‘Yes, I have experienced first-hand how she treats those she cares most about,’ he said cynically. ‘But why trap their souls at all? Why not kill their new form afterwards and release them to heaven?’
‘Oleander believed that those souls might wander the earth in misery searching for their old bodies. They would be tormented wretched spirits causing havoc, and perhaps finding ways of demonising her. It would be hard for even a strigoi to fight such an enemy.
‘She believed this was the only safe way to keep a close eye on them. It became her obsession. She would spend hours in here painting her dolls. They aren’t made from ivory. They are made from the bones and hair of her human victims.’
I said nothing as there were no words to describe this horror.
Their cries intensified, perhaps from my own acute senses. This room was so filled with melancholy. I could not take it and rushed out, Zeke in tow. Even from outside their cries rang in my ears and I closed my hands over my ears.
Zola touched my shoulder. ‘Celeste is in there somewhere. It is what I wanted to show you.’
I returned to the miniature castle tentatively with a semblance of hope. I began examining the dolls, and each time I picked one up, I felt it vibrate even stronger. I whispered Celeste’s name expecting a sign – anything apart from the buzzing – but it was useless. There was nothing. The more I looked the more the dolls began to look alike: bland, unsmiling faces, some with fair hair, some dark.
‘I’m sorry Marek,’ said Zola. ‘There are too many.’
She was right. ‘Can these souls ever return to their bodies?’
Zola was about to answer when someone entered the room.
‘Is this what you are looking for?’
Celestina stood in the doorway. She held her likeness in the palm of her hand.
I stepped towards her.
‘Stay back or I will smash it.’
‘Neve,’ said Zola. ‘Don’t!’
‘I am not Neve. Neve is old and ugly and dead as far as I am concerned. I am Celestina now.’
The three of us were locked in a circle, each of us afraid to make the first move.
‘Zola,’ I said. ‘You once said that strigoi can kill other strigoi.’
Celestina answered for her: ‘You kill me, you kill Celeste’s body too.’
Zola took a deep breath. ‘Marek, I feel I brought you into this with trickery and I want to say sorry.’ Zola turned to Neve. ‘I’m sorry for you too, Neve, but it is a question of who now deserves a second chance. Perhaps you have had your time.’
She flew across the room. ‘This is for nearly having me killed.’ It was instantaneous and Neve did not expect it. Zola had her mouth on Neve’s neck and began to suck hard. Neve scratched uncontrollably at Zola’s face and back and then just as quickly the fighting ceased and she was paralysed. And then I saw it: a faint ghostly mist rising from the lips of Celeste’s form.
The mist slid across the room aimlessly. As if made from paper it began burning around the edges, until eventually no part of it remained.
Zola stopped. ‘Quickly! Smash it!’
I smashed the doll and a light grey vaporous cloud rose up from the fragile bone fragments. Celeste’s soul snaked its way towards her own body, but then stopped suddenly and began to float in another direction.
‘Her spirit thinks the body is dead,’ said Zola.
Zola placed her hands over the body to heal but the spirit kept rising.
‘Call her, Marek.’
‘Celeste!’ I called.
The vapour halted for a moment then once again continued to travel.
‘Her soul thinks it is time to move on. You must call to her. You were closest to her. She will listen.’
‘Celeste!’ I shouted. ‘Come back! We can heal your body.’
The cloud stopped moving, suspended above us.
‘I will not let anything more happen to you.’
Her spirit drifted slowly downwards then spread out to surround me in fine mist. I began to shiver, the soul so cold without the warmth of a beating heart. Then suddenly the mist merged into a long twisting tail before floating past and quickly into the mouth of Celeste’s almost lifeless body.
Zola checked her heart. ‘It’s not beating.’ She put her hands on Celeste. ‘Come here Marek! I need your help. I am still weak.’ Together we pushed our powers into Celeste’s body searching through her until we reached her heart and there we discovered the faintest beat. We smothered it with our invisible hands and suddenly Celeste gasped.
Her eyes opened and they scanned the room fearfully. I took her in my arms.
‘Are you hurt?’
She looked at me uncertainly.
‘Can you speak?’
Celeste was puzzled and still said nothing. I took her hand and helped her to stand. She looked warily at Zola before throwing her arms around me and weeping into my chest. My Celeste had been returned.
Because of Neve I knew that there was nothing wrong with Celeste’s voice, and hoped that time would heal this impediment. I believed that whatever traumas had caused her to be silent could be cured with kindness and time.
Zola
Marek took the dolls and one by one smashed them on the floor. Each time, their life force, a fine grey mist, rose to the ceiling and disappeared. He said it was better that they had a chance of finding heavenly peace than none at all.
I saw no reason to object. Any possibility of returning to their bodies was futile and I did not share Oleander’s fears of ghostly retribution.
‘I am surprised she did not breathe them all in,’ he said.
‘It is not the same. It does not work that way.’ How can I explain to those not like us, who do not wish to understand, and who cringe from such habit? The soul is only part of it; without the blood of the fresh kill, it is stale and tasteless.
At the castle entrance, Marek asked me to come with them. I could never return to the way I was nor would I wish it. It was unthinkable. His island was not ready for a strigoi.
‘No, I have my place here. And how would you keep your islanders safe from the likes of my kind? Do you really want me to wreak havoc there?’
Marek smiled for the first time in a while. He was radiant when he did, his dark hair blowing around his face. I did not want him to leave. I wished he was a strigoi and we were hunting together. But that was not something I could say aloud, especially when there was a human standing so near. I wondered how much Celeste knew or understood. I wondered if she knew that Marek had the taste for blood and although he had cured himself he would never be able to erase the memories of the feeling of euphoria when he too drank from her kind.
‘Perhaps you will come back,’ I said. Marek looked away and I knew then that he did love me. That he loved both Celeste and me. But for now he had chosen Celeste. She was not that worthy of such a prize. If I slept a few years or even a decade, I would have more youth and beauty on my side and this might draw him back. It was not for Celeste that I was letting him go this easily. It was for Marek. Setting him free allowed the door to stay open for his return.
‘What happened to Neve’s soul back there in the library?’
‘Her soul died, perhaps rejected by heaven as it was written – the doors closed to all souls of those fallen angels years ago, along with their descendants, when they turned their backs on their God in search of adventure.’
Marek nodded. Maybe now he had faith in the scribes of the ancient ones. ‘My belief is that being a witch is closer to human, and a means to redemption and passage to heaven.’
I doubted his belief though I could not be sure of anything anymore. Marek had already proven us wrong by ridding himself of strigoi blood… for now anyway.
‘There is something I want you to do,’ I asked. ‘That old woman in the house in the forest… I want you to check that she is well. I may not be able to go back there for quite some time. I think Lewis will be keeping a careful eye on all of us.’
‘Who is
she? You never told me.’
I could not bring myself to tell him. He would have to learn the truth himself.
‘I have not always been kind, as you know,’ I said. ‘But I do not forgot the people who helped make me who I am.’
‘I can never forget that it is evil what you do, Zola. Taking bodies, feeding on humans.’ But these words were not said with disgust or hate.
‘Do you not wear leather and fur? Do you not eat meat? The only crime we are guilty of is returning to our true form and surviving.’
‘I am in my true form.’
Still, there was something in his eyes that led me to believe he was not sure of anything either.
Celeste walked away. She was keen to be far away. ‘Not even a thank you?’ I said loud enough for just Marek to hear.
‘She has nothing to thank you for,’ he said wryly.
‘Perhaps not.’ She would not have gone through what she did if it hadn’t been for me. I had kidnapped her and, for a time, delivered her to hell.
‘Celeste saved your life back at my house. If it wasn’t for her intervention Jean may have killed you there.’ I explained the night of the fisherman and afterwards in his room. It pained me to tell him this, to praise my rival, but I felt owed him much, and most of all the truth.
‘Take care of Zeke,’ I said.
Zeke crouched nearby, his sad green eyes watchful. I could not read animal thoughts, but by keeping a wary distance, it was clear that he was eager to be free of me, and this place. Whatever feelings he’d had for me were perhaps forgotten as new desires filled his brain. I had the human desire to throw my arms around him once more, to make him understand that I did not mean for any of this…
‘Did you not know that Oleander was Lewis’s daughter?’
‘No. He did not say…nor Oleander.’
‘Strange.’
‘Yes.’ I did not tell him about Lewis’s dreams. Now was not the time. He needed to be far from here.
‘Goodbye, Zola.’
‘Goodbye, Marek.’
And then he left. We will meet again, Marek.
Would I take another soul after everything I have learned? Is not the blood enough? The truth is: I already knew the truth before today. I am what I am – a creature to be feared, whose cravings outweigh my need.
Marek
We were on our way home. My home and theirs too, for I would take care of them. When we stopped to eat and wash, Celeste traced her finger along my scar. There was genuine concern and shock in her eyes. I went to hold her hand remembering the softness of those lips when they were stolen by another. She pulled it away as if she might catch something, the intimate moment gone. She was finding it hard to trust even me.
Throughout our journey her eyes darted around expecting creatures to jump out at us. I was much the same. Sometimes I imagined that more strigoi were tracking us and when we slept beside our nightly fires I dreamed Oleander was near. I must have yelled because when I opened my eyes Celeste was by my side, her small hands shaking me awake.
There were tiny healed scars on the inside of Celeste’s arm where she was bled during the transfer of souls. Zola had explained the process when the bites were deep and made to weaken her. Neve would have forced her soul into Celeste’s body with a kiss and then driven Celeste’s soul out and into the hollow doll where she was imprisoned in darkness. Her nightmare was great. We would both endure much inner turmoil for a long time to come.
After several days we came to the hut where Zola first took me. There was no wood smoke today. I could see through the window that the old woman was by an empty hearth. She did not respond to my knocking.
I opened the door and Celeste pressed close behind me. The woman sat in her chair with her back to me. I walked near her, announcing myself so as not to frighten her. At first I feared the worst but then I heard her short frail breaths. I touched her. She was cold and gravely ill. All these I could feel through my hands. There was much sickness throughout her body. Age was not something I could cure. I pulled a blanket over her knees and stirred up the dead embers of the fire, adding wood until the room was once again warm.
Celeste fetched water and boiled some for tea. She passed a steaming cup in front of the bowed figure. That was when I noticed the woman’s wrist. A small purple circle was exposed. It was the mark of the strigoi and it matched mine. With sudden movement the woman grabbed my own wrist, her eyes wide open, her blind eyes milky. In a flash I remembered where I had seen her. In Zola’s house was a portrait of a servant. And then I saw everything. This was the real Zola. My Zola was disfigured, but not as a child as I had imagined. She was old also.
And Zola? I wondered what her real name was. ‘Zola’ I said out loud. The woman’s eyes opened widely in astonishment, searching my face for some kind of recognition. Perhaps there was the joy of someone knowing her true identity. The edges of her mouth flickered and she squeezed my hand in thanks. And then her eyes closed and she was gone. And there we left her. I thought how sad it was to pass in such a way; to age and die in a body that had been far too old for the young soul within.
Chapter 15
Marek
The journey back with Celeste was uneventful. I had gold, thanks to Zola, to buy a boat to sail home again. I also bought Celeste new clothes in Valona and she was humbled by the purchase. This skirt was woven with fine cotton and dyed with lavender. Her blouse was the same colour and buttoned high. She was pleased to be out of Neve’s low cut dress, unaccustomed to the immodesty and decadence of the satin and lace.
Celeste was sick on the first day, sitting in the middle of the boat, afraid of the large expanse of deep water around her. But within the day she steered under my instruction, and soon took to it with vigour. I watched her, the wind lifting her hair and pressing her blouse against her breast. She turned to me, a look of satisfaction in her face that browned under the morning sun. With distance between her and the horror and cold, this could hopefully be the first of many pleasures to come. She had been robbed of so much in her life this far.
Zeke, however, crouched in terror for the entire trip. The only time he was not fretting was when he slept or when Celeste scratched his head on her lap. At night he howled at the sky. Perhaps he called out for his mother. Perhaps even Zola.
The weather was warming. How beautiful it would be on my island.
We made a strange group as we landed on the beach. Many eyed Zeke warily. But once I explained that Zeke was tame, the islanders greeted me warmly and rushed to find my father. It took him minutes to reach the beach but many more to console him.
Later
My father cried many times in the days following my return. He would often stop in the middle of his tasks to draw me into his bear-like arms and hold me there for many moments, afraid to let go. Sometimes it was difficult to know what to feel. I was not the same son returned, and guilt often kept me from reciprocating his affection.
Celeste was explained as the orphan daughter from Valona, a distant relative of my mother’s. Since no-one knew of my mother, it was safe to use her name this time. My father was unaware of Celeste’s past, and asked very few questions, but he went along with the story for my sake.
To make my father a little more comfortable, and to do things properly, according to Silvia, Celeste moved in with her. The first night, however, Celeste ran back to our house in the middle of the night. Her nightmares were still too vividly real.
After a few days, the younger gradually warmed to her guardian. Silvia, warm and generous of spirit, was keen to mother a girl of her own. It was hard not to fall in love with Silvia on sight and Celeste was no exception. Though living apart, we saw each other regularly and I could not fail to see that there was a bond between my father and Celeste’s carer, something I had not noticed until then. Perhaps it had been there already but I was too naïve to notice the way they silently communicated – a touch of a hand, a look or a nod of encouragement or approval.
Zeke lived with me but it
was Ricco he snuggled up to at night by the fire. My father thought it was better he stay away from the town. He was free to run and hunt in the hills and woods behind our house. I talked to Zeke often, offering words of comfort that one day he might turn back into his proper form. I did not know if he could understand me, met only with those pale, distant eyes. Sometimes I thought he was angry when he did not come to my calls, even though he was nearby. It was at these times I thought that perhaps some memories surfaced and he was struggling with what he had become.
One day, a few weeks after arriving on the island, Celeste called in to our house carrying a basket of freshly baked bread. It was the first time I had seen her so happy. She no longer looked pensive or wary and her step that day was full of confidence. She was olive-skinned and healthy from the sun, her shoulders almost bare in a new dress made by Silvia who spoilt her with clothing.
I did not speak about it at the time, but one day I would find out what had happened to her mother. One day when time had healed some of the wounds… those wounds you could not see.
Celeste
Never before had I known so much freedom, so much sun. A month went by and already the memories of the Black Forest and Oleander’s castle were becoming a past that might not have belonged to me. The worst times were the darkest nights; when they took me back to another dark place. Silvia talked to me now during the night. She heard me toss and turn in my bed, my sheets soaked with sweat by morning. She sat on my bed and never questioned my lack of speech. She told me stories by the fire: amusing stories of Marek and his life. Of his times when he nearly drowned while searching for pretty shells off the sea floor. Of the endless nights he would build fires on the beach after dark, and fall asleep beside, until his father would carry him home again.
Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) Page 24
