Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) (21 page)

Chapter 9

Marek

My hands were covered in blood. I
studied them for a moment and looked at the trail of deep red against the
white. A short distance away, the wolf lay with a gaping neck wound. Could I
have really done this? I had seen the animal the day before from my window, and
again this morning, almost beckoning me into the forest. This was the same
beast that was unafraid of me.

*

Earlier

The light was only just up. The
weather changed the landscape so that each morning I had a different view of
snow on trees. Only I, and my kind, would notice the subtlest of changes. That
morning I felt a rush of energy. The pain still sat low in my gut but I was
numbing to it. I turned the door handle and was surprised to find the door
unlocked. Did they now trust me or was this some kind of trap, I wondered. I no
longer trusted anyone, not even Zola. Although there was sympathy in her face,
there was also resolution that I must change.

I
had made it out the front door and strode into the barren world. The wolf was
not in sight but I could sense him. There was a new smell. It was his fear. I
ran through the trees. I had no shoes but I was so hungry; it mattered not
about my appearance. Then the wolf was just ahead running fast; his breath was
laboured
. While he weakened my resolve grew stronger.

The
wolf stopped near the lake. This place I newly feared for what lay beneath its
surface. Perhaps others had shared Irene’s fate.
Perhaps more
of Oleander’s victims.

The
wolf was cornered, panting. It faced me and growled. It remembered me. Last
time it had been an ally, now it was wary. And it had great reason. It ran
towards me and leaped hard against my chest, pushing me back into the thick
snow. We rolled until we were almost at the frozen water and I felt its warm
breath at my throat. Though I was severely depleted of physical strength, my
need was greater.

With
one hand I grabbed its snout and the soft flesh beneath its jaw. My mouth
inclined closer until I could smell its earthen essence. I bit into its soft
flesh. It was blood lust but my mind failed to waver at that point and I was
not thinking of mercy, and not thinking like a human. The wolf gave a guttural
cry. It had stopped the fight but not quite surrendered. Its salty blood was on
my lips and it was a most amazing sensation as it passed over my tongue, as if
I had woken from a deep sleep refreshed. I could feel the vitality of my body
and my organs responding and healing within. I could not stop drawing blood but
it was not the blood that was causing me to feed in such
a
frenzy
. It was something else my body craved. It was the animal’s soul.

It
whimpered without sound, pleading for its life; a sound that only I could hear.
Its torso was unmoving,
paralysed
with the vicious
toxins I had implanted. Only its heart pumped fast, the blood flowing through
its veins to reach my thirst.

Images
started to appear in my head. First they were shadowy moving objects followed
by flashes of light. Soon these mottled patches took shape and I was seeing the
thoughts and memories of the wolf. I saw buildings, streams,
villages
,
people clapping and dancing round the fire, shiny bracelets and sun through
trees. It felt as though I was walking through memories that were my own. But
they were not. I had become the wolf.

In
these memories I held something. I lifted it to my face to see that it was a
mirror and in it was the face of a boy possibly a few years younger than me. My
victim looked hauntingly back at me. These were human memories.

I
pulled away with horror from the wolf’s neck and gasped for air. My heart was
pounding, my body tingling. I felt reborn but this should not be. This was not
me
, the son of a humble honest carpenter. I looked at the
wolf lying still in its bed of snowflakes. This wolf with human memories was
close to death. What had I done? At least I did not take its soul. Within its
chest, its heart was weak. There was no light in its eyes. I put my hands over
him to place the healing heat from my hands. I would cure what I had done. For
a moment the wolf sensed me there. There was no hatred but a sense of relief or
resignation. This wolf had lost the will to live and without that, I would not
be able to help him. But I tried. For so long I do not know, but long after he
had died and his body grown cold.

I
wandered through the forest in parts I had not been. I had lost my goals. I had
no
plan
as I could no longer return to my father in
this state. As I descended a steep rise a deceptively deep patch of snow gave
out from under me, sending me headfirst down into a gully. When I hit the bottom,
I landed on my side on something sharp.

I
was winded but only briefly, managing to compose myself and wipe away the
slush. I pulled out the half buried object to discover it was a spoke from a
wheel. It had been split apart with a pick or an axe. As I walked along the
gully suddenly what I thought were branches were more forthcoming. There were
hundreds more pieces of debris and not just wheels. Canopies, remains of
windows, seats, and other broken pieces of carriages and carts littered the
ground for as far as I could see.

This
was a graveyard of carriages and I wondered how many hundreds had been lured
here to these extravagant events to die, their belongings tossed aside as
garbage, their bodies dumped in the canal, and the last link to their disappearances
– their transport smashed to pieces and hidden deep in the forest.

I
staggered all day through the forest aimlessly like a demented beggar, my mind
a raging tornado, my body trembling. With the last of the light fading I found
myself standing in front of my place of nightmares once more, Oleander’s
castle, the grey monster I had grown to hate.

The
wolf’s
blood stained
my shirt and sleeves. I was
wretched. Oleander stood behind a window with someone else. Someone I thought I
knew but could not remember. My mind wandered between events, undistinguishable
as real or imagined.

Why
did I feel so good yet want to die as well?

Zola

Marek
appeared in the library doorway. The harsh white light at the
window filtered through his wild hair, making him appear haloed.

The
night before he had fallen into a deep slumber, which was not unusual for first
time blood-takers, and he had to be carried to his room. There he stayed
all night
, drowsy and incoherent and no doubt reliving the moment,
for at first it does not seem possible.

Then
late morning he woke to discover his room was locked once more. He began
throwing himself at the walls and eventually breaking down the door so great
was his strength especially with blood. We had been in Oleander’s library
discussing that it was time for him to see her when we heard the noises and the
banging.

In
the library, Jean pressed upon him to return to his room immediately until he
was calm but Oleander allowed it. He looked perhaps like he would kill someone.
It was the same look I encountered when I first laid eyes on him. I knew he was
powerful but Oleander had her own special weapon.

Celestina
was there.
Marek
had not yet noticed her as his focus
was still on the destruction of his sister who was driving him into madness. I
touched his arm and it was enough to divert him. I nodded to the corner of the
room that he had failed to notice. Several emotions passed across
Marek’s
face, from anger to disbelief, amazement and then
pure joy. He rushed forward grabbing
Celestina
by the
hands. She looked bemused at first and then she stepped forward. The real soul
of
Neve
within this shell had always considered
herself above everyone else and worthy of more attention. Her persistence and
her eagerness to please Oleander had paid off – rewarded with this new
young body.

‘Where
were you?’ asked
Marek
but he was gushing, forceful
and she was having difficulty responding. For a start, her voice was odd. She
had not yet found it comfortable, but she did look ravishing in a dress of
crimson, edged with lace and matching shoes. The front of her hair was swept up
and twisted onto the top of her head with ivory combs and long black tendrils
flowed down her back. Dark eyes stood out like shining creek stones and her bare
neckline was powdered like her face, making her olive skin appear creamy. 
I knew she had potential, which is why I had chosen her, but I had not imagined
her to be a living gem, and perhaps competition for my own renowned beauty.

Marek
looked at her as if he might devour her whole. Celeste drew back slightly from
the attention and looked to Oleander for support. Oleander crossed the room in
seconds and whispered in her ear. Like the first pluck of a
lyra
, Celeste responded immediately. ‘Oleander found
me.’ She rested her hand on
Marek’s
forearm and so
began the lie.

I
had accepted situations like this many times before but somehow this was
different and this new Celeste, though an old acquaintance, did not sit
comfortably with me.

‘Oleander,
perhaps
Marek
and I can talk privately for a moment,’
I suggested.

Oleander
sent me a warning look.
Do not say
anything more. This has nothing to do with you.

Celeste
smiled triumphantly as if she had passed some great test but there was also a
look toward me as if somehow she was then superior.

‘It
seems your
Celestina
had some witch blood after all,’
Oleander said to
Marek
, and more lies.

‘Celeste?’
queried
Marek
. ‘Is this true?’

‘Yes,
it’s true,
Marek
,’ said Oleander, answering for her.
‘We just had to draw her out of her shell where she’d been hiding herself away
all these years.’

Marek
wanted to believe this; therefore, he readily accepted the lie. He took
Celestina’s
offered hand, his look suggesting for just a
moment that there was
no-one
else in the room, and I
wondered if he had ever really looked at me the same way. He still had some
unfinished business elsewhere and walked up close to Oleander.

‘What
have you done to me?’

‘Nothing
that would not have happened anyway.’

‘You
cannot keep me here. I am taking Celeste back to my island.’

‘I
do not think so. In time you will be happy here,
Marek
.
Time will heal your resentment.’

This
infuriated
Marek
and he grabbed his sister by the
shoulders. Before he had a chance to shake her he was thrown back into the air with
invisible hands landing him on the far wall.

Except
for me,
no-one
moved to help him but he shrugged me
off anyway.
Marek
rubbed the back of his head, which
had taken most of the impact. My help was wasted here. It was clear he no
longer wanted my attention.

‘You
are no sister of mine.’

He
grabbed Celeste’s hand and turned to leave.

Jean
moved to follow but Oleander told him to stay.

Celeste
gave me a backward look. Had I detected some triumph over her trophy? For
Marek
was not only the brother of a powerful witch, he was
also potentially joint ruler and something of a prize catch for any
strigoi
female, and this match seemed to meet with
Oleander’s approval.

I
felt snubbed and in that moment after they left, I experienced another emotion
that I had not felt for years: jealousy.

Marek

Celeste and I would find a way out
of here. I did not care where she had been or how she came to be with Oleander
but I knew, for the sake of us both, I must get her back to my island. It was
not safe here.

I took
her to my room and shut the door. It was the first chance I’d had to really
look at her and take all of her in. She was a dark beauty. I could not believe
she now spoke. Never had I heard her voice. It crackled slightly at the
beginning of her sentences after its long hibernation.

I
sat her down at my dressing table and told her of my plan to return home and
take her with me.

‘That
hole!’ she said.

Celeste
was confused. Poor girl I thought. She did not remember what I told her about
the island. Who knew what Oleander had exposed her to?

‘My
sister is evil. There are things you may not know about her.’

‘Really?’
she answered too casually, distracted by my objects on the dresser, the
pictures on the walls and the clothes hanging in the closet. She picked up the
shell necklace from my island and examined and admired its rainbow effect in
the light. It was almost as if I was not in the room. I noticed the brown rose
carving I made for her sat on a black satin ribbon around her neck.