“Oh dear God,” Ruxandra whispered. “What have I become?”
THE WOMAN REFLECTED in the water was filthy—so filthy that Ruxandra could barely see her skin. Blood and dirt coated her face in a thick layer and ran in dark brown streaks down her neck and shoulders. Ruxandra raised one hand and rubbed at her cheek, but it wouldn’t come clean. The grime was thick and embedded in her flesh. Her hair hung in tangled mats. It looked less like hair than wet, unteased wool, shorn from a sheep and then left in a pile for a week.
“This isn’t me.”
The strength left her legs, and she fell into the mud beside the pond.
I haven’t become something holy. I haven’t become a servant of God. I’ve become something filthy and vile. A shiver ran through her, from head to foot. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in water.
I cannot be like this. I am not a beast. I’m not. I must get clean.
She shoved her hands into the water. It was cold, almost as cold as the river had been. She scrubbed, rubbing hard against the skin. The first layer of dirt and blood came off, but the next layer stayed, clinging to her skin like it had been tattooed.
In desperation, she picked up a handful of mud and began rubbing it against her skin, letting the coarseness of the dirt abrade and scrape her arms clean. Five times she rubbed the mud. Five times she splashed water on it. Still, it wasn’t clean.
It won’t come off.
Ruxandra threw herself into the pond.
The water wrapped around her, cold enough to freeze every muscle in her body but only for a moment. She pulled her head above the surface, her matted hair flinging and sending water flying. She got her legs under her and struggled gain traction on the slimy mud beneath. Her feet slipped and sank. For a moment she thought she might sink in, might lay entombed and trapped forever. Then she found firm footing. She attacked her arms again, squatting below the surface to grab more mud to rub the filth from her flesh. Again and again, she dunked until both arms were clean.
A breeze rippled the water of the pond. It flowed over the wet cloth of her dress, pulling away what warmth was left in her. She looked down and for the first time realized how filthy the dress had become.
Blood, dirt, and other stains Ruxandra couldn’t guess at covered the fabric. Even soaked through, it felt crusty. She grabbed at the wet cloth and tried to pull it off. It clung like a snake wrapped around its prey, not wanting to let go. She pulled hard at it and heard a seam rip. It was almost enough to make her cry. She had to get it off, had to get the vile thing away from her flesh. But it was the only clothing she had. She couldn’t afford to destroy it.
“Calm down!” I’m not a beast. I need the clothes. She forced her hands down before she ripped the dress more. “It will come off. Go slow and it will come off.”
She wriggled one arm inside the dress, then the other. She shimmied and twisted and gathered the fabric together until she found the bottom seam. Then she lifted, pushing and pulling the dress up and over her head. The wet fabric protested every inch. It didn’t want to separate from her skin. And when it was around her head, the dress tangled on her matted hair. She shook her head back and forth, desperate to escape the wet, clinging fabric. Then her hair gave way, and the dress slipped off. She threw it onto the shore and began scrubbing at her flesh again.
Her legs were the easiest. There was little blood on them, only worn-in dirt that she scrubbed until both her legs were bright red. Her body came next. She had lost weight, she realized. She had been slightly plump before. And while her breasts were still firm and large, and the muscles all still there, everywhere else the fat had gone, leaving her body carved and lean as stone.
Her dress had caught most of the dirt and blood, and her body came clean with much less effort than it had taken her arms. She scrubbed hard at her face next, dunking it into the water again and again until no more mud or blood were left on the skin.
Ruxandra sank below the water and started on her hair.
It floated in clumps around her head. What she could see looked like the stubby tentacles of some sea creature. She shoved her fingers into it, rubbing back and forth against her scalp. She tried to pull her fingers through her hair, to loosen up the mats, but they didn’t release at all. In frustration, she willed her talons out. They pierced into the mess, and Ruxandra could feel them slicing through the strands. She growled in frustration, sending bubbles up above the water, and began hacking into the bird’s nest. Lumps of hair floated around her until she looked like she was sitting in a sea of floating hairballs left by a dozen angry, sick cats. By the time she finished cutting the last of them, her hair was a ragged mess.
I must look awful. She broke the surface and ran her fingers through her hair until the last tangle vanished, then rubbed and scrubbed at her scalp until it too felt raw. She dunked under again, then came up. I’m a complete mess. I know it.
“Perhaps I am.” Ruxandra was amazed how little that worried her. “But I’m clean now, and it’s a start.”
Hunger tweaked Ruxandra’s stomach, reminding her she hadn’t eaten yet that evening. She rose out of the water and waded to the shore. The dress lay in a wet heap on the ground. She picked it up with the tips of two fingers. It was still filthy, and the thought of it touching her skin was beyond repulsive.
The cold breeze hit her, sending a shiver up her spine.
“And now I have nothing to wear at all.” She sighed. “Or anything to dry myself with. Wonderful. And now what? Must I hunt naked?”
Unless she wanted to put on the stinking, sopping dress, that was her only option. And while it wasn’t a thought that appealed to her at all, there really wasn’t another choice. And so she carried the dress back to her den and hung it on a tree. With luck, it would be dry enough to wear when she returned. Without luck, she would sleep naked as well.
“And won’t that be a delight,” she muttered.
She sniffed the air and listened for the sound of small feet and smaller heartbeats, lurking in the underbrush. There were plenty of them around, especially near the pond. She sorted which were rabbits, which were squirrels, and which were weasels or foxes. She went for the rabbits first.
It was odd, moving naked through the forest. The breeze on her skin was at once distracting and invigorating. It teased her breasts and backside, making her nipples hard and her bottom bumpy with gooseflesh. It dried the water from her body, sending shivers over her. Her breasts moved in ways she wasn’t used to and bounced so much when she ran that she missed the first rabbit from sheer surprise.
She caught the second one though, sinking her teeth into its neck and feeling the blood spurt against her skin. She sucked in as much of it as she could, but still some escaped, making a mess down her front. She wiped it away with her hands, realized she had nothing to wipe her hands with, and rubbed them on a tree.
Three rabbits later she wanted to wash again.
“I must get better at this,” she told the dead rabbit in her hand. “I must waste less blood and make less mess. Meanwhile, I’ll wash every night before I return to my den. That will be better.”
She caught enough rabbits to fill her stomach and headed home. The sky was growing brighter and brighter as she slipped into her cave—her fourth since the river, she realized. The dress was still wet, of course. So she curled up on the ground, feeling the roughness of the dirt against her skin.
“I should get some hay,” she told the roots above her head. “That way I will not have to lie on the dirt like a wild beast.”
Just on straw like a tame one. The thought made her chuckle. She curled up into the corner but couldn’t get comfortable. Before, she’d barely noticed the ground unless there was a rock under her. Now she was far too aware of how dirty she was getting by lying there. She began to itch in a dozen places. She scratched and scratched, but it did no good. Every time she stopped one itch, three more popped up in its place. “Now I’ll have to go back into the pond again tomorrow. Wonderful.”
She sighed and rolled over. Then she rolled over again. She spent half the day rolling and scratching and wishing night would hurry up and arrive. By the time she fell into a fitful, itchy sleep, she was convinced that half the insects in the forest had nested on her skin, and the other half were living in her hair.
At least nothing is biting me.
She woke as soon as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. The last light of the day was still bright enough to hurt her eyes. She grabbed her dress and bolted for the pond. She could smell the water, could imagine how it would feel on her skin. It would be soft and would take away the dirt and be so . . .
“Cold. It’s going to be cold. But it’s not like I feel the cold, so it doesn’t matter. And the dress gets washed first. I can manage to get the worst of the stink and dirt out of it. Then I can wear it again tomorrow night.”
The pond didn’t look any warmer after she said it. It wasn’t a hot bath, wasn’t even close. But she itched so much that even another cold scrub would be better than a night of being filthy.
“Or perhaps you’d rather stink?” Ruxandra said out loud. “Perhaps you’d rather be a beast?”
Like I was doing before I discovered the pond?
The thought terrified her. She jumped into the middle of the pond, and the cold shock of it drove the idea away. The water, she discovered, was only about eight feet deep.
She walked across the bottom of the pond until she broke the surface. She looked down at her skin. Most of the blood was gone. She scrubbed off the last of it and waded to the shore. Her dress was lying in the mud at the pond’s edge.
“And now, it’s your turn.” She picked up the ragged piece of fabric. “I’ll get you clean if it’s the last thing I do. Into the water you go!”
She turned and saw a man standing at the edge of the pond.
He was taller than her and wide at the shoulders. He had sandy-brown hair and brown eyes set in a square, strong face that had been tanned by the sun. His clothes were homespun and simple—a jerkin and hose under a long cloak. He had an axe in his hand and a bow and quiver on his back.
And he was staring at her.
I’m naked. The realization worked its way through her mind. I’m naked, and a man is staring at me.
A young man, in fact—not much older than she.
A strong, handsome young man is staring at me. And I’m naked.
Ruxandra screamed and dove back into the water.
I’LL STAY UNDER UNTIL HE GOES away. That’s what I’ll do.
Then it occurred to her that he might not go away. He might think she was drowning. And if he thought that, what if he dove in to help her? He might try to pull her out.
I can’t let a man touch me while I’m naked!
Ruxandra pulled herself back to the side of the pond, where the water was shallow enough to kneel in so only her head was above the water. She tucked her knees under her and crossed her arms in front of her breasts.
He was still there, still staring.
“Go away!” The words flew out of Ruxandra in a sharp shriek that pierced the woods. “Get out of here!”
The young man blushed. The red spread all the way from his chest to the roots of his hair. He turned his back.
“I’m sorry!” he called over his shoulder. “I didn’t know you were there. I heard the splash and thought it was a bear, and perhaps I could get some meat or the pelt, so I—”
“Well, it isn’t a bear, it’s me! Now go away!”
“I will! I will!” He rose to his feet and stumbled a few steps away. “It’s just, well . . . Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine! I’m having a bath!”
“I mean . . .” The young man started to turn back, then stopped. “I mean . . . I saw your dress, and it was . . . it had been ripped, and I wondered . . .”
She watched his back tense as he floundered for words, cringing with embarrassment.
But he still saw me naked. She made her voice sharp. “You wondered what? If you could take advantage?”
“No!” His ears were bright red now. “I thought . . . I thought you might be cold and needed help.”
“Well, I’m not, and I don’t. So go away!”
“I will. But…” He took a pair of steps forward, then stopped. With a quick move he undid his belt and took off his cloak. “Here. Take it. You’ll be warmer in it.”
“I told you—”
“I can bring you some other things.” His voice sped up with every word as if he needed to rush them all out before his throat closed. “I will bring you some other things. You keep the cloak for now, and I’ll return in a few days.”
He hung the cloak on a low branch. “There. I promise I won’t peek. I’ll go away.”
Ruxandra listened to his footsteps as he weaved through the brush. She waited a long time until there were only whispers of movement in the underbrush. She crept around the edge of the pond, her eyes wide and searching.
There was no sign of him.
She raised the cloak off its branch. It was wool—but not expensive wool like she had worn in the convent. It was homespun. This wool was rough and itchy. But it was clean and warm, and it would be something to keep between her and the ground at night.
Ruxandra hesitated a moment longer. Then she wrapped it around her body.
To her surprise, the inside of the cloak had been lined with soft linen. It caressed her skin, keeping the wool from scratching her. She wrapped it tight around her body and for the first time in—Weeks? Months?—felt warm. It was not that the cold ever hurt her. Most nights she didn’t mind it at all. But to be wrapped in warm, soft cloth was comforting, like the kitchen fire on a cold night in the convent.
She slipped her arms through the slits on the sides, hugging herself. She spun, letting it flare, then saw her old dress on the ground.
“I must finish cleaning you,” she said. “This cloak is so nice but I’ll have to give this back when he returns. So I’d better keep washing you.”
Reluctantly she walked around the pond. She almost picked up the dress, but realized she would get the cloak wet if she did. With reluctance, she took the cloak off and hung it on another branch. Then she knelt beside the pond, grabbed her dress, and then started scrubbing. It took hours to get the worst of the filth out. Even then the dress was so stained that Ruxandra could hardly tell its original color. She wrapped herself in the cloak and carried the dress back to her den. The sky wasn’t turning blue yet, but it would soon.
“It’s too late for hunting,” she told the dress as she hung it on the branch. She ran her hands over the cloak. She didn’t want to get it too dirty. That would ruin it. “But not too late to make something of a bed, is it?”
Branches were the easiest thing, Ruxandra decided. She went tree to tree and pulled small limbs from them. It was difficult. The trees were green with spring; they wanted to bend rather than break. She ended up using her talons to hack through the tree limbs. She took them all back to her den, broke the big ones to fit them inside, and began to lay them on the floor. She stared at the pile, uncertain how to proceed.
“Green!” she realized. “The wood is green. It bent. I bet I can weave it.”
She picked up the longest branches, laid them out in a square, and began crisscrossing the others. It wasn’t hard for her to bend and weave the branches back and forth. The same strength that allowed her to tear them from the trees made it easy to weave them like straw. She wished she had someone to show it to. Perhaps the man who had seen her—
I can’t show a man my room! She looked at the dirt walls of the den. And I certainly cannot tell him I’ve been living in the woods, being a hermit. He wouldn’t understand.
She went back to the work. The sun was up outside her den by the time she had the bed frame finished to her satisfaction. It was only a few inches off the ground, but it was off the ground.
“I can sleep like a person again,” she told it. “And I even have a blanket!”
Ruxandr
a laid the cloak over the frame and sat on it. The bed was a bit bumpy but so much better and cleaner than the floor. She wrapped the cloak around her body and snuggled in.
“He’s coming back,” she whispered to the den walls. “Soon.”
The thought of seeing him again—seeing the way blood rushed to his face when he blushed—made her absurdly happy.
Made her hungry.
“No!” Ruxandra sat up fast and hard. “I won’t do that to him! I don’t need to!”
She threw herself back down in the bed and pulled the cloak tight about her.
“I don’t,” she whispered to herself. “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.”
She began praying again, harder than she’d ever prayed before.
The next night, she left the cloak in the cave. She almost put the dress on, but decided against that too. It wouldn’t do to get it bloody again. Hunting naked was better. She would hunt until she was full, and then she would clean up at the pond.
“He said he would be gone a few days. So I can wash up at the pond and not be seen,” She frowned. “Perhaps I should bring the dress anyway and keep it close by, in case he returns.”
She compromised by hanging the dress by the pond, then going hunting. She ended up eating squirrels that night. They weren’t as filling as rabbits, and their blood didn’t have the same fizz, but she found enough to make her content. Then she went back to the pool and bathed. This time, she paid attention and kept her ears and eyes and nose wide open, looking for any sign of him. She hurried through her bath, and stood drying for as long as she dared before taking the dress and going back to her den.
She stared at the abused fabric, the rip over one breast and the torn seams from when she had frozen to the ground. There was no way she could repair it. Nothing she could do would make it look better or even decent.
Princess Dracula Page 8