Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (17 page)

After
breakfast I headed to my room and unwrapped the object from the servant to find
it was a small doll much like the ones I had seen around the castle. It was
intriguing to say the least. This clandestine trinket was just another strange
occurrence in my life so far. I would find the woman later for an explanation.

I
met Jean and Zeke at the castle entrance. Zeke sat on the horse in front of
Jean holding a crossbow too large for him and pretending to shoot things. Both
the man and boy were fair and could be mistaken for father and son. A stable
lad brought me my mount, a beautiful black horse. He snorted close to my hand
taking in my scent before tossing his head indifferently. I climbed into the
saddle. At first there was a moment of resistance and then he settled. Already
I suspected he knew something of me, which was enough to relax him. I had an understanding
of such beasts.

We
weaved through lines of trees on never-ending trails of freshly fallen snow.
Travelling deep into the forest, I sensed an animal just ahead of us.

Jean,
also aware, kicked his horse sharply on the rump. My horse needed just a tap
with my heel to be prompted to canter after Jean.
 
The muscles in my beast’s back rippled with
power, and his head lowered for speed.

We
bore down on the deer, her body
colour
much lighter
than the tree trunks. I was almost upon Jean as the doe began to slow, her
gangly legs stepping tiredly in front of one another. We surrounded her and I
raised my bow to level my arrow. One frightened lustrous eye met mine and I
hesitated.

‘Go
on,’ Jean goaded.

‘Deer,’
shouted Zeke with glee.

Jean
climbed off his mount then lifted down the boy. This action did not disturb the
deer, which stayed motionless. She did not turn to flee but took a step towards
Jean, sniffing the air and examining his face.

Come
and pat her,’ said Jean smiling encouragingly at Zeke, who rushed towards the
doe, mashing the snow with heavy boots. Even this sudden rush of movement did
not cause the deer to baulk, so deep was the spell. The boy stroked her head
and received a gentle nuzzle as reward. ‘I think she likes you,’ said Jean.

I had
lowered my bow. The sight of this child’s joy at touching the animal told me
that killing it would just be recreational. As with the last encounter with
such a creature, unless I planned to eat this deer, which I did not, I would
not take her life. Hunting was for necessity only, not a pastime, and I would
never again participate in such a chase.

Jean
crouched down near the doe running his white-gloved hand across the high ridge
of its back while Zeke talked to her, asking if she would like to come and live
with them. The next few seconds came and went as if in slow motion. Jean
grabbed the deer around its neck and twisted it with his strong hands. I heard
the snapping of bone and then it was dead. Her body lay still in the snow, head
twisted towards me, and dark eyes looking fixed, as when she first knew she was
cornered.

Tears
formed in Zeke’s eyes and Jean started laughing. ‘What are you crying for?’ he
said. ‘It no longer feels the cold. And it no longer feels its empty belly.’
Jean picked up its front legs and swung them around pretending it was dancing.
The display bordered on the macabre and Zeke was unsure whether to laugh or
cry.

I
jumped off my horse. ‘That is enough, Jean!’ I said in anger. ‘It was
unnecessary to kill this beast in the end. It was hardly a challenge offering
its trust up to you. You abuse your magic and this is something I cannot
condone.’

I
took Zeke’s hand and led him back to my horse but Jean appeared suddenly in
front of me, blocking the way. His eyes were an ominous shade of grey, almost
colourless
, his expression as rigid as stone: a hunter’s
look just before a kill.

‘Do
not take the boy,’ he said. ‘He comes with me.’

‘It
is time the boy went home.’

‘Let
go of him,’ said Jean, unruffled. There was something deadly in this threat.

I
bent down to Zeke who wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Do you want to
go back with me now?’

Zeke
looked up at Jean for approval but saw none.

‘No.
I want to ride with Jean.’ Jean smiled and his menacing
demeanour
turned to one of sweetness once more. ‘Wonderful, my little foxy,’ he said
taking Zeke’s hand and leading him away. ‘Let’s go.’ I was still on the ground
when they both mounted and disappeared behind a spray of snow.

I
stood there thinking that I no longer wished to be here and longed to go home
to my father. If it
wasn’t
for Oleander I would have
left this unholy place that day.

There
was a sound behind me. I had noticed that my smell was keener than before, and
I sensed what type of animal it was before it stepped cautiously from its
camouflage. His eyes luminous in the misty shadows, and as the rest of him took
shape, I
realised
we had met before.

The
wolf looked at me unafraid. I wondered of its thinking for he seemed too
familiar with me. If only I had been able to read animal thoughts too. He
sniffed the air and perched in the snow, before walking casually past me a few
yards to feed on the deer.

I
returned slowly to the castle with the decision to tell Oleander that I wished
to leave, and give her directions to find my island should she decide to visit.
I did not belong here.

As I
entered the hallway I heard music once more. Oleander was not in her library. I
noticed some of her dolls had been given faces and others I had seen earlier were
missing. These miniature artworks were something that must have occupied much
of her time. On her desk were several books: ancient volumes with animal skin
covers and yellowing pages. There was one open book in particular that took my
interest.

In
the first picture there was a man in garments I had never seen before, worn
long before I walked the earth. He was talking to a child. A dog lay dead on
the floor beside them, blood trickling from its mouth. On the next page the man
was carrying the limp body of the child and the dog was leaving the entrance by
an archway. I looked closely at the man with his narrow demented eyes and
hollow cheeks. His fingers more like long twigs, and tiny horns protruded from
his forehead. He had no hair but for a few tendrils, which fell across one ear.

The
text was in another language, with letters dotted, dashed and even. Perhaps
this was ancient witch speak. I turned to the next page and felt a chill. The
man had the child on some kind of altar with smoke gushing from his mouth and
flames surrounding his small body. He was burning alive. Laughter sounded in
the distance distracting me. I shut the horrific book and hastened from the
room.

Outside
a carriage had pulled up at the entrance. Several people stepped out. They did
not look like the kind Oleander would invite. Older people not so finely
attired, looking bewildered but not reluctant. I stood back into the shadows
before they saw me. I would ask Zola about these guests later.

The ballroom doors were opened by servants
, and once again the
colour
overwhelmed me. The room was smoky from scented
candles and full of people once more. Oleander beckoned me over as I was handed
food from a tray and another glass of wine. This was Oleander’s definition of a
‘small affair’. I saw Zeke smiling again and Zola gave me that look suggesting
she wanted more than my friendship. For the first time that day my shoulders
relaxed.  As before, I was consumed with desire and thrilled to be among
these people. It all seemed so unnatural yet these luxuries and excitements
forced my former life to fade into the background once more. It seemed like
days since I had slept a full night.

Celeste

It was so dark. Sometimes I thought
I could hear crying in another room near my own. Other times there were strange
screeching and scratching sounds. I knew I was not the only one imprisoned down
here. The screeching was sometimes so loud I had to cover my ears. It was
fearsome, like wild animals fighting. And the more noises they made the more my
stomach tightened. I hoped I would never see the source of these sounds.

At
certain times, I could hear revelry upstairs, fiddlers, shouting, and what I
suspected was the clinking of glasses. Though, all of this was faint. When I
was perfectly still I thought I could hear
Marek’s
voice, but assuming it was my imagination playing tricks in the dark. Often I
thought I heard heavy breathing just outside my door. There were moments I
wondered whether any sound was real.

There
was a putrid smell of rotting meat, and the sounds of rats scurrying around the
wood shavings that served for my bed.

The
stone walls
were cold and rough. There was a small flap at
the base of the metal door. I lifted it sometimes to get some distant
candlelight from the hallway, and I could see the silhouette of my fingers when
I held them before the gap. This was the same place where a plate of vinegar
bread was placed each morning and a glass of milk. It was my only meal and the
longer I was kept here the more I began to look forward to it.

From
the delivery of food each day I could decide roughly how long I had been
imprisoned. I scratched it blindly into the floor: eleven days, though it was
still impossible to tell the time of day.

Finally,
there was the sound I had been expecting. It was contact with the outside
world. Footsteps – different from the shuffling sound of the servants
bringing my food – descended the tight stairway leading into this cellar.
The owner was light-footed, with steps sounding small and precise as they tapped
softly in my direction.

A
key turned in the lock. I shielded my face with my arms from the bright light
of the torch, which pained my eyes. The light headed towards me and was then
raised higher on the wall and fastened.

I
adjusted to my surrounds, eyes struggling to open. A rat darted into a small
hole at the base of the wall blackened with
mould
.
This did not seem to concern the visitor. Though to see such daintiness and
pale beauty you would think such a person to be squeamish if not repulsed.

‘I
am Oleander.’

I could
not look at her face. Instead I pulled nervously at the threads of my soiled
skirt.

‘I’m
sorry you do not have a view here. It’s just the others…if they saw you it
would send them wild. It is for your own protection. Already they smell you
here.

‘I
know you cannot speak so let me speak for you. I am
Marek’s
sister. He has taken quite a liking to you. Thinks you are far
far
away by now. That is why I have decided that you and he
should meet again. That you both deserve a chance to meet again.’

I
was afraid to look up, yet at the sound of
Marek’s
name I could not help myself. I so desperately wanted to see him, relieved that
he was alive. Was he still the same? Was he still with Zola?

‘He
is very handsome,
Celestina
. He will be so excited to
meet you again.’

She
was another
mind-reader
like Jean and Zola, and I
shrank back suddenly suspecting that I was near something even more impure than
the others.

‘That’s
right. Humans I can read. I cannot read my brother or my own kind. I can talk
with him in my mind if he allows it but I cannot see his thoughts. Oh, you poor
dear. Do not look so frightened and confused. Both Zola and
Marek
carry magic. They were born with it. You and your kind will torture us for it
but the
strigoi
have a place in this world just like
you.

‘I
want you to join us. It will be so wonderful, for you are a lovely girl to look
at and
Marek
certainly thinks so. Just wait till I am
finished with you.’

There
were more sounds coming from down the hallway. Light and heavy footsteps but
they turned a different way before they reached my door. There was much
commotion and scuffling before someone, or something, moaned in pain.

‘Do
not worry about that! Just another runaway caught. It is useless to try and
escape from the cellar.’ Her hand was outstretched. ‘Come. We must prepare
you.’

I
placed one dirty hand with torn fingernails into the
mind-reader
’s
pure pearlescent one. It felt smooth and hard as marble. She was another fallen
angel not to be trusted. I could see this if
Marek
could not. But I could not afford thoughts of fear or disgust. To protect
myself from her prying magic, I had to disguise my thoughts of her. I tried
hard to remember my mother singing and dancing, and the sunlight that bounced
off the silver in her ears. When I was small I would watch her
practising
for hours,
mesmerised
and hoping that I would grow up to be just like her.

I
followed the dark angel down the passage and this time we turned into a hall,
which ended at two large wooden doors. She drew them open to reveal a large
room. Like a church, there were cushioned benches and candles fixed to the
walls. Several people who I had not seen before stood around an altar in the
centre
.