Talking to her deity.
Silently, Mazja left her hiding spot and crept toward her until she was close enough to hear her words.
“Forgive me, Lord,” she cried. “My prince is dead and I am too weak to withstand what will come at the hands of our enemy.”
Elzbieta looked down at the river and took a deep breath. As she shifted her weight in order to leap out as far as she could, her foot slipped and she slid down the jagged side, landing hard on protruding rocks a few feet below. Blood flowed from where she had hit her head and she shook with fear.
You saved me, Lord! Give me the strength to climb back, and I will put my faith in you to help me endure what will come.
She used her teeth to hold the letter in place as she dug her hands into the dirt to climb back.
I will take the letter to Luca. He will know what to do.
When she was inches from the top, a strong hand grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her up.
Mazja!
“Thank you, Princess,” she said as she snatched the letter. “That’s all I need.”
With lightning speed she delivered a kick to Elzbieta’s midsection that propelled her over the side. Mazja watched with glee as she twisted in the air in a hopeless struggle against gravity.
Picking up a rock to use as a paperweight, Mazja left the letter on the clifftop before racing off into the darkness.
PRECAUTIONS
Village of Velt
Emanui worked fervently on the task at hand. Grabbing the last of the garlic that had been hung out to dry, she quickly braided the herbs with some twine into a garland and tossed it on top of the pile of others she had made. Picking up several sticks she had whittled with sharpened ends, she used a large rock to hammer them into the crumbling mortar of the outer walls of the hut. Once the sticks were in place, she hung a garland from each of them. Looking at the sky, she estimated that about an hour of daylight remained.
I must get it finished in time!
Cutting off a new length of twine, she lashed two sticks together in the shape of a crucifix then placed it in the middle of one of the garlands. She repeated the process with each garland. Although it was still light when she had completed her work, the sun had already set.
She hurriedly made her way inside the hut and bolted the reinforced door behind her. The air inside reeked of garlic, but she had become desensitized to the odor. She checked the windows to make sure the boards she had nailed over the closed shutters were holding firm.
Satisfied that she had taken every possible precaution, she knelt next to the hearth and put more wood on the fire. Rubbing her fingers over one of the sharpened ends of the crude stakes she had made from the chopped firewood, she grasped it firmly in her hand and made stabbing motions in the air to evaluate the best angle of attack.
It will never come to that…the garlic and crucifixes will keep them outside.
As darkness settled in, she waited for it to start. The wind began to blow and made a soft, high-pitched sound. Listening intently, she detected precisely when the sound changed into a wail. The wind was rhythmic, and her head bobbed forward as her body struggled to resist sleep.
Sleep brought the nightmares. Always. The more she fought against sleep, the more she became captive to it.
Within minutes she had drifted off, and the nightmares picked up where they had left off the previous night. She was running frantically through the forest as staggering figures followed in pursuit.
With each nightmare the figures got closer. Looking back, she caught a glimpse of one of the faces. Its wide, sunken eyes were fixed on her, and an open mouth incapable of speech hissed with rage. Reaching the safety of her hut, she bolted the door and peered through a tiny a gap in the window. The swaying trees were casting darting shadows as shaded figures unaffected by the wind continued their slow progress. The Strigoi were coming. As she moved back from the window, she turned to pick up a stake and came face to face with Bunica, changed into a Strigoi. The old woman opened her fanged mouth and emitted a high-pitched scream…
Emanui instantly woke covered in sweat and gasping for breath. She was still hearing Bunica’s screams, her heart pounding so hard that the beating reverberated in her ears.
It’s alright…you’re awake...it’s just wolves.
She hastily put more wood on the fire. Although daylight was more than four hours away, she stayed awake until the sun made its appearance.
DAMNATION
Castle Dracula
The Ottomans were on the run, but Dracula had no doubts that Mehmed would return once the latest Vambir exploits were dismissed as enemy propaganda. There were still Ottoman armies returning from the Holy Lands, and he expected Mehmed to put these soldiers who had never seen the Vambir in the front lines of the next attack.
Dracula was relieved to be heading back to the castle for a respite. He missed Elzbieta and was looking forward to the end of the long months of separation. Strangely, there had been no recent dispatches from the castle. A worrisome thought entered his mind that some of Mehmed’s troops may have attempted an attack on the castle, but any movement by a large force would have been easily detected.
Iroto shared Dracula’s desire to return home. Soueti’s time was drawing near, and it was possible that the child had already been born. Childbirth was as dangerous to women as the battlefield was to men. Surviving the ordeal was only the first hurdle, as many new mothers quickly succumbed to the dreaded “childbed fever.” He tried to put such disturbing thoughts out of his mind but found himself unable to do so.
After five days, Dracula’s retinue arrived at the castle.
“General Iroto,” he said, “I give you leave to depart to Lady Soueti, as I know the welfare of her and the child must weigh heavily upon you.”
Iroto would have run to Soueti as fast as his legs could carry him, but ever mindful of Dracula’s paranoia regarding loyalty, he begged permission to stay with his troops.
“Most noble Prince,” he said, “the welfare of our entire nation is at stake, and with your permission, I will ride with the Free Kapikulu back to the barracks and review plans for the defense of the castle first.”
Dracula gravely nodded. “You set an example for all to follow, General,” he said in a voice loud enough for the troops to hear.
Dracula watched as Iroto and the Free Kapikulu rode away. Turning toward the castle, he saw the palace guards stand to attention as he approached.
“Send word to Princess Elzbieta that we are home!” he called out to them. “And rouse the cooks! We are hungry after our journey and are sick of rations! I want venison stew, now!”
The corners Mazja’s mouth turned up slightly in a sinister smile. She had deliberately kept her evil deed a secret from Chaluxi because she wanted his reaction to the news of Elzbieta’s death to be genuine surprise. Chaluxi had had the foresight not to ask her for any details.
Two guards paused and stared at each other before running back into the castle. Another guard held Dracula’s horse while he dismounted. As Dracula entered the castle, every courtier he encountered bowed low, but he detected uneasiness on their puzzled faces. Hearing hurried footsteps approaching, he saw Luca, accompanied by his fellow priests.
“Luca!” he said. “There will be a morning service celebrating our victory over the Turk. See to it, but for now, kindly leave me to my feasting and the company of my beloved wife.”
Luca and the priests did not move.
“Sire…” began Luca.
“Not now!” yelled Dracula. “No more serious talk! I’ve had a gut full of battle and wish to spend the next hours relaxing.”
“Beloved Prince,” continued Luca, “it grieves me to tell you that Princess Elzbieta is dead.”
Chaluxi’s shocked expression matched those of the nearby troops. All eyes fell upon Dracula.
“How?” whispered Dracula after a long silence.
“Her body was found in the Arges, Sire,” answered Luca. “Her ladies are wi
th her in her bedchamber.”
Dracula wordlessly staggered to Elzbieta’s chamber. The heavy odor of incense was unable to overpower the stench of death. He could see her bloated body still clothed in the muddied nightgown she had been recovered in. Dressed in black mourning, Soueti and the other court ladies kept vigil at the foot of the bed.
“Leave us!” Dracula shouted to them.
After the ladies quickly exited the chamber, he bolted the huge doors.
Iroto returned to the castle upon hearing the news and raced to the hallway leading to Elzbieta’s bedchamber. Soueti and the other ladies were conferring with Luca and the priests. Upon seeing Iroto, Soueti pretended to faint.
“Soueti!” he cried, picking her up from the floor.
“The recent events have taken a toll on her in her condition,” explained Luca. “Elzbieta’s ladies have not left her side since her unfortunate demise.”
“I shall take her back to her own bed and return presently,” said Iroto.
Once Iroto had carried Soueti to their chamber, he gently laid her down on the bed. When she heard Iroto bolt the door, she immediately opened her eyes and sat up.
“Husband!” she whispered.
Iroto rushed to her side.
“You must rest, my dearest, for the sake of the child,” he said.
“No!” she exclaimed.
Terrified, she looked around the room for any traces that they were being monitored. Feeling paranoia overtake her, she spoke to Iroto in the language of their homeland. “We are in grave danger!”
Iroto opened his mouth to speak, but Soueti placed a shaking hand over his lips to silence him.
“You must listen, husband!” she insisted. “I saw it! I saw her kill the princess!”
“Who?” asked Iroto.
“Mazja!” she cried. “I was stitching a tapestry earlier in the day, and the princess asked me to return that evening to show her my progress. When I arrived, the door was open, and the window had been broken. In the middle of the pieces of glass was an arrow. I thought she had been injured, but when I couldn’t find her in her room, I looked out the window.”
She paused to take deep breaths. Iroto remained silent until she regained her composure.
“I saw Mazja push her over the cliff,” she said.
Had anyone but Soueti told him this, Iroto would not have believed it.
“How can that be possible?” he asked. “Mazja and the Vambir have been on the front lines of the battlefield. The only time they were out of sight was for a few days when they investigated claims that Mehmed had turned his troops around in order to launch a surprise attack. There was not enough time for her to return to the castle to do such a thing!”
“I know what I saw,” insisted Soueti.
Iroto believed her but knew no one else would.
“Have you told anyone?” he asked.
“No one,” answered Soueti sorrowfully. “May Allah forgive me.”
Iroto did not understand.
“Mazja left a letter with Dracula’s seal at the spot where she pushed her over the cliff,” explained Soueti. “It was written in blood and said that Dracula was dead, and the Ottomans were headed this way. When they found the letter, along with the arrow and the broken window in her chamber, they decided Elzbieta had fallen for an Ottoman trick and committed suicide! Don’t you see, husband? The souls of those who commit suicide are damned! I knew the truth but was too afraid to speak it!”
Iroto held Soueti in his arms. “It doesn’t matter what others think,” he assured her. “Allah knows the truth, but you were right to stay silent. You would not be believed, and it would only cause Dracula to suspect you.”
He poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the nightstand and drank it down quickly. “I must see what sort of mental state he is in. If he is deranged, then he will imagine plots everywhere, and it will be too dangerous to stay.”
“But my time draws near,” protested Soueti.
“Precisely,” said Iroto. “Better that our child be born on the run than at the mercy of a madman.”
He began to look through her collection of dresses. “Which one has the jewelry sewn into the seams?”
“That one,” answered Soueti.
“Put it on quickly, just in case,” he said.
Iroto did not reveal to Soueti that he would not be surprised if Dracula’s descent into madness had caused him to believe that the ceremonial sacrifice of a newborn might bring Elzbieta back to life. Anything was possible. He had to see him.
*******
Dracula held Elzbieta’s swollen, lifeless hand and prayed for guidance. Her eyes and mouth were open in a silent expression of terror. As he gathered his thoughts, he was at a loss to understand what had possessed her to go to the edge of the cliff overlooking the Arges. Eventually, he stood up and stoically unbolted the doors of the chamber. Luca and the priests were still there. Behind them stood Mazja and Chaluxi.
“What happened?” asked Dracula softly. “Why did the guards allow her to wander so close to the edge? And why has her body been treated so disrespectfully? Take her to her private chapel and see to the embalming at once.”
Instead of carrying out his orders, Luca stood still and nervously gripped a rolled parchment in his hands.
“Sire,” began Luca warily, “she ventured out to the cliffs on her own. This was found weighted down with a heavy stone at the spot where she...”
Dracula snatched the parchment from Luca and unrolled it. Recognizing his personal seal, he read the words written in blood. Realizing now why her body had not been prepared for a proper Christian burial, he looked sternly at Luca.
“She was distraught,” insisted Dracula, “and in her confused state of mind she wandered too close to the edge and fell. Her body is to lie in state in her chapel.”
In unison, all the priests except Luca stepped back in horror at such a blasphemous order. Luca shook his head slowly.
“She had the presence of mind to send the guards away on a trivial errand and weighted down the letter with a rock, ensuring it would be found,” whispered Luca. “There can be no doubt as to the deliberateness of her actions. The church cannot condone such an abomination.”
Luca took a deep breath as he prepared to cite various scriptural references concerning suicide, but before he could utter a word, Dracula drew his sword and struck him down. The other priests turned to run away, but Mazja and Chaluxi blocked their escape as Dracula unleashed his fury on them. Once his sword had finished them off, he removed his dagger and continued to stab their lifeless bodies. When he finally stopped, he was out of breath and drenched in blood.
Walking to Elzbieta’s bed, Chaluxi gently picked up the corpse.
“Be at ease, Sire,” he said softly. “I will personally see to it that your orders are carried out.”
Unable to speak and still kneeling beside the bodies of the priests, Dracula reached out and patted Chaluxi’s side to signal his thanks.
Mazja and Dracula were now alone. The smell of the priests’ blood still permeated the air, and she discreetly practiced shallow breathing to suppress the cravings. Reassuring herself that she would feed off reserve supplies later, she regained her composure and slowly walked toward Dracula as he was getting to his feet.
He has no one now, and I will take advantage of his weakness to bind him to me.
She stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders.
“My Prince,” she whispered in his ear, “I grieve for your loss and would seek to console you.”
Her hands moved down his back and met together in front of his waist. Stepping closer, she pressed her body against him as she tightened her arms around his waist.
Unable to hide his revulsion, Dracula quickly turned and struck her hard across the face.
“Blood-soaked harlot!” he roared. “You would dare seek to take the place of she who was the most gentle, devout example of a Christian matron!”
Still clutching the dagger, he
thrust it forward to stab her in the heart, but with lightning speed, Mazja moved out of the way and Dracula only managed to graze her shoulder.
“Foul Primitive!” she hissed. “You are mad with grief. My account will be that you turned on me after slaying the priests, and I had no choice but to defend myself. Your troops see you for the madman you are and only obey you out of fear. True leaders are respected, as I am. I shall reunite you in death with your pathetic, weak-willed wife.”
Mazja lunged at Dracula, and he fell heavily on his back to the stone floor. Sinking her teeth into his neck, she began to feed. Dracula could feel his life force ebb with each drop that was sucked out of him. His grief for Elzbieta was the only thing that kept him conscious. Something trickled onto his lips. It was blood from Mazja’s shoulder wound. Bitter and metallic in taste, it burned as it coated his throat.
********
As Iroto made his way to Elzbieta’s chamber, he saw Chaluxi carrying her body. While he discreetly covered his nose to keep out the stench, he noticed that Chaluxi was strangely unaffected by it.
“What has happened?” asked Iroto.
“The priests refused her Christian burial rites,” explained Chaluxi. “He killed them all. I am taking her to her private chapel. Vambir women have experience in the preparation of the dead. They will make her presentable in order for the prince to honor her properly.”
“How is he…” began Iroto. “How is he coping?”
“Tread carefully,” warned Chaluxi as he turned to head for the chapel.
Iroto walked slowly down the hall leading to Elzbieta’s chamber. Stepping lightly, he tried to hear if Dracula was talking. Seeing the bodies of the slain priests, he silently made his way to the chamber entrance. Peering inside, he was greeted with the horrific sight of Mazja feeding off Dracula, just as she had done to the fallen on the battlefield. Until now, Iroto had convinced himself that the Vambir pretended to drink enemy blood as a terror tactic. He remained frozen as he watched her rise and wipe her mouth.
The Nosferatu Chronicles: Origins Page 16
