Vampire of the Mists

by Christie Golden

  “I was born in a land called Evermeet, a place where only my own kind dwelt. I can’t begin to tell you how beautiful it was. I used to play the flute and sing, and there was dancing in the groves in the summer. It was like nothing I have ever seen since.” Jander’s voice hardened. “And believe me, Petya, I have seen much.”

  Petya threw him a searching glance. “I do believe you, elf,” he said softly and sincerely. “You may find a balm to your soul this night.”

  Jander and his unlikely ally threaded their way through the brooding darkness of Barovia’s forests as Jander talked about Evermeet. Petya kept respectfully silent and listened, alerted perhaps by the deep tinge of sorrow in the elf’s musical voice. They kept the river on their right for the most part, though its tones decreased in volume occasionally as they wandered deeper into the forest at places. At last the river’s sound was replaced by others—horses’ whinnies, dogs’ barks, and the hum of human conversation.

  They emerged from the shadows of the hunching trees, and Jander could see the glow from the fire in the distance. His sharp elven vision, enhanced by his skills as a vampire, enabled him to make out several dozen caravans. The wagons were gaily decorated things covered in bright hues and imaginative carvings. Many horses, goats, and chickens that served as the gypsies’ livestock crowded the edge of the camp, and shadowy shapes moved about the fire.

  The elf took in the inviting scenario only secondarily. To the north of the encampment rose a huge spire. The sky was black, dotted with tiny, cold points of light, but the shape silhouetted against it was blacker. A forbidding castle crowned the precipice. Jander recognized it as the same structure that he had seen from the road when he had first appeared in Barovia. He had wondered about it then. Now, he knew its dark identity.

  Petya followed his gaze. “Yes,” he said quietly, “that is Castle Ravenloft. Count Strahd dwells there.”

  MARUSCHKA DID NOT LIKE CHILDREN.

  When Lara asked her to mind the baby while she danced, Maruschka couldn’t politely decline. The young Vistani woman sat on a rough wooden stool, holding the unhappy child and frowning like a thunderstorm while Lara danced gracefully with her husband. The flickering light from the fire only served to show Maruschka that the baby had spat up the beet soup she had wrestled down his throat. When the fretful infant tried to insert the end of Maruschka’s thick black braid into its rosy mouth, the girl decided that friendship went only so far.

  Her black eyes flashing, she strode through the dancers to Lara and shoved the baby at her. “Take him,” she snapped in the Vistani tongue. “He’s not spitting up on me again tonight.”

  Lara and her husband laughed and cuddled their child as Maruschka stalked off. “Ah, the gods would make a mistake in giving that one a baby,” Lara chuckled, gazing after her friend with pitying affection.

  “Aye,” her husband agreed, taking his child and planting a kiss on the soft cheek. “Better that she follow a different path.” The baby cooed and promptly went to sleep in his father’s loving arms.

  Maruschka’s quick anger took her as far as the ring of firelight that closed off the gypsy encampment. She flipped back her thick braid of glossy black hair and gazed down the path, then up at the stars. Four hours had passed since her little brother Petya had departed, swaggering and boasting as always. Four hours was ample time for him to get into plenty of trouble.

  Maruschka had a feeling that something had gone wrong. She always listened when her inner senses spoke to her, for they were usually right. Many in the encampment had partial Sight. Lara could tell fortunes in the cards, for instance, and Keva sometimes heard voices that accurately foretold the future. Maruschka, however, had the complete Sight, the only one of her generation to be so blessed—or cursed.

  She could scry in any surface, be it a cup of water, a ball of crystal, or a mirror. The cards always spoke to her about the questioner’s destiny, as did tea leaves. Maruschka could also read palms and faces, and sometimes had occasional blinding flashes of knowledge. Such power made her respected in the tribe, but sometimes the tall, slender twenty-year-old longed to be merely an ordinary Vistani. At present, all her Sight told her was that Petya had gotten himself into trouble.

  “He’ll be returning shortly, child. Fret ye not,” came a dry voice at her elbow. Maruschka jumped, then smiled and nodded at Madame Eva. The elderly woman had a disconcerting habit of creeping up unnoticed. It was wise to not talk behind her back. Some said it was wise to not even think behind her back. Maruschka thought those folk had the right of it.

  No one knew quite how old Madame Eva was, and she never told. Her back was still straight, although her body was fragile, and her face was wrinkled like Barovian plums left in the sun too long. She kept her white hair long and loose, flowing down her back like moonlight. Eva’s eyes were bright and quick, and her Sight was still accurate. Though most of her teeth were gone and she lived on porridge, she was the most powerful person in the tribe, and none dared cross her. Maruschka honed her divination skills under Eva’s strict tutelage and knew that she would become Seer of the tribe when the old gypsy woman lost the Sight.

  Some of Maruschka’s worry faded. She knew that if Eva said Petya would come home safely, then the boy would come to no harm.

  “Aye, Petya’s got the luck of the gods, all right. Half the towns we’ve visited would put his head on a stick if they could,” she told Eva. The crone laughed, a raspy sound. “But I can’t help but worry,” the younger woman added. “He courts trouble like he courts those girls. He takes such foolish risks.”

  “There are some that would say that of me, too, child,” Eva reminded her. “I seem to recall a certain girl who was convinced that I’d never leave Castle Ravenloft alive.”

  It was Maruschka’s turn to laugh. “Well, Strahd is the very devil, Gran.”

  “Be that as it may, he has been good to the Folk. Ye would do well to remember that, child, should yer loyalties be divided. That any of us rest easy in our beds in this land is due to Strahd’s generosity.”

  Suddenly a wave of love for the proud old gypsy woman swept through Maruschka, and she gave her grandmother a hug. “Also due to my gran’s cleverness!”

  Eva smiled a toothless grin. “That too,” she agreed. Abruptly the old woman frowned. “Petya comes,” she said, “and another.”

  “Brought another of his young ladies,” Maruschka snorted, glancing down the path. Sure enough, two figures were approaching the encampment, but Petya was not accompanied by some pretty young maid. The gypsy girl had never seen anyone like the stranger before.

  Maruschka heard Eva inhale in surprise. “One of the People,” she said softly. Maruschka didn’t understand Eva’s use of the term. Before she could ask her grandmother about it, Petya was running toward them at top speed; Maruschka gasped when she saw his bruised faced. The boy skidded to a halt when he recognized Eva.

  “Greetings, Gran,” he said politely, bowing deeply. Eva didn’t even spare him a glance, but kept her sharp eyes on the slender stranger who waited a short distance away.

  “Why does the elf not come with ye?” she demanded. “Petya, what happened to you?” Maruschka exclaimed.

  The boy ignored them both. “First, Gran, you remember you told me to keep an eye on Olya Ivanova? She died tonight from fever.”

  Eva looked at her grandson, her bright eyes narrowing. “Are ye certain?”

  “Her father and brother were in the tavern. Old Ivan is nearly mad from grief.” Eva looked suddenly weary. Petya noticed her sudden change in demeanor. “Did I do right to tell you?” he queried, worried.

  Eva nodded. “Yes, child. Though it is hardly good news, it is something worth knowing. Now,” she regained her former mien, “answer me about the giorgio.”

  “He says among his people, it is rude to approach without an invitation.”

  “I have never heard such a rule among the Tel’Quessir,” Eva retorted. “In any case, he is a giorgio and not welcome.”

 
“Please, Gran, he saved my life tonight!” Petya pleaded.

  “Petya, what have you done?” Maruschka’s thin black brows drew together.

  Quickly and with some embarrassment, Petya told them of the night’s occurrences. Eva raised an eyebrow when he described Jander’s powers, and a small smile quirked a corner of her mouth. “Very well,” she said unexpectedly. “He may approach.”

  Petya grinned despite his swollen face, and he returned to fetch his comrade. “You seem to know the giorgio’s kind,” Maruschka said to Eva.

  “He is a gold elf, also called a sunrise elf, from a world called Toril. The elven nation is to be respected and honored. I wonder why such a one is here. Nonetheless, Petya is right. He has saved one of our children, and for that, he is welcome—for this night only.” She gathered her brightly colored shawl about her thin shoulders. “It is late. Good night, child.”

  “Gran, don’t you wish to greet the stranger?”

  Eva shook her white head. “Nay. I must get these old bones to bed. Tell him of the cave near the falls,” she added.

  Maruschka nodded, though she was utterly confused. She turned her attention back to Petya’s strange new friend, who was walking up to her with the grace and silence of a cat.

  He was of average height and very slender. His features were well-formed and yet delicate, the strange silver eyes large and compelling. His coloring fascinated Maruschka, who found herself staring. She couldn’t help it. The giorgio was quite the most beautiful thing Maruschka had ever seen.

  “Jander Sunstar, this is my sister Maruschka,” Petya said. Jander bowed politely.

  “Lady, I am honored.”

  Maruschka blushed, an unusual thing for her. The alien being focused entirely on her, making her feel as though she were the center of the universe. She had not had many dealings with giorgios and was accustomed to the Vistani mixture of rough affection and subtle deference. The elf’s grace was new, and she liked it.

  Her musing was rudely interrupted by a shout from the campfire, and before she knew it there was a large crowd behind her. “Who’s the giorgio?” her father asked in the Vistani tongue.

  “An elf, Papa. He saved Petya from a hanging tonight. Gran said we were to make him welcome.” There was some resentful murmuring, but Eva’s word was always obeyed and the throng reluctantly parted to admit Jander into their midst.

  The vampire had wondered about the reception he would receive. He found that the dark visages of the gypsies were reserved, but not hostile in the way the faces of the Barovians had been. Petya spoke to them rapidly in their own tongue, and Jander watched the faces change to expressions of surprise and then pleasure. Hands were extended, and smiles of welcome replaced the speculative gazes. Jander smiled back, cautiously. Arms were linked through his, and he was propelled to a special place at the fire amid much lively chatter and laughter.

  Jander found himself the center of attention as the children clustered about his feet. Completely without embarrassment, they reached to clutch his gray cloak, run small, sticky hands through the gold of his hair, and tug on pointed ears. Their onslaught was unheralded, and Jander instinctively drew back, pushing the boys and girls away.

  Maruschka reprimanded the children, and they scattered. A few of the more intrepid among them paused and crept back, to sit a little farther away from the golden giorgio.

  “I did not mean to alarm them,” Jander apologized. “I have not been around people much in the last few years, certainly not children.”

  Maruschka sat down beside him on the wooden bench and shrugged, her blouse slipping off one dark shoulder.

  “They are a nuisance to me too,” she confided with a small laugh. “Animals are better. At least they can be trained.” Jander heard a small cough and glanced up, meeting the gaze of a rather uncomfortable-looking older man.

  “Sir, I thank you for the life of my son,” the man said stiffly, “although the gods know, sometimes I want to kill him myself.” He bowed once, then strode to where Petya was regaling an audience with an account of his escape.

  To Jander’s chagrin, Petya’s father seized the boy by the ear with one hand and unbuckled his wide leather belt with the other. Petya yelped, wriggled free, and sped toward the forest. His father was quicker, and soon the two began jabbering heatedly. Petya had apparently been right about the punishment he would receive.

  “Is your father really going to beat him?”

  Maruschka grinned conspiratorially. “Watch.”

  The father and son continued arguing, their movements becoming ever more animated. Suddenly the older man grabbed the youth and hugged him tightly. Petya returned his father’s embrace. When they parted and Petya’s father began to examine the boy’s injuries, their eyes were glistening with tears.

  “Beat our children?” smiled Maruschka. “Jander, children are the most precious things in the world to our people. Maybe not to me, hey?” she amended with a laugh. “There are so few of us, you see. Still, one of these days Petya will grow up,” Maruschka sighed.

  “Do not wish that day too soon,” Jander said softly. He had seen altogether too many flowers blossom and wither in his seven centuries. The thought of impish Petya aged and worn saddened him.

  Maruschka noticed the change and gazed at him searchingly for a moment. Gravely she said, “Would you like me to tell your fortune?”

  Jander sobered even further. “I can tell my own,” he replied harshly. “There are no surprises for me, and it would give me no pleasure for you to make up a false future.”

  Had not Jander been so obviously downcast, Maruschka would have taken offense at the implied insult to her talents. “I am a true Seer,” she stated with pride, “and perhaps I can give you the answers you seek.” He turned to look at her, his silvery eyes searching. “Perhaps I can tell you why you are here, sunrise elf of Toril.”

  Silver eyes narrowed, going catlike. “How did you know?”

  “My gran knew. Madame Eva is the Seer and leader of our people, and she has been to your land. It is she who is responsible for your welcome here. She also told me to tell you that there is a cave not far from here, though I don’t know why you would need to know that.”

  Jander was confused. Could Madame Eva know that he was a vampire? Why else would he need a cave? Perhaps merely for shelter, as any mortal might. Still, it was interesting that Eva knew of Toril. “May I meet your grandmother, Maruschka? If she has visited my land, we might enjoy talking.”

  “She has gone to bed. She is very old and tires easily.” Her red lips curved in a mock pout. “Why would you wish to spend time with an old lady when you have my company? Come, Jander Sunstar. Let me tell your fortune. I usually charge dearly for such a service. For the life of my brother, it is my gift. You would not insult me by refusing?” She glanced up at him through dark lashes, her tone coy and teasing. Jander remembered the fine art of flirtation, and it wakened a sense of nostalgia. That, too, had been denied him for centuries, that harmless coquetry and pleasant sparring between the sexes. Gone, like so much of his past … “Very well. I accept.”

  “Come to our caravan. My cards are there.”

  Jander had to smile. “Is it safe to take a stranger into your home alone?”

  She laughed, tossing back her thick black braid of hair and showing white, even teeth. “Hey, giorgio, we Vistani can take care of ourselves.” She patted the wide black leather belt that encircled her narrow waist, and he saw a small and clearly functional dagger tucked therein. Still smiling, she beckoned him to her family’s caravans.

  As befitted the family of Madame Eva, the vardos were ornate creations. The one Maruschka was taking him to was small but beautiful. It was difficult to distinguish colors in the dim glow of the fire, but Jander could make out a woodland scene of stags and hares carved on the side. A piebald pony was tethered to the back, drowsing contentedly.

  As Jander and Maruschka approached, the animal started to wakefulness, its ears pricked forward attentively. Its
rosy nostrils widened as it caught Jander’s undead scent, and the beast began to neigh frantically, tugging at its rein and rearing. Maruschka went to the pony and tried to calm it, but the animal was wild in its terror.

  Jander concentrated. He sent a silent command to the panicked animal, ordering it to be quiet. Hush … Calm down, little friend.… The piebald obeyed, although it still shivered, its brown eyes wide and rolling. Maruschka frowned and glanced over at Jander as she patted the pony’s neck. The vampire smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

  “Petya told you of the wolves. No doubt your pony can smell them on me yet.”

  “Yes, that must be it,” Maruschka agreed slowly.

  They climbed the few wooden stairs that led to the door of the vardo. Maruschka pulled the door open and went inside to light some lamps. Jander lingered outside, unable to enter until she bade him. The gypsy Seer stuck her dark head out after a few seconds. “What are you waiting for? Come in!”

  Jander did so, ducking his head because of the low entrance. The vardo wasn’t particularly large, and the many objects Maruschka had crammed inside made it appear even smaller. Five large, colorfully embroidered pillows were strewn on the floor, forming a ring about a large crystal ball that rested on a fancifully worked metal stand. Wooden shelves hosted an assortment of stones, beads, bones, and other trappings of gypsy fortune tellers. Maruschka’s bed, at the far end of the vardo, was a small, sturdy pallet, covered with wolf skins and a woven woolen blanket. Three lamps, hung from hooks in the curved ceiling, provided ample lighting.

  “Sit down while I try to find my cards,” Maruschka invited. As Jander did so, lowering himself onto the surprisingly comfortable cushions, a sudden cawing sound caused him to glance up, startled. Tucked away in a corner was a large cage that housed a huge black bird. It fixed the elf with watchful black eyes. Before it could caw again, Jander sent one of his silent commands, and it subsided into slumber.

  “That is Pika. His name means ‘mischief.’ I let him out now and then, and he brings home the oddest things sometimes. Ah, here they are.” Maruschka emerged from rummaging under her bed with a pack of oversized cards. Jander turned his gaze back to her. “Petya made these for me for my birthday a few months ago,” she said. “I think you will find them beautiful.” She handed the pack to Jander. “Shuffle them.”