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Arcane Gateway - Chapter 1

C.L. CarhartApr 14, 2021, 4:58:36 AM
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The Autumn Party

 

That night was to be the most wondrous night the Thaden house had known since my father first purchased it six months prior. After years of pushing against the malicious cloud of sickness and loss that seemed to hover around our family, he had taken a step forward, furnishing our new home with an elegance that few could criticize. Anticipation had gnawed at my heart that entire week. I had spent most of my after school hours watching the hired help bustling here and there to prepare our home to receive over a hundred guests—the first party my father had held since my mother had passed away in 1985. Memories of earlier parties had brightened my imagination with colors—rich ladies in fabulous attire floating through the gardens like fairies, chatting and laughing, dancing and drinking, nibbling on cheeses and chocolates, patting my head and complimenting my girlish dress.

When I had first learned of the upcoming party, I had fully expected to be included. I had always attended our family’s parties when I was a little girl, when my radiant mother had danced in my father’s arms. But for some reason, my father had decreed that I must spend the entire evening and night upstairs in my room, away from the cavorting adults, away from the music and colors, away from the savory dishes made only for this day.

I did not understand, and the greater part of me longed to pitch a fit, for all of my attempts to persuade him otherwise had fallen flat. I could not comprehend what had prompted my amiable father to transform into a tyrant who would lock his only daughter away in a tower. We usually got along well, the two Thadens who had risen above to conquer, to succeed. But he hardly looked at me as I confronted him one final time in the front parlor, having dressed myself in a dusky autumn-colored dress printed with oversized flowers and trimmed with gold. It was one of my best dresses; its lifted bust made me look older than thirteen.

“But Pappi, I spent over an hour getting ready when I got home today! I even had Lise do my nails—” I waved their golden sparkles toward his face “—and she did my braids, too—”

“Lise was just humoring you,” my father interrupted, his expression looking as though it had been chiseled from stone, his gray eyes turned away from me, toward the picture window. “She knows quite well that the matter is settled. Tonight’s party is for business contacts, for adults.”

“But Leon and Lothar are coming. They’re not that much older than me!” I retorted. “I saw their names on the guest list with Onkel Derek!”

My father sighed and shook his head, his gaze drifting to the left but passing over me, settling on something in the entrance hall behind where I stood with my fists pressed against my hips. “A gathering of my clients is no place for you.”

“But there’s going to be dancing!” I pointed out, gesturing at the five musicians my father had hired to provide music for the gala. They were in the process of tuning their violins, cello, and guitars in the far corner of the room, studiously ignoring the row between father and daughter. “They wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t going to be dancing. Ava and Morgen went to the Wagner party last month, and they’ve been going on and on about dancing and flirting—”

“As if I’d want my daughter to gain the reputation of a flighty vamp!” my father responded with a vehemence that derailed my train of thought. He glared down at me and took a step forward, reaching out to brush away the single tear that had escaped my left eye. I felt moisture welling behind both eyes and glowered at my father from behind my glasses. I hated how quickly the tears would come whenever I tried to argue. I knew that made me look weak.

“It’s time for you to go back upstairs with Lise,” my father told me gently, doubtless sensing my wavering emotions. “She can bring you first dibs on the food before it’s set out in the dining room and parlors. Something from every dish if you want.” His lips curled into a conciliatory smile. He pitied me.

“Come on, Swanie.” Lise beckoned me from the foot of the front staircase, but I was still too provoked to go quietly. I blinked against my tears, and I felt my cheeks starting to burn at the direction of my thoughts. But I had to get it out.

“I’m n-not going to . . . do it with one of your guests.” I stepped backward when I said it, suddenly horrified at myself. My heart thudded beneath my dress.

My father laughed once and waved for me to go. “No, you certainly are not, but that wouldn’t necessarily stop some of them from trying.” My father’s chief servant stepped to his side to murmur something in his right ear before sliding away to vanish through the doorway to the other parlors. “That’s what I thought. Swanie, get upstairs. People are starting to arrive.” He strode toward the vestibule, shoving me in front of him as he went, directing me to where Lise stood at the base of the steps.

I sniffed and heaved a sigh, thinking that maybe I should plot some sort of revenge against my father. How could he possibly lump me in with the ditzy girls in my class at school? Sure, maybe they were the only ones who gushed about going to parties with adults, but still. “Mutti would have let me dance with her,” I threw toward my father’s back as I paused on the first step; I heard Lise gasp. “And Dane would have wanted me to go so I could tell him all about it. I was the one who told him stories, never you.”

Enough!” my father roared, and Lise fairly dragged me up the stairs. But I thought I saw his proud shoulders falter a bit, where he stood waiting to greet his guests. Good, he needs to hurt as much as I do, I thought.

I heard Lise shut my bedroom door behind us soon afterward, but by then I could not see straight thanks to my tears. “Really, Swanie, you shouldn’t have said those things to your Pappi,” Lise chided me, though her voice sounded comforting. “Tonight is a happy night for him, for your family.”

“I don’t care. I want to d-dance with everybody else,” I insisted. My words began to break when images of the hospital bed in the room across from mine assaulted me, the sounds of machinery and wheezing, of the grim voices of doctors. “I w-want to . . . t-tell . . . Dane . . . ab-about dancing. I . . . want to tell . . . I want D . . . Dane . . . .” Sobs overtook me, and I collapsed into my nanny’s arms.

My mother had been gone for over eight years now, and my memories of her had grown hazy with time, though I often missed her when I went to bed at night, recalling her sweet voice singing lullabies to me until I fell asleep. But my younger brother had not yet been gone a year, and dark memories of his suffering arose at times when I least expected them—like the last time I went to the doctor’s office to get a booster shot. I had panicked, and I was told later that several nurses had to carry me from the waiting room to the exam room. Apparently I had sobbed while the doctor tried to listen to my heartbeat and breathing. I had been sent to a psychiatrist at his request, and I had been given pills that I had stubbornly thrown away. They had muddled my thoughts, which exacerbated my pain.

Lise held me until I cried myself out, leaving the room with a pledge to bring back a little of everything from the kitchen in a few minutes’ time. The unspoken warning was clear: do not bother trying to sneak out.

In her absence, I plodded toward the bathroom and removed my glasses, disgusted at the sight of my streaked mascara and blush. “You really have to get over this,” I said after I had washed off my makeup, blinking sternly at the gray eyes in the mirror—they matched my father’s exactly. “Pappi will never let you go to any of his parties if you can’t get it together. And Dane’s not coming back. He’s with God now. With Mutti. And people don’t come back from there.”

By the time Lise came back with a tray in tow, I sat primly upon my bright blue couch, ready to put forth the appearance of contentment. Lise tried to cheer me up while I ate, telling tales about silliness in the kitchen. I blocked out most of her words, concentrating instead on the food, for my father had given it his all for this party. Even when unhappy, I still relished filet mignon, fresh curried herring, white truffles, and pasta Bolognese. My father had ordered a case of Almdudler from Austria for guests who preferred non-alcoholic drinks, and the taste of that beverage brought a smile to my face at last. “You need to swipe more cans of this to put in my fridge before they’re all gone,” I told Lise, glancing toward where my mini fridge sat with a microwave on top, two paces away from my stereo.

We danced together for a short time once I had determined myself stuffed, her servant’s Dirndl whirling with my more stylish dress. I put on the music that my classmates deemed cool at the time—Snap! and U96—and we playfully switched styles as the songs changed, covering the entirety of my room and balcony. Finally Lise begged for a break, saying that she was getting winded, her graying blond curls having escaped their pins long before. So I collapsed on my bed while she rested on the couch before loading up her tray with our used dishes and silverware. “I’m not going to lock the door,” she mentioned on her way out, “because I trust you not to get caught if you decide to prowl around.”

I jerked into an upright position on my bed, my mouth dropping open as my eyes darted toward my bedroom door just in time to catch her wink. One final song from U96’s CD chugged away on my stereo before I decided how to react. When the song ended, I jumped up and switched the music off, then darted for my closet, intending to discard my brilliant dress for my most obscure set of pajamas.

Some time later, I positioned myself in a shadowy alcove behind where the railing to the front staircase curved toward the second floor hallway, trusting my navy blue patterned pajamas and black hair to keep me concealed from the revelers below. My spot afforded me a decent view of the entryway and the edge of the front parlor, from which drifted the smooth sounds of a nocturne. I took mental notes on the fashion and agility of the dancers that passed through my line of vision, soon convincing myself that my skills far outweighed most of theirs. But of course many of the adults were already drunk. I wondered whether my skills at ballroom dancing and ballet would slip away from me if I was drunk.

So absorbed was I in the dancers that I did not notice him standing behind me in the dark hallway until he spoke. “Watching the festivities, are you?” 

My heart leapt into my throat, and I spun around, my fingers fastened to the iron bars of the railing. I quickly recognized Hans standing there in his serving attire—perfectly pressed black suit, snow white button-up shirt, black bow tie, shiny black shoes, white gloves—regarding me with a rather shrewd expression. Though I had rarely spoken to Hans, I knew that he was my father’s chief servant, a middle-aged man usually in the background of things who said little. As long as he decided not to tell on me, he was safe; and he probably would not, since his first words to me had had nothing to do with my presence in the hallway. So I relaxed my tense stance and answered his question. “Yes, I am.”

“And what do you think?” He looked past me now, over the railing at the guests thronging the wide vestibule. They had paused in their dancing as the song transitioned into a waltz by Schumann; soon all began again.

I turned back to look, feeling a touch of envy. “I think it’s amazing,” I replied with feeling. “I can’t wait until I can be down there, too.”

There was a pause, and then Hans made a rather dismissive sound. I turned back to him and found him leaning against the wall within arm’s reach of me, looking down at the dancers with a critical expression. “That’s not real dancing, that down there,” he commented.

I frowned, taken aback, and stepped away from him. “What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms and shook his head once. “Down there they dance with their bodies and with the private lusts of fantasy.” I blushed at this and almost fled from him right there, thinking back to what I had said to my father earlier. I wondered if Hans had overheard that. But he was still eyeing the dancers and went on, oblivious to my reaction. “If you really want to dance . . . you have to dance with your soul . . . with your heart . . . .” His voice trailed off, and he cocked his head to look down at me with a strange triumph in his dark blue eyes.

There was something mystical glittering in his eyes, igniting my curiosity. “What do you mean, dance with the heart?” I asked, beating down my discomfiture at his earlier remark. “They’re dancing just like I’m learning in school, and I’m sure they’re doing it with sincerity.” Except for the drunks, of course.

Half of Hans’ mouth curled upward in a mocking smile. “That may be, but they don’t know how the Teutons dance.” He looked back at the guests again.

With that statement he had me hooked. At that point in my life, I knew little about Teutons besides what I had learned in history class in school. I knew that my family had Teutonic blood, for I had overheard a few adult conversations on the subject. I had no idea what that meant, but now I was determined to learn. If my father did not want me to take part in the rowdiness of drunken dancing, I might as well learn some sort of historical tradition instead. If nothing else, it would help distract me from thinking of Dane. “How exactly do the Teutons dance?” I asked when Hans looked down at me again.

He looked at me for a long moment, straightening from his casual stance against the wall. He uncrossed his arms, and his expression grew thoughtful for a moment, his eyes narrowed. At last, he seemed to make a choice, and he smiled suddenly, showing his teeth. It was one of the first times I ever saw him really smile. He gestured at the dark hallway behind him and said, “Come. I’ll show you.”

My eyes widened. “Now?” He nodded. “But I’m too young!”

Hans’ smile turned wry as he said, “Not for that.” He turned swiftly away, headed down the halls toward the back staircase. I stared after him for a moment, thousands of emotions seizing me—fear, anticipation, horror, excitement. Then I raced after him.

At first I had no idea where we were going. Hans reached the bottom of the back staircase, me six steps behind, and threaded his way through the kitchen, nodding once at the extra cooks and servers my father had hired for the party. A few of them glanced at him absently and returned to their work, while most ignored him entirely. I slipped past them unnoticed and followed Hans into the pantry and the laundry room, and finally through the back door to the garage. I was starting to get confused now, for he had not looked back at me after taking off down the upstairs hall—had he been joking, or was he crazy? I entered the garage just in time to see Hans flinging open the side door to the backyard. He halted just outside and turned back to me, the same wry smile curling on his lips. “Are you coming?”

“Out there?” I shivered once from the autumn wind blowing into the garage. Hans nodded, and I protested, “But it’s cold, and I don’t have a coat with me!”

“You won’t need it.” He stood waiting, holding the door for me.

I had a feeling that I would truly be treading unfamiliar ground tonight if I followed him. But anticipation overtook me, and I had never really feared any of my father’s servants. After all, if he did something to hurt me, I could get him fired. I had heard adults say that Hans was a Teuton priest, and if there was some­thing to know about traditional Teutonic dancing, a priest would know all. So I threw hesitation aside and walked through the door into the crisp night air.

Hans closed the door behind me and swept his gaze over the entire yard at once. “We’ll have to do this some distance from the house,” he noted, “for we would not want to disturb the guests.” He scoured the hedges and shadows with a fierce expression. The waxing gibbous moon cast the landscape in a silvery hue.

I agreed with him wholeheartedly. If my father found us out here, he would kill me, since I was supposed to be upstairs in my room. After a moment’s consideration, I suggested, “Maybe we’d be safe out by the stream and the gazebo.”

“Hmm.” Hans frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. “You may be right.” In the same second, he turned his stride toward the trees some thirty meters out, keeping to the sides of the yard near the curved wall coated with ivy.

The Thaden house stood on the outskirts of München on about two hectares of land. My father had bought the house just that April after two very profitable years for his company, Süddeutsche Getriebe. Before that, we had always lived in his father’s house, which was somewhat smaller and on the other side of the city. He never told me how much it had cost, but it had to be a staggering amount. Since his business continued to prosper in subsequent years, he never regretted his purchase. The backyard was magnificent, covered in gardens and woods with a tiny stream running through the back. The house and the gazebo by the stream were about a hectare apart, which would not have been a terribly long walk had I not been trying to keep up with Hans. He moved through the yard swiftly and silently like a cat, finding and melding with every shadow. By the time I reached the clearing in the trees where the gazebo stood, I was out of breath and no longer felt the cold air. He was right; I did not need a jacket.

Hans stood at the doorway to the small white gazebo, his face turned toward the water and the waxing moon above. He shifted his gaze to me when I emerged from the trees. I paused at the edge of the clearing to recover my breath, and the tranquility of the night in this tiny forest took hold of me. The chattering stream and the whispering breeze reminded me of how it felt to relax in the Englischer Garten—in a bustling city but set apart from the fray. I need to spend more time out here, I realized, for apart from school and dance classes I had cloistered myself in the house while I mourned my brother, channeling my grief into music and books. Maybe some sort of primal dance was what I really needed.

Hans had removed his white gloves and stepped onto the grass while I stood lost in thought at the edge of the clearing. I looked back at him at last, and he stretched one hand out toward me. “Come dance with me, child,” he intoned.

I stepped toward him slowly, shivering slightly with the autumn breeze. I paused several steps away and looked down at his hand, ghostly pale in the moonlight, then up at his face. His eyes shone with some internal glory now, almost like a flame of fire somehow. I trembled again and wondered for a fleeting moment what I had gotten myself into. Then I reached for his hand.

I pulled away immediately as a searing pain shot through my skin. I gasped and took a step back, staring down at my hand. There were no outward signs, but I felt as though I had been burnt. The pain disappeared as quickly as it had come; I shook my hand in confusion and heard Hans sigh. When I met his eyes again, they evinced a deep disappointment. “Ach, Teuton child, it is not truly that difficult,” he murmured. I frowned, and he went on. “I don’t know what element you are, since your father chose to stifle your ancestral spirit all these years, but you certainly are something. You must relax, let go of your cares, bring out your soul, and embrace this night.” He swept his arm in a wide arc, indicating the trees, the brook, the sky. “To dance as a Teuton, you must be free,” he finished, then held out his right hand again. “Dance with me, Teuton princess.” His voice was low; his gaze burned deep.

I had listened to his every word, and I tried to concentrate on the night air, on this little bucolic glade in the middle of the suburbs, alone with nature. I took a deep breath, and now the chattering of the stream overshadowed all other sounds. I closed my eyes and stepped forward with more surety to take Hans’ hand.

I heard a new sound when our hands touched, as he clasped my hand in his. I felt no pain this time, but it seemed as though I heard something sizzling quietly. When I opened my eyes I saw what looked like a bit of steam rising from our entwined hands. I stared and breathed out, noticing that I could see my breath now. Hans looked down at our hands, then at my face, and his eyes burned with amazement. “Ice princess,” he said, correcting his earlier label of me. Ice? I breathed out again, staring in wonder at my frigid breath. For some reason my vision had grown fuzzy. My eyebrows came together, and I reached up to touch my glasses with my left hand. Yes, they were still there, though slightly fogged. Hans’ face shone with amusement, and he brought his left hand forward to remove my glasses, fold them up, and place them in his pocket.

I blinked in amazement at the clarity of the glade in the moonlight. It was as though I could somehow see the life emanating from the trees and stream, all in a frosty shade of blue. “The awakening of a Teuton’s element improves the senses,” Hans explained with a snicker. I blinked a few times and put my left hand to my head, not knowing what to say. Had I stumbled into a fairytale? Suddenly, Hans flexed his grip on my right hand and swung it into the air, pulling my body against his with his other hand. I gawked at him in shock, and he warned me teasingly, “Don’t let me melt you, Swan of Ice.” In the next instant, we were dancing.

This Teutonic dancing was not like the dancing I had learned in class. On some occasions our feet found the traditional steps of the waltz or the polka, but in general we danced a far more primitive dance, whirling astride the wind. We leapt from tree to tree, into the gazebo and out again, sometimes breaking apart and bounding through the dell in an olden form of tag. I found myself chortling almost the entire time, feeling no cold, just the thrill of exhilaration in the night. I was the stream, an icy river breaking over rocks, crashing over waterfalls. My partner took the form of a black fire, leaping high into the air, consuming everything in his path. At the start I feared that he might consume me, that his skill and ferocity might overwhelm my inexperience, but as the dance progressed I found my own element, the ice, to be as strong as his. His fire could not burn me, and I could not freeze him. We were equals, even though he danced with far more expertise.

I could have danced this way, this instinctive, heart-felt dance, until the dawn and not grown tired. Ultimately it ended, though, about the same as it had begun. Hans brought us to a graceful stop just outside the gazebo, easing my hand down to my side much more gently than he had lifted it into the air at the start. He let go of me but did not back away, and for a long moment we stared into each other’s faces. My eyes were wide with shock and likely a little blue from the ice I had just discovered within me. His were black as the night sky, glowing with an inner fire and perhaps with something more. Slowly he raised his right hand again and brought it to my face, tracing the side of it with a tenderness that shocked me all over again. A beautiful smile spread across his face again, as I stood frozen, and he whispered an accolade: “Sconi . . . .”

I did not know what that word meant, but I began to tremble with a tumble of teenage emotions. Then Hans dropped his hand to his side and looked back toward the house. “We should go before someone starts looking for you,” he said in a normal voice, as though my entire world had not transformed completely in a single hour. He handed my glasses back to me and left the glade, but I remained for a while longer, my breaths still dotting the air with frost.

“What . . . was that . . . ?” Dread had begun to supersede my wonder.

 

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