Skulduggery Pleasant: Yin Yang

1.

The gloomy evening sky let out a sigh as rain gently fell against the walls of the barn. It stood alone yet modestly, in the centre of the green expanse, atop the hill, overlooking the rich, oak-brown, woody heaven below. The wind silently whipped against its stone walls, that had stood strong for hundreds of years, but now, those ancient bulwarks had begun to show signs of weakening against the imperceptible power of time. The wise forest below creaked quietly as leaves fell and rose with the ebb and flow of the wind, unallowed to settle.

A twisting road cut through the forest, winding its way through the trees. As the winter would progress, the age-old oak trees surrounding the road would lose their leaves, and the forest would lose its life, becoming colder. Children who lived near would discuss how during those bitter winter nights, the forest becomes haunted by the family that used to live at the top of the hill, children also used to whisper about monsters that roamed the forest, hiding in the shadows, protecting, guarding, whosoever now lived at the top of the hill.

Inside the barn, Ronin stood alone, in the centre of a large room. A black violin played sadly in the one corner. Around it, the shadows shimmered, arcing the bow slowly, effortlessly over the crystal white strings. The tone was mellow, accompanied by the rain drumming gently against the window. Against the wall sat a fireplace. The fire cackled, burning a rich pitch black, with the occasional wisp of white smoke rising above, the flame emit a doleful, grievous warmth, that radiated throughout the room. Violin music lay on an old wooden table that stood in another corner of the room. Shadows slowly, silently, softly, crept from beneath the pages and turned them over, gently, laying them down.

Ronin's fist collided with the cold exterior of the punch bag, yet he didn't feel it. He had been training for hours. The bag swung quietly as his arms screamed, his strong muscles pleading for him to end this, end all the pain. He blocked out those thoughts, pushed them down and continued. Ronin was over 6-foot-tall and wearing his old gi, his lustrous brown hair had recently been cut, well above his blue eyes, eyes the colour of the deep ocean that you could drown in, yet now, as he fought, his eyes were of intense focus, sparking like azurite.

Abruptly, the violin faltered. Ronin stopped punching and stood deadly still. His brow furrowed, his head tilted as he turned, and as his right arm rose to face the violin a numbing cold could be felt throughout the entire room, the shadows surrounding the violin grew as it floated silently, effortlessly over to him now, unlike other necromancers, Ronin did not need an object to store his power in, he could just feel the darkness surrounding him. He let out a slow sigh and took a hold of the violin, feeling the chill of the dark wood in his hand, it was deathly cold. He strode over to the table, his bare feet against the cold slate floor, he pulled up a chair and sat, paused for a moment, staring at the music and then begun to practice. He felt a lot more now, the soft strings against his fingers and the comforting resistance of the bow as he pressed it against the string.

Once he was done, he walked back across the room and knelt to place the violin in its case. From here he up looked around the large room, there were no pictures hanging on the stone walls, instead there was just a sadness that hung around. A cold, depressing sadness that felt like a heavy weight on his back, acting as a constant reminder. Ronin knew he deserved it. He was used to these bleak, wretched, unhappy thoughts, he could feel them coming now. They used to sneak up on him, not anymore. He twisted the shadows on his hand, marvelling as they ran between his fingers like water in a river, flowing effortlessly between stones. A little smile began to grow on his face. Magic. He thought. It was still as amazing as the first day he had discovered it, despite it all being such a long time ago. Closing his fist slowly he watched the shadows dissipate. Ronin rose and went to shower, walking across the large open room as he did so, passing the table and chair once again.

The chair was positioned to look out of a large expansive window that overlooked the forest below. It was breathtakingly beautiful. In the distance, the eye could vaguely make out Dublin and, during the night, you could see the twinkle of the city lights from afar, like stars, burning bright, but at this distance, their warmth had all faded away.

Ronin returned to the room refreshed, in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a book in his hand. It was one of Gordon Edgley's, a signed copy. That had been fun, he thought, as he remembered the day he actually got to meet Gordon, he must have only been about 9 or 10, but it was amazing nonetheless. Ronin sat in the chair, propping his feet onto the table and begun to devour the book, he had read it before, of course, but that didn't change how much he loved it. He admired the way it was written, the story, all the gruesome deaths, well, maybe he didn't 'admire' the deaths, but it was all very entertaining nonetheless.

He lost track of time while reading, it was still raining gently, and when Ronin finally lifted his tired gaze from the book it was midnight. He looked out, rain drops slowly rolled down the window, it was quite therapeutic, and then his peaceful moment was interrupted by the sound of a very familiar car, a car that was one of only 208 ever made. He closed his book and placed it on the table as he heard the car pull up. There was a knock on the door and Ronin hopped up from his chair, walked over, opened the door and smiled.

There stood the skeleton detective.