The last lot, another set of two, were two beautiful girls, a little less beautiful than the iele, with hair the color of wheat-straw. They were the most human looking of the lot—which was to say, not all that human, but more approachable. Their expressions were grave, and their eyes were dark, like bottomless pools of water. Both wore golden gowns. There were blue flames hovering just above their heads. “Vâlva ba˘ilor,” said Dominik faintly. They did not look at Dominik, though they nodded at Rosa. She thought they looked faintly friendly.
The girls arranged themselves in a semicircle with an open place exactly opposite the two of them. And now the light playing around them became too bright to look on for a moment; Rosa and Dominik had to close their eyes. The light seemed to burn through her closed eyelids, and when it faded and she opened them again, there was a man standing in that gap. An old man, dressed in white like the first two girls, like several of the Romanian men that Rosa had seen in Sibiu. He wore baggy white trousers, a white shirt, both not just white, but dazzlingly so. He had plain brown boots, an embroidered belt at least a hand’s-breadth wide around his waist. He had a very long white hair, far longer than anything she had seen in this country before, with a long white beard, formidable white moustache and a wise and kindly look on his face. He faced both of them, leaning on a staff, his bright blue eyes twinkling a little.
“Mos‚ul!” gasped Dominik, and went to one knee. Rosa didn’t go that far—strangely, the name only meant “old man”—but she did bow with profound respect. Mos‚ul seemed to find this amusing.
“We have come to aid you, children,” the Old Man said, with a chuckle. “Your simple and heartfelt call for help touched our hearts. And we, too, rid to wish our land of the foul and unnatural creatures that have infested it. It is just as well that you did not seek to rescue your brother-in-power by yourselves. The evil vârcolac in that cave number three and forty. You would never have escaped alive.”
They both gasped; Rosa felt the blood draining from her face. “What do you advise, Wise Elder?” she asked, humbly. “We cannot leave him there, but as you say, we cannot hope to rescue him alone.”
“Most assuredly not, you must not leave him in their hands!” the Old Man exclaimed. “No, it is more than time that the foul creatures were scoured from that den, and as I said, we have come to aid you. And we intend far more than advice. Do we not, my daughters?”
“They have plagued the people of this land long enough, and have not repented of their ways,” said one of the two zâne, sternly. Well, if they were a sort of guardian angel, they were surely offended by the forty-year reign of the murder of innocent people, half of them young people and children. “Too many innocent souls cry out to us, restless because they cannot sleep while these creatures roam free, and kill, and kill again. This cannot stand.”
The iele just looked eager, and didn’t say anything. Truth to tell, they seemed just a little bloodthirsty, to Rosa.
But the Elementals sometimes are bloodthirsty, especially the nature spirits, she reminded herself. Most especially those that were once gods. The old gods were not single in nature, they had their light and dark sides. She regarded the Beings lined up before her. Our luck they are showing us their bright sides.
Now, there was always, always, a catch, when supernatural beings like this—Greater Elementals, in fact—came to aid an Elemental Master. As Gunther often said, “All that the Great Ones do is to give you the tools. It is up to you to wield them correctly.”
So Rosa bowed again, and said, “Then if you have brought these wondrous creatures to be our army, I beg you, tell us what your strengths and weaknesses are, that we may all emerge victorious.” It was the weaknesses that concerned her the most. Although the iele might be dressed in armor, it didn’t follow that they were actual fighters. And if the zâne were a sort of “guardian angel,” it might be that all they did was defend, and not attack. “And if this aid comes at a price—”
“There is no price,” said the same one that had spoken before. “Not for this. This is . . . proper work for us all.”
The Old Man laughed. “Oh, Little Red Cloak, the girl in the cloak as red as blood, there is wisdom in you, wisdom as well as spirit. Come, let us sit together and we will all talk.”
The opening of the cave looked as if someone had hewn an irregular hole in the rock. It was probably natural, but looked unnervingly man-made, as if something big and with tremendous strength, but rather clumsy, had cut it out with a hammer and chisel.
That evil blood magic muddled all over the ground before it made her just a little sick. She was beginning to wonder if that might be entirely on purpose, to keep things away from the cave. Would they be that clever?
Dominik was on one side with the crossbow, which he said he was “good” with, and one pistol. Rosa was on the other side, with the coach gun, pistols, boar spear and her knife. They didn’t have any plans to use the firearms though, not yet.
The iele, as she had suspected, were not fighters of any sort. They had worn their mail coats as an indication that they were coming to Rosa and Dominik on a mission of revenge—presumably for the victims of the shifters, who thanks to the Old Man, Rosa now knew numbered in the thousands. But their work would be done—stark naked. That was their nature. They were supreme seductresses. It was a feral, yet innocent seductiveness, as natural and careless as a cat in heat. That was the weapon that they would be using.
It was daylight, and all of the shifters were in the cave. Most of them were asleep, thanks to the work of the Old Man. He had contributed some initial magic; small, yet powerful. He had put it into the heads of the creatures to seek their separate dens within the cave, alone, and had sent them drifting off to sleep. And then he had left, after Rosa had questioned him one more time as to the abilities of the maidens. It was clear he had done all he intended to do; that was fine. Her plans were based on what the maidens had said they would do, and every tiny bit of help was a vast blessing which she was deeply, deeply grateful for.
Technically, she should not have had the aid of the iele at all. They were Great Air Elementals, not of Earth. But the vâlva ba˘ilor, the Great Elementals of the Earth, had begged their sisters of the air to come when Rosa had asked for help. And Rosa had, after all, opened herself to all of nature when she had begged for aid. So they had agreed to come, and when they understood what it was that was being asked of them, they had become avidly eager. It was clear that they had wanted revenge for a very, very long time. But the shifters were sorcerers, and they knew how to protect themselves. They had not, in the past, left themselves open for the iele’s usual mode of attack. Only thanks to the Old Man were the iele going to get their chance.
They would not follow her orders, however. It was left to the zâne to intercede for her, and beg them to do certain things, in a certain order, for the zâne were of a fifth Element, that of Spirit, and Spirit ruled over all. Rosa had learned of that Element, from Gunther, but he had told her that there had never been a Master of Spirit, and never would be, for such a Master could command the very angels and that could not be permitted. She was, truth to tell, more than a little stunned that the zâne had come to their aid at all. She could only think that they had really come for two reasons: because Markos was worthy, and because it was past time for the shifters to end their reign of terror.
So now, she and Dominik were positioned just outside the cave, and it was time for her to put her plan into motion. The two vâlva ba˘ilor had already done their work; they had impressed the image of the cavern before them firmly in their minds, and given them the gift to see in the dark as clearly as the Elementals themselves could. Both Dominik and Rosa would know every inch of that cavern as if they had spent every moment of their lives in it. And the shifters would have no advantage over them when it came to the ability to see in the darkness.
Now the two vâlva ba˘ilor were gone, gone wherever the Old Man had gone. It wa
s time for the next phase.
Rosa bowed to the beautiful, ethereal woman waiting beside her, bowing as deeply as ever she could. “Great One,” she said, formally. “If it be your will, would you speak to your sisters of the air, and say that we would, at their pleasure, have them begin their dance?”
A faint smile creased the spirit’s lips, though she did not unclasp her hands. “You speak with great courtesy, little sister,” came the reply, as sweet and soft as flute played by a lover. “And they are pleased to dance, now.”
A faint hint of music came from the cave mouth. It was hardly more than a hint, and if Rosa had not been listening for it, she certainly would not have paid any attention to it. But in listening to it . . . there was something about it that was wild and . . . lusty. She sensed that if she listened closely enough she might start to be affected by it, as she had been affected by the Wild Hunter.
It did not grow stronger, so much, as nearer.
It was very hard waiting, but the iele were not to be hurried. Rosa had more than a suspicion they were enjoying playing with their victim; Dominik had whispered at one point that they had a very cruel streak to them, like the wilis she had encountered, the spirits of young girls who had killed themselves over love, or had died of broken hearts. Like the wilis, the iele were dancers. Like the wilis, when they got hold of a victim—in the wilis’ case, any man, and in the case of the iele, virtually anyone who dared to spy on them dancing—they would dance their prey to death.
The compulsion to dance, once the iele or the wilis got hold of you, could not be denied. And unless another spirit took pity on you and protected you, it could not be broken, either.
Somewhere, inside the cavern, the iele had found one of the shifters sleeping alone; half-waking him, they cast their spell over him. And now they were luring him, step by step, into the open. The spell of the Old Man would keep the rest of the shifters asleep as long as nothing louder than the music of the iele disturbed them. But it would not be the iele dancing him to death that would kill him. The truth of the matter was that the iele could not hold him for very long; once one of the others realized something was going on, as a sorcerer, he could break their magic. That was why the Elementals had not been able to take their revenge before now.
Rosa tensed as the form of a beautiful girl dressed only in her hair came spinning and weaving out of the entrance of the cave. She was followed by another—then a third—and finally, the shifter, going through clumsy, slow dancing motions, as if he was dancing half asleep, followed by the last of the four.
He was . . . hideous. The same malformed head as the shifter they had killed, only fully human now. The same scabrous skin and patchy hair. He was filthy, and stank; his finger- and toenails were untrimmed, thick, and yellow, with filth and blood crusted under them. His facial hair was as patchy as the hair on his head, and he wore little more than a rag wrapped around his loins. He moved, or rather stumbled, through a kind of mockery of a dance. His eyes, a filmy blue, were wide open, and his mouth was agape with terror. His teeth were the only part of him that looked healthy. Rosa didn’t want to think what his breath and body odor must be like—
The iele drew him further out in the open. They needed to get him far enough past the entrance that any noise he made wouldn’t echo down into the cave. And just when Rosa was wondering what in God’s name Dominik was waiting for, she heard the snap of the crossbow, and a silver-tipped bolt impacted the shifter right in the heart.
She ran out and made sure of him with the spear, as the iele stood around them, giggling.
This was why they couldn’t use the guns. They didn’t dare use anything that made that sort of noise, to wake the other shifters. They must, at all costs, whittle the numbers down as much as possible. It probably was not going to be possible to take them all down this way—the older the shifter, the more powerful he would be, and the less likely to be snared by the iele—but the fewer there were when the time came for a straight fight, the better.
She and Dominik pulled the foul body out of the entrance and into the brush where it could lie concealed, and took up their positions again. She was unsurprised to find he was wearing a copper medallion, like the others she had found. The iele clapped their hands with childlike glee, then skipped back into the cave, looking as innocent as the dawn.
The zâna˘ looked after them, and sighed. “My little sisters are . . .” she seemed at a loss for words.
Rosa searched long and hard for something tactful. Finally she thought she had it. “Primal?” she suggested.
The zâna˘ regarded her with faint gratitude. “Yes,” the spirit said, simply. “And they do take such enjoyment in what they do.”
“The Good God made us what we are,” Rosa said diplomatically, and set herself up for the next victim.
“Even so,” said the zâna˘. “Even so.”
14
EVENTUALLY, their luck ran out, as they had known it would.
There were, according to the Old Man, forty-three of the shifters in the cave. Slowly, the iele had led twenty-eight of them out, and all of them had been wearing the evil St. Hubert’s medallion. But when the time came to separate the twenty-ninth from the rest, the well-practiced maneuver failed. They picked one who was more than half awake already, and could resist their magic, and he was not pleased at them.
They knew their luck had run out when, instead of music, a bloodcurdling howl blasted out of the entrance of the cave, and a moment later, the iele fled. They poured out in a stream of breasts and hair, crowding past each other and taking to the sky as quickly as they could. Which was—very quickly indeed. Rosa could only watch them go, as they flew away on the wind. They would not be back; the Old Man had already explained this; they could be attacked and hurt by sorcerers, and wouldn’t chance being injured, not even for revenge. She couldn’t fault them for that. After all, while a human could be philosophical about death, knowing he had a soul and presumably would be rewarded in Heaven . . . the Elementals had no such security. Any priests she had spoken to either vehemently denied that anything other than a human had a soul, or considered the concept dubious at best. So, as far as the Elementals were concerned, death was extinction.
The zâna˘ at Rosa’s side pursed her lips grimly, and vanished. She would join her sister in the cave, standing guard over a badly wounded, and slowly regenerating, Markos. Slowly regenerating, rather than quickly, because the shifters knew very well what silver did to their kind, and they had been torturing him with silver knives.
Or so the vâlva ba˘ilor said, and Rosa had no reason to doubt them.
They would not get any more chances at harming Markos. Not with two zâne standing guard over him.
Or at least the spirits would guard him for as long as Rosa and Dominik survived this—
So we must survive this!
The aroused and offended shifters were taking their time about showing themselves now that the iele had fled. That was fine; it gave them a little time to prepare.
Fifteen shifters, though . . . we have got to thin the ranks more. She felt her muscles tense and her insides clench up. She refused to give in to fear, but she could feel terror lurking just beyond the wall of her will, waiting to pounce. This . . . this was far, far more than she had ever undertaken without a full Hunt behind her.
Or even with a full Hunt behind me.
As Rosa pulled her coach gun from the sheath on her back, another howl split the air and a shifter in full wolf form—which was, of course, immune to the iele’s magic—exploded out of the cave entrance. Before Dominik could even take aim, Rosa gave him a welcome of silver shot to the head.
The coach gun roared and kicked; she broke the breech and reloaded, and aimed again.
The blast shredded the beast’s skull; it traveled forward another couple of paces on its momentum, then dropped to the earth with a messy splat. But before it hit the ground, ano
ther leapt from the entrance, and now it was Dominik’s turn to take it in the eye with a silver-tipped bolt, thriftily saved, for he had pulled every arrow out of the bodies they piled up to the side.
There followed a cacophony of enraged howls and growls from inside the cave, but nothing ventured out. The shifters had learned their lesson quickly.
Rosa whistled, and Dominik sprinted across the distance between them. They tucked themselves, side by side, into a little alcove where their backs were protected by the cliff and they would just fit together without interfering with each other. They knew better than to think that they had the shifters penned in there. Rosa had never yet seen a cave used as a stronghold that did not have at least one back entrance. This was not likely to be the first.
By now, the sun was setting, for they had been slowly picking off the shifters all afternoon. And under ordinary circumstances, the dark might have favored the shifters, but the spell of the vâlva ba˘ilor would allow them to see in the dark like a pair of owls. The shifters would not know that, and Rosa hoped it might make them careless.
At least, for a time, anyway.
She and Dominik strained their ears, listening for a stealthy scrape of claws on stone, or a panting breath. But the shifters were old at this game, and the rush of two of them from around the side of the rock took both of the magicians by surprise.
The one that leapt for Rosa got a chest full of silver shot, but Dominik didn’t even have time to aim. She just barely missed being spattered by blood and bits and other nastiness. Dominik got a lucky shot; at such close range, the pistol didn’t make as big a hole in the creature’s chest as it would have a little further away, but he managed to blast through the ribs and into the heart, and the shifter staggered back about two yards and dropped to the ground. She backed up a half pace, all the room she had, and slammed a shell into the coach gun, and waited, her heart pounding, while Dominik made a clumsier business of reloading the pistol.
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