"Who I am" [Random chapter from my novela]
This is a random chapter from a novela that I'm currentely writining. The title is 'The Ghost of Hanan Baal'. Original spanish of curse.
The pianist observed each of these details but he was no longer a musician what was hidden behind his eyes that had taken on the strength, beauty and grandeur of two distant mountains. There was a ghostly echo behind those eyes that yearned for answers, and that he was prepared to kill someone if it was necessary to cut the weeds in his garden.
They passed through a massive oak door with the symbol of the Scheffer family carved on it. The symbol was so large that it seemed to have been carved directly with pride and not just with hands.
The new room was much wider. With enormous libraries full of countless and thick volumes. On the walls there were torches that gave an ancestral lighting to the room. The temperature was cool. One of the men asked the pianist for his coat and also for Stella's. Both gave their coats. He was invited to take a seat in a place four or five meters away from the place where Lord Freya was sitting, inside a protective frame where he fit perfectly. The man who took his coats went with Stella in the direction of Lord Freya who beside him had another four men armed with pistols and rifles.
"Excuse me for coming alone, Lord Freya," the pianist said with pity in his voice, "but I'm sure more people will arrive at any moment." I ask you please be patient". The men were visibly upset. Lord Freya's face was veiled but his voice came out of that veil as if it came from the shadows.
"I do not mind waiting. Please use what you like" he said, and immediately a woman brought a tray full of various foods between meats, salads and wines. They placed a space table for the pianist. The food was served in modest quantities, and in a considerable amount the wine. He ate very little but drank more.
The pianist was always attentive above all around him. He observed at the details of those men in their hands, in their hair, in their faces and in their weapons. He looked at every detail with great care and attention inside that room. He noted that there were volumes of history, medicine, astrophysics, mathematics, biology, social sciences and even alchemy in those huge and beautiful libraries like the woman who is loved and venerated.
"I'm really pleased to be here, Lord Freya," Jerome said holding a glass of wine as he reclined on the sofa. "Do you really want to know about my story?" Stella looked at him from Lord Freya's place. The pianist's eyes began to light up like two green fires in the distance.
"That's what I called you, Jerome Scheffer," he said, emphasizing the pianist's last name. "You owe me your story if you really want my help".
"Do you want to know if I really am who I say I am, is not it? But I'm afraid that answer is very obvious. I am me, and nobody else. "Lord Freya cleared his throat or perhaps had laughed bitterly and ironically from his place. The men were silent and motionless like statues. Stella instead seemed to be the only creature really alive there.
"You are you and nobody else. But you say you are a Scheffer" pronounced with a solemn voice Lord Freya and continued "there are currently many Scheffer. History discredited both the surname that made it vulgar. There are surnames that should be reserved only for the worthy. Are you the ghost of Hanan Baal?"
"That's me. Or rather, I already have a time when I have not been".
"You play with the runes like the Scheffer of yesterday. But that means nothing. Even those damn Poncrator learned to do it. Not as good as that family they massacred".
"That is not wrong. None of them or anyone who is not a Scheffer of two hundred years ago has been able to master the art of the runes" interrupted Jerome who immediately took the cup to his lips and took a deep sip to leave it completely empty.
"The Freya family," continued the Lord, who could not visualize any gesture, or any feeling because he was veiled, "was always faithful to the Scheffer family. We owe them so much. And we have always remained noble and worthy before his cause. For that reason they have offended us so many things with respect to how the world has paid them". Jerome filled the glass while listening intently."First, as I said, the last name was vulgarized. And second, they were taken out of the story. It was never official, it was never written how they were massacred two hundred years ago. The story has a facility to condemn the good ones that become loserderos, and to give acts of kindness to the perverts that were winners. Third, who confesses and claims to be the phantom of Hanan Baal say you have the surname Scheffer, which in the current era is equal to a trinket, and incidentally, you use the art of the runes (among others of the family), you claim to be Kalahain Scheffer, who was the son of Siegfried and Prussia Scheffer, once the last main wall of the family"
"And so I am. I'll show you tonight", said Jerome, hurrying, interrupting Lord Freya's last sentence. His men were irritated, and perhaps Lord Freya would be. Stella had all her worry written on her face. But then one of the servants put four people through.
"Laura!" Jerome exclaimed, looking at her tired, sweaty but calm. He tenderly stroked her white hair and kissed her forehead "is good to see you, little sister". Then he embraced her and lifted her up. The girl returned the hug and kiss on his forehead. She looked very happy.
Lord Frey will have seen Laura as her friends Andie and Simon so tired, and the girls soaked that she asked to be brought food, drink and a change of clothes. Jerome left them alone and sat on the armchair a few moments ag
Minutes later Laura, Andie and Simon were sitting and Amadeus and Fred also entered the room. Everyone was ordered to take a seat and they were made aware of what was going to happen.
" I'm here to talk about myself, about the Scheffer family and the ghost of Hanan Baal".
"If not, these guys here will kill us and nobody will ever know. I want to know all the details, Mr. "Scheffer" Lord Freya said.
"My story may not be valuable to you or to anyone present. But at least I'll tell it right. "Jerome said this and finally, in the dim light, his eyes shone an ethereal green. None of the others present said a word. But Jerome watched as his sister calmed the girl who accompanied her with the brush of his hands on hers. This moved him but it was not shown in his attitude. The expression on his face was not that of Jerome the pianist but that of a murderer. He was quiet, serene but at the same time as strong as a raging river and as frightening as an angry lion.
One of the men brought a tape recording equipment. A clunker but a very well cared and prepared it.
The man with burning green eyes that shone like two huge moons rose.
"You have until the dawn," said the Lord, sounding a tick-tock from his side of the room.
"Why would I fear the ticking of the clock when I've seen two centuries pass as seconds before my eyes?" Jerome replied. "We will start with the past, Mr. Freya. If I must speak of my past, and more specifically, if I should qualify it, I would say that it was golden in the beginning, and suddenly it was dyed a black as deep and lumpy as coagulated blood."
The recording machine started with his trade. Lord Freya smiled from his position where no one could notice him. Everyone else present looked at the man with a lot of attention. He walked sometimes giving the appearance of a demon, sometimes that of an angel. That's why his face, despite being disturbing, reflected a pain and a delicacy that resembled the light of a lighthouse.
"Would a prayer come out of your mouths if I refused to tell you my story?" He said, looking in the direction of Lord Frey "just as I suppose you would pray for your lives if they knew that you were going to die indefinitely at any second? You should be strong so you do not fall on your knees" And he began to look at everyone with his eyes brighter and brighter and with a dark aura emanating from his being, but from that aura there were moments when a light so fine, so warm and subtle "But do not worry, I'll stay with you because I'll never lie to you with what I'm going to tell you. I only ask you that you have enough imagination to give shape to the threads that began to come out of my mouth and with which I will try the truth". He took something out of his pocket. Nobody could see what it was but it shone beautifully between his fingers. "Imagine that you throw an iron coin over your heads, and it shines beautifully with the sun while; in that short movement, it will have taken several turns. It is in the same way that life advances and falls to extinction in the vacuum showing a single result after all the experiences and accumulated memories. Our bodies are a vault of memories. We are therefore a coin made of memories that lives inside a box with other coins of different memories. Among all these, there is a name forgotten by the incessant steps of the hands of the clock; That name is mine, Khalain, and my story begins to store his memories when he was only fourteen years ago two hundred years ago".
Posted from my blog with SteemPress : http://seifiro.timeets.xyz/2018/10/14/who-i-am-random-chapter-from-my-novela/
Te quedó muy bueno!
Gracias. Le he puesto mi amor.
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Thanks!