Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  “It’s nothing probably.” Marek attempted to look as if he knew what he was talking about. “Children are always doing odd things, I’ve heard.”

  “That’s true, but not in this case.”

  “You’ve a diagnosis?” Settling Ruxanda on the floor, Marek gave his attention to the doctor.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “And that is…?”

  “She wants you...”

  “Well, she has me.” Marek indicated the tight grip the child had on his forefinger. He extracted the finger from her grasp, smiling at her as he straightened.

  “…when she nurses.”

  “What does that mean?” Marek gave him a questioning frown.

  “She gets milk from Ilona but she needs more, my lord. She needs something from you.”

  “And what would that be?” Marek’s tone was humoring, as if the doctor were asking a riddle.

  “She needs your blood.”

  “Mine, specifically?”

  “You were the chief donor. What the others gave was nothing. You gave her your blood, Marek, just as you took hers,” the doctor replied. “You began the blood-thrall, and you know as well as I do that for the process to be completed, you must repeat it in a cycle for the next three months. You have to continue giving her your blood.”

  “I’m aware of that, Sabine, and I fully intend to.”

  So I’ve delayed beginning the cycle, so what? He didn’t see why the doctor was making such a to-do about the matter.

  “Bring me a cup and I’ll—”

  “She doesn’t know how to drink from a cup. Remember?”

  “How then?” Marek demanded, irritated by the way Sabine brought that up. His mouth quirked. “Do you expect me to take her to my breast and give her suck?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Tell me you’re joking, Sabine.” Marek’s voice rose, insult in every syllable. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m male. And I’m not some limp-wristed zapacit who’s forgotten what his cock’s for. There’s no way I can nurse a child!”

  “It can be done,” Sabine replied. “It has to be done.”

  The doctor was well aware he was treading dangerous territory by making that statement, considering how blatantly masculine most aventurieri were. He’d patched up enough of the soldati after their barracks drinking-bouts where the insult cu toane—queer in the head—tossed drunkenly, had been twisted into a different meaning, resulting in many body-slashing brawls, broken wings, and loosened fangs.

  “Let me quote the chapter on Legacies from The Book of the Elders: Enthrallment may be done from the wrist, or the throat, or any other part of the body where blood will flow freely. Once taken from that area, however, subsequent bleedings must be done from the same place until the required time is accomplished; to bleed another part of the body will negate the enthrallment. Several donors may be involved in the process, but the prime giver, he who pierces the flesh, must be the one to continue. You took blood from your heart, your breast, therefore...”

  “She didn’t actually suck from my breast,” Marek argued.

  “A technicality.” The doctor shrugged, making his tone unconcerned as he saw his master was staring at him in rapidly-dawning horror. “You should already know this. You did read the entire section, didn’t you?”

  There was a very slow shake of Marek’s head as he reluctantly admitted he hadn’t. “I rushed through the passage, I’m sorry to say. Now, I think I’m regretting it.”

  “Well, then?”

  “You’re certain that’s why she cries?” His question held brief anxiety. “There can be no other reason?”

  “She’s healthy, she’s well-nourished, she sleeps all day and is awake at night. There’s no other cause.” Sabine made his answer positive.

  Marek didn’t reply. Instead, he became very busy watching Ruxanda playing at his feet. She’d discovered the laces on his house slippers and was amusing herself by wrapping the little strings around her fingers. Looking up, she met his eyes and smiled.

  For a brief, blurring moment, he thought of those charred little bones in Mircea Ravagiu’s fortreasta. Turning back to Sabine, he accepted defeat with a single, curt nod. And the waves f a hand at the door.

  “Make certain it’s secured.”

  Sabine slid the bolt into place. The click was loud in the room.

  “No one must ever know of this, Sabine. If you tell, I’ll kill you.”

  “Don't worry,” the doctor promised, accepting the threat as easily as it was made. “They won’t find out from me.”

  Feeling only slightly assured, Marek thought he’d rather face Ravagiu’s soldati again than do what he was about to do.

  “So, Doctor.” He attempted a blustering tone. “You must guide me in this. How do I…?”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Untying his house robe, Marek slid his arms out of the voluminous sleeves, letting it fall around his waist. He pulled the shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. His skin, shadowed by the dark hair upon it, gleamed pale in the firelight, the cut made by the little knife long-healed, not even a tiny scar visible.

  “Open your breast,” the doctor instructed.

  Springing a fingernail to talon-length, Marek pressed the point against the flesh of his left breast near the nipple, encircling the little nub of skin with a cut as fine as any surgeon’s incision. Blood began to bead in a thin red line.

  Sabine scooped Ruxanda off the floor, placing her in Marek’s arms. He bit his lip, hiding his smile as the ghidaj looked as if he didn’t know what to do with the child he’d so often bounced on his knee. Ruxanda didn’t move, seeming content merely to sit on her brother’s lap.

  “She isn’t trying to nurse.” Marek was acutely aware the blood welling in the cut was beginning to overflow, sluggishly dripping down his chest.

  “Offer your breast to her.” Sabine’s instructions were maddeningly patient.

  Awkwardly, he placed one hand under his breast. Slippery with blood oozing from the cut, his fingers slid away. “Damn it, Sabine, I can’t—”

  Ruxanda solved the problem by turning her head and taking his nipple entirely into her mouth. Covering the circular cut with her lips, she began sucking vigorously.

  “Gods.” He winced. “She’s strong. I— Ow!” He shot a shocked glance at the doctor. “She bit me.”

  “A hazard when the child has teeth, lord,” The physician’s answer was matter-of-fact.

  “Damn it, Sabine. The books didn’t mention this.”

  “That’s because blood-thralls are usually adult, m-master.” The doctor seemed to have trouble controlling his voice as he pointed out the obvious. One hand to his mouth, he looked away.

  Not able to respond to that argument, Marek fell silent. With a deep inhalation, he chose to ignore Sabine’s barely contained laughter.

  I swear if he dares laugh out loud…

  “I’m s-sorry, master…” The doctor seemed to sense his thoughts. “It’s simply that it’s so…so…”

  At that, a reluctant hint of a smile curved the corner of Marik’s own lips. The master also saw the humor in the situation. “I agree, it’s ridiculous, but…as you say, it must be done, so…:

  Ruxanda placed a hand on his chest, little fingers curling into his hair on his chest, grasping tightly as she swallowed. She gave a contented little mew.

  “How long does this last?” He sounded slightly breathless, wincing as Ruxanda gave another healthy suck.

  “Lean back,” the doctor ordered. “Relax.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one having your tit nearly pulled off!” Tightening his grip on the baby so she wouldn’t fall off his lap, he was startled to discover his hands trembling. “By the gods, I don’t envy any woman who goes through this. Ilona’s truly a brave little thing, having two babes already.”

  Eventually, Ruxanda released his nipple and reached up, patting his face and smiling

  happil
y. “Mawik.”

  Marek sighed in relief.

  “Congratulations.” Taking Ruxanda from him, Sabine bounced her against his shoulder and patted her back. He was rewarded with a healthy belch. “You’re the only male in the world who knows exactly what a woman goes through when she nurses a child.”

  The look Marek gave him told him he didn’t consider that such a privilege.

  “And this has to be repeated three times a week for the next three months...” His voice trailed away as he retrieved his shirt, slid it over his head and attempted to tie the strings at the neck.

  For some reason, his fingers didn’t want to cooperate. After three attempts, he gave up, leaving it gaping.

  “You know that, my lord.”

  “Yes, well…I didn’t think it’d go like this. It looked so simple in the text.” Marek shrugged into his house robe, attempted to tuck in his shirt, and gasped as the cloth brushed his chest. “Naiba! My pap hurts.”

  He looked down at the skin visible through the gaping shirt-front. The wound was minor and would soon heal, but his nipple was shiny and swollen. He brushed a fingertip over it and winced as angry throbs of fire coursed through the sensitive flesh.

  “Here.” Without the least sympathy in his voice, the doctor took a small jar from a pocket.

  “What’s this?” Marek uncorked the cap, regarding the contents warily.

  “Lamb’s fat and honey. I give it to nursing mothers to keep their nipples from becoming inflamed.”

  “You had this ready?” Marek shot him an ironic glance. “Certain I’d agree, weren’t you?”

  “You couldn’t not agree,” the doctor replied. He turned his head, hiding the smile he’d been stifling.

  Dipping a finger into the mixture, Marek gingerly rubbing it on his nipple.

  “That feels a little better,” he concluded.

  A brief slash of color brightened each cheek as he realized how childish he sounded. You’re ghidaj, damn it! Stop whining like you’re Ruxanda’s age.

  He held out the jar to the doctor.

  “Keep it,” Sabine instructed. “You’re going to need it.”

  Marek groaned, then bit off the sound and twisted around to stare into the fire.

  “Have Ilona teach her to drink out of a cup. As soon as possible.”

  Chapter 5

  Gathering his robe about himself, Marek climbed the stairs to the upper levels.

  Long after the doctor left, he’d sat in thought, wondering if there might be some way out of this embarrassing predicament. With that in mind, he decided to get his father’s books and research further for an alternative way of carrying out the blood-thrall.

  Passing several servants who bowed as they hurried about their duties, he glanced down the hall at the many doors. He was expected to move into the ghidaj’s apartments now, but with each bit of responsibility he accepted, it was as if he were erasing János’ memory.

  Marek didn’t want that. He wished to keep his father’s image fresh in his household as long as possible.

  As he approached the chamber the twins shared, he heard voices raised in argument.

  “Damn it, Vlad! Why do you have to be this way?”

  “Quit acting like a child, Andrei.” Surprising words for someone only eight years old himself. “Don’t be such a bou.”

  “Acting like a child?” Andrei’ exclamation was shrill. “You’re a fine one to talk.”

  “Here now, what’s this?” Marek pushed open the door.

  The boys froze. Both avoided their older brother’s gaze.

  “Well? Answer me. Why are you two fighting?”

  Vlad took a deep breath. “It’s Andrei. He’s acting so addlepated.”

  “In what way?” Marek noted the glare the other boy gave his twin, his hands clenching into fists.

  Appearing to regret speaking out, Vlad looked around as if seeking an escape.

  “Vlad…” Andrei’s warning came in a startlingly deep tone.

  “He wants the door ajar and the curtains opened,” the boy blurted. “Even while we sleep. Says he can’t breathe if they’re closed.”

  “Shut up.” Andrei turned on his brother.

  “We’ve no privacy,” Vlad went on. “It’s getting winter, and the cold comes in.”

  “I said shut up!” Raising one fist, Andrei struck his brother on the shoulder.

  “Why should I shut up?” Vlad staggered backward, regaining his balance. “Because you’re a coward and afraid of the dark?”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re afraid, and that’s all there is to it. It gets so cold in here my cock’s like an icicle.”

  “Good.” With a sneer Andrei thrust his face into his brother’s.

  For a moment Vlad shook with rage.

  “You don’t seem to have any idea what to do with it, so let’s just break it off.” He made breaking motions with his fingers, then thrust his face against his brother’s with a sneer. “Snap!”

  “Bastard.” Vlad launched himself at his twin, knocking him off his feet. In a moment they were rolling on the floor, pounding each other with their fists.

  “Here now!” Seizing each by the collar, Marek hauled the boys to their feet.

  Andrei struck out, trying to hit Vlad who twisted in his brother’s grasp and kicked back. Marek gave each struggling body a shake, holding them so neither could touch the other.

  “None of that.” When they were still once more, he released each one, looking at them with concern. “What’s the meaning of this? Why are you two fighting?”

  As before, neither answered, both studying the heavy rug. Vlad’s slippered toe began to trace the pattern under his foot. Andrei gave his twin a dagger-filled stare. Still on edge at the idea of nursing Ruxanda for three months, Marek’s temper was begging to be unleashed, but he struggled to stay calm.

  “Vlad, why don’t you go to the practice field and try out your wings?”

  The boy looked at the door, then hesitated.

  “Now.”

  “Yes, Marek.” Vlad ran from the room.

  “Now then.” Marek looked at Andrei, forcing his voice to a quieter tone. He hoped he could handle this as he thought his father would’ve. “We’re alone. Tell me what’s the matter.”

  “I don’t have to tell you. You’re just my older brother.” It was as if Andrei had heard his thoughts. He turned his back, staring at the far corner of the room. “You’re not Papa and you never will be, so don’t pretend you are.”

  “You’re right,” Marek agreed.

  Catching Andrei by the shoulder, he spun him around so quickly the child stumbled. As his little brother steadied himself, his voice rose.

  “I’m not Father…but I am ghidaj of this castel and responsible for everyone under its roof, and I want to know what the fight was about.” Realizing he was shouting, he forced himself to speak more mildly. “Tell me. Why were you and your brother arguing?”

  “You’ll laugh.” Andrei shook his head, avoiding Marek’s gaze. “Just like Vlad did.”

  “I won’t,” Marek promised.

  Andrei didn’t answer.

  “I know the past days have been terrible for you, Andrei. I can’t imagine what you must’ve felt.”

  “That’s right,” the boy interrupted, raising both fists. “You can’t. No one can. Not even Vlad, and he was there.”

  Marek was startled to see blood trickling between the child’s fingers as Andrei’ nails cut into his palms.

  “You can’t imagine how frightened I was…seeing Károly die, fearing they’d drag us outside where the sun could get us, hearing Ruxanda cry.” He closed his eyes and burst into tears. “Th-then they took her away and k-killed her. Oh, damn, Brother!”

  Pulling the child against his chest, Marek let Andrei sob into his shoulder, stroking the fair hair until the paroxysm subsided.

  If I were no older than Andrei, I’d cry also. Fling myself upon my bed and soak the sheets with my tears, bu
t I have to be strong for my little brothers’ sakes. I can’t let them see the pain in my own heart.

  When Andrei raised his head, he looked ashamed, as if he expected to see ridicule on his older brother’s face. Placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Marek guided him to the two chairs before the hearth.

  Andrei dropped into one, and waited until he was seated in the other, before whispering to him, “Marek, please don’t laugh.”

  “I’ve given you my word, Andri. Now, tell me.” He was getting worried. What could possibly be wrong with his little brother that the child was so afraid to speak of it? “Does this have to do with your abduction?”

  Sabine had said the children weren’t touched by the soldati. Did the doctor lie?

  Andrei looked away. Nodding, he took a deep breath, and went on, in a whisper, “It’s as Vlad says. I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what? I’ve put extra guards on the walls. No one will dare attack us again. You’re safe.”

  “I know that,” Andrei looked up at him, “but when the sun starts to rise, and I’m ready for sleep, and the maids draw the curtains and shut the door, I can hear it trying to get in.”

  “Hear what?”

  “The sunshine. It crawls around the shutters, searching for a chink to get through. I-I hear it and my chest gets tight…like there’s an iron band around it.” Andrei’ eyes went wide and panic-stricken. He gripped the arms of the chair, smearing blood from his cut palms onto the carvings. “My lungs burn and I can’t breathe. All I can do is lie there and wait for the sun to find a way in, to creep across the floor, onto the bed, and burn me to a cinder.”

  Taking a deep breath, he swallowed loudly, studying his cut hands, one finger stroking his palm, smearing the blood as it began to dry.

  “If it doesn’t, I pray for night so I can get up and escape.”

  Marek got up and walked over to the window. It was well-made and bolted tightly into the window frame. With the shutters closed and the curtains in place, there was no way a single mote of sunlight could enter the room. He held one hand against the latched shutter, feeling the chill of the wind sifting through.

  “Since Vlad can’t stand the cold...” His voice was calm, as if he hadn’t heard that shame-filled confession. “Perhaps he should move to another room with better insulating.”