Blue Spirit Chapter 2

The Waking Dead

“Life is short. If you had the chance to return from the dead would you take it or would you live for eternity in the land of the dead? This is your choice, what do you choose?”

The growling, monstrous voice echoed in his mind. There was a flash of light and he forgot everything. Light flooded his vision as he opened his eyes.

“Who am I? How can I know so much but not know my own identity? My whole life… where has it gone?”

Clutching his head, he looked up to see the sun rising in the distance, the sky glowed a deep violet. Morning dew covered his body and his matted, muddy hair. His clothes were stained in a deep crimson. A sapphire blue Venetian mask had weaved itself across his face hiding the area around his eyes and across his nose. Unbuttoning the chest of his robes he traced a deep scar along his chest. He coughed in shock, he couldn’t find any pulse or beat.
    “What the hell is going on!” he asked himself. Pushing the mask up to his brow He found a scar crossing his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Tracing the lines he realised they matched a mark cut into the bark of a weeping willow.
    Memories rushed through his mind, a battle between him and an assassin. Jumping to his feet he pushed his mask back over his eyes to hide the scar. Walking through the glade he felt marks of the battle. Shards of light darted through the branches making golden pillars of light. The birds’ morning tune whistling through the forest.
    Staggering through the labyrinth of green loosing himself in the memories that were flooding and clouding his mind. The memories like ghosts flashed through his consciousness. Wisps of mist from a life lost in his past. A pulse ran through the forest it was so alive but he knew he was not. Confusion flooded him fact and fiction twisted together and he no longer knew what was real. Tripping over a tree root he hit the ground. The delicate web of memories smashed and he woke anew.
He looked up to see an abandoned marble house with ivy spiralling around it. The white pillars were cracked and the windows smashed. A dome adorned the top of the decrepit building. A pair of stone eyes stared down at him. They were cold but felt alive. The angel’s stone gaze seemed to alter staring along its arm pointing into the distance. A feeling burned inside him and he ignored the sign.
Echoing footsteps rang out as he walked up the marble steps. They were worn from people climbing them so often. The wood was cold to the touch. Rapping the door lightly he peered through the broken window. It swung open but no one was behind it.  Acoustic echoes danced of the walls. Faded paintings hung askew and tiles were missing from walls, ceiling and floor. Doors lined the walls and a broken chandelier swayed in the breeze. An eerie screech sounded as he peeked through the first door. A grand piano lay in the corner of the room. Indoor plants had grown tall and yellow leaves climbed the walls reaching for the sunlight. The wallpaper was covered in intricate illustrations. The moth eaten carpet released plumes of dust which sparkled golden in the beams of soft light coming from the window. The stained sofas and chairs were gnawed and torn, the leather scratched and stuffing lay across the floor. A rat scuttled across the floor letting out a high squeak.
The monk strode forward and sat down on the velvet piano stool and ran his hand down the ivory keys. A sudden electricity pulsed through his fingers and happy memories flooded his mind, beautiful melodies played by his own hand. With a jolt he spread his hands and began to play. A smile spread across his face as the melody echoed through the empty halls and his fingers moved so fast he could barely see them. Drowning in his own happiness and the clear strong notes, the monk smiled.
The lid of the piano crashed down. The clashing notes shattered the silence  and ricocheted of the tiles and blasted his ears. Cold steel. Brushing against his neck. Hot breath against his neck. Raising his hands above his head. The hot breath moved to his ear.
    “Who are you trespasser and what are you doing in my mansion?” an African voice asked in a sullen tone.