The Black Wedding

The flower field would not end. Agleam with blue roses, the valley stretched into the horizon like an endless canvas and cut it with a deep crimson thread, flashing there with a ruby haze before fading away. It seemed to Ciel that the part of the sky closer to the ground breathed and pulsed, as if a living being. A breathtaking sight to behold, but soon enough, it too ceased to be hypnotising — the way would not end. It felt like a century, but the butler went further and further, in silence. Only his face bore the mark of thoughtfulness and melancholy — what a vivid expression it was, though. A rare gust of wind would stir up his raven locks and scatter them across his forehead. Ciel had an impulse now and then to take the wayward locks away from the servant’s face… stopping his hand just in time. Pulling back, not yet completely forgetting himself. But then again, everything would soon be forgotten, he thought, forgotten on that tiresome, impossibly long way. “Where are we going?” he would ask. Sebastian would be silent for many a moment to come, and his expression would remain deep in thought and detached, but then his matte mouth would twitch with reluctance. He would say, his eyes still looking at the space in front of him: “It may surprise you, my lord, but we are going to our wedding.”

***

From the agate-coloured spire to the bottom of the tower, look deep into the depths, demon. Her whisper wrapped itself around him — all witches whispered like that. There was more of spiders to them than of cats. Their words were cobwebs, and their piercing and knowing eyes — cocoons. “What is this place, crone?” “Look and remember.” They stood amidst a sea of roses on a hill. Down below, from the depths of the earth, grew a needle point that touched the sky. An obsidian tower. Its rough, old-bark-like walls sparkled even in the gloom of twilight and seemed to pierce all that there was with the power of something inevitable. Like death. Faceless, monolithic, magnificent… The tower ate away at any fear or awe for itself. Without doors and windows, it did not expect anyone, did not invite, and did not push away. It simply grew, impossible to be unnoticed, like a sudden rift upon the moon or an abyss in front of one’s feet. The crone — the last of the banshees, a spinner of fate, a mother of witches — pointed with her gnarled and wrinkled hand at the belly of the building. In her face, that looked like death, the demon could see a trace of adoration. “The place you see is sacred, demon. This is a cradle of treacherous angels, an altar of vows, or a confessional, and yet at the same time it is a contradicting mirror — a destroyer of all promises and altars. In the heart of it, evil gives rise to conscience, and goodness overgrows with shadows; madness and sins of the soul reveal themselves under its roof. This magnificent creation digs down to the core of one’s mind. Do you understand me? Eh, demon? Down to a clarity that is unclear, that is nothing, and that is the only meaning of everything. Do you understand me, or are you still too young?” “I understand. Perhaps…” The demon lifted up his head to watch a flock of birds swirl high around the middle of the building. He assumed that if he chose to climb The Tower, it would not end. He felt a languid movement of the mind emanating from it. Ancient and fathomless. The demon had not seen the like of it before, but he had heard of it. Oh, of course, he had heard of it. The wrinkled face smiled — the woman seemed to read him. “It’s pointless to speak of the meaning to demons; it’s like casting pearls before swine. But that what The Tower has for its visitors can turn into their death, for not everyone is able to withstand the truth.” “I guess I know what lies in The Tower for those like me.” “Alas, it can be entered only once,” croaked the crone, “so save this chance for a special occasion, and that you may have. I’ve done my job — I’ve brought you here. Now, if you are not a fool, you will always remember the way to it.” At that moment, many a century ago, he looked into her dried face that was shaking with laughter and thought that the crone knew a thing or two about his future. But the thought was instantly dismissed. Nonsense. It was nonsense, and he would never need that twisted purgatory. It disrupted something in the world with its very existence. It was like a splinter that had gone too far deep and overgrown with skin. Nonsense… I will never enter it. And I will remember the way to it only because I have one hell of a memory. Who could have known that he was so wrong? And, of course, he gave it little thought when he took notice of a rose bush that struggled for survival, the colour of it rare for those places. The roses were blue, like his eyes.

***

Ciel thought that he had heard it wrong. He turned his face towards the butler. Sebastian was serious and not inclined to jest at the moment of time; an unbearable and heavy burden of sorrow had frozen in his eyes with its roots growing deep. A look like that could only speak about imprisonment, a loss of purpose, and exhaustion — the kind of exhaustion that could be defined as complete or decisive… Decided. “What wedding, Sebastian? What are you talking about?” “Our union, my lord. It can be compared to what men call marriage,” explained the butler. “You aren’t yet familiar with the world in which you are to exist as a demon. My world. It is hard to explain, but I’ll try.” Ciel thought it strange that Sebastian used the word exist. The world he was to exist, not to live in. Sebastian continued: “What happened to our contract is called a black wedding. This current bond of ours looks rather long-term, don’t you think so?” The boy expected to see a familiar smirk — there it was, after the question, teasing and somehow dazzling, and yet it was not, the demon’s eyes remaining dull and focused on the path. Ciel felt that he was not yet used to the change in Sebastian. He sniffed in response, as if saying that, of course, it was long-termed: a demon that once served a mortal for his soul was now to serve him forever, because the human had been turned into a demon like himself. Funny? A little. Tragic? It didn’t bother him at all. Sebastian was a fool if he believed that Ciel was happy with this course of events — the events that were beyond his influence. And he was twice a fool to show his true colours at the moment of the boy’s metamorphosis. He tried to kill Ciel Phantomhive before he was transformed into an undying spawn of hell. Predictable? Of course. But also foolish, ridiculous, and… Ciel never noticed how he gripped the butler’s lapel. Pinned to it was a blue rose. It was a symbol, a whisper about a Phantomhive boy, an earl who took revenge and lost his memories. He had them back, but at what price! Ciel plucked the flower and threw it away. Sebastian followed its flight with a brief glance before speaking again. “It is long-termed and sacred for demons. Sacred… not in the sense you know of. I must admit, I can’t find a more suitable word for it. It is exceptional, and I have never dealt with it before.” A pensive shadow lay between the boy’s brows. He repeated quietly, “Black wedding,” as if tasting the words. The Ciel of yore would have ordered Sebastian to stop, to turn back. Nonsense! What farce is this, Sebastian? You and I?! But not anymore. The circumstances — no, Ciel himself — had changed. A human and a demon?.. A servant and a master?.. None of it mattered anymore. Borders had been erased; reason and rules had lost their former meaning. Sebastian, too, would have to change. Whether he wanted or not. Or they would suffer endlessly. And if Sebastian was speaking about this union, then it was important. Or he could be lying. It was either of two options, but did Ciel have a chance to see which one? As if reading his mind, the man added: “It is also a silent vow of bonding and loyalty. No means can break the union; even your… excuse me, human weddings are a weak comparison. For humans lie, their vows mean nothing. How many words they waste only to ease their conscience and dull others’ vigilance, isn’t it right, my lord? You should know it, don’t you?” The corners of his lips twitched slightly. Lair. Ciel should have reminded Sebastian of his own act that befitted a demon. Loyalty is not about you. “Demons don’t lie,” said Sebastian. “But neither they form any unions, except… in this case of ours.” “Stop.” The sound of his steps and, for some reason, even the rustling of grass fell into a sudden silence. The butler still held his master in his arms and did so with care, and more and more often it felt to the master that it would last forever, that one could no longer exist without the other. A wave of something rose inside him at the ridiculous thought. Ciel squeezed the lapel of the demon’s jacket once again. “You have betrayed me once.” His eyes flashed coldly. “If you are deceiving me again, Sebastian, if this is some kind of a trap…” Sebastian caught his eyes the colour of forget-me-nots, in which he used to look as if they were his property, his precious treasure, his little crystal enigma, his child, in the most sacred meaning of the word. His secret adoration. His perfection. And in the end, ironically, his trap and bane. But soon enough, all would be changed: the shackles would fall (if the old banshee didn’t lie), and the cradle of angels (or the altar of vows) would force the young demon to recognise the remnants of the human he once was, with a heart and a conscience, with kindness and nobility. To recognise the servant’s bondage and set the slave free. Sebastian had no choice but to believe it. In the end, human nature, which he was well familiar with, would never fail. For every human had a hidden… And though The Tower would affect Sebastian just as strongly, he would find a way to fight its spell.

***

It was close. Despite the fact that it had been a long time since he was last there, he felt that The Tower was just beyond the next chain of hills — that ancient, impossible, and hypnotising spire. He even wanted to see his master’s face when he would first lay his eyes on the blade of its peak and how The Tower would reflect in his eyes in the form of a long feathery shadow. Like a bird cutting the dome of the sky. “Look me in the eye, Ciel, yes, tonight I can call you by your name. Do I look like I’m lying? There is no lie here. I’m being honest with you, for we are going to our wedding after all. I will take you to a monochrome tower as my bride, the first and only one possible. Is a lair capable of this? Yes, I will take you to our wedding. I will take you to a dance, and you will be the one to make a choice… how can I force you after all? force you? It is absurd… It will be just you and the Tower. Just us and this chthonic, geometrically created beast. I will be only a spectator against my own will and also, perhaps, a defendant… with dying hope. I never lie.” They climbed the hill. Little had changed since Sebastian last stood there with the wise old banshee. Her words, perhaps, could save his life and grant him freedom. Indeed, Ciel’s face grew longer in surprise when he saw the giant monolithic needle. The Tower did not so much scratch the sky as pierce it and went into the very pulp of the pastel clouds… It shimmered like a flint path in the moonlight. The cover of red roses continued all the way to the walls, and it looked like The Tower was drowning in the flowers. “We are here.” These were the only words Sebastian said. He wasn’t even looking at the mighty creation — all his attention was drawn to the face of the stricken young demon, a slave anticipating his approaching freedom.