Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

The wound in Marek’s shoulder hadn’t healed, causing his arm to stiffen. At night it throbbed and ached. Often he felt feverish and tossed in his sleep, though he managed to hide his pain from the others.

  It’ll get better, he told himself, as the wound he’d received from Iancu Rodica had.

  It didn’t.

  To prevent Lily from seeing how the wound was getting worse, he kept his bedchamber dim and ill-lit, but eventually even that ruse no longer worked.

  One late evening as he took off his shirt, he mumbled, “Lily, I feel unwell.”

  The girl cried out when she saw the ugly bruise and the green streaks spreading from his shoulder, down his arm, and across his chest. When she dragged him to Sabine’s office, Marek didn’t protest.

  “My lord, you’ve a massive infection,” the doctor announced. “When did this happen?”

  “What does it matter when?” Lily cried. “He’s been shot. Do something.” Turning to Marek, she whispered, “You said you’d see the doctor. Why didn’t you?”

  “Calm yourself, my lady,” Sabine said, though he was mentally quaking at the sight of the corpse-like discoloration of Marek’s flesh. “I’ll do something, but first I have to know certain things. When did this happen?”

  “It was the night of the banchet.” She looked from him to Marek, shaking him because he appeared on the verge of be falling asleep. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a heavy-lidded stare, catching his breath with difficulty. “One of the...men...who attacked Radu’s...castel.”

  “He had a gun?” Sabine asked. “He shot you? You’ve had this wound for months?”

  “You know of this thing, Sabine?” Marek looked dully surprised.

  “Yes, Master, I do,” the physician admitted. “Though the last time I saw one, they were a most primitive invention. Primitive but deadly.” He looked again at the ugly wound in Marek’s shoulder. “It appears they’ve gotten even worse with time.”

  “What’s to be done, Sabine?” Marek had the look of someone about to swoon, though the physician knew he’d never admit to such a weakness. Leaning against the examination table, he shut his eyes.

  “To start with, we have to get the bullet out. Then I can treat the infection.” Sabine turned to Lily. “My dear, I’ll ask you to leave. I don’t think you’ll want to see this.”

  She looked frightened, squeezing Marek’s hand so tightly he opened his eyes. Giving a quick, sharp sigh, he closed them again and collapsed, falling to the floor.

  “Marek! Oh, darling,” she sobbed, dropping to her knees beside him.

  Sabine ran to the door, calling to the garda, “Fetch the young masters and Lord Dan.” Turning back to Lily, he pulled her away. “Stop crying.”

  His voice was so sharp she obeyed instantly.

  “I have to move quickly. You must help me prepare him for surgery before the others get here.”

  “But you said I was to go…”

  “That was before this happened.” He nodded at Marek’s still form. “He’s in worse condition than I thought. Now we’ll see how brave you are, my lady.”

  Still speaking, he bent and lifted Marek to the examination table.

  At his instructions, Lily poured water from one of the pitchers on a nearby sideboard and brought the basin to a little stand near the table. While Sabine removed Marek’s boots and tossed his shirt onto a chair, Lily fetched several clean white cloths and bandages from a cupboard.

  By the time the twins arrived, followed by their cousin, Sabine was setting out his instruments.

  He cut through their exclamations.

  “Master Marek’s been wounded. The why and how isn’t important. You have to hold him while I dig the bullet out of the wound.”

  “What’s a bullet?” Vlad asked, as he and Andrei obediently positioned themselves at each side of their brother.

  “I’ll explain later. Lord Dan, please station yourself at his feet.” Looking over at Lily, Sabine took a pair of white gloves from a drawer and pulled them on. “Thank you for your help, Mistress Lily. Now go outside and close the door.”

  She took a step backward into the hallway, catching the doorknob as she went. As the door swung shut, Sabine picked up one of the scalpels.

  Marek may have been unconscious, but the moment the knife touched his shoulder, he reacted, lunging away from the blade. Immediately, Dan pinioned his legs with his good arm, and the twins held his shoujlders so tightly he could barely move. As carefully as possible, Sabine scored the bluish hole in his shoulder with the scalpel, then probed inside with his forefinger.

  Outside, Lily clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. Marek’s shrieks could be heard all the way to the kitchens.

  * * *

  Marek awoke to the smell of burned vinegar, the fresh scent of tree moss, and the brightness of many candles reflecting the glory of Lily’s bowed head. She sat next to his bed, hands clasped upon the coverlet, lips moving in prayer.

  “I hope you’re praying to the Oracle,” he told her, huskily.

  “I’ll pray to whomever will make you well again.” She looked up, blinking away tears.

  She was still reeling from hearing Marek’s screams and learning Dan had slashed his own wrist to smear his blood into the wound and counteract the infection. Though Dr. Lavelle had previously explained how severe wounds required an application of aventurieri blood along with medicants, the thought was disturbing, as was sight of Dan’s bandaged wrist.

  “Kiss me. That’s all the medicine I need.” Gallant words, when he felt as if he’d died and been brought back to life.

  She did that gladly, though she continued fussing over him, worrying the wound was bandaged properly or the moss Sabine packed into the little bullet-hole effective. It was then she saw the knife-slash on his wrist.

  “What’s this? Another wound? When did it happen? I’ll fetch Dr. Lavelle.”

  “Lily, no.” Marek caught her arm, wincing as the movement sent a sharpfiery stab through his shoulder. “That wasn’t caused in the fight. It’s the wound from the sânge ravensa we made when we swore to hunt down Mircea Ravagiu. I told you. Remember? Our second night together?”

  “Oh. I remember.” She looked a little sheepish, avoiding his eyes. “Quite frankly, when you told me, I wasn’t interested in looking at your wrist.” Picking up Marek’s hand, she turned it over and kissed the cut. “You said it doesn’t pain you. I do remember that.”

  “It doesn’t hurt at all,” he lied.

  The truth was it ached constantly, the only time he forgot about it was when he was loving her and the pulsing of his desire drowned out all other sensations.

  “It’ll never heal as long as that monster’s alive?”

  He nodded. She didn’t say anything more, just sat holding his hand, her fingers lying across the cut in his wrist.

  Later Sabine showed Marek the misshapen lump of lead he had dug out of his shoulder.

  “A deadly little thing…something men in the Outside have been using to kill each other for several hundred years now.”

  “It’s so small.” Marek took the bullet from him, studying it. “How could it hurt me so?”

  “Perhaps because it’s lead. Aventurieri have an intolerance for that metal, as they do silver.” As he said that, Marek gingerly handed it back to him.

  “If you’d waited a few more days there would’ve been nothing I could do and the infection

  would’ve carried you away.”

  “I think we need to study these guns in more detail,” Marek decided. “Send some soldati to Madame Lubos. Tell her I wish to procure some of the weapons and also their ammunition.”

  “Is that wise? If there are humans joining Ravagiu in attacking us, should we let them know we’re trying to gain possession of these things?”

  “Madame Lubos’ll keep quiet if she knows what’s good for her,” Marek replied, looking less like a ghidaj and more like the Taietor. “I
think we should get guns and learn how to use them. Lily says she knows how…at least in theory. She’s also surprised we don’t. Quite frankly, so am I. How is it we haven’t leaerned about them before now, Sabine?”

  “I’m afraidi the reason must be laid at our Prince’s door. I’ve long said the Domnitor’s keeping Carpathius too insular, my lord. I’ll tell Captain Zoltan to send some men to Madame’s immediately. In the meantime…” He gave Marek’s good arm a fatherly pat and smiled at Lily. “…you’re in good hands. This young lady has proven herself an excellent nurse. She’ll give you your medicine, and eventually, you’ll be well again.”

  Marek squeezed Lily’s hand. “If you leave now, Sabine, I think she can give me better medicine than those foul-tasting concoctions you mix.”

  “None of that,” the doctor admonished. “You’re in no condition...”

  He paused, noting the gleam in Marek’s eye and the way Lily was smiling.

  “So you wish to prove me wrong, do you?” Shaking his head, Sabine turned to the door. “Very well. Continue with your ministrations, Mistress Lily. Perhaps, in this case, you’re a better doctor than I am.”

  Chapter 20

  In a few weeks, Marek was completely healed from his bullet wound, and felt as if he’d never been hurt. He’d always have a star-shaped scar on his shoulder, however, where the lead ball had penetrated, made considerably larger by Sabine’s efforts to dig it out.

  They got the guns from Madame Lubos, and with what little knowledge Lily possessed and Sabine’s centuries-old memories, soon knew how to use them. Now they waited for another attack by Ravagiu and the chance to show him they had knowledge he didn’t expect.

  Marek also decided to take this information to the Domnitor.

  * * *

  The garden was dark and quiet, lit by a full moon silvering the trees’ leaves while wrapping their trunks in deep shadows. Dan sat on a stone bench near the fountain, watching Lily use a pair of golden shears as she clipped blossoms from a rose bush by the garden wall.

  “I’m glad you agreed to come with me.” She selected the last flower and dropped the shears into the basket.

  “Why’s that?” He placed his good arm across the top of the bench.

  “The garden’s lovely and I’m certain there’s no danger here, but the shadows always seem so deep. I know it’s foolish of me, but I feel safer when you’re with me.”

  “As safe as you’d be with Marek?” He didn’t dare tell her how those words made his heart pound a little faster. Dan had discovered a disconcerting fact about himself whenever he was in Lily’s presence, a truth making him question his long-ago decision. “Though I’m definitely no warrior?”

  “I believe you’ve the heart of a warrior. I’m certain you’re as brave as both my darling and his brothers.”

  “Having a willing heart doesn’t overcome having a disabled arm.”

  “Don’t feel so sorry for yourself.” She offered him the blossom.

  He took it, sniffed gently, savoring the sicy fragrance, then returned it to her with a little nod.

  “I won’t have you enjoying your infirmity.”

  “I’m properly chastised.” He accepted her chiding with a little nod. “Odd. Somehow a reprimand doesn’t sting as much when delivered by a beautiful woman.”

  “Flatterer.” She sat beside him.

  “Not as flattering as some,” he denied. “I’ll never give Vlad or Andrei any competition, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, those two...” She shook her head. “I hope some day they grow up. I know they’re much younger than Marek, but surely they’re old enough to stop indulging in such juvenile behavior.”

  Dan regarded her a moment. “You sound like their elder brother. Recently, I asked Marek why he tolerates their little tricks.”

  “He knows they do it to tease and bedevil him.”

  “Exactly.” He gave her an appreciative look. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “Dan, if I ever thought either Vlad or Andrei was serious with all that flirting they bandy about, I’d run screaming to Marek as fast as I could. Or start carrying a dagger.” She looked serious. “Truly, to someone more naïve they could be quite dangerous.”

  “What about me?” He caught her hand, clasping it between his, tracing along her fingers with his forefinger. With that single touch, he felt his heart change its pace. “Do you think I could be dangerous?”

  She studied his face. The moonlight was in full radiance and Dan’s fair hair appeared silver in its glow, his pale skin lit with a ghostly gleam.

  “My dear Bogdan, you could be devastating…if you let yourself.” She gave the hand holding hers a sisterly squeeze. He looked at her sadly.

  “You know, don’t you?”

  “Know what?” She got very busy arranging the flowers in the basket, not looking at him.

  “Don’t make me say it, Lily. About...me.”

  “I know you’re a very solitary man. Through your own choice.” She dropped a flower back into the basket. “I also think you’ve a tremendous amount of love to give…to the right person…some day.”

  “What if…” he took a deep breath. “…I said I thought I might’ve already found that person?”

  She looked up.

  “I’m glad Marek’s not here, else I might not have the courage to say this. Lily…”

  “Don’t.” She placed the fingers of her free hand across his lips. “Don’t say something you ma y later regret. You know I care for you a great deal, Dan…as my darling Marek’s kinsman...as my friend.”

  “Yes. I’m that, aren’t I?” His voice was very soft. Raising her hand, he kissed her fingers, then waited as if expecting her to pull away.

  Lily didn’t move.

  “I’ll always be your friend, Lily.” Releasing her hand, he stood up. “Your basket appears to be full. Shall we go in?”

  * * *

  “Maiestate.”

  Marek bowed in the direction he thought the voice emanated. Sometimes it was difficult and he supposed the Domnitor intended that.

  Confuse a man by bombarding him from all sides by bodiless sound. After thirteen years however, he was accustomed to the sensation and generally ignored it.

  “You requested an audience, Taietor?”

  Today, Ciprian’s tone was sharp, as if agitated. Of late, it seemed that way more and more. Though still as rigidly formal as always, the Prince’s voice often rose into higher registers, sometimes sounding on the edge of panic.

  “I did, sire.” He bowed again, a little more deferentially.

  “And? So? What is the nature of this audience you have asked for and received? Come, Taietor, you have never been hesitant before in speaking to us.”

  There it was again. Sharpness, impatience, instead of that calm, deep monotone.

  “You’re aware of the attack on my devotat Radu Arnuut’s castel?”

  “Yes, yes…organized by one of those deomi priests.” Irritation grated in Ciprian’s tone. “This is old news, Taietor. It was reported to me. I had my steward investigate. The man was a zealot. He made several threats and accusations against us, decided to take matters into his own hands, and died for his troubles. Why bring this up now?”

  “It isn’t the priest I’m speaking of, but rather something one of those with him carried.” Marek reached under his coat, bringing out the revolver he’d stuck into the waistband of his breeches before he was transported. He held it up. “This.”

  “A pistol?” Ciprian’s reaction was unexpected. “Taietor, you dare bring that weapon into my presence?”

  “I meant no offense.” Marek was startled.

  He already knows?

  “I wished to let you know of it. Surely we need to be more aware…”

  “I am aware of the existence of these...weapons...and of their destructive power.”

  “You know of them, sire? Yet your people don’t?”

  That didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t the prince told us of such a dang
erous thing? Supplied them with the weapons, if he knew about them?

  “I was long ago given information about the development of munitions.” Ciprian sounded reluctant to admit such a thing to his subject. “My steward traveled very far…into the East as well as Europe gathering what I needed to know.”

  “In that case, may I ask, Domnul…” Marek forced his voice servile and apologetic for being so ignorant. “…why those of us in the warrior caste haven’t been given these facts also?”

  “I studied the information, determined it would do no good for my people to have these weapons, especially my warriors. We have cannon, swords, lances, crossbows. Those will wound as mortally as a bullet. I made the decision this deadly invention would never enter the Decebral….and now you have possession of one?” Ciprian’s voice rose as if offended.

  “I intended no disrespect, sire,” Marek assured him, hastily. “I was wounded by one of the things. I thought you should be informed.”

  “For that we commend you, Taietor. Your concern for us and your own caste is to be applauded. Do you have more than the one weapon?”

  Do I dare lie? If he did and the Prince found out...

  “Yes, sire, my men obtained several in order to learn how to use them.”

  “You will give them to my steward. There will be no use of these weapons in the Decebral. Is that understood?” There was no leeway for argument in his tone.

  No, sire, I don’t understand. With severe misgivings Marek acquiesced. “Yes, Maiestate. It will be as you command.”

  Something isn’t right. Why does the Domnitor wish to keep us ignorant? If deomi come again with guns and we’ve none, more than my men could be hurt. They might wipe out all of us in a very short time.

  Everything went dark, only where he stood was illuminated. A hand touched his shoulder. Startled, he whirled to see the Ingrijitor standing behind him.

  “I’ll accompany you back to your castel.” Before Marek dared speak, the man went on in a whisper not traveling past the border of light, “He wishes to keep us forever isolated. He’s been Domnitor for four centuries now. Faculties can begin to slip after so long. Perhaps it’s time for the Consfatuire to consider a new prince.”