Marek (Buried Lore Book 1)

by Gemma Liviero

  It was Marek, you see, who had changed me. I had never met anyone who was so good, or anyone who had put up such a fight against the strigoi inside of him. And now it hurt more knowing that we had been lying to him. If I had told him the truth about what we really were, when we would be stripped raw of our facades, he would hate me.

  I know now that I loved him. I do not know when I first fell for him. Perhaps even as far back as when he rescued Zeke from the wolf. For a strigoi, I was one of the reborn. I was still young. We were the new breed thanks to Oleander. And since she came into power she had made many changes. She was smart and powerful, born of a strigoi and a witch, since the strigoi could not sire children on their own. Humans were important to us in many ways. Which is why Lewis maintained strict control over our circle so we were not prey to excess, dwindling down humankind to insufficient levels. We took society’s garbage though occasionally made some mistakes; mistakes, I’ve noticed of late, that were no longer punishable.

  I knew that it was not just for love that she brought her brother here but in preparation for a coven war. She was aware of Marek’s potential and the power to make her coven the strongest in the land. Other covens had grown weak, allowing witches to take control.

  During Marek’s changeover, I had begun to doubt some of Oleander’s decisions. And Oleander knew of my doubts over Marek. He did not know that he could have lived normally without all this. Perhaps I had been too outspoken on this matter. It was unwise to make an enemy of Oleander, who could cast me to the dungeon in the blink of an eye.

  I had loved Jean once and he reciprocated for a time. Though I should have recognised the shallowness; he was cold. Marek on the other hand was something else. But he no longer had eyes for me. I saw how he looked at Celestina.

  There were stories that his mother was also very powerful. That she led a small coven of witches here, living alongside the strigoi. Why she left is not really clear, though there has been speculation that she struggled with the activities of the strigoi and refused the changeover. If she had stayed she would have been safe.

  Marek danced from one strigoi to the next. Many of these were reborn – converted witches – with weakened strigoi ancestry: arrogant frivolous beings with lesser skills than me. Then there were the others, though not many, who had been a strigoi for centuries. I sometimes felt very different to them even though we shared a common thirst for blood. They had not had to work hard for everything they had.

  I noticed that Jean’s hair had lost some of its shine lately. His eyes were bloodshot. Even all the powder on his bad days could not mask the fact he seemed to be ageing at a rapid rate. He looked much older than his thirty-year-old human shell.

  With immortality came the opportunity to resurrect oneself. Jean would no doubt be looking to do that shortly.

  Marek

  It was a most amazing night. I had taken fresh blood every night for several weeks and each time it got easier. Oleander said that soon I would not have to feed so often, that my voracious appetite was just part of the changeover.

  Sometimes I saw things in their memories that I wished I hadn’t. That night I took the life of a rogue: a terrible man who drank and hurt people. A man who had no care for anyone but himself and I was pleased this land was rid of him. Once the blood rushed up through my own mouth and into my veins, there was no better feeling. Perhaps this was close to madness, but such lunacy that made me feel so alive and so clear of mind. Anything that could make you feel this good had to be right, did it not? How wrong I was.

  My canine teeth had grown longer, not so noticeable when I smiled but as I rubbed my tongue across their sharper edge I could sometimes taste my own blood, and they would enlarge further just prior to feeding.

  I did not take the souls like Oleander showed me. I just pretended to. When my victims released the final breath – the one that carried away their soul – I allowed it to escape so that it passed on to the next world. I may have enjoyed eliminating human filth but I still believed they needed a second chance, to be judged by a higher order than ourselves.

  This last vagabond’s demise was particularly strange because while I was wandering through his memories, his drunken fights, his seductions, his murders, I thought I saw Celeste, when she was small, in a cotton nightgown and holding an older woman’s hand. This Celeste wasn’t smiling though, as she looked directly into my victim’s eyes.

  I sought out Celeste, or Celestina as she preferred it, to tell her what I had seen and she seemed vague and dismissive as if she had no memory of her childhood. I would have thought that she would question me further but she was completely disinterested. Instead she asked me to dance. She was fickle these days and although I loved her, she lacked a certain warmth that I used to think was there.

  Zola

  Many days and nights had passed since the change, and Marek has spent much time with Celestina. Too much time. The new Celestina was more adversarial than first thought. She knew how I felt about him yet she had been attempting to drive him away from me. It was just a game to her.

  Oh, how could I have let myself get to this point? I vowed to never let any man control my heart. Marek clouded my judgement so much that I had forsaken all other lovers; even the attentions of Jean no longer amused me.

  I was determined to make Marek see that Celestina was a mask only; and the real creature beneath was so cold of heart, that she was incapable of love. She was playing with Marek’s heart to make Jean jealous. She had wanted him for years but she did not know Jean like I did. He would do whatever he pleased, tiring of her eventually, and I had this feeling that he would surprise us all one day.

  I opened Marek’s door. He was sleeping but once I was inside the room he became alert.

  ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

  ‘I can’t sleep.’

  ‘Oh, Zola, it is you!’

  ‘Who did you think it was? Celestina?’

  He said nothing.

  There was still a lot that Marek did not know about the strigoi, much he still had to learn and much that I had shielded him from. If he had known that Celestina was not what he thought, he would never forgive any of us.

  I saw a connection between the mute girl and Marek back in the forest. It was very admirable that he should try and find the girl a home. But then later it became clearer that he perhaps had another interest. Celeste turned out to be more beautiful than any of us imagined with her long neck and masses of ebony curls.

  If Marek ever found out her true nature what would he think? He would despise her and try and find the real Celeste. It was not the imposter who stole a piece of his heart.

  ‘I have been missing you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry …’ but with his kiss he stopped me from saying the words I needed him to hear: I am sorry. I’ve mislead you. I’ve helped make you into something you should never have become for you have not seen the whole truth.

  I understood his state of being. He was still in the early stages of exploration when the world seemed so wonderful, that killing was just a part of it, and not all of it. He would soon come down from the clouds but only after he was a practised human hunter and his mind and body fully accepting the strigoi within.

  Marek

  I pulled Zola gently down to lie beside me and held her in my arms. I had not paid much attention to her lately, and she had been distant, leaving the feasts early.

  ‘Marek, I would like us to go away to another country for a few days. Just you and me.’

  I was shocked and pleased that Zola wanted me to come.

  ‘Zola, thank you. That is wonderful and yes we can do that one day. But Oleander says I still need training. She says that I must study the strigoi ways before I wander too far from her castle.’

  ‘And it is probably Celestina that you stay for.’

  That had once been true. How could I admit that I had fallen for two girls? Until recently, my heart had been divided straight down the middle, one half for Celeste, the other for Zola.

&nb
sp; Before Celeste came, you could say I was falling deeply in love with Zola, but when Celeste returned, it was different. After discovering she was a witch I felt that our destinies were entwined. For many nights she was all I could think of. And I was, admittedly, bedazzled by the attention.

  There were moments when I missed the Celeste I knew back at the farm, the one who charmed me with her vulnerability. Oleander had groomed her well. And we have spent several weeks together: riding, dancing, and idle childish games in the snow. Well, not completely together. She spent some of her time with me but I sensed she did not want just me. Jean was there always watching on.

  I grew to like him less and less. He was devious and Oleander did not seem to care or chose not to notice.

  Zola shifted and I touched her cheek with the back of my hand. It was cool. I could see her clearly in the dark, her small bowed lips and delicate nose. And suddenly she was all I could think of.

  ‘I miss you too. I’m sorry I have been distracted lately.’

  Celeste was as alluring as a glistening black pearl but my desire for her had waned in recent days. It was not something I could put into words but there was a certain oddness about her worldly character: an arrogance only acquired by age.

  I kissed Zola gently with a touch of guilt and breathed in the rose petal smell of her hair. I truly had missed her so much. It was Zola who I had stronger feelings for after all and that night I proved it.

  Zola

  In the morning I dressed in the early light and he watched me. As I looked out the window I saw Celeste and Jean riding together.

  ‘Celestina is out riding,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you should go too.’

  ‘Not today,’ he said and those puppy dog eyes were filled with love and only for me. ‘Come back to bed and stay with me a little longer.’

  I agreed and slid back under the covers.

  My head had barely touched the pillow when Oleander entered without knocking. She looked slightly shaken but not surprised.

  ‘Oleander, can you at least knock?’ asked Marek curtly, only to receive a reprimanding stare.

  ‘Come with me, Zola,’ she commanded, and left. She knew I would follow.

  Marek started to rise.

  ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘She has only called me. Stay here.’

  ‘Can you come back?’

  ‘I will try.’ But something told me that it would not be that day.

  In her library, Oleander faced me, her expression closed. I feared what would come, at the very least words of her disappointment. She would most likely ask me to stay away from Marek, that he was too new and easy to mould. She would perhaps think a better pairing to be Celestina since she had little to no conscience when it came to matters of the heart.

  ‘Zola, Pietro has escaped,’ she said. ‘There are others out looking. You are our best tracker. I need you out there too.’

  I was glad that this was not about Marek – such a lecture postponed and overshadowed by a more pressing task.

  ‘Perhaps Marek can go with you too.’

  ‘I believe it is too soon. He is not like the others and may not cope with what he sees.’

  She did not say anything but eyed me up and down. She knew the real reason I did not want him to go. I was not yet ready for him to hate me.

  ‘Very well. But sooner or later he will no longer have your protection. He must know what he truly is, and survive like the rest of us, not babied and wrapped up in lamb’s wool.’

  I nodded, relieved that she had agreed – a rarity – and eager to depart her company. I was fearful that once Marek knew the truth beneath this coven he would run far from me. He was someone who took everything to heart.

  I left wishing I was still lying with Marek with his strong arms around me. It was odd that I was the one protecting him yet when I was with him it felt otherwise. But it was my duty as a strigoi to serve Oleander and I complied to search for Pietro.

  He had been a prisoner, a nonconformist. He tried to usurp Oleander’s power, though unsuccessfully as there were too many of the new blood loyal to her. Pietro was of the ancients who only wanted to survive by the old ways. He and others like him had been imprisoned in the dungeon. He was starved of human blood like the rest of them though he had not decayed as quickly as the others.

  I looked at the ground for traces. You cannot see a strigoi’s footprint but another strigoi can sense they have been there. There is a scent that is barely detectable. Most escapees had headed east where the forests were vast, where it was easier to get lost. But it made no difference. They were always found. I studied the ground until I saw Pietro’s mark and rubbed slush between my fingers. Yes he had been here. The others had picked up the scent too and headed east but they were wrong. He was expecting us to go that way. Pietro was a smart one. Too bad he was not conforming to Oleander’s rules. In some way I understood that it must have been hard to accept the new decrees.

  I followed the river. It was another tool the strigoi used to stay hidden. There was less scent near water. Over miles I travelled until there were no forests. I was far west and getting closer. I could sense it. Pietro would not have walked fast. His body was failing him.

  On the ground were dead rabbits, their throats torn, not a drop of blood left. He was getting careless, even desperate, and he could probably sense I was on his trail.

  The sight of the carcasses distracted me long enough for someone to jump from the tree above, and crush me to the ground. I pushed the assailant off me with such force that his body sailed through the air to land on hard shelves of ice near the river. I stood over Pietro.

  ‘Did you have to do that?’ I asked.

  ‘I can’t go back with you, I can’t!’ he hissed.

  Pietro had aged since he was put in the dungeon. His face was drawn, his hair thinning fast and his body so skinny that his collarbones protruded. I felt much pity. He had always been kind to me.

  ‘You have to, Pietro. It is Oleander’s rules. If you do what she wants you will be free again to live as a strigoi.’

  ‘Her ways are against the ancient laws. Lewis would not have wanted this.’

  ‘Pietro, you are too much of a traditionalist. It is important for all of us that we conform. Don’t you see? She is trying to build the coven and make it stronger.’

  ‘She has filled your head with lies, though it is not your fault. You have not lived long enough to know the difference between what is right in the strigoi world and what isn’t. What Oleander does is wrong. She must be stopped. Our lands will be wiped of humans if we bow to her code, or lack of. See how the young ones feast too often and she turns a blind eye? And they feast on fresh skin instead of the degenerates. Again, she pretends she doesn’t see.’

  I thought that he was perhaps right though I did not say. Oleander had opened up the door for strigoi to be somewhat wild and take what they wanted. In one way she had spoilt them with feasts and festivities. But for those who didn’t conform, it was better off being dead. Anyone who wanted to live outside Oleander’s rules was punished. In the days of Lewis’s circle there were no grand feasts night after night, and there were tighter rules concerning humans. Back then, even I felt freer to come and go as I pleased, to see and visit who I wanted. Now I found every one of us was watched in case there was a conspiracy or perhaps taking sides with the older strigoi who were hidden out of sight and deep within the castle.

  ‘Pietro, I have to take you back. If I don’t, I too will be punished.’

  ‘We need to somehow get a message to Lewis that his circle is not as he left it.’

  ‘We can’t. He is sleeping somewhere in a place no-one knows of. He cannot be disturbed. His rise will be up to him.’

  ‘Let me go, Zola. I have friends in another coven who will take me in. It is my chance to live normally. Please.’

  ‘There is no such thing as friends in another coven. They will kill you there.’

  ‘I would take my chances there than in the castle dungeon,’ he announce
d bitterly.

  Oh, how I hated that moment. My loyalty to Oleander was lessening by the day. Before Marek I did not have an opinion and Oleander was best with people who asked no questions.

  Pietro looked pathetic lying there, nothing but skin and bone and dressed in rags.

  ‘Give me a chance to be free like I was,’ he pleaded. ‘I have been a strigoi for nearly two hundred years. I have already had a sleep during that time where I healed and returned to my youth. But now it seems I am not even allowed to do that.’

  Yes, I thought to myself. Sometimes it had not always made sense to me. Oleander had some rules that we blindly followed; rules that many of the young ones did not even know about yet.

  I nodded. ‘All right, Pietro, you must go far from here and never return. I will tell her that in your weakened state I was able to kill you after you put up a fight. If I do not tell her you are dead she will tell me to continue the search. It will never end.’

  Pietro kneeled at my feet. ‘Thank you, Zola. Thank you. If I ever get the chance I will tell Lewis what you did for me here today.’

  ‘Hurry!’ I commanded. ‘Get out of my sight before I change my mind.’

  I watched him disappear and surveyed my surrounds to ensure that I had not been followed. My senses told me there were other strigoi in the forest but they were too far away to matter. As I turned to leave, I perceived one closer and waited for other signs that never came. The trail was too fleeting to be threatening, a scent likely carried there on the wind.

  With my powers I scraped open parts of my flesh leaving a gaping wound from my wrist to my elbow, and a slash across my neck. The pain was worth it if it meant avoiding punishment from Oleander. What I could encounter from her might be a lot worse.

  As I returned to the castle I rehearsed my speech. It was late. Oleander opened the entrance door expectantly. Fortunately, she would not have sensed me until I was long from Pietro.