ME MAD, FOR WHEN I WAS IN MY CUPS I TOLD THEM ABOUT SERAPHIA, AND NOW THEY LAUGH AT ME. THEY CLAIM I HAVE BEEN ADDLED BY STRESS AND THE ATTACK OF THE DUKE, OF WHOSE DEATH I HAVE BEEN CLEARED.

THE HOUSE AND GARDENS SEEM SO EMPTY. MY SERVANTS HAVE HIDDEN FROM ME, FOR FEAR OF MY TEMPER. I NEARLY REDUCED POOR WILLIAMS TO TEARS AFTER HE HAD FAILED TO BRING MY TEA TO ME. NOW, I CAN FIND NARY A ONE UNLESS I SPECIFICALLY RING FOR THEM. I MUST APOLOGIZE TO WILLIAMS IF I HAVE THE CHANCE.

ODD THINGS HAVE BEEN HAPPENING LATELY, BESIDES MY SHORT TEMPER. THE HOUNDS HAVE GOTTEN OUT OF THEIR KENNELS LATE AT NIGHT AND HAVE BEEN HOWLING LIKE MAD. I HAVE SEEN TO THE KENNEL MASTER, AND HE SWEARS THAT HE LOCKS THE DOOR TIGHTLY EVERY NIGHT, YET COME MORNING THE DOGS ARE ALL OUT. MR. THOMAS BROKE HIS ARM WHILE WALKING UP THE PATH. HE CLAIMS A STONE SHIFTED UNDER HIM AND HE FELL, BUT WE CAN FIND NO SUCH LOOSE STONE ON THE WALK. A HUNDRED OTHER PETTY ANNOYANCES HAVE HAPPENED, ALL STARTING ON THE DAY I HID THE STATUE. PERHAPS IT WAS WRONG OF ME TO HIDE IT, BUT I KNOW THAT IT IS THE KEY TO THE WHOLE SORDID AFFAIR, AND I FEAR THAT IT WILL BECOME A PRIME TARGET OF MY ENEMY, THE DUKE.

THE DUKE'S SON HAS NOW INHERITED THE TITLE AND HAS SWORN REVENGE ON ME AND SERAPHIA. ODDLY, HE IS THE ONLY ONE THAT BELIEVES THAT SERAPHIA EVEN EXISTS. YET I FEAR HIS EVIL INTENTIONS TOWARDS HER. I HAVE TAKEN IT UPON MYSELF TO HIDE ALL EVIDENCE AND DISPOSE OF THE STATUE IN A SAFE PLACE. ONLY THE WARRIOR WILL SHOW THE WAY.

Daphne finished reading the account and put the book down. The answers it gave only provided more questions. Who was the Duke's son? What happened to Jonathan Forbes? Was he slain by the duke? Or did he find a way to his lost love? And what of the curse that the account hinted at? She would have to do some more research to discover what had happened.

The heavy tread of her uncle reached her ears, and she quickly set the book on the chair behind her and leaned back, covering it. She didn't want to show the book to her uncle, yet. She wanted to discover the mystery of the Centaur Statue on her own. She feared her uncle might take the statue from her and not let her continue the search. She didn't think that he would, but she wasn't going to take any chances.

"Odd weather we've been having today." Her uncle remarked. "It's still unusually cold outside for this time of year, and the weatherman on the radio said another large storm is heading our way." He shook his head at the foibles of storms and turned to his niece. "Daphne, dear, why don't you go to bed? I'm sure we can get an early start in the morning. Perhaps tackle the rest of the ground floor, hmmm? We probably won't get outside with that storm coming." Daphne smiled. "Actually uncle, I'm enjoying the fire right now. I think I'll stay here for a while and enjoy the flames before going to bed. I'll put it out when I'm done." If her uncle found the statement odd, he didn't show it. He simply patted her shoulder as he turned around and made his way to his room.

Once she heard his bedroom door close, she pulled back out the book and flipped through the pages until she found the final entry. She reread it just to make sure she hadn't missed anything. She was still confused as to the reference to the warrior. Could he mean the suit of armor that was standing in the hall? She wasn't sure, but thought it might be worth a look. Making her way to the hall, she found the switch for the light and turned it on, illuminating the rusty suit of armor standing vigilant guard in its alcove. The suit seemed to be looking at her, making her hair stand on end. She tried to shake off the feeling and proceeded with her inspection.

The feet of the armor was very dusty, she almost sneezed at the clouds that assaulted her nose. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep from wakening her uncle. She could see nothing that could possibly be a clue, so she continued up the legs towards the breast plate. She flushed a little at the armored cup that had protected a knight's genitals in battle and forced herself to give it a look over, just in case. To her relief, there was nothing there and she quickly continued up the suit. The breastplate looked worn and dull, not particularly shiny at all. There was some etching on the edges and in the center, but as far as Daphne could tell, it was just decoration in the forms of vines and stuff. She examined the shoulder plates, greaves and gauntlets with the same results. Finally, she checked the helmet, with no such luck. Feeling defeated, she turned out the lights and returned to the fire.

Picking up the book, she stared at the pages, as if willing them to tell her the secret. Nothing. Perhaps Jonathan Forbes had simply gone mad. His writing certainly indicated that it was possible. There was serious disjointedness in it, as if he was jumping from one thought to the next. She pondered what her next move should be. Should she disregard the rest of the story as created from a madman's fantasy, or should she press on? Perhaps there was another suit of armor in the manor that she could check tomorrow. It was a distinct possibility. Her mind made up, she took a poker from its stand next to the fireplace and used it to knock the logs apart. The fire flared in response before dying back. Replacing the heavy screen in front of the fireplace, she left the room.

Ascending the staircase, she stepped as lightly as she could to keep the stairs from creaking and waking her uncle. At the second floor, she turned left and moved down the dark hallway. Her room was at the far end, so she crept as soundlessly as she could. A board groaned under her weight and she froze. There wasn't a sound in the house so she continued on. When she reached her door, she let herself into her room and closed the door. Groping for the switch, she turned on the lights and sighed. She had had a very long day and was looking forward to getting some sack time. Quickly she grabbed her toothbrush and went to the sink.

As she brushed her teeth, she tried to think of the cryptic message at the end of the entry meant. She leaned down for a moment to spit and when she stood up she screamed! There was a face in the mirror! It was that of a man, with sallow cheeks, a wide mouth that was twisted into an evil leer and two eyes that burned like the embers of the fire. The visage mouthed a single word that sent tendrils of panic to her heart. "Soon." Daphne felt herself falling as the world went black around her.

Daphne was running faster than she had ever run in her life. She was running away from something, something that wanted her. She couldn't stop; for fear that it would catch up. She stumbled, lost her footing and fell painfully on the ground. As she gasped for breath, she could hear mad, cackling laughter that echoed around her. She couldn't tell what was making it, only that she didn't want to meet it! She was scared to stay, scared to run. The voice sounded as if it was coming from all around her. She clutched her legs to her chest, whimpering as she shut her eyes tightly and hoped it would all go away.

The laughter suddenly gave a painful scream as a white light flared in front of her huddled form. She raised an arm to block the painful brilliance. The light coalesced and formed into an armored figure, with a large sword in its hand and a kite shield strapped to its left forearm. "Stand, Daphne." The figure told her. Whimpering slightly, Daphne struggled to stand, but it seemed her body was against her. It wanted to stay in a huddle and let the danger pass, thank you very much! Gritting her teeth, she forced her body to its hands and knees. Putting one foot beneath her, she rose to her feet. As she straightened to her full height, the figure came into clear focus. It was a woman! Daphne stared at the undeniable evidence in the form of a well-hammered breastplate. As her stunned eyes jerked upwards, the figure calmly sheathed its sword and grabbed its helmet. As it came off, Daphne gasped in astonishment. The figure was her!

"I am not truly here Daphne." The figure said sternly. "I am a figment of your imagination, created to protect you during the assault on you mind." Daphne began giggling. She had gone insane, and here was the proof. An armored clone telling her it was a figment! Freud would have had a field day with her! "No, you are not insane. You are simply unaware of what has happened." The figure said, sensing her thoughts. "The figure you saw in the mirror was real. It frightened you terribly, causing you to lose consciousness. Then it tried to take over your body. However, you mind could not take another in control and created me to defend yourself against this attacker. He is gone now, but you must remain wary. He has tried it once, he may try this again. Now, I must go."  The figure moved to replace its helmet.

"Wait!" Daphne cried out. "You might be a figment, but please don't leave me here." The figure looked at her strangely. "I am never gone from you. I am you. I am your courage. Whenever you are afraid, I am there to comfort you. When you stand against the darkness, I am at your side. No Daphne, you are never alone." And like the voice before, she too was gone.

Daphne was alone again, in a dark plain. She looked fearfully about when she heard a new voice calling to her. "Daphne! Daphne!" It was her uncle!

Her eyes fluttered open to her uncle's worried face. He was above her and a brilliant light shone down from above. "Thank God you're alright." Her uncle cried, hugging her close. She was lying on the floor of the bathroom, her uncle kneeling beside her. She clutched onto him and started sobbing.

"What was it Daphne?" her uncle asked. She sobbed into her uncle's shoulder. "A man was in my mirror!" She could feel his shoulders tense under her fingers, and cried. "I'm not crazy! I really did see a man. His face, that horrible face!" She buried her face in his pajamas. Her uncle rocked back and forth slightly, saying, "There, there, sweet Daphne. No one is going to get you. It was only a dream. A horrible dream."