Crimson's Captivation

by Melange Books, LLC

  The caretakers, near the fireplace, approached a table near the pool. They carefully poured water from a cask marked with a single crucifix into a large silver bowl. They opened a wooden case and collected the branding iron inside.

  Each of the chambermaids gathered a mortar and pestle from the table near the edge of the pool and crushed herbs into a gelatinized fluid, added the mixture to the silver bowl then coated the exposed inner left wrist of the captives.

  Crimson could feel the effects of the coating. It tingled on her skin and seemed to evaporate, leaving the patch of skin on her inner wrist numb and cold.

  “What are they doing?” she asked in Sena’s direction.

  “Numbing the skin for the iron.”

  The caretakers marked the young man across from Sena first. They dipped the head of the branding iron into the holy water and herb mixture and placed it to his skin, it seared but the man did not cry out. They then moved to Sena and repeated the process.

  “Does it hurt?” Crimson asked when they finished branding Sena.

  “No, but we will branded for life.”

  Crimson cringed when the caretakers approached her. She didn’t watch. She heard the sizzle when the head of the iron made contact with her skin, the smell of wintergreen filled her nostrils. The caretakers left the pool and returned to their positions near the fireplace. Crimson leaned her head as far as her extended arm in the cuff would allow, and could see the mark, a large “T” with a small “o” over the stem of the T.

  She immediately despised the finality of it. Mark or no mark, she didn’t belong to anyone but herself.

  Chapter IV

  ~ The Trade ~

  Throughout the night, horns broadcasting orders and battle cries through the night’s air merged with the sounds of galloping horses and men marching in regular intervals. Just when Viktor’s mind would enter the delicate threshold of sleep, Swedish forces that were on the move would awaken him. Memories of Crimson tried to flee but Viktor wouldn’t allow them. The inner fight to remember kept him awake, and because of this and the noise, he didn’t sleep well through the night.

  The sun arrived from the direction of Finland, peeked over the Baltic Sea and he woke to the thundering sound of another company of cavalry galloping by. He draped an animal hide over his shoulders and warmed his hands and feet near the remaining embers of the campfire. When warm and awake, he tore a hunk of bread from his loaf, ate one of the apples, and leaned against the willow he and Crimson called their own. Mindlessly, he watched a company of men head toward the port. His mind was elsewhere as he planned out his search for Crimson. An officer backtracked and approached his camp.

  “Sir, you didn’t stay out in the open this last evening?” the officer asked. His horse snorted and pranced around the campsite.

  Viktor stood and tossed water on the embers of the dying fire. The fire hissed and steamed. He grabbed the reins of the officer’s horse, trying to quiet the animal. “Yes, I’m on a quest to find my love.” Viktor offered the officer a hunk of bread and the apple core to the powerful horse.

  The officer’s horse refused the apple. The animal wanted to run, grew even more restless and plodded around the camp snorting and neighing. The horses of the cavalry had always impressed Viktor; they were pure testosterone and seemed to relish the carnage of the battlefield.

  The officer dismounted and took the bread from Viktor. “I’m Colonel Stenboch. There are dangers here of which you may not be aware, lad. I suggest you stay in the safety of the palace during the night. You shouldn’t stay out at night.”

  “I’m no child. I’m aware of the danger you speak and fear my Crimson …”

  The Colonel interrupted. “The dangers I contend. The Danish have invaded Schleswig. We have amassed and are heading to the defense of our ally. And, the damned rogue horrors of the night—we captured an injured shadow walker just before dawn, not far from here. An alert pike man found the creature in a tree, his pike missed the creature’s heart but pinned his flesh to the trunk of the tree. The creature actually began to pull the pike through his own wound, inching his way toward the pike man. Can you imagine? These horrors are not men, simple and true.”

  The mention of the capture of a horror peaked Viktor’s interest. “Where is he, this captive? I must speak with him.”

  “I do not think that wise. Did you not hear that the creature pulled his way along the pike to get to my soldier? They are dangerous.”

  “Sir, I am Viktor, nephew of Christian Albrecht of Holstein-Gottorp and favored subject of Princess Sophia. I demand to see this vampire. I insist.”

  The Colonel surveyed the dress and mannerisms of the young man and besides, he didn’t have time to deal with the captive; defense of the homeland was far more important. “I cannot stop the progress of an entire company for your whims, lad. If you wish, you may take the prisoner to the slayer in Nyberg. Are you familiar with the area? You are to find Johan.”

  Viktor lied, “Yes, I know Johan personally and will accept the mission.” He did not intend to take the vampire anywhere. The creature would be interrogated and die on this very spot if need be. This capture could be his most promising lead. His search was refreshed and powered by his new vigor.

  The colonel mounted his horse and looked down at Viktor. “Wait here. I will have the quartermaster release the prisoner to your care.” The powerful horse reared on its hind legs and he was off in a flash in the direction of the back of the company.

  Moments later the colonel returned to the camp with another officer bringing up the rear. The second officer had a packhorse in tow, tethered by rope and introduced himself as the quartermaster. The introductions were brief and curt. He nimbly dismounted, tied the horse with a covered body slumped over its back to a low hanging branch in the willow. Without a word, the quartermaster immediately mounted and thundered off to rejoin the company.

  The colonel, still on his uneasy horse, eyed Viktor and warned, “The horror is injured but still dangerous. Proceed to Nyberg with great haste. Do not remove the blanket else the creature will burn in the sun and will most certainly escape.” The colonel laughed a fiendish laugh, as if it were drawn from the depths of hell. The hell born laughter ricocheted off the willows, scampered across the lake in angst and sent chills down Viktor’s spine. He knew that in mere moments he was going to be alone with a creature that would kill him without hesitation.

  Fear imposed itself and choked Viktor as he watched the colonel speed off to the front of the cavalry. He felt the lump in his throat. It was now just he and the creature, but Viktor wanted answers and pushed away the fear just enough to lift the edge of the blanket. The sun seared the newly exposed hand of the creature and the horror immediately curled and clawed its way back under the shadows of the blanket. The sudden agile movement startled Viktor and he stepped backward, tripped over his bedding and landed on the seat of his pants.

  His mind raced with hazards. He had last seen a vampire in Germany. Back then, the creature was dead but somehow held in suspension before turning to dust. Viktor, eight years old at the time, was too afraid to closely inspect the creature. He’d inched toward the glass coffin and focused on the tip of the nearest fang. His heart pounded and palms became sweaty. He was afraid that at any moment the creature would spring to life, smash through the glass and tear at his throat. His uncle, seeing the boy was afraid, snuck up behind him and clapped his hands loudly. Viktor ran from the exhibit. The memory caused his heart to race all these years later.

  He paced around the camp contemplating the safest way to interrogate the creature then he had an idea. He packed up the camp, tethered the packhorse carrying the creature to his own and rode north.

  He found the perfect rye field and trotted to the middle of it. The field was large and recently planted, the shoots barely breaking the ground. Most importantly, not a shadow existed for the creature to run and take cover. It was perfect, a wide-open field with the heavenly sun above.

  Viktor dismo
unted and drove a stake into the ground. Then he tied the rein of the packhorse to it. He tied a rope to a corner of the blanket, wrapped the other end around the reins of his horse, and then walked his animal a good distance from the creature.

  Viktor shouted in the direction of the creature, “Listen, I know you can hear me. I will ask you some questions for which I demand answers. If you do not answer, or try to harm me—I have rope tied to the blanket that protects you from the sun. The other end is tied to my horse. One order from me and the blanket will be jerked off your soulless body and you will be exposed to the sun. Do you hear me?”

  There was no response, and this made Viktor nervous. He was sure the creature was planning his death. “Do you hear? Speak now!” he shouted.

  The creature responded, “Yes.” His voice was almost a growl and he swiftly turned under the blanket to face Viktor.

  “Good, good.” Viktor’s heart pounded in his chest and crawled into his throat. He slowly approached the packhorse. “You were captured not far from here. Where there’s one of you, there are others. I want to know what happens to the young women you take?”

  “I take and feed.” The creature grunted.

  “Yes, but what of the bodies? I’m looking for my love—Princess Crimson. Missing five days now.”

  “A princess? Is she of royal blood?” The creature groaned.

  “Yes, yes she is,” Viktor responded, surprised by the excitement in his words. “What happens to these women? Were you here five nights ago?”

  “Yes, I know of the princess. It is the tracker you seek.”

  The response caught Viktor off guard and he suspiciously wondered if the creature was lying. “You know of Crimson? You had better not be messing with me or I swear I will send you to a fiery hell.”

  Viktor could see the creature moving under the blanket. It hunched up on the back of the packhorse and Viktor stepped backwards fearful the creature was about to lunge toward him. The creature tossed something from under the blanket. It fell among the green shoots of the field and captivated the rays of the morning sun. Viktor carefully approached and found the item. He kneeled, collected the chain and immediately recognized it. “This is the necklace I gave her. Where did you get it?”

  “A gift from the tracker.”

  “A gift? Where can I find this tracker? What is his name?”

  The creature grumbled under the blanket. “So many questions … My answers would come more clearly in the darkness of the forest.” The creature's tone changed to that of hope, to that of a barterer.

  “No! Your answers will come now or you will once and only once see the light of day.” Viktor walked away from the creature while moving his horse away. The blanket slowly lifted and began to slide off the creature.

  The creature hissed under the blanket and grabbed its fabric. “Stop!”

  Viktor halted the horse. “Speak then. I am losing my patience with you.”

  Invisible hands mounded folds of the blanket, pulling it down over the packhorse. The creature spoke. “Yes, our worlds are black and white. Without gray, there should be no dilemma but there is my lord, and it braves the distance between my answers and your questions. If you want the name. If you want the location. Then we must close that distance, my Lord. We must reach an understanding.”

  Viktor stared at the diamond in the palm of his hand. He let the gold chain of Crimson’s necklace sift through his fingers like fine sand. The clasp was broken and he feared the worst. He kissed the diamond and placed it in his pocket. “What is your suggestion creature? I’m not foolish enough to take you to the shadows.”

  “Not foolish but you must.” The creature rotated under the blanket. “There! Take me along the tree line north of here, away from the troops and, when I tell you the answers, simply slap this animal on the ass and I will be off. You will have your answers and I my safety.” A sucking sound from the creature reminded Viktor of the fangs, of what this horror was.

  Viktor thought for a moment. “Very well. I will take you closer to the tree line but I have no qualms in killing you.” Viktor untied the reins of the packhorse from the stake and held them as they headed toward the tree line. He stopped on a side road that bordered the rye field. “This is as close as I will take you, give me the answers.”

  The creature lifted the blanket just enough to see the forest to his north. Satisfied that he was close enough to the safety of the forest, he gave the answers. “His name is Kieran and he has taken your princess to the auction house in Poland.”

  “Where in Poland?”

  “Don’t know but ask any elder in your court, they will know of Kieran and they will know of the trade.”

  Viktor didn’t believe the creature and turned the team of horses back toward the middle of the field.

  “What are you doing?” the creature yelped.

  “I don’t believe you. Princess Sophia would know nothing of such trade. There is honor in her court.”

  The creature beseeched, “She may not be a patron but she knows. They all do!”

  Viktor kept heading toward the middle of the field ignoring the creature’s lies. The blanket suddenly thrust into the air and the creature made a break for the trees. He screamed as the sunlight burned and marred his skin. Viktor watched the blanket float and settle onto the field, all the while hoping the sun’s rays would slaughter the creature.

  The creature made it to the safety of the trees, howled out in pain. “Do not leave, my Lord! Truth hides in the shadows!” His scream was powerful and full of rage as he quickly moved through the shadows.

  Viktor stopped and looked for the creature in the dark canopy of spruce. He saw a limb sag under his weight and waited.

  The creature scouted Viktor from the bow of a tree. Smoke rose from his hair, cheeks and scorched hands. He yelled, “I tell you this so that I may have my revenge one day. Your countess knows. They all do. I will see you again in the depths of hell that is Poland. I am Kieran’s brother. Remember my name. It’s Caspian.”

  Viktor yelled back, “We will meet again, Caspian. And so your hunt isn’t in vain, I am Viktor, but you will know me, for I wear the crown of death for you and your vile brother—for any that have harmed Crimson. The sun had mercy on you today but I will not.” With that, he dug into his horse’s side and galloped south toward Karlberg Palace to confront Sophia.

  Caspian licked his wounds, picked the charred skin from his cheeks and arms. He watched Viktor gallop across the field. He mused aloud and the words seethed off his lips as a noxious whisper, “Mercy is as modesty, in exile, my dear prince.”

  Chapter V

  ~ To Russia with War ~

  One would think the Baltic Sea couldn’t carry enough ships to hold ten thousand men, let alone an army of men numbering near the seventy thousand mark with all their supplies and provisions, but she did. King Charles XII made his way to the stern of his lead galleon. There floating behind him on a sea of translucent water was his navy, two hundred ships strong. Their sails filled with the cool august air and the blue and yellow pennants of Sweden flapped toward Russia, their destination. The wind was strong and at their backs as they floated toward their enemy.

  King Charles XII was an astute seaman, and while his generals felt the gods were on their side, suggesting that if they weren’t then the sea would rage and slam the ships into each other, the young king understood that the wind currents pushed west to the north and east toward the south over the Baltic. The Siberian winter would wreak havoc on the northern waters before she slowly dipped south.

  For this reason the generals struggled with the king’s offensive nature, he never seemed to halt and let a victory marinate; he was in their words, “always on the offensive.” They questioned why he moved so quickly from outmaneuvering the Danish at Copenhagen. His generals felt they should celebrate the decisive victory that caused the Denmark-Norway alliance to withdraw from the war in August of 1700, mere months after declaring war.

  “I know this sea and
I know men,” King Charles had answered.

  He knew the sea would be his ally only for a short number of weeks. He knew the warm air currents would narrow and eventually squeeze the sea path, so that only a supply line could be maintained, and even that wasn’t a certainty. The sea had a penchant for becoming dreadful. At any moment the winds could stall, the hurricanes could ravage and leave entire fleets at its bottom. The sea had no oath to the men that travelled her; she had no loyalty to men whatsoever.

  A general joined the king the stern of the ship. “My king, the gods of wind favor us this day. Only Homer could envision such a navy. Helen of Troy would be jealous of such a show of force, and rightfully so. The sea has never looked as beautiful as she does today. Our flags rule the open sea.”

  The king watched the wild sunset flicker on the water’s surface, watched his ships lurch forward on his self-proclaimed sea. “We are making excellent time, General, and soon we will be at port in Riga. Then the real battle begins. Denmark was just a test of our resolve, of our cunning. To be sure, we weren’t lucky. We conquered, as we should have done. The Russians, I fear, will be much more of a formidable opponent.”

  “None are in fear under the blue and yellow, sir. The commanders still think we should have taken a diplomatic approach. Our exploits at Copenhagen could have been used to our advantage, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The king turned away from the general. “Of diplomacy I say this: the sword has to do the best for it does not jest.”

  The general looked upon the ships’ sails that covered the horizon. They reminded him of a column of grounded clouds, all embolden with the breath of the gods. In his heart, the connection was as resolute as a chorus of angelic voices, blessing Sweden with a quick and crucial conquest. The angelic songs filled the sails and empowered his men. “Do you fear the Russians because the land is theirs?” the general asked, his chest swollen with pride.