Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  “If Mama were here…” Ruxanda’s lips twisted into a pout.

  “She wouldn’t be allowed to go either. No, Xandi, no crying,” he ordered, as she started to do just that. “You’re not going and that’s final.”

  “But I’m sick, Marek.” Tears began to trickle down the child’s cheeks. “I don’t feel well.”

  She put her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his shoulder. Marek felt an inescapable twinge of concern. He looked over her head at Ilona.

  “Is this true?”

  “Yes sir. She’s been complaining of a stomachache. She says she awoke with it last night.”

  “In that case, you definitely don’t need to be at a party.”

  Ruxanda bit her lip as she realized her statement wasn’t having the desired effect.

  “You should go to bed early and not wait for the sun to come up.” Marek set her down. “Perhaps you shouldn’t eat much tonight. Just some hot camomile tea...”

  He frowned. All the knowledge he’d acquired at the university was no good to an assassin, but it should hold something for a surrogate father. He thought back to when he’d had to memorize the Physician’s Herbiary.

  What’s acceptable fare for someone with a stomachache?

  “…and toast. Yes, that’s it. A couple of slices of well-buttered wheat toast, and a hot rice pillow for your belly.” He looked at the nurse. “Don’t you think so, Ilona?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Ilona took Ruxanda’s hand. “Come, dear.”

  Reluctantly, Ruxanda allowed herself to be led away, calling over her shoulder, “Will you come and tuck me in before I go to sleep?”

  “If the celebration’s over by then. Otherwise, I make no promises.”

  “Then will you…” Whatever she was going to say was cut off as Ilona pulled the door shut.

  “So…” Holding out his arms, Marek spun in a circle before the doctor. “What do you think? Will my old school friends throw me kisses or will they be so uncomfortable in their own finery they won’t notice mine?”

  Sabine was saved answering by Sandor’s appearance as the door swung open again. “My lord, your guests are arriving, and the females are being placed in the dining hall.”

  “Acceptable or not, here I go.” He looked back. “Coming, Sabine?”

  Dutifully, the doctor trailed behind him, Sandor bringing up the rear.

  “Should I be worried about Xandi?” Marek asked, as they started down the hallway leading to the observation gallery.

  He raked a hand through his hair, finger-combing it into a semblance of order. From a pocket Sandor produced a burgundy-hued riband, offering it to his master. It was duly used to tie back the straight black hair.

  “I doubt it, my lord. The vanjosi have been bringing in baskets of fruit for the banquet. Doubtless she got a couple of apples not fully ripe. Probably gorged herself, and now she’s paying for it.” Sabine spoke with such certainty Marek relaxed. “However…”

  “Yes?” When there was no answer, Marek didn’t hide his irritation. “Out with it, Sabine. You’ve that disapproving look accompanying anything I do concerning my little sister.”

  “Perhaps you should’ve satisfied the child’s question about whores, my lord.”

  “She’s only thirteen. She doesn’t need to know of that side of male life just yet.”

  “What if she steals out of her room and hides in the gallery and watches?” the doctor persisted. “Like your brothers used to when your father entertained his friends?”

  “I’ve already thought of that. I told Ilona to lock her door.” Marek gave the doctor a triumphant look. “I think you’re worrying too much. After all, this isn’t an orgy my guests’ve been invited to. It’s a solemn occasion.”

  “Which could turn into an orgy with all those young males present.”

  “These are my friends from school, and I know them well.”

  “Are these the same friends who smuggled that whore into your cell to celebrate your own intrare?”

  “We were much younger then.” Even to his own ears the answer sounded weak. “Since you’re so concerned for Ruxanda’s welfare, perhaps you’d best check on her. Make certain she hasn’t caught that fever you accuse me of having.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” With a bow Sabine stepped aside, leaving his master continuing on his way, Sandor trailing in attedance. The doctor went down a different corridor.

  As he crossed the gallery, Marek saw the antechamber was almost empty, most of the whores already herded into the dining hall. Only a few still remained. One, her hair like a brilliant garnet among the crowd of brunettes, raised her head and looked up.

  Her gaze met his across the vast height of the gallery. Marek jerked to a halt as if he’d run against an invisible barrier.

  “Sandor. See that girl with the red hair?”

  “Which one, sir?” The old man came to stand beside him, peering over the balcony.

  “Which one? The only one. There, standing by the pillar.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “See that she’s seated by me.”

  “Yes, master.” Without changing expression, Sandor bowed.

  One of the gardi touched the girl’s arm. She turned her head and the spell was broken as she allowed herself to be led away.

  Her presence lingered. Marek felt as if her gaze had stolen away his will. An unrecognized sensation coiled inside him, an odd trembling in his belly.

  “Damn, she’s beautiful.”

  He left Sandor at the gallery railing. The old servant waited until his master was out of sight before he broke into a broad grin, rubbing his hands together.

  At that moment, Sabine reappeared.

  “Why are you smiling so, Sandor?”

  “Ah, doctor.” Sandor looked at Sabine gleefully and then in the direction his lord had gone. “I think the master’s going to get laid tonight.”

  “Splendid.” The doctor was equally delighted. “That’ll do the lad a world of good.”

  He thought about the plump little kitchen maid who didn’t seem to mind his developing paunch and his snores sounding like a pig snorting

  “Might do me a world of good, too. Hmm. Wonder if Aneta’s free tonight?”

  “Aneta’s helping serve the banquet, sir,” Sandor reminded him. “But there’s always afterward.”

  “Right you are, Sandor. Right you are.” Smiling, the doctor walked down the hall in the direction of his rooms, leaving the old man standing there.

  Chapter 12

  The banquet was in the first stages of lascivious glory. Marek joyously welcomed friends, kinsmen, and other devotats loyal to Casa Strigoi. They drank a toast to the twins who stood before their brother’s table, accepting the others’ homage.

  With bows to Marek and their assembled guests, Andrei and Vlad divested themselves of their upper garments and left the chamber, walking up stairs to one of the galleries twenty feet above the dining hall. Each climbed to the railing, throwing himself into space and falling several feet before unfurling wings pressed tightly against his back. They circled the hall at ceiling-height, performing a series of aerial maneuvers establishing them as full adults in the Fraternitate Aventurieri.

  Scooping up goblets from a table, Vlad soared above the huge center chandelier, dousing several of the candles with the wine, while Andrei dived, snatching tapers from a vanjos and re-lighting them from one of the wall-torches. Hovering several feet in the air, they bowed to the ghidaj before floating down to land, as veterans, before him.

  Only when Vlad and Andrei had both feet firmly on the dais did Marek relax, not realizing until that moment how tense he’d been. He’d unconsciously feared one or both might not open his wings in time and would smash against the dining hall’s travertine floor or crash into the chandelier and cause a conflagration. The congratulatory shouts of his friends made him wonder why he’d been worried. Their performance had been flawless, edxactly like his at his own Intrare.

  Commanding the
m to partake of all that was offered, he climbed the dais to his own seat as the twins scooped up their clothing and redressed before claiming the places of honor.

  * * *

  In his chamber, Sabine was in the midst of his bath. Centuries before, when he’d come to the castel, his people believed nightly bathing was bad for one’s health, and he’d been shocked by the aventurieri practice, accepting it with reluctance. Now he felt guilty if his body was soiled when Aneta came to him.

  Thoughts of the little kitchen maid sent his thoughts on a tangent involving aventurieri females.

  What a rigid and sometimes harsh culture these people have.

  Briefly, he wondered how present life contrasted so with that on the Outside. Within the Decebral, things remained fairly static, barely changing from how it had been in the beginning. Though the Prince was in mentally touch with the comings-and-goings of those brethren living elsewhere, he kept his native subjects relatively ignorant of the world’s changes.

  The only information they had came about if, now and again, when someone had to leave the Valley, he brought back a report of what was happening to their brothers in the outside world. There would be momentary surprise, then life would go on as usual.

  Carpathius was a feudal society arranged in castes, with each family within a clan having a leader, and one man reigning over them all. Men held their females in the family’s strictest confines, cherished as the precious treasures they were, used to align one’s self with other families through marriage. A young female was taught to run the household, sew, play the lute or lyre in order to provide entertainment for small family gatherings. She also learned how to please the man who would be her lord husband, but was never allowed alone with any young male before marriage.

  Not so different from deomi, last I heard. Sabine rubbed the little bar of soap into a lather and began to scrub his chest.

  Most couples never saw each other before their betrothal; from birth, young noblewomen were taught there were three people they must always obey—their fathers who raised them, next their husbands who married them, and lastly, when both those males influences were no longer around, their sons whom they birthed. Secretly, many a young woman was taught by her mother how to manipulate her husband in the bedchamber, and often became the power behind her lord’s throne.

  Oddly enough, while a man might kill another daring to suggest his woman ruled him with her body, he’d quickly give credit if she used her mind in his behalf. Many a ghidaj was heard to laud his wife’s intellect to his peers. There were even one or two females who had guided their families after their spouses’ deaths though no woman was ever officially allowed to become a ghidaj.

  Such a contradictory society. Sabine shook his head. They guard their daughters’ virginity like the rarest jewel, yet encourage their sons to whore and fight as soon as possible.

  That was the reason there were so many whorehouses scattered throughout the Valley, with Madame Lubos’ at the foot of the mountain practically a bridge between the two worlds. It did a thriving business with both deomi and aventurieri.

  The Madame’s establishment was infamous for the services it offered, no matter how bizarre or deviant. It was a favorite gathering place for young deomi males wishing to show their courage by seeking something out of the ordinary. Braving the dangerous climb from the lower valley, they enjoyed a night of lustful depravity with a dinner served afterward to replace the blood lost in the process.

  He remembered how concerned Lord Marek had been about the twins’ sexual maturity, and his all-too-apparent relief, on the occasion of their return from school on holiday when fifteen-year-old Andrei confessed to his brother how he’d lain with a female and had been very, very careful. Marek’s response was so brief the boy appeared disappointed. Sabine had the definite feeling Andri expected an accolade for carrying out the orders he’d been given so many years before.

  Aventurieri sexuality was an odd development in itself. Whereas both sexes were capable from the moment of aberatie at age thirteen—a female’s coming of age, legally at age sixteen, wasn’t celebrated except for the announcement suitors would be accepted. Throughout their lives, males were struck with periods of sanga dirijare, seizures of violent lust in which they were capable of release as many as twelve times from one coupling. The unlucky female chosen as a partner during these bouts was subjected to nothing short of multiple rape, even if the offender were an otherwise loving husband. Occasionally offspring were sired during these violent comings-together, though the gentler, more pleasurable moments of crearea lumii, the creative process, was to be looked forward to. Because of this, as well as their long lifespans, it wasn’t unusual for a married couple to go centuries without producing a child though when pregnancy did come, its gestation was the same length as a deomi’s. Considering the disparity between these two cycles of procreation, Sabine sometimes thought it a wonder they ever reproduced at all.

  Splashing off the suds, the doctor climbed from the tub and reached for one of the soft yardages of cloth serving as a towel. As he dried himself, he glanced at his cheval glass, studying his reflection critically.

  His image showed a slightly stout deomi man appearing a little past the mid-forty mark, hair still thick and dark, damp now from his bath.

  Hmm…not too bad.

  He wasn’t as tall as the Strigoisti, but tall enough and still fairly well-formed. Except for that little paunch. Eating the same food as his masters instead of regular deomi fare kept him from getting fat.

  Sabine tossed the towel aside and reached for a small ceramic box on a chest. He’d had wine with his dinner and didn’t want Aneta complaining. The girl was fastidious about his breath. He’d chew a couple of mint leaves.

  As he lifted the lid, another thought occurred to him and he took out a handful of the aromatic herb, rubbing them across his chest and under his arms.

  Might work up a sweat tonight, didn’t want to work up a stink, also.

  Briefly he envied his master who seemed to have no unpleasant body odor, no matter how warm the temperature or the exertion.

  Reaching for his nightshirt, he tossed the remaining leaves into his mouth. They were bitter but made a wonderful scent and he chewed dutifully as he waited for Aneta to appear.

  * * *

  The red-haired girl sat on a stool at the head table. As Marek slid into his chair, she stiffened.

  Gods, she looks terrified. Must be her first outing to an aventurieri castel.

  “Good evening, nurliu.” He smiled to put her at ease, using that little affectionate because she was the prettiest aventurieri female he’d ever seen. Her tightly-corsetted breasts, plumped to fill the deep neckline of her gown made her even more so. He placed his forefinger under her chin, tilting her head.

  “Good evening, your lordship.”

  She relaxed a little, smiling timidly. Marek bent to kiss her. She started to pull away, then forced herself to be still. The next moment he nearly recoiled as her fresh, unsullied scent flowed over him.

  What the hell? Taking her in his arms, he pressed a kiss against her bared shoulder, inhaling deeply her skin’s delicate female fragrance.

  “You’re deomi.” He whispered into her ear so no one else would hear. “Lubos’ whores are all aventurieri. How’d you get here?”

  Releasing her, he looked into her eyes. He was startled to see they were a pale blue, almost colorless.

  How could those fool gardi see her eyes and think her one of us? Aventurieri might have sky-blue eyes like the twins, or ones the dark blue of twilight—even brown or hazel—but none had eyes as clear as running water. Neither did they have green eyes like that abominable one he possessed, but Marek ignored that fact. The disquieting sensation he felt before was back, coiling like a tightly-wound spring, digging into his vitals.

  “I’m Madame Lubos’ kitchen maid.” She avoided his gaze, fastening it on one of Marek’s friends with a female straddling his lap, her hand working vigorously between them as
she stirred his desire into full-fledged lust. He threw his head back in a hearty laugh and kissed her. “I heard her girls talking about what they’d be paid for tonight, and I wanted the money.”

  “You’ll have to earn it.” He was already envisioning her naked in his bed and surprising himself with the thought.

  Indeed, since the moment he’d seen the girl, the images in his mind were remarkable, quite extraordinary, in fact. Marek woujld be the first to admit that he was aroused, and enjoying the sensation.

  “I’m prepared to do that, my lord.” Her chin went up, though it trembled.

  “Good.” Marek turned away, seizing the leg of a roasted bird on the platter before him and wrenching it free of the carcass. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

  He bit into the drumstick. Behind him the girl gasped. Chewing, he swallowed and looked at her.

  “You didn’t know we ate food, also? Did you think the meals you prepare are only for Madame Lubos’ human customers?”

  Pulling a silver of meat from the bone, he offered it to her. After a slight hesitation, she opened her mouth, allowing him to place it on her tongue. She chewed, swallowed, and ate the second piece he held out also. She selected a pitted cherry from a bowl of fruit next to the fowl, but as she started to eat it, Marek caught her wrist, bringing it to his mouth.

  “I’ve a particular weakness for cherries.”

  He bit the little fruit off the stem and released her hand, chewing enjoyably and wondering why she blushed so. As she picked up another cherry, she smiled easier, rubbing it across his lips and smearing them with juice. He ate that one, too, and for several minutes was content to sit and eat the fruit from her hand.

  Her fingers became stained and he licked the juice off them, his tongue lingering against her fingertips. He laughed as the flavor of her flesh filled his mouth. When he kissed her again, he could taste her own sweetness under that of the cherry juice.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a garda appear in the doorway as if searching for someone. Walking over to a figure, he bent, whispering into the guest’s ear. There was a quick reply, then Marek’s friend lifted the whore off his lap, depositing her on the stool beside his chair and followed the guard out, settling his garments as he went. They passed two more gardi coming in.