Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  At this point there was no fighting what was already done, however. He was now ghidaj of the assassin faction of the warrior caste, and leader of the Strigoi, the Shadow clan, the House supplying the prince’s hereditary executioner.

  Wearily, he brushed a hand across those damned mismatched eyes silently declaring his right to inherit, wishing again they’d never changed. That once more he was thirteen and his eyes still as blue as his father’s and not absurdly of different colors. That was as useless as wishing the repeal of the aventurieri Law of Inheritance that insisted the title of a clan’s ghidaj go to one displaying a striking physical difference, that only a sport of nature could be named the next leader.

  Marek’s dark hair had not been enough to mark him as his blond father’s successor. When one of his blue eyes turned green, there was no question his own body made him János’ heir. At first, he cringed when anyone looked at him, peering into his face to declare, “By the gods, they aren’t alike,” but with it came reverence, and he soon accustomed himself to their scrutiny.

  Now Marek looked at the world defiantly through that unsuitably-hued gaze.

  Gods, things might’ve been so different...

  Only four days before, he’d been a student, living with others his age at the University of the Scholomance in the high reaches of the mountains. Then the messenger, exhausted from flying so far, arrived with the news. His father and stepmother were murdered, and his siblings abducted.

  The aventurieri world was disbelieving, for to attack the taietor was to strike at the prince himself.

  As far as the populace was concerned, it was outright murder for János had done nothing unlawful.

  As His Majesty’s assassin, he had served the kingdom for centuries, and this occasion was no different. He simply followed orders, punishing a renegade enslaving deomi and preying on them in defiance of the Law.

  Armed with orders from His Majesty, he commanded Mihnea Ravagiu to bow to his master’s will. Mihnea refused, bringing death to himself and everyone within the walls of Fortreasta Mihnea. When his brother returned from his own hunting foray, the deed was done. Standing ankle-deep in his kinsman’s bloody ashes, Mircea Ravagiu swore vengeance against the Strigoisti, and carried it out.

  Marek’s current thoughts were grief-filled, a turmoil of rage and desire for revenge. Even now, his men were winging their way to Fortreasta Ravagiu, the killer’s stronghold higher in the mountains. He’d wanted to go with them but concern for his siblings demanded he stay behind. His orders to the soldati were clear. If they found the murderer, they were to bring him to Castel Strigoi. Marek wanted the pleasure of killing Mircea Ravagiu himself, and he wasn’t going to make it a painless death.

  I want to taste the bastard’s blood, feel it spatter my face and stain my robes as my fangs rip out his throat. The Domnitor might protest but he didn’t care, and if he was called before the Consfatuire, so be it. I’ll claim the right of sânge ravensa for my family’s deaths.

  A knock brought Marek out of his brooding. To his call, the door opened and the castel’s steward, his cousin BogDan, came in, accompanied by their deomi physician, Sabine Lavelle.

  “Marek, the soldati are back.” To his cousin’s questioning look, Dan shook his head. “Ravagiu got away. He killed all the deomi in the fortreasta. Didn’t leave behind anyone who could betray him. May the gods damn him.”

  “The gods won’t get a chance if I find him first.” Marek stood, walking around the desk to the fireplace, a structure so huge eight men could stand shoulder-to-shoulder inside it.

  Staring into the flames, he thought of Károly.

  Please gods the child didn’t suffer. Secretly, he hoped after that first searing moment, his little brother was already dead and hadn’t felt his flesh falling off his bones as the sun’s rays ate through his small body.

  “Give the soldati time to rest, then order them out again.”

  “It’ll be sun-up in two hours.”

  “Then send them out tomorrow night. As soon as it’s safe, send them to the four points of the compass. Ravagiu’s no different from the rest of us. He can travel only so fast and the sun’ll burn his bones as it does ours. He’ll leave a trail somewhere. All we have to do is find it.”

  “As you will, my lord.” Dan’s slight bow was deferential, reminding Marek again he was now their leader, his orders to be obeyed without question.

  “The twins…how are they?” Marek directed his question at Dr. Lavelle.

  “They’re all right,” Sabine answered. “Considering.”

  Considering they saw their father die defending his family. Heard their stepmother’s screams as she tried to protect them. Witnessed their little brother’s murder.

  “They’re a bit undernourished,” the doctor continued. “Andrei will have a scar on his wrist where he was burned.”

  Dan look down at his arm, maimed a decade earlier when an attacking priest threw a corrosive at him.

  “However, during my examination I discovered something which will seriously affect their lives.”

  “Name of the gods, Sabine.” Marek immediately assumed the worse. His hand tightened on the mantle shelf, nails gouging into the polished wood. “The soldati, did they... They didn’t...abuse...them?”

  “Nothing like that,” Dr. Sabine assured him. “They say they saw neither Ravagiu nor anyone else after being placed in the pit.”

  “What is it then?”

  “They’re going into aberatie.”

  Marek and Dan looked at each other in confusion, then both stared at the doctor as if he were making a tasteless joke.

  Aberatie was the phase of aventurieri life when one became an adult.

  “How can that be?” Dan snapped. “They’re not old enough.”

  “That’s right,” Marek agreed. “They’re only eight. What makes you think such a thing?”

  “Did I ever tell you how I came to be physician to your grandfather, lord?” Sabine’s answer seemed completely irrelevant.

  “No,” Marek’s answer was short, “but what does…”

  “I was studying medicine in Paris,” the doctor went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Sometime during my investigations, I became interested in treating more than people’s bodies. I began to examine those under curses, the ones driven mad by spells placed upon them. I felt if I could cleanse their minds of their fears and bring peace to their souls, in turn I could cure their bodies also.”

  “That’s very commendable.” Marek’s fingers began drumming an impatient tattoo on the mutilated mantle shelf. “But why…”

  “I haunted the madhouses, choosing the most violent and devil-ridden. When my treatments were successful, I was called before a board of inquiry, but instead of being congratulated, was told the healing of souls was the Church’s domain. If I didn’t want to be accused of heresy, it might be best for me to resign from the University and leave both the city and the country.”

  Sabine smiled thinly.

  “I wandered for a long time until at last, I found myself here. I’d heard aventurieri paid men for their blood and I was so desperate I would’ve allowed myself to be drained dry if given a hot meal first. Just as I reached Castel Strigoi, your grandmother was brought to childbed. The midwife could do nothing. I offered my skill to Lord Adrian, made certain both wife and son survived, and he rewarded me with the blood-thrall. It bound me to the Strigoisti, and I’ve been serving them ever since.”

  “An interesting story, doctor,” Marek interjected before he could continue, “and we’re grateful for your presence, but what does that have to do with my brothers entering their aberatie?”

  “Both Vlad and Andrei went through a great deal of mental anguish seeing both their father and Károly killed,” Sabine explained. “You can understand how such grief might affect their minds, especially if ones so young were confined in a small, sunlit space where to move might cause their own deaths.”

  “You think the torment they went through triggered the gr
owth process?”

  “The mind’s a wonderful creation, my lord. It can create immense beauty, devise horrible crimes, and persuade itself it sees things not there. I’m firmly convinced some of those I treated weren’t cursed, but simply ill in their minds. If that’s so, why can’t the mind also cause the body to age, becoming an adult before it should, so it’ll be strong enough to participate in the revenge this family desires?”

  “Are you absolutely certain of this?” Dan’s tone said he hoped the doctor was mistaken.

  “Vlad released his wings during my examination, and both boys dropped their fangs.”

  “Merciful gods.” Marek turned from the fire, falling heavily into his father’s chair. “So they’re both affected?”

  “They’re twins, lord, though fraternal. What happens to one invariably happens to the other. I sent Vlad to the training field to exercise his wings. It’s necessary the muscles be strengthened during the first days of being unfurled,” Sabine went on. “Andrei complained of weariness, though it’s only midnight, so I put him to bed.”

  For several minutes no one spoke. Marek stared into the fire, watching the cinders fly upward as a log snapped and sparked. In mute comfort Dan placed his hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

  Marek looked up.

  “Thank you, doctor. I’ll make preparations to have the twins taught what they’ll need to know during this time.” He sighed heavily, asking the question more on his mind. “What about Ruxanda?”

  Unlike others whose fathers married again, he’d had no jealousy of his stepmother, glad his father had found someone to fill the emptiness left by his wife’s passing. He’d rejoiced when Károly and later Ruxanda were born, forgetting his dignity to play with the infants whenever he was home. Marek adored his baby sister, though he was so much older than she.

  “She appears perfectly well,” the doctor answered. “Ravagiu didn’t hurt her when she was taken from the cell.”

  “Why did he do it?” Dan asked. “Why take her away, then bring her back unharmed?”

  The doctor shook his head. That act still puzzled everyone.

  “Master?” Sandor, the Strigoi montant, the thrall responsible for running the household, appeared in the doorway. He held a sleeping child in his arms, her curly head resting against his shoulder. “I’ve brought Mistress Ruxanda, as you requested.”

  “I’m certain you wish to be alone just now, lord,” Sabine said. “With your leave, I’ll go.”

  At Marek’s dismissing gesture, Dan bowed. “I’ll leave also. I’ve things to see to.” He followed the doctor from the room.

  “You look worried, Sandor,” Marek waited until the door closed before he spoke.

  “There seems to be a problem, sir.” The old man hugged the child, his face filled with affection.

  “What kind of problem?” Marek scowled, dark brows meeting. Following so quickly after the doctor’s announcement concerning the twins, the servant’s words sent a visible tremor through him.

  “Mistress Ruxanda isn’t eating, lord. The wetnurse cuts her breasts so the blood mixes with her milk and the child nurses healthily enough, but...” He paused as if uncertain how to say it.

  “Go on.”

  “After a little while, she vomits it up. Every drop.” Ruxanda murmured in her sleep, and he patted the child, rocking her gently. “I vow if she doesn’t keep down some nourishment soon, she’ll starve.”

  “She was all right before the abduction. Perhaps it’s simply a reaction to what’s happened.”

  Like the twins? Will this baby also be marked by the violence she witnessed?

  “I hope so, lord.” Sandor’s words were spoken as fervently as a prayer.

  Ruxanda chose that moment to awaken, yawning and blinking. Seeing her older brother, she held out her arms to him. Initially, she’d seemed frightened by everyone when they returned to the castel, crying inconsolably, but the attention given her as well as their concern eventually calmed her. Now she regarded Marek with the same happiness she’d always shown in his presence.

  As he leaned across the desk to take her from Sandor’s arms, the servant continued, “There’s something else, sir.”

  “And that is…?” Only half-listening, Marek smiled at the baby, bouncing her on his knee as he murmured softly. “Now, young lady, what’s this about not liking what you’re fed?”

  “She seems to have her days and nights mixed,” Sandor went on. “She wants to sleep all night and stay awake in the daytime. I’ve personally taken to tending her. I’ve been managing to stay awake through most of the day, though I do get a little weary come midnight.”

  He looked as if he expected to be chastised.

  “So you’ve confused sleeping time with playtime, eh?” Marek hugged her and she placed her cheek against his chest, putting a thumb into her mouth. The malachite and pearl band on her plump wrist, inset with her parents’ clan gems, slid down her arm and she shook her arm, staring at it.

  “Do you like your pretty bangle, Xandi?” He studied it intently. “Your bracelet…”

  Abruptly he lifted the little girl, staring at her.

  “Take her, Sandor.” He handed the child to the servant. “Feed her as usual. If she doesn’t keep it down this time, and insists on sleeping through the night…”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Tomorrow at noon I want you to take her to the courtyard.”

  “Sir?” Sandor looked as if he wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly.

  “Take her to the courtyard,” Marek repeated. “Leave her there, and come back inside.”

  “But, master,” the servant protested. “If I leave her in the courtyard at noon she’ll die.”

  “Are you refusing to obey me?”

  “No, my lord.” Sandor knew better than that.

  Servants could be killed for merely looking as if they didn’t want to do something they were told. With the grief Lord Marek was suffering, one couldn’t know how even someone generally so mild-mannered might react.

  “It’ll be as you wish. Tomorrow.”

  “After you’ve done so, you’ll wake me. No matter that it’s daytime. Do you understand?”

  Nodding, Sandor hugged the child to his chest and bowed, backing out of the room. The look on his face said plainly he questioned his lord’s sanity in ordering him to send his baby sister to what was surely her death.

  * * *

  The next day, at noon, Sandor still worried over his master’s command.

  I’ve put it off long enough.

  Soon the sun would be down and he’d have to face his master’s wrath if he didn’t follow orders. With severe misgivings but afraid to disobey, the montant carried a blanket-swathed Ruxanda to the courtyard door. Swallowing a deep sob, he shouldered his precious burden and stepped into the sunlight.

  Chapter 3

  “Master! Master!” The desperation in Sandor’s voice pulled Marek from sleep. “I did as you ordered.”

  “Well?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  The door to his chamber stood open. Sandor had burst in, not bothering to awaken his master by knocking.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing, sir.” Sandor’s reply was both relieved and confused.

  “Nothing at all?”

  “No, sir.”

  Marek’s hands clutched the topmost quilt, knuckles pressing white under the skin. When he spoke, his voice was a bare whisper. “She’s unharmed? You’re certain?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sandor frowned at his persistence. “Not so much as a blister. Master, how did you know she wouldn’t be hurt?”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In the nursery, sir. You didn’t want her to stay outside, did you?”

  Throwing back the covers, Marek climbed from the bed and reached for the heavy robe lying at its foot. Hastily, Sandor held it for him as he thrust his arms into the sleeves.

  “Wake my cousin, my brothers, and Dr. Lavelle. Bring them to my study. Immediately.”

/>   Sandor hurried to obey.

  “Sandor!”

  The servant stopped short, looking back.

  “Bring Mistress Ruxanda, also.”

  “Marek, what madness is this? First, you wake us before sunset. Now Sandor says you ordered him to expose Ruxanda to the sun?” Dan’s disbelief overcame his exhaustion. “Has the loss of Uncle János and Aunt Anike driven you mad?”

  “Yes,” Andrei demanded. “What’s the matter with you? You could’ve killed our little sister.”

  “I doubt that,” Marek answered.

  He was holding Ruxanda and the child snuggled against him, beginning to nod now that it was late afternoon.

  “Since she isn’t our sister.”

  “What?” Vlad was jerked out of his sleepiness. “Have you gone crazy? Of course, she’s our sister.”

  “No, Little Brother. She’s not.” Marek shifted the baby to his other arm as he got up from his chair. “She’s not even of our species. She’s deomi.”

  Behind them, Sandor gasped.

  “That’s why she sleeps at night and can’t keep down the blood and milk our little sister used to nurse so enjoyably.” He swung around to face the others who appeared dumbstruck. “Ravagiu switched Ruxanda for this human child.”

  “How can that be?” Andrei protested. “She was never out of our sight.”

  “Except when she was taken from the cell,” Vlad reminded him.

  “But she was brought back the next night.” Andrei looked confused.

  “And she was asleep,” Vlad added quietly. “What happened to Ruxanda, then?”

  Marek looked at his cousin. “Dan, when the soldati searched the Ravagiu fortress, what did they find?”

  “Mostly ashes,” his cousin answered, thinking of the carnage they’d reported seeing in the deserted fortreasta. “The corpses of Ravagiu’s servants, charred bones—a child’s bones—in the fireplace.”

  “I imagine those bones were Ruxanda’s.” Marek’s grasp tightened around the little girl.

  “She’s wearing the Casa bracelet,” Vlad protested, still refusing to believe their little sister was dead.