Elias Colpena (excerpt/re-submission)

Elias Colpena, the now seasoned and retired politician, sat in the leather chair of his study. His once handsome face, now marred in old age, stared blankly at the large portrait of his deceased wife, Nerezza. His attention wandered to the finished glass of whiskey on his desk, lazily noting the detailed cuts and etches across the clear cup. The warmth of the alcohol filled him just enough. The man slowly bowed his head as though about to drift to slumber, but was stopped when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Soon, Ulla, the head maid, rushed into the study room, her shaking hands desperately holding onto the large golden door handles. Elias’ head quickly snapped in the maid’s direction, startled by her sudden entrance. He stared in confusion. She knew better than to interrupt him here. “It’s Mara, Master Elias,” she finally said once catching her breath. The name alone caused him to rise from his seat, for it belonged to his youngest sister.

“Mara? What happened? Is she all right?” His heavy brows knitted in concern while the fine lines near his warm brown eyes wrinkled. He watched the plump, older woman come forth, studying her expression as though an answer could be found within her distressed face. Ulla spoke, “She’s fine, Master Elias. For now.” She eventually looked away, fingers twisting the center pocket of her apron. “However, I fear the worst for her child… She is affecting Mistress Mara.” Elias’ eyes now widened. He knew of Mara’s child. Though he had yet to meet her, he knew that she was born just under a year ago and that, already, the infant showed great promise in becoming yet another Colpena prodigy. She had been christened as Cicely, named after the sweet Myrrhis plant that populated the Colpena manor during the springtime of his and his sister’s youth. But, what was there to fear?

“Why? Is the little one ill? Shall I send for a doctor?” He asked seriously, still unsure.

“No, it isn’t that. The child is healthy, but…” The maid began, bringing a withered hand, anxiously clutched, to her lips. “Your sister has had visions, endless dreams of what is to come to her child. She’s still only a babe, but Mistress is certain that the poor thing is somehow connected to the night of your election. Always the same dream — the celebration of your win, the sudden screaming, and the face of death. Mistress Mara is convinced that these portents are linked to her Cicely, for, in these dreams, it is always the echoing sound of her daughter’s laughter that unnerves her and the sound of her shrieking that finally awakens her. She refuses to sleep now, terrified of what it could all mean.” Elias’ expression hardened, a weary and nervous look on his face. “Is this true? Are you sure it is the same dream?” He muttered, waiting for the maid to return his gaze. “Ay, it’s true, Master, and it’s drawing her to madness. The house staff has heard her for many days, sputtering on about some curse,” Ulla replied. Elias looked distracted, he only nodded in response while attempting to dry his sweating palms.

Of course Mara had already told him about this dream and its significance. He was the first to know. Although he calmed his youngest sibling time and time again, telling her that these dreams are nothing more than collected memories and imagination, he could not deny the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Nevertheless, he never revealed that there could be truth in her dreams. He would not dare. For weeks, Elias had stowed himself away in his study, referencing the many records of his ancestors, brandishing the dust off dozens of leather bound books, and immersing himself with his family’s archive. The Colpena history was a strange and dark one, and Elias could not deny the parallels that occurred in the lifetimes of his ancestors, a parallel he feared would only continue.

He paced toward his desk, reaching for a fountain pen and paper. He scribbled a message on the parchment and quickly authenticated it with a wax seal. The man then held the note out to Ulla who hesitantly took it from him. “We must alert Cousin Deirdre. Tell her her assistance is needed at once. And have her bring Mara and the child as well.” The maid held the folded paper close and said a soft “ay” in compliance. “But, Master Elias, how will Mistress Deirdre be of service? How will she quell our Mistress Mara’s worries?” Elias smiled faintly, his hands now held behind his back in thought. Deirdre was wise and knew a great deal more of their family’s history than he. Perhaps she could have the answers they sought. “Mara trusts few, but she adores Cousin Deirdre. Deirdre may be able to calm her, more than I ever could. Now, go, Ulla.”

He offered an assuring look, but his eyes could not fully disguise his troubled mind. It was clear that he knew more than he let on. With another “ay,” the old woman said nothing else and walked off, leaving Elias alone in the study, his attention returning to the portrait of his beloved once more.