“No, Ekaterine,” she said, “that is not how we use that word.”
“Froufrou,” Ekaterine repeated with a firm nod. “Tree froufrou. With candles.”
“Do you like it?” Friedrich asked.
“I’m not all that certain what to say,” Varanus replied. She looked up at the tree, feeling more than a little dizzy at its towering height. “How long has this tree been here? It must be a hundred years old or more. When was it planted?”
Friedrich laughed in genuine delight and patted his hand against the tree trunk.
“This tree has stood for as long as anyone can remember,” he said. “It was here before the castle, and we built these walls around it for its protection.”
“Whatever for?” Ekaterine asked.
“Because it is a sacred tree,” Friedrich said.
Ekaterine frowned and placed her hands on her hips. Shaking her head, she said:
“That sounds rather pagan to me, Al…Friedrich. Rather pagan indeed. To be honest, this whole practice of adorning a tree at Christmastime seems rather.…”
She paused as if searching for the word.
“Pagan?” Varanus suggested, trying to hide a smirk with very little success.
“Precisely,” Ekaterine said. “How ever did you convince the Church to let you have a sacred tree? It sounds very foolish of them.”
“Oh, but you see, it is a sacred Christian tree,” Friedrich replied.
He spoke with tremendous sincerity and more than a little humor.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” Ekaterine said.
“Clearly there is a story here,” Varanus said, “and I for one would like to hear it. And I suspect that he’s bursting to tell it.”
“Perhaps a little bit,” Friedrich admitted with a smirk. “And what a story it is! You see, in the old days, before we Fuchsburgers accepted the faith of Christ, we were but humble pagans worshipping the Germanic gods.”
“’Humble pagans?’” Varanus asked.
She had yet to meet a von Fuchsburg who was in the least bit humble.
“This tree,” Friedrich said, pointing upward, “is the tallest evergreen in all the Fuchsburger forest, indeed the tallest tree for miles. It was naturally a centerpiece of the pagan faith. And because they had their sacred tree, the Fuchsburgers were a little reluctant to accept Christianity, which could find neither purpose nor respect for the arboreal titan that they held so dear. So one day a missionary named Wilfrid came from Christian lands to convert them. And, perhaps inspired by the tale of Saint Boniface converting the Hessians by felling the Oak of Thor, dear Wilfrid decided he would drive the Fuchsburgers into submission to the True Religion by chopping down the great tree of Fuchsburg.
“He came to these lands with great fanfare, several followers, and a company of armed men for protection—for as we in Fuchsburg have always said, ‘faith is our shield, but a sword is a sword.’ Well, the Fuchsburgers all came to watch the man who claimed that his God was stronger than all of theirs and that he would fell the unfellable tree to prove it.”
Ekaterine leaned over to Varanus and whispered, “Your son has a very good speaking voice.”
“Hush, you,” Varanus whispered back.
“Well,” Friedrich continued, “it was a bad day for the undertaking, right from the outset. The sky was dark and it was very windy, but Wilfrid would not be deterred. As he stood before the tree, he said a prayer and then swung his ax. The moment it struck the trunk of the tree, his heart gave out and he collapsed, dead.”
“Oh my,” Ekaterine said.
Friedrich grinned and said:
“But there is more. One of his faithful acolytes took up the ax and began chopping away at the tree that had seemingly slain his master. The young fellow managed three blows before a dead branch was shaken loose and fell upon his head, killing him instantly.”
“I think I know how this ends,” Varanus murmured to Ekaterine.
Ekaterine nodded in agreement, apparently amused by it.
“Well, the other men who had come with Wilfrid were more than a little frightened,” Friedrich said. “Some declared that the tree was possessed by the Devil! No one wanted to touch it, but they all agreed that it had to be destroyed. So they built a pyre around the base and set fire to it, planning to let the whole thing burn and burn until nothing remained.
“Alas for them, when the flames started to lick at the branches, a great storm boiled up out of the sky. In an instant a heavy rain began pouring down on them, and the flames were soon extinguished. Now terrified, Wilfrid’s followers fled in panic. Ah, but the rain was so heavy that the ground was turned to mud, and a great many of them slipped and slid down the hill until they finally tumbled into the river, where most of them promptly drowned.”
“It sounds rather like a music hall comedy,” Ekaterine said.
“It certainly does,” Varanus agreed. “I count it a miracle the people of Fuchsburg were made Christian at all!”
Ekaterine frowned and shook her head.
“I remain skeptical about that,” she said. “Especially with all this Christmas tree nonsense.”
“This said by a woman who confesses to birds?” Varanus asked.
“They’re very devout birds,” Ekaterine protested.
Nearby, Friedrich folded his arms and said, a little perturbed, “You know, I don’t have to finish the story if you find it so boring.”
Both Varanus and Ekaterine immediately looked at him.
“Oh nonsense, we’re enjoying it very much,” Varanus said.
“Otherwise we wouldn’t be quarreling about it,” Ekaterine added with a smile. “Please do continue.”
“Very well, if you insist,” Friedrich said, smirking. “Well, after poor Wilfrid’s failed attempt at cutting down the tree, the Fuchsburgers were more inclined to be pagans than ever. Their gods had won out, it seemed. Ah, but not every missionary is a dull Wilfrid. A few years later, a clever fellow named Eadwine came to Fuchsburg to do what Wilfrid had failed to do. But instead of felling the tree, he declared that it was holy. Not divine, of course. It was not imbued with mystic power. It was not the home of gods. But, he said, the tree clearly was blessed by God, and in seeking to destroy it, Wilfrid had clearly been inspired by the Devil. For, Eadwine proclaimed, after much prayer and contemplation, the tree had been planted in the ground at the very moment of the Resurrection as a sign of God’s grace and everlasting redemption. Or something like that. And the Fuchsburgers, pleased to know that their land had been so blessed, suddenly found the faith of the Franks to be far more palatable than before. And that is the story of the Fuchsburg tree.”
Ekaterine laughed and clapped her hands.
“You’re all pagans here in the West,” she said. “I knew it! I knew it all along!”
Varanus shook her head and said, “What she means to say is that it is a marvelous story, and we both enjoyed it.”
“Good!” Friedrich exclaimed. “We are very proud of our tree here in Fuchsburg and of its story also. It is a national treasure.”
“So you built the castle around the tree?” Varanus asked.
“Oh, not quite,” Friedrich said. “The first Fuchsburg castle was built alongside it. And then when that was torn down, the second castle—the castle of stone—was built on the same spot. When we enlarged the castle in the 16th Century, the walls were extended to surround the tree. And when, about a hundred years later, some of the burghers in Fuchsburg began placing decorated trees inside their homes at Christmastime, we decided to decorate ours as well. And we have done so ever since.”
“I think it’s good to have customs and traditions,” Varanus said, giving an approving nod.
“Pagan customs and traditions,” Ekaterine interjected.
Varanus ignored her.
“It gives the people a shared sense of community.”
“A pagan community,” Ekaterine said.
“Oh hush,” Varanus told her.
Friedrich laughed at them and tried t
o hide it in a cough. It was not especially convincing.
“Do you know what we need?” he asked.
“A warm fire?” Ekaterine suggested. She rubbed her hands together, shivering a bit.
“Yes!” Friedrich exclaimed. “Yes, a fire and some mulled wine!”
“To the kitchens?” Varanus asked.
Her son’s propensity for drink was troubling, but at the moment it was also a little bit endearing.
“To the red parlor,” Friedrich corrected. “I know for a fact that there is a cozy fire already in the fireplace. One is always kept burning through Christmas in case we wish to view the tree through the windows that look out upon it.”
“Marvelous,” Varanus said.
That would be a much shorter walk, and it would hopefully involve being troubled by fewer overly helpful servants.
“And as for the wine,” Friedrich said, “I have a special bottle waiting for just such an occasion as this. My family reunited here in Fuchsburg! It is the perfect time for it. I shall just go to my rooms to fetch it.”
“Shall we accompany you?” Varanus asked, a little dubiously. “A tower room would be something of a climb.”
Friedrich laughed as he led them to the door.
“No, no,” he said, “no need to trouble yourselves. You two just settle yourselves in the parlor, and I shall return in, oh…call it five minutes’ time.” He grinned. “If I’ve not returned by then, send out the guard!”
* * * *
Friedrich hurried to his rooms in the north tower, a smile upon his lips. Mother and Aunt Ekaterine were just as he had hoped they would be: kind, learned, reassuring. They were not at all like normal relatives. They were neither demanding nor dismissive of him, which was very peculiar. And though both repeatedly called him by the wrong name, each time they did so, it seemed they spoke with more genuine feeling than anyone had ever done in the past when saying his proper name. However strange their behavior, Friedrich was delighted by it.
He found the door to his rooms unlocked, which startled him. He was certain he had locked it before departing that morning. He often did, out of habit really. He liked his privacy. Perhaps the chambermaid had forgotten to lock it again after cleaning. It was an innocent thing, not at all significant, but somehow it made him feel uneasy.
But as Friedrich entered the tower, he saw nothing amiss. A fire was burning in the fireplace of the lowermost room, a comfortable if somber parlor where Friedrich could entertain guests privately—not that he often had guests to entertain, save for the occasional school friend from the University of Fuchsburg.
Friedrich climbed the open staircase that circled the interior of the tower. He passed his study on the next floor. The fire there was not lit, but the fireplace in each room shared a common flue, and the heat from the parlor warmed everything above it. Next came his laboratory with its beakers and cabinets, the smell of chemicals, and the hum of electricity; then came the dressing room with the cedar wardrobes and mahogany bureau and the Chinese folding screen that he had no use for but rather liked in appearance.
At the top of the tower was his bedroom, with his four-poster bed, the porcelain-lined bathtub filled and emptied by indoor pipes he had installed himself, and of course the drinks cabinet where he kept his most expensive liquors under lock and key. But this room was not as he had left it, for as he arrived, Friedrich saw Aunt Ilse standing by the door to the outside terrace, gazing out at the night through the French windows. Hearing his approach, she turned to face him and smiled.
“Friedrich…” Ilse purred, walking slowly toward him. “I had wondered when you would arrive. You forced me to wait so long.…”
“Auntie, what are you doing here?” Friedrich demanded. “How did you get in?”
Ilse smiled at him and said, “Oh, Friedrich, you ask the silliest questions sometimes. You know that I have a key for every room in the castle. And you cannot bar your door when you leave.” She said this in a singsong manner, as if it were terribly amusing. Frowning sadly, she said, “You never answer your door when I knock, so I came to wait for you.”
Friedrich walked to the drinks cabinet and opened it. After a few moments of searching, he found what he was after: one of the seven bottles remaining of the 1814 vintage, which had been mulled with the finest herbs and spices in commemoration of the first victory over Napoleon. It seemed fitting to drink it to celebrate his first ever Christmas with his mother.
“That is because I prefer my privacy, Auntie,” Friedrich said. “Before I began locking my door, you would intrude without knocking. Even when I was still abed or in the bath.”
“Yes, you silly boy,” Ilse said. “And you put up that Oriental screen to hide the bathtub.…”
“I had two in my dressing room,” Friedrich replied, locking the cabinet, “and no need for either where they were.”
Ilse smirked and ran her fingertips along the screen—a near twin to the one in the room below, for they appeared to have been a matched set acquired by some relation during a trade venture a hundred years ago.
“Yes, and that still didn’t stop me from gazing upon my darling nephew, did it?” she asked.
Friedrich frowned at this and asked, “Auntie, what do you want?”
“Why, to see you, of course, my beautiful Friedrich,” Ilse said.
She closed the remaining distance between them and gently stroked Friedrich’s cheek with her fingertips. At her touch, Friedrich pulled away.
Ilse looked displeased.
“Have you been avoiding me, Friedrich?” she asked.
“Ah…no, no, of course not,” Friedrich said, trying to smile. “It is only that I have been so very busy attending to Mother and Aunt Ekaterine.… I must be a good host, you know.”
Ilse smiled again and fluttered her eyes at him.
“I understand, Friedrich, truly I do,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “But you must also attend to me, you know. You have been gone for so very long, Friedrich, and without any warning. It has been agony for me.”
Friedrich tried to pull away, but Ilse did not let him go.
“Auntie, I—”
“Shhh, shhh,” Ilse said, placing a fingertip against Friedrich’s lips to silence him.
Then, taking Friedrich’s head in her hands, Ilse pulled him toward her and pressed her lips to his. Friedrich stiffened at the kiss and struggled, but Ilse held him tightly and would not let go. It was like every kiss they had shared over the years—“shared”, Auntie would say, as if Friedrich had ever once initiated such a thing. At first Ilse’s lips were so warm and soft. She looked so beautiful, smelled so beautiful, tasted so beautiful. Any man would be blessed to enjoy her affections.…
But as always, there lurked in Friedrich’s stomach a sickness, an unease that made his mouth taste bitter whenever it was touched by hers. He felt such shame whenever Ilse touched him, made all the worse by whatever tinge of pleasure he took from it. And he knew what would follow: guilt. Guilt at the act. Guilt at enjoying it. And above all guilt at feeling guilty for it, for though every part of him told him that it was utterly unnatural to do such things, still it was so horrid and ungrateful of him to despise Auntie’s love. She had told him as much time and time again, whenever he doubted, whenever he resisted, over and over until he hated himself whether he accepted or tried to refuse. For surely his aunt loved him and he loved her, but the voice in his head screamed that it was not that kind of love!
The bottle fell from his fingertips and struck the floor.
“No!” he cried, thrusting Ilse away. “No, I will not do this!”
Ilse drew back and laughed.
“Oh, Friedrich,” she said, as if charmed by his resistance, “what a foolish thing to say. Haven’t you learned by now? You always refuse at first, and in the end you always submit.”
Ilse reached for him again, and Friedrich grabbed her by the wrists, forcing her to stand away.
“Not this time,” he said. “And never again.”
&nb
sp; “I never should have let you go to the funeral,” Ilse said, looking more disappointed than anything else. “You have changed since last I saw you. You are different. Willful. I shall have to remind you of how delicious life can be when you obey me!”
She made to approach him again, but Friedrich kept his grip firm and held her back.
“No,” he said. “Never again. Never.”
“How will you stop me?” Ilse asked. She pouted a little. “Will you…hit me? Your own flesh and blood? Will you raise your hand against me like a beast?”
The question made Friedrich feel nauseous and weak. Indeed, he had hit Auntie once, early on when he had been unable to flee from her advances. He had struck her and immediately hated himself for it, for surely he was a brute and a coward if he could raise his hand against a woman, against his own aunt who loved him so much. And though he had given in immediately after, she did not allow him to forget how horrid he had been. For months she had burst into tears at the sight of him and would not stop crying until he held her in his arms and pretended to enjoy it.
At the recollection, his hands grew weak, and he dropped Ilse’s arms. He was a beast. A fiend. An ungrateful child who refused the tenderness and love of the woman who had raised him. What sort of horrible creature recoiled at the touch of a beloved aunt?
“That’s right, Friedrich,” Ilse said, staring into his eyes and advancing on him. “You cannot fight me. You will not fight me. You know that this is right and beautiful. We were always meant to be together, ever since your father died. You were meant to take his place. Why else should you look so like him, if our love were not ordained by Nature?”
“Auntie, please—”
Ilse continued her advance, placing her hands upon Friedrich’s chest and pushing him slowly backward toward the bed. Friedrich struggled to resist, but each time he tried to push her away, all he saw were memories of Auntie sobbing at his cruelty, ingratitude, and neglect.
“I have sacrificed so much for you, Friedrich,” Ilse said. “So much. I gave up my youth for you! Before you were born, I was courted by young men from the finest families in Europe. But then I agreed to take you in, to raise you as if you were my own child.… And this is how you repay me? By refusing my love?”
A Cautionary Tale for Young Vampires Page 45
