Named after the Franciscan friary that was dissolved in the year 1559, Greyfriars Kirkyard is a graveyard that surrounds Greyfriars Kirk. Burials have been taking place here for centuries, since the late Sixteenth century. Every year, it draws thousands of tourists who come to gaze at the gothic monuments and the Kirkyard itself, both which are protected as Class A buildings by Historic Environment Scotland. And as such, this day was unlike any other as several tourists from outside of Edinburgh, milled about the monuments, tombs and mausoleums, posing for pictures as if they were at Disney World and not at a resting place for the dearly departed.
The weather was not what many had come to hope, the temperatures in the mid-forties with a dismal, gray overcast and a light drizzle of rain falling down from the heavens up above. Many tourists tried to shield themselves from the wet weather by ducking beneath the outstretched overheads of the monuments, in the door frames of the cathedral, and without much wisdom, under the tree branches that stretched out like bony fingers interlocked in a gnarled embrace. They did so without much luck, as the wind picked up seemingly at random intervals, and always blowing against the rain and toward the fools who treated this place like their own personal playground.
It was as if Mother Nature herself were lashing out against them in all her wild retribution.
It was a guided tour, and as such, the guide worked double overtime it would seem in trying to bring the group back together so that his work could continue and hopefully he could get these people, as well as himself, out of this weather. And he could get away from them in general because few were listening to a word he said as he maneuvered them along and down the paths. Most of them, at least.
One figure was not walking along the same paths as they. In fact, he remained completely alone as he wandered aimlessly amidst these historic sites, his eyes curiously hidden from behind the metallic red shades on his face. Kedron Williams, was not even a part of the tour as they moved along the reserved path, at respectful distances from any grave marker or monuments so people would avoid reaching out and touching anything they ought not to be. Not that this deterred the younger ones. No, Kedron had simply walked past the gates that housed this vast graveyard and started to explore all on his own, without so much as having spent a penny to reserve a ticket.
Something that did not go unnoticed by the guide who caught sight of the young man, clad from head to toe in black, paying little heed to the rain that fell down from above, plastering his hair to his scalp, nor the wind that whipped his ankle-length trench coat about.
Tour Guide: Pardon me, sir?
The guide broke away from the tour just long enough so as not to cause a scene amongst witnesses.
Tour Guide: I notice you aren't a part of this tour. You can't just walk in like this.
Kedron, however, paid him little heed. He simply turned his head and stared at the man from behind his shades and tilted his head to the right.
Kedron Williams: Why don't you kindly go back the way you came and leave me to my business?
And there was something about the man, his hidden eyes or his mere presence, that had the guide simply nod and turn about, leaving him to return to the tour and let Kedron return to whatever his business was.
At that, Kedron moved along his own path, passing by several monuments until he happened upon the cordoned off part of the graveyard known as Covenanter's Prison, surrounded by iron rails to stave off grave robbers which was a practice prevalent in the eighteenth century. Kedron came upon the gate and halted, staring down at the cold iron and his brow knitted into a frown. He tried to pass again and the gate remained locked. With a huff, he was seemingly forced to handle this physically rather than by ... unnatural means. He reached forward with a hand clad in a leather glove and pushed the gate open, finally walking through.
There were other staff here in the cemetery, and each took notice of this young man on a path he had no right to be on. Yet none intervened for some odd reason. Kedron was a man on a mission as he approached what appeared to be an enclosed vault, and not quite a mausoleum. He looked up at the statue above the iron door, the carving of a shallow chalice with a serpent intertwined around it from cup to base. And on the base was the engraving, "Non Omnis Moriar" or in English, "Not All Of Me Will Die."
Kedron slid the shades from his face and now the hauntingly blue eyes were seen. The corner of his lips curled up and he took that first step toward the door, pushing it open once again with his gloved hand and he entered the forbidden darkness...
Kedron Williams: Have you ever found yourself at a cross roads where you had so much to say about so little? You often wonder if you can find the words for the situation, when none are really afforded you.
He reached into the folds of his trench coat and pulled out a large, pillar candle. he held it up to his face and pursed his lips, blowing gently onto the wick. At first the wick simply gave off a light wisp of smoke until it ignited into a flame, the light dancing off of the interior of this vault.
Kedron Williams: I still have the curious hinting for answers in regards to Ben Jordan, and for them all I will say is that their answers will come in time.
He turned around, seeing that there was very little space inside of this vault. Not even a hundred square feet. Three sides held shelves where glass panels caked in dust hid the treasures of those who had passed on centuries before, the forth wall the door which he had entered.
Kedron Williams: Ben Jordan himself even told us he had no idea as to my reasons for bringing him harm.
He smiled.
Kedron Williams: Unfortunately for him, I am a firm believer that ignorance is not the same as innocence. But time enough for such duties later. This is, after all, what I would call a working holiday, and there is another in my sights that SCW has placed in my path. Vanu Naufau. No, truly that is his name. I do not understand it well, either.
He shook his head as he continued to look through the horridly neglected glass panels. One such had flowers long since dead, and a necklace that on the black market would have cost a fortune. The lady of the house.
Kedron Williams: It is this man of Polynesian heritage that I expressed myself at a loss for words earlier. He was signed to the roster of SCW, but once he achieved his so-called goal, he did little to follow up on it. No promotional appearances, no dedication towards his goals or his opponents. Nothing.
The second glass window was even worse than the first, and Kedron had to peer even closer, his nose almost touching the filthy glass so that he might see inside. An ancient gun, a Colt, was housed inside, alongside a tanned vest that had fallen to decay and a badge of tarnished gold. The man of the home, a law bringer. Kedron scoffed and turned away.
Kedron Williams: While I can not lay claim to being a charitable soul, idle hands are the devil's workshop...
He chuckled at the inside joke.
Kedron Williams: And I never was one to abide by the unfulfilled purpose. A lazy wretch who rises to a pinnacle, only to lay down and go no further. That would be my opponent, Vanu Naufau. He has fallen each time he has shown his face inside the ring, and yes. He will fall once again. He has no words, and no sense of pride nor worth. This time his lackadaisical attitude will have far graver repercussions. This time...
He fell upon the third and final glass panel, and his eyes darkened to back as he saw what he had been seeking inside. He clenched his gloved hand into a fist and punched the glass, and due to age and more, it shattered at the force. Inside, was an old doll, the colorful dress now dingy gray and in disarray. He picked it up in his hand and examined it closely, until he gave a satisfied smile to no one save for himself.
Kedron Williams: ... This time, there will be a finality that would defy even Vanu Naufau's limited comprehension.
That being said, Kedron turned on his heel and walked out of the above-ground crypt, and the door swung shut behind him. The only remaining sound left in his wake was that of a little girl crying at the loss of her cherished dolly...
