by Rachel Ford
I tried to move, but it was hopeless. Whereas before a lethargy beyond my willpower to overcome held me in place, there was no such mental barrier now. It was a physical barrier. No matter how I willed myself to move, my body did not respond. “Pavel,” I cried. Or perhaps it was only in my head that I spoke. I do not know. “Pavel.”
My brother's face, beyond the monster's back, was visible to me, as I lay there, and the creature too, his body hovering over Pavel's, convulsing with greedy eagerness. And Pavel...
I saw the life ebb out of him. I heard his cries grow weak, and then cease. I saw his body go limp. A numbness seemed to settle on me as I watched all of this. I do not know if it was the absolute grip of despair, or death; but my grief weighed heavier on me until, at last, I felt nothing. I was as cold as the evening around me, as the snow that covered me.
The sun was high in the morning sky when next I opened my eyes. A shudder convulsed my body, as I recalled the hideous dreams that had plagued me. “Vampires.” I was cold, very cold, and as I stared upward I wondered where I was. I felt something over me, a covering, so I thought I must be home; but I was under the open skies, with trees towering overhead.
I sat bolt upright, my gaze taking in where I was. Reality mixed with dream, or what I thought must be phantasms of my mind's conjuring, and I shuddered again. I was in the forest, the place where the Thing had murdered me and Pavel in my dream. “It was a dream, at least, wasn't it?” I wondered in desperation.
“Pavel!” If I could only find my brother alive, I would know it was but a strange vision. I was alive, after all. I could not be alive, if it were more than a dream. “Pavel!”
The distant squawking of some bird, and the flutter of wings that followed, was the only answer I received. Desperation welled in me. “Pavel!” I saw now that the covering was only snow, a few inches of it, and I brushed it off brusquely.
No wonder I was so cold. It would be a miracle if I did not lose fingers or toes after such an exposure, I chided myself. But at least, I was not dead. “Pavel!”
Again, dead silence. I stood, surveying the woods. There were no tracks, no sign of human being or even animal. Perhaps I had fallen, or been injured, I reasoned. Perhaps Pavel had left to get help. Yes, that must be it. Pavel was gone back to Vale. They would be looking for me. I must go there. I would find Pavel there.
I looked to the sky to get my bearing, and then headed toward my village. I had gone a few steps, barely begun to run, when my foot caught something, and I plunged headlong into the snow. Issuing a curse, I threw a momentary glare at the object that had tripped me.
But it was no root, no stump or ill placed clump of undergrowth. I felt sick to my core. “Pavel,” I whimpered, not realizing that I was shaking convulsively. “Oh my God. Pavel!”
I ran to my brother – for that is what it was that tripped me: my brother's frozen body – and turned him round. His eyes, those same dark eyes that I remembered for as long as I could remember anything, stared back at me. But there was no mirth in them now. There was only the last glimpses of terror, made dull by death. “Pavel!”
I knew then, of course, that it had been no dream. Pavel was dead, killed by a monster from old men's stories. I don't know how long I stayed there, rocking his lifeless body. I think, for awhile, I was gone quite mad, for I did not move, save for that one repetitive gesture, and I repeated his name again and again between sobs.
I did not think how it was that I had survived, when I had fallen so certainly into Death's net. I did not wonder how it was that now the bones that had broken were healed. I did not even contemplate why the monster had let me go unscathed. I was lost to grief, and guilt.
I saw my own part in my brother's death as clear as if had been laid out before me by a magistrate. It had been I who urged him to continue, I who insisted that we stay out so late. Even at the end, when the monster seized him, it had been because he stepped between me – idiot, damned idiot that I was – as I attempted so feeble an attack.
That was how the villagers found us. They had sent out a party, of course, to search for us. Pavel and I were expected back the evening before, and when evening passed with no sign of us, the men of the village, my father and friends, came to find us.
I remember little of it – as I say, I was between sanity and madness that morning. I remember that they pried my brother from my hands, and I remember the pyre on which they burnt him. I remember my mother's weeping, and the wailing of the village women who spoke of monsters returned to destroy their children. I do not remember the return journey to Vale, though, or telling the story of what had happened. I know that I must have done so, for they knew the details of it afterward. I suppose I must have been babbling, in some all but incoherent way, and that they might have pieced the story together from that. But I do not remember.
What I do remember is what followed. I remember the village priest, coming to call. We spoke of salvation, and of God, and of heaven and hell. I remember my mother's troubled eyes, whenever they would rest on me. I remember that my father took to praying the rosary.
I took these things to be evidence of my culpability in my brother's death, and evidence that I was not the only one to see it. As I have said before, mine was not the sharpest wit, and after the attack it seemed slower even than usual. I walked about always as if I were in a stupor, a drunken haze.
Time did not mend it. Indeed, as the days passed it seemed only to worsen. My appetite, too, waned. There was no food to satisfy me. I was hungry – there was always a hunger that burned in my soul then – but nothing set before me could induce me to eat.
I was cold, too. That, I think, was worse than the hunger. It did not matter how many furs I wrapped around me, or how great the fire I sat at; no warmth reached me. I would be warm to the touch – my mother would smile, and say that I was getting better when I sat by the fire. But I could not feel it.
The days wore on, until a fortnight had passed. My ailments kept me mostly indoors, but I could see that men judged me, and held me accountable for Pavel's death, when I ventured out. The glances were quick and furtive, but never kind. People, my friends, kept their distance, and doors that had never closed on me were now locked with no one at home when I knocked.
Wretchedly is too kind a word for how I spent those two weeks. I was a murderer, or as near as, in my own eyes and the eyes of everyone I knew.
And then the bishop arrived. Father Andrei was the local priest, a good man, making up in piety what he lacked in wits. Bishop Luca was another man altogether. He was Romanian by heritage, but Roman by inclination. He was Father Andrei's superior, in station and most other aspects as well. Everyone said so, and with a measure of justice, for Bishop Luca was a man well schooled in all subjects, quick witted and clever, and regal in appearance. Whereas Father Andrei dressed in simple attire as befit a simple village priest, the bishop regaled villagers wherever he went in his fine robes and Roman styles.
The entire village, or nearly so, had turned out to watch Bishop Luca's arrival, and I was among them. My mother and sisters remained indoors, and my father had gone out that morning, so as it happened I was the only member of my family who was present; but most of the rest of Vale had joined me. The bishop's bright robes, and then the rest of the man, came into view. Glad cheering greeted the sight. Father Andrei alone, of all the rest gathered there, was silent. He seemed, to my dull eyes, uncomfortable; but Father Andrei was always uncomfortable in Bishop Luca's presence.
So the bishop arrived, greeted the villagers who had turned out for him on that cold morning, and retreated to the Father's residence.
I, in turn, went to my own home. It had seemed, somehow, exhilarating to know that the bishop was coming. That was always a thing of excitement. But now that he was come, my familiar lethargy returned. I went to my room, and settled in for a nap.
Sleep had become my refuge of late. It was the one comfort, the one thing that came easily. After the attack, I had feared to sleep. I thought m
y dreams would be plagued by the horrible events that had taken my brother from me. But the nightmares did not come. Indeed, no dreams at all came; just the peace of emptiness.
I had settled into that quiet repose, wrapped in a fur that brought me no warmth, when a rough shake drew me, unwillingly, to wakefulness. I blinked into the mid-afternoon light that filled my room, and then, as my eyes adjusted, to the anxious face that surveyed me. “Radu!”
“Mother?”
“Radu, you must wake.”
I pushed myself upward quickly, though the motion made my head feel light. “What is it, Mother?” Anxiety, though I had no cause, clutched at my chest. I had been cagey since the attack, and the slightest irregularity brought new terrors to my mind. And my mother's expression was anything but regular.
“Radu, listen to me, son. The bishop...do you know why he is come?”
I shook my head. I had not thought of a reason. It seemed a perfectly natural thing for him to do, one that he did every so often.
“Because...because of you, Radu. The village...the village has appealed to him.”
Then I understood. “You mean...because of what happened to Pavel?” The glares, the unforgiving stares, the shoulders that turned on me as I neared...it had all been leading up to this, hadn't it?
“Yes, Radu. And...and what happened to you.”
I nodded, almost resignedly. “The bishop will judge me, then?”
“Judge you? Yes, I suppose you may call it that. But the men have made up their minds already, all but Father Andrei; and the bishop will not be long in the persuading, I do not doubt.”
I nodded again. “It is no more than I deserve, mother,” I said. “Pavel warned me. I would not listen. It is my fault, as much as the monster's, that he is dead.” My mother frowned, and the look in her brown eyes gave me pause. “That is why he is here, isn't it? To condemn me for my part in my brother's death?”
She shook her head more adamantly, and a wisp of gray, a tendril of creeping age against the backdrop of brown, slipped from place. “No, my child. Not for that. They do not blame you for that; no one could have anticipated it. But...but they say that you...that you are become a...a monster.”
I stared, uncomprehendingly. “A monster?”
“Yes, Radu. Like...like the Thing that...”
She trailed off, but, at last, my mind had gathered the thread of her thoughts. “That killed Pavel?” I choked out the words, and they burned my throat as I spoke them. “That I am become like that?” I shook my head vehemently, even as she nodded. “No, no,” I protested. “It's not true, Mother. You see me: I am Radu, the same as before. I am not a monster!”
She nodded, and shook her head at the same time. “Quiet, my boy,” she cautioned. “Your father may return soon; and he cannot know that I have told you this.”
“Father?” I said. My understanding was slipping again. I did not see why this should be hidden from my father. “Does he not know?”
“No.” Her face grew graver. “He...he was one of the men to call the bishop.”
A strangled sound, a vocalized expression of the despairing wonder that seized me, escaped my throat. But my mother's face was stern, and serious, and she took me by the shoulders, saying, “Listen to me, Radu. You were bitten by that Thing, yes?” I nodded numbly. “And yet you live.” I nodded again, though it was not a question. “They say that a man who is bitten is cursed: that he becomes a monster himself.” I tried to shake my head, but she did not stop. “You have changed, Radu – you must admit. You do not eat, anymore. You are cold as the grave. You stay indoors when the sun is up. Sometimes, when you are angry, your eyes flash red.”
“But I am not...I am not one of those things,” I protested.
“Quiet, and listen,” she continued. “I do not know what has or hasn't happened, my child. Father Andrei says it might be the injuries, the night you spent in the wood. I cannot say. But what I do know is this: you are not a monster.”
I nodded, relief filling me with this vindication. For a moment, I had feared that my mother might have succumbed to these lies.
“You are my son, Radu, and you are a good boy. Whatever that monster has done, you are still my Radu.”
“You will tell the bishop?” I pleaded. “You will make him see reason, him and my father?”
She shook her head. “No. They will not listen to me.” I opened my mouth to argue, but she silenced me with a quick wave of her hand. “Believe me, my boy, I have tried.”
“But if they do not believe me-”
“You must act quickly,” she declared. “The council is gathered now, but they will not long be in deliberations. You must go, Radu.”
“Go? But...but where?”
She shook her head. “I don't know. But you must leave this place, and go far, far away.”
I contemplated the thought for a moment, and with a measure of fear. I had never been far away from my village, and only then with my father. I had no notion of the world beyond these forests and fields. “Where would I go?” I asked numbly. “There is nowhere...”
“Do not be ridiculous, Radu,” my mother said sharply. “There is a wide world beyond here, where you can be safe.”
I shook my head. “Let me speak to father,” I pleaded. “Let me speak to Bishop Luca. They will understand that I am not what they say I am.”
“They will tie you atop a pyre and burn you,” my mother contradicted. It was said simply, without emotion; there was no need for added emphasis.
I nodded slowly. My childish impulses could not argue with that simple truth. The village was already convinced that I was a monster. Their testimony would be hard to discount, and with my father's added? There would be no question. And the fate of monsters like what I was accused of being? Well, it was death by fire. “Where do I go?”
“Away from here,” my mother said. “As fast as you can. I have gathered provisions.” A shadow crossed her face. “Food, if you find your appetite, and water and clothes.”
I nodded numbly. “Thank you, Mother.”
She brought her hand to my cheek, and gazed into my eyes. There was a sheen of moisture on her own, but her voice was clear as she spoke. “You are a good boy, Radu. You have always been a good boy. Not as clever as your brother, but a solid, good boy. No monster can ever change that. Now listen. If there is any truth in what they say – no, no, just listen. If there is any truth in what they say, you will find that you have abilities beyond what you are used to. Use them for good, my child. And if it is not, if they are wrong, well, as I say, you are a good, steady boy. And that will be of aid to you wherever you go. Now you must leave.”
CHAPTER THREE
I followed my mother's instructions. I gathered up the pack she'd prepared for me, and fled. No one seemed to notice my leaving, and I got out of the village without incident. When I reached the edge of the forest, I paused.
Whatever my mother's urgency had convinced me of, my own mind had been working eagerly to refute such notions. It was madness, I told myself. I was not a monster. Whatever I had accused myself of, whatever censure my own selfishness had earned, this was guilt beyond my deserving. To attribute such an evil to me was beyond thinking. No, surely, my mother must have got it wrong. Bishop Luca could not believe such a thing of me. Father, my own father, could not think it.
I had half made up my mind to turn around, and head back and demand answers from them all, when a shout from the village came to my ears.
It was an unusual sound – not the shout of boys playing, or the yip of a dog, but a high, urgent call. My ears perked up. To my surprise, I could hear with unusual clarity the goings-on of the village; what would, normally, have been distant and dull, so great was the distance, was clear and crisp. I could make out words spoken and the tones they'd been spoken in with such clarity that I could almost envision the speaker in my mind's eye. I did not have long to contemplate it – a phenomenon I had of yet never encountered before – though. The words erased all wonder.
“He's gone!” That was my father's voice. “Ioana!”
“Petru?” came the answer. “What is it, husband?”
“Where is he? Where is Radu?”
“Radu? What do you mean? He was asleep. Have you looked -”
“Quick! He has escaped!”
I stood in a stupor, listening as the alarm was raised. I heard my friends' voices, Vasile, Alexandru, Stefan, and all the others. I heard Father Andrei, the lone voice protesting for calmness. I heard my sisters, weeping. I heard the gathering of weapons, and even the whooshing of fire taking light.
“Quickly!” the bishop cried. “Quickly, my children. He cannot have been gone long, but night will fall soon. We must find him before then, for the monster is strongest when the sun has set. Quickly! We cannot let such a monster loose, for God alone knows what havoc he will wreak.”
Then the tramping of feet, the crunching of snow, the rapid advance of a village full of men; I heard it all. I turned, heading expeditiously for the interior of the wood. No fear, now, of the monster that lurked within held me back. No delusions of my own safety convinced me to linger. I was thoroughly disabused of any such ideas.
I ran, as I had scarcely run before. Somehow, the muddling of my senses that had plagued me these last days seemed lessened. I suppose it was fear, fear that gave clarity to my thoughts. I knew, now, beyond a shadow of doubt that my friends and family considered me a monster.
It was late in the day when the chase began. The sky had begun to redden, though the sun yet lingered above the tree line. I found that running did not cost me the exertion that it had before, though I felt a greater hunger than I had known these last days. “Little wonder,” I thought, for I had eaten almost nothing since my rescue. But there was no time for that. I would have to get to safety before I could break bread.
