The Ballad of Aramei

by J. A. Redmerski

  Aramei reaches out her hand now to touch its arm and when she sees that it hasn’t rejected her, she runs her hand through the fur around its elbow and then downward over the solid muscles and to its hand. She never takes her eyes off its eyes and it follows hers intently. Briefly, she looks over at the sheep’s head lying severed from the missing body, but she doesn’t lose focus on the beast. Her hand now moves to one of the sword hilts.

  “How can you still be alive?” she gasps quietly, carefully running her fingers along the intricate design that had been expertly carved into the silver. She sees that none of the swords have hit its heart, if in fact, its heart is in the same general spot as hers.

  Her breath comes out in a long shudder, both from the cold and from the moment.

  “I have to get the salve,” she says, carefully rising to her feet.

  She looks down at the beast, which has not once taken its gaze off her, and she shakes her head sadly. She knows in her heart that there’s no possible way that this creature is going to live through the night. But she wants to help it die peacefully if she can.

  She leaves the beast lying in the barn and comes back minutes later after rummaging quietly through the house for medicinal salve, clean rags for bandages and a sewing needle and twine and a small jug of clean water. The beast is lying in the same unmoving position as it was when she left. She goes to her knees fully this time, kneeling next to its body. And she stops and places her hand on its giant heaving chest, feeling the intense heat coming off its body in waves. Its heartbeat is unexpectedly measured and calm, but when it does beat it beats with the force of a fist thrusting from the inside, trying to force its way through the chest cavity.

  Aramei touches the first hilt and sees that she’s going to need to stand upright in order to pull it from its chest.

  “I’m going to pull them out,” she says with care and caution in her voice and then she rises into a stand. Wrapping both hands around the first hilt, she sucks in a breath and holds it there, shutting her eyes momentarily as if to prepare her body for what she’s about to do. She purses her lips and opens her eyes, meeting the beast’s gaze once more just to be certain and then she pulls. A long, agonizing growl rumbles through its body as the blade slides from its flesh. Aramei places the sword on the hay next to her and holds both hands over the open wound; blood pours from the opening, running thickly through all of her fingers. And as much as it is excruciatingly painful, the beast never loses focus; it never takes its eyes from her.

  When Aramei feels it’s okay to continue, she removes the last two swords. By the time she’s done, she’s already had to remove her coat and her gown is covered in blood. She cleans its wounds first with the water, washing away the dirt and clearing a path through the fur to expose the beast’s thick, dark skin underneath. She continuously talks to it as she sews the wounds, hoping to ease its mind, wondering all the while if it can understand anything that she’s saying. And always afraid it might turn on her kindness and kill her, but her need to help this creature is stronger than her need to flee from it.

  “I think my mother was hurt by one of your kind,” she says as she carefully slides the needle through its thick skin. “But she wasn’t killed by it. She died in bed, staring up at me. She wasn’t killed like Vela, or the sheep.” Her eyes move over to the sheep’s head several feet away to indicate it. “And you haven’t hurt me yet.” She’s still trying to convince herself of her own safety as much as she is trying to comfort the creature.

  As she tends to its wounds, the beast begins to show signs of calming. Clearly, it’s still in great pain, but its body doesn’t struggle against its breath as much and something in its eyes appears to Aramei, accepting and even grateful. The eyes can reveal everything about one’s soul and Aramei can see that she’s in little danger in the company of this beast, if any danger at all.

  She stays with it just until dawn, talking to it and telling it everything about her life. But she finds herself curious as to how or why she could feel so comfortable and safe with this creature. Why did it feel so natural to tell it all of the things she told it? And the entire time, it listened intently to her soft, melodious voice. It understood her. She could feel this and she knew this because she saw it in its eyes.

  For the next three days, Aramei insisted that she take on Filipa’s chores, which involved cleaning out the stables and feeding the livestock.

  “Let me do it, sissa,” she said to Filipa on the first day. “I want to do for you as you have done for me. You can do the cooking this week if you’d like.”

  Filipa always preferred the house chores as opposed to the barn and outside chores, so it was easy to keep Filipa out of the barn. Her father rarely went into the barn except to get the horse for travel, but now that there was no horse, it was easy to keep him out as well. He was too busy with the other men in the village as they scoured the valley by day, looking for signs that the war was coming closer and setting traps for the wolves. Aramei worked double-time, spending hours out of the next few days inside the barn tending to the beast. And to her astonishment, instead of dying, the beast quickly began to heal.

  On the seventh night, Aramei sneaks into the barn late like she has every other night before to find the beast crouched on the ground, its great, muscled arms propped on the floor to hold up its weight. The sight is frightening, almost enough to send Aramei scrambling for the exit, but when it locks eyes with her, her legs solidify and prevent her from moving any farther. A low, grumbling moan rumbles through its body, but it sounds more affectionate than threatening and so instead of running away, she goes toward it slowly. When she is in its arms reach, she stops. Even crouched low to the ground its height is level with her standing; its head and chest so massive that three of her could fit in its shadow.

  The beast reaches out a giant, clawed hand.

  Aramei stiffens instinctively, but soon her muscles relax and her heartbeat slows. She knows it doesn’t want to hurt her. She gazes deeply into its eyes, seeing a dark and vicious soul, but also a longing and caring heart somehow she feels is shrouded by violence and power.

  She steps into the curve of its hand and it gently pulls her body against its massive, warm chest, cradling her frame.

  A soft breath releases from her parted lips and her eyelashes fall as she wilts into the comfort of his powerful, yet gentle embrace.

  Never in her life has she felt safer.

  The beast nuzzles his great snout against her head and another low moan grumbles through his chest. It feels almost like a purr vibrating against her small body.

  Aramei opens her eyes to his hand caressing her face and she leans into it, taking in the comfort of his touch as if drinking in a vial of warm euphoria.

  Carefully, the beast pulls her away from him and he stands fully on his tall hind-like legs, towering over her. The cow and the goats work themselves into a frenzy.

  But Aramei can’t be afraid of him. She tries. She knows that to be afraid is natural and likely and expected. A small part of her wants to be frightened so that she can prove to herself that she isn’t so unlike her sister, or any other mindful human for that matter. But no matter how hard she tries, she cannot evoke fear among the flurry of elated emotions that she is feeling right now as he towers over her.

  The beast looks into her glistening, teary eyes one last time and then turns and pads away into the darkness.

  Chapter 20

  Present Day – In the Cabin

  TRAJAN STARES OFF TOWARD the wall, his gaze penetrating it so deeply that the whole of the room has fallen completely silent. My words have become the focus of his memory and the more that I describe to him in such vivid detail, the further back in time he goes himself to revisit his life with Aramei.

  Eva lowers her eyes away from him after having stared intensely at him for so long, mesmerized by his reaction to my retelling of Aramei’s story. I gently turn my head to see her and she looks sad.

  Trajan’s calm, distant voice bri
ngs us both back to him.

  “I could not let her see me for what I was,” he says, looking at neither of us. And then he appears uncomfortable, as though talking any further about his feelings is completely irrelevant and then he looks right at me.

  “When I left Aramei in the barn that night, I had no intentions of ever seeing her again. She was human and it was forbidden. I was Alpha and the last one of my kind that could defy the laws that my father before me erected and that I had enforced for generations. Two of my sons were put to death because they were found to be infatuated with human women.”

  “You killed them?” I say, horrified, but not fully showing the extent of my disgust. I sit next to Trajan at the small table overlooking the downstairs floor. Always he’s too close for comfort.

  He doesn’t look at me when he answers:

  “No. That was Nataša’s doing. But I do not condemn her actions; she had only been carrying out the sentences that I set forth at the beginning of my reign. Because they were my sons did not exclude them from the consequences of breaking the laws. ”

  I hate him. He’s such an unimaginable, hypocritical bastard that I feel polluted by his presence. But I also respect him and this part of me I doubt I’ll ever understand. Because I know it’s not the human part.

  He looks across at Aramei who, as always, lies asleep on the bed. “But I did go back to see Aramei. After six months and after I shifted the war into the west to protect her, I left Golubac Fortress every other night to see her.” He pauses and says, “From afar, of course.”

  “You loved her even that early.” I say absently, remembering how quickly Isaac and I fell in love and I can’t help but think about just how extraordinarily similar our stories are. Like Aramei, I had an overprotective older sister and a long lost mother. Like Aramei I was thrust into this dark, supernatural world against my will. Like Aramei, I saw Isaac for what he truly was, also in a barn, bloodied and beaten and frightening. And like Aramei, I was also bonded by the blood of a werewolf.

  It’s truly uncanny how much our stories are alike; so much so that I feel unnerved by it. But thankfully, the similarities stop there. Yeah, I’m grateful for that….

  Trajan nods in response to my comment, still gazing at Aramei from across the room. “I loved her in seven nights time—,” he looks solidly at me, sending a shiver through my spine, “but love is a weakness, as you can see.”

  Not sure if he was referring to me or to him with that statement, but I have something more pressing to ask.

  “Can I ask you a…difficult question?” It wasn’t the word I was looking for, difficult.

  The slow turning of his dark blue eyes is the only movement his body makes. When he doesn’t say no, I go on.

  “Did you know about Aramei’s mother?” I say in a steady voice. “I mean, is her mother’s death the reason you never sired Aramei? Because you knew the transformation would likely kill her because it killed her mother?”

  “Yes,” he says and gestures Eva over with the wave of two fingers. “Those nights she spent with me in the barn, as you know, she told me everything about her life, including the details of her mother’s death. The strength to live through the transformation, as you are also fully aware, runs in families. She would not have survived it—Prepare a bath for Aramei.”

  Eva bows low at the waist and heads down the stairs.

  Trajan turns back to me.

  “Has she told you nothing?” he says and for a moment I’m confused about whether he’s speaking of Aramei or Eva.

  “Not yet,” I say. “All I’ve seen is what I’ve told you. She hasn’t spoken directly to me. I…don’t think she can….”

  That was a lie, although a small one. Aramei has spoken directly to me, but she’s never said anything that would indicate she is capable of actual mindful conversation. But I can’t tell him this. I’m still not sure why I feel so protective of her when it comes to Trajan, but until I find out I’m sticking with the story.

  Trajan slaps his hand on the tabletop, causing the table to wobble on its tall metal base. I jump on the chair, startled. I’m afraid to look at him, but my eyes turn against me and look anyway. His face is solid, though I can just barely see his strong jaws clenching with impatience. His eyes are filled with everything but anything nice; not that that’s new, but I prefer it when he isn’t clearly angry.

  He stands up and folds his hands together in front of him. I stay at the table where I feel safer and I watch as he paces across the brightly lit room. The mid-afternoon sun beams in through all of the cabin windows. It’s a perfectly beautiful day with not a cloud in the endless blue sky, helping the sun’s rays to filter down through the trees surrounding the cabin. All of the windows were ordered open and so the breeze pushing through them is cool on my face and bare shoulders.

  “Your sister came to me,” Trajan says, pulling me harshly back into the moment and that cool breeze suddenly feels sucked from the room.

  “Oh?” I say and I know I must be obvious, but I play it off the best I can.

  He looks at me with those dangerous eyes, scanning my face, maybe searching for something to use against me.

  “Have you found the Praverian gone Dark?”

  My body stiffens and I stop breathing.

  “How did you know about that?” I finally say.

  “I have my sources.”

  Of course he does. He’s the Sovereign. He knows just about everything.

  “They have their hands in everything, you know,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he’s known this for six hundred years and is bored with it. “Praverians are everywhere. They have an agenda. They always have.”

  I nod. “Yeah, to protect their Charges.”

  He looks right at me, his hands now folded and resting on his backside, but I catch a glimpse of something cryptic in his face and then he says, “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” and a faint smile appears in his eyes.

  This alone stuns me.

  I just want him to elaborate. Or, maybe I don’t. My stomach feels like there’s a burning hot stone in the bottom of it, the way you feel when you’re about to find out something you know has the potential to crush you.

  “What is their purpose, then?” I ask and regret it before I get out the last syllable. I swallow hard, feeling the knot wedge itself dead center in my throat.

  “To protect their Charges, of course,” he answers simply and Eva comes back up the stairs.

  I know there’s much more to his half-way mocking answer than that.

  Eva bows and says, “It is ready, Milord.”

  Trajan pauses as if he’s going to say something else to me, but then walks over to the bed and lifts Aramei carefully into his arms. I stand up to properly bow as he leaves and I remain here as he disappears down the stairs with Aramei cradled against his chest.

  “Adria,” Eva says in a cautious whisper.

  I pull my gaze away from the stairs and look across at her as she stands with her fingers interlaced.

  “Yeah?”

  She glances once toward the stairs, too, and then says, “You cannot continue to go under. It is too dangerous.”

  I move toward her.

  “Eva,” I say in a low voice much like she had, “You need to give me some credit. I know there’s something else going on here.” I step right up to her and take her hands into mine. “I know you’re afraid to tell me because you’re afraid that he’ll find out…but you need to tell me everything you know.” I’m trying to assure her with my body language and the pleading, desperate look in my eyes that I would never do anything to risk her well-being or her life.

  Eva’s pale green eyes glance away from me and her hands feel unsteady within my own. Gently, I tighten my fingers around them and force her gaze again. “Please, Eva…I give you my word that I won’t even tell Isaac anything that you tell me.” It’s difficult to promise something like this, but to protect her life I will not go against my word.

  Her hands slip from mine and
she crosses her arms horizontally over her chest; one hand goes up to cradle her pouty mouth. Her long, red hair lays neatly against her back, which only makes her look softer. She turns at an angle and peers off toward the window and without looking at me she says, “The things you see now of her past are harmless, but when you start to see other…things and…places; by then it might be too late.”

  I move quickly around in front of her. “Too late for what, Eva…?”

  She can hardly keep her eyes on mine. I feel like there’s a conflict going on inside of her whether to continue, to lie, or to tell me anything at all. She’s frightened and it’s only making me want to know that much more.

  I thrust her elbows into my hands and shake her.

  “Tell me!” My voice is a strident whisper.

  Silence.

  “…I can’t.”

  Her answer shocks and infuriates me at the same time, rendering me motionless.

  “Just remember my warning,” she says and walks away from me, “when things start to appear…different…you should think twice before going under again.”

  I leave on this day wanting nothing more than to take Aramei with me and hide her somewhere in the mountains myself. Away from Trajan. Away from Eva, who is so thoroughly terrified of and loyal to Trajan that I know as kind and caring as she is towards me, she would sell me out to him in a heartbeat.

  But I will go back tomorrow and I will go under and no matter what I see, I’ve decided not to tell the truth at all anymore except to Isaac, who I am spilling everything I already know to right now.

  “Evangeline is his most loyal,” Isaac says, softly brushing his fingertips across my arms. I lie between his legs on the bed with my back against his chest. “She’s been around since I was a child.”

  I feel his lips press into my hair from behind. We sit upright on his bed, his back against the headboard.