The Seer rose and opened the door, leaning out and jabbering something in the Vistani tongue. “It is time for you to leave, children. No one should trouble you. The trip safely through the fog also is my gift.”
Sasha and Leisl rose. “Good-bye, Madame,” Sasha bade the gypsy Seer, bowing low. Leisl bobbed quickly, then followed the priest. Maruschka watched them leave, then closed the door and sat down heavily among the cushions. Pika squawked, and she smiled wearily up at the black bird.
She was proud that she was at least able to give them a true seeing, even if … For a brief instant she wished with all her heart that she had never been granted the Sight. Then she would not have to make the kind of choice that had been foisted upon her.
Maruschka had responsibilities to her tribe that went far beyond familial duties. Her ties bound her to all Vistani, to everything they were. Their protection must always take precedence over the happiness, even the safety, of strangers. She must do nothing to jeopardize their existence. Eva had complicated matters by involving the Vistani with Strahd and his machinations, but Maruschka knew that it would be foolish to defy the lord of Barovia. She could not, would not do so, even for the life of her brother or for that of his son … her nephew; not even for the only being who had ever made her think of romance, however briefly—an alien creature, golden of skin and fair of form. He had been of another race, and worse, had known a totally different kind of existence. Angrily she recalled the fortune she had revealed for him. She had promised success, success with the sun and with a child.
The irony of it welled up in her like bile. How could a vampire succeed with the aid of the sun? How could an undead creature produce a child?
Maruschka shook her gray-streaked head sadly.
“Aiee, Jander,” she said softly, “if you remember me at all, when the disaster strikes, forgive my hand in it.”
JANDER HAD NO IDEA WHEN STRAHD WOULD BE BACK. It could be five months or five minutes. He had to make every instant count, for he knew he would be unable to control his anger when Strahd returned.
Yet he also had to maintain an unruffled exterior. Strahd’s slaves were vicious creatures, by no means as clever as either Jander or their dreadful maker. Still, they had eyes, and they could observe. Whenever he was around the other undead, the elf made sure that he didn’t reveal his inner turmoil by word, look, or deed. He had no need for such pretense around the skeletons or zombies; they were completely mindless.
Sharp little Trina, however, was another matter entirely. He could tell she sensed something amiss when she visited him two nights after the meeting with Sasha. In order to drive her away, he feigned painstaking interest in his frescos. “I’m hoping to recapture the original sparkle of that beautiful sunburst pendant,” he had told her. “Yes, that one there. Lovely, isn’t it? I think a mixture of silver, with just a hint of white …”
It worked. Trina heaved a sigh of supreme annoyance and flounced down the stairs. He heard her footsteps change into the patter of paws halfway down. When he ran to the nearest window, he saw her scampering across the cobblestone courtyard.
In a flurry of speed, Jander abandoned his brushes and paints and returned to the study. He did not even know what he was looking for—a clue, a spell, anything that might help destroy the plague of Barovia, Count Strahd von Zarovich.
Two things culled from of all his perusing stuck in the elf’s mind. One was the chapter from the history of Barovia’s ancient army. He found the segment and reread it: The Most High Priest of Barovia, a young man named Kir, led the people in prayer. He was granted the use of the mysterious Holy Symbol of Ravenkind to wield against the goblyn king. While Count Strahd fought and led his men to victory, the Holy Symbol was used in secret, as well. Afterward, Most High Priest Kir carefully hid the Holy Symbol in a secret place.
No one knows what the Holy Symbol looks like, or where it is hidden. To this day, no other priest has been able to find or use it. Unquestionably, however, its powerful magic aided our noble Count Strahd to his well earned victory.
“The Holy Symbol of Ravenkind,” Jander repeated aloud. “Something of great power for good, and nobody knows what the damned thing is.” He laughed humorlessly at the irony.
The other item that stayed with him was an old folk tale about an intrepid young hero called Pavel Ivanovich and his quest for a piece of the sun. Jander recalled hearing fragments of the story from Sasha on the night Strahd slaughtered the priest’s family. The elf forced down the remorse that rose in him even at this late date, and concentrated on the story. This Pavel was able to defeat Nosferatu. Maybe there was some truth to this legend.
A week passed, and Jander spent his time in frantic searches through the books that were hoarded in Strahd’s collection. On one particular night, he paced about the castle, impatient for the nightfall. Shortly after twilight, he left the keep in his wolf form. The first snow of the season, a light dusting of flakes, had fallen during the sunlight hours, and the forest was draped with crystals and ghostly white drifts. The night was clear, and the moon was almost full.
Jander ran easily and swiftly toward the village. His nose caught the hot scent of a fresh kill, and the scent reminded him that he, too, needed to feed before the night was over. Mingled with musky wolf and coppery deer blood was Trina’s unique scent, and Jander made a quick detour toward her.
He found her in a small clearing, far enough from the edge of the forest that she was unlikely to be spotted by any of the villagers. Jander considered that wise, for she was in half-wolf form, using her clawed hands to tear off chunks of meat, spattering the snow with blood. The kill steamed in the chill air. Several other wolves fed noisily nearby. Jander changed into his elven shape so that he could speak with Trina.
“Do you know when Strahd will be returning?” he asked, hiding his aversion as he watched her feast on the deer she and the other wolves had pulled down.
Trina gazed at him with human eyes in a wolfish face. She shook her head and ran her long, pink tongue about her jowls.
“Not for a while, I don’t think. He takes me with him on short trips.” Her voice, while understandable, was several octaves deeper than usual and came out as a throaty growl. She bit hungrily into a bloody haunch, twisting her lupine jaws for a better grip on the meat. Jander heard bone crunch as he turned away.
Returning to his own wolf form, Jander headed to the village. Once out of the cover of the woods he went cautiously, his lupine shape moving like a shadow across the snow. At the edge of the churchyard he crept into the tiny copse of trees that bordered the village’s graveyard. Sure that he was safe at last from unfriendly eyes, he shimmered into his elven form and crossed the graveyard to the church.
Sasha was waiting for him. Someone else was with the priest too. The two shapes were huddled together on a crude wooden bench nestled against the side of the building. They stood as the elf approached.
“I thought it was to be the two of us,” Jander commented, a bit suspicious.
“It was, but she can be trusted. Jander Sunstar, this is Leisl, my … partner in nocturnal stalking.” He paused, then added, “She knows about you.”
Leisl was openly staring. “I didn’t know elves could become vampires. Of course, I don’t know all that many elves. Or vampires.”
“Now you know both,” he said in a slightly sarcastic tone, bowing mockingly. “Tell me, Leisl. Why are you here tonight? I know what drives Sasha. But what of you?”
“I can’t let Sasha tackle Strahd all by himself, can I?”
A smile played about Jander’s lips. The Little Fox’s answer seemed to satisfy him, and the elf turned to the priest. “I have been unable to discover much of use in Castle Ravenloft, although I sense that somewhere in the count’s library are the answers we seek. There are two things I think we should investigate further. First, do you know anything about the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind?”
Sasha shook his head blankly. “I haven’t uncovered very much about Barovia’s early
religions. There’s nothing in the church on them.”
“That is very peculiar.”
“I thought the same thing. It makes me wonder if documents have been deliberately destroyed.”
“Or taken elsewhere. Well, so much for that.”
“What was the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind?” asked Leisl, feeling a bit left out. The elf turned his silver gaze upon the Little Fox.
“Apparently it’s a very powerful holy object. It was wielded against the goblins at the same time that Strahd’s army fought to liberate Barovia. Unfortunately,” Jander said ruefully, “it was kept secret and no one but the initiated knew exactly what it was. The information was passed from priest to priest, I think, and somewhere along the line the chain got broken. I was hoping Sasha might tell me more, but …” His melodious voice trailed off sadly.
“What was the other piece of information?” Sasha prodded.
“You’re going to think I’m grasping at straws, but there is an old legend, some nonsense about a piece of the sun and a young hero. But”—he smiled—“there is sometimes truth to be mined from legends. The question is, how to uncover it.”
To his surprise, Sasha and Leisl exchanged grins. “Leisl and I reached the same conclusion. That legend is the only clue we were able to find too. Oh—and maybe you’ll understand this—we’ve heard a few cryptic musings that might lead somewhere. Does ‘the one who has loved best has the heart of stone’ mean anything to you?”
Jander frowned. “No, not really. Usually the one with a heart of stone can’t love at all. Any other riddles for me? I used to be quite good at them, once.”
“All right, then how about: ‘Stone will tell you what you need to know?’ ”
“I told Sasha I think it refers to carvings,” Leisl suggested. “A statue, or perhaps some writing on a wall somewhere. That sort of thing. I mean, how else could stones tell you anything?”
Jander nodded slowly, but a frown furrowed his forehead, and he began to pace. Leisl’s was a logical assumption, but something in the elf knew it to be an incorrect conclusion. The answers, or at least some of them, were there, right there, on the outskirts of his cognizance. If he could just concentrate … Suddenly he knew.
“There is a spell that enables stone to speak,” he said. “Do you know it?”
Sasha shook his head. “Do you really think it’s that important?”
“Well, let’s see. Are there any stones—or walls, or buildings—in Barovia that might have been witness to events that might give us some help?” “Castle Ravenloft,” offered Leisl.
“Obviously,” replied Sasha, “but that’s too dangerous.” He looked about him at the cold gray shapes, dusted with whiteness, that marked the places where the dead lay. “Tombstones?”
Jander shook his bright head. “No. I don’t think much happens in a cemetery that could benefit us. We know where the vampire is.”
“The market square?” Leisl suggested. “I’ll bet a lot of people have crossed over those cobblestones.”
“Too busy, even at night,” Sasha murmured. “We can’t risk being seen. The church is of wood, unfortunately.”
Jander, who had been pacing and listening with only one ear, turned to them. “The circle of stones!” he exclaimed. “That is definitely sacred ground. How long has that circle been there, Sasha?”
“I don’t know. Centuries, I think.” He began to smile. “Jander, that’s it. That’s got to be it!”
“Shall we meet here again tomorrow, after you have had time to prepare?” asked the elf.
“Do we have the time to spare?”
Jander shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. Strahd could be gone for another month, or he could be back at the castle now.”
“Then we don’t have the time.” Sasha’s mouth drew into a firm line. “It is a good cause. Surely Lathander will bless it and give me the magic we need. I’ll go to the altar and pray. You two can come inside and—oh.” Jander’s face was filled with sorrow. Sasha cursed himself for his insensitivity. Of course, the vampire couldn’t enter a holy house.
“Leisl, why don’t you go in and keep warm?” Jander said smoothly. “We undead do not feel the cold as mortals do.”
Leisl’s hazel eyes narrowed as she regarded the vampire speculatively. “No, that’s all right. We’ll be fine, Sasha. I promise I’ll come inside if I get cold.”
“All right. I don’t know how long it’ll take.” Sasha glanced from the elven vampire to the thief, and for a moment amusement brushed his soul, despite the seriousness of the situation. “Strange bedfellows,” he muttered to himself, then headed back into the church.
For a while neither the elf nor the human spoke. The wind picked up, stirring Leisl’s brown hair. Grimacing against the chill wind, she pulled her cloak tighter. “Must be convenient, not feeling cold,” she commented to fill the silence that gaped between them.
“I suppose so,” Jander replied. “Although if I could be mortal again, I’d be happy to wander naked in a blizzard.”
She turned to him, her face a white oval in the moonlight. “You don’t like being a vampire?”
Surprised horror spread over his features. “No!” he snapped, pained. “What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know, I just … Sorry.” Again the uncomfortable silence fell. “Why do you want to destroy Strahd?”
Jander didn’t reply at once. Then slowly, he said, “He hurt someone I loved.”
“Did he kill her?”
“No. Strahd broke her heart and her mind. He murdered her fiance and drove her insane.”
“Oh, Jander, I’m sorry,” Leisl said sincerely. “No wonder you want revenge.”
“Revenge and an end to my love’s misery.” He fixed Leisl with his sad silver eyes. “You see, she returns to life every few generations. Every time she’s born anew, the count hunts her down and tries to make her love him.” The silver eyes went hard with hatred. “It’s going to stop.”
“I understand. When you love someone, the thought of them being hurt is unbearable.”
The vampire smiled, his teeth glinting a little in the dim light. Oddly, the sight no longer frightened Leisl. “I believe you do understand. Does Sasha know how you feel?” The Little Fox began to stammer a protest, but he waved her silent. “It’s all over your face whenever you look at him.”
Blushing, she looked away. “No, I don’t think he knows. He’s too wrapped up in Katya to notice me. Don’t tell him, please?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
A third time the two fell silent, but that time the stillness was companionable. “Here comes Sasha,” Jander said after a moment. He and the thief rose.
With a swift, sure stride, the priest approached. When he got near enough so that they could make out his features, they saw he was smiling gently, his eyes alight.
“Unto the favored of Lathander,” he said in a voice that trembled, “even the very stones shall speak. I have the tools. Shall we go?”
The stones stood silent sentinel on the hilltop. Nothing about the scene had changed since Jander and Sasha had last been there, fifteen years before, and the quiet steadfastness of the rocks indicated that nothing ever would. The stones were covered with small white caps from the recent snow. No marks, of animals or other creatures, had yet disturbed the virgin drifts. Sasha and Leisl trudged into the center of the circle and spread out a blanket. Jander did not follow them. So sacred a place would admit the vampire only if he concentrated on violating its protective barrier. Rather than weaken himself so, he preferred to linger outside.
Sasha stood for a moment, drinking in the power of the place, feeling it soak into him. He gazed at the sky for direction and began to set up a small altar in front of the largest stone. Jander watched attentively from his position outside the circle, and Leisl fidgeted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
After seating himself, Sasha indicated for Leisl to do likewise. Along with the various holy symbols, Lathander’s c
leric laid out a bottle of a silver liquid and a small lump of clay. Carefully Sasha worked the clay, shaping it so it looked like the large stone in front of him. He began to hum, his voice soothing and sweet, and then to chant slowly.
The hair on the back of Jander’s neck stood up as the spell began to work. He recognized some of the words Sasha was using. How many long years had it been, he wondered sadly, since he had watched a cleric chant holy spells?
Sasha poured the silvery liquid into the snow in front of the clay replica of the stone; Jander recognized it as mercury by its peculiar movements. The young man’s voice rose, then halted abruptly. A brief, tense silence followed, then the trio waited expectantly, unsure as to what would happen. Their answer came quickly.
The large stone in front of Sasha began to glow. Jander’s sharp ears caught a low hum. The sound was joined by others, swelling, growing into a chant, a variety of voices that were not human. As the sound swelled, Jander saw the awe and fear on the faces of his companions as they, too, heard the song:
Hark to the song of the stones, not sung for far too long.
In the Early Age, stone only were we. Deep below, we guarded the treasures of the earth. Men came and harvested here, using these earth-gifts to good ends. Stone and metal, bones of the soil; they were freed and became objects of beauty and sacredness.
In the Mid Age, forgotten it was that we were the guardians of riches. We were moved and shaped into holy things and became the guardians of men’s souls. Joinings were here, and beginnings, and endings.
In the Later Age, forgotten it is that we were holy. Few come to worship here in the Dark Times. Fear rules the land. Yet what was sacred once cannot be completely defiled. In the Later Age, we are the refuge of the lost, who have no shelter; the lonely, who have no love. We protect them from harm and discovery. And so shall we continue to do, until Time has crumbled us and the wind has scattered the dust.
Ask of us what you will, and we shall answer.
Sasha licked dry lips, and when he spoke his voice quivered. “Great stones, we are looking for two items: the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind and something known in legends as a ‘piece of the sun.’ Can you tell us about these?”
Vampire of the Mists Page 30
