Lilah

by Gemma Liviero

  Laszlo smirked. ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘No,’ said Lucretia firmly. ‘We could kill you right now.’

  ‘And then where else would you find the power you seek? I have messengers on the ready if I don’t return. If I die Lewis will know of your betrayal and your deaths will follow.’

  ‘You are naught but a human king.’

  ‘It is not wise to make an enemy of me.’

  ‘You are no match for the strigoi,’ said Georgio. ‘I think it is us who hold the better cards.’

  ‘Possibly, but you have spent years hiding from humans like cowards, when such might and immortal skills could raise you up to rule; to be unafraid of who you are. I have tried in various ways – some unconventional – to persuade Lewis that a better alliance would help us both so as not to live in fear of ambush from our enemies.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A while back I bribed some imbeciles with just a small bag of coin to attack you. I knew I had sealed their deaths, and no doubt for their stupidity they deserved as much. You successfully diverted them away from the castle to a decrepit house, which I had no doubt would happen, but my plan to expose some weaknesses in your security was still not enough for Lewis to see my way of thinking.’

  ‘Traitor!’ cried Lucretia.

  ‘Then what are you, madam, planning your defection.’

  ‘Silence,’ said Giorgio looking around him to see that none from the other tables had heard her words, perhaps fearful also of strigoi spies. ‘We will listen. I do not want any trouble, Lucretia.’ He turned back to Laszlo.

  ‘And the Brodnici attack at the castle…was that you also?’

  Laszlo grinned. ‘No. That was not me. But it now makes sense why you approached me. You have lost complete faith in your leader and feel no longer safe.’

  Georgio realised he had lost some of the power in his bargaining. ‘Tell me what is it that you want?’

  ‘You know what that is.’

  ‘But we cannot.’

  ‘You have one among you who has already turned to your cause. Jilted by one of your own, this one approached me personally. She says she knows how the ritual is performed.’

  ‘You cannot trust the girl you speak of. She would be no asset to our group.’

  ‘She came to me for she did not want to return to her husband to whom she has never been faithful. It is for me that she serves.’

  Lucretia scoffed: ‘Surely you can’t be serious. The girl you are talking about does not serve anyone.’

  ‘Leave the girl to me. She is nothing to me at the end of things. By that stage I will have everything I want.’

  ‘You should be wise with who you trust, for there are few in this land who favour you.’

  There was silence and I feared that such an insult would no doubt see Laszlo turn over the table and reveal my whereabouts.

  Giorgio raised his hand for calm. He was not one to seek confrontation.

  ‘The girl you speak of may have the documents to perform the rite but she cannot make you one of us – she does not have the old blood.’

  ‘The older the strigoi the greater chance of success which is why I need your help Georgio…your blood.’

  Georgio paused thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Directly after the change will you honour your end of the bargain?’

  ‘Yes, as soon as you wish it.’

  The strigoi here carried weak mind-reading skills at best, so for several moments Georgio and Nökeg conferred in whispers, while Laszlo downed another glass of ale and roughly grabbed the breasts of a serving wench.

  ‘Then it is agreed,’ said Georgio.

  The two leaders shook hands.

  ‘We will come to you at the next full moon.’

  Laszlo stood up. ‘Goodnight, gentlemen and not so gentle ladies.’

  Lucretia stood up also. I did not have to see her face to picture her anger: teeth gritted and fire in her eyes; she was not the most subtle of strigoi among us. She had a nasty temper and was fiercely loyal to only a few of her closest friends.

  ‘I do not trust such human slime. You made it too easy for him.’

  ‘Quiet, Lucretia, you will ruin everything with that mouth of yours. There is no turning back. We have no choice.’

  I saw from under the table Nökeg rub his wife’s leg and whisper reassurances in an attempt to pacify her. This was enough to seat her once more.

  ‘We have his word. He would not chance to fool with the strigoi,’ said Nökeg solemnly.

  What I had heard was of great importance and something I should impart yet I chose not to mention any of this to Lewis and Lilah. Although their plan sounded sinister, it might also be justifiable. I had to presume that because Georgio was involved no-one would come to harm. Perhaps whatever it was they hid from Lewis would ultimately be good for those in the coven, and might also mean a chance for me to be free. But then what is free I wondered. I was trapped in a body that I did not choose.

  ‘Claude!’

  At first I thought I was mistaken until I heard the call again from Georgio.

  I sheepishly emerged from under the table.

  ‘Did you really think that we would not know you are there?’ There was no hostility in his voice but I was unable to find a response. Nökeg pulled me to sit and the group broke into laughter.

  Another strigoi spoke: ‘We cannot have this. He will tell.’

  ‘No,’ said Giorgio, and I saw that Nökeg nodded in agreement. ‘I sense he is also for our cause – to be released from Lewis’s rule.’

  I nodded my head also for these people had been my closest friends for some time. I spent more time with them than Lilah who devoted her time to her studies and to Oleander, and did not seem to have much time for me. Whatever they were doing I would trust that they were doing right by everyone.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Lucretia, in her thick Italian accent. ‘You are one of us, no?’

  I was relieved that I no longer had to hide. There was a moment of kinship, a kind of acceptance as I was offered some ale. But I would never truly feel as they did, bound by blood. I was one of them and yet nothing like them.

  Lilah

  It was with much regret that I had to leave Oleander, even for a short time, and I asked my witch friends to look out for her.

  In more recent times Lewis had allowed me exclusive counsel with them and I felt proud of my work in coaching the use of their skills.

  Some of the newly arrived witches were at first terrified and I was careful with my teaching. Lewis was against the idea of giving them too much knowledge and the choice to become a strigoi or remain a witch. He said that without strigoi power this coven would weaken and all must accept the change.

  Then, over recent times, with my encouragement, his overseeing of the practice lessened but still with the rule that they were never to leave the coven. He did not trust them to keep our location a secret. I did not complain of this rule, relieved at least that my witches did not have to become something they were not born to, content that the castle was a safe haven, especially for those who had revealed their differences to people who used Christianity as a cause for persecution.

  Lewis had assigned them a wing in the castle where they were free to commune together. I had created my own library where I took some of the books on healing so that the witches had easy access to read them. I did not discourage them from speaking with the strigoi but I had to remain wary. There were still some whose looks said that we were not welcome. Most of these newly born strigoi were inclined to be fickle. The elders, although keeping their distance, seemed not to care about us at all and it was my argument with Lewis that I did not believe the reborn had the same loyalty as those strigoi born in centuries past.

  Over time this disagreement lessened, and had such an effect on Lewis that my witches gained more freedom than they would otherwise have had. In my work chamber, I spent many hours recording my experiments and writing my thoughts on various events such as what happened to
Arianne and Claude. Both of them had converted differently, their personalities magnified by strigoi blood. Arianne had been restless as a nun and even more so in her new body. While Claude was quiet and intelligent and thoughtful. Again, he seemed to advance in intelligence and make well deliberated decisions.

  We met mostly in the evenings. My days were often occupied with Oleander. I kept the galley staff busy with their cooking for the witches, and the large dining room, once covered in dust, was reopened in the west wing. Several of the witches had chosen the change for the thought of eternal life dazzled them. I did not begrudge Lewis’s interference or their decisions. I was at least grateful for the opportunity to teach them what method was expected to sustain their lives, as well as the understanding that the rite was irreversible. They were unaware of my experiments. Many, like me, were horrified by the thought of taking human blood, and chose mortality as the better gift.

  However, to my surprise, Lewis refused to convert the most recent arrival of witches seeking the change. I believed that he had been influenced by my observations of the character flaws of the reborn and was becoming more intuitive with his choice of candidates. I thought that in my brief absence, my witches might lose some of my protection but mostly hopeful that Lewis would, at least, examine them better. That he would continue to determine those who would make more discerning strigoi and reject those who would weaken the human race by their rampant lust for blood.

  I regretted eventual separation from my witch friends and before the time came to depart for good, I would have persuaded Lewis to allow those ones who wished it, the choice to leave.

  Lewis and our nights together were spent more and more apart. I had less fear of him, and accepted that his state of being had not been his choice either. He was neither affectionate nor distant with me but there was a mutual respect for our differences. Oleander had unknowingly encouraged more congenial behaviour between us while we showered her with attention.

  With me she sought solace from an injury or the company of another female who could appreciate her pretty Byzantium silks. But with Lewis it was something different. Her eyes lit up when he entered her chamber each evening, and she would try hard to contain her excitement. At her age this was impossible and so often she would rush into his arms and listen intently to his ancient stories of the world, told from his own perspective.

  I was a little envious of this desire to be near her father and while the thought of separating them made me sad I knew in my heart that this was the only way I could truly make Oleander free. Sometimes I thought perhaps my plans were wrong but always my thoughts would return to the killing that night in the front of the castle and knew that it was not the life I wished her to have.

  I continued to study at night, learning spells that could make plants grow quickly and mixing herbs to cure diseases that some of the servants had endured for years, cruelly unaided by the strigoi. Lewis’s library was a fount of information as I uncovered other books written centuries ago. When witches were in danger of becoming extinct they dabbled in their own art of immortality to become stronger and often to escape their persecutors and their past, making potions to sleep and preserve their bodies in shallow graves, so that they might awaken their spirits in future, long after their betrayers were old or in their own graves.

  Late one night, when I had finished my teachings, I returned to my room to find that Lewis was not asleep but sitting by the window absently staring at the stars.

  I questioned why he was up so late and he rubbed his eyes wearily.

  ‘It will soon be time for me to sleep,’ he said. He was keen to go in the earth. Such time would allow him the strength to return as young again. The longer a strigoi sleeps the more youthful is the awakening. This rejuvenation was called the one hundred year sleep but rarely did a strigoi sleep for this length of time, leaving instructions for their sleep guardians to wake them earlier. These sleep durations became shorter over time as strigoi numbers lessened and there were fewer guardians to watch over their graves and awaken them.

  After each period of sleep, strigoi powers also increased and the need for feeding becomes less.

  ‘Who will you leave in charge? Gabriel?’

  With Gabriel running the coven our chances for escape were high.

  ‘Not Gabriel. His heart will not be in it. I am not sure he will go the distance.’

  I felt a pang of disappointment.

  ‘Then who?’ I was very afraid for the answer.

  ‘I would like to bequeath the title to one of the elders but many are older than me and overdue for their own period of rest, and nor do they desire it for few hold ambition. While those elders newly rejuvenated lack the enthusiasm to leadership; they have all served at one time or another and sadly no longer care for the responsibility. I fear that without enthusiasm they would see this coven fall to ruin. So you see, there are few candidates with which to bestow such an honour. It must ultimately be Oleander but what to do in the meantime...’

  Never, I thought and looked away so he could not see my eyes.

  ‘She is strong. I believe her to have many powers already that she does not yet know how to use.’

  ‘I did not have full powers for years.’

  ‘But she has my blood too.’

  And this I couldn’t argue.

  ‘Then perhaps me.’

  He laughed softly and I was having conflicting thoughts. He grew less and less the ogre I thought him to be.

  ‘I can’t ask that of you,’ he said. ‘Already I hear the whispers down the hallways of the castle. They do not want a witch taking over the coven. It has been the demise of others.’

  ‘Then perhaps it is Gabriel after all. Better to risk it on someone you know, despite his shortcomings.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. And I was shocked. Never had he agreed with me on any such matter. Then more seriously: ‘There is something I need to talk to you about. Some of the strigoi are not happy with your teachings of witches. They are frightened that you are changing the order of things. Lack of hierarchy has led to problems in the past – petty rivalries and division.’

  ‘It does them no harm to have something else to worry about.’

  ‘They believe that you are undermining them by teaching that the strigoi ways are not worthy. In part, I have to agree.’

  ‘You cannot go back on your word. You promised me this in return for my support.’

  ‘I will honour that but you must promote loyalty from the witches. You and they are safe as long as you are my wife.’

  Was this perhaps a warning?

  He blew out the candlelight and lay next to me.

  ‘And, I want no harm to come to you,’ he said in the dark. I did not feel the same towards him but in a rare display of affection I rested against him. It was an attempt to allay doubt of my loyalty as well as relieve the sudden guilt.

  It was only one more month before I left, in the company of Gabriel, to find my father. I had grown fond of him once again, although keeping a wary distance. And while I was sad to leave Oleander, even for a short time, I was also excited by the prospect of travelling. It would give me an opportunity to convince Gabriel to accept the leadership role.

  Yet, while I lay there in the dark, contemplating my escape, I wondered whether Oleander’s path was predetermined, and if my calculated efforts would be for nothing.

  Gabriel

  From the moment I suggested chaperoning his wife to see her family, little else had occupied my mind but thoughts of travelling with her. I doubted my own motivation these past months and could see the hesitation on Lewis’s part. If he did not let her go she would try to run away. With that he could lose her altogether and she could be killed along with their daughter. He could imprison her but she would hate him more, and perhaps Oleander also. He had no choice but to release her for this quest.

  I was pleased that our friendship was restored. This had been a burden on my conscience. I arrived at Lilah’s room to escort her but she sen
t me away preferring to meet me beside the underground canal where the horses were tethered.

  She arrived wearing a plain grey dress for travel and a scarf around her hair. Her face was blotched and eyes swollen from tears. Irene carried Oleander and it was clear that this separation from her mother was painful for her too. She whimpered and reached for Lilah.

  ‘Watch over her, Irene.’

  ‘I will.’ And the two women hugged. In the years I was away, Lilah and her human servant had grown closer.

  We commenced the ride and it took all of Lilah’s willpower to not look back. I did it for her, waving at the child – the image of her mother – rubbing away tears with her small fists. There was a sense of defiance about her and I did not think she would worry about her mother’s absence for long.

  We rode slowly, in silence at first. I was impressed by her skill with the horse and queried her on this. Giorgio had taught her to ride well and I was pleased that he had given her some company, so that she could see that not all strigoi were against her kind, and most would be pleased to have her friendship.

  I did not venture to talk to her since she was in no mood for conversation. She was still not over the separation from her daughter and needed some time to pass to clear her mind. By the end of the day we arrived at an inn. I would have travelled much longer but Lilah needed to rest.

  There was only one room available and while we waited for it to be vacated, we sat at a table in the drinking hall to order some food. Lilah seemed uncomfortable, perhaps wondering whether these patrons might become my victims. She had no need of worry. I did not sense any disreputable persons here and joined her for a meal, which I did not need, to stay close to her and put her mind at rest.

  There was a jug of wine on our table and generous portions of hog in a broth. We ate in silence. Since my return we had become friends once more but there was still some mistrust on her side.

  I had also grown fond of Oleander. She had a strong spirit and a mature head on such young shoulders. She seemed to know much beyond her years. The other day I had taken her for a walk in the courtyard to search for squirrels. She wore a heavily quilted coat and I laughed at such motherly folly; so warmly clad for fine weather, her face flushed with exertion and heat. I helped her from her coat so she could skip unencumbered. Sometimes, she could be quite solemn, her lips pursed together tightly in an expression not unlike her father. But this day she seemed particularly spirited.