I could hear the sounds of her heartbeat melding with mine. Together they pounded loudly as in one beat, deafening, blocking out all other sound. She removed her gaze and turned to focus on other members of the crowd. This action released the pressure, and yet, at the same time, I felt as though my heart had been pulled from my body. I so badly wanted the feeling to return so we were still connected.
Oleander descended the stairs unhurried. The crowd clapped as she entered as if she had just returned from an extended leave. If she had been wearing a crown it would make more sense, so in awe were the people, clamouring for her attention and to get a closer look at her as if seeing her for the first time. She beamed at her subjects for I know no other way to describe these adorers, yet at the same time I understood; it was an odd perception that perhaps I was feeling unworthy of her attentions.
The crowd parted and as she gazed and touched the hands of her subjects she was making a pathway. It ended with me. Up close she was not like I imagined my sister to be. This girl with the grace of a woman far beyond her years was perfect in every way. She was like a doll, so small were her hands and shoes. So delicate she could not have weighed more than a bale of hay.
‘Follow me,’ she said. We wove our way to the far side of the room. People touched Oleander as we passed. It was close to reverence as I would ever come to witness. A footman opened a large wooden door with brass handles that led into a library. The wide polished floorboards, covered with oriental rugs, creaked as we entered. Books lined the walls on oak shelves stretching high up to the ceiling; the largest collection of manuscripts I had ever seen.
Oleander lifted her hand and a fire blazed in the hearth, though, I realise now, this action was more for effect than need. Most of the heavy curtains were drawn except for one window beside a large ornamental desk. Outside was a thick fall of snow; the brightness of which sent a shaft of silvery light across several open books. Someone with a neat hand had written in these, each line perfectly parallel with the next. One book had seen many years, its edges brown with age.
On another table were tiny ivory dolls with faces engraved. Brushes stood in open jars of paints. Some of the dolls were only half-finished, eerily faceless yet their bodies decorated with rich colours of similar costumes worn by those guests in the ballroom.
‘Thank you for coming, Marek,’ said Oleander softly. ‘It is so good to finally meet you.’
Without thinking I stepped forward and swooped her up in my arms but she stiffened and smiled at me in the way a frustrated aunt might treat an exuberant nephew.
‘Yes, I am so glad you came,’ she said, stepping away from me and adjusting her hair. I had clearly overstepped a boundary here, and inwardly cursed myself for being so youthful and forward. I decided to be more formal in my approach and stood humbly composed until otherwise commanded. Clearly, my arrival was overwhelming for her too.
‘I have wanted to meet you for years though it has never been the right time,’ said Oleander.
I wanted to ask her a thousand questions. ‘I do not understand. Why wait for so long?’
‘You were too young, and I was unprepared.’
‘Father would have wanted you to come back. He thinks you died. If he knew you were alive he would rejoice.’
She laughed from deep in the back of her throat. ‘Father! Is that what you call him?’
This confused me.
‘Marek, there is something you need to know about our kind. Many of us are dying. We have married with human blood and it has produced our poorer cousins who are taught to be ignorant of their potential. By poorer I mean weaker. We are phasing ourselves out. It is time the balance of power was returned to us.’
I thought for a moment and checked my words carefully. ‘Are you trying to say we are becoming more human? Is that what you mean by dying?’
‘You are smart, Marek.’
‘And what is wrong with humanity?’
‘Mortality. That is what is wrong with it!’
‘Well, my dear sister. I have grown up with the idea that I will die. It does not disturb me so.’ This had to be one of the strangest conversations yet I was intrigued nonetheless.
She smiled so sweetly and innocently, and I was reminded of the girls on the island living their carefree existence with simple pleasures. ‘Then you have no idea what you are missing. I can show you all that. I can show you that it is important to make ourselves stronger, to maintain our bloodline. That is why you are here so that we continue to grow in number.’
‘I do not know what you mean.’
Oleander walked to the table and flicked through the pages of a book. ‘Did you know that there were more of us than humankind once? That we were so evolved that we needed little sustenance to keep our existence. No. I did not think so. Zola has told you nothing, which is a good thing really, for she does not understand as much as she thinks.’ With that she frowned slightly, making her face less than the perfection I had thought it to be. ‘We have been serving humans for years and it is time to change.’
‘I do not know where this is going.’
Oleander thought a moment and then the sweet look in her face returned. ‘Later, Brother! Enjoy the party. We will have so many more times to talk. I’m just so happy you found your way here.’ Her manner changed and she moved forward to take both my hands to hold them to her chest. Her sudden forwardness was both warming and perplexing, leaving me wondering how to act with her.
‘All those people in that room…are they human?’ It seemed strange that I asked such a question considering I had always been one and still, at that point, believed as such.
‘No. Most are not. And some are human guests who have just come for the night, and, of course, the servants.’
I shuddered as I remembered the fishermen.
‘What troubles you?’
I told her about the dream that seemed too real, describing the faces of the fishermen as they fell from the boat – human husks floating down the river. I wanted her to reassure me that there would be no such occurrence yet it seemed so foolish to have said this out loud.
She went to speak but there was a knock at the door and an older serving lady walked in carrying a silver tray and decanter. She set them down on a low table and then left, never once looking up from her task. On the tray was a selection of dishes filled with fragrant meat. I realised it had been some time since I had eaten and Oleander gestured for me to help myself, which I did. Oleander then poured me a glass of blood red wine from the flask. Suddenly thirsty, I drank quickly and Oleander poured me another while watching me intently.
‘You need to keep eating and drinking the wine, Marek. You are too thin. We will put new flesh on your bones here. You will never want to leave.’
‘And Father…what do I tell him?’
‘He is not my father.’
Papa would have been hurt by that but it was not for me to say. As I walked around the room I examined many shelves lined with books. At the back of the room was a doll’s house, a miniature version of the castle. I took a closer look inside. The detail of the spires was a work of art.
‘You must not touch,’ said Oleander.
When I circled the replica house and peered in through the tiny windows to the darkened rooms inside, I felt a buzzing in my ears. The sound reverberated through my head.
Zola entered hand in hand with Zeke who looked around at the books in awe. As I stepped away from the house the buzzing noise faded.
‘Ah, I was hoping you’d come by soon,’ said Oleander.
Zola nodded at her admiringly. ‘Perfect,’ I thought she said, though I am still unsure of the exact word since she spoke in such a hushed tone.
‘Take Marek dancing now,’ said Oleander, turning back to the books on her desk dismissively. ‘Let him enjoy the festivities.’
Before I could object to Zola that I had never danced, she pulled us both again into the crowds, and I realised how impolite it was that I hadn’t enquired of Oleander’s
recent illness.
Celeste
I followed Jean back down the stairs to what would be my accommodation and all I could feel was contentment. I did not take my eyes off his back, so compelling was his semblance. He looked like an angel in his white attire and his smile was so dazzling I found myself smiling back. We entered the dark pit and he carried a candle to illuminate the empty hallways and low ceilings of a manmade tunnel of stone.
Off the hallway were rooms cut into rock with metal bars across each opening. I could not imagine who had been imprisoned in such cells. We reached the end at a large iron door. Behind the iron doors was a small room with no windows, and just a chair where he directed me to sit. As I did, those feelings of contentment dissolved and I was left with a feeling of disgust. When I looked up at Jean he was no longer an angel, just a demon with the coldest blue eyes I had ever seen. He had put a spell on me again as he had done back in the city. I had warned myself but still I did not heed.
He did not say anything for several minutes but simply looked at me with his too handsome face and pouting lips. He reminded me of a spoilt fanciful child.
‘I’m sure you have heaps to say,’ he eventually said cruelly, and then laughed at his own joke.
I felt menace oozing from the very walls of this place. Stained shackles on the floor told of torture and death.
‘Can you hear that?’
In the distance I could hear the sounds of a festival. ‘Tonight we are celebrating for our leader is very happy and wants to let everyone know how she feels. She plans to have many more parties. The noises could drive you mad. Why, you ask? Oh, yes I can hear you, Celeste. Your thoughts are loud in my head though you would feign complete disinterest. That is why we knew you would be a nuisance. You pictured Zola dead too many times. Dead – by your own hands.’
I widened my eyes.
‘Surprise!’ he jested, spitefully. ‘Never mind my dear, we have found other uses for you. You will make a wonderful present for our mistress who is always hungry for new life. Some might say she is insatiable. She will be down here to visit you when she is free. Your fate is completely in her hands.’
Jean stared at me again knowing I couldn’t respond. It was a form of torture I was sure. People thought I was stupid because of my lack of speech. But you can learn more from someone if you neither speak nor react. Eventually he left, taking the lantern so that I was alone in darkness.
I sat in the corner with my back to the wall, waiting for the sound of a key, and wondering if I would have been safer on the farm. I thought much of Marek who was meant to be my saviour.
For hours I heard music and laughter. Sometimes I had to shut my ears with my hands for it began to fray my nerves. When the noise eventually died down I began scratching at the stone walls hoping that something would give, but there was nothing. Just darkness.
Chapter 7
Marek
The sun had just risen when the festivities were over. It was a most extraordinary night – women and men so amazingly beautiful, not a plain face to be seen, and more food and beverage than I had ever seen in my life.
I was shown my bedroom but it was hardly a room. It was bigger than my house on Gildoroso. From my window on the second floor I watched the last of the guests disappear into the forest. There were no carriages and they left on foot, their bright attire disappearing into the gloom. Once I would have thought that impossible but I was slowly getting used to the strangeness of our kind. They moved faster than humans and did not feel the cold. I thought that Oleander must have been mistaken. There could not have been human guests with them tonight as there were no carriages or carts to be seen.
I was not feeling entirely well though. My father would have noticed that my island complexion was gone from a ruddy brown to a pallid yellow, and my weight had shrunk. There was something not completely right about me. It seemed I could never get enough to eat. I craved food constantly, particularly meat.
I paced the room, my heart racing. I was suddenly filled with guilt that I had not thought of Celeste all night. If Oleander would guide me, I could use my powers to travel east, where I suspected Celeste was headed to find her family. Sometimes I thought I could sense her close by. It was fleeting and difficult to describe, the heightened hearing and smells similar to a dog perhaps.
The snowfall had stopped and the sun had burrowed through the clouds so that a narrow shaft of light hit my face. My eyes felt heavy and I decided I was tired after all. Fully clothed, I began to retreat to my bed when I saw movement. Returning to the window I watched a horse and rider enter the basement of the castle and caught a glimpse of red-gold underneath a riding hat. Zola.
I left my room passing many other empty bedrooms as large as mine. It was the first time I had thought about who else might live in Oleander’s castle apart from Zola, Jean and the serving staff. With the visitors gone, the castle was empty of sound. I followed the long hallway to a set of narrow stairs that twisted and turned down into the lower levels of the house. There were both sweet and savoury smells, also the delicious steaming waft of bread rising led me into the back of the galley. One of the cooks stood over an animal carcass, its throat slashed and blood pouring into a bowl.
The cook and her assistants stopped like they had been caught doing something wrong. I mumbled an apology and found a back door. This led down into an enormous basement room with a canal. The castle, I would shortly learn, was built over a natural watercourse, which eventually emptied into a river; a convenient means for disposal.
As I walked along its edge I noticed a piece of clothing floating on the surface of the water close to the side. When I bent down to examine it I found that it had snagged on the rocky edge. I tugged at it slightly but there was some resistance. Another jerk and I felt it disengage. But as I lifted the cloth higher I saw that it covered an arm, and the shrunken face of a man lay just below the surface. I jumped back in fright, releasing the dead man. The arm, along with the rest of the body, sank away from me into the murkiness.
I turned to run in search of Oleander but Jean stood waiting near.
‘Hello, Marek,’ he said in a tone that suggested we were good friends, but from my nightmares we were not. I had noticed him at the party but he had kept his distance. Only once did he come near before Zola whispered into his ear and he disappeared again.
‘This canal attracts all sorts of things. The mountain waters flow through here. That was probably just a beggar who fell upstream. He will float and disappear downstream, and probably not surface for miles. It is also a perfect way to dispose of a body, do you not think?’ He asked this wearing a silly grin that did not require a response.
The corners of my mouth flickered nervously.
‘I jest, dear boy,’ he said thumping me on the back. ‘All sorts of things float down here, carts and carriages, ladies’ shoes. It is rugged country. People drown and float away.’
When I looked up to see what new expression he was wearing he had gone, and so was any trace of the dead man. For anything that fell into the water would most likely never be found. It was filthy brown in colour and I wanted to be away from it quickly.
I walked the bounds of the castle. My boots crunching in the thick fall of snow upset the crisp, still air. Giant fir trees reached into the white-grey sky forming marching lines as far as I could see. I had only seen the castle at dusk under a fall of snow and now I examined its features. It was three floors high and some hundred yards in length. I peered up to the lowest turret. Faces depicting human terror were etched into stone, with fires burning behind them. Whoever the artist was had great skill but had too fond an interest in murder and hell.
Now that the air had cleared I expected to see other buildings nearby but there were none. Even across the valley there were no cities and nothing on the horizon. It was miles from anywhere and I thought curiously about the men and women who had left a short time ago, wondering where they were headed, travelling fast on foot with the aid of their craft.
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I wandered towards the front entrance. Ghoulish faces with demon horns on wolf bodies stood as if in the attack position: the marble beasts guarding the stairs. Their glassy eyes stared back at me. This entranceway was so uninviting, exactly as Oleander would want.
‘They’re just stone. Don’t let them put you off your tour.’
Zola stood behind me wearing riding trousers, an unusual change from her normal girlish costume, and asked if I wished to ride with her. I declined, badly in need of sleep.
‘Do you know where I might find Oleander? I need to speak to her urgently.’
‘Why? What is the matter?’
‘I need to tell her something.’ I did not want to discuss the matter with Zola. Something told me she might already know and perhaps had something to do with the body of the man. She was also very close to Jean. Though I so wanted to believe the opposite of everything I had been thinking about her, for she was someone who was much in my mind.
Zola looked upward and I followed her gaze.
Oleander watched me from the lower windows near the entrance.
I opened the large doors to find her there, waiting. ‘Oleander, I am glad to see you. There is something I want to talk about.’
She smiled, looking fresh for someone who would have had as little or no sleep as I.
‘There was a body in the canal. Jean said that it is someone who has fallen in upstream. I don’t trust him…’ I halted before relaying again my concerns about recent events, as suddenly they seemed trifling in the new light of day.
‘All sorts of things float under here. How terrible that you had to see it. Jean is one of my closest friends. He likes to make everything sound dangerous but he is all puff. You will learn to trust him. One day you will be the best of friends. You’ll see.’
A rush came over me like a wave in the sea. I sat down and rubbed my temples and the floor felt like it was turning liquid and I might sink. The nausea was back with a vengeance.
Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) Page 12
