Meres

I feel the smile growing on my face as I turn slowly about, gazing upward at a summer sky as daintily detailed as a china plate in rich blues and shining white, billowing mountains of cotton clouds, their edges translucent and enhancing the luminescence of the azure around them. A rumble of thunder echoes faintly in the domed space, reminding me that I am seeing the fresco in its worst light - yet another day of gray rain, leaving the many skylights dim and the paintings murkily lit by candles and gaslight.  For all that, it is as lovely as I had hoped, and even should the weather be as poor as this for the party being planned a fortnight from now, we shall have a pretty enough setting to enjoy ourselves. And I can’t recall the last time we held one of our soirees in an old chapel, the ironic touch is quite pleasant. Of course, it being a chapel no longer in public use, being largely neglected (though reasonably maintained) under private ownership, it’s a little less cheeky, but the paintings make up for it.  Cunning trompe-l'œil makes it feel much larger in size, and the still-vibrant colors maintain a sense of warmth to the old stone walls. I wonder which would produce a nicer effect, to light it all in ancient ritual candlelight, or bring in electric and lime lights, making it brighter than a summer’s day during a night indoors, letting the paintings be seen in more clarity than ever before?  ...I suppose I’ve decided already then, haven’t I? Will the colors be as lurid as a carnival under those lights, or glow with colors more vivid than life?

Turning back from the pulpit to look over the main space, I suppose we shall have to do something with the pews. They’re beautifully carved in an auburn mahogany, and appear thoroughly attached to the tiled floor. Moving them would doubtless result in unsightly damages… I suppose we could layer a few rows in cushions and furs, though they are rather narrow for lounging comfortably upon.  Perhaps a stage could be built over the rest - yes, I think so, a large platform will allow more space to work with. I suppose the acoustics are designed so that the musicians ought to remain near the organ and choir area, but this would be a sufficiently large area for dancing. Or perhaps a centerpiece of some sort, an elaborate buffet, actors in some tableau, or…

Startled, I turn, feeling a chill breeze across my neck.  Is there a window open? I certainly hope it is only that, and not some damage to the stonework, or, worse still, the richly hued stained glass of a window.  The only doors are before me - despite the paintwork illusions, it is a rather small chapel - but they are firmly closed, and having been recently replaced, are snugly fitted. In any event, it did feel as if it came from behind me... I move to the wall of the chapel, looking to see if any light (or, rather, dull gray murk) appears where it shouldn’t. Past the small but lovely organ, across the open space below the immense stained glass set in the center of the back wall, toward the choir area. Again, a chill breath touches my left cheek, the back of my hand, and I turn quickly - but can still see nothing. I take a few steps back, then forward again, then jump as a ringing sounds and my foot connects with something unseen.

I am relieved there are none other to see me, I fear my reaction was visible - and so silly! It is only a small metal decoration, I lean to pick it up from the floor. It is certainly colder than I would expect, for the layers of fresco and wall hangings let only a slight chill breathe from the stone walls. I suppose the tiled floor wouldn’t hold much warmth though, and goodness knows how long it’s lain there, the space being so rarely used.

I look again to see if I can locate the source of the breeze, but there seems to be nothing. Perhaps I only imagined it, or am just unused to being within a stone building.

I had thought it was iron, but on closer inspection I see that it is instead stone, but of a glassy black volcanic type, light enough to have bounced a bit on the tile as my boot bumped it. I handle it with care, for I know this type of stone can hold an extremely sharp edge, but it seems that if it had any, they have been worn away with time. For it is old, I feel that at once. I step back to the window in hope of seeing it more clearly, but the light which penetrates is little help, casting only eerie muted rainbows on the glistening uneven surface.  I can see that it was purposefully shaped - I can feel that, in fact, it fits so naturally and gracefully in the hand - and I can see that there is some carving to it, but what it is, I cannot tell. It is far, far older than this place, far older than anything I have touched in quite some time. Of course Roman coins and the like are always being found by over-excited farmers in this place, in this time, but this stone is not Roman, it bears nothing of their style. And it’s too old.

A little unnerved, I slip it into my jacket pocket. I shall have to consult… oh, Azal, I suppose, might recognize something about it, if I don’t catch something on my own in a better light. So many styles of art have come and gone, been adapted or forgotten, forged or imagined. And I have seen them all, but there have been so many, I fear I may not know this one at a glance.

There was a time when things were not forgotten, when all knowledge was instant and complete, when---

I shiver, pulling my jacket closer around my neck. There must be a gap in a window somewhere, where the wood has pulled away from the stone after years of wet and dry, hot and cold. I shall have to find drapes, or something with which to line the edges, that no icy wind shall disturb my guests at the party. It feels as though something cold rests against my hip as well, but no, it is only the stone, and the sense of its unusual presence there. My body will not warm it much, but it will undoubtedly lose some of its chill before long.

I pass down the aisle quickly, I have seen enough to confirm that the venue will suit my needs. Time enough to determine the decor after I have made arrangements with the owner for its use. Despite my rapid stride, I notice that despite the lack of church services, water still stands in the small basin near the entrance. Normal enough, with so much rain in the air it’s not as though the air is so dry it would evaporate quickly in the shadowed chapel. And the ripple must have been only from the weight of my foot on the floor.