Strigoi

by Tony-Paul de Vissage

  “We intend her no harm. After all, she was ignorant of her status. The girl, however, cannot stay with you. She will be taken from your household and placed in a human home. Immediately.”

  “Please, Maiestate.” Vlad spoke before Marek could. “My brother planned to do that. He intended to find a deomi family to take her in.”

  Ciprian’s pause seemed interminable.

  “We are not totally without compassion, in spite of the prisoner’s accusations to the contrary. We will allow the girl to stay within your household until you have found a human home for her. Once that happens, you will relinquish all claim and divorce yourselves from her.”

  Bowing his head, Vlad murmured, in relief, “Thank you, Maiestate. It will be as you say.”

  “As for the girl Diana. Though she is wed to Mircea Ravagiu, that she was taken from her own family by force invalidates that alliance. She will be given to an aventuriera to rear. None of your family will try to contact her.”

  “No,” Marek shouted. “You can’t take her away after we’ve just found her. Please.”

  “Please, Maiestate.” Vlad echoed his brother’s unheard words.

  “Be satisfied you now know your sister to be alive.” Ciprian spoke to both of them. “Never seeing her again will be your punishment for your deception, Marek Strigoi.”

  Once again, the Consfatuire’s gavels sounded.

  “As for the final and most serious charge against you, that of defying your prince’s command, resulting in the deaths of seventeen of our loyal subjects...”

  “Is there nothing I can say? Won’t you listen? Our family and household were slaughtered by Mircea Ravagiu. My baby brother—he was only three. They hung him in the sunlight, let him burn to death.” Marek knew he was yelling, but couldn’t stop.

  Why can’t Ciprian see what he’s doing, condemning me and letting that monster go free?

  “How can you believe that madman’s lies? You sent my father to execute his brother as a rapitor.”

  He paused to take a breath.

  There was no answer from the darkness.

  “I was your Taietor thirteen years, Maiestate. Does my loyalty in carrying out your commands mean nothing?”

  To his horror, the Domnitor laughed, cold and scornful and lacking any sympathy. “Loyalty is nothing if you flaunt my orders otherwise.”

  “Maiestate, I beg you, don’t do this.” Marek’s voice rose. “Have mercy.”

  “Mercy?” That word seemed to drive Ciprian into a frenzy. “You dared flout a royal order, Marek Strigoi. Now you will suffer as you deserve.”

  He was on his feet, robes disturbing the darkness, causing it to curl and billow as his voice grew louder.

  “As for my mercy, you disobeyed me...defied my authority…” The prince’s anger burst from the shadows in a thunderous explosion. “You will not go unpunished, Marek Strigoi!. One hand raised, forefinger pointing, the others curling into a fist. “That punishment begins now!”

  The blast of power swept Marek off his feet, throwing him against the cage’s side. His head struck the silver bars and the darkness boiling around the prisoner’s dock swarmed over him, chasing away his consciousness.

  Chapter 50

  Somewhere in Limbo

  “Marek Strigoi, you have been found guilty of disobeying the command of our prince and for this crime the punishment is death.”

  Across the twilight dimness, prisoner and executioner faced each other. A slight breeze lifted Cézar’s blond curls, tangling Marek’s dark hair about his face. Cézar lifted the scroll, reading from it.

  “For this offense, there is no repentance, and I, His Majesty’s taietor, am here to carry out the armate against you.”

  There’s nothing I can say. Cezar won’t shrink from what he has to do. I know. I’ve stood in his place.

  “Do you wish to pray?”

  “Thank you, Taietor.” Humbly, Marek closed his eyes.

  Oracle, please… I admit I defied the prince. Perhaps I deserve to die, but… Stop Ciprian, I beg you. He’s mad. Don’t let more of my people suffer his injustice.

  He opened his eyes, meeting his cousin’s cold gaze.

  I won’t look away. I’ll force him to watch my life leave me.

  Cézar dropped the scroll.

  A sudden buffet of wind swirled around them, striking between Marek’s shoulder blades and knocking him to the ground. Unable to rise, he crouched on hands and knees. The metallic whisper of Cézar’s sword as it slid from its scabbard cut through the wind’s moaning. He took a step forward, raised it, swung the blade downward.

  Stop, Taietor!

  The blade suspended in mid-air. Cézar gripped the sword tightly, turning his face away from the bright light surrounding himself and his victim.

  Marek Strigoi must not die by your hand. The Oracle alone will mete out his punishment.

  Shrieking, the wind became a visible torrent surrounding Marek’s kneeling body, enclosing him in a scarlet glow. He thrust out one hand as if to ward it away, and then...disappeared.

  Cézar’s sword sliced empty air.

  The light vanished, twilight returned.

  At the assassin’s feet, the parchment burst into flame, flared, and crumbled to ash.

  Go, Taietor. Your part in this is done. Marek Strigoi is beyond your reach.

  Cézar returned his sword to its scabbard. Kneeling, he gathered the ashes and willed himself back to the Council Chamber.

  * * *

  Pausing for breath, the prince’s steward reached the last step leading to the entrance of the Oracle’s temple. Bending, he went through the low doorway.

  The interior was alight with candles in carved wall-niches. Polished surfaces of ceremonial urns reflected their flames. Reaching into one of the urns, the steward brought out a handful of herbs, crushing them between his fingers before dropping them into a small stone salver. He took one of the candles, setting the herbs afire. As he returned it to its place, his offering smoldered and began burning.

  Falling to his knees, he raised his palms toward the altar.

  “Oracle, hear me, I’ve sinned greatly. I, who speak for the Domnitor, your representative in this world, have made a grievous decision, one I knew in my heart was wrong.” Clasping his hands together, he went on, voice breaking, “Oracle, I took a locket from a prisoner. It held two portraits, one of this man’s father, the other his mother. Oracle, the woman was human.”

  The mask-like calm all others saw shattered as his voice rose.

  “I told no one, thought it best not to let anyone learn my master’s former taietor, the man who enforced the Law, defied it by lying with a deomi and creating an amestacatura, the same crime for which he killed so many. Nor did I tell that the son inheriting his father’s rank is an abomination, lest it reflect on my master and cause others to question his judgments.”

  He took a deep, trembling breath.

  “The sentence for such a half-breed is death. The prisoner’s to be executed. Does it matter for which crime he dies?”

  Desperately, he watched the herbs burn, their smoke turning white, then red, then white again.

  Fear not...your choice was predestined...what has happened was meant to happen.

  Burying his face in his hands, Prince Ciprian’s stone-cold Ingrijitor began to sob.

  * * *

  In his study Karl-Josef sat before the fire, the Book of the Elders in which was recorded the Scroll of the Oracle open on his knees. Smoothing the aged and fragile pages, he studied the last words of the Prophecy of the Intamplare. He will be given over to the wrath of the Furies. Family and followers believe him dead, but the Intamplare will return.

  “Gods, Marek.” The Markgraf raised his head, making no attempt to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, my boy, is it possible?”

  * * *

  “You have returned, my taietor. Has the punishment been carried out?” The prince sounded eager.

  “Maiestad, I...the Oracle…” The wo
rds Cézar wanted to say wouldn’t come. His tongue refused to obey.

  Did he wish to hear the prisoner had shown fear? Groveled and begged for his life?

  “Speak, Taietor.! Has the armate been fulfilled?”

  “Yes, Domnul.” It was as if someone else spoke with his mouth, saying things he had no wish to say.

  “Where is our trophy?” Ciprian persisted. “Where is the traitor’s head?”

  “Th-the Oracle struck him down for his sin against you, lord.” Cézar struggled to keep silent but the words came anyway, bursting from lips attempting to stay closed. “Marek Strigoi is no longer in this world.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “He received his destiny.” Holding out his hand, Cézar opened it and allowed the ashes he’d gathered to fall to the floor where they disintegrated into fine, gray dust.

  * * *

  The Aventurieri Inferno

  When Marek opened his eyes again, he was once more in darkness. Rolling onto his back, he raised a hand to his head as he stared into the gloom. This time there was no light to tell him where he was. Reaching out tentatively, he touched the hard cold surface on which he lay, finding it smooth as polished glass. It was freezing cold...ice to his naked back and buttocks.

  Cautiously, he got to his feet.

  Why did they take my robe? What is this place?

  More importantly, why was he still alive? The last he remembered Cézar was raising his sword, then... Nothing.

  Where in Hell am I?

  The wind howled around his body so fiercely he could barely breathe. As Marek crouched, arm protecting his face, a sudden gust lifted him off the smooth surface, flinging him backward into the air. He had a sense of being spun around, high above where he had stood. His back struck something hard. Head colliding with the obstacle, he saw bright stars dance before his eyes as the wind died.

  Marek shook his head. When he tried to move his arms, something metallic encircled each wrist. Leg-irons wrapped his ankles, chaining him to a tall, upright stone, floating in darkness.

  You called for Justice, Marek Strigoi...and you shall have it…someday…we have plans for you, amestacatura…but first you must be purified of the taint of your birth, and if you have the strength to survive...you will prove you are worthy to receive the destiny we foretold to János Strigoi...

  “What destiny?” Brain whirling, Marek wasn’t certain if he spoke aloud or not. “What are you talking about?”

  …accept, Marek Strigoi, and trust…

  In the distance, there was movement, a swirling red glow. It came closer, morphed into three naked females, their scarlet wings beating slowly as they advanced toward him. Long wild hair floated around their faces, their features twisted human caricatures with crimson eyes, flat wide noses, long thick fangs hanging below their chins. Their bodies were a perverse rendering of the female form with pendulous fur-covered breasts through which pink nipples protruded. Only the palms of their hands, their mounds, and the soles of their feet were bare.

  The Oracle’s Furies. The gods help me. Marek had only time for a faint prayer before they were upon him.

  They surrounded him, floating around and around the obelisk, surveying him from all sides, the only sound the swoop of their monstrous wings.

  “Look at him,” one croaked. “Isn’t he beautiful, sisters? And all ours.”

  With a taloned hand, she raked a claw down Marek’s cheek.

  Marek jerked his head away. A single drop of blood beaded to the surface trickling down his jaw.

  “I think he doesn’t likes us, sister,” another one spoke, voice as raspy as the first’s. She flapped closer, thrusting her face into his. “Well, my lovely. You’ll be very familiar with us before we’re through.”

  “Let’s begin.”

  The third, hovering some distance away watching the other two, spoke up, her voice thick and liquid as if her words came through a mouthful of barely chewed flesh.

  “We’ve waited for him to awaken. I won’t delay any longer.”

  Hand on his shoulder, she seized his chin in one paw, forcing his head around. She brushed her lips against his forehead, nibbling down his cheek in a mockery of a lover’s caress, tongue flicking out to taste his skin, lapping gently. She pressed her mouth against his, teeth grinding.

  He could feel the fork of her tongue forcing itself between his lips. It invaded his mouth, coiling inside. With a muffled cry Marek tried to pull away. Struggling to move his head only made her hold him tighter, pressing her furry body against his.

  She was cold, like a dead animal pelt.

  The kiss went deeper, her tongue caressing his, flicking at the entrance of his throat, creeping down it. He wanted to gag, vomit her out of his mouth but couldn’t move. His tongue was being sucked out, pulled into her own, her teeth—sharp and jagged—grazing against it. Hands clenched into fists, he pushed against the rock, struggling to free himself, but his body was held immobile. He couldn’t escape. Feebly he tried to kick her away. The leg-irons swung and clanked.

  She sank her teeth into his tongue, viciously jerked her head. Marek’s scream spat blood on her breast-fur. She floated, his tongue hanging between her teeth. She spat it out, watching it fall into the darkness.

  Marek began to sob, his tongueless mouth forming mumbling pleas. The second darted in, hands caressing and roaming over his breast and stomach. Her talons scratched and scraped, carving little furrows of flesh. She floated closer, body pressed against his, legs parted to grip his hips as she rubbed her hairless mound against his cock. Marek swallowed and coughed, began to choke from the blood filling his mouth.

  The first seized him again.

  “He mustn’t die.”

  She pressed her mouth to his, sucking out the blood and tilting his head so the flow from his mutilated tongue dripped out of his mouth and down his chest.

  The second pushed her away.

  “He’s mine now.”

  She bent her head, tongue flicking back and forth as it licked across his chest, down his ribs, his belly. She began to lave around and around one nipple and he felt an involuntary and shocking stab of desire turning to agony as she closed her teeth around the little mound of flesh, chewing. With a single twisting wrench, she tore the flesh away, leaving a jagged wound where blood welled and poured down his side onto his thigh.

  He felt no sensation but hot numbing shock, and then…

  The pain came…mind-ripping as shards of molten glass.

  Marek screamed. The Fury spat out his flesh. Darting in again, ripping and clawing, she bit off the other nipple and dropped it after the first.

  “My turn” The third seized her by the shoulders, flinging her aside. “I get the best part.”

  She floated toward him, breathing a haze of rotted flesh and rancid blood.

  Marek gagged, heaved, and sprayed the air with blood and spittle, covering her.

  The others swooped to his legs, each seizing an ankle, forcing them apart, pinning his heels to the pillar so his member and stones dangled unprotected. She dropped below him, one hand cupping his balls while the other caught his shaft, running a claw down its length.

  He shivered, a trembling spasm, trying once more to beg, drooling blood instead.

  With a travesty of a lover’s gentleness, she kissed his cock, licking the tip, then took it into her mouth, forked tongue lapping tenderly. Her other hand continued to stroke his balls. In spite of his pain, he felt himself grow harder, suffering an erection more powerful than any he’d ever experienced. Against his will, he began to strain toward her, pushing his body away from the wall, thrusting at her teeth.

  The Fury’s mouth stretched wider, taking his full length until her parted lips touched his body, nuzzling against the dark hair at his lower belly, and then, she stopped…

  …floated with wings flapping lazily, holding him in her mouth. The hand grasping his balls tightened. Her mouth opened more, revealing rows of needle-fine teeth. He knew what she was going to
do, threw himself into violent movement, trying to break free.

  Her hand twisted.

  Marek shrieked, fainting as his testicles were ripped from his body, but his escape was momentary. Consciousness thrust back upon him and he opened his eyes, seeing his crushed and bleeding balls on a taloned palm raised high above her head. Her teeth closed with a snap, coming together so sharply they met in his flesh.

  Gasping for breath, pain-dimmed eyes filled with tears, he saw his member hanging from her blood-smeared mouth. She jerked her head backward, tossing his mutilated organ into the air, then snapped at it like a dog with a scrap of meat, catching it between her teeth. She chewed, then swallowed noisily. His balls followed, downed in one gulp.

  Oh, gods. Marek blinked blood from his eyes, tried to speak, choked instead.

  They huddled together looking coyly over their shoulders at him as they ran their hands over each other, rubbing his blood into their fur. A high-pitched giggle speared the air. They began to spin and twirl. A crimson light encased them in a brilliant glow bright as the blood they were wearing.

  They disappeared.

  Sobbing out his relief, Marek lowered his head enough to look down his blood-spattered body. His severed tongue had stopped bleeding. Only a few drops fell onto the raw wounds on his chest but below his waist, the stump of his missing cock still gushed blood down his legs, dripping soundlessly off his toes into the darkness.

  Once again oblivion rushed in to consume him.

  * * *

  When he awoke again, he was still chained to the rock, and the pain was gone.

  “Ohhhh.”

  That one groan was startling. Had he made it? His tongue—he could feel it inside his mouth. Thrusting it out, he licked his lips.

  I still have my tongue! Had he imagined his torture? Was some spell placed in his mind? The prince was capable of such enchantments.

  Discovering his tongue was unharmed made him investigate his body. His chest was untouched. No wounds. Nipples visible and unscarred through the hair on his chest, and below…

  Fearfully, he forced his gaze downward.

  He was still intact, hadn’t been unmanned, cock and balls nestling in the dark hair between his thighs.