The woman on the altar looked frail with thinning hair. It was difficult to tell her years. Blisters and sores, leaking green fluid, covered nearly every inch of her body, and her face and cheeks were purple and swollen. She tried to smile when she recognised Oleander but it obviously pained her to do so.
Oleander gazed at her with much fondness like a mother and her child. ‘Everything is good now, Neve. Celestina is here to save you.’
I did not like the sound of these words but her shifting focus weakened the hex. It was Oleander’s momentary distraction that allowed me freedom again and I ran back to the doors and out into the hallways.
I was in the galley now. A serving woman with sweated brow looked at me strangely. When I grabbed her arm beseeching for help she looked at me disdainfully as if I was an animal on the loose, as if she had seen this before. I let her go and ran through the kitchen and up further stairs. I passed a window that overlooked the front of the castle, but it was not the frigid landscape that halted my step. It was something else. A splash of colour caught my eye and drew me towards the glass framed with needles of ice.
Illuminated by a full moon, Marek stood alone amid a frozen mass of midnight white. He stared at the castle with unseeing eyes; I could not tell what held his focus. I had but seconds to take in every part of him and what I saw was terrifying. Marek’s face was covered in blood as were his hands. His shirt was stained pink. I beat the glass with my fist but he didn’t seem to hear me.
‘He cannot help you.’
I jumped with a start. Oleander stood before me, her skin shimmering under the light from the window.
‘He is growing into himself. What he truly should have been all this time. What he was missing was the chance for immortality.’
I was frantic and banged louder on the glass. Marek turned and looked up at the window. He was looking at me but not. There was no sign of recognition. Instead he fell on his knees, his face in his hands.
Oleander moved towards me and wrapped one small hand around my wrist, her narrow fingers entering my flesh like tiny knives. ‘Celestina, I was hoping you wouldn’t make this so difficult.’ Yet even as she said this there was amusement in her voice as if the chase was some kind of game and something she was used to.
I broke free and ran in a different direction this time. So many hallways. I found a doorway at the back of the house that led to a courtyard with stone benches and a frozen water fountain. Another time this might have been a quiet paradise for lovers to sit and watch the stars.
I climbed over a stone wall at the back of the courtyard and ran free entering the forest behind the castle. I would not look back. It was my intent to run as far from there as possible. The moon slipped in and out of clouds, scarcely enough light to find a pathway. I stumbled several times, aware that my elbow was scraped and bloodied.
Someone was behind me. The steps were fast and closing in. And then there came a shriek that stopped me dead in my tracks. It was neither wolf nor bear. It was something I did not recognise. It was behind me then seemingly all around me; I was unable to tell the direction it was coming from. It was so dark between the trees, I became fearful that I might run directly into its path.
I began walking somewhere, anywhere, looking over my shoulder to arrive in a small clearing, feeling suddenly exposed. A mist encircled me so that I could not see clearly in any one direction – where even the trees were indistinguishable.
A crack of a twig sounded in front of me. I stopped, afraid to breathe. I sense something only yards in front of me. Whatever it was made a wheezing sound, rasping, like it was dying. I was motionless in the dark hoping it wouldn’t see me. At first there was nothing and then it materialised from the fog.
My heart beat loudly in my ears. Yellow eyes glared out from the darkness. The moon reappeared to light up our stage and I could see pieces of hair, pointed teeth, and a skinny, wiry body. There was a pause in time while it watched me. Then as I turned to run, it shrieked and flew at me jumping high in the air. The creature landed on top of me pushing me hard against the ground. I grabbed at it but my hands slipped across its back covered in sticky mucus. This disgusting creature, with vile breath, clawed at my neck like a rabid dog and its teeth commenced to sink into my shoulder.
This was perhaps my end I thought. A small life, unfulfilled of pleasures and comforts, but abandonment, torture and now punishment. I closed my eyes and asked my God for the quickness of death, for peace, and that I might discover something joyous beyond my time on earth. But even heaven rejected me.
‘Stop,’ commanded a voice from the night, and the creature jumped up, turning its head frantically from side to side before scurrying away through the trees. Oleander moved to help me up as I touched a mixture of blood and saliva at my neck.
‘Bring him back,’ she ordered to those behind her. Several young men and women, dressed in what appeared to be cloth as fine as Oleander’s, rushed forward in the direction of the creature. My eye was not quick enough. They rushed at such a fast speed, all that I saw were their auras floating on particles of light behind them, and the smell of their strong herbal perfumes.
Oleander observed me, her teeth clenched. She looked tested. ‘If you come back now you will live. I’ve played for long enough.’
I moved forward but it was not by choice. She looped her arm in mine as if we were friends. The sky seemed to be closing down on me and my head was heavy. With her free hand she covered my eyes. And then it was as if I was no more.
Zola
It was a good time for hunting. The moon was high, which meant people would be feeling lightheaded and a bit frivolous late into the night. They would not be so on guard as to look over their shoulders at every sound.
Jean and I travelled together mostly. We cut through forests far from the castle. It had been a week since I had fed and it was this need that motivated me most. For some, the hunt was more about the thrill.
I had of course forgiven Jean since the fishermen episode; it was very difficult to stay mad at him. After learning of this also, Oleander had angry words with him, but with little effect, as she too was overly fond of him.
Jean called me to him. He was standing behind a group of trees on the riverbank. Several male youths played around a fire. They had a rounded object made of leather that they kicked to one another. When one kicked it into the river, the same boy also had to retrieve it from the icy waters whilst the others yelled, laughed and teased. They were a contented bunch of boys.
There was a glint in Jean’s eyes and he licked his lips.
‘Well?’ he said, with merciless nonchalance. This to me had once been part of his charm.
‘No, Jean,’ I said. ‘It is against our code.’
‘Oh, come on! A child’s blood is the purest and oh so fresh when you take them. It is like the smell of rain.’ He took in an exaggerated breath and closed his eyes at a memory. ‘Oleander won’t care. You know she won’t. She pretends to because she has to, but we all know differently.’
‘She will still be angry and able to tell that we have broken our vow, for you will have the look of a cat that caught the mouse.’
‘But I will deny it. You know she loves me like no other.’
One of the boys whistled. They were laughing loudly, splashing and shouting, slapping their thighs. Cocky and invincible or so they thought. If only they had known what lurked in the dark recesses of the forest. One boy called that he was leaving and headed off alone, and saying that his mother would chase him with a broom when he arrived home wet. Another swatted him playfully with a tree branch pretending to be his mother.
They were such easy marks for a strigoi if we were so inclined. It would be so simple to sink our sharpened teeth into their tender necks.
Jean got down on bended knee in mock plea, his hands together in prayer. ‘Please, Mademoiselle Zola.’
‘Jean!’ He was so exasperating. I walked away and he followed, though now a little sullen. I could not control him. I had
tried. And I knew he was guilty of things that I did not want to know about. He was childish, selfish, overindulged, but most of all exciting. I enjoyed hunting with him over anyone else and I could not help but like him. I also liked being with him so that I could keep a close eye on him. He would not want to be seen to be weak of virtue. He was, after all, incredibly vain.
We travelled once more through the trees until we came upon the monastery near my house and peered through the windows. The minds of the occupants were nothing but rambling words and abstract images; this place was full of patients, and all were lunatics. The monastery of madness was what we called it.
They were another easy target for our kind. We had fed on these poor souls many times before. The nuns presumed that their patients had wandered off into the night. They did not know they had wandered off into the jaws of something else.
This time it was Jean who turned his back. Tonight he was looking for more of a challenge.
We reached another town. Kana was where we had found many victims before. For most inhabitants we were an invisible enemy. We came and went quickly in many of the towns and villages, before people were alerted to anyone missing. With bodies never recovered, there was no crime and there was nothing to fear.
But in this town, too often our kind had left their mark and the people lived in fear. The locals slaughtered dogs to ward off witches; the animals beaten to death and left on their doorsteps. The citizens were unaware that it was the smell of this blood that had drawn many a strigoi here in the first place. It was also where many of their own people had been hung, burnt or tortured as witches.
Even on cold nights, undiscerning women and men wandered the streets after dark trading favours for coin from drunks and it was there that Jean found his female mark. She had seen him, eyed him up and down and asked if he wanted some excitement.
‘Of course,’ said Jean, in his normally dashing manner.
A man then stepped behind us. ‘You must pay me first, and then pay the sow.’ He was large, with a hooked nose and rounded belly. His thoughts were devious. Though I took the lives of many types of humans, I despised this type who treated his own kind so badly. So different, I thought at the time, to the strigoi family who looked out for one another. Though later, I would come to recognise that the jealous and greedy motivations of some of our kind were no better than human.
‘Are you looking for work, ’cause you’ll get it with those looks?’ He grabbed me roughly by the arm and I let him jostle me about. It was all the more rewarding for what I was about to do.
‘Me first?’ I asked Jean.
‘Be my guest, ma chérie.’
I turned to the man. My dazzling provocative eyes caught him momentarily off guard, and I rested my teeth on the first layer of his coarse leathery neck. Blood rushed to the surface. I heard a gasp from the girl behind me, then her gurgles as she was also taken in a bloody embrace.
The man’s blood was impure, his memories riddled with malice, but the experience was wholly pleasurable knowing I had ended the life of someone I despised.
The blood flowed down my throat and filled up every vein in my body. My heart pumped harder in response. When my victim was near death, his heart just fading, I put my lips near his and drew back. I felt his lifetime rush through me, his putrid thoughts, his acts of debauchery and all those memories then belonged to me and I breathed them out like empty vapours. Then, that final breath when his soul left his body and entered mine. His soul in me was now cleansed and another lifetime added to my own.
Though once large, the man fallen in my arms weighed no more than a half sack of grain.
Jean had still not finished with the girl. He was slower tonight, another sign that his body was weakening. I knew what upset him more than anything was the fact that his body was not as young as mine and many others in our circle.
Marek
It was an overcast day like many others I had seen, but one particular morning, a week after my arrival at the castle, I woke in a feverish sweat, and shivering uncontrollably. My chattered teeth reverberated loudly within my skull. It was a different kind of sickness, for it was partly of the mind. I wanted my bad dreams to evaporate but they would not; they were real memories from the night before. I had not imagined my terrors this time. There had been too much evidence.
I was fully dressed beneath my quilted bedding, my clothes clammy and sticking to my skin. In the glass candelabra on the ceiling above me, I could see my own reflection. I hardly recognised myself. My hair was stuck to my forehead, my complexion ashen. I tried to leave the bed but my back and legs ached so much it was difficult and I fell to the floor. My body and limbs coiled protectively around my stomach, filled with unbearable pain.
I stayed where I was and pieced together the events of the previous evening. It had been yet another night of festivities. Every evening there were gatherings of such extravagance and never had I met so many interesting people in my life: all powdered and vibrant, rouged and coifed. Last night Oleander had brought in new groups of entertainers. There were jugglers and gypsy troupes singing. Waiters carried trays of drinks and delicious morsels: grape leaves rolled and stuffed with brined cheese, pastries filled with cream and garlic, and spicy meatballs of lamb and herbs. So much food and the trays seemed to remain full. A most unusual thing was that most attending these festivities appeared no more than the age of twenty.
One might think that I was tiring of it all but I danced with pretty girls all evening, always saving the last dance for Zola, and even stealing kisses from her on a private balcony decorated with icicles. And then some nights, at a late hour, I went to her room and danced with her privately.
This night had been different. The party had finished in the early hours and members of the circle again left on foot disappearing into the wilderness. Oleander had ended the feast a little earlier than normal and there was a collective sigh of regret as revellers departed. But the night was not over for our private group: those who lived in Oleander’s castle. Her special flock as she referred to us. Jean fawned over Oleander as always throughout the night, though it had seemed a touch condescending in some ways. He stood as close as he could to her throughout our evening sojourn. And I did on one occasion witness a reciprocal look. One time I found them in her library. He was leaning very close to her, so close he was breathing on her neck. They both seemed annoyed by the intrusion and I took my leave quickly to resume the search for Zola. She was dancing with a handsome man whose powdered face was topped with a curly brown wig; too much frippery to be a real threat for my attentions, but still enough to cause a lump in my throat. When she saw me she broke into a smile and dragged me close to her, her tiny feet moving in time to the sounds of the flute playing a fast tune. Not being a dancer before this I took her lead and welcomed it. Then I found I knew the steps as if I had been dancing all my life.
Caught up in the moment I daringly asked Zola if she would run away with me. She swivelled around to the next person flirtatiously sending me a look that she would be back, leaving me hopeful that later she would be exclusively mine.
But it was not to be. At the end of this party, Zeke was put to bed and Oleander announced that we would continue our night in a nearby village. I laughed, thinking it unlikely the local taverns would be open and that many a rough person might take offence to our kind in such fine clothing. ‘Precisely,’ said Oleander, and with that we were swept into Oleander’s wake as we ran on foot through the trees, the four of us laughing. I was still high on life from the week-long feasts of music and dancing.
Oleander commissioned the making of my clothes and sent them to my room each day. Costumes that fit me so perfectly it was hard to believe how anyone could be so exact. I had the choice of more brilliant shades of vests and cream silk shirts with lace at the wrists, and a velvet coat. If I had dressed myself in such attire back on the island I would have been laughed at, but within the castle it seemed so normal, and so appropriate.
I had tried s
everal times over that week to talk to Oleander to discuss Father and my island, and to convince her to come back with me, if only just for a visit. It would also be an opportunity to learn more about our mother as she’d had ten more years with her than me. But it seemed she was avoiding me unless at the festivals and then it was too noisy and I had been swept away in the moment. During the day when I would wander to her study, Jean would head me off saying that Oleander was either resting or absent. It appeared that being the leader of the circle meant she was very busy but what she did with her time was not something I was privy to.
We wandered through heavy falls of snow. Oleander walked in front. Her hair was coiled up high, no braid out of place. There were flecks of snow on her hair and violet brocade dress, her full skirt floating behind her like a sail.
Jean suggested we have a race into town. He was into any sort of gamble I was discovering. Like hounds we ran fast, and the world rushed by. Only weeks earlier if you had called me a witch, and accused me of having healing powers, the ability to hear human thoughts, to be able to sprint so fast you have trouble seeing me, and speak a foreign language, I would have thought it was you who was losing their mind. But I knew I had become fearsome to others, making the memory of this night something harder to bear. For, huddled in my room that feverish morning, I wished I was Marek the carpenter, and that the special craft was merely the gift of a few extra skills and not so different from the boys I grew up with.
We continued through the forest. Oleander proved the fastest, then Jean, so fast that they disappeared from sight the moment we started and neither Zola nor I could catch up with them. Though, I suspected that my companion had been slower than normal to be polite.
Suddenly Zola stopped in front of me, and as I was not so proficient with my new skill, I crashed into her and we fell into the snow laughing. I helped her rise up and we continued on, agreeing that we would take a bit longer and enjoy each other’s company. She was unconcerned that we had lost the race.
Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) Page 14
