The Dark Temptation of the Soul (S1:E1)

by Steve French Brianna Carlisle

  I begged and cried for help as I forced myself to my hands and knees. The driver of the carriage was holding his eyes shut, while crossing himself as Catholics sometimes do, and he began praying loudly.

  I heard Celeste crying from within the carriage and the wolves howling somewhere in the distance.

  Mother was the only one who came to help me. There was really nothing wrong with my legs, but I found it difficult to walk in spite of the pain and shock coursing through my body. I held my hand tightly, trying to stop the bleeding, while mother wrapped her arm around my shoulder and helped to guide my back into the carriage. I could see that she was frightened, but I do think she was far more concerned for my well-being than she was worried about the possible return of the wolves.

  Once I was inside the carriage, the driver came to my aid as well and helped mother to make bandages for my wounded wrist. He cut scraps of cloth from one of our blankets to do this, using a dagger he had been carrying at the side of his boot. He assured me that he had some experience in medical aid and promised me that the bandaging would last long enough for us to reach a more skilled practitioner of medicines.

  *****

  It has been a few hours since my last entry.

  Celeste is still very sad, but she is not crying as much now that she knows I will be alright. Mother has done well taking care of me and my wound while comforting little Celeste at the same time. My wrist hurts very badly and I wish I had some brandy to drink or some other medicine to take that would help to dull the throbbing pain.

  I am trying to keep my mind on happier thoughts. Father would be proud that I protected our family, but he would have scolded me for not making completely sure the wolf was dead before approaching it. I can not understand how it survived the gun shot, but I am sure that it has bled to death–wherever it is–by now. As for my injury, the bandages have helped to stop the bleeding, but I am still in need of a doctor.

  The carriage driver is doing the best he can to get us to the next village. He has said that this village we are nearing is the very last one before our final destination at Pless. He is worried, however, that we may have some trouble locating a doctor there. Apparently the village will be quite small.

  I am not so worried about the matter, I have a good feeling that everything will turn out in our favor, but I am not completely sure why that is. Perhaps I am putting all of my faith into mothers beliefs. She has been leading the three of us in prayer this last hour and has said that we need all the help we can get.

  As for the Gyr-wolves, all I can surmise is that they are the largest wolves in the world and only live in this region. The driver has said that they prefer colder climates, but thought it very odd for the creatures to be out before sunset and so far from the mountains where they typically dwell.

  I do not know what to think about the legend he told me about the wolves being vampire beasts. I had heard stories about werewolves from books at the library in Poland, but I never did believe in them. I doubt very likely that I will transform into a wolf at the next full moon. Such an idea is totally preposterous.

  I have also read the legends concerning vampires and as far as I could tell, they do not exist either–and besides that–they were horrible undead creatures that lived in Transylvania hundreds of years ago. I am amused, however, by the stories and very fascinated by the subject. I shall do much research on the subject as soon as I can. Why am I so intrigued by these fantastic, if not ludicrous, stories? I do not know.

  I must get some sleep, I am worn out by my terrible encounter with the mysterious gyr-wolf.

  *****

  We arrived quite late at night in the village of Wallenstein–which is only five miles or so from Pless–but I am in desperate need of a physician or doctor. Everything in the small hamlet was, of course, closed down already and there were no lights on in a single dwelling or building–except the Inn.

  The pub inside was devoid of any female customers, only big burly woodsmen sat at the wooden tables drinking from tall clay mugs of frothy beer. The Innkeeper looked us over with curiosity as we came in through the door and approached the bar counter.

  The driver explained to the keeper what had happened to us with the wolves and the pub became quiet as everyone within seemed to become interested by the story. I became nervous by this because they were all looking at me and my bandaged hand while they occasionally whispered into each others ears.

  Celeste stayed close to us; she did not seem to be comfortable by the circumstances. Mother had her arm around me and did her best to provide me comfort. She kept asking the Innkeeper for a doctor.

  “The only doctor in this village lives on the west side of town,” the Innkeeper explained, “Someone will have to go and fetch him while I set up a room for you to stay in.”

  “But who will go?” Mother asked, “I must stay here with my son and daughter.”

  “I am unfamiliar with this town,” the carriage driver said, “But if someone will go with me–”

  “I will accompany you for a price,” said a very tall man wearing a heavy cotton, charcoal gray-colored cloak.

  This man had brown hair and a mustache. His eyes were like none I had ever seen before; one eye was green and the other was nearly as gray as the cloak he wore. He had with him a great axe like a woodcutter might use for the cutting down of trees.

  “Glad to meet you, Sir, I am Ivan Blotowski,” said the driver to the stranger.

  The two of them shook hands and then the stranger introduced himself to us.

  “I am Gideon Maxwell,” he said, “I am the woodcutter here in this town and I will help fetch the doctor for fifty copper coins.”

  Although the price seemed steep and slightly unfair, Mother quickly paid the man from the coins she had in her leather purse. She paid the driver a tip as well and then proceeded to pay the Innkeeper for our food and lodging.

  Ivan and Gideon left the pub directly after–to fetch the doctor–while we found ourselves a table to sit at near the hearth. The small fire that blazed within it offered us a relief from the cold with its flickering heat.

  While we waited for the doctor, we ate warm potato soup and ate dry pumpernickel bread laden with a buttery spread. I wanted to drink alcohol of any kind, but mother would not allow it. We ended up drinking warm milk that was not so fresh. There were men there in the pub who were near my own age who thought it was amusing that I could not drink beer. I was embarrassed.

  *****

  An hour or so passed before Ivan and Gideon returned with the doctor. His name was Robert Lowry. He was an older man who moved slowly–as if heavily burdened by his age. After a brief introduction, he removed the bandages from my wrist.

  My mother and sister winced in horror as they beheld the wound. The men of the Pub wanted to gather around to see the injury, but the doctor asked them to move away so that he could have more light to see by. The Pub was only dimly-lit by the glow of the fire, lanterns hanging in the corners, and a few candles on wooden shelves near the windows. The moon, in the sky outside, hidden beneath the clouds as it were, did little to add any light through the windows.

  I had three, deep puncture wounds in my wrist and some tearing at the side of my hand that was not so bad. Most of the bleeding had stopped, but the doctor insisted on stitching up the injure nonetheless. He had mentioned, at one point, that he had treated many patients in the village that had been attacked by wolves over the many years in which he had been practicing medicine.

  The doctor opened his black leather bag and gave me a bottle of codeine, diluted with other ingredients, and told me that I should take it, as needed, for pain. I immediately took a sip from the bottle and let the acrid smelling and bitter fluids roll over my tongue and our down my throat. The doctor then began to stitching my wounds with needle and thread.

  When he was done, he rebandaged my wrist with clean gauze. The procedure had hurt badly, at first, but about halfway through the process, my pain began to lesson as the medicine took it
s effect on me. I was much relieved then, the pain was so much more tolerable, and I became rather happy about the whole affair. Apparently the medicine had done for me than to take away pain. The euphoric sensations were pleasant and amusing at first, but by the time the doctor had finished his business with me, I immediately bolted out of the pub and vomited my dinner into the snow.

  After that, I had no more desire for living and went straight up to our room, fell onto a crude cot, and fell into a deep slumber. I was plagued all night with strange and terrible dreams of the hanged man and my murdered father returning from the grave to haunt us as an angry specter.

  Despite the nightmares, I slept well into the morning with a cruel hangover-like feeling. A pounding headache thumped within my head like a mason hammering at stones or a blacksmith pounding out the blade of a sword with a metal mallet.

  I am not sure how mother or Celeste slept, but they did not complain about anything when the rooster called the rising of the sun at morn. I had to be woken up and was in a very bad mood for it. They seemed to be quite concerned for my health and well-being, but I assured them that I would live despite my regret for having woken up at all. I was in a terrible mood and my stomach was still nauseous.

  Mother informed me that I was looking rather pale, so I went to the small mirror near the wash closet and observed my pallid and sickly complexion within. My eyes were blood shot and it looked as though I had not slept in weeks. One might have even thought I had seen a ghost. My hair was a mess and my clothes were in need of a good washing. I looked as terrible as I felt. I had to bolt from the pub again to throw up what remained of my dinner from the night before.

  *****

  November 31st, 1641

  I felt light headed the entire day. We resumed our travels on yet another carriage from Wallenstein Village to Pleass. The journey seemed to pass rather quickly since the medicine I was taking not only dulled my pain, but also made me quite sleepy. I fell asleep from time to time, which did help the time to pass without my awareness of it having done so. I am not sure how long it took or what, if anything, had happened along the way. We arrived in Pless by late afternoon.

  *****

  December 1st, 1650 A.D.

  The clock tower at town square was striking four o’clock when we arrived in the heart of Pless. The town wasn’t very big, but had a few large stone buildings of noteworthy mention. The Clock Tower was the most impressive monument in the village, no doubt, and was surrounded by the town square, the bazaar, and a grand park full of pretty bushes and wild flowers. Directly across from the clock tower was another grand building of interesting architecture: a small, but elaborate cathedral. Strange as it were, directly across the cobblestoned street, from the St. Anthony Cathedral, was another Pub and Inn. On the opposite side of that corner was the Town Hall and Courthouse. I also noted that a library was immediately next door to the courthouse itself.

  All of the other building were small, made of wood and stone, constructed in half-timbered fashion, and roofed with clay tiles. It was a nice little village, quaint I dare to say, and surrounded by orchards and farmlands. I must also mention the chateaus at the edge of town, grand estates built of stone near the farms. One of them was to be our own: Erlach Manor.

  We had also passed by May Flower Manor, Dummolard Manor, Cole Ridge Manor, Summers Chateua, and the Kleist Mansion. All of these are located on the wealthier side of town and I suppose we are very fortunate to live in a decent neighborhood.

  [End of Episode 1]