Temporal Imprint 02

St. Casimir Cemetery is quiet.

A wind picks up in the distance, winding along the paved paths of the grounds and causing the countless trees to sway this way and that. The sky overhead is devoid of stars, leaving the night to blackness and thick clouds that hid the gibbous Moon behind invisible coils. Tombstones reach up from low sloped hills of green grass and dandelions.

A soft mound rises at the center of the cemetery, ringed with pine trees and dotted with weathered gravestones. Out of the silence, a strange and discordant note pierces the air. It breaks into an old sung melody, archaic and familiar. A dark silhouette steps out from the ring of trees, playing a violin. Dust and dew seem to rise and jump up from the ground and the grass as the song carries on. The figure approaches a lone gravestone and the music takes on a sinister tone.

The ground begins to heave and vibrate as the silhouette plays on. Shadows begin to dance at the silhouette’s feet. They break into a strange, writhing dance.

A loud, horrible screech calls out to pierce the ethereal music – the silhouette stops his playing at once.

A long, jagged line of golden light appears in the air. The screeching grows louder and louder as the golden rictus grows and begins to stretch and swell in size. The line is now a large hole in the air, pouring forth warm, golden light. The screeching has reached its crescendo.

The silhouette wasted no time in bolting at a dead run, diving for the circle of trees and disappearing. Indeed, it appeared to literally become one with the shadows.

Two figures step out of the hole in the air. One male and one female. The hole snaps shut violently behind them and the screeching stops at once. A tiny tear in the air remains, although neither seems to notice this.

The female steps forward, picking up her bustled skirts and looking towards the trees.

“Did you see that Gerald?” she asked the man.

“Aye. Looked like a man. Was that a loincloth he was wearing?”

“Those tattoos…”

“Awakened. He was Awakened, Helena.”

“There was something off about his Nimbus. You don’t suppose…?”

“The Exarchs have agents everywhere, Helena. I think it unlikely he came for us.”

“I don’t like it, Gerald. Why did we have to come to Chicago? Don’t you miss London? Buddha knows I do.”

“There is more important work to do here. Our brethren are close, so remarkably close, Helena.”

“That is as may be, but do you really want to be on the front lines of this whole ordeal? Neither of us has the stomach for such-”

“Revolution, my dear? This is what we have worked for. And besides, you know well and good that Aleister and Marie have the United Kingdom well in hand.”

“Yes, yes. Let us be about it then. That man may still be about, and I have little wish to have to kill someone on our first night back in the Fallen World.”

“I concur. Our scrying has shown that the Changelings should be hiding off in that direction…”

The man and the woman walk through and ring of trees and walk away from the mound of tombstones, moving at a leisurely pace along the paved street of the cemetery.

The strange, discordant melody starts up again and the silhouette resumes his strange dance at the gravestone. Black smoke from the tear-in-reality starts to pour forth, seeping into the ground. The silhouette seems to dance more erratically and plays with a renewed gusto. The ground starts to shake and writhe once more. The shadows begin to dance at the silhouette’s feet, but they have taken on a sinuous, tentacle like appearance. The music reaches a dizzying height and the ground at the silhouette’s feet explodes in a rush of soil, rock, wood, and shadow.