Dawn: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (The Frankenstein Saga Book 3)

by Merrie Destefano

  But she faltered. Her eyes widened as she continued to run toward me, claws raking air. My ax slipped from her fingers and flew away, the blade spinning over my head, then bouncing across the forest floor. A trickle of brackish blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. She blinked, her eyes darkened, their glow fading.

  Nothing stopped her momentum, however.

  Her body struck me, her chest colliding with mine, knocking me off my feet. We rolled together across the ground, through brittle grass and muddy snow, and only then was I certain she was dying. A puff of ash came from her mouth and, a moment later, her body broke in two, as if cut down the middle by a great sword. Even more ash filled the air as both sections of her body began to dissolve.

  It took me some time to disentangle myself from her. I struggled to my feet, disoriented, torn between retrieving my ax, which had spun away and out of sight, and trying to find my fallen crucifix. I was out of bullets for the dueling pistol, so I needed the other weapons to continue my hunt. The entire horde of sangsue had disintegrated and now thick pockets of ash swirled about the small clearing, making it hard to see. I covered my mouth and nose with my cape, coughing, kicking aside bits of sangsue bone and rocks with my foot, searching for both the ax and the cross.

  A twig snapped behind me and my breath caught in my throat.

  Were there more of these creatures awake nearby?

  I swung around, grasping my rifle and aiming it, only to discover nothing behind me but shifting shadows.

  A shudder worked its way up my back.

  Then there came another noise to my right—like footsteps moving over moss—followed by an unintelligible voice whispering behind me.

  Where was the crucifix? I swung around again and again, knowing that every time I moved, I was leaving my back exposed and vulnerable.

  “Will you kill us all, my sweet?”

  I recognized that voice immediately. It was their King. I couldn’t see him, but knew he was here—I could feel his heat, searing me, his eyes daring me to glance in his direction.

  “Has the great Huntress come to destroy us?”

  He mocked me. Byron’s pistol was empty, my ax was lost somewhere on the forest floor, and we both knew I couldn’t kill him with the rifle. I began to pray under my breath, pleading to God and His Son and all the angels in heaven to help me find the crucifix. Please help me, please, don’t let this beast devour me and steal my soul—

  “I have no plans to devour someone as lovely as you.”

  He stood right in front of me then, towering over me, shoulders broad and cape spread behind him like black wings. I wasn’t sure if I was more stunned by his majestic appearance or the fact that he seemed able to read my thoughts.

  “That witch has been lying to you,” he said as he took a step nearer, one hand reaching toward me. Long claws took the place of fingers and his teeth glittered with supernatural light. Even so, his smile appeared human, his words charming.

  Against my will, my muscles relaxed and the rifle lowered.

  “I have not come to hurt you,” he said, holding my gaze full in his.

  But I have come to hurt you, I forced myself to remember. I will destroy you for what you have done on this day. I turned my head, scanning the ground again for the crucifix.

  “Your friend’s death was unfortunate. We asked him to join us. He was the one who chose death.”

  “No, you are the one who has chosen death,” I spat at him, wishing there was venom in my words or that I could kill him with a mere touch. I saw the crucifix then, poking out beneath a scattering of dead leaves—the bony fingers that had belonged to Hannah’s aunt embedded in ornate iron scrollwork, the thorny crown of Christ tipped up, revealing a portion of the pain He’d endured in death—it lay a few feet behind the sangsue King. I had to keep my mind clear, so he wouldn’t know I’d found my greatest weapon. I filled myself with images of Byron’s torn and bloody body instead, letting the anguish I had felt earlier flood my chest.

  “I can take away your pain and give you new purpose,” the King said.

  I took a step to the side, raising the barrel of my rifle and aiming it at him, pretending I had the strength to pull the trigger. He smiled.

  “What purpose could you offer me?” I slid another step past him, my chin lowered, my eyes upon his mouth, wondering how recently he had fed. His lips were red, his skin white and, if I dared to look up, I knew his eyes would be black as night.

  “I saw you kill the deer, my little Huntress. I know you love the sport. Come with me and you can hunt forever.”

  “I don’t need you to hunt.” I took another cautious step. The crucifix lay a mere foot away, although I’d need to bend down to grasp it, exposing myself in the process.

  Laughter twittered in the near distance. I cocked my head slightly, trying to figure out where it came from and whether it posed a threat.

  The King sighed and the forest began to fill with mists, just like in my dream. The horizon disappeared, first the mountains, then my tracks that led back toward the villa and, in an instant, my sense of direction vanished. It took all my effort to stay focused on that tiny patch of ground to my left, where my crucifix waited. I took one more hesitant step, until my foot brushed up against metal, my toe resting on top of iron.

  “I watched you hunt, dear one,” the King said as he moved nearer, until he became my entire horizon from earth to sky. His scent was like the woods, his lips full and parted. All that had seemed animal and wild about him before now seemed sensuous. “I heard you talking afterward, as you and your friends consumed the beast.” His heartbeat thundered in the air between us. One of his claws ran gently down the length of my face and I shivered. “You mourn the loss of your child.”

  A soft cry escaped my lungs. This was too private, I hadn’t wanted him to know this about me, this was the secret I tried to keep sheltered from everyone, for the pain was too great and his words were making it unbearable—

  “I cannot bring that child back to you,” he said, tears in his eyes. “Although I wish I could.”

  I stared up at him, transfixed, unable to move, the weapon of his destruction at my feet and, yet, now I didn’t have the strength or the will to use it. He had enchanted me with unexpected kindness and he bent low, wrapping his arms about me, pulling me toward him, an embrace that both trapped and sheltered me; his lips found mine in the gray shadows, sending a thrill like I’d never experienced through my body, a surge of excitement and surrender that went so deep it seemed to pierce my soul.

  I was lost. I had wanted to destroy him, but now I couldn’t remember why.

  “You have so much love in your heart,” he whispered, his breath hot on my neck. He could have bitten me easily, claiming me as food or as a vache, and I wouldn’t have struggled to get away. “You have a mother’s heart. Something I desperately need—”

  Gentle laughter sounded again, to my right and my left and behind me. It was as if he’d been reciting a favorite fable and had just gotten to the best part.

  “Why do you need a mother’s heart?” I asked, a wariness rising within me. He hadn’t bitten me. Somewhere, deep within me, I knew I still possessed my own free will, though it could be lost forever soon.

  He kissed me one more time, as if he might never get the chance again, a deep kiss filled with loneliness and longing and I knew he was revealing his own vulnerability to me.

  I might never be able to kill him, I knew that now, for his enchantment had gone too deep. It wound itself around my heart and soul like the roots of an ancient tree.

  “Look,” he said.

  He pulled away from me and time seemed to stand still, his gaze fixed upon my face. He retreated and my vision cleared, the landscape around me slowly coming into focus. Mists swelled and waned, like the tides of the sea, white vaporous fog that curled and teased, revealing tree trunks and low branches...and then, occasionally, a small figure would emerge, slender shoulders and emaciated body, head turned up to look upon me.
My heart skipped a beat and I leaned forward, trying to see better. At first, I saw only one of these mysterious waifs, but as the mists continued to roll, forward and backward, I realized there were many of them, peppered around us like wide-eyed sentinels.

  Children.

  The woods were filled with children.

  An ache pounded in my chest as I imagined my own daughter among them.

  Their numbers were countless. Once I spotted one of them, the mist would take him or her. They would vanish for an instant, then reappear, a step closer. They reached out toward me, their expressions somber.

  “What kind of magic is this?” I demanded. I moved backward, not realizing that I was leaving my true anchor in the process—the bone-embedded crucifix—until it became lost in the fog. “What kind of monster are you?” I glared at the King, refusing to look upon the multitude of lost children. “Who would hurt innocent ones like these?”

  He stretched his arms wide, opening his cloak until it became a fathomless void, and the children ran to him eagerly.

  “These are the children from the mountain villages,” he explained as he gazed down at them lovingly. “Their own parents gave them to me, willingly, hoping it would cause me to pass their villages by. I lost some of the little ones, for my people were so hungry they could not resist the temptation. But these I saved for myself. See the mark I have placed upon their brow?”

  I stared at the children, noting the red claw mark that scarred the forehead of each child. The King lifted his gaze and compelled me to look upon him.

  “Tell me, dear one, who is the monster? Me, for saving these little ones?” A heartbeat passed between us as he awaited my judgment. “Or the villagers who gave them to me as a sacrifice?”

  I didn’t need to speak. We both knew what my answer would be.

  There was no compulsion on his part when I knelt and held out my arms to these abandoned children. They ran to me, nearly knocking me over, seeming glad to be embraced by someone with warm human arms. They nuzzled my neck, laughing and weeping and speaking to me in their native village tongue. Words like mama and mother and please came out, and I found myself answering them with words like yes, of course, and you are safe now.

  But there finally came a moment when my senses returned and I realized this had been his greatest enchantment of all—one I might never be able to break.

  “What have you done to me?” I asked, though I refused to set even one child free from my embrace.

  “I will never hurt you,” he promised. “I will not change you, nor let any of my people touch you—not even your beloved, Percy—”

  One child climbed onto my lap and rested her head on my breast, her long red-gold hair burred and tangled. There were dark circles beneath her violet eyes and her limbs were thin, as if she hadn’t eaten in days. I imagined she could have been my own little girl and I longed to hold her forever.

  “They need a mother, a great Huntress, someone who will care for them and provide for them,” he continued. “I will never give them back to the villagers. Stay with us, Mary.”

  It was the first time he’d spoken my name and it was what broke the spell.

  I remembered the times Percy and my father had said my name, the word coming out in human timbre, filled with true love and warmth—this true affection was missing in the King’s voice. He wanted me for a dark purpose, just as both John and Byron had warned.

  These hungry children were merely the bait.

  Gently I moved the children aside and I stood up, facing him, forcing my gaze to remain upon his lips, though even that caused my knees to weaken as I remembered his kiss.

  “You want me to come willingly?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Give me one day and one night to decide,” I answered. “My companions need me too. I must help them—”

  “Claire’s babe has just been born,” he said, again knowing more than he should, sending trepidation through me, making me wonder where his powers began and where they ended.

  I forced myself to think of Byron’s torn body, reminding myself that his death had been the King’s handiwork. Yet even that could have been part of some master plan that I couldn’t fathom.

  “I will give you one day and one night,” the King agreed. “You shall be protected until then. But on the morrow, I must have your answer.”

  He lifted one arm and the mists began to disappear, revealing my tracks and the distant mountains.

  “If you say no—” he began.

  I had already turned to leave, his words chilling the air and causing frost to form on my skin.

  “Then I will turn all of these children into sangsue myself,” he continued. “These innocent ones will not survive without a human protector. Their transformation will be your fault, dear one, and it will haunt you forever. But it won’t end there—at that point, you shall become the hunted one. These very children will come after you.”

  I ran away from him then, losing my path through the woods, my cape coming undone and catching on a jagged branch that I passed. I no longer worried that he might pounce upon me. Nothing could have been worse than the fate he’d just cast upon me.

  Still, his words continued to follow me.

  “One way or the other, you will become one of us, my dearest Mary. My lost mountain children have great need of you. As do I.”

  Five

  The fog thickened again, once the King was far behind me and I could no longer hear his voice. The trees themselves disappeared, along with the hollows and hills. My knees became bloodied by my repeated tumbles to the ground, my hands scraped and cut. I didn’t notice the cold, although it made my movements clumsy and slow. I only knew I had to escape.

  The children appeared to me as I ran, one at a time, as if they’d been placed throughout the forest as signposts to guide my way. Arms stretched toward me, mournful expressions on their faces; they were like phantoms, warning me of their promised deaths.

  “No!” I cried, covering my eyes with one hand and running blind. It fared me no worse. I ran into the same number of trees, tripped over the same amount of gullies. At one point, I wondered if I would ever break free from this wood, or if my time would run out while I was still here. A day and a night spent in limbo, followed by an eternity serving at his side.

  Would I be his consort or his puppet?

  Neither appealed to me, so I swung my arms against the fog, hoping it would lift, that the sun would burn it off and I would see the road that led to Geneva or, better still, the red clay roof of Villa Diodati. Either would be as familiar and welcome to me as my own backyard. My lungs burned from gulping down cold air, my braid hung wet down my back, and I longed for the shelter of my lost cloak.

  Boots heavy with mud, my britches torn, my arms and legs scarred from thorny brambles, I paused to weep, one hand resting on a massive oak. All was lost. I was certain of it. The King would have me, then he would devour everyone I cared for—Claire, her newborn child, John, Hannah and the girl I had rescued…

  It would take a miracle for us to escape. Even with the time I’d been given. We could not walk far enough to escape the King, not in five days.

  Only God Himself could deliver us.

  As soon as that thought entered my mind, something soft nuzzled my arm and I drew back in fear, worried that it was one of the sangsue, considering me another course in their unending feast.

  The creature was so great, so tall, I didn’t recognize what it was at first. Not until it reached down again, nuzzling its head against my shoulder, a snort following the stamp of a hoof against grassy earth. I reached out and ran my fingers over a thick hairy coat. The beast whinnied and shook its head.

  A chestnut mare. One of the runaways that had survived the sangsue attack. It wore a simple rope bridle, which I caught between my fingers.

  “Where have you been, girl?” I asked gently, pulling her toward me.

  Before I could fully realize what I had—a horse, a way of escape—I heard anoth
er whinny nearby. A gentle breeze parted the fog, revealing that I stood at the edge of the forest, down by the road, and that a second horse, a white stallion, grazed a few yards away from the first. They must have run off and returned together, perhaps they were stable companions or longtime friends. It didn’t matter how providence had caused these events to transpire.

  We now had hope.

  Cautiously, I moved forward, speaking in low tones to the horse until I was able to grasp his bridle.

  Here—where the lake stood across the road—were clear skies. Sun overhead, mists behind me, I climbed onto the first horse and together the three of us headed back toward the villa.

  Six

  The door swung open and I was only glad to be alive. I hadn’t thought about what might have transpired in my absence. I knew Claire and her babe were probably still in the parlor, Byron’s lifeless body still stretched upon the table in the dining room. So, I forced myself to focus on what needed to be done. I took the horses into the kitchen, watered and fed them as best as I could. Then I began to pack a satchel of food, a few apples, some roasted venison, and a large block of cheese for Claire—she would need her strength for nursing the newborn infant. This would have to do. The rest of us would have as much venison as we could carry, enough to travel for several days. If we hurried, we might make it to Lancy before nightfall. Although I wasn’t sure how far the King’s power reached.

  Would Lancy be far enough?

  Dread surged through me with every heartbeat. Even with the horses, we still might not be able to get far enough away.

  Something scuffled in the hallway and I swung about, a kitchen knife in my hand, drawn and ready to use if necessary. I hadn’t realized until now that I worried the sangsue might have found a way inside the villa.

  “What have you done?” John stood in the doorway, staring in at me, almost as if he didn’t recognize me. I’d forgotten to wash off Byron’s blood and it had no doubt gotten on my clothes and skin, despite the apron I’d worn. Did John know I’d tried to rouse Byron from the slumber of death? My guilt hung in the air, its stench as heavy as a ripening carcass.